mayfield_rpg | ~forty-six~ [Brokefield]

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~forty-six~ [Brokefield]

[Phone]

To whomever destroyed the machine in the Dairy, I'd like to say this:

Investigate before blowing things up like an idiot. You'd have saved everyone a lot of trouble.

[Yeah, she mad. The creeping headache that she's had since coming out of her droning isn't helping her mood.]

[Action A: around town]

[As the day goes on, her headache is accompanied by an ache in her chest that almost resembles a heart attack. Erring on the side of caution--there's no respawn, after all--she decides to go to the hospital and get it checked out.

All tests come back negative, and the doctors laugh her out the door. "Silly, hysterical woman!" they say. "Maybe you've been working with patients for too long, you're beginning to think you're catching things from them!" Never mind that she knows cardiovascular disease isn't contagious.

So, angrier than she was in the morning, she's talking a walk to let off some steam. And munching. So much munching.

If you get too close, even by accident, she's throwing one of her snacks at you.]

[Action B: 726 Anderson Lane, closed to questionauthority]

[Ema's head and chest pains aren't getting any better, so she's decided to hide out with her boyfriend for awhile. Maybe if she gets some rest, she'll be able to kick the pain and feel like a human being.

Although a big part of her doubts it. Really, what she wants right now is to not be alone--needing peace and quiet is just an excuse.

Knock knock.]

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[The door opens, and Edward Nigma pops into view. His eyes are somewhat bleary, and for a second? It almost looks as if he doesn't see her at all. But very quickly, he snaps to attention.]

Ema. Is everything all right?

[Whether he realizes it or not, his hand's fallen to the back of his head, cautiously rubbing as if to ward off some hidden pain.]

No.

[Ema reaches up and rubs at one of her temples in a futile attempt to get the pain to stop.]

People are idiots and my head hurts and my chest hurts and the doctors in the hospital just laughed at me when I went to have them look me over.

Slow down. [He seethes, tending to his headache once again.] And come inside. I'll see if I can find you some aspirin.

I've tried aspirin. It doesn't help.

[But she lets him lead her inside, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. It doesn't help, but it makes her feel a bit better regardless.]

I was hoping going somewhere quiet might help.

I know just the place.

[Draping an arm around her shoulders for support, he guides her further along and down to the basement. When it comes to getting into the Hall of Doom, though, he stumbles a bit. The way he twists the jar to open the main entrance is a bit jerky, and when it comes to unlocking his private quarters, it takes him several tries to actually navigate the crook of his cane into the right slot. This headache, or whatever it is, is definitely beginning to impair his fine motor skills.

But soon enough, they're in his private room at the very back of his bunker. The quietest place he can think of.]

[Ema watches. And frowns. Something's wrong.]

Are you okay?

Maybe we should lie down together. It looks like you can use some rest, too.

[Not to mention that she's starting to get a bit scared.]

Of course I'm okay. [The response is more snappish than he intends.] It's just a headache, I'll be---I'll be...

[Lie down together? ...suddenly, rest sounds like an excellent idea. He drops the ire from his voice and his cane to the ground with an undignified clang. It makes him wince. A little.]

Fine.

[Ema glowers at him. She's not in the mood for his attitude.]

Edward, don't be an ass right now.

[A pause, then, a bit softer.]

Please.

Let's just go curl up.

[Edward nods. Slowly, carefully, so as not to agitate the pounding sensation in his head even more. Still holding onto her, he guides her along to the large chair just behind his command console. He slides into it first, leaning back before pulling Ema down to seat herself on his lap.]

[Without a word, Ema curls up in his lap. He's warm and comfortable and familiar, all of which she needs right now. Although that hat of his is in the way, so off it goes--she reaches up, pulls it off, and sets it on the console out of her way.

When turning back to Edward, Ema notices something. Squinting, she brushes back a bit of his hair.]

Is that a scar...?

[Up to this point, Eddie was perfectly content in allowing himself some comfort. But at Ema's inquiry, one eye snaps back open.]

What...? Where?

Here.

[She reaches over and runs a thumb over the spot on his forehead where the circular scar is. It looks like a healed-over gunshot wound.

Slowly, through the pain and the anger, things start to piece together. No wonder her head and chest are bothering her--she's taken a fatal bullet to both. The destruction of the regeneration system seems to have consequences more dire than simply returning normal mortality.

Dammit.]

Have... you've been shot in the head before, right...?

[At first, he almost wonders if one of his old scars from back in Gotham has finally decided to make an appearance once again. But when she mentions getting shot in the head...]

Grady. [It takes him a moment to answer, but he remembers.] Grady shot me last January, after I... When we were...

[After he sabotaged their investigation of the Smith home, attempting to turn Ema and Scout in as criminals in order to gain favor with Grady. He'd wanted Edward to kill them personally, but he didn't. So Grady did the deed instead, shooting Scout, then shooting Ema in the chest...

Chest pains. Chest pains. The look of horror in his eyes should indicate that he's starting to understand exactly what's going on right now.]

Edited 2012-01-27 18:28 (UTC)

[Their eyes meet, and Ema's expression mirrors his. Suddenly, she seems a lot less angry at the universe and a lot more afraid of it.]

If it's just residual pain, we should be--

[She's cut off by a sudden, violent coughing fit followed by a bit of wheezing. When her body finally calms down and she manages to take a deep breath, there's blood pooled in the palm of her hand and an unpleasant coppery taste in her mouth. Quickly, she processes the empirical data. Tuberculosis? Highly unlikely.

Internal bleeding and rupturing lungs is more probably the cause.

Her wound from a year ago is coming back. She's dying from it again, this time with no promise of resurrection. Part of her is, understandably, furious. This isn't how she's supposed to die, dammit! They're supposed to get out, they're supposed to defeat their keepers, they're supposed to survive.

The rest of her, strangely enough, is almost at peace with this. After all, it's a year overdue. Even if it's what she's always feared, somehow being faced with it takes away its power. If nothing else, she dies with the knowledge that she was right.

Not that she really wants to die. Not here. Not now.

Even though she knows Edward saw it all, she quickly clenches her fist and hides her hand.]

P-post nasal drip. I must be coming down with something....

[Even when not faced with her own mortality, Ema isn't a good liar.]

Shut up.

[His words are a dangerous growl, but he's absolutely terrified. He's beginning to panic, though he's trying desperately to keep his cool. He knows she's lying. That she... no, that both of them are dying. Edward's been shot in the forehead, skewered in the temple, and bashed over the back of his skull. For now, it's just a heavy migraine. But eventually, he could die of severe brain trauma three times over.

With no chance of revival for either one of them.]

This can't be happening. This can't be happening.

[He doesn't even try and take her hand to confirm the blood he suspects he already saw. Instead, he clutches her closer to his trembling body, refusing to let go. She's his. And over the course of a year, the two of them have already mended the wounds he's given her. Mayfield can't take her away from him like this.]

This isn't fair.

No, it's not.

[Under normal circumstances, Ema probably would have snapped at him for the tone he's just taken with her.

Instead, she curls into him as he pulls her closer, grateful to have him here. It's starting to hurt to breathe, and each breath comes in a painful, wet-sounding rasp. The entrance wound hasn't reappeared, but all of the internal damage the bullet did is slowly regenerating inside of her chest. She feels like she's drowning, which scientifically speaking she kind of is. Only with more blood and more pain.

She coughs again, this time into his shoulder--a splattering of crimson across green.

What part of her had made peace with the fact that this was inevitable is quickly swallowed by the fear that comes along with the fact that she's actively dying. The anger of the injustice of it is consumed just as quickly.

When she speaks, her voice in uncharacteristically soft.]

I don't want to die.

[The Riddler winces as she coughs, as her blood stains his suit. Shakes his head in an almost numb sort of denial.]

No. No, no, no, no, you can't. I won't let you---

[His eyes squeeze tightly shut as he fights back against the dull throbbing sensation in the back of his head. After an agonizing moment, the pain in his head subsides. The pain in his heart does not.

He didn't pull the trigger on that fateful day but he might as well have. She died because of him back then. And she's dying because of him now. This is all his fault. Her blood is on his hands again.

Finally, he opens his eyes. They're growing blearier and beginning to sting. He tries to keep his voice level but it's starting to break. Just like him.]

Stay with me. [He doesn't want to beg, he doesn't want to---] Ema, please...

Edited 2012-01-27 21:39 (UTC)

I-I want to.

[And she means that. However, it's the extent of what she can promise; she's fighting to stay alive a bit longer, but the way this conversation will end is inevitable. Hearing his voice break like this is almost as painful as her physical injury, but there is nothing that can be done to alleviate either.]

Edward, I... I'm glad that... [The words are escaping her like sand between her fingers. After a pause (during which she hacks up more blood) she finds the phrasing and continues.] If it happened now... you'd act differently.

This... this was a year ago... you've changed. You're better...

[Trembling, she reaches up and cups his cheek. It's the hand she coughed into before, but she's not really aware of it as she smear a bit of her blood onto his face. Tactile sensations are fading, and she's growing cold.]

Just... just stay here with me... until I go... I don't want to be alone...

[Edward's changed? He's better? At this point in time, he really can't agree with her.

He's barely even aware of the blood on his face either, cupping a hand over her wrist to keep her in place. If she hasn't lost her sense of touch yet, she might be able to feel the way his head shakes beneath the palm of her hand. It's unclear whether or not this is from him in denial or from the violent afflictions that are starting to grip him, too.]

I don't--- [He gulps back what could be a sob.] I don't want to be alone either...

I know. But... but I can't stay...

I'm sorry.

[She very gently brushes her fingers along his cheek, the movement almost imperceptible, as tears begin stinging in her eyes. The pain's fading, probably because her neurological system is starting to shut down and can't send the proper messages to her brain anymore. It's simultaneously alarming and a relief.]

I... love you. I just... need to say that... before... I can't hold on... anymore...

[Nope. Edward can't keep the tears out of his eyes, either. He knows what he should say. He should tell her he loves her, giving them both one last Moment before he has to let her go. But he can't let go. She shouldn't be dying. This isn't how it's all supposed to end. He can't lose her forever. He refuses to accept that.]

Ema...

[To her credit, Ema tries to smile for him. There's nothing she can do for herself, but Edward's falling apart and she's slipping away and won't be able to keep him from hurting (and, quite probably, doing something stupid). Even if she can't do anything else, even if she's barely able to feel the warmth from his body or the firmness of his hold, she can smile to try and reassure him.

All she can manage is a twitch of her facial muscles. Hopefully, he'll be able to interpret what it's supposed to be.]

Edward...

[It's clear that she intends to continue with some statement, but that moment the focus in her eyes slowly fades away. Her body first goes rigid, then lax. The hand he's holding feels heavier as Ema no longer has any life to hold it up herself, and a soft exhale of air is the last noise she makes.

Blood runs down her face from a newly-opened wound in her forehead. After all, Grady's execution last January isn't the only bullet she's taken in Mayfield.

Her eyes remain open, staring blankly into nothingness. Even though she no longer inhabits the body to which they belong, the last of her tears spill over and down her cheeks.]

[No. No.]

Ema...? [He stares back into those eyes of hers, searching desperately for something but to no avail. She isn't looking at him anymore.

She's gone now.

Forever.

Even after she's passed on, he refuses to let go, burying his face in the nape of her neck, body racked with pathetic sobs. He doesn't care that her blood's getting everywhere, staining his clothing, his hair, and his face. She can't return his embrace right now, and that alone seems to make him clutch her even more tightly. As if he could wish her back to life. But nothing's going to change the fact that she's dead and it's all his...

No. Not his fault.

Mayfield's fault. Things have changed in this past year. Ema's said as much herself. They're the ones who decided to reopen all those old wounds. They're the ones who killed her.

They're the ones who could bring her back. They could fix all of this.

It hurts to breathe, but Edward eventually forces himself to take a few deep, heavy breaths to steady himself as he pulls away from Ema's lifeless form in his lap. There's a dangerous, incredibly volatile look in his eyes.

He'll make them fix all of this.]

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~forty-six~ [Brokefield]

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