Chapter 21

Four days later, she finally works up a small amount of courage and asks: "Why do you wear the mask?"

"You know why," he replies. It's true; Bruce told her, months and months ago. It is a stupid question. But, if she's honest with herself, she knows it as a moment of cowardice. She meant to ask if she could see his face and was unable to get the words out. But to her surprise, he continues speaking. "It provides me with the chemicals I need to function."

She is a bit taken aback—the words are laced with consideration towards her. He knows she wants to talk about it and he is helping her to do so, sidestepping the impending discomfiture. "For the pain… from the wounds?"

"Yes."

"Is it bad?"

He breathes out, exhalation raspy against the tiny holes in the mask. Selina realizes that she doesn't really notice the mask anymore, barely looks at it. There are so many other parts of Bane to look at. Why look at the one part of him that is static when the rest of him is so expressive? "Sometimes worse than others. It depends."

"How do you eat?" He must have his diet perfected, to be able to keep up such a large body mass while eating in such a small amount of time. As far as Selina can tell, he never has the mask off for more than ten minutes a day, sometimes less.

"Quickly. I take the mask off to eat and wash up a bit." She nods absently. She wants to say it. She desperately wants to but, despite herself, she's afraid of rejection and he makes her feel impossibly small.

"You want to see?" Her eyes flash up to meet his. Her mouth opens and closes; there are no words. She nods.

"Come," Bane says, motioning to her with his head. On unwavering legs, he leads her to the bathroom. He withdraws a small container filled with tools she doesn't recognize, picks up one and sets to work, dismantling the mask. It takes well under five minutes, but she knows the time is narrowed down from years of practice. When he first put the mask on, it likely took much longer—likely one of the more terrible of his struggles. She stares unblinkingly, unflinchingly, as the pieces of the mask melt away and she looks at Bane's face for the first time.

For a moment that goes on for decades, centuries, she doesn't breathe. She doesn't move. She doesn't even blink; Bane stands just as still.

She does not know what she expected. Maybe she thought it would be the same man from her dream, unchanged, in all that glorified perfection that created the crevice now gaping wide open inside her gut. Maybe she thought the damage would be barely noticeable, a single scar, visible only from a single angle. But she heard the story—there is no reason for her to be so shocked at the sight of Bane's face.

The skin is red and irritated, especially around the edges. If she looks carefully enough, she can see the faint lines of muscle, only barely hidden by a thin, torn layer of skin. His lips are almost entirely gone. The bottom of the nose is nothing but a slit, and the skin there hangs on, as if by a single thread of skin. It would no doubt cause more pain fully removed. Everything else is raw looking, as if it should be bleeding down his face, not strangely preserved. This is what he got, for saving a child.

Selina imagines a world where he made a different choice. She imagines the life she could have had, the things she could have experienced—the things Bane would have experienced if Talia had not survived. What could they have done, if Talia was not alive to bring hell to Gotham City? Would they have even met?

If she looks hard enough she can see the remnants of what may have once been the man from her dream, but it is impossible to know. In reality, no matter how hard she looks, she only sees the monster. In order to see the man that once was there, she has to pretend.

She used to be good at pretending. Memories come to the forefront of her mind—her whole childhood was built on pretending. The nights when her mother would stumble home drunk or high or both and she would pretend she was ten years older than she really was, helping a woman in the hospital to get back to her bed safely. The days when the kids at school, the girls especially, broke out into fights so vicious that she had no choice but to pretend she was capable of taking them on, even the older ones that towered above her head. It only took a couple black eyes, a few sprained wrists and twisted ankles, before she didn't have to pretend anymore.

Pretending kept her alive, kept her safe. When men would have had her killed for being too strong, when Gotham's government would have had her locked up for being too smart, she was weak, she was stupid.

But she can't pretend anymore, she's lost all energy, all will to even bother lying to herself. The man from before no longer exists. He was peeled away, layer by layer, until only the primal, ideological being hidden inside every human being was left. The man from her dream was innocent; the man before her is anything but.

The most grounding observation of the entire situation is that it changes nothing. It doesn't change the way she feels. He is a monster, but what does that make her?

She is no better, she realizes. She has her sins and he has his and that means that, in the end, they deserve each other. She wishes the idea would make her feel sick, even a little, would make her feel guilty, at least, but it doesn't.

Despite being obviously in pain, Bane stares at her levelly. He wants to see her reaction, when it comes. Selina holds it back for a few moments. Though she has been allowing herself to slip recently, she is well practiced at hiding her emotions from others—even Bane. Her face is blank as she turns away to grab the mask off the table. She can see the slight twitches of pain in his body language, not yet brutal, simply an annoyance.

Regardless of her desire to see his face, to see what he keeps hidden beneath the mask, it does not outweigh her displeasure at seeing him in pain—especially pain inflicted due to good deeds done years ago. Without turning her eyes away from his face for even a moment, she moves her arm to snatch the mask off the worn countertop. She hands him the mask and watches as, slowly, the face disappears again, beneath manufactured metal and tubes of painkillers.

This is all wrong, she thinks as Bane finishes constructing the mask, as the straps holding it in place fall across the light tan lines left behind on his face. The thought repeats itself when Bane takes off his shirt and moves to remove Selina's robe. His fingers pause at the hemline, eyes meeting hers to ask for some sort of permission. She nods, feeling her stomach clench impossibly tight. This is all wrong. I love Bruce, she tells herself for what must be the millionth time, but it isn't that simple anymore. As if it was ever simple.

But almost as soon as she finishes nodding and the cloth is removed, she shakes her head again, backing up into the wall and finally looking away from Bane. Something is wrong, something is off but she can't, for the life of her, figure out what it is.

She looks up at him, hoping to convey this emotion through a simple glance. Help me. Somehow, it works. He presses into her, against the wall, and when she looks carefully she can see that Bane's eyes are the same as her—they hold the same emotion, the same anger and confusion and mixture of love and hate and everything in between. That stand like that for a while, pressed against each other.

"Bane," she says, once the feeling finally passes. His name on her lips is a weight that drags everything inside her through the floor. "Bane."

His fingers move to the base of her throat, where it slowly twists and turns until he can cup the nape of her neck. He doesn't say her name, but if he did, in such a moment, she recognizes that she would feel inexplicably disappointed. There is a realization, now, that she doesn't need him to say her name to know who she is. She doesn't need a city in shambles to define her, to give her a purpose in life. She doesn't need Bruce in all his good glory and nobleness, because she was only noble once and it nearly killed her.

But she needs Bane. Despite everything, despite how much she hates him, despite how much he must hate her, despite everything he's ever done to her and everything he ever will, she knows this to be true. She simply cannot be without him.

For having such a revelation, she feels strangely empty. In the end, the emptiness can only be filled by Bane's hands, everywhere. They move back into the bedroom and she helps his trousers to fall to the floor. They fall back on the bed and Selina moves her hand across the mask and over his eyes, feeling a sense of ridiculous power when he leans into her touch, ever so slightly.

There is a knock at the door. Bane pulls the sheet over Selina and re-clothes himself quickly, disregarding his heavy erection entirely. It is Barsad.

"Bane," he nods quickly in greeting. "The enemy has crossed the new borders."

"Already." Bane's single word response is not a question, nor is it an expression of surprise—he was expecting this.

Barsad shifts his head to glance at Selina momentarily before looking back at Bane. The distance is too great for her to tell why he spared a moment when he is obviously in such a rush. "Yes. They attacked Tiran. Many have died."

Selina can recognize the name of this village as well—it is the town most loyal to the League. This shocks Bane.

"They were sorely outnumbered," the second-in-command supplies. "From what the men that made it back have told me, the original number of those escaped from the Pit has doubled—they've been recruiting those from the other side of the border. Adamantly."

Bane's breath is low and anxious, to more of a degree than Selina has ever heard from him. "Very well."

Bane leaves, he has no choice, and Selina can see in the glance he spares for her that he does not wish to go.

He is not gone for much time, but it is long enough that Selina drifts into a light sleep. When he returns and crawls into bed beside her, she wakes for just long enough to curl into the warmth and comforting scent of sweat and blood and masculinity that he carries with him.

The next morning, she wakes long before him, in what she assumes are the early hours of the morning. She forces herself to keep still, to resist the incessant urge to run the tips of her fingers across his toned chest and arms. Eventually, the emotions from the night before catch up with her and she slowly rises from the bed to rush into the bathroom. For a few minutes, she coughs and gags into the toilet, crying all the while until she calms down and is able to wipe the tears from her face.

He will say no, Selina tells herself, as she gets back into bed. He has no reason to say yes.

But, she can't help but remember that if she is right about Bane's feelings towards her, he does have a reason.

After hours of deliberation, she comes to a decision. It is simple enough, but if Bane proves to be a larger issue, it could become complex, possibly worsen the situation. She rehearses the words over and over again in her mind, each time altered and perfected, or worsened.

She can't be a part of the League of Shadows, and if he cares for her as much as she suspects, he will give up whatever past he has here.

She wants to leave this place, forever, and she wants Bane to go with her. After everything, this is the only thing she wants. She is willing to give Bane everything, so long as he does this for her. This, and one other, small thing.

His eyes do not flutter or flicker open. One moment he is deep in sleep and the next he is awake, alert, ready for the day. Almost as soon as he wakes, he glances down at Selina, recognition that she has been awake for quite awhile dawning on his features.

"Good morning," she whispers. Not wanting to wait a moment longer she speaks seriously, so Bane understands immediately that it is a serious matter. "I have a request."

"Is that so?" He sits up and stretches more a moment. Selina can read it as stalling for time, an attempt to guess at what she wants. As he stands, his hand slides absently up and down her leg. When he's gone, she feels uncomfortably cold. He pulls a shirt on and throws her the robe she wore the night before. She takes a moment to wrap it around herself so it can slightly replace the warmth of the shared bed—it does nothing against the poisoning silence.

"Very well. What is your request?" His words break the tension eating away at them and he looks at her with great expectation.

"Can I see Bruce?" She asks quickly. Bane holds a book open in his hands, planning to read it once Selina is done speaking. "I don't need to talk to him or touch him or anything. I just want to see him."

She doesn't even really want to talk to him. Any conversation with him would seem ridiculously forced and leave her evidently traitorous. She just… needs to look at him, one more time.

Then, she promises herself. Then, I will move on. I'll ask Bane.

He looks at her for a long time—longer than she would expect. He doesn't want me to see him. Her stomach silently gurgles. Why did she think this was an ok thing to ask? How could she be so stupid?

She almost turns away to go back to her book, when she sees some barrier in his eyes fall. It makes her entire body snap to attention. He doesn't say anything else, he doesn't need to.

"What…?" She demands. She feels her body temperature rising rapidly. Bane sets his own book down on the table, closing it without bothering to save his place. "Did you do—?"

She doesn't even know what to ask. She can't think straight. The expression on Bane's face—it's—

"Bruce Wayne died from the fever three weeks ago."

No. Her heart constricts and it is the first time she truly and completely breaks—in front of him or otherwise. She doesn't need to see proof, she doesn't need to ask him for it. This isn't some game. This is real. "No."

There's a sound in her ears—a sound she can neither place, nor comprehend. The sound grows until it consumes her. It grows shrill and deafening and only when she fears her eardrums may break does she realize the sound is her own sob, building up and breaking like a waterfall crashing down on jagged, deathly rocks below. She cuts herself off and stands. There are tear drops on the bed, on the floor.

She moves to the door, which is, of course, locked. She looks around the room wildly and her eyes lock on Bane. When she reaches him, his hand catches her elbow, holding her tightly. His touch sends angry electricity through her body and she can't think except to know that she has to get away from him, has to get out of this place, now. Deft fingers succeed in snatching a key from Bane's pocket and adrenaline allows her to separate her arm from his grip. In a flash she's out the door, first walking quickly, then jogging, then sprinting through the halls, towards the direction she knows must be the exit.

She has to get out. She needs to leave. She knows Bruce died here and she can't bear to spend another moment there—especially in the bed of the man who is almost entirely responsible for his death. The only other guilty party is herself, for not escaping from Bane, for not being strong enough to kill him years ago.

She reaches the exit and the guards do not stop her. Maybe she's too fast, maybe they're so stunned that she made it this far, maybe she beats them to crap before they can so much as leave a scrape, maybe they assume Bane allowed her to do so, but they don't stop her. The next moment she is out the door, in the dry desert, looking up at the late-morning sun. It is the first time she has been outside in eighteen months.

This land is cursed. The land is ripe with blood and death and destruction. But it isn't just the desert, it's everything. Everything she has ever seen and everything she ever will see, which, if she's lucky, will not be much more. The palms of her hands press into her ears and she cries out again. Bile surges to her tongue and she gags up the small amount of water she retained from being sick hours earlier. When she is finished, she squats above the sand, the dirt, and it burns the soles of her feet. The callouses on her feet are long gone.

A hand touches her shoulder and she sees Bane at her side. Anger breaks through. She wrenches herself from his grasp, only to be pulled back against him.

Despite the heat, he pulls her flush against his body. He holds her close despite her struggles and she knows this isn't about possession, this isn't about him refusing to let her go. This is him understanding that if he does let her go she will cease to exist. Her life would be forfeit. Little does he know, it is too late for such sentiment.

So he gathers her into his arms and carries her back down into the caverns below. He takes her to their bed and strips both of them of all their clothes, only barely worn, everything except his mask and the scars on her back: BANE.

He loops his arms around her waist and keeps her there for hours, all day long, until the fight in her dies away and she becomes a quivering, sobbing mess. He holds her until she falls into dreamless sleep, and for long after.

A/N So I wanted to make sure I gave you guys a chapter for Valentine's Day... but it is pretty much the biggest downer ever. Sorry. Yes. I killed off Bruce Wayne. I'm sorry if you hate me for it :( Believe it or not, I've had this planned since the beginning. Sorry to all the people that wanted Selina to be with Bruce. Thank you for all the kind reviews (200, GUYS! HOLY CRAP!)

So I've gotten some questions about what I'll be writing next and I honestly don't know. I have an unfinished Avengers fix laying around, but I'd like to do more with Bane and Selina. But no idea what. So if you want to send me a prompt in a PM here or on tumblr, it might make the writing process a tad easier. Not making any promises that I'll fill every (or even any) prompt. But idk. If there are certain things you'd like to see more of, let me know. Until next time, xxx.