Chapter Eight: The Breath of Life

Maureen pushed open the heavy door after she popped the hood. The rain slowly soaked into her designer dress as she stared down at the engine, not knowing what she was even looking for. She kicked the front tire, wishing for Josef to be there since he was the only person who could deal with the car.

She slid back behind the wheel and slapped her hands on the dashboard until her hands stung, shouting as sobs began to wrack her body.

"Why did you have to kill yourself Josef?"

Maureen never found sleep that night and eventually pulled herself from bed at the height of the Witching Hour and slipped into her favorite pair of running shoes before pounding the treadmill for hours before the sun began shining upon Gotham City, casting light on everyone from the plump, grey sewer rats to Selina Kyle and Bruce Wayne, spooning in his oversized bed, under the thousand count thread sheets.

Bruce and Selina slept peacefully, oblivious to Maureen's suffering across the city, teardrops falling from her eyes almost as fast as the sweat pouring off her lithe form.

On the other side of Gotham City as the street sweepers cleared the curbs of dead leaves and smashed cigarette butts, newly elected mayor James Gordon slept easily next to his wife in their queen-sized bed, warm under the newest quilt Mrs. Gordon had recently entered and won a bright yellow second place ribbon for in a local craft fair.

Gordon's alarm would be announcing itself loudly by switching on to talk radio within the next hour. He had a whole day of city council meetings and lunch with the billionaire power couple who liked to play dress-up in costumes of leather, latex, and masks with ears.

As Maureen showered and dressed for the day at Arkham, under the Asylum's tiled, frequently leaking roof, the Joker stirred awake and stretched his arms high overhead as he rose from the squeaky cot. He emptied his full bladder, his piss stream strong and holding the heady aroma of the asparagus from dinner the night before.

As the Joker washed his face and brushed his teeth, on the other side of the facility, Bane cracked his eyes open and stared up at the dingy, off-white ceiling.

He sat up when the whisper-soft sound of a playing card was slipped under his heavily bolted door.

Bane retrieved the card from the floor and held up a well-worn Joker playing card, the expression deliciously evil in the overly wide smile and sharp teeth. He held the card up to the gentle light coming through the eyeholes and placed it over the incoherent assortment of letters until he could decipher the new message.

"Feel better soon, we have much to achieve."

Bane snorted at the laughing man's words and then winced as his cheekbone gave a sharp rebuke at the skin-pulling side-effect of his amusement.

As Maureen arrived to Arkham and made her way to her office, the breakfast trays were dispersed to the inmates.

While Maureen made coffee, watered her plants, and reviewed her messages, the empty breakfast trays were collected, and morning medications dispensed.

As Boris arrived at Bane's cell to escort him to Maureen's office, an earlier session since a court clerk was coming to see Bane later in the morning, in her bright, corner office, Maureen opened Bane's chart and turned her notepad to a fresh page, dating the top right corner.

Maureen let Boris cross the room's threshold and ensure that Bane was securely latched to the office chair before she locked the door behind him.

Bane's eyes immediately found the beige band-aid around her finger where the papercut had festered.

"Good morning," Maureen said in greeting.

Bane nodded, "good morning doctor."

"How's your cheek?" she asked. "I don't normally see you at this time, I understand you've agreed to a visit with a court clerk," she added when he remained quiet in the wake of her question.

Bane shrugged nonchalantly.

Maureen nodded the shrug when he didn't add anything further.

"How're you feeling?"

"Adequate."

"Your quality of sleep?"

"Adequate," Bane said and quickly added. "How's your sleep doctor?"

"Pardon?" Maureen asked, having clearly heard him but buying time to think.

"How's your quality of sleep been doctor?

Bane could see the fatigue she tried to cover with makeup, he could see the whites of her eyes stained red with vascular striation.

"Have you had a return of any chest pain or discomfort?" she asked, completely ignoring his spoken words.

"What happened there?" Bane asked, echoing her deflection as he nodded in the direction of her bandaged finger.

"This?" she chuckled. "Paper won," Maureen said and quickly returned to him as the topic at hand.

"Have you experienced any difficulty breathing?"

Bane pressed his lips into a line and clenched his teeth so hard that his jaw popped at her consistent and casual refusal to answer him.

Maureen's phone trilled loudly; she had a pressure cooker of feelings about the phone ringing at that precise moment.

"Yes," she answered on an uncharacteristic snap.

"Dr. Hightower? Maureen? It's Sara Carlton."

"Sara, hello, sorry, how can I help you?" Maureen asked.

"I need you to come to trauma room three, Bellinger punctured a hole in his IV tubing, coded and is being prepped for transport to Gotham General, I need you to come down and sign off on the transfer."

"I'll be right there," Maureen said as she replaced the phone in the cradle.

"I'm sorry," she directed to Bane as she stood from behind the desk. "I have an emergency I need to attend to," she added as she opened the door and let Boris pass by.

Maureen would later look back on her decision to not take the stairs that day. She'd worn a pair of heels that were uncomfortably tight but vintage couture and lofted above all over shoes.

Boris led Bane to the elevator after Maureen.

Bane stared down at Maureen after the elevator doors closed, forcing her to turn her attention to her notebook to avoid eye contact.

The crushing weight of his gaze remained.

Boris pressed the button for the first floor and swore in another language when the elevator lurched abruptly and made him drop heavily to his knees.

Even in diminished physical health, Bane's reaction was still quicker than those of the formally trained as he pivoted sharply, using his broad body to prevent Maureen from falling.

Maureen gave a startled shout as she started to fall, reflexively reaching out to catch herself against the front of Bane's body.

Her hands with their lacquered nails scrabbled against his cotton top. For a moment Maureen was paralyzed, the tip of her nose pressed to the center of his chest over the bony xyphoid process at the center of his broad ribcage.

The red light in the elevator's control panel began blinking as the other buttons lit up in staccato succession.

Maureen felt a wash of regret at hoisting fashion over function when the metal hinges clanged loudly, the jostling brought Bane even closer to share her exhale, a Māori god subsisting on just her breath.

Boris climbed to his feet and pulled free the emergency phone which would connect him to the security office.

Maureen's hands froze against Bane's chest, feeling his heart beating strongly in its opaque pericardial sac under her palm.

Maureen moved her eyes up the center of Bane's chest, tracing the contours of his neck's vascular intersections and the strong line of his jaw before finding his eyes boring into hers, his irises pulsated with liquid fire. She felt like she was being exposed to white phosphorous as her exhale scorched her lungs as it passed through her full, parted lips.

Maureen's nostrils flared slightly as she detected his masculine, woodsy scent that the cheap soap provided by Arkham never washed away.

Bane was a stag coming upon Maureen in the forest in heat, primitive. He clenched his hands into fists, straining forward, he would've chafed his wrists to the bone if he could've caught her.

She forgot her professional hat for a moment as she smoothed her hands in slow circles on his chest, only making one full revolution with her small palms before she broke herself free of her fugue. She shook her head and cleared her throat, mumbling apologies as she wished she could become part of the elevator wall.

"Excuse me," she stammered as she released his shirt, wrinkled from where she had it gripped in her small hands.

Maureen muttered more incoherent regrettable sounds as Bane stared down at her in stony silence, still feeling the pressure of her hands against his chest.

Bane remained wordless but strained against his shackles and cuffs, lustful fury coursed through his nervous system at his denial to return her touch. He longed to test her boundaries of professionalism and the Ivory Tower of resolute dedication to her oaths she'd taken.

Maureen blew out a low breath as dormant, warm memories bubbled up inside her. A forgotten well erupted at the dense musculature and warmth emanating through the state-issued cotton top that left her fingertips tingling.

Maureen let out a shaky sign of relief when the elevator doors began to open on the first floor. Maureen slipped out of the elevator before the doors were even fully open, feeling like Houdini escaping a tank of water.

Houdini had never escaped being locked up tight in a box with a predator.

Bane watched her retreat, his own breathing close to labored as he could feel where her hands had touched him, her palms had practically seared an imprint in his dense, muscular flesh.

As Boris escorted Bane to the private rooms where inmates were able to meet privately with their legal counsel, moving quickly in the opposite direction, Maureen was relieved when Sara Carlton came into view and met her at the nurse's station with a clipboard and stack of papers.

As Sara briefed Maureen on Bellinger's condition while she signed off on the varying transport forms, across the facility, Arnold Miles arrived at the Joker's cell to collect him for a visit with Maureen.

The Joker looked up from where he'd been shuffling the deck of his father's card.

"Hiya piggy," he greeted.

Arnold frowned, despising the Joker's varying nicknames for his fat belly, thick neck, and full set of man tits.

"Settle down," Arnold said and gestured for the Joker to stand and turn to begin securing him for the walk to Maureen's office.

"Whatsa matter? Your blood sugar low porkchop?" the Joker cackled as he dutifully turned around and followed all of his verbal commands as he was cuffed and led to the fifth floor, sunny corner office.

By the time Maureen finished in the hospital wing and exchanged a few pleasantries with some of the staff, she returned to her office to find Arnold waiting with the Joker.

Maureen forced her lips to pull into a smile before unlocking her office and settling in her chair after Arnold had secured the Joker to her office chair.

"He's cute huh?" the Joker asked after Maureen had picked up her pencil and dated a fresh sheet of paper.

"Pardon?" she asked with a frown.

"Arrrrrnooooold," the Joker drew out, "I've always wanted to fuck a pig," he added.

Maureen fought to keep her expression neutral as she arched an eyebrow. "How've the side effects been with the detox regime?" she asked. "Your nausea?" she added.

The Joker smiled, "you're really not as fun as old Dr. Auld," he snipped.

"As you've reminded me on more than one occasion," Maureen said with a chuckle. "The nausea?" she pressed, putting the Joker right back on the plate as the main course.

As the Joker relented and began to answer some of her questions about his sleep and bowel habits, down on the first floor in the private offices reserved for meetings with legal counsel, Bane was led to room six and found a man waiting with a leather briefcase and suit of the white-collared variety, but his scarred knuckles and thousand-yard stare were all that Bane saw.

"Who are you brother?" Bane asked as soon as they were alone in the small room with the plain table, Bane's wrists and ankles attached to the steel legs of the table and chipped Formica top.

"Isaak Cain, I'm your word and will while you are inside here and on the outside of these oppressive walls. I ask for nothing but consideration of being your lieutenant."

Bane could feel the veracity of the man's loyalty in the air as he nodded. "So you shall be now and then," Bane stated, thinking briefly of his former lieutenant's cheery handkerchief and infectious smile, to which he was mostly immune.

As Bane and Isaak utilized every second of the authorized time in the room to discuss the placement of guards, break rotations, fire escape stairwells and the Joker's seemingly unfettered access, across Gotham City, James Gordon was driven to the newest tapas restaurant helmed by a James Beard Award winning chef.

Gordon was led to the corner table with a crisp, white tablecloth where Selina and Bruce were already seated, a dry martini waited at Gordon's place setting.

The trio met each other with wide smiles and airy platitudes before Gordon and Bruce shared a back-slapping, heterosexual hug.

After they all took their seats, Bruce turned all business. "Any word on Bane's evaluation to the courts?"

Gordon shook his head, "nothing at all. I left Dr. Hightower a message earlier this week, but I don't anticipate her returning my call promptly."

Bruce smiled his panty-dropping, megawatt, bleached tooth grin and added an affluent shrug. "Maybe I should go back, take her to lunch," he mused.

Gordon shook his head, "maybe not for a bit son."

Bruce winked at Selina as he drained half his squat glass of aged scotch before he snapped his fingers for the waiter.

As Bruce, Gordon and Selina all threw around ideas of how to get Maureen to parrot the words they wanted her to squawk to the court, back at Arkham on the fifth floor, in the sunny corner office, Maureen closed the Joker's file after he was led from her office.

The rest of the session had settled into the Joker's usual modus operandi of asking more questions than answering with a healthy side dish of how much he loved fucking his mother.