Disclaimer: Not mine
The world perishes, not from bandits or fires, but from hatred, hostility, and all these petty squabbles. -Anton Chekhov
Paradise wasn't on a fluffy cloud, with cherubs playing harps and fluttering about.
Alex sunk deeper into the hot, bubbly water, resting her head against the back of the bathtub, her eyes closing as she sighed.
No, this was heaven… or just how she escaped the craziness that was her life.
Sometimes, she would come home, exercise until she felt like she'd drop, then sink into a nice, relaxing bath. Most days it was a quick shower before bed, but now that Bane was her patient, she found herself soaking more and more.
It kept her sane, and she really needed her sanity, especially after doing what she had promised herself, and him, that she wouldn't divulge any information about herself.
What was she thinking?
Oh wait, the answer was obvious.
She wasn't.
It was just that she was there, in his room, all day. Every day. Normally she'd see a patient for just a few minutes, maybe an hour, depending on how sick or injured they were, but with him she was there for weeks, just sitting in silence. He wasn't lecherous or mindlessly violent. He was calm, controlled, just staring at her with this look like he had everything all figured out, and he was merely waiting for her to ask him what to do.
He was supposed to go on and on about how despicable Gotham was; he was supposed to threaten her and her staff, snarl and snap, leer and growl, but nothing she had told herself had prepared her for this basic decency.
This unnatural quiet companionship, the one that she didn't hate.
Not even a little bit.
Groaning, she submerged herself under the water.
The God's honest truth was unsettling, that, compared to the others, he just wasn't that bad.
Donna Kincaid sat at her desk, staring at the box of letters as she worried her bottom lip with her teeth.
It was all hate mail. Pure and simple. Why the Warden set it on her desk, she didn't know. This wasn't part of her job. She took messages, organized his schedule, ordered office supplies, those sorts of things.
Not this.
Did he hate her? Was this punishment?
Warden Williams would have never put that box on her desk.
Finally, after an hour and a half of warily watching the container of mail, she got to her feet and shuffled towards his office.
"Sir?" she asked, peeking her head inside.
"What?!"
She jumped, her hands starting to shake at the sound of his angry tone.
Which was really just how he spoke to everybody.
"What do you want me to do with all of those letters?" she asked with a shaky voice.
The Warden grumbled, tossing his pen onto his desk and glaring over at her.
"You know who they are for, so perhaps you can take them to him. You've been here longer than I have, Donna. I'm sure you can find your way to the infirmary and back."
She swallowed hard, but nodded, shutting his office door and turning around, yelping quietly when she saw Major Jensen standing right behind her.
"Don't you worry, Ms. Kincaid. I'll take those to the doc's patient. Walking these halls unescorted is not fit for a woman. The Warden shouldn't have put that responsibility on your shoulders."
The older woman blushed, dipping her head down a little.
"Thank you, Major Jensen," she muttered.
He nodded and turned, grabbing the large box and lifting it easily into his heavily muscled arms.
"You have a pleasant day. Don't let the Warden bully you too much. Just remember, I got your back," he added with a wink.
Donna watched him as he left, a small smile coming to her face.
She didn't know why the doctor hated him so much. Major Jensen seemed like a perfect gentleman to her.
"Good morning, doctor."
Alex glanced over at her patient as she strode into his room and set a few files on her temporary desk.
"How are you feeling?" she asked, speaking as professionally and unaffectedly as possible.
"Alive, doctor. I was almost anticipating that you would attempt to avoid me after our discussion yesterday."
"I'm a professional," she said, walking towards his bedside. "If I can't take a little pestering from my patients then I'm working in the wrong place."
"'Pestering'?" he said, a slight chuckle evident in his tone. "I was under the impression we were two adults having an insightful conversation."
Alex licked her lips absently as she pulled the stool to her and sat near his injured side.
"And I informed you that I didn't want to talk to you," she said as she reached forward to pull back the sheet. At the last second, however, he shifted his hand, letting her skin just barely brush against his.
Alex froze, her gaze flickering up to meet his.
"Don't be unreasonable," he chided, tilting his head as his skin warmed her cool hand. "We are bound together for the foreseeable future. Surely there is something we can discuss that will pass the time."
She continued to stare up at him, her mind screaming at her to pull her hand away, even if the contact was just the top knuckle of her little finger against his palm. His bluish gray eyes held her captive and she found she just couldn't lower her gaze.
What real harm was there discussing a few things? He wasn't going to get out of here any time soon, and because of staff gossip most of her history was common knowledge.
He, however, was a mystery. Could she handle knowing? Would the stories she'd hear even be the truth?
She hated herself for it, but a part of her was curious. She knew there was nothing he could say to make her feel sorry for him, to sympathize with him, but she couldn't help herself. She had lied to him and herself. She wanted to know what happened to him. She was curious as to how he would react to the everyday things in Blackgate.
Bane was like a terrible car accident, horrifying but for the life of her she couldn't look away.
"Alex?"
The sound of Gemma's voice snapped her from her thoughts, forcing her to look away from the intriguing man and over towards the door, only to see the nurse and Major Jensen standing there watching them. While Jensen's calculating stare took note of the situation, Gemma gazed worriedly from Alex to the patient, and then where his hand was against hers.
Alex snatched her hand away as if burned and shoved her fist into her pocket as she got to her feet.
"Were we interrupting?" Jensen questioned pointedly while Gemma slowly walked away from the room to go back to work.
"I was just about to change his dressings," Alex responded, her voice thankfully steady despite that she had been caught in a rather misleading situation. "Why?"
"Delivery."
Jensen came into the room and headed closer to the bed before Alex rounded the foot of it, coming to stand between the guard and her patient, who was once again perfectly quiet, observing them closely as if researching them.
Perhaps he was.
"What is it?"
Jensen glared down at the doctor before staring over her head at Bane.
"His fan mail."
"What?" she asked, suspiciously confused.
"Letters," he replied, as if he was talking to an idiot. "The piece of shit has gotten a shit ton of letters."
"From who?"
Alex reached out to take the box, only for him to turn and set it on her desk.
"I don't fucking know. Other pieces of shit? People who hate him?"
"All right," she sighed, getting annoyed. Typical that he'd insist on doing this task just to 'check in' on them. "Thank you for dropping them off, now get out."
His eyes narrowed and he stepped towards her, just as she put her hand out as if to ward him off of her.
"You know I was expecting that I'd be in charge of him by now, but you must keep him on a tight leash…" he mocked, "well that and keep everyone else away from him. Have you tamed the beast or have you just gotten better at hiding the bruises?"
"Don't start, Jensen. I can't take this from you today."
"You are looking a bit tired," he said, reaching out and cupping her face, using both hands when she tried to pull away before he continued with a smirk. "What's keeping you up at night? Stress? Tension? Need a big release?"
"Don't touch me," she bit out, grabbing his wrists and trying to pull free, only for him to yank her closer, her body bumping into his.
"Always with the orders. Don't do this. Don't do that. How about you just fucking smile and agree to everything. That will make you more appealing, you know that?" he said, staring down at her.
"And why would I want to be more appealing?" she ground out, still trying to get away, hating the feel of his skin on hers.
"Well you are the daughter of a thief and a whore. I'd imagine you'd know how to look pretty and spread your legs to get shiny things."
Alex quickly brought her leg up and slammed her knee between his legs and getting him right where it hurts. Quickly, he released his hold on her and nearly crumpled to the ground, his hands pressing against his crotched as he panted shallowly.
"Maybe you should worry about keeping your legs shut," she spat, glaring at the hunched over man. "And I swear to God, the next time you talk about my parents like that I'll remove them instead of kneeing them. Now get the fuck out of my infirmary."
Inhaling sharply, Jensen slowly forced himself upright, his fury-filled gaze focused completely on her.
"You just made a big fucking mistake," he growled before leaving the room, hobbling just slightly down the corridor.
Alex let out her breath, the adrenaline leaving her shaky so she now trembled. She knew there was no way that her knees would allow her to make to her chair or stool so she sat down on her patient's bed, bending over to cover her face with her hands.
The entire exchange, Bane had been silent, scrutinizing them. He wondered if Jensen had always acted like this, or was he putting on a show for his benefit and the doctor was just a means to an end?
Was this about him, her, or a combination?
He watched her shoulders, but despite their tense nature, they were steady. Good, she hadn't seemed like she'd cry when she was emotional. He wouldn't have tolerated that nonsense.
His gaze flickered over her profile, her hair tied back from her face, which was buried in her hands, her sleek body curved so her elbows rested on her knees.
His little doctor was a curious thing. While, she was clearly hesitant about him, she did not let it hinder his care. She was composed, guarded, and intelligent, but no young woman just ended up working in a place.
No, his doctor had a very good reason for coming here everyday. He just didn't know what it was.
Jensen had said it had to do with her parents.
A thief and a whore.
Her response to the accusation had been swift, precise, and had nearly made him laugh when he saw the burly guard curl in on himself.
But still, the accusation had apparently fit. Earlier, she had mentioned working at Wayne Medical Clinic in Crime Alley before working at the prison. Criminals must be something she was familiar with, even comfortable with to an extent.
But a wild animal only becomes more desperate in a cage.
She was probably much more likely to get attacked inside Blackgate, but she still came here everyday.
She still faced him everyday.
Over the past few weeks, Bane had entirely too much time to think. Even in the pit he had not been this bored and reflective. A prisoner that had been a Jesuit priest had instructed him, gave him books that had survived down in the darkness. That was where he had gained so much knowledge. But now…
Never before had his mind been so completely stagnant.
The only thing he had now were his memories and, unfortunately, his doctor. For days, he watched her, her expressions as she read through convicts' files, the way she'd absently gripped her necklace, bit her lip, toyed with the edge of the sheet as she sat beside him, even how she had started adapting to his schedule, how quickly she was able to change bandages, and, thankfully, the way she'd maintained his morphine levels.
She was unruffled, quiet, and efficient. Not many individuals could make it as a tolerable companion, but he had high hopes for his doctor.
Already, he had scratched the surface of her exterior.
Already she had shown her hand.
Bane was willing to share some of his story with her in order to gain information from her. He had the utmost confidence that she would not repeat such things to others. She didn't seem to want the rest of the staff to even think about him, much less become interested by his stories. Even more, this room seemed to be an escape from the world for her. Most days, when she'd come back into the room after a long absence she'd take a deep breath, her body would relax just slightly, and she'd sit in the corner and work in silence.
When he'd close his eyes in meditation he would listen to her breathe, the soft, steady, rhythmic repetition of her inhalations and exhales. His last prison doctor had ruined his body, leaving him scarred and in need of constant care, but Dr. Connolly wouldn't allow his newest collection of injuries to wreak havoc on him forever.
No, in time, he would be back to how he had been before the Catwoman's lucky shot.
Tilting his head, he watched the enigmatic physician, so lost in her impotent hatred and worry.
It was a dangerous game she was playing, and she had absolutely everything to lose.
While she may be able to go home at night, the truth was that she was just as trapped as he was.
Blackgate ruled her.
Jensen victimized her.
And Bane was clawing his way inside her life.
All the while, she was completely powerless to stop it.
This was bad.
This was very bad.
Alex tightly squeezed her eyes shut, her fingertips pressing into her scalp.
She shouldn't have kneed him, but the instant he mentioned her parents she had lost it.
"This is very bad," she muttered, picking her head up to look out the door and into the hall.
"Do you regret your actions?"
"Of course I do," she said as she shifted her body to face him, her hip brushing against his knee. "He's going to do something horrible. I just know it. Do you know how bad this is going to be?"
He stared at her, waiting for her to continue.
"Right, of course you don't," she said, taking another deep breath. "This is very bad."
"You were defending yourself. You effectively, albeit crudely, stopped him from violating you. It's done. It's over for now. There is no use agonizing over hypothetical consequences."
"So what do I do?" she asked, since he apparently had the answers.
"You have a variety of options," he replied matter-of-factly. "Apologize to Jensen, although I believe that will be a useless and empty gesture coming from you. You can attempt to ignore the situation, which will leave you vulnerable since you won't be prepared, or you can be proactive instead of reactive. Plan your escape beforehand, be prepared instead of acting rashly and putting yourself in more danger."
"It's not just me I have to look out for, though," she said quietly.
"The individuals you concern yourself with are men who have to learn to handle themselves. It may require that they take a beating, but such is life. You, Dr. Connolly, do not have the luxury of allies in this place, not against the likes of Major Jensen."
"I hate this," she whispered after a long beat. "Why can't I just do my job?"
"Who else knows of your troubles with him?"
"Everyone knows we don't like each other," she sighed. "Besides you, though, no one has seen how bad he is in close quarters. They see us bicker, they don't see him... corner me."
"That isn't a coincidence."
Her green eyes met his cool steel gaze.
"I know."
Bane was silent as he considered her, and she had no idea what he was thinking. She didn't know that at that moment he was weighing his options. He could very well offer her guidance or allow her to sink or swim on her own.
"Keep the car running," Barsad said, slipping the black, leather gloves onto his hands, his gaze focused on the apartment building in front of him.
Middle class neighborhood, moderate criminal activity, mostly B&Es, an aggravated assault here and there.
Barsad pulled on the van's door handle as a young man approached the building, carrying an armful of groceries. Quickly, Barsad hurried across the street, just as the man punched his code into the door, juggling the bags.
"Here," Barsad said, grabbing the knob and holding the door open.
"Thanks," the guy replied, going inside, with Barsad following.
They both headed to the elevator, Barsad hitting the up button.
"You new to the building?" the guy asked.
"Just visiting a friend right now. I'm thinking of making a move, though."
"I definitely recommend it. Landlord stays out of your business as long as you drop the check off in his mailbox. I'm Ian, by the way."
The elevator arrived, and Barsad asked what floor Ian was going to.
The eighth.
"Your friend is on the same one?" Ian asked.
"Yes. Alex Connolly. Do you know her?"
"No shit. Yeah I know her," the guys said. "I'm across the hall from her. I didn't know she had friends… No offense, it's just that she comes and goes pretty quietly. Definitely not one for chit chat. I've probably lived across from her for a year now and she wouldn't know me if we bumped into each other on the street."
Barsad smirked.
"She's very focused on her job."
"I bet."
The doors opened on the eighth floor and Ian led Barsad out, both of them walking down the hall.
"What about the other neighbors? Any nosy ones?"
"Nope. Most are younger, work all day, just keep to themselves. It's nice to have the privacy. I'd hate it if I had some pain in the ass always trying to weasel their way into my business, you know? "
"Absolutely," Barsad replied, watching Ian try to fit his apartment key into the lock.
"Need a hand?"
"Thanks, man," he smiled, handing Barsad his keys.
He unlocked and opened the door, stepping into the apartment to hold it open.
"So most of the apartments have this layout," Ian said, going into the apartment and setting his bags on the kitchen table.
Barsad's hand slipped into his pocket while the other shut the door, watching Ian quickly reach out to grab hold of one of the paper bags that started to tip over, unable to catch it before two apples rolled out onto the table. As Ian sighed and grabbed the wayward fruit, Barsad slipped directly behind the other man, both hands now holding the ends of the garrote.
Poor Ian never had a chance as he felt the strong wire slip over his head and viciously snap back against his throat, cutting into his skin and forcing his windpipe shut. Dropping the apples, he tried to reach up to pull at the wire, but a foot swiftly kicked into the back of his knee, sending him to the ground and causing the wire to tighten even more.
Barsad waited patiently as the life slowly slipped from Ian's body before letting it drop to the floor. As he put the garrote back into his pocket, he looked around his new apartment, before he pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed.
"Come and pick him up," he ordered to one of the men that was still waiting in the van.
They would make sure no one would ever see the body again.
He was sure of it.
"Bring the box here."
Alex pulled away from where she had been peering into the box to look over her shoulder at him.
"What good could come from reading these?" she asked.
"Perhaps it will provide some much needed entertainment."
Alex had figured the man must be bored. He had a frighteningly sharp mind that was probably starting to atrophy.
Of all the things to read, however, hate mail seemed like a bad choice.
"The prison has a small library," she said, "I could get you something from there if you're bored."
"I hardly think that anything there would interest me, even if it isn't defaced beyond recognition."
He had a point.
She heaved the box from the table and carried it towards the bed, setting it next to the stool before she sat down at her usual spot by his side.
"You caused a lot of people a lot of pain," she commented as she gazed at hundred of letters. "They all hate you for it."
"I merely presented an opportunity. I did not personally kill them."
She stared up at him, unimpressed with his response.
Bane unapologetically returned her gaze until a sharp pain shot up his back, forcing him to clench his eyes shut and grit his teeth.
Alex quickly got to her feet, her eyes now scanning him from head to toe.
"Your back?" she questioned.
"Yes," he hissed as the pain started to dwindle.
"Will you let me look at it?" she asked, knowing that he didn't like for her to poke and prod at his scars.
"There is nothing you can do, doctor. I assure you."
Licking her lips, she gently placed a hand on his shoulder, nudging it just slightly for him to turn.
"Please?"
Bane opened his eyes watched her for a long moment, his brow furrowed just slightly before he slowly rolled to his side, letting arm hang back because of the handcuff chaining him to the bedrail.
Alex leaned in, looking at the crude scars on the back of his neck and along his spine. All his pain was chronic, there were no new injuries on his back, nothing she could do to try to fix it.
"What happened?" she asked, pressing her fingertips against the flesh beside the scars, her touch light and gentle.
He was silent for a long moment before he asked, "Who are your parents?"
She pulled back slightly, allowing him to lay back down, her gaze finding the empty patches in his facial hair where she knew some scars must be buried.
"Mine is a medical question, yours is just personal."
"But my answer requires part of my history. How else would you compensate me for my answer but with one to my own inquiry?"
Alex shifted her weight awkwardly before sitting back down on the stool, one hand raising to play with her necklace while the other grabbed hold to the edge of the sheet, pulling on a stray thread.
So this was how she gave in to her curiosity.
It was inevitable, but the fear and tension squeezed her stomach nonetheless as she started telling him what he wanted to know.
"They were who Jensen said they were. A thief and a whore. My mother," she said, contempt making her spit out the word, "is a greedy, manipulative bitch, and my father was a terrible thief, as in he had no skill whatsoever when it came to stealing. I grew up in Park Row, in a crappy apartment with no heat or air conditioning. We didn't have hot water, and our electricity went out practically every day. My dad tried to work, but after the economy crashed there was just no way for him to make real money, not with my mother using every penny to buy herself something. She was obsessed with trying to look like she came from the elite social class. She'd sleep with anyone who would give her pretty things, and it broke my father's heart. Eventually he turned to stealing just to try to lure her back into our lives. He'd steal money and anything he could pawn, but like I said, he was bad at it. He was constantly in and out of prison the whole time I grew up. Mostly it was misdemeanors, but then some guy he worked with pissed off some gangster and he got sent to Gotham State Penitentiary."
She finally looked away from him, the stray thread of his sheet wrapped tightly around her finger, turning it purple.
"I've always loved my father," she continued, "and I tried to visit him as often as I could, but my mother hated going there. When I was old enough I'd go by myself, but I soon noticed he was getting thinner… paler… weaker each time I saw him for a visit. His lungs would rattle, his eyes were glassy. I'd worry, but he'd just try to smile and as me about school. Turns out, the doctor and nurses there were sadists. You hear stories about how they'd force their patients through procedures with no anesthesia at all, how they'd put the sick inmates in unsanitary situations, worsening their conditions. Eventually he died in that place. He probably only needed a shot of antibiotics, but the so called healers let him wither away and die just because he was a criminal. Mother wouldn't even claim the body, so he's buried under a tombstone with his prisoner number written on it… as if he wasn't even a man, a father, and that no one on the outside cared that he was gone."
"So you became a doctor to care for the few criminals that do have those people."
She nodded, unable to look over at him, as if she was ashamed.
"And your mother?"
"She's still alive. I think she's out in Blüdhaven with her new husband, but I haven't seen her in years," she muttered, waiting a moment before forcing herself to meet his gaze. "Now you. How did you get all those scars?"
"Prison."
She remained silent, waiting for him to continue.
"My previous incarceration was much different than this one. There were no guards or rules. We were all sequestered from the outside world, and life there was entirely Darwinian. I made a choice, did something which inevitably angered the other inmates. I was beaten, bound and bloodied," he said, as if discussing the weather instead of his torture. "I do not recall how long my suffering continued until they cut me loose and lost interest, but they did so because I had contracted a plague like disease. No one would approach me as the illness ate away at the wounds. Eventually, the prison doctor attempted to help me, but he was... unsuccessful."
"So the mask helps with all of it?" she asked, rolling a little closer to the bed.
"With the pain, it numbs it. I also require a custom back brace, although I am forced to assume that Gordon has that in his possession as well."
She nodded, agreeing.
Even with so many ailments, he was so frighteningly powerful. The doctor in her wanted to return those medical devices to him, so he could heal more completely and be more comfortable, but she knew Gordon would never allow it.
Besides, by letting him have those things, he would return to the Bane that they all knew, the one that nearly decimated the city, he would be a symbol that would wreak havoc on all of those inside Blackgate.
She couldn't risk it. The morphine was working for him, and when he was a bit more mobile they could work on stretching his back to strengthen it.
His previous methods were just not an option.
When she focused on him again, he looked amused, his gaze dropping towards the side of the bed.
"You can read me my letters now."
Her gaze hardened at his command, but she glanced down at the box as well.
"I don't think I can."
"Well I would," he continued, "but I'm afraid neither hand is free to do it. Although perhaps now that we've shared parts of ourselves with each other, you will trust me enough to unchain me."
"No," she said bluntly.
"Do you believe I will attack you?"
"Not particularly. If anyone sees you like that it sends a message. Jensen will see you as more of an adversary and threat then a bedridden patient. He's backed off of the few patients I... keep up with, and after this morning I already gave him a reason to try to get back at me. I don't need to give him another one."
"Fair enough," he said after a moment. "I believe the one written in blood red ink will be a good place to start."
Alex sighed and picked up the letter, hoping that it really was ink and blood.
"Just for a little bit," she warned as she opened the envelope and pulled the letter from its sleeve.
Taking a deep breath, she started reading.
That night, Archie Walker laid on the top bunk of his cell, his eyes closed. While there were always noises, this cell block was much quieter than the sixth, which housed the worst of the prisoners. The violence and depravity was overwhelming, men were beaten, stabbed, raped. The weak were preyed upon until they either took their own lives or lost it to someone else.
It had been hell living there, and he had hated every moment.
Dr. Connolly moved him to Cell Block 2 after a month of treating his arthritis. She was truly a light in this dark place, a godsend. Now, he had PI during his days and a relatively quiet place to rest his head at night.
Life inside Blackgate had always been a challenge, but now it was at least tolerable. The occasional letter and picture of his family, a day that wasn't filled with terror.
Yep, life was pretty swell for good ole Archie Walker.
Just as he was about to drift off to sleep a loud voice spoke from just outside the cell door.
"Open on eight!"
Archie jumped up, grabbing the picture of his family from under his pillow as he heard Major Jensen's voice followed by the buzzing of the cell door sliding open.
"What's the problem, sir?" Archie's cellmate asked, only to be viciously backhanded.
"Speak when spoken to, con!"
His dark, anger filled eyes honed in on Archie and the older man quickly found himself being dragged off the bed and thrown onto the concrete floor, his head bouncing off of it like a rubber ball.
He knew better than to dry to defend himself as Jensen repeatedly brought his truncheon down on his body, the blows raining down upon him with unimaginable force.
"Come on, Archie," Jensen spat, grabbing him by the hair and dragging him out of the cell. He caught sight of the photograph and snatched it up. "You won't need this anymore."
With that, he ripped up the picture, letting the pieces flutter to the ground before spitting on it.
Again, he knew better than to speak, so he just stared at what was left of the image of his loved ones.
But he only had a short moment before Jensen grabbed him and dragged him away from his cell.
The pain radiated throughout his body, blood running into his eyes, welts swollen on his flesh as he tried to keep up with the guard's quick pace.
Dread filled him as soon as he noticed where they were going.
Cell Block 6.
"I got a real nice room ready for you," he said, walking into the block and leading him up the stairs. "Some serial rapist with a fetish for young girls. I figured you two would have so much to talk about. Open on twenty!"
The door slid open and Jensen shoved Archie through, the old man slamming into the cellmate who stood there, glaring.
Archie shuddered and looked over at the guard.
"Have fun, Archie, You can thank Dr. Connolly for your new accommodations. Close on twenty!"
The door slid shut, locking good ole Archie Walker right back into hell.
A/N: Thanks for the reviews/favorites/follows. It means a lot that people are reading and enjoying this. I know it might be a little confusing now with the different storyl lines, so please let me know if I can edit it differently or whatnot.
Please review! I love the feedback! I really want this story to work and be good, so help me help you!