5.

Prue was trying to keep her eyes on the page, but they kept running off. She had been reading the same ghastly paragraph about pogroms for the past ten minutes. Her midnight adventures were catching up to her. Her eyelids fluttered shut just as her bedroom door burst open.

"I – I was reading, I swear!" Prue babbled incoherently, dropping the hefty Bloodlands: Europe Between Hitler and Stalin volume in the process.

But it wasn't one of her professors, demanding to hear her thoughts on the assigned reading.

"Whoa, chill out, it's only me…" Lisa trailed off, chewing on her lip nervously.

Prue paused, rubbing her eyes. Lisa was hardly ever nervous. It was one quality Prue admired and envied.

"Sorry, do you need anything?"

"Well," Lisa loitered, staring towards the hallway self-consciously. "There's someone at the door. Saying they're your boyfriend."

Prue blinked. She felt a sore lump in her throat, no doubt the beginning of a seasonal cold.

"What?"

Lisa shrugged. "He said he's your guy, and he – I don't know, he said some other weird shit. You should talk to him."

Prue was already getting up and pulling a robe over her pajamas. Her stomach had dropped several levels below sea. She had a strong inkling she knew who was at the door. She had guiltily neglected bringing up the subject of moving out to Lisa, even though Bane had explicitly told her to get rid of her.

She swallowed dryly, panic flooding her senses. Was she going to be punished? Was Lisa –

Before she could contemplate matters further, she found she was walking – blindly – towards the front door.

"Finally," a familiar, yet not-so-familiar voice drawled out. "I was beginning to think you were ignoring me, babe."

He spoke with a faint Aussie accent that was very likely put on. But it wasn't just the voice; he looked completely different.

Prue recognized him as the bearded henchman from the Stock Exchange, the same one from Daggett's penthouse. But he had lost the beard and he was wearing a bright red jacket, designer jeans and a baseball cap, turning him into a totally different person. She only managed to identify him because the stark blue of his eyes and the sneering expression on his face were hard to forget.

Those same blue eyes were now filled with forged warmth and affection, but underneath all that, they warned her not to deviate from the script.

Play along, they said. He stood in the doorway with a bouquet of azaleas and a bottle of wine.

"Er…" Prue trailed off, tightening the cordon around her robe. "Hi."

"You know the guy?" Lisa asked over her shoulder.

"Ben," he introduced himself with a benign grin. "Prue's boyfriend, like I said. Prue, sweetheart, don't be rude, introduce me properly."

Prue turned on the spot, feeling her cheeks slowly turn the color of tomatoes.

"Uh, yeah, sorry I haven't mentioned …Ben before. We like to keep it private. We mostly hang out at his place."

"We're not that private," he interjected, stepping now into the apartment proper. Lisa didn't stop him, as she was curious to hear more. "We've been together for two months now, and the only reason she hasn't brought me over is because," and now he addressed Lisa directly, "you're here, no offense."

Lisa gaped, bewildered. "Wh-what?"

"Tell her darling," he insisted, depositing the flowers and wine on the coffee table.

Every eye was now on Prue, who felt woefully outnumbered. She cleared her throat, padding for time. "Well, you see, the thing is…"

"I'm sorry," Lisa interrupted, shaking her head, "you've been with someone for two months and you kept it a secret?"

"It wasn't a secret, I just didn't feel like sharing that part of my life," Prue replied, with some degree of honesty. She wouldn't have shared her love life with someone who had just gotten out of a tumultuous relationship.

"Well, maybe you should have since now I hear you're complaining about me to Ben," Lisa remarked archly.

Prue hated how quickly Ben had become a reality. She wished she could shout "It's all a big fat lie!" in their faces, but that would probably get her killed. She took a deep breath and chose to be smart.

"I didn't complain about you. He asked me about coming over, and I told him you'd just broken up with someone, and I didn't want to rub my relationship in your face. Isn't that right, Ben?" she asked the henchman sweetly, clenching her fists behind her back.

He looked mildly impressed at her repartee and nodded emphatically. "Yeah, Prue is such a sensitive soul, she thinks of everyone but herself. It's a real problem sometimes. But enough is enough, Lisa. I gotta put my foot down. I want to share this space with my girl" (Prue suffered a minor heart attack at the term of endearment) "and you've got to move out and move on. Plenty of fish in the sea, and all that."

Lisa stared at him in helpless denial. She couldn't quite believe this was happening. "Ben" suddenly placed a large hand on her arm.

Prue flinched, repressing the impulse to jump to her friend's rescue.

Lisa looked up with trustful eyes at the man who was holding her gently. "You've got to strike out on your own, Lisa. Someone will snatch you up, you'll see. Some lucky fellow. But this isn't your home anymore. And it sure won't be once I move in."

Prue noticed that his hold had seamlessly turned into a grip, and she also noticed that Lisa shrank back, as if she was in pain.

"O-Okay, I understand. You guys need your space. Just give me a few days to –"

"None of that, love. An hour should suffice. You're a big girl," he corrected her with fatherly authority.

Lisa nodded, dumbfounded. She didn't even look at Prue as she walked quietly to the bedroom to collect her belongings.

Prue couldn't believe it. She stared after her friend in shock. It had been that easy.

"Ben" leered at her from the couch where he had planted himself with the bottle of wine.

Prue glared at him. "Don't get too comfortable."

She followed Lisa back into the bedroom, meaning to talk things over, but her friend was unusually taciturn as she packed quickly and efficiently. She wouldn't let Prue help her. This was a rather novel side to Lisa that she hadn't seen before.

"But where will you go?" Prue asked her when she saw that she'd filled up two suitcases and was almost ready to leave. Lisa had made it clear to her at the beginning that she had no other options.

But the girl laughed bitterly. "Oh, don't worry about me, I've got other friends."

And that was that. In another quarter of an hour she had said her goodbyes and was out the door.

Prue stood in the middle of her empty apartment. She was not sure she wasn't dreaming.

"Ben" was flipping through her TV channels.

She inhaled quickly, afraid of losing momentum, and walked into the living room.

"How did you do that? How did you convince her to go so quickly?"

The henchman shrugged, not taking his eyes off the screen. The warmth in them was gone. "She's the type of girl who only responds to men."

Prue wrinkled her nose. That's a broad generalization."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "You college types think you know better, eh?"

"Well, I hope you didn't shave just so you could play my boyfriend," Prue quipped, dashing into the kitchen nervously to find a vase for the azaleas. With Lisa gone, she was now alone in her apartment with one of Bane's men. Not a happy thought. She had to find something to do lest she start screaming.

"Don't you worry," she heard him drawl from behind her. "My hair grows back fast."

He stalked into the kitchen after her, and proceeded to look through her cupboards as if he owned the place.

Prue hoped her voice wasn't shaking as she turned on the tap. "May I help you with something?"

"Yeah, where's the corkscrew?"

She indicated a drawer to her left, keeping her eyes on the vase she had removed from under the sink and which she was filling up with water.

She watched him as he uncorked the bottle of wine with a loud pop and sniffed its mouth with interest.

"Sauvignon Blanc," he informed her, as if she couldn't read the label. "Lady at the store said it's a great house-warming gift. Careful now, you're spilling water."

Prue removed the vase from the sink.

"Why did you come here? What do you want?" she asked, feeling that sufficient time had passed to skip the small talk.

The man eyed her with a crooked smirk. "I think we both know I'm here because you couldn't do what you were told."

Prue split the azaleas with shaking hands. She dropped a handful in the vase. "I was going to kick her out eventually."

"Eventually…" he echoed dismissively. "Well, I took care of it for you. You should say thank you."

Prue remained stubbornly quiet, but he didn't seem to mind.

"With that settled," he continued, "we do have every intention of moving in."

Her eyes widened. "We? Who's we?"

The man grinned. "Come now, love. We're all comrades here. Part of the same family. Me and my boys will be moving in and out of this place whenever it suits us."

Prue faltered. "Hang on, you can't do that, I've got neighbors and friends who might drop by –"

He waved off her protests. "Do you think we're thick or something? Your little flat is just one of our bases of operations. We've got dozens across the city. We know how to be discreet. Also, you've got next to no friends."

Prue didn't know which part insulted her the most, but she focused on the middle-half.

"Your boss was here, in my apartment, a few nights ago. How was that discreet?"

The henchman removed two wine glasses from a cupboard and poured an equal amount in each.

" 'twas discreet since no one noticed. Least of all your ditsy roommate. Now she's gone, we'll have no problems."

He pushed one of the glasses in her direction. "Drink up and relax."

Prue pinched the bridge of her nose. "How am I supposed to relax when I have to offer up my apartment as some kind of headquarters?"

He rolled his eyes. "It's hardly that. We just like to know it's available."

"What if it isn't?" she asked, stepping away from him.

The smirk gracing his lips slowly vanished. His eyes surveyed her with cold interest. "Then we'd have a problem, love. Because once you sign up with us, you don't get to back out."

"But I didn't sign up," she protested, feeling cold sweat building on her upper lip. "Bane just sort of recruited me –"

"And you went along with it and delivered our cargo, more than once. That means you're in." He raised a finger, anticipating her dissent. "That's non-negotiable."

He drained his glass and smacked his lips in a way that made her skin prick.

Prue clenched her teeth. She knew she had to pick her battles, and this "non-negotiable" issue would have to rest until she figured out how to deal with it. For now, she'd try to act like she wasn't losing her marbles. She started counting back from one hundred and picked up the glass of wine he'd offered. That was the first thing to do with enemies. Be gracious, accept their bid, and plot behind their back. She'd read too many accounts of the Fall of Rome not to understand these basics. The second step was getting acquainted.

"Can you at least tell me the name of the operation? What this is all about?" she asked, gripping the glass to breaking point.

The man smiled, invigorated. "Afraid not."

"But you said I'm one of you. Shouldn't I know what group I'm a part of –"

"Ah, but you don't have clearance yet. If you gain our trust, you might come to learn a thing or two. But few ever do," he remarked conceitedly.

Prue sighed. "Can you at least tell me your name then?"

"That's easy. Barsad."

She blinked. "Come again?"

"It's Barsad."

She hesitated. "…like the character from A Tale of Two Cities?"

He shrugged. "If you like."

"Is that what he calls you?"

Barsad nodded, ambling back towards the living room.

"I don't even remember my real name anyway," he called out, settling down on the couch.

Prue shivered as she stood in the doorway. How did one go about forgetting their own name? "That's…kind of sad."

The henchman threw back his head and laughed a hoarse laugh. "You're an odd one, you know that? But you've got your uses."

Prue didn't have to wait long to confirm that Barsad had spoken the truth. In the coming days, she noticed movement in her apartment, particularly when she wasn't there to witness it. She would return from classes or from a shift at Al Fresco to find a few dirty glasses in the sink which hadn't been there or a that a cushion had been moved to the opposite end on the couch. Her curtains would be half-drawn, or a picture on the wall would be crooked. The bathroom mat would bear the mark of a stranger's boot. She had found no alterations in her own bedroom, thankfully, but she couldn't be sure they hadn't gone in there as well. In fact, she came to realize that they left these noticeable traces for her benefit, to let her know they had come by. For none of her neighbors seemed to notice their comings and goings.

They came in small numbers, never more than two at a time, and they were usually masked, or if they showed their faces, they looked so anonymous to her she wouldn't be able to place them. Barsad was the only familiar and he only dropped by rarely.

At first, she was terrified of the idea that these men could barge in in the middle of the night and do God knows what to her and her belongings. But that fear soon turned into disorientation, because they did very little barging. In fact, they were weirdly civilized. If they happened on her when she was in the apartment, they moved quietly and out of the way, whispering under their breath but otherwise leaving her well alone. They worked mainly in the living room, where they tinkered with all kinds of equipment and studied all kinds of documents on their laptops. If they had any weapons on them, they concealed them. They didn't flaunt their arsenal like they'd done at Daggett residence. They were...half-way quotidian. One would have mistaken them for a bureau of information. They even stocked the fridge, occasionally, when she forgot to buy food.

It was horribly domestic.

They were taking ownership of the place, and while it was true they did not infringe on her privacy as much as they could have, she still felt that she had moved in with an entire criminal mob. Every time she contemplated going to the authorities, they made sure to remind her she was part of the whole scheme.

Barsad even asked about her dad, if he was in good health, if he was taking his heart medication. It was enough to silence her.

Bane did not return to her apartment in the following weeks, and she took small relief in that. She couldn't have borne a second visit, although she had an inkling it was coming.

Meanwhile, she had to stay on top of her school work, still deliver food and do small jobs for Bane and his mercenaries. It was a wonder she was still kicking.

But…as the infamous Joker of Gotham had once said, what doesn't kill you, only makes you stranger.

"Wake up, darling. We've got work to do."

Prue rolled over and pulled her blanket over her head. "Mno…Dad, I don't wanna go to school today."

"That's a good thing then, cuz that's the last place you're going."

She blinked one bleary eye open to find Barsad crouched at her bedside, his blue eyes scanning her coolly.

Prue gave a shriek and got up so fast she almost pulled a muscle. Her legs got tangled in the sheets as she tried to jump out of the bed.

"Relax, love. I'm not going to eat you. We've been on our best behavior, haven't we?" he drawled, rolling his eyes at her comical display.

He dumped a suit bag at her feet, stalling her escape.

"What's this?"

"Your outfit for tomorrow evening."

"What's happening tomorrow evening?"

"Have a peek inside first," he said, nudging his head at the bag.

Prue wanted to howl. She'd had a long day at Al Fresco and an even longer evening trying to crib a few notes for her dissertation plan which she was supposed to present to her advisor early on Monday. She was really not in the mood for games.

She pulled on the zipper savagely, her patience running thin.

Inside, she discovered a kind of... formal dress wear.

"What the hell…?"

"You're going to a charity ball, love, aren't you glad?"

Prue stared at him in utter confusion. "A charity ball?"

"Yes, we don't just send you to sewers, see? Now you can clamp that mouth shut and listen closely. You'll be one of the hostesses for the evening. "

Prue pulled out the black number she was supposed to don, her eyes widening. It was a very tasteful dress, but not something she'd ever afford or willingly wear.

"Don't look so surprised," Basard continued with a rueful smile, "this is a fancy event so even the servers have to be dressed up."

"I don't understand, why am I supposed to –"

"I'm getting to that," he retorted, annoyed. "You're going to be one of our people on the scene. Your job is to deliver the goods, as always. We'll establish a target and a dropping point."

Prue's head was reeling. So far, she had only driven the delivery car to various spots across the city, which though highly dubious, had been fairly inconspicuous. This was something else entirely.

"But everyone will see me…"

"I really doubt it, love. Not to offend you, or anything, but you're no striking beauty. And plus, there'll be a dozen girls like you there, greeting people at the door, handing them champagne and whatnot."

"Well, that's a huge relief," she muttered sardonically.

"It should be."

"Why do you need me for this? Why can't someone else go?" she asked in a plaintive tone.

"Well, first off, none of my men would fit in this dress," he teased. His face was pinched with meanness. "And secondly, you don't ask the questions here."

Prue gritted her teeth. "I thought we had a dialogue."

"You thought wrong." He cocked his head to the side. "Although you could use your head and figure it out on your own."

Prue gripped the sheer material of the dress in her hands. "Let me guess. I'm inconspicuous and small and can infiltrate the place easier."

"Ya see?" he said with a shark-like grin. "You got it."

She glared at him. "I get many things. What I don't get is why you have to infiltrate a charity ball to begin with."

Barsad shook his head in amusement. "You'll find out, or you won't. I'll come by in the morning with further instructions."

"But I have to meet with my advisor tomorrow morning –"

"Cancel it."

"Excuse me?"

"Or reschedule, whatever suits you."

"Are you mad? I can't just reschedule a meeting that's been planned since -"

The henchman was upon her before she had space to breathe. He backed her into the wall, between her wardrobe and her desk, like a sardine.

His eyes had a metallic gleam to them, like cut steel. "Call me mad again and see what happens."

Prue swallowed thickly. "I didn't mean –"

"No, you didn't. You're smarter than that, aren't you?"

Prue nodded weakly. "I just can't upend my whole life –"

"Oh, now. You don't want him to come and talk to you, do you?"

Vivid fear flickered across her face like a film reel.

"Because boss has been meaning to have a chat. Make sure you're not feeling neglected." His tone was deceptively light, but the implication weighed on her skin.

Prue inhaled sharply. "I'll be here tomorrow morning."

"Good girl."

He moved away from her, leaving behind only the scent of violence.

"Oh, and try on the dress, see if it suits you," he suggested on the way out.

A/N: Thank you once again for all your lovely reviews, I'm thrilled you're interested in the story. I hope you don't mind my take on Barsad, or the fact that I'm changing the chronology and plot sequence (the charity ball happens much earlier than this, but bear with me), that's what fanfiction is for, after all. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter! More Bane coming soon.