Amaranthine

Chapter 21

Before the Dawn

"If only night could hold you where I can see you, my love. Then let me never ever wake again. And maybe tonight we'll fly so far away. We'll be lost before the dawn." – Evanescence

Camille decided that being thought dead was much worse that being actually dead.

At least dead, she could have just drifted away to whatever waited for her after life, free from pain, from heartache, from longing. She could have spent eternity doing something different, without any memories of those she had left behind, feeling the peace she hadn't felt the last couple of days before she would be shot by her mother's men. Maybe she would have been able to fully forget about the one she had to leave. The one she'd been taken from. The man in a mask that had become the one person she'd been waiting for all her life.

Actual life had been much crueler than death. Even an assumed death.

Instead of true death, she had drowned in that pain, that heartache, that longing. She had to go to sleep every night knowing that her mercenary wouldn't be looking for her because to him, there was nothing to look for. She had to know that that same man was grieving for her, sitting alone by himself with no one to take care of him. Not in the way she could. Never in the way she could. And she had to understand that, a rational woman who couldn't simply force herself to believe something different.

There were times, all alone and so very hot in her cell, when Camille wished that she really had been the woman to be shot.

A false death was worse than a true death.

Bane carried her through Arkham Asylum, stomping his way to the exit as people ran and screamed and scrambled out of his way, and Camille wondered if there was finally hope of her coming back to life.

She had one arm wrapped around his neck, holding her face against his neck as he moved, his armored vest scratching at her bare skin. But she could barely feel it. All she could feel was the familiar heat of his body, the texture of his skin, the musky male scent of him. Details about him she thought she would never experience again. And it made her remember that finally, she was back home.

In the midst of this war he had raged, she was where she belonged.

Bane kept his gaze in front of him, his cold, determined stare only focusing on the task at hand. He had finally retrieved what was his. Now, he just needed to leave with her. The feeling of actually holding Camille had to be pushed back for the time being. After his long hours of grieving, his mild hesitancy that he could possibly not find her alive when he did find her, all he wanted to do was keep her where she was, if only so that he could feel like the sky had not disappeared. That his rope truly had not been severed.

Talia was wrong. His rope would not be cut. Not while he was still alive.

Finally he reached the main lobby, the big doors that were the entrance to the asylum in sight, and the bright flashes of the red and blue of police shining bright, the sound of gunshots popping through the air. A woman tried to run past him, spotted who he was and instantly fell to the floor screaming, shielding herself with her hands as if he'd come specifically for her. But Bane completely ignored her. He ignored the pathetic security of the asylum as they shouted at him to halt, knowing they were too afraid to come at him with their silly Tasers. And he ignored the police, knowing they had their hands full with his rushing men, his men who would make sure he was protected as he exited into the war with his woman. Bane stopped and stepped back some, surveying his path from the asylum to the vehicles. It reminded him of Gotham's day of reckoning, of the police and his men out to destroy each other for a greater cause.

But there was no Dark Knight to save them now. And Bane didn't think the little bird had as much leverage.

Camille turned her head to see what was going on. She watched men fight each other, Bane's men and the men who had once tried to protect her. Even now they searched for her, hoping to bring her home from the clutches of Gotham's monster. But the police had never helped her when she'd needed them. It was much more rewarding to see the others. Knowing they were here for her.

Her army had come for her.

Bane turned her face away, back to his neck, and lifted her in his arms some to get a better hold. "Close your eyes," he whispered to her, his mask wheezing.

And bolted out in the middle of the fray.

Police shouted at him, aimed their weapons at him only to be shot right in the forehead from a faraway guardian. Another car exploded on the other side of the asylum, sending the ground shaking and the light of the fire blazing. Another officer spotted him, rushed him once he spotted a woman in his arms.

Bane lifted his boot, his long leg extended far enough to have the rushing cop's neck twist from the impact.

The gallantness of Gotham's Finest.

Bane suddenly stopped at the sound of rushing wind, the familiar sound of weaponry. Someone from his side had fired an RPG. Instantly Bane dropped, cradling Camille and covering her as the missile exploded not too far from them, sending cops and pieces of their Cruisers in the air. He felt Camille's arms tighten around him, felt them sneak up behind him as he stood and continued on his way.

Her hands were now covering the back of his mask, protecting the canisters there from any flying debris.

Darling Camille.

Finally he reached the truck he'd arrived in. He held Camille with one arm as he opened the passenger side door, setting her on the seat. Glancing around, he saw that his guardian had moved.

Barsad was gone.

Bane could remember how it was in Arkham Asylum. He reached on the floor of the truck, picked up one of the unopened water bottles they always had on hand for nourishment purposes. He opened it, gave it to Camille.

She held it with both hands and gulped it down almost instantly.

"You were right," she muttered, taking deep breaths as the cool water slid down her parched throat, the cold of the night piercing her skin. But from living in the heat of her cell, the icy air felt soothing. "They don't give you enough to drink in there."

His men were falling back, knowing the mission was successful. Bane reached for her seatbelt, clicked it and got behind the wheel. He peeled off the property of Arkham Asylum, the place that had held them both, and decided that a bullet for Jeremiah Arkham could never be enough for him, the man that deserved so much more punishment. With just the two of them in the truck, Bane drove away, knowing his men would successfully lead the hounding police on a merry chase before returning to the base. It was silent in the truck, save for the sounds of his hissing mask and Camille's careful breathing. She turned her head to the side, resting it on the seat behind her as she stared out of the window to watch the city rush by, and thought it nice to look at after however long she'd been confined. She wanted to look at Bane, wanted to stare at him and tell herself he wouldn't disappear, like how he had in her dreams. He almost seemed angry, and she didn't really know what to do.

But with a soft hesitancy in her voice, she knew what she needed to say.

Still staring out the window, she asked, "Where's Barsad?"

Bane kept his eyes on the road, hating how weak her voice sounded. Hated that he could tell Camille knew the truth. And still she hadn't instantly told him of his friend's betrayal. It angered him. "I know what he's done. He is no longer mine."

She hated the sorrow of it. "He loves you," Camille said softly, knowing the separation wouldn't be right. "You're his brother."

To hear her defense angered him more. But he kept it controlled as he weaved the truck through the streets of Gotham. "You don't need to protect him anymore."

Protection, she repeated in her head. That must have been what she was doing. That must have been the reason why she'd never told Bane of their arguments, of Barsad's feelings of being convinced that she would become just like Talia. Camille wondered who had told Bane the truth. But hearing the hurt and anger in his voice answered that question. "I understand him," she said, and left the subject alone then, left it alone and sunk into the silence of the truck.

But Bane didn't want silence. He wanted answers. Answers to very important questions, questions that had kept him up most of the nights that Camille had been gone. And he didn't think he could rest even now until he knew those answers. He stewed in his discomfort, giving her time, giving both of them time because so much had happened. Camille was alive. Camille was with him again.

And Bane wanted to kill someone.

"Did anyone touch you, Camille?"

She could remember being dragged from a flipped car, beaten by mobsters, cut by the Joker. Injuries she wasn't sure Bane had really taken in yet. "What do you mean?"

She wasn't stupid and she knew him. She knew what he was asking, and her lack of an instant answer had him gripping the steering wheel hard. "You know," he muttered. "Answer me."

She could remember all of those things done to her. And she could remember being shoved to her knees as a faceless man fumbled with his pants. What Bane was really asking about. "No," she whispered, giving him the only answer she wanted to give right now.

"I want to know what happened to you."

"I don't want to talk about it. I just want to go home."

How could he object to that? How could he press her when he could hear the longing in her voice for her own bed, her own space. The bed and space they shared. The places he would never be without her again. "You will tell me," he said darkly, swerving the truck. "Soon."

He had to stop at a red light, not wanting to risk being pulled over and causing another commotion right when he was trying to get her home. Camille stared at the pedestrians, watched two in particular. A young woman was holding the hand of a small toddler, both bundled up in their winter clothes. The girl's chestnut brown curls under a bright pink hat bounced as she jumped around her mother, lifting her arms up and waiting. The young woman smiled warmly, bent and picked her child up, holding her fondly as she crossed the street at the crosswalk, oblivious to the chaos just a couple miles away. Camille kept her eyes on them as the light turned green, and wondered what it would be like to have a mother like that. To have been a daughter like that.

"How long was I gone?" she asked quietly, glad she couldn't see the two anymore.

"Sixteen days," Bane answered.

More silence, and suddenly Camille hated it. Hated it just as much as Bane. She didn't want to be reminded of her failures. She didn't want to remember that her mother had broken her down again, and had crushed her. She only wanted to be with him again. Angry or not, she would take it all just to be here now next to him.

"I tried calling for you. When you saw that girl get shot." The lights of the city flashed on her face, the nameless people walking by just jumbled blurs. Why would Bane want to stay here? Why would he ever want to return to this place? "I watched you… watch me die. And I tried to call you." Her hands were shaking. She could feel the faint tremor in them, and tried to ignore it. "You couldn't hear me."

Bane couldn't look at her. He couldn't see what his enemies had done to her right now. But he did want to touch her. And with his eyes planted firmly on the road in front of him, he slowly placed the back on his hand on the cushion between them, his palm out. It took a few moments, but then he felt her fingers weave through his, almost like a secret. She softly grasped his hand, her face still turned away.

He tried to ignore the shaking, too.

Later on, they were both in the bathroom of the apartment. Water poured from the shining faucet of the large Jacuzzi tub to the side of them, filling it up with hot, steaming water. Just the way she liked it. As the tub filled, Bane helped Camille undress, doing most of the work for her because he felt like he had to. Camille stared at nothing as he bent to pull the ugly gray scrub pants down her hips and legs, the same ones he'd had to wear during his time there. Next went a pair of matching gray boxer shorts underneath, apparently standard issue for female inmates. He wrapped an arm around her waist to steady her as she stepped out of them, tossing both articles of clothing to the side of the bathroom.

Bane found that he wanted to… check her to make sure she hadn't been lying to him about anyone touching her. He knew the way she was built and could spot the slightest trauma. Instead, he stood back up, watching her as she tried to untangle some of her curls.

And finally, in the bright light of the bathroom, with no goal of safety in mind, he saw everything.

Bane stared at her mouth as she fiddled with her hair. Someone had cut her. Someone had sliced that pouty mouth from her bottom lip to her chin. It was in the process of healing, but it was still there. Her lovely lips. One of the first features about her that had attracted him. He dropped his eyes some, saw a faint red mark around her neck, followed by matching marks around her upper arms. Blotches of yellow appeared here and there along the rest of her body, the signs of healing bruises. His eyes went back to her mouth, stared at her cut. When she had spoken to him on the phone shortly after she'd been taken, she had asked him to tell her she was beautiful.

Now he knew why. And he could barely stand it.

Camille realized that Bane was just standing in front of her motionless. Slowly she looked up at him, into his green eyes and knew what they were staring at.

She frowned.

She knew how Bane felt about her mouth. Even though he could rarely ever kiss her, she knew that he had an alluring pull to her lips. Now her mouth was cut. Now her face was marred. She didn't care about the injury scaring. Both of them had enough scars to deal with every day. But just the fact that a feature about her he loved was now damaged made her feel sad.

A terrible kind of sad.

Bane saw her reaction and wondered if she felt awkward to be standing here half naked. Distracting them both from her injuries, he reached for the hem of her gray sports bra and pulled it over her head, her arms lifting so he could remove it. He wanted to look more at her body, but didn't want her to think he wanted sex. He just wanted to look, and remember.

Camille turned away from him and climbed into the hot water of the tub, turning off the faucet and breathing in the peppermint soap she'd poured in beforehand. Her black hair floated on top of the water and rested there, her curls too matted to sink. The water felt so good on her skin, so soothing, anticipation sizzling in her at the prospect of being fully clean and comfortable. The tub was big enough for her to lounge comfortably. But instead, she sat on her knees as the surface lapped at the swell of her breasts.

Bane watched her for a moment, then looked to the closed bathroom door.

"You can go," Camille said from the tub, dipping her head back to wet all of her hair. "I can wash myself."

He wanted to wash her hair. He wanted to clean her himself. "I must go see to them," he said instead, speaking of his men that were steadily arriving back from the struggle with the cops. There was no Barsad to keep everything in line now.

"It's okay," she said through the steam, turning her back to him but peeking at him over her bare shoulder. "I'll be fine. Thank you for helping me."

Bane stood by the door, watching carefully. Something told him to stay, but he needed to check on his men. Camille then picked up her shampoo that had waited for her to return, and began washing her hair, big drops of soap falling in the bath with her. He watched a few moments more, trying to resist the escalating want he was suddenly feeling for her, knowing intimacy was most likely the last thing on her mind. Instead, he silently left the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

It was a process to clean her hair the way it needed to be cleaned. She shampooed twice, conditioned three times to help with the matting, and took the comb she'd kept on the side of the tub so she could brush out her wet hair. She pulled out mounds and mounds of black, tangled hair, emotionlessly ripping the tendrils from the comb and setting them to the side until a big black ball began to form. Her skin started to redden from the temperature of the water, but she didn't care. All she wanted to do was continue to rip out her hair until the matting released. The ball on the side got bigger, more strands of her hair floating on the surface of the water like snakes. The cut on her mouth tingled from the steam. When she finally ripped out the last of the matted hair, she was able to brush through it like she normally would have. Her hair felt a lot thinner now, but it didn't really matter. After her hair was combed and she'd washed the rest of her body, Camille leaned back and lounged in the tub, carelessly tapping at the water's surface so she could hear something other than silence. She then picked up her razor, lifted her leg and began to shave her calf.

Washing her hair and her body were just motions, along with shaving. Things she would do all the time and didn't have to think about too much. Things she could do, and think a million other thoughts.

Her sadness was slowly intensifying.

Camille had promised herself never to return to the hole. She'd promised herself that she would find meaning after her time with her mother as a young adult, and had continued to have that meaning even after Bane. She had promised herself never to allow her mother to tire her out again, never to hurt her or hear her harsh, mean words. She would never do for her mother again, would never feel this way for Alcina's benefit.

She had freedom again. And she could barely understand it.

All alone now when she knew she shouldn't have been, she could barely differentiate freedom and captivity.

The way Bane had looked at her… she felt ugly. The way she felt now with only the soft lapping water as sound made her feel alone. And the heat of the water was only reminding her of the heat of the cell, the heat in her room when she'd been young causing her to feel like she couldn't breathe.

And she couldn't breathe, she realized, finished with shaving her calves and thighs. She couldn't breathe at all. Her head felt dizzy, clouded. Alone. And she couldn't breathe.

Why am I so sad?

She couldn't remember anything all of a sudden. She couldn't even remember her name. The only thing she could remember was the hole. The deep, dark hole. And only one kind of comfort in her loneliness.

Maybe somebody shouldn't have left the bathroom.

The thought was instantly swallowed up with everything else.

Camille lifted her forearm, looked at her scars on her wrist and below it. The slashes, some small and some a little larger, were spaced apart in a precise way. She gripped the shaving razor in her other hand, stared at a spot on her skin that had somehow managed to remain unmarked. Her eyes were flat, emotionless. She felt like a zombie. She felt like a corpse, unable to think clearly because she couldn't seem to think at all.

But she knew what she wanted to feel. The only thing she had ever been able to feel because she was in the hole again. So alone.

With her eyes almost unseeing now, Camille lifted the razor and placed it on that unmarked spot, and sent the blade quickly over her skin with precise precision.

She closed those blank eyes with a sigh as she felt her blood running to the inside of her elbow and into the water of the bath. And because she always found a way to be perfect in this area, she transferred the razor to her other hand and did the same thing on the other side, all behind closed eyelids.

It stung and felt so good. It felt wrong and felt right. It was an ending and a beginning. Sorrow and comfort. Failure and triumph.

And it gave her that wonderful emotion of feeling absolutely nothing at all.

She dropped the bloody razor onto the floor outside the tub, and sank down into the water. The lovely, hot water that could become a cave. A special hiding place where she could continue to be alone. The back of her head hit the bottom of the tub, and Camille slowly opened her eyes. Her blood swirled through the water like a beautiful dance of color above her, putting on a show for her to pass the time. She watched for a few moments, ignored the hitch of her chest, the sting in her lungs as they screamed for air. But she didn't need air. All she needed was this small comfort. There was no other kind in the hole. Not for her.

She closed her eyes.

Bane approached the bathroom, thoughts of his next move following him from seeing to his men. The ones who'd arrived were fine, slightly injured but able to do the work, and more were showing up as the night went on. He had to make sure that everything had gone smoothly, since there was no second in command to do that for him now. He would have to fix that very soon. He opened the bathroom door.

And his eyes went instantly to the bloody razor on the tile, a trail of red smearing down the side of the tub. He snapped his gaze to the bath, saw Camille missing.

He rushed to the tub once he spotted a few air bubbles float to the soapy surface where her head should have been.

He never should have left her alone.

Bane hurled his hands into the water, reached inside and grabbed her. He yanked her up, glared menacingly at her as she began to cough horribly, hoarse coughing as water dripped from her reddened skin. Her hands instantly came up to his chest, resting on his armored vest and grasping him there, blood oozing down her forearms. She squinted her eyes open and shut to get water out of them through her coughing, through gasping, shaking her head and panting as she tried to find breath.

And saw him. Finally saw him with wide, seeing eyes.

What had just happened to her?

Camille made a desperate sound as she stared up at his very angry face, as she jumped some from the evident pain she was suddenly feeling from the cuts with a now clearing mind. She looked at him, at her forearms, him again. Back and forth until the weight of what she'd done fell on her chest, on her heart. What she'd done to herself.

Again.

She shook her head some more, either trying to continue to clear it or tell him something different. Her naked skin above the water started to shiver from the cold, making the heat of her blood running down her arms hotter. But nothing was burning her as much as the heat of his expression. What had she done?

"Bane," she whispered.

"You would leave me," he said darkly, staring down at her accusingly, holding her half out of the tub because he couldn't watch her drown herself. The red of her blood in the water, on her skin, and on the floor seemed to laugh at him, telling him that she had wanted something else. That he had not been worth it. "You would leave me this way."

"I'm sorry," she said desperately, trying to make it better. Anything to make it better. But she had been so sad. And he had not been there. She thought she would be okay by herself. She hadn't been. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." She wrapped her arms around his neck even as he yanked her against his chest, holding each other close through anger and apology. She continued to pant to catch her breath as she held him, her naked chest pressed against his vest. "I'm… I'm not okay. I'm not fine. I'm so sorry."

She was soaking him. He could feel her blood running down his back, and her wet hair sticking to his hands. But he held her against him, naked and wet and bloody. His darling Camille.

Naked and wet and bloody.

Bane had pulled the stopper from the drain, telling her with an angry voice that her bath was done regardless if she'd finished or not. Luckily she had. Now Camille sat on the edge of their bed, dressed in a black long-sleeved shirt with the sleeves rolled to her elbows and baggy sleep shorts for comfort, looking down at her newly cut forearms like a naughty child as Bane sauntered around the apartment. She could tell he was very upset, and why shouldn't he be upset? He had just discovered her alive, after all this time. And then she'd done something like this for him to find. The night she had cut her thigh in depression so long ago was different. They hadn't even become lovers at that point and Bane had just needed her to create his medicine for him. But even then, he'd still patched her up. Had still tried to give her some kind of advice so that she wouldn't harm herself again. And she hadn't, for all this time.

She could only imagine what he was going through now, after everything they'd been through together.

And what the worst part of it all was, was the fact that Bane had counted on her never to leave him. He had trusted her to stay, to be here for him so that he could have somebody. She'd promised him that. Promised him when she knew he used to feel insecure about it.

Only to cut herself tonight, and fall into the silent void of dark water as she bled.

Bane angrily retrieved medical supplies, kneeling in front of her on the floor with an annoyed grunt as he set the tools on the bed next to her. His position made them eye level, nowhere for either of them to look, nowhere to hide. He turned Camille's arms over to see to her cuts, felt like slapping her, felt like shaking her for trying this again.

Camille watched his face as he cleaned her cuts, felt the rising shame burning her insides. "I wasn't thinking," she said softly, wanting to tell him the truth. Wanting him to believe something different. "I was suddenly so sad and I couldn't think. I didn't mean for this to happen."

"It doesn't matter," he said, wiping the blood away. "We were supposed to have been past this, Camille. I wasn't supposed to have to tend to you this way again. Not after the last time. Not after this." He tapped her on her thigh, on the raised scar there from the shard of a broken mirror. "It doesn't matter," he repeated, and it was almost sadly.

It killed her.

"I'm sorry," she said again in a whisper, her heart hurting. "Please don't think what you're thinking. Please don't believe that."

"What else can I believe?" he asked, lifting her forearms to show her what she'd done to herself. "The evidence is here, right here. More cuts." Bane raised his gaze, looked into her sad eyes. Her beautiful black eyes he once thought he would never see again. And maybe… she still wasn't here. "There are enough on you," he murmured, looking down slightly to the cut on her mouth.

Camille's chin trembled, and she forced herself not to cry. She hadn't cried in so very long and couldn't bear to start now. She could only look back at him, at this lovely man who had become everything. The one she'd been taken from and the one who had come to save her. But he had saved her a long time ago. And without him, she knew she was completely lost. She lifted her hands to his masked cheeks, held his face even as he had conflicting feelings of wanting to move away and of wanting to stay utterly still so that he could feel her touching him.

He just wanted to feel her. To remind himself that she was still here.

"I would never leave you," she said to him, telling him the truth. Telling him again to give him peace. She'd had a relapse, but it wasn't her true intensions. And she needed him to know it. Her masked man. "I can't leave you. Never. How could I leave you? I…" She shook her head and looked down, breathed something under her breath so quietly he could hardly hear it. But he did hear the end of it, and knew it was a soft whisper that said, "So much…"

Because I… so much.

Bane didn't think they could ever really say something like that to each other. The words were very hard, because they had been said to other people by both of them who didn't deserve it, who didn't need it or want it. People like them shouldn't say things like that. The words were hard…

But he could take this.

"I have to tell you…" she began, her hands starting to slightly tremble again, her gaze down and away from his eyes. "In case… In case something else happens. So you know. I have to tell you… how I feel…"

It was a struggle, and he could understand it. He was possibly the only person who could understand it. He watched her struggle to continue, knew what she was trying to tell him as she tried to fight the difficulty of it. Bane took her wrists, pulled them away from his face but continued holding them. The cuts on her forearms were beginning to slightly bleed again, speckles of blood starting to simmer up from her veins. But he could only concentrate on her face, on the words she was trying to tell him. He'd never heard them before. "You don't have to say it," he told her. If he'd never heard the words before then it was something he didn't need. He could live without them. "I don't need to hear it."

"But something might happen to me again. If something happens… then I can never tell you."

"Camille." She was afraid, he realized. She was afraid she would have to experience something again, something similar to calling for him when he thought she'd been shot, and him never being able to hear her. It had been hard for her to see that. To scream and scream and scream for him, and never being heard. He didn't need the words, he thought to himself again. She didn't need to say it. "I know," he murmured to her. "Stop talking."

Relief was nice to feel. Relief was something she hadn't felt in a while, not since being taken from him. And to feel it now was very nice indeed. The words were hard.

They didn't have to be said right now.

Bane went back to tending to her cuts, disinfecting them and cleaning the very inside. She held perfectly still, perfectly calm, never even flinching when he had to get right in between the ripped meat of her flesh. "I am still very angry with you," he commented, knowing he'd been angry for so many things since he'd put her in the truck to drive away from Arkham Asylum. Bane looked at her new cuts, at all the other ones that had come before it, and wondered if there would be another time like tonight when her old ways would come back to pain her again.

And he would still be here, cleaning her up.

He stood, setting his hand on the bed to lift himself from the floor. He gave her a serious look when she gazed up at him with that sad face again, that pale, sunken face caused by her time with her mother. "I need to find bandages. Stay right there. If you move I will handcuff you."

Camille wanted to tell him that she wouldn't cut herself again, that he didn't need to put her on any kind of suicide watch. But because she knew it would make him feel better to feel secure with his threats, she kept quiet, and simply nodded. When he returned he went back to his place kneeling in front of her, taking her wrists and lifting them so he could wrap the middle of her forearms for protection. Just as he was finishing with the last of the bandaging, he noticed her fist clenched.

"What are you holding?" he asked her, continuing to wrap her arm.

Camille stayed quiet, waited until he finished, until she looked like someone who should be on a suicide watch at the asylum, and slowly opened her hand.

Resting on her palm was a small syringe filled with a golden liquid.

Bane stared at it, and didn't think she could make him angrier than what he already was.

Pamela Isley have given her two syringes for his pain.

Without lifting his eyes, he asked, "And just where is the other one?"

Camille knew this wasn't the reunion they both had been wishing for. This reunion now was coming with anger, dangerous actions, and blood. Now, she would just be adding to it. But why stop here? She took a breath before answering, already knowing his reaction wouldn't be a good one. "The day before I was taken… I tested them, to make sure she hadn't poisoned them. I spent hours looking for something fatal while you were out. I checked multiple times, but I couldn't find anything dangerous. So… I took one myself."

Bane stared at the small needle, the pretty liquid inside it. Neither of them could have known what was really in there, if Pamela really had decided to terminate him using his own pain against him. And after his last meeting with her, leaving her in her lovely lingerie after she'd tried to seduce him, he was even more untrusting of her. Hearing this now from Camille made him so very angry. She could have been poisoned. If her calculations had been just the tiniest bit off, she could have died. Bane didn't really know what to focus on. The fact that Camille had done a stupid experiment without him knowing, or that she was still here because that experiment had been successful.

It was a very conflicting emotion. But over all of that, he was still angry. Why was he so angry?

Too much was going on, that's why, his brain told him. And he couldn't relax.

"You took one."

Camille too stared at the syringe. She could feel the heat of his rage, and couldn't bear to look at him as she disappointed him some more. "It's not poison. It does exactly what she said it would do."

"What are you trying to do to me, Camille? Are you purposely trying to cause me more pain? As I sit here bandaging you up this way, you will tell me that you risked your life because of the word of your lady friend? Why would you even try it?" His voice held a growl to it, and then it seemed a little lost. She looked up at him then, noted the haziness to his eyes that was evidence of rising emotion. And watching him, looking into that emotion, she could see that this was hardly about anything he was talking about, and everything at the same time. "Why would you make me feel like this? Why didn't you tell me where you were?"

Camille stared at him, and could see everything from him. He was angry for a lot of things, but mostly for her being taken from him, taken in a way that he'd believed had been death. The night she spoke to him on the phone, she could have given him some kind of clue, put him on some kind of path to her whereabouts. But she'd kept him in the dark to protect him. To keep him from the pain she hadn't been able to save him from in the end. "I had to protect you. No one else protects you like I do." She wanted him to feel peace. She wanted to regain the relationship she had with him before her mother had come and ruined everything for both of them. And maybe, with the help of a little needle, she could get them there again. She lifted her hand, holding the syringe like an offering to him.

His mask hissed sharply when he scowled, just slightly.

Camille frowned, wanting to stop the sadness, the turmoil from both of them. "I'm… I'm having a hard time," she admitted quietly, telling him a truth she never would have before. They were both too proud to admit when they weren't feeling good. But maybe the truth would help. "I just…" She stopped, took a deep breath. "I just want to kiss you."

Bane stared at the syringe, and remembered what Camille had told him it could do for him. Three hours without pain. Three hours without his mask. He felt he was too angry to kiss his woman for three hours. And he felt like it was all he wanted to do. Three hours.

He would never have those three hours for the rest of his life. Not without that sparkling golden blocker.

Before he could change his mind, Bane turned his head to the side, baring his neck. Pamela's remedy would target his pain receptors, and needed to be close to his brain. Camille had used it without telling him, and she was still here. She had trusted the facts when she proved them to be true.

He trusted his woman.

Camille felt she could gasp at his compliance. And before either of them could think too much about it, because they knew they needed what this concoction could give them, she quickly uncapped the needle, and gently slid the sharp tip into the meaty flesh of his neck.

He didn't feel anything. But maybe that was the point.

Camille waited a moment, watching him carefully. He could feel her gaze on him, but he couldn't look at her. How could this have happened to them? he thought, waiting just as she was waiting. How could this separation, and what it had come with, throw them so off course? Camille was cutting herself again and he didn't know how to make anything better. Didn't know how to get rid of this anger. Camille was hurting herself, his enemies were rising together, and his oldest friend had betrayed him. He couldn't relax, he repeated in his head. Bane felt like he could never relax again. He felt her hands on his cheeks, turned his face to her. And closed his eyes.

Camille began unlatching his mask, unclipping what needed to be unclipped and pulling his lifeline apart. She did it expertly, almost as expertly as he would, the skills there from having played with his mask long before he'd even met her for research. And when real air rushed up to his mouth after all the latches were undone, when the hiss of the gas that kept him alive ceased, Bane realized that it was truly happening. No morphine this time, no oxycodone. A time limit that was for much longer than anything he'd ever had before. Three hours.

Three hours of freedom. Of normalcy.

She pulled the mask away, set it on the floor by his feet. She looked at his face, at the skin she could rarely see. It was interesting to see him this way, even though this was the way she'd first met him, without the mask. She could remember the evident pain taking over his features then, the suffering he'd gone through without it. For that alone she'd never resented the mask after they'd become lovers. She would rather him have it on than off, if only so that he would be okay.

He was very handsome, she realized again, something she always did every time she saw him bare. His face was scarred, his nose slightly crooked from horrible fracture, the skin of his face pale and indented from the gripping confines of the mask's straps. But even with all of that, she could lose her breath at the sight of him.

And maybe, she would never get used to the effect he had on her.

Bane waited for it, waited for the crippling pain, the lie a gorgeous woman had told them. But when he continued to feel nothing, he was starting to rethink. Bane opened his mouth slightly to breathe the fresh air, or what was fresh air to him, sucking it in straight to his lungs like it was the first breath he ever took.

There was no pain. There was no pain.

No pain at all.

He opened his eyes, and looked at his woman. Looked at her like she was the only thing he could ever look at. She lifted her hands, touched his face, ran her fingers down the places she could never touch. His face felt sensitive, and he almost wanted to flinch away. But then she leaned forward, and he couldn't move a muscle.

"Don't be mad at me," she whispered to him, bringing her face closer, her mouth closer to his. She placed her hands under his jaw, slid her thumbs over his cheeks. And gently kissed the corner of his lips. "I'll never leave you. Not again. I can't function without you." She kissed the other corner, his chin, his jaw. All the places she never could before. "You're everything to me." She kissed his face all over then, soft pecks of her pouty mouth. Her cut mouth. But it hardly mattered. "Please stop being so angry. I'm sorry for hurting you. I'm here. I'm right here."

Bane watched her face as she kissed him, feeling the rush of need for her. Feeling that grip of wanting that could be terrible and amazing at the same time. And suddenly, that need, that want, eradicated his anger. Destroyed it and left it in a crumbling heap. He could remember saying certain things to her the night they'd visited Pamela Isley, before she had been stolen away and he had become lost. He'd told her he needed her. Camille brought her lips closer to his, just the smallest whisper away. She opened her mouth some, their breath mingling, their need rising to peak. He wanted to taste her. He wanted nothing more than to taste her mouth.

Even when you're gone I still need you…in a thousand ways.

Bane suddenly gripped her waist, made her gasp at the hard quickness. That gasp was done right against his mouth, driving him crazy. Straight to madness.

"Kiss me," he growled, and was lost to the madness.

Camille wrapped her arms around his neck, and took his mouth with hers.

Every kiss felt like the very first kiss. Their lips tasted, their tongues pleasured, and all that could be felt was the very willing, very deprived mouth of the other. Bane still gripped her waist, chased her mouth as she leaned back on the bed. He kissed her, and his senses felt painfully exquisite. So painful, so sensitive, he didn't know if he could handle it for such a long amount of time. Every kiss felt like the very first kiss…

And then suddenly, the full weight of reuniting with each other fell heavy on their chests.

They can never have enough. They can never stop. Since the first moment they saw each other everything had changed, changed forever. There was nothing else for them.

Never again.

The damaged spoke to the damaged, the dark to that same dark. She was alive and here. He could be secure and peaceful. Together. The dark. The damaged.

The same.

An hour later, they were still lost in the kiss.

Bane had pulled her shirt off, her shorts down. Camille had tried to unbuckle the heavy armored vest, and he'd had to help her. It wasn't so much about sex. It was to feel skin on skin, simple and pure contact that hadn't been had for so long. She felt the heavy weight of him on top of her when he was stripped to a pair of boxer briefs and she in nothing but her panties, but it was a familiar weight. A weight she'd craved for in the hot confines of her cell. She opened her mouth, took his tongue again, and realized that she could stay just like this for many more hours to come.

The only thing that was bothering her was the increasing gentleness he was giving her.

She didn't want gentle. Gentle wasn't what he normally gave her. Gentle was for the false love of Talia al Ghul. He had always touched her with possession, with strength. And it was upsetting her because she knew it was only coming from the ordeal he'd saved her from. She was pale and sunken from her captivity, had been sad and delirious enough to cut her skin again. She had been kept from proper food and water, proper treatment of her injuries. And he was only trying to be aware of it, to not crush her as he ravaged her mouth with his.

She hated the gentleness because gentleness was not normal between them.

Camille rubbed her thighs against his sides as he rested between them, holding him close as she breathed against his mouth, neither of them wanting to move an inch away. To kiss him was something she rarely got to feel. And neither of them wanted to waste the time given. But she was steadily getting annoyed, annoyed with every soft caress of his fingers, every gentle brush of his hands. She wanted to do nothing but continue to kiss him. And she wanted to push him away.

"Stop," she whispered against his mouth, opened it again to taste him some more. A wet smacking sound was heard as their lips parted. "Stop… stop touching me that way…"

Bane ignored her even as he heard her, and sucked on her bottom lip gently to avoid aggravating the cut there.

"I'm not going to break. Damn it," she breathed, and turned her face to the side.

Bane could hear the annoyance in her voice, but it didn't stop him. He was a crazy man with the use of his mouth, and all he wanted to do was taste and taste and taste her where he never got to taste her before. He kissed the side of her face as she turned it away, heard her soft sigh of pleasure as he moved his lips down, kissing her repeatedly down her cheek and over her jaw, right onto her neck. He leaned back a little and stared at the skin there for a moment, the faint reddened ring around her neck. Then opened his mouth against her neck and kissed her there too.

He made her shiver, and tasted her again. "You really are a sweet one," he murmured against her neck, grazing his teeth over her pulse.

His voice caused her to shudder, his lips moving lower and making her head feel fuzzy. "Stop treating me like a doll. Stop being like this." She couldn't catch her breath, she couldn't seem to think rationally. But she did know she didn't want to be handled like fragile glass. Bane's mouth on her was making her feel like she was high, so high up she could barely stand it. But there was still that small amount of sadness lingering under the surface, her sadness of everything that had happened, everything that had been said to her while she was gone. The sadness of having been separated from him that couldn't seem to go away even as he was on top of her now.

Bane didn't care what she said, what she thought. Usually, yes, he was rough with her. But he was also aware, also very connected with the fact that even though she didn't want gentle, it was what she needed. She was fragile, for right now. He could see it in her face, in the bandages covering her forearms that were scratching at his own skin when she held him. He slid his fingers into her hair, her thinned hair from the balls of black tendrils he'd spotted in the bathroom, and moved his lips further down.

She wouldn't be quiet, so he would have to ignore her.

Bane set most of his weight on his knees and gazed down at her chest. This was all so very new to him. He could sleep with a hundred women with the mask on and still have everything feel completely different without it, with his mouth bare. Camille was the only woman he'd ever kissed. And now she would be the only body he would ever taste. Her face was still turned away as he moved his hand to touch one of her breasts, holding her flesh as he leaned down and tasted the skin covering her sternum. She was so pale, almost translucent, and her skin tasted faintly of peppermint from the bath. Bane wasn't sure if there was a certain way a man went about something like this, so all he had was instinct and his own wants to go on.

But he knew what he wanted.

Camille didn't know what was wrong with her. She was trained in areas such as this and she couldn't help herself if her life depended on it. As she'd been kissing Bane, as he had sampled her skin for the first time, she had to fight growing wells of tears coming to her eyes, pushing back the pressure building in her face and focusing on his uncovered mouth she would only have for a short amount of time. She wanted to forget everything. She didn't want to think at all. She felt Bane squeeze her breast gently, felt comfort in the touch of his hand.

Then she let out a desperate groan when she felt his mouth consume her breast.

Her mind exploded, her skin blazing with sensation. She hadn't felt a man's mouth on her like this since she'd been married. Bane had only ever used his time without the mask to kiss her, and only once to use his mouth on her between her legs. But this was different. This was unhurried, not desperate because there was no quick time limit. He could taste her where he wanted to taste her. And she could simply feel it.

He must have really been enjoying the taste of her breast, sliding his tongue over her nipple before sucking her back in, since now he was pressing his crotch against hers, wanting to feel contact against the erection he'd had for some time now. His gentleness must have gone forgotten, she figured, sighing deeply and placing her hands on top of his bald head as he moved to her other breast. She gasped sharply as he bucked hard against her, just once with his powerful hips. He'd done the same thing earlier, after the first few minutes of kissing her, and had quickly regained himself before going back to being gentle.

He did the same thing now, easing his hips back and moving his mouth up to kiss her lips again.

Camille kissed him back, sliding her tongue over his, making him groan as she did it slowly and sensually, raking her nails up his back at the same time. She wanted to forget, she told herself again. She didn't want to cry, didn't want to feel like she was as weak as she thought she was right now. And because she knew what could make her forget, she kissed his mouth deeply and pulled his crotch back to hers with her legs hooked around him.

Bane responded by pulling his hips back again, then reaching down to readjust his underwear over his throbbing cock.

She sighed, annoyed, and sucked at his lips before pulling away. "What are you doing? Stop that," she whispered sadly.

Bane stared at her mouth, her swollen mouth from his kisses, and panted softly, wanting more but finding it extremely hard to restrain himself. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't. Please, just… don't treat me like that. I want to be normal." She gazed up at him so sadly he felt something in him crack. Something that was on the verge of breaking completely. "I want to be normal," she repeated softly, sliding her fingers over his own swollen, lovely full lips. "I want to forget. Help me forget. Just be with me."

Undressing her for the bath, he hadn't wanted her to think he wanted sex, even though he had to resist the steadily rising desire for her. When she'd saved him from the pit so long ago he had pounced on her like an animal from being separated from her. But now was different. She had been kidnapped by her own family, held in an insane asylum, and from the marks on her body he knew she'd been tortured in some way. He'd thought sex now would be too soon for her. But maybe…

Maybe she just needed the connection. Camille leaned up, pecked his mouth softly before laying back down. He could see the tempest in her eyes, swarming in the black of them with a pleading desire for him to take her.

How could he say no to her now?

Bane sat up so he could pull her panties down her hips and toss them away. Camille watched patiently as he did the same thing to his own underwear before holding her arms out to him so he could pick her up. This would be the first, and possibly the only time when they could have sex without his mask on. Bane held her thighs as he set her on his own, leaning her back against the wall behind the bed so they could be face to face. His erection poked at her, the need he'd had a hard time ignoring, pulsing against her in an aching way. Bane stared at her face and tilted his head, bringing his lips close enough to hers so he could feel the heat radiating off her skin. Their parted lips touched just barely as they breathed against each other, as he gripped her thighs to lift her right over the head of his cock. And then she was sinking down, being stretched with that wonderful girth, filled with that great length. He pushed her down until he couldn't go any further, felt he would explode here and now from her tight grip that had been taken away from him. He groaned against her mouth as she let out a soft whimper and clenched around him, twitching in his arms from penetration. He still needed her.

In a thousand ways.

He wrapped his arms around her waist, leaned against her just barely, and for the first time kissed a woman as he moved inside of her.

It was so different, so mind-blowing. It was like having sex for the very first time. Camille had forgotten what it was like after being the lover of someone who couldn't kiss her, and Bane had never experienced it at all. They kissed each other deeply, ravenously, almost as if all the nourishment in the world was in that one, giving mouth. Bane pressed her against the wall as he bucked into her, her wetness slicking him, undoing him as her mouth feasted at his. She gasped and moaned when he hit her sweet spot, brushing against it over and over again just to hear the sounds she made, those lovely sounds he thought he would never hear again. She held his face as her tongue brushed against his bottom lip, then her moans were eaten up by his mouth. Her hands grabbed at his head as he pumped into her, but he only gripped her waist and continued to destroy her. To kiss her. This was the way of normal couples.

But they had never been a normal couple.

"Do you remember the first time I had you?" he asked her huskily against her mouth as he continued to pump.

"Yes," she breathed, and sucked at his lips.

"You were so hesitant, so unsure. Almost reluctant. Please wait, you said." Bane leaned down and bit at her shoulder gently, something she would always do to him. It had the same overwhelming effect on her. "Now you refuse to wait. Now you submit to me completely. Everything in you is ready for me."

And just like that first time, his voice was sending her over the edge. She could feel her orgasm building, the pressure rising and rising before she would overflow. And her heart beat like a pounding fist. She thought she would never feel like this again trapped in an asylum's cell. To feel it now, after her confinement, was so overpowering she didn't quite know what to do with herself.

"Even then I thought you were beautiful." Bane groaned as he pushed the tip of his cock to her limit, stayed there to feel her tight wet grip. He eyed the cut on her mouth and chin, kissed her there as she shuddered in his arms before taking her mouth again. "You are beautiful, darling Camille. Habibati."

Desperately she wrapped her arms around his neck, panted against his mouth as he scooted them back so she could ride his lap even as he pumped into her. They moved in sync, and then a little sloppily as they couldn't decide if they should focus on kissing or fucking. She leaned back a little, bringing him with her so he could continue to move inside her as she continued to kiss him. And then he started to buck faster, growling against her that let her know he was close. She could forget. In this moment, she could forget everything but him. She could ride him, she could kiss him, she could give everything to him and no one else.

No one else, because no one else could save her.

Camille squeezed her eyes shut tightly as she started to come, the feeling making her head feel like it was floating above her, floating away because she was lost. She shook and gasped, almost painfully, her shaking hands digging into the backs of his shoulders to keep her anchored to sanity. Bane growled so deeply he didn't sound human, pressing his face into her neck and latching his teeth on her skin as he emptied inside of her, forgetting himself. Forgetting as she forgot. She was here. She'd never been taken away. She had never been hurt and he had never suffered without her. His rope to the sky, pulling him out of the pit and into freedom. He could feel the sun. He could taste the air. A life without her was a life spent in the pit. And without Bane, it was a life in the dark hole with blades and blood. But right now, they could be one.

One flesh, without loneliness.

The rest of the time the syringe had given was spent in a kiss. Camille had been compliant as Bane sampled her skin some more, tasting her in a way that seemed like he'd never tasted anything before in his life. He kissed her face, her neck, moving his way down until every inch of her was marked with his mouth. The inside of her elbow, the curve of her hip, the valley between her breasts, every inch as delicious as the next. And Camille let him, lying there with her eyes closed, a sigh escaping her lips every time he would nip somewhere she found extra pleasurable. She could do this to him whenever she wanted. Now, it was his turn.

He may not get another chance. Not for a long time, if ever again.

And when he'd hovered over her, about to kiss her, she noticed the discomfort in his eyes, the slight shake of his head as he tried to push back the disappointing truth that the time limit was nearing.

"You're hurting," she whispered to him.

"I can last." He nipped at her lips, trying to brush the matter aside as nothing important. But she could tell, and he could feel it coming back. "It isn't that bad at the moment."

Camille watched his face as she slid her arms around his neck, pulling him close as she accepted the truth too. She would never resent the mask, neither would he. But both of them couldn't help but feel bittersweet as the three hours came to an end. She kissed his mouth softly, that mouth she hardly got to see, that lovely mouth she could crave. She was still in the sweet void of forgetting everything besides the moment, and kissed him like she'd never kissed another man before. Very bittersweet. Almost tragic.

But the pain was rising, and then he could barely breathe.

He started to lean up and away from her, did it very slowly as she leaned up too, chasing his mouth with kisses to his lips. He held her face in his hands, kissed her repeatedly, peck after peck after peck, like he could stop time and hold it right here.

And when the pain became too much, it was Camille that latched the mask back onto his face.

The hiss of the gas filled the room, the deep, mechanical sounds of his breathing and his voice joining it. Back to reality. Back to life.

At least reality kept the pain away.

But reality could also bring pain. Moments later, as Bane lounged on the bed on his back breathing in his medicine, Camille sat on the side, her back to him as she stared at the floor.

Everything came flooding back as soon as the intimacy had stopped.

Her eyes wandered over the floor, looking at their clothing like she couldn't figure out how they'd gotten there. Slowly, she reached down, picked up her back long-sleeved shirt and pulled it on, not caring about a bra or panties. She knew her body still held the sickly color of fading yellow bruises, knew that her upper arms and her neck were still ringed with red from a tight, chafing collar and burning electrodes. And now she had bandages on her forearms, covering more cuts.

She'd never been tortured before. It could be said that she'd tortured herself during her years growing up, that her mother had tortured her mentally from abuse. But nothing like what she'd gone through at Arkham. Being asked questions about Bane, her refusing to answer them, and being punished in return.

It felt as if all those years without her mother had meant nothing. Like they'd never happened at all. And it was hard to deal with. She looked around the apartment, at all the things that had been hers. It seemed so far away since she'd used them. Almost as if they belonged to a different person entirely.

"Camille." Bane called her, watching her from his side of bed. He didn't want to say that the room had taken a nose dive into the awkward, but it suddenly didn't feel the same. Maybe he had hurt her. Maybe sex really had been too soon.

"Are you feeling okay?" she asked in return, keeping her back to him.

"Yes," he answered, and watched her rub her hands at her thinned hair. "Will you tell me what happened to you?"

Camille absently reached up to touch her lips. Something wasn't right here. Something wasn't familiar, not like how it used to be. She repeated Bane's question in her mind, considered it. And felt horrible shame. Shame she didn't want to discuss with him just yet. "I don't want to," she whispered.

"Camille," he repeated, and sat up on the bed with a grunt. He felt oddly drained from being without the mask when he should have put it back on after a certain point. "You will tell me… if you are not feeling well?"

More shame. How could she do that to him? How could she let him find her the way he had in the bathroom? For a small moment, she felt like she wasn't good enough for him. "I will," she said, giving him the only peace of mind she could give.

"Where are you going?" he asked almost sternly, keeping his eyes fixed on her as she got up from the bed and padded into the bathroom.

"I need to clean up." Bane's release was starting to drip down the inside of her thighs, feeling almost cool against her heated skin. "I want to look like myself." Her voice seemed small, with a hint of desperation as he heard her rummage through drawers in the bathroom. He decided to give her thirty seconds before he would check on her.

And then he stared at her, almost mesmerized, when she came back out with dark red lips.

Those bold lips on his woman was the loveliest sight he'd ever seen.

Camille didn't know how the lipstick would look with the scarring cut on her mouth. But at the moment, of wanting to feel like the woman she'd been before her capture, she hardly cared. She felt oddly on the verge of completion, like she'd been a half-finished painting that had only needed that one splash of color that would make the whole picture. Her lipstick felt like part of her identity, almost like how Bane's mask was a part of his. And she'd needed it back.

She crawled back into bed, an ache between her legs and a sudden exhaustion falling on her like a pile of bricks, and fell asleep to Bane's petting hand on her hair.

Camille didn't know how long she'd been sleeping, but she wanted nothing more than to continue doing it. She slept and slept and slept, waking only when she would feel her lover leave the bed. She would sit up, wait patiently for him to come back before falling into slumber again. She had slept so very alone and sad in her cell. And she found that she couldn't sleep peacefully without him now.

Don't leave me, don't leave me, her mind would chant until he returned, until he came back to bed to hold her.

She was asleep again, asleep because nothing seemed better. This was her own bed, her own blankets, her man. And she never wanted to leave it. She didn't know if only hours had passed, days, weeks. She only knew she would wake up for a bit to do what Bane wanted her to do, to eat, drink something, fix her bandages, before going right back to sleep. And now, as she was wakened by a maneuvering hand, her eyes fluttered open as Bane pushed her onto her back. She could feel his girth on the bed, a heavy presence that seemed to anchor it to the floor.

He sat on the side, gazing down at her and proceeding to open a jar in his hands. He had changed her shirt however long ago, and had braided her hair back so that it wouldn't bother her face. Brushing a few stray strands away from her forehead, he dipped his fingers into the jar and began smearing something on the cut on her bottom lip and chin.

It felt cool, so very comforting and so very soothing. She remained still as he worked, looking at his fingers and seeing that whatever he was putting on her was mint green in color and pasty in texture. Her lips were still red, the paint being reapplied every time she would see it fading, but he smeared the paste right over it, packing it on.

"What is this?" she asked, and wondered if that weak, groggy little squeak was her own voice.

"A gift from your lady friend," he answered, smearing it on the way the instructions had told him to. "Ms. Isley says this will help with the cut." Pamela had called once she'd heard about the raid at Arkham Asylum. Bane had told her he had Camille, and of his woman's injuries. A day later, a pretty little package was delivered to his doorstep with Dr. Lane written on a tag in beautiful cursive handwriting. "She likes you."

Camille sighed, now feeling the pasty substance underneath her bandages on her forearms as well. Apparently this was the crowd that was her close circle. A terrorist to an army of exotic mercenaries who was her lover, and a gorgeous mass-murdering sociopath who acted like her best friend.

But she would take them over the world any day.

Bane applied more of Pamela's healing minty paste, and Camille watched his face. Soon it would be time to tell Bane what had happened to her. But for right now, she still didn't want to talk about it, and her shame was still a heavy weight. Instead, her thoughts drifted elsewhere. To something she suddenly wanted… desperately.

"I would say yes to you," she began softly, feeling his fingers pull at her skin as he smeared the paste. "If you asked me."

Bane's hand stopped, his fingers resting on her mint green chin in silence. And only remembering what she was talking about. That very late night, huddled close together and talking about things that couldn't happen for them. Things they probably had no business talking about. A fantasy.

If I asked you… to be my wife…

I would say yes.

She had said that. She had answered him that way.

"If I asked you," Camille said, speaking slowly. "Would you say yes?"

Her saying yes to him if he were to ask her was a fantasy. Her asking him was inconceivable. Who would ask him that? Who would ever think that marriage was an option when it came to him? Marriage was a fantasy, he'd once told her. A fantasy from the pit that was nothing but. Bane could only look back at her, until finally an answer came to him. "I would."

It was just a game, he thought. A stupid game they would play with each other, a game that could never be true because of how they lived their lives. It hadn't worked out for her before with Jackson Lane, and for him it was something that could never be. Nothing but a game. A joke. A fantasy. Bane removed his hand from her chin, began to lift himself from the bed. Camille took his wrist, pulled him back. Looked up at him seriously.

"Will you?" she asked in a whisper.

And suddenly it wasn't a fantasy anymore.

He could only stare at her.

What makes a wife? What makes a husband?

How could he explain what it had been to watch a woman he thought had been her get shot in the head and killed, to know that he'd never see her again, even during his search for her? To know that he might have lost her in an instant if he had been too late? He knew she'd faced death countless time, a horrible death of bleeding out. He had faced it with her. They'd had each other's blood on their hands before. How could he tell her what it had felt like to feel that blood slide down his back as he'd pulled her from the tub? She caused him misery. She caused him pain.

Lying down there now with goop on her face, Bane knew that he would take the misery and the pain over even an ounce of the suffering he'd experienced without her.

Will you?

"Yes," he murmured.

And for the first time in a long time, Camille smiled up at him.

No more fantasies.

She was sleeping, and she was dreaming.

She was trapped in a nightmare.

She was in the asylum again, running, running, running. Running from the voice of her mother on the loudspeaker as it chased her like a demon. The halls were dark and the other inmates howled at her, trying to rip her to shreds as their pale arms reached through the bars. Come back, they cried to her. Come back and suffer with us.

Her mother's voice was an invisible presence, following her everywhere she went. Alcina always knew where she was, could find out anything about her in the blink of an eye. Jeremiah was there too, a walking corpse with one eye a hollow hole, the other a bloody mess from the impact of a bullet. He held up the electrodes to her, a dead blind man, telling her it was time for therapy. Telling her the therapy would stop if only she told them where her masked man was. And then she saw the Joker, his bloody, horrific smile beaming at her as he held a switchblade, tossing it from hand to hand in glee.

Time to finish the job, honey.

And then he laughed.

Camille covered her ears, trying to block it out, trying to find the exit so she could go back where she belonged. Bane was waiting for her. Bane needed her to take care of him. He was lost without her. He had said yes.

The hole is your home, baby girl.

And then she screamed.

In reality, Bane had crawled into bed with her as she slept on, pulling her close and resting her head on his forearm. His own sleepy eyes were drifting shut, finally able to rest now that she was safe and sound and here.

She began to shake.

Bane watched her for a moment, thought it would pass like some of the other nightmares she would have. Her face would crinkle up every second or two, her shoulders hunching like she were trying to hide. And once she began to thrash in her sleep, Bane grabbed her and tried to wake her up.

Camille jumped as her eyes snapped open, as wakefulness consumed her. She knew where she was, knew who she was with. She stared at the middle of Bane's chest, a blank stare, almost as if she were discovering something that could change everything. Bane watched her carefully, wondering if she was still asleep.

And then she burst into tears.

He wasn't prepared, and he didn't know what to do. Camille crying was something that rarely ever happened. In fact, he'd only seen her do it twice. To watch her cry now seemed like too much, too many times for him to watch her sadness fall down her cheeks. She cried hysterically, a long while of repressed tears finally leaking from her eyes, a sound that cut him inside. She covered her face with her hands, sobbed into her palms. And feeling out of rational ideas, Bane could only scoop her up into his arms and hold her, rocking her like a child. Instantly she wrapped her arms around his neck, sobbed onto his shoulder. He held her close, sliding a hand into her hair to give her some kind of comfort.

A darkness glazed over his eyes as he rocked his crying woman. She was this way now because she had been hurt. She was injured, she was sad, and she was crying. Certain people had hurt what was his. Certain people had made her cry.

Bane would kill them all.

TBC

A/N: Sorry about the wait, loves. But it was a very big chapter, and I only want to give you the best. In case anyone is wondering, Amaranthine should be completed at 25 chapters, so we're nearing the end. I'm sorry if it seems so long, but I wanted to make you guys feel as if you were reading a real novel. Hopefully I've accomplished that. Thank you so very much for all the reviews. They really keep me going. Also, we can do Q&A. Ask me whatever you want, regarding anything. I'm an easy-going gal, and if you have a question, don't be afraid to ask. Thank you again, my darlings. And look forward to the next chapter. It's very important.