Bane barely noticed when the one who looked like Talia hurried on, her brow furrowed and eyes distant.

"If by your art, my dearest father"

Ra's was never dear.

His twin stood silent at the entrance. He could not tear his gaze from the other man. He blinked and cleared his head. That wasn't him. The figure on stage wore no mask. How could he have missed that?

"Oh, I have suffered with those I saw suffer."

That was Talia, all right. She'd never admit it, though.

He looked again at the Not-him. It was the coat, he decided. And the vest. And the way the actor held himself. Straight backed yet relaxed, hands resting on his chest, eyes intense. The boy was much smaller than the man he counterfeited, yet somehow his stance alone commanded the entire room. He finally spoke.

"Be collected. No more amazement. Tell your piteous heart, there's no harm done."

The boy stared right at him. Bane's breath caught in his throat once more as he realized two things. One, the line was to him. The boy's unyielding eye contact made that much clear. Two, the boy was not a boy. Her hair was pulled back and the coat hid her breasts and hips, but the actor Bane had mistaken for himself was an actress. The timbre of her voice gave her away.

His understanding must have shown as she gave a small smile. He nodded. Her gaze turned to Talia.

"No harm. I have done nothing but in care of thee."

Bane decided he liked these characters. He would do anything for the real Talia. Not that Not-him or Fake-Talia could have known that.

The play continued.

Or rather the Not-him's speech continued. She talked and talked. The scene was a barrage of back-story that had even his brilliant mind scrambling to keep up.

"Nor that I am more better than Prospero, master of a full poor cell, and thy no greater father."

So Not-him was named Prospero. And Prospero was Fake-Talia's father. Damn. He had been hoping for another relationship.

"Thou had'st, and more Miranda. But how is it that this lives in thy mind? If thou rememberest ought ere thou cam'st here,"

Miranda. What a coincidence. And a long memory too. This Miranda character really was Talia.

"I should sin to think but nobly of my grand-mother. Good wombs have born bad sons."

Miranda pointed to a man seated in the front row along the left half of the stage as she said this. The audience laughed and her victim pretended a scowl.

"By accident most strange, bountiful Fortune (now my dear lady) hath mine enemies brought to this shore."

Prospero finished his speech. A ship full of the people who had banished Prospero just happened to be floating by. That seemed rather far-fetched. Then again, this was a world populated by magicians, young women dressed like old men, and Talia doppelgangers. He let it slide and took stock of the entire, absurd situation.

Prospero was a Duke, but he was banished by his younger brother who had usurped the throne while Prospero was squirrelled away in the library studying to become a sorcerer. The evil brother had sworn fealty to the more powerful state of Naples in order to ensure his position. Prospero and Miranda had been set to sea with nothing but some provisions afforded by a kind old lord Gonzalo.

Gonzalo. That rang a bell. The old-young man-woman from before had been called Gonzalo. Good. Gonzalo as shorter than "old-young man-woman."

All in all it was pretty fantastical. He was thankful. He'd enough of eerie resemblances for one afternoon. None of that had to do with him, or the league, or Talia.

Except for the banishment. He understood the pain of that. From the way Prospero spoke he/she understood it as well. No. That couldn't be. She was probably some socialite-heiress with a bizarre death wish and a penchant for Shakespeare. She had nothing to do with him.

"Here cease more questions. Thou art inclined to sleep."

And Miranda promptly fell asleep. He chuckled, remembering. What Ra's wouldn't have given for a sleep spell like that. Talia was not as obedient as this Miranda.

"Approach, my Ariel. Come."

Barsad skipped on stage.

There were only so many times a jaw could drop in a single day. Bane felt sure he was reaching his limit.

Barsad skipped? No. It was the costume again. But the young man did look something like his lieutenant. Unruly brown hair, clear blue eyes. Where did these actors come from?

"Now in the waste, the deck, in every cabin, I flamed amazement, sometime I'd divide and burn in many places."

Ariel was a spirit and Prospero's servant, parallel to himself and the Serbian mercenary. They were doing this on purpose.

Despite the jabs, he was thoroughly enjoying the language. "The fire divides and burns in many places" was too long compared to "the fire rises," but he liked it anyway.

Unlike Prospero, Ariel did not move like his inspiration. His movements were quick and animalistic, a far cry from Bane's ever collected friend. Ariel used his red neck scarf to illustrate the story of the burning ship, the wreck, and the safe return to shore of all involved. Another difference. Bane could not recall ever seeing Barsad without that damned bandana wrapped around his neck. Even when camouflage was called for. He said it was lucky.

"And all the Devils are here."

"Why that's my spirit. But was not this nigh shore?"

"Close by, my Master."

Ariel made a "kind of" motion with his hand on "Close by." The audience laughed again. Bane joined in. Now that was something Barsad would say.

"Let me remember thee what thou hast promised, which is not yet performed me."

"How now? Moody? What is't thou can'st demand?"

"My Liberty."

"Do'st thou forget from what a torment I did free thee?"

That's when things took a turn for the political. Prospero's hand slipped into his pocket. Ariel cowered behind the legs of a watching couple. Who, in turn, shrank into the row behind them.

Prospero was holding the detonator.

Not the real one. He was sure Talia still had that one. But a very convincing replica.

"Thou best know'st what torment I did find thee in. It was a torment to lay upon the damned, which Sycorax could not again undo: it was mine art, when I arrived, and heard thee, that made gape the pine, and let thee out."

That gave him pause. Bane had been ready to step from the shadows and end the travesty, but the grain of truth in those lines stopped him. He had found Gotham limping on like a wounded animal, clinging to a lie and life at once. Now the city and its dark savior were both in Hell on Earth. In time he would release them both. Just like Prospero.

"Go make thyself like a nymph of the sea, be subject to no sight but thine, and mine: invisible."

Another laugh as Ariel pulled swimming goggles from his pocket and "made himself like a nymph of the sea" before exiting.

"Awake, dear heart awake, thou hast slept well. Awake."

Prospero knelt by his daughter and shook her lightly. In the beat before she woke Prospero caught Bane's eye again. The actress flashed him another tiny smile. Sheepish this time. As if in apology. He smiled back.

At least he tried. He'd heard of and seen "smiles that reached the eyes." Barsad when he was joking and/or drinking. Talia in that brief time between The Pit and his banishment. He hoped that's what he was doing now. The mask made him miss the strangest things.

"This island's mine by Sycorax my mother, which thou tak'st from me. When thou cam'st first thou strok'st me, and made much of me."

He had to sort things out again. Sycorax had come up in that bit with the dentonator. She was the island's former ruler. An enchantress, like Prospero banished and, like Prospero, a parent. That was her son, clad in rags with his skin painted to resemble scales, railing against the wizard for stealing his inheritance. The wheel always turns, he thought. Caliban, the son, could easily be ruling the island by the end of the play. He, after all, ruled the League of Shadows.

"I have used thee (filth as thou art) with humane care, and lodged thee in mine own cell, till thou didst seek to violate the honor of my child."

This was too close to home. It wasn't like that. But it was. It had been innocent, one could almost say puppy love. He'd once tried to go a little further; Talia said no; he stopped. Ra's threw him out, but that didn't stop the feeling. With three months left he doubted it ever would stop.

"Full fathom five they father lies. Of his bones are coral made."

Ariel/Barsad was on again, this time singing and picking at the ingénue's guitar from earlier. And behind him stumbled the ingénue making a good show of pretending the musical spirit was invisible.

"My prime request (which I do last pronounce) is (oh, you wonder) if you be maid, or no?"

"No wonder sir, but certainly a maid."

The lovers' meeting got another laugh. The Prince had accompanied his speech with clear, explanatory gestures, under the impression that Miranda did not understand English. It had all been very over the top. All except "oh you wonder." He'd spoken that to himself.

Oh, you wonder, Talia. He remembered the first day he'd held her. He didn't have the same feelings as now. That would have made him no better than her mother's murderers. He did remember thinking what a miracle he had in his arms. She was a spot of innocence and happiness. Hope, true hope, in a place that needed all it could get.

"They are both in either's powers: But this swift business I must uneasy make, lest too light winning make the prize light."

Prospero conferred with a father in the front row. The man's daughter huddled next to him, more than a little concerned at the nearness of the mercenary look-alike. Having confirmed his course of action Prospero once again made use of magic. He overpowered The Prince, accused him of espionage, and enforced his service, all in the name of making an easy love more complicated.

Perhaps that's what Ra's had meant by his banishment. To give him and Talia a proper story. No. His mind was running away with him again. He wondered if plays always had this effect, or if it was just him.

"Be of comfort, my father's of a better nature (sir) then he appears by speech."

Miranda furtively comforted her prince-servant. What had they called him? Ferdinand. Bane considered his mentor's character. Ra's Al Ghul had often and successfully obscured his nature, but whether it was better or worse than the metaphorical masks he wore Bane could not be sure. One could rarely be sure of anything with the League.

"Come follow. Speak not for him."

The scene ended as Prospero shepherded the lovers off. The stage was empty again, and Bane held his breath waiting and wondering how it would all play out. Suspense was not his usual color, but for now—just for now—he didn't mind.

The characters appearing in this story belong to Christopher Nolan. No profit is made of their use herein.

All quotes from The Tempest are taken from First Folio Facsimiles on Internet Shakespeare Editions ( . ). The author has modernized the spelling, grammar, and formatting.