Hear No Evil

Sweet Little Mary Sue

Synopsis: Bane was a survivor, he'd proven that numerous times throughout his life, but this might be one time that he'll wish he'd succumbed to his injuries. He's a broken man, even more so now than he was before, and there's one who wishes to fix him, for his own nefarious purposes, and one who wishes to protect him, simply because he was placed in her care, but who will prove triumphant in the end?

Disclaimer: I don't own any part of the Batman universe, but I have invited some of the characters over for a play date. I was smitten with Bane (as well as Tom Hardy) before I watched The Dark Knight Rises, but fell completely head-over-heels while I watched him command the screen, and hope that I do his character justice in this story. That being said, I fully claim Malayna as belonging to me, along with any and all that she brings into the story with her.

A Note from the Author: For those who know me, and my stories, you are aware of the fact that I have a tendency to take guys who are bad and attempt to soften them up just a little bit, and I will more than likely do this with Bane as well. This is a warning that you'd do best not to proceed with this story if this sort of thing bothers and/or offends you. However, if you don't mind, or, you're simply curious, please enjoy…just don't send me hateful, soul-crushing criticism afterward, if you please, considering the fact that I did take the time to warn you.

Hear Ye, Hear Ye: This story is rated M for violence, mild to moderate cursing, and a variety of citrus smuttiness.

Chapter One

Talking Without Speaking

Malayna's POV

There are times that I believe it is a blessing to be deaf, not many, mind you, but when I see people arguing, their faces mottled and livid, I am thankful that I don't have to hear their angry, hateful words. When I see a child crying, looking as though their heart is being torn in two, I am grateful that I can't hear their wails, because the sight of their tears is painful enough. I can remove myself from the sorrow in the world if I want to, because I can't hear it. I can choose what I see and what I don't see, but I remember enough of my time before I lost my hearing to know that those around me who aren't exactly like me have no choice in what they hear and what they don't hear.

This will not be my first time working with my newest patient, but I am just as nervous as I was on my first day with him, more so, even, because I know that they mean to wake him up, and I'm not certain that I'm ready to see his eyes open just yet. It's not that I don't want him to wake up, his care is in my hands, and his awakening will signify a step forward in his recovery…I'm just afraid of what I will see in his eyes when they open, knowing, as I do, what sort of man he was…what sort of man he is.

My hands were trembling as I neared his room, the one with the door flanked by not one police officer, but two, both of whom looked as though they ate nails for breakfast, lunch and dinner. My heart was racing, and I could feel the beginnings of a cold sweat breaking out all over my body as I showed the officers my identification and nodded dumbly to whatever they said, too preoccupied with the task at hand, the one that involved me not fainting to read their lips…I just hoped that I hadn't agreed to anything that I would come to regret.

Dr. Westin was standing at the foot of the patient's bed, perusing the contents of his chart, emanating the same pompous air that he always did, and Minda Pryor, the RN in charge of the wing housing the single most dangerous man in all of Gotham City, simpered and flirted by his side, just as she always did whenever the good doctor was nearby. Both of them ignored me, just as I'd hoped, and expected, they would, and I made my way inside and took a deep breath as quietly as possible as I slowly approached my patient.

I made myself look busy until the others had left the room, and then I made my way to the window, closing the shades so that the room was bathed mostly in darkness. He hadn't wakened during his stay, at least, he hadn't when I was on duty, but I'd noticed that he seemed to rest easier when the room was dark, and I was quick to rectify the situation whenever my shift began. Once that was done I checked his vitals, despite the fact that Minda had already done so, and once that was accomplished I made my way to the tray that rested on the tabletop opposite of his bed, to prep to change his bandages and his catheter.

I'd already tried to calm myself, but despite my best efforts my hands continued to shake, which made the tray move around on the tabletop, and I could only imagine the sounds that it was making. It was a good thing for me that he was asleep, and wouldn't notice my fumbling, otherwise he might fear the fact that his life was in my hands, though he had a lot less to worry about while he was with me, as opposed to the others. He was over a year into his treatment, an anniversary that had marked my assignment as one of his nurses, and it was no secret that the others, both nurses and doctors, weren't all that concerned about whether he lived or died…they only did what they did for the huge paycheck that they received to keep him alive.

I ought to have been ashamed with myself, because I knew that a good deal of my nervousness around my patient was due to the fact that he fascinated me. I ought to have been filled with mortification because I knew that I responded to him in a way that I had no business even thinking about. I was aware of him in ways that I'd never known with another man, I'd memorized every last inch of him, from top to bottom. I knew his smell, I knew the feel of his hands, and his arms, the muscles that had once been defined, but which had recently grown atrophied from all of the time that had passed with him lying immobile in his bed. These were the things that made me nervous when I was in his presence, not because of fear of him, but because of fear of myself, and all that I thought and felt whenever I was close to him.

His face was still covered for the most part by a mask, not the menacing metal mask that he'd worn while he terrorized Gotham City, but the plastic sort, which pumped oxygen into his lungs on a steady basis. His pain medication was administered to him intravenously now, a ceaseless stream that flowed into his body, along with a constant supply of saline, to keep him hydrated, but there were times when I wondered if the medication truly kept his pain at bay, or if it merely took the edge off, particularly when he seemed restless and agitated, and thrashed his head back and forth on a sweat soaked pillow.

Today he was calm, I'd noticed that the moment that I'd walked through the door, and I found myself envying his serenity. I wished that I could be half that calm, at the very least, and continued to take deep breaths as I moved away from the table for a moment, washing my hands and slipping on a pair of sterile white gloves before I opened packages and readied my supplies, reminding myself the entire time that I was a professional, that his wellbeing was in my hands, and he deserved someone who could do her job to the best of her abilities, not a nervous, shaking ninny who was nursing a crush on one of the most dangerous men in existence.

"This wouldn't have happened to you if you had a man in your life."

The voice in my head, which sounded eerily and uncannily like my dearly departed Granny had an annoying habit of offering up sage bits of advice when I least wanted them, and his time was no different, though I couldn't help but see the logic in that line of thinking. Maybe if I'd found someone to share my life with I wouldn't have been so susceptible to the charms of a terrorist, but then I remembered that Bane had yet to awaken, at least in my presence, so he hadn't even tried to charm me, and it was doubtful that he ever would. I told Granny that she ought to keep her opinions to herself, which sounded good, though I suspected that I would miss the sound of her voice, which I remembered clear as day, despite the fact that I hadn't heard it in twenty years, if it were to suddenly leave my consciousness.

"I nag because I worry, sweetheart," Granny said softly, and I smiled, grateful that she'd decided to stay, knowing, as she always did, that I needed her with me, no matter what I said. "You have to be careful. A storm's coming, sweetheart, one that is unlike any you've seen before, one whose origin is wrapped up in that man laying behind you. Heed the warnings, Malayna…trust what you know, not what you see…You have to promise me that you'll be safe, sweetheart. I lost your Momma and your Papa…I couldn't bear it if I were to lose you too."

I might have pointed out to Granny that she had already lost me, because she was dead and I was alive, but I didn't. I reasoned that it was one thing to hear those who'd passed on from this world, but it was another barrel of monkey's altogether to converse with them. I had enough problems to contend with as it was without my sanity being questioned…though I suppose it was highly unlikely that anyone would ever find out, since my conversations with Granny always took place inside my head…..

I felt the box of tissues that rested beside Bane's bed graze ever so lightly across the top of my head before it crashed against the wall and slid down to rest atop the supplies that I'd taken so much time to straighten and organize. I knew that I was alone in the room with him, because I could see the door that led out into the hallway from the corner of my eye, which left only one available culprit…it would seem that my patient had awakened all on his own, and with a frantically beating heart I turned to look at him, and felt myself stagger beneath the intensity of his gaze.

It would seem that Granny had been right when she predicted that storm, when she foresaw that he would be the source of the tempest, I just had to wonder if she had seen what my reaction to the danger that now faced me would be…because I had an overwhelming feeling that I was on the path of doing what I oughtn't, of choosing to trust what I saw, rather than what I knew, and the scariest thing of all was that I chose to take that first step anyway.

Bane's POV

The doctor and the nurse converse with one another at the foot of my bed, but despite the fact that he holds my chart in his hands, while she changes the spent bag of saline for one that is full; their discussion has nothing whatsoever to do with me. They speak of the things that they wish to do to one another, or, rather, what she wishes to do to him, in a cheap and sordid motel room, while his oblivious wife loses herself in a haze brought about by a strong dose of pain killers, antidepressants and sleeping pills, paying no mind to the fact that her husband is not at home, nor to the trio of children who've grown accustomed to fending for themselves, simply because their parents don't care about whether they live or die.

Well…perhaps I made a bit of that up inside my head. It's a thing that I find myself doing more and more of late, while I'm lying in my bed, feigning sleep while the pain throughout my body drives me to the brink of insanity. It is true that the nurse propositioned the doctor, something that she did frequently, I would imagine, but I have no idea whether their affair takes place in a cheap and sordid motel room. Perhaps he means to take her in the spacious backseat of the luxury sedan that he drives, or maybe he'll go back to her domicile. As for his wife and children, I simply made them up, because though I know that the good doctor is indeed married, I have no idea what sort of woman his wife is, nor do I know anything of their children, if they even have any children.

They take their leave as the quiet one arrives, and I allow myself to relax somewhat, despite the pain and misery, because I know that this one is different from the others. They don't show any sort of care or compassion in their work to make me whole, perhaps because they see me as a subhuman creature, and they don't care whether I'm ever complete again…or maybe they simply don't care, period. I don't know the exact source of their contempt toward me; I have several speculations, but no absolute truths. All that I know for certain is that she's different…she actually seems to care whether I live or die, and that is very perplexing to me.

She always closes the blinds, sparing me the glare of the sunlight, and I am grateful to her for that small consideration. She is also gentle when she touches me, she seems to be bothered by any signs that I am in severe pain or distress. I have come to depend on her kindnesses, which is to be expected, I suppose, but what's disturbing to me is the fact that I've begun enjoying them, on a more physical level, and the touch of her hand has become somewhat dangerous for me, in regard to my self-control.

I couldn't say for certain when I'd truly taken notice of her, beyond the general impressions of a petite woman with dark hair and eyes who had small, soft hands that were capable of so much gentleness. If I think about it very hard, I believe that I can pinpoint it to the hints of perfume that always wafted around her, a musky, yet floral scent, that was pleasant, when it ought to have been noxious and overpowering, like the perfume worn by the other nurse, the adulterous one. That was what caught my attention first, I'm certain of that, but that wasn't all that I took notice of.

Next it was her hands, and how they felt on my skin, and my body amazingly began to react, despite my pain, and I worried and wondered how I would hide my condition from her, once the time arrived for my bandages and my catheter to be changed. She was certain to notice the transformation that came over me, and all that I could hope for was that she would assume that my reaction to her was an involuntary one.

I cautiously opened one of my eyes and found her straightening her supplies on a table opposite from my bed, with her back turned to me. Her long, dark hair was drawn back into a ponytail, and she was wearing a colorful smock, one that was adorned with flowers in a variety of blues, which ought to have been ghastly, but which suited her perfectly. Most people would have hummed to themselves while they went about the sort of task that she was performing, or possibly even talked to themselves, but she was quiet, as always, and I found myself wondering what her voice sounded like, a curiosity that plagued me, until I was encouraged to speak to her, even as I knew that I oughtn't.

"I believe that the time for my pain relief has come and gone," I said, wincing when I heard the creaky, scratchiness of my long dormant voice, thinking it soft and weak without my mask. "Would you please rectify that for me, my dear?"

No response.

It was almost as though I hadn't even made the effort to speak, and her disregard stung a good deal more than it ought to. I was accustomed to the indifference of the others, it was what I had come to expect, but she was supposed to be different. Of course, I knew that she didn't have the authority to administer my medication anyway, but that wasn't the point. The point was that I wanted her to speak to me; I wanted her to be the first one that I communicated with, not that damned lothario doctor or his paramour nurse, but her, the little mouse.

"I need my dose of pain relief," I said, striving for a tone that was a bit louder, giving her the benefit of the doubt that she hadn't heard my rasping voice the first time around. "Could you arrange that for me, please?"

No response.

I was beginning to feel a bit cross with the little mouse. I could understand, and appreciate her ability to be quiet, but there were times when silence was golden, and then there were times like this one, when to remain uncommunicative could, and would be construed as being impolite. I wasn't in the habit of being ignored, and the fact that she was blatantly doing so both annoyed and disappointed me. I was already in a mood that could be called stormy, at best, and I told myself that was the reason that I behaved so childishly, because I honestly didn't want to examine any reasons that might have existed beyond that, no matter how accurate they may have been.

I moved to take hold of the box of tissues resting beside my bed, ignoring my screaming muscles as I drew back my arm and tossed the box at her, intending to throw it well above her, which meant that I winced somewhat as I watched it caress the top of her head before it smacked against the wall, and then I laid back against my pillows and waited for the furor to begin, thinking to myself, just a little belatedly, that my choice for getting her attention might have been a foolish one.

She'd jumped when the box brushed over the top of her head, an action that she repeated when it smacked against, and then bounced off of the wall, hitting the table in front of her and sending her supplies tumbling this way and that. She seemed to take a deep breath, and then she turned to look at me, and I felt myself stagger somewhat from the jumble of emotions in her eyes. There was fear, as well as anger, but also confusion, which I hadn't expected and therefore caught me off-guard.

She turned and retrieved the box of tissues, then slowly made her way to my bedside, visibly shaking, but resolute none the less. I could see that it made her nervous to be so close to me, now that I was awake and watching her, but she valiantly made her move and returned the box to its rightful place, then stopped at my side and raised one eyebrow, cocking her head to the side as if to ask me a question, and that was when I had an epiphany, a painfully embarrassing one at that.

"You couldn't hear me, could you?" I asked slowly, pulling down my oxygen mask so that she could see my mouth form each word. "That was why you didn't answer me, wasn't it, and not because you were simply ignoring me?"

Her bewildered look didn't fade completely, but she nodded her head in agreement, then raised her eyebrow and cocked her head once more, and though I was usually fairly quick on the draw, it took me a moment to realize that her movements were her way of asking me about my previous query, the one that I'd assumed she'd ignored out of spite, despite her previous kindnesses, which showed a wealth of stupidity on my part, I had to say.

"I told you that my pain medication was overdue," I said, careful to keep my words slow and clearly formed. "I asked if you would please see about procuring the dose for me, that is, if you would ask the one in charge to bring it to me, please."

She would have been well within her rights to tell me no, I wouldn't have blamed her for that answer, but instead she nodded, and started to turn, to head toward the door, but was stopped when I reached out and took hold of her hand in mine, pulling her back toward the bed. There were sounds in the hallway, of gunshots and commotion, far away at first, then gradually moving closer, which she, of course, couldn't hear. I wasn't certain what, or rather, who was coming toward us, but I knew that she was safer where she was at that moment, no matter how scared she may have been of me, than she was outside of my room…at least that was what I thought until the door burst open and a man garbed all in white entered, surrounded on all sides by men who were armed to the teeth.

"Good afternoon," he said, in a voice that was a mixture of menacing geniality and wispy sarcasm that immediately set my teeth on edge. "It is good to see that you are awake, Bane. I hope that you are ready to go back to work, for there is much that needs to be done and little time to do it in."

His smile was just as blindingly white as his clothing, but it died in an instant when he spotted the little mouse. "Get rid of her," he snapped, his voice losing all its hints of geniality. "Put her with the others and get Mr. Bane ready to travel."

I was in no shape whatsoever to come to her aid, but I knew that I couldn't stand by and watch while she was dragged away to a certain death. In the end I was spared any feelings of helplessness where she was concerned as she moved to stand in front of me, holding out her hands on both sides of her body, as if to protect me, filling me with both shock and indignation.

I was touched that she wished to defend me, it proved that she cared, but the idea that a bitty mouse would fight my battles for me was too much for my pride to take at that fragile moment, and I strove to rise from the bed, an action that proved futile as every muscle in my body screamed out in agony and I fell back against the mattress, gasping for breath.

"Don't hurt her," I said, hating the pleading that I heard in my voice when I would have hoped to sound commanding. "She comes with me, or I don't come at all."

It was no doubt the utmost of temerity, to be making demands of any sort when one was facing down a room filled with heavily armed men, but there wasn't much that could be lost at that point, considering all that had been taken away from me, and surprisingly enough the man in white smiled, and nodded his head at me before turning back to address his men.

"Bring the girl, she might prove useful," he said, snapping them into action. "And if she doesn't, Mr. Bane, I will follow through on my first order…are we clear on that?"

I understood him perfectly…and relished the possibility of correcting him if, or, rather when he tried.