Thanks to a Xanax Bane had bequeathed her, Kate slept away the better part of the day following their eye-opening skirmish. It wasn't until well after noon that she finally crawled out of bed and dragged herself into the shower. Even an act as simple as that was almost too much for her, for she was still woozy from the sedative as well as reeling from the events of the previous day.

As she assiduously went about cleansing herself, the previous evening played over and over in her mind verbatim as if she were watching a movie rather than reviewing a snippet of her own life. Just when Bane was about to send her hurtling into the afterlife, he stopped himself for reasons unknown to her. In response, she had fled the far-flung bungalow in sheer terror. Freedom was just within her grasp—so much that she could almost taste it—and she had forfeited it for the man who had essentially placed her in chains. Whether that choice made her the dumbest person on the face of the earth remained to be seen.

And then she remembered his face.

The lower portion that the mask concealed was racked with scar tissue that appeared to be caused by numerous lacerations, and his nose looked like it had been broken at least once. She wondered how he could have sustained such grievous wounds. What or who could have inflicted such damage? Why didn't he kill her? She was bombarded yet again with more questions she wasn't holding her breath on getting the answers to.

To her dismay, the mutilations that strewn his face were not the subject of her thoughts. In fact, they were far from it. His face was exquisite in spite of them; they may have been profound, but they did nothing to take away from his natural attractiveness. His mesmerizing eyes, his flawless bone structure, his full, voluptuous lips; those were the features couldn't get out of her mind.

It was surprisingly cool that June day, and it would have been the perfect opportunity to enjoy the outdoors. She was surprised to see the door of Bane's office wide open. He never left it open, not even once. She contemplated whether she could check on him or not. He had forbidden her to enter his quarters, and after what had transpired yesterday, she was understandably wary of overstepping her bounds. Deciding to err on the side of caution, she closed his door and resumed her book on the sofa. While she read, Bane dreamed of another time, another life.

"Talia?" he asked as his eyes widened at the beautiful young woman standing before him.

"It's been far too long, my friend."

"How did you find me?"

"I have my sources. Luckily for me, a man in a mask cannot stay hidden in any place for long."

"I never thought I would see you again."

"Are you disappointed?"

"How could you ask such a thing?"

"I haven't seen you since I was twelve years old. I was afraid you may have forgotten me after all these years."

"Never," he declared as he approached and looked at her as if he was asking permission to hug her using only his eyes. When it was clear she was still comfortable with him, he took her in his arms and felt as if he was being reborn.

"Did you miss me?" she asked in a whisper as he relinquished his hold.

"Every minute," he confessed. "I wanted to come to you, but your father . . ."

"I know. I hated him for years because of it . . . until . . ."

"What is it?" he asked in a voice full of concern.

"Until he died."

"I'm so sorry," he intoned softly. He had no love for his defunct mentor, but he did for Talia, and her pain was also his.

"His death was not natural. He was betrayed by his most gifted student. Make that the second most gifted," she added after a moment of thought.

Ra's al Ghul was an unscrupulous man who had made his fair share of enemies during his lifetime, and as such, his murder came as no surprise to Bane. If it had not been for his undying love for the man's daughter, he may have even beaten his replacement to the punch in an act of retribution for his expulsion from the League.

"Who is this man?"

"His name is Bruce Wayne," she said with emphasis on the name. "Have you heard of him?"

"No."

"He is an American, a very wealthy one."

"Do you know this man's motivation for killing Ra's?"

"My father dreamt of a new world, a world without a sordid city called Gotham, the very place this Wayne hails from. When Wayne uncovered my father's plan to destroy his beloved homeland, he would not stand for it. My father gave Wayne everything, and he repaid that generosity by murdering him in cold blood."

Bane was at a loss. He knew that there was nothing he could possibly say that could mollify her sorrow.

"My father may be no more, but his goal did not die with him," Talia continued. "The League is mine now, and I will rid the world of Gotham and avenge my father's death no matter the cost. But I cannot do it alone. I need someone I can trust with my life. Now that my father is gone, there is only one person left who fits that description. Contrary to what he believed, you have no substitutes. What do you say, my friend? Will you help me?"

"Of course."

"Do you still love me?"

"Always."

By the time Kate finished The Grapes of Wrath, it was nearing two o'clock. It wasn't like Bane to sleep so late. Out of a combination of concern and curiosity, she took it upon herself to violate one of his cardinal directives. After creeping through his office, she entered his bedroom where she found him sound asleep in his bed. It was the first time she ever witnessed him at rest. He didn't look very menacing lying there just like any other person would. As soon as she heard his familiar mechanical breathing, she silently withdrew from his den.

Bane awoke in a cold sweat. It wasn't the first time his muse had visited him in the unconscious world, and it certainly would not be the last. The dream may have been a melancholic memento that she was forever lost to him, but it was also a wake-up call, literally and figuratively. For weeks he had been so caught up in desires of the flesh and the temptress that had precipitated them that everything else had temporarily taken a back seat. He viewed the dream as a sign from his beloved, a reminder that he must get back on course. He was on the road to redemption, and he no longer had time for detours.

No one aside from Barsad, Talia, Ra's, and the various medical personnel who treated his injuries over the years had ever bore witness to his scarred visage. Due to his mask malfunction, Kate was the latest addition to that exclusive club. Now that she was aware of what the mask had kept hidden away, there was no doubt that she would never again bestow the gift of her body upon him. It was a minor letdown, but hating her for denying him what he wanted most from her was no longer an option after what she had done for him in spite of his odious conduct. He decided it was a blessing in disguise; now that intercourse was out of the question, he would refocus his efforts on his paramount endeavor. With that in mind, he rose from his slumber to find his diversion in the kitchen.

"Good morning. Er, afternoon rather. You must have been exhausted. I've never seen you sleep so late."

"I had a little help."

"You mean you actually broke down and took a pill?"

"Two."

"How do you feel?"

"Rested."

"Listen, I know it's a little late for breakfast, but I'm starving. Do you mind?"

"Go ahead."

"Do you want some?"

"No."

"Sure?"

"Yes."

"You're going to fight me every step of the way on this, aren't you?" she asked as she turned from the stove.

"I don't know what you mean," he rested his elbows on his legs.

"I know you're hungry. I just heard your stomach growl. Yet you refuse my offer to fix you something to eat. Why?"

"You don't have to do this, any of this."

"Are you saying you don't want me to cook anymore?"

"I'm saying you don't have to do it for me. You're not some indentured servant."

"That's good to know, but it's just as easy to cook for two as it is for one. I really don't mind. It's actually kind of nice. I've never had anyone to cook for before. So unless you think my food is just lousy . . ."

"I don't think that."

"How about some breakfast then?"

"If it pleases you."

As she prepared their late breakfast, she noticed that Bane did not move from his chair.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Does my presence perturb you?"

"No, you've just never stuck around before, that's all. How much do you want?"

"Whatever you're having will suffice."

"I don't know about that. You're like what . . . three of me?"

"I will defer to your judgment."

"How do you like yours?"

He looked at her as if the question went entirely over his head.

"Eggs. Over easy? Scrambled?"

"Whichever way is easiest."

"Scrambled then. A little salt, pepper, and ketchup. Now that's good eating."

"I've never eaten eggs before. Well, cooked ones anyway."

"Well then you're in for a treat."

When the food was ready, she placed a steaming plate of bacon, eggs, and toast in front of him.

"Stay here. I'll go in my room," she said kindly before retiring to her bedroom.

As he ate the scrumptious food she had prepared for him, his mind raced.
With Kate busy, Bane took the opportunity to check in with Barsad after he finished eating.

"Hello?"

"Is that how you're answering your phone these days?"

"What can I say? I like variety."

"I want you to move the unit to Location Two."

"When?"

"Within 24 hours. Wipe all traces of our existence from the facility. Leave nothing behind, not even garbage."

"Affirmative."

"Once you've settled, call our contacts in Gotham. I want wiretaps on every phone and spyware on every computer at every police precinct. Have the squad at our new headquarters review everything that comes through."

"What for? GPD's not in charge where we're concerned."

"Nevertheless, we might pick up a few tidbits of useful information every now and then."

"What we really need is to know what the Feds are up to."

"I told you it's too risky. If they had any credible leads, we would all be dead or in prison. We were careful, and we will continue to be. As long as we don't go off half-cocked, the League will be victorious."

"Since we're on the subject, how are we going to take the city when the entire world's looking for us? We no longer have the element of surprise going for us."

"I shall call on the assistance of a few powerful men, all of whom owe me more than one favor. They will provide us with the all of the necessities, willingly or not. That will be the first phase of the plan."

"And the second?"

"We will create a series of diversions by releasing the inmates of the nation's most notorious and populous prisons. Dealing with those mutinies will tie up military response teams. While they are off attempting to quell the ensuing chaos, we will descend upon Gotham and destroy it from the inside out. Their pathetic police force will pose no problem, as it has already proven its gross ineptitude. Once they have been neutralized, the city will descend into anarchy, and without law and order to cow them, the people will tear it, as well as each other, apart. They will do half of our job for us."

"They seem to have gotten a head start on that."

"How so?"

"The people are protesting, rioting, and looting. Everyone and their grandmother's filed lawsuits against both the police and the city. Crime's at an all-time high now that the Batman's out of the picture, and the new commissioner is a total buffoon who seems to be more concerned with photo-ops than doing his job."

"It seems Gotham is ripe for the taking," Bane said elatedly.

"Don't you mean destroying?"

"Is something troubling you, brother?"

"The city's coming apart at the seams. It's like you said, they're well on their way to destroying it as it is. Why not just let them do it themselves?"

"You know very well why. I swore an oath, and I intend to keep it."

"Bruce Wayne is dead. You fulfilled your end of the bargain."

"Bruce Wayne was only half of the equation. Gotham City and I have unfinished business."

"I understand your pain, but ending Gotham won't bring her back."

A period of silence followed his underling's audacious proclamation. Barsad could almost hear his boss teeming with acrimony.

"Out of respect for our brotherhood, I am going to pretend I did not hear what you just said."

"I'd rather you not. I think you need to hear what I'm saying because I'm the only one with enough balls to say it."

"I do not want to hear another sentence analogous to that preposterous statement," Bane warned.

"So you're going to let Talia rule you for the rest of your life? And this time from beyond the grave? Was seven years just not enough for you?"

"Watch yourself, Barsad."

"Someone has to try to open your eyes, and unfortunately that task falls to me."

"And if you were here right now, the only thing that would be opening is your throat."

"I pledged my life to you. I've given you everything I have and more, but I will not spend another minute bowing to the whims of that woman. A woman who in life considered every one of us expendable, including you."

"Speaking of life, if you value yours, you won't be in Budapest when I get there," Bane growled and hung up the phone.

Bane was no stranger to betrayal, but he never expected it to come from the person closest to him. He and Barsad had formed a bond almost immediately when they met nearly a decade ago in South America. Back then, the young American was a consummate drifter, a fugitive with no purpose still reeling from grief over the murder of his wife and unborn child until Bane took him under his wing. They had trained together, fought side-by-side together on nearly every continent, and formed an ardent camaraderie along the way. They may not have been bound by blood, but they viewed each other as brothers all the same.

He knew of Barsad's initial skepticism pertaining to Talia, but his second had never so vociferously denigrated her in such a way before, at least not to Bane. In spite of his threat, Bane knew he could never actually kill Barsad, not unless he truly deserved it. As contentious as his words were, they did not warrant a death sentence.

Although he would never admit it, he was just as hurt by the grievance as he was angry. Barsad was never shy about expressing his opinions, but he had never gone so far as to verbally question Bane's judgment. How his right arm could have such false notions about him was incomprehensible.

Talia was not just a part of Bane's life; she was his life. The fact that he was able to rear her and keep her safe for ten years in the most horrid habitat imaginable was nothing short of miraculous. Bane had told Barsad about the horrors they had survived during their term of imprisonment. He knew the depth of their connection, their sacred, unwavering bond. How could someone who had himself suffered the loss of those most dear to him fail to understand what she had meant to him, what she still meant to him? How could he have the audacity to attempt to vilify the woman who had given them so much? As those questions swirled around in his head, he threw his phone against the wall and practically leapt out of his chair. When pacing did nothing to suppress his furor, he sent his fist crashing through the nearest wall. When that didn't work, he did it again. And again. And again.

In the kitchen, Kate jumped nearly a foot in the air when she heard the earsplitting clamor emanate from Bane's office. Just when she thought they were about to turn a corner, it appeared he had once again given into his rage. She made a mad dash to her room and softly closed the door in the hopes that whatever had sparked the outburst would soon blow over. She wondered what could have invoked his wrath this time. It was just one more of a slew of questions she knew she would never get the answers to.

Just as he was about to go off again, he thought of Kate. Well aware of her timidity, he knew his spontaneous eruption not even a day after he had nearly killed her must have struck fear into her heart for the umpteenth time.

When she heard his footsteps coming towards her room, her pulse escalated. Expecting him to burst in like a maniac, she was bowled over when she heard a soft knock instead.

"Yes?"

"May I come in?"

"Yes."

As usual, he sat at the foot of the bed.

"I take it that ruckus involved your fist and a wall?"

"Regretfully, I did not make it to the tree this time."

"They okay?" she asked as she glanced at his hands.

"Fine. The wall, however, is another story."

"Look on the bright side. Now you'll have something to occupy yourself for a while."

"I'm afraid I'm not very well versed in the area of home improvement."

"What happened?"

"It's none of your concern."

"I have to disagree. I'm the one who has to deal with you day in and day out. I'm the one who has to walk on eggshells wondering when your next explosion's going to happen. So instead of beating on the walls until you cave this whole place in on our heads, why don't try to deal with your anger more responsibly?"

She may not have been the stimulus of his sour temperament, but her chastising speech was only exacerbating the already tense situation. He didn't want to blow up again, but her talent for pushing his buttons was virtually unrivaled and one he wished she would lose. In an attempt to recompose himself, he closed his eyes and breathed slowly. He could not punish his guest for the affronts of others any more than he already had.

"And how do you propose I do that?"

"You could talk about it. Get it off your chest."

"There is no sense in rehashing what cannot be changed."

"Have you ever even tried it?"

Dead silence.

"Of course you haven't," she rubbed her temples.

"Barsad and I are at an impasse. That is all I can and will say on the matter."

"All friends fight once in a while. I'm sure you can work it out."

"He is not my friend, he is my subordinate," he said, lying to himself.

"I don't think a disagreement with a mere subordinate would make you this livid."

He looked at her incredulously.

"Okay, it would. But even so, it's obvious that the guy would do just about anything for you. Given that, don't you think you should at least try to resolve your differences before writing him off?"

"We do not see eye-to-eye. There is nothing more to say."

"All right. It's not like I could change your mind anyway," she submitted.

"I didn't mean to frighten you."

"I'll live. You mentioned going outside again. Does your offer still stand?"

"It does."

"How about now? You couldn't ask for better weather."

Unwilling to crush her hopes, he went outside and waited, but not for long.

She planted herself on the stoop and waited for Bane to do the same. To her surprise, he remained standing.

"How about some exercise?" he asked.

"I don't think I'm cut out for your level of physical activity."

"Nothing strenuous, just a walk."

"I need shoes."

"That would be prudent."

She bolted back to her room and put on socks and shoes.

And it was then that the lost woman and her masked sentinel took their first stroll in the Romanian wilderness together. As they walked deeper and deeper into the miasmic forest, Kate struggled to keep up with Bane's long strides.

"I always wondered what it would be like to live in a place like this. No one around for miles, no hustle and bustle of the city."

The far-off quality of Kate's voice caused Bane to notice just how far ahead of her he was and adjusted his speed in order accommodate her pace.

"You said earlier that I'm not a servant. That begs the question . . . what am I then?" she inquired once he was in earshot.

"From this day forward, I shall think of you as my guest."

"I can't say that displeases me," she said with an infectious smile.

"The trouble is," he stopped, "I've never had a guest before. Hence this is a completely new experience for me. The only people I've ever interacted with are soldiers, men bound to me by duty and service."

"Not freaking out like that would be a great start. I know I didn't always make that easy before, but I've seen the error of my ways. I won't bait you anymore, you have my word."

"And I will never put a hand on you again. You have my word."

Not unless you want me to.

"Is this the first time you have ever been out of Gotham?" he asked.

"Mm-hmm."

"We are in Romania. Do you know much about this part of the world?"

"Isn't this where Dracula lived?"

"The man who the character was based on actually lived in this country, yes. I have the book by if you would like to read it."

"Thanks. Vlad the Impaler, right?"

"You remember your history."

"Are we in Transylvania?"

"That is central Romania. We are in the southern region."

As they trekked farther into the woodlands, they came upon a small tributary that was populated by a flock of ducks.

"Aw! Aren't they just precious?" she asked as if she had forgotten who she was talking to.

"We should head back. The rain is coming," he declared before turning around.

After taking one last look at the feathered matriarch and her ducklings, she followed his lead up the narrow path back to the cabin. A clap of thunder roared just as they were heading back and was followed up by a torrential downpour. The velocity of the rain was relentless, and the two raced back to their hideout to escape the elements. Normal rain was not a threat to the mask, but water in such massive quantities had the capacity to render it inoperable. After the malfunction the day before, he wasn't about to take any chances. Upon reaching the veranda, he discovered that Kate was nowhere in sight.

Sure she would come into view in the next few seconds, he waited on the porch. It wasn't that long of a walk, was it? Surely she could find her way back. Or perhaps she came to her senses and took her second chance to escape.

"Katharine!" he called to her.

"I'm here!" she hollered back as she hustled up the steps. "Of all the days to go out, I had to pick this one. Story of my life," she sighed. "Oh well, no harm done."

"None except to your shoes," he observed as he glared down at her mud-caked feet.

"Great. I must look like a sewer rat."

She was soaked to the skin, but just as lovely as ever. The way the rain droplets clung to her raven locks and adorned her radiant skin made her appear even more alluring if that was even possible. She was the furthest thing from a subterranean rodent he could imagine.

"I love the rain. The sound of it, the smell. Getting caught in a deluge like that, not so much," she trailed behind him as they made their way inside.

"We should get out of our clothes . . . I mean we should change clothes," she bit her lip nervously in response to what could have been construed as a Freudian slip. "I think I'll make spaghetti tonight. I thawed a couple of tomatoes. They'll give the sauce just the right touch," she added before heading into her bedroom.

Their ephemeral excursion had slightly curtailed his ire, but he could not expel the rude awakening he had received by way of Barsad's condemnation. If he had loathed Talia all along, why then had he played such an instrumental role in their first try at Gotham's destruction? It was only seconds after he had posed that question to himself that Bane answered it. Barsad had been devoutly loyal to him for nearly a decade, and he had pledged himself to Bane's cause out of respect, admiration, and gratitude, but those feelings had never extended to Talia. Bane had never given much thought to Barsad's views about her because when she was around, she was the only person who existed to him, the only one whose feelings and opinions had ever meant anything to him. When she and Bane had reconnected seven years ago, Barsad had conveyed a hint of suspicion in regards to the esoteric woman from Bane's past, but after they had discussed the matter, Bane had incorrectly assumed that he had assuaged his brother's doubts once and for all.

Now that he knew he had been wrong, he wrestled with the idea that their confrontation may very well be the prelude to the end of their association. Barsad possessed more knowledge about Bane and the League than anyone else. Since he was running the show in Bane's absence, he knew even more about their current operations than did Bane himself. If he decided to turn, he could become an invaluable asset to the authorities. Now that he and Bane were on the outs, he may even be tempted by the monetary reward. As a result, Bane was faced with the grim reality that he might have to kill his closest comrade. The notion was a sickening one, but would do what he had to do to survive as he always did.

An appetizing aroma wafted into his room in the early evening. He followed it to the source where his self-designated chef was putting the finishing touches on dinner.

"You're just in time."

"I'm not very hungry."

"You should eat. You'll feel better."

"Not likely."

"It couldn't hurt," she said as she twirled several strings of spaghetti around her fork.

She was a persistent little thing. He gave into her arm-twisting and took a seat at the table. His surrender seemed to please her somewhat as she rose from her chair and served him a hearty helping of noodles and marinara sauce.

"You eat here, I'll go in the office," he suggested.

"I've got a better idea," she replied after swallowing a mouthful of pasta. "How about we both eat here? That is what a kitchen is for, you know," she looked at him.

"Perhaps another time."

"What's wrong with now?"

"You said you would no longer antagonize me. It has only been a few hours, and you have already gone back on your word."

"How on earth is asking you to eat with me antagonistic? You said you were going to treat me like a guest from now on. A hospitable host doesn't refuse an invitation from his guest after she has gone out of her way to provide him with a decent meal."

He wondered why she was making an issue of such a triviality. He had taken his meals alone for so long that the idea of consuming food in the presence of another had become foreign concept to him. He couldn't help but wonder if her dining proposition was merely a thinly-veiled excuse to get a better gander at the mess that was his face.

"It's getting cold," she motioned to his plate.

"I don't respond well to being dictated to."

"Fine, have it your way. But I've got dibs on the kitchen, you just said so."

Just as he was about to get up, he began to second-guess his decision to leave. He had wished she had never seen his face, but he didn't want her to know it, or worse yet, to think that her opinion had any bearing on him whatsoever. If he declined her request, she may interpret it as a sign of sheepishness due to his facial defects. He was many things, but a coward was not one of them. He then realized there was only one reasonable course of action.

When she saw him take off the mask and set it on the table, she couldn't help but feel a sense of triumph. She had been under his thumb for months now, and it was nice to get her way for a change. It was also an opportunity to see his face again, the face she couldn't stop picturing since the moment she had first beheld the day before. The scars did nothing to detract from his appeal; if anything, they were a testament of his humanity, proof that even a mountain like him had been vulnerable once upon a time. That was not to say that she took any pleasure in his misfortune.

"Now we're getting somewhere," she smiled warmly.

Author's Note: Needless to say, trouble is brewing between Bane and Barsad. Their little tiff over Bane's dearly departed has the potential to permanently damage their—dare I say it—bromance. As much as I love Bane, I have to side with Barsad on this one. Talia was a manipulative wench who got exactly what she deserved. End of story. And it was nice to see Bane mad at someone other than Kate for a change. Just a little heads up, the next installment will be from Barsad's perspective and will take place as the troops make embark on their exodus from North Africa to Eastern Europe. Please make my day by leaving me a review if it strikes your fancy. I want to send special thanks to Red Serge, Guest, and AnnaBanana314 for their glowing reviews of the last chapter; they really made me smile. Happy weekend :)