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

Takes Cheap Shots

For the next few days Bane did exactly as he said, coming to Blake's bed every night and sleeping there with him like it was his right to do so. In the dark they inevitably moved in close to the other, kisses to skin and seeking touches following, one or both occasionally getting the other off with their hands or rubbing off on each other before going back to sleep. Or pretending to, as was often the case at first. The shift in their relationship was never discussed come morning, and this went on until the final day of December, New Year's Eve.

That morning Blake woke up to an empty bed, his hand moving over the space he'd come to think of as Bane's side, to find the sheets cool already, no sign of Bane's warmth lingering there.

The fact that that depressed him depressed Blake that much more and set the tone for his morning, so that he barely spoke more than a few words to Barsad and spent most of his time until noon in a funk with his thoughts dark and focused solely on the fact that this was going to be his last New Year's. He might not know his exact expiry date at this point, but there was no way he had another year to live. Bane was going to see to that.

He'd worked last New Year's, the streets filled with people too drunk or high to know their asses from their heads, much less what was and wasn't illegal for them to do in public. It had been a miserable night actually, he'd had a beer bottle thrown at his head, been called the whole alphabet of derogatory terms out there in at least three different languages, and he'd missed the count down completely. Actually, when he thought about it, he couldn't remember the last time he'd celebrated the whole counting down the new year in style the way everyone was supposed to according to movies and the multitudes of people who'd lectured him about his complete lack of a social life.

The fact that he didn't drink and therefore was usually the only non-drunk person at regular parties besides the designated drivers so rarely registered with people.

And it was that thought that led to another, and from there another until Blake's mind was solely focused on the fact that if ever there was a time to get rip roaring drunk, it was now. It was New Year's Eve, he was going to die, and if he wasn't horribly mistaken, which he hoped he was, he was seriously gone over Bane the way he'd never been gone over a guy before. So yeah…it was definitely time to get drunk.

Of course not being drunk yet it did occur to him that he had no idea what kind of a drunk he'd be, and that did give Blake some pause. He'd only recently gotten out of uniform and become a detective, he'd broken up more D and Ds, bar fights, and seen people broken, bleeding and often dead as a result of someone's inability to know when enough was enough far, far too often. His dad had been a sad drunk, inclined to wallow in his miseries and gamble in a brainless attempt to 'improve' their life while actually making it that much worse. So the idea of being a depressing or violent drunk was not at all appealing, especially given his present mood. A happy drunk would be much better, or even an amorous one, Blake acknowledged with a smirk, imagining what would happen if he were drunk enough to actually hit on Barsad. Bane seemed to think it was only a matter of time after all, and a quick death at the mercenary's hands certainly wasn't the worst thing that could happen to him in the long run.

So yeah. Actually, change that to hell yeah, Blake mentally shouted as he bounced to his feet. He was getting good and smashed tonight!

A man on a mission now, Blake headed off in search of alcohol, knowing just where to look having explored the house quite thoroughly during his captivity. Arriving at the large bar in the basement area Blake started grabbing bottles at random, lining them up on the main bar for him to study and look over.

He had no idea what to pick.

Most of the names weren't even ones he really knew, the mansion's former occupants not the type to carry the regular stuff he was used to seeing in bars and in the homes of former foster parents and suspects. And even if the names had been familiar he didn't know what types he liked because he had never tried more than the occasional sip at celebrations where he'd had to drink a little out of politeness. He'd certainly never forced down quality stuff.

Even the beer was fancy, not that he was going to try that. He'd tried a sip of that before and found it absolutely disgusting. When he'd complained about how nasty it was he'd been informed that it was an acquired taste, where you grew to like it after a while because of your reaction to it. His opinion that you shouldn't have to build up an immunity to a taste had been laughed and shrugged off.

But really, the most experience he'd had when it came to alcohol consumption was when he'd been twelve and he and a couple of the other kids he'd been living with in foster care had helped themselves to Jell-O in the fridge, completely unaware of the fact that a great deal of alcohol had been added to them until their foster mother had freaked on them. He hadn't gotten drunk off them despite his extreme love for Jell-O, but he had been in a pretty good mood despite being yelled at for the rest of the day.

Jell-O.

Oh man was he having the best ideas ever today!

Punching his fist into the air in victory Blake ignored the names, focused on the alcohol content listed, and then selected four bottles and headed for the kitchen.

He had some Jell-O to make.

)

Barsad stood waiting for Bane in the front entrance in the early hours of New Year's Day, having been informed of his leader's ETA moments before. He could only pray, and boy was he mentally praying, that Blake didn't get into any trouble in the short time he was away from the cop. As it was he'd given serious thought to having one of the outside guards meet Bane and explain the situation, but keeping the outside completely secure was more important than any trouble Blake might get into in the next five minutes or so. The annoying brat wasn't suicidal or violent after all. Far from it in fact.

But still, Bane wasn't going to like this. He wasn't going to like this one little bit.

Of course he'd also gotten the feeling that Bane had wanted to stay here all day, and would have if Talia hadn't insisted that Bane join her to toast in the new and last year of Gotham's existence in the world which had left him the dubious pleasure of ringing in the new year with Bane's cop. Watching the idiot get drunk off his ass on wiggly, brightly colored squares for a couple hours, followed by getting covered in the stupid confetti the idiot had cut up when the cop had thrown it into the air around them as the clock had switched over and into the next year…oh yeah, loads and loads of fun.

Shaking his head at the thought of what they would be faced with in this new year, especially if tonight marked a change in how Blake was going to deal with his present captivity, Barsad was braced for the worst when Bane walked into through the door, the man asking the same question he asked every night, which was where Blake was and if he was asleep.

"In his room. He's drunk."

"He said he doesn't drink."

"He's mentioned that. A number of times in the last few hours. He decided to rectify that situation tonight."

Eyes narrowing as he shrugged off his coat Bane kneaded the material with his fingers for several thoughtful moments before asking what condition the other man was in.

"He ate well beforehand, and he's been alternating his alcohol intake with water. He's already put out stuff to deal with the hangover he's going to have tomorrow…and was pathetic enough to get drunk via gelatin laced with a variety of liquors. Which he is still eating last time I checked." He'd tried to take the stuff from him earlier and had taken red goop to the face as a result. If the idiot hadn't been drunk he'd have done some not very nice things in retaliation.

"And why didn't you stop him?"

Having expected that question, and not wanting to discuss the mini food fight, Barsad answer was prompt and to the point. He'd been ordered to keep Blake alive and in the house. Not to prevent the cop from overindulging. What went unsaid was the fact that he'd been a little curious in the beginning as to what Blake would be like if drunk.

That he preferred the man sober was a lesson learned.

"Remove all alcohol from the premises. None is to be brought in for him or anyone on the premise either."

"I'll see to it."

A pause, and then Bane told him that he was off duty. He could see to it in the morning.

"Yes, Sir. I'll see you then." Cocking his head in acknowledgement of his orders and dismissal, Barsad headed out of the hallway towards the kitchen, leaving Bane to head upstairs to deal with the drunk off his ass detective.

He was almost sorry he was about to miss the conversation the other two were about to have if Blake hadn't passed out already.

)

Leaving his coat slung over the stair railing, he'd deal with it later, Bane headed straight for his Robin's room while his mind churned with the possibilities of what he might find when he opened the other man's door. He assumed that Blake wasn't currently a danger to himself, Barsad wouldn't have left him alone if that were the case, but someone operating under the influence of alcohol, particularly when he had no experience with it or knowledge of his limit, was neither rational nor consistent.

Not bothering to knock Bane stepped into the room, noting both the fact that a topless Robin was lying on a currently confetti strewn bed laughing hysterically, and that the television was on and holding the cop's complete attention.

That said cop seemed completely oblivious to the fact that he had company was a major tip off of just how out of it Blake actually was, Bane walking over to take a seat on the side of the bed as he waited to see how long it took for his presence to be noticed.

It didn't actually take that long, but the dark brown eyes he'd come to love were glassy and unfocused when they turned to meet his gaze.

"Hey. Canadians are fucking hilarious, did you know that? I totally didn't know that." Not waiting for an answer or comment Blake went back to watching the screen. "I went online to find a good New Year's movie, there's like none except for that stupid one with Aston Kutcher in it and I fucking hate that guy. Katherine Heigl too, though Josh Duhamel is pretty easy on the eyes. So yeah, this one site promoted this whole 'Royal Canadian Air Farce' thing, they do these New Year's specials every year so I downloaded them and I've been watching them. They're fucking awesome. They have this thing called a chicken cannon, and they took a bat to some furbies. I always said those toys were creepy little fuckers."

Raising an eyebrow over the constant use of the word 'fuck', normally Blake watched his language better unless he was upset which he didn't appear to be, Bane asked the cop just how much liquor he'd had.

"Fuck if I know." Was Blake's cheerful response before holding out a Tupperware container that was half full of brightly covered squares of gelatin. "Want really good Jell-O?"

Grabbing the container out of the man's hand Bane twisted around to set it aside on the bedside table before giving Blake a stern look as he informed him that he wasn't getting any more Jell-O.

"Awwwww. Someone needs to teach you to share. And smile. You never smile. Or at least I don't think you do behind that tin can you wear on your face. You're never going to get laid if you don't let me see you smile, no way, no fucking how. When you come in here you should give me a dashing, debonair smile. Come, come, show me the smile. I'll let you fuck me if you do."

It occurred to him that Robin was so drunk at this point he could tell the man he was smiling and he might be believed, but Bane also didn't want to be hated by his cop, and he would be if he took advantage of the state he was in. So instead he said that no, he wouldn't be smiling tonight.

"Knew it." Looking smugly over his shoulder Blake grinned at him. "That's why I offered. And it's totally your fucking loss too being I am fucking amazing in bed. I could get you written testimony to that fact if I wasn't locked up here. Though you probably blew some of them up, assehole." Pause. "OH! CHICKEN CANNON! Wahooo!"

Turning his gaze to the television Bane listened as the man dressed in a fake military uniform announced that the voted chicken cannon target of two thousand and two was President George W Bush.

Watching the picture of the former American president get covered in oil, barbecue sauce, sugar, and what he assumed was fake horse manure was amusing, Bane was willing to admit, especially when the contents were shot out of a mini canon, but since this apparently signaled the end of the show Bane stated that Blake had watched enough television and should now take his aspirin and some more water before going to sleep.

"Bane, you are positively primeval."

The word choice not making sense to him, Bane asked if Blake even knew what that word primeval meant.

"That you're really evil?"

Chuckling, Bane shook his head. "No. It's another way or saying someone or something is ancient or primitive. As in related to the earliest stages of history."

"Huh. The things you learn. I thought it was prime and evil mushed together weirdly." Also amused now Blake flopped back onto the bed, apparently too drunk to try and remain upright for very long.

Eyes naturally moving over all that exposed skin, especially since his bird was stretched out and spread out for him like a banquet ready to be feasted on, Bane's hands literally itched to touch even though he knew it would be wrong of him. Tonight of all nights he had to keep his hands to himself where Robin was concerned.

"I can feel you eye fucking me you know. I'm not that drunk. Well no I am…but still…"

And on that statement Blake very unsteadily got up and crawled over in Bane's direction, Bane freezing first in surprise and then shock as the other man slid into his lap and then curled up against him like a small child or pet would. "Robin?"

"When you hold me all the bad stuff goes away. Which is just stupid cause you bring the bad stuff, but then I'm just stupid about you. You smell good."

And on that note his Robin passed out on him, leaving Bane to put him to bed.

Though once Bane was under the covers too he pulled Robin back into his arms, holding him chose to keep the bad stuff away. Even though yes, he was the one who'd brought the bad stuff to him too.

)

Blearily opening one eye the next morning, Blake took stock of his present situation, knowing on some level that there was going to be something different about this morning. Oh his head hurt. Whimpering as he closed his one eye Blake wallowed in his misery for several minutes before belatedly remembering the fact that he'd prepared for this eventuality the night before. Feeling around on his bedside table he eventually located the drugs, thank God, and swallowing them down straight waited until he was fairly sure he wouldn't throw them up before attempting to sit up and open his eyes again.

His head was pounding, but he didn't feel like hurling chunks everywhere which was good. He'd been expecting that to be a large part of his morning the way it had been his father's. The eating well beforehand and drinking lots of water had definitely been-fuck he had to pee.

With much groaning and cursing Blake tossed aside the blankets and staggered over to the bathroom where he took care of his abused bladder, then showered long enough to wake him up completely and give the drugs time to start working away at his headache. Then it was some serious teeth brushing to remove all traces of the nasty taste he had in his mouth, followed by a return to his bedroom to get dressed for the day.

Once all that was completed Blake turned his attention to trying to remember what he'd gotten up to during his one and definitely only brush with being drunk.

Huh. A lot of it was pretty blurry. He remembered…the chicken cannon thing, which had been awesome if progressively harder to follow, stopping the shows to celebrate the changing of the year with the confetti he'd made, throwing some of his Jell-O at Barsad when the bastard tried to take it away from him…and Bane had come in at some point and given him an English lesson?

Bane.

Looking over in the direction of the bed Blake's gaze lingered there for a moment and then he dismissed the whole thing as unimportant. His ass was in too good a shape for anything to have happened there and he was fairly sure that Bane wouldn't have taken advantage of him anyway. Not the mercenary's style.

And seeing the time on the clock Blake noted it was nearly time for lunch.

Huh. Maybe he'd go see what Barsad was up to. And throw some Jell-O at him too if there was any left. The jerk's expression last night had been priceless.