#steen writes

So Rachel is the one who is visited by Commissioner Gordon, who apologizes. She faces him full on and says, “Take it back.”

“Heads I go first, tails it’s you.”

Because this is what Rachel Dawes was. She was the two-sided coin that landed on heads, on goodness, no matter what her choices were. She was the one who believed in the justice system, who worked tirelessly to protect people and who was crushed every time she failed. She was the one truly moral character. 

And that is why her fall from morality is so much more terrifying than the charismatic and driven-by-glory Harvey Dent, who cared, but differently. He wanted Rachel and all the other good people to love him, so that’s who he became, while Rachel--Rachel was just good. It didn’t matter what everyone else thought of her, as long as she did good, as long as she was good--

Until she wasn’t.

Losing someone like this, it can twist you and make your insides rot. Because how can the man who murdered the love of your life walk free? Everyone knows he did it. Everyone knows he’s the one blowing up hospitals--the one blowing up this hospital that you’re sitting in, and you in it, if you don’t stand up and walk away. 

Everyone knows the man--the monster--sitting by your bed and whispering to you about how it’s not his fault that Harvey is dead, how it’s the mob and the corrupt police and batman for making the wrong decision--everyone knows he’s guilty and here he his. Here. And she can’t do a thing.

But she feels that rush of power when he presses the gun to his head and presses the burnt coin into her hands.

“Chaos is fair.”

And then we don’t see Rachel for a while. We see the joker burn down the hospital, but we don’t know if Rachel’s morality won out or if the coin landed in the Joker’s favor. 

We don’t see Rachel again, in fact, until the close of the movie, after Bruce has left the Joker dangling upside down while he laughs about corrupting Rachel (and Bruce doesn’t believe it, because Rachel is incorruptible--)

And then there’s Michael Wuertz, standing behind the bar looking scared, and Rachel’s voice, hardened by loss. “If the coin lands on heads, you live. If it’s black, you die.” The coin flips, through the air, arching gracefully, and then the screen goes black with a gun shot. The credits roll.

(I love Tom Hardy as much as anyone but let’s be real and admit that the third movie just didn’t fit??? So no bane. Instead Rachel!Two-face gets a whole movie to herself, (throw in catwoman, if you like) with many parallels drawn between herself and Batman, except that she’ll kill people or set them free, regardless of any sense of morality, culminating, possibly, in her death, or in her capture. And there’s no 8 year time gap because. really???)

She doesn’t know how much Stiles knows about how he was possessed; she doesn’t know if he blames her. She hopes he doesn’t, because if he doesn’t, Scott won’t. Scott, who hasn’t spoken to her except to ask her to trail Lydia.

She hasn’t seen Derek in weeks.

They’re at the cemetery again. Kira watches Lydia leave her car and start to pick her way toward Allison’s grave. She waits, because in tailing, as in all things, there’s a method. One that involves her giving Lydia a good lead.

Lydia stops after taking a few steps, though, and turns toward Kira’s car.

Kira freezes, but doesn’t duck down. She does bow her head and wipe her eyes, because maybe if it looks like she’s grieving—

Lydia knocks on the passenger side window. “Get out of the car, Kira.”

This time, she goes with Lydia to the grave.

“I want to bring her back,” Lydia confesses. She doesn’t have any flowers, and the flowers at Allison’s grave are drying up. The grave looks abysmal. “I’ve been involved with a resurrection before, you know—with Peter. So I know it’s possible. I just don’t know how it would work if I’m not being possessed.”

Kira wonders if it would be appropriate to bring some flowers next time Lydia wants to go to the cemetery. She grunts noncommittally.

“Scott would be pissed,” Lydia continues. “He doesn’t like when we play with the way things are supposed to be.”

She doubts that. Scott had loved Allison—maybe still did. He wouldn’t be that angry if she came back. She wonders why he hasn’t laid any flowers at her grave.

“She was my best friend,” she murmurs, and hugs herself. “I want her back.”

This time when Kira awkwardly wipes her eyes, her hands come away wet.

She spends more time with Lydia after that. She’s not sure if Lydia wants to make her the new Allison or if she genuinely just doesn’t want to be alone, but figures it’s best not to ask questions. She lets Lydia pick out her outfits and brush her hair. They share a bed some nights because it’s nice not to be alone.

Lydia confesses things to her in the dark—things about how she imagines killing Peter Hale in increasingly inventive ways when she starts to have panic attacks and how she doesn’t think she’s ever been in love, and Kira listens. Sometimes she wants to tell Lydia things, too, but her throat closes in and she feels tears roll out instead. She feels alone even when she’s with Lydia, and she’s not sure how to address it.

She can’t speak, but she can help Lydia, maybe. So she She bookmarks a page on aromanticism to show Lydia, which is one thing solved, but she can’t find any legit looking ways to bring someone back from the dead. She bookmarks a forum about creative murder instead.

Lydia laughs when she sees the forum, and frowns when she reads about aromanticism. “There’s something wrong with me,” she sighs.

“There’s not anything wrong with you,” Kira replies, and gestures to the webpage. “That’s the point of this. It’s a normal thing that lots of people are experiencing.”

Lydia smiles. “Okay.” She reads for a few minutes, and then finally spins in her chair to look at Kira. “You should speak up more. Scott won’t say it, but I think he misses you.” She flips her hair over her shoulder, casual—“And I feel like I talk but I never listen. You should feel free to confide in me, too. I wouldn’t—I’m not going to spread your secrets.” She fidgets and looks down at her hands. “I wasn’t always the best friend for Allison, but I’d like…I’d like to try again. With you.”

Kira feels a smile spread over her face, and has to look down at her own lap. “Okay.”

It’s not easy after that, but it feels like she’s allowed to talk back when Lydia speaks. “I’m mad at my mom for lying to me about everything for so long. I wish I had grown up training and knowing what I am. It would have made—“ Kira pauses, and then gestures at the ceiling awkwardly. “I would have known what to do when the Onii—“

Lydia hugs her tight. “It’s not your fault. It’s not your mom’s fault.”

Kira hums and cuddles into Lydia’s embrace. During the day, Lydia can be stiff and poised, but at night she’s more relaxed. She doesn’t mind how much Kira likes casual touch and affection.

It’s quiet for several minutes, until something occurs to Kira. “It’s not your fault, either.”

Lydia rolls away.

She runs into Scott the next day—or, actually, Scott runs into her. He’s not quite out of breath, but he does look rushed. “Hey, Kira, sorry, um—look—have you been keeping up with Lydia?”

“Yeah,” she says, trying for a smile. She misses Scott. She knows he needs space, but—she misses him.

“Ok, good,” he says, relaxing. “Um, is she okay?”

This has to be considered carefully. Is Lydia okay? She’s not as bad as she was, but she’s no where near the girl Kira met at the beginning of the semester. “She’s…functioning.”

Scott looks perturbed, but he doesn’t push for more. “I really appreciate you looking out for her.”

“That’s what friends are for,” she says gently, and reaches out to place a hand on his arm.

He leans into her hand and sighs. “You are an amazing friend,” he says, and takes a step closer. “I know I asked you as alpha, and all, but I really do appreciate it. It means so much to me.”

She ducks her head. “I don’t mind, honestly. It’s better, now that she knows I’m following her and lets me walk next to her instead.”

He laughs, and it’s beautiful. She feels almost light, even if the world is still dark. Maybe things will be okay. “Speaking of which, how are you doing? I know you and Allison had become friends toward the end.”

“I’m—“ she stops before she says okay. She wants to be honest, at least with Scott. If she can be honest with Lydia, she can tell Scott, too, right? “I’m, um…I’m not okay, per se, but I’m getting better.” She bites her lip. That’s not wholly a lie, but it is a little misleading.

“That’s—I’m glad,” Scott says. He doesn’t look glad, though, he looks worried. He looks at his watch and frowns.

“Shit.” He takes a step back, like he’s prepping to go.

He’s going to leave, and she can’t let him. Not yet. “Wait,” she says, wrapping her fingers around his arm. “Um. It’s—I’m not sad because of Allison. I mean—I mean I am sad about her. Miserable, actually. But it’s not just that. And I know this isn’t fair because you’re still in love with her and—I’m kind of responsible she died—but I’m also sad because it feels like…” She drops her hand and steps back. Telling this is the scary part. “It feels like you kind of hate me, and…I miss you.”

Scott looks as miserable as she feels, and she regrets saying anything. She knows Lydia would be proud of her for it, but she regrets it anyway. She should stop putting her own needs ahead of everyone else’s. Lydia and Scott—they’re the ones who need comfort. She should be helping them, not forcing them to deal with her trouble.

“Listen, um,” Scott starts. He grabs the hand that’s holding onto his arm and holds it tightly. “The thing is—I did—I do love Allison. But I—well, it’s not your fault that she’s dead. I’m not sure why you think that.”

“I basically put the nogitsune in Stiles,” she says flatly.

“On purpose?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No,” she sighed.

“So it’s not your fault. And I’m sorry I’ve been distant, too. It’s not that I’m angry at you or anything. Honestly I wish I had more time to spend with you—just you.” He says the last part meaningfully, and squeezes her hand.

She feels herself trembling. “Scott—“

“It’s just that right now I need to spend time with Stiles,” he sighs. “He’s—he’s really beating himself up, okay? I want to—I’ll make time for you soon, okay? I promise. We can get ice cream.”

She laughs, a little shrilly. “I like ice cream.”

“Good,” he says, and smiles. “I’ll talk to you soon?”

“Soon,” she promises.

“I wish I could say something to all of them,” Kira says.

Lydia glances at her a little, smiles some. She sets her books in her locker and sighs.

“But I don’t know how much space and time I’m supposed to give them.” She sighs. She can speak now, but she still worries that—nothing will change. Scott will never actually make good on getting ice cream with her, and Lydia will still look on the verge of tears. “And I know I’m still just the new girl in school.”

Lydia looks over her shoulder and smiles a little. “Not for long.”

Kira looks back with her and feels a smile of her own start to form. Malia Tate is walking by with the coach. She meets their eyes for a moment, and smiles back at them.

It’s no surprise to him that Erica isn’t satisfied with that answer, and if he’s honest with himself, he isn’t either. It hurts that Cora is curled up in the lap of someone that honestly frightens Boyd. Derek has no clue how to wield his power. That’s been clear ever since Boyd’s first training session. That Cora would pick someone like that over the two of them, after the bond they forged in the vault—well, he can’t exactly be upset with Erica when she snarls, “You lied to us!”

Cora startles. “You’re awake,” sie gasps, stumbling out of Derek’s lap. “I’m so glad. Deaton said you were okay but I wasn’t sure.”

Almost methodically, Boyd notes that Derek must be on better terms with the vet, or maybe Scott was involved—he doesn’t have enough information. He focuses in on Cora instead.

“We aren’t okay!” Erica yells, and, well, maybe she’s not totally cautious now. He can’t blame her.

Cora, for hir part, looks taken aback. “I just meant—you’re awake—your physical wounds won’t last and you’re in control again—“

“And you’re cuddling up with someone who abused us,” she hisses.

Maybe it’s a strong word for Derek’s method of training, but Boyd stays quiet. He kind of agrees, and his hurt is making him bitter. He doesn’t feel like diffusing this situation. He wants Erica to claw out all the wrong things and to escape Beacon Hills, to go anywhere but here, as long as Erica is with him.

He wanted Cora to come, too. But that doesn’t seem to be an option now.

“What are you talking about?” Cora asks, looking up at Derek. “Derek, what does she mean?”

Derek is frowning, but awkwardly. “I didn’t—“

“We’ve had three months to think it out,” Boyd says, finally breaking his silence. “It was abuse.”

“It was to protect you!” Derek insists.

Erica snorts. “Okay, Mother Gothel.”

At his confused look, Boyd explains, “Tangled.”

Derek’s face doesn’t clear, but that’s no real surprise.

“This isn’t the point,” Erica snaps, turning her attention back to Cora. “You lied to us.”

“About what?” sie asks, confused. Sie walks closer to the two of them, arms starting to stretch out to them. “I never lied. I love you. I love both of you. I didn’t know Derek was your alpha so it didn’t seem relevant to mention that he’s my brother.”

Boyd can't help it. He laughs. It’s completely unexpected, but now he can see it. Cora has the same frown lines and the same coloring—fuck, even the same nose, if he squints.

“Seriously?” Erica asks, looking hopeful rather than hurt for the first time since waking up.

Sie nods, coming forward to pull Erica into hir arms. Sie grins at Boyd over Erica’s shoulder hopefully.

Of course. Cora had mentioned sie was looking for Laura Hale, but she’d never mentioned Derek. Their last names had never even come up. Sure, sie knew his full name was “Vernon Boyd,” but that’s just because Erica might call him by his full name to tease him.

She opens the box with a grin, and starts sorting through whatever was inside. "You have to promise not to laugh," she says seriously, before promptly placing a tiara on her head. It's almost comically small.

Valiantly, Scott does not laugh. "That's...something."

Rolling her eyes, she takes the tiara off and sets it on the bed. "You think that's something, wait 'til you see these." After making a big show of shuffling through the box, she pulls out a pair of shoes that manage to look intimidating despite apparently being about a size 3.

"You walked in those when you were 12?" he exclaims, grabbing them. "They must have seven inch heels."

"Four," she corrects, rolling her eyes.

"But you're so...." he pauses, eying her nervously. It's not that Kira isn't graceful, it's just that she's...

"Clumsy?" she asks, grinning.

He shrugs and nods in agreement. Her clumsiness is endearing, even if it does lead him to feel a little bit like he's being punked with this whole..."pageant" thing.

Grinning, she taps her lip. "Hold on, just a minute..." She hops off of the bed and disappears into her closet, this time shutting the door behind her.

He can hear shuffling inside, and the sound of her setting her phone on the floor.

Deciding not to question it and instead to snoop some more, Scott sorts through the box on his own. There was a picture of Kira, six years younger, in a pink dress wearing a sash that declared her the Princess of the Pageant. It was absolutely adorable. He set the picture down gently and pulled out the sash itself. It was small, like the shoes and tiara had been, but obviously good quality, not made of the same polyester they'd worn at graduation for being in the top 10 of their class.

Her dress is there as well, small, pink, and sparkly. When he sets it back down, his hands are covered in silver and pink glitter. "Yuck," he mutters, and looks at the picture of her again.

She looks angelic, even in her extreme youth (though maybe cherubic would have described her better back then). If they'd been friends back in the day, Scott probably would have thought she was the prettiest 12 year old he'd ever seen, even with her big false eyelashes.

The closet door opened and Kira stepped out in the dress she'd worn to prom. "I haven't worn heels this high in a while," she confesses, and then twirls. Her dress floats up, revealing--damn--five inch strappy heels.

He's on his feet before he realizes it, maybe a little anxious and ready to catch her should she stumble.

"I'm a little rusty," she confesses, though the twirl was executed perfectly and she doesn't even sway when she stops, facing him. She's smiling warmly, and even though she's not wearing the pageant makeup or the falsies, she looks stunning.

He turns back to the bed so he doesn't just gape at her for the rest of his life and grabs the tiny tiara. "Princess," he says solemnly, and carefully places the tiara on her gently bowed head.

With her heels, they're about the same height, so once he has the tiara in place, neither of them even have to stretch to lean into each other's space.

He's careful as he touches her waist, mindful of the fabric and how easily it could bunch. It's just a prom dress, he knows, but with her in the shoes and the tiara it feels like more, like something sacred. So he smooths his hand over the curve there gently, not catching the fabric at all. "You are the most beautiful person I've ever met," he murmurs, letting his other hand find hers and intwining their fingers.

She laughs a little and teases, "I forgot how pageantry always makes boys so flustered."

Eyes dropping to her mouth and hand still moving up and down the curve of her waist, he doesn't feel very flustered. He feels enraptured, sure, and definitely enamored. It's so easy to cross those last few inches between them and kiss her.

(He was wrong about the height. She's just a little taller than him in the heels, but he kind of likes leaning up to kiss. He catches more of her bottom lip this way, and it's oh so soft.)

Slowly, he leans back, letting their lips catch and drag. "Who's flustered?" He watches her drop her eyes and slide her hand over his chest to curl around his neck.

She doesn't look very flustered either. "If I'm the princess, what's the prize?"

He makes a big show of thinking about it. "Have you seen Ms. Congeniality? I think you should really be happy your tiara isn't a bomb."

"Knock on wood," Kira says, grinning at him.

"Hmm," he says, swaying gently toward her. He kisses her between each word as he speaks. "I'll be your prize."

She grins, easy, draws him close until their foreheads are touching. "And what does that entail?"

"Anything you want."

Her fingers curl through the hair at the base of his skull and massage his neck. "Anything?"

Scott grins. "Totally."

Laughing, she twirls out of his embrace. "Help me finish packing."

“What do we do?” she moans. “Did you slam your elbow there or something? And didn’t feel anything?”

“I guess,” he mutters, shrugging. He grins at her a little. “It’s kind of funny, though.”

She glares at him. “This is serious.”

“And hilarious.” He wiggles his eyebrows at her, and she almost breaks. His optimism shows up even in the most stressful situations, and as usual, it’s actually bolstering her hope for the situation. Scott McCall is a gift.

Groaning, she steps forward to carefully trace her fingers over the dent. The paint isn’t even chipped, and it’s a shallow mark, but the Camaro is so nice. The dent is noticeable. “How are we going to pay for this? I don’t have a job and my parents won’t give me money to fix a car I dented when I pushed one of my boyfriends against it while trying in vain to give him a hickey,” she rambles, wrapping her arms tight around her waist and spinning around. “Scott. What do I do?”

He still looks fairly unruffled by the situation, and she’s not sure how, because Scott is up to his ears in student loans and still trying to save up some money for veterinary school. “Arby’s is always hiring,” he suggests.

She punches his arm. “That is not a solution!”

He makes a face at her, rubbing his arm absentmindedly. “Look, don’t worry, Derek—“

“Is not going to help us pay to fix a car when we were making out without him,” she interrupts.

“What are you two doing?” someone calls out before Scott can respond.

They both look up to see Derek leaning out of his window, one eyebrow raised in question. They look at each other—Scott beams and Kira grimaces.

“Trying to figure out how to pay for this,” Scott calls out at the same time Kira yells, “Contemplating running away to join the circus.”

Scott glances at her and wryly says, “Told you it was kind of funny.”

Derek frowns down at them. “I was a rodeo clown once,” he says. “Not really something I recommend at this point in your life.”

“Do you have pictures?” Scott asks, delighted.

Derek rolls his eyes. “I’m coming down to see what you two have gotten yourselves into. Don’t move.”

“Scott, holy crap, I’m going to get in so much trouble,” she hisses, covering her face. “My parents are gonna kill me! Or disown me, maybe, I don’t know. Which one do you think would be more shameful?”

Scott gently pulls her hands away from her face. “We don’t have to tell them.”

“Where am I going to get this money?” she demands, but allows him to tug her closer and rest his forehead on hers.

He kisses her nose softly. “Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out. We always do.”

“But—“

“What did you boneheads do to my car?” Derek asks dryly as he approaches them.

Scott kisses her once more, on her mouth this time, and leans back. “No one uses bonehead as an insult anymore, Derek.”

“Shut up, Scott.” He moves forward to examine the small dent on his door. “This?” he questions, looking at Kira.

“Yeah, just there—wait, this is your car?” she demands, suddenly feeling very relieved about how the whole payment thing is going to work out (Derek won’t mind if she nickel-and-dimes it for a couple years) and very annoyed that Scott hadn’t just told her that in the first place.

“Oh, yeah,” Scott says, squeezing her hands gently. “I forgot that you moved here after he started driving the mom car.”

Derek scowls at him over his shoulder. “It is not a mom car.”

“It really is,” Kira confirms, and exhales. She drops Scott’s hands and moves to stand by Derek. “We’re really sorry, though. We’ll pay you back, I promise. It just might…take a while.”

He stands up, smiling at her easily. “I can take the door apart and hammer it out myself. Don’t even worry about it.”

“It’s such a nice car, though,” she sighs. “We ruined it.”

“No, Scott did that the last time I let him drive it.”

Scott clutched his heart. “I drove your car perfectly.”

“You ruined the brakes.”

“You’re such a liar,” he says, but it’s fond.

Derek makes that face he does when he wants to laugh but can’t do it because he’s in public, and someone might see him and suspect he’s not a spooky monster of the night. “Whatever.”

“You should let us make it up to you, though,” Scott says, closing the distance between them. “Like, we could—“

“Let me choose the movie tonight?” Derek interrupts.

“Not what I meant,” he says, frowning. “But okay, I guess.”

Kira laughs when Derek picks Rodgers and Hammerstein’s Cinderella again, even though he’s made them watch it at least five times. Scott doesn’t even complain until the reprise of “In My Own Little Corner,” and even then, he only says, “You’re the worst,” before dragging Derek down to make out with him in Kira’s lap.

Kira scratches her fingers through Derek’s hair and quietly hums along. Pretty soon, she’ll know all the words, but in the meantime, Scott’s tugging on her arm and trying to draw her into the tangle of limbs moving across the couch. She goes with a small laugh.

When Scott finally has enough money saved up to afford at least some school, he gets into UC Davis and takes out one student loan. The electric company Kira works for is really sad to see her go, but she can’t stand the thought of any more time spent apart from him, so she gives her 2 weeks notice, rents an apartment in Sacramento, and applies for several positions. She spends a lot of time working on her resume while Scott is working on homework. Usually she’ll be sitting on the couch, one leg stretched out so her foot is tucked under Scott’s lap, and the other crossed under her own leg. He gets a lap desk because he likes to sit on the couch with her while he works. Sometimes she falls asleep out there and he carries her to bed, sometimes it happens the other way around. Kira has been doing strength training with Braeden, by the way. She even lifts, bro.

They get married before Scott finishes vet school, after he’s taken out his second loan. Their marriage is in the fall, in the Beacon Hills preserve. Lydia plans it as a way to distract herself from her graduate thesis, paints them in reds and golds and ivories. There’s a picture Melissa snapped of the two of them, where Kira is wearing Scott’s jacket over her wedding dress, and the two of them are holding hands. They’re smiling so huge and adorably and it’s even better because Melissa had just called out to them and taken the picture when they turned to look at her. Stiles was Scott’s best man, of course, and Lydia was the maid of honor. 

Scott does finish vet school before their first daughter is born. They name her Allison without really discussing it beyond Kira telling him that’s what they’ll name her over her scrambled eggs and ketchup. He was grimacing at her food, but he smiled when she said it.