Hey, so I have been completely stopped up in the writing department. Complete road block but now new ideas are coming along, so here's a tiny pittance to make up for the ridiculous radio silence.
Bane left early that morning to return to his work. Serving the underling of a major corporation was not glamorous but it paid for his mechanisms, his food. It paid for the small moments with John, like the night before. His body sang with the pleasure of it. Even if his ruined flesh still ached somewhat. He had been picked up a private car; Daggett was a fool but his right hand knew to be secretive. A giant man with a grated face mask would eventually trickle back to Bruce Wayne, no matter how much the fool he seemed to play. Bane knew it an acted role when he saw one. Bane did not agree to play into Daggett's hand out of ideology but Wayne intrigued him with his easy small and hard shifting eyes.
The car stopped and Bane went to get out. The opposite door opened and a young woman swept in, sitting next to him. Bane waited for an explanation. Daggett employed many young women.
" You're just as I remember you." Her accent had softened with age, with some foreign element to him, perhaps French. But he still knew her. Knew her every inflection.
His heart ached and the dark seemed all the more great.
John writhed around in his empty bed for a while. It smelled fantastic, the way good sex always did. He felt like he'd gotten a good scratch, satisfied but the area awakened and sensitive for more. He stood, stretching tall to crack his back. Bane wasn't in the kitchen. He wasn't in the apartment. John felt a tiny flicker of disappointment. But like feeding a stray cat, he knew he couldn't depend on his guest to always be there. He dressed carefully today.
Gordon was coming into the station today. John felt like a kid meeting his idol, which indeed he was. Gordon was the cop who stood almost single handedly against the mob, the costumed criminals, the corrupt cops. The Joker. The man who'd also reluctantly smashed the bat signal. The wind seeped out of John's sails. What to say to a man who'd seen, done, fought everything. John spared a thought for Bruce Wayne, locked away somewhere. His hero, living in martyrdom. John straightened his uniform and stepped outside and into the world he didn't have a real place in.
He wondered where Bane was. It kind of worried him that he wanted to stay home and wait for him.
She was lovelier than ever, her hair and skin clean. Her frame was sleek in black but there was martial training in the lines of her shoulders. She was a woman, regal and stern like her mother. She held her hands soft and open in an act of subservience. But the hard drive for survival was back lit by something different now. There was mania there.
" You weren't there when I returned for you." That pricked up his ears. There was guilt laid into her voice.
" You should not have returned, you could have been reclaimed by the pit. That was not what I wanted for you. " He said. Her green eyes were fastened onto his face but his kept skating away. He knew what he looked like. A soft cool hand slid over the orbit of his eye. It took all of his strength not to shudder away from it.
" You should not be ashamed. You took on these wounds protecting me," she smoothed a thumb under his eye. " Who has taken the honor of your rescue from me?"
He hesitated. He didn't know this blood lust in her. He didn't want it falling on John.
" A soldier," he murmured. He saw John in his mind, repelling down from the light and reaching for him with slim opens hands and the leeches peeled from the walls and advanced for him.
" Just a boy."
" I would like to meet him, he sounds worthy. As you have always been." She smiled. For the first time, he'd ever been with her, his light, he paused.