A/N: Ok, so this is kind of the epilogue to my other fic, 'Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea' with the same character, Eva, from that fic. This fic can be read on its own but if you want some background info, read Devil and the Deep Blue Sea first.

Update 26/08/12 – have added two follow-up chapters just because the story wouldn't leave me alone!

Hope you enjoy!

Retribution

They had thrown the world into chaos. After Gotham had fallen, laid to waste by the nuclear bomb, it had been one city after another; due punishment following due punishment to those that were corrupt, those that were guilty. She doesn't see the faces of them anymore, the people they kill, she only hears the screams, and even they can be drowned out by just one word from his mouth.

He managed to gain followers wherever he went, whether it was through fear or some misplaced sense of admiration or awe she could never figure out, but it meant that he was now infamous. He was the most wanted terrorist in the entire world, was number on every governments most-dangerous list; those governments that hadn't been destroyed at any rate. Everyone knew his name; it was whispered with fear, shouted with rage, saluted with reverence…

She had as much blood on her hands as he did now, because she had done what he'd asked, everything he'd asked. She'd brought stock-markets to their knees, had crippled the economics of huge cities, had sent navigation systems to waste, led army aircraft straight into the buildings that they had been sent to save and had caused security systems, one after the other, to crumble to nought. She had left mankind defenceless before him, thousands upon thousands of people left open and vulnerable to face their retribution as he saw fit. And why? Because she was more scared of him than she was of the damnation she was sure to face in the next life, when death finally came to claim her.

She was sitting at the window of an expensive suite; 'a pleasant place to rest' bestowed upon them by one of Bane's 'followers' while they were in-between operations. It was one of the cities that had taken to heart the calamities that had befallen its brethren and as such had made a concerted effort to treat everyone fairly. The rich worked or were got rid of, the poor were not stepped on in order for others to gain prominence. Equality ruled under the empire of anarchy…

It all sounded good but it wasn't. It would all crumble in on itself sooner or later. That was what happened when people were forced into roles they were not designed for; eventually they would break free and strike back with a vengeance and it would be the backlash that crippled yet another city.

She wondered if Bane would stop his 'mission' if there was total anarchy in every city in the world and people worshipped him as a god… Probably not. She didn't believe he knew how to stop, not now. His mind was too far gone, if it had ever wholly been there before.

Suddenly she hears the door from the adjoining bathroom open, the one that connected her room to his. He steps through, nothing but a white towel clad around his hips.

Her posture stiffens as her breath catches and her heart stutters... She is scared of him all the time but the terror is much more pronounced when he comes to her like this, looking like a man as opposed to the armour-clad monster. She knows the reason behind this increase in fear; it is because of what his body symbolises, it is that part of her that he hasn't taken… yet.

She is wearing nothing but a white nightgown and she dearly wishes now that she had worn more, the mid-summer night lulling her into carelessness. She wraps her arms round herself, the night not feeling so warm anymore. She can't help but turn her gaze away from him, even though she knows he does not like it when she doesn't meet his eyes.

Out of the corner of her eye she sees him drop the towel. She doesn't cringe or shy away; she has seen him naked before. He has no reservations about his body and he has kept her with him long enough now that she knows every inch of him even with her eyes closed. It is not a good knowledge. She hugs herself tighter as she realises that this was now the time, the inevitable conclusion to this nightmare that she has been living in for so long…

What drew the fear round her wasn't anything to do with innocence; she had lost that to him long ago. It was the fact, the absolute fact that she did not want him inside her body. He was in her mind, had made his home there, but the thought of feeling him, his whole size, physically inside her body brought on waves of absolute terror.

He walked towards her until she was completely in his shadow, the weak glow from the bathroom lamp and the street lights shining outside the window giving the only light inside the room. She forced herself to look up at him. His face looked even more sinister in such gloom, his eyes glinting like daggers as they pierced her where she sat.

He spoke, his voice sharp and clear and cold,

"I want you. I have waited long enough." And that is it; there is no lead-up, no warning, as in the back of her mind, she had known there wouldn't be. She knows what type of man he is. He will take what he wants, when he wants, and nothing less. She is no different; there was no escaping him.

She swallows at the sudden dryness of her throat but doesn't move. She can't move. Though she wants to beg, though she wants more than anything to plead with him not to do this, she doesn't, because she knows that if she does it will only make it worse.

So she doesn't resist as he pulls her up from the window seat and then draws the nightgown up and over her head. She watches as the material falls to the floor, lifeless and empty. He places his hands on her, his fingers practically encompassing her entire waist, and pushes her inexorably over to the bed.

She can feel the tightness in her chest and lungs as fear sets its claws deep into her body but she has been with him long enough to be able to function despite these sensations; she keeps breathing.

"Look at me," he commands and though that is the last thing she wants to do, she obeys instinctively and her eyes are joined to irises of ice and cruelty.

She lies down, guided by his hands, and the mattress is soft against her back; a stark contrast to the unforgiving flesh that looms above her, hard and immensely heavy. He holds himself above her but only barely; every time she takes a breath her chest brushes up against his.

He still wears the mask; the black tubes leering down at her. He cannot ever take it off; she knows this and is thankful for it. She is thankful because it means that she will never feel his mouth on hers. Her body can only be caressed by his hands and his words, never his lips. In the life that she is forced to lead she has to be grateful for small mercies… How alien it is to use that word, mercy, with regard to him…

He runs his hands over her body; over her neck, over the jumping pulse in her throat. He glides one hand over each breast, massaging them, using his finger and thumb to pull and twist until her nipples are raised and raw. Only then does he move on to trace down, over and along each one of her ribs. Her body does not have the curves it once had. Life with him does not lend itself to healthy meals and full stomachs. Most of the time she lives on coffee and energy bars; the only things she can force down and that keep her alert. He splays his fingers so that each one nestles between a single rib. His breathing fills the air, the sound inhuman.

His hands trail away from her ribs and down, down… She can feel her thigh muscles unconsciously attempting to clench together, trying to protect her from him. She forces them to go slack. She feels his fingers dancing around her most private area and now his eyes lift from observing her body to watch her expression. Very slowly he circles the outer edge of her opening before gradually sliding one finger inside her. Her body clenches again and he actually stops as she relaxes her muscles; she knows that if she doesn't remain relaxed, this experience is going to be far, far worse.

As her body once again becomes pliant he resumes his endeavour. She desperately wants to think of something else, anything else other than what is actually happening but she cannot. He is here with her and her attention has always been on him, and now his attention was on her… she is trapped in the cycle. She can feel him fully inside her now and he is adding another finger, stretching her flesh.

Her breathing becomes heavier as a chant begins to run inside her head; it is only pain, it will pass, it will end…

She feels her flesh resisting him again, the discomfort turning to hurt and her eyes scrunch closed for a moment,

"Open your eyes, Eva," he commands. She does so and keeps them open as he continues to fill her. He is torturously slow as he draws his fingers in and out of her, mollifying her body despite the unfamiliar intrusion. He brushes his thumb over the nub that is higher up and she feels the tingling of her nerves. Her breathing becomes more laboured and erratic as he forces her body to endure these sensations.

Even though it is a purely physical reaction she still feels shame when she realises that she is getting wet, but there is a small rational part of her that is grateful for the impure reaction… Maybe it won't hurt quite so badly if she is prepared…

Suddenly he seems to change. No longer leisurely taking his time his hands reach out to wrap round her legs and push them wide, and wider still, as he settles further in between them, bringing his lower body flush against hers. She feels the brush of something much larger than his fingers at her vulnerable opening.

She braces her mind for what's about to come but he hesitates for a moment, his body going still, bringing her focus back to him. His eyes pierce her and he releases one leg to lay his palm flat against her stomach,

"This," he says, his voice deep and shadowed, his eyes pinning her own, holding her captive, "is mine. Your life, but my body." And then he is deep inside her and despite her intentions her body clenches beyond all reason, making the intrusion inside her all the more unbearable. By sheer force of will she manages to contain the scream that bubbles up inside her throat and blinks away the tears that fill her eyes. She hears a sibilant hissing coming from within the mask, the noise almost sounding like he is the one in pain. She brings her attention round to focus on his eyes. They are waiting for her and she sees in them that he is not experiencing pain. They are bright and fierce and deadly, the way he looks before the killing blow.

He withdraws from her and she can suck some air into her lungs again but then he returns, plunging inside her, scouring her insides with every vein, every ridge of searing, hardened flesh.

And she wonders if this is her punishment. For the lives that were laid out to slaughter by her hand; she wonders if this is her retribution…

He continues to drive in and out of her, his hands forcing her body down to meet his own, seeming to embed himself deeper inside her with each agonising, plunging stroke.

And she wants it to end and she wants it to stop but there is no way out, she cannot move, she cannot escape. And so she buries her head in the place between his shoulder and his neck and breathes. She breathes in his scent and it is metal and sweat and power. She raises her hands to scrape over his back and she feels the scar, the massive scar that tracks his spine. And her mind is lost in pain; his pain, her pain, it all gathers together and congeals and writhes and boils. And they become the same; Pain; Bane; Pain; Bane…

Without warning he pushes his hands underneath her and she is lifted up so that she is now sitting in his lap, the different position revealing a new way to stretch her raw inner muscles. He holds her waist as he drives upward and into her body, each thrust ripping her open anew. She can hear the sounds that they are making; hideous, animalistic grunts of breath rasping into straining lungs.

She wonders just how long her body can hold out when he suddenly grabs hold of her hair and forces her forehead to his own so that she is now also breathing through his mask. And despite what is happening this is the most horrible sensation yet; she is breathing the same air that he breathes and there is metal at the back of her throat and blood. And she can taste… something. Something that is coming from him, coming from the mask, and it is making her vision sharper, sending lightning along her synapses. She feels her heart rate speed up and it's making her shake with something powerful, something alien, and she's afraid but he doesn't allow her to draw away. Instead he holds her tighter to him, crushing her mouth against the wires and the metal so that she has no choice but to keep drawing the poison into herself. And she realises her mistake when she thought that she was blessed by him being unable to kiss her. This is so much worse, so much more intimate, because now she is breathing in his life's air, the very essence of his being, and it is burning itself inside her body, clinging to her own cells and tainting her, changing her. And then she feels the brush of his tongue through the grating and it is moving over her lips and she is tasting him, feeling him, becoming him-

She hadn't even noticed that he had been manipulating the exposed bundle of nerves at her apex but suddenly he pushes down on them and she shrieks as her body explodes in fire and tears flow unheeded from her eyes. She hears his own primal roar of triumph as he crushes her to him…

Her body comes down from its high and her head falls limply to rest on his broad shoulder. She breathes onto his skin, his scent flowing in and out of her with each gasp of air. She can feel his sweat on her own moistened brow.

She winces as he pulls himself out of her, but buried as she is in the crook of his neck, he doesn't witness it.

He manoeuvres them so that he lies back on the mattress and then draws her body over his so that her head rests on his chest. The position isn't comfortable; the solid muscle beneath her cheek is hard and unyielding and far too warm on her already warm skin. She doesn't move though, obediently remaining where he has placed her. She listens to the combined sound of their heavy breathing and the strong beat of his heart thumping within his ribcage...

When she shifts her lower body slightly she has to hold in the gasp of pain. She feels his hand come up to rest on her head and she stills, knowing that he has noticed her discomfort. He strokes down her neck and along the line of her spine before bringing his hand back to rest on her head. His breathing has evened out now, his heartbeat steady and she relaxes back against him when she realises he doesn't intend to say anything to her.

She knows that her mind wants to analyse the situation but she refuses it, seemingly the only power she has left now, because she doesn't want to think, doesn't want to relive what has just happened. Instead she makes a choice… and chooses to take comfort from the knowledge that she was now truly his. It meant that she had nothing left to lose… and in a world where everything could be taken from you in the blink of an eye, surely that was some kind of freedom… wasn't it?