Beyond the Shadow

Disclaimer: I do not own Batman trilogy or any of the characters

Warnings: Spoilers for the Batman trilogy and "Behind the Mask", departure from comic canon, some swearing/language

Pairing: Bane/Blake

Rating: M

Notes: This is a sequel to "Behind the Mask" and is not a stand-alone story. You can find "Behind the Mask" here: archiveofourown(dot-org)/works/474495

Censoring: FFnet is censoring my stories and this story is no exception. For this reason I will be posting a link to my AO3 profile at the beginning and end of each chapter, and making a special note when a large chunk of my story has been censored (ex. sex scenes cut out) so you will know when you're missing a big part of the story. I STRONGLY encourage everyone to read this story on AO3 because I feel that what I am being forced to censor greatly detracts from the story I'm trying to tell. However, I have censored everything in this story to meet FFnet's rating restrictions so that the story will be available here for those who prefer this website.

"Beyond the Shadow" on AO3: archiveofourown(dot-org)/works/684270

Summary: Gotham is saved but has lost its masked protector. As the city rebuilds, Bane – Gotham's near demise – must go into hiding. John Blake, police badge discarded, follows him. Together, Bane and John struggle to discover what is hidden beneath their masks and find out where they belong in the world.

"Shit!" John cursed, gripping Bane's hand and dragging him back into City Hall and out of view. Only two steps out of the building John had seen a few survivors of the battle for the city wandering down the street. They were dazed and disoriented but still conscious enough to recognize Bane – their enemy – walking out of City Hall. "We can't go that way."

They both moved back out of view into the room where they had been reunited. There was still a smudge of blood from Bane's cheek and come on the ground and John knelt down to mop it up with the sleeve of his coat. He didn't care about the coat; he could get another one. All John cared about was keeping Bane hidden from an entire city that would want him dead. The authorities hadn't arrived at City Hall yet but it would only be a matter of time. Everyone knew this was where Bane had been seen last.

"We need to get out of here," John said, getting a bit frantic now as he grabbed the remains of Bane's mask and shoved it in his pocket before standing.

For a few minutes John had been blissfully uncaring about everything beyond this room. He was with Bane again and they had used that heavy, heart-fluttering word: love. John had felt Bane hold him, take him, possess him and cherish him. Their lips had met and tasted and shared a few smiles. They had been reunited despite everything trying to pull them apart and had promised to stay together.

The giddiness from that and the realization that the bomb had been dealt with had been consuming. For a few brief moments John had felt like he was walking on a cloud, like there was nothing in the world beyond himself and Bane. Their reunion had been a glimmer of sunlight fighting a cloud-dominated sky. But the shadows were surrounding them again, reaching for them and threatening to drag them down and under.

There was no such thing as a happy ending. The success of their survival promised only more days of uncertainty and struggle. They were together and the bomb was dealt with. That didn't wipe away the crippled, smoking city of Gotham, or the hatred for Bane that would be seething below the skin of every citizen. Few knew of Talia's actions and even if the world knew it wouldn't matter; Bane had been the face of this destruction. Everyone would want him dead and all John and Bane could do is keep fighting to survive and be together every single day for the rest of their lives.

The giddiness was gone, stolen away like warmth by winter's greedy chill. It left John numb and heavy, his thoughts narrowing to his current task. He had to get Bane into hiding for now, out of City Hall and the broken downtown core. The streets were running red with the blood of the fallen; they wouldn't be alone long.

John turned and found Bane watching him, silent and calm. "You should go," Bane said simply when their eyes met.

"I already lost you once. I don't plan on losing you again," John snapped.

He walked towards one of the room's other doors, certain they would be able to find an exit to a more deserted street. Bane reached out and caught John's upper arm as he passed, stilling him forcefully with his strength. John was forced to remember that Bane wasn't a man who needed protecting. Removing the terrifying mask had in no way stolen Bane's strength or intellect.

"John, I know you are not foolish enough to bid with blind hope." Bane's hand continued to hold John's arm, though his grip loosened. "You know everyone in the city will be looking for me, and with only one way out of the city there is no hope for me, but that does not mean you must fall with me."

"I have hope, so that's going to have to be enough," John said, voice hardened by determination. "We'll hide at my apartment for now until there's a safe way to get out of the city."

"You will not abandon your city," Bane told him softly, so convinced, so certain.

John opened his mouth to refute him but the words died in his throat and choked him. He had seen what state this city had fallen to, especially over the last week when he and Bane were separated. Much of the city was ruined, its people shaken to the core. Mayor dead, authorities dead, families dead. It would take a long time for Gotham to recover, and it would need as much help as it could get.

John's desire to help his city conflicted with his desire to be with Bane; how could those two desires come together after everything that had happened? Frustrated helplessness threatened to consume him but John shoved his thoughts away, ignoring the painful twisting of his stomach at the knowledge that someday he would still be forced to choose.

Bane, or Gotham.

For now he refused to make that choice and shook Bane's hand off. "My apartment is in the east end of the city. I know a few back alleys we can use to stay out of sight as much as possible."

He thought Bane might continue to argue but he nodded without another word and let his hand fall loose at his side. Desperate to have them both safe and alone, John accepted the silent agreement and continued his path to one of the back doors. City Hall was completely deserted, everyone in the area out on the front street, their blood staining asphalt and concrete.

Bane followed behind him after pausing to pick up his ruined body armour, not wanting to leave any hint behind that he had remained here. When John asked, Bane told him that his coat was out on the main street where he had taken it off to fight. "I can survive the cold," Bane assured him when John hesitated and looked back to City Hall's main doors.

John nodded and they walked through the building on silent feet and found a side door leading out to a narrow alley. The winter air welcomed them and John shivered, pulling his ruined coat a little tighter around himself. They walked away from the main street, instead approaching the road that ran along the back of City Hall. John leaned out of the alley to get a look, ducking back into the alley when he noticed a small cluster of policemen patrolling the street, looking for survivors.

John looked back at Bane, who was standing at his back and watching him for some signal. Then John closed his eyes, his conflicting thoughts fighting for control again. John should be stepping out onto the street and joining his fellow officers; just because he was a detective now didn't mean John didn't have a commitment to this city. But John had to get Bane safely into hiding before the city realized it was safe to step outside again, and before they grew bold enough to seek revenge. He couldn't leave Bane.

Couldn't? Or wouldn't?

He was startled when Bane's large, warm hand rested on his shoulder, stabilizing him. John's eyes slid open as he looked to Bane. The smile on Bane's lips was sad and understanding, but just the sight of Bane's lips – no longer hidden by a mask – had John's eyes stinging with unwanted tears. "We are too old to believe in fairytales, John. I will not love you less for choosing your city."

John wanted to reach up and kiss him, to hug him close and hold his eyes and forget everything else. But that would only get them caught and bring their time together to an abrupt end. All he allowed himself to do was rest his hand on top of Bane's for a brief moment, taking in the shared touch. Then he pushed Bane further back into the alley so they could hide behind a dumpster as the policemen's voices drew closer.

Bane and John crouched together, backs against the wall. Their breath fogged the air in rhythmic puffs, John doing his best to keep his breathing even and silent. It was still bizarre to have Bane beside him and not hear the mechanical sound of his breathing through the mask; John found himself glancing over every few seconds to ensure Bane was still there and not just a figment of his imagination.

Bane was watching him too, eyes trained on him even though John could tell his attention was focused on the approaching threat. Their eyes held and John rested a hand on Bane's knee, half for balance and half for comfort. The policemen were right at the mouth of the alley now, voices clear as they echoed off the walls. "Do you think we should check down here?"

John could feel Bane's muscles tensing under his palm and John pressed down with a little more weight. He trusted Bane to make calculated decisions but he wasn't sure he trusted Bane to consider his own safety in his equations. Bane's eyes sharpened as they watched John and his muscles didn't loosen, but Bane remained crouching beside John in the drifting snow.

"Nah, there's nothing down there," a different man said, voice already starting to fade as he abandoned the alley.

Any other time John would have chided them on not checking everything, but today he let out a silent breath of relief. They continued crouching in tense silence, John ignoring the ache in his legs and back until he heard the scuff of shoes as the other police officers followed the first one's lead. John leaned forward to glance around the dumpster first to confirm they were alone, the voices almost completely faded now.

As he walked back towards the alley mouth he could feel Bane's presence behind him, shadowing him and watching his back. One final time John glanced out of the alley, seeing the police officers nearly two blocks down the street now. He glanced back to Bane, received a nod, and then together they ran across the open street to the next alley and back into the shadows to hide.

John's heart was racing badly, tripping over its rhythm in his fear of getting caught. Stopping now would only increase their chance of getting spotted though, so they continued following the alleys headed to the east, avoiding the open streets as much as possible. They were lucky only because the majority of the city was still in hiding, terrified of the battling and the bomb. Most were not yet ready to brave the city streets.

Walking through the streets alone with Bane made John feel like they were the last two people alive, and John had to remind himself that the city was not lost, that many people were still alive and relatively safe in their homes. He didn't know what had happened to his friends – what had happened to Bruce and Gordon, his fellow police officers and the orphan boys he had sent to the bridge? But he did know that the city had endured and would rebuild.

The further away from downtown and the bloody remains of war they got, the more deserted the streets became. By the time they reached the street with John's apartment building it was almost too easy to assume they were in the clear with no chance of getting caught. John refused to make a mistake this close to safety though; he refused to lose everything he had fought and sacrificed for in a moment of cocky assumptions.

There was no way of knowing how many people were still living in the apartment buildings lining the street. When John had gone back to hide his duffel bag most of his building had appeared to be ransacked and empty, but there was no way of knowing for sure if there were still a few residents in their homes, peeking out past drawn curtains to watch the streets.

In the shadowed alley John stopped and faced Bane, who had remained silent for the entire trek through the city. John could see something dark and conflicted in those grey eyes but now wasn't the time to ask. "I'm going to go first. I'll make sure the door is unlocked and no one is in the lobby. If there's someone in there I'll come back out so follow me in if I don't come out."

Bane tilted his head in understanding and John stepped out onto the sidewalk. The snow was heavier here, drifted up against the buildings and mostly undisturbed. John made a beeline for his apartment building, eager to get inside where he knew they would both be safe. He could feel his body beginning to drag, threatening to shut down if he didn't rest soon. All he needed was one final push of energy to get Bane safely into his apartment and then he could rest easy.

John couldn't see anyone looking out of the rows of windows along the street as he walked, no one looking to witness him pushing the heavy door open for his own apartment building. The door's hinges were stiff with frost and screeched horribly but John pushed inside and looked around quickly. He couldn't see anyone, nor hear any footsteps. It felt almost too easy but John wasn't going to complain; they needed all the luck they could get.

He remained just inside the door and waited, rubbing his hands together for warmth. A few seconds later the door screamed again and Bane walked into the building, body armour still slung over his arm. Again John forced himself to continue moving, climbing the narrow staircase up the seven flights and down the hall to his apartment, 708. The last time he was here he had repaired the broken lock on his door, not wanting anyone to break in again and steal his precious duffel bag.

With Bane at his shoulder John dug his key out of his pocket and slipped it into the lock, pushing the door open and stepping inside. He moved aside and allowed Bane to enter before closing the door and sliding closed all three sets of locks he had installed. When John turned back he took in the sight of Bane standing in his front doorway, looking around the apartment critically, and suddenly felt self-conscious.

This was John's home – or it had been before he had spent two months in that hotel room with Bane. By now 'home' to John was wherever Bane was, proven by the fact that this apartment had felt empty when John returned here to hide the duffel bag before the final battle. But this apartment was still his, filled with his few personal belongings, showing his habits and tendencies.

Bane wouldn't know this side of John. They had developed their own routine of living as they shared the hotel room, but what if this was different? What if Bane felt differently when he saw the way John lived before being kidnapped? John didn't have a lot of luxury possessions – hadn't had the money while making his own living as an orphan, and had most things stolen while kidnapped – and he had told Bane many stories about his life, but he still wasn't too badly off. This must feel odd for Bane because it felt odd for John too.

It was bizarre to have Bane standing in his front entranceway, clothes singed and boots dripping on the tile. This was a man that, despite his reasons, had tried to destroy and blow up John's city. Even though John had found a companion in Bane, he couldn't forget the fact that their meeting had begun with a kidnapping and capture. John had fallen in love with Bane, the man he had also been fighting against to save his city, and now Bane was here in his apartment.

The two conflicting sides of John had never clashed more resolutely than they were in this moment. The cop in him told him he was being blinded by love; Bane had made this city suffer and he should pay for that. The guilt inside John was nearly overwhelming when he admitted that he was hiding Bane in his apartment, purposefully protecting him from the police and that retribution for the things he had done.

The orphan in him fought this, not denying the validity of his thoughts but begging for a second chance. John knew what it was like growing up in a difficult situation. It didn't excuse the actions people made, but he knew that people could change. John himself had made some bad decisions in his youth, angry with the world and unable to find any way of satiating that bitterness. But he had turned things around. He had become a cop and channelled that anger into energy used to protect the innocent, becoming a guardian to save others from the childhood he survived.

John truly believed that Bane could change – was already changing. He had seen it in the small confines of their shared hotel room over the last two months. John knew he was still a long way off from gaining Bane's full trust – may never achieve it – but Bane trusted him as a confidant. Bane had shared a lot about himself and through opening up had grown calmer and more settled. The man standing in John's apartment was not the same terrifying beast he had been dragged to two months previous. All he needed was a second chance and someone who believed that he really was more than the mask that had originally defined him.

Bane still hadn't said anything, and hadn't moved. John cleared his throat, binding his thoughts before they overwhelmed him. "Welcome," he said simply. Bane glanced back to him but said nothing. For the first time since John had met him, Bane looked unsure. John realized that this was probably the first time Bane had been invited into someone's home as a guest, welcomed anywhere. "Take your boots off and get comfortable," he suggested.

Bane continued to watch him silently so John decided to lead by example. He pulled off his boots and let them drop to the floor, melting snow leaving a puddle on the tile. Then he stepped onto the linoleum flooring and walked down the hallway, leaving Bane by the door to follow when he was ready.

John did a quick sweep of the apartment, ensuring no one had broken in a second time and completing a mental inventory of what hadn't been stolen. The living room was mostly intact minus his electronics, and no one had bothered taking any appliances from his kitchen since they were all old and second-hand. The bedroom remained untouched, clothes in the closet and duvet smoothed out and in place. John knelt down and pulled out the duffel bag from under the bed, feeling his heart rate begin to return to normal now that he knew they had made it. The duffel bag was safe, the city was safe, Bane was safe.

He set the duffel bag on the bed and left it briefly to return to the kitchen and unfurl a large garbage bag. John peeled off his coat and shoved it inside. He felt a brief twinge of sadness at discarding the coat – Bane had taken John to get this coat before they had even become more than captor and captive. It was ruined though, and John had Bane here in his apartment with him, which was a lot more meaningful than a coat.

It was only when Bane stepped into the kitchen slowly that John realized he had thrown out Bane's mask shoved in his coat pocket without a second thought. John considered the garbage bag and then met Bane's gaze as Bane stood in the doorframe watching him. "I threw the mask in the garbage..." he said hesitantly, unsure if he had overstepped his bounds.

Bane walked towards him and stood by his side, tall and massive as John looked up at him from the ground. Then Bane knelt down beside him, matching John's posture. Plastic slipped through John's fingers as he allowed Bane to take the bag, but instead of pulling out the mask like he thought Bane might have done, John watched Bane drop his ruined armour into the bag as well. When he handed the bag back, Bane's mouth was tense with determination. "That is where it belongs."

John left the bag on the kitchen floor and turned fully to face Bane. He reached up and cupped Bane's face with his palms, warming the cold skin of his cheeks. "You're shivering," he noticed worriedly, feeling the tremor working through Bane's body as they touched. "I should have gone to get your coat."

"You worry too much," Bane told him, but made no move to push John away.

"Because I care," John reminded him and then leaned forward. Bane helped him stay balanced as their lips met in a brief, soft kiss. The weight of Bane's lips sent a thrill down John's spine, warmth enveloping him. He could hardly believe that they were both still alive and together, but he knew he had made the right choice.

He wanted to stay here forever, perhaps strip off the rest of their clothes and feel Bane again right here on his kitchen floor. The apartment was cold though, the heat turned down in his absence, and John worried about Bane even if Bane didn't take the time to worry about his own health. John pressed one final kiss to Bane's lips and then pulled out of his embrace, standing on stiff legs.

Now that they were in his apartment and relatively safe for the moment, the strain and stress John had been under was finally starting to catch up with him. His mind was exhausted from months of fear, turmoil and heartbreak when his city had been attacked, when he had been captured, and when he had thought he had seen Bane for the final time.

Similarly, his body was worn down from the fight for his city and his reunion with Bane. He hadn't slept for over twenty-four hours, and hadn't slept well for a week since he and Bane had said goodbye. After their goodbye John had been in more than one fist fight, had been thrown down a pile of rubble, and had been reunited with Bane on the floor with minimal preparation. The pleasure he had received from his coupling with Bane didn't mean his body didn't still ache.

Knowing he wanted to get a few things done before he lost all his energy and fell asleep, John left the kitchen. He turned up the heat first, the radiator groaning as it slowly worked on heating the air. After that John dug out a little battery-powered radio he had set on his bookshelf; it was old and battered and not worth stealing but it still worked fine. He spent a minute tuning it until he found a station and then turned up the volume while continuing around the apartment.

He went to his bedroom and stripped down, intent on changing into a new set of clothes that wasn't covered in smoke, sweat and blood. As he peeled off all his clothes and let them fall to the floor he caught sight of himself in the mirror. His whole body was worn and bruised, dark mottled skin blending together. It was nearly impossible to tell where each mark came from, whether from a fight on the streets or from his coupling with Bane. The only marks he could distinguish were the ring of nips and hickeys left around his neck.

"You have suffered because of me."

Bane's voice startled John and he whipped his head around to see Bane standing in the doorframe, eyes exploring him. John relaxed quickly, comfortable showing his body to Bane. After their reunion proving Bane's continued attraction to him, and realizing that Bane had only said goodbye to him a week before to try to keep John safe, John's hurt heart and pride was beginning to mend.

He stood in front of the mirror and Bane openly. "I wanted the marks you gave me," he told Bane, voice hushed in the quiet apartment.

Bane approached him with slow, halted steps. When Bane was standing right behind him John turned his eyes back to the mirror, watching their reflections. Bane still smelled of sweat and burned fabric but John didn't complain as Bane stood against his back. John could feel the length of Bane's body against his own, and shivered when Bane skimmed rough fingers over his bare skin.

His fingers began at the column of John's neck, sliding down and following the curve to his shoulder and then rounding down to follow the line of his arm. Both hands stopped at John's hips and then carefully moved back up John's back where he could feel his muscles knotted together and a few cuts breaking skin from when he had been pushed down the pile of rubble. "You would not have these if I had not come to Gotham," Bane lamented, touching each bruise and cut like he might be able to take the pain into his own fingertips.

John stood in silence for a few moments, allowing Bane's touches until his hands rested on John's hips again. Then John reached down and laced his fingers with Bane's own, leading his hands forward until Bane was hugging around John's middle, their twined hands resting on his belly. The reflection of their eyes met. "If you hadn't come to Gotham I wouldn't have met you."

"Perhaps that would be better," Bane mused. "Then you would have gone to the bridge and to safety instead of to me."

"I made my choice," John reminded him tightly. "And I'm happy with it."

"Surely someone can make you happier," Bane wondered aloud. His fingers twitched against John's stomach and John tightened his hold, refusing to allow Bane to withdraw.

"I've looked, you know," John said. "You're not the first person to catch my eye." Bane pulled him closer possessively, John's back moulded to the defined shape of Bane's chest. "But you're the first to win my heart or give me hope for the future." He remembered what he had told Bane back in City Hall after their reunion. Bane had taught John that you could change, and that you were more than the masks you wore for society.

"Hope is dangerous," Bane warned, eyes guarded in the mirror.

John's gaze softened. "I'm well practiced at handling disappointment," he assured and then turned in Bane's arms. He wrapped his arms around Bane's broad shoulders while Bane's arms looped around to hold the arch of John's back. "But I believe in you, Bane. And you're quite welcome to prove me right."

One corner of Bane's lips turned up and John could see him leaning forward, but when Bane hesitated John used his weight to pull him down the rest of the way into a kiss. He could feel his body thrumming, every inch of his skin hyperaware of Bane's weight and warmth against him. As their lips brushed Bane seemed to shake off his uncertainty. John moaned as Bane tightened his embrace, rising on his toes to be closer.

John could feel his length beginning to stir but his body was also starting to ache more insistently, his legs threatening to give out under his weight. He barely realized how tired he was until his knees buckled, Bane catching him and holding him up before John could collapse fully. Bane lifted him with ease, hooking his hands under John's thighs and sitting him on the vanity top.

John gave a grunt of displeasure when Bane moved away slightly, clutching at Bane's shirt tightly to keep him close. He was embarrassed at his own weakness but let his eyes drift closed when Bane's large hand cupped his cheek and tilted his face up. John nuzzled the hand and met Bane's offered kiss, swaying with his exhaustion but refusing to allow this to end.

Bane seemed to have other ideas though, pulling his lips back. John was about to protest but bit his lip when Bane's mouth trailed down his neck. Bane sealed his mouth over the juncture where John's neck met his shoulder and for the first time John noticed that Bane's teeth were crooked. The thought of having Bane's crooked bite mark on his neck surrounded by a hickey, paired with the sharp pinch of suction had John arching forward, but despite his interest, John's tiredness kept his libido from turning on more.

When Bane was done marking him he seemed to notice John's lack of physical response and pulled away. John continued holding Bane's shirt in his hands, bunching up the fabric and keeping him close, and Bane hovered close enough that John could feel the warmth radiating off him. "You should rest," Bane said.

"I don't want to," John grumbled, though he knew Bane was right. He could already feel his body shutting down. His eyes were beginning to droop closed again, his chest rising and falling tiredly. "I want to feel you again."

Bane chuckled lightly. "We were just together."

"You sent me away for a whole week," John shot back, smirking after a moment. "We have some catching up to do."

Bane leaned towards him and John pulled him closer but instead of another kiss or marking, Bane merely rested against John. He was considering dragging Bane's lips back to his own but as John ran his hands over Bane's shoulders and back he could feel the tense muscles there, wound into knots. Immediately John's heated desire softened to warmth and he hugged Bane to him, worried but pleased that Bane wasn't hiding this from him. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," Bane said calmly, though John could feel Bane tensing up further even as he stood there.

"The morphine is wearing off, isn't it?" John asked with concern. Bane merely grunted and John began carefully massaging Bane's corded muscles. "Maybe you should lie down."

Bane shook his head and stepped out of John's embrace. John wanted to pursue him but let his hands rest at his sides, not wanting to crowd Bane or pressure him. Just because they had both said 'I love you' didn't mean they didn't still need their own space and the ability to do things their own way. "Movement helps," Bane explained as he rolled his shoulders back, stretched and groaned. "You should sleep though."

"I want to stay up a bit longer and listen to the radio," John said. Bane looked like he wanted to argue but he remained silent, watching greedily as John slid off the vanity and bent down to grab a change of clothes from the dresser. John allowed the attention – relished in it – as he pulled on his new clothes and a sweater overtop, the apartment still warming up slowly.

When that was finished he walked back out into the hallway, brushing his hand across Bane's chest as he passed, his fingers catching on the burnt-through holes in the fabric. John was pleased that Bane followed him, though he could see the man's movements turning stiff and forced with each step he took. Remembering Bane's ruined shirt John thought back to the neighbours living in his hallway before this whole disaster happened.

He remembered an older man that had lived a few apartments down from him, tall and wide and very fond of dull colours. "I'm going to go see if I can get you some new clothes," John told Bane, slipping on a dry pair of shoes by the front door. "Why don't you look to see if there's any food left that hasn't gone bad."

"Alright," Bane agreed, standing by the door until John disappeared out into the building hallway.

John walked down the hall quickly, cold in the unheated space and unwilling to remain visible for long. At the moment he didn't want to run into anyone. Even though he had earned back the trust of Gordon and the police officers when he helped them over the last week, John knew that the last time many people had seen him it had been on the television in that picture with him standing close to Bane outside the courts. He was uninterested in defending or explaining himself; for now he only wanted to be with Bane and rest.

When he reached apartment 712 John pressed his ear against the door, listening for any hint of the room being occupied by the owner or someone who had broken in. He couldn't hear anything and quietly knocked, eager to avoid any conflicts. John still received no sign that anyone was in the apartment so he slowly turned the doorknob and pushed inward, the door falling open easily for him.

The apartment was dark and cold, mostly untouched. John kept his steps light as he entered the apartment, assessing everything he saw critically. Although he felt a little guilty for raiding a neighbour's apartment, knowing there was a chance that the man might return now that the battle for the city was over, John had to think about himself and Bane first.

He grabbed a garbage bag from the kitchen and then moved to the bedroom, opening up the closet in search of some clothes that would fit Bane's muscled form. John filled a bag with some shirts and sweaters, a few pairs of track pants and jeans, and was even lucky enough to find two unopened packets of briefs and socks on the closet floor. John was about to push the doors closed again when he noticed a coat shoved to the back of the closet. It was made of a dark, heavy wool and was probably long enough to reach Bane's thighs, the chest and arms looking wide enough to fit.

Pleased with his finds, John set the full bag of clothes by the door and returned to the kitchen. Taking a second bag he filled it with anything useful he could find: some canned food, a case of bottled water, some dry pasta and a few jars of sauce, and a few packs of batteries he found in the cupboard. Aware of the fact that he had to carry all this back and wanting to leave some food in case his neighbour returned, John tied off the bag and headed back for the door.

His muscles were screaming at him as John re-entered the hallway and walked down to his own apartment, bag of clothes slung over his shoulder and his second bag of food dragging behind him. Each step was gruelling, his limbs shaking with fatigue as he practically fell through his own door. John set the bags down in the hallway and turned back to re-lock the door, leaning against it tiredly as his heart slowed.

"John." Bane's voice carried through the apartment and John felt a tiny spark of light flicker in his chest, giving him just enough energy to push himself off the door and trudge down the hall toward the kitchen.

"Are you okay?" he asked as he rubbed at his blurry eyes, taking in the sight before him. It was such an oddly domestic moment, Bane dwarfing the kitchen chair he had stuffed himself onto at the table, the smell of soup warming on the stove top.

He could see the way Bane's shoulders were beginning to curl forward, as though trying to shrink himself and hide away. Bane's grey eyes were sharp and focused, his mouth a hard line. "Sit," Bane ordered. "They are about to repeat a news update on the city." Bane's gaze was unwavering and apologetic. "You will want to listen."

The small flame burning inside John, ignited by the knowledge that he and Bane were together and at least temporarily safe, dimmed but didn't go out. John found it hard to swallow as he took the second kitchen chair, the radio on the table between them. The speaker was releasing static at the moment and John could only wonder and dread what sort of news he would be listening to in a few minutes.

He rested his head against the wall beside him, static cocooning him in a haze. John heard footsteps and then hummed when he felt fingers brush his neck, the hickeys throbbing pleasantly and drawing back the memory of when he received them. "There are fresh clothes for you in one of the bags in the hall," he offered, keeping his eyes closed as he waited for the news.

Bane's footsteps moved first to the stove, a spoon scraping the edges of the pot as Bane stirred the soup, and then moved out into the hallway. John hoped Bane could find something he liked in the bag, though he doubted Bane would be picky. The news still hadn't come on and John was getting anxious, Bane's discomforted expression imprinted on his mind, so John stood up and busied himself with spooning the steaming soup into two bowls.

He took his to the table and opened a bottle of water. With just a quick glance around the kitchen he knew he would have to spend time cleaning out all the food that had gone bad over the last few months, but he was tired enough to ignore the unpleasant tang of decomposing food at that moment. As he sat back down at the table and ate his first spoonful the radio crackled back to life.

"Speaking now with Commissioner Gordon mere hours after what many of us believed was the end of days. Commissioner, what can you tell us about the state of Gotham for all those still at home?"

John felt a rush of relief at knowing Gordon was still safe and alive, though his stomach clenched with nerves when he heard the tired heartbreak in the man's voice. "As far as we know the battle for Gotham has finally come to an end. The bomb, which was set to detonate this morning regardless of any triggerman's actions, did indeed go off. However, the reason I am here now speaking to you is all thanks to Batman, who I watched lift the bomb with his plane and fly out over the bay."

"Any news of him since?"

Static filled the long, noticeable silence. "No. I spoke to him before he flew the bomb out over the water. There was no autopilot in the plane. With the short length of time left before the bomb went off and the distance the Batman took the bomb to keep Gotham out of the blast radius, there was no way he survived the explosion." The clenching in John's heart was sickening, making it nearly impossible to breathe. "Every citizen of Gotham owes their life to Batman."

John's ears began to ring with the sound of his heartbeat speeding up. Bruce was dead. But he didn't even have time to take this fact in fully, the news broadcast continuing. "And that really means every citizen," the radio host added, voice rough. "I just received a report from the ground a few minutes ago. Apparently a large mass of Gotham citizens were warned about the bomb's imminent detonation and made their way to the Memorial Bridge, which I'm sure everyone knows is the one bridge left intact for the transfer of supplies."

John looked up when Bane walked back into the kitchen, dressed in a new set of clothes. They were a bit loose but they looked warm and Bane looked more comfortable in them. Bane took the second bowl of soup from the counter and sat across from him, though neither of them made a move to eat. Both of them watched each other and then returned their attention to the radio.

"I've been told that a school bus from Gotham City's St. Swithin's orphanage was at the front of the group at the bridge, the Father updating the police with new information on the bomb going off shortly. Unfortunately, no matter what the Father said the police would not listen." John remembered telling the Father exactly what to say to get the cops on duty to listen, and he could feel a slow-building frustration under his skin. "They still believed that the triggerman would blow up the bridge if anyone crossed it and when the Father approached they blew up the bridge. I can understand their wariness but if Batman had not taken care of the bomb, the whole city would have burned. No one would have survived."

Static filled John's small kitchen again as the microphone was turned back to Gordon. "Yes, it's an unfortunate example of the frustrating restraints the police and legal system sometimes forces us to deal with."

John's hand trembled as he reached into his pants pocket and pulled out his badge; he had transferred it to his new set of clothing on instinct without even thinking about it. He brushed a thumb over his badge, taking in the details and golden gleam. His fury was choking him, constricting his throat. He felt a swell of grief, wondering if he should have gone to the bridge instead, but that didn't excuse the cops guarding the bridge.

They had had a chance to save lives from the bomb; not the whole city but a significant number. And instead of thinking beyond their orders, instead of taking a risk that could have saved dozens – probably hundreds – they had panicked and blown up the people's one chance of escape and survival. Bane and Talia had not blown up that last bridge, the Gotham Police Department had.

John's hand clenched around his badge. He felt the metal digging into his palm and cutting the outline of the emblem into his skin, but he could only clutch it tighter as anger ripped through him. John had trusted his fellow police officers – brothers in arms – to protect the citizens of Gotham even when John could not. He trusted them to think beyond rules and policies and act with sense and bold hearts, to do what was necessary when the time came.

The thought of being associated with the group of people who had decided to blow up the bridge and follow orders instead of listening to the people sickened John. He didn't want to be connected to the people who would damn an entire city to death rather than take a chance. And he certainly didn't want to be bound by those same rules and policies. John would never turn his back on Gotham; he would always protect the city's citizens with all his strength. But he refused to be restrained, to be held back from making the right choice or forced to watch the bad guys walk because of a loophole. He would not tolerate injustice.

The anger and frustration welled up inside him, pressure building until John thought he might scream. Instead, John whipped the badge with all of his strength against the far wall where it clattered and fell to the tile. John hissed as he felt the muscles in his arm strain with his force, and when he looked down the emblem remained in blood on his skin. But the mark would fade and John would not pick up the badge again.

Bane remained seated across the table from him, observing him silently. John felt foolish for his behaviour and avoided Bane's eyes for a long moment. When he did finally look up, brown eyes meeting grey, he could see understanding in those eyes. John knew he had made the right choice when he went back to City Hall for Bane, because he didn't know anyone else he could be with at this moment.

Bane understood his frustration and anger, all fuelled by an overwhelming sense of helplessness as John wondered if there was anything he could actually do that would make a difference. Bane could watch John throw his badge without judgement, would probably not even blink or chide if John returned to the destructive tendencies of his youth. He could watch John scream and rage without being scared or confused. Bane would watch and offer support however he could.

Not yet knowing how to act, how to handle the emotions boiling inside him, John returned his attention to the radio as the short interview continued. There had been another heavy silence and then the newscaster cleared his throat. "What news about Bane?"

"The last sighting we had of Bane was at City Hall, and while we found his coat out on the street there has been no other signs of him," Gordon continued to speak. "However, it has been discovered that Miranda Tate was actually the mastermind behind this attack on Gotham. She confessed to me before she died after a deadly chase through the city as we struggled to secure the bomb."

Bane's hands balled into fists on the tabletop, veins and muscles straining as Bane contained his emotions. John hadn't been sure how Bane would react to news of Talia, whether she was alive or not, since he had abandoned her revenge alongside the mask. But John could understand Bane's anger and sadness, which were clear on his face that was now expressive. Even though Talia had attacked John's city, John could still consider her through Bane's eyes.

Bane had protected Talia since she was young, watching her grow up and keeping her safe from danger. He had dedicated all of his life, strength and intellect to supporting her and helping her exact her revenge. Now for the first time Bane had withdrawn his support, forsaking Talia's revenge to move on and start a new life and to be with John. And as soon as he stopped protecting her, Talia had died, killed by her own cause.

John could imagine the sadness of loss, the pang of guilt, and the question that would plague Bane: what if he had made a different choice? Unsure of whether Bane would want comfort or to be alone but wanting to extend some form of comfort if possible, John reached over with his non-injured hand and rested it on top of one of Bane's fists. "I'm sorry."

"Do not apologize when you do not mean it," Bane said, clenching his eyes closed.

John flinched at the sharpness in his voice but didn't withdraw. "I do mean it," John stated. "Not for myself, but for you. She was important to you, and you are important to me. So I am sorry to see you hurting."

He thought Bane was going to knock his hand away and braced for it, but to his surprise and pleasure he could feel the tension leave Bane's hand until it relaxed and unfurled out of the fist. "Thank you," Bane said simply, leaving his hand on the tabletop to allow John's hand to remain on top. "I made my choice though, and she made hers. There is peace in death."

John held Bane's hand a little tighter with his own. He wished there was more he could do but he was just grateful that Bane was allowing him this touch, this silent act of comfort. John tried to think of something to say but the radio was talking over him, and he decided to listen rather than to force words and cheapen this moment of pain.

Commissioner Gordon was still speaking, telling everyone listening that they would be making more news broadcasts when more information became available. "For now I recommend everyone remain in their homes," he encouraged and John wondered how Gordon was able to continue caring so deeply after so much suffering and disappointment, how he could stay with the police force when John had seen his own frustrations with it. "Many of the criminals released from prison are still on the run. It will take time to track them down. The city has survived but we still have a long way to go."

"With Memorial Bridge blown up, is there no way for people to get out of the city?" the newscaster asked.

"During the battle the blockade at the Midtown tunnel was opened, but I would like to warn everyone that it will be a very slow process to get out of the city since we will be confirming identities with everyone leaving. The threat to the city has been vanquished. We will track down the criminals as well as those who joined their forces. And we will find anyone else who helped Miss Tate, including Bane. I cannot stop anyone from leaving the city if they choose, but I think the worst is over."

"Thank you, Commissioner Gordon. And to those of you listening out there, we will be repeating this message every fifteen minutes to keep people informed as they get access to radios. When we get more information we will make a new broadcast so stay by your radios and stay safe."

The radio fizzled out and John was left in the kitchen alone with Bane again, static filling the air. John still wasn't sure what to say about anything they had just heard. He wasn't ready to talk about the bridge or his discarded badge, and refused to force Bane into talking more about Talia. John's palm was searing from his fresh cuts but he ignored it; the pain was the only thing keeping him awake now.

"With the tunnel being the only route out of the city and all the bridges destroyed, we won't be able to get you out anytime soon," John worried out loud.

His heart fluttered tiredly when Bane turned his hand until it was facing palm up, lacing his fingers with John's a moment later. "I was not going to leave," Bane informed him.

"It's not safe for you here," John snapped, though he allowed his fingers to knot with Bane's larger ones. "If you stay here then you'll have to remain in hiding for a long time. Maybe with time people won't recognize you without the mask, but you have a pretty memorable build. There's no knowing how long you'd have to stay in the shadows."

"Freedom is something I am unaccustomed to," Bane said quietly. "And therefore it does not feel like a hardship to sacrifice it."

"I want you to be able to walk in the light like anyone else," John confessed, sighing dejectedly.

"John." The way Bane said his name without the mask hindering him, voice deep and gruff but also fond, was enough to catch his attention as he looked up again. "I was born and will always live in shadow. You are my light, and that is all I need."

John wanted to argue on principle even though he wasn't sure what he was arguing. His tired mind struggled to understand Bane's words. It was hard to understand how the man could be happy at the thought of living in hiding for an unknown amount of time, especially after escaping the confines of his mask. But he remembered how patient Bane was, how dedicated he could be to a cause. John just hoped that Bane's commitment to staying alive and staying with John would not lead to bitterness and anger.

Whether or not it was a good idea to argue didn't matter because John felt himself sway in his chair, holding Bane's hand just for balance now. He could feel his body truly shutting down this time, not even willing to stay up long enough for John to eat the now-cold soup. John's vision blurred as he groaned, trying to fight off his tiredness. "Bane..." he began to speak, though he wasn't sure what he was going to say next. Bane's hand slid from his and John called him again, a little panicked now. "Bane!"

"I'm here," Bane promised him, voice by John's ear, just as the chair's feet scraped on the tile and John's body started to tilt over and fall.

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