Oh dear lord, what's happening?
Grace tried to steady her breathing.
All those yoga class vouchers given to her by colleagues for secret Santa seemed like an insult at the time. It was her colleague's way of suggesting that she was stressed.
She wished she bit the bullet and went to one.
She tried to take a deep breath in, hold it for four seconds and release it. She did that over and over until her heart rate went down.
Okay don't panic. Don't scream. Don't do anything stupid. She repeated over and over in her head.
Fuck that.
"HELP!" She screamed and banged her fists against the solid door.
"LET ME OUT!" She placed her ear against the door.
Nothing. Not even an echo.
"PLEASE! ANYONE?"
In her blind rage, her hand knocked on the light.
She turned, her pleas for freedom forgotten as she took in the room she had been thrown in.
It was larger than she expected.
There was an army cot pushed against the far wall. Exposed pipes covered the ceiling, occasionally leaking onto the floor. There was a military-style trunk tucked under her bed. When she took it out to inspect, she found that she needed the combination to open it. It was heavy though so there was something in there.
She looked through the entire room and what seemed to be a subsequent bathroom. Well, just a singular toilet and a sink. No shower.
That was going to be a problem if they, whoever they were, planned to keep her past tomorrow morning. She gave herself a quick sniff and figured she could hold off on washing her hair for another day or two.
But what if they kept her here for days? Or weeks?
No. Don't think like that. She repeated over and over in her mind.
The school will realise she's missing, and the police will look for her. They could use their special powers, or whatever the Dent Act allowed them to do, to find her.
At least, she hoped that would be the case.
She sat on the bed and pulled the woollen blanket around her shoulders. It was too cold in the sewers. Thankfully, it didn't smell like shit down in this part.
She wondered where Patrick was. What was he doing with these people?
He stole their money. He got himself into this mess and had to drag her into it too.
No matter how many times she thinks her brother has turned a corner, he ends up at another dead end. First the mob, then prison and now… well these men didn't seem like the mob. The mob hid in plain sight. They didn't burrow underground.
That was the Gotham she remembered. The police were incompetent, and the mob were their puppet masters. And there were the ostentatious crime lords, like the Penguin and the Joker. They were both locked away as far as she knew, but their 'charisma' still infected their supporters.
It was almost eight years to the day that the Batman killed Harvey Dent. Gotham's one hope snuffed out by her former protector.
Once upon a time, she fantasised about meeting Batman. He was dark and mysterious. It was only a phase. One she grew out of thankfully.
Daydreaming about a man who constantly wore a mask was firmly in the past.
But interacting with one wasn't something she ever imagined.
That large man, with the haunting voice, invaded her mind.
Who was he? Was the mask for theatrics or did it serve some other purpose?
If it was meant to hide his identity, she could understand. Even Batman disguised his face and voice according to police reports.
But no one else was wearing a mask. His followers, co-workers, or whatever they were called paraded around openly from what she could see. Men of all shapes, ages and creeds seemed to be a part of this operation.
But why were they in the sewer?
She thought back to her coffee with Patrick. He said something about construction workers operating in the sewer. Was this them?
If they ever got out of here, she was going to kill him.
If…
She laid down on the cot and faced the wall. Too exhausted to even turn off the light.
Her body and mind had been through a lot today.
She succumbed to sleep with the hope that this was all somehow a bad dream.
Xxx
Grace awoke several hours later. Her eyes are met by darkness shrouding the entire room. For a moment she stills, remembering that she left the light on last night. Someone must have been here while she was asleep. She pushed herself up onto her elbows and groaned as her back protested. Her memory foam mattress was apparently taken for granted all these years.
Footsteps echoing outside her door caused her to hold her breath until they passed her room.
A sigh of relief left her.
The breathing exercises came in handy again.
In for four, hold for four and out for four.
She repeated that until she could stand without needing to hold onto the wall for support.
She turned on the light. Part of her was worried she would find someone there with her.
Thankfully, she was alone.
There was something odd though.
The trunk was still closed but on top of it was a bar of soap, a toothbrush and toothpaste.
Thank God. She ran into the bathroom to brush her teeth. If there was one thing she couldn't stand, it was bad breath.
Grace took one look in the mirror and saw her lip was slightly swollen, but other than that, she seemed to be okay.
She knew that she was alone, but she always shut the door when she needed to pee. Even with past boyfriends, that was a line she wasn't ready to cross.
She finishes relieving herself and washes her hands with the soap.
Nimble fingers begin plaiting her hair.
Thankfully, she had managed to slip a bobbin on her wrist when she arrived home.
There, that would do for now. It would have been better with her hairbrush but that probably wasn't on her captors shopping list right now.
She jumped when the door burst open.
"FUCKING HELL!" Grace yelled as her back slammed against the wall.
"Language." The man with the red scarf admonished. She remembered him from yesterday. "I never heard my teacher use those words when I was at school." He began to move about the room, as if he owned it.
"Did you ever burst into your teacher's bathroom when you were at school?" She snarked.
"Oh it's your bathroom now is it?" The man smirked at her annoyed face.
She didn't bother to justify him with a response.
Staying firmly where she was standing seemed like the best idea when the man decided to park himself on her- the bed. This was not her room. It was temporary accommodation until this mess was sorted out.
"Are you going to come out or just stand there?"
"Still deciding." She paused and took a breath. "Why are you here?"
"The welcoming committee sent me to ask if you preferred azaleas or roses." He smirked at his own joke when she gave him an unimpressed look. "I'm here to make sure you're fed and watered."
"I-I didn't think there was food in this room."
"Have you checked your trunk?"
The man stood and walked over to the crate she left beside the bed.
"Oh, it's my trunk now, is it?" She snarked before she could think.
"Be careful. Insolence will not be tolerated around here."
"You can dish it, but you can't take it?" Her blue eyes roamed up and down his frame. "Do you need your gun to feel strong?"
"I never need my gun." He spoke lowly.
"Okay then, let's stop with the pissing contest and move on. We're both old enough to be adults in this situation." He gave her a subtle nod in concession. "You mentioned something about food?" Her stomach gurgled at the thought.
"Your trunk contains the same rations all the others receive. No better, no worse."
"And how do I open it?"
"Your birth year." He smirked.
With that, she knelt down and swiped 1988 into the lock.
It opened easily enough.
"How did you know when I was born?" She asked as she opened a packet of granola. She ate it dry but followed up with a generous swig of bottled water.
"We know more than that." He helped himself to a packet of granola too. "Grace Saoirse Fitzgerald, born 14th of January 1988 to Lisa and Dermot Fitzgerald. You teach music and offer behavioural support in Hamilton High School. You order pizza from Maroni's twice a week-"
"I don't get pizza twice a week from Maroni's." She interrupted quickly.
He clicked his fingers remembering something. "That's right, you get it from Joe's on the weekdays and Maroni's on the weekend." He smirked at her for the thousandth time.
"Just making sure you have all your facts right. I won't even comment on how badly you mispronounced my middle name."
He frowned at her.
"How bad was it?"
"Pathetic to be honest. It's pronounced Seer – Shah. Two sounds, that's it."
He repeated it a couple of times to get it right.
"Close enough." She chuckled lightly. "I'm guessing you've never heard Patrick's middle name?"
"I saw it in your folder. I didn't even bother to try. What kind of a name is Oi…sin?"
"Oisín. It's pronounced 'Uh-sheen".
"Weird language." He muttered.
"Póg mo thóin." She muttered back.
He narrowed his eyes.
"What the fuck does that mean?"
"Umm… It means you look beautiful today." She played innocent.
"Uh huh, well, enjoy your stay, Miss Fitzgerald." He moved toward the door.
"Wait! Where are you going" She pulled at his arm.
"I have a lot of work to do." He twisted out of her grasp.
"At least tell me your name?" So then she knew who to curse.
"Not yet. You'll have to earn that information."
And with the slam of the door, she was left alone again.
Hoping the nameless man had been incompetent, and left the door unlocked, she tried the handle.
It was to no avail though.
She wasn't going anywhere.
Xxx
Barsad made his way into the makeshift cafeteria to check on his other ward.
Patrick Fitzgerald sat grimly as he pushed his porridge around with a spoon. It looked as if he hadn't eaten yet.
He'd give him another couple of minutes. There was another man he wanted to talk to.
"O'Brien, you're Irish right?" He asked the tall red head.
"Absolutely. My great-granddaddy was from the true capital, county Cork."
"I thought Dublin was the capital?" Barsad was sure he heard that somewhere.
"That's what they want you to think."
"Who's they?"
"Those Dublin pricks." He laughed.
"Right, well do you know what 'Powg muh hone' means?"
"Eh… well, I'm not that kind of Irish." O'Brien grimaced slightly.
"What kind of Irish are you?" Barsad raised a brow.
"The kind that gets free drinks in any O'Brien's pub on Patty's Day." He laughed.
"It's Paddy's Day, dumbass." A voice muttered.
Both men looked over at their new, albeit reluctant, member.
"Something to say Fitz?" Barsad demanded.
"I think my sister said it best." He stood to put his bowl in the sink. "Póg mo thóin."
Barsad narrowed his eyes.
"And what does that mean?"
"It means you're looking well today." Patrick winked at Barsad. "You must have really charmed her"
Barsad had a feeling that wasn't the case.
"Get back to work, Fitz."
Patrick did as he was told and headed back to the main hub of activity.
Barsad followed him.
"Get that programme finished and we might let you see Grace."
At that Patrick perked up slightly.
"Is she okay?"
"Get it done and you can check on her yourself."
As he began his work Barsad headed towards his leader.
Bane was speaking with the engineering team about the blueprints they had gathered.
"We'll attach the supports here and here-" Romesh pointed at the aircraft exterior drawings. "Then the plane's centre of balance will be tilted, and we can proceed as planned."
"Good, and how is our mole at the CIA? Any news to report?"
"Agent Wilson has an extradition order in process to collect the good doctor. We think he may have threatened the man's children."
"He is a tenacious fellow."
"That's how it is in the CIA."
"Indeed." Bane turned to Barsad. "And has Agent Wilson contacted you?"
"I'm buttering him up. He'll be ready to make a deal soon, I'm sure of it."
"Good." And with that, Bane dismissed the group. Barsad remained.
"Something on your mind, brother?" Bane could always tell when he wanted to ask him a question.
"Our new guest is becoming insolent."
"I expected as much."
"Do you speak any Irish?"
"You mean Gaeilge?"
"Sure yeah. Gale…gah." He sounded it out.
"A little."
"Do you know if 'powg muh hone' is an insult or a compliment?"
A quiet chuckle sounded through the air. A sound he rarely hears from his leader.
"She told you to 'kiss her arse'."
Of all the words he had heard come from his leader's mouth over the last decade, those were three he never expected to witness.
Barsad's eyes drifted over to her brother. That fucker must have known she would lie about the meaning.
"She told me it was a compliment, and that brother of hers confirmed it."
"It is not a commonly spoken language. Try not to be too bitter, brother. There are greater threats that face our cause, than your injured pride."
"I'll gladly enjoy the look on her face when I tell her that her little joke failed." Barsad didn't want to admit it out loud that his pride was hurt slightly. Part of him thought the woman was trying to flirt with him to get him to let her out. It was a little boost to his ego after all.
"You will do no such thing. If the siblings believe they can communicate without being detected, then it shall be to our advantage."
He was right. Patrick's eyes got brighter when he overheard Barsad struggle to understand Grace's words.
One glance over and the blond man was working away diligently.
"I may have inferred to the brother that if he finished the programme, he could be reunited with his sister."
"Good. It will keep both of them in our service."
"And what service does the woman provide?"
"She is the key to Mr Fitzgerald's success. After the last purge of our followers, he's the best candidate to head up our cyber security team."
"You want him to head the team?" Barsad questioned.
The man was good with computers. There was no question about it.
After he was picked up and roughed up a little, he ended up revealing how he broke through their network firewalls. He implied that it was the head of their IT team that gave them away and how it was just a matter of time before someone else saw their activity in the sewers.
Bane was not pleased.
Soon, another body was thrown into the flowing water. Broken and dead.
It was only when a distressed Patrick was discovered trying to warn his sister to leave Gotham, that Bane ordered her capture.
Now, the young man was forever in debt to Bane if he wanted his sister to be safe.
It's not like he had much of a life to go back to.
A former Blackgate prisoner with a dodgy past had little to no chance of reintegration with the society that condemned him in the first place.
Given time, Patrick Fitzgerald may find his place amongst the ranks. He may even feel appreciated for once.
But that was not the same for Grace.
Patrick was not wrong when he suggested that she would be reported missing as soon as she failed to turn up for her early morning music class next Monday.
"He tore down our defences. Which means that he can make them stronger. It would be foolish to let this opportunity slip past our fingers." Bane argued.
Barsad was inclined to agree.
"Fair enough."
"Did you have Mr Fitzgerald check-in his sister on the Aer Lingus flight?"
"Yes, now the airports on both sides of the Atlantic are blaming each other for whose responsibility it is to locate the missing passenger."
"That should buy her a few extra days before the authorities come sniffing around her home. Did Bartov gather her necessities as ordered?"
"Yes. He has her travel items and collected a few essentials he thought she might need from the apartment." Barsad smirked when he thought of her bag. It might be the perfect revenge for how she insulted him.
"Good, we want her to feel at home while she is our guest."
"When will you allow her out of the room?"
"In time. We need to be sure she will not hurt anyone else's feelings." Bane smirked under the mask. You could tell by the slight wrinkling at the corner of his eyes.
"I can handle any sass she throws my way." Barsad insisted.
"And what of our brothers?"
Barsad paused in thought. While most of their members had been part of the league for over a decade, others were new hires. Untrustworthy with any real information. Only good for deliveries and collections.
Most were criminals shafted by the Dent Act. Bitter and aching for revenge.
The small music teacher wouldn't stand a chance.
"She doesn't seem that foolish. In a room one on one, she acts like a wolf. But underneath it all she's just a lamb. I doubt she'll want to attract attention to herself."
"Just to be safe, see to it that she is escorted by you or one of your trusted brothers when outside her room. I am not a fan of going back on my word." Bane's eyes landed on Patrick, remembering his oath to keep her safe.
"Of course, sir." Barsad left his leader in his corner and went to make his rounds.