14.
Prue dreamed of his face, that strange crater she had seen when he had taken the mask off.
In the dream, his face was not battered and quashed. His mouth was whole. He looked at ease with himself, a sardonic smile playing on his full lips. He was handsome. He even looked a little truculent. A deceptive man who enjoyed good things in life, who knew how to manipulate any given situation, whose charm was a little rough around the edges.
It was so strange, how different he was, how at ease with himself. She did not know if she preferred this man or the one with the mask. Hannibal or Petronius. A self-disciplined killer or a shrewd bon vivant. Or both, probably, deep down. For all his self-control, Bane had given in. He'd shown her his face. What else could he be compelled to show?
The desert sun blazed behind his dark head like an otherworldly aura. He grinned at her.
She reached out with her fingers, touching the unbroken roundness of his cheek.
She woke up with a throbbing headache, grasping at air.
She almost expected him to be sitting there, watching her.
But he was probably licking his wounds at Miranda's feet.
No, he wasn't here. He'd left hours before.
And yet, Prue heard distinct noise coming from the kitchen.
In another life she would have been scared, but it seemed as if little touched her now. She did not fear getting hurt anymore, although she knew she still could.
Dim morning light spilled onto the floor and made Barsad's hair look almost white. He was standing in front of the fridge, stocking it with food.
Prue leaned against the doorframe, waiting for him to notice her.
Barsad's shoulders tightened slightly. "I hope you're not starving yourself."
Prue kept her voice even. "No, I just haven't been in the mood to go shopping. I'm sure you understand."
The henchman wouldn't look her in the eye. "Right. That's why I thought…I should do it for you. Do you need anything else?"
"Yes. I need you to get me out of it."
Barsad lowered his head. "Prue. I'm sorry about what happened, but -"
"And not just me," she interrupted. I'm one of many. I need you to get yourself out of this too, and all the men and women Miranda has dragged into this."
Barsad's eyes widened. He looked stricken. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"Neither do you," she said tonelessly.
"I know a lot more."
"We're both Shadows now, which means we're only told what we need to know. And they want you to think you know more. But, ultimately, you just follow orders, don't you?"
"That's not true." He shook his head. "I follow Bane because I want to. I trust him."
Prue smiled. Yes, she had trusted him too. "But Bane is not really in charge."
"I don't care," he snapped, face flush with an anger he was trying to repress. He slammed the fridge shut. "Sit down. I'm making you breakfast."
Prue knew it was pointless to argue further. She had to choose a different approach. These people were brainwashed, and she couldn't deprogram them with the snap of her fingers.
She sat down at the kitchen table and watched him do it, watched him boil water for coffee and chop up onions and cheese and bell peppers for an omelet. He seemed to be in his element when he was in the middle of domestic chores.
"Did you ever make breakfast like this for your kids?"
Barsad edged the blade a little harder but didn't rise to the bait. "What makes you think I have children?"
"Just a feeling."
He eyed her pointedly. "I know you're feeling like shit, but you can't go barmy on me."
"But you're someone's child," she pressed on, ignoring his comment. "Are your father and mother still alive? Do they know where you are, what you're doing?"
"Prue, I'm warning you –"
"No, I suppose they're dead. It's easier to recruit you if you don't have much of a family. Then they become your family."
Barsad gripped the edge of the kitchen counter, fighting the urge to break something. "It's not me you're upset with."
Prue glared. "Maybe. But you're the only one here, and you're one of them. I thought we'd almost become friends, you know."
Barsad swallowed. "We are friends, in a way."
Prue stared down at her bitten nails. "That is, until someone orders you to let me suffer."
"You had to go through the process on your own. It's actually a great honor to be chosen, not that you'd realize –"
"Don't."
Her voice was filled with ice. "Don't ever speak about it like that or I will pick up that knife and practice what your League has taught me."
Barsad stilled. He knew she meant it. She might not be able to outmatch him in a fight, but the cold and collected fury in her voice was not to be underestimated.
He nodded. "I apologize."
He poured coffee for both of them.
Prue liked that it was hot enough to burn her tongue.
"I assume Bane told you not to touch me unless I'm being a danger to myself and others," she began.
The henchman knew it was pointless to deny it.
"I know he means to die," she continued calmly. "Whatever he's got planned, it's a suicide mission. I figured that out early on. But I didn't know about Miranda. Now I know she's the one sending him off to die. And many of you will join him."
Barsad raised his own mug to his lips and swallowed, but his hand was slightly shaking.
"You must think you're very clever," he said, wiping his mouth.
Prue wasn't deterred. "I know that whatever you've got planned, it has something to do with that reactor."
Barsad's eyebrows shot up.
"The blueprints I had to collect at the Charity Ball," Prue elaborated. "I'm sure the reactor is part of a weapon of some kind. And I know you'll unleash it on Gotham, won't you? Bane said – he said the League was a cleansing tool. And Gotham is far from clean."
Barsad's jaw was locked. He folded his arms against her words. "Well. You've got it all figured out, don't you?"
Prue stared at him hard. "No. That's the problem. I'm just connecting dots. But I've had time to think about it."
"And what do you want from me, exactly? You know I can't tell you anything."
Prue cocked her head to the side. "Are we all going to die?"
It was a very simple question. It was the only question that mattered.
Barsad looked almost spooked.
He turned back to the stove and dropped the omelet batter into the pan. The oil crackled.
"Are we going to die, Barsad?" she asked again, softer.
He seemed to fold into himself. "No."
"No?"
"You're not going to die."
It was a half-answer, at best. It did not deny anything she had said. And she recognized the emphasis. Yes, they would die, but not her. Why not?
He placed the omelet in front of her.
"Eat up."
And she did.
She realized she was rather hungry, after all.
It was raining when she walked out of the house. Gotham's streets overflowed with sludge. The sky reminded her of Miranda's painting, the one she'd seen in the hothouse. That grey hole.
Prue breathed in the sickly sweet smell of petrichor. At least she was no longer in that brownstone, but she entertained no illusions of freedom. They were probably watching her, making sure she did not make any wrong move. Going to the police felt like a remote possibility now. Miranda Tate was part of Gotham's elite. It was Prue's word against hers. What proof did she have, anyway? A fairy-tale story about a secret organization and the Tibetan Book of the Dead?
But she could warn people about whatever was coming. She could try to evacuate the city. What was it, almost ten million people? It sounded impossible, but if she could make enough of them listen to her, it might be done. Of course, they might think she was, as Barsad had put it, "barmy". But not everyone would turn a deaf ear. Some people must have noticed the Batman's disappearance by now.
She walked past a storefront covered in posters for the Gotham City Rogues game taking place next Saturday. She paused, as if she'd forgotten something.
She had forgotten something. But what?
It was at the back of her mind, a little detail waiting to be uncovered. Prue's hand dove inside the schoolbag for her phone.
There was a string of messages between her and Lisa about the rave. Lisa had also messaged her the other night, asking her if she'd got home okay. Prue felt guilty for not answering back.
She'd send a quick reply now and –
And then it clicked.
Lisa had gotten a new job. She'd bragged about it at the rave, though Prue hadn't paid much attention at the time. But she recalled now her new place of employment.
She stared at her phone. She had to check.
Hi, Leese. I didn't see your message, but I got home okay, thanks for the concern. I'm sorry we didn't get to catch up. You said you're working for Gotham Radio now? That sounds really cool. Would you like to meet up?
Her hand was shaking when she put the phone back in her bag. Maybe her ex-roommate would turn out to have the answer for her.
But if she wanted more answers, she'd have to go back to the library. And that was where she was going. Her research had been cut short by her detour at Miranda's brownstone. But she was going back to Gotham University.
Prue was not a fighter. She was a student. There was no fighting the League. But perhaps there was a way to unmask it by studying its past.
If she couldn't stop it, she could shake its foundation, could perhaps make Bane doubt its mission statement. There was a powerful, religious mystique that Miranda and the League offered. They had even tempted Bruce Wayne. But the truth behind it was probably more mundane. Prue realized the only way to show Bane and Barsad they were being fooled was to prove that the League of Shadows was actually full of shit. And for that, she needed to do some serious digging.
Her phone buzzed as she made her way to the university campus.
Lisa was actually happy to meet up. Yes, she'd nabbed a job at Gotham Radio, wasn't she lucky?
Prue felt a stab of guilt. She was about to drag someone else into this nightmare. But if she didn't, the nightmare would come for everyone. She wouldn't allow Mrs. Morris to be just another nameless casualty. And she wouldn't let her memory go to waste. She knew where the old woman kept the spare key. She'd have to go to her house and see – see if Miranda's men had stripped it bare. And then, she'd have to get to work.
A/N: hi everyone, it's been...more than a year now? I'm really sorry about the really long absence. I was going to update sooner, but then a worldwide pandemic happened. I hope you and your loved ones are safe. Thank you for your continued support and reviews, they always brighten my day. I know this chapter was a bit shorter and more filler, but I'm hoping next one will be more substantial and exciting. The detail about Mrs. Morris' house is also there for a reason, as you'll see. Thank you for reading and see you next time.