Re: Near the entrance: Bat/Cat
Hurt and armor, those things she knew. Once, she would've thought that the absence of guilt in his eyes was a good thing, but she wasn't sure that replacing it with hate was much better. But that was hypocritical, because she'd been angry for so long. It had eaten at her, consumed her from the inside out, and it was still there. It probably always would be; she was just learning to live without it coloring everything and turning it sickly. "When I was angry, at first, I couldn't see past it." Maybe that would help, understanding. Maybe it wouldn't. Because he was snapping, and that was familiar too. From where she stood, she'd seen Harley disappear with Damian, and she'd seen her cross the dance floor again, dress askew. It didn't take a genius to figure out what had just happened, and she was only glad that she was the one who could see the dance floor over his shoulder, and not the other way around.
She listened to him list all the ways in which she was this city, and she began to understand something she didn't want to understand. "I'm not Gotham," she repeated, but it was quieter this time. And she almost told him she'd go anywhere with him, but she was starting to understand that he didn't want her to make that offer. And she almost reminded him that she'd just said she didn't care about the city, but she kept it to herself. "I don't actually care where you fit in." Simplicity, and she left it at that. She'd realized, in the past few minutes, that it didn't really matter what she said. "I'm not Gotham. I'm a woman. And you're man, but you just see a city and expectations when you look at me, don't you?" she asked, impossibly sad. Her voice dropped, uncharacteristically quiet. "I haven't asked you for anything in this conversation but you. I would've gone anywhere with you."
She watched his shoulders tense when she asked about Iris, and she just let him keep talking until he stopped. She blinked away tears, because the last thing he needed was more justification. And instead of clinging, instead of crowding, she just regarded him a few seconds longer. Long quiet, sadness and a momentary twitch of a hand that almost made it as far as touching his jaw. "I made a mistake tonight," she finally managed, once she could find her voice. "I knew you were going to be here, and I thought if you saw me-" She looked down at hands that she was clutching in front of her middle now, fingers wound together and turning white from lack of blood and an embarrassed little laugh. "This is what you want. I thought- I thought you were really being sacrificial. But you're not, are you?" She shook her head, indication that he didn't actually need to answer her. "I'm sorry. I wouldn't- I wouldn't have pushed if I'd realized." She exhaled, needing the breath to keep her emotions in check, and she was failing, really, tears at the corners of her eyes and something like bleak understanding on her features. Hopelessness, and she glanced over his shoulder to see Harley wrapped up around Robert on the couch.
She took a few steps back, down the steps, giving him the space she should've given him from the beginning. "I don't really know how I messed this up as badly as I obviously did, but I'm sorry." She gave him a jagged nod, something to hide the fact that she was barely keeping it together. "You don't want me to want you anymore," she said, testing the words and willing herself to believe them. She gave him a sad smile then, because why not? She'd lost track of how many times she'd told him she loved him. Shaky and tear-filled, she found her voice again after a few tries. "Goodnight and good luck, Mr. Wayne. I really do want you to be happy. I always wanted that." And there wasn't even a hint of purr in her voice when she used his surname, no heat, no years of familiarity. It was distance, a casual acquaintance and a desperate attempt at nothing more. A promise. Because she finally understood that he wanted that. She finally understood.
She stumbled on the step down, tears clouding her vision, but she caught herself admirably. She turned, and she willed herself not to look back.