A/N: It's been awhile, and I am sorry :( Things have piled up now that school is back in swing. Apparently, my educators think that since I'm an upperclassmen automatically means that I am completely ready to dive back into my studies the first day -_- No, teacher people. I am not. In any case, other activities have been taking up my time as well - odd considering I don't have much of a life to begin with -, but I hope to gain better management of them in the future days. I warn you though: updates may take longer now because during the school year I'm at a loss for time to sit down and write a lot.
Anyway, about this chapter. The first bit covers a span of about two or three weeks, because I don't want to drag this first part out much longer before the plot advances.
I decided to do the whole "put a fitting song quote in the beginning of the chapter thing" like a lot of other people do because...it does fit. It's the English translation of the song Ich Will by Rammstein. The words are so authoritative and insane, which is obviously why I used them.
Enjoy and do leave a review - I appreciate all of them, and would love to respond to some, so if you haven't already: ENABLE YOUR PM SO THAT I MAY REPLY :D
Chapter 10
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I want you to trust me, I want you to believe me, I want to feel your eyes on me, I want to control every heartbeat.
I want to hear your voices, I want to disturb the peace, I want you to see me well, I want you to understand me.
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A new schedule begins to develop over the next couple of days. Sophie arrives at work at the designated earlier time, is greeted amiably by Morton - or as pleasantly as he is able to be - and then enters into the lower level of the building to go to the cell. She does not take food when she first gets there, seeing no point when she can just do it at the later, expected time and also not to arouse any suspicion. Intimidated still, for who wouldn't be, she wonders, she finds a bit of comfort in knowing that Morton is in control of the video footage and her job is in no immediate danger on account of her blatant rule breaking. But conversely, she was told by her superior to do so. She does not quite know what to think about it all, other then that it is highly uncomfortable and that she is quite inept at making conversation with a terrorist, unsettled by that ever present soul-eating gaze of his, eyes his primary expresser of the occasional sentiment.
Away from work, she tries to get a hold on the poor excuse for a social life that she actually has. She makes amends with Teresa fairly quickly, still turning down the offer to go clubbing because she has never enjoyed the concept in the least. There is simply something that repulses her about being in a place filled with eardrum-killingly loud music and a bunch of drunk people grinding on each other every which way she looks. Teresa is merely told that the loud music gives her migraines...which it has in the past. However, the two remain friends, even if Teresa is forced to find some other acquaintances to live out her style of nightlife with. Consequently, Sophie spends most of her evenings alone, drowning in thoughts of dread for the next morning and taking large amounts of an ineffective, liquid sleep aid. She distracts herself at times with books that she purchases for dirt cheap prices off a large shelf at the library near her apartment, trashy paperback novels with predictable plots and lackluster protagonists. They only work for so long though - until her mind goes back to her job.
The dynamic stays the same for another week or so, and Sophie still feels the same as she did the first day she walked into that building, but soon, something changes. Drastically.
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It is something he has become accustomed to. The...schedule of hers. The early morning wake ups, while some would consider them a mental and physical nuisance, are not something that has ever given him trouble, his body long adjusting to the fleeting moment of shock that comes from standing directly after coming back to the world of the lively. His caretaker, the insipid little woman, was so predictable now. At first he relied on his philosophy that no woman is unsurprising in their reactions, but after two weeks of speaking with her for about an hour every morning, he considers renouncing that notion. He credits her with but one thing: she has the intelligence not to tell him her name.
Not that Bane cares to know anyway.
Such a listless creature is bound to have a name to suit her...he often thinks to himself in moments of overcast levity, Something common. Something worn-out by the years and given at an afterthought.
He has also found that getting information about her background is proving difficult. Casual conversation can only get so much out of one party without the other party completely breaking the even-tempered atmosphere between the two. Abruptly asking a deep and personal question would shatter the minute amount of trust that he has gained from her. And it is minute. He counts her longer, more complex sentences in response to his inquiries about the goings on in Gotham as trust - the size of sand grains, but trust nonetheless. It is these small steps in the plan, still in the midst of its adolescence, that encourage him. It also makes his hunger for freedom grow, but he is a patient man when he must be, and continues to bide his time.
Habitually, when all other thoughts seem to slip away into the black oblivion of his mind, and the desolation of his current existence gnaws at the edges of his incentives, he thinks of Talia and what could have been.
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"How many books have you read so far here?" Sophie asks the huge man in the cell, who shrugs.
"How am I to know? The days blur together, as does the literature."
This is how they converse. It took Sophie a long while to become more confident around him, but when the fact that he has no way of hurting her finally found its way into her thinking, she made a conscious effort to be more sociable with him. She still has no way to suppress the shudders that come over her when he says certain things in certain manners, but it was to be expected. Morton agrees that it was nothing to worry about, saying that, even having a limited understanding of the human mind, he knows that if he were in her situation that he would probably respond the same way.
The question about the books is how she starts with him one day, his answer methodical - though a bit abstract - as always. They regard each other with composure.
Then he asks, "Has your sleep improved?"
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Bane watches as her eyes widen slightly. She is surprised, obviously. Is she so dense that she cannot tell that her lack of sleep is written across her face? Try as she might to conceal the dark circles under her eyes, her work is in vain.
"It's not that bad, really." A direct answer is evaded. How marvelous.
He is still the cause of her troubles, this he is aware of, but on what grounds?
"Lying will get you nowhere. Tell me the truth."
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The truth? Sophie hasn't a clue how to say it. It is not as if she can simply tell him that being around him has been the cause of her sleepless nights. She cannot explain to him that she has lost weight because she eats rarely now as well, and consequently has been wearing a bulkier coat to a throughout her work day to hide the fact that her ribs are beginning to show. He would not be the only one to comment, but Doctor Carter would meddle as well, and she has been trying her hardest to avoid long periods of time in the presence of the psychiatrist. She especially can't give any enlightenment on the subject because she is not so sure she even knows why.
Crossing her arms, a bit more defensively then she ought, Sophie looks at him and says, "I haven't really slept since I got this job. Does that satisfy you?"
His brows knit together, a picture of confusion she guesses, and he leans forward from where he sits on the bench, bracing his hands on his knees. "Partially. I suppose that I am to blame, am I correct? Your restlessness is my doing?"
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She looks as if she is going to immediately disagree, probably attempting to formulate an answer that she thinks will convince him, but Bane would not buy it. He deems it almost insulting how she thinks that she can simply lie to him like she would lie to her mother as a child. She has many ticks that he has found - movement in her fingers, shifting her diminutive weight back and forth between feet and most noticeably, a lack of visual contact in his direction, her eyes falling to the floor automatically. Dismal...oh so dismal.
In the end, however, she is truthful, saying, "Yes. It is."
"You are still afraid."
"Yes." She looks at him almost accusingly, "But who wouldn't be?"
There are those who used to exist.
Bane stands. "Come closer." He beckons for her to approach the cell. She looks wary.
It was time to pick up the pieces of his successfully gained emotional reaction and reshape them into what he wanted them to be.
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"I can't do that," Sophie tells him, but her resolve wavers. The frightening part is, she has no explanation as to why it does so. She can think of no logical reason why she would want to get any closer to the monster then she already is, yet somewhere in the back of her mind, a small voice whispers that she should do it anyway.
"You can. The system has been long disregarded, by my observations." He is inches from the glass and metal barrier as he says this, right behind area where the food is delivered and taken away. "I have no intention of bringing you any harm. Come here." His repeated request is more intimidating and forceful.
Sophie stands on the edge of a dangerous cliff. Curiosity and a will to find serenity push her off, and she timidly draws near to the cell's wall. At this proximity she can see that he is not as tall as she originally assumed he would be - not saying much seeing how painfully short her own frame was; she was dwarfed by him notwithstanding - but it made him no less imposing. She had not gotten a good look at him before when she had been in this same immediacy with Carter.
Wordlessly, he places his hand against the glass, trailing it downwards until he reaches the open space at the bottom of the cell. There he crouches, looking very much like some sort of large predator waiting to ambush an unsuspecting victim, the mask upon his countenance menacing. Sophie recognizes then what he wants her to do. She can hear his methodic breathing, sees his steely eyes blinking every so often as he watches and waits. The age old feeling of being overwhelmed with uncertainty and trepidation engulfs her in its bleak cloud. In her hesitation the terrorist remains oddly accommodating, seeming to have the civility to let her take her time and slowly wade into the murky waters of impending bad decisions.
Crouching also, albeit slowly and insecurely, she brings herself to his level.
He reaches out his right hand through the rectangular aperture, fingers outspread unthreateningly.
No. This isn't a good idea. Sophie's conscience hassles, staying her own hand if only for a few seconds. He could break your arm by flicking a finger. How utterly ridiculous are you? You need to leave now anyway - Carter could come down here any -
Her small hand touches his.
She's not sure what she had expected - perhaps an inhuman texture to his skin? But no, the exact opposite is true, in fact, for his hand is warm and feels extraordinarily human. It is rough, but encompassing. It feels almost...safe. Her eyes widen in horror for the second time on this particular visit. How could she possibly ever even think that? She is touching a hand that has more blood on it then anyone she has ever, or will ever meet in her life! She feels sick.
But at the same time feels enthralled.
His fingers curl slightly under her palm, his thumb coming to rest over the tops of her knuckles. It is the most fear-provoking and gentle moment Sophie has ever experienced. She cannot find words or any sort of mental rationalization.
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"So you see," his voice rumbles through her, "that not all evil is constant." He brusquely withdrawals all contact with her and rises to his feet. "Your fear is of no use. It is irrational."
She is a beat behind him in standing, dazed. The look in her eyes says it all: she wanted more. He smirks beneath his mask, pleased that the strategy worked. Sitting back down on the bench, viewing the young woman in a lazy manner, he crosses his arms. She is speechless, indifferently checking her watch, then apprehending that she must leave before she is found loitering about where she ought not to be.
She throws him a glance then departs.
She would be in denial about it for a while, endeavoring to hide it and failing, but soon enough she would understand that she was part of something bigger, and would ultimately lead to his freedom.
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A/N: Ahhh yes, another one done! I'm so happy to be getting this to you guys! I hope you enjoy it. The last part was great fun to write :D
Anyways...as always, let me know what you thought of it! Getting some reviews will make my homework filled weekend more jolly haha :3
Have a lovely night/day!