CR: Hey Bat-fans! How are your holidays going? Hope you're spending them with people you love.

Thank you for rolling on with me through this story! It will be finished!

(If the formatting looks strange to you, I'm having to upload through my phone right now. I'll try to fix it when I can!)

Part 15: Losing Tippy

Warning: This chapter contains a death scene that may upset some readers. Please take care while reading if you've ever been in a similar situation.

I rip the white sheets away from my bed and start stumbling towards the door like a woman possessed. The sharp and sudden motion of medical tape pulling away from the soft flesh on the crook of my elbow is a painful reminder I'm still hooked up to an IV bag filled with liquid. Doubling back, I grab the middle of the IV stand and start dragging it with me to the door.

"Rose!" Blake shouts after me. "You need to lay down!" I ignore him and keep going.

The dimly lit hospital hallway seems like it's been set up for a haunted Halloween tour. Injured people lying in beds pushed against the walls moan and reach out at me as I pass them by. Some of them are burn victims; others are bleeding. Some lie completely still. Hurried doctors hustle by and bump past me without giving me a second glance.

"We need to get out of here," one doctor says as she quite nearly shoves me to the side of the hall in her rush to get by.

The doctor next to her huffs and puffs out an agreement. "There's really no saving anyone else here," he says. "We just need to evacuate the ones we can and then…."

Their voices become lost in the noise as we walk further and further away from one another.

I gaze into every hospital room I come across, both hoping and dreading to see Tippy.

301…

302…

303…

She shouldn't even be here …. She should be in Keystone City by now, not here dealing with my problems. I never should have invited her to come over! I just had to have her help in getting ready for that ridiculous "date" …

307…

309…

311…

There's no way she's …. Blake was wrong. I'm going to go into her hospital room and find her sitting up and giving me that trademark smirk of hers, that little one where her left eyebrow arches higher than the right and her bright eyes glint with hidden mischief. She's been sick before. I've been to the hospital to visit her once when she had pneumonia and she came back from that, still smirking. She'll be alright this time. I know it.

So why am I already crying?

317….

3...1…..9…..

I stop at Room 319. Inside the opened room are two people. One of them is an older, bespectacled man with thinning, dark hair and a set jaw. His hands are clasped together as if in prayer, and both rest upon the bed that the other person, Tippy, lies.

My hands fly to my mouth and I let out a half-strangled scream into their palms at the sight that awaits me. Tippy, light-colored eyes permanently closed, lies dead in a hospital bed stained red.

I walk slowly over to the side of the bed, not wanting to confirm it. I reach down and press my hand against her clammy cheek. I wait for her to respond to my touch, for the body heat to flare up and warm her skin, but nothing happens.

When she doesn't respond, my legs stop working. I fall down onto the bed and start to cry.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." I cry and rock back and forth. Carefully, I hug Tippy to me and begin to cry into her damp and matted hair. Oh, how I wish this was all a dream. I'd give anything, absolutely anything for this to be a nightmare. I wish I dreamt about meeting Bane, about meeting Blake, about ever coming to Gotham City. I wish I dreamt about all of this and Tippy was still breathing, she still with me.

Someone's gloved hand touches my shoulder, but I barely notice or care.

"Are you…. Valencia Paisley?" a man's voice asks.

"Please go away," I whisper. I pull my fingers through Tippy's curls and continue to rock her, as if rocking her could somehow stop what she'd already suffered.

After a moment of hesitation, this intruder decides to start talking again. "I'm sorry about your loss. I'm afraid there was nothing the doctors could do for your friend. She suffered multiple gun wounds from an automatic weapon. She lost too much blood before I could get her here for any kind of proper treatment. She was a fighter. She fought bravely until the end."

Instantly, my hackles are raised. "Who are you?" I whip around and face the man who's been talking to me. It's the man with the glasses who was sitting by the bed when I came in.

"Commissioner Gordon, previously retired. I was with Tiphani when she was attacked."

"How did this even happen?" I struggle to speak against the strange feeling in my throat. "She was supposed to be heading home to Keystone City!"

Something akin to guilt flickers behind Commissioner Gordon's glasses, and suddenly, he can't meet my eyes.

He stares down at his feet a while and then seems to force himself to look into my eyes with great difficulty.

"She was at the police station for questioning," he finally admits.

I let out a confused, breathless noise at this craziness. "What? Why in the world would she still be at the police station? She had nothing to do with any of this!"

"...Some of the police officers thought it would be best if-"

Heat spirals to my head and suddenly, I can't see straight. "They did this to her?" I rasp out.

"No, God forbid! They may have kept her there longer than necessary, but it was Bane's men who were ordered to kill everyone there! They saw her, shot her, and tried to do the same to me. I gunned them down, but not before they got to your sweet friend here."

Hot air pushes itself in and out of my throat as I let his words process. Orders from Bane. So, Bane was responsible for this. For all of this. Did he know Tippy was at the GCPD? Did he want her dead?

Fresh tears fall down my cheeks. I bite my lip and shake my head. He may have made the orders, but it was my fault that Tippy was dead. I was the one who got her involved with this … this monster.

Blake comes rushing into the room then. He sees me and looks relieved, but his expression quickly morphs into one of quiet remorse and guilt.

"Miss Rose …. I'm so sorry. If I had known this was going to happen, I would have gone there and stopped him. I would have tried to save her."

He sounds so sincere, but I resent his words.

"What you really could have done was keep Bane away from me and from the rest of Gotham City instead of forcing him into any of our homes. And don't apologize to me. Apologize to her."

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I want to take them back. Blake looks so shocked and guilt-ridden that I have to look away. I instead focus on Tippy's shut eyes, eyes that will never light up again when she's getting into some kind of trouble, eyes that will never narrow at me or crease at the corners with laughter.

I start crying again.

Blake moves a little closer to me; I hear his footsteps. I feel my body begin to quiver with anger. Not all of it was directed at him. The majority was at myself. But I know, if he comes any closer, it's going to be him that feels the weight of these past few days come hurtling down on him.

"I'm … I-I can't change the past. This was a mistake that none of us could have foreseen. I'm not making excuses, but I don't want this to tear you down. We've got to come back from this and stop Bane."

"I don't have to do anything with you or the City of Gotham anymore!" I yell back at him so harshly that my throat feels like it's tearing. I suck in a few breaths and feel them escape back out through my nose. "All of this-me, you and Bane-it's over! I'm done with it. I never should have let myself or my loved ones get involved with any of you!"

"Rose-"

"Don't call me Rose!" I cut him off. "It's Valencia. It's always been that."

Blake presses on. "...Valencia, please. I'm not going to let anything else happen to you. We just need to get out of here or I won't be able to make that promise. I'll get you somewhere safe and then I'll track down Bane and-"

"I'm not going to leave Tippy like this…. Everyone else is leaving. If I leave, then nobody … nobody will…."

Without pause, Blake starts taking off his trench coat. "I'll help you put her to rest. We can go to the hospital's cemetery by the left wing and dig her a grave there."

Commissioner Gordon quickly jumps in to stop him. "Detective Blake, this building is like a beacon for Bane and his cronies! As much as I hate it, if any of us want to survive and have even a shred of hope of getting out of this city alive, we need to leave this building, now!"

I don't make a move besides to hug Tippy closer to me.

"I'll be alright, Commissioner," Blake says as he moves closer to me. He hold out his black coat, the one I usually see him in when he comes over to my apartment. "Here. We can wrap her in this, if that's okay."

Not knowing how else to respond to this unexpected kindness, I take his offered coat in silence and hold it for a moment.

I felt so angry at him earlier, and now all I want to do is hug and thank him. I felt like I was all alone in the world as I cradled Tippy. That old loneliness and fear had began creeping up into me, twisting my tongue and stomach into hard knots. I lashed out because I was scared and already feeling alone. Now, it felt like maybe I do still have one friend left in this world.

Commissioner Gordon looks between the three of us and gives a solemn nod.

"I'll tell you more about your friend's last moments when we meet again, Valencia. Just stay safe until then," he says and then disappears out of the room.

In silence, Blake and I use nearby sanitary hand wipes to clean off the visible parts of Tippy's skin until her beautiful, honey-colored skin is no longer smudged with blood. I take special care to comb through her ringlets with my fingers, until the tangled ringlets are once again as lovely as they are every time that I've seen her.

"I don't have a dad anymore either," Tippy told me as we lay side by side in our sleeping bags on the floor of her living room. Tippy's pretty curls were tucked neatly away beneath a pink satin cap to prevent her hair from breaking against the rough material we slept on. Nearby, her brother played Call of Duty on his PlayStation 3 while seated on the family's one sofa, but he kept the volume low enough that we would be able to fall asleep if we felt like it. The soft glow of the television lit Tippy's face up like she was next to the moon.

"I never knew him. He went to prison when I was a baby and he's been there since then. So we've got that in common, too." Tippy stared up at her cracked, plaster ceiling with a brave expression on her face. Nearby, I was wiping the last of my tears away. Like always, I was amazed at how strong she was. Just thinking about my daddy always made me cry, but Tippy was able to keep a straight face.

"But that's okay. We're gonna be okay. We're gonna go to college, like you've always told me, and we're gonna make something of ourselves. We don't have to be statistics because, guess what? We've got each other and we always will." She looked at me and grinned, showing off two rows of perfectly straight teeth.

I nodded. "Yeah. We always will."

The hospital was nearly empty by the time Blake and I come out into the hallway. The people that were writhing about just an hour earlier are now quiet and oddly, perfectly still. The hectic chatter from before was gone. Now, you'd be able to hear a door creak open from anywhere on the floor.

It's unnerving. I take a deep breath, hoist Tippy up on my back and walk ahead of Blake. In the room, while I was wincing and sliding the needle out of my arm, he offered to help carry Tippy with me, but I refused. Blake understood.

We make our way to the ground floor on the left wing of the hospital and go out to the small cemetery that housed some patients and babies that passed away or past employees. It's less than a 100 meters wide and there are only a few scattered but well-decorated headstones and tombs around.

I grip tight to Tippy's cold legs as we enter the cemetery. How am I going to do this? I'm on the verge of a panic attack just thinking about putting Tippy in a dark…. I'm shaking. My whole body—it's pulsating and sweating.

I want to call out for Blake, but I won't let myself. I want to do this for Tippy. All my life, we've been there for each other. And now, because of my naivety, she's gone. It's all my fault and I have to be the one to take!responsibility for it.

Blake finds a shovel with no sign of rust on it near a small shed. "I'll dig wherever you want me to," he says.

I gaze around the shadowy area, searching for a place that Tippy would have gravitated to, if she were walking beside us instead of being carried.

"There." I point to an area beneath a giant willow tree. Moss sways just above the ground, where plush-looking grass and small flowers dance in the chilly breeze. A tall, ornate lamppost is near the tree, providing us with soft, artificial light as we trudge over to the selected area.

I walk as slowly as possible, trying to prolong the inevitable. I hear Blake's huffs and grunts as he begins the hard work of digging a grave.

While he's doing that, I sit Tippy on a stone bench near the tree and do my best to shield her body from the cold wind that plagues Gotham City as soon as night falls. I bury my head close to her chest, praying that I'll find a heartbeat and I'll be able to tell Blake to put down his shovel.

I keep my ear pressed there until Blake, tired and dirty, comes back over to me.

"It's'not six feet, but it will do. We'll get sssomeone to do better for her later," he tells me. It kind of sounds like his words are slurring together, but it's probably just me.

I nod stiffly and climb up with Tippy on my back again.

"Did they.…" I pause to swallow back another sob. "Did they do everything they could for her?" I ask. "Do you know?"

Blake's face is pained. "Commissioner Gordon wouldn't rest until more than one doctor looked at her. They tried resuscitation, but there was too much blood loss. The bullets pierced one of her lungs and her throat. There wasn't anything left they could do."

Numbly, I follow behind Blake to Tippy's final resting place.

As Blake and I carefully lower Tippy into the grave, I feel the tears break loose. In a frenzy, I clasp Tippy's hand and start shaking my head.

"No, I can't let her go down there, Blake," I sob. "She shouldn't have even been here!"

Blake finishes lowering Tippy down and then hurries over to me. He squats down and lifts me to my feet. We move together over to the shaded bench and Blake seats me there.

"You've done what you could for her. Let me take it from here," he says.

Protest rises in my throat, but it quickly withers away. I clasp my knees and murmur out my assent. I know I don't have what it takes to bury my best friend. Just the thought of seeing the dirt hitting against her, of having that earthen barrier between us makes me feel like I'm brushing against the very edge of a breakdown. Once again, I'm quietly grateful for Blake.

I bury my face into my hands to stifle my crying. The sound of scooping dirt and the pitter-patter of it reentering the ground seems to surround me for hours.

When I hear Blake drop beside me, I can't make any movement to raise my head up from that comforting, wet nest I made with my palms.

Blake's hand closes around my shoulder. "Take your time. We don't have to leave until you're ready to."

When he lets go, I wipe my face and climb to my feet. Tippy is just a few yards away. When I make it to the freshly covered mound, it's already hard to imagine she's beneath it.

I squat down and place my hand on the soft earth. Powdered and smooth, it smushes easily beneath my fingertips, like flour.

"I love you so much, Tippy," I whisper. "Thank you for coming into my life and showing me what it feels like to have a friend. I will never, ever forget you for as long as I'm alive, bestie. Even past that."

I close my eyes and say a prayer in my heart for her.

Dear Heavenly Father, take care of Tiphani. Her time here wasn't nearly enough. Not nearly enough. Please let her know that I didn't mean for any of this to happen and that I'm sorry. Let her know that she was the best thing that ever happened to me, and that I'm never going to forget why this happened to her.

A gust of cold wind pushes past me, whipping through my cloud of coiled hair, causing goosebumps to prickle along my flesh, and snapping me out of the trance I seem to have fallen under.

"See you later, Tippy," I kiss my palm and then lay it on the dirt.

I still can't move away. Dark spots appear on the ground as I begin crying again and my tears slide off my face.

"Come on, I got you."

Blake's hands are suddenly under my arms, lifting. I allow him to guide me back to my feet. Once I'm standing, he puts his arm around my shoulders, allowing me to lean on him, and leads me out of the cemetery and away from Tippy's grave.

I try to look over my shoulder at the cemetery again, but Blake's voice stops me.

"It's okay. She's not there anymore, is she?"

His words sound hollow, like he doesn't believe them, but I do, and that's enough to keep my eyes on my feet instead of looking back.

"I still feel like I'm abandoning her," I say softly as we pass the gates of the hospital graveyard.

"You're not. You did what you could for her," he assures me.

I don't say much else as we leave the silent hospital and head into the burning city. My throat is starting to throb with intense pain and my head's foggy.

"It's all over!" Someone shouts as they bump against me and continue running towards the hospital. In the direction they came from, there are a series of explosions that send flames bursting into the sky. People begin spilling out of their apartment buildings and run for their lives. Cars swerve down the streets, sometimes careening onto the sidewalk as they try to weave through traffic quickly. Blake brings me closer to his side as more people press in close and jostle past us in their attempts to get to safety.

"Don't let go, okay? We can't risk getting separated right now," Blake shouts above the noise.

"Okay." Matching his volume is impossible for me. My softspoken voice goes unheard.

We weave through the throngs of fleeing Gothamites at a record slow pace, thanks to me and the dizziness. At least, that's what I think until I notice that Blake can barely put one foot in front of the other. His steps are wobbly and unsure, like those of a toddler, and his breathing is labored.

"Are you okay?" I ask when the detective halts in this tracks.

He takes a moment to steady his breathing then apologizes.

"Sorry, Rose. I-I think I've got a concussion. I don't know why these symptoms are just hitting. I just need a secon—"

Before he can finish his sentence, he's bent over and vomiting on the sidewalk. Everything that's coming up is red.

"Blake?!" I stoop beside him as quickly as I can and place my hand against his back. He murmurs another apology before coughing up more vomit. Once he's done, he leans against me.

"I'll get us going again. Let me just, just catch my breath."

At this point, it's hurting way too much to talk, so, instead, I shift his body weight on me, stand up, and work my scrawny butt off to take us both forward. We move slowly, one step after the other, but we're making it. Blake's barely able to stand and his speech is beginning to slur.

"Thanks …. Just keep going forward. Wayne Manor…. We're almost there."

I look around and spot the mansion—Wayne Manor—not too far ahead of us. It's a well-known landmark of the city, a place that I'd always admire from afar. A few times, I might see Mr. Bruce Wayne's stretch limo pull out of the gates like a bullet and I'd get all misty-eyed. I'd think, "One day, you know? One day, I'll have that kind of money". After Bruce Wayne mysteriously vanished, the glamorous manor became an orphanage, according to the millionaire's will.

Does Blake want to try and help the kids there? They most likely have already evacuated, but even so, being there is better than being out in the open when we're both barely able to stand.

The crowds grow thinner and thinner the closer we get to Wayne Manor until it's just Blake and I limping along the street. It's quieter here, quiet enough to hear how heavy Blake's breathing has become.

I glance over at the stripped down detective. He's fighting it, but his eyelids are starting to flutter shut. He can barely stand up straight and he's getting harder and harder and harder to support.

Crap, what do they say about concussions again? You've got to stay awake, right?

I pick up our pace, urging Blake to do so as well. We crawl our way through the front area of the manor, winding past the giant, spraying fountain situated in the ground and plod over well-worn pathways that I imagine little boys and girls have ran across countless times.

After managing to climb two sets of stairs, we stand on the doorstep of the previous home of Mr. Bruce Wayne, eccentric billionaire and genius businessman. I'm about to knock, recall that this is now an orphanage, and instead go to push open the door. It doesn't budge.

"They usually lock up after dark," Blake mutters. "They must have evacuated and locked up to prevent looting. That's good." He winces and presses his free hand to the back of his head. He must notice the worried look I'm giving him, because he smiles. "I'm alright, ma'am.

I bite my lip and look back at the door. Why did he offer to help me with Tippy if he's injured? I feel horrible. I shouldn't have let him help me, I should have just stuck to my guns and did this alone. Shoot, if he dies…. If he dies, it's on me. I'll be to blame for another good person losing their life.

Blake releases me to stand on his own. He makes a movement to dig into his pockets, but stops at the last moment. He looks down and makes an exasperated sound. "I forgot …. That psychotic woman stole my pants."

Before I can question this interesting statement, Blake's stumbling away from me, towards a window to the left of the door. He pushes his hands against the thick, metal-framed glass, and tries to slide it open.

"Come on!" he urges. It doesn't budge. He backs away, undeterred, and starts waddling around in search of another entrance. "Gotta be another way in…. Stay here, I'll keep checking around." He's persistent about getting into this place. But, why?

The lampposts in the front courtyard were beginning to flicker on, giving an ethereal and orange tint to the low-hanging fog that settles around Wayne Manor. I rub my aching arms as another cold wind pushes past me. If only I'd been thinking, I wouldn't have ran out to Arkham with flip flops and thin pajamas on. Ha, if I'd been thinking, I would have left Bane in there to rot.

That cold and empty mist seeps back into me as I lean back against one of the manor's stone pillars. I hate him. I felt so guilty about giving him up, but in reality? I never should have taken him in. Thinking I could change him—what kind of lunatic would think that? You know, I was beginning to think, hey, maybe this guy isn't too bad. He made a horrible mistake, but he wants to change. Maybe he even kind of likes being around me. No, he just tolerated me and trusted that I'd stay blind enough to keep playing the friendly "caretaker" until he could get away from me. He just played along so I'd let my guard down, which I did. Mistake.

I should have known. The only person who really loved to be around me is gone now … because of him.

I shut my eyes and inhale as tears start welling up again.

If only I could go back in time….

"Are you alright, miss?"

Opening my eyes, I find a tall, gray-haired man in a long black trench coat standing directly in front of me. He's got freckles on his face, a sign of youth, but his face also encompasses brown eyes that are wise.

He waits for me to speak, but my throat hurts too much. I can barely manage more than a gargled sound that's supposed to be my name.

Something changes in his eyes the longer that he stares at me. "I know who you are," he whispers. I notice his hand start to edge closer to his right pocket.

CR: Thank you for reading! To all of you super reviewers: you are all that and a bag of Batman-shaped potato chips. Thanks for sticking with me, everyone T_T

Don't forget to check out the Tumblr page for this fanfic if you want to see bonus scenes!

Next chapter, we have an apology, a text message from "Blake", and ... the Batcave! Stay tuned!