A/N: Non-censored version of the story on AO3: archiveofourown(dot-org)/works/684270
John dozed for a few hours and then woke in the evening, his body restless as he drifted back and forth between asleep and awake. Bane was thankfully still sleeping and instead of risking waking him up by remaining in bed while awake, John extracted himself from Bane's loose hold and the bed. He resituated the blankets over Bane's shivering body – seeing the raised goose bumps on his arms – and then exited out into the hallway.
He spent some time cleaning up his apartment a bit, focusing mainly on the kitchen. It took a while but eventually John had a garbage bag full of decomposing food he needed to get out of the apartment, throwing out any solids he couldn't pour down the sink. It was an unbearably smelly trip out into the apartment building hallway to drag the bag to the garbage chute and John noticed that his muscles were still tiring quicker than normal, but he was still proud of his work when he returned to the kitchen and found that already the stench was beginning to abate.
John lit a candle in the kitchen to help with the smell and then worked on the rest of the house, cleaning up the general disarray that always followed a thief like a whirlwind, any items not of value tossed haphazardly. It left John a little nervous, knowing at least one unwelcome person had gone through his things. But he reminded himself that the thief had come and gone a few months ago, and no one would dare cross John now with Bane by his side – sick or not.
Once the apartment was in some state of order John grabbed a frozen dinner from the freezer and heated it up, eating by candlelight as he listened to the radio. More updates continued to stream through the radio, informing John about everything that was happening outside his door as Gotham steadied itself and looked ahead to rebuilding. There were also increasing speculations that Bane had cast himself into the river, frozen and drowned, as everyone searched for some form of resolution despite being unable to find Bane.
There was so much to deal with that John's hand wavered over the radio, wanting so badly to turn it off and drown out the news and his thoughts. He knew it wouldn't solve anything though and dropped his hand back to the table, his other hand still occupied with his fork as he munched blandly on the freezer-burned chicken.
Many buildings would need to be rebuilt and mended from the riots and war. Hundreds if not thousands would need to be buried; John had no doubt that everyone had lost at least one person they knew. Everyone was in mourning, broken and defeated and too tired to celebrate their survival. Things would never be the same here again.
All of the stolen property would never be fully returned to rightful owners, many houses and apartments left empty by owners who would never return. Friends and family would hold each other closer but may never feel safe again. How could they? Gotham attracted the worst sorts of people, and the Dent Act had now lost all of its legal power against criminals. Batman had been their main protector but he had paid for Gotham's safety with his life – how long would that safety last? And when it inevitably crumbled, who could the citizens place their hope with?
John turned his hand over, palm offered up. In the flickering candlelight, radio static in his ear, John took in the outline of his police badge cut into his skin. He hadn't paid it much attention the last few hours since he had been busy worrying about Bane, but his skin still stung, refusing to let him forget his decision easily. How could John sit here and listen to the radio talk about the city – his city – struggling and throw away his badge? Turn away?
John clenched his hand into a fist until he could feel the cuts crack and split open, taking the pain with greedy guilt. He deserved this pain, deserved more pain. He had weathered the war by hiding away in Bane's arms and had chosen Bane over the people in the end. It was a choice John wouldn't change, but one he had to face. Just because he had chosen Bane didn't mean he would abandon Gotham, and he refused to be restrained and forced to abide any further injustices, but how was he going to help if he quit the police force?
With a heavy sigh John turned off the radio and stood from the table. He rinsed out the cardboard tray from his dinner and washed the welling blood from his palm. Then he blew out the candle, casting the kitchen in darkness, and headed to the bathroom. John took a long time to shower, allowing the warm water to wash away some of his frustration along with the blood, sweat and dirt he had acquired over the last few days.
He couldn't stay in the shower forever though, the water turning icy and driving John out again. John towelled off and changed back into his relatively clean clothes and then turned his attention to the bathroom counter to wrap his hand the way he had wrapped Bane's only a few hours ago. As he bandaged his hand he watched the conflict in his eyes, wishing his reflection could offer some form of wisdom.
Finding no inspiration and growing quite tired of looking at his forlorn expression, John turned from the mirror and packed up the first aid kit. He turned off the light on his way out and headed back towards the bedroom. Bane was fitful in sleep as John slipped under the covers, though the larger man calmed slightly as John curled up against his back. John hoped that some part of Bane could tell John was close by, the thought helping John's mind finally calm and return to his dreams.
#
He woke up in bed alone, a situation that had John's heart jumping up into his throat. It reminded him of the weeks he had stayed with Bane before they had grown closer, when Bane would wake up early and leave John alone to the cold bed while he left to wreck havoc on the streets. It also reminded John of the previous week when Bane had sent him away, after all the kisses and claiming, the discussions and soft glances. For one week John had woken up in bed alone and he had despised it.
John could feel their unique gravity drawing him out of bed in search of Bane, worried and almost sick with the urge to see Bane again. The pre-dawn light was just beginning to paint the sky lighter through the windows as John stumbled out of bed and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, pulling his sweater tightly around himself before venturing out into his apartment to begin the search.
He didn't have far to look, the bathroom door closed and the rest of the apartment silent. On bare feet John padded up to the bathroom door and knocked softly, eyebrows knitting together in concern when he received no reply. "Bane?" he called, voice unsteady when he received only more silence. "Bane?"
Still there was no response and John turned the handle slowly, finding it unlocked. He wasn't sure what to expect when he stepped into the room, nor how to react when his eyes finally swept across the small room. The air was thick with heat and sickness, the empty water glass on the counter and the toilet seat up after Bane had no doubt spent more time hunched over it, throwing up anything that still remained in his stomach.
Bane was a bundle of clothing and muscle in the bathtub, curled up into a ball and barely fitting into the deep basin of the tub below the tap and far below the higher shower head. Bane's back was turned to the door and his body was rising and falling minutely, hinting at a normal breathing pattern as Bane dozed through his exhausted suffering. It would be a comical sight – the massive terror of Gotham curled up in the tub – if it wasn't so heartbreaking.
John grabbed some extra blankets and a spare pillow from the hall closet and returned to the bathroom, carefully placing the blankets on top of Bane. He knew they could only help so much at keeping Bane warm since the porcelain of the tub would sap most of Bane's body heat while he continued to lie there, but John wanted to do anything he could.
Bane stirred with a terrible groan as John struggled to tuck a few blankets around his body for extra warmth. John winced and silently scolded himself on disturbing Bane, but took the opportunity to sit on the lip of the tub and rest a hand on Bane's bicep. "Won't you come back to bed?" he asked sadly.
His concern mounted when Bane didn't even make an effort to roll over and look at John, let alone stand from the tub to return to the bedroom. "I cannot stop vomiting," Bane told him.
John believed him. He could hear the sharp catch in Bane's voice that came from upchucked stomach acid. "We could get a bucket," he suggested, his hand traveling the length of Bane's arm, down and back up. "You'll ache more if you stay like this."
"I would prefer to be here," Bane retorted. "At least until the nausea stops." From where he was sitting John watched Bane's eyes drift closed again and remain that way. "If it ever stops."
Knowing there was no point in arguing, John picked up the pillow from the floor and set it on his knees. Then he slowly touched a hand to Bane's neck as a warning. He received a grunt at the contact but no complaints. John charily hooked his hand under Bane's neck and shoulder, pulling him up until he could slip the pillow between Bane's head and the chilled porcelain.
The thanks he received was a quiet sigh of relief and John smiled as he brushed his uninjured palm along the crown of Bane's head. "It will stop," he promised, leaning forward to press a kiss to Bane's sweaty temple. Bane didn't stir at the caress or kiss even though John knew he was still awake, but John didn't take offense. "Just call if you need anything," he said as he stood, looking down at Bane bundled up in his tub.
He was halfway to the door when that low, always-precise voice spoke to him. "John?"
John paused and glanced over his shoulder. "Yeah?"
"Thank you."
"You're welcome," John smiled even though Bane wouldn't see it. He stood there for another moment and then headed for the door, leaving it open ajar on his way out so that he could hear Bane if he called for him. Bane never did actually call John for assistance at any point while he struggled through the morphine withdrawal, though that was probably at least partially due to the fact that he never had to call; John fretted enough that he hovered as much as Bane would allow him.
The day passed with agonizing slowness as John watched Bane suffer, the worst of the withdrawal happening two days after his last injection of morphine. After years of dependence on morphine as Bane had lived his life trying to avoid the lingering agony of the Venom drug pumped into him, the fallout was horrible to watch.
For almost the full day after Bane had claimed the tub as his new bed, Bane couldn't stop throwing up. John didn't really want to listen to it, feeling his own stomach twist with sympathetic nausea. But the only thing John had to drown Bane out was the radio, and he was mostly unwilling to drown Bane out anyway in case he needed help. Early in the morning John would hear the retching followed by a growl or groan of displeasure, though by the time the sun was inching towards the western horizon John could only hear a few sad, broken, sobs.
Sometimes when John ventured into the bathroom he found Bane curled around the base of the toilet, staying close as he panted in case another wave of sickness swept over him. Other times John would find Bane back in the tub, blankets pulled tight around him as a protective barrier, tearstained and shaking violently.
At first John attempted to get Bane to eat something, worried about how hungry Bane would get. Bane couldn't manage to keep any food down though, immediately throwing up anything he swallowed, so John gave up and focused on keeping Bane hydrated. Even the water ended up in the toilet occasionally, but when Bane sipped very slowly and lay perfectly still he could sometimes hold down the nausea long enough for his body to absorb some of the water.
To be truthful, John was terrified for Bane. In only a day John could see how weak Bane was becoming, pain, sickness and stomach cramps stealing any remaining strength from his body. By the afternoon John had to help Bane from the toilet to the tub where he had thrown down a duvet for Bane to lie on top of. Bane would never comment but he didn't have to; John could feel how much of his weight was resting on John's shoulder, and couldn't miss the way Bane's feet dragged and stumbled.
Whenever Bane would allow John into the bathroom he would sit on the lip of the tub, offering water or wiping away sweat from Bane's brow with a warm washcloth. John wondered if he was being too overbearing but Bane never complained or sent him away. Sometimes when John stood up to rewet the washcloth or get more water Bane's hand would clasp his wrist – gently this time – and keep him close. John would always sink back down into a seated position at the silent request, only leaving when Bane released him.
John did his best to keep a brave face on when he was in the bathroom, but when he left to make lunch for himself or give Bane some privacy it was harder to fight down his panic. He would end up by a window looking out at the quiet city; many citizens still holed away and not believing the radio proclaiming their freedom and safety. A few times John had to swallow around a painful lump in his throat as his thoughts took a tailspin. John wondered what he would do if Bane died. After everything they had been through to be together.
He wanted to take Bane to a hospital but that was obviously out of the question. Just because Bane was sick and without a mask didn't mean he wouldn't be instantly recognized. John couldn't run the risk of taking Bane out of the apartment now, especially while he was so weak and defenceless. He wouldn't forgive himself if Bane was arrested or killed, even if every other citizen of Gotham agreed that it was what he deserved.
It was as these thoughts plagued him, the sun recently set on the far horizon, that John heard a hesitant knock at the door. The sound startled John so badly that he jumped, cursing quietly as he spun on his heel to regard the door across the living room and down the hallway. His eyes flickered to the bathroom door, which was closed, wondering what he should do.
He could ignore the person at the door but he didn't want any more thieves breaking into his house. He could rouse Bane except he doubted Bane would be much help anyway, and John wanted to keep him out of sight if possible. Bane wasn't making any noise in the bathroom, probably back in the tub and hopefully asleep, so John would leave him there and hope there was just an innocent neighbour at the door.
A second knock rung through the apartment, a little more insistent this time and forcing John into movement before the knocker woke Bane up. On quick, silent feet John rushed into the bedroom to pocket Bane's pocket knife and pick up his gun, clicking off the safety as he walked back to the front door. A third knock came, even louder than before, and John winced in fear at the thought of Bane waking up and coming to the door.
Feeling a little rushed now, John undid the locks on his door. As he reached for the doorknob he held his left hand with the gun behind the door, hidden but ready if it became necessary. He took a slow, steadying breath and then pulled the door open. John choked, feeling his heart hammering in his chest when he saw Commissioner Gordon standing out in the hallway, looking exhausted and harried but alive.
"Gordon," John choked out and then immediately chided himself silently. John had to make sure he didn't act too nervous or suspicious while Gordon was here; now was the time when John had to return the favour and protect Bane. John flicked the safety back on and shoved the gun into his waistband, trying to breathe normally. Gordon's sharp eyes watched the action but said nothing, no doubt understanding John's caution after what they had all collectively experienced. "What are you doing here?" John asked when the Commissioner didn't say anything.
"I think the better question is what are you doing here?" Gordon shot back, angry and confused. John swallowed thickly, guilt immediately falling on him like a crushing wave. Gordon seemed to notice the reaction because he sighed, his eyes softening slightly. "I'm sorry, no. That was wrong of me. I'm here to see if you're alright." Gordon grimaced. "I didn't hear from you after we spoke last and no one has seen you and I worried..."
"Worried what?" John's voice was tight. Had Gordon assumed John had abandoned Gotham in search of Bane?
"Worried you were dead!" Gordon snapped, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. John was actually touched that the thought seemed to cause Gordon genuine distress. Not that John would ever say Gordon didn't care about his men, but as the Commissioner he had so many people to watch over that John guessed many didn't stand out for particularly notice. "You're a good man, Blake."
"Thank you, sir." John found it difficult to swallow, to breathe. His chest was constricting, denying him enough oxygen.
"Don't thank me, Detective," Gordon cut him off, eyes hard and calculating again. "I want an explanation as to why you're here at home and not out on the streets helping. I want to know why I had to go through police records to look up your address and come here instead of you contacting me."
"My phone was stolen months ago," John defended weakly. Gordon's eyes flashed with renewed anger and John struggled not to look away like a petulant child. He knew that wasn't a good enough answer for the Commissioner. John made sure his voice didn't waver; he didn't want his decision to sound half-hearted or lazy. "Truth is, I quit the force." Gordon raised an eyebrow and was very silent. "Not officially yet, obviously," John continued, words suddenly spilling from him without his consent. "But I threw out my badge."
John had been prepared for the anger. What tore through him was the look of disappointment on Gordon's face. "Scared, Blake?" Gordon asked quietly. "Or changed?"
"The last few months might have changed me, Gordon. But I have not changed sides. And I am not scared," he whispered viciously.
Gordon wanted to believe him; John could see it on his face. "Then why?" Gordon looked past John into the apartment. "When the city needs you now more than ever? Good men like you. Gotham would have been lost without you and you fought for it despite your situation. But you give up now?"
John knew Gordon was referring to his captivity with Bane, and their hushed conversation when Gordon had asked John if he had ever been in love before. John's gaze fell to the floor, suddenly ashamed. "I haven't given up," he told Gordon, though there was uncertainty in his tone now. "But I heard about the police blowing up the bridge just to follow orders and I can't... I can't be confined by the law like that. I won't be forced into making those choices."
Gordon breathed a heavy sigh and ran his fingers through his hair, agitated. Then his shoulders slumped forward, defeated. "I know we had that conversation all those months ago about the structures failing you and turning into shackles. I meant it, and I still do," Gordon glanced up at him. "But you can still do more good with the police than you can as an independent citizen at home. The badge gives you more power, and you can use that power to do good."
John's jaw clenched. It sounded so appealing, and horribly easy to nod and dig his badge out of the garbage, to sacrifice some freedom and integrity for the power to actually do something meaningful. But he couldn't forget. "That power comes with strings."
Gordon nodded, not refuting him. "Yes, it does. And you will need to decide if you are willing to accept those strings." He didn't seem to expect John to decide right now, which relieved John as Gordon continued to speak. "Despite what I said before and what I've been through, I choose to accept those strings because I know it's my best opportunity to do good for my city. But who knows," Gordon's lips quirked up. "Maybe you can find a different opportunity."
John shrugged, not really knowing what to say. He had already been thinking about this, about how he could still help Gotham even if he quit the police force, but he hadn't been able to think of any viable options that made sense. He said the only thing he could think of. "So you're not resigning?"
"No, Gotham is stuck with me," Gordon chuckled softly, though the laugh was a little sad. The Commissioner had made mistakes in the past, especially recently. There would no doubt be some people unhappy with him maintaining such a powerful position after the speech Bane had read months ago.
John rested a hand on Gordon's shoulder, drawing his gaze. "The people are lucky to have you," he said seriously. He meant it, even if a small part of him worried about Bane's safety with Gordon still on the streets. Though John reminded himself that he had to care about the citizens' wellbeing, not just his own and Bane's.
"Thanks, John," Gordon smiled and then cleared his throat gruffly. "Just do me a favour and don't throw your badge away yet, alright? Think on it a bit more."
John nodded, thinking back to the second bag of garbage he still had shoved into the corner of his kitchen. It was filled with his badge and coat as well as Bane's armour and mask. He had not known how to dispose of it without risking the possibility of someone finding the items – especially together. "I'll think on it."
"Glad to hear it," Gordon smiled for another moment before the curl of lips faltered. John watched Gordon shove his hands into his pockets, suddenly uncomfortable. "Listen, I came for another reason as well. Next Tuesday is Bruce Wayne's funeral." John's heart stumbled, clenched, ached. He felt like all of the energy had left his body, leaving him hollow. All of his senses were too aware, the world sharp against him. "I know you two were close so I wanted you to know. It's not going to be a big thing, just a few of his close friends."
John was numb as he thought about standing over Bruce's grave, on the edge of the Wayne property no doubt. He would have to look down at the grave and know that his friend – one of his closest friends despite the short time they had really known each other – had sacrificed everything to save his city. There would be no more Batman, no more Bruce Wayne.
Bruce had grown up to accomplish so much, be so much, overcoming his many loses in childhood and youth. He had been an inspiration to John and a friend on top of that, someone John could relate to better than most. Bruce had experienced the same sort of sadness and anger that stemmed from the loss they shared, but he had harnessed it and become a symbol for selfless justice. John had learned so much from him in the short time they had known each other, and he could only hope that he could follow a similar path someday. He hoped he could someday be that brave and help so many people.
At this thought John met Gordon's searching gaze. "Did he tell you...?" he hedged, unwilling to say too much in case Gordon didn't know.
He could tell Gordon knew when the man's stiff shoulders suddenly drooped, as though a heavy weight had finally been lifted. "You knew?"
"I could just sort of tell," John tried to explain. "Similar backgrounds and everything. I guessed and confronted him and he told me."
"He was a good man," Gordon whispered sadly. "We owe him so much."
John found it a bit odd that neither of them were saying it outright – Bruce was Batman. But he decided that it was because it didn't need saying. They both knew and shared that secret, and would continue to protect Bruce's secret the way he wished. Bruce had wanted to act as a symbol of hope for others; the point was never for anyone to know his identity. And while John thought that all of Gotham – the world – should know, he would honour Bruce's wish in death.
They stood together in John's doorframe for a few moments in silence, mourning together. But it wasn't long before John remembered that Bane was in his bathroom and could wake up at any moment, making enough noise to draw Gordon's attention or worse, stepping out of the bathroom and being seen. Suddenly aware of how precarious a situation he was in, John cleared his throat. "Thanks for coming by. I'll definitely be there. Wayne Manor?"
"Yeah." Gordon fumbled in his jacket pocket and pulled out a slip of paper with a phone number written on it. "When you get a new phone you can reach me at this number. I'd really like to see you back on the force but even if you decide not to come back I'd like to stay in contact."
"I'd like that too," John said honestly, taking the paper and putting it in his own pocket for safekeeping. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry," he rushed to say, his cheeks hot, his collar too tight though he refused to fidget with it. "I'll never stop fighting to protect Gotham, but I know I've disappointed you."
"As long as you don't give up and keep fighting you will never disappointment me," Gordon assured him, offering a hand. Warm with the words, John shook Gordon's hand firmly.
When they broke apart Gordon took a step back out into the hall, though he wavered and stood still again. John remained in the doorframe, feeling nervous again as Gordon's eyes looked him over and then glanced past John's shoulder into the apartment. John refused to look behind him despite his sudden dizzying fear that Bane was there, in view. "Something wrong?" he tried to sound calm, merely curious.
Gordon shook his head and smiled again, eyes meeting John's own. "Nothing wrong. Though there was one more thing I meant to say before I head off." John's thoughts were spinning, fear feeding his nerves and leaving him fidgety. When John said nothing, Gordon returned his hands to his pockets. "I'm sure you've heard on the news by now that Miranda Tate was the mastermind behind all this."
John tried to swallow and failed, his mouth dry. He didn't want to be talking about these sorts of topics, the ones that could potentially have him slipping the secret that Bane was still alive. He was thankful that he could at least act out his discomfort and bolster it up to make it look more like betrayal and shock; after all, before Bane had told him everything John really had believed Miranda had been an innocent civilian – a helpful civilian. It was only when he knew the truth that John realized how many missions she had probably sabotaged, hiding behind a charming smile and a soft voice that could sweep you away.
"I heard," John spoke carefully. "I could hardly believe it was true. We told her so much."
"I know," Gordon grumbled, clearly just as upset as John if not more so. "But as I'm sure you've also heard, she died in the war. I was there when she confessed." John waited for Gordon to continue, not entirely sure what Gordon wanted to say since all of this information had been available on the radio. Gordon looked at him and seemed to pick up on his confusion, because he took a deep breath. "I wanted to inform you that she will be buried in an unmarked grave uptown in the Restwoods Cemetery."
John studied Gordon's face closely, trying to understand. "Why would I want to know that?"
Gordon's eyes flickered past his shoulder again and John felt his blood turn to ice in his veins. Gordon knew, or at least suspected that Bane was here with him. And of course Bane would want to know where Talia had been buried. Was this a trap to get Bane to leave the apartment and reveal himself? A ruse to get John to reveal Bane by accident? John prepared himself for a barrage of questions and felt unsteady when Gordon looked at him square in the eye and shrugged. "Just a hunch."
No questions, no demands, no interrogation. John knew Gordon wouldn't have said anything about Miranda if he didn't think Bane was here with him, and yet he was making no attempt to corner him. "I don't understand," John muttered truthfully.
"After I found out about Miranda's involvement I began thinking back to the conversation we had a few months ago..." Gordon trailed off for a moment, lost in thought. "Let's just say I want to believe people can change."
John knew it might give too much away but he couldn't hold back his heavy sigh of relief. "Thank you."
Gordon's eyes were soft but his mouth was a hard line. "Don't thank me yet, Blake. I'll see you on Tuesday at the manor."
With that said Gordon gave him one final nod and began down the hallway, headed to the stairs and out of sight. John remained standing in the doorframe watching Gordon until he disappeared. Only then did he step back into his apartment and close the door, sliding his locks back in place. After that John leaned against the closed door, trying to calm his heart and breathing. He couldn't believe that conversation had just occurred. He had never even hoped that someone might understand...
A few thoughtful minutes passed by before John finally pushed himself away from the door. He first made his way into the kitchen, digging through the bag in the corner until he found his badge and pulled it out. He looked it over for a moment, noticing that a corner of metal was stained red with his blood, and then he dropped it onto the kitchen table. John had promised Gordon he would think about it, but he was not comfortable carrying the badge yet.
The conversation with Gordon and his sudden appearance had made John anxious and he was desperate to see Bane again, to be reassured that Bane was really alive and in his bathroom. John forced himself to briefly walk past the bathroom to put away his gun and knife in the bedroom. Then he returned to the bathroom and knocked on the door tentatively. "Bane?" he called nervously, not hearing anything beyond the door.
He received a grunt in reply, permission enough, and John walked into the room. Bane was in the tub but he was lying on his back, glassy eyes blinking slowly at the ceiling. John hesitated for a moment, suddenly wondering if he belonged here. The two sides of his life – police and criminal, good and bad, light and dark – had just collided violently, splintering and shaking John to his core as he struggled to figure out where he belonged.
John had told Gordon he quit the police force to avoid the injustices, but wasn't allowing Bane to walk free an injustice after everything he had done? What sort of man would John be if he allowed Bane to avoid any punishment? Bane owed a lot to this city and needed to make some form of repayment. Restore balance. Yet, what sort of man would John be if he betrayed Bane and gave up on him? When they had reunited in City Hall they had promised to shed their masks and begin afresh, and John wanted to give Bane that opportunity to prove himself.
John was broken from his thoughts when Bane slowly tilted his head to the side, eyes clearing slightly as they regarded him. "John."
The hand Bane held up as both an offering and summon trembled visibly and John rushed to sit on the lip of the tub immediately. He took Bane's hand in his own and rested it on his leg, ignoring the clammy skin as his warmer hand rested on top. "I'm right here," he told Bane, whose eyes had gone glassy again and hooded.
"I love you," Bane murmured.
Stress, fear, and relief mixed into a dangerous cocktail of feelings and John choked back a sob, his face awash with tears that he couldn't seem to quell. A few tears pattered onto Bane's forearm where it was outstretched and Bane looked back to him. John could see Bane's eyebrows furrow as he struggled to focus, to sharpen his attention. "I love you too," John whispered it like a plea, overcome with too much emotion and uncertainty.
"Then why are you crying?" Bane wondered aloud, his other hand coming to rest on top of John's.
It was such a simple question, but it was so difficult to answer. "Just a little overwhelmed. Worrying about you, sad that my friend Bruce died..." Embarrassed, John wiped away his tears with his free hand. "There's just a lot going on in my head right now."
Bane didn't say anything for a moment and John wondered if he would ever say anything, or if he was expecting John to continue. John couldn't think of what else to say though; he wouldn't pile all of his fears and uncertainties on Bane now while he was so sick. Bane finally seemed to decide what to say, taking a shuddering breath. "You should go to the funeral."
John was caught off-guard at the comment. "Did you hear my conversation?"
Bane gave him a slightly unimpressed look. "The walls are not as thick as you seem to think." John bit his bottom lip, worried Bane might be angry or uncomfortable after the Commissioner's intrusion. To his surprise, Bane only tightened his hold on John's hand slightly. "Thoughtful of the Commissioner."
John dropped his gaze, oddly ashamed. "I was going to tell you."
"I know." There was no doubt in Bane's voice.
The trust spurred new tears, salt on John's lips as he sniffled. "Would you like to visit Talia?"
"Yes," Bane said, smile weak and wry. "But not now."
John's short laugh caught in his throat. "Obviously not."
"John," Bane spoke his name again. It never failed to warm John, to make him feel like everything would be okay someday. John looked up, Bane's eyes finally clear. "Bruce was important to you. You should say goodbye to your Batman one last time."
John wrenched himself away in shock, legs landing on the cold tile and sending a bolt of pain up his spine. "You knew?" he gasped, heart hammering. Bane knew?
Bane didn't stir in the bathtub, only watched John with his unwavering gaze. "I knew."
A sickening, sharp clarity fell over John like a pane of glass shattering over his bowed head. "You were the reason Bruce vanished all those months ago. Why he was gone so long."
He couldn't lift his head to see Bane's face. His eyes remained on the tile, wide and unseeing. "I was," Bane agreed after a minute, deliberate and certain. "When he confronted me in the sewers we fought." A pause. "I broke his back and sent him to the prison where I grew up."
On his knees and forearms, head bowed, John gagged. There was nothing to throw up but his imagination kept supplying him with horrible images of Bane and Bruce fighting, of Bruce sprawled on the ground unable to move. The sound of bones splintering seemed to be all John could hear, drowning out the sound of his quickened breathing. John gagged again and whimpered as his stomach cramped, his imagination assaulting him.
A hand touched the top of his head, fingers slipping tentatively through his locks of hair. John was too weak to pull away from the tiny comfort even though he hated himself for it. He wanted to say he couldn't believe it – wouldn't believe it... but he knew Bane. John would not let himself be fooled by his own naive desires. This relationship could only work if he accepted Bane for all he was—
It struck John again, the clarity that had him clenching his teeth in disgust at himself as well as shock. Bane had just told him that he had broken Bruce's back and left him to die. Bane had nearly killed John's friend and hero. And still... Still John was thinking about how to make this relationship work. How?
How?
How could he still love a man despite all of the horrible things he had done? Everything that went against John's beliefs and hopes, yet he was still willing to understand and forgive. The fingers soothing his hair felt so perfect and warm and John could only stay there and blink away tears. He loved Bane and found a companion in him unmatched by anyone else, but it forced John to question everything he stood for.
John realized after some time had passed that Bane had said nothing more. "Why." John demanded, angry and desperate, fingernails catching on the edges of the tiles.
"I have no acceptable excuse," was Bane's response. "It was before I met you. Before I understood his importance to you or the value of hope he symbolized." John was about to knock the hand away that continued to stroke his hair, insist that that wasn't good enough, but Bane continued. "But that does not excuse my behaviour."
His words were cold, emotionless. It sounded like an insult to John's ears, to hear Bane talk about this like it was nothing. "How can you be so calm telling me this?"
"Bruce's and Batman's demise came from me and it is my burden to bear," Bane said. "I accept that burden because my actions have hurt you deeply, and knowing I have caused you pain is the most difficult punishment for me to endure."
"Shouldn't you at least apologize?" John accused.
Despite John's sharp words, Bane didn't stop petting his hair. "I do not ask for forgiveness because I do not deserve it." Those fingers dug a little deeper, massaging John's scalp and the base of his skull. "I only ask for a second chance, a clean slate, to prove I have changed."
Embarrassed as John was, he wept. Not for long and not loudly, but he knew Bane would feel him trembling beneath his ceaseless fingers. John cried in despair, mourning the simpler days of his life when things had made sense. He was here with Bane, the man who had destroyed his city and killed his friend, and though John was not ready to forgive him, he wanted to. John coughed to clear his throat and wiped his tears away with the back of his hand, finally moving until he was sitting on the tile, parallel to Bane.
His knees were against his chest, his arms hugging them close. John kept his head bowed and allowed Bane to continue brushing his large fingers through his hair, but he couldn't meet Bane's eyes. "I will leave if you wish it," Bane offered, shockingly shy.
"I don't," John told him. He reached up and captured Bane's hand, moving it to rest on the rim of the tub with John's hand on top. John rested his cheek on his knees, watching as his fingers slowly skated across the hairless skin of Bane's forearm.
"Thank you," Bane said.
The words startled John, who finally flicked his eyes up to meet Bane's grey ones. "I didn't really do anything," he evaded the thanks, uncomfortable and confused.
"You gave me a chance and that is more than anyone else has done." Bane's look was serious and grateful.
John nodded but had nothing to say. He was willing to give Bane another chance; they wouldn't be here if he wasn't. John had seen the changes in Bane. Trusted him, and loved him. Bane had done many terrible things in his lifetime, but regret was not enough. He needed someone to believe in him in order to follow the new path he had chosen for himself, someone to bear witness to Bane's metamorphosis as he shed his former sins and began anew.
John needed to stop seeing Bane as a monster, to allow those actions to be cast off with the mask, for Bane to be free. He thought he had already done so, but it seemed far too easy for those fears and dark thoughts to return. It would hurt John and weigh down his own conscience, but he was the only one who could help Bane in this. He was the only one who knew Bane was more than the mask, knew that it was worth it to give Bane his second chance. Because Bane could be so much more – was already so much more.
John withdrew his hand and Bane didn't pursue him. "I need some air." He stood slowly, waiting for Bane to call him back or say something else, but the large man only nodded his understanding. "I'm going to try to eat something after that. Do you want anything?" John asked, feeling awkward.
"The thought of food still makes me sick," Bane said, actually seeming to pale slightly with nausea as he spoke.
"Alright," John said. He said nothing else as he refilled Bane's large glass with water and set it by the tub and then headed out into the apartment, closing the door behind him.
It wasn't long after he left the bathroom that John heard Bane throwing up again. He winced in sympathy, imagining how painful it must be to feel your stomach clench with such agony and your throat burn with acid for over a day. Bane didn't call for him though and John was guiltily grateful for that. He needed the evening to himself to think and sort through all of the realizations and decisions he had gone through that afternoon.
John ended up watching the streets below for a few hours, sitting close enough to the window that he could feel tendrils of winter's chill reach for him through the glass. He munched on some toast, his appetite abandoning him after hearing Bane say he had broken Bruce's back. John thought about a lot of things as he sat there.
He thought about what sort of determination and strength it would take for someone to have their back broken and then heal and recover, working until they were even stronger than before, and return to offer up their body and soul for their city again. Risking everything, and inevitably sacrificing everything. John wondered if Bruce had had any regrets as he took the bomb out over the water and wished fervently that he didn't have to wonder.
John also thought about Gordon, the men on the bridge, Talia and Bane. It was a quiet night of reflection as he considered the importance of every action and decision, what it meant to say you wanted to change when everyone lived in a grey world of morals, and what it said about John when he forgave a man for actions he thought unforgivable.
Finally when the moon was high in the sky and John's eyes and heart were too heavy to continue on, John stood. He left the apartment briefly to use the bathroom in one of the abandoned apartments, feeling less uncomfortable than he had when stealing clothes and food. John had noticed a few people returning to the apartments around him, but a few – like the one John had stolen from – remained vacant.
When he returned John didn't even hesitate by the bathroom door, stepping in with a sense of calm that only came from being too tired to form any thoughts. With automatic movements he refilled the glass with water and left it by the tub, Bane cradled in porcelain as he slept. Then John walked into the bedroom and slid under the sheets he had never bothered to remake. And with a relieved sigh, John fell into a dreamless sleep.
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"Beyond the Shadow" on AO3: archiveofourown(dot-org)/works/684270