Now, this is my very first fan fiction, so please be kind.

I was looking through all of the lovely Bane x Talia fan fictions on here, and I didn't find any that explored the idea of them possibly escaping. I feel like there was plenty of room for them to have possibly survived, so here is the beginning of my exploration on the notion.

Rated M for some future smut.

Please leave some feedback! It would be greatly appreciated!

These lovely characters do not belong to me, as much as I wish they did...

- When the Moon Rises -

"Hell froze over."

"What?" Gordon glanced up at the blonde officer standing before him.

The clipboard against the young officer's chest lifted a fraction as he stood straighter. "I said hell froze over, Commissioner."

Gordon nodded slowly and looked back down.

It was over.

The chaos, the fear, the false hope. The schemes of destruction had collapsed within itself, leaving the city in a blanket of rubble and despondent exhaustion. Despite rumor of a second uprising, an army being formed from the lesser class' resentment towards being forced back into their previous situations, order had found it's way back into the city, and they quietly began to pick themselves back up.
The mayor had crawled out from hiding, requesting that James Gordon did not turn in his notice until the city was back on it's feet, and reluctantly, he had agreed.

He remained, simply to honor the life of his fallen ally, his fallen friend.

The Batman.

He considered that maybe this had been a good thing, in a morbid sense. Possibly, the powers that be had allowed Gotham a second chance, the opportunity to rebuild itself from the filth it had wallowed in. It was a haunting thought, causing Gordon's stomach to churn, yet he found it better than simply accepting that it had been pointless- the lives lost being nothing but lost in vain.
He refused to accept it.

This was a moment of rebirth, a moment of ideals and aspirations finding their way back into the future of Gotham city. A new start, a new beginning.

The hulking creature that had attempted to destroy it had failed. His tries had been fruitless. The people of Gotham had proved themselves worthy yet again, and contentment stirred in the citizens' souls once more. They were a nation of steadfast hope, they were survivors.
And the fall of countless lives had not been in vain.

Gordon was careful to step over them. They were precious, precious losses.

They had once been beautiful, they had once been whole. Yet now they laid in outstretching lines, filling the air with the scent of sorrows, the smell of death. They had been identified, titles zip tied to the white bags they had been carefully slipped into. Identified and numbered, and Gordon refused to know what the count had been.

He bent down, taking a tag in his hand to read the name.

Camille Brand

Reaching up, he brushed the lap of snow that had formed in a crease around the neck area, pulling back the white cloth to view the face beneath. And a deep ache formed in his chest, weighing heavy in his heart, at the sight of the lovely young lady's face. Her black hair was matted and clumped with frozen blood and ice, her face lacking all traces of any color that once existed in the delicate curves of her features.

"Not in vain," he whispered, and folded the cloth back over her lovely face, allowing her to rest free from disruption, allowing her to lay in peace once more.

Not in vain.

"Commissioner?"

Jim stood up and away from the mass of bodies, meeting the officer that had called for him.

"We've done a body count and have identified everyone found within the three mile radius, but..." he paused, scratching the back of his neck uncomfortably.

Gordon's soul was at peace, despite the disaster that surrounded him, laying cluttered at his feet. Gotham had survived, and they were left to count their dead in peace.

"But the bodies of Miss Miranda Tate and the man called Bane were never found."

Gordon's brow creased deeply, confusion rising in his eyes and fear knotting in his chest. Yet he pushed it aside, and dismissed the information with a nod of acknowledgement. He watched as the officer walked away, weaving between the rows of bodies lying across the lap of Gotham snow.

"While we survive..." Gordon whispered in the air, watching as his words formed into a plume of smoke around his face.
"Let them find peace... in their own way."

"Wake up."

His eyes snapped open, waking with a rough jolt. Instinct told him to attack, yet the voice that had met his ears had been a familiar one. One that had been the solitary source of comfort throughout the years that he had known it.

It was the voice of deep, melancholy waters, the rush of excitement always lingering in the delicate pitch. It was the voice that was a guiding light through the hell and damnation that had been his home for longer than he could recall, the voice that caused his soul to overflow with meaning.

It was the voice that had cried out for him when in need, the voice that laughed with him in times of contentment, the voice that broke when he was in pain. He knew it like he knew himself. Knew the rise and fall of it like he knew the rise and fall of the mountains they had lived in together for years. He understood the meaning behind each fragile sound, every inhale and exhale.

He had spent every night simply observing the pattern of breathing, the quiet mumbles that arose while in slumber, the frantic cries when terror had slipped into subconscious realities. For numerous years he had repeated the same words, shaking shoulders to deliver release from frightening dreams.

"Wake up."

He turned his head to look at the being curled against his side.

"I'm cold," she whispered, her delicate lips pressing the words out from behind chattering teeth.
He said nothing as he tucked her firmly beneath his arm, reaching across his own chest to grasp her beneath the knee and hook her leg over his waist. She fit perfectly against his sturdy side, her inner thigh pressing comfortably into his hip cavity. Her hand snaked its way over his chest and she pulled herself as tightly against him as humanly possible, absorbing the radiating body heat that she had sought.

The remained silent as they laid beneath the darkness that coated them, listening to the peculiar sounds that sounded off faintly. The lulling drips and deep and rustic bellows of pipes, the clouded rush of water streaming through tunnels in the far off distance. They rested to the sound of the quiet lullaby of Gotham's heart beat as they found a haven beneath the surface of the earth.

"Will we die here, my friend?" she whispered to him, her fingers skimming over the bandages that decorated his large chest.
His hand found hers, swallowing it within his large and heated palm. He pulled it up to his collar, leaning his head back, and pressing her fingers against his neck, an invitation. She massaged the rough flesh of his neck, where the metal mask met his flesh, a place that was often sore.

"Only if you wish it, my child," he answered, his voice a metallic sound that resonated deeply within the cement tunnel that they had crawled into, tight around their frames, yet offering them protection and comfort.

She shook her head against his chest, lifting her fingers higher to examine the mounds and crevices of his mask with the tips of her fingers. "I do not."

"Then we shall survive," he breathed, shutting his eyes when her finger tips found the flesh of his face. Her hands danced like moth wings against his cheek bone, kissing his skin lightly with the tips of her fingers. "And we shall make haste when the moon rises, and find freedom within the protection of darkness."

"As we always have," she whispered as she brushed her touch over his closed eyes.

"As we always have," he repeated, pulling her tighter against his broad frame. "And as we always will."

I know this was terribly short, but I whipped it out in an hour. So please be kind! And I'm terribly sorry if there are any spelling errors.

Thanks! :)