A/N: Should have posted this earlier. I do not own
any characters from The Dark Knight Rises.
I only own my originals.

Soft music filled the open room, gently caressing Bruce's ears. His eyes are closed, hands resting on his sore knees, his head vaguely moving to the tune. He can see the notes in his head, his fingers absently strumming his knees as if he were playing the piano instead of his wife.

"You're incredible," he said quietly, his eyes opening to look at the woman sitting beside him. Her eyes are closed, her head gently moving, hands gliding across the keys as if they were born to do such a thing. Her brown hair hangs bone straight against her back, her full pouty lips, always painted a vivid shade of red, her thin frame rocking back and forth as she plays, paying him no mind.

He quietly slides from the bench, stretching out his aching legs, curling and uncurling his arthritic fingers, and cracking the sore spot in his lower back that never seems to go away. He walks over to the window, a floor to ceiling masterpiece that stretches the length of the room, and slipping his hands into his sweater pockets, he stares out onto the brilliant green land that surrounds his short-term home.

Not too long ago he had been overseas, enjoying his new life with Selina, indulging in the delicacies of a normal life. Gotham had been nothing more than a distant memory, fading to the outskirts of his mind like a nightmare long forgotten. The death of his parents in the form of worry lines, no longer took up residence on his aged face, and his beaten body was able to rest and relax, his heart cherished. He didn't feel the sting of love lost with the death of his greatest opponent, Talia Al Ghul. He didn't remember the pain that filled his chest unrelated to the knife she had slipped between his ribs on what he had thought would be his last day. He couldn't recollect the way his heart ached when he saw her body pinned between her seat and the steering column, her lifeless eyes open as if she were still capable of watching Gotham go up in flames.

Now as he stood, his eyes staring at nothing in particular, his mind revisited those places. He smelled her, felt her lingering touch against his skin, heard her voice in his ear.

"It's the slow knife," Her eyes pierced him further than the dagger in her hand.

"the knife that takes its time; the knife that waits years without forgetting,"

No, not you, he had thought. Please, not you.

"that slips quietly between the bones." Her hand twists the blade in his chest, gutting his spirit completely.

"That's the knife that cuts deepest."

He would die here, and by the hand of the woman he had loved. He'd given her everything, his mind, his body, and like a ridiculous child, he'd given her his company, foolishly handing over everything he held dear, everything that straddled the line of protection and war; he'd given it to her willingly. He had failed as a savior, he'd failed as a leader, and he'd failed as a man.

"Please,"

His plead went unnoticed as her thumb pressed down the trigger to the nuclear bomb that was being paraded through the streets.

Nothing.

"Bruce?"

The sound of Selina's voice brought him back, his hands reaching behind him, feeling her presence there. Her smooth hand filled his as she stood beside him; she rested her head against his shoulder, her free hand gently caressing his arm. He knew being back in Gotham was no easier for her and yet his mind had drifted off for the third time that day.

"Is it the hotel again?"

The two of them had arrived in Gotham three weeks prior after receiving a call from his old friend and caretaker, Alfred Pennyworth. He had been beaten by a group of street thugs and had no one else to look after him. Alfred had been with Bruce for his entire life, caring for him when he was but an infant, looking after him after the murder of his parents, and protecting him when he thrust himself into a world of chaos, shielded by a suit black as night. Bruce owed him everything, and so he packed up his new life and returned to the grime and confusion that was his former home.

He was bombarded as soon as he stepped off of his flight, news crews yelling at him about his return for a fundraiser at The Lotus Palace -a cover up for his real return- cameras flashing in his eyes, microphones being shoved under his nose- Selina stood off to the side, her face turned away from the crowd, her body language screaming unease. He brushed off the reporters' questions, quickly took her hand and pushed through the crowd to the car waiting for them.

The next week, during "his" fundraiser, a bomb that had been stashed in the grand hall exploded, destroying The Lotus Palace, killing six hundred thirty seven of the hotels patrons, two hundred of their children, one hundred fifty of the hotel staff, the five hundred sixty three people that had arrived early as to be in attendance when he finally showed up, and fifty four bystanders.

He had inadvertently become the reason over fifteen hundred people, citizens of his childhood home; individuals that were loved by his parents and by their own families had lost their lives. Fifteen hundred.

"Yes." The lie was smooth and certain.

Selina's hand tightened around his arm, gently squeezing as she lifted her head to see him. He gave her his undivided attention.

"What happened wasn't your fault."

He stares into her eyes, every part of him longing to believe her, needing her words to be true.

"That wasn't your party."

"Those people were there for me."

Her hand leaves his shoulder and instead cups his cheek; his face instinctively turns into her palm, his eyes closing.

"Bruce, I love you."

His eyes open at the firmness in her voice, watching as the softness in her eyes begins to harden into the unyielding stare he had fallen in love with. Her hand leaves his face, his skin instantly missing the warmth that had left him.

"But those people were there for themselves."

His eyes leave hers, sweeping the entirety of the room before returning to the glass panes. The sun was high, clouds wisped about in the sky, casting minute shadows on the manicured lawns. His mind cared for none of it. He only saw orange lighting up the night sky; he only smelled smoke. The acrid taste had filled his mouth once, making him gag, tears running down his face that was dusted with the recently cremated bodies of Gotham.

"Bruce."

She was calling him back again. She knew him so well. She knew that what had happened, no matter whose fault it may be, would eventually end him. And so she stayed by him, rubbing down his tired body, caressing his ego with her love and affections, and serenading him with her talents. She kept him sane. The look in her eye when she saw him, when she really saw that Bruce Wayne was just a man; it filled him completely and in a way mended his wounded soul.

His voice was low but calm when he spoke, his mind still reeling in its attempts to come back to reality.

"We should check on Alfred."

The master bedroom was large and located above the pond that graced the lands; it came equipped with a balcony. Swirls of white marble covered the floors and climbed the walls, stretching across the ceiling where they parted for a brief moment to allow a crystal chandelier to pierce through and hang gracefully above the room. A fireplace, gently humming with a low flame, sits directly across from the queen sized bed, adorned in a deep purple bed set. Another set of floor to ceiling windows rest on the far side of the room, the silver arch illuminated by sunlight, the balcony white in color just beyond them.

There were no footsteps as Bruce and Selina ascended the stairs and walked hand in hand down the hallway; their bodies though tired and resting still subconsciously relied on their instincts. They entered the room together, their arms bumping, her head gently resting against his shoulder, and only parted when they saw that Alfred wasn't there.

"Alfred?"

There is a shuffle.

Bruce and Selina turn in their spots, Bruce's voice still ringing in the empty room, their eyes landing on Alfred, who startled, had dropped a manila folder to the floor, sending a stack of papers sliding in various directions.

"Alfred," Selina quickly walks over to him, her arm outstretched to touch his quaking arm.

"I didn't hear you." He said quietly, his hand clutched to the pale fabric of the shirt over his heart.

"Sorry," spoke Selina again, her hand mechanically moving up and down and side to side, trying to soothe the frightened man. "We didn't mean to sneak up on you."

"Oh, it's all right." Alfred lowered his gaze to the floor, his eyes scanning the mess he would have to clean up. "I should be used to it by now."

That face.

"Oh, don't worry about that, Alfred. Bruce will get that."

Blake. John Blake, Robin. He had been a police officer in Gotham the last time Bruce had seen him. He had been young and vibrant, urgent to save the citizens and bring justice to those that did wrong. He remained strong during the torment that was Bane and Talia, fighting single handedly against the mercenaries that had taken over the streets, and when they had prevailed, and had wiped the city of its destruction, he inherited the Bat Cave. Though in grainy black and white, he looked almost the same.

Bruce reached down and plucked the newspaper article from the floor, his eyes never leaving the shrunken face of his old ally. His eyes were heavy, darker- hardened. He was larger -more muscular- his hair longer, but yes, it was Robin Blake. He stood smiling, his grim eyes never receiving the message, in a group of men, separated into rows of four and all wearing hospital scrubs.

"Here, sit down. Are you hungry?"

Bruce's eyes quickly scan through the article: Blake, along with several other people, had recently been hired at Gotham General in order to help out with the surplus of patients that had been brought in during the recent terrorist attack.

"No, I'm fine. I really would just like my papers."

Bruce had known Blake would never continue his career as a police officer, but a nurse? He was confused. He lowered the paper, his eyes beginning to sift through the scattered papers on the floor. He lowered himself down into a squat, his hand reaching out for a small white paper with "Gotham General" scrawled across its top.

The words "floor plans", "management", and "patients" were scribbled in a list next to dashes.

His other hand released the article and ran across the papers on the floor, spreading them apart. A few white pages with thin blue lines began to slip from their confines; blueprints. For what- the hospital? He grabbed them, his eyes scanning as quickly as they had over the article.

"Dining hall", he spoke in a whisper as his eyes danced across the small words written in the separate floor plans. "Patient rooms, security," his voice dropped off as he lowered the paper to the floor, his eyebrows scrunched as he tried to piece things together.

Robin John Blake quit his job as a police officer to take up being a protector in another form, but had recently been hired at Gotham General, which for some reason had become an area of interest to Alfred. Absentmindedly, his hand swept across the papers again, articles and photos slipping from their hiding places, his thoughts slipping as though he had tried to hide them away as well.

Someone of importance was at that hospital. Why else would Alfred be involved? Why else would Blake want him to research the building and get information on the patients that were there? Blake knew something, but what was it?

Then he saw him, and it were as if his nightmares had reared to life. His stomach clenched, his heart beating the inside of his chest like a sprinting horses hooves upon the ground. That metal mask, those tubes covering his mouth and his nose; the haughtiness in his eyes; Bane, also grainy in a black and white photo, stared up at him from the floor, the corners of his eyes wrinkled in amusement. Even in death, those eyes were mocking him.

"Alfred, what is this stuff?

Selina had kneeled down beside him, her hands slowly collecting the papers, pausing every few moments as she reads a few lines, or takes in the foreign faces in the article clippings.

"Bane."

Bruce's voice was a whisper, but still Selina's face fell in dread, her heart most certainly pounding within her own chest. Her eyes stared hard at Bruce, and he stared back. Bane was alive, they both knew it. There had been doubt in the beginning; what ifs and where were the reports- they had stayed up together some nights discussing the possibilities. Doubt no longer clouded their judgment. Bane was alive and well, and being housed in Gotham General.

"Alfred." Selina's voice was no longer polite. She stood up, turning swiftly to face the old man still sitting on the bed. Bruce rose as well, his eyes still staring at the dark face that followed his every movement.

Alfred sighed and Bruce finally looked at him. He sat still on his bed. His face, yellowing from healing bruises, was sad- like the face of a child being caught in a lie.

"What the hell is going on? What is this?"

"Is he alive?"

Alfred's eyes connect with Bruce's- he searches for words, ignoring Selina's earlier inquiry. He was remembering the way Bane had terrorized the city and the way Bruce had been broken. He was thinking of the heartbreak that soon followed when Bruce had been taken to La Peña Dura where Alfred had known that he would never return.

"Yes."