30Kisses Theme Ficlets
Robin/Raven
By Kysra
Theme #20 (the road home): Path
She wakes that morning with pain in her back, bleeding gums, and an overwhelming urge to purge - usual for this time of gestation. It is only after she leaves her warm bed and relieves herself that she realizes it is barely dawn. Still, the pale light calms her as the shadows lessen and the salty, ocean air pervades the little cabin through an open window. It is paradise in hell, a little peace amidst the chaos of the world. Perfection.
Just as he had promised, and he always keeps his promises.
Lips soften in a tiny smile that speaks volumes of contentment, her violet eyes finding his body, sprawled as it is atop the bed sheets. He never could keep to his side, but the nightmares have subsided significantly since she told him of her state. She can forgive his need to fill the empty spaces when she leaves.
There is the gentle cawing of seagulls echoing in her ears, the embracing crash and sift of the waves along the shore. Only a week has passed since their arrival here, and already she knows she never wants to leave - even if it is just the two of them and he sometimes drives her crazy. They call to her, the errant bird and the deceptive drift of water over sand; and before she knows what she is doing, her hand has scrawled a loving note with pen and paper, her bare feet stepping lightly from wood plank deck to pearl white sand.
The breeze is light and chill, the sun growing high and warm. The sky is a lovely pink-orange teetering to yellow, and - as her toes find wet, packed granules - the water is delightfully waking cold.
Something about this place gives her the inner serenity she has been searching for her entire life. It is genuine and honest - a filling thing that did not come with bartered emotion. She imagines it flows from her as the undulating tides and the icy sea foam that licks at her heels - a joy that is at once a heated pulse of bursting glow and a soothing, cool breeze blowing gently across her active nerves; and she must wonder, as she stares out at the brightening horizon, if it is evident in the new twinkle of her eyes or the growing swell of her abdomen.
It is no secret between them that she does not wish to leave this secluded, quiet place. Certainly, she misses their friends, their family - even Bruce and especially Alfred (the man knows how to give a mean foot massage); but she has relished the privacy they have found here. Here, away from the bustling noise of a violent city and the dangerous intentions of rampant criminals, they have found a calm that is valuable for its scarcity. Here, there are no distractions or interruptions, just themselves and their feelings, the sand and the waves catching, pulling, drifting, finding.
"Hey." His voice is soft. It is how they have spoken to each other since the first hour here, hushed tones and lulling cadences.
"Hey, yourself." There is now the weight of his hands and a light coat upon her shoulders as his arm wraps around her, bringing her into his side. Her smile widens naturally, and it is now reflex that causes her to relax against his hold and rest her head upon his chest.
"You look pensive. Sick again?" His worry is a warm balm slathered thinly across her consciousness as the rough tangle of seaweed washes against their toes. Her hands reach back to find his cheek, the heat of his skin reminding her sunbeams and nights by the fire.
"Merely setting up house." She knows that he knows what she means.
Her life has been a play of two distinct acts: the BEFORE - Azarath, control, fragmentation, isolation, fighting, hopelessness, and fear; and the AFTER - Earth, purification, unification, friendship, emotion, learning, and love.
During the BEFORE she could not know herself because she could not own herself as others did. Her mind was a mess of feigned order in the guise of a separate universe; and she was merely a traveling visitor, a cosmic cleaning lady who made scheduled appointments to administrate, organize, and assess. There dwelled the pieces that supposedly constituted the whole - color cloaked and wearing her face, mere figments that she at once was and was not. And though Nevermore had been constructed with purpose, it could never give her comfort for it was the house of her demons, never offer sanctuary for it was not meant to grant her peace, and never advertise protection for it was her greatest weakness. Always guarded, she could never know any thought or feeling fully for it would mean the loss of her very necessary control and the safety of every living person she was supposed to protect.
It was only with the AFTER that she began to explore the mystery that is herself. She has now been given opportunities to feel the bare intensity of unfiltered pain, joy, sadness, love, passion, hatred, anger, happiness, and so many others. The individual emotions are filed and named, locked up safe close to her heart near the place where her sweet burden's feet sometimes nestle painfully between her ribs. Nevermore is now a barren space she has yet to fully discover. It has been cleared of its prior tenants, but she is not yet ready to move in. She is still driving a rented U-haul down the long, bumpy road but making good progress. These quiet moments are the ones that see her traveling farthest - when it is only her, him, and the comfortable silence; and when she is feeling most introspective, she calls it, 'setting up house' for that is what she is doing - feeling out the living space of her own mind, acquainting herself with the dark, the light, and depths and shallows.
"You'll get there someday." His assurance is not empty as some might think. She has not only been 'guest' within her own psyche but his as well. It is a visitation they renew occassionally when they are closest to one another, a bonding ritual that only reinforces what was always there.
They stand for long moments, silent, letting the tranquility of the atmosphere smooth over their bodies and still their souls. Soon, he is taking her hands and guiding her into the knee-high surf, bracing her as the tide pushes and pulls at her ankles. An unexpected surge tips her balance enough so that she crashes into him, his arms taking her in at once to secure and warm her against the cool morning breeze. She sighs and turns her head towards the expansive gray-blue ocean, staring out into the unending vision of forever.
"Do we have to leave this place?" Her arms tighten around him slightly, and she feels a thrilling tremor dance up her spine when he squeezes her in return. She nuzzles at the soft cotton of his shirt, her eyes never leaving their study of the rising sun.
"'Fraid so. I don't want to go either, if it's any consolation." The kiss he presses into her hair is shaped like his smirk.
"Don't want to go home?" It is anathema. Crime-fighting is in his blood. She cannot picture him in this place forever where there is no one but the two -- three of them, the beach and the sand.
"You are my home. By the way, thank you for leaving a path for me, but I could still clearly see you from the cabin." There is a note of amusement, and she can understand why.
"I was thinking the same thing about you. Sometimes I forget I'm not as fast as I usually am. I seem to be carrying this extra burden lately." Their hands meet and crowd where her tummy has become most rounded. The stirring there begins as if it never stopped, and the interior hiccups begin again. She has not flown since she realized her soul was not the only spirit inhabiting her body. She has not manifested her power since she knew their child is a son.
"We still have another week here. Let's not waste it." But he does not drift further from dry land nor does he move towards their cabin, just rests his forehead against hers, blue eyes open and staring into hers.
"I still think we should have the baby here." Her look is one of pleading, the manner of her jibe easy. It is something she only has with him, this wondrous open freedom of expression; but she knows he will not back down on this point, no matter how many times she's explained that on Azarath women usually give birth alone. It is no longer an issue of contention between them, provoking heat and anger. There is no room for such friction here, and she now understands his concerns.
He shrugs and mutters a light 'maybe,' then scoops her into his arms as she shrieks and laughs, his smile taken with her belated 'good morning' kiss. When they are both breathless, and he reaches the open sliding glass door to their bedroom, he sets her down and wraps her up again.
And she never wants to leave, because she has traveled through dimensions, killed herself a thousand times, been the center of self-isolation, and known what it is to be the subject of fear to find this place in his arms, in his mind, in his heart. Peace. Love. Family. Home.
NOTE: This is the SECOND draft. The first was MUCH better - the best thing I have ever written, actually; and I lost it. Completely.