Heya! I already have two fanfics that aren't that far along, and I wasn't going to even attempt a Bane/TDKR fic because there are so many of you wonderful authors out there who have kept me...distracted...with your wonderful submissions that I didn't feel the need to try my hand at one. BUT, then I went to see TDKR again...and my love of Tom Hardy and Bane made me jump on the bandwagon. So here it is, folks! My own Bane fic. The summary is crap and the chapter titles...well they're stupid. I'm just pulling those out of my ass. But I think I may have something here.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own TDKR, or Bane, or Gotham. I only own Israel.

Enjoy!


Thank You For Calling Old Navy in Gotham!

Israel bent at the waist, supported herself on the left foot as her right raised above her head, bent awkwardly, and then snapped back down as she went rigid, her hair flying about her. She then dropped into a split as the music from the stereo thrummed around her. The beats were rigid and crisp, but the notes that floated over it slithered and wound like something lulling and seductive. She twisted on her bottom, pulled herself to standing, her stomach leading the way at her head was the last to leave the floor. All the while she watched herself in the wide mirror making sure each move was perfect. The song ended and she stood still, her legs poised apart as she bent backwards so that her right hand could touch the floor. The entire room clapped, and she was brought back to herself, standing and taking a small bow. Her teacher, Mr. Barnard, came forward from his spot against the wall, clapping the loudest.

"Wow," he breathed, smiled wide and hard enough to show all of his teeth. "Just wow. That was just beautiful, Izzy. Breath-taking!" He came to stand next to her, close to her, and put his arm around her shoulders to draw her closer to him. She resisted. She found him to be creepy, and she wasn't like the other girls in class who vied for his attention. She wanted to have as little to do with him as possible. Unfortunately, because of that, he wanted to have everything to do with her. She watched warily as five of her peers, Samantha, Allison, Ebony, Michelle, and Rachel, gave her death glares from their seat on the floor. They had disliked her ever since she'd joined the class and Mr. Bernard had started to show more attention than the rest. Of course, it wasn't something she'd asked for, and it seemed that no matter how hard she tried to dissuade him, the harder he tried. And once upon a time, when she'd cared about what the stupid gaggle of mean girls thought, she'd tried explaining that to them, and of course they didn't listen. And for a while she let it bother her, but then she remembered that she'd graduated from high school and that she was an adult, and that she didn't have to care about what anyone thought. Which was why she didn't care as they stared daggers into her face.

"Saving the best for last," Mr. Barnard commented. "Well that will be all for today class. I don't think I need to you tell you all that I am very proud of all of your presentations. Beginning Thursday we'll partner up and begin work on our presentation as a whole for the Addict and Addiction Charity Ball. So be sure to be here on time. You all are dismissed."

Everyone began to grab their things and scatter, and as Israel tried to make a break for her things and the door she froze as Mr. Barnard called her back. The same thing every damn time, she thought.

She placed her things by the door and took a few steps away from it and, once the room was devoid of everyone except for Barnard and Israel, he gave her the full weight of his eyes.

"You're just beautiful," he admired. "Poetry in motion." His eyes swept over her, filled with lust. But she didn't flinch or fidget. He'd been doing this to her for months now, and while he still made her uneasy, nauseous, she wasn't afraid of him. If he tried anything, she was sure she could take him, the pocket knife in her jeans pocket told her so.

She smiled. It didn't reach her eyes. "Thank you." Her voice was deep, throaty, a gift from genetics and her mother. She hated it because it drew men to her. They thought she sounded like sex, and with her wide green and yellow specked eyes, fleckled oval face, and curly, frizzy mane of black hair, she supposed she looked like it as well. Thanks, genetics… "Mr. Barnard, as much as I love our talks, I have to get to work." It wasn't a lie.

He chuckled. "Always such a busy body. I suppose that's why you don't have time for me to take you out to dinner? You know, thanks to you and your fantastic little body, we've raised more money this year than ever before. The public loves to watch you dance."

"And I'm glad to be of help. But…I have to go to work." She backed away to her bags. Even she wasn't stupid enough to turn her back on him. "I'll see you Thursday."

"Probably before then," he commented. "Hey, you don't need a ride do you? My Mercedes is just outside and I'm about to lock up anyways."

She had her backpack on her shoulder by then and had slipped her Converse onto her feet. "I prefer walking. See you Thursday." She didn't wait around for more conversation. She left, taking a deep needed breathe when she finally reached the outdoors. The air had a slight chill to it. Winter was well on its way. Great…just what I need…

The shopping mall was good 4 blocks from the dance studio, but Israel never minded the walk. It gave her time to think, time to be alone which she always valued because she wasn't necessarily fond of people. By the time she walked inside the mall she was a whole hour and a half early for work. She traveled the crowded hallways, grimacing at the anyone who gave her any strange looks. She stared at the illuminated letters that hung over the archway. They read OLD NAVY. She hated her job, but inside she went and she didn't bother to speak to anyone until she hit the break room where her manager, Paul, was putting up a colorful bulletin board.

"Hey, you're here!" He called back over his shoulder. "Wanna give me a hand with this?"

She couldn't help but smile. He was the only manager she had that she actually liked. He was also the only one who knew about her situation. Besides that, he was nice to look at. He was tall, maybe around 5'9" or 5'10", and while most men wouldn't consider that tall, she was 5'4". Anyone was tall to her. He was a lithe man with clean cut brown hair and sparkling blue eyes and a very infectious smile, one that he flashed back to her as she just stood looking at him.

"Well?" He asked.

She held up her back and shook it a little. "I need to…use the bathroom. I just came from dance so I kind of smell…" She was blushing and she hated it.

"Well your towel is in the bathroom, so hurry up so you can help. I'm supposed to have this thing up before the next shift starts."

"Thanks, Paul."

He winked at her and she disappeared into the bathroom. There were 7 stalls and 5 sinks and a large mirror stretching across the wall. Paul had been nice enough to leave a large brown, fluffy towel sitting on the counter alongside a large plastic bowl, and a rubber doorstop, which she fitted under the door. She ran the hot water in the first sink, waiting for it to heat up as she began to undress. She folded her clothes neatly atop the counter and pulled a bottle of shampoo and condition from her backpack. She tested the water and sat the bowl under the faucet while she turned on the cold water. Soon she had a bowl of warm water which she promptly poured over her head. She glanced down, making sure that it went down the drain in the middle of the tiled floor before filling the bowl up again and dousing herself. Once she was sufficiently wet, she lathered shampoo in her hair and soaped a bit up in her hands and ran them over herself. She made sure she was thoroughly clean before she rinsed herself and began to load conditioner into her hair. She piled the wet, white tinted mess atop her head and let it sit, and while she did, she scrutinized herself in the mirror.

She wasn't tall by any means. In fact she looked a lot shorter and smaller than she actually way. She wasn't the skinniest woman in Gotham, but she wasn't fat. She had curves, hips and thighs and a handful of a chest that men desired. And she supposed, she thought as she turned to the side, she didn't have the worst ass in the world either. A dancer's body, she decided, was what she had. And thanks to her mother and her father, genetics had gifted her with striking looks. Her hair was a constant mane of rich black curls and frizzed around her head and hung down low on her back, and it framed her face perfectly, making her milk chocolate skin, freckles, and exotic eyes stand out even more. She had to admit, that even she found herself interesting to look at. Ya know…in that weird, alien type, beauty way. Generally, she was unmarked. She had a scar from where her lip has been pierced, and another where her septum had been pierced, but that was inside her nose and no one even knew it was there. There were also dog paw prints tattooed symmetrically just above the area where her legs met her hips, but that was it. She ran her hands down her stomach and over the tattoos, biting her lip with a frown. She missed her old friend.

A knock at the door jolted her from her thoughts and for a moment she panicked, almost ran to hide herself in the nearest stall. Luckily, it was only Paul. "You've got 30 minutes. Better rap it up!" He called cheerfully.

She pulled the bowl from under the faucet and, with one hand, poured it over her head while her other combed out the conditioner. She did it twice more before she convinced herself that all traces of the slick soap were gone. From there she bent at the waist and wrung out her hair, twisting and pulling at it until she had it in a wet updo. She frowned, because when she took it down later it was going to be beyond fluffy. She toweled herself off, applying lotion, deodorant, and body spray, and then pulled on a pair of skinny blue jeans, a white flannel v-neck with long sleeves, and a black, peacock printed scarf. She did her makeup, giving herself a red matte lip and black, kohl cat eyes, a small touch of blush a top her foundation and called herself done. She bagged her things, setting them outside while she went to grab the mop to get up most of the water on the bathroom floor. Once done, she donned socks and boots, stuffed her bag into her locker, grabbed her nametag and went out to meet Paul.

He was cashiering at the front and she was happy to wait for him in the men's section, helping out customers until he came over to brief her on how the store was doing. He got halfway through before he stopped and just looked at her. It made her fidget a little.

"What?" She finally asked.

"You look good today," he commented.

She looked down at herself. "Well…"

"Very well put together." He stopped and stared again.

"Paul…what?!"

He chuckled. "Nothing. Hey, do me a favor and keep an eye out today. We've had a lot of shoplifting over the past few days so if you see anyone…or you suspect anyone, just let me know over the walkie."

Work went by quickly and before she knew it, Old Navy was closed and she, Paul, and five others were going through the closing routine. After all the clothes were folded, hung, and put in their rightful places, all seven of them found themselves in the back waiting to clock out. Gianna, Vickie, and Adam were the first to clock out and immediately left the backroom to go wait at the front door. Susie clocked out next and all but ran to the bathroom, and then next was Tiffany, and finally Israel and Paul. Paul, the gentleman that he was, let her clock out first and smirked as he noticed that she waiting around for him. They walked leisurely with one another up to the front and Paul checked everyone out and closed and locked the store behind himself. Outside the mall everyone dispersed to their cars, and as Israel began to walk away Paul called her back.

"Where are you sleeping tonight?" He asked. "Cause if you don't have a place I would be more than happy to post you up at my apartment."

Israel smiled, but she eyed the ring on his left hand. "And I'm sure your wife would just love that."

"Fiance. Not wife. Not yet anyways. And I'm sure she'd be fine with it if I explained your situation."

Israel smiled. "I've got someone where to rest my pretty little head. Don't you worry."

"But I do worry…" His voice was small as he mumbled. "I'm just saying I would feel better knowing you had somewhere safe to go to every night."

She laughed then, a loud guffaw that erupted from her chest. "Paul, we live in Gotham. There's not a safe place in this city." She began to walk away backwards. "I'll be fine. You better get home. Don't want your wife to worry. I've got to get to bed. I've got an early day tomorrow." She waved at him and walked away, noting that his eyes followed her.

The nights were getting colder, and Israel was thankful for her hoodie and scarf. She walked quietly, sticking to the roads that she knew were lit, because the lights at least provided a small bit of protection. The noise behind her made her stop, look around. She didn't see anyone, but she felt as if she were being watched, followed. She began walking again, and when she heard someone fall into step behind her, she relaxed her pace, tried to calm her racing heart as her free hand idly went to her pocket. Her knife was still there. Someone whistled, a loud piercing sound that cut through the air and sent a chill down her spine. She didn't stop walking, fought the urge to run. If she ran, they would give chase and the chase was what excited men the most. She was forced to stop, however, when a looming shadowed figured came from an alley and into her path. He was dirty, probably homeless like she was, with a skull cap on his head and a worn jacket over his torso.

"Well lookie what we got here." His voice was low, scratchy. "A little kitty cat's wondered into my home."

She stared at him, sized him up. He was bigger than her, everyone was bigger than her, but that just meant that she was quicker…and the would fall harder.

"Here kitty, kitty, kitty," he purred. "Come 'ere and let me pet you." He came towards her and she stepped back, bumped into some hard and living behind her. Strong arms came out to wind themselves tightly around her, binding her arms to her sides. Panic set in, and she struggled. Both men laughed.

"Hey now, calm down. We're not gonna hurt ya…too badly." The other man, the one holding her whispered in her ear. "Just play nice and we'll make it good for you."

She hefted herself up, brought her heel down hard against his shin and the sickening crack that sounded after, along with his howl of pain made her smirk. He released her and reflexively reached down to cradle the pain. Once free, she tried to dart past the other man and had almost made it when his arm reached out, snagged her, threw her into the darkness of the alley. She knew she was in trouble. It was too dark. A passing car wouldn't see her if she really needed help. She had hit the brick wall hard enough to damage her right arm and elbow, which was bad luck on her part as she was right handed. But she pushed through the pain, flexed her arm repeatedly as she reached into her pocket and pulled out her pocket knife. It was a big once it was unfolded, a hunter's knife that she'd swiped from a convenience store some years ago. But it was still sharp. She kept it that way on purpose. The two men, one limping, started towards her, menacing as the light made them look like demonic shadows come to drag her to Hell. She held the knife lightly, but firmly in her hand, taking a wide stance as she prepared herself for whatever was the come. Inside she told herself she wouldn't let them rape her. She would kill herself before she let that happen again.

The man that she'd hurt snarled, spit on the ground. "Oh you're gonna pay for that, kitty. We was tryin' to be nice to you, but now you're gonna pay."

Her breathing was coming in pants and her hands began to shake. Just fight, she told herself. No matter what happened she had to fight. If she could just get past them she was sure she could outrun them. She was a fast one, after all. The injured man lunged at her and with nowhere else to go, she let him wrap his grimy hands around her throat, pull her in close, because she needed to be close. She stuck her hand out, digging the knife deep in his side and he let her go, hissed and pulled back, but he took the knife along with him. She went to retrieve it as he fell to the ground, but her movements were sloppy, and the other man grabbed her shoved her against the wall and pinned her there. His mouth pulled back in a vicious grin that bared discolored teeth and horrible breath. She went to struggle, to do something that would throw him off her but he pulled her forward, slammed her back so hard that when her head connected with brick wall her mouth went slack and stars erupted behind her eyes.

"You stupid bitch!" The man hissed. His held her hands over her head and with the other he pawed at her breasts and over her stomach. "I'm gonna make you wish you were dead."

She blow to her head had made her sick, almost numb, but she could deftly feel his hand running over her, pinching and and scratching at her. His annoyance ran high and he tore at her jacket, ripped her shirt so he could get his hands on her soft flesh. She moaned, dry heaved, tried to stuggled and he slapped her, open palmed in the face. And then the worst of it came. His hand went lower, and lower still until he was cupping her over her jeans.

"No," she moaned out. "No! Get off of me!" Her last resort was screaming, and she felt so weak because of it. She told herself mentally that this was indeed her own fault. She should have been able to take both these men down. "Get the FUCK off me!" She watched as he cocked his hand back, curled it into a fist and braced herself for the blow to come. She squeezed her eyes closed, waited, but it never came. Instead he released her.

"GETOFFME!" The man yelled as he was lifted by the back of his neck. He continued to fight until he came face to face with the most menacing thing he'd ever seen. If the eyes weren't enough to scare him, then the mask did the rest of the job.

"And what is this?" The voice that sounded was deep, accented, but mechanically filtered.

Israel's eyes went wide as she watched the hulking figure lift her assailant. He was a beast of a man, standing nearly seven feet tall, with more than enough muscles to spare, but there was something, she noted, that was wrong with his face. She pressed herself further back, tried to make herself as small as possible. She knew for sure that this was the night she was going to die.

"Is this how the men of Gotham City spend leisurely spend their nights?" He wound his free hand around the smaller man's throat, squeezed until his eyes bugged and he wheezed, struggled for a breath. "It did not seem as if this girl enjoyed your…advances. But perhaps I am wrong." A sound punch landed in the smaller man's abdomen and he was dropped to the ground to cough and immediately clutch his aching stomach.

"S-she was asking for it, man!" He pointed an accusing finger at Israel who, even though she was still bleeding from her head and finding it hard to keep conscious, cut her eyes at him and hissed. She was about to say something, anything to defend herself, but her would-be savior spoke before she could get a sound out. He went to her, watched as she pressed herself tightly against the wall. He held his hand out. "Come here."

She had a momentary internal struggle. She didn't want to move, to didn't want to be involved in the situation anymore than she was, but the larger man's eyes held a disciplined stare that irked her. He wouldn't let her get out of this, and he wouldn't let her stay where she was. She eased up the wall, fought against the dizziness and the bile that rose in her throat begging for her to vomit. She went to take a step forward, almost made it stand next to him, but then the Earth spun and she began to fall. She was fully expecting to scrape up her knees, but she never touched the ground. Instead, she felt a strong and firm hand catch her around the middle, and because of her torn shirt, the hand was warm against her uncovered stomach.

He had watched her carefully, even noted when she contemplated staying on the ground. But then she stood, and it sickened to him to see just how weak she really was. She shook as she walked, and he watched as she bit her lip and swallowed hard, turning ashen. But her falling forward was the last straw, and he reached out to steady her, his hand stinging as it made contact with her skin. She was so warm, so smooth, and an old feeling rushed through him, made him frown. He righted her pushed her forward toward the man on his knees.

"I think it only acceptable," he started, "that the victim decide your fate."

The man stared up at her, his eyes angry and judgemental. "But she was asking for it! You didn't see the way she was walking, the way she swished her pretty little ass! She wanted it! I'm tellin' you she wanted it."

She was light headed, nauseous, but his words had adrenaline pumping through her veins in an instant. She was angry that she shook, and before she could catch herself, she lifted her leg, kicked the man hard in his chest and when he fell to his back she stood over him, grunting harshly as the heel of her foot repeatedly connected with his stomach, his ribs, his face, and eventually his groin. Panting and out of breath she marched over to the man she had stabbed. He had remained quiet through the entire ordeal, lying on his side, cradling the knife that was still stuck into his side as he'd been too much of a coward to remove it. When she came to him, he looked up in fear, shook his head repeatedly as she reached for her knife, forcefully dug it out of him. His pitiful moan made her sneer. She marched back over to the man she'd abused, forced him onto to his back and squatted over him, shook him a little to get him to open his one good eye. When he did, she waved the knife back and forth before his face and clutched him tighter as he recoiled.

"I asked for it?" She asked lowly. She pressed the blade against his lips and then trailed it down over his cheek and neck. "I should kill you. I should take this knife and gut you like the fucking animal you are. I should cut your dick off and shove it down your throat." Her vision began to swim before her. She let him go, listened to his head drop back against the pavement with a soft thud. "But then I'd be just like you." She turned away from him then, tried to walk away, but she was nauseous and trembling. The adrenaline was leaving her. Her vision dotted, bile scorched a hot path up her throat, begging for release. Her legs gave out, she went down, and then she went out.

He stared at her for a while, all former feelings of disgust aside. She was indeed an interesting thing. "Bane," his second in command, Barsad called.

"Dispose of these…rapists," he voice rumbled. As if on command both men made pitiful noises in the night as Bane's men rose over them, aimed at them, and as the gunshots rang out, the night grew quiet, satisfied. Bane went to were the girl had crumpled herself on the ground, pulled her from her side onto her back. She was roughed up quite a bit. A bruise had formed of her left cheek, a cut above her right eyebrow. There were bruises around her wrists as well, and where her shirt had been ripped open he could see cuts, scratches, scrapes. He should have left her there, but there was something about her that drew him in. He lifted her; she weighed next to nothing. He started back to the uncovered manhole, cradling her against his chest, noting how, as the wind blew through the night, she turned herself more towards him and his warmth.

Barsad watched as his commander descended with the girl, found himself staring after them when they'd disappeared from sight. He grabbed the bag the girl had carried with her and followed down, a small smirk across his lips. Bane was nothing if not an enigma.