Disclaimer: As always I own nothing but the original characters and the situations I put all my poor victims in.

It Disturbs Me

Watching Blake watch the television screen, the detective now successfully managing not to look at him, Bane's brain finally kicked in enough for his rational side to kick in. The other man had to be up to something to make such inflammatory, untrue statements and he needed to concentrate on figuring out the man's motive least Blake be successful in his endeavor. It was possible that Blake merely wished to get rid of him, thinking to make him so uncomfortable that he left in order to avoid further discussion. Seeing him without a shirt on could not be literal torture and he was fairly certain that the detective was intelligent enough to know that he wasn't stupid enough to think that that could be construed that way. Blake would know he was very familiar with torture thanks to The Pit. It was also reasonable to assume that this wasn't the other man's attempt to use seduction as a way of gaining his favor. For one think Blake had made his feelings about his sexual abilities very clear, and for another he'd made his own lack of interest in fornication clear.

He thought about it. And thought about it. And got increasingly frustrated as he kept thinking about it without coming up with some logical explanation.

"You're thinking too damn loud."

"It is not possible to hear someone think."

"That would depend on whether or not the person was blonde." Blake answered with a smirk before rolling his eyes at the silence that greeted the statement. "Yeah, should have figured a dumb blonde crack would go over your head."

Bane let that pass, deciding to get straight to the point since he could only come up with irrational explanations for Blake's earlier behavior. "You stated that I am ripped, lickable, and that I need to put a shirt on. Explain why. Now."

"Sugar."

"Sugar?"

"Too much sugar." Blake elaborated, his eyes fixed on the movie like it held the secrets to the universe. "I had way too much sugar today and it went to my head and that plus a lack of sleep, the trauma of being kidnapped and experimented on, fried my brain. That's why I said those things."

"Sugar makes you express carnal interest?" Bane's eyes narrowed. "Were you speaking this way to Barsad?"

Turning his head to meet Bane's gaze Blake glared and told him that that was enough of the him being interested in Barsad crap. The only reason he didn't want to kick the man's ass anymore was because the man had saved him from being a very dead lab rat. And Jesus, they'd had him investigated for Christ's sake, hadn't they noticed he had very specific requirements when it came to his lovers?

Opening his mouth to comment Bane abruptly closed it again because he did recall the footnote in the file his spies and hackers had generated on Blake that had mentioned that apparently the detective had a marked preference for tall, heavily muscled men. He was tall and well muscled. He was, in fact, very ripped according to the other man.

"I…appeal to you physically?"

"Only when my brain is fried beyond use." Was the muttered response, though Bane just caught it.

"Why would someone of my size and stature appeal to you?" He was so confused. "I could snap you in two without straining myself."

"I'm aware of that."

When Blake didn't elaborate Bane got impatient and marched over to the bed and on his knees reached out and grabbing the detective's chin forced the other man's head over so that they were facing each other. "I will not ask you to explain again."

A war of thoughts and indecisions crossed the detective's face, Blake trying to decide what he should and shouldn't say. This was another landmine after all, especially since he didn't want to appear any weaker or foolish than he already had. Thankfully the self disgust was really starting to kick in, he was counting on it to keep his darker desires in check. But even as Blake thought that he couldn't help but be aware on every level that Bane was now on the bed with him, touching him, looking so deeply into his eyes that he couldn't shake the feeling that the man saw far, far more than he wished to reveal.

It was more self preservation than thought out reason that had him softly pointing out that to understand his preference in men Bane simply had to flip the threat large men posed around.

Considering this Bane's eyes lit up as the pieces fell into place, Blake's explanation finally making sense to him. The man desired physically superior men because he was aware enough to realize that choosing a mate based on things like money, looks, or social position was foolish, especially when one lived in a place such as Gotham. It was a basic evolutionary tactic, after all, to choose one's mate based on his ability to protect, provide, and survive. On that level he was far superior to the men Blake must have known before him, Bane realized, having never really stopped to think of himself in this way. He prided himself on his ability to take care of both himself and those under his protection, and if someone other than himself had been causing the present problems in Gotham he would have been more than able to protect Blake from both the city and the man's stubborn need to put himself in danger for others.

"You realize that you are a shield-you seek one who is a weapon to fight and protect alongside you."

"I'm a what?"

"Your purpose in this world is to protect, not to harm. You take pain in the place of others. It is not in your nature to shed the blood of others or look after yourself-that is why you seek a man who will do those things for you."

A scowl was Blake's response to that as he stated that he did NOT want a man who thought killing people was a good idea in his life. He had enough criminals to deal with in his day to day life, thank you very much. And he was capable of spilling blood, he'd spent time in some of the roughest neighborhoods Gotham had to offer for fuck sakes.

Bane listened to the man get all puffed up and outraged, his detective obviously hating to be seen as weak, but he was sure that he understood now and was focused on what he'd learned. It was no wonder the man had no partner, who in this corrupt, weak city would be good enough? The closest to himself in terms of strength and ability to take care of the detective was-

The tattoo Blake had inked into his skin flashed before Bane's eyes, a deep, dark fury following at the idea that that mark might be more than just a show of misplaced hero worship. That it might instead be a claiming. A mark of possession stating who the man belonged to.

Letting go of the man's chin Bane's hand went around to squeeze down hard on the tattoo that marred the detective's skin there, the action cutting Blake's rant off and making the man's eyes go wide, Blake's breathing hitching a little as well. "Was the Batman your sword?"

"If I'm a shield than he would be too. He doesn't kill either."

"He is simply defective, neither shield nor sword. He could not protect or defend you."

Blake automatically tried to shake his head, unsuccessful thanks to Bane's grip on the back of his neck. "No, he did save me. He didn't fail me."

"He left you here to die. He didn't save you from your coming death." Bane snarled, the mask distorting it to a sort of hiss. He didn't know why but suddenly he was furious at the Batman for not saving the detective from his current fate. For not protecting the man he touched now as he should have.

"He didn't leave me, you took him away!" Fury messing with his own breathing Blake glared back at Bane, somehow completely unafraid at the moment as he moved closer instead of away. "And he did save me. He gave me something to aspire to, proved that I could be more with every blow he took for Gotham. Every life he saved. And when that fucking bomb goes off I might be dead-but I'll die with honor. With the knowledge that I served and protected to the best of my fucking ability until my last breath was stolen from me by you. And that means a hell of a lot more to me than living a hundred years with blood on my hands and the knowledge that I did nothing with my life but fuck it and others up."

"I do not intend to kill you myself, the bomb-"

"The bomb is you! You are the bomb. You control it and when you allow it to go off everyone that dies, including me-our blood will be on YOUR hands. Killing someone by fucking remote doesn't absolve you of any fucking thing." The darkness that had first drawn Bane's attention to Blake now showed in the detective's eyes. "That's what you are, not a sword or a shield, but a bomb."

Bane's fury came through as he again snarled his disagreement. He was not a bomb, some volatile explosion of chemicals and metals whose only purpose was to be triggered, to destroy everything around him to rubble. He was a sword, a weapon that could both defend and attack and he said so.

"And who have you defended here? Who besides me is alive because of your so called mercy? Batman and I are only alive to amuse you, period."

Still riding his anger and not thinking straight Blake drew back his metaphorical sword and thrust it straight through the other man's chest with his next words.

"You're going to leave this world being seen as nothing but a monster, a beast that destroys everything without heart or an ounce of compassion. If you don't blow everyone up before the mobs start forming some gun fanatic is going to lead them to you with pitchforks and torches like some medieval witch hunt. And yeah you and your men will probably be able to take care of them, but that doesn't change who the villain, the monster in this movie is. And you know what? All the evil you'll rid the world of when you blow up Gotham, all the other villains there right now destroying my city, well you'll make martyrs out of each and every one of them. No one will remember the horrible things they did, they'll be the victims and people will be sorry they died, set up memorials and teach about them in history classes. Their crimes will be forgiven, and they'll have you to thank for it. Save this world? Hah. You'll make people do the opposite of what you want just to fucking spite you!"

The hand Bane had placed by Blake's tattoo had shifted with the speech, the long fingers wrapping around the detective's neck and squeezing progressively harder, continuing to do so even after Blake had finished speaking. It was only their continued eye contact that kept him from finishing the detective off then and there.

They stayed like that for a long time, and then Bane unwrapped his fingers and left without a word.

And watching him leave Blake was determined not to forget again what kind of man Bane was ever again. He wasn't going to forgive and forget, not even if the man said please.

)

Bane sat on the kitchen's marble counter top, staring off into space. On the one hand it was better than eyeing the cookies he'd made himself even sicker on earlier, but the mercenary was not feeling particular rational or inclined to look on the bright side. He'd come down with the thought to destroy the cookies, throw them away and then in the morning tear down every decoration in Blake's room in punishment for his earlier words, but unfortunately his years in The Pit had made him incapable of wasting perfectly good food even if it was sugary, unhealthy crap. Or at least that was the excuse he was prepared to use for why he hadn't destroyed the cookies and had instead eaten over a dozen of them instead.

They'd been unbelievably good.

He sensed Barsad before the man noticed him, the other mercenary stopping dead when he'd taken three quick strides into the unlit kitchen.

Nodding his head in acknowledgement Barsad thought about lying as to his reason for being there and then decided not to bother. Walking over to the counter opposite his boss he helped himself to two more gingerbread cookies and then walked over to the fridge to get himself some milk too.

"You enjoy them."

"Yes." Barsad didn't even want to think about how many he'd eaten throughout the day, but he just couldn't stop, dammit. It was a good thing he knew that nothing Blake had put into the cookies contained even a little poison, because the way everyone in the house was eating the damn things they'd all be dead come morning.

"Blake says that I am a bomb…and that my actions will make martyrs of the people of Gotham."

Putting the milk away Barsad turned to face his leader without expression. "And why should you care what he thinks?"

"Do you think he is right?"

"I think my opinion does not matter either." The way Bane looked at him made it clear that wasn't what the man wanted to hear. Which was not good for either of them, Barsad thought as he remained where he was, just on case. Not that he could escape his master, and he would not try anyway, but still, it was basic human nature to wish some space between you and an alpha predator. "I do not think you are a bomb. But yes, in the eyes of some, you will have whitewashed the dead citizens of this city."

Hating the confirmation Bane nodded his head slowly. He'd been sitting there for quite a while after all, and Blake's previous comments about history and its lessons had kept echoing in his ears. Whenever people died in mass numbers due to violence they tended to be lumped together, labeled either victims or evil deserving of their fate. The Holocaust, the World Wars, 9/11 and others, bad people had to have been mixed in with those who'd led relatively blameless lives and yet they had died together and were remembered collectively as victims. In death many crimes were often forgiven or completely forgotten. No one liked speaking badly of the dead unless everyone was.

"Is there a way to change that?" Bane didn't think so, he couldn't think of one, but he put the question out there anyway. According to Blake he didn't listen to other people well enough, and after Talia there was no one he trusted more than Barsad.

Barsad was quiet for several minutes, Bane not rushing him, and then the mercenary shook his head and answered. "No. Things are in motion that cannot be stopped or altered. She will not allow them to be. This would not be your way to do things, Brother. This is not your way. It's hers."

Bane growled low in his throat, perceiving Barsad's words as an insult towards his Talia.

"I merely speak the truth." Barsad didn't reveal a hint of wariness or panic. "You do not play with your prey. This city would already be in ruins if the plan had been of your design. She must have suffering first."

"This city stole her father from her."

"He came to steal their lives from them." Barsad pointed out, opting to leave out the fact that the former head of the League of Shadows had passed on his love of unnecessarily complicated plots to his daughter. He and Bane did not share that love, but Bane would go against his nature to please Talia always. What Talia wanted Talia got.

Bane slid off the counter, rising to his full height as he demanded to know if Barsad was daring to suggest that there was even one person in Gotham who would have done the world more good than Ra's al Ghul.

"I could not say, I do not know the potential of every man, woman and child trapped in this city. How it would have changed the history of this country if our great leader had succeeded and the Batman, Detective Blake and the rest of the citizens had all died at Ra's al Ghul's hand then."

He would never have known Blake had Talia's father been triumphant, Bane realized abruptly, unaware that Barsad had deliberately mentioned the detective to make his point. His former leader would have snuffed out the bright light that was Blake without even meeting him, seeing his worth and all the potential he possessed.

Nor did he himself know all the people of Gotham.

But even weighed down with the sudden weight those thoughts had put on his shoulders, Bane's voice broke no argument when he spoke next.

"What is done is done. Nothing can be changed now."

)

The silence that followed that statement, like an edict had just been made, had Blake slowly backing away from the kitchen door, his sock feet making not a hint of sound as he seamlessly blended back into the shadows from which he'd come. He'd grown up in a world where it was often best not to be seen or heard, calling attention to one's self a good way to lose blood or consciousness. And there were some things that didn't leave you, especially when every animal instinct you possessed screamed that he would be dead in a heartbeat if Bane knew or suspected he'd overheard the conversation the man had just had with Barsad. His already darkly bruised throat burned every time he swallowed, reminding him of how easy it would be for either man to end him.

Reaching the stairs Blake carefully made his way up them, his ears straining for any sound while praying desperately that the two mercenaries would remain in the kitchen just a little longer and that he'd have time to get to the second floor before they called it a night.

He'd gone down to put away the empty bowl he'd stored his popcorn in…and had instead gotten information that could be critical to finding the woman with the remote. Because where else would it be, Blake thought as he reached his floor. This woman Bane and Barsad answered to wanted them all to suffer, so of course she'd have the remote with her so that she could look at it and touch it and know that she held their lives in her hands. Like a serial killer with a trophy of a kill.

And if he had to risk marching through the woods, with all its darkness and shadows to find the true beast-well that's precisely what he'd do, the detective thought, already making plans in his head. That she was using Bane, letting him take all the blame while she hid who and what she truly was…

That pissed him off more than words could say for some reason.