Been a while, eh?
I just noticed this chapter was posted on AO3 and not here. Apologies!

The discovery of Bane's absence shook Helena to her core.

Three hours later back in her own cottage, she was sitting in the kitchen with the lights out, nursing a lukewarm mug of tea. She tried calling Bane every fifteen minutes, to no avail.

His car wasn't in its parking spot, so that was at least somewhat reassuring. Perhaps his battery just ran out of juice, she thought. And he forgot his charger. And a power bank. And was somewhere where he couldn't buy any electronics. And he knew he would be back soon, so he didn't have to bother…

Feebly, Helena tried to calm herself down by noting when was the last time she saw him, and how much time passed between that and her first call. But it wasn't very soothing. The last time she laid her eyes on Bane was the evening before, when he absentmindedly kissed her goodnight, working on some papers. She strolled to her cottage, worked some on her own writings, then sent him an email asking if he'd like to have breakfast at her place. He replied with a negative and then she just went to bed. And didn't think to check in with him beyond texting him asking what's for lunch, over fifteen hours later. It was nearing seven in the afternoon now, and still Bane's phone was turned off.

The prospect of another five hours spent waiting to report him missing was torture. There was still hope he would come back, laughing that he accidentally put his phone down the toilet in a gas station somewhere, she reasoned. Or perhaps, he forgot to turn it on at all and was driving around with it silent in his pocket, not realising she might have been worried...

None of that sounded like Bane at all.

If his phone was off, he turned it off. Either voluntarily, or someone did it for him. His car wasn't there, so the most possible scenario was that he drove somewhere where he didn't want to be disturbed. The alternative barely registered in Helena's head, but she dismissed it. For now.

There was still hope it was just some kind of trivial misunderstanding.

Fighting the sinking feeling of panic clenching her stomach, she once again redialed Bane's number.

The dull tone in the receiver made her jump to her feet, the joy of hearing it nearly ecstatic.

She heard his voice after the third ring, and the relief washed over her with a palpable relaxing of muscles.

"Helena."

"Is everything alright?"

"Yes."

"When will you be home?"

"Sunday."

"What?"

"I will be home on Sunday."

"But that's three days from now!"

"Yes."

"Are you okay?"

"I am."

"I see." She was at a loss. "Why didn't you pick up the call earlier?"

"I was on an airplane."

"To where?"

"Not important," he said. The dismissal was plain, and Helena frowned deeply, preparing for a discussion. But Bane had other plans, and he finished the talk with a simple, "I will see you soon."

"Yeah, bye," she mumbled to the phone and waited until she heard him cut the connection.

To say that the conversation was anticlimactic would be an understatement of the year. Bane was so matter of fact, so unaffected and crass it bordered on total indifference.

Helena felt tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. She chuckled darkly and bitterly when she noticed her hands were shaking, the tension of last hours leaving her in waves.

"What a fucking dick," she shouted to the ceiling, banging her palms on the table.

The hit made her skin tingle and crawl, but physical pain was a welcome distraction from the emotional turmoil Bane just put her through.

oOo

She watched Bane observe the crowd, himself a target of many not so subtle stares. He was very appropriate in an impeccably tailored black suit, a crisp white shirt and a simple grenadine tie. He even jested that he went out a few days back specifically to visit his tailor. It showed.

Back then she pretended to laugh as she took it for a joke, but now she wasn't so sure. Whatever he did while away, one of those things was visiting with some kind of a tailor, and by the looks of it, a very experienced one. Unfortunately for Helena, he didn't go see a florist; she could use a bouquet of flowers as an apology. But whatever he was doing while away, he didn't feel in the slightest inclined to share with her, or indeed to express any remorse over worrying her.

When Helena woke up this Monday morning, she found a text from him, stating simply that he'll come for breakfast before the funeral. Out of spite, she replied that he needn't bother. And he just accepted that, showing up only to escort her to his car. That of course infuriated her further.

Helena stewed in her own anger the whole morning and during the drive up to the chapel, and by the time they ended up here - gathered around the lowering casket - she felt ready to either scream or punch holes in walls with frustration.

Of course, she couldn't do any of it.

There were many people at the cemetery; kids from the school were the biggest group, but there were a plethora of faces Helena didn't recognise. Working in her father's clinic and local school made Anna a popular person, and Helena suspected that most of the community would mourn her death. She was at the front, close to Sven; all that help didn't go unnoticed. Thankfully Grace took on herself directing everyone during the funeral, helping the doctor with mundane obligations and building order in the chaos of the mourning.

It hit Helena when the first lumps of soil hit shiny brown wood of the casket. The sadness of death. A person she knew, liked, talked with, laughed with - was laying there. A shell of that person, Helena reminded herself. Just like Bane would be lying under the rubble in Gotham, if his men wouldn't get him out on time. Just a vessel that once carried the mind, and thoughts, and memories, all those things that make a person human.

Her chest convulsed in a sob, while she reflexively covered her mouth with a palm.

Her child didn't even have a coffin or a grave, she never really thought about it. Not a single thing to mark its existence, an almost life, snuffed before it could bloom and grow. There was only the memory of it, fleeting and unpleasant, and a note in some documents. A medical report and perhaps some papers of people who interrogated her. But there wasn't any one thing that commemorated its existence. All the possibilities that were killed before any could be even thought of.

She felt warm and robust arm circling her shoulders, and she pressed her face to Bane's chest, surprised with the tidal wave of emotions washing over her. That sadness was like quicksand, all the more devastating if she resisted. So Helena let herself cry, safe in the knowledge that this moment was right for it. No one would ever question why tears were streaking down her face, and she never had to confess to anyone that she wasn't mourning her friend, but she was finally saying farewell to her past.

But what would be her future?

oOo

The closest friends met at Sven's house after the funeral. Grace told everyone that she wanted it to be a gathering in an American style, a potluck meal, unusual for Norway. But it was a good idea, something that would show the grieving father compassion and support of his closest friends in the most tangible way.

Helena baked a cake and made a casserole; seeing as Bane was absent for most of the preparations she covered for him. But he was perfectly informed and brought two different loaves of bread, big and crusty, giving off the aroma of herbs and home.

He left her on the couch and went to help Grace with the food, organising cutlery and dishes on a big table in the kitchen. Helena saw some familiar faces, but her vision still swam with tears. The handkerchief she had in had was wet and crumpled.

"Here, something to pick you up," Graham sat by her and handed her a glass.

A martini, an old-fashioned version with lemon peel.

"Oh, vodka," she moaned after taking a sip. "Thanks."

"At your service." His smile was easy to reciprocate and take comfort from. A father figure personified. What a contrast to Sven, who was sitting in a chair on the other side of the room, staring dully ahead while Tirill stroked his hand and talked some nonsense softly in his ear.

But Graham didn't lose anyone.

"I came unglued there for a little while," Helena admitted sheepishly.

"That's what funerals are for. It finally hit home, didn't it?"

"You could say that."

"It's so surreal." Graham shook his head, the silvery hair falling over his forehead in a boyish mess. He combed it back with his free palm, taking a big swig of his drink. "Just a week passed."

"And the world is suddenly totally different."

"But the same in many aspects. That's what makes it so weird. I can't ever get used to death, not even after all those years," he confessed.

Involuntarily Helena remembered a piece of information from Bane. Graham worked for CIA. Surely he must have been used to reports of death, and his subordinates either dealt the killings or have been assassinated themselves.

Was he playing a game?

The last thought made her gulp down whole drink at once.

If anyone was playing today, it was her. There was not a slice of care in her over Anna's death. Boom, just like that her friend was gone. But she made a show of herself weeping, and only she knew it was over something entirely different. An ancient affair, long finished and forgotten. So, maybe she shouldn't be so judgemental towards others, she thought bitterly.

"Another one?" She asked Graham with a smile.

By her fifth drink, the mourning turned into reminiscing, and some quiet giggles could be heard here and there. Helena was in the middle of a very juicy story about Anna, animatedly presented by equally tipsy Jack when she felt someone standing behind her.

It was Sven.

The laughter died on her lips, and Jack turned beet red with embarrassment.

"No, please, continue," he said. "We're here to remember how she lived." His voice crackled with the last word. "She did love life."

"That's right," Helena agreed. "She even stole a boyfriend from me once."

"Only once?" Jack asked, confusion evident on her face. She knew precisely, of course.

"Well, maybe three times," Helena waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. "The point is, I'm not the one to hold a grudge, and she did know how to enjoy herself. And I think we all should try to do that too, while we still can."

"Just don't drink too much," Sven cautioned, eyeing her glass. "Liver."

"I have one," Helena nodded. "It's nicely patched up, and I'm good."

"How many drinks did you have?" The doctor asked, focusing on her fully.

"Not nearly enough to have this conversation again."

"As your physician, I would recommend-"

"Stop," she shoved her palm right before his face. "This is not the time, nor a place for it," she slurred.

"Don't let her have another one," Sven ordered Jack before he left them.

The girl shrugged and turned back to the scribe.

"Am I in power to stop you?"

"Nope."

With that, she moved towards Graham, who as usual was beside the liquor cabinet. He smiled at her when she approached with careful steps.

"Coffee time?"

"Not yet, I think I'll have just a swig of this before I'm ready to go." A charming smile was all the warning the man got before she gently wrapped her fingers around his glass. She took a dainty sip of the amber liquid. "Whisky?"

"Bourbon," he corrected with a resigned sigh. His eyes slid off her momentarily. "Why don't you give it back?"

"Yes, why don't you?" Bane's voice came from behind her. A second later she felt him press to her from behind, wrapping his palm around her hand, directing it towards Graham.

The men exchanged knowing looks, leaving Helena frowning between them.

She felt like a child, reprimanded, shrugged off and belittled. The last one quite literally, since they both were towering over her.

"Let's get you back home," Bane offered, in a tone that didn't leave a hair of doubt that it wasn't in fact, an offer at all, but a non-debatable order. "I'd hate to see you suffer tomorrow."

She bit the inside of her cheek not to start screaming with frustration again, sent strained smiles when he pushed her out, and let him sit her in the car.

oOo

For once, Helena managed not only to stay truly silent during most of the ride, but also to rile Bane up. He was pretending as long as they were with other people, but as soon as city lights dimmed behind them, the road framed by trees stretching in a dark and thin winding line before him, he let his anger show.

"What is wrong with you?"

"Oh, nothing. I didn't go away on some mysterious trip who-knows-where. I just stayed at home, like an obedient little doggy waiting for its master. I'm fine."

Sighing deeply he trained his steely gaze firmly on the road ahead.

"I told you, I went to see my tailor."

"Sure."

She bristled at Bane just ignoring her quip at being his pet. Not even worth a reaction, she thought bitterly.

None of them spoke for another while, letting all the bad feelings grow and rot.

He parked in the usual spot by his cottage.

"You know, it's really ungentlemanly to make me go all the way to my place in those heels. But no matter, I'll be okay." She spilt out of the car and swayed a bit on the grit covering the driveway.

"What are you talking about now?" He got out and shut the door, then ran one hand over his eyes in a tired motion.

"Well, big guy, I'm living there," she pointed to her cottage, "not here. So that means I'll have to go all the way there, which I will be doing right now."

"Helena…"

"No, watch me." She made some over dramatic steps down the pathway. "See?"

He just stood there, wordlessly observing how she made a fool of herself.

"Thanks for the lovely afternoon!" She mockingly shouted over her shoulder, sniggered, and then tripped and nearly fell down the slope. High heels were far from ideal to move about shifting grovel.

She sobered a bit on the tarmac, and some more when she had to focus climbing wooden and then stone steps up to her door.

If she'd had to be honest with herself, Helena was sad more than anything. Bane just disappeared, and then came back like it meant nothing, the fact that she worried about him brushed off as easily as if it never existed. And then he had the audacity to correct her, to have her be more appropriate, all under the guise of caring for her health.

Stupid, arrogant fucker.

The door opened with a soft click, but it was a bit unfamiliar now, going back in the middle of the night. She did it enough to know the drill and have a scheme, but it has been so long since her last nightly excursion, the whole ordeal felt more surreal than anything else.

Shoes went first, neatly positioned by the door, even though she dangerously swayed while putting them there. Then, she hung her coat with slow and deliberate movements and went to the bathroom. Where was her purse? She shrugged, thinking whoever found it wouldn't stand to gain much anyway. The more pressing matter now were the missing cotton pads. Did she run out? Did she bring all of her supply to Banes? She frowned, lathering her eyes with the lotion. She would have to do with toilet paper. Good thing that was still here in surplus, she idly noted.

Next on the agenda was a trip to the kitchen.

With careful steps she descended, keeping a tight hold on the railing, just in case. Now only to get a bottle of water to her bedside, and climb all the way up to the mezzanine to get there. Not to think how much easier it would be to have Bane help her up, or better yet, be with him in that one-storey wonder.

No, Helena reminded herself sternly, she could do it in her sleep if need be. Some water to carry wouldn't hinder her moves. Easy-peasy.

She opened the fridge, and her eyes settled on a rectangular bottle with a deep emerald label. A slow grin spread on her features, an uncanny sight in the sharp refrigerator light. But she was alone. No one to tell her she should consider the state of her liver before having another drink.

There wasn't any tonic, but she had a lemon and some herbs. All ingredients on the table, she picked a glass and filled it with ice. Then she squeezed the lemon into the shaker, added quite a lot of alcohol and then remembered she was meant to muddle mint with some powdered sugar. She frowned and decided to do that straight in the glass she wanted to drink it from. Who was to know anyway, the point was to make the drink tasty, not to dazzle herself with sophisticated technique.

She chucked the ice into the shaker and worked on the herbs when she heard knocking at the door upstairs.

"Fun-fucking-tastic," she muttered.

Quickly she swooshed the liquid into the glass, then returned it to the shaker and turned to add some more crushed ice back to the glass.

Meanwhile, Bane must have let himself in. She heard nothing after a soft click of the lock, which was telling in and of itself. No one ever was as silent as him.

The rattle of ice bouncing off metal filled the dark space of the kitchen.

She heard a sigh on the stairs.

Yup, it had to be Bane.

Turning her back to the entrance Helena carefully poured her gin sour through the strainer. There wasn't enough time to admire its daffodil-like yellow paleness or a subtle lace of froth clinging to the rim. She downed half in one gulp.

"Why do you do this to yourself?"

She snorted and swigged another gulp.

"Stop it," Bane hissed.

She felt the glass being tugged away, but she didn't want to let go. He yanked hard, spilling its contents on the table and floor. Solid bottom of the glass thudded on the wooden top when he angrily put it down.

She wondered what it would take for him to ram it down and smash it into million sparkling pieces. Apparently, he wasn't all too angry just yet.

"You took away my drink again," she complained. "What do I do now to entertain myself?"

"Go to sleep," he suggested.

She smiled. She saw right through his facade of false calmness.

"But I don't wanna," she babbled and stepped towards him. "I wanna drink." She smiled into his neck. He smelled so nice, and she was worried about him, and then he was an utter and total dick. "And I wanna fuck," she muttered into his shirt, like a petulant child asking for ice-cream before dinner.

"Tomorrow, when you're sober." With a free hand, he tiredly rubbed his eyes once again.

"Oh no, no, no, darling." Her arms straightened and she leaned back to squint up at him. "You were once pretending to be a big scary mercenary," she said, giggling over her wording, poking his chest with her index finger. "Now, I like the way you usually are, but not tonight." One of her palms patted his cheek, and she giggled again when he covered her hand with his and moved it gently back down to his chest.

"No?"

"Oh no, tonight I'm angry at you," she confessed, leaning closer conspiratorially. His chest was immense and warm, and she wanted nothing more than just curl around him right then.

"For taking care of you?"

That returned some of her ire. Right, he was under the impression he was acting for her own good. Like she couldn't decide for herself. Like she didn't matter.

"Maybe." With a pout, she slid to the side. Her legs tangled and in the last moment, she caught herself on the table.

Bane scoffed impatiently over her head and tugged her towards himself, intent on getting her upstairs.

"Come back home."

"But I am home." She stubbornly held tight on the table and refused to move along with Bane's arm. "If you wanna stay in my house you will have to pay. With your body." Another giggle escaped her lips.

Bane didn't chuckle in return. He stared at her in that measuring cold glare she once knew oh so well.

That was exactly what she wanted from him.

"So, big guy? Are you staying, or are you too afraid of yourself and wanna go back home?" She mocked poking his chest with her finger again, making sure the nail pressed firmly into the scar tissue each time.

He didn't flinch, but the muscles vibrated with barely held back growl when he spoke.

"Stop it."

"Uh-huh," she shook her head. "Make me."

One eyebrow cocked he watched her pensively for a while. Helena swayed slightly on her heels and blinked slowly.

"You're drunk."

"Yup." The nod made her a bit dizzy, so she tried to focus on the neat row of buttons before her eyes.

"You should go to sleep."

"You shouldn't have kidnapped me," she parried immediately. Then she shrugged as if it was just another little misstep. "But here we are."

She saw his irritation in little gestures he didn't have under control and probably didn't realise it. The mask wasn't there, so now even though his eyes seemed predatory and focused, she clearly saw how his luscious lips thinned, how his nostrils flared for a second when she said something that made him angry. He even was a tad flushed.

"You're not very appealing in this state," he said.

"You think that now, but you didn't have a chance to really see the difference. I'm pretty lose while under the influence."

"This conversation is pointless," he sighed, yet again rubbing his eyes. "Get upstairs, sleep it off, we'll talk in the morning."

Helena grinned and strolled over to the other side of the table, grabbing the gin on her way there.

"Don't," Bane warned.

She licked her lips and relished the anger she could clearly see in his posture.

"Put the bottle down, Helena," he growled.

Cold liquid barely touched her tongue when he lunged forward to take it away. The glass shattered on the floor, the sound loud and uncomfortable, followed closely by Helena's laugh. Then, she yelped and squealed, and laughed some more as Bane twisted her round and pressed to the surface of the table. Head down, his palm kept her flush to the wood with steady pressure between her shoulder blades. The other hand held her wrists together at the top of her butt.

"What are you going to do now?" she mocked him again.

"Why are you doing this?" Bane asked calmly.

Helena's eyes narrowed, focusing on his question.

"I want you as you were back then. If you behave the way you did in Armenia, make it fit all the way. You can't be nice one day and then a dick the other, you know."

"Explain."

"What's there to explain? You go away without a word, come back without a word, expect me to just shrug and accept it without a word. I can't." Forehead pressed to the table she drew in a steadying breath. "I won't."

The hand splayed at her shoulder blades shifted, tracing a warm path down to her hips.

"So instead of talking it over you'd rather make a scene."

An angry huff she released didn't impress Bane, neither her stubborn yank at his palms. His hold was secure and anything but gentle. For a while he closed his eyes, swallowing a groan when her hips shifted, her ass pressed to his abdomen.

Helena could feel his tension.

"I'm not making a scene," she argued, just to make him more irritated.

"Oh, but you are," he chided. His voice gained a chilly undertone, one that sent a shiver down Helena's back. "You expect me to react to your taunts, and behave a certain way. I could. What then? Am I forgiven, if I fuck you? Is that all it takes?"

She gritted her teeth in annoyance.

"No."

"Why do you do this, then?" He was so calm and collected, it flayed Helena's nerves raw.

"It's the only way I can feel I matter to you," she spat. A cruel thing to say, but then again not the worst she ever told him. Certainly not untrue.

The admission resulted in Bane letting go. Helena stayed pressed to the table for a while, collecting her thoughts, body taut with tension, ready to recoil at any moment.

Noiselessly, Bane moved to stand by the stairs. She saw him look down at her before he sighed and went up.

What a fucking disaster, she thought bitterly.

Feeling in her cheek was dulled from continued pressure, the ache between her legs didn't yet subside. Her skin tingled, hypersensitive to temperature and touch. Briefest contact with anything felt like a caress, but at the same time, she knew nothing would bring relief.

Navigating carefully through shattered glass, she slowly climbed up, not bothering to mop up the mess or even turn off the light.

Maybe this venture into a relationship was doomed from the very beginning.

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