Disclaimer : I do not own any of these characters, which are based on Christopher Nolan's TDKR.

Author's note : I am still continuing the Gotham is Ours story, but I also found myself very interested in the Bane/Barsad dynamic although we didn't get to learn a lot about them in the movie. So, I decided to write some snippets about their association. I don't know how many I'll write before I feel it's complete, but here is the chapter on how they met.

Enjoy!

I. Step Forward

When Ra's al Ghul banished Bane from the League of Shadows, four men dragged him in the snow and left him, half-naked, a kilometer down the mountain, without medicine and his mask heavily damaged. He had painfully crawled in an opening in the rocks, to protect himself from the chilly wind. There he sat, leaning on the rock, waiting to die – knowing he wouldn't be saved this time.

His hands fumbled at first to reattach the broken tubes, but to no avail. The pain and the cold were paralyzing his fingers. He waited what he thought would be his final hours and remembered his life. He didn't remember the days before Talia's birth in the Pit – nor did he care to, for it was with her that he truly began to live. The image of her transforming face throughout the years almost drew a smile from his lips, despite the agony.

He noticed movement, but didn't move. He saw a figure approach him in the night. He wouldn't have been hard to find; one just had to follow his trace in the blood-specked snow. The wounded man's heart swelled immediately at the fantasy that it could be Talia; even if it were a pain-induced hallucination, he would endure it.

It wasn't Talia. Despite his vision being blurred by the water in his eyes, he was able to recognize that the man was one of the League's mystics. The old Bhutanese man approached carefully and started to reconnect the tubes on the mask. He changed the circular analgesic canister and stepped back, drawing a knife and adopting a defensive position, while he let Bane breathe in his salvation.

Bane could see him more clearly now, his wits were returning but his body had been so battered, not only by Ra's attack, but by the subsequent pain after the mask had been broken, that he remained slouched against the rock.

"The daughter of the Demon's Head pleaded for your life," the mystic stated simply.

Bane jerked and sat up and the mention of Talia, his eyes becoming feral.

"Ra's al Ghul does not want you to die, so he has accepted," the man continued. "He is forever grateful that you saved his only daughter, but you must part from her."

Bane's head swung towards the direction of the League compound.

"I am to return, alone," the man said. "Else, you will then die... after watching her," He stated matter-of-factly. Bane could not afford to believe that Ra's al Ghul would not kill his own flesh – in fact, it wasn't difficult to believe otherwise.

"You are excommunicated," the man pressed on. "Here, you have enough for a month," he said as he opened a large satchel with analgesic canisters. Here is the address of a man who can supply you with more. Keep some of the canisters," the man added when he handed the note to Bane.

Bane's large hand grabbed the feeble man's wrist and yanked him towards him.

"How is she?" Bane growled.

"She is unharmed… and will remain so unless you come back," the old sage answered, his voice starting to quiver. This was not a man who feared many things, but he had to tremble when he saw the light go out of Bane's eyes as the large man realized he would have to let the girl go. The mystic knew of their attachment, even before they had been discovered and exposed; he knew the bond would not break, but he also knew Bane, as beastly as he was, would not endanger her and would disappear for her sake. Bane's eyes, though, became devoid of life, as if death had entered him nonetheless. He let go of the mystic's arm and took the satchel.

The night was cold and his limbs were frostbitten but he figured he could find clothing in the village he knew was about 20 minutes away, now that he could see the surroundings. He could endure while breathing in the gas, though it could not soothe the pain he now felt in his heart.

He left without another word.

Bane had tracked down the address in India and had found a chemist who had refilled the canisters. The man didn't have the means to make the flat circular containers, so Bane would have to come and visit him for replenishment. He also gave Bane a tank, which could also be used to dispense the drug intravenously, when Bane needed to take off the mask. It was clunky and inconvenient and made him dangerously vulnerable, but he had to do it when he consumed food, which he always mashed up into a pulp, since his tender esophagus strained to swallow.

Bane soon became a mercenary and worked for the very filth he had trained to eradicate (a temporary measure, he had told himself while planning to bring his own judgment eventually). When his employers asked where he came from, he always answered: "hell on earth", but he didn't give details and no one dared to ask for any.

He had been making his way through Northern Africa for months now, through deserts and villages, his face always covered, as much to preserve is anonymity as to protect his mask from the sand. He traveled mostly at night, going from town to town and from job to job. It wasn't hard, a few demonstrations of strength was all he needed to show to get employed, his faux deferent attitude allowed his employers to think they had gotten themselves a pet lion; they were too blinded by their financial superiority to realize how insignificant they were to Bane. He asked a steep price for his services, in order for him to ensure the production of his drugs, which he kept a secret. He only stayed to make enough to periodically go back to India and replenish his supply, and often left at night, without a word, sometimes after killing his employer (sometimes his entire entourage).

He had come to a small Algerian town a few weeks ago to work for an exiled warlord who was trying to move guns in the region. As before, he secured employment easily. With his training and tactical mind, which he never revealed out right either, Bane was a natural leader but these weren't his men, he knew that; these were merely hired guns looking for money or just a means of survival. He needed men who would have belief, independent thinkers who were looking for a cause, not mere sheep.

He thought about this at night, about his plan to purge the world, as he sat by the small fire he made before going to bed. Those were the only moments he allowed himself to think of Talia, since the warmth of the flames and the memories they kindled overpowered the constant pain of hollowness he felt in his chest.

He started finding mercenaries looking for a purpose, and giving them one. He got them to get hired by the same warlord, who did not know they were loyal to Bane.

Barsad had been an elite sniper in an army he had long forgotten and had been living in the winds for five years, after an incident had forced him to abandon country and family. His skills with arms and with languages were useful to would-be dictators and revolutionaries, and they paid well, but he loathed them. He only saw their selfishness, their own greed for self-aggrandizing, no matter what they proclaimed.

One day, as he was drinking in a tavern, he saw the masked man come in. A hulking figure with a confident stride, who's face was half-covered with a black mask from which tubes sprouted out, looking like a metallic spider over his mouth. His breathing was accentuated and his eyes were sharp. Barsad had heard of the man and of his ruthlessness, but he hadn't anticipated how calm and composed he would be, since he expected a wild thug.

Bane was holding his bulletproof vest as he surveyed the men in the tavern. He stopped a few seconds when his eyes fell on Barsad. Then, his surprisingly booming voice started filing the air. "I am looking for skilled men. I will give you employment for a lifetime. More importantly, I will give meaning to your life again."

People remained silent, no one daring to speak up. Bane took a few more confident steps in the room. "I offer brotherhood to those without brothers." A few men were starting to snicker beneath their breaths but Bane paid no mind, he simply observed the scene some more. He gazed at a few, like Barsad, who had ever so slightly straightened their backs in attention.

"You will no longer serve guileless masters who put all of their faith in money. You will take back what is rightfully any man's birthright: true justice." The tips of his four fingers surrounded his thumb as he moved his hand up and down during his explanation, while he gestured broadly with his other hand.

The man was a born orator, Barsad thought. He spoke nearly perfect Arabic, with an expansive vocabulary. His voice had a joyful intonation, completely contrasting with his physicality. That made his speech all the more fascinating.

There were a thousand questions to be asked, but no one dared. "The corrupt must be dealt with without pity, only true innocence must be protected. Once that innocence is gone, only the true and strong should survive to fight for the ideal of a better world," Bane continued.

Finally, someone half-drunkenly asked: "And how much money will that give us?"

Bane turn towards the man, who already started fidgeting in his seat, obviously regretting he had spoken out loud.

"There will never be a shortage of money to accomplish our task, but money is a rotten mistress and you have to be able to burn it, just like any other depraved individual, in the fire of liberation we shall start."

The man gulped down noisily as Bane looked down at him and said flatly: "You are not such a man as I seek."

"What will your employer say when he learns you've been recruiting outside the ranks?" A tall muscled man asked, advancing and puffing his chest up like a rooster with every step, while sporting an arrogant smile.

Barsad couldn't be sure, but crinkles around Bane's eyes seemed to indicate he was smiling broadly when he approached the massive man who had called him out. Though the other man was a bit taller and broader, Bane showed no discernable fear, except for the twitching of his hands – but Barsad felt that the twitching was not out of nervousness, but of anticipation.

"How will you tell him?" Bane asked of the man.

"If the price is better than what you are offering", the man said smugly.

"How will you tell him..." Bane repeated, " without your trachea?" he finished as he grabbed the man's throat firmly and ripped out his windpipe, eliciting some of the other men to flee, and some to go for their guns – like a gruff man to Bane's side who quickly aimed at the masked man's head, but fell face down, once Barsad's bullet lodged itself between his eyes.

Bane looked quickly back to the dead man, and then back to Barsad, his eyes smiling again despite the cold they emanated.

Bane didn't ask, he commanded: "Step forward, those who would follow and live with purpose." Four stood up and walked up to Bane without hesitation, while the rest of the crowd cowered. Barsad put his sniper riffle on his back and took a step forward.