Disclaimer: As always I own nothing but the original characters and the situations all characters end up in. Everything else belongs to someone else, and that's the way of it.

Art Enables Us

"Art enables us to find ourselves and lose ourselves at the same time." Thomas Merton

Allowing Bane's hand to steer him in the direction of the man's office Blake wondered if it had just been his imagination, or if Bane really had been seeing a hint of green moments before. Probably not, since it wasn't like Bane had any reason to be jealous when all he'd been doing was talking to Barsad about those puncture wounds and the possible causes. But the idea was amusing on a number of levels, not least of which was the fact that Blake was pretty sure that the only reason why Barsad had stopped to speak with him, much less help him, was so that he could get a read on him for Bane's sake. And seriously, if Bane was his type, which he'd made pretty clear was the case, why would Barsad interest him? The man was a pipsqueak in comparison.

But since he was here to play nice Blake held his tongue on the matter and instead complimented Bane on the art he'd chosen for his waiting room. He particularly liked the Van Gogh above his assistant's desk. When had he acquired it?

"Five years ago. Why?"

"No reason. Relax. You look like I'm going to tell you it's a fake. Which it isn't. Though you might want to have someone look at that Rembrandt downstairs in the lobby." Oh the look on Bane's face, Blake thought as he only just kept the smirk off his face.

He had to look away so that he could state that while it must have been an original when Bane had purchased it, as he didn't doubt that the other man had had it authenticated when he'd insured it, something had obviously happened to the original since then. Who'd authenticated it?

"Sotheby's."

"Okay, then it probably came to you as an original. And one of the easiest ways to lift a painting and get away with it is to place an excellent forgery in the place of the original after its been there a while. Once you've had a painting for years, well you don't look at it closely enough to notice that the red is a little brighter or there isn't as much overlap in the brushstrokes as there should be."

Blake had no idea what Bane said then in a tongue he didn't recognize, but the tone said it all.

"I could be wrong. But that hardly ever happens."

"I'll see that it's sent out to be reauthenticated immediately."

"I'm sure your insurance is excellent." Giving Bane a wink as the other man opened the door for him Blake stepped inside the man's office and immediately started looking all around with interest.

That there was hardwood flooring underneath his feet instead of plush carpeting didn't surprise Blake in the least as he walked further into the other man's work domain. Bane wasn't the plush type. The desk on the other hand wasn't at all what he'd been expecting, and Blake was fascinated by this new piece of the Bane puzzle.

Instead of an antique or a highly modern and utilitarian piece of furniture he'd been imagining Bane's desk was a polished, unshaped hunk of wood. The tree it had come from must have been ancient to have achieved the width it had, and Blake found himself walking over to run his fingers over the surface as he looked at the rings and thought of all the tree must have lived through in its lifetime.

"Where did you get this?"

"The tree fell on property I owned. I had it made."

"Not what I was expecting at all…but I like this new piece of the puzzle that is you." Turning back around to face Bane Blake placed his hands on the desk and boosted himself up to sit on the edge of it. "You don't display any art on your walls in here. Why?"

"I prefer to surround myself with knowledge here."

"A room without books is like a body without a soul." Blake quoted as he kicked his feet a little back and forth as he grinned cheekily at Bane. The walls on either side of them were shelves from wall to ceiling with the majority of those shelves filled with books. Ones that he'd bet weren't there for decoration, but had been read countless times over the decades and centuries in some cases. And all read by the man watching him like Blake was something else he wanted to add to his collection.

"Marcus Tullius Cicero said that."

"Very good, Mr. Bane."

Sliding off the desk since remaining on it would only tempt him into desk sex, Blake walked around the desk while trailing his fingers over its glossy surface, dragging things out so to speak before he gestured towards the large, custom leather chair. "Care to take a seat?"

Not being a fool Bane gave him an accessing look as he walked over and around the desk to join him, Bane's gaze never leaving Blake for a second as he took a seat in his chair.

Pleased with Bane's cooperation Blake gave the man his wickedest smile. "Now put your hands on the arms of the chair and plant your feet. Oh, and keep them there until I'm done thanking you for my latest present. If you want me to thank you, that is."

"And how do you intend to thank me?"

Deliberately Blake bit down on his bottom lip to draw the man's attention to his mouth before answering. "Don't you like surprises, Bane?"

"No. But I think I must get used to them where you're concerned." And so saying Bane placed his hands on the arm rests, settling back more comfortably into the chair with his feet braced to keep the chair where it was.

Pleased that Bane was cooperating so readily, which probably meant Bane wouldn't behave for that much longer, Blake placed his hands on Bane's shoulders and then leaned in to whisper the question of whether or not the chair was strong enough to handle both their weights. It had been reinforced, obviously, but both their weights might be too much and ending up on the floor wasn't part of the plan. And would probably end in floor sex.

"It will."

"Excellent."

Slithering into Bane's lap so that he was lying across it Blake draped one arm around Bane's neck while his legs dangled over the side of Bane's chair, pleased that the position had the added benefit of locking down Bane's arm there.

A couple of wiggles to make himself comfortable and then Blake cupped Bane's cheek with his free hand to turn the man's head where he wanted it. Pleased when Bane allowed that too Blake shifted over to nuzzle their cheeks together as he breathed in the scents that he was learning were uniquely Bane's. It seemed that the man didn't wear cologne, or strongly scented products of any kind. He approved.

A kiss just under Bane's ear and then Blake moved again so that he could brush his lips over Bane's, the touches brief and teasing before he placed kisses against and along each of the scars that curved the man's lips into their own unique shape that Blake was determined to learn with his own mouth and tongue.

And once he'd kissed every scar Blake swiped his tongue over them, following the dips and curves to make sure that there was no doubt in Bane's mind that he had no problem with the scarring of the other man's mouth. No problem at all.

Having ignored Bane's growls and heated looks the whole time, and that on top of the urge to remind him that patience was a virtue, Blake made sure his point had been made before finally allowing his lips to settle back over Bane's entirely for a real, proper kiss.

And what a kiss.

Fuck he loved kissing. The hot, wet glide of their lips and tongues as they learned each other's mouths and how best to stimulate and pleasure the other. Nerve endings stroked into doing happy dances that made Snoopy's famed dance look like a lifeless shuffle. Blake let his hands move where they wished as he stroked his fingers over Bane's head and jawline, the bald thing a new sensation he thought he could grow to like quite a bit. Especially when the compensation for no hair to grab was a sexy, growly man who was melting his bones and brains into goo so thoroughly.

When air was necessary, which it unfortunately always was eventually, Blake pulled back and settled for some soft, quick kisses as his brain came somewhat back online. Enough for him to remember that while this was one very pleasurable thank you, a more official one was called for.

So pulling back for a minute Blake waited until Bane's dazed but beautiful eyes focused on his before saying what needed to be said.

"Thanking you for helping me get justice for Elise."

A moment of silence.

"Can I touch you now?"

Chuckling, because really, of course that was all Bane cared about right now, Blake told him that yes, he could touch him now. Though the clothes stayed on and no hands going below the waist.

Oh, and he only had about five more minutes before he had to get back to work.

"Then we'll use those five minutes wisely."

)

After Robin's departure Bane pulled out his phone to make note of the plans they'd made for both dinner and the theater the following weekend. They would be seeing 'Twelfth Night' it seemed. His bird's favorite work of Shakespeare. A sentiment he himself didn't share, but he was more than willing to sit through it if it meant taking Robin home with him afterwards. Home and straight to bed if he had anything to say about it.

His latest gift had indeed turned the tides in his favor.

That thought had his own turning to the girl Robin had thanked him for. Elise. A pretty name for a pretty girl. Or she had been before the Boondocks had got ahold of her.

A knock on the door.

"Enter."

Stepping into the room Barsad closed the door behind him and then walked up to the desk. "The cop seemed quite pleased when he left."

"And I was pleased with him."

"Are you sure that's wise? I still have been unable to uncover his past before he and his twin arrived in Gotham. Every instinct I have says there's far more to him than meets the eye. And that underestimating him could be our undoing."

"I agree that he hides much. But I will peel away all his layers. And keep him in line."

Barsad actually snorted.

"You doubt my ability."

"I think you have never come against his likes before. And that he is equally determined to peel away your layers. Along with your clothes."

Bane was looking forward to that last part.

"And you should know his twin should, barring some delay, arrive in Gotham in approximately twenty-six hours. Possibly precipitated by a phone call he received from their grandfather last night."

"I see." That could be a problem. Or a welcome distraction if Arthur's arrival meant Bane didn't have to concern himself with the friendship between his cop and the Brit Robin had told him he was going to dinner and the movies with tonight. Apparently they were going to see some mindless action flick while eating their weight in popcorn. Robin's parting words, actually. Which did not bode well for the man's stomach and continued good health.

"Their family is dangerous even before one takes Saito's warning into account."

This line of conversation was starting to get tiresome. "I merely intended to take him to my bed until I no longer want him there."

"Just remember that you cannot keep him, Bane. Not for long and certainly not for keeps."

"And when have you known any of my bed partners to interest me for long?"

"When has anyone ever challenged and intrigued you like this one has?" Was Barsad's very accurate and blunt resort.

"I will learn all there is I want to know in time. Then he will no longer intrigue or challenge me."

There was something about Barsad's expression for a moment that suggested he doubted Bane's words, but his second was wise enough to drop the topic. At least for the moment. Instead he stated that it should be interesting to see what Bane uncovered about the man in the future.

"I'll keep you appraised."

A nod of thanks. "My original reason for interrupting you was that al Ghul and/or his daughter placed a number of listening devices during their time here. Do you wish them all deactivated now?"

"Yes. Mail the devices back to them afterwards."

"With pleasure."

"And also see that the Rembrandt downstairs is taken to my appraiser. I want it looked over again."

"Consider it done, Sir."

)

Shaking his head over the never-ending stupidity of the human race as he typed up his report on the accidental death of a tourist that afternoon, Blake wished not for the first time that there wasn't a 'death by human stupidity' box he could check off. Stupid fucking selfies. Stupid fucking fad. Stupid fucking people that did stupid fucking things to try and impress their friends and other likeminded idiots by posing in the stupidest places. And in this case the fucking idiot had ended up murdering another innocent human being who'd just been on the way home from work. Minding his own businesses right up until two hundred and fifteen pounds of stupidity fell six stories, right onto him. Splat. And that was the end of William Hughes, curtesy of one Scott Brakenreid.

It had not been pretty.

The sound of his phone going off startled him out of his thoughts, Blake reaching for it automatically. And then he checked the screen to see what it had to tell him.

Oh.

Blake always had his phone and laptop set to notify him if certain names, words, or places appeared in the news. This name was not one that had headlined in the news for years now. But according to this Austrian news article the Kunsthistorisches Museum had been robbed recently, three painting taken and the calling card of the Swarzer Tiger left behind.

The Schwarzer Tiger. German for Black Tiger.

Every once in a while there was a heist that some idiot decided was the work of the Black Tiger despite the lack of calling card left behind. And to be fair that was only natural since the majority of the world had no idea that the thief in question had been dead for years. But this, the leaving of a taunting note and a piece of a tiger's eye gemstone…

The security of the Kunsthistorisches Museum was nothing to laugh at. In fact, he had intimate knowledge of exactly what sort of security the thief would have had to bypass as Arthur had had a hand in their latest security upgrade. They hadn't been able to afford the best, few could given what Arthur charged for that, but what they had gotten would have proved problematic for the majority of thieves out there. And the ones who'd have had no problem bypassing it weren't the sort to give others credit for their work. And yes, it could be that the client or thief just wanted to confuse the police, sending them chasing shadows while the real culprits slipped away. It wouldn't be the first time. But still…most thieves had too much respect and fear of the Black Tiger to dare finger him when there were plenty of others to chose from. Even now, though he hadn't pulled a job in well over a decade, Arthur said the man's name was still spoken of carefully when brought up. Just in case.

Someone trying to pick a fight with the Black Tiger perhaps? Draw him out of retirement if he was still alive?

Mulling that over Blake sent the article to his brother and then set his phone aside.

"Something stumping the great detective? Do tell."

Looking over at Eames as the Englishman wandered into his bullpen Blake curved his lips into a smirk as he reminded Eames that it was lieutenant, not detective. And he wasn't stumped, just puzzled as to why someone was impersonating the Black Tiger in Vienna.

"The Black Tiger? What got hit?"

Briefly Blake summarized the news article for him, surprised that Eames hadn't already heard about it in all honesty.

Settling his admittedly fine ass on the corner of Blake's desk, Eames seemed to be mulling it all over. "Well I have heard over the years that that old bastard took on some apprentices after his son ended up the unwilling guest of a Russian prison. Maybe one of them has decided to take up where the old man left off before he ended up dead. Took the name for the reputation attached to it." A thoughtful pause. "Come to think of it, didn't the Tiger buy it here in Gotham?"

"So the rumors say."

"Right." Eames snapped his fingers, a pleased look on his face. "He nicked something, didn't he, from some Chinese crime boss. The one that was the head of that organization your step mum took down. Took him years to hunt the Tiger down they say, no surprise, but he managed it in the end. Gutted him, didn't he?"

"And, legend has it, Long Ka-shing had him cremated and used as fertilizer for his award winning roses. Right along with plenty of others who ended up dead on his orders."

"Well at least the bodies didn't go to waste then."

A prerequisite to working in homicide was a twisted sense of humor, so Blake laughed at that. Though mostly he just had to smile when he was reminded that the Black Tiger was dead and dust now. A much slower, more agonizing death was what the fucker had deserved, but Blake would settle for him being dead. Dead and all but forgotten by most until now.

Though he would never, ever forget.

Or forgive.