FROM THE ASHES

Chapter 9

Once back in his room, Barsad stripped down to his boxers and t-shirt and sprawled on the large bed. He propped himself up on pillows and turned the television on to watch the continuing news coverage of the terrorist attacks in America. Having taken a cold beer from the small refrigerator, he popped the tab and drank.

Listening to the reporter on television, he felt a slight nudge of nostalgia for his home country. True, he hadn't been back there in years prior to the Gotham operation, but he still felt a touch of loyalty, not that he would ever admit that to anyone, especially Bane. Bane wouldn't understand, and he'd certainly see the emotion as a weakness. Barsad grinned when he thought of Bane ever being in the hollers of West Virginia. Yet perhaps the mountains and wild places would appeal to the grumpy old bear. The people, hell, no. And the dislike would sure as shit be mutual, even if Bane hadn't taken over Gotham.

A soft knock surprised Barsad. Hisham, he guessed.

"Come in."

When the door opened, he almost choked on his beer. Sanjana stepped inside, her attention touching him only for a moment before she stared at the rug beneath her feet. She wore a cotton sherbet-colored lehenga choli with plain white embroidery. The color worked well with her caramel skin and dark-walnut hair.

"I am sorry for disturbing you so late, sir," she said in Hindi. "I brought fresh towels."

Barsad set his beer on the nightstand. "No need to apologize," he replied in her native language. "Thanks. I left the used ones hanging on the shower bar. I can get them for you, if you'd like."

Her brown eyes widened. "Oh, no, sir." She hurried into the bathroom. Barsad, finding her surprised reaction endearing, grinned to himself and folded his arms behind his head to await her emergence.

She returned to the bedroom, the damp towels draped over her arm. With her eyes still down, she paused at the foot of his bed. Barsad noticed a different aspect to her discomfort now. She subtly chewed her bottom lip, a full, sweet-looking temptation. Her hands fidgeted with the towels. He sensed more than self-consciousness. There was nervous fear.

"Is there anything else you need, sir?"

"No, I'm good, Sanjana. Thanks."

To his amazement, she remained standing there. "Are you sure, sir?"

He wished she would lift her head so he could read her eyes. "I'm sure."

Again Sanjana hesitated. "Madam says I am to give you whatever you ask for."

"The towels are enough," he insisted, though his body was prodding him otherwise. Shit, he wondered, is she suggesting what I think she's suggesting? No, Maysam wouldn't do that…would she?

"Madam would be displeased if I did not do all that I could for you."

"There's nothing more you need to do."

For a fleeting moment Sanjana's eyes flicked to his before she asked, "Am I not pretty to you?"

He couldn't tell if she was insulted by his rejection or if she was using this question as a tactic to sway him.

"Pretty, no. Gorgeous, yes."

Was that a tiny smile he detected?

"Listen, Sanjana, it's all right. You don't have to stay."

"Madam will be displeased if I do not."

"Don't worry about Maysam. I'll talk to her in the morning."

"If I leave right away, she will know. She will ask me. She will think I disobeyed her."

Barsad considered her nervous fingers. "Did Maysam go to bed?"

"She is retiring now, sir."

"Well, I tell you what: why don't you sit down for a bit and watch television with me? After a while, Maysam will be asleep, and you can go to your room. Then in the morning I'll talk to her first thing."

Sanjana frowned. "You will insult her, sir."

"I'll make sure I don't. We're long-time friends, she and I. I'll thank her for such a…generous and tempting offer, but I'll make it clear that all my partners must be willing. Any other way violates a code I'm sworn to."

"A code?"

"Yeah. I belong to a…a brotherhood. Our ideals are… Well, let's just say we aren't like any other men you know. Here." He slipped off the bed and approached her. Instinctively she took a step backward. "I'll just put these towels back in the bathroom—"

"But, sir, I should do that."

Barsad had the towels in his arms before she could finish her sentence. "Go ahead and sit down. Make yourself comfortable."

"Sir, I can't."

"Sure, you can. I insist. You said Maysam ordered you to give me whatever I ask for, right? Well, I'm asking you to sit down and keep me company."

When he returned from the bathroom, Sanjana had perched on the edge of a chair at his cherry wood roll-top desk. She looked like a bird ready to fly at a moment's notice.

"Can I get you something to drink?" Barsad asked. "Some ice tea or lemonade?"

She again looked uncomfortable and slightly afraid at his offer to do menial tasks for her. "Just water."

As Barsad retrieved a bottle from his small refrigerator, he nodded toward the television. "Have you heard about the terrorist attacks in America?"

"Yes. It's terrible."

He opened the bottle and offered it to her. Her hands looked soft, too soft for a servant. Obviously this was her first job in such a profession.

"Are you from America, sir?"

"Hey, listen, you don't need to call me sir, not in here anyway. Call me John."

"That would be disrespectful."

"Uh-uh." He waggled a finger at her and grinned. "Remember, you're supposed to do whatever I ask."

She tried to hide her frown by drinking. Barsad couldn't help but watch her full lips encircle the mouth of the bottle. He admired her elegant neck as she swallowed.

"And, yes, to answer your question, I'm American." He returned to the bed and used the remote control to lower the television's volume. If he hadn't thought she would be uneasy without the bridge of news coverage in the background, he would have turned the TV off.

"It must be painful for you to watch that."

"Not so much. I left America when I was young. Only been back there a couple of times."

Barsad wondered if she had had a television wherever she lived before working at the palace, and if she had, had she seen him during the Gotham siege? Had she seen him or Bane on any news reports since their disappearance? Was that why she seemed ill at ease when she had entered this room? Or was her nervousness only because of being prostituted by her employer? God damn it, Maysam.

If Sanjana did know his identity, no doubt Maysam had threatened her life and the lives of her family members if she dared breathe a word to anyone that he and Bane were staying at the palace. Whatever the tactic, Maysam was confident in her power over the girl to allow her to serve them.

"Sanjana, do you know who I am?"

"What…what do you mean, sir?"

"John."

"J-John. You are John Barsad."

"Yes, but I mean do you know my background, my notoriety? And Bane's?"

She stared at the television, giving him his answer.

"Is that why you're afraid of me?"

"Maybe."

"I wouldn't hurt you."

She gave an unconvinced nod.

"Where's your home?"

"Jaipur."

"You have family?"

"Yes. My father and mother. I am the oldest of five."

"And how did you end up here?"

"I needed work."

"Everyone does. But not just anyone can work here."

"Hisham's brother recommended me."

"Well, if he's related to Hisham, he'd know working for Amir El Fadil isn't necessarily a safe position, especially for a woman."

"I had little choice. My family is poor. I couldn't stay in Jaipur anymore."

"Why not?" He could tell by the deepened tone of her voice that her reasons had nothing to do with poverty.

"I would rather not say."

"Your secret's safe with me." He offered a warm smile to assure her.

For a moment she seemed captivated by his expression, then she blushed and turned away. "It is too shameful to tell you. You are a stranger."

Barsad considered pressing her but decided not to because he could tell she was truly ashamed. No need to spook her, especially when he knew he or Bane could get the truth from Hisham or Maysam.

"Are you married, Sanjana?"

"No." She faltered. "Are you?"

"No."

"Never?"

"Never."

"But how can this be? You are a handsome man." Her boldness made her blush.

"Bane says I'm married to my gun."

"He is your employer?"

Barsad laughed lightly. "No. We work together."

"He is a frightening man to look at. Do you fear him?"

"Bane can scare the shit outta me now and then, but I love him like a brother."

"Does he always wear that mask?"

"Mostly."

"Why? It looks very uncomfortable."

"Well, now, I'm not at liberty to say much about Bane."

"Madam seems to care very much for him…and you."

"The feeling is mutual. Like I said, Maysam and I go back a long way. I used to work for her and her husband when he was still alive."

"Yes, Hisham told me."

"Did he?" Barsad grinned. "What else did Hisham say?"

Having admitted her clandestine curiosity, she grew flustered. "Nothing. Just that you and Mr. Bane are dear to Madam, and that I should serve you well."

"And so you have. I'm sorry Maysam sent you here. I don't want you to think badly of her…or me."

Sanjana shrugged one shoulder. "She wanted to make you happy. And I think she wanted to test me since I have been here only a few days."

That Barsad could believe. "Well, don't think that I asked her to send you here. You're a tempting woman, Sanjana, and I hope you're never in a situation like this again. And be careful around Amir. He's an unpredictable dog."

"Madam promised me that I would serve only her."

"Yes, well, let's hope she's able to keep that promise. I've seen a lot of servants come and go in this household, and I assure you you're the most beautiful. That won't be lost on Amir. Be careful to stay as far away from him as possible."

Sanjana sipped her water. She seemed more relaxed now. "Is it true about his wife?"

"Is what true?"

"That Mr. Bane killed her."

"Bane's killed a lot of people." He tipped back his beer, drained it then crushed the can in his hand. The ominous gesture seemed to serve its purpose because Sanjana didn't ask more about Iba.

"Mr. Bane is married to Madam's granddaughter?"

Barsad stifled a laugh. "No."

"But they are…they are…" Her eyes flicked in the direction of Bane's suite.

"Fucking each other?" He chuckled. "Yeah, like rabbits about right now."

Sanjana's eyes widened for a moment, but Barsad's expression caused her to hide a tiny, embarrassed laugh behind her hand.

"Don't be scandalized, Sanjana. Those two are as good as married. They're meant for each other. Talia just doesn't realize it yet."

"She is a beautiful woman. She must have many men pursuing her."

"She did. But Bane's the only one who can handle her."

"Is she as strong-willed as her grandmother?"

"More so."

Sanjana nodded thoughtfully.

Barsad considered inviting her to sit on the bed with him where she would be far more comfortable than in the straight-backed wooden desk chair, but he decided against it. He could feel her trust growing and didn't want to damage that if she misinterpreted his invitation. Fuck, I could use a cigarette! But he remained on the bed, propped up by pillows, with a light blanket to hide his erection.

They chatted for another hour about the terrorist attacks and about their countries and cultures. By then Sanjana had completely relaxed and moved to sit on a loveseat that was a bit closer to Barsad and the television. All the while, Barsad cursed his chivalry. Damn it, why should Bane have all the fun?

"Well," he forced himself to say, "it's probably safe for you to go now. We're both yawning, so you must be as tired as I am."

Pressing her lips together in a straight line, she nodded and gracefully stood. Was that reluctance he saw? His erection had given up some time ago, so he safely left his bed to escort her to the door. When he put his hand on the doorknob, she shocked him by placing her hand over his. She was so close, smelled so damn good, spicy and sweet.

"Thank you," she murmured.

"For what?" he strangled out.

"For being kind, for not making me do this. If Madam releases me, I want you to know that—"

"Maysam isn't gonna release you, Sanjana. I promise you that."

She smiled with little confidence. "Good night, John."

For an instant he thought she might kiss him or that he would kiss her, but before he could move, she had slipped beyond the door.

###

Talia's bare feet padded across the marble floor as she returned to bed from the half bath. The room was lit only by a dozen large candles spread throughout. The tenuous light flickered and danced against the sheer curtains drawn to shroud the enormous bed. On his back, Bane lay as a shadow, unmoving, snoring softly through his mask. She smiled in amusement. In the brief time it had taken her to use the toilet, he had drifted off. No wonder, considering his exertions last night and thus far this evening.

She slipped back into bed and snuggled up to Bane without disturbing him. At first she was going to close her eyes but instead she found herself watching her lover, half expecting him to awaken. He slept on, peaceful for a change, unburdened. It pleased Talia to think she was responsible for that peace.

Light from the candles on a nearby nightstand trembled in fleeting patterns against his naked body. The air conditioning had dried his perspiration. Talia's admiring gaze went the length of him. His Gotham injuries and subsequent surgery and recuperation had robbed him of muscle and weight, but over the weeks he had worked diligently to build himself back up. He had spent several hours every day in the gym at 'Eth Alth'eban and previously here at the palace. Talia knew she should exercise, too, but she had not the will to do so, no matter how much Bane encouraged her. Maybe if he went tomorrow, she would accompany him; it would make him happy, and perhaps it would stir her motivation as well.

As she watched him sleep, her thoughts returned to the conversation in the salon with her grandmother. Though Maysam's wisdom was not always easy to accept, Talia knew it was most often infallible. Talia had not delved deep into the psychological reasons behind returning to Bane's bed. It had seemed simple: she needed him and he needed her. But, of course, her grandmother had seen it as anything but simple. Maysam viewed situations and behaviors as a mother would, whereas Talia lacked the sagacity gained by being a mother.

Talia studied the rise and fall of Bane's scarred chest. What did she truly feel for this selfless man? Far away in Gotham, separated from him for long stretches, she never had to contemplate such a thing. When they had their occasional rendezvouses here during those years, she had not analyzed the situation; she merely enjoyed the respite and Bane's loving company. A part of her had expected that sooner or later he would grow tired of being secondary to her playthings in Gotham, and find a woman who would suit him—he did, after all, enjoy sex as much as any man. With someone as virile as Bane, certainly celibacy must have been a trial, even with his masterful self-discipline. But if she gently probed or teased him about other lovers, he had always denied resorting—as he put it—to seeking out others. In private, Barsad confirmed such claims.

"Do you even need to ask?" Barsad had once questioned.

Yes, a part of her had to. The part that her grandmother had identified—her belief that she was unworthy of Bane's love and that she did not deserve to be loved by anyone. From her youth with the League of Shadows she had been trained to view men as nothing more than playthings to be manipulated, beings beneath her standing. Her father had wanted her to consider Bane in that light, but much to Rā's al Ghūl's chagrin, she never had. There was no one she respected more, including even her grandmother.

"He was going to kill Bruce Wayne, you know," Barsad had revealed to her. "He told me. At city hall after you ordered him to let Wayne die in the bomb blast, he told Wayne he was going to kill him instead. He had that shotgun, remember? He told me he was just about to pull the trigger when Selena Kyle blasted him with the Bat-Pod, the bitch."

"Bane wouldn't disobey me," she insisted.

"Sure, he would. He's done it several times. Not to be a dick but because he felt his decision was better in the long run for you. You had revealed your identity to Wayne, who could in turn tell the whole world. Bane wasn't gonna take the chance Wayne would get away from him a second time, especially if our plan for Gotham failed."

Talia remembered that fateful day in City Hall. With her father's knife buried deep in Wayne's side, she had explained exactly who she was, that Miranda Tate had been a fabrication used to easily captured his weak heart. She had told Wayne about a real man, one deserving of her love, who had protected her in prison and dedicated his life to her, and of how she would not have survived without him. She said all of that while fixing Bane's damaged mask, restoring his strength enough so he could once again protect her as she finished taunting Wayne with what she had planned for his precious Gotham.

Talia would never forget Bane's eyes during his time of vulnerability, sitting limp and defenseless on that cold floor, allowing her to tell his story, their story, all the while watching her silently as occasional tears of pain and sorrow trickled from the corner of his eye. She knew he believed he had failed her; she could see it in his bleary stare. And she could see how much he loved her, even then when she was laying bare his pitiable past to their enemy.

Then, when she left him to secure the safety of their nuclear bomb, she had looked into those eyes for what she thought was the final time. She saw everything there: their life together in prison, her mother's death, Bane's rescue of her before those same killers could savage her as they had savaged her mother, the shame and sorrow of his excommunication, his absolute love for her, his desire to speak those words before it was too late. But he remained silent, knowing her love for him was on a different plain then. And she had left him with those terrible, inadequate words: "Good-bye, my friend."

Reflecting later on Barsad's revelation that Bane had been about to disobey her and kill Bruce Wayne, she had not been surprised, especially when she remembered the adoration and pride in Bane's eyes in City Hall. Bane had been able to accept her sleeping with the rich and famous of Gotham for the sake of their cause, but her doing so with Bruce Wayne, their sworn enemy and the murderer of her father, had infuriated him. It amazed her that he had not killed Wayne during the two men's first encounter in Gotham's sewers. After all, Bane had known that Wayne had just come from his tryst with Miranda Tate at Wayne Manor. No, he had wanted to make Wayne suffer in the same way he had suffered in the pit prison. A quick death would show mercy, something Bane lacked. For Wayne, nothing short of lengthy torture would do.

"Good-bye, my friend." The words still haunted Talia. She should have called him "my love." Even if it was not completely true, she would have given him that last crumb of triumph over Bruce Wayne. He had deserved at least that, especially there within hearing of the traitorous murderer she had slept with. Bane had not reacted to her inadequate farewell, instead he merely watched her march out of the building. The reaction had come afterwards, when he had leveled that shotgun on Wayne. If only he had been allowed to pull the trigger and achieve some modicum of satisfaction.

As Bane now slept, Talia's finger drifted up to his mask, caressed the cold grating above his mouth as she had done in City Hall when she said good-bye. Bane stirred slightly, drew in a long breath as if detecting her scent, then awoke. Drowsily, his eyes smiled at her.

"I am sorry I fell asleep, my love. You have worn out this old man."

"Nonsense. You have the stamina of Adonis. Perhaps I have bored you."

He chuckled. "Never." He put his arm around her, and she pillowed her head on his massive bicep. "I enjoy simply lying next to you like this as much as coupling."

Talia playfully tweaked his nipple. "You don't have to speak like a romantic to me, Bane. I know what men truly like most."

He raised an amused eyebrow. "Am I like other men, little mouse?"

"Of course not."

"You don't believe that I can lie here with you the rest of the night without coupling?"

"Why would you want to?"

"So I can prove my point."

"There's no need. I believe if anyone could have that much self-control it's you, habibi."

"Indeed." He gently nuzzled her hair with the mask. "What were you thinking just then when I awoke? There was something in your eyes, something distant."

"Just memories."

"Good ones?"

"Some," she lied.

They fell silent for a time as Bane stroked her hair. Relaxing, Talia sighed.

"Did you and your grandmother enjoy your talk?"

Surprised at how close to her recent musings his thoughts ran, she hesitated for a moment before answering. "Of course."

"And what did you talk about, if I may ask? Hopefully not about this foolish idea of yours to relinquish your position."

"It's not foolish, and, yes, we talked about that among other things. You know Jiddah—always giving me advice."

"Sound advice."

"Nothing but."

"Of course she will agree with your temporary desire to step down. She never wanted you to be involved with the League. If your contemptable grandfather had not been alive at the time of your escape from the pit, I've always believed that she would have kept you here, perhaps even lied to you that your father was dead and never told him about you. She knew what a life with him would mean for you. She has lamented the fact that you have spent so much of your life without other women, sensible women."

"My desire to step down isn't temporary, Bane."

"That is what you think now, habibati. But I believe in time you would regret abandoning your father's cause."

"It's his cause, not mine. Not any longer. I am no longer worthy of it."

"Talia—"

"Please." She raised herself on one elbow. "Let's not talk about these things now. Not tonight."

His frown changed to a soothing smile. "As you wish, my dear."

Talia settled back down, kissed his shoulder. After a time, she murmured, "You don't feel that I am using you, do you, habibi? You don't think me that cruel, do you?"

"Are these your grandmother's words or your own?"

"My own, of course."

"I never profess to know any female's motivations," he said with a hint of humor. "Men are so much simpler."

"You didn't answer my questions."

"Of course I don't think you cruel. I know you love me in your own way, that you are with me because you want to be."

"Jiddah thinks we should have an understanding. She's afraid I'm playing with you. I don't want you to think that. It's just—"

"Habibati, I require no understanding between us. I am happy with whatever time we have together. This—tonight, last night—has meant the world to me, to have you back in my arms, for whatever reason you have. The walls that had gone up between us when you were in Gotham have crumbled down. That's how it feels to me, and that's enough. Miranda Tate is gone. No death has pleased me more."

"You are the world's most patient man, habibi, and only you could still love me after all I've done."

"Any man who couldn't love you is no man at all. Now, hush. You don't have to talk to me about this. I fear your grandmother has gone too far this time."

"She means well."

"Of course she does. But you have endured so much. The only thing that is important right now for both of us is restoring your health, both physically and mentally. That is all I'm concerned with."

Talia smiled and closed her eyes. He always made everything so easy for her. Perhaps that was part of the problem. Perhaps she should stop allowing it.

"I do love you, you know," she murmured.

"I know, little mouse."

"When I said good-bye to you at City Hall, I should have said so much more."

"It was neither the time nor the place for sentimentalities, Talia. I hold no ill will against you for it."

"You should. I've treated you badly. Maybe I still am. Maybe I shouldn't be here—"

Abruptly, Bane raised up on his elbows. "Talia, stop. You must stop thinking about the past. The only thing that matters is right now. You will never recover if you keep flogging yourself. Must I get angry with you over this?"

Cowed, she buried her face in a pillow. "No."

"Good." He pushed a couple of pillows behind him and sat back against them. "Now, my troubled dove, come here."

Slowly she obeyed, allowing his arms to enfold her and draw her onto his lap. She cuddled against his chest, forced herself to relax again, his enveloping touch helping.

"Now, no more talking. Let us rest for a moment longer, then we will shower and rid ourselves of this rancorous chlorine smell from the spa. The warm water and steam will help clear your mind." He guided her hand down to his resurrecting manhood. "Then I will do my part to distract you from your travels to the past."