How many have run off, in fear that we had abandoned this story? Nearly a year since the last update? Oh, the shame! THANK YOU to everyone who will read and review this, despite our infrequent posting. I hope it's worth it! x I know I had originally said this would be the steamy chapter, but then Gordon popped in and took it in a more sentimental direction. However... you can all pummel me with tomatoes if the next one doesn't satisfy you. Missy, I mean, misty eyes ahead. xxx Lily

POV: DANVERS

Each shallow breath was magnified in the hallway. She was sure that Bane had heard them and was going to come out, exhaling demands as he was so fond of doing. When he didn't, Danvers masked the disappointment with a scowl and turned sharply on her heels, fighting her suddenly confrontational attitude. She exerted too much force when shutting the door; it slammed and echoed in the quiet corridors. As if someone was going to barge in and scold her for it, she hesitated before taking her hand off the wood. She forced herself away from the door and her hand shot out towards the bed, gripping the covers with a ferocity that could've ripped them apart had she possessed the determination to do so. Prepared to throw them back, dive into the bed and throw them angrily back over herself, she instead folded them gently. She was ashamed at her lack of control, having practised the control her entire life. Bane had ripped her control away from her without even trying. 'Jesus,' she whispered, looking down at her shaking hands.

A few moments passed before she slithered into the bed, snuggling down and attempting to make herself comfortable. The fabric was cold, having not been warmed by the body of another for many years. The last time she had slept, it had been on an uncomfortable, lumpy cot in a prison that she didn't belong in. The time before that, it had been the floor of a cave, with nothing but a thin blanket as cushioning. She couldn't remember the last time she had laid on an actual mattress, but she wasn't going to let her worries turn the opportunity sour. Danvers chopped her arms down at her sides, pressing the covers tightly to her body. Seconds later, she winced and lifted them to stare at her stomach; where a sharp pain had just come from. It was hunger, from foolishly having not eaten earlier, but the sensation evoked another memory.

Her hands slid gingerly over her stomach, cupping the gentle, yet firm curve of her lower abdomen. Even as her metabolism had slowed down with age, she had not slowed down in her rigorous physical activity. Every morning since she had attended Gotham High, she had run along the river. One specific morning in September, her run was cut short by violent nausea. She stopped jogging, panting. The sensations were so powerful that they caused her to double over, squeezing her eyes tightly together. She had waited for it to pass, hoping it was nothing more than a hunger pain. The first heave came and she hurled her body over the nearest rubbish bin. Once she had finished, Michelle stared off over the river, watching the city continue on without her. She remembered the confusion she felt for those first few moments after the nausea ceased. It was, very rapidly, replaced by the realisation that she was late… and not just by a few typical days. Instead of returning directly home, Michelle made a detour and ran to the nearest market.

Her mother and father hadn't been home, but she remembered that it hadn't matter to her younger self. She even felt relieved. Once she was home, she stumbled into the bathroom, hands shaking and locked the door. The test was positive. Crying harder than she ever had in her life, Michelle took herself to the hospital the very next day, knowing what she had to do.

Danvers rolled over, pulling the ornate cover over her shoulders. Grabbing a fist full and pressing it tightly against her nose, she inhaled a deep breath. Although the dusty smell of the sands that had blown into the abandoned hotel over the years hit her first, she could still faintly detect the rich, heady scent of amber resin; something she'd known very well in her college years, and something which she refused to connect with now. This is Morocco; that's only to be expected. Typical scents for this location. How did I know this is Morocco? I don't. It's the Middle East, and amber resin is still a common incense. I'm going crazy. Certifiably nuts.

Her green eyes lifted, watching as the tiny reflections of the embedded mirrors in the comforter danced on the ceiling above her. If she was crazy, she might as well revel in the feelings. A breeze rolled in through the window, reminding her. For a brief moment, she was young again. She hadn't seen the horrors that criminals had brought to her city, and she remembered what it felt like to be in her body heat warmed the covers, her eyelids drifted shut. Despite still being a kidnapped woman, the fatigue took over the anxiety quickly, and she rolled into the same pattern; on her side, with one hand tucked underneath her stomach, the other, loosely cupping her cheek.

GOTHAM CITY, POV: GORDON

'Has she been assumed dead?'

'No. Gotham Police tells us that she is still alive, but being very careful of her situation.'

'Is this a hostage situation?'

'At this time, we have not received any negotiations.' A flurry of scribbles on note pads followed. Cameras flashed. For his first time, the rookie cop was handling a press conference surprisingly well. Gordon sat behind him with a watchful eye, hoping all the questions could be answered without his assistance. Kidnappings, missing persons were typically no reason to hold a press conference, unless those people were city officials. Although an attorney, it wasn't the attorney that the population was concerned about - it was her kidnapper.

'Is Bane planning another attack?'

'Not that we know of. Security measures have been taken to prevent any further attacks, but we think it's highly unlikely.'

Good answer, son. Gordon nodded softly to himself as another flurry of hands went up.

'IS MICHELLE DANVERS BEING USED AS HOSTAGE BARGAINING CHIP? - Rebecca Jones, Gotham Tribune

"It's been nearly a week since Michelle Danvers, prodigal daughter of past District Attorney and Gotham judge Robert Danvers, was kidnapped from Gotham General Hospital. She was rumoured to run for District Attorney in the next election, but it seems that hope has been stomped out by her disappearance. It is reported that Danvers was assigned to defend the mercenary, Bane, in his weighted upcoming trials, and fought to get him medical attention. When questioned about the situation, hospital employees explained that another unidentified individual was found dead in the room, where Bane exited, with Attorney Danvers in arms. This deceased individual's involvement in the kidnapping is still being investigated. Officials claim that no hostage terms have been made, despite the situation's similarities to past hostage situations.

Although Gotham's famed attorney has still not been located, the city officials remain optimistic, claiming they are doing all they can to bring her back safely and any potential worries of future terrorist threats from Bane should be dismissed immediately. Police Commissioner Jim Gordon showed some hesitation when asked if Danvers was dead, by saying, "No, she's not dead. She's smart. She is being very careful about her situation." Whether or not she's smart, Gotham City is beginning to lose hope."

Gordon furrowed his brows at the article. Fresh off the press, they'd printed it as soon as the conference was over. It clearly hadn't done much in terms of setting people at ease. He wasn't hesitant; he was hurt. He hadn't heard from her in two days. Whenever he tried to call, he was greeted with the unsettling, 'We're sorry, but the number you dialled is no longer in service.' The day after she was kidnapped, Gordon was the one who had to make the call to her parents. They had seen the news, they said, but were waiting on word from him. They didn't know how serious it was. They just wanted their little girl back home. Jim promised he'd do everything in his power to find her.

The newspaper's insensitive view on things weren't helping anyone. It was to be expected, but really, how could he be angry? That's what they did. Besides, they didn't know her like he did. He couldn't expect them to possess the same worry that he had.

Proving his loyalty to Robert as much as Michelle, Gordon was the one who had pulled up in front of her apartment building with intent of a rescue mission. Having been given a key a long time ago, Gordon let himself in and looked around. It was clean, but lacking an inhabitant, it had started to smell musty. The windows hadn't been opened, blinds were shut. It felt ghostly and cold.

Wandering into the kitchen, he examined the remains of her morning routine. There was a single spoon in the sink, a small pool of coffee in the middle. A small green light blinked on and off below him; the dishwasher. Sniffing loudly, he reached under and pulled the door towards him. Nothing inside.

On the bar, he found what he was looking for. A medium-sized fish bowl, with a depressed, orange-coloured Beta fish inside. Scrunching his face together, he leaned down, peering in. The water had gone cloudy, algae had started to grow on the glass, making it difficult to see anything. Michelle was extremely organised, and her habits stayed behind to assist Gordon in his rescue mission. Behind the bowl, there was a jar of food, a glass and a net. He scrubbed out the algae, rinsed the smoothed red and purple gems that rested at the bottom of the bowl, and replaced the water. Once he had carefully dropped the fish back in, he watched for a moment as it swam around, obviously happy to have a clean home.

The fish followed his fingers as he returned the glass and net to their resting place. Now that he could see in, he noticed a small porcelain sign, which had obviously been custom-bought. It read, 'Apricot.' An odd name for a fish. The coloured gems made the bowl look like an exotic getaway, something that Gordon hadn't had in many years. He heaved a sigh, and gazed down into the water with friendly eyes. 'You're coming with me.'

With two house plants and a fish bowl tucked safely underneath his arm, Jim Gordon exited the premises, hoping it wouldn't be too long before he'd return them to Michelle's kitchen.