a/n: This is my first Batman fic (be gentle), but I really love the whole Bane/Talia dynamic, especially when considering their history. I'm not sure entirely sure where this is going, but I know that I want to elaborate on their relationship. Since most of their story is veiled, a vast majority of this story is going to be headcanon, which means it's going to be really fluid. I don't know if there's going to be any smut later on, but do expect swearing/violence/triggers, etc. If you are triggered by mentions of rape/violence, it might be best to avoid this one.

Also, I don't own any of the characters, TDKR storyline, etc. Everything belongs to DC and the Nolanverse, except for this plot.

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There was a kind of beauty in the Pit. Talia reveled in it, once she could understand it. She understood a lot of things, even though she was still small and scrawny and perched on tiptoes like an injured bird. She took comfort in knowing that there was a way out of here, to a pale sky, whipped with wispy clouds. It was a round stretch of hope that hundreds of sunken and vacant eyes desperately clung to. Talia knew that one day, she would leave. She couldn't now, not without her protector, not without Bane. She couldn't leave him. She had to be sure the time would be right.

She knew in her heart, though he was made of muscle and flesh and bone, he was much different from her. Set apart by the struggling in the dark and melancholy of being old and smart enough to know that you are condemned to suffer. When he thought no one was looking there was an abysmal feel to his eyes that Talia did not quite comprehend. They were like oceans, miles deep and dark that swallowed her up if she stared too long. It was a comfort to know that he was not all brazen and ferocity, that there was a tenderness only seen by herself that neither of them truly understood or cared to investigate. They just were, together, in an almost innocent fashion (as innocent as one could be in a prison like this), and they will always be. She would never let him go and he would never let her leave, and when the cold of the desert swept in with the sand and the cries of women and men, he held her to him and they understood everything clearly and quietly.

At first she told herself, a small, delicate girl of five, that they slept together just for the heat, like her and her mother did before she was ripped from her. The Pit really was a cold place, hardened by the thousands of souls who passed through there, the air rippling with fear and blood and piss all the time. With each man or woman, the rippling grew to a kind of vibrating and then became consuming. During the day, when she walked alone through the prison, she felt nearly suffocated by it. It was amazing that so much filth and raw emotion could spill into the air. People clipped their words and fingered their knives and kept to themselves or to their gangs of langy, weak-willed men. They watched each other with lecherous eyes and sallow skin. The Pit welcomed these kind of scum; rapists and thieves and murders alike, with open arms as if it was a sentient being, rejoicing in the feeding of human suffering and anger. And the scum delivered, constantly, as if being furious and foolish always was the only way to be. It was tradition for fights to break out over everything, especially food, but Talia was always spared from this, because of Bane.
"Come now, little one, you must eat before you starve," he would speak to her roughly, as if burdened by her, at least in the beginning. He always shoved the food at her, watching out of the corner of his eyes to make sure she didn't push it away.
And so as the nights drew longer and the wind bit into them beneath the blanket, Talia would struggle closer, her tiny fawn like body somehow fitting perfectly against his chest, with a thick arm around her back. She nestled her head on his sturdy chest, clinging at him in the night. She knew that this was more than heat. It was pure human contact, the joy of not being alone in a place so desperate. She reveled in this too, and most nights she couldn't sleep without his arms around her. In her mind's eye each night she saw them escaping together, free of the iron bars and creeping eyes that trailed over them both, tugging at clothes, pricking hot like needles into their backs. And in those dreams, she also saw her life beyond with him, and they were always together. Even in her subconscious, the thought of leaving Bane was too much to bear. There are certain kinds of bonds that do not break when freed of their responsibility.

During the days of winter, Bane trained her with what he knew on combat and skill and stealth. To keep warm, they did reps of crunches, sit ups, pushups, pullups, and so on. Her body had grown nimble and swift, though she still handled a shank sloppily. Bane doubted her heart if presented with the hands of greedy men who watch Bane slice her growing hair close to the scalp. One day, they will see through her short hair and hardening eyes. And because of this, he would continue to watch over her, to train her.
Bane had always known. Since the day she was born he knew that she was not of what she seemed. Her cries echoed throughout the Pit, and even the most vacant of men turned their heads for a moment, as if remembering some long forgotten wish. As she grew older, somehow surviving longer than anyone had expected with her weakened mother, she grew quiet and bright eyed. There was a glowing about her almost always, as if the dirt and grime of the Pit could only get her pores and swipe lost runes of the earth on her arms. She might be filthy but she always glowed, shining as thought her mother's love and the ignorance of the fragility of life had left a real imprint that was strong and deep seated within her. It was something Bane could never not notice about her. Talia gave him more hope than any breathe of wind or glimpse of blue sky.

As they trained together, sweaty and tired, they ate rice and bread or whatever rations had been sent down to them for that day. Drinking bitter tea and even some nights, laughing, they carved out a niche in the Pit that kept them alive. When no food was brought or the water stopped for days on end, they clung to themselves and their memories and sometimes each other. Talia had stopped weeping the night of her mother's death, and she refused to do so again, but hunger pangs and lack of sleep will get to any young child. Her insides were raw and hollow, bloodied lips bit to stop the cries. She started doing pushups on the dirty cement and Bane watched her with silent, curious eyes. She was getting stronger. Moisture dripped from her nose to the floor with a dull splash.

The push and pull of Bane and Talia's existence was becoming more normal for her. She had been with him for one year today. Her mother had been dead for one year today. She would be turning another year older in the following weeks, but her age had lost its meaning to her. Age means nothing in a place like this, where any man would have you just to remember the feel of their wives or whores. She remembers the bruises on her upper arms and the fear of having them inside of her. One year ago, Talia had almost been destroyed by those men, but Bane had rescued her. One day she would fully understand how thankful she was to him for this.

...

One grey morning, the dawn of her birth date arrived, but it was forgotten and swept away in the bitter biting wind. Watching her laugh against his hand has he swatted her away from trying to climb up his leg, Bane felt himself smile under his scarf. She was still… innocent.
He would never forget the sounds of Talia's mother in labour, because he had so vehemently hated the idea of a women giving birth here. No one should be born here. The shadows of the Pit shaped him into a person that some days was indiscernible to him. Darkness had made him, and now it would make that child. He wondered if it would ever break a stranger's neck as swiftly as he could. If one day that child would destroy a hundred men and not regret any drop of blood of their hands, no remorse or deep longing to be cleansed. Those feelings of useless sentiment would fade into a dull throb, more like a forgotten injury that merely protests after a long period of time without exercising it. They would find vengeance and satisfaction in making the enemy quiver, in giving them their reckoning, in retribution. They would enjoy it, just like he did.

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a/n: Thanks so much for reading! Reviews/Critcism/Advice is greatly appreciated. Do you think it jumps around to much? I was kind of playing with the idea of omniscience and focusing on Talia and Bane in the present, then their memories. I'm going to see TDKR again tonight so I might even write Ch2. God, I have so many Batman feels.