Author: Alright! I'll keep this note short. I'm *INCREDIBLY* appreciative of the reviews I've been getting; it's what drives me to finish this story, to write well, and to be creative. Thank you for driving my creativity and gifting me with your thoughts concerning this story PLEASE KEEP IT UPPPP I'M BEGGING YOUUU DON'T STAWWWWP I LOVE IT SO MUCH. Note: I'm also not a licensed medical professional.
Disclaimer: I do not own Batman or any of the characters within the franchise. I own the original characters of this story as well as the plot that are not directly tied to the movie.
The Truth About Monsters
The truth is this,
Every monster
You have met
Or will ever meet,
Was once a human being
With a soul
That was as soft
And light
As silk.
Someone stole
That silk from their soul
And turned them
Into this.
So when you see
A monster next,
Always remember this.
Do not fear
The thing before you.
Fear the thing
That created it
Instead.
-Nikita Gill
After Bane put Myra in bed, he went to work. The first thing he did was locate and remove her phone to prevent her from establishing outside contacts again. The second thing he did was systematically go through the master suite and remove any and all items that could even remotely be used as tools for self-harm, including the knives and utensils in the kitchen. The third thing he did was call and update Talia on the situation. Their conversation was short, but to the point:
"It's done," Bane told her.
Bane could hear a pause on the other end as Talia took in his words.
"Good, she's dead then?" Talia inquired with cheer in her voice.
The long pause elicited from Bane before he spoke definitely didn't bode well with Talia.
"No, but her abilities to cause additional transgressions has been severely handicapped," Bane responded with assurance, hoping his confidence would transfer through the phone line and appropriately sway and convince Talia.
Talia paused before answering. Bane gripped the phone, hoping Talia wouldn't force him into a compromising situation; he wasn't sure what he would do if Talia demanded he take even further action against Myra. Talia must have sensed Bane's unease and reluctance regarding the situation. Even she knew she could push him only so far before he simply said 'no', putting her in the undesirable situation of being a leader of an organization with an unruly subordinate. His unruliness could trickle down to his men, which could very well collapse the house of cards. She settled on a vague threat instead.
"I had better not. If I do, I'll just take care of the matter myself. We are so close, Bane. We can't allow anything to unsettle our plans now. Any. Thing." Talia responded before disconnecting the phone line.
Following Bane's phone call with Talia, he went to the bedroom and saw that Myra hadn't moved from her spot. He ambled slowly to the bathroom and prepared himself for bed, peering out of the doorway of the bathroom every few seconds to look at the bed to see if she had shifted at all. She never did.
Bane eased himself into bed next to her, staring at her body. He would have assumed she were dead if not for the slow rise and fall of her chest. Bane didn't sleep that night; his eyes stayed focused on her the entire time. He wanted to make sure she didn't wake up and try to run away through the front door of the master suite or simply barricade herself in the bathroom and perform self-harm with whatever object she could find. He knew either of those scenarios seemed incredibly unlikely due to her chronic vegetative-like state, however.
Bane waited, half-expecting her to at least ease up from the bed to go to the bathroom to urinate, knowing she had a tendency to wake up and go to the bathroom in the middle of the night. However, as the morning sun slowly cast an ember glow over their room, he realized she never moved or shifted from her spot.
He sat up straighter, pinching his fingers into his eyes to rub out the tiredness, and was startled and disturbed by the smell of urine. He moved closer to her and saw that her lower body was absolutely soaked. She had simply stayed in bed, unable to muster the strength, energy, or desire to get up and perform the task of urinating in a toilet and preferred sleeping in it instead. She did not appear disturbed or uncomfortable. In fact, she looked exactly as she had before, having never moved from the spot that Bane initially eased her down into.
Bane got up from the bed and moved around to her side, leaning down and picked her up out of bed like a limp wooden log, ignoring the large wet spot that she had been lying in. He carried her to the bathroom where he stripped her clothing off carefully. He then turned the tub on, filling it up half-way with lukewarm water, standing with her while the water slowly filled the tub up. He brought a hand up to push back the hair that had covered her face, moving it away from her eyes, forehead, cheek, and jaw.
He inhaled a sharp breath when he saw the dark bruising that now seemed ripe dabbling her jaw; she looked like she had a dark purple beard framing her chin up into her jawline from the severity of the bruising. One of her eyes was also not like the other; it had a swollen and bruised eyelid that half-hung over her eye like a lazy-eye due to swelling which made it visibly heavy and difficult to open. Her other eye was simply focused on the floor as if in seeming disinterest to her situation.
Bane stared, eyes large and transfixed at his handywork, his fingers brushing over the tender skin as if not believing they were real and would simply wipe away. He wanted nothing more than to absorb the discoloration into his fingertips. They didn't wipe away or get absorbed by Bane's delicate touch, regardless of the tenderness he transcribed to.
He forced his attention away from her face to quickly turn the water off in the tub. He then lifted her up and eased her into the water, where she just sat forward with her knees bent as if she were top-heavy and about to fall forward into her knees. He then proceeded to softly scrub her with a washcloth, removing any remnants of soiling herself before he drained the tub and lifted her back out.
He dressed her in a fresh change of clothes, which was considerably difficult considering her lack of participation in the task. While it was a struggle, he tamed back his impatience over the whole ordeal while he helped pull a clean pajama shirt over her head, adjusting it at the hem to straighten it out over her torso with a shift and a tug one-handed while his other arm held her to keep her steady and from simply collapsing onto the floor.
He eyed the wet spot on the mattress as he led her to the couch in the living room instead, easing her down onto it. He went and fetched a clean pillow and blanket, adjusting the pillow behind her head and fanning the blanket out over her into the air before letting it fall down onto her. He dug his fingers under her body to tuck the blanket around her snuggly before he eased himself back up, bringing a hand to the top of his head to scratch it idly as he stared down at her. He then let out a determined huff before looking around the living room quickly before making arrangements to replace their soiled mattress with a clean one.
Bane spent the rest of the day idling around the living room, coordinating and instructing his men via text message and on the occasion a quick chat in the hallway just outside the master suite doorway, refusing to let any of his men a step inside his personal living quarters particularly due to the current circumstances. He was also annoyed at Barsad for his timing at being away to see his wife and being unable to take the brunt of the logistical duties that needed tending to.
By the second day after a somewhat uncomfortable night's sleep on the floor below the couch where Myra slept, Bane continued to idle within the master suite. He lifted the large soiled mattress in the bedroom with ease and deposited it outside of the master suite doorway for his men to come pick up and replace with a fresher one. They knew better than to inquire about the urine stain on the mattress when they eventually did come and fetch it, noting the agitated mood that seemed to seep from Bane's stoic façade.
After making a make-shift mattress cover to prevent the possibility of future urine from seeping into the mattress, Bane relocated her back to the bedroom. He noticed she had also soiled a cushion on the couch, but that was a considerably easier remedy by simply removing it from the couch. He walked to one of the few windows in the penthouse suite that could be opened and simply chucked the contaminated couch cushion out the window with seeming disinterest as to where it would end up or who it may hit far below at street level outside. He also gave Myra another quick rinse in the bath tub and changed her in another fresh set of clothes.
Bane would frequently circle back to Myra's bedside, even pulling up a chair and 'setting up shop' next to her. He took up mostly reading and knitting as he sat there keeping an eye on her. He made a habit of reading out loud for her when he did opt for reading. He wanted to ensure she knew she wasn't alone in the room and perhaps stimulate her into some form of response.
When he knit, he made several small projects before he progressed to making her socks to cover her feet. His mastery of knitting allowed him to do this somewhat hastily, though he did have to periodically expose her feet from under the blankets so he could size up the socks and make sure they fit her adequately as he was progressing with their construction.
When he finished, he inserted them onto her feet tenderly before tucking her feet back under the covers with her brand new pair of hand-knitted chunky socks to keep her feet warm when she eventually did make it out of bed. He was hoping her condition was temporary and that she would spontaneously snap out of it, lift her head, and look at him. At this point he wouldn't even have minded if she looked at him and screamed; at least that meant that she was up and functioning.
As the day progressed, and she didn't move, he offered her food and water. He simply put it on the table next to her head, not wanting to trigger her into a deeper state of shock and trauma due to his fumbling handling of water with her previously. She ignored them, which deeply concerned him.
By the third day, it was obvious Myra was extremely unwell. Her skin took on a pasty white complexion and her eyes were inset with dark patches and circles. She also was clearly dehydrated, her skin taking on an elastic taffy-like consistency on top of the fact that he knew she had simply not taken in any fluids for several days now.
Bane began to seriously worry. He was even skirting along the edge of considering forcing her to drink, not caring if she hated him for it; she was going to get dehydrated and become seriously ill. He decided to give her one more day to see if she would rouse from her eternal state of slumber, instead opting for activities that might incite some sort of reaction out of her.
This was a challenge, however, since her preference appeared to simply lie on the bed with her eyes closed in a constant state of rest. Regardless, he soldiered on.
The first thing he did was provide her with a small theatrical shadow puppet show using the bedside lamp, featuring her favorite boyfriend, Batman.
"Bane. You're tenacious. I'm too weak to stop you," Bane said in a mock raspy voice that was undoubtedly an attempt at impersonating Batman.
Bane used his other hand to wiggle back and forth towards the other one as if engaging in a conversation.
"On that, we can both agree on, Batman. I now must kill you," Bane said, as one of his hands consumed the other one – 'Batman'.
Myra appeared unphased by the apparent murder of her shadow puppet boyfriend Batman, the lids covering her eyes not even so much as twitching over her eyes. Bane let out a sigh, progressing onto his next activity.
Bane had stumbled upon a "Mad Libs" book he found intermingled in John Daggett's personal items. He felt compelled to complete one simply labeled, "How they met". He pulled up a chair next to Myra to complete this task. He spoke out loud as he filled in the prompts for adjectives, nouns, verbs, etc.
"Man's name? Bane," Bane began, scribbling his name into the blank spot prompting for a man's name.
"Woman's name? Myra," he continued, scribbling in Myra's name while giving her a pointed look as if she were included in on the decision-making of these words.
He then continued down the line, filling in the rest of the blanks.
"A Noun? Facetious. School name? Hmm. Gotham? Yes...that sounds agreeable. Gotham High School. Place on campus? The loo. A Verb? Hmm. Pulverizing. A greeting? That's obvious; 'Greetings'. Adjective….?" Bane said out loud, filling in each designated blank space until all spaces had been filled.
He leaned back and appraised the work, making slight adjustments with the numbers and some of the verbs in order to make the sentence somewhat sensical before he read it out loud to Myra, emphasizing the words he had obviously filled in.
"When Bane met Myra, it was facetious at 1st sight. He saw her at Gotham High School as she was standing next to the loo, pulverizing another friend of his. He collided over to say 'greetings', introduced himself, and asked her name. She was so nook-shotten! "Hi there!", she said, victoriously. My name is Myra. She had seen him around and thought he was super opprobrious. They bruxed for a while and then exchanged hobnails. Later, he gallivanted to ask her out on a loggerhead. On their 1000th date, they went blustering and had varlets of fun. The 33nd time they castigated out, he took her to Timbuctoo. Since things went so blasted on their 2000th date he invited her to his kettle. After that, they were officially a hurly and he started brattling her as his "bawcock."
Bane stared at the contents before him, absorbing it, before he let out a single slow deep-seated chuckle that reverberated through his mask.
"Delightful. Exchanged hobnails…" Bane said, amused.
He turned towards Myra reflexively to see if a smile had tugged at the corner of her lips from the absurdity of the formulated words. His eyes stayed on her face, looking over her passive features, seeing no evidence of comprehension or reaction. He sighed, settling his gaze upon her for several more moments before his eyes reluctantly pulled back towards additional MadLibs activities.
Bane was very much hoping that time would be his ally, as it had usually been; a dear old friend that taught him some semblance of patience and the gratification of 'biding one's time'. He knew with time, the pain Myra felt would ebb and perhaps she would eventually unfurl like a blossoming flower.
Unfortunately, time was not on his side in this matter. Time was a commodity he had a startling lack of; the neutron explosion was set to explode in only two weeks. So, by the 4th day, he located and summoned a doctor up to the master suite to treat her.
A doctor by the name of Johnson entered through the front door of the master suite with several large bags prepared with tools and resources that could help diagnose and cure whatever ailment Myra may be suffering from. Unfortunately for Dr. Johnson, Bane's description concerning what was actually wrong with Myra was remarkably vague, so Dr. Johnson felt compelled to make sure he had a proper arsenal crammed into the bags he lugged up.
The first thing Dr. Johnson did was simply check her vital signs and treat her obvious state of dehydration by hooking her up to an IV full of fluids. He seemed awkward and uncomfortable with observing the fading bruising and discoloration marring Myra's face paired with the arm that had a gauntlet-like bruise surrounding the wrist, undoubtedly from when Bane squeezed it to get her to drop the pistol. He opted not to address or inquire about those particular injuries.
After that, he did check her eyes and head for signs of brain damage. This was 'a given' considering the bruises she had; it was possible she got jostled around and hit her head somewhere and had a large lump hidden under her matted hair. He found nothing and seemed satisfied with her eye's reaction to external stimuli.
He then proceeded to hook up a catheter bag, which was probably the most uncomfortable experience Dr. Johnson could recollect as a doctor. Having to shimmy Myra's pants and underwear off of her and position her legs in a supine position with her legs spread out wasn't an unusual task as a doctor; having Bane right over your shoulder, practically breathing down your neck, analyzing every action you performed was unusual.
When Dr. Johnson put on gloves and sterilized the area around her labia using forceps to clean the peri-urethral mucosa with cleaning solution and used a sterile swap around the anterior to posterior skin, it made him want to scream with his hands visibly shaking.
Actually picking up the catheter and gently inserting it into her was the stuff of his nightmares. Dr. Johnson performed this task dozens – hundreds – thousands of times, but he perhaps had never felt like his life was on the verge of being snuffed out to due to one slight misstep or any perceived lack of chivalry with his hand movements and placement, which was just about impossible considering the task. Sweat littered his brow as he finished inserting it and connected the catheter to a drainage system. Bane's breathing over Dr. Johnson's neck was like a jet engine, slowly revving up and down.
Dr. Johnson waited around after that for Myra to produce an adequate amount of fluid to deposit into the catheter bag so he could test her vitals paired with some blood he drew from her arm. Bane stood there staring as they waited for what must have been hours.
Dr. Johnson stood up after having the liquids he needed from her and used the computer desk in the corner to run some rudimentary diagnostics on her vitals using make-shift lab equipment he had brought with him. After roughly an hour of waiting for the lab equipment to produce results, he packed up the equipment and hobbled awkwardly over to Bane.
"Well? What's your diagnosis?" Bane asked him, the first words spoken in the room despite their shared occupancy within it during that time.
"I…I can't….I….there could be a variety of things wrong with her. It's hard to say," Dr. Johnson sputtered out uncomfortably.
"Make an educated guess. Unless you're admitting to being worthless, in which case I don't know why I don't just kill you now and get it over with?" Bane threatened.
That most certainly caused the doctor to reevaluate his phrasing.
"She should start to feel better with the fluids in her…as far as why she won't get out of bed, it could be the result of a traumatic episode, perhaps a nervous breakdown? Depression? It's really hard to say without knowing the full context…" Dr. Johnson said, trying to perhaps fish out more information from Bane.
"Can't you prescribe her an antidepressant? Something useful?" Bane said, his patience obviously fraying along the edges.
"I…I….that's not my realm, I'm not a psychiatrist. I only treat the body, not the mind. I'd be reluctant to encourage you to seek out antidepressants right now...I don't know what kind of effects that would have on a fetus…" Dr. Johnson said, wringing his hands uncomfortably around the handle of his large bag.
"Pardon me?" Bane said, aghast.
"That's not my realm? I'm not a psychiatrist. I only heal the body, not the mind. You really should seek out a psychiatrist, I'm only a general doctor…" Dr. Johnson confessed, seeing his life flash before his eyes at Bane's seemingly nonsensical and erratic mood shifts.
"She's what?" Bane clarified, with forced calm.
"…..she's pregnant? Although to be honest, given her current state, I'm not very hopeful if she hasn't eaten in…however many days? I would expect her to miscarry here soon if the fetus isn't getting proper nutrients…" Dr. Johnson said, realizing what he was saying was having some moderate effect on Bane. He decided to trail off instead of stoke oxygen into the flames.
Dr. Johnson just stood there, waiting for Bane to respond or reply to him. Instead, Bane simply stared down at the floor with his arms crossed over his chest. Dr. Johnson waited a few minutes, which eventually transitioned into a considerably uncomfortable amount of time. He decided to pack up the rest of his things, taking care to provide a wide berth around himself as Bane as he did so.
"I'm…just…going to leave then?" Dr. Johnson said hopefully, seeing that Bane didn't appear to be moving or reacting to his inquiry. Bane seemed to be in deep, uninterruptable thought.
Dr. Johnson quickly slipped out the front door.
Bane knew his sperm count was low; he was practically shooting blanks. How did he know this, you ask? Well, he knew this because for a brief period, years prior, Talia had it in her mind that she wanted to produce a successor for Ra's al Ghul. Bane donated his body for the cause, and after several months of their attempts and nothing to show for it, they discovered from a medical exam that the medication being pumped into Bane interfered with certain aspects of his body; such as the slower progression of hair growth as well as his sperm count. He was informed that while it wasn't impossible, it was definitely more challenging. They tried again for several months again after that, though Talia's vindictiveness towards Bane showed every day she wasn't pregnant.
Bane sacrificed everything he had for Talia, and it clearly affected him emotionally when he was responsible for hindering her plans. Talia became angry, irritated at the 'chore'; there was no love found in her actions with Bane. Just a desire to please her father.
Ra's found out about their endeavors, however, and became enraged. He did not find Bane to be an adequate father for any successor of the League of Shadows due to his severe bodily injuries and his constant limitations requiring a mask; which was unfortunate due to Bane suffering from them for Ra's own daughter. He banished Bane after that. Talia followed Bane, finding shame in Ra's perception and perceived inadequacies in Bane to use as a father for a child as well as finding his judgement to be wholly unfair and cruel. Talia slowly began to adopt the mindset of her father, however, for they ceased their attempts at creating a successor following Bane's banishment and never spoke of any further attempts again after that.
Bane hadn't felt the need to inform Myra about this particular condition of his, knowing she would have questions about how he knew about such a specific aspect of his body. That would undoubtedly lead into a very uncomfortable conversation about Talia's past intentions, which would be awkward considering Bane had strongly indicated to Myra that there was no sexual relationship or history between himself and Talia. He knew that Myra suspected, based on his quick backpedaling involving the divulging of his sexual history, that he may perhaps had a 'quick fling' with her, but of course nothing to the extent of the truth. He knew she wouldn't take that information very well considering the constant vicinity Myra must know Bane was in regarding Talia.
So, when it was discovered that Myra was pregnant, he found it wholly shocking and surprising. He also knew that it was best to keep Myra's physical state a secret from Talia, knowing she had a tendency to be jealous and vindictive when someone else succeeded where she had previously failed.
Bane summoned up a psychiatrist to his and Myra's living quarters. Surprisingly, it wasn't difficult for him to locate one, even managing to find one that had specialized in fear etiology, which was perfect considering Myra's particular circumstances. He also happened to be on Bane's payroll, figuratively speaking.
"Dr. Crane, thank you for offering your assistance," Bane eased out as he opened the door to the master suite, extending an arm invitingly for Dr. Jonathan Crane to enter.
Crane had definitely seen better days; he looked frayed around the edges and had a somewhat disheveled appearance. To say he didn't practice research of sorts in the private sector would be a lie; his calculated and expert handling of experiments he carried out on his 'patients' was his superpower, so-to-speak. It was also what attracted Bane to him; the undeniable mystique of a man unburdened by rules or laws and simply carrying out his passion as a 'psychiatrist'. Bane had a grasp of the well of knowledge contained behind those icy blue eyes of a one Dr. Jonathan Crane.
When Bane freed all of the prisoners from Blackgate Prison, Dr. Jonathan Crane was amongst them. He bestowed upon Crane full control of the new court system of Gotham, answering to no one; not even Bane, who indicated he would not interfere with any of Crane's ruling decisions. These privileges and freedoms granted to Crane meant that he most certainly owed Bane a favor; Bane was looking to cash it out.
"What seems to be the problem?" Crane said in an airy voice, taking on the role of a bored doctor making a house call to deliver a prognosis on a patient.
Instead of telling him, Bane simply walked towards and into the master bedroom. Crane followed. They both stood at the side of the bed that Myra occupied. Bane extended a hand, brandishing it towards Myra as an indicator that 'she' was, in fact, the 'problem'.
Without further ado, Crane stepped closer to Myra's bedside. He sat down on the edge of the bed right up next to her, jostling her body somewhat which didn't seem to perturb her. Crane stared at her before brandishing the large black bag he brought with him up into his lap and opened it. He removed an ophthalmoscope, flicking the light on as he bent closer to her while positioning his own eye on the other end of it. He used his thumb to push Myra's eyelids up her eyeball, seemingly ignoring the fact that her lid was showing signs of bruising paired with the bruising along her jawline.
"Ah. How delightful," Dr. Crane said as he explored Myra's retina. It was hard to say whether he was deeply interested and amused, or simply bored and apathetic; the delivery of his voice had mild spurts of fluctuation that made it difficult to read his mood.
"What?" Bane asked quickly, crossing his arms over his chest as he inched closer to peer at Dr. Crane's work.
"It appears the temporal part of her brain has been 'shut off'." He mused, switching to examine her other eye as he spoke, before moving back to the original eye. He then simply shone light directly into her eyes to stimulate them and check her retinal reflection.
"What?" Bane asked, dumbfounded; concerned. His arms clenched tighter across his chest.
Crane turned the light off and eased back away from Myra to pause, turning his head to stare at the wall as if digging up an appropriately 'dumbed-down' version of his prognosis to deliver to Bane. It was hard to say, however, whether Bane's questioning 'what' was meant to convey his lack of understanding or that it was simply rhetorical and he was in mild shock.
"I would like to describe it as a self-induced lobotomy," he said simply, amusement riddling his words.
Bane was speechless.
Crane waved a hand at him dismissively, detecting some level of concern from Bane.
"Nowhere near as permanent as that, I'm afraid. Her condition is reversable," Crane said, turning back to Myra to give her another pass with the ophthalmoscope.
Bane furrowed his brows at Crane's seemingly semantic and careless wording, waving a hand at him in frustration.
"Go on then. Do your work. What do you prescribe?" Bane said in an obviously annoyed tone.
Crane let out a sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly.
"A licensed doctor would tell you she simply needs therapy…" Crane eased out.
Crane quickly continued when he saw the rage building up in Bane at such a simple, seemingly inconsequential solution.
"….However, seeing as I'm not currently licensed, I can tell you frankly her situation is quite fascinating and I have a moderate amount of fluency regarding the subject, unlike the vast majority of 'licensed' professionals," Crane confessed as if he were a martyr here to save the day.
"What precisely happened? How do we fix it?" Bane snapped, his patience running thin.
Crane adjusted the glasses that were slipping off of his nose to pear sternly at Bane.
"In her case, it's a very unique occurrence of when the mind digresses into itself as a self-defense mechanism in the event of extreme trauma or shock. It helps the victim to distance themselves mentally. While that kind of trauma isn't particularly unique, per say, what makes her situation unique -the self-induced disconnection of her temporal lobe – is that it usually only happens when their mind's fear threshold reaches its capacity due to harm inflicted by someone close to them, usually by a relative or family member," Cane said in an almost lecture-like tone, finished with a seemingly indifferent shrug of his shoulder.
Bane just stood there, either speechless or frozen as he waited for Crane to continue.
"Unfortunately, shutting off that part of the temporal lobe of the brain – specifically, the amygdala – affects other functions, like memory and attention. The amygdala is her center of emotional processing; it will affect simple basic emotions like fear and love. She'll be in a vegetative state for quite some time until she receives some type of stimuli to her brain. Or when she dies," Crane said simply, as if he could care less what actually happened to her.
Bane didn't particularly like the use of the word 'victim by Crane to describe Myra. Or even more impactfully, the word 'died'. He also simply wanted him to get on with it and come up with a quick remedy that didn't require death. Bane shuffled on his feet, his brows furrowing deeper and deeper into the hardware of his mask.
"Just. Fix. This," Bane eased out, holding himself back from losing his temper due to the combined onslaught of impatience and the emotional impact of the varied diagnosis being pummeled at him like an onslaught concerning Myra.
Crane's eyes lit up; it was very clear to Bane that the 'unlicensed, private sector, fear-studying masochist'-side of Crane took over. He turned to look at Bane with a knowing gleam in his eye.
"Lucky for you, you wisely called upon a specialist. I have a drug that will do the trick. The drug is actually of my own design; I'm quite proud of it, to be honest. This drug will help stimulate the electrical connections in her brain and re-establish ones that need to be reinvigorated; I would not, I repeat, I would not keep her on this medication for more than a week. It's not healthy for the brain to be stimulated medically for a prolonged period of time. The patients that I had prescribed to it that took it longer than a week tended to…hmmm, what's the best word? Implode?" Crane said with pride before finishing with a responsible note of caution in his voice.
Bane stared at him, wringing his hands against his biceps.
"Will it… have side effects if she's pregnant?" Bane said reluctantly, not wanting to have to divulge too much regarding Myra's condition.
"It shouldn't" Crane said with a slight shrug of his shoulders.
The glare Bane gave him made him re-evaluate his wording.
"It won't. She won't be taking it long enough for it to have negative prolonged side effects on a developing fetus. The drug also won't initially take affect for a few days. She will be undoubtedly confused and disoriented when she does come around," Crane said simply.
Crane stood up from his seat on the bed, putting the ophthalmoscope back into his black bag before closing it.
"I'd actually be interested to study her more, if you don't mind. I always love a good temporal-threshold disconnect case….I unfortunately haven't had many cases of it to study since, again, it usually only happens to victims who had suffered abuse and trauma from close family members or relatives….unfortunately those roles are hard to manufacture from a clinical perspective, so I haven't been able to experiment on individuals who had suffered from the occurrence thoro-….." Crane began saying, before he was cut off from being physically manhandled and shoved out of the bedroom, down the hall, and out the front door of the master suite in a whirlwind by Bane's massive fists.
"Get out," Bane seethed.
Crane prevented himself from being fully shoved out the door by locking a hand on the frame of the door, quickly peering back at Bane.
"Perhaps just a few experiments…? Can you retrieve her family member? I have a few questions…" Crane offered with hope and longing in his voice.
"NO. I expect you to deliver the drugs within one hour or I will have a man sent for you and you won't find it an enjoyable experience," Bane hissed, slamming the door, just barely missing the hastily retracted fingers of Dr. Jonathan Crane.
One of Bane's men returned approximately an hour later with several glass vials of medicine that could be directly dispensed into the IV drip that Myra was connected to along with a plastic bottle of oral tablets of the drug. Bane wasted no time giving her a first dose. He was dutiful in providing her a dose every morning thereafter.
When Barsad got back from his trip visiting his wife, he came back to chaos. He learned about what Myra did, which to be honest didn't entirely surprise him. He also secretly had wished she was perhaps even successful because that would mean he got to spend more time with his wife. And perhaps he wouldn't die, of course.
Bane had requested that Barsad take over the job of overseeing Myra so that he could go and see to things that needed tending to off-site. Barsad seemed reluctant at first, but as usual, did as he was asked without even questioning what was wrong with Myra. Bane only instructed him to watch her, make sure she didn't leave his sight, and to alert him if she got up.
When Bane came back later in the evening to relieve Barsad of his duties, Barsad gave him a critical look that very clearly begged the question of what the hell was wrong with her.
"You...tortured her? How?" Barsad inquired quietly and awkwardly, slightly confused, not believing what he was asking but needing validation and further insight into the situation.
Barsad's 'how' was meant to convey that he was interested to know what kind of techniques Bane used against her so that he could then proceed to address and treat her appropriately with that added bit of information into Myra's psyche. However, it came out as if he were simply flabbergasted; how could Bane do that to her.
All of the signs very clearly indicated that that was exactly what Bane did; Barsad saw the faint discoloration of bruising along her jaw and the slight swell of her eyelid. She was obviously very much in a self-induced comatose state. Quite frankly, Barsad was shocked and mortified.
Barsad had felt that Myra had existed on an invisible plane that meant she wouldn't have to worry about being hurt or harmed by Bane. Barsad knew the things she had done for Bane; she intervened when the three Gotham Police officers had initially came to extract her from the hostage situation in the closet, essentially sacrificing a part of her deeply established morals and mental wellbeing to ensure Bane didn't get hurt. Barsad had no doubt that Bane would have escaped that situation alive; not totally unscathed perhaps but with an accompanying bullet wound, for Bane was a highly trained killer. He was trained by the League of Shadows. Three Gotham Police officers was nothing to him. Myra didn't know that though. She had assumed Bane was about to die.
Aside from that instance, Myra had saved Bane's life, no question, when she stabbed the undercover officer in the neck with a pen when Bane became incapacitated due to the dislodgement of the hardware on his mask. If Myra hadn't intervened, there is no doubt in Barsad's mind that Bane wouldn't be alive today.
Barsad didn't feel that Myra's actions were meant as a slight against Bane; Barsad assumed that Myra probably assumed that Bane would never find out, and if the neutron bomb failed to go off then they would just shrug their shoulders and abandon their pursuit. Part of Myra's stipulation with the Special Forces was that they not make any attempts on Bane's life.
Barsad felt like he failed as Bane's right-hand man by not being there to stop or guide him away from a very destructive path that he would undoubtedly very much regret later - which was assuming quite a lot, because Bane rarely regretted anything he did in life.
Bane looked affronted when asked the question, turning his head to Barsad.
"No, I…." Bane began, about to explain what it was he actually did.
He didn't physically hurt her beyond the aggressive handling and bruising he gave her along her jaw and wrist and perhaps her eyelid as well as forcing water down her throat. Those weren't life-threatening injuries, though, so that made it justifiable – right? He didn't threaten to kill her; he mostly just used words. From his perspective, he felt like he most certainly didn't torture her.
Scare her, perhaps. Jostle her around physically a bit to drive home his point; he even restrained himself from crushing or breaking her, which was a foreign act for him: restraint. He didn't get where he was today through restraint. He had specifically spared Myra any excessive perceived malice and pain by directing it to the three Special Forces officers he had strung up on the bridge instead. He had even felt a moderate level of justification in his actions; she had undermined -betrayed - him, went behind his back, and attempted to dismantle months - years - of work. She abused the trust he held for her.
Bane turned his head away, not finishing his answer, not wanting to contemplate the truth and reality of the situation. Barsad eyed him expectantly, waiting for confirmation but realized he wasn't going to get one. Barsad gave Bane an extremely uncharacteristic look of disappointment before exiting.
The next day, Bane had left Barsad in charge of Myra again. He did notice Myra's fingers and toes periodically curling and uncurling and she even rotated her body in bed to lie in a different position during the night. She didn't open her eyes the following morning as he was briefing Barsad before he left the master suite, however. Despite this, he knew it was progress and that the combined efforts of fluids and drugs into her system were helping. She still hadn't eaten yet, however; that notion was a dark cloud that persisted over his head wherever he went.
When Bane returned later that evening, he immediately beelined to the bedroom. He was shocked to see that Myra was not in the bed. He then did a very cursory search before heading to the kitchen. He rounded the corner to the surprising spectacle of Myra sitting at the kitchen table with a plate of food that looked slightly picked over with her catheter and IV bags resting on the table next to her with Barsad sitting across from her.
While it was true that she still looked morose, lethargic, and in a seemingly emotionless state, it was obvious that she was making improvements. She even turned her head to look at him when he entered, though she immediately turned her head away dismissively. Bane wasn't bothered by the dismissiveness; that meant that at least she was thinking and feeling enough to be dismissive.
Barsad immediately stood up to exit, leaving Myra at the table. Her eyes followed him as he got up. Her eyes were wide and confused as they followed him, not quite understanding why this person was leaving her with this other vastly more threatening-looking person. It was obvious she didn't have full recognition of who these individuals were in the kitchen, though she would squint and stare as if she were having periodic bouts of clarity.
Barsad dealt with things in a drastically different manner than Bane; Bane liked being aggressive, up-close, invading someone's personal space with ferocity and unbridled rage. Bane was also a physically imposing presence; if you had never seen him before, his large mass toppled with the frightening mask and hardware he wore would definitely leave you uncomfortable. When he spoke, that was the icing on the cake; he was loud, clear, and often intimidating to those uninitiated in the art of 'Bane'.
Barsad was almost the complete opposite. He liked observing from afar, preferring to deal with threats from a higher vantage point with a sniper rifle. He did not like invading people's personal spaces, getting close to people, or displaying the range of rage that tended to be Bane's signature. In fact, Barsad tended to respond to threats with the same emotional range he tended to deal with everything else in his life; with a somewhat bored, passive indifference to the situation. Barsad was also considerably less imposing of a figure compared to Bane. He had a softer voice and his eyes were in a constant state of almost bored sadness that made them soft and gentle. He also didn't look threatening, despite his lethal capabilities.
It was safe to say assume which of these two figures, in her present and confused mindset, were more appealing than the other.
When Barsad got up to leave, Myra got up too. She quickly shuffled close behind Barsad, her footsteps masked by the thick knitted socks that sheathed her feet. The combination of her lethargy and recovering dehydration made her movements awkward and clumsy. Her catheter and IV bags seemed to have been briefly forgotten as they got tugged and then dropped and plopped to the floor and got dragged behind her by their tubes like two neglected leashed pets. She latched on to Barsad's arm to steady herself when she caught up to him. Barsad stopped when he realized Myra meant to follow him out the front door. Barsad turned around quickly, bringing his hands up to stop her from continuing her trajectory. Her eyes were directed to the floor, but she lifted them when Barsad impeded her movement forward.
She moved herself so that Barsad's body was shielding her from Bane's very pointed and seemingly intimidating stare. Bane observed this subtle movement with a pang in his chest. Bane then heard Myra hurriedly mumble something to Barsad. Barsad gave her a concerned look before replying in a voice loud enough for Bane to overhear, too.
"He's not going to hurt you…I promise," Barsad eased out awkwardly.
Bane strained his ears to hear the reply from Myra, but all he could make out was a muffled mumbling that she was silently directing towards Barsad.
Barsad responded by rubbing her shoulders in a seemingly encouraging manner.
"No, you can't come with me, I'm afraid. You need to stay here," Barsad said somewhat bashfully and sadly. It was obvious Barsad's comfort level was reaching its threshold.
Myra was silent, turning her head away. Barsad gave her one last rub of her shoulders before exiting, leaving her standing awkwardly with the feeling of abandonment overtaking her with her gaze to the floor and her shoulders slumped. The tubing that connected from her body to her catheter and IV bag looked like she was attached to morose deflated balloons.
Bane felt his insides constrict, conflicted at feeling joy that she was finally up and speaking but saddened that she very obviously wished for nothing more than to run outside the front door. Run away from him.
When Barsad finally retreated, Myra no longer had something or someone to hide behind, leaving her exposed. She shifted uncomfortably on her feet before turning her head to the side. Myra felt Bane's eyes on her, evaluating her and scouring her face to look at the fading bruising. Feeling self-conscious of her injuries, she turned her face away and brought a hand up to cover the side that featured the faintly swollen eyelid.
Bane was numb, too numb to stop her as she quickly shuffled away to retreat back to the safety of the bedroom, her catheter and IV bag dragging precariously behind her on the floor.
The following day when Barsad once again relieved Bane of Myra's care, it was obvious Myra seemed cautious and reluctant around Bane though it was clear she didn't know why. She seemed to be opening up to Barsad, however, since he had never left her with any perceived negative feelings or thoughts to dwell on. He also was vastly less intimidating and imposing visually than Bane was. In fact, she started questioning Barsad's relationship with her. While she couldn't recollect fully how she knew him or what he was to her, she felt undeniably safe around him; and that feeling of safety made her feel open and warm. It gave her nostalgia. She also knew her situation in the master suite indicated she lived there and cohabitated it with someone else; a friend? A relative? A partner? A lover? Was Barsad that person?
She stood in the hallway with Barsad, deep in thought with her eyes to the floor when her eyes suddenly snapped to focus on him. He returned her gaze steadily, searching her face, noticing some sort of spark or recognition take hold of her face. For some reason, the look she gave him made him incredibly uneasy.
Then she did something he wasn't expecting; she reached out and cupped his cheek with her hand, stroking and exploring the bearded texture of his chin and cheek with her fingers with her brows slightly furrowed together in concentration. She tried desperately to capture some tactile feeling of recognition in her touch but seemed to be having difficulty.
Barsad's eyes grew large, unable to determine Myra's intentions as she inched herself closer to him as if she were trying to suck out the feeling of 'safety' and 'warmth' right out of his lips that flowed through her from Barsad's presence. Her eyes fixated on his mouth as she brought her other hand up to cup his other cheek to hold his face while she inched closer.
Of course, that was precisely the moment that Bane walked in. What he saw was Myra's back to him with her hands cupping Barsad's in an intimate and loving gesture; a gesture he hadn't seen her exhibit in days. A gesture reserved for him. However, she was performing it on someone else.
His initial reaction wasn't rage or anger; it was anguish and heartache. It was a feeling that reached so far deep into his chest that he had difficulty breathing as he watched Myra learn up towards Barsad ardently. Barsad's eyes had been focused on Myra, the look of shock, discomfort, and confusion evident on his face. Then they looked up and locked onto Bane's.
Barsad was not one who frightened easily. This trait was the thing that Bane liked most about him; his calm when faced with a raging storm. It would be a lie, however, to say that Barsad didn't simply wet himself as Bane's face very quickly transitioned into unadulterated rage as his eyes locked onto Barsad's.
Barsad hastily shoved Myra away from him towards Bane's direction as if to say, "Here! I don't want her! She's yours!".
Bane stormed at him, angrily pushing Myra aside. Barsad just barely ducked and maneuvered from the punch from Bane that ended up buried in the wall. Myra stumbled clumsily on her feet from the aggressive shove, catching herself from falling by bringing a hand out to the wall to steady herself. Bane yanked his hand clean from the wall and rounded on Barsad, searching for him, undeniably blinded and seething with fury, betrayal, and rage. The sound coming through his mask was like a large bellows that fueled oxygen into an equally very large furnace.
Bane suddenly stopped, however, when another sound broke his concentration. It was the soft sound of air being expelled through tightly gritted teeth. He turned and saw Myra crouched down squatting with her hands over her ears as she began rocking back and forth on the balls and toes of her feet. Her eyes were shut tightly as if trying to shut out all external stimuli because it was causing her obvious discomfort. Bane realized he was that 'discomfort'.
Bane released a few more angry breaths through his mask before he craned his neck back to Barsad, giving him a glare that very clearly indicated he had better leave.
Barsad reciprocated the glare; he was angry at the situation of being unable to defend himself, at having to watch Myra like a babysitter, the uncomfortableness of wearing soiled pants, and angry at Myra's obvious discomfort. He needed no further encouragement to exit the master suite.
Later that evening, Myra eased herself out of bed without assistance to fetch herself some water. Bane was at first confused by the movement in the bed, startling awake, but watched her as she shuffled to the mini bar at the other end of the master bedroom rather clumsily as she knocked into and bumped furniture due to the darkness consuming the room. She filled herself a glass and took petite sips before shuffling back into bed. Bane stared at her, concern washing over his face. That was his job. Did she not remember? Or had she taken that responsibility from him, deeming him no longer sufficient or worthy of lavishing her with simple affections and favors? He continued to stare at her as she slid into bed without looking in his direction, cradling the catheter and IV bags in her arms like a teddy bear.
Bane relieved Barsad of his 'babysitting' duties the next morning, figuring he deserved a well-deserved break considering how events transpired the previous day. He observed, however, that Myra had taken to nervous ticks, particularly chewing on her nails and pulling her hair out.
It was obvious she didn't know she was doing it; Bane would catch her grinding her nail down to a bloody pulp. He would pull her hand away from her mouth, asking her to stop, and the look of confusion on her face indicated she didn't quite know what it was he was asking of her. Her expression would then transition into distorted pain and embarrassment at the disappointment he was visibly directing towards her, her eyes quickly shooting to stare at the floor.
The same with her hair; she would be scratching her scalp idly, pulling several strands out here and there in the process. Bane checked to ensure she didn't have head lice or some rash, and seeing that there was none, deemed her activities simply compulsive. He decided to make an attempt at negating her behavior.
Later in the afternoon, Bane had a package delivered up to him which he retrieved at the door. He then went into the bedroom and observed that Myra appeared to be napping. He circled around to her side of the bed and saw indicators that she was awake from the slow rise of her eyelids as she stared blankly up at him. Bane sat himself on the floor next to her, reaching out and grabbing one of her hands gingerly. He was pleased when she didn't attempt to recoil or reclaim her hand.
"Look what I brought for you. Some nail polishes. I thought you might like your nails to be done?" Bane offered, placing three different bottles of very old and vintage-looking bottles on the bed in front of Myra. Myra simply stared, unresponsive, confusion causing her brows to knit together.
"Which one would you like?" Bane asked lightheartedly.
Myra didn't move or offer an opinion. She did have a general look of confusion, perhaps questioning why such a large imposing man was asking her about her favorite nail polish color. She simply stared with lids that half covered her eyes at him, deciding not to acknowledge the nail polish bottles in front of her perhaps because she thought she was hallucinating.
"That one? Excellent choice; it matches your tone," Bane offered, trying to come up with arbitrary phrases regarding color pairing and skin tone.
He reached forward and grabbed one of the less ugly colors, which was simply a bright pink. He gave the bottle a good shake to mix the contents before he unscrewed the top to reveal a brush with a glob of nail polish. He then reclaimed her hand and began gingerly painting her nails, delicately holding the brush between two large meaty fingers. Myra continued to stare, though her eyes did shift down to stare at his work on her fingernails.
Bane was clumsy, imprecise, and messy. More polish seemed to get on her skin than on her actual nails. It should be noted, however, that he did try. He even held her hand and attempted to fan her nails with his large hand to expedite the drying process when he was done with her first hand. He repeated the painting process on her other hand, which she seemed to relinquish obligingly, though she didn't do much beyond staring and silently watching.
When Bane was fully done, he gathered the bottles up off of the bed and put them on the bedside table.
"Don't chew on those. That nail polish is poisonous," he said sternly, using his finger to point at her nails. Of course it wasn't poisonous; he simply wanted her to stop chewing her nails down to a bloody pulp.
He watched as Myra eyes became wide with concern before they eventually closed as an indicator that she simply just wanted to go back to sleep. Bane sighed, his eyes darting from her face to her nails and then back to her face again.
To remedy her hair situation, he decided to make attempts at pulling her hair back into a tight braid rather than letting her hair go loose with a set of wild frizzy hair that had become the norm due to her back-seat approach at self-care and grooming practices. He wasn't an expert, but he didn't want anyone encroaching in their living space, so he had to do the work himself regardless. He even managed to get Myra to sit up for him as he sat behind her and started brushing her hair before he could dive in and make an attempt at braiding her hair.
As he was brushing her hair, he accidentally snagged a clump of hair which caused a few strands to get yanked from her scalp abruptly.
"OW!" Myra shouted in a rare verbal display, bringing both hands up to the top of her head to touch the spot where she undoubtedly had slightly less hair than she did before. Her eyes clenched closed in annoyance and pain, moisture erupting at the corner of her eyes.
Bane, however, grew incredibly still and intense. His eyes nearly bulged out of his head at causing her such sudden acute pain from such a simple act. His intent was to engage in a lighthearted activity that also had a logical purpose that couldn't hurt or cause her to be even angrier at him than she may already be. He dropped the brush and reached forward to guide her head to lie backwards into his lap. He looked down and saw Myra's eyes clenched closed in pure annoyance, her hands never leaving her scalp. Then realization spread across her face, her face easing as she stared up at him.
"You…hurt me," she eased out tentatively, hints of confusion still present, but clarity driving her tone.
It was obvious she wasn't talking about the hurt she sustained from the clump of hair missing on her head. She was very clearly having a moment of lucidity as she stared up at him, searching his eyes.
Bane's breath stilled as he looked down at her, seeing the brightness and comprehension in her eyes. He stroked her face while he leaned forward, his eyes full of regret and pain.
"I know….I'm sorry…" Bane breathed out quickly in a rare verbal apology, making attempts at massaging the area where she had suffered some hair loss from his clumsy brushing. He cradled her head in his lap.
"….please forgive me," Bane breathed out in a hushed tone. It was obvious his apology wasn't simply meant to apologize for the clump of hair he accidentally yanked from her head; it was for all of the times he had hurt her.
Bane swallowed deeply in his throat before continuing, feeling uncharacteristically unsure of himself.
"You hurt me too, don't you remember?" Bane said sincerely, running the back of his fingers along her cheek before bending to touch his forehead against hers for several seconds before leaning back up to gaze down at her. The look Myra gave back to him transitioned back into confusion; I hurt him?
"I did? How?" she asked, confused.
"Yes. The person I care for so deeply contrived to undermine the work that I spent years developing, perfecting, and sacrificing for…" He eased out.
Myra's eyes roamed his, confusion still laced in her expression as if she were waiting for him to continue on with his statement, unsure of where she stood in terms of his declaration; unsure if it was her that he was referring to.
"Who was that?" she asked eventually, astounded at the prospect that someone would do something that horrid sounding to him.
"You, you silly creature," he said, bringing a hand up to tug and stroke her ear playfully.
Myra just stared skeptically at him.
"Me?" she asked, incredulous that she would do such a thing – that she could be such a thing, to him.
Deep creases lined Bane's eyes.
"Yes, you," he breathed out simply, touching his forehead with hers again gently before easing his head back to look at her.
Myra scrunched up her face in disgust; not because she was appalled by the notion of him caring for her; she was appalled at the notion that she had hurt someone that cared for her. So deeply.
"Was I…was I successful?" she eased out shyly, unsure.
Bane continued to stroke her cheek.
"No," he said simply.
Myra's face relaxed considerably as she let out a loud relieved breath through her mouth.
"Thank GOD," she said, bringing a hand up to her chest as if to catch her breath.
Bane simply stared at her, knowing she couldn't fathom what it was she was saying or implying; he knew she wanted to – needed to – save the lives of Gotham, and that when the eventual realization that her plans failed caught up with her, she would be devastated. He decided to enjoy her blissful ignorance while it lasted.
"Let's agree not to hurt each other again. Agreed?" he whispered to her through his mask.
Myra stared up at him, searching his face before slowly nodding.
With her physical queue, Bane eased her head up. He then pulled her bodily into his lap, encouraging her to wrap and hold her arms around his neck. She was somewhat reluctant at first but clung reflexively after several seconds of absorbing the comfort and feel of the gesture.
Bane brought his head down to nestle against the side of hers as he rocked his body back and forth, lulling and coaxing her into a sense of wellbeing and undeniable safety only his strong arms could afford her. He cupped and moved her face inward to his chest as if to shield her eyes from a visual physical embodiment of all of her worries and cares.
The embrace that Bane gave her was the most reassuring, soothing, and satisfying thing she could ever possibly fathom. It was as if he were absorbing all of her worries and fears. It made her inexplicably protected, sheltered, and safe; 'home'.. His arms circling around her created an invisible shield from which the negative, upsetting, and confusing thoughts that had been bombarding her mind as of late couldn't penetrate. The rocking motion of his body pacified and subdued her mind into a state of serene, blissful calm.
It was a considerable amount of time before Myra eventually dislodged herself from his arms with obvious reluctance. She scooted herself to sit in front of him with her back to him, peeking over her shoulder.
"My hair's not done," she said coyly.
Bane let out an agreeable sigh through his mask. He quickly grabbed the brush and resumed brushing her hair albeit considerably more cautiously than he had before. He didn't do anything fancy; he did a very loose braid down the back and tied it off at the end with some loose string. Myra brought her hand back to feel the braid in her hair before she relaxed her shoulders, seemingly satisfied, letting out a yawn.
Bane held onto her shoulders and gently guided her head back down into his lap. Bane brushed his hand over her forehead in soothing, calming strokes, encouraging her to close her eyes, relax, and fall asleep. He began humming down at her in a soft and raspy slow variant of a tune Myra couldn't quite place, her brows furrowing in concentration as she made attempts at identifying it. As her eyes lulled close, she finally pinpointed the song; 'You are my sunshine'.
When Myra eventually fell asleep with her head nestled in Bane's lap, he moved her cautiously to her side of the bed under the covers, where he promptly joined her. He took considerable care not to jostle or disturb her since the placid look that took over her features was the first he'd seen in days.
During the night, Myra started stirring. Her brows furrowed together at the need for some water as she was very clearly thirsty. She half rolled her body towards Bane, her eyes closed as she did so, before asking her question quietly into the darkened bedroom.
"Can you get me some – " Myra started to mumble out, but quickly shot her eyes open at sudden rustling.
Myra saw that Bane was already halfway across the room to the mini bar, scrambling to get her water like his life depended on it. Myra's eyes stared at the spectacle, unsure of what she was seeing since her eyes hadn't properly adjusted to the dark.
He rushed at her with the cup in his hand, practically spilling half of the contents of the water as he did so in order to expedite the process of bringing her water.
Bane knelt down next to her side of the bed, presenting her with the glass of water in a huff from the physical exertion of the pace he chose to use to complete the chore, beads of sweat starting to line his brow. Myra eyed him before sitting up in bed and grabbing the glass of water from Bane. She continued to eye him as she took several soft delicate sips from the glass before putting it on her bedside table.
"May I get you anything else?" Bane said in a huff, his hands rested on the bed next to her for support as he reclaimed his composure.
Myra just stared at him flabbergasted, her eyebrows furrowed together at the incredibly odd and admittedly amusing display. Her stomach started rumbling.
Before she could even think to say anything, Bane was already up and practically sprinting out of the room. She continued to sip her water, her eyes roaming around awkwardly as she waited for several minutes. After idling for a while, she put her glass of water on her night side table and eased back into bed to continue sleeping. She was softly jostled awake approximately an hour later.
She startled, confused, turning her head to see Bane kneeling by her bedside with a tray. She eased herself up and saw an array of some of her favorite food items. She stared at it, blinking slowly before she eased forward and began eating the food tentatively as Bane held the handles of the tray on the edge of her side of the bed. Bane continued to kneel on the floor, staring at her while she ate.
After she felt sufficiently full, she started wiping her mouth with a napkin.
"Finished so soon? You should have a nibble of the grilled cheese before it gets cold…" Bane coaxed, trying to encourage her to eat as much food – nutrients – as possible, for multiple and some soon to be very obvious reasons.
Myra simply eyed him skeptically but did as he asked by taking several bites from the sandwich before putting it down on the tray after having her fill. Bane then pointed at another food item that sat untouched on the tray.
"What about some of that cooked salmon? It's delicious," Bane encouraged. He even began cutting it for her before she even had a proper chance at indicating she wanted some. He held the fork up to her lips encouragingly, where she tentatively opened her mouth. He inserted the tip of the fork into her mouth delicately, letting her bite down on the salmon before he repeated the process several more times.
"Look here…one of your favorites…scrambled egg. Just a little taste for me, hmm?" he coaxed, repeating the process by cutting her food and offering her the tip of the loaded fork like a mama bird feeding a hatchling. She simply opened her mouth, bit down, chewed, and swallowed the contents obediently with her eyes half closed in sleepy contentment.
When he went to cut her some a baked sweet potato, she held up her hand to stop him.
"I'm really really full…I'm going to vomit…no more, please," she said, bringing a hand up to her mouth to prevent herself from burping.
Bane looked at her, significantly satisfied with the amount of food she was able to intake. He watched as she took one last sip of water before easing herself back into bed. He put the tray on her bedside table in case she wanted to eat more later.
"May I get you anything else?" he asked her, slightly hovering.
Myra's eyes roamed from the tray he set on her table up to his eyes, staring at him bashfully.
"No, thank you. Come back to bed," Myra said simply, continuing to eye him.
Bane released a large huff from his chest before he circled back to his side of the bed. Myra laid back down with her head comfortably against the pillow, closing her eyes. When he was settled in bed, he reached out hesitantly and tentatively to grab Myra by the shoulders. Myra didn't resist as she was slowly guided back into a spooning position against Bane's chest. Bane wrapped an arm across her middle and rested his hand against her stomach. After several minutes, Myra used her free hand to bring back and curl softly over his wrist in a very subtle display of affection before prompting falling asleep.
Author: OMG SHE STILL DOESN'T KNOW YOU GUYS AHHHHHH. Will Talia find out? How do you think she'll take it? Also, review :D There is a direct correlation between reviews and how fast I churn out the next chapter. So plleeaaase review! T_T My 'motivation juices' get drastically depleted! Only reviews by you can replenish meeeeee!