Her red hair was kindly gathered into a long braid.
"It doesn't talk to me much these days," she pulled a pot closer to her.
"There is nothing in it, " I noticed looking at the ground without anything green in it.
A common room was full of slightly hysterical murmur. It was as aggressive as this pot with the ground in Ivy's hands.
"It is there. It just doesn't talk to me," she complained persistently and her hands started to shake.
I shook my head giving up.
"Don't ….bother … her. She … will cry all… night," a heavy voice was mixed with deep breathing.
An oxygen cylinder attached to his wheelchair made it look like a funny rocket from summer circus festivals.
"I … can't sleep…when she ..cries. Good… thing…crazy one…is in the solitary…at least."
"Harleen, " Ivy started sobbing.
Bane rolled his eyes. He wore an oxygen reservoir that didn't look as menacing as his old mask. This one just made him look sick.
His wheelchair was doing a soft screeching sound when he wheeled to her. He laid his hand on her shoulder. Ivy stopped sobbing and looked at him, puzzled, but not scared.
"It talks….This place…is…noisy. You…can't hear it," he said taking off his mark one more time.
She started nodding and it even seemed that color appeared on her fallen cheeks.
She turned back to her pot and started singing gently stroking brown ceramics.
Bane wheeled to the window and I wandered after him.
"Are…you..hunting me?" he asked chuckling darkly.
"No, though it would have felt nice… You don't look so good, Bane"
"I don't feel… good..either," he put back his mark. He started to catch his breath leaning forward slightly.
I politely turned around looking at the shadows of the people next to me.
"I didn't know you had a soft side for Poison Ivy," I noticed.
"I didn't… have it. One grows… to be …merciful here."
"Bane, you killed hundreds of people," I stated grimly.
"Not here…"
I looked at the profile of his face. He was old. When did he become so old? I remembered a muscled mastermind that held Gotham in terror. He wasn't scary anymore. I think his own spine was broken. I wondered how it happened.
While I was doing it, I noticed a pigeon that sat on the windowsill outside the bars.
A thin hand of Bane stretched out and carefully reached to the cage. He had something in his hand.
A silly bird didn't fly away and when something similar to breadcrumbs fell out of Bane's hand, it even came closer.
Bane smiled.
"It doesn't change the past," I persisted with coldness in my voice. "It doesn't make you a better person."
"It doesn't… make me…. worse."
The bird continued eating and Bane smiled again when its feathered head accidentally touched his finger.
I wanted to feel rage, hatred, vengefulness, but this old man was no Bane.
In these walls everything became too grey, not white, not black, just a thousand shades of pavement grey.