Bane/Ofc pairing. One-shot. I picture the ofc as Olivia Thirbly (the movie Dredd); dyed black hair, medium brown eyes, more on the regular side of pretty features. Bane; I know Bane best from The Dark Knight Rises, but I have given a few nods to the comics in the info I found on wikipedia. I feel that each fic about Bane should be unique in some way, therefore you might note my opinion on how the events from where the movie left off, my idea on his mask, as well as his personality and but one interpretation of his relationship with Talia. After watching the movie for the first time, and every subsequent viewing, I am a firm Talia-hater, but I have made an effort to temper that in this one shot so that any could enjoy.

In this fic and likely any subsequent fanfic I write on Bane, will show a human side to him. If you do not like the idea of Bane having non-mercenary moments, liking and listening to music (be it classical or other), having opinions on food, and other normal human reactions/moments, then you may not like this fic as much as others. And if that is the case then the parody I have planned is definitely not your cup of tea either.

To begin any fanfic, be it a long novel length story or a short one-shot, I like to ask myself questions. My inspiration for this one-shot scenario is thanks to first, the story named Born To Be Bred, which made me wonder what type of woman might appeal to a strong man like Bane. Credit also goes to Baniac for her wonderful Bane novel series that gives deep thought to all parts of Bane's life. And finally credit goes to an Ashwinder story of the name of For The Potion Master's Amusement, which led me to the question that started this one-shot: What would Bane do with a submissive woman?

That brings us to a potential problem you readers might have. This fic goes into Bdsm, but does not sink deep into the those types of scenes. Nothing really bad, just a little dynamic, a little spanking, things like that. It deals mostly with the mental/emotional side of a fictional D/s interaction. D being dominant and s being submissive. You can expect a bit of a slow burn before the fiery lemons. Think of it as more emotional comfort with sex added, cause it's all Tom Hardy's fault for making a villain so drool worthy.

Please keep in mind that, as I am only working with what I know from The Dark Knight Rises, I have taken liberties that the movieverse has allowed me.

The title is the name of a song that inspired me to write this one shot and that I think embodies this oneshot. If it had a soundtrack, that song would be playing along with a couple of others. I usually like to name the song and lyrics that inspire each scene, but I have skipped that this time in favor of giving you an uninterrupted viewing. If any are interested about which songs and why I would have put in, let me know! I'm always thrilled to share music likes, seeing as music inspired me and I play my stories like movies in my head.

Warner bros, filming company, DC Comics, and Nolan own Bane and other canon characters; his lucky fiancée/wife owns the hotness that is Tom Hardy; Project Pitchfork owns the song Temptation and its lyrics; and I barely own my ofc and her friends.

Enjoy.

Bing.

Liz blew air out from between her lipstick reddened lips as the elevator door opened, releasing her into the parking structure. She shifted the strap of her purse-slash-computer bag higher on to her shoulder, wincing as it dug into the sore muscle of her trapezius. She strode forward into the near empty parking area, gritting her teeth against the pain in her feet and calves from twelve long hours at work in four inch stilettos. She headed towards the cheap black sedan she had owned since high school, her heels clicking sharply and echoing in the large concrete room.

Walking to her car late at night and alone in Gotham City always made her skin crawl, but tonight the feeling was stronger. She fingered her keys until they threaded through her fingers like spikes, mentally daring the dumb ass who thought they might jump her to escape unscathed. She felt especially vulnerable, seeing as she was dressed in a skirt which made sexual assault easier.

Liz wasn't exactly your average Gothamite, nor was she exceedingly abnormal. Since the age of twelve, Liz had learned karate and was in the Top 50 Black Belts in the city by 18. After graduation, she discovered MMA which she dabbled in in her off time. She was by no means a professional and obviously only fought women, but it kept her from three purse snatchings and one car jacking. After being bullied for most of her life, she would rather die in a scuffle with a junkie than become a victim again. Most thugs noticed her lack of fear and the readiness of her stance and left her alone for an easier mark.

The near silent rasp of a shoe on textured concrete almost made her jump, adrenaline spiking through her bloodstream. She knew someone was there, all angles making her skin crawl with the feeling of eyes watching her; making it impossible to sense where the danger might come from. Her palm moistened and her fingers tightened around her keys. Heart pounding in her chest, knees trembling, she tried to resist the urge to bolt, continuing to stride towards her car.

She ran a shaking hand through her unnaturally colored raven-black hair, trying to slyly scope out where the creep was. Nothing. No shoes bearing a person could be spotted hiding behind her car. No darkened corners where someone could hide. There were only two pillars in the parking lot and those were far enough from her and her car to not be of concern. No one sat in her backseat that she could see from where she was. The only possible hiding spots were to the high ceilings, darkened with pipes and sprinklers, but the thought of someone actually hiding up there was ridiculous. Most thugs did not have ninja skills.

Tink.

Liz flinched hearing a second sound, unable to suppress the natural reaction that she might be hunted prey. It was a sensation that was not alien in the women of Gotham; feeling and being prey. Her body trembled and she stopped in the lighted center of the parking lot. The scuff had come from behind her, but the 'tink' came from ahead and to her right. Her warm brown eyes searched the area, trying to ignore the feeling of being surrounded and outnumbered.

It was just water in the pipes, you silly bitch. She thought to herself. She shook her head and continued towards her car, even though her strides had lengthened and quickened.

She got to her car with a rattling breath that she didn't know she had been holding. It's just like last week's fight. No different. Breathe, breathe. She told herself, fighting her shaking hands to unlock her aging Mazda. Feeling like the walls were closing in on her, she wrenched the squeaking door open and threw her bag in. She folded herself into the driver's seat and started to lean forward to slam the door closed.

A cold, rough, and male hand closed over her mouth from her backseat. She sucked a breath in and her eyes widened as two more men seemed to melt down from the ceiling and converge on her car.

Liz wasn't usually the hysterical type. Too many years of self-imposed combat had stifled that response. But she was one to yell in a fight if the situation warranted it. She gave a roar of outrage as she realized this was likely to be her only chance at escaping.

With her left hand, she put her manicured nails to work, clawing viciously at the hand over her mouth. Her lips pulled back into a snarl and roared with animalistic fear. She reached behind her with her right hand, keys still threaded through her fingers, and swung her fist around violently until she caught man. Instead of the normal reaction of letting her go, he only grunted at her efforts and held her more securely. Her wildly stabbing and waving arm kept him from wrapping an arm around her torso and pinning her to the seat.

The two men outside the car converged towards her door. She started to panic. She bit at the palm against her mouth while managing a successful stab at the thug behind her. He cried out, more out of shock than pain and loosened his grip just enough. One man started to lean in and reach for her legs, which she kicked wildly until she saw an opening. She tore herself from the man behind her, landed a very solid kick to the diaphragm of the man at the door, sending him to his back. She levered herself out of her car and scrambled to get away from the third man who was just making his way around the front bumper of her sedan. She tripped over the gasping man on the ground and struggled to her feet in her heels. A squealing of tires started from the lower level, heading for her and her assailants.

"Get'er!" The man on the ground gasped, even as one pursued and the other was unfolding himself from the backseat. She knew there would be no out-running them but still she tried, mourning the loss of her freedom when a steely male arm wrapped around her waist and clamped down. The force of her sudden stop spun the pair, her feet leaving the ground but lining her up with the man who had been behind her in the car. She struck out again with her legs, using the solid muscle behind her to aim for his head. He ducked out of the way, reflexes quick as lightning. It didn't save him from her heel flying off her foot and miraculously hitting him in the face. He crouched with a grunt and held a bleeding hand to his face. She let out a bark of laughter, surprised that such a thing could happen in real life and not just in movies.

The man holding her wrapped a hand around her throat for more control, seeing as she wasn't subdued yet, but made no attempt to choke her. A groan brought her attention to the man who she had kicked in the chest, only to see him raising himself to his feet, snatching a fallen black sack from the ground as he did. Liz futilely struggled from her captor, but he had her too firmly. The other man handed the sack to his comrade in a silent refusal to enter striking range again.

"Stop fighting!" The captor growled in her ear with an eastern European accent. His scruffy beard rasped against ear and neck while she struggled. She started to whine low in her throat as she realized that there was no escaping this. That she was going to be kidnapped.

The man coming at her had her full attention, but small details made her pause and cock her head. To anyone else, their militia-style dress wouldn't have made them pause in fighting their own capture. Especially if that person had experienced The Occupation but two years before.

But Liz was not exactly what could be referred to as normal.

His sand colored tactical boots blended with his faded olive green cargo pants. He was a lean man of average height, build, and looks. He wore a scuffed brown carhartt jacket and a faded crimson scarf tucked into it. The pockets bulged with hidden items and a black gun sat on his army green fabric belt. He gave his hand a flick, dropping a couple of specks of blood on the concrete. His jaw was flexed and his eyes were hard. She shivered and started to panic more. She started to babble nonsense as he came at her with the black sack.

The roar of an engine erupted from behind her and her captor, followed by the squeal of tires skidding on the ground. The sound of a van's side door being ripped open echoed. She bucked, kicked and struggled to escape, knowing she would just tire herself, but not wanting that sack on her head.

Even as he gathered the thin fabric in his hands in preparation of putting it over her head, he did not smile in triumph. He just stared at her with cold, calculating blue eyes. His scarf made her pause. The main portion to the scarf was thin and gauzy in a faded crimson that had seen many hard years. But it was the embroidered edge that trailed along the scarf that caught her eye. Its design upon first look was Moroccan-style arrows. Or mountains? She wondered.

No, its teeth. She realized with a gasp. Her heart and breath seemed to stop and all of time paused for just a second. She knew where she had seen that pattern before. And in Gotham, no man had the brass ones to wear something as controversial as a scarf like that.

Except Bane's mercenaries.

Everything went black as the hood went over her head. She was manhandled into the van and sat on what felt like a gym floor - dense foam covered in vinyl. Her hands were zip-tied together in front of her, but she noticed that the men were abnormally gentle with her. She kept careful attention to making sure her skirt stayed down and her legs were pressed together. While they barked orders to each other in what sounded like a Slavic language, she noticed they prevented her from being knocked or thrown around and they had not thrown her into the van in a careless manner. Her shoe was tossed at her without a sound, hitting her ankle. What the fuck is this? Kidnapping First class style?

Two men entered the van before the door closed and they sped away. The sound of her rattly engine turning over told her that her car would not be found in the morning by the secretary.

Questions and demands were the norm for hostages, or whatever she was, but she refrained. The Slavic looking man did not seem the type to take a demanding loud-mouthed woman lightly. She kept her mouth shut and pondered exactly what she could have done to get herself here.

And why her kidnappers appeared to have worked for Bane.

Liz had been born into a lower-middle class Gotham family. Her childhood was average and normal. She had a few friends and she excelled in school as any normally intelligent child did. Her teenage years were fraught with more problems, but were still nothing out of the ordinary.

Liz battled bullying, as most teens did. Her temper and choice of friends made her a prime target in high school. Her father had enrolled her in karate classes after it was clear the fighting with other girls was not going to stop. It helped her manage her temper and vent her energy in a way that she found both challenging and fun.

Liz's talents with computers landed her a tech support job right out of high school. Which eventually led her to her current profession. She worked for a law firm, getting information on clients and anyone her boss told her to get dirt on. She was adept at hacking and had a tenacity for not giving up until she got what she wanted. It made her a great asset to the crooked defense attorney she worked for. On the books, she was a filing clerk, making just above minimum wage. Off the books, she did illegal hacking to supply her boss with blackmail fodder, who in turn supplied her with bonuses.

The Harvey Dent Act really put a cog in her boss's ability to keep his clients out of jail. Which made everyone's lives more difficult. Liz could only do so much, and truth be told, sometimes she withheld information in order for some of those creeps to rot behind bars. She had been working only four years when the masked man, Bane, showed up in Gotham.

Liz had been enjoying a rare day off when Bane first showed up on her tv; immediately she was transfixed with him. You see, Liz had always been different. She liked powerful men. Men with presence and menacing. Men that were the Alpha males of the alpha males. Ones that wore their dominance over others like a fine suit. She knew she had a kink for dominant men.

Her best friend, Cam, had introduced her to the BDSM scene years before. Liz had experimented within it, liked it, but had yet to find that special man that made her not question why the perfect place for her was at his feet. She wasn't so much into the pain aspect of the punishments she received for being belligerent or stubborn, so she had dropped out of the scene for a while. Hoping that age would temper her fire a little and she could find a man who had just enough of that special something to make her give in.

But even through her small plasma screen, Bane made her stop and take notice. Oh, but she feared him, as well as lusted. She was under no misconceptions about Bane and his terrorist style. She knew he was a type to kill, she had seen him kill that physicist. She knew he was dangerous, but he captivated her regardless.

Her other best friend, Jesse, was the first to explain Bane's philosophy on society to her. Jesse, a devout computer nerd of epic proportions, had been scouted and cautiously welcomed into the mercenary group pre-Occupation for his almost genius hacking skills. Jesse explained that Bane's Occupation was not the workings of a mind like the Joker, but of someone wishing to release the oppressive dynamic the wealthy had inflicted upon the poor. Not the rich, but the billionaire wealthy who were corrupt, unjust, and rotten to their very black souls. Such a viewpoint rang very strongly through Liz, as she had seen and been part of that very corruption.

The Occupation had rocked the very foundation of Liz's world. Her boss was one of many brought before Scarecrow's kangaroo court and had been found wanting for the mansion he owned while his employees lived in squalor. She found herself quickly jobless, which meant she soon lacked the funds for rent on the tiny apartment in a bad neighborhood she lived in. The release of the Blackgate prisoners brought a whole new aspect of trouble to her door, many who wanted to hire her for more illegal deeds. Her refusal was not always accepted. Luckily, none knew how she had played god with their fates in the courtroom.

Liz had tried to get accepted into Bane's circle of mercenaries, but failed to prove herself worthy enough. Instead, she was turned into a 'go-for-girl' by the lower ranking soldiers of Bane's militia. It earned her easier access to food but did not even allow her a passing glimpse of the masked man unless it was through a tv screen. It did not stop her obsession with him though. That never went away.

Life was hard during The Occupation for single women, but Liz survived. There weren't many options for women to make some cash during that time; most options being things of a sexual nature. She made enough scrap money off doing cage fights that she was able to stay full, warm, and housed through that winter. Before The Occupation, Liz was an adept martial arts fighter and had enough skills in the female section of MMA to make it a very fun hobby. She attributed her love of fighting other women to the fights she experienced as a teen and used the years of bullying to fuel her rage in the cage. She loved making her opponent bleed and tap out, even if sometimes she lost.

Her best friend, Cam, had been the one to tell her about the massive fight between Bane's men and the escaped policemen. Cam had always been a bad influence on Liz. They got into fights together. Cam brought her into BDSM and the goth scene. She had even talked Liz into getting piercings. So it came to no surprise of Liz's that Cam was planning on sneaking in on the fight and joining Bane's side. It also helped that Cam had been banging one of their lead medics since before The Occupation.

While Cam dove into the fighting with mostly home derived weapons, Liz had hesitated. It was different than a one on one fight with another woman. There were men and it was a mess of melee. It was battle, not fighting. Life or death. There were no refs to call it quits on a downed opponent. There were no rules, no maneuvers banned, no timeouts. It was shocking and disturbing enough that Liz did not know what to do. She had ducked into what she thought was part of the courthouse where the fighting was going on, hoping that none would find her.

But it seemed that fate knew exactly where she needed to be. She could hear Cam's boytoy, Gabriel, speaking to others through the radio clipped to her hip. He was excused from the main melee in order to treat injuries, but he was in a position to sniper those he could. So when chaos exploded near her hiding spot and Bane came flying through the doorway from the explosive shot at him, Liz was in a perfect spot to see that he was in a bad way.

With Batman, Catwoman, and all the other potentially violent people nearby, Liz did not immediately go to his side, though every part of her wanted to. She couldn't tell if he was still alive, but from all she knew of him, he was a man of mysterious abilities. She radioed Gabriel telling him what she saw.

Soon a group of men snuck in and carried the large man away.

She never knew if he was alive, if she had saved him or not. She never heard whisper of his existence, even when she used all her hacking abilities to find even the smallest kernel of information. There was nothing. But she knew nothing could sometimes be everything. There were no found bodies. No intelligence organization claiming they'd seen him dead or alive.

Every part of her life had changed after The Occupation. Jesse had disappeared with the mercenaries. She knew in her gut that he was alive and there had been a couple of times someone called her private cell, only to hang up. Cam came and went with no warning. Liz could only assume that she was still seeing Gabriel, but Cam refused to say anything about what happened or what went on. Liz did not like the looks that Cam gave her sometimes, as if unsure what to think or say anymore.

She could not even lose herself in the clubs anymore. Too many goth guys thought it was cool to dress like Bane. Some, she could tell right off weren't him. They wouldn't have the bulk or the mannerisms. A couple, she had thought it was actually him, only to have her hopes dashed upon the jagged rocks of disappointment. It always left a bitter despair in her that felt so much like how heartbreak was described.

She knew her obsession had past the point of just unhealthy. She recorded every little bit of news that showed his face, body, or voice and replayed it over and over. She hung pictures of him on her walls. She thought of him constantly. She forgot what a good night's sleep felt like and food had lost its flavor. Only fighting allowed her a small reprieve from mourning a man she never knew, and then it was only for those twenty minutes in the cage.

In the past six months, she was finally starting to move on. She was finally starting to forget about him, or at the very least she only caught herself thinking of him on occasion. She rarely had nightmares of finding him dead anymore. She was able to take down the pictures on her walls and watch the recordings only on occasions.

Until the feds raided her apartment while she was at work last week, taking nearly everything. Nothing went overlooked. They held her for questioning for hours before releasing her. They returned her phones and her computer, even going so far as to help her set her apartment back to right.

But now she was starting to worry. She knew her hacking was illegal but all the feds had done was shake their finger at her and call her 'naughty'. She never went looking into governmental stuff, knowing that was a sure fire way to get her on the express train to jail time, if not worse. But she didn't understand why the feds thought she knew all about Bane and that she had contacts within their group she now knew was called the League. Sure, they had film of Bane's last sighting and sure, she was in it clearly calling for the rescue team. But that was it. It hadn't been until after they searched everything with a fine tooth comb that they finally released her and her stuff.

Whatever the reason for this, Liz just knew it was not going to end well for her. Kidnappings rarely did.

Bane threw his heavily muscled arm over his eyes, as if that was all it would take to make him fall back into that delicate balance of space and time that wasn't quite dreaming and wasn't quite consciousness. A sigh rattled out from his mask. He knew there would be no sleep for him and it seemed that his mind was whirling too fast to return back to that dozing he had just woken from. This was nothing new to him. Sleeplessness often came after a fresh tube of Venom had been placed in his mask.

He hated his mask, but had long since resigned himself to its constant presence in his life. It's current version, one he had lived with for the past half decade or more, was a vast improvement over the previous ones, both in Venom and in the construction of the mask itself, but that did not stop him from loathing its existence. Its benefits had long since outweighed its limitations, even when it was fickle in its prototype years. He hated it for the constant reminder of The Pit and of his debilitating physical weakness. He hated that beneath it, he barely appeared human, and without it he was hardly a step above a cripple. In some ways, he despised the medicine that the mask aerated more than the mask itself.

The Venom chemical had been formulated and named by a league hired chemist. The chemist had been mentally questionable in Bane's opinion from the beginning, but who was he to question the generosity of Ras Al Ghul. The benefits of the formula made him a super soldier of sorts. It extinguished fear and anxiety. It boosted his nervous system making his reactions faster. It enhanced his circulatory and respiratory systems making his endurance and recovery rate better. It nearly wiped out all physical pain but left his other senses just as accurate. It allowed him to build and keep muscle that worked extremely efficiently.

But the side effects were some that he did not care for. He was always too warm, unless it was snowing, making him agitated and sweaty. His temperature was always slightly above normal, as if he always had a low grade fever. The sweat from his face when training got in his eyes, made his hands slip, and made the seal on his mask questionable. The humidity from the aerated formula wrecked havoc on his mangled sinuses, giving him a nasal whine to his voice if he talked above a low grumble. He found it extremely annoying. That which allowed him to keep his physical bulk regardless of training or quality of food, made him mercurial and prone to fits of temper. Before the mask he had battled with his temper, with the Venom it was a constant fight. One side effect that was bittersweet was the mellowing of any sexual desire that a male in his mid-thirties experienced. He liked not having the distraction of thinking with his hormones like the other males in the League, but he missed some of the want to be intimate with a woman. He was eternally grateful for its ability to make it easier for him to have ignored Talia's subtle propositions.

Talia. My dear child. Bane thought with a mental sigh of emotional agony mixed with disappointment and wistfulness. His mother had once told him that hindsight was 20/20 and never in his life had he felt it more than when he had awoken after Gotham's near destruction.

For many years, Bane had deluded himself with regards to Talia. Make no mistake, he knew there was a chilling darkness in her that was not found in most women. But Talia was not most women, was Bane's argument to any seeds of doubt that had sprouted in his mind of the decades leading up to The Occupation. Talia had not exactly been a happy child, despite knowing nothing different than what The Pit offered. She had an innate ability to make those around her bend to her will and give her what she wanted. There was also an ingrained organic femininity about everything she did or said that nothing Bane did could hide forever. She had no fear of retribution, only a burning fire of vengeance that guided her. But at the same time, she was untouched by society and wanted nothing but food, water, and Bane.

Bane had reveled in the devotion of a child's love. Of her trust. It calmed the Pit hardened beast he had become and taught him softness and the wonder of children and women. Bane cared for her as both father and brother and in his memories she would always, first, be that bright blue-eyed toddler making her first steps across the stone cell into his waiting arms. When he thought of her name, she was always first, that child with the short hair, high voice, dirty rags and trusting gaze for him only.

But it seemed the introduction of her father and the League had tarnished her childhood, forming her. Bane remembered the horror he felt when he first set eyes on her after Ra's had brought him to the League. She had aged, first coming into womanhood at 13, a handful of years older than he had last seen her. Bane could understand how it had happened, that change in her. Her father spoiled her in efforts to make up for years lost and Talia had reveled in it. She wore the best makeup, the most expensive perfumes, the finest silks. Looking back, Bane knew that was the beginning of 'Miranda Tate'. The League polished her into a useful weapon, but also unleashed a monster.

Bane never let himself doubt her loyalty to him, even when she lied to her father and had Bane cast out of the League. He trusted her judgment where her father and their Demon Head was concerned. Ra's had never really liked him much to begin with. Over the years, he thought that she loved him. It was always in her looks and touches. Her words and smiles. It wasn't until after Ra's death that Bane really started to doubt her rationality. She was consumed by her impulsive and passionate emotions. She tried to convince him that their relationship had evolved into that of a sexual nature. But Bane trusted his gut and denied her that one boon. She tried on multiple accounts to make him jealous and to manipulate him into a fury. She had succeeded a few times in inciting his temper over her silly games. And each time she tried to seduce him, it was harder for him to refuse her. But he did, for he still pictured that child in the Pit when he looked upon her, even after she had completely embraced the lifestyle of 'Miranda Tate'.

Bane had been shocked to later find out through Barsad, his right hand, that she had always intended for Bane to stay behind and die with the bomb. That the reason the extraction team never came, the night before the explosion, was because she had called them off. It was her orders to leave him behind that had fueled his rage at Bruce Wayne, 'Batman'.

She abandoned him to die. His life was worth to her that of those wretches in Gotham. Nothing. All his years of unquestioning obedience got him a death with all those he loathed. His loyalty had no value to Miranda, and Talia had long since died in the sunlight of the desert around The Pit she'd escaped from at 8 years old. It had been a sobering and angering moment that Bane still relived. The feeling of betrayal had waned in the two years since her death, but it had not left completely.

Chirp.

Bane left his thoughts at the sound of his phone notifying him that he had a message. Only Barsad and a couple of other League lieutenants had access to his phone. He sat up with a groan and snatched it off the bedside table. He flicked it open, punched a few buttons and read the message. Package in route. ETA to bird 2hrs. Bane nodded and flicked the phone shut. Barsad needed no answer, he was only informing his Demon Head that the mission was successful. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and strode over to his desks that sat in the corner of the room, covered in papers and a computer. A picture of a woman hung by a thumbtack to a cork board on the wall.

She was neither pretty nor homely. Her features were delicate but not enough to be considered striking and she wore the occasional piercing. Bane knew everything and nothing about the woman in the black and white photo he stared at. He knew all the facts of her life and he had interviewed her friends, but he still did not know what made her who she was, nor why she called for help on his behalf. She confused and captivated him. He wanted to know more about about such a normal yet unique woman.

"Lizbeth Tsoukalos, who are you?" He whispered to himself in query, while memorizing the features of the woman he would soon be meeting. Part of him hoped she disgusted him like all Gotham women did, so that he would feel justified in the action he was forced to take with her.

From the voices, she guessed there was one man driving, one sitting passenger, and three in back with her. One, she currently nicknamed Bleeder, was obviously cursing in another language under his breath while patching himself up from her bite to his palm. He had been the one who had gotten the worse of it from her and the one who she did not want to mess with. His accent was ambiguous and he spoke the language that the other men did, but without the finesse they managed meaning it was a second language. Bleeder seemed to be the one giving orders, not taking them, though he did not act as though he ranked higher than the others. They seemed to be a team with one who knew the most of what was going on. She could feel him looking at her on occasion but it did not stick for long.

Tummy, the one she had kicked in the stomach, coughed and made general noises of pain while the others obviously ribbed him for getting kicked. She could feel his glare burning her skin through the thin sack over her head. It made her almost more nervous of his revenge than she was of Bleeder and his chilly silver eyes.

Slav, the one that had caught her and held her in her attempt to escape, sat closest to her. She could almost feel the heat of his shoulder next to her, on occasion bumping arms with him when the van turned unexpectedly. He seemed to take it all unemotionally. He smelled faintly of vanilla cheroots which was better than the stale straw smell that the sack had, or the burnt patchouli incense smell that was coming from one of the other men.

There was one other man in the van with them. She named him Tech. He had immediately searched her computer bag, which had been thrown in with them. He made occasional huffs of annoyance while obviously picking her phone and laptop apart. She could hear him pecking at the familiar keys. She smiled briefly beneath her hood, he would have a hell of a time getting in.

"Ha!" She heard from his corner of the van. That voice sounded so familiar to her. But she hadn't heard it in years. Her head snapped to where she thought he was, and while she couldn't see anything but the slight changes in light through the sack, it was habit.

"Jesse?" She asked quietly, hoping her question wouldn't get her kicked or hit. She knew how these things went in the movies. But she also couldn't help but to know if it really was her best friend or not.

"No, its Samwise." Jesse said in a code that they had developed as teens, as well as an extra deep voice that sounded comical. After reading Lord of the Rings, Liz and Cam had come to the decision that Jesse was Samwise Gamgee and had called him thus for about a year. He had loved it so it stuck and they still used it. They sometimes spoke in code if they were talking about illegal or questionable things in mixed company.

Liz let a breath of air out of her lungs and nearly cried at hearing his voice. She reached for her hood but was stopped by Slav. His hand was firmly wrapped around her wrist in warning but did not hurt her.

"We gotta pull a Lothlorien." He said, still trying to disguise his voice. Liz took a moment and mentally deciphered what he meant. Head covered, got it. She let her hands down and nodded. Slav took his off her wrist and all men seemed to breathe out together. Guess I made an impression on them. "You got squab in the eaves." Someone had hacked her and was listening. My shit's bugged. "Once I Mount Doom, all's good." He has to find the bugs and programs and destroy it. Bleeder started talking to Jesse and sounded unhappy. Or maybe it was just his language. Jesse spoke back before sighing. She could hear rustling in the van before her arm was taken firmly by a half bandaged hand.

"You gotta Sleeping Beauty."

"But," Liz started but felt a pinch in her inner elbow. A needle. Oh god they are drugging me, she thought as she felt something warm creep up her arm.

The last thing she heard was Jesse apologizing. The last thing she felt was someone slowly lowering her to the mat beneath. The last thing she smelled was vanilla cheroots and burnt patchouli.

"You assured me it has all been cleared, but you hesitate," Bane questioned into the phone he had held up to his ear. The last thing Bane wanted was that squint bringing bugged technology into their second base of operations. The one that he and most of the league currently inhabited.

"I understand your concern, sir." Jesse paused as if waiting for him to cut him off. When Bane said nothing, Jesse started to explain, "You see, sir, I've found the fed's bugs and destroyed them. That's not the problem. The problem is that Liz has an encrypting program on here of her own making. It is amazing. I have cracked every encrypting code known to cyberspace, but this, this is the Mona Lisa. And she has it setup like those - ."

"What is the threat level?" Bane growled into the phone, interrupting the rambling of the geek.

"Low, sir." Jesse answered with slightly more focus. Bane could hear the clicking of Lizbeth's laptop through the speaker on the cell phone. "I've found the stuff she has on her work and the trails the feds left behind. I doubt it is of anything of importance to anyone but Liz. Do I have your permission to bring it home? I have a program that I know could crack this with a little time."

"Granted." Bane growled lowly. The unspoken threat was clear to the nerd on the other end when he cleared his throat. Bane had learned Jesse had nervous ticks; throat clearing was one of the most common. "What's the status?"

"Barsad came out the worst, though Nigel is second. Danijel is his usual self and got off the easiest with a couple of bruises."

"Injuries?" Bane asked, his tone rising in his shock and amusement. One American woman against three league men, and two out of three were casualties. Bane wasn't sure if he should be annoyed Barsad obviously had not taken the mission seriously or entertained that Lizbeth was feisty.

"Uh, Barsad has a bite wound to the hand and a scrape to the temple. Nigel got a kick to the stomach. He thinks he has a cracked rib, but Danijel disagrees." Jesse told him with a little amusement in his voice that made Bane's scarred lips twitch. "I told them she wasn't gonna be easy." Jesse commented.

"And how is Miss Tsoukalos?" Bane asked. He had given his men strict orders that she was not to be harmed unless there was a very real risk of her getting away, and even then, nothing damaging. It was a subdue, collect, and deliver type of mission. He had sent Barsad to complete the mission, knowing that Barsad had very strict morals on violence towards women. Bane was well aware that the men on that trip could be trusted to treat her well. Bane had not yet decided if she could be an asset and stay within the League or needed to be dealt with. Until then, she was to be treated with respect.

"Not a scratch, sir." Jesse said with both parts amusement and seriousness. Bane nodded silently to himself, for some reason glad that at least that had gone as planned. "She is still sleeping off the dose Barsad gave her. Thank you for letting me come, sir. It helped calm her."

Bane ignored the gratitude of a friend and focused on the mission. "And the information that the Feds have?"

"Ha! They ain't got shit. Liz only had stuff that they would have had access to years ago. They left me a nice little back door, that I'll tinker with when I get back to the compound."

"Good. Get me into their records. I want to know all that they do." Bane told him.

"You got it, boss. I can get you in the easy way this time. The CIA can be a little more sketchy about their stuff, but not the feds." Jesse assured him. "Oh, Barsad wants the phone back." Jesse said before it being handed off.

Barsad briefed his leader with all the precision of the best the League had to offer. Bane expected nothing less.

Liz vaguely remembered waking a couple of times during her kidnapping. The first time, she had blearily opened her eyes to see the inside of an older cargo plane. The kind that you see military in the movies using, where they are metal and industrial inside but for a row of seats along each side of the plane. Bleeder had been buckling her into her seat and arranging a thick wool blanket around her. They had taken the black sack from her head but kept her drugged. She could see through a small porthole window that it was either dawn or dusk outside and she wondered how long they had kept her sleeping. It was cold in the plane and a wild wind whipped through the open cargo hatch.

"Sleep child." Bleeder told her, looking at her with cool blue eyes. His accent sounded more German with a hint of something else she could not place. He seemed to have forgiven her for her hurting him, even as he injected her again with more of the drug that made her sleep.

The next time she woke for a moment, she saw a magical landscape out of the window of a moving SUV. It was just before dusk and the sky was lit up in pinks, blues, oranges, yellows, and purples across a near desert-like landscape. A city of simple houses sat at the base of a cliff that was topped with an old eastern styled fort. The city was glowing with the lights of their houses and the colors the sky cast upon the pale stones of their brick houses. She could hear children laughing and playing alongside the gravel road they slowly trundled up. She rested her head against the glass and in her loaded state, stared at the gorgeous sights before her, but only for a moment before the caress of the drug they gave her, beckoned her back again into unconsciousness.

Liz slowly drifted into consciousness. It was a slow process. She felt groggy like a hangover, but without the headache or nausea. Yet, she told herself. She first noticed that she was warm, due to a scratchy blanket draped over her. It smelled faintly of motor oil, but not enough to be truly offensive.

That was when she remembered what had happened the night before. Or whenever that was. She tried to sit up quickly, realizing she was a long way from home, only to find her body not as responsive and her head spinning. She propped herself up on an arm and held a hand to her head. She slowly cracked her brown eyes, blinking the blurry shapes into focus.

"Slowly." An accented male voice told her from a few feet away. She looked in his direction before scanning the room that she was in.

The overhead fluorescent lights were off, soft daylight came through a small barred window above her. It was obvious that she was in a basement room, seeing as the window was situated. The room walls were smooth brick or stone, painted a very pale beige. There were no obvious signs that a prisoner had been held in the room previous to her, like scratch marks or anything of the like. She sat upon a simple wool stuffed futon-like mat that smelled slightly stale, but was otherwise clean, firm, and not unreasonably uncomfortable. It had no pillow but what could she expect, it wasn't the Hilton, it was kidnapping. To her right was a cloth and bamboo screen that she could see the shadow of a toilet behind. Bleeder sat at a small metal table with two chairs, all three bolted into the stone floor. An air conditioning vent rattled occasionally from the ceiling next to the black glass dome of a surveillance camera.

Bleeder sat crookedly in the chair, a picture of male casualness. He scraped under his short nails with a large and sharp looking knife with a familiarity that made Liz flinch, wondering how many times he had cut his fingers before becoming proficient. He looked up at her, his motions pausing, with a chilling gaze.

She could see the blatant warning in his eyes. Do not challenge me, they said. Liz curled her body into a ball for a small amount of comfort in a strange place around strange men. Her clothes felt just as they had when she had been in the van, as wrinkled and mussed as expected. There was no tenderness to her skin or body that hinted at molestation or abuse while she had slept, which was a weight off her shoulders but also made her unsure of their intentions.

"Where am I?" She asked quietly, looking Bleeder in his blue eyes. His bandaged hand had fresh white gauze on it and seemed to cause him no handicap. His left temple was swollen and scrapped but showed no other signs of injury from her shoe hitting him in the head.

"You are far from Gotham." He said in response. He had an obvious accent but it was hard to place the extra factor to it other than German, or a similar sounding language. She looked down at her shaking hands, clenched tight around her knees which were pulled to her chest. She was covered in the grey scratchy blanket from stocking covered toes to shoulders.

"Why am I here?" She whispered, her eyes started to well as her emotions swelled in her chest.

Bleeder flicked his eyes to his left, seeming to swallow the words he had been about to say. He stared back when she looked up briefly when no response came.

"Where's Jesse?" She asked, hoping that her best friend was ok and not in a worse situation than her.

"Busy." Bleeder answered with a minute twitch of his lips. So he is probably alive. She thought, trying to find some comfort in it.

"Who are you?" She queried, hoping to put a name to a face. A face that in her opinion was being quite gentle with her considering all that she knew of terrorists taking women hostages. Which was strictly from movies.

"We are the League." He answered with a frown and a tone that suggested he thought her a simpleton. Her lips twitched as she looked at her knees, hoping to hide the amusement from him, in case it offended.

"I mean your name." She said a little more confidently. Comprehension dawned in his eyes only, before they shifted to his left again as if listening to something only he could hear. His focus returned to her and his chilling blue eyes softened for a nanosecond before returning to near emotionlessness.

"Barsad." He answered. He nonchalantly flicked his knife closed with a swift and comfortable flick of his wrist, making her flinch.

"What are you going to do with me?" The sobriety in her voice must have made her meaning clear. He blinked as if being asked the weather.

"It hasn't been decided yet. You will stay here until it has been decided." He said calmly. Her eyes welled. Her odds of surviving did not look good and god only knew how long the civil treatment would last. "You will be brought three meals a day. Escape attempts will not be tolerated." Barsad told her before leaving her to her plain prison.

Liz sat wrapped around herself as her eyes welled with tears that she barely managed to suppress.

Bane found himself in an unusual mood. He fidgeted and paced. He found no peace of mind in meditation nor in exercise. He could not calm himself in drink like most men could, as the mixing alcohol with Venom would be toxic. His mind hunted Lizbeth Tsoukalos and would not be pulled off the scent of her.

Barsad and his team had delivered her earlier in the day. She had been put in one of the basement cells that Jesse called 'the guest rooms'. He was partially right. Here, at the League's winter compound, they did have a difference in the cells for those in their custody. There were those like the one that Lizbeth was put in and then there were the ones that made the Pit look like a beach resort.

It was early evening, time when dinner was wrapped up by those who were on the day shift. It was also soon time for their guest to be brought her dinner.

Bane wondered who should be sent. Barsad had developed a rapport with the woman as seen by the footage that Bane had been unable to tear his eyes from. Nigel would be a good choice, as it would be punishment for letting a woman catch him off guard enough to connect a blow that well. Jesse would reassure her. Not that Bane had decided whether she would be put down or kept within the League.

Crrrsh. Bane turned his head toward the radio sitting on his desk. It was how members communicated within the compound with each other and him.

"Sir?" Jesse's voice questioned from the speaker. Bane blew air out of his scarred nostrils in annoyance. He snatched the radio off his desk and pressed the requisite buttons.

"Speak." Bane ordered. He could sense the weaker man's cringe through the speaker.

"I cracked the encryption. That's all, sir. I'll send my report to you," Jesse said through the radio, knowing through rumors of Bane's temper.

"No. You will give your report now." Bane snarled into the speaker, hackles raised.

"Yes, sir." Jesse answered shakily. "I cracked the encryption. It was a password based code, which once I had, unscrambled the text. Sir, you have my full confidence that Liz is not a threat to the League. Or you."

"What is the text?" Bane demanded sensing the hesitation in the other man's voice.

"Sir, it's just stuff that Liz wrote. It's of no consequence to the League." Jesse answered.

"What purpose do you serve to the League?" Bane asked, deceptively calm.

"Sir?" Jesse asked, confused.

"You are neither the League's strategist nor Demon Head. Do you understand?" Bane asked, trying not to crush the radio in his hand. His anger had been building in him for months, years even, with no proper outlet. He wanted to know why this random woman, this Gotham citizen had decided to play god with his life and save him from the death that would have been his without her interference. The woman that had stolen the peace of death from him.

"Yes, sir." The thoroughly chastised male croaked from the other side of the compound, through the speaker. Bane said nothing and waited while Jesse told him what he obviously did not want to share.

"The documents within the encryption were...Uh they were like a dream diary. Or a journal of fantasies," Jesse paused, hoping that his leader would not continue to invade his friend's deepest most secrets and using him to do it. Bane waited silently, not trusting himself to say anything. Jesse cleared his throat. "Most of them are theories or thoughts centered around one person. The rest is written fantasies."

"Who is the subject?" Bane asked in mild interest. The inner workings of the female brain had always fascinated him.

"Well, sir," Jesse hesitated. "You are."

There was silence, before: "Tell me more."

Liz was anxious. She had never been one for idleness and being locked in a plain room with nothing to do was going to drive her insane, sooner rather than later. So, instead of losing what little sense she had left, she employed her only resource available to calm herself.

Yoga had helped her find a sliver of peace when her temper ran roughshod over her. It had been her mother's solution to her school fights. Karate had been her father's. Between the two, Liz had been able to control her emotions enough to function.

So Liz did yoga in her plain cell. The overhead light had been turned on a few hours ago and the sun was just starting to paint the sky the colors of evening. She cleared her head and flowed from one stretch to another, hampered slightly by her work clothes.

She closed her eyes and drifted mentally while she enjoyed the liberating stretch in her spine. She faced the floor with her stocking feet planted firmly on the ground wide apart, her palms stabilizing her torso, so that her back and inner thighs could be pulled from their cramped positions. She breathed deeply and let herself sway a little, even while she missed the click of her prison door opening. The beat of a song she knew came to mind and she let it settle her nerves.

She lost herself in her thoughts, finding that resignation and submission inside her. Before playing with Doms at Cam's favorite clubs, Liz had not know what to call the peace she found in herself that was beyond meditation. But ever since, she had reached for the comforting subspace that she could touch on occasion during yoga, while imagining her perfect Dom demanding the positions of her.

A male throat cleared from behind her. It yanked her from the subspace she had been sinking into, very rudely, making her snappish. She did not look to see the man, assuming it was Barsad. She snarled silently at how she was currently giving him a bit of a show, her skirt having raised to only a few inches below her buttocks.

"Well, what? You just gonna stand there and stare at my ass all night?" Liz snapped, still wanting to return to the glimpse of subspace she had just had. She brought her hands up from the floor, balancing delicately, preparing to send Barsad off with an ear full.

"Miss Tsoukalos." A mechanical rasp of a voice spoke out into the silence. A voice that she thought was forever gone but for youtube footage of his legendary speeches.

The shock disrupted her fragile balance and her weight tilted forward, sending her into a clumsy landing.

To Be Continued...