In the weeks immediately following their extemporaneous fling, neither Bane nor Kate mentioned it again, and their unconventional relationship reverted to its former state. They exchanged niceties here and there but mostly preferred to remain in their respective quarters with each leaving the other to their own devices.
When their provisions began to diminish, Bane solved the problem by tapping into a trove beneath the cabin. The secret cellar housed two industrial-sized freezers chock-full of meats, breads, fruits, and vegetables. Having been deprived of real food for so long, their palates were pleased by the new variety. Unable to picture Bane slaving over a hot stove, a vision that almost made her giggle aloud, Kate took on the role of chef. He didn't give her much feedback about her culinary aptitude, but she supposed the fact that he never complained was a sign of approval. He seemed easy to please, and he always thanked her for feeding him.
His one-time lover's restlessness in response to being cooped up for so long became evident to Bane. Consequently, he provided her with a generous supply of books in the hopes they would occupy her until their little furlough came to an end. With no recreational alternatives, she gorged herself on every one of the texts. They sometimes chatted about whatever book she was reading at the time whenever the mood struck him. Such conversations took place when she chose to do her reading in the living room as opposed to her bedroom and were rather sporadic. Every day was exactly the same with hardly any variation.
He was plagued by sleepless nights, and the cache of tranquilizers in his dresser was a constant temptation. As much as he craved a night of uninterrupted sleep, his need for vigilance always won out. His hostage sneaking out under the cover of night whilst he slept was one of the last things he needed.
In addition to indulging in classic literature, his charge also incorporated cooking into her daily routine, much to his delight. She inquired about his meal preferences at first, but he continually deferred to her judgment each time she asked, so she finally gave up. For someone with hardly any experience, she was quite competent aside from one meatloaf mishap that left her flustered to no end. He couldn't help but be amused at how much she blew such a minor incident out of proportion. Her assertions notwithstanding, the dish tasted fine to him, and he ate it without so much as an afterthought. Being someone who had spent his life eating out of cans and worse, he was far from a food critic.
Despite the time that had elapsed since their fleeting coalescence, Bane could not completely banish it from his mind. Each time he saw her, he fought his urge to rip her clothes off and feast upon her resplendent body again and again until neither one of them had anything left. As much as he coveted her, he would never take her against her will; he may have been a monster, but he was not that morally bereft.
Bane remembered how he had teemed with rage and revulsion at the sight of that filthy troglodyte's mitts all over her as he prepared to defile her so many months ago back in Gotham. The unmitigated terror in her tear-ridden, doe-like eyes as she shivered before him in the frigid air of that icy December night was seared into his consciousness. She was so frail and frightened, reminiscent of a lost animal. A part of him, the one deep down inside of him that held that last sliver of humanity, wanted to scoop her up and take her back to his lair. Knowing she would starkly oppose that action, he left her in that alley and resigned himself to the fact that he would never see her again. Little did he know then that he would be living with the ingénue less than a year later courtesy of Barsad. Although he still questioned the depth of the relationship between the two of them, he knew that pressing his lieutenant further on the subject would arouse his suspicion. If there was something more to it, he would pry it out of Kate sooner or later.
As hard as he tried to block it out, all the roads of his mind inevitably led back to that rapturous May morning. He would have traded every one of his meal for just one more romp. She may have been desirable, but the effect she was having on him was anything but. He had even stooped as low as masturbation after she had proclaimed her body off limits.
The breezy Romanian spring had surrendered to a hot, humid summer. Temperatures regularly climbed above 90 degrees Farenheit during the day, and the cabin lacked air conditioning, much to the displeasure of its residents. Luckily the nights were cooler by an average of 15 to 20 degrees.
That muggy Saturday was the same as all the rest. At around half past five, she knocked on his door to let him know dinner was ready, which that night consisted of roast chicken, baked potatoes, and green beans. Since the kitchen was no longer equipped with a door, he took his meals in his office while she ate hers in the living room. After dinner was eaten and the dishes were washed, Kate started on the second half of The Grapes of Wrath while Bane had an idea of his own.
"I need some air. I'm going to sit outside for a while," he announced.
She nodded in response and promptly buried her nose in the book.
"You can join me, if you'd like."
Her head raised, and she stared at him in astonishment, as if he were a doctor who had just relieved her fears of a grim diagnosis.
He went outside and left the door open as if to extend a second invitation. Fresh air was a luxury she had not enjoyed for over a month, and she could not have resisted the offer even if she had wanted to. She stepped out onto the porch and looked up at the night sky. The stars were highly visible that night, and she was instantly transported back in time as she peered into the heavens.
"When I was a kid, I loved to stare up at the stars. I always wanted a telescope so I could see them up close."
"Did you ever get one?"
"My parents had better things to spend their money on. Well, better in their minds."
"Some people are not meant to be parents."
"Tell me about it."
"What would you think about when you gazed into space?"
"I would pretend I was somewhere else, someone else."
"You weren't the only one."
"The air's so invigorating out here," she stated, eager to change the subject.
"You shouldn't let the shortcomings of your parents define you, Katharine."
The way her name rolled off his tongue was like music to her ears. He hardly ever addressed her by it even after decreeing that he preferred her formal name. She wished she knew his name, his true name, so that she could do the same.
"It's not their mistakes that define me; mine do just fine on their own."
"Enlighten me about these mistakes."
"I screwed up my own life."
"You have no criminal record, no children you failed. I fail to see what you have done to screw it up, as you put it."
"I had a chance once upon a time, a chance to make something of myself. But I blew it."
"How so?"
"Contrary to what you probably think, I'm not an idiot. I actually fared pretty well in school; I just never went the extra mile. I was so pissed off at the time, I didn't care as much as I should have. I just wanted to hide from the world and everyone in it. Not much has changed in that regard."
"I had no idea you were so disillusioned."
"That's putting it mildly."
"Put it bluntly."
"I hate the way things are. I hate how some people have everything and don't appreciate it while most people have nothing. I hate that we slaughter each other, along with every other form of life on this planet, in the name of greed, hatred, and religion. I hate the fact that all that matters to most people are fancy phones and cars. I hate how the world is so fucked up, and hardly anyone even bats an eye."
"Destructiveness is human nature. It always has been and always will be part of who we are."
"It's not who I am. I can't even kill ants in my apartment for Christ's sake. I guess that's why I'm alone, figuratively speaking."
"In the end, we're all alone. People convince themselves otherwise because it gives them comfort. It's the second biggest lie we tell ourselves."
"And the first?"
"That our lives actually mean something."
"You're saying there's no meaning to life?"
"I'm saying we are individually insignificant. Do you disagree?"
"I do. I think every life has an inherent worth."
"You just told me you hated the state of the world. Who do you think is responsible for that?"
"There are decent people out there, you know."
"If you say so."
"Have you ever loved anyone?"
"Would it surprise you if I said yes?"
"Not really. Everyone loves someone."
"Have you?"
"I used to think so, but I'm not so sure anymore."
"Time does have a way of changing things."
"Yes it does."
"Who did you think you loved?"
"My parents."
"Anyone else?"
"A couple of others."
"Is our mutual acquaintance one of those others?"
"What mutual acquaint . . . are you insane?!" she looked at him in disbelief. "He's the one who put me in this mess to begin with. I'm on the verge of hating him to be quite honest."
After realizing what she had said, she backpedaled.
"I didn't mean . . ."
"Yes you did," he said with a slight smile.
"Okay I did, but . . . are you smiling under there?"
"Maybe a little," he admitted.
"You like to see me squirm, don't you?"
"Maybe a little."
"You really are a sadist."
"I've been called worse, I'm sure."
"You know, when we first came here, I thought this might be the first phase of that training you were talking about. It's not, is it?"
"Does that disappoint you?"
"I don't rightly know. Military training wasn't exactly at the top of my to-do list. Come to think of it, neither was being spirited away to the forest of an unknown country."
"It's late. You should get some rest."
"Please, I know that's just code for 'shut up.' Anyway, thanks for that. I think I was coming down with a bad case of cabin fever."
"We should take our next outing in daylight, get some sun."
"Really?" she beamed.
"I don't have to remind you of the consequences of taking advantage of my generosity by attempting to abscond, do I?"
"Why do you always do that?" she asked.
"Do what?"
"Every time we're talking like human beings, you have to go and ruin it by turning into big, bad Bane."
It isn't my fault you upset so easily."
"Easily? Pardon me for getting bent out of shape when you threaten my life."
"I didn't want you to get a crazy idea into your head."
"The only idea I got was that it would be nice to get out of this stuffy cabin once in a while. You don't have to keep browbeating me about what you'll do to me if I try to escape. I get it, okay?"she sighed and gave him a scornful look before retiring to her room.
He stood alone in the dim living room for a few moments and wondered if he should pursue her. He decided against it; he couldn't care less if she was sore at him. If she thought she was going to use her wiles to get him to let his guard down, she was sadly mistaken. Yet, in spite of that affirmation, a tinge of guilt lingered, and he knew she was right. They were having a civil discussion, and he had spoiled it by resorting to intimidation. She had been a model prisoner thus far, and the admonition was unwarranted.
He hated being wrong, and even when he was, he most certainly never apologized, not even to his own men. Why should she be any different than them? Why was she different? He knew the answer to his last question, but he hated to admit it. She was different because she wasn't a man, but a woman, and by far the most lovely specimen of the fairer sex he had ever had known. He supposed that fact entitled her to courtesies he would not extend to anyone else, not even high-ranking members of his infantry. Besides, she would never lift the restriction if she was mad at him. If he had any hope of enjoying her again, he would have to endear himself to her. To that end, he trudged to her room and knocked on the door.
"May I come in?" he asked.
"It's not like I can stop you."
He opened the door and took his customary seat at the foot of the bed.
"You called me by my name. You've never done that before."
"I wish you'd tell me your real name."
"Why do you want to know so much?"
"I'd like know who I'm talking to, who I'm living with," she intoned in a soft, sweet voice he reckoned would melt any other man like butter.
The very thought of his birth name evoked the painful memories of his youth, and the reminder caused him to instantly lose his cool. He had grown tired of pussy footing around her tender sensibilities. It was about time she learned her place once and for all.
"We're not playing house here!" he barked before standing up. "I make the rules, and you follow them," he said with appropriate hand gestures. "That is all you need to know."
"Does trying to scare me make you feel good?" she rose from the bed as if she was about to go toe-to-toe with him. The resurgence of her impudent streak was not welcome in the least.
"If you cross me, I will do more than scare you," he warned.
"There've been times when I actually thought I could see who you really are. There were also times when I thought I saw who you could have been. I was right on both counts. This is who you are," she pointed at him, "and the man I was talking with outside was who you could have been. The man who saved my life was who you could have been."
"You think that's an insult?"
"No, I think it's a shame."
He came to her with good intentions, and she saw fit to repay him with insolence. Just who in the hell did she think she was? Woman or not, she was way out of line.
"And I think you are a miserable, sniveling, conniving woman who I have absolutely no use for."
"Coming from you, I'll take that as a compliment."
"I'd send you back to Barsad and let him deal with you since his idiocy is the reason you're here in the first place, but I suspect you'd like that, so I think I'll keep you."
"Since you have no use for me, you won't mind cooking your own meals from now on," she sassed him with a smug smile on her face.
"You do have a fire in you. Keep it up, and I'll snuff it out," he said as he turned to leave.
"What are you waiting for?"
"Don't test me, girl."
"Come on! You hate me so much, just go ahead and . . ."
Her dare was cut off by the clenching of his hand around her neck. Her error was an egregious one, and he wasn't about to let it go unpunished. He fumed with indignation at her incendiary remarks. He could see the fear in her eyes as he prepared to apply the pressure that would end her in a matter of seconds. Bringing her with him was a mistake, one he was about to correct with a mere squeeze of his hand. She weighed next to nothing, so he wouldn't have to expend much strength. He had warned her about mouthing off before; now she would pay the ultimate price for her refusal to obey.
Facing the ramifications of her actions, she anticipated the tightening of his hand around her throat. Knowing the crushing of her windpipe would be the last thing she would feel, she waited for her life force to be snuffed out by the same person who had delivered her from a similar fate nearly half a year before. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of crying, of pleading for her life. She may not have lived with much dignity, but she would damn sure die with some. She also made it a point not to close her eyes. If he was going to rob her of her life, she wanted him to at least look her in the eyes while he did it.
Enough was enough. He had had all he could take of her flagrant disrespect. He didn't want to do it, but she had pushed him into it with her arrant defiance, not to mention the fact that she had seduced him and then made a fool of him by rebuffing his advances and reducing him to the likes of an adolescent school boy.
His last thought was beyond repugnant. He was actually attempting to justify killing her by telling himself that she deserved it for rejecting him. Never had he sunken so low in his entire life. His vitriol had nothing to do with her acerbic tongue and everything to do with his own sexual frustration. He wasn't incensed because she had smarted off; he was incensed because he wanted her and couldn't have her. Because she had denied him. At that moment, he came to the gut-wrenching conclusion that he was no better than the appalling beast that was decaying in a Gotham dumpster thanks to him.
No, he was better than that. She did not deserve such cruelty. She did not deserve death. He released his grip and sat on the bed.
Her heart was beating a mile a minute by the time he let go of her. Shaking uncontrollably, she crawled into the nearest corner and sat motionless with her knees to her chest.
Don't cry! Don't give this bastard the satisfaction.
It was no use. She was defeated. Her eyes were overwhelmed with tears as she tried to muffle her sobs.
That was it. She would hate him for as long as she lived, and she had every right to. Any hope he had of forgetting his horrid existence by means of being inside of her died the moment he assaulted her, along with any modicum of attraction to him she may have harbored.
"Katharine . . ."
"Fuck you!" she wept.
"I came to you out of compunction," he looked at her. "I was about to tell you I . . ."
He stopped mid-sentence. The pain hit him like a ton of bricks. He had been so engrossed in their quarrel that he failed to realize that his medication canister had malfunctioned at some point within the last hour. The agony had set in gradually without him noticing it, and it would incapacitate him in less than a minute. He had to get to his supply before it was too late.
The pain permeated every inch of his body. He felt like someone had set him on fire. The excruciation intensified with every step he took. A distance of a few yards might as well have been miles. His body was failing him when he needed it the most, and there was not a thing he could do about it.
This was her one shot at freedom, an opportunity to escape the hell she had languished in for four long months. She was no adherent of religion, but the event seemed to be nothing short of divine intervention.
As soon as he was out of sight, she bolted out the front door with only the clothes on her back. Every second was precious; she couldn't bother with even a necessity like shoes. She ran for her life through the dense thicket as fast as her legs could take her. She had no idea where she was going, but as long as she was away from Bane, she didn't care. She could not believe there was a time she thought that the woods held more perils than her prison.
When she stopped to catch her breath, his final, unfinished sentence echoed in her mind.
He was trying to apologize.
He wouldn't do that, she assured herself. And so what if he was. Too little, too late.
Just as she was about to resume her escape, she looked back in the direction from which she came. She recalled the desperate look in his eyes just before he collapsed. If the pain was unbearable for him, she couldn't imagine how it would feel to her.
He was going to kill you!
To hell with him! She didn't care what was wrong with him. Even if he died, so be it; she wouldn't lose a wink of sleep over it. It wasn't as if he didn't deserve it anyway. She was a fool for ever thinking he was anything but the anathema who attempted to annihilate a population of millions. She was crazy to give her body to him even once and rebuked herself for doing so.
But he didn't.
Provoking him was a bad idea, and she shouldn't have done it, but it was no excuse for his viciousness. For all she knew, he could have finished the job if he had been able to get his hands on his painkiller. She came to his aid in Gotham, and look what that had gotten her. She was done with him. It didn't matter to her that she didn't have anything to go back to; any existence that didn't include him would do just fine.
Exhausted from running, she walked at a brisk pace. By the time he recuperated and came searching for her, she would be long gone. Once she found her way out of the woods, she would flag down a motorist and inform the authorities of his approximate location. He would live out the rest of his miserable life in prison, and she would be lauded for enduring her harrowing ordeal and helping to bring the world's most notorious terrorist to justice.
As she went about the task of making her time with him a bad memory, she was haunted by the utterly helpless state he was in. What if he couldn't get to his drug? What if he had injured himself badly when he fell? What if he really was dying?
His occasional outbursts did not nullify the kindnesses he had shown her. He let her move freely as opposed to confining her to her room. He allowed her to eat the same foods he did rather than starving her. He had given her movies to watch and books to read. He even permitted her to go outside briefly.
She stopped dead in her tracks. The truth had often been a bitter pill to swallow, and this was no exception. He had been humane to her save their last encounter. He had treated her like a human being, and it was only after she had broken free that she was able to realize it at long last.
He could have killed her, but he didn't.
He let her live.
And she was repaying his gift by leaving him to die.
In spite of all his perniciousness, he was still the man who had saved her life. Twice. If he wanted her dead, she would be dead. End of story.
She couldn't go through with it.
After changing course, she barreled back to the cabin all the while hoping she wasn't making the biggest mistake of her life. She also cursed her decision to go barefoot as the tender soles of her feet were assailed by the unforgiving forest terrain.
When she got back, she found him lying unconscious on the floor of his bedroom. His body was flushed and covered in sweat. She tried to rouse him, but was initially unsuccessful. After a few good shoves, he started to come to. He was sure the next person he would see would be some pathetic law enforcement goon pointing a gun at him. Who he saw instead challenged all logic and made him question everything he held true.
His angel from Gotham was going to deliver him from death a second time.
"I can't move," he moaned.
"Tell me how to help you."
"In the closet there's a black bag . . . filled with vials," he said laboriously. "Bring one to me."
She hurriedly retrieved one of the tubes and rushed back to his side.
"Okay. Now what?"
"I need this off to change . . ." he winced.
"How?"
"There's a latch . . . on the side."
She pulled the clasp of the covering and removed it. He wanted to shield his face from view, but his condition would not allow for it.
Not wanting to prolong his misery, she only took a second to study his face. The areas surrounding his nose and lips were riddled with scars of every shape and size, but he was strikingly handsome regardless of the disfigurement.
"Place it in the compartment very carefully," he instructed.
She was taken aback by his natural voice. His accent was distinctly British and much more dulcet that the one she was familiar with. She set the container in its designated spot. Lifting his head, she quickly but gently placed the mask back onto his head and refastened the clasp. He inhaled the vapors of the medication, and the pain and paralysis receded slowly but surely. As soon as he started to move, she began to shrink away from him.
"You could have gotten away," he said as he sat on his bed.
"I did, but I came back."
"Why?" he asked confoundedly.
"I . . . I couldn't just leave you like that," she replied.
"I tried to kill you!"
"Guess it's a good thing for both of us you didn't succeed."
In spite of all of his misdeeds—confining her, subjugating her, even trying to kill her—she had come back to help him. He had never been more at a loss.
"You should not have come back."
He couldn't bring himself to look at her. He was not worthy of her kindness nor her beauty.
The physical suffering he had experienced just minutes before was matched by the mental torment caused by her return. She should have left him to die after what he had put her through. But she didn't, and he had never felt more like a monster.
He wished she had never happened upon him that fateful morning in Gotham. If not that, that Barsad had just left her be. If not that, that he had left her in Tunisia. He wanted to tell her how sorry he was for his atrocious behavior, that he would give anything to take it back. But more than anything, he wanted to hold her and never let go.
She knelt on the floor in front of him. He couldn't believe how close she had gotten to him after what he had done. He still couldn't look at her; he didn't want to see the hatred in her eyes, the hatred that he had earned.
"No one deserves to be in that kind of pain," she avowed.
"Did I hurt you?" he asked hazily.
"I'm fine. No harm done. See?" she gestured to her neck.
"How can you be so kind after I've acted so detestably?"
"Because you're more the man who saved my life than the one who wanted to take it. If you weren't, I'd be dead right now."
He did not want her to see him in such a state. He wanted to send her away, but he couldn't. Not after what she had done for him. He owed her an apology. He fought the lump in his throat as he choked out three little words he had never once uttered in his life.
"I am sorry," he said as he looked into her eyes. She could have sworn she saw a tear in his eye before he lowered his head in disgrace.
"Hey," she whispered. "Look at me. Please . . . please," she implored as she slowly directed his face upwards. "I'm sorry too," she muttered.
"What on earth do you have to be sorry for?"
"You were trying to make amends, and I spat in your face."
"You had every right to."
"Maybe, but that doesn't make it right."
He knew he had no right whatsoever to touch her, but he could not prevent himself from reaching out to touch her face. To his amazement, she remained still rather than recoiling in dread. He withdrew his hand quickly, and she pulled herself up off the floor and stood there for a minute, dumbfounded by his display of tenderness as well as his heartfelt mea culpa.
Her brain told her to leave, but her heart wouldn't have it. He may have done deplorable things, but he wasn't evil through and through. He was not a monster; he was a human being who had been shaped by unimaginable anguish. And that made it impossible to hate him any longer.
He was burning up beneath his shirt, which was damp with perspiration, but he didn't want to risk sending the wrong message by removing it.
"I have an idea," she said softly. "How about we start over?"
"You need to stay away from me."
"That wasn't what I had in mind."
"It's the only way we can coexist."
"No it isn't."
"How then?"
"That we treat each other like human beings. You stop threatening me, and I'll stop giving you hell. What do you say?"
He said nothing, but nodded to indicate a positive response.
Author's Note: This chapter marks a major turning point for our lovers-to-be. As everyone knows, you have to respect someone in order to love them, and that's the issue I wanted to tackle here. Until now, Bane has viewed Kate as a bargaining chip (for the most part), and Kate has viewed Bane as her captor. Now that they are starting to see each other for who they truly are—as well as human beings in general—their relationship can begin to blossom.
I hope I didn't make Bane too mushy here. I know it's popular to portray him as a sadistic psychopath without a shred of compassion, but I just don't see him that way. To me he's more along the lines of someone who has been molded by a lifetime of negative experiences and conducts himself the only way he knows how. I obviously have a thing for hot, misunderstood villains (as I'm sure is the case with most of you, else you wouldn't be reading this), and I enjoy exploring their humanity.
I'm really excited about where things are headed, and I hope you are as well. I want to give extra special thanks to my very supportive readers Schuneko, LabyFan23, Comingsummers, AvalonTheLadyKiller, swallowyoursoul, Rising Phoenix416, Aur0ra, and MaroonShoes. I cannot tell you guys how much I appreciate your awesome multiple reviews. Please keep them coming! Toodles :)