History is Made at Night
by batmanbane
"Yet he was jealous, though he did not show it,
For jealousy dislikes the world to know it."
―George Gordon, Lord Byron
Chapter 8
Stella spent much of the day at her desk in a quiet state of anxiety. She was trying to write the next Court Jester column but found it difficult to concentrate because she assumed she was going to be punished for what she'd done to Bane. Not only had she struck him, but she'd also uncovered his weakness, disabling him in the process. Hell, he would probably kill her just for making him angry.
If only she'd known the real reason for the mask, she would never have hit him. But even then, she should have understood the mask was somehow vital to his well-being, and kept her hands to herself.
She'd been furious about Bane's plans to initiate a romantic interest for Natasha, and she hit him in retaliation. But she instantly regretted her actions, and made the situation worse by practically begging for his forgiveness. Now she was thoroughly ashamed and embarrassed.
His damning words repeated over and over in her head like a news crawl. I'm afraid 'forgive' is not a word in my lexicon. Raising himself from the landing of the stairwell, he had menacingly stared down the woman kneeling beneath him. "I will handle you later." He'd rasped in a low tone.
What had he meant by the word 'handle'? Did he mean he was going to crush her windpipe or twist her neck? Maybe he'd hand her over to Crane? Or was he going to rape her?
Her words and actions couldn't have been more genuine when she knelt to help him, but the more she replayed the scene in her mind, the more she began to doubt her own sincerity. She now saw the situation as an attempt to win his forgiveness with tears, touch and soft words. Hadn't she used similar methods to get Barsad and Abraham to open up to her the evening before?
She'd always prided herself on never using overly persuasive or seductive means to get what she wanted from men, especially in the workplace. But no more…
You're a real Mata Hari, Stella. What in the hell is happening to you, anyway?
She wondered if hers would be the only female body swinging from a tether in Gotham Square.
Abraham looked on sympathetically as he observed the inner turmoil reflected on her face. He was certain Bane wouldn't kill her, but watching her agonize about it made him uneasy.
"Read m-me what you've w-written so far." He suggested, hoping to encourage her to think about something else.
"I haven't written a word today, Abraham. My mind isn't exactly on my work." She answered as she stared out the window. She was pale as a ghost, and hadn't eaten at all that day.
"Then I have an idea for The C-Court Jester." He said, hoping he wasn't overstepping his bounds. "Hey Stella, what if Crane comes up against a guy who t-talks l-like m-me…?"
Eventually Barsad returned, bounding up the stairwell into the office. "Pack your things. We're leaving here. Abraham, let's roll!" he ordered.
Turning to address the blonde journalist, he said "Get moving, Stella. What are you waiting for? A firing squad?"
"Well…yes." She blinked, utterly shocked by the bluntness of his words. "As a matter of fact, I was."
"If he was going to kill you, he would have done it in the stairwell this morning." Barsad shrugged. "We're going to the Daggett building, so you have 10 minutes to pack. Please don't ask me any questions, Stella, because it's been a tough day."
Stella rushed to the storage closet. She really had no "things" other than what she'd worn to the office on that first day, and the khaki clothing Barsad had given her. Shoving the few items into a shopping bag, she affected a 360-degree turn around the office. As long as she'd been allowed to work from the office she'd called home for about a year, she believed she still had some hold on her old life. But that was all about to come to an end, and the future seemed like a big black hole.
"Goodbye, my brilliant career." She frowned, and followed Barsad down the stairwell as Abraham brought up the rear.
"Where's your Louis Vuitton bag?" Barsad called, not wanting a reason to have to return.
"I haven't seen it since the day he took it." she replied. "He has my passport, keys, everything."
Barsad ushered her outside and on to the streets of Gotham, and they walked a few blocks to reach the tumbler. Stella held on tightly during the trip to the Daggett building, memorizing the inside of the tumbler so she could describe it accurately in her story. Abraham had taken another vehicle.
After arriving at the Daggett building, they rode the elevator to the penthouse level, and the door slid open to a mid-size lobby.
Barsad led her through the lobby and double doors which opened into a large room with high ceilings, and two walls of floor-to-ceiling windows that met in the corner of the room. The marks and shadows on the walls and floors indicated that furniture and decor had been removed, but there still remained a baby grand piano sitting on a raised platform. There was no sound save for the echo of their boots on the hardwood floor.
"Go on up, Stella." Barsad said as he gently pushed her toward the staircase. Your quarters are upstairs. Abraham is already setting up your office. And I'll be at City Hall for the rest of the day."
Stella wandered through the empty space and began to climb the stairs, which afforded a spectacular view of Gotham City through the windows from 60 stories up. At one point she became dizzy, and she felt the step fall away from her feet, as if she were about to fall through the windows. "Oh!" she gasped as she shut her eyes, tightly gripping the railing.
"It's alright." Barsad's voice assured her. He had quietly remained, having anticipated her unease. "It's only an optical illusion, Stella. Deep breaths, and don't look down. You'll get used to it."
"Thank you, Barsad!" Stella shouted gratefully, palms and feet sweating as she reached the top of the stairs.
At the top, she literally found a home within a home. There were three bedrooms with ensuites, an office, sitting room, dining room, laundry facilities and a small kitchen. What was she going to do with all this space, when so many of Gotham's citizens were being made homeless?
Annoyed, she inspected the bedrooms carefully, choosing the smallest one next to the office for herself.
After settling in to her new office, and finally eating a meal, she and Abraham continued work on the tabloid.
"Abraham…" Stella warned him before she allowed him to read it. "I know you suggested a guy with a speech impediment, but if you're not okay with what I've written, just tell me, and I'll write something else, okay?"
The Court Jester
This week, the tables turned on Judge Jonathan Crane when he became the persistent object of the mob's ridicule. The Reckoning has your front row seat, with highlights of the most memorable moments from the courtroom…
Senior citizen Margaret Netherby-Ford earned the loud approval of the mob when she likened the judge to her grandson. "You look just like my little Jared up there, screaming in his high chair." Crane was then heckled mercilessly after model Fantine Delilah Price propositioned him, then followed with the suggestion that maybe he '"didn't like girls" when she noticed his terrified expression. Crane began to fall apart in earnest when Joshua Wright, a pro football player with a severe speech impediment pleaded for leniency. "P-p-please J-J-Judge? H-e-e-elp m-me. A-A-A-Ask B-B-Bane, p-p-please?"
Crane frowned, eyes rolling into the back of his head as his body began to twitch uncontrollably. The mob smelled blood, roaring at the spectacle as the unstable judge acquired Wright's fractured speech and became delirious. "B-B-Bane au-authority! Ex-Exile! I'm Dr. J-Jonathan C-C-Crane… Would y-y-you l-like to see my m-mask?"
Court was suspended for the day and Crane was removed to allow for his recovery. Next week: Revenge of the Judge…
Abraham nodded, secretly thrilled that Stella had used his idea. "I l-like it..." he said. If a guy l-like me can f-freak out a nut like C-Crane, then I've done my j-job... " he said as he rose from his chair and returned to his normal position near the door.
At City Hall, Bane and Barsad watched with approval as two fresh bodies were hung in Gotham Square. A new rule was being enforced - one that was sure to confuse Gotham even more.
"You know, maybe you should give another speech, Bane." Barsad suggested. "At least warn them that this is going to start happening."
Bane was thoughtful for a moment. "No, Barsad. Stella correctly observed that I have become somewhat of a celebrity in this city." He rumbled. "And that cannot be. I have a mission here that demands focus, not fame."
Barsad nodded his approval, and then grinned. "But you enjoyed the fame while it lasted..."
Bane's eyes twinkled at his friend's observation, but he didn't reply. Instead he asked, "Did you deliver her to the townhouse, brother?"
"Safe and sound." Barsad confirmed. "Abraham is with her." Then he grinned again, stealing another glance at Bane.
"You have something to say, Barsad." Bane stated flatly, clearly annoyed. "Say it."
Barsad smirked. "Now that you have her under your own roof, brother, a word of advice. Stella is what we call 'high maintenance'. She rises at 7:15 a.m. Not 7:00 a.m. or 7:30 a.m., but exactly at 7:15 a.m. She must have cold, filtered water served in a glass jug with two slices of lemon, refreshed twice a day. And she must not be disturbed during her 'quiet time', between the hours of 8:00 p.m. and 10:00 p.m., when she works on her story."
"I am not going to act as her personal valet, brother." Bane wheezed, astonished by Barsad's suggestion. "Stella will rise when I say, and will receive no special treatment. We do not cater to prisoners."
"But she no longer considers herself a prisoner, Bane." Barsad reasoned. "She understands her role in working for you, but claims she is also here because she wants to be, to write the story that she plans to have published in Vanity Fair."
"If you and Abraham are indulging her female whims then you are mistaken." Bane fumed quietly. "She will not find me as accommodating."
"But you are going to hear about the lemons and the quiet time, and much more, Bane. I guarantee it." Barsad grinned again, patting his friend on the shoulder for the second time that day. "And one more thing, brother." he added, still smiling. "Don't underestimate her. She's a charmer when she wants to be. Once she gets to know you, she has ways of looking into your eyes and uncovering all your secrets."
"Thank you, Barsad." Bane said, irritated by, and jealous of, what his lieutenant knew. "But I am well aware of Stella's…gifts." Hadn't he experienced one earlier in the day, when her single tear felt like cupid's arrow?
"One more thing Barsad?" Bane asked as his lieutenant turned to leave.
"Yes, brother?"
"At what hour does she retire each night?"
Stella frowned, looked around the room that was her new office, and wondered if she'd ever feel comfortable. The converted schoolhouse had been like home to her. It was a place where generations of Gotham had prepared for life. This townhouse, though built in the modernist style that Stella loved, was stripped of adornments, and there was a persistent echo that made her feel incredibly lonely. One thing she was happy about was finally having a decent bed for sleeping, and she had to admit to herself that she looked forward to crawling into it.
She was certain she heard someone come in downstairs, and assumed it was Abraham returning with dinner. But when he did not come up the stairs immediately, goose bumps rose all over her body and she wandered reluctantly down the hallway, stopping at the top of the stairs to look down.
Bane stood at the foot of the stairs, eyes fixed on Stella, hands hanging from the lapels of his Belstaff jacket.
"How long have you been standing there?" Stella asked cautiously.
Bane remained silent. Only the inconsistent wheeze of his mask hovered between them, and she was sure he was getting a good look at her, bra-less and barefooted in a tee shirt and combat pants.
Stella took a few steps down, clutching the railing tightly. "Did – Did I hurt you this morning?" she asked concernedly.
Again, Bane did not answer.
"I want to say how sorry I am, but it occurs to me that 'sorry' isn't a word in your lexicon either, is it?" she asked, hoping to break the ice between them.
Bane extended his hand upwards to her as his fingers twitched impatiently. "Come here." He rumbled irritably.
Stella's stomach dropped, and she reluctantly descended to the penultimate step.
"All the way down…" Bane insisted coldly, pointing to the floor with his forefinger. "Feet on the floor."
She did what she was told, and found herself staring up at him with nervous brown eyes.
"I have voided your guilt in this morning's assault..." he began.
Stella uttered a gasp of relief. "Thank you." she whispered, genuinely grateful.
"I have voided your guilt because after I left you, I learned of your role in a far more serious matter.
"And what have I done now?" Frustrated, Stella ran her hand through her untidy blonde hair.
"I returned here this morning to a minor insurrection, because word had spread that men guarding the rooftops surrounding your former office had witnessed a dinner party between you and two of my most trusted men." Bane explained.
"Oh shit…" Stella blushed. "My day for mistakes. Bane, it wasn't a dinner party!" She protested fearfully. "I don't like to eat alone, so I asked them to have a working dinner with me. We talked a bit about The Court Jester, and then I asked them about their backgrounds. They didn't talk to me about your mission and I didn't ask them. I know not to do that because I don't want to get them killed."
"Nevertheless, the men – especially the men who witnessed the three of you through the windows – are clamoring for equal time." Bane said, hovering ominously over her. "Some have not enjoyed the company of a woman in many months."
A writers' instinct suddenly overtook Stella, one that would not allow her to miss an opportunity. Forget about fear or being intrusive. Just ask him straight out, because your story will thank you for it, girl.
"And how long has it been for you?" she interrupted him.
Bane grabbed hold of Stella's wrist seemingly at the speed of light, squeezing it so tightly that she feared it would break.
"You were no longer safe in the schoolhouse. You are here so I can better protect you from those men. I would hope that you appreciate my efforts on your behalf." He said menacingly.
Here was another situation where he needed her praise and admiration, and so she decided to give in to him just once. "Well, thank you again for protecting me, Bane. I'm very grateful. Heaven knows, I certainly don't deserve your protection considering the dinner party was all my fault." she said, her brown eyes wide and serious. It was on the tip of her tongue to tactfully remind him that she could take care of herself, but she could tell by his mood that it probably wasn't a good idea.
For a moment it seemed like Bane was lost in thought, but then he began to speak again.
"You have been like a butterfly to me," He observed darkly. "very difficult to catch...until now."
The gleeful tone in his voice and his smoldering gaze promised Stella the thrill of the unknown. She stared into his pulsating hazel eyes, and realized she wasn't quite ready for what she saw there.
Her colour rose sharply and the tension in her voice was obvious as she asked, "Can I go back upstairs now?"
Bane's brow quivered uncontrollably. He still had her by the wrist, and was fighting an urge to drag her down the hallway to his cot and...
"Yes. You may return to your quarters." He said as her released her.
"Good night, then." Stella said as she ascended the stairs, feeling his gaze more than ever before. She gripped the railing firmly, and kept her eyes far forward, hoping she would not have another dizzy spell. When she reached the safety of the top of the stairs, she turned around to look at him.
"We're living together." She observed. It was more a statement than a question.
"In a manner of speaking, yes." Bane answered. "You have the upper floor, and I have the main floor. Activity usually begins at 5:30 a.m., but the knock on your door will wait until 6:00 a.m.
Later that evening, Stella locked the doors to the office and her room, and after showering in a luxurious bathroom, she slid into the large comfortable bed. It had been a long, eventful day, but she still couldn't sleep. She opened the room's blinds so that she could see the night sky, but that didn't help. She kept imagining she could hear someone climbing the stairs, and she sat up in bed several times, expecting to see shadows beneath the bedroom door. Was someone outside the door, trying to break in? Or was it all in her head? She rose from the bed, and checked the locks several times more.
Climbing back into bed, Stella shut her eyes once more as logic began to prevail in her busy mind. Stella, it doesn't matter how many times you check the door. If he wants in, he's going to get in. You saw that look in his eyes... She shrieked, and bolted upright after she had a vision of Bane breaking down the door to get to her.
The door was lit by the moonlight and Stella could clearly see that no one had crashed through it, and that no one was waiting outside. Suddenly she was seized with an uncontrollable attack of the giggles, and she laughed herself silly until finally drifting off to sleep.
Bane was seated on his cot in the space he had chosen for himself after having taken over the Daggett building. It was just right for him – a former walk-in closet complete with halogen lighting, big enough to hold a cot and a small desk. Maps, charts and diagrams were tacked haphazardly on the walls. There was also a blackboard leaning against one wall with several calculations in progress, and stacks of books in the corners. The only colour in the room came in the form of an exotic, hand-stitched blanket folded neatly on the cot.
There was a map on his lap, but he paid it no attention. His mind was on the woman he had just installed upstairs, and he was staring at the ceiling, listening to her faint laughter.
He must have been mad to bring her here! What if Talia were to see her? And he was fooling himself when he claimed Stella was here for reasons of her safety. Make no mistake, it was jealousy that prompted him to bring her here. It was one thing to envy the easy relationship she enjoyed with Barsad and Abraham, but random, filthy men slobbering all over her like a pack of hungry wolves virtually made his blood boil. He simply would not tolerate it.
He'd found her. He'd nurtured her talents. She was his secret weapon. She was his.
He'd felt her touch, savoured the feel of her hand on his arm, and the warmth of her body as he thrust himself against her. Since meeting Stella he'd lost control of his appetites, and the very mention of her name was an occasion for his manhood to spring to life. And there was the persistent throb in his chest that he'd felt ever since she cried over top of him that morning...
Bane smiled beneath his mask as he remembered that Stella had admitted to never having had a fulfilling sexual experience.
From now on, the only wolf in this doe's life would be him.
In downtown Gotham, GCN reporter Jackie Kent was approached by a red haired, freckled man.
"Ms. Kent, my name is Larry Crowe." He said, introducing himself as he extended his business card. "I'm a freelance photographer working on a photo essay of Bane's uprising, and I have some information that your network may find very interesting."
Jackie Kent was taking a well-earned cigarette break behind GCN's mobile truck, and rolled her eyes at the interruption. "Oh, sure you do." she scoffed rudely as she blew cigarette smoke into his face. "Do you realize how many times a day people tell me that?"
"Yea, well…" muttered the photographer who was now seriously offended. "It's just that I saw someone I once worked with, walking the streets with one of Bane's guys."
"And how is that significant, Mr—? What did you say your name was? Crowe?" She asked as she read from his card.
"Because she was reported missing by her co-workers. Her name is posted on a list down near city hall. But I actually saw her this afternoon walking with Bane's main guy, and they were having what looked to be a friendly conversation. It didn't look like she was his prisoner or anything like that."
"And which 'main guy' would that be?" Jackie asked, taking another drag on her cigarette.
That would be the short dude you always see standing next to Bane – dark hair with a beard, red scarf and a lot of artillery on his chest. Check out your Rogues Stadium footage. You'll know him when you see him.
"Have you contacted the police, yet?" Jackie asked, blowing a smoke ring.
"Where have you been, Ms. Kent?" Crowe asked patronizingly. "The police are trapped underground. They couldn't get involved even if they wanted to! And I can't get through to the FBI because we're cut off here."
Jackie's interest intensified. "So tell me exactly how you know this woman."
"I did some freelance work with her about 10 months ago —" he began.
"Give her a name, Larry." Jackie commanded.
"Stella Browning. We shot a fashion layout for Gotham Woman down in the sewers, and—"
"Did you say 'the sewers', Larry?" Jackie interrupted, linking her arm in his and tossing her cigarette to the ground. "So if we looked at some digital video, you'd be able to identify her? Step inside our mobile, then. There's plenty of coffee and donuts…"
Author's Note: Hard times are coming for our Stella, and the experience will gradually change her, so I hope you all stick around. Thank you to everyone for continuing to read and review. If you have a minute, please check out my updated profile, and don't forget to review, review, review! :D ;) See you next chapter! :D
