Disclaimer: Not mine.

What greater thing is there for two human souls than to feel that they are joined - to strengthen each other - to be at one with each other in silent unspeakable memories. -George Eliot

It was true.

She was gone.

His perfect, lovely Talia was dead.

He had been there for her birth, and lived to see her death.

It was wrong, unnatural.

She gave her life for her father's cause, the legacy she fought to protect, and now, she was dead because of it.

Bane remembered her innocence as a child, climbing on the bars of her cage, staring up at him with wide eyes as he cut the pretty brown hair from her head. Bane had given her Osito, the stuffed teddy bear he had once carried around the prison as a child. Although Talia never needed to hide the knife inside like he had. She had him, a much more capable weapon.

He remembered hearing her cries as a newborn as her mother gripped her tightly, remembered her as a baby, holding onto his fingers as she shakily took her first steps, clutching onto him as the nightmares forced tears into her eyes. She was his, and she was flawless.

When he watched her make that jump, his eyes focusing on her disappearing out of the prison, he did not care about the men surrounding him, dragging him into a tangle of pain and violence.

He had thought his purpose was finished; he had helped his Talia escape.

He was done.

But the other prisoners did not kill him.

He had often wished they had.

The pain had crippled him, gnawing at him until he was catatonic.

He truly did not know how long she had been gone. It seemed as if a lifetime, but she eventually came back. This time with force, a siege on the prison with him as their goal. They had found him huddled in the prison, unaware of his surroundings, not caring what became of him. They had dragged him up to the surface, the sun blinding him until he saw her face again. She had hesitated to touch him, unsure if it was wise to remove the bloody fabric covering his face so instead she had taken his hand, brought it to her cheek to nuzzle into before saying "You are saved, my friend. Now, we will be free together."

The League of Shadows had done their best to fix him, reconstructing his face, leaving him with only a few disfiguring scars, but the pain was still debilitating. Talia had fought for him, pushing her father to find a way to give him comfort, and so the mask was constructed. The intricate design was fearsome, the weight heavy and it had taken him weeks to be able to function with it. His voice became mechanized, the usual lilts and dips of his accent becoming exaggerated, giving him a dramatized way of speaking. The first time he had seen himself wear it he truly felt like a monster, as if he was the beast from the nightmares she used to have as a little girl, but when he had turned to her she had only smiled at him, reaching up to caress the side of his face.

When she had told him that her father would train him, he was reluctant, suspicious. The older man had made it obvious he did not approve of his daughter's friend, but Talia insisted that he should trust her father. She told him he suffered because he no longer had meaning, that because she was safe now he should not turn his back on his strength. Her father was willing to give him purpose, to teach him, and so he eventually agreed. Bane had studied with unparalleled intensity. His mind voraciously absorbed knowledge, his already large stature hardening as he pushed his body to the very limits. Her father had admitted that he had a mind equal to the greatest he had ever known. Ra's al Ghul had been shocked to learn how educated Bane had been inside the prison, having become proficient in eight languages and an expert of many fields of study, including the sciences. Talia had beamed with pride when it became obvious that her protector was recognized as more than a vicious guard dog.

Bane easily combined the League's theatrical and disciplined fighting style with that of the one he had taught himself in prison, the result being a silent, horrifically violent display of force as he could easily absorb hits before systematically breaking his opponent, circling his victims as he waited for them to gather the strength to try him again. The League of Shadows used darkness, adapted to it, but Bane commanded it, had long ago evolved to flourish in the black. All the while Talia watched on, awe swirling in her gaze as her dangerous protector became a deadly force to be reckoned with.

It was there, nestled in the Himalayans, that he had foolishly believed they had found a place in the world. He had been content watching her, lovely and free, the sun reflecting off of the her shiny hair, a glow to her skin as she smiled. She became more beautiful, him stronger, and both deadlier.

Soon, however, the truth came crashing down around them like a house of cards.

That day she had been missing from his side all morning. He had searched for her, finally finding her with her father, tucked away in a small room. He could hear her father's stern, unapologetic voice ordering for his removal. Talia first pleaded, the desperation quickly turning into anger, threatening to leave as well if the patriarch wouldn't be reasonable. The argument had continued until Talia swiftly left the room, stilling, however, when she saw him on the other side of the door.

"I am so sorry, my friend," she had said quietly, staring up at him in shame.

But Bane had never felt connected to this place, to the people. The only person he cared for was her, and if she was coming with him, then he did not feel slighted. He had assured her that she had nothing to be sorry for, that together they will make their own path.

For years, they prospered, strengthened, endured. Talia grew into a beautiful young woman, her hypnotizing yet deadly nature aided in dealing with their clients while Bane's lethal skills eliminated threats. War lords, rogue military fascists, revolutionary anarchists vied for their services. The death and torture never bothered her, and while a part of him wished she had a life free from that, he loved her too much to deny her anything she wanted.

It had been in a burning village in the South Pacific that they met a young, skilled marksman named Barsad. The cold man had an exceptional affinity for weaponry and a focused patience that was rare in most mercenaries. Talia had tried to use her wiles to draw him away from his current contacts, but the man remained unmoved by her soft, lulling voice and dark eyes. She had leaned towards him, speaking quietly so the man would have had to dip his head close to hear her, but the marksman never moved. His hooded eyes assessed her coolly, his hands holding his weapon in a casual way, giving him an air of indifference, despite the fact that his battle ready body was completely alert.

Bane had watched as Talia failed, amused as she grew frustrated when she usually succeeded so easily.

"I don't care about your pretty words or hushed promises," Barsad had said, "if you have the skills and the experience then I will join you. I've had my fill of insolent men who fail their comrades because they are without intelligence and focus."

"You will be allowed to execute men such as that if you have the misfortune to come across them," Bane said, meeting the man's gaze, which never glanced questioningly or hesitantly at the mask.

Barsad had only smiled, a cruel twisting of his lips, and agreed.

As they continued to strengthen their numbers, Bane's exceptional ability to strategize and effortlessly pull off operations were directed and controlled by Talia's unforgiving nature. While Barsad never openly questioned the woman, his silences dripped with derision when she tried to order him about. Barsad's loyalty lied with Bane, the man he trusted with his life. Through war, they had become true brothers, and Talia never approved. She did not like that Bane trusted Barsad's judgment, that the marksman's words were considered. She was supposed the leader. She was supposed to be the only thing that mattered to Bane. Anything else was a distraction.

When word reached them about Ra's al Ghul's demise at the hands of the Batman, of how that toxic waste of a city bested the leader of the League of Shadows, Talia forced them away from all other opportunities. Bane tried to remind her that they had no allegiance with her father since he threw them out because he could not stand to even look at him, but she insisted. She had even threatened him with the promise she spoke to her father, that should would leave him if he did not agree to help her.

It was an empty gesture, for she knew that Bane would always follow her.

And so the planning had begun.

As Gotham was terrorized by a psychotic, macabre clown, Talia recruited the remaining members of the League of Shadows. While the city worshipped a fallen hero and condemned a masked vigilante, she outlined what she wanted Gotham's end to be like. He had protested, not wanting her to sacrifice herself for her father's legacy. All for a man who chose ghosts over his daughter, but Talia had only took his hand, nuzzled into it and caressed his face, promising him that in the end they will be together. Even in death.

Finally, he agree, and soon, as Gotham City quieted, Miranda Tate was able to infiltrate the elite group that ran the city.

Time passed, but when Bane's body was manhandled onto the aircraft, he had been sure that their plan would work, that he would give his lovely Talia the thing she most wanted.

Gotham brought to its knees.

But instead, she was dead.

He remained bed stricken in a prison.

They were not together in the end.

Closing his eyes, Bane mourned for his perfect, lovely Talia.

Again, he was without purpose.

The reality of the situation had been surpisingly anticlimactic.

For over two weeks, Alex had cared for Bane, overseeing his treatment.

The man was unusually quiet, which was unexpected considering how terrifyingly enrapturing his speeches had been. His gaze followed her as soon as she entered the room, stayed focused on her even as she sat and worked on her files. It was harmless, but unnerving, and no matter what her progress reports said, Zehrhard wanted her to monitor him whenever she had a free moment. It did not take long before the corner of his room was practically her office.

The few times she spoke with him, he would merely respond with just a hint of amusement, as if he was watching a child play instead of a doctor doing her job.

Even with the silence, she learned small facts about him. He preferred the room when it was kept cold and dark. Most of the time when his eyes were closed, he was meditating, not sleeping. He was exceptionally disciplined, needing a strict routine even within the confines of the room. Alex even found herself rearranging her schedule to accommodate him, knowing if she was mere moments late his gaze would harden, his demeanor turning so threatening that she'd struggle to keep her hands steady. She didn't know what she would do if he returned to his original demeanor that he had displayed while free from the prison. The nearly melancholic one he had now at least allowed her to work easily in his presence. Still, his attitude was important. His eyes said more than his mouth did, and she couldn't help but notice the flashes of sadness that flickered into the gray eyes before he closed them for the night. This man was grieving and she didn't know what to do about it.

Leaning against the door, she crossed her arms over her chest, watching the man. The day shift was over, the infirmary emptying out except for the two guards who stuck around during the night. Her patient had his eyes closed, but she knew he was aware of her presence.

He always was.

"There's something you should know," she said, pushing off of the door and walking to the side of the bed.

His eyes opened, easily finding her in the darkened room before she continued.

"In a few days you're going to have some visitors."

Bane watched her as he shifted his hands, even though his wrists were still chained to the bed.

"And who will be my gracious guests?"

"Dr. Jeremiah Arkham and a psychiatrist named Dr. Simpson Flanders."

"Am I to presume they wish to have me transferred?"

"Most likely. The Warden will fight it. He thinks Arkham is too soft on his patients. Commissioner Gordon wants you to stay here, too, but I'm not sure what will happen."

"Your life would be easier if I was taken from you," he pointed out, "Major Jensen would not manhandle you anymore."

Alex stiffened at the sound of his name, looking away from her patient as anger and shame swept through her tightened muscles.

"Not particularly," she bit out. "He's been... difficult to work with for a long time. You're just another excuse for him to bother me."

"And you allow this."

"I have no choice," she said. Bane hadn't been this interactive since he arrived so she was feeling somewhat indulgent to keep him talking, even if the topic was less than appealing. "There's a hierarchy here. Jensen, unfortunately, is above me. I have to depend on the guards for safety, so if I get him in trouble, I will be the one that pays the price."

"But yet you are a threat to him."

She couldn't help but snort in disbelief, shaking her head as she came closer to the bed, pulling the stool so she could sit.

"I'm a pest to him," she corrected.

"You underestimate yourself, doctor. Major Jensen fancies himself the ruler of every individual inside these walls. Every time you contradict him, every instance that you disobey him you are sending a message to all those who are forced under his rule. You constantly undermine him, and this conflict will continue to escalate, although it was most likely expedited because of my presence."

Alex frowned, gazing at the large man, her mind mulling over what he had just said. She absently reached out to finger the edge of the sheet hanging off the bed, a foolish move perhaps, but he hadn't shown any signs of aggression towards her since the first day.

"How would I prevent that?" she asked. "I don't want anything to escalate."

"You would be required to submit, just as everyone else does."

"I won't do that. I don't think I can."

"Why do you fight so hard against him?" he asked, his eyes narrowing as he examined her.

"It's kind of a long story."

"I have the time, doctor. I assure you," he responded, sounding amused.

Taking a deep breath, she wrapped her lab coat around her even tighter, the cold air chilling her to the bone.

"Gotham has had crime problems for a long time. That's no secret. Before I worked here I worked at the Thomas Wayne Medical Clinic over in Crime Alley. It was a favorite stop for the criminal type, because we'd hardly ever call the cops, mostly because it didn't do any good. The entire city was corrupt. Murderers and rapists would come in and out of that place like it had a revolving door and not one cop ever showed up to get them. Instead, the system would put away the kind of men that didn't have connections. Men like Maroni would have guys sent away just because they didn't want to pay for protection. Fathers, brothers, innocent men were sent to prison just because they pissed off the wrong person. Then Harvey Dent came along, and between him and the Batman catching the real criminals, the prison was suddenly inundated with true felons, and all those innocent men in here didn't stand a chance. They had suffered before with the few bad guys that were actually prosecuted, but with the whole city's underbelly in here…" she trailed off shaking her head before continuing.

"By the time I got here, those guys were just absolutely terrified. I had read their case files and was shocked. The public defender's office didn't care about them and none of them could afford a real defense to appeal their cases. Gotham was just absolutely focused on putting men in prison for any crime. They didn't have the time to look at past cases.

"I had one patient, his name was Rocco Triano. He had owned a little corner grocery store in Falconi's neighborhood. When he refused to pay them, they had him sent to prison, while his family was never heard from again. One day the guards dragged him into the infirmary, and he was just... The nurses and I tried to save him, to stop the bleeding but there were too many wounds, and the whole time he was just pleading, but he wasn't asking to be saved. He was begging me to let him die, and then all of a sudden he just got this look of complete terror on his face, and I saw he was staring at Jensen, who had just come into the room. He ended up dying a few moments later, and Jensen just merely laughed, saying that Rocco finally learned his lesson about what happens to inmates who don't do as they're told. Over the next couple of weeks I tried to talk to some of the other prisoners, but the instant I mentioned Jensen they would freeze up. Not just the whole don't be a rat code bullshit, but they were genuinely scared.

"I understand that the guards have a very difficult job. I get that it's incredibly dangerous, but Jensen actively antagonizes and tortures some of these men. He enjoys it, and there are a few inmates here that still have some good left in them. I'm not trying to free them or anything, but I think they should be able to close their eyes at night without having to worry that they'll never wake up just because some guard decided that it was playtime."

Alex rubbed the side of her face, her gaze unseeing as she stared at the ground.

"So you seek to protect them?" Bane asked. "To keep them from the monster known as Jensen."

She nodded, her hand raising to play with her necklace.

"I do not believe that is the whole truth of the story," he replied.

Her brow furrowed as she looked over at him, dropping her hand.

"What do you mean?"

"The way he touches you, how you react to it... it reeks of intimacy."

Her eyes widened and she shook her head emphatically.

"No! I have never-"

"Calm yourself, doctor. I did not necessarily mean intimacy of the flesh, but there is more history between the two of you than just professional abhorrence."

Swallowing, Alex looked away, her breathing ragged as she tried to calm her heart. This was getting to be too much.

Too personal.

And his gaze was too significant.

"I think that's enough story time for one day," she breathed.

"Weeks ago you told me that I would not be allowed to get to know you, yet you've told me this."

Alex got to her feet, needing to get out of the room and away from him.

"And what did you learn?" she said, deciding that denial was the best option. "That I like some of my patients? That I hate Jensen because he's a bully? You can assume all you want, but you don't know anything."

The corners of his eyes crinkled in amusement.

"Now you underestimate me. I know who you are now, and, in time, the tangle of secrets around you will unfold before me."

Her body refused to move as she kept staring at him, wondering what he meant, regretting what she had told him.

"Pleasant dreams, doctor. You have my permission to leave."

Inhaling sharply, she forced herself to turn from him and leave the room, pulling the heavy door shut behind her before locking it.

Alex closed her eyes and rested her head back against the metal door, letting out a long breath.

What just happened?

Barsad gripped the cold handle of the door and pulled, the loud shrieking sound of metal on metal echoing throughout the empty foyer. Behind him, two men stood. Both had been laid up during the final battle, earning them sanctuary from the capture that the others had suffered. Only a total of eight men, not including Barsad, were left of the original force that Bane had brought to Gotham.

Still, Barsad believed it would be enough.

He entered first, followed by his brothers. Slowly, they climbed the stairs of the dilapidated apartment building, the stains and stench of the halls nearly overpowering. The paper thin walls allowed them to hear sounds of babies crying, people shouting, and televisions blaring. As they came to the apartment, Barsad lifted his hand and tapped on the door with two knuckles, the men behind him scanning the hallway for witnesses.

There were none.

"Who is it?" the nasally voice said from the other side of the door.

"You know who. Open the door," he answered.

After a moment, they could hear the numerous locks being undone before the door swung open, revealing a short, frail young man with huge glasses. Barsad pulled his head back slightly at the smell emanating from inside. The man's clothes hung off of his frame, stained and ripped from overuse.

"You can come on in, but your henchmen can stay in the hall," he said, giggling at his own words.

Barsad nodded to the men before stepping inside, shutting the door behind him. The small apartment was completely filled with garbage. Wires, old computers, laptops, televisions, radios, books, magazines, children's toys, and so much more. Rotting food rested between and on top of the stacks of junk.

"Right this way," the man said, shuffling through the crap to get to the small desk in the corner of the apartment. Six computer monitors glowed brightly in the otherwise dim apartment, empty pop cans littered the desk top, crumpled around the keyboard and mouse.

Barsad loathed that he had to deal with this man, but his talents were exceptional and the mercenary was never very skilled when it came to hacking.

"Did you find what I need?"

"Hey!" the guy laughed spreading his arms wide, "who do you think you're talking to? Of course I did."

He then turned and pulled up an image on one screen before doing the same to a few documents on the others.

"Take a look."

Barsad leaned forward and scanned the information before nodding in satisfaction.

With a few clicks the printer near his feet came to life, expelling the photo and information.

"So, you got my money? It wasn't that easy to get all that stuff. The firewalls were a bitch."

"First remove all traces of your findings."

The guy sighed and rolled his eyes, going to his computer and doing as he was instructed.

"I don't know why you're so paranoid. I know the game. Don't tell anyone what I was working on. I'm not a noob."

"I like the peace of mind that tying up loose ends gives me."

"Yeah, whatever. Just out of curiosity though, why do you need all that stuff?" he asked, just as he finished wiping the information from his hard drive. "What's a prison doctor got to go with you?"

The printer finished and the man turned around, only to come face to face with the silencer or Barsad's weapon.

Before he could get another word out, Barsad squeezed the trigger, blood spraying onto the now blank computer screens.

Leaning down, he picked up the papers as the man's body slid off the chair and onto the floor. Barsad calmly walked back to the door, opening it and nodding again to the men waiting, signaling them that it was time to leave.

"Got what you needed?" one man asked.

Barsad glanced down at the picture of the woman, a smile coming to his lips.

"I most certainly did."

A/N: Thanks so much for the reviews! Please, please keep them coming. I love the feedback. Also, thank you for the follows/favorites. I'm trying to keep up with the writing for as long as the creative juices keep flowing.

I'm also curious, what are they kinds of things that you guys look for in a Bane/OC story? I can't promise it will all be incorporated, but again, it's feedback.