Four:
Hell is Empty, and All the Devils are Here
Bane's footsteps echoed against the stone corridors as he completed his usual nightly walk. He wasn't one for sleep, not since his days at Peña Duro, and he wasn't one for idleness, either. Since they moved their operation into the tunnels, he'd spend the liminal hours of late night and early morning prowling through the tunnels, playing and replaying his plans as he searched for weak points in their headquarters. The soldiers they'd recruited knew of his nightly pacing, so they knew to be in their rooms lest they be questioned by the hulking man.
As Bane descended a staircase, he replayed John Daggett's execution that morning. Or, rather, he replayed Juliette Gray's reaction to it. His gaze had kept flicking her way, glances from the corner of his eye when Daggett entered the room and when he thought it'd be a good idea to step to Bane. She hadn't been scared; in fact, she'd seemed intrigued and almost impatient. And then she'd faced him without a tremble to her voice or her hands. He was always going to kill Daggett, that was true, but she'd been the one to choose the exact moment.
She'd been quiet on the drive back to the tunnels. He'd driven them back, if only to have the rearview mirror to watch her, and she'd kept her forehead pressed against the window with the skyscrapers reflecting in her eyes. The periwinkle irises had been clouded with thought, and he'd been surprised when a question had settled itself on his tongue.
What are you thinking?
He hadn't asked it, of course. He'd let the silence stay in the SUV like a blanket of snow, but that didn't stop him from peering at her every few minutes in the mirror, studying the downward curve of her lips and the slight furrow to her brow. She looked so pale in the sunlight, which made him wonder how much of it she'd seen in the past few years. What had Daggett done to her, really? Bane was surprised by the sudden curiosity, blazing hot, about what Juliette had experienced. He had never cared about learning the stories of his soldiers before—because Juliette, clearly, was a soldier if she wanted to be—but there was something about her. Something that awakened that strange feeling in his chest.
When they'd arrived back at the labyrinthine tunnels, he'd had Barsad show her the way back to her room while he reported back to Talia. She was busy being Miranda Tate, freshly-named CEO of Wayne Enterprises, so he'd sent an encrypted message to her satellite phone detailing Daggett's death and Juliette's part in it, and then he'd tried to busy himself with future plans. He'd checked and rechecked the blueprints of Gotham Stadium, and he'd visited Dr. Pavel in his cell. The scientist, of course, cowered in silence, but Bane didn't expect anything more. The man only had one purpose left, and it would be fulfilled soon enough.
Even as he went through a checklist of tasks all across the tunnels, in the back of his mind, Bane's thoughts kept twisting back to Juliette Gray. Had she eaten lunch? Dinner? Had that medic—Phia, Juliette had called her—checked on her? Was she comfortable in her room?
The last question was the most out-of-place in his mind. Bane didn't care about comfort, not his own nor anyone in the tunnels. Not even, really, about Talia's because he knew she could handle herself. And that wasn't to say he didn't think Juliette couldn't handle herself—she'd already demonstrated her own independence in using her head as a battering ram to get his attention in that closet—but Bane found himself hoping she was comfortable. Because maybe, it meant she would stay and fight with them.
Bane cursed at his thoughts many times that day, stringing together a mix of Spanish, Portuguese, and even Latin obscenities while he worked. Juliette Gray was clearly a distraction, and he couldn't afford distractions. Not with so much at stake.
As he walked through the cold, dark corridors, he tried refocusing his mind on something else: the Bat. He had his suspicions of who the masked man was, and he was just waiting for Talia to plant her seeds before Bane took care of him. Gotham couldn't burn until it watched its symbols burn. The Batman, Harvey Dent… men who'd watched this city fester without the courage who needed to do what was necessary, but men who'd become something more than blood and muscle. They were fledgling legends, and it was up to Bane and Talia to ensure they were eradicated from rather than inscribed in the fabric of Gotham's history.
Bane paused for a moment at a crossroads between corridors, and he closed his eyes as Ra's al Ghul's voice replayed in his mind.
Training is nothing. Will is everything.
Will was everything. His will was what kept him alive in Peña Duro from near infancy, but more importantly, it was what kept Talia alive, as well. He was young, barely sixteen, when he'd saved her from her mother's bloody fate, and it was his refusal to give in to the primal instincts of the pit that kept her safe. He'd stopped sleeping because he had to watch over her at night, he'd stopped eating because she needed food to grow and gain strength, and he'd sacrificed himself so that finally, she could escape. And Talia had a will of her own, a will that saw him released from the prison he'd known his entire life. A will that saw him to the men of the League of Shadows, where he trained and hardened and became Bane.
And even after his excommunication, the closest Ra's al Ghul came to admitting he'd failed to protect his wife and child, Bane's will was strong. Strong enough to sacrifice his fury at Ra's al Ghul's betrayal. Strong enough to once again keep Talia safe. Strong enough to burn a city to the ground.
As his old mentor had said, when a forest grows too wild, a purging fire is inevitable and natural.
Bane sucked in a large dose of venom and grunted as the drug danced through his blood, suffocating the pain creeping through his muscles, and as he turned the corner, she was there. His little distraction.
Juliette Gray stood in the center of the corridor, seemingly glowing under the harsh overhead lights running along the corridor. She swayed on her feet as she faced away from him, and while Bane could hear her mumbling, he couldn't make out her words. She was still in the same sweatpants and sweater she'd been wearing since arriving in the tunnels, but strangely, she didn't have any shoes on.
"Miss Gray?" he called quietly, striding towards her.
She started walking away, stumbling over obstacles that weren't there, and an unfamiliar panic wound its way up his throat. Was her concussion more severe than they'd thought? Was she hallucinating?
"Juliette," he called again, louder this time, but she kept moving away from him. Her hands were balled up at her sides, jerking as she walked, and just as Bane reached for her shoulder, she stopped dead in her tracks. He had to jump to the side to avoid running into her, and his shoulder slammed into the wall with an unfortunate thud.
"Porra!" he grunted, catching himself on the cold stone. "What are—"
Juliette started moving again, but this time, she was running. She sprinted past him, mumbling again, but Bane was far faster than her. He caught her in seconds, his hand like a vice on her arm, and he wrenched her around to face him.
"Tell me what…"
"No, no, no," she moaned, struggling against him. "No, please, no!"
Her pale blue eyes were glassy, looking through him to something else. Someone else.
"Please!" she begged, tears trickling from the corners of her eyes. "Please, I'll be good. Please, Please!"
Bane had never seen someone sleepwalk before, but he knew immediately that she was still caught in the throes of unconsciousness. Whomever she was seeing was hurting her, and with a sick twist of the gut, Bane realized she was probably reliving a memory.
"Juliette?" Bane said softly, "Juliette, you're safe."
"Please, I've been good. I'll be good!"
She couldn't hear him, not through the words of her invisible tormentor, and she continued to fight, scrambling and scratching against his hold. He knew the moment he let her go, she'd take off running, and suddenly all he could picture was her running blind off the side of the stairs to her death.
"Juliette, I know you've been good," he murmured gently, "You've been very good."
Juliette started sobbing, her whole body trembling as she shook her head violently.
"Don't sell me," she whimpered, "Please."
Bane's head snapped back, and in his silence, her tormentor taunted her again.
"No!" she screeched shrilly, "No!"
She started to claw at him, at his chest and his face, and when he grabbed her wrist for fear that she'd tear at his mask, she screamed in pain and started to buck and wrench against him. Bane, at a complete loss for what else to do, yanked her to his chest and banded his arms around her small frame. She still fought him, but he leaned down and began to whisper in her ear.
"You're safe, Juliette. You're safe. You're not going back. You have my word you aren't going back."
He repeated himself over and over until finally, she started to go limp in his arms. Either his words had finally taken root, or she'd exhausted herself so completely. Either way, in just a few more minutes, she was sniffling and hiccuping against his chest, right where that strange feeling seemed unbearably tight.
It didn't make sense, seeing Juliette Gray like this, so utterly raw and scared. Even when he'd found her, half-dead and even more naked, she'd been a guarded mystery shrouded in anger and vengeance. But now, sagging in his embrace, she just seemed like a young, damaged girl who'd been through far too much in her short life.
No.
No, he wouldn't think of her as weak or broken. She had no control over herself right now, and she wasn't being vulnerable on purpose. He had no right to perceive her like this, and he knew that if she woke up and found herself in his arms, she'd never forgive herself.
So, slowly, he released her from his hold only to take her arm in his. Then, with his gaze flickering from her to their surroundings and then back again, he gently led her back through the corridor and down the stairs to her room. She murmured to herself as they went, but nothing about being sold or being good, which he was grateful for.
He brought her into her room and returned her to her bed, where she immediately curled up in a tight ball. Bane pulled the blanket over her body, and she burrowed deeper beneath it until only her hair was visible. Bane stared down at her for a moment and considered waking her up just to interrupt her unconsciousness, but she was finally starting to calm down, and he didn't want her to know he'd been there and seen her. So, he left her room, closing the door quietly behind him, but he didn't return to his nightly pacing of the tunnels. Instead, he leaned against the stone wall beside her door for hours, just in case she emerged again with those same glassy, haunted eyes.
It wasn't until other inhabitants of the tunnels started moving about that he left, disappearing into shadow with the decision that it was time he started avoiding Juliette Gray.
Juliette stared at the wall as she took another bite of her meatloaf, chewing absently as her mind wandered. Someone else might find the meat dry and bland, but Juliette was just grateful for something to eat. For the first time in her life, at least that she could remember, she wasn't going to be hungry, so she wasn't going to complain. She had a full stomach, her own room, and even some new clothes.
Phia had stopped by the day after Daggett's execution with a big, paper bag filled to the brim and apologies bursting from her lips. She'd brought more sweatpants, leggings, even a pair of jeans, and sweaters, sweatshirts, and thermal long-sleeves to combat the cold of the tunnels and late Gotham autumn. Phia had also picked up some toiletries, so Juliette had made a routine of showering every morning and scrubbing her skin with a cinnamon-scented body wash. Then, she'd dress in clean clothes, eat, and wander the tunnels until she got bored and joined Phia in the infirmary.
It had been five days since she'd woken in the tunnels, and every day since then, her head had ached a little less, and slowly, her concussion had seemed to heal. The cut by her hairline had tentatively stitched itself together beneath a scab, and her bruises were turning greenish-yellow as her body broke down the burst blood-vessels beneath the skin. Her ribs still hurt, but she was no stranger to that kind of pain and could easily shift it to the back of her mind. Phia insisted on checking her out every time Juliette stepped food in the infirmary, and so far, she was pleased with the healing progress.
Juliette knew she should talk to Phia about her wrist and the little bones that had been crushed and never truly healed, but she couldn't. Her wrist was a weakness nobody in the tunnels knew about, and she wanted to keep it that way.
She'd done her best to set it that night five years ago, sitting on the floor of the bathroom with tears in her eyes. Her father had gone to the bar he'd owed the least amount of money, and her mother had continued to snore on the couch as she had when her father had yanked and twisted a little too hard. And she'd managed since then, some days more painful than others, but she'd managed. She'd quite literally fought for her life through the ache, and she'd continue to do so.
For a second, Juliette allowed herself to think of her parents. She'd thought of them often those first few months with Daggett, reliving that night when her father shook her awake and told her he had a surprise for her in the kitchen. She'd been foolishly hopeful, thinking it was a present meant for her seventeenth birthday a month prior, and had rushed down the cigarette smoke-stained corridor to find the small kitchen packed with three massive men. Her father had watched from the doorway as they'd grabbed her, covered her head in a thick-knit black bag, and dragged her to the door. The last thing she heard him say was we're even now, and that's how she understood she'd unwillingly settled his debt.
She was never a daughter to him—she was just currency.
As she took another heaping bite of meatloaf, Juliette wondered if her parents were dead, or if her mother had finally OD'd while her father either drank himself to the grave or was finally murdered. Part of her hoped they were dead, but the other part of her, the bloodthirsty part, hoped they were alive. Then, she could show them just a fraction of her own suffering. Then, she could show them she was never their daughter at all.
She almost smiled at the thought and imagined the look on their faces when she showed up at their door, stronger and angrier than the last time they'd seen her.
Juliette glanced at the walls of the mess hall, and more notably, at the lack of windows. She'd seen glimpses of Gotham the day they'd killed Daggett, but it had left her hungry for more. How much had the city changed since she'd last walked its streets? More importantly, what hadn't she had a chance to see before she'd been sold? What hadn't she experienced?
She wasn't sure if she was allowed to leave the tunnels, and she also wasn't sure who to ask. Other than her hours with Phia, who seemed preoccupied enough without Juliette's pestering questions, she spent most of her time alone. She hadn't seen Talia since that first morning, and she hadn't seen Bane since he snapped Daggett's death. She found herself looking for him when she walked into the mess hall or when she turned a corner, but he was nowhere to be seen. She had so many questions, and he seemed like the only one who had answers. What had they done at the stock exchange, and how had that included Daggett? Who was this Miranda Tate? Was Batman really back?
Really, though, the question that pressed on the back of her tongue was what could Juliette do to help?
Because she'd decided the moment Bane had laid his hand on Daggett's shoulder that she was going to join him and aid in Gotham's Reckoning. Maybe it should've been a hard decision. Maybe she should've weighed the pros and cons. Maybe she should've considered if she wanted to be a part of something so loaded with violence after she'd spent the last three years hating herself for the brutality she'd been forced to be a part of. But it had been an easy choice.
She couldn't have a life in the Gotham above the tunnels—Daggett had made sure of that. He'd turned her into a killing machine with a permanent crush of dried blood beneath her fingernails. She couldn't walk the streets with the weight of the other girls' ghosts on her shoulders, not when everyone and everything that had allowed their deaths still existed. Still flourished. She'd help with the Reckoning because those girls couldn't. It wasn't revenge she was after. It was justice and relief.
Juliette scraped up the remaining crumbs with her fork, put them in her mouth, and stood with resolve. Bane and Talia needed strength to carry the burden of their cause, and Juliette could be stronger now that she was eating and sleeping. She remembered passing a training room during one of her daily walks through the tunnels and decided to start there. Then, the next time she saw Bane or Talia, she'd offer her services and find out what exactly she could do for them.
After leaving her dirty plate in the bus tub, Juliette traveled up one story and guided herself back to the training room with relative ease. That was a talent she was grateful for—once she went to a place once, she could always find her way back without getting lost.
The training room was rudimentary, but Juliette didn't need anything fancy. There were hand weights on the far end of the room, as well as a lifting station that seemed to double as a pull-up bar. There were two treadmills that looked like they'd seen far better days, as well as a few cracked mirrors lined up along one wall. Finally, there were a few padded mats that Juliette suspected were for sparring and immediately decided she wasn't ready to use. At least, not yet. She reasoned her ribs still needed a week before she could ignore the pain enough for hand-to-hand combat, but looking at the faint bloodstains invited fear and memories to press at the back of her mind. She winced at the faint sound of sobs and screams, at flesh hitting flesh, and choked, final gasps echoing in her ears as if they were trapped, and she pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes.
Move.
The voice—her voice—commanding her body.
Move. Now.
And she did, walking across the room to the treadmill. It was the safest place to start given her ribs, and she liked the idea of easing herself into exercise. She peeled off her dark gray hoodie and hung it on the arm of the treadmill, leaving herself in a pair of sweatpants, a long-sleeve henley, and a pair of beat-up sneakers Phia had brought her. She stepped onto the treadmill and squinted down at the buttons, many of which had been stripped of their stickers.
"Well, well, well."
Juliette's head snapped up, and her eyes landed on Patrick standing in the doorway to the training room.
"Look what the cat dragged in." he smirked as he spoke, and Juliette's lips drew down into a frown.
Instead of his usual body armor and belt, he wore a pair of joggers and an athletic long-sleeve, and Juliette's stomach sank. The last thing she wanted was to work out for the first time in front of someone like Patrick, with his wandering eyes and twitching hands. She didn't trust anyone, but she especially didn't trust him.
"Good morning," Juliette said, pulling her sweatshirt back on. She wanted it to end there, but as she climbed from the treadmill and walked across the room to leave, Patrick put himself directly in her path.
"Where are you going?" he asked, smiling at her in a way that set her teeth on edge. "I just got here."
"Well, I didn't," Juliette lied, glaring at him. "I have stuff to do, so if you'd just…"
She tried getting around him again, but Patrick just sidestepped with her.
"Come on," he drawled, stepping towards her. Instinctively, Juliette stepped back, but Patrick moved with her until eventually, her back was pressed against the wall. Patrick boxed her in with his hands, and panic rose in her throat like bile. However, as he leaned closer to her, she was quick to douse her fear with icy anger. She'd handled far worse than Patrick, and she would not allow him to think he had any power over her. She wouldn't allow anyone to think that.
Juliette slid a smile on her face and leaned into Patrick, angling her head in a way that looked as demure as it was tactical. She watched his eyes widen just slightly at the sudden change in her demeanor, and then they went heavy with excitement. She didn't have to wonder at what he was thinking because his wet little daydream was clear in his eyes—messy fucking all over the training room as she mewled like a weak little girl beneath him while he flexed and watched the reflection of himself driving into her in the mirrors.
She waited until he was deep into his fantasy before she spoke.
"Patrick?" she whispered, looking up at him through her eyelashes. He licked his lips, and Juliette's stomach roiled.
"Yes?" he replied, dipping his head down right where she needed it.
"Fuck off."
She drove the top of her head up into Patrick's face, where there was a telltale crunch before the man started wailing. He staggered backwards, his hands now cupping his nose as blood spurted from between his fingers, and Juliette took her chance to sprint to the open door. She was still smiling—actually, grinning—but this time, it wasn't an act.
"You bitch!" Patrick screeched, "You fucking bitch! I'll kill you, I'll—"
Juliette didn't hear the rest as ran down the hallway and whipped around the corner. A laugh bubbled up her throat, but she swallowed it the moment she slammed into something solid. Instead, a squeak left her lips as she flailed to the ground, her tailbone hitting the concrete floor with a painful thud.
"What are you running from, Juliette Gray?"
His rich timbre sent an involuntary shiver down her spine, and Juliette swallowed before meeting Bane's eyes. Blue, she realized. His eyes were a blue as dark as the late night sky with all of the stars snuffed out. Deep, overwhelming, and fascinating.
It took her a second to realize she'd been staring too long, and her face burned as she cleared her throat.
"No one," she said quickly, "Nothing."
The last thing she needed was for Bane to think she couldn't handle herself.
He peered down at her, his tipping to the side just slightly, just enough to remind her of a curious predator. He didn't extend his hand, but she didn't want him to. Instead, she climbed to her feet and brushed off the butt of her sweatpants, trying to appear as dignified as she could manage. She knew Bane knew she was lying because she'd done a bad job of it and because he seemed too perceptive. She decided to change the subject, both because she didn't need him to find out about Patrick and because he might have an answer to one of her many questions.
"Am I able to go above ground?" she asked, and Bane's eyebrows rose in a way that made her feel the need to explain. "I, uh, I haven't been able to walk around the city in a few years, and I just want to see what it's like, you know? Maybe visit some place, and, well…"
Her voice trailed off, and she cringed inwardly. Bane's gaze skated across her face before he spoke.
"You are not a prisoner here," he stated, "If you want to leave, you may leave."
Disappointment flashed in his eyes before he had a chance to mask it, and Juliette realized he'd misunderstood her. She wasn't trying to leave permanently—she just wanted to start living again.
Bane turned and started to walk away, but Juliette knew this was important. He needed to know she was in.
"Hey!"
He stopped but didn't turn, and Juliette shoved her hands in her pockets so she could fidget without him seeing.
"I do. Want to help, I mean."
"Help?" Bane echoed, turning his head back towards her. The metal in his mask glinted against corridor lights, and for the first time, Juliette suspected it was for more than just anonymity. "Help with what?"
Juliette straightened her spine and hoped she didn't look as stupid and small as she felt.
"Gotham's Reckoning," she answered, "I want to be a part of it."
Bane's expression was unreadable with his dark eyes and that damned mask, and he faced away from her once again. A few too-long seconds passed while he considered her words, and Juliette's entire body seemed to crawl in anticipation. She stood there, waiting long enough for her nerves to evolve into frustration. What was there to consider? She was strong and willing and had as good, if not better, a reason as anyone else in the army Bane and Talia had amassed. And they had asked her to join them that first morning five days ago, so really, she wasn't asking to help, she was accepting their offer.
She gave him one more second before she steeled herself, marched around Bane, and planted herself toe-to-toe with him. It took effort to pretend she wasn't caught off-guard by how close he suddenly was and the way he very much dwarfed her. She was not going to be intimidated by him, just like she wasn't going to be intimidated by Patrick.
Bane, to his credit, had the decency to look mildly surprised by her boldness.
"I'm not asking you if I can help," she said, hands on her hips now as she glared up at him. "I'm telling you I'm going to help. Now if you want to tell me what you need me to do, that would make both our lives easier, but if you don't, I'll still figure it out. Now, what'll it be?"
Something roared in her ears, and as the last word of her tirade exploded from her lips, she felt supremely stupid. Her cheeks were red hot, and she realized she probably sounded like a petulant child throwing a tantrum. Still, she stood her ground because she had no other choice. Bane needed to know she was serious, and all she wanted to do was rip that mask from his face and find a crack in his otherwise solid expression.
"Bane!"
Juliette whipped around to find a mercenary running towards them, a strange blend of excitement and alarm etched into his features. He stumbled to a stop a few feet from them, and panting, jerked his thumb back over his shoulder.
"Selina Kyle just sent word," he rasped, and Juliette frowned at the unfamiliar name.
"Of?" Bane asked, closer than Juliette anticipated. When she glanced backward, she found Bane even closer than he'd been a moment ago. In fact, in turning to look at him, her shoulder brushed against his chest.
"The Batman," the mercenary answered, eyes wide and hungry for Bane's reaction, "he's asked her where to find you."
To Juliette's surprise, Bane chuckled, the sound deep and rich and sharpened as it traveled through his mask. "Has he now?" Bane replied, and he rested his hands on the color of his utility vest.
The idea popped into her head a second before it left her lips.
"Tell her to bring him here."
"What?" the mercenary demanded, and he pointed a thick finger at her, "Are you stupid? We can't just bring—"
Bane put his hand up, silencing the mercenary before locking onto Juliette's gaze.
"Why?"
Nerves started to clog her throat, but Juliette forced herself to speak. This was her opportunity to do more than show Bane she was serious.
"If Batman's looking for you, let him think he's finding you," she explained, keeping her chin up and feigning confidence. "He doesn't need to know you're expecting him."
The mercenary let out a quiet oh, shit, and slowly, Bane nodded.
"Yes," he said, low and slow, "Yes, tell Ms. Kyle to bring him to us, and tell the men to be ready."
Immediately, Juliette's chest filled with pride as light and heady as helium. The mercenary glanced at Juliette with a new sense of regard before rushing back the way he'd come.
Left alone again, Juliette turned slowly, taking a step back, and met Bane's gaze.
"Interesting," he murmured, a strange gleam in his eyes that Juliette couldn't quite decipher.
She forced herself not to show the self-doubt or surprise that she felt that he'd taken her seriously. Instead, she shrugged.
"I told you," she said, "I want to help."
Bane responded by treating her to another rumble of a chuckle, and he started after the mercenary. When Juliette hesitated, he called back for her over his shoulder.
"Well, Ms. Gray? Don't you want to help prepare your ambush?"
She smiled to herself as she hurried after him.
Sry it's been so long-work has been tough, and I cried three times today lol Part of me is scaring diving into Bane and such an intimate moment because I just want to get him right? idk
