One Flesh
"Would you do it with me, heal the scars and change the stars? Would you do it for me, turn loose the heaven within? I'd take you away, castaway on a lonely day. Bosom for a teary cheek. My song can but borrow your grace." – Ever Dream, by Nightwish
Will you?
It was funny how simplicity was anything but simple. It was ironic that the meaningless could mean so much. A few drops of rain, and the drought is over. One little seed, and food from a tree for a lifetime. Two short words requiring one small answer, and the future is changed. Altered. Made better in every possible way. Heaven is there and the sun feels warm. It feels relaxing and it feels so perfect. Two small words that could mend a broken life.
Will you?
And then, simple suddenly becomes larger than life. Meaningless is now so very profound. The rain healed the dry land. The seed transformed into a forest with a giving feast. And the future is right there, staring up at you, waiting for the answer. Waiting patiently because that future has always waited for you. The breath, the pulse, and the life. A great sacrifice, indeed.
She held up the fabric, feeling the texture between her fingers, the weight of her gift. She studied it, as she had countless times, surveying it because it was oddly a very important thing. She thought maybe to forget such an idea, such a notion. She had been through this once before and it had ended in tragedy. But the more it appeared in her mind, the faster the days on the calendar soared by, she simply knew that it wasn't meant to be forgotten. No more lost dreams and unfulfilled wishes. No more pain and blood and heartache on this day. She'd chosen life. They both had. And now it was time to step into it completely with this wonderful fabric against her skin. She undressed, standing only in her underwear as she studied it again. Nodding, she decided it was a good plan. This would be a symbol. This would be a proclamation. Everything decided for this day was not conventional in the least, but she would do this one thing. She thought it would be strange of her if she didn't.
Looking down at her body, at the proof of the pain life had given as a cruel present, she wondered if her own gift would suddenly change. If her body would mar it. If it would destroy such a lovely piece of her promise.
But it wasn't for her to decide on that. She would only have to wait and see, and discover the truth for herself. She lifted it again, slipped it on. Adding a few more touches that took up more time, she wasn't surprised when a knock was heard at the door. An impatient one.
She peeked through the crack at the man on the other side before opening the door completely.
He seemed to flinch back a little, blinking even as his eyes trailed her length, everything from her face to her feet. At first, she thought it was a bad sign, knew it had to be what she herself brought to it. There was too much marring. There were too many deformities and nicks of past pain. She should just close the door and forget this silly plan.
He swallowed, and she could see it was somewhat nervously. His eyes went over her again, taking everything in, everything she was offering. A familiar expression passed over his face then, one she was familiar with. A look she most likely would always see because he would most likely always be wearing it. A remorseful look, full of unspoken apologies he would say everyday if he could. A regretful look, for something he could never take back. But he also knew, as she'd told him with her own unspoken words, that those looks were not needed any longer. He looked into her eyes, nodded some. Just the briefest move of his head that was one of approval. A nod so simple that it was a twin to those two small words.
Will you?
She breathed then, felt her confidence returning. Looking down, she thought again that her plan was a good one.
Will you?
Yes, he'd answered.
A simple word, and Heaven was there. The suffering gone.
"You look beautiful," Barsad told her.
And Camille smiled softly.
Go… Right now.
No, I won't leave you.
Before the coming of Heaven, Hell was breathing down on their necks. The stench of death and decay hung in the air like poison, the smell of fresh blood merging with it, and total destruction was the master of the universe. Hell was here and wide open, about to swallow them whole straight into darkness. A body was not too far from them, oozing blood that would stain the concrete, and one lone blonde pigtail soaking it up like a sponge. And the noise…
Please don't stay.
I'm not going anywhere without you.
The noise was like a monster, roaring with rage so pure the walls and pillars were literally shaking from it. There were eruptions of fire and water as pipes and gas lines snapped like bone, the alarms of various cars screeching like children, and the sickening crunch of a skyscraper as it fell straight to the ground. Straight to Hell. Wayne Tower was collapsing right on top of them, and there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Not with her man in her arms dying, dying so horribly and so slowly from multiple gunshot wounds fired by Harley Quinn who was the body rotting so near to them. His blood covered her as she held him, dripping onto her skin and leaving a terrible trail of red. He couldn't breathe, could no longer remain conscious from the destruction of the mask that sustained his health. All around her the monster roared, the building falling to pieces. The Nightwing was gone.
Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.
But Camille would never leave Bane. Holding him close as she prepared to die, as he slowly was in her lap, she knew she would take death before life without him.
I love you.
The man Barsad would brave the monster, the monster that was Wayne Tower as it fell like a mighty castle. Whether or not his targets lived or died, he would have his redemption this day. He knew the layouts of the building, had furiously studied them after he'd rallied all the men he could find within Bane's army and had raced to the crumbling skyscraper. If there was a chance he could redeem himself, Barsad knew he would search as much of the Tower as he could until he found their bodies or until it collapsed and he could search no more. Redemption was for him, he screamed in his head as he ran towards the falling structure, the noise tearing his ears apart as he came up on it. He would save his brother and his brother's woman.
Bane had threatened him that if he were to ever see Barsad's face again for his betrayal then he would surely kill him. But Barsad decided to take that chance. Without his brother, without the man who had given him a new purpose after the death of his daughter, he would be nothing.
With a horde of men behind him, he was the only one determined enough to try to get inside a doomed Tower. He got to where he knew he needed to go after following a signal from technology strapped to his brother, rammed the fractured wall with his own shoulder to get through it. He knew he could not rest until he saw their bodies, dead or alive, be it after he got inside or during the cleanup of the Tower. But he would know, and he would have closure. Even with their deaths, he would be given that redemption for trying to save them now.
And gratefully, he saw them, dodged chunks of the roof as he jumped out of the way of more to get to them. The makeshift threshold behind him would be their way out, but only long enough until the weight of concrete gave and they would be trapped. Hurriedly, he took in the details of them so he could know what to do in the crisis.
Bane was bleeding and unconscious, lying as still as a corpse. For a moment Barsad thought he was truly dead. How could he be alive from the look of him? His woman, Dr. Lane, was a mess, holding him so close with her face buried in his neck that only added more proof that she was grieving her lover's death. Her clothes were tattered, the black skirt shredded to pieces for the bindings of Bane's wounds Barsad could see now were bullet holes. Approaching closer, Barsad saw that she'd removed her shirt to wrap it around Bane's head, around what could no doubt be the ruin of his mask, trying to use the fabric to hold in as much of the medicine as it could. A desperate act. In nothing but a shredded skirt and a black bra, Camille held Bane, not seeming to mind the scorched skin on her shoulder from an ugly burn.
The two made quite the battered pair, Barsad thought.
He sprinted for them when a clear path was given from the falling chunks of ceiling. With adrenaline coursing through him, he raced against time for all their lives. Or at least the two of them if Bane was already gone.
Camille jumped when he touched her shoulder, holding her lover close like she would her own child, ready to hiss at him like a mother bear. And when she saw him, realized him fully, she looked up at him as if he were an angel.
"Let's go," Barsad shouted over the roar, over the monster ready to claim them all.
He reached for Bane, refusing to leave him behind even if he was only a corpse. The dead weight of him was overwhelming, causing him to stumble. For a moment he believed that it would be impossible for him to get Bane out on his own. But Camille shakily rose to her booted feet, hissing and crying of the pain in her body from a burned shoulder, a blackened eye, and the bruises already forming on her side from what he knew would be a few broken ribs. Her skin was scraped raw in some areas, but her own blood could not be separated from Bane's covering her.
She reached for Bane as well. And even through the injuries, the shock and hysteria of impending death, she wrapped Bane's other arm around her shoulder and took half his weight.
And together, they carried him out of the destruction of Wayne Tower.
The other mercenaries shouted once they saw them, their seemingly dead leader, their second in command who had suddenly retuned to them, and their leader's doctor. They hurried to their sides, some instantly readying the vehicles so they could speed off to safety and away from the approaching sirens of police and firemen. Multiple men instantly reached for Bane, knowing it would take combined strengths to get him into the truck as quickly as possible. As they surrounded, Camille found herself being pried from him, a gentle pair of hands easing her away.
And then she began to panic.
"No, no, I have to help. I have to help with him."
Zaid, Bane's savvy tech master, shushed her softly and got her out of the way so Barsad and the others could tend to their leader. With his curly hair pulled back as much as it could be into a ponytail by his trusty sweatband, he brushed Camille's own black curls off her sweaty and hysterical face. She was bloody and terribly injured, and still it was hard not to glance down at her shredded clothing to see a body he could never touch the way he wanted to.
"Stop it," Camille breathed, trying to fight him and all the while keeping her worried eyes on her lover as he was set into the truck. "Please let me go. Just look at him, he needs me. He'll need me when he wakes up."
"They're going to take care of him. They know how. Just come with me so I can help you. Look at you, Dr. Lane." She wanted to go to Bane. She told him she at least wanted to ride in the same truck as him. But with all the help Bane would need, she would only be in the way. "Come on, sweetheart, we need to get out of here."
"She shot him," Camille was saying, hardly registering it when Zaid picked her up and hauled it to the vehicle waiting for them so they could speed off together. "You need to tell them that. He has multiple bullet wounds. Call them up now so they know."
"Okay, I will. Just calm down." He placed her in the truck, taking a jacket handed to him to cover her.
Her eyes filled up with tears then as she looked at him, her chin quivering like a scared child. "I don't want anything to happen to him."
He sighed and said, "I know."
Zaid and another man began to clean up her as best as they could without a proper setting and supplies. They were off to a destination already planned for on Barsad's orders, his demands easily accepted even after his unknown absence. Camille stayed oddly quiet when it concerned her injuries. All she could do was whimper softly as she was tended to, her black eyes far away as her mind was consumed with only one thing.
If Bane died then she would have no choice but to follow him.
She willed him to keep breathing even as she willed herself not to let the tears fall.
Barsad had found them shelter, a place that was to be used for emergencies miles away from Gotham in the country, and a place that would be used only until he made further arrangements for them. Bane couldn't make decisions at the moment, so the heavy load of leadership fell to Barsad. The others trusted him, knowing that the second's demands would only match with their leader's if he were conscious to make them, and because Camille, Bane's lover, was not in the right state of mind to help with that decision making. They'd driven most of the night until they reached a simple house in the middle of nowhere, so far out that no one would ever remember it and modest enough not to rouse suspicion if it were to be roused. A tad small, most of the men knew they would have to sleep on the floor or outside in the trucks or on the grass. But ever used to rough conditions, it hardly mattered to them. Bane had taken on loyal men, and they would sleep wherever they needed to sleep.
Zaid and his partner had done their best with Camille. They'd covered her raw shoulder with gauze so that it could remain clean from the air, had wiped Bane's dried blood from her skin, and had maneuvered her into a position inside the truck that would ease pressure off her broken ribs. He'd buttoned the jacket around her to conceal her naked skin, but it seemed nothing of the sort mattered to her. Everyone in the truck knew where she really wanted to be.
Barsad and his team got Bane inside the house, all of them carrying him to the master bedroom that was still quite small, laying him on the mattress as many others began wheeling in the medical equipment they'd packed up before leaving Gotham. After Bane killed the Joker and his followers, he'd planned to escape the city and had made sure all their supplies were with them.
But he hadn't prepared for this.
Barsad looked to the doorway as he heard Camille approaching.
"Keep her out," he demanded, ripping off Bane's bloody armored vest. They're prepared proper bindings for his wounds during travel and had injected him with a muscle relaxer on hand. But every minute would count if they wanted to keep him breathing.
They hooked him up to the machines, wheeled in trays full of syringes, gauze, ointment, stitching supplies, and the only sound Camille could recall was the beeping of Bane's slow vitals outside the room she was not allowed to go into. They managed to stop the excessive bleeding, moved quickly to clean the bullet holes properly while extracting shards. They were hovering over him like a group of trained surgeons, their faces oddly calm as if they'd been in this very situation countless times before. Barsad removed the shirt around his head and the ruined mask, tossing it to the floor with a loud thunk of metal. And then the process of medicating him began. In the days before membership within the League of Shadows, before the mask, Bane could only be given relief from the pain by inserting tubes down his throat that would pump him with strong analgesics he would later use in a different way. They did that now, and wrapped cloth around the bottom half of his head to hold them in place and to conceal a slightly disturbing image. As the flow was turned on, the tubes jumped from the sudden current of medicine that would head straight into his lungs.
Zaid was heard outside the room in the hall, trying to persuade Camille that she needed her own medical attention and that Bane would be fine. But she refused to listen to him, and frowned while staring at the doorway instead.
"I just want to know if he's still alive. That's all."
The longest moments of her life, Camille would recall later, was waiting to be let into the room.
They managed to keep her out for as long as they needed. And after much hurried work, they were successful in getting Bane's vitals under control.
Barsad nodded to let her pass as he wiped his hands of Bane's blood with a cloth.
Camille hobbled in, going instantly to Bane's bedside with her wild black hair and her anxious face. One of her eyes was blackened from a bruise sustained in the fight before the destruction and the cut on her mouth seemed redder from her fretting. But instantly she began touching him, careful and clutching at the same time, staring at his paled face as if he would instantly wake from her gaze and her touch.
"You're alive," she murmured to Bane, even though he couldn't hear her. She didn't seem to mind the tubes jutting out of his mouth through the cloth. The thump of his heart was enough for her.
Her face was sad and helpless, matching the expression she'd been wearing when he'd approached her in the Tower. Barsad lifted his hand, patted it on Bane's boot still on his foot at the end of the bed. "We're going to keep him that way."
It was best, until he received a temporary alternative for the mask, that Bane stay asleep so that he wouldn't have to suffer unspeakable pain. When the time was right and Barsad felt comfortable with it, he would allow him to wake to see his lady. But only after the immediate worst was over.
She didn't answer him, only brushed her hand on Bane's forehead over and over again in a petting motion.
"Camille," Barsad said softly, using her name for the very first time.
She ignored him again and leaned down to hold Bane the best she could, keeping her mouth by his ear and her hands somewhere along his cold skin.
"I love you, I love you, I love you," he heard her exhale to Bane.
It was a while before they could get her out of the room, persuading her that it was her turn to be treated. She would be no use to him if she wasn't healthy, they told her.
But it wasn't long before she went back in.
Camille had been briefed on her injuries. She only nodded absentmindedly when she'd been told she had two badly broken ribs and deep scraps from tumbling along the concrete with the Nightwing, and that she was lucky she still had use of her shoulder from the burning it had sustained. The skin along her shoulder was raw and moist, and would be the longest injury to heal. There would be scarring, they'd told her. But after seeing with their own eyes the scars she already had from her years of self-mutilation, they figured it would be no large matter for her. Her ribs had been set and wrapped, her shoulder wrapped as well with soothing gauze that had to be changed quite frequently to prevent infection to her tender skin, and the arm connected to that shoulder had been put in a sling so that she wouldn't move it around too much and cause herself discomfort. She'd taken something for the pain, something strong so that she could still care for her man. And as she looked at herself in the mirror inside the bathroom, she saw quite a black eye on her face from the fist of the Joker.
She only turned away from her reflection and went back to Bane.
He'd been shot in the shoulder, forearm, thigh, and had a nasty graze along his side. Those injuries were all bad enough, but what had made them so much worse for him was that the tubing of his mask had been shot off as well, leaving him helpless and barely movable. Leaving him in a vast amount of new pain that had merged with his own existing agony. With so much blood loss his skin was pale and ashy, his heartbeat a little slower than normal, and the whole of him icy cold. Camille hated it, knowing he was meant to be so warm and anything but lying in a bed like an invalid.
But until he woke up, until he healed enough, he would have to stay right there.
Bandaged and clean, with a sling on her arm, Camille sat at Bane's bedside as he slept on. She wanted to see him open his eyes, wanted to hear his voice more than she could bear, but it was the worst thing they could do for him without the mask. For right now, the only thing that would give him any kind of comfort were the tubes in his throat.
Barsad walked into the room the next day after their arrival. Bane was sleeping and still, his bullet wounds all wrapped up and a blanket covering him. Dr. Lane was sitting in a chair at the side, her face sinking into the mattress and sleeping soundly. She hadn't left the room since after her treatment, staying all night right in that chair and quietly watching over him with that sad, defeated look.
Seeing her this way, seeing them… Barsad once again felt the weight of his mistake in having her taken away.
He made his way to Bane's side, reaching over to check the position of the tubes in his mouth.
Camille's good arm suddenly shot out and gripped his wrist, halting his movement before he could get any closer.
Blinking her sleepy eyes and wincing some from her bruised one and the ache in her side, she quickly righted her mistake and removed her grip from him. "Sorry," she muttered.
Barsad gave her a slight nod. It had annoyed him that Bane had taken a year out to train this woman and give her skills related to their own. But he could see now that she hadn't forgotten her training. He tugged at the cloth, peeked through at the hissing tubes.
Camille shook her head to rid herself of sleepiness, and tried to forget the pain in her ribs. "Isn't there another way to do this?" she asked.
"Before Bane was given the mask this was how the pain was eased. Everything is worse for him now, the gunshot wounds only adding to it. It's best if he's given a vast amount of the medicine." He tugged the cloth back up. "As the mask was built, the doctors within the League of Shadows, on Talia's al Ghul's orders, slid tubes down his throat that would pump him with the analgesics he uses inside the canisters. We will continue with this until I find another alternative so he can wake. I am in the process of contacting the man who constructed the mask. Until then, we must use other means."
Barsad looked at her then, lifting his hand to scratch at his beard. So many bad words had been said between them. He had never trusted her, and she'd been aggravated that she continually had to prove to everyone that she was not another Talia. The others had come to tolerate her, but Barsad's contempt of her had only expanded, his hatred festering, until he had made a decision to get rid of her so that he could keep Bane and the army safe from her wiles. To Barsad, it was impossible for a woman to have feelings for Bane, considering all he'd done. To Barsad, Camille had only maneuvered herself into Bane's bed so that she could betray him and take what was rightfully his.
But after he'd gotten rid of her, after his conscious had taken him by the throat and practically strangled him, he had come to see the truth.
Are you in love with this woman? he'd once asked Bane.
Barsad had been given clarity. He'd seen it clearly for himself once he'd spotted a woman holding her dying lover in her arms in the midst of destruction.
Apologies weren't for him. Of course he'd given Bane one, but Bane was different. And he'd saved her life, hadn't he? He'd risked his own to free Bane and his woman from a falling skyscraper. He'd done his part, he'd been given his redemption. Apologies weren't for him because what he'd done was apology enough.
Burned with fractured ribs, her face seeming paler from a blackened eye, Camille looked up at Barsad and said, "Thank you."
Barsad quickly got out of the room before he did something stupid.
Camille was given one of the bedrooms in the house but she refused it. She couldn't share the twin hospital bed with Bane; it was too small and he was too big, needing as much space as he could get so he could heal comfortably. But once he was further along and could move efficiently, then she could sleep with him again. The sleeping injectable had also ceased. Bane had been awake the very first time the method of the tubes had been employed, so it was only a matter of time before he would wake on his own.
Throughout the night, as the tubes hissed softly while doing their job, she slept with her head on a small cleared space. And because she felt utterly useless, Camille would lift Bane's hand and place it on her head when she would try to get some rest. He'd always slept clutching her curls, falling asleep with the coarse texture of them intertwined in his fingers. If she could do nothing else then she would do this. This one little act of familiarity. She tried not to feel her heart break when the clutch in her hair would never come, feeling only a seemingly lifeless hand on her head. She longed for his touch, longed for anything before he'd passed out in her lap from pain. She knew she should feel grateful that his heart was still beating, but she missed the movement of him terribly. She had gone without him before and had almost died in their separation. Falling into slumber, Camille tried to pretend that the hand in her hair was just a normal night of sleep.
She could practically feel it now, his large handing gripping her curls as he snored next to her, the heat of him warming her in a way a blanket couldn't. She knew she normally tossed and turned all night long in restlessness, but that clutch in her hair had always been the anchor to keep her steady. She could feel it in sleep. She could feel his strength, hear his sounds. She could feel him.
With her eyes still closed, Camille realized she'd been wakened and removed from her dreams of normality.
And she could still feel the grip in her hair.
She jolted up, her heart pounding like thunder in her chest and her breath ceasing. She felt like she could die from shock, soar from happiness. The hand was still in her hair.
And Bane's green eyes were open and staring at her.
It was impossible to describe the relief. One moment he'd been dead in her arms, and the next he was here, battered now but still alive. Fear and worry had squeezed her heart, left her choking and aching for him when he could do nothing but fight to come back to life. But he had always been a fighter, and she would always be along the sidelines keeping an eye on him. Camille stood and leaned over him, rejoicing inside when his eyes would follow her coherently. Camille smiled at him even though her throat felt like it was closing in on her. She reached behind her head for his wrist, carefully sliding it over until his palm and fingers were on her face. His hand was no longer lifeless. Instead, she could feel his pulse and movement. The battle had left them broken, but in the end they were the ones who were still alive.
Bane stared up at her, only able to show any kind of expression through his eyes. The lower half of his face was numb, injected with an agent so that the tubes down his throat would not feel uncomfortable for him. There was pain and stiffness, but the cooling sizzle of the painkillers pumping inside his chest eased the agony. Bane touched her face, staring intently at her black eye and marring her pretty pale complexion. His thumb brushed over her bottom lip, his version of a kiss.
If she could, she would purr from his touch. "You made the jump," she said to him.
Later on they could discuss what had happened to them, where they were, and the extent of his injuries. Now, she would only keep staring at him until his exhaustion demanded sleep for his body, and then she would only wait until he woke up again. He'd almost been lost to her, as she had once been to him. Separation had only become poison.
But they were two halves of a whole, finally together again.
Bane was awake now and had been debriefed because he'd wanted to know, even though he should've been resting instead. Barsad told him everything, and Bane could only listen since he was still unable to speak until yet another alternative arrived. Barsad was on the hunt, finding other means until the mask was built and back where it belonged. He'd also told Bane that soon they would be leaving America. It wasn't safe for any of them to stay here, not with the authorities so close. They would go back to India, he'd told him, still receiving no acknowledgement from his leader. Bane only stared at him, and whether it was a normal expression or a plotting one, Barsad didn't know.
There was still this tension between them. Barsad had betrayed Bane, and Bane had casted him out with the promise of death if he were ever to return to the army.
Sitting in a chair as Bane continued his piecing stare, Barsad knew what had to be done to ease it. To be forgiven. Bane always appreciated simple acceptance in a man. Even if it was for death. Barsad brought his hands together and sighed, meeting Bane's gaze.
"You will truly have to kill me yourself if you wish to be rid of me," he said.
And on that statement, it was finished.
Camille came in then, returning from getting her bandages changed. She caught Bane staring at her sling as Barsad instantly got to his feet on her arrival. She'd told him of her shoulder since it was an injury to plainly see, but had left out her broken ribs. She didn't want to put any more stress on him, knowing that her injuries would not set right since he couldn't care for her like he normally would. Camille checked his eyes to make sure he was content since he couldn't speak, then prepared to take her place next to him.
"Dr. Lane."
She looked to Barsad, seeing something different in his face. Almost like he wanted to say something but his mouth was not forming the words to actually speak them.
Apologies weren't for him, Barsad thought again. But if Bane forgave him, then the extension of him would have to also.
The suffering had gone both ways.
"I'm sorry," he muttered.
At first, Camille blinked at him. And then it came to her. Barsad had given her over to her mother. Barsad had felt threatened by her and succeeded in disposing of her. Certain acts could remain unforgivable.
But Barsad had also saved their lives and redeemed himself.
She reached over Bane's body to the other side of his bed. Holding her hand out, she gave him that peace offering she knew he needed to fully feel that redemption. In return for Bane's life, she would give him that.
Barsad took her hand, clutching it lightly and feeling the softness. A woman's skin was so different from a man's, so comforting and freeing. And free he was, he knew. Free from the burden of betrayal. Barsad looked at Bane, and there was his brother, returned to him again.
Barsad quickly leaned down and placed a kiss on the back of Camille's hand before heading out of the room.
Those other means for Bane had come and Camille was once again ushered out of the room. Zaid told her she needed to eat something, so she obediently went along with him, trying to force down fruit and juice. Her entire body felt uncomfortable and she knew she needed to sleep for a while in an actual bed, but somehow she ended up going right back into Bane's room. The tubes were removed, and a different type of material was wrapped around his head below his eyes, meeting at the back of his skull. Barsad took a small vial of liquid, tipped it over and tapped a few drops onto the cloth over Bane's nose and mouth. The medicine that would be used now was a super concentrated form of the analgesics, and would create vapors that Bane would breathe in through the cloth. It wasn't as strong an alternative as the tubes or even the mask, but the fact that Bane's body was easily adaptable was a slight problem. It wouldn't be a good thing for his insides to become accustomed to the use of the tubes in his throat since they couldn't stay there forever.
He could feel more of the pain, felt weak and sloppy, but at least now he could find his voice again and feel more like a human. His throat felt extremely sore and dry, almost incapable, and the bullet wounds felt as if someone were holding a match right against his skin. But with time he knew he could recover. He'd been shot before and had survived, had retained his strength.
Camille's own pain was bothering her. The skin on her side where her ribs were broken was terribly bruised, causing the most inane movements to become difficult. Before, the worry over her man had helped her to forget the pain, but now that he was doing well and they were patiently awaiting the plane that would take them to India, it was hard to find an alternate distraction. She'd taken to wiping off her lipstick and precisely reapplying it, tending to Bane in every way she could, and reading a book or two or three to keep her mind in another world when he would be sleeping. At night, when the pain would be at its worst for both of them, she would climb into the bed, most of her body hanging off the edge from lack of room, and hold him, singing softly to him to help him fall asleep. It was best to stay active during the healing of a multiple rib fracture, and she was trying to hardest to do exactly that.
She felt extremely grateful when Barsad told her that the very next morning they would pack everything up and head to their home in India. A new distraction would be good, she decided.
The packing took a while, and maneuvering both her and Bane onto the plane like children took more time and patience from everyone. The plane ride was brutal, making his gunshot wounds throb and her fractured bones feel as if they were being pulled from her torso, but after many hours across the world, they managed it.
Camille inspected her new home as they drove closer to it, the plains of India familiar after her year of living on the grounds during her training giving her experience when it came to the weather, the culture, and the way. It was a large house, big enough for all of them with multiple bedrooms and space for activity, and she was told that Bane would have his own separate living quarters. Some of the soldiers would be stationed elsewhere, but most of the army would stay with their leader. The big house would be their headquarters now that the League of Shadows was terminated by Bane, and Camille found that it was perfect for them. Surrounded by the Indian mountains, with not another house in sight for miles, she realized then that they had finally escaped the city and could start fresh.
Bane's room was large, the bed big enough for both of them now and low enough that they could get out and back into it easily. The bathroom off to the side was a dream, complete with a large Jacuzzi tub and walk-in shower, and enough counter space and storage to make any female happy. Bane was put into the bed, the sheets and comforter a cream color, then groaned as he leaned back onto the pillow. Camille took that as a good sign, even though it was a pained sound. His voice had not returned yet, but little by little he was working to change that. The new mask would arrive any moment now, but for the time being the cloth around his face would do. She opened the vial with her one moveable hand, carefully dripped the little drops onto the cloth so he could breathe in the vapors.
Bane studied her face. Her eye was turning a dark green now as it slowly healed and her arm was still in a sling. Her face looked a little sunken in and gray, her eyes less shiny from lack of sleep and anxiety. Every now and then her face would drift away, her thoughts on a million different things as her hand would scratch at the scars along her forearms. Bane took a deep breath and swallowed. He forced out a cough and tried to find something inside him that could make words.
Camille looked at him, waited. Waited for those words as he did because she knew she wanted his voice back.
"Stop pouting," he rasped, his voice grumbled and croaky. But there it was.
Another dagger of tension eased in her chest then. Another obstacle overcome. She placed her hand on his forehead and brushed it back over his bald head, feeling grateful for their old argument. "I don't pout."
He made a sound that seemed to be a small laugh. "Yes, you do."
Bane's eyes went to her shoulder wrapped in gauze. He knew it bothered her greatly. Every time she moved or tried to get comfortable in the bed, she would wince and even whimper softly, trying not to let him hear. He didn't know when she would stop her games in trying to keep certain things from him. He knew her well and could definitely tell when she was in pain. But it was hard to take care of her when he was the one lying in bed all day. Lifting his good hand, he very gently brushed his fingers over the gauze on her shoulder. She didn't seem to mind, seemed to stay still and allowed his touch to dance over her lightly. His fingers touched the strap across her chest from the sling, going down some and then back up until he was moving up her neck. Camille's eyelids lowered ever so slightly, her chest even exhaling in a soft sigh as his fingers went over her face, circling her black eye, and then onto her scalp. He rubbed her scalp, feeling the curls, rubbing firmly enough to have those eyes closing completely. Bane had always been the one to relax her, but during his recovery he was limited to what he could do. Seeing her reaction now told him that even something simple like this would be enough for her.
Camille's head drooped as sleep was battling for her. She was so tired, so exhausted from her fretting and her inability to get comfortable for rest. Bed rest wasn't recommended for broken ribs and she knew now why that was. Bane's large hands touching her again felt so wonderful, so normal and absolutely wanted. She snapped her head back up, trying not to fall asleep. It was the middle of the afternoon, after all. But his fingers continued their ministrations, massaging her soothingly enough to have her eyes fall again and her head lean down onto the mattress.
"Come onto the bed," Bane murmured to her, his voice scratchy but coherent enough.
Camille took a deep breath and only concentrated on his fingers. She didn't want to move, didn't want to try to lie down because it was too uncomfortable. She wanted to stay right here, just like this with only the feeling of his hand and the sound of his voice. She was so tired and right here was just fine with her.
"Lift your head."
With her eyes closed, Camille did as he asked, obediently following the guiding of his hand as he directed her cheek onto his torso. She rested there, listening to the steady beat of his heart and taking in his musky scent. With his fingers back in her hair, she fell instantly into a much needed sleep.
The mask finally arrived, the exact same as the old one but only a new model. Barsad's contact had come through in an appropriate amount of time, and Bane was actually relieved to see it. He knew it wouldn't take away all of the pain, but anything was better than the vapors and his extreme lack of doing they were causing him. Camille watched off to the side as it was placed around his head, hooking the latches together and making sure the canisters were working properly. Once it was on, once the hiss of the gas flow and the mechanical sounds of his voice were heard, everyone could say he seemed more like himself.
The mask was a crutch for him, but it was still the best option for the pain.
Weeks went by for recovery. Camille could be without the sling and could move her arm more effectively, but her ribs were still causing her discomfort if she moved the wrong way or used too much energy. Bane was doing well, recovering the way he should recover now that the mask was back where it belonged, and able to actually walk around some after weeks of proper care and therapy. He still needed to rest, was still limited in the use of his body. But he was on his way. The house and the army were functioning, and India was exactly as they'd left it.
Camille thought they never should have left it in the first place.
It was late now, and Camille was at the point where she could bandage her own shoulder and tend to her own broken bones. She was more of a help to Bane now as well, and felt more like herself now that she was back in the role of taking care of him. Closing the door to the bedroom, she turned off all the lights save for one dim lamp, and sat on the edge of the bed in a black nighty as she secured the bandages and tried to comb her fingers through her hair. Sleep came easier for her now, and she found she could cherish a good night of rest, even though she woke multiple times from moving around too much and would aggravate her ribs. Bringing her hair over her shoulder, she smoothed her curls down, rubbed her lips together and realized she'd forgotten to remove her coral lipstick.
She'd thought Bane had been falling asleep, but now that he was weeks into his recovery he was awake more often. Apparently he was awake now as he brought his hand over to her with his back against the sheets, his fingers starting at the base of her spine and moving slowly up over her silk nighty. Camille placed her hands on the mattress, closed her eyes and sighed some from his touch. It was hard for them to touch each other the way they would normally. She could hurt him easily in all the places the bullets had pierced him, and she had to be careful where exactly his hands would go so that he wouldn't get near the ribs he didn't know were broken. And of course, there had been no sex. None at all in weeks that were becoming months. The touch of his hand now felt like there was an ulterior motive behind just the simple act of soothing.
But… she had a hard time telling him to stop.
Bane moved his hand all the way up until it was on the back of her neck, proceeding then to sink his nails into her skin before moving back down her body. He didn't scratch her hard; he knew she'd been injured badly after her wreck with the hero bird. But he did press in hard enough that light red marks appeared on the skin he could see. He moved his hand to trail over her hip, just to feel the curves of her body severe injury had halted him from touching.
"Come closer," he murmured, and it was so deep that it could have been a soft growl.
She looked over her shoulder at him with a small coral smile. "Why?"
He had that look in his eyes that told her he wanted her, and she felt appreciative of it, thankful that he was feeling okay enough in his health to fan the desire inside. And while she wanted him too, would always want him desperately, there was still the giant issue of their injuries. She didn't know if Bane's body could or should handle sex, and God knew hers couldn't because of the ache in her chest that hadn't gone completely away yet. Sex could be relaxing for them or it could be disastrous. It made her feel very conflicted.
It could be disastrous… But she had always had a hard time saying no to him. After everything he'd gone through with his injuries, it was even more difficult now.
"Must I tell you exactly what I want?" he asked, tugging some on her nighty so that she would scoot a little closer.
She did, but only an inch or two. "I know what you want."
His eyes beamed then, and she could have sworn that gaze heated her. "Then give it to me."
Camille turned her face away as Bane's hand continued to wander, his good hand as the other forearm was bandaged from damage caused by a bullet. He had so many bandages, and they should have been bright red STOP signs to her. But his hand was coming around to her stomach now, slithering on her skin like a snake, the snake that offered temptation when a different choice should be made. Bane reached up and touched her breasts, one at a time and causing her to shiver in pleasure since she wasn't wearing a bra. The reaction caused her ribs to ache, to snip at her to stop, but the touch of him seemed to be more powerful.
She turned to him, tried to reason with him seriously. "This isn't a good idea."
"Why not?" It didn't even seem like he was paying all that much attention to her words. His eyes could only stare, his hands only roam, and his mind could only scream at him to get her naked. To do whatever it took because he wanted to have his woman.
"Look at us, Bane. Look at all the bandages." She swallowed some when his hand left her breasts to crawl between her thighs under her nighty.
That glint in his eye remained, dismissing her reasoning. "Then I'm afraid you will have to be gentle, my darling."
Her heart started to increase its thumping, her lungs forcing her to take deep breaths even as she parted her legs for his hand. This is what was so conflicting with him, she thought. The body wants one thing as the mind screams the opposite. It was a fierce battle, and most of the time… the mind lost. "You can have my hands. Or my mouth. Do you want my mouth?" Even as she tried to persuade him differently, her hand still curled around his wrist to move it the way she wanted it to move between her legs. She inhaled, her exhale mixing with a breathy moan. "I could do that instead."
She was slowly rubbing against his hand now, her head falling back and the ends of her curly black hair whispering against his bare stomach. "Maybe next time," he hummed, and lifted his other arm very carefully so that he could slide it into her hair and graze his nails on her scalp. "Come straddle me now, darling Camille."
The conflicting battle inside her was a tough one, but in the end the mind failed. She wanted to give him what he was asking for, wanted to take care of him because he'd been through too much. He'd almost died, and if he wanted sex then she would be willing. She could be careful, she told herself, her black eyes hazing over in her need for him. She just had to be gentle with both of them and they could get through it without any pain. He'd almost died, her mind screamed again as she turned to meet his gaze. But she brushed that thought away because she didn't like to dwell on it, had managed not to think about that thought too much because it could tear her apart. Camille crawled over carefully after sliding her panties off, watched his face intently as she straddled him for any signs of discomfort. Bane kept a hold on her hips, almost as if he were afraid that she would change her mind and stop everything, so she took it as a sign that he was fine.
Camille took a slow deep breath, and hoped to God they didn't hurt themselves from this.
She brushed the sheets over his hips back, reached behind herself so she could tug down the waistband of the sweat pants he stayed in for comfort against his injuries. She felt his cock against her lower back then, hard and ready for her, large and hot and just anticipating to slide inside her. Because of his earlier attention she was already wet for him, and was thankful for that, considering she hadn't been very aroused lately from her pain.
She could do this, she told herself. Maybe it would be good for them.
Camille adjusted her nighty over his hips, allowing his skin to feel the cooling silk. Carefully she lifted herself, using her good arm for support so she didn't aggravate her burned shoulder, and took him inside her as slowly and cautiously as she could.
Bane's eyes widened the more she sunk down onto him, relishing the feel, the wet grip of her that was so lovely. He kept his eyes on hers, her pretty face and her pouty lips, his hands tightening on her hips as an anchor to keep him from taking her roughly. She stayed where she was as soon as the head of him reached her limit, savoring the feeling, the stretch and the hold. Normally it bothered him that she was in pain, that she was tired from her inability to sleep comfortably. But to him now, this way, she looked like a goddess. The one who had stayed with him to die.
He felt so good and so hard and so big. The feeling of his chest, the tightness and power of his muscles, sent her head reeling, her nerves tingling. Camille braced herself, lifted her body and moved her hips as if in a test. She smiled a little foolishly as everything felt wonderful and hot, her body craving more of that intense connection. She did it again and again, moving her hips as her hands held his chest, digging her nails there as he'd done to her. She rocked on top of him, urging a deepened moan from him that was pleasure for her ears. This is good, she thought. This is really nice. Her thoughts seemed to translate onto her face.
And Bane's eyes smiled up at her, lusting and… something else that was old and new at the same time.
Something that was there, and just recently acknowledged.
Camille brought her fingers to the tubes of his mask as she kept at her slow but deep rocking, using the pads of them to pet him in the way he would kiss her since he could not use his mouth. She was kissing him now with her touch, an old gesture between them. Camille placed her hand on the pillow by his head, sunk onto him over and over just so she could hear those baritone growls of her mate.
And then… the feeling started to change. Started to, regrettably, go away.
Her broken ribs had only tried to warn her with their lingering ache. Now… their personified voice was rising in alarm.
Camille drew her brows together as the ache was steady ascending. She tried moving her hips a different way, tried rolling and moving back and forth. No, no, that wasn't working. It was hurting, stinging her, making her breath whoosh out in discomfort instead of pleasure. She stopped for a moment to try to gather herself, resumed her movement by trying to sink and rise on him instead. Bane was only aware of his pleasure, sliding his hands up and down her thighs before squeezing them for encouragement. Keep going, he was saying to her. Keep going, it's so good.
She had to keep going. He wanted her to.
The bandages on his body were only a saddening reminder of his life almost lost to her.
Trying to hold in a whimper of pain, her ribs throbbing in her torso now, Camille leaned forward and tried to hide her face in his neck, trying with all her might to finish him so they could be done. Bane's hands grabbed onto her bottom outside her nighty, and made her hate herself for allowing this in the first place. To desperately want this pleasure and want it to stop as well.
But she had to stop.
Bane could feel her heavy breathing on his chest, the small beads of sweat that were building on her flushed skin. But in the midst of his pleasure, he mistook her body's reactions. They were not at their normal strength, and she was just tired from the energy sex could take. Bane slowly lifted his legs, setting his feet on the mattress for balance and support. He wrapped his arms around her, pressing her breasts against his chest, and proceeded to fuck into her.
Camille's fingers found their way onto his head, massaging him there as she felt little inklings of the pleasure coming back now that she wasn't doing all the work. She mewed into his neck, breathed there to take in his scent. With the movement of his thrusting the entire front of her body was rocking on top of him, creating friction for other intimate places that needed to be touched.
But Bane quickly realized that taking control would not sit well with multiple gunshot wounds.
He felt the same pain that had stopped Camille, the stresses on his body flaring to life and stealing away his strength. It was too much for him, even with the return of the mask. It almost felt as if he'd been shot all over again. He groaned in pain then, the mask hissing as he sucked in the medicine like the lifeline it was. He shuddered, willing the daggers in his wounds to stop.
Camille lifted herself off him quickly, letting out a yelp of pain from the sudden movement.
"Stop, stop," she breathed, forcing him to slow, to calm. She held him close, put all her weight on her knees straddling him so he wouldn't have to feel the pressure of her body on his sore one. Once the pain lessoned for him, the flaring easing down in his wounds, she rolled off him with a breathless grunt. "I can't do this."
Bane watched her, watched as she clutched at her side. "What happened to you?" he asked, the ache of his body evident in his voice.
Camille placed her hands over her eyes, tried to breathe evenly and wait for the throbbing to simmer down. She felt as if she'd run ten miles and had been given all the pain from the effort it had taken. As her ribs calmed, easing down to their usual ache, she answered him. "I got hurt. When the Nightwing grabbed me, I forced him to stop. We fell to the concrete." She lifted her nighty to show him her side. And felt so foolish. "I broke two of my ribs pretty badly."
Bane stared at her body, then back at her eyes. "That is something you should have told me."
She nodded, shaking her head and sitting up on the edge of the bed. "I know. I'm sorry. I didn't want you to worry about me. You got shot," she muttered.
"And do my injuries make yours less concerning? I wouldn't have pressed you if I'd known."
"You got shot," she repeated in a whisper, longing for a pain pill. Longing for the image of him bleeding and dying to leave her memory forever. "I wanted to take care of you."
Bane's eyes softened then. He sighed, staring at Camille's back and knowing that it had been hard on her, everything that had happened to them. He knew she'd been hurt, but not to a bigger extent. And all she had wanted, in the middle of her healing from her own injuries, was for him to be well. He reached over and tugged her closer. She went willingly against him, frowning into his chest and feeling like a terrible lover. Feeling useless once more.
"How long have you been tending to me, Camille?" he asked her, placing a hand on top of her curly head.
She closed her eyes, drank in his warmth and wished it would stay in her body forever. "Since the day I met you."
"Before even then," he added, setting the grate of his mask against her hair. "You have been my caretaker in many different ways. My wish is that one day you will allow me to return that to you."
"I let you do what you want," she mumbled into his chest.
"You do. But it is out of tolerance. You have always taken care of yourself, and it is very hard for you to give that job to me. Your actions are understandable, but to only tolerate my… affections is not what I want. I want you to accept the fact that I can take care of you as well." He smiled a little into the mask. "And to not only believe it when you use me as a threat against our enemies."
Camille rubbed her lips together, feeling the scar there that ran through her bottom lip onto her chin. "It's not like the threat worked out very well."
"Camille," he murmured, dragging his thumb across that same scarred bottom lip. "The only reason why you use that threat is because your guard is completely down, and you know then that I can protect you. You do not have to mother me the way you have for others in your past. We can protect each other. I want to," he continued, wanting to believe that he had not helped her fight her battles for nothing. He intended to keep her always. "If you would only let me, completely."
Camille sighed and looked up at him. All her life she had been alone, and maybe coexisting with someone this way would take some getting used to even if it would take years. But she'd done everything for him, had given up the world to stay with the man who had changed everything for her. And if she could give up the world, then she could also give up the control to him. Completely.
She pressed her face against his chest again, snuggling against him as if trying to meld their bodies into one. "Just hold me," she whispered.
And he did.
More time went by in India, and her ribs had healed after a grueling recovery. Bane's wounds were still taking some time, but at the present moment in his own recovery, he could even walk outside and actually lead his army. He was progressing along nicely, and Camille was doing all she could to keep the progress coming. As she'd reached the end of her healing, Bane had taken to trailing his fingers over the skin where her ribs had been cracked, touching ever so lightly in a way that would help her go to sleep. With the help of blood flow from that touch to the area, her bones fused and no longer snipped at her in pain. The shoulder was another matter, taking longer to heal but hardly the moist mess it had been before. With the proper treatment, she would also improve there as well.
Camille helped in many ways with Bane's recovery. She'd even coerced him into a treatment now
He sat in the bath, large and deep enough to hold him, the warm water sizzling with salts and slightly bubbling from the jets. His bandages were off, the nasty red sight of the bullet holes healing steadily and without infection from Camille's influences, like the bath. She lifted a brow at his apparent huffing.
"What?" she asked, lacing her voice with annoyance.
"Is this really necessary?"
She rolled up the sleeves of her baggy black sweater over a pair of shorts. "It's salt water. It's good for you."
"I feel like a child."
Camille let him soak as she looked into the mirror to reapply bright red lipstick, the counter littered with different tubes of color. "You grew up in prison. Shouldn't you appreciate simple pleasures like a bath?"
He watched the shining water bubble around his body. "I much prefer the shower."
She seemed to dismiss his preferences. "I don't care what you say. Salt water will draw moisture out of inflamed skin to reduce swelling. It also cleans out an open wound and increases healing."
"It's lovely to see you again, Dr. Lane."
She ignored him and walked over to sit on the edge of the tub, reached into the water to dance her fingers through the surface. "Cleaning open cuts are my specialty. Crystalline sea salt works wonders."
Bane looked down at the bullet wounds he could see over his naked body. If a female had not been tending to him, he most likely wouldn't be sitting in a bubbling bath. But, looking now at Camille's scars from her cutting, he knew she was a reliable source. "I would feel much better if you were in this water with me."
Camille smiled softly at him. Sex was still off limits. She hadn't wanted to risk more pain for him, or halt her own recovery since the last time had not worked out well at all. She took to pleasing Bane sexually in other ways when he would need the release from healing. She also knew he wasn't being neglected in any way, so his words now were just to tease. "If you weren't going to get in this bath I would've stuck my fingers in your bullet holes."
He tilted his head. "I enjoy it when you talk that way."
She touched the surface again, above his own fingers that were waving through the water. Maneuvering her body, she slowly set her legs into the bath, all the way down until it lapped over her knees. It felt nice, soothing, hot with Bane's body within it. She felt his hand swim through the water like a fish, his fingers snaking down her calf and over her foot deep within the water. Bane knew his limitations now, knew they wouldn't be forever, but still he moved just a little closer, opening her thighs so he could sit in the bath between them. His hands took her ankles, gripping as he moved them up her leg, out of the water and over her bare thighs. Drops of water fell down her pale skin in a way that made him envy them, creating an image that he could do the exact same thing with his mouth. Bane moved closer to her between her legs, placing the grate of the mask against her thigh and scratching her with it as he moved closer to her center. Bane wrapped his arms around her, rubbing the tips of his fingers he'd snaked underneath her sweater onto her lower back. He buried his face in her lap, took her in as the water bubbled along his skin for healing.
Camille lifted her hand and trailed the length of the scar on the back of his neck. She could feel his breath whooshing out through the mask between her legs and tried not to feel intense arousal from it when the positioning of them was only to soothe.
When Bane spoke, his voice was low and deep, and vibrating against her. "You said something to me before everything went dark in Gotham. Before I fell unconscious."
Up and down her fingers went along the scar. "I did," she answered, and it was almost nonchalantly. Almost forced to sound that way.
Almost forced, because the words of love had become easy in the last moments before death.
He could hear her voice in his head, a small, grieving voice amidst the roar of the Tower collapsing. She'd accepted their fate, taking his own even though she could have chosen a different one. She'd held him in her lap, and spoke her confession. The burden gone from a great release.
"Do you?" he murmured against her.
Did she? Did she really, now that they were out of peril, out of danger and out of death? Camille pictured him dying, pictured him training her, pictured him taking her body when the connection was new. She remembered the night he'd kidnapped her, the very first moment she saw him sitting at her table in Arkham Asylum. And she could remember what she had said to him, something she'd already known but had been too afraid to confess.
There was no fear now.
"I do," she crooned to him.
Not a hallucination, Bane discovered. Not a dream, or a waste. Instead, all very real and given to him when it never had been given before. How could she not? he asked himself, an inner question that had gotten him through his healing when he had wondered if her confession had been reality. How could Camille not feel that way when he knew… that he felt the same way about her? Sometimes he didn't like it, had told her exactly that and had received nothing but understanding from her. Sometimes, he hated the very way of her because everything about her was so important. This need, this desire, had caused him pain and anguish. It made him weak and incapable at times.
But to be without her was to be thrown into the pit all over again.
Sometimes he really hated her, but he also knew that it was anything but hate.
"What makes a wife, Camille?"
She brought the tips of her fingers onto his head, keeping them on his skin instead of on the mask. "You've already asked me this question."
A wife is your partner. Your other half. Someone who can hurt you, and also the only one who can kiss away that hurt. Someone you find the answers with. Someone who takes care of you.
He could remember the words.
Camille checked the state of his wounds within the water. "We've had this discussion before. You told me yes."
"Then," he began, moving his fingers along her lower back as if he were petting her, "I will keep my word to you."
In truth, her confession had not been the last thing said before Bane had succumbed to agony. In truth, she knew, he had been the one to speak the last words.
"Do you?" she asked.
Someone you find the answers with. Someone who takes care of you.
Someone.
"I do," he said.
It was not something to rush into and it was not something to plan, like the way of the normal world. Bane and Camille knew to wait until the schedule allowed, until he was well enough and until the army got back to working and taking contracts. No day was set, seeing as how they were never the type of people to celebrate a holiday or a certain day unless it was remembered in the moment and important enough to remember, which didn't guarantee many options. When the time was right, when the day was free, then they could take that day for themselves and do what had been promised. Camille, even though nothing had been planned because planning would be silly within their life and work, had plotted just a little something, and only because the woman she was demanded it of her. Bane could wear his familiar armor again as long as the bullet wounds were protected, and his strength had escalated to the powerhouse he was before his injuries. On and on the days passed. On and on…
Until the afternoon came when he told her to get in the truck.
It wasn't normal by any means. It was a miracle they were even doing something like this, considering his status and her bad track record with this very issue. But he had made a promise, and she would be given a second chance.
Not normal, but exactly their way.
Barsad drove them because Camille didn't know the way and Bane simply hadn't wanted to. They drove far into town, Bane in a black shirt and cargo pants and Camille in a long skirt and flowing top with a small backpack on her shoulders, miles and miles going by until they found the place they'd been looking for in a civilized and almost Americanized part of the country. It stood tall, an old structure but one that had been kept safe from the spiritual locals of India, colorful stain glass windows shining in the bright sun like rainbows. The non-denominational church was closed, free of everyone save for the pastor who was known to take this day for himself to pray within the walls of God. The sanctuary was empty, the pews unfilled with only the afternoon light shining through. The pastor was not expecting company.
Especially not two men who were armed with a lady standing in the middle.
The pastor was older with darker skin, his head bald from age and his eyes brown and kind. Long black robes covered him from his collar to his feet with a Bible clutched to his chest after his time set in the Word. He stood abruptly on the arrival of the three, keeping his face expressionless.
"You would dare steal from God's House?" the pastor asked, knowing the face of the one with the mask. One said to be a prisoner freed from a Hell on earth.
Bane's mask wheezed before he spoke. There was no reason to excessively threaten when the prey was outnumbered. "I am a righteous man, Father. Even I have a code of honor when it is necessary to use it."
The pastor stood his ground calmly. If he was to become a martyr, then he was ready. "For a righteous man falls seven times, and rises up again; But the wicked are overthrown by calamity," he recited.
"I have set my wickedness aside for today. I have left calamity behind. I come here to ask for your assistance."
He blinked, and then he could have laughed, eyeing the masked man's friend covered in weapons. "Forgive me, but I have no help to offer you when it comes to your line of work. Unless you have come to repent before the Lord."
"What is your name?" Bane asked abruptly.
Accepting his fate, the tension and small inkling of fear eased away. "I would like to only be addressed by my appointed title."
"Very well." Bane looked to Camille, then placed his hand on the small of her back to move her forward, almost showing her like a prize. "My intention is not to lie to you. I wish to wed this woman."
The pastor had expected a theft of the tithes, possibly of other perspective valuables as well. He had even expected them to kill him in some horrific act of true justice this masked man once claimed to have believed in. But, looking at the woman, he would have expected the men to drop to their knees in spiritual forgiveness before what was just asked of him. He was silent for a moment in a mixture of confusion and slight surprise. "Excuse me?"
"I am not one to stammer," Bane said, expecting only cooperation. "Do as I ask and we will all leave here without altercation."
He squinted his eyes some, tilted his head. "Certainly this wouldn't be legal. You don't have the proper papers."
"I would assume vows spoken before God would hold more value than a measly paper."
What an abnormal request coming from a mercenary, the pastor thought as he gathered his mind. But it could also be so abnormal to cover a truth. His eyes studied the woman, a woman who was no doubt American and vastly different from the two men. She wasn't overly giddy about the prospect of marrying such a man, but she wasn't screaming for her life either. She only stood at the masked man's side, simply waiting for whatever would come next. There was a choice here, he concluded. Their intentions were not evil ones, and if he performed a ceremony his church had always condoned then they would leave him unharmed. But evil intentions could also be covered up so very easily with something that was externally good.
Sometimes, the pastor knew, God put certain people in your path for a reason.
"I would like to speak with the lady before I make my decision."
Bane's eyes flashed. "The decision is easy to make, Father. If you wish to remain in good health then you will do as I say."
"I will not have violence here," the pastor said sternly, even taking a small step forward. "I will speak to this woman or I will walk away. My fate is already written."
Camille took Bane's arm and tugged softly. When he looked to her she nodded. "It's okay, I'll talk to him."
"I know what he is going to ask you."
She gave his arm the slightest of squeezes. "Then he'll be in for a shock, won't he?" Camille approached the pastor, followed him as he went further into the church and out of earshot from the men. She sighed softly, wondering why no one could just shut up and accept her choices. No matter where they went, it seemed, someone would think they had to do something to save her.
"Is this really what you want, girl?" the pastor asked softly, turning so their backs were to the others. "I can try to help you escape."
Camille grinned a little, thinking it funny that she only ever heard these offers after she'd decided to stay with Bane for good. "Where were you two years ago when he kidnapped me?"
He grew somewhat alarmed. "I will help you all that I can."
She felt the weight of the small pack on her back, reminding her why they were here. "I don't need help. Things changed, and I was the one who asked him to marry me." She looked over and could have laughed at his expression. "If you won't be reasonable then he'll only get angry. And so will I. I want to keep him always."
If she'd been a desperate woman ruled by fear of the one she claimed she wanted to keep, then she would have succumbed to those fears to run to freedom. Looking at her face, into her eyes, the pastor saw a woman with a made up, clear mind. One who would allow these threats to get what she wanted. One who knew where her heart was.
One, he saw, who really wanted to keep what was hers.
Sometimes God put certain people in your path, he thought again. Sometimes, you were here for those the world had damned.
Wanting them gone and out of God's House, the pastor turned abruptly, his robes swinging at his feet, and said to all, "Then we will begin immediately. I suppose marrying a couple of mercenaries is better than allowing them to live in sin."
Bane stepped forward, Barsad at his side, and was just as eager to start so that it could be finished and he could be given his bride.
"I just need one moment," Camille announced, holding up a single finger and receiving glances from the men. "Please. Just one minute. I won't be long, I promise," she said to Bane before hurrying off to the nearest bathroom she could find.
All three men lifted a brow at her.
Will you?
Yes.
That one minute had turned into a few, but they were men, she thought, not paying them any mind. One minute to a woman, of course, meant more than that. She had to do something important, something she'd planned days ago as she'd searched and searched for something appropriate, waited for in the mail under a false name, and then had rolled into the backpack she'd brought with her today. She needed to do this, for both of them. If they would never celebrate this day ever again in their lives then at least she would give them this memory. She fiddled and doctored, making it perfect before that impatient knock came onto the door with Barsad right outside. When she was done she opened the door and he saw her.
"You look beautiful," he said. And simply turned his back to return to his leader.
Camille took a deep breath, and then went to join them.
Bane stood still and quiet, the pastor standing next to him where a pastor stood in a ceremony such as this. Barsad returned from seeing to what had been taking her so long, not speaking a word to anyone and only went back to his place standing near Bane. He didn't even meet Bane's wondering eye as he'd passed him.
Bane decided then that if Camille didn't return within the very next moment that he would barge into the bathroom and drag her out.
He heard her heels then approaching them, saw her shadow as she rounded the corner. It was about time, he thought, feeling a little impatient and not even knowing why he was feeling such a way. They were after something quick and easy, not something dragged out wasting more time. He found he felt slightly unnerved by all of this, this act that had once been only a fantasy to him within the pit, and during his time loving Talia. But here this day was, and… he just wanted it to be over with. Bane set annoyance in his eyes, waiting for her to see it.
And then… it was as if he'd been thrown under water, where everything was so very still and so very silent. A place where time was meaningless and the world was slow. He stared at Camille, the annoyance washing away in the wind, and was replaced with something he couldn't even decipher. There was Camille.
And she was wearing an ivory dress.
The dress was long, hugging close on her body as the ends flowed against the floor like wings. It was made of pretty lace, moving with the strong curves of her body and the sleeves ending at her elbows. The color of ivory instead of pure white, it made her pale skin glow and intensified the black of her curls. He took in every little detail about her, something new appearing with every inch she grew closer. When she was standing right in front of him, she smiled a little sheepishly with a small lift of her shoulders, that smile that was painted as red as blood. Bane didn't want to blink, only wanted to observe. He looked to her hair, saw behind her ear a black rose. He could remember when he'd given her a black rose, the very first thing he'd ever gifted her with, a small symbol of their days together. The vows that would be spoken were supposed to have been the only thing of the normal world, but she had decided on something a little different. To others, the dress she wore could have been seen as simple for such an important occasion.
But simple had suddenly become larger than life.
Bane was not giving him a signal to start, so the pastor simply cleared his throat. "The whole to-do, I'm assuming, is not desired. So I will simply cut to the chase. I know who you are," he said to Bane, not receiving a response from the man's blatant staring. "What is your name, dear?"
"Camille Lane."
"Well then, Ms. Lane, please join hands."
Camille lifted her hands out to Bane, who remained motionless. She looked up at him, into his green eyes, and smiled. She didn't know what was going on in his head, enjoyed, on a certain level, his reaction to her appearance. And, thinking once again, she knew the plan had been good. "Hold my hands," she said to him softly.
Bane blinked, swallowed. He could hear her voice through the fog. He could see those pretty red lips moving and listened to the sweet sound of her voice. Obeying that voice, he lifted his hands and took hers.
"Will you have this man as your husband, Camille?"
She wasn't nervous, she discovered. Maybe she thought she would be, considering she had been married once before and it had only ended in absolute failure and depression. But she couldn't be nervous now. In this dress, she could only feel utterly content. "I will."
"And will you, Bane, have this woman as your wife?"
Bane could see the bandages wrapped on her shoulder peeking out over the dress from the neckline. He could see the small scars on her forearms from her past of cutting and severe loneliness. Some of those very scars had been created during her time with him, something she'd had no control over in her brief moments of losing herself to sadness. And he could see the scar through her bottom lip from her days locked up in terror, thinking herself a dead woman and convinced that he wouldn't come for her. Just as he was, she was marred from a brutal past, inside and out. And just as he was, she had conquered that past and had risen as the victor.
The same.
And… she had never looked so lovely.
Will you?
"I will," he murmured.
"Then, before God, I pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss your bride."
Something sank in Bane's chest then. He slightly looked over to the pastor, wondered if he'd stated that on purpose as an odd kind of revenge. He didn't really know what to do, he realized, his body still and feeling awkward. He was quite simply out of his element.
In the moment of his unsureness, Camille was the one to stand up on her tiptoes, take his face in her hands to pull him down. And she kissed him right on the grate of his mask.
And he could have sworn he felt it.
The pastor spoke again. "Therefore a man shall leave his father and mother and hold fast to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh." Stepping away, he prepared to lock the doors behind them. "Your union is set. I must return to my work now."
What makes a wife?
Maybe Camille was right when she'd told him of a spouse's attributes. She'd been married once before and had some experience. Maybe there were other things, things she didn't know because her first marriage had ended in disaster. And of course, Bane didn't know. He'd once thought Talia as his inharmonious wife, and that had only given him grief beyond words. Neither of them had a great record of past love, only a great record of heartache and sorrow. But this here was a second chance, just as they'd been given a second chance at life when they had survived the attack from their enemies and the ones they used to love. Maybe neither of them knew what made a successful relationship.
But it was about time they found out what did.
They arrived back at the big house just as the sun was sinking into the horizon. Barsad had called the base ahead of time, given everyone their orders straight from Bane. Nothing other than perfect obedience was expected from the army by the time they rode up and discovered the entire property abandoned. They were to find other sleeping arrangements for the night, Bane had told Barsad. They would all leave the house, whether they could find work or interesting pleasures in town, and not return until tomorrow. Barsad stopped the truck in the front yard as the sand from the Indian grounds began blowing in the wind, the sky mixing with red, gold, and purple, and waited for them to exit. Camille, still wearing her wedding dress, reached over and patted Barsad's shoulder ever so softly in thanks before hopping out of the vehicle and walking towards the front door of her home.
Once Bane climbed out, he leaned down and looked at Barsad through the window. "I'm afraid you must find other accommodations for tonight as well."
Barsad smirked some. "Nothing could keep me in that house on the night of consummation. I've heard the two of you enough to last me a lifetime."
Bane didn't think anything of his statement. Both he and Camille hardly cared whether they were heard or not. They never had. "I see the efforts you have made, with leading the army when I could not and with Camille. You will know that I appreciate it."
It was almost a relief to hear it, even after forgiveness had been given. "I have no place anywhere else."
"You are meant to stay with me," Bane agreed, knowing the regret and guilt had been heavy on his second's chest. But redemption had lifted it. "And I thank you for saving her life."
The smirk appeared again. "You aren't going to think of me as a hero, are you?"
"No," Bane answered deeply, staring at his soldier and seeing the difference he'd longed for in his eyes. "Never a hero. But you are my brother."
Barsad let Bane reach through the window and place his large hand on his head, ruffling his messy brown hair in an odd affectionate gesture. Normalcy was there between them again, and because he was so relieved to feel it, Barsad placed his own hand on top of Bane's. "Go. Enjoy your lady."
Bane laughed softly and knowingly. "I will."
He followed after Camille as Barsad drove away.
She'd pounced on him as soon as the door was closed and locked, or at least had pounced as seductively and as carefully as she could with his injuries that were still healing. Bane grabbed her, finally able to touch that pretty dress, as her hot mouth latched onto his neck to taste him. He was careful of her burned shoulder, lightly sliding the tubes of the mask against her own neck in return as his back hit the door and her body sandwiched him in between. His wounds had forced them to wait for this kind of connection. Now that they had come far enough along, all they wanted to do was take each other quickly and breathlessly.
Bane growled at her and spun them around, raking his fingers like claws down her sides to feel her curves and the dress. He didn't know what had suddenly exploded inside her, but she was craving for him and he could do nothing but satisfy her. Maybe it was the period of time of going without, of having him sleep right next to her or pleasing him sexually with her mouth or her hands that made her feral now, desperate for his touch. Or maybe it was this day, he wondered, pulling up the skirt of her wedding dress as she wiggled her arms out of the top portion. Maybe what they were to each other now sent her skyrocketing.
The only sounds in the large house were Bane's deep grunts and growls, Camille's breathless moans and gasps, and the sound of her body hitting the door when he finally drove himself inside her.
Desperately she clung to him, trying to blow her curls out of her eyes and lift her leg against his side so she could take more of him. She shoved her hands up his shirt, wanting to feel his hot skin, wanting to claw at his muscles with her long nails so he would purr like a tiger. Groaning into her neck, Bane grasped onto her bottom underneath the skirt falling around her naked hips, slamming hard inside her one time before being content with just letting her center hold him. When she demanded it of him with her impatient hisses, he lifted his arms so she could pull his shirt over his head. He wanted her naked against him, but there was plenty of time for that. Right now, he only wanted to have her in that dress.
"Camille," he breathed, swooping an arm under her bottom and lifting her from the floor, wrapping his other arm around her waist as he began to pump.
She whispered his name in return, clutching at him and shivering, encouraging him on with her moans and swipes of her tongue against his skin. He went as fast and as hard as he could, both of them craving it because neither of them had preferred soft and slow when they could take carnal pleasure with unyielding strength. This is what I want, her mind screamed as her body became overwhelmed. This is what I missed.
"I love you," she hummed, her voice shaky and feeling only his body, the beat of his heart against her chest. He was already sliding her to the floor so she could ride him, touching her face and her neck, her breasts and her waist. "I love you…"
She did.
Later on into the night, after he had gotten her naked and had finally taken her to bed to begin all over again, Camille was sleeping soundly on her stomach, the sheets pulled down to her hips and her bare back shining in the moonlight. Her hair was in her face, moving with her breaths as she slept, and her arms spread out wide in exhaustion after sex. She arched her back a little in a cat-like stretch, sighed sleepily as one of her outstretched arms felt around for the warm body of who was now her husband. Up and down her arm went, searching for him and feeling only silky sheets.
Caught between sleep and awake, she panicked slightly when she couldn't find him, picturing him bloody from bullets and dying right in her lap.
"Calm yourself," Bane shushed, grabbing her calf after she shot up looking for him. "I'm right here."
She let out a deep breath, inspected his bandages even though he was fine, perfectly fine just sitting on the side of the bed down by her legs. He was still naked save for those bandages, the mask along his face hissing and comforting him from the pain. Camille brushed her hair off her forehead, sat up and clutched the sheets to her bare chest. "What are you doing up?"
"I have yet to fall asleep."
She looked to the curtains, knowing Bane felt more relaxed watching a starry sky. "Do you want me to open the windows?"
"No."
Her eyes lowered to his hand, saw him clutching something in his grasp. "What is that?" Bane looked down at it as well, rubbing it between his fingers. Ivory fabric. "Is that my wedding dress?"
"Yes," he simply murmured, and the expression he gave her then matched the one from earlier, the look he was wearing when she'd stepped out in the dress she had slipped on for him. She knew that look well. She could remember seeing it, a long time ago, on his face when he would be thinking of Talia before he'd gotten rid of her from his heart. Camille had once told him that it saddened her knowing she could never bring that look out on his face. But there it was, and just for her.
Only for her now.
"What you said to me," Bane began, his voice low and his eyes now looking back down at the dress in his hand. "What I've said to you… It is all very overwhelming."
The psychiatrist within her buzzed to life a little, but if she wanted to find out the truth behind his words she knew she had to keep that curiosity and analyzing down a notch. "I know. I know how you feel."
Bane traced his thumb along the lace. "It is very easy for people to ignore the truth. It is like you've been stabbed with a knife, and instead of pulling it out to tend to the wounds, you keep it in your body because the reality of being injured is too difficult to face. And the longer the blade remains, the bigger the infection becomes. Before you bleed out entirely." He took a deep breath, the air sounding like static as it was pushed out. "I will tell you something on this night because of what we have done today. I knew the truth about Talia long before you forced it into my life. I tried to hold onto it, like a dagger in my side. And… still I unavoidably fell for another woman." Bane looked down, away from her gaze. "The night I struck you," he murmured, remembering the bruises on her face from his raging hand. "It was as if, right then, I had been stabbed with another blade. Another woman. And it was very difficult to hold two inside. In the end, I removed Talia's knife from my body, but yours is still there." He lifted the dress to his mask, almost like he was breathing it in before letting it fall to the floor. His eyes met her black ones in the moonlit bedroom. "What I feel for you kills me, at times. Like a knife. But I would rather die than remove you."
He turned a little, showed her now that he had also slipped a needle under the skin of his arm earlier, the tubes leading right to a bag of morphine he used when he needed to eat. He pulled the needle out, set it aside before calmly reaching up to undo the mask.
She was very rarely given intense affection by him in the form of words. It had been hard enough for her to get anything out of him as his psychiatrist, let alone now after he'd married her. Camille watched him carefully as his face was uncovered for her, that handsome, scarred face of his that could leave her breathless. Bane crawled a little closer to her on the bed, reached up to touch his face that he could hardly ever feel. And then he leaned forward.
"I will kiss the bride," he growled against her lips.
Camille sank into his mouth, sank into everything about him. The sheet covering her fell, was replaced by his body once she leaned back and he chased her lips for more. The bandages between them rubbed against each other, signs of pain and sacrifice, and only her sighs and the wet sounds of their mouths heard. His hands went into her hair, hers onto his face to feel untouchable skin as she opened her mouth against his.
It was funny how simplicity was anything but simple. It was ironic that the meaningless could mean so much. A white dress was a simple thing. A kiss was an act most took for granted. Bane would kiss Camille until his body called for relief once again, until the mask created that small separation. Bullet wounds could not kill him. Self-mutilation could not cause her to bleed out. The past was off in the distance, the union was set.
And pain had cascaded away.
The End
A/N: Oh my. I know this is very long, but I wanted to give you enough material so that it would be satisfying. I hope you all enjoyed the return of Bane and Camille. If everyone would still like to see more of them in the future, I'm certain I can do another one of these. Thank you so much to all the readers who were messaging me about this one-shot, and thank you to all who will read and review. The fans of Bane and Camille are why this is even here, and why I've been working so hard on it for the last week, haha. Be patient, my darlings, for the next chapter of Sleeping Sun, those who are reading that one. And as always, don't forget to review to let me know what you thought and if you would like to see another one. Thank you again.