Author's Note: I have no idea what this is. The writing style is really different than what I normally do. Pretty sure I messed the movie timeline up and misspelled some words. Don't even know if any of this story makes sense. I blame fanfiction for this cause people write such wonderful things and then I get inspired and make a crappy contribution. I want to write a short follow up to this but I'm too tired to figure out what I want to do right now. Okay, nonsensical rambling over! Hope you guys enjoy! And happy holidays!
-EnglishAmericanGreekGeek15
She listens to Bruce's swift movements, the constant rise and fall of his body as he pushes himself too hard, too fast. She can only bare to stay silent for a few moments more, her resolve broken when she hears a pained grunt and then continued motion. She places a finger in between the worn pages of her favorite book and speaks softly.
"You'll never regain your strength if you don't let yourself heal." She watches as his frenzied movements still for a moment, dark brown hair obscuring his face from view, but she knows his gaze is fixed on the blank tv in the corner of their cell.
"I'll rest when Gotham is safe." He sucks in a steadying breath, ignores her concern, and continues his grueling exercises.
She exhales with a gentle shake of her head and returns to her book.
Later, when the wounds on his back have reopened and she is gently massaging ointment into the cracked, swollen skin, he asks her if she knows the man who did this to him, who holds his city hostage. Her hands stutter against Bruce's skin and she feels a tight band wrap itself around her heart.
She hesitates for a moment, her breath frozen in her lungs.
"Yes, I knew him." She feels Bruce tense beneath her immobile hands and begins to tenderly massage him once more, attempting to soothe some of his pain.
"Were you prisoners together, here?"
She's careful to continue her ministrations on Bruce's back, even as her eyes begin to sting.
"No, I never knew him in the pit." Her voice comes out unsteady and her hands shake as she remembers doing this long ago, for another man, whom she had loved dearly.
A man she still loves, desperately, longingly, ardently.
So absorbed in the past, she doesn't notice when her tumultuous control slips and her tears cascade silently down her cheeks and roll down Bruce's shoulders.
He notices her pain and stops asking questions.
The pit doctor comes to visit periodically, and she detests his visits even though she knows they are necessary.
She can not stand Bruce's cries of agony during each visit but is heartened to see him grow stronger and the sounds lessen with each week that passes.
During the doctor's most recent visit, he pulls her aside to talk privately, or at least to uphold the illusion of privacy.
"There will be a supply drop soon, I will get what provisions I can for you. Do not leave this cell."
Out of the corner of her eye, she watches Bruce tense, fists clenched at the implications of the doctor's warning.
She thanks the doctor and as he turns to leave, a dry and gruff voice calls out from the cell adjacent to theirs.
"The key, doctor."
The doctor freezes in his tracks, outstretched hand dropping from the cell door.
She turns, appalled.
"Uri! I trust the Doctor, he would never barter my key for-"
Uri's voice cracks out like a whip and she flinches away, not used to the vehemence in his usually soft-spoken words.
"You are a fool! He could easily die in the struggle and if the men discover your key on his body…"
She shudders as Uri trails off, no doubt remembering the horror on the day of Talia's mother's death. She swallows hard, nausea turning her stomach. She's been in the pit for at least three years now and she has been incredibly lucky. Aside from an unwanted touch here or there when she gets too close to the edges of the cell and a lewd comment or crude gesture, she has never been in imminent physical danger. But despite her luck, she is very aware of her precarious situation, the delicate balance that means life or death. Her heart thunders in her chest as her thoughts begin to spiral.
She is so lost to the rising panic that she jumps when she feels a gentle hand settle on her shoulder and a solid chest against her back. Bruce leans down and his hair tickles her ear.
"Breathe, It's okay. Just breathe. In through your nose and out through your mouth. There you go. Good job."
She realizes her eyes must have slammed shut during her panic and as Bruce patiently brings her back down, she lets her lids lift and witnesses the doctor hand the key to their cell to Bruce, who grasps it tightly, resolute.
The doctor smiles kindly at her.
"I am not offended. But I must ask your forgiveness. My thoughtlessness could have cost you your life."
"Of course I forgive you." She somehow manages to conjure up a smile for the doctor. "If it weren't for you and Uri, I would be dead by now." Bruce's hand spasms against her shoulder and she brings her hand up to pat his comfortingly.
"I'm okay, promise." She whispers as she watches the doctor leave.
She goes to bed early that night, curled up tightly on the threadbare cot shoved in the corner of their cell, Bruce's soft exhalations and the sound of his rustling clothes lulling her to sleep. She sleeps deeply for a time and wakes to the sound of quiet voices in the night. It takes her a moment to recognize the story Uri is telling but when she does her whole body tenses and she clenches her eyes tight. Her heart feels battered and split open, raw. It aches for the man she loves. But he won't come for her, he never will.
"And Amelia? She didn't commit any crime, did she?" She can practically feel Bruce's eyes on her and tries to relax her body, not wanting to alert him to the fact that she was awake and not really knowing why.
"No, she took someone's place." Bruce sucks in a startled breath.
"Like the mercenary's wife?"
"Yes." Uri's voice is mournful and she hates it. She doesn't regret her decision. How could she, when this was the only way to keep her beloved in the light? She could never have lived with herself if she let him be condemned to this pit again, without light, without hope, without a chance to be more.
Tiredness sets into her bones once more as Uri continues to regale Bruce with tales of the Pit and as her vision and mind go hazy, she can almost feel the ghost of her beloved's fingers threading through her hair.
The doctor returns with provisions and smiles apologetically when he notices her crestfallen face.
"The men pounced upon the books before I could even see what had been sent down."
She pushes down her disappointment and reaches over to snag her beaten up copy of Pride and Prejudice from her cot.
"Who needs more books when I've got good old Jane to keep me company?"
Bruce smiles softly and reaches forward to gently thumb the pages of her book.
"My mother loved this book. It was her favorite." Her throat cinches at his use of the past tense and the raw emotion in his eyes. She smiles fondly, feeling overrun with emotion for a woman she never knew.
"Well she must have had great tas-" She is abruptly cut off by the crackling of the tv and the voice of a news anchor issuing a warning for the following footage.
She watches with held breath as images of a ravaged Gotham flicker across the screen. Fires scattered across the landscape, men and women forced to walk across unstable ice, their ankles and legs trembling. Bridges and roads sectioned off, preventing anyone from entering or leaving. Abruptly, the slideshow of horror stops and is replaced with a video of a man in a mask giving a speech to a rowdy crowd.
Her breath hitches and her hold on the book lossens, her fingers barely holding on. She would know the shape of that figure anywhere, the line of his shoulders, the deftness of his hands. Her vision begins to tunnel, her chest rising so rapidly her lungs are unable to keep up. She remembers those hands, she remembers those eyes. Her heart hammers away, her ribs aching. She fumbles backward until her back slaps against the crumbling brick of the Pit. Somehow, despite the riot of emotions ravaging her, she notices the hatred in Bruce's gaze, winces as he seethes and spits out a name with such hatred, such contempt, that her fingers quake.
"Bane."
The book falls to the floor and so does she.
She wakes up slowly, her lips dry and her throat parched. Gingerly, she sits up and gratefully accepts the water Bruce offers her. She notices the doctor is no longer in their cell but she doesn't doubt the clean water came from him. She finishes the water at Bruce's insistence and sets the bottle down beside the cot.
Bruce watches her movements hawkishly and she can't meet his eyes. For the first time since she made her decision, she wonders if it was the right one. If not for her beloved, then for the world.
They sit in silence for so long that she startles when Bruce speaks.
"It was him, wasn't it? Bane is the man you traded your life for."
"Yes." She whispers.
"Why?" Bruce sounds so pained, so confused that she has to meet his eyes. She owes him that much. Him and his city.
"Because I love him." She watches Bruce's hands shake and she regrets the suffering her decision has caused this man. This man, who is good and bright and her friend.
"Why?"
"He wasn't always that man on the tv." She swallows hard, her emotions burning the back of her throat. "I nursed him back to health, after he was rescued from the Pit. He was gruff and awkward and honest. And he was as gentle as he knew how to be. I grew to care for him and that affection grew until one day, I came to check on him and he was reading-" Her eyes flicker fondly to her copy of Pride and Prejudice-"and I just knew. My heart wasn't mine anymore."
She breathes deeply for a moment, ignores the tears that roll down her cheeks.
"He never felt the same way and as much as it pained me then, it never mattered. Loving someone is a choice and I could never begrudge someone theirs, even if their choice is to abstain."
She exhales on a shudder and tangles her fingers in the thin blanket strewn across her lap.
"And then he began his training with Ra's al Ghul and the League. I never saw him again."
"But the League excommunicated him, he never returned to see you?"
"His transgressions against the League were severe and Ra's al Ghul loathed Bane." She says quietly, hoping Bruce will understand. In the end, Uri is the one who speaks for her.
"Why do you think he was excommunicated and not killed? The whelp owes his life to her."
"Uri…" She sighs, not wanting to get into another argument with the old man. She's relieved when no other commentary is offered from the cell next door.
"He didn't come for you? But you took his place…" She watches Bruce, his brow furrowed, a slow rage building behind his narrowed eyes. She shakes her head.
"He doesn't know I'm here." Bruce reels back as if she struck him.
"How? The doctor said the Pit belongs to Bane now. He must know." He argues.
"No, the doctor and Uri helped me hide when he came with you." She explains patiently. "And I was placed in the pit before Ra's al Ghul's death. There was no way for him to know."
"Why? Why won't you let him find out?"
The question bothers her and she lifts a hand to rub at her chest, trying to sooth the stinging of her heart. Why didn't she tell Bane when she had the chance? It would have been so easy to call out his name. But instead, she hid herself away, too afraid to take the chance. She was brave enough to face life imprisonment but couldn't bare his rejection. She laughs self deprecatingly, caught in her own mind for a moment.
"Amelia?" Bruce's expectant voice breaks her out of her own mind.
"Because I did not take his place for him to know. I took his place to save his life." She says simply. "But Bruce, I am sorry for Gotham. I never thought-" She breaks off, swallows. "The man I knew was aggressive, defensive, a brute at times, but I never knew him to be capable of such wanton destruction. I'm sorry for the part I played in this." She feels shame well up inside of her and her throat constricts with a guilt so thick she fears she might choke.
"I need to think." Bruce grunts, turning away.
"Okay." She whispers and carefully wipes away the tears tumbling from her eyes, hoping she had not just lost a friend.
She lies in her cot, unable to sleep. Her heart aches and her eyes are dry and swollen. Her love for Bane has not waned, not even in the face of the atrocities he's committed. In the darkness of their cell, with nothing but her own thoughts as witness, she can admit that she hid from him because a life caged was better than a life with the confirmation of his apathy, bereft of his love. At least here, she could pretend he loved her and that he would come. That was the poison of the Pit after all. Hope.
Bruce begins to practice climbing the wall and her heart crumbles. Wonders if the sinking feeling is her chest caving in, drowning her in her own sorrow.
She is nestled in her cot, trying to distract herself with her book, when Bruce comes stumbling in. His shoulders are hiked up high and his jaw is clenched. He's frustrated and she wouldn't be surprised if he's hurt himself attempting the climb again. She sets her book aside and reaches out to him.
"Let me help you. Lay down and I'll make sure you haven't damaged yourself further." She watches the indecision play out on his handsome face until his shoulders relax and he carefully lowers himself on his stomach.
She smiles and begins to knead the knots from his muscles. For a long time, there is nothing but her steady breathing and the occasionally pained groan from Bruce. Uri, as usual, breaks the silence.
"You will fail again."
"Uri…" She tries to warn but it's useless.
"You need to make the jump as the child did." Uri insists and her heart seizes. But she knows he's right.
"Without the rope." Bruce exhales, the realization rippling through his entire body, muscles flexing and unflexing, restless.
"Without the rope." She confirms, silencing her selfish fears.
The doctor comes before Bruce's last attempt.
"If you fall, you will die."
"He won't fall, he'll rise." She says, unwilling to believe otherwise.
Bruce looks around the cell, stalling for time. She smiles sadly and walks forward to force him to look in her eyes.
"You will not fail." She arches onto her tiptoes and hugs him violently. "I believe in you." She lets herself rock back onto her heels and gives him a dazzling smile, truthfully happy he will escape this hell.
"I don't want to leave you behind-"
"You won't be. You're going to lower the rope into the Pit." She reminds him.
"And you'll climb it." He insists. She nods seriously and does not allow herself to choke on her lies.
"Of course I will." She does not tell him how the men would never allow her safe passage through the prison and would slaughter any who dared to escort her, that her chances of survival are nonexistent once the men realize no one's coming for her even with the rope lowered, because then he would refuse to leave. And Gotham needs him more than she does.
He nods and turns to walk away.
"Bruce." He stops instantly but does not turn around. Can't or else his resolve might flee. "The child from the Pit, it wasn't Bane." She had wrestled with herself on whether or not to tell him but she had too. Despite her love for Bane, she had to give Gotham, and Bruce, their best chance. "It was Ra's al Ghul's daughter, Talia. She is even more dangerous than her father." She warns him, her words rushed, in case her momentary bravery fails her. "This plan, she has to be behind it. I feel it."
"Thank you." His voice sounds wrecked and his hands shake and she knows he's saying thank you for so much more than her warning.
"I'll come back for you." He says suddenly, voice strong again, determined.
"Don't." She begs. "Please don't. If you do anything...tell Bane I loved him."
Bruce notices her use of the past tense and fights through the grief, has to use the love and dedication he feels for his city to propel him from their cell and keep his knees from buckling.
Bruce makes the jump.
It's been a long time since she's cried happy tears and she's forgotten their sweetness. But she's thankful for the taste.