She Rises by Paradisical815
Featured Song: "My Medea" by Vienna Teng
Chapter Twenty Eight: Revelations
People tended to think of pain as red, but they were wrong.
Pain was white. It was white and scrubbed and sterilizing and it wrapped the world in a thick fog that Bane couldn't see through. He was alive, and it was enough. He saw but he couldn't process it; his world was that white screaming pain in his whole body, radiating from his spine. The gash in his stomach was barely a twinge compared to the damage his fried nerves shot to his brain, and he couldn't process anything but the pain.
There were flashes. A voice that he trusted instinctively was talking more at him than to him, and the voice was frustrated and angry as it told him to get up. Blue eyes, attached to the voice, blue eyes that anchored him slightly, despite the pain, and there was a tiny piece of information that he could process: Kathryn.
It all seemed to happen vaguely, as though he was recalling a story that a friend had told him long ago. He was being pulled to his feet and Kathryn was demanding he walk- he tried, but his feet wouldn't cooperate, and she ended up mostly dragging him as he tried to make his feet move under the haze of pain. He registered touch the most- her body pressed into his, his arm draped over her neck and one small hand holding it firmly in place, her other arm wrapped tightly around his waist. Somewhere, there was a faint spark that was impressed. She was stronger than she looked.
Time passed in strange bursts. Kathryn was chattering at him somewhat violently but he couldn't understand the words- he tried to focus on her voice, on its sharp and somewhat raw timbre, and it sounded like she was singing at one point. Every now and then he became aware of his own labored, rasping breathing.
There was an elevator- it was strange, he remembered thinking, but he hadn't used the elevator yet in this new home, not with the power ready to blink out any minute. But she couldn't carry him up the stairs and they stood there, her supporting most of his weight, him in a daze that wrapped around him like clouds, almost friendly in its enormity.
There was a guard, when she unlocked the door- the man's face was hazy, blurry, and shocked, and Kathryn was telling him to do something. The man nodded, didn't argue, and was gone. Kathryn dragged him into the room and dropped him, rather heavily, on the couch. He didn't mind. His pain fogged mind sought out her face and he found it, hovering over his, her brow furrowed and her eyes concerned and measuring. She was saying something, and his eyes went to her mouth- red and pretty, her front teeth white and slightly too big. He felt very warm, underneath the pain. Almost like there was a light in his chest.
She was reaching for his mask. His world went black.
000
Consciousness came slowly and, with it, remembrance. He remembered the Joker, leaping out at him and swinging a baseball bat at him. The first hit had dislodged one of the tubes. The second had sent him reeling backwards into a building and the clown had been on him, sliding a knife into his stomach and giggling.
He remembered Kathryn dragging him back, and he wondered for the first time how she'd found him when she was supposed to be locked in this apartment.
Slowly, he opened his eyes. The room was bathed in the orange and red and yellow light from the fire in the pit; it was big, warm and crackling and comforting. He felt very cold. He felt almost high, too; the world seemed to be buzzing around him and even sitting down he felt dizzy and strangely uninhibited.
He realized he was sitting on the couch. There was something in the crook of his arm and he looked down to see an IV in his arm, with a clear plastic tube filled with red- his eyes followed the tube to see another arm, with another IV. His eyes flicked up to Kathryn's.
"Hospital is out of blood," she said by way of explanation. "And I happen to be a universal donor, so…"
Her voice was very soft. His head felt fuzzy and his mouth seemed very dry. He tried to shift and she shook her head.
"Don't move. He got you pretty good."
"The Joker?"
The mask was still off, he realized, and his shirt was gone too, draped over the back of one of the chairs. His voice was still deep, still rasping, but there was no mechanical overlay to it and Kathryn seemed very guarded, sitting not a foot from him with her blood flowing into his veins. It was the first time she'd seen his face.
She nodded. "He stabbed you in the stomach and he cracked a rib. He aimed it well, though. He didn't want to mess up anything vital, I don't think."
"How kind." His throat was very hoarse and she gave a terse nod.
"You did lose blood, though. A lot. And your mask was broken, so I gave you a shot of the medicine I made you."
She was soaked in blood; he could see that the shoulder farthest from his was deep red and it seemed to have stained the far side of her shirt, as well.
"How did you find me?"
Her eyes were measuring and very cautious; she had to stay close to him due to the IV between them but she seemed to be trying to keep as much distance between them as she could. He understood; the mask had been an easy, natural barrier, and now it was gone. She was drawing new lines.
"Dumb luck," she said eventually. "I was nearby."
His brain was still hazy and processing the information was difficult; his brow furrowed and he was very aware of his exposed mouth as they formed the words. "How where you nearby?"
"I ran for it," she told him, her voice flat and her eyebrows lifting slightly as though daring him to chide her. "I woke up, and you were gone, and I ran."
"The guard-"
"I locked him in the room. I found Holly, and we took off. You will leave her gone, if you're smart."
It was a lot of information and there was more between the lines that he couldn't yet reach for. He ran his free hand over his face, over his nose and his mouth and the stubble on his cheeks and chin- no one but Talia had seen him without his mask on for a decade.
One thing stuck in his mind; she hadn't had to save him. It would have made much more sense for her to let him die.
"Why?" he asked her slowly, looking over at her.
"Why what?"
"I'm not going to let you go again," he told her. "You know that."
She nodded, her eyes very bright.
"So why did you bring me back?"
She didn't seem to be able to look away from him. Her mouth opened as if in preparation to speak and her golden hair was falling around her face and there was a glowing light in Bane's chest that was almost painful in its intensity.
"I don't know," she said, still looking at him, her voice quiet and honest. "I couldn't… let you die."
He studied her face, its familiar curves and angles and her bright blue eyes and the hands that were clasped between her knees- hands that had stitched him up so many times, hands that had led small armies against him, hands that had dragged him half a mile across the city he was in the act of destroying, only to fix him again because she couldn't let him die.
The knowledge came upon him quickly; he was never going to win. From that first day, since he first decided to break her, to corrupt her, he was never going to win. The goodness within her that he'd tried and tested was still there, stronger than ever, and it was glowing- she had saved his life when she had countless reasons to let him die. It made no sense to him but there was something about it, something that felt very much like truth, that wanted to make itself understood.
He remembered her eyes glistening when she talked about human life.
"Why?" he asked, again, his voice very thick. "You, of all people."
She was thinking very hard, her straight brows furrowed, as though she was trying to arrange the words in her head in a way that would make the most sense to them both.
"Partly because two months ago, you saved my life after I'd just tried to kill you and gave you plenty of reasons to let me die," she said slowly. "And because you were dying, and I could do something about it, and that meant I- I had a responsibility to do something. You were dying," she said again, the last word heavy as though she was trying to resign it to herself. "And that-" she stopped, her brow furrowed, clearly thinking hard. "Life is sacred," she said instead, every word slow and heavy and she wasn't looking at him, her bright blue gaze fixed intently on the floor. "And you were losing yours."
" 'Life is sacred'," he repeated a few moments later, the words heavy on his tongue. "Even mine."
It wasn't a question, but she nodded anyway, and her eyes flashed to his.
"Even with what I've done to you, to your city. What I will do to your city."
There was a beat, and she nodded again. He just looked at her, drinking her in in the firelight, letting the moment settle into his bones, the crackle of the fire and the smell of her mixed with smoke, the buzzing in his veins, the strange glowing something in his chest.
"Kathryn Sherman," he said, his voice very low. "You are not what I expected."
He reached out his hand to touch her face.
There was no conscious thought attached to the action, he just wanted to touch her, to feel her skin, to remind himself that she was real, that she was here, that she was alive, and that they were both human. He didn't expect her to react kindly; he expected her to pull away, or murmur something biting at him.
She closed her eyes, and she leaned into his palm.
There was the distinct sensation of falling in his chest and his stomach, and then something inside him cracked and that glowing light spread and filled every inch of his body. She didn't pull away. She didn't speak. Her lashes were dark and thick on her cheeks.
He suddenly remembered Christmas Eve, over a month ago, when she'd described love to him-
"Love is this- it's this light, inside you, almost white, and it's not exactly like fire but it's warm at the same time, and it feels like a sunny day with a cool breeze, and it fills every inch of you, from your heart to your fingertips, and it feels like strength."
The words echoed through the intervening weeks and hit him with the force of a gunshot and it was physical, this realization, and his mouth opened slightly with the strength of it as he traced his thumb lightly over her cheek and he was hyper-aware of the sensation of her, of her warm skin and her hair brushing against his hand.
He loved her. He loved her.
He had for quite some time and he was amazed that he was only now realizing it because now that he did know, it was the simplest thing in the world, the most right thing in the universe. He had loved her his whole life and hadn't even known it, had loved all the things about her that he'd tried so hard to destroy- her idealism and her goodness, her strength and her biting sarcasm and all her misguided attempts at being Gotham's hero. He loved her.
She's going to die, he thought. Then-
She doesn't have to.
His mind was dizzy and she was warm under his hand and he wished he could live in this moment. She moved a few minutes later and when she spoke, her voice was low and quiet, crackling with an emotion that she was clearly trying very hard not to show.
"I need to take out the IV."
He just nodded, not trusting himself to speak. She reached around and took a cotton ball from the open first aid kit next to her and a Band-Aid, too, and Bane realized that she must have sent the guard to the hospital for the IV.
"How long was I unconscious?" he asked her, fighting to keep his voice normal. He heard it in every syllable that came out of his exposed mouth, in every heartbeat that pushed her blood faster through his veins and he was amazed that she didn't hear it too: I love you. I love you. I love you.
"About two hours," she said, not looking at him as she pinched the tube closed near the IV in her own arm. She pulled the needle out a second later and quickly transferred it to her left hand before deftly applying the cotton ball and Band-Aid with her right hand. She then lifted the tube up so that gravity and Bane's heartbeat sent the rest of her blood into his veins. The significance of that was not lost on him.
She gently pulled the needle out of his arm and applied another cotton swab and another Band-Aid, her fingers quick and cool where they ghosted across his skin. He watched her face, her golden hair framing it, her eyelashes thick and long against her cheeks.
She straightened up, holding the tube in her hands and then she stood up, walking over to the table and setting it down there before turning back to him.
"I need to check the stabbing," she said, her voice so much more guarded and cautious than he was used to. "I stitched it up while you were out but I need to make sure it hasn't opened or anything. Is that okay?"
He nodded. She knelt down beside him and her fingers were sure and gentle on his stomach as she lifted up the bandage. Her eyes were calculating and bright as they swept over the long gash.
"You'll have a scar," she said, her voice quiet and careful. "And your ribs will be sore for a while, but you'll be alright."
"For three weeks."
Her eyes flashed up to his. Her fingertips were still on his stomach, lingering, and she nodded. She rose to her feet and turned away from him and he saw for the first time how much of his blood she was really covered in- her right side was almost caked with it, her simple gray shirt stained on the shoulder and along the right side. There was some blood dried on her upper arm, too, though her hands were clean. Her posture was tense and guarded, and her fingers were drumming a pattern on the fabric of her jeans.
"Kathryn," he said, his voice hoarse, and she turned around. "Come here."
She looked at him, her face hidden in shadow with the fire at her back, illuminating her silhouette in a warm yellow, and she did. She sat down next to him, her leg pressed into his, her torso twisted slightly to face him and she looked right at him, her face calm but still very guarded and somehow prepared, as if this was a scene that she'd already read the script for, and the glow in his chest burned brighter.
He turned, his body facing hers, and lifted both hands to cup her face. She let him and she closed her eyes again and he felt the lack of the mask so strongly- there had been that impenetrable barrier between them for so long and now it was gone, and he could just lean in and kiss her if he wanted do.
And he did want to kiss her. His body thrummed with it, with the feel of her skin, with the smell of gardenias, with her full red lips and her long eyelashes and her golden hair spilling over her shoulders, her face looking so small and pale between his big, dark hands.
He slid one hand down her neck and it rested on the curve between her neck and her shoulder, the skin smooth and the muscles tense and he remembered the silver cross on its chain that normally hung there; another barrier gone, but it was much more than a barrier to her and that thought nestled under the want in his stomach.
Touch felt magnified, like the whole of his body was concentrated between the hand on her face and the hand on her shoulders, like the entire universe was waiting there for one of them to finally admit it existed. He leaned closer to her, looking not at her mouth but at her closed eyes.
They opened and flickered between his, the color bright and violent.
"Don't," she whispered. "Please."
He said nothing, simply searched her face. She made no move to pull away but her eyes were asking, almost begging him to step away.
He remembered the question she'd asked, the first day he'd taken her, her then unfamiliar voice soft and almost resigned- "Are you going to rape me?"
He remembered the two attempts, the fear and desperation in her eyes when he'd found her with a ripped shirt and holes in her shoulders, the absolute terror in her face- he remembered the teacher and the look that had been on her face when she'd talked about it, how her hands had twisted tightly together and her voice shook.
Not again, her eyes said. Not like this.
He let his hands fall. He leaned away from her.
Relief flooded her eyes and she let out a controlled exhale, her body deflating.
"I'm going to go clean up," she said, her voice low and very rough. "Don't move, okay?"
Without waiting for an answer, she rose to her feet. She gathered some clean clothes and walked back past him, closing the bathroom door behind her with a click.
Bane closed his eyes.
000
Several Hours Earlier
"You have got to be fucking kidding me."
It was the worst kind of irony- escaping Bane's grasp only to find him here, minutes away from her friends and the normalcy they offered, bleeding out onto the thin snow.
There had been several times in her life when she'd been able to feel God reaching in and rearranging things, and this was one of those times. It was a test, she knew that, the kind that didn't have a right answer but that led to two very different lives, and she had no idea what path to follow.
Letting him die would do no good in regards to stopping the bomb, he'd told her that himself, and he'd done a lot of things to her but he hadn't lied to her yet. And, with him, she had at least a small chance of getting him to change his mind.
Her friends were waiting for her, and she knew that if she saved his life, she would be imprisoned once more. Her friends would keep waiting and that thought was almost enough to let him die there in the snow, the idea of leaving Holly and Brooklynne wondering if she was safe.
She sighed loudly and desperately, running her hands through her hair as she stared down at him. He was conscious but unaware, his breathing ragged.
"Son of a bitch," she swore violently, throwing her hands back down to her sides.
Practice what you preach, said a cool voice in her head. If human life is so beautiful to you, then show him that. Don't let your words be empty.
Then-
You don't know what other forces are working within his soul.
She ignored the other reasons- the cold fear at the thought of him not being in the world anymore, the strange loneliness that it would bring, the tug she felt in her soul towards him that existed for whatever reason- and she knelt down in front of him.
"Bane," she ordered. "Get up."
His eyes flickered slightly and fixed on her face but he made no movement. She swore again and moved to his side, lifting one of his arms up and draping it over her shoulders before grasping him firmly around the waist and pushing upwards with her legs, gritting her teeth.
He was heavy and he leaned on her, supporting some of his own weight but not enough. She took a few jerky steps forward before stopping again.
"Bane," she said, loudly. "You have to fucking walk. Come on."
She tried moving forward again and he was still unresponsive but he shuffled his feet heavily along, supporting enough of his own weight that she could guide them along the snow-dusted streets. Very soon her back was hurting and his blood was staining her shirt.
"This is bullshit, I hope you know that. I was with my friends, finally."
He didn't say anything, and she readjusted her grip on his waist, making a fist in the material of his jacket. She kept talking, partly out of the hopes he'd come to more fully and partly because she couldn't bear the silence and partly because she couldn't say it to him when he was awake and partly because she just couldn't stop the flow of words.
"It might be better if you died. Maybe we could fight better, if they weren't led by you- Talia might be the mastermind but you're the only reason this is working. What the fuck is the League of Shadows, anyway? Sounds like a bunch of people who take themselves way too fucking seriously."
Every angry swear felt like a knock on a door that she knew led only to an empty room. She was gripping his forearm tightly and her back and shoulders ached; she thought of Holly and Brooklynne, standing by that corner. Waiting.
"I miss those girls," she told him. "More than I can… even just being with them for a few minutes, and things felt normal. It felt like we could… we could fix things, we could fix all of it. It's always been like that. We get together, the four of us, and things fall into place, that's how it happened with the first rebellion. Only now I have to save you and Caroline is with the guy who is the reason I have to save you, and I have no idea what he's done to her or if she's okay."
There was no response. His breathing behind the mask was ragged.
"This is fucked up- I hope you realize how fucked up this is. You kidnapped me for trying to protect Gotham and my friends and my family, and now we're- honestly I have no idea what we are. This is like the beginning of some really bad soap opera, or like a dating show set in some war torn country."
She was panting, now. The shouts were quieting and the streets seemed once again deserted, with snowflakes swirling in the yellow light of a lone streetlamp. The red glow in the sky had faded and the stars shone in between patches of dark cloud; she looked up at them, at the inky blue sky and the twinkling bits of celestial light, and her chest tightened.
"Whenever I've lost faith," she said, slowly, coming to a halt and just staring up at the sky, "I look at space. It's not easy, you know. Believing in God. Especially when things like you happen, but… but I look at space, and I believe. I feel it. I see the face of God when I look at the stars, and it's enough. I wish you could hear this. I wish I could say it to you when you could hear me, even though it probably wouldn't change anything."
Just that ragged breathing. She turned her head to look at his face; his swarthy skin was pale above the mask, his eyes cracked open and his eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks.
"The face of God," she murmured again, casting her eyes back to the night sky, drinking it in, filling her soul. "It's like that line from Les Mis, too. 'To love another person is to see the face of God'."
She started walking again, looking up to the sky when she could, and she hummed the familiar line from the song.
"Come with me," she half murmured, half sang. "I'll lead you to salvation…"
Her voice trailed off, echoing slightly around the empty streets. She tightened her fist in Bane's jacket, keeping him from slipping as he shuffled along next to her.
"Stupid," she told herself.
She stopped talking and simply existed, half carrying Bane through the cold streets of Gotham, and her body filled with relief several minutes later as city hall loomed into view.
It would be impossible to carry him up the stairs and so she headed for the elevator- it worked, thank God, and her back was positively screaming by the time the door slid open on their floor. She fumbled in her pocket with one hand for the key and the door swung open to reveal the shocked and irate face of the guard she'd overpowered. The anger on his face immediately gave way to disbelief as his eyes flickered over Katty and her blood-stained right side, and over the warlord currently slumped over her shoulder.
"Hey there," said Katty calmly, panting slightly. "I need you to do something."
"I- he- what?"
"Go to Gotham Central. The hospital. I need supplies for a blood transfusion- o negative blood, IVs, the tubing, do you understand? Find one of the doctors or a nurse there, and tell them it's for me. Ask them what all you need, and get it to me, immediately. Can you do that?"
The guard nodded, looking dumbstruck.
"Go," said Katty, exasperated, and he ran past her. She dragged Bane into the apartment, focusing with all her might on the couch, and dumped him unceremoniously on it before collapsing to the floor with a loud groan. She stretched, twisting her back and trying to uncramp it before standing to her feet, hands on her hips, looking down at Bane. The mask clearly wasn't working and his stab wound needed stitching at the very least- luckily she knew where he kept the drugs she'd made for him. She moved closer to him and leaned forward, reaching gingerly up to touch the mask.
"Well," she said, more to herself than to him. "Had to happen sometime."
It was complicated to get off but she was a smart girl and it didn't take long to figure it out. It came away from his face in two parts and she held them both gingerly, staring at his exposed face with a strange, twisting sensation in her stomach. He was handsome, with a long, straight nose and very full lips, and he looked more than ever like he was in his forties with soft lines tracing from the corners of his nose to the soft downturn of his lips, and he jaw was square and strong and peppered with stubble. She stared at him, trying to imagine his mouth forming the words that'd he'd said to her, trying to reconcile that handsome face into the man she knew he was, picturing expressions that had been formed under the mask for almost three months.
She was, not for the first time, very grateful for the mask and the wall it had made between them. His full and very red lips were parted and she could feel his breath, cool on her face. She studied him before reaching for his shirt to pull it off over his head so that she could get to the gash.
"Nice to meet you, Bane," she murmured.
000
Currently
She was in the shower for a very long time, and Bane didn't blame her. He tried to rationalize it all to himself and soon gave up, understanding that there were some things that couldn't be rationalized and that the girl in the shower and his feelings for her were some of those things. It was almost poetic, the villain falling in love with the hero, a redemption that could be realized, but never reached-
A memory came back from behind the fog of pain that had clouded his mind; he remembered her talking about stars, and about God.
To love another person is to see the face of God, she'd murmured, and with the memory came an ache in Bane's chest, a yearning that actually had little to do with her, and everything with the desire to touch only a sliver of the faith she possessed. It made sense, her goodness and her determination to save whoever she could, when he thought about it in relation to the cross around her neck and her seemingly endless love for humanity. The face of God, indeed.
His mind was spinning and still dazed, his thoughts a confused jumble even to himself. It felt like the world had cracked open and the glowing light that poured forth illuminated everything and obscured it, all at once; ideas would make sense for a second before becoming tangled once again and he couldn't begin to unravel his own thoughts. There were a few things that were clear, so he focused on those and they sank into him like warm anchors, locking down the most important revelations of the night.
I'm alive.
She saved me.
I love her.
It was almost a mantra.
The door to the shower opened and Kathryn stepped out, rubbing her wet hair with a towel. Steam followed her and, with it, the smell of gardenia.
"How are you feeling?" she asked him, dropping the towel by her mattress. Her hair was damp and strands of it stuck to her neck before she ran her fingers through it.
"Disoriented."
She nodded. "You lost a lot of blood and I probably gave you too much of your painkiller, especially considering the blood loss. It should be equaling out soon, since the transfusion."
He nodded and her eyes searched his face. She looked very comfortable, in a clean baggy shirt and loose sweatpants, but she also looked very tired, the shadows under her eyes deep.
"You should sleep," he told her, his voice still hoarse, and she raised her eyebrows.
"I just spent the last several hours trying to save your life, and it would be a massive waste of time if you died while I slept."
His lips twitched and hers did in response and Bane, for the first time, wondered how their relationship might have been different if he hadn't needed the mask.
"I'm not going to die."
"Promises, promises."
It was an easy humor that he'd glimpsed a few times before and suddenly he wanted to see more of it, he wanted her to smile more widely and more often.
But he was also very tired; his eyelids felt heavy and the fire was warm and the smell of gardenias comforting.
"Are you going to fall asleep on me?" she asked him, lifting her eyebrows and crossing her arms over her chest.
"Not on you, I'm sure," he said before he really though about it, and she smiled again, more widely this time, before moving towards him and sitting down at the opposite end of the couch, tucking her legs underneath herself. She still seemed guarded, cautious, and Bane couldn't tell if it was because she was worried about his actions or her own.
He felt more and more tired by the moment.
"I owe you an- an apology," she said suddenly, not looking at him. His eyebrows lifted. "Not for trying to fight against you, or for thinking you're wrong about all of it and trying to stop it, but for… some people wouldn't have been as kind to me, as you have."
"You don't need to thank me for not raping you."
"No, it's- it's more than that. You let Holly live. And the people on the ice, and before, and you've- you know. Stitched me up. Taught me to fight. I wish you'd never come to Gotham, don't get me wrong, but if I am gonna die in three weeks…" she looked at him for the first time. "What came before coulda been a lot worse."
Her face was honest if still guarded and he should feel triumphant, he knew that and there was a spark of it, but mostly he felt a faint disbelief mixed with disgust.
"And I owe you thanks," he said. "For saving me."
Her eyes searched his face, her brows tight, looking very much like she was debating on whether or not to speak. She opened her mouth, closed it, and then opened it again. Her tone, when she spoke, was soft and kind.
"Remember, how after you saved my life, after I got stabbed in the shoulders- remember how I told you that I owed you but that, one day, we'd be even?"
He nodded, slowly. Her eyes seemed almost sad, but there was a spark of triumph in them too.
"We're even," she said, softly. It was not a threat.
It was a beginning.
To Be Continued
A/N: HELLO! This is a chapter that i have had planned out since like... the second week of writing this story AND IT WAS SO EXCITING TO FINALLY GET TO WRITE IT DOWN AND PLAY AROUND WITH IT and I mean I'm never really happy with the chapters I always find so many things later that i want to tweak but writing this out was just... so much fun.
It's been brought to my attention that having lyrics at the beginning of the chapters was breaking some of the rules on FF . net, so I'm trying to get those taken down. I've got through the first ten chapters done, but it is time consuming, so bear with me. Instead of the lyrics I've included a featured song, so you can go listen to it yourself if you want! I definitely recommend that you do, the songs do a lot to enhance the story and atmosphere. On my profile, i'm adding a two more links- a fanblog set up on tumblr and the "official" she rises soundtrack on 8tracks that has all of the songs, in order, and is updated as i post.
On updating- I leave for London in a little less than two weeks, and, predictably, between now and then i'm going to be very busy. I might work on the story some between now and then, but don't expect another update. I will PROBABLY update once or twice while I'm abroad. I'm going to be focused on school and my internship and a social life while I'm over there, so writing and updating will be very low on my list of priorities. I AM going to finish this story, but updates will be infrequent over the next few months.
As a side note, if you're worried about Bane becoming mushy and soft now that certain feelings have been realized, such will not be the case. The dynamic will change some, yes, but they still have a bit of an uphill climb before things are completely out in the open and healthy.
I can't wait to hear what you think!
Paradisical
