"Our best course of action is flooding. On the day of detonation, Miranda will discreetly arrange for the bomb to be found, and have it transported back to the underground. Miranda thought about involving Lucius Fox, but since he has already shown her how to operate the emergency flood, that will be unnecessary."
Bane rose from his cot and eyed Talia impassively.
"You still plan to remake Gotham in Miranda Tate's image, and turn your back on your father's work to feed your own vanity," he sighed.
Talia had recently stunned Bane with news that she intended to circumvent their original plan for Gotham. She had come to disapprove of the methods practised by her father Ra's al Ghul, which had produced significant collateral and environmental damage all over the world. Even in death Ra's was a hated man for the damage he'd done. Talia no longer wanted that legacy, and had decided that she wanted to be loved as fiercely as Miranda Tate was.
Instead of being blown to smithereens the city would be saved, with Miranda Tate taking charge. She would fix all the ills that had stockpiled and festered throughout the years under corrupt leadership.
"Please don't be difficult, Bane. I know you are disappointed. You might not believe me, but I feel your pain. It hurts me deeply to see you like this."
"Ohhhh... it hurts you, does it?" Bane drawled. "It hurts you to see a man without a purpose, a man without a legacy, a man who looks into the future and sees nothing but a black hole. Just so you can be the hero that Bruce never could."
"Nonsense, Bane. Don't be so dramatic," Talia chided. "There will be plenty of opportunities for you in the new Gotham. You'll just have to re-invent yourself."
"I am comfortable in my own skin," Bane mused. His voice was hoarse from long hours spent in the cold sewer, and he was exhausted. His mind was tortured with the twin troubles of Talia's revised plans, and his abominable treatment of Kitty.
"I want you to carry on running the city as you have been doing, brother. As far as the people know, the bomb is going to go off. As you always say, let them believe they can survive so that we can watch them climb over each other to stay in the sun. As they face the terror of their last moments on earth, Miranda will appear on live television to announce that the bomb has been successfully flooded. The city will be saved, however the psychological scars on the populace will remain for the rest of their lives. A fitting punishment for their corruption. And I will be their new leader."
"Very charitable of you," Bane observed dryly.
"Oh, stop it, brother!" Talia hissed. "Let's not make make this all about you!"
"I was about to say the same thing," he said as he cracked his knuckles. "Tell me, how are you going to solve the problems in the city once you have taken charge? How will you assemble your 'good government', and rebuild infrastructure that we destroyed? How are you going to provide free clean energy for an entire city without a reactor like the one built by the billionaire who now lays helpless in the pit? And how will you pay for it all? Increased property taxes? I'm afraid that won't do it."
"All the right people will flock to Miranda like bees to honey, brother. For now, hush. Someone approaches," she said as she craned her head in the direction of the sound of heavy foot falls.
"Who is there?" Bane bellowed.
"It is Vlad Petrov, sir! I have news about brother Barsad."
Vlad wouldn't have dreamed of entering Bane's lair without permission, and remained outside its confines until Bane spoke again.
"You may approach, Mr. Petrov," Bane called, frowning. "What about brother Barsad?"
Vlad froze when he saw that Bane wasn't alone, and that Talia was with him.
"Ex-excuse me the interruption," he stammered, his accent becoming thicker as he bowed before Talia. Bane's men often speculated on their relationship, and Vlad feared he had stumbled on to their love nest, and that he was about to die for his transgression.
"What of brother Barsad?" Bane repeated.
"They got him, sir. This was delivered to Miss Jardine's program."
Bane frowned as he took Vlad's phone and watched video of Barsad handcuffed to the headboard of a metal frame bed. Surrounding him were two men and one woman, their faces hidden by the low camera angle which cut them off at their waists.
Despite his situation, Bane's second-in-command was in good spirits, joking and laughing with his captors as he chowed down on a submarine sandwich.
"I'll die before I talk. You know that, don't you?"
"Oh, I very much doubt it, Mr. Barsad," the female voice laughed. "You're just like your boss. You enjoy the sound of your own voice far too much to do something as drastic as that."
Kitty leaned against the counter of the townhouses' enormous chef's kitchen, preparing mirepoix for a chicken cacciatore.
She was pale and her eyes were swollen and bloodshot. It had been two days since the brief, very unsatisfying sexual encounter between herself and Bane. She couldn't get the image out of her head. Bane's shadow pounding into her while she shook like a rag doll.
As she diced carrots, onions and celery, she methodically worked out in her mind what had happened between them.
She jumped as Bane burst through the kitchen's swinging doors, and swallowed hard as she wiped her hands on apron and slowly approached him.
"We need to talk," she said in a business-like manner
Bane's fingers twitched as he observed her drawn expression. Clearly he had caused her a great deal of grief, but at the moment he could no longer dwell on it. Not when his second-in-command had been kidnapped by local rebels.
"You may have exactly one minute," he conceded.
"Fine. I hate you for what you did, and I thought about stabbing you with one of these kitchen knives, but I've realized that I had some culpability in the way things turned out. After all, you were very upset about something, and I suspected that Lady Macbeth...hurt you somehow. I told you I was a good listener, and then I brazenly implied that if you preferred not to talk about it, then we could...go to bed instead."
"Indeed." Bane replied as he reached for the knife she'd been using and ran its sharp blade across the fleshy portion of his thumb.
"And...I think what happened was that you were so hurt that in her absence, you used me as a punching bag. You took your hurt out on me."
Bane returned the freshly bloodied knife to the counter.
"You did not enjoy the experience," he concluded.
"Well...no," she answered truthfully as she tried to ignore the knife. "And I don't think you did either. Anyway, what I want to say...what I want to say is..."
"Your minute has expired," Bane growled a he wiped his bloody thumb on his fortified vest.
"These words, they don't come easy to me! You treated me like a slut. It was brutal and it was painful. At the same time I recognize that I took advantage of your vulnerable state."
Her interpretation of the events wasn't entirely accurate. Bane's member had surged to life at the sight of her beauty and her state of undress. But he had committed to breaking her, and the opportunity to begin the process had presented itself at that very moment.
"I can't remember the last time i said i was sorry," Kitty babbled. "But I am sorry that I...that I...brought you into a situation you may not have wanted... and I... and I..." Kitty swallowed hard before finally forcing the words out.
"She hurt you, Bane, and that's not your fault. So, I forgive you. Let's just call it even... and start again."
Bane's chocolate brown eyes took on a dangerous gleam.
"You forgive me," he frowned as a fresh urge to break her washed over him again. "I need no forgiveness from anyone, least of all you, Katrina Nash. You mistake me for someone who cares."
A chill crawled up Kitty's spine. It was clear that Bane was in a dark place. In her petrified state she could only hold her breath while she waited for the end to come. She flinched as Bane stroked her cheek with his bleeding thumb.
His touch was anything but tender. It felt threatening, it left a sticky trail of blood, and it left her feeling terrorized.
"I...I'm sorry," she squeaked as tears glittered in her eyes.
"What I do need from you is the location of your friends," Bane continued.
"What friends?" She whispered.
She was so hobbled by terror that her mind had become a blank.
"Your theatrical colleagues," Bane wheezed. "Have you left them in the dust as you have so many others during the course of your career? They as well as you have been encouraging the people to rebel, and they are behind the abduction of Mr. Barsad."
Of course. Danny. Brady. Alia. She had barely thought of them since the day that Bane had murdered Matteo and taken her hostage at the Mercantile Building.
"Where are they?" Bane demanded.
"They're just performers," Kitty countered. "They don't know anything about taking hostages!"
"Men and women can be pushed far beyond their perceived capabilities. Thomas de Quincey wrote 'If once a man indulges himself in murder, very soon he comes to think little of robbing'."
"They're not murderers," Kitty insisted.
"I will make that determination," Bane threatened as he lifted the knife again and pressed it against the other side of her face.
"Some wounds are so deep, and so thorough that no surgery or stage make-up can ever disguise them."
"Put it down," Kitty begged against the knife. "Please. If you w-wanted to frighten me then you've succeeded beyond your wildest dreams. Isn't that...enough for you?"
Bane trailed the knife down her cheek and around her chin to her neck. "I assure you I am quite skilled. I can do just enough damage to ensure that you will never sing again."
"Oh, please..." Kitty sputtered as hot tears intersected the streaks of blood on her cheek. "What do you want? Another go at my body?"
"Watch." Bane ordered as he put the knife down and reached for his phone.
Kitty's heart sank as the video revealed Barsad eating a submarine sandwich while the familiar voices of her friends responded to his boasts.
"Your comrades," Bane announced enthusiastically. "Now, tell me where to find them."
"I don't know those people," Kitty lied.
"No?" Bane croaked. "You should know that many of my men are conversant in American Sign Language, including myself. Mr. Barsad knew this footage was intended for me, so he discreetly signed the word 'Kitty' after finishing his meal, sealing your comrades' fate. Here, let me show you again."
"No, don't bother," the defeated Kitty choked."I've seen enough." She was stunned by the realization that her friends had indeed become hostage-takers.
For all the terror she felt, she had the presence of mind to remember that Blake's apartment was exclusively furnished in mid-century modern furniture. There was no old-fashioned metal bed frame like the one Barsad was cuffed to in the video.
That could only mean that they had moved on to another hiding place. She could give Bane John Blake's address and hope for the best that the young detective was still off somewhere keeping Commissioner Gordon safe.
"The last I saw of them was at 547 West 47th St. Fourth floor across from the trash room," she confessed.
"Thank you!" He replied curtly as he tossed the knife into the sink. "Mr. Petrov! Guard the woman while I personally take charge of removing our brother from the hands of her accomplices."
It was dark when Bane arrived at the mid-town condo building where Kitty told him he could find her colleagues. Because he avoided elevators, the building's petrified doorman gave him access to the stairwell. He scaled the stairs two at a time until he reached the fourth floor.
Passing through the stairwell door, he found himself right where he needed to be - the trash room was three doors down and across from where Barsad was being held.
Bane put his ear to the door, expecting to hear voices, but all was silent.
His chest swelled as he planned his entrance, savouring the prospect of snapping the occupants' necks one by one, and acknowledging Barsad's subtle nod of thanks.
He kicked the door down with one mighty thrust of his boot and swaggered into the condo with his thumbs looped into the straps of his vest.
There was no light except for the lamp above the cooktop, and no signs of life when he switched on the lights. The living space was quiet, and so was the bedroom. Bane checked under the bed, inside the two tiny closets, and the four foot balcony.
The condo was deserted, but someone or some persons had been there. Take-out boxes and discarded coffee cups were spread all over the kitchen and there were blankets everywhere, as if people had been sleeping on the floor. An aging bag of trash overflowed in the cabinet under the sink.
The mercenary went through desk drawers to learn the identity of the condo owner. He had expected it to belong to one of Kitty's friends, but he soon learned from a stack of mail that the owner was Detective John Blake of the GCPD.
Bane's mask hummed softly at the new nugget of information. Either Kitty had sent him on a wild goose chase, or her friends had abandoned her. He wondered how a police detective figured into the mix.
"Where are the rest of the men?"
Vlad was the only mercenary who'd shown up for dinner, and Kitty, still feeling shattered from her encounter with Bane, was annoyed that she'd gone to so much trouble of making chicken cacciatore for twelve men.
"They might be along later," Vlad said as he served himself a heaping portion. "Overtime. Lots of disturbances uptown, and four of our men here are in Gotham General Hospital."
"What happened to them?" Kitty asked as she joined Vlad at the dining table with her own serving.
Vlad downed the full glass of red wine that accompanied his meal.
"You don't know? Many citizens have joined your fight, Kitty. Brothers Chung and Infantino have fractured skulls. They were hit by cans of soup, 793 kilogram size, fired at them from buildings."
"No, I didn't know that. Look, my friends and I, we just sing. We don't put people in the hospital."
"Ah, but you inspire the people with song," Vlad said, pointing his fork at her. "Now, whoever does these things are athletes. Maybe baseball, football, basketball. Bane says it explain why they throw with precision."
Kitty didn't have much of an appetite, and merely played with the food on her plate. She watched with a great deal of interest as Vlad downed another glass of wine like it was plain tap water.
"I like you, Kitty," Vlad decided. "Food is better when you make it. Brother Barsad use too much salt."
"Oh, well, thank you," Kitty replied. "That's very sweet of you, Vlad."
"I never met a famous star before."
"I'm not famous at all," Kitty chuckled with false modesty. "At least, not outside of Gotham. Uh, should you be drinking on the job?"
"I sure should be. Every day here could be the last. Working for Bane... it's so hard. I have stress all the time. Ulcers."
"As a matter of fact, Vlad, I feel the same way," Kitty said, strategically reaching over to squeeze his hand. "I mean, look at me. I'm a wreck."
"Ya, you definitely not as pretty the last few days."
"Have another," she insisted as she poured him a third glass of wine. "You need it."
Her blue eyes narrowed as she watched him chug down the wine. Surely escape wasn't going to be so easy.
"Drink with me, Kitty," Vlad shouted as he pounded his glass on the dining room table.
Kitty smirked as she rose to fetch another bottle from the kitchen.
"It would be my pleasure, Vlad."
Author's Note: Thanks for reading, everyone!