One again guys I'm posting this as I make my way to work & don't really have any time to thank you all individually, or to reply to your AMAZING comments & reviews. Like last time, I'll come back after work tonight & edit this chapter so I can thank you all properly as it REALLY means alot you all r/r so regularly - THANKYOU!

Sorry there's no Bane, but hopefully you'll enjoy this just as much. I really enjoy exploring Talia's inner monologue. & Sorry about the fluff at the end, but I couldn't help myself!

THANKYOU!

The Absence.

Most nights she lies awake on her back, all lights in her room extinguished and the moon blocked out by the shutters on her windows. Then she is able to stare upward into the deep, dark black - almost unblinking - and imagine him looking back at her. She wonders what he is doing, whether he is safe, whether he is far from completing his assignment. Often she finds her imagination conjuring the most likely scenarios; Bane holed up in a safe house somewhere, perhaps with a rifle across his lap as he cleans it with a rag. Bane trudging through the sandy streets of Vientiane, pretending not to notice the expressions of confusion and terror on the simple townsfolk when they catch a glimpse of his gigantic frame, his stern gaze, the mask.

On one such night her imagination goes a little awry, and Talia's imagination rouses the sight of Bane hunched over a table in a seedy bar, her father's men surrounding him - all of them drinking but their commander. Perhaps there were cards scattered across their table, some coins and notes spread in the middle. Bane sighs as his men swig some unknown liquor like it is water; he is unable to connect with their infantile, drunken banter. And then a woman - maybe an Asian hostess with dark eyelashes, maybe a buxom barmaid with a snide smile - catches his eye. He's something she's never seen before, and working here, she's seen a lot. Bane stands, approaches her, and gruffly counts through a wad of notes. She tucks the money into a hidden pocket, and then leads him into a back room.

Immediately Talia sits up in bed, the bile in the back of her throat making her wince. She swallows it down and attempts to force the strange scenario from her mind. The hot, coiling something in her stomach uncurls briefly; only this time it is not a pleasurable warmth, it is a painful, throbbing heat. It hurts. The thought of Bane out there somewhere, without her, possibly catching the glance of another woman… Talia squeezes her eyes shut in the darkness, sweat beading on her forehead. She knew being forced from his side again would be difficult, but this inner agony is a world away from the vague emptiness she felt as a child. The black hole his absence leaves has returned - as she knew it would - only this time, it is coupled with an unforgiving, raw ache, and it makes sleep almost impossible.

Most mornings she is late to rise; consequently she is also late to training. When her father takes her aside to reprimand her, his voice is a white noise against the deafening buzz inside her own head. He is stern, but Talia is often able to catch a flicker of concern in those blue eyes. She forces herself to look solemn, and apologises for her lack of discipline. She promises it will not happen again.

During training itself, she is slow and sluggish. Her usual quick instincts have deserted her; leaving her open to even the sloppiest of attacks. The poise and speed for which she has become known is also gone; replaced by limbs filled with lead. Talia goes through the routines - each sparring match treated as a rehearsal for a dance. She does just enough to slip by, and she eats just enough to keep her body ticking over. All she wants now is to return to her quarters at night, so she can stare once again into the thick blackness, and imagine her friend is okay, that he is safe, and that he too is thinking of her.

As the weeks turn to months, a quiet numbness slips over her. Talia distances herself from everyone; going through her daily routine with only a necessary passing word to others. She even choses to spar alone - against the punchbag, as Bane did before he left - and when Ra's forces her to partner with another, she makes sure there is as little physical contact as possible.

The heat that was so pleasantly beginning to stir something new to life has disappeared. Talia finds she misses it - almost as much as she misses him. They are connected. There is a comfort to be found in this unthinking, comatose state, but as each new day passes without word from her friend, Talia finds the need to awaken the fire inside her more and more urgent.

"Hey! Hey, Talia!"

A familiar voice echoes down the hallway. Talia blinks - the noise pulling her back from her thoughts, and she turns slowly.

Mohan is walking toward her, a puzzled expression on his handsome face. He stops a short distance away and raises an eyebrow;

"Are you… Are you okay?"

Talia knows the smile she gives him doesn't reach her eyes - like his does - but it's the best she can do;

"I'm fine. Why do you ask?"

Mohan smirks at her, though to his credit, he still appears unsure, "You've just seemed a bit… off lately, that's all. I just wanted to check, y'know, that you were okay."

Talia shrugs, the smile still frozen in place, though a small glow of affection blooms in her chest at his sincere interest in her. Talia had often counted Mohan as a friend, and he was fiercely loyal to the League, as well as to her. Often the attention he bestowed on Talia was a little suffocating, but it was also endearing in a strange way, and she was pleasantly surprised when he'd still wanted to be around her after the incident with Bane in training all those months ago. Thankfully, there was no lasting damage.

"If you need to talk…" Mohan closes the space between them, and his grin changes to something a little more sincere, "I'm around, y'know. If you need me."

He reaches forward, and his dark hand clasps the top of Talia's arm. She is wearing her usual training gi, but even through the material, she can feel how warm he is. It is supposed to be a consoling gesture, but after so many weeks of isolating herself, it feels like an electric shock. A shudder suddenly surges down Talia's spine.

Mohan gives her a confused grin, "…Are you sure you're alright?"

It was there. Just for a moment; the merest flicker of that heat. A sudden, uncontrollable urge to stoke it, to feed it, to make it grow again, takes over Talia's reason. She charges forward - pushing Mohan against the wall - and her body presses against his. He's warm. There is barely a second of acknowledgement on Mohan's face before Talia crashes her lips onto his. She has no idea what she's doing; for all her lessons and training, she has no idea what a kiss is supposed to be, or what it's supposed to feel like. But adrenaline floods her veins, the buzzing in her head gets louder, and the tiniest spark of that beautiful, coiling heat stirs in her abdomen.

It isn't enough. With him, it was the smallest thing - a brush of our skin, the meeting of our gaze… Why doesn't this work? Before she can experiment further, however, Mohan manages to disengage himself, and he pushes Talia away.

"What in Hades are you doing?" He gasps, smearing his mouth the back of one hand, looking confused and frustrated.

Talia gulps breath for a moment before she can answer;

"I'm… I'm sorry… I just…"

Mohan interrupts her with an angry glare, "…Just thought you'd force yourself on me?"

"No," Talia shakes her head. Tears are threatening to fall, but she desperately blinks them back. What the hell is wrong with me?

"I thought… I thought you liked me…?"

It is a feeble excuse - they both know that - but it is the first straw Talia is able to grasp. Both of them stand in silence for a long time; Mohan's ferocious stare forcing her to look away from him.

"I did like you," He states finally, his voice slow and purposeful, "But that doesn't mean you can just press me up against a wall and kiss me when you feel the urge to."

"I'm sorry, I am." Talia repeats. She can't think of anything better to say.

Mohan takes a steadying breath and pushes himself off the wall, standing straight again;

"A couple of years ago, I would've never complained at you kissing me - even if it was without permission, and involved pushing me up against a wall."

Talia chances a look at his face; there is a faint hint of his usual smirk back on his handsome features. She relaxes somewhat, but her voice is quieter than usual when she replies;

"Well... What's changed…?"

Mohan exhales, "Talia. I do not want to be kissed by you while you imagine being kissed by another."

Her eyebrows automatically knit together in confusion, but somewhere in the back of her mind, she already knows what he means.

"Bane." Mohan confirms, with a knowing expression, "I think the stitches in my elbow are proof of the intensity of your relationship - whatever the hell that might be. I know you two went through a lot together, and I know I can't possibly compete with that, so I'm not going to try. But I did mean it when I said I was here if you want to, y'know, talk to someone."

The blossoming affection bursts inside Talia's chest; it lights her up from the inside like warm ray of sunshine, and for the first time in months, a genuine smile creases up her face. The tears still threaten to fall, but she chokes them away.

"Thankyou," She manages, pulling Mohan into a hug.

Later that night, as Talia retreats to bed, she keeps the shutters on her windows open, and gentle starlight filters into her dark room. Sleep continues to elude her for a short while, but instead of facing into the blackness, Talia sleeps on one side - facing out into the night. The sky is clear and cold - a deep, inky black-blue, dotted with stars that flicker like fireflies. A milky crescent moon hangs low in the the frame of the window, and Talia finds herself wondering if Bane is looking up at it's pale light too.

The sound of gunfire echoes off the tall buildings. There are pockets of orange fire lit across the horizon, the smell of their smoke plumes mixing with the metallic tang of blood in the air. Bane inhales the thick, humid air and feels it rattle through the grating on his mask. It is getting late, but as always, he finds catching any sleep far more difficult than anything else. It is warm here, and yet there has been something akin to a belly full of ice resting in the pits of his stomach since he arrived. He knows why, but he will not think about it. It is the strength of their bond - that is all - nothing more. Any father, or big brother, or best friend would feel the same way; there is nothing more to it.

He glances upward and sees the dark sky is hazy with black smoke; the stars already hidden away by a curtain of cloud. As they pass over the horizon, Bane discerns a shimmering white silhouette of a crescent moon in the far distance. He takes another deep breath. I will see you soon, little one