Chapter Eighteen: Protecting the Fallen
"I will no longer disregard your pleasure," Bane growled in a powerful melody as he arranged her gown and linen until she was snug as an injured bug in the hospital bed.
For the next seventy-two hours, the citizens and police force of Gotham all moved through their lives without realizing what was happening right under their noses, just beneath the surface.
So many people were blinded by Miranda Tate's benevolence, beauty, and grace.
Commissioner Gordon had consumed a whole vat of grape Kool-Aid while wearing rose-colored glasses when it came to Talia al Ghul.
Detective Blake would've joined a flock of fleeing lemmings as he held his idea of Miranda Tate aloft.
During the passage of the three days, Talia was busy, shapeshifting between being herself and the austere Miranda Tate.
As the sun and moon took turns rising and setting over the Tri-Towers, on the top floor, Dr. Fell kept Gwendolyn in a sedated state. He'd recognized Gwendolyn from The Morning Hoot on sight and knew that her and Bane didn't travel in the same circles.
Dr. Fell was paid well to follow orders and not ask questions.
As Gwendolyn's damaged tissue began the very beginning of the healing process, Bane never left her side, keeping a constant watch over his injured goddess.
Doctor Fell and his trusted and criminally complicit nurse made regular wound changes and exams, adjusting Gwendolyn's IV as necessary.
They exchanged very few words with Bane.
Doctor Fell and his nurse were wary of the fearsome, hulking man who hovered uncomfortably close whenever they entered Gwendolyn's breathing space.
Bane had established from the first time he bathed her chemically sedated body, that he was going to take on the lion's share of Gwendolyn's needs.
For the first days of her healing, Gwendolyn received nutrition through her IV.
Behind her closed eyelids, her sedated brain fired neurons erratically.
As Gwendolyn was locked in her unconscious mind, Bane kept vigil at her bedside. He ensured she was bundled up, that she had pillows under her heels and elbows, moving her at regular increments to keep the blood from becoming stagnant and her skin from breaking down.
He kept her body clean with gentle, scent-free soap and followed it up with a thick, moisturizing cream.
Towards the end of the three days of her sedated state, Dr. Fell tapered some of the medications that kept her asleep.
Gwendolyn's brain began to detect sounds and smells as the fog lifted and she began to register more and more.
On the 72nd hour of Gwendolyn's post-operative state of being, Bane began to pull her bed linen back so he could change her into a fresh gown, later, Dr. Fell's nurse was due to check her IV line and change out one of the bags of fluid.
As Bane unsnapped the sleeves of her lilac patient gown and began to peel it away from her skin, Gwendolyn became a phoenix rising to the surface of awareness.
The sudden pain from her gunshot wound sparked a reaction inside Gwendolyn.
The whimpers that slipped from between her lips became a sharp dagger and buried themselves in Bane's guts as her tiny cries turned to coherent words.
"Don't daddy…," Gwendolyn moaned. "Please daddy…..I'll say whatever you want."
As Gwendolyn weakly flailed her hands at Bane's, her eyes fluttering open, squinting at the blinding nature of the overhead lighting, back in the heart of Gotham City, Commissioner Gordon drove from his spit-level home towards Wayne Enterprises, driving by the cemetery where Selina had been buried.
Her thieving roommate had been the only one in attendance at her funeral, no one else even noticed that she was gone.
As Gordon continued driving, lost in his own thoughts, back on the top floor of the Tri-Towers, Bane's hands froze as he held the edge of the cotton blanket.
He didn't know how to comfort Gwendolyn as she battled with rising from the anesthetic stranglehold, struggled to see.
Bane lifted the edge of her thick bandaging to ensure it wasn't growing wet with infection before he wrung out a square cloth, folding in in thirds before he laid it across her forehead.
Gwendolyn settled back into a state of sleeping, her breathing rate uneven as her body tried to find its equilibrium.
Bane continued to stare down at Gwendolyn's sleeping face before he ensured that the room's door was locked, and the privacy curtain was fully pulled around her bed. He rooted through the room's supply cabinets for some extra towels and a close to full bottle of an unscented skin cleanser.
Bane walked to the small porcelain sink and placed the folded towels on the edge before plugging the sink and cranking on the hot water.
He stared down as the sink filled, his mind a million miles away, inundated with questions about loyalty, service, and the meaning of oath-taking.
Bane began to peel off his soiled clothing, letting it drop to the cold, tile floor.
He generally avoided looking at his reflection and continued to as he saturated one of the clothes and poured some of the liquid cleanser on it, agitating the cloth until bountiful suds spilled forth.
Bane ran the wet cloth along his chest and shoulders, not aware, despite his enhanced senses that from behind him, snug in her hospital bed, Gwendolyn's eyes had cracked open.
She'd been coaxed awake at the sound of the water filling the sink.
Gwendolyn was brought to consciousness at breakneck speed as she watched Bane wash off the blood, sweat and detritus of death.
She pressed her lips together as he moved the wet cloth across his broad chest, the soap bubbles popping and dying on his dense musculature.
From under the cotton bed linen, Gwendolyn's eyes opened wider as Bane's hands dropped to his belt buckle. She felt her chest tighten as he pushed his cargo pants down his thighs until he could step out of them.
Bane's enhanced sense of hearing allowed him to detect the minute change in Gwendolyn's breathing as he hooked his fingers in the royal-blue boxer briefs that hugged his muscular body.
He half-turned, finding Gwendolyn's wide eyes on him, all of her attention on his nearly naked body.
She never blinked as she moved her eyes over every inch of his bare skin, lingering on the scar's ridgelines.
Gwendolyn slowly raised her eyes to meet Bane's, hearing his mechanical breathing rate climb to precarious heights.
"Do I disgust you?" Bane managed on a strained wheeze.
Gwendolyn blinked slowly, a flattering blush touched her pale cheeks, "no," she whispered as she dropped her eyes away from his.
Bane's breathing hitched dangerously out of sync with the timed frequency of his aerosolized breathing rate at the single word that slipped from between her lips.
That single no was water on a dying plant.