Disclaimer: I do not own anythign except my own OC.


As soon as Amy had turned eighteen, she had moved to Gotham. She had been born and raised in New York and as much as she loved the city, it was riddled with memories of her life before her parents died. Gotham had been the perfect choice for her. It was big enough a city to make her feel at home, but different enough from New York to not remind her of her past.

Her parents had invested in a very good life insurance. Due to their tragic death, Amy had received a million dollars each upon becoming a legal adult. With this money, she had lots of room for opportunity. She attended Gotham University for a bachelor's degree in Business and Commerce. She had been a top student, graduating a year early due to her academic success. While in her third year, she had had an internship at Wayne Enterprises that she remembered with both joy and regret. At the time, Wayne Enterprises was still doing well financially, and the people there were welcoming and the best at what they did. After her graduation, she had been offered a high paying job there, but declined it in favor of starting out on her own. She later realized that had she stayed at Wayne Enterprises, she would have been there right from when it began to crumble. She couldn't help but wonder if there would have been something she could have done to stop it from breaking down.

Her business of choice was a network of bakeries. Her mother had loved baking and Amy had learned all that she knew from her. She saw her pursuit as a dedication to her parents' memory, but also as a celebration of her achievements on her own.

She started with just one. It had been in the Narrows and was a frightening experience. The bakery's hours depended not on a schedule, but on when the sun set. It wasn't wise to stay out after dark.

She remembered having to do almost everything herself. She prided herself on being a perfectionist, even if sometimes that led to unbelievable stress and sleepless nights. She spent hours upon hours at the bakery, imagining and creating new pastries and cakes, playing with color and flavor and even scent. It didn't take long for her business to flourish.

In months, she was already opening a second bakery, this time in downtown Gotham.

Today, just two years after graduating, she had 22 bakeries, most of them in North America, but several in Europe as well. When Bane had shown up, she had been days away from leaving Gotham to open yet another bakery, this time in Japan. However, she doubted that that would happen now. Even if Bane didn't blow up the city, it would take years to get everything back in order, and even longer to renew her deal with her Japanese partners.

As soon as the news report showing Bane blowing up the football field had appeared on her television, Amy sat down and typed up her will, e-mailing it to her lawyer in New York. She hoped that that would be sufficient to be considered a legal document, since she didn't know if she could mail a letter. Thinking about what she wanted to have happen after her death left Amy with a hollow feeling inside. She had never expected to die prematurely, although she doubted anyone did. She couldn't quite wrap her mind around it. Perhaps that strange drowning feeling was what caused her to will her various belongings to only one person.

The closest she had had to family after her parents had died were the people at the orphanage, her parents having no siblings and her grandparents having already passed away. The orphanage was called The Sparrow's Wing. It was a run-down, two story building with over fifty children crammed into tiny rooms, three or four in each one. Although she had never felt particularly attached to the place, as an adult, she donated to it regularly. Dwelling on her time there, she could not imagine what it would have been like if her only home had been taken away from her. She didn't want someone to have to go through that. So, she gave enough to make sure they could keep running, always anonymously. She didn't want to make a public spectacle of where she came from. She wanted to hoard that sacred place for herself, leave it untouched and pure in the safety of her memory.

Her will had been very short; everything was to be sold, and the money transferred to Rebecca Lewis, the janitor at Sparrow's Wing orphanage. Ms. Lewis, as Amy had been instructed to call her at the time, was an older, Caucasian woman with crooked, yellowed teeth and a badly bent back. She was a woman of very few words, silently going about her work cleaning the orphanage and rarely interacting with anyone. And Amy had loved her to bits.

She wasn't sure when she had started, but she remembered observing her. Suffering from her nightmares, Amy was often the last to bed and the first to awaken, creeping through the halls like a wandering ghost. The only person that knew about her ventures was Ms. Lewis, and she never told anyone. She barely even seemed to notice as Amy followed her around, watching as she went about her work, until she was forced to return to her bedroom so no one was the wiser that she had not slept for more than a few hours.

Amy often helped her without being asked. She would change the water Ms. Lewis used to wash the floors when it got brown and murky, and was there with a mop and bucket every morning at 4:30 am sharp. Ms. Lewis never thanked her, and never cracked a smile, but after seeing pity and sorrow in everyone's face, Amy welcomed the absence of having to uphold any emotional interaction.

They followed this routine until Amy was rejected by a family for the first time. The crushing realization that she was not able to change their decision and being left on her own again was just as painful as losing her parents. She did not leave her room that day, and after several attempts to get her to participate in the school day, the various guidance counsellors and teachers left her alone.

That night, as she lay wide awake but unwilling to move, Amy saw something slipped under the room door. Intrigued, she picked it up and retreated to the safety of her bunk. It was a thin and well-worn book, as if read many, many times. The words were not in English, but in a language that had the same letters, with funny dashes and squiggles attached to some of them. The pictures were full of vivid colors and fantastic creatures, some terrifying and malicious while other soft and friendly. She couldn't read the story, so she made up her own, falling asleep contended and warm, the hurt of the day long forgotten.

The next day, Amy had returned to normal. She gave Ms. Lewis a small smile as she passed her in the hall, knowing that the small gesture would convey so much more than any words could.

Over her years at the orphanage Amy learned that the book was in French, and that Ms. Lewis' mother had been French. Ms. Lewis brought her more books, all of them in French. Amy would study the pictures and words in wonder, and in the dead of night she would hide the books under the loose floor boards by her bed. They were her secret, and they were the most precious thing she had.

When Amy grew older, Ms. Lewis brought her books without pictures that were French on one side of the page and had an English translation on the other. And so, Amy learnt French.

The night before she was going to leave the orphanage, Ms. Lewis finished her work and sat down beside Amy on the bench she occupied. They sat there for a long time, not saying anything, but exchanging goodbyes none the less. Amy still remembered in crystal clear detail the window they faced. It was shiny and perfectly transparent thanks to Ms. Lewis' hard work. Beyond it stood a scraggly tree, bare in the winter's chill. Amy had never felt more at peace.

Ms. Lewis stood slowly and Amy followed, facing the shorter woman and giving her the same smile as she had that day so long ago. No words were exchanged, but centuries worth of feelings passed in that tiny sign of joy.

At 4:30 am sharp, Amy's train to Gotham arrived in the station, and Ms. Lewis went to get the bucket and mop herself.

It had been very bittersweet, with Amy both captivated by the prospect of her future and distressed by the parting from her voiceless friend. Now, she hoped that Ms. Lewis was doing well, and vowed that if she did make it out of this alive, she would go and visit her dearest companion.

Waking up in the unfamiliar bedroom made Amy disoriented before everything from the previous day flooded her sleepy mind. Amy collapsed back into the pillows and glanced at the curtains. Sunlight was just beginning to peek through them, so it must have been fairly early in the morning. Deciding there was no reason to waste time Amy got out of bed and went about getting ready for the day. As she brushed her teeth she heard the faint sounds of someone walking around upstairs, seemingly moving furniture and opening and closing drawers. She wondered what Bane was up to.

Following her routine of make-up and hair, Amy dressed in a knee-length skirt and a white blouse. She made her bed, neatly tucking and straightening, and opened her curtains. Finished with her morning activities, she left her room and headed for the living room in hopes of finding Bane. She wasn't sure what he would and wouldn't allow her to do, and was eager to have some ground rules figured out.

Bane was seated on the couch, his arms crossed over his chest, staring out the window. Amy stopped upon entering the room and waited for him to acknowledge her presence. She felt like a slave-girl waiting for her master's orders. Swallowing down her disgust, she took a deep breath.

Languidly Bane unfolded himself from where he sat like a wild beast, all that power restrained, yet unleashed at any second. He casually strolled towards her holding onto the belt loops of his pants.

"I trust you slept well," he drawled. She had in fact slept quite well once her nightmares had passed. She had the fuzziest memory of someone soothing her, but she wrote it off as part of a dream. It was just her and Bane in the apartment, and unless Barsad had snuck in, there was no one who could have comforted her.

"I slept fine, thank-you. And you?" she asked. Bane's mask was a mystery, and one of the many questions she had about it was if he slept with it on. That is, if he slept at all.

"You will prepare your own meal." He completely disregarded her polite question and moved towards the stairs. "The kitchen is at your disposal. You have half an hour."

Amy's mood soured immediately, and that couldn't have been good this early in the morning. He was religiously keeping up his slave and master attitude. Now he even timed her meals.

Scowling, she padded into the kitchen and took inventory of the food. Both the fridge and pantry were filled to the point of overflowing. Despite the atrocious state of so many Gothamites, Bane obviously lived in luxury. This seemed very unlike the very straightforward and simplistic mercenary.

Pulling eggs and bacon out of the fridge, Amy started making her breakfast. She found frying pans in a drawer by the oven and a whole pantry full of all kinds of tea. All of them looked freshly bought, some of them unopened. She wouldn't have pegged Bane as a tea drinker, but the man was an enigma wrapped in enigmas, so she was never done being surprised.

She was placing her dirty dishes in the dish washer – which was completely empty, making Amy wonder if Bane ever ate – when Bane returned to his place on the couch. Instead of sitting down across from him, Amy went to the window and looked out. This high up, Gotham was just as full of shiny metal and gleaming glass as it had been before Bane's arrival. It was funny how much was hidden beneath the surface.

"I have a business proposal for you, Ms. Bloor," Bane began. Amy didn't reply, continuing to gaze at the city. "I am willing to let you leave Gotham."

At this Amy did turn around with an incredulous expression, which quickly changed to one of suspicion. It was too good an offer to come without strings attached.

"What would I have to do in return?"

"Inspire hope in the hearts of Gothamites," Bane said simply. Amy had a very bad feeling about this. "You see, Ms. Bloor, you are someone who the citizens of Gotham look up to, someone they trust. As of late, many of them have been gathering in small rebellions, becoming violent and savage. They do so not because they wish to achieve something, but because they have nothing else to do with themselves. They require a leader to tell them what to do, a leader that they have known and admired before my arrival. A leader, like you, who will assure them that they do not need to fight."

It was an understatement to say that Amy was surprised. "If they will listen to me as you say they will, what stops me from leading them to overthrow you?" It seemed like just the thing anyone granted that kind of power would do.

"You are not so foolish, Ms. Bloor. You know that if you were to somehow defeat me, the bomb would go off. You do not wish to die, and you do not wish to be responsible for the deaths of thousands. Therefore, you will obey me and will be rewarded for your obedience by your freedom from Gotham."

"You said that the bomb might not go off at all, so why should I work so hard to escape a city that may not even be doomed?" she questioned. There was something in Bane's eyes that told her there was something very dark and very dangerous that he was not telling her.

"You think you want to know everything Ms. Bloor, but you tread dangerous waters. There are some things best left unsaid." He shifted as if to leave.

"I want to know what you're not telling me. I don't care how bad it is. It's something concerning this deal you're trying to strike with me and I know better than to join something without knowing all the details." Her voice had a strained, anxious note to it that she couldn't stop. It felt like she was at the edge of a black pit, the slightest push sending her tumbling to her death.

Bane looked at her for a long time, his eyes boring into hers. He was entirely motionless. Amy's body was rigid and tense like the strings on a violin.

"The bombwill go off," he said. Amy didn't catch on right away.

"You can't guarantee that. We've been–" He cut her off with a quick hand gesture.

"The bomb can be triggered…early. Its detonation is inescapable. On February twelfth, it will go off, triggered or not." Amy was speechless. The drowning, choking feeling was back and it took everything she had not to grab her throat as if she actually couldn't breathe. The bomb was going off. All of the promises of a revolution and freedom were lies. All of Gotham was living out one big joke. Except no one would be laughing when they heard the punch line.

"So you wanted me to lead people, tell them that it was going to be okay, while knowing that they were going to die?" Her voice broke on the last word. "What kind of monster does that!?"

Bane's eyes were colder and darker than ever before. He stalked over to her, looming over her. Roughly he grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled her head back. Amy's hands curled into fists at her sides, her skin stretching white over her knuckles.

Bane leaned over her, his mouthpiece inches from her lips. "You think yourself superior to me, a prized and special child who survived the dark and emerged to the light. But you are weak. You are foolish. You have not seen the horrors of this world as I have, have not lived them. And yet, you dare make judgement."

She could feel his breath on her lips. It smelled of mint and something sweeter, almost like burnt sugar. Overcome with a sudden flash of anger, Amy raised her fist and punched him as hard as she could. Or at least tried to. Before she could make contact, Bane grabbed wrist and bent her arm behind her back at a painful angle. He yanked her to him, his massive frame and un-budging strength squeezing the air from her lungs.

"I have been very generous and patient with you Ms. Bloor, but even I will not tolerate you forever," he rumbled. Amy struggled against him in vain. She gasped when pain shot through her shoulder, making her seize her movements.

"Let me go!" she hissed at him. He didn't reply and maintained his grip on her, probably gleeful at having her at his mercy. Amy was beginning to panic. The only thing that broke through the mind numbing fog was the front door opening, and someone walking in. A female someone with black hair and an olive complexion. Miranda Tate.


Author's Note: Zomg! Miranda Tate! I'm so sorry for the long wait! Updates will return to their usual frequency from now on. This week I was very busy with school and a Social Distortion concert! For anyone who doesn't know who they are I strongly suggest looking them up, especially their song "Machine Gun Blues". Super-duper awesome band!

Thank-you once again for all the reviews! I'd like to specifically thank all of those of you that review but do not have an account. I would reccomend getting one because its a great way for me to get in touch with you, and just generally join the amazing FF community :).

-lavenderbreeze30