13.

Prue had worked herself up so much during the past hour pacing up and down her bedroom, running simulations of what she would say in her mind that when she heard the latch turn in the front door she was genuinely startled.

She realized she had not really expected him to come.

And she still didn't as she walked out into the hallway.

But there was no doubt about it. Selina had been right.

Bane closed the door behind him with a soft thud. He seemed to part the walls like water as he lumbered towards her. His face, masked and ciphered, spoke nothing of his motive in coming here. He was in control of himself as always, and yet –

Prue quickly veered into the living room, turning her back on him.

He followed her.

Prue busied herself by picking up a dirty mug from the coffee table.

"You can sit down," she told him as she walked into the kitchen.

Bane thankfully did not follow her there.

She dumped the mug in the sink and leaned her arms over it, breathing through her mouth. She already felt sweat staining the back of her T-shirt.

She took out two glasses and filled them with water – and realized halfway through that he wouldn't be able to drink his. Why was she so goddamn disoriented? She had practiced this.

Nonetheless, she brought both glasses with her when she reentered the room. She set them on the table.

Bane stared at them.

"Take off your mask and drink, if you want," she said off-handedly, as if it was all the same to her. She did not know what sort of courage this was, but she kept talking. "Even you must drink water sometimes."

Bane eased himself on the couch, spreading his legs, heavy boots scuffing against the carpet. He leaned his sinewy arms against his knees and interlaced his fingers. Prue watched his movements. His hands were always in motion, she noticed, always weaving some invisible web. He was Miranda's hard-working spider, she thought with a shudder.

Moments passed in uneasy silence as she stood across the room, watching him.

"You wished to talk," he said at length, the whir of his voice cutting up the words like a knife on a chopping board.

Prue had played the conversation in her head many times. What would she say to him? What accusations would she hurl at him? She wanted him to feel half of what she felt. But her rage and frustration were coiled deep inside her and she did not know where to start, did not even know if she should start, if there was any point.

She licked her lips. "Does Miranda know you're here?"

"She will," he replied evenly, almost like a promise.

"But she doesn't know yet," Prue countered.

Bane remained silent, watching her.

Prue sniffed. "Makes sense. I keep thinking of what she said to me in the hothouse. She said, "just like him, you live to serve." I remember exactly."

Bane remained stone-still. But even stillness had a language. She thought she read acquiescence in it. Live to serve.

"That's what she meant when she said we both have a willingness," she continued, running her tongue over the words as if they were bitter pills. "Our will is not ours. We're servants. That's our lot in life, you and I."

Bane lowered his eyes to his hands. He moved one thumb against the other, weaving.

Prue took a step forward. "How did you become her servant?"

He did not answer. He did not acknowledge the words.

She wanted to throw the water at him, to revive him from this hateful sleep.

She clenched her fists. "Tell me. You owe me that, at least."

Bane shook his head. "No…I do not."

Prue swallowed. "But there is a story, isn't there? And it's similar to mine. She recruited you against your will, didn't she?"

She needed this story; she needed to hear he was not the co-author of her misery but only a miserable bystander. Even if she knew it was a lie.

Bane shook his head again. "I followed her willingly from the beginning."

From the beginning.

Prue couldn't stand to hear it. She turned away from him. She trained her eyes on the window instead. "We don't have wills, that's what she said. According to her, you followed her because it's in your nature."

"I wanted to," he repeated savagely. "I've always wanted to."

Always.

The intensity and conviction made her want to throw up. He was thoroughly brainwashed. Or thoroughly devoted to the woman he loved.

Prue clenched her jaw, still staring at the world outside. "Do you ever disagree with her?"

An imperceptible pause. "No."

Prue smiled. "You're lying. I heard you fighting with her one night…I was eavesdropping on the stairs."

She could've sworn there was almost a disgruntled note in his mechanic warble as he replied. "You should not have done that."

"You shouldn't have done some things either," she replied softly. "What were you arguing about?"

"Nothing that concerns you."

Prue flinched. "It concerns me. It was about my initiation, wasn't it? Do you have any regrets about it?"

She did not turn to see his face, but she felt him stirring, churning the air around him.

"No."

His denial was a farce. She remembered the way he had guided her, resignedly, to her task. It had not been glorious, it had not been triumphant.

It had been mournful.

She turned on him, eyes flashing. "You don't care, do you? That she's using you. That you're just an instrument in her hands."

Bane inclined his head. "I am an instrument."

Prue felt her rage slipping its bounds at his words. "Stop it!"

How could he be such a powerful presence and yet so self-effacing and servile?

She gritted her teeth. "And you're going on a suicide mission for her too."

The whirring of his mask suddenly hissed.

She glared at him. "Yes. Don't think I've forgotten about that." She could almost smell the sewers, the smell of old books too. She had read entire pages of him that night. "I was right, wasn't I? You're going to die doing whatever she needs done."

His silence was answer enough, though she detected anger in it. He was simmering underneath his stony demeanor.

"What is it all for?" she demanded. "What is the mission statement here? Dying for the League to achieve what? I am one of you now, so you might as well tell me."

But he was smarter than that, she knew. He'd never reveal his plans for the city – or rather, Miranda's plans. Yet she wanted to try anyway, wanted to beat her fists against that brick wall.

"The League… as you will learn in time… is a useful cleansing tool," he rasped. "The world is filled to the brim with filth. You only manage to breathe in it because of us."

"You hardly breathe at all."

"Precisely," he retorted. "It is the sacrifice I made."

Prue stared at the hateful contraption. She wished he'd take it off for a moment just to see the slant of his mouth, just to see there were more human parts underneath. She bit her tongue. "Is killing part of cleansing, then?"

"It is one form. Baptism by blood," he said, eyeing her like she was still in the thick of it, like he had just pressed his bloody thumb against her forehead.

Prue tried not to think about it. "Will you kill people or will you have them kill others?"

Both, it's both, she answered to herself.

Bane nodded, as if he had heard her.

"And you think the people will fall in line so easily?"

"You did."

Prue froze. She opened her mouth. She couldn't work the muscles of her throat. She wanted to howl. She took a step towards him. And another.

He rose, meeting her halfway.

She raised her hands and he let her. She struck him. She struck both fists against the solid armature, aiming for the body underneath. She did it again. And again.

Thwack. Thwack.

Had anyone ever done this to him? Had he allowed it? She didn't care. She beat him, she pounded her fists, trying to push him off-balance.

Bane only looked away.

Prue exhaled and groaned as she leaned her whole body into the task. She wanted to diminish him, to render him small.

I did not fall easily, she screamed inside her head. Nobody does, no matter what your leader says.

And once more, as if he had a passageway into her mind, he nodded.

"I know. I did not mean that," he rasped.

Prue stumbled and came to a halt.

"You didn't mean it. Then why did you say it? To hurt me?"

And it seemed such a ridiculous thing to ask. As if something like that mattered.

But Bane shook his head. "No. I did not say it to hurt you."

"Then why?"

"I am trying to help you."

Prue's face was slack for a moment before it erupted into cold laughter. "Help me? Like you helped me kill Mrs. Morris? Thank you. Truly, if it hadn't been for you, I couldn't have gone through with it."

I wouldn't have gone through with it.

Bane seemed to stiffen, seemed to sharpen like glass, serrated, near breaking point, as Prue continued to show her gratitude.

"Really, thank you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you, thank you! Isn't that what you want to hear all the time? Thank you so goddamn much for everything you've done for me!"

She was screaming in his face now, spewing her debt to him like it was lethal poison. She drenched him in it, hoping it would burn.

And it did.

He suddenly grabbed her chin in his bear paw and squeezed, clamping her mouth shut. He drew her closer.

His fingers moved lower.

Prue felt her throat closing up. He was almost choking her.

"Mmfffhank you, mmmffank you…" she croaked like a child, words muffled, crumpled in his fist.

Her lips whispered close to his mask. The noxious gases seemed to be leaking straight into her mouth. The mesh of metal almost soothed her. It was a kind of morphine. She opened her mouth as much as she could and swallowed, feeling light-headed.

"I am trying to protect you," he said and it almost sounded like a snarl. The mask was the shadow of a mouth against hers, too far away for contact, too close for detachment.

Prue shuddered as she felt his thumb pressing against her pulse, almost – almost rubbing circles. A touch-starved creature whose mistress kept him on a short leash.

"How – how can you protect me –" she spoke, swallowing small pockets of air, "when you can't even – protect yourself."

It was that simple, that brutal.

Everything he did, he did for someone else. He was vulnerable, more vulnerable than Prue.

Bane let her go.

In fact, he pushed her away from him.

Prue stumbled, knocking into the coffee table, making the glass rattle.

He looked almost remorseful for a second, before he stalked into the opposite direction. A powerless wave of anger rolled off his giant's back.

Prue massaged her throat, more to cover his thumb print than to comfort herself. "Will you tell Miranda about this too?"

Bane clenched and unclenched his fists.

His voice was deep and unrepentant. "I am the only life-line you have, Prudence. Don't waste it."

Prue almost wanted to say, maybe I am yours too, but she knew it would be too bold, too risky at a time when he was so volatile.

She felt a different impulse, a wiser inclination. She remembered Selina's words. If you have a power, use it.

He was already stalking towards the front door when she called out to him.

"Bane."

His name. Always a powerful sound, always an instrument.

He turned halfway to her.

She met his eyes without hesitation. "Don't leave yet."

She pointed to the table where there were still two glasses of water. "Drink the water before you go."

For a moment, he furrowed his brows. She had caught him off-guard.

"Drink it for me," she said, unwavering.

Prove to me you are my life-line, her gaze seemed to say.

She picked up the glass and raised it to him from across the room. And waited to see what he would do.

He could smash it to pieces. Water would spill everywhere. They'd cut themselves on the glass.

Or he could just leave. It was very likely he would.

She stood her ground, ready for disappointment. Half of one's life is waiting for nothing at all.

Slowly, slower than a roll of film unwinding, he brought his hands to the back of his head.

Prue felt as if she was being robbed of breath again, but she had to keep still.

The straps fell away and steam hissed malevolently from the mask. His shoulders tensed as he removed it, pulling it over the back of his head.

Something snapped at the back of his neck and he groaned, pressing his palm to his nape, as if containing something inside him.

Prue parted her lips. The blank face revealed to her in the semi-darkness of her apartment was nothing like she expected.

He was…both younger and older than she'd imagined.

There was bruising and trauma surrounding the nose and mouth, as if they had been caved in, but his face was relatively whole. He had once been handsome, boyish even.

He might have possessed a smile too, though now it was etched from his lips.

Her hand shook on the glass, but she still held it aloft to him.

Bane stepped forward. He tried to control his muscles. He did not lunge, but he was not as graceful as before.

Their fingers did not brush.

He stared at her as he brought the glass to his mouth, and he kept staring as he craned his neck and downed its contents, water trickling down his chin.

She noticed that the mere action of drinking was an effort. His lips trembled. His shoulders shook slightly.

He was in pain.

But he did not let the pain overwhelm him. He drank it all.

Prue wanted to say something, but every word seemed meaningless. She watched his throat work as he swallowed. It was all so impossibly human. He was a fragile fortress.

He set the glass down on the table and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

He set the mask back on his head with a clinch and the wreckage of his face was tucked away.

His shoulders sagged imperceptibly in relief.

Prue felt the tension in her belly unfurl.

She nodded to him, hoping that her face did not show pity. She could not forgive him, but she could try and decipher more of the pages of his book.

"Thank you."

She did not mean the words as a barb. They just slipped out. Perhaps there was irony in them, but there were also buried feelings.

Bane inhaled the fumes, returning to himself.

He turned away.

He had done this for her. They were both Miranda's servants, but he had done this for her.

Live to serve.

He walked out of her apartment without another sound.

A/N: the song I kept listening to while writing this chapter was "Two-Hearted Spider" by the Editors (you can find it on youtube) and I definitely recommend it (especially when the lyrics go, "every move that you make/ breaks me, breaks me"). I hope you enjoyed this emotional chapter. Thank you so much for your reviews, they really mean the world (and keep me writing).