Huge and Mighty Forms

Title was taken from a sample of Wordsworth's "Resolution and Independence":

"Huge and mighty forms that do not live like living men

Moved slowly through the mind by day and were trouble to my dreams."

A/N: Yes, it's a really cheesy title (taken from a not-cheesy poem) but it is appropriate. This is an AU of the future Batman movie, The Dark Knight Rises. I do not own any characters, except Alice, her father and Dr. Samuel Franklin.

Also, I've taken quite a bit of creative license here so I hope you can enjoy the story as it is. If any corrections need to be made, please DM me and I'll update the story. I literally hammered this out in a little less than a day- once the idea popped into my head, it wouldn't leave so please forgive any misspellings/mistakes for now.

In any case, I appreciate you taking the time to read this and please do leave a review if you can!

I.

They tell her, remind her, that she is not well. She is not normal. Every day, without fail, she must take her pills.

If she doesn't, she'll succumb to her sickness and start seeing things that aren't there. She'll go back to the prison in her mind, the one she created and got lost in as a little girl. She'll be trapped there, wandering around in a maze of stone and steel, hearing the screams of the damned and smelling blood and fear and…

She takes her pills. Three pills in the morning, two in the afternoon and four in the evening.

She doesn't want to get lost again.

II.

Her name is Alice. She is twenty-nine years old.

She doesn't remember much about the first decade of her life.

Her earliest memory is of waking up in a hospital room, with needles in her arms and bandages around her head. She remembers her father's face, pinched and white, looking down at her with worry and fear in his eyes.

There were doctors in her room, with pristine lab coats and notebooks and pens, scribbling, scribbling, scribbling…

"You had another episode, Alice. You forgot your pills."

She'd been taken home after a week of tests, home to a place she didn't know or recognize. It's too big. Too clean and sharp and white, too full of things. She didn't remember why her hair had been shaved off or why she had to take so many pills. She only knows what they tell her- that she is a very sick little girl.

Her room (her father told her it was hers but it didn't feel like it belonged to her) was decorated in pink and white lace.

"Here is your doll. It's your favorite," her father had said. "Her name is-

Osito.

-Calliope. You named her Calliope. You remember, don't you?"

The doll was small and hard, made of porcelain and wood. She'd pushed the doll away but her father had insisted. She'd wanted a teddy bear. She told him she remembered a teddy bear.

"You never had a teddy bear. You hate them."

And then-

"Everything you think you remember was just a waking dream, a hallucination. That's what happens when you forget your medicine. You see things, hear things that aren't there and you end up hurting yourself."

Alice had learned the lesson early on: she couldn't trust herself.

III.

Her days pass by in a haze. She isn't happy but she isn't unhappy either and she knows that this is the best she can hope for, the best life she deserves.

She is a restorer at the Gotham City Art Institute.

She knows she could have done anything she wanted with her degrees and her father's money but she likes work that requires repetition and solitude. She likes routine. It makes her feel in control.

In the windowless rooms of the institute, she is allowed to focus on things that no one else has the patience for and for the most part, everyone leaves her be. After all, she has a talent for uncovering and illuminating fine lines and details. Her work keeps her calm on days when dark things seem to hover at the very edge of her mind.

On very bad days, when the drugs aren't enough to keep the voices away-

"Will you be my friend?"

-she doesn't speak to anyone and avoids eye contact, preferring to keep her head down as she walks through the hallways and down streets. It takes all of her concentration to ignore the voices and pretend as if she doesn't see blood splattering against the walls.

On good days though, she smiles at people and sometimes even laughs.

Intelligence and wealth and beauty seem to excuse a lot; they think her eccentric instead of merely crazy. One day though, Alice knows- the drugs will lose their magic and everyone will all realize the truth: that she doesn't belong with them.

She hopes to stave off that day for as long as she can.

She is so lonely.

IV.

One day a man walks into the wing where her workspace is. He has on a GCPD officer's uniform and Alice freezes at the sight of him, clutching a Peregrine brush over the painting she is working on.

No one comes to see her except for her supervisor and sometimes visiting curators but even then, they make appointments.

"Hi there," the man says cheerfully. Alice stares at him, unsure of how to react. There is something about his uniform, about uniforms in general, that makes her uneasy.

"Hey, I'm sorry to bother you. I think I'm lost actually."

He laughs and Alice notices he has dimples.

"Where…" She forces herself to speak, to sound normal like her therapist and doctors taught her.

"Where were you headed?"

"I'm supposed to have lunch with my uncle, Sam. Um, Samuel Franklin. I got a little turned around; this place is like a maze! It's my first time here though so…"

"Dr. Franklin works on the fourth floor. Make a left when you exit the elevator. His office door is labeled."

"Ah, great. Thanks!" Instead of leaving, the man moves closer and holds out his hand. "By the way, I'm John. John Blake."

She stares at his hand for a moment before reaching out. "I'm Alice Cade."

"Alice," John says, squeezing her hand gently before letting go. "Nice to meet you. I'm sorry if I interrupted your work."

"I don't get many visitors down here," she says, turning back to the painting she'd been working on. "I hope you have a good lunch."

"Do you want to come with us? To lunch, I mean."

Alice blinks, once again unsettled. She looks back at her work, at the stubborn layer of varnish that she knows she'll need to take a blade to soon and hesitates.

She almost never eats lunch outside her wing. She doesn't want anyone to witness her taking medication.

"I mean, if you're not in the middle of anything," John says, after the silence becomes uncomfortable.

She looks up at him, stricken at her indecision and his face seems to soften.

"I'm new to Gotham City so… the more the merrier, right? I just started at the precinct last week, a transfer from Boston so I don't really know anyone around here yet."

He gestures at the painting and tilts his head.

"And I don't know much about art but they look like a fun bunch, right?"

Alice smiles without having to think about it- a rarity, and points her brush at a figure on the canvas.

"This is a newly discovered painting by Bruegel the Elder. He liked to depict scenes with peasants in their everyday lives. If you study his work though, look at the people and then the entire painting and you'll see a story from beginning to end. A man rising in the morning, eating, harvesting crops and then drinking at the end of the day. I find his renditions of people to be the most interesting out of the great Flemish painters because-"

She stops, embarrassed, and looks back at John. Instead of looking bored or annoyed though, he seems interested.

"Because?" he prompts.

Alice looks back at her painting, feeling foolish. "Because of his use of distinctive colors for each individual," she says, in a softer voice.

She raises her hand again and begins to delicately run her solvent-soaked brush along the edge of a man's cape.

"And I already ate lunch, I'm sorry. Thank you for the invitation."

"Yeah, no problem," John says easily, "I'll leave you to your work then."

She nods without looking back at him.

"I'll see you later, Alice."

She hears him walk away and after a few minutes, she knows she's once again alone.

She tells herself that she isn't disappointed and keeps working.

V.

Alice takes her last batch of pills before she goes to bed: one red pill, one yellow and two white.

She takes them with a glass of water, standing over her bathroom counter and looking at her face in the mirror. It's her nightly routine.

She knows objectively she has a nice face- pale and oval, with full lips and green eyes framed by straight, almost black, hair. It unnerves her, how much attention she gets at times and she wonders why people can't seem to see how wrong she is.

On the day she meets John Blake, Alice practices smiling in the mirror, trying to make the expression seem more natural.

She forgets to take her red pill.

VI.

"You're my only friend here."

The nightmare she has that night is the same one she's had since she was a child.

She is a little girl again and she is running alongside a boy. In his arms is a teddy bear.

They are in a house of stone and steel-

Peña Duro

-and the little boy is saying, "I know how to get out. Just follow me and we can get out together."

They turn a corner and they are running, running, running away from-

The men in the uniforms, they want to lock him away again but she is his only friend and she can't leave him...

-monsters with syringes for hands and teeth made of knives. They run and run, his hand clutched around hers, sweaty and tight and sticky but no matter how fast they go-

Her father pulls her back, shoving the boy away, making him fall backwards as she screams and laughs and...

-the monsters catch up with them.

She wakes up screaming a name, eyes wide open in the darkness of her room, only to forget it a moment later.

VII.

The next day, Alice is groggy and tired and nothing seems to feel right. She goes through the motions, moving slowly as if she is underwater. She has trouble concentrating all throughout the morning and finally, frustrated and exhausted, she sinks down to the floor and puts her hands over her sore, raw eyes in an effort to soothe them.

I just want to curl up in a ball and hide in the dark.

"Hey, Alice? Are you okay?"

She looks up, startled.

John Blake stands at the entrance way, wearing his uniform, frowning deeply. She says nothing as he walks over and kneels down beside her, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"I'm fine," she says, wide-eyed. For a moment she wonders if she is hallucinating- two visits in a row is not part of her routine. "I didn't get much sleep last night."

"You look a little pale."

He helps her stand and guides her gently to a chair, looking down at her with an expression of concern.

She studies him, taking note of his scent, the tone of his voice, the way he holds himself. He is tall and slender, with dark hair and dark eyes, but there is something boyish and almost sweet about his face.

"Maybe you should go home. Get some rest."

"No, I…" She trails off and frowns, looking down at his hand over hers. "You're here again."

His mouth opens and closes and then he laughs. His dimples appear again and she wonders at them, repressing the urge to reach out and touch.

"Yeah. I wanted to see if you were hungry or something. Ask if you wanted to get a bite to eat."

"I see."

She looks at the badge pinned to the front of his shirt and the way the overhead lights make the metal gleam.

Alice feels something inside of her stir, like a nameless thing is waking inside her mind and she stares at the play of light on metal because it means something… it reminds her of…

And then John is shaking her shoulder and she realizes that he's been saying her name repeatedly for some time.

"Alice? Look, I'll take you home," he says, when she comes back to herself. "You seem really shaken up."

She thinks about the nightmare she had and the feeling of unease that lingered long after the night had passed. She remembers staring at the window, waiting for the sun to rise and feeling the shape of a name on her lips but not… quite… remembering…

"No," she says finally. She smiles her practiced smile and takes a deep breath.

"But I am hungry?"

When John smiles back, she feels as if she has finally done something right that day.

VIII.

Gotham is a strange city. With a higher-than-average crime rate and an odder-than-normal criminal pool, it is an unsettling place during the best of times and hellish during the worst. She loves it though and she couldn't imagine living anywhere else.

Alice has always been drawn to the shadows. Her eyes seek out corners and nearly drawn shades and slivers of black caused by half-opened doors. There is a part of her that wants to walk closer to the edges of things, to explore the dark and secret spaces that seem cold and forbidding, even during the day.

She wonders sometimes why she isn't afraid of these places, even though she knows rationally that she should be. Any normal person would be afraid.

One evening, Alice makes her way home after work, walking quickly down the streets because she doesn't want to be late for dinner with John Blake.

He is patient and soft-hearted and Alice likes him. She feels safe around him, despite his uniform. Unlike the other men she'd seen casually in the past, he doesn't become angry or annoyed when she draws into herself, nor does he seem to want nothing more than a night in bed.

He is a good person.

And so she hurries because she knows how rare it is for John to get a night off.

She isn't looking where she is going, isn't paying attention as she usually does to the shadows that lurk around her and she is caught completely by surprise when something grabs her and drags her into an alley way.

Her mind quickly documents what it can, even as she struggles.

The hand over her mouth is large; long fingers curl around most of her face. The body behind her is also large, likely male, and taller than her. The arm around her waist, holding her in place, is like a steel band wrapped around the soft edges of her body.

She smells sweat and dust and she can feel his heart beating against her back, steady and strong.

He feels like a tree trunk or truck behind her- immovable and undeniably solid.

I took my pills. I was good.

"Ah, there you are, Alice."

His voice is low and deep in her ear and she can feel his words rumble through his body into hers.

I'm hallucinating. I must have forgotten to take something again which one?

Which one did I-

She feels something cold and hard against her jaw and neck, as if he is wearing something metallic over his mouth or face. A mask, maybe. But his words are clear.

"I remember you, little Alice. Pretty Alice. Do you remember me?"

She shakes her head against his hand and stops trying to break free. She knows it is useless.

"No, I suppose you wouldn't. Not with all the poison they give you. Are you lost, Alice? Have they made you forget yourself?"

She relaxes because she understands that she is hallucinating. If it were a real attack, she would be on the ground now, dead or being raped or robbed. No. She is probably still at the institute having a breakdown.

She hopes that there are no witnesses to see her lose her grip on reality. She hopes that John won't be angry or disgusted with her.

"Such a wicked creature you were. So fearless and vicious and playful, like a little bear. Osito."

Osito wasn't mine.

Osito, the little bear.

She stills, eyes widening at the thought.

What is happening to me?

"You remember that, don't you?" The voice sounds amused and the man strokes her cheek with the rough pads of his fingertips. "Do you remember what was inside of Osito?"

She shakes her head even though she remembers a flash of light against metal as he speaks. Metal, sharp and cold, held high by a small bloody hand.

But that wasn't real that wasn't a memory that was…

"You're lying, Alice, but it's alright. I'll help you remember it all. I'll help you wake up, to be yourself again, and then you'll be free."

The arm around her waist slips away but before she can run, she feels a sharp tug as her head is jerked back by a hand in her hair. She hears a soft click like a latch or a lock being released, even as she cries out in pain and shock, but the sound is muffled by his other hand.

She feels teeth on the vulnerable flesh of her neck and she whimpers against his palm as he runs his tongue over her skin and then bites down again.

"You have a gift, pretty. One that should have been cultivated instead of suppressed. Poor, little Alice. I'll fix that for you. I'll make it all better very, very soon. You'll see how."

He releases her then, pushes her out of the dark alley and into the street. She stands there for a moment, eyes wide and startled as people move by her without a second glance. Alice gathers herself and spins around, running back into the alley where she'd been taken.

There is no one and nothing there.

IX.

"You seem distracted."

Alice looks up at John across the table, suddenly aware that she's been staring at the flickering flame atop the candle between them.

She smiles as best she can and plays with the ends of the silk scarf around her neck. Her attacker had left a mark and it throbs painfully when she stretches her neck.

She still isn't sure if she's hurt herself or if the episode was real. In either case, she doesn't want John to know.

"I'm sorry," she says. "Today's been… it's been a challenge."

"That's okay. You're allowed to have a bad day every now and then. Want to tell me about it?"

She picks up her fork and pushes food around on her plate. Around them people talk and laugh, eat their meals and drink. It's a nice restaurant but Alice is uncomfortable around crowds.

"Not really. It wasn't anything special. Just a bad day, like you said."

"Got it. That's fine. I understand."

John looks away, chewing his food quietly and Alice knows he is disappointed. It is their third date and already she knows about his family, about his reasons for joining the police force, about his dog Sprout. She enjoys hearing about his life because it's unlike anything she's known growing up. She doesn't like speaking about herself, isn't quite ready to show him who she really is but she can feel the strain her silence is beginning to cause.

I like you I want you to like me… but-

But you won't understand.

"I ran into your uncle this morning," she says. "He told me to tell you he says hello. And that you should come have lunch with him again sometime."

John seems to brighten at the mention of his uncle and he sits up, looking back at her with smile.

"Hey, that's great! Uncle Sam likes you, by the way. He mentioned you were the best restorer the institute has. All the most expensive paintings are assigned to you, right?"

Alice feels her cheeks flush but she holds his gaze. "Not all. But I like what I do. That's a big compliment coming from Dr. Franklin. I respect him."

"I, um, asked him about you. The first day we met," John says with a small smile.

"Oh?"

"You grew up in California, right?"

For a moment, Alice's mind seems to stutter. She wants to say no, she grew up-

Gray walls steel bars...

-somewhere else but she catches herself in time.

"My father is a doctor," Alice says. She takes a bite of her pasta and chews for a moment, aware that John is watching, listening. "He's the lead researcher at Bannerman Pharmaceuticals, in charge of the special projects department. He moved us here from California to start a new lab."

"Sounds important. Bannerman's a global name."

"I guess. It's lucrative, in any case." Alice receives her medication from her father; Bannerman produces the most sought after anti-psychotic medication and her father had designed the formulas. She can remember the headlines from her youth about the renowned Dr. Hansen Cade and his quickly acquired fame and fortune.

"What about your mom? Is she a doctor too?" John asks.

Hansen Cade and the tragic death of his wife.

Alice puts down her fork. She is no longer hungry. The question was inevitable but the mention of her mother still makes her head hurt and her chest tighten.

"My mother died when I was a child. But, yes, she was a doctor too."

John's eyes widen and his face pales. "Oh Jesus, she's… what happened… I mean…"

"It's okay. I was nine when it happened. She was working late at the hospital one night when a patient attacked her. My father was glad to move back to Gotham, after that."

"I bet you two are close."

Alice shrugs. "We don't really talk much anymore."

I don't think he can stand to look at me anymore.

John reaches out then and puts a hand over hers on the table. His touch, as always, is gentle. "Alice, I'm sorry. Even though it happened years ago, I'm so sorry to hear about your mom."

Alice turns her hand up and curls her fingers around his. It seems to make him happy and she feels relieved.

Later that night, she looks in the mirror as she takes her pills, counting each one carefully as she swallows. John is waiting in her living room and she wants to try this time, try as hard as she can, to be normal. To be someone else.

It is why she locks her medicine cabinet before she walks back out.

X.

It works for a while.

But only for a little while.

XI.

"I'm so sorry, Alice. I can't make it tonight."

Alice holds her phone up to her ear as she walks towards her house. The sun is beginning to set and there are shadows everywhere.

"John, I told you. It's alright. Don't worry."

"It's the second time this week I've had to cancel our plans and I-"

"I know you're busy," she says, distractedly. She can hear the background noise on the line with John and the click clack of steps from the people walking past her.

She glances behind her, just in case.

He sighs deeply and she can hear the weariness in his voice. The noises on the line grow fainter, as if he is walking into a room alone. She listens to him breathe for a while and she can imagine his strained expression as he speaks next.

"Are you walking home alone again?"

"Yes."

"Just… try to get home quickly, okay? Ever since that nutcase freed those criminals from Arkham Asylum, you have to be on guard."

"John-"

"Look, is there any way you can walk home with someone? Or at least take a cab home. I live closer to the institute, why don't you just stay at my place until the crazies are locked up again?"

"I'll be fine," Alice says. She walks up the steps to her home and pushes her key into the lock. "But I'll be careful. I promise. You don't have to worry about me."

There is silence and John's voice is quiet when he speaks again.

"I miss you."

Alice smiles even though there is no one to see. "Go back to work, John. I'll be safe at home."

"Okay. Alice, seriously, be care-"

"I miss you too," she says before she hangs up. Before she loses her nerve.

But any happiness she feels speaking with John quickly disappears when she walks into her house.

It doesn't take two steps into her living room before she senses something is wrong.

There is nothing out of place; as far as she can see her things are where she left them hours before but the air is different. She stands in the living room, looking for signs of an intruder and listens to the silence as if it can reveal something.

Someone was here.

Alice puts her bag down and slowly makes her way down the hall. Her home seems empty, devoid of life and yet she feels as though something, a sort of presence, remains.

She walks into her bedroom and then the two guestrooms, searching. The wrongness intensifies as she draws closer to the main bathroom and she half expects a hand to reach out and grab her as she flicks on the light switch.

But no. There is nothing here either, nothing at-

Oh.

Oh no.

On the counter stands a trio of orange pill bottles, lined up side by side like sentries. Alice knows that she put them away that morning. She looks at the medicine cabinet and sees the lock is still on.

Did I not put them away?

I know I did!

Someone had come into her home, taken her pills out of their hiding place and placed them on the counter in plain sight.

Someone knew about her medication, knew where she kept her secrets.

There is a card propped up against one of her bottles, the one that contains the yellow pills. With a shaking hand she reaches out and picks it up.

Wake Up.

Her hand shakes so hard the card flutters down to the floor but she doesn't care. Alice grabs the bottle but she knows what she'll find even before she opens it.

The bottle is already empty.

XII.

Alice almost calls her father. Her doctor. John.

The problem is that she isn't sure if she'd written the note or if someone really had broken into her house and left it for her to find.

If the note came from her, if she had left it out and forgotten about it, then she'd have to explain to her father, her doctor, why she needs more medicine.

They'll lock me up again and everything I've worked so hard for will be taken away.

If someone else had written it…

Well.

No one will believe me. I'll still be put away.

Alice sits on the floor of the bathroom that night, rocking back and forth with her arms wrapped around her knees, until she hears her alarm clock go off in her room down the hall in the morning.

XIII.

Alice isn't sure what all the little pills do since they come in generic orange bottles with only intake instructions and the Bannerman logo on the labels. She doesn't know which ones are meant for certain problems-

Visual and auditory hallucinations

Delusions

Paranoia

Severe anxiety

Violence

-but she knows they work in tandem.

Her next supply of medication is scheduled to arrive on her doorstep in five weeks and by then Alice understands that the carefully maintained balance inside her mind will be completely shattered.

Still, she wants to believe she can hold out until then because the alternative would be simply unacceptable.

The first few days are difficult. Alice feels as if she no longer fits her body- her arms and legs are too long and head feels too heavy to hold up. She speaks to people, finishes one project and starts on another, eats and sleeps but it feels as if she has to do it all with a new body.

And then she begins to notice the changes.

In the beginning, colors seem to scream at her, so much so that she finds herself distracted for hours by a streak of yellow on gravel or the blinking greens and reds on stoplights. Alice stares in awe at her small pots of paint and marvels at the brown grain of the wooden handles of her brushes.

But then she starts to get used to the new, brighter world around her and her new body, moving more quickly and easily than she has before. It's as if a weight has been lifted from her, one she wasn't even aware of before.

John comments on it one night, as she is settling in on his couch with a thick book on religious iconography. He sits on the edge of a fat arm and leans down over her.

"You seem more lively," he says, with a faint, bemused smile. "I don't know. Animated, I guess. Then again, maybe it's because I haven't seen you in so long."

Alice looks up at him and blinks. The pale blue of his shirt highlights the pallor of his skin and she sees the shadows underneath his brown eyes. His thin face is sharper, his cheekbones more prominent than usual.

She reaches up and touches his cheek and he leans into her hand easily.

"You've been working too hard."

John sighs deeply and kisses her palm. "It's this new guy, out there on the streets. First he breaks open the Asylum and lets all of Gotham's worst crazies back out and now he's taking over the crime syndicate. We've all been running around the clock trying to track him down but he's five, six, seven steps ahead of us."

"Is there anything I can do?" Alice says with a smile. John's dimples appear and he leans down and kisses her forehead.

"Stay safe. And smile more."

"I think I can do that," Alice says. She feels her cheeks flush but she doesn't look away from his face. "But I was thinking more along the lines of dinner or a massage or a drink."

"Sounds like you're signing up to be my little housewife, not that I mind that at all."

"There are worse jobs. I could have yours."

John chuckles and then his face grows serious again. "That freak of a criminal- the one who's causing all our headaches? Apparently he wears some sort of mask or something around his mouth. And all our witnesses say he's built like a 'roid junkie."

Alice feels a chill run through her and she fights not to react.

"I remember you, little Alice. Pretty Alice. Do you remember me?"

"Sounds like he has a flair for the theatrical."

John snorts and rubs his face with his other hand. "Or he's just crazy. The guy's off his rocker. Probably forgot to take his crazy pills along with his steroids one day and just cracked."

I don't want to know anymore.

"I don't want to read anymore," she says, closing the book on her lap. "Let's go to bed."

John's eyes darken and she feels and hears his breath hitch but her mind is suddenly far away, in an alley downtown, with a man whose face she hasn't yet seen but is afraid of now.

XIV.

A week later, Alice comes home to find the pills she takes in the morning gone.

She runs panicked through her house searching for the bottle. She turns over cushions and pillows, looks under tables and beds, and throws open cabinets and drawers.

She passes herself in the mirror at one point and pauses at the expression on her face. There is something fierce and angry in her eyes, sharp and cutting in the thin line of her pressed lips. It's an expression she's never seen on herself, never thought she was capable of.

She looks away, feeling sick, and continues her search.

Finally, Alice stops when she dumps the contents of her bag on the kitchen counter.

Amongst the bits and pieces of her life, she finds the bottle. There are no pills inside- only a note, folded neatly in half.

Imagine.

XV.

Alice begins to have urges.

She starts to feel emotions more strongly but above all are the unfamiliar and unwanted desires she has.

She walks down the street and feels an itch in her fingertips as she looks at people's faces; the thin, fragile sheaths of their skin.

this is wrong I'm all wrong

She can feel something in her mind shifting; moving and re-arranging like furniture in a room. Something is happening to her and she doesn't know what it is but she knows that it isn't good. It can't be good-

They'll bleed if I cut them I wonder-

I wonder how much blood if I-

I… need to stop.

-when all she can think about is the feel of soft, yielding flesh underneath her hands.

John thinks it's her way of marking him, the way her grip is tighter and her nails leave crescent marks on his back. He likes it and she says nothing to counteract his belief.

She struggles with it for days, her imagination going absolutely wild with scenarios. She focuses on her work, at the details she must pay close attention to, but she can't help but think of how good and wonderful the coppery smell would be, how easy it would be to lure someone away from a crowd and-

No.

She fights against herself, afraid of even having one moment of weakness.

It would be so easy to give in.

XVI.

One week later, her red pills are gone along with the green ones she takes at lunch.

The card, left on her bed, simply says:

Remember.

Alice crumples the note in her hand and stares out her bedroom window at the rain.

XVII.

The headaches begin and some of them are so painful that they nearly drive her to tears. She takes time off work and hides in her darkened bedroom, afraid to move even the slightest bit at the risk of setting off another wave of pain.

Then, as suddenly as they appear, they stop and Alice wonders what the red and green pills did.

After a few nights, she finds out. The nightmares start again but this time… this time, the hazy, odd quality is gone from them. They feel more like memories now. She notices things she missed before.

The boy in her dreams is older than her by a few years. He pulls her along as they run down the corridor, looking back at her with worried little glances.

He has blue-gray eyes.

This time, when the guards catch up with them and her father drags her away from him, she screams his name-

"You're my only friend."

-and when she wakes up, she says his name over and over again like a mantra.

Bane.

XVIII.

The world is transformed.

Alice is aware of things with a clarity she hasn't ever had before. She marvels at the tiny details outside of paintings, the sharp sound of a woman's heels on the floor, the soft whoosh of a man's coat as he puts it on, the clean edges of a piece of paper- it's all so familiar and yet so new.

Everything seems so... alive.

And now memories she never even knew she had bubble up to the surface of her mind at random moments throughout her days.

An empty hallway becomes a long, gray corridor.

Closed doors become steel bars and the sounds of grown men crying and screaming echo from behind them.

Her kitchen becomes a sterile white lab, filled with people in masks working in silence.

All the memories-

Hallucinations?

-feel like home.

If I am going crazy, if I'm doing this to myself...

So be it.

John worries. He can tell something is wrong. He fusses over her when they see each other, even though Alice knows he's tired himself. He clings to her, fights against her silence and distance as much as he can but she knows he won't understand if she tried to explain herself. Whatever is happening will split them apart eventually and the good thing she has with John will need to end because…

She doesn't want to go back.

She's curious to see what's next.

XIX.

"I can't believe what happened tonight."

Alice opens her door wider and stands aside to let John in. He looks more exhausted than she's ever seen him to be, the normally straight lines of his shoulders and back slumped over and defeated.

He turns to face her and there's something sad and broken in his eyes. Without a word, she reaches out to him and he falls into her arms, pressing his face against her neck and breathing in deeply.

"John, what's wrong?"

"Bruce Wayne… that masked freak of a criminal broke into his home tonight and attacked him. Broke Wayne's back and hurt his butler pretty badly too. Christ, Wayne is a philanthropist. One of the good guys, you know? And now he's…"

She feels a heavy weight settle in her stomach at the mention of the masked freak.

What if I told you that I was a freak too?

Alice holds him tightly. "It wasn't your fault."

"I was there after, to pick up what I could on site and… god, Alice, this guy broke into his home. One of the most secure places in Gotham and just laid into him. The place was wrecked and Wayne…"

John leans back and looks into Alice's face. His eyes are swollen and red-rimmed and he touches her face with trembling hands.

"This is a fucking horrible city, Alice. You're not safe here, not while he's out there."

"John, that's ridiculous," Alice says. "I'm nobody special. Why would he bother going after someone like me?"

He's already found me, John, and I think I know him.

I dream about him.

"This guy attacks with no rhyme or reason," he says. "Is there any way you can leave the city for a little while? You have more vacation time, don't you? Just get out of Gotham for a little while. A few weeks while we work on this case."

"I'm used to living in Gotham, I know how this city can be. I'll be careful but I can't put my life on hold until Gotham is 'safe' again. It's never been safe to begin with." Alice looks up into his face and shakes her head. "I'm not going anywhere."

He'll find me anywhere.

John frowns. "Alice, I'm not asking you to put your life on hold but I think I know what's best-"

"Do as you're told and take your pills."

"We know what's best for you, Alice."

"Don't tell me what to do! Stop telling me what to do!"

It's a second before she realizes the furious scream came from her mouth and John steps back, surprise and shock on his face. Alice feels a white hot rage fill her mind and she curls her hands into fists, pushing her nails into her palm.

John's face turns into her father's worried face, looming over her as she lies in the hospital bed. His uniform turns into a prison guard's uniform.

His tone sounds like the doctors' voices, ordering her around. Telling her what to do, how to think, what to say, how to feel…

No no no no not now please-

For a moment, John stares at her and she wants nothing more than to reach out to him and beg his forgiveness. She wants to tell him then, everything- about her childhood and the pills and what happened to her in the alley a few weeks ago.

Please help me, John.

But another part of her wonders how John will scream if she slices him open. Would he shriek or would he put his whole body into the effort, scream from his chest, even as she pierces into his lungs and…

"You need to go." Alice turns around and opens the door. "Please, you need to leave."

John looks stricken. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"No, I'm sorry. Please go." She knows she sounds robotic, monotone, but her hands are restless things and she can't stop thinking how good he'd look, tied down and shirtless, the pale expanse of his chest like a canvas for her, blank and ready to be carved open.

"Can I stay? Please?" John asks. "I haven't seen you in days and-"

"Get out," Alice cuts him off. She watches him swallow and nod once, before rushing out without another word.

She locks the door behind him. She knows that he thinks they've just had a fight or a misunderstanding. He'll chalk it up to stress or the headaches or his schedule but she knows the truth.

It's over.

XX.

She tries to call her father that night.

I've let it get too far.

The line rings and rings and rings.

XXI.

Alice wakes up one morning and realizes she didn't have a nightmare. She stretches and yawns, ready to get up when something on her bedside table catches her eye.

For a moment she stares at it, frozen in the motion of moving her covers aside. And then slowly, she reaches out and picks up the card next to the object that hadn't been there the night before.

Enjoy.

There is no doubt the sender is the same person who's left her the earlier notes. The writing is the same and the cardstock, thick and sturdy, is an exact copy of the others. She rubs the note between her fingers as she stares at the object on the table.

This is real.

Finally, she picks up the knife, curling her fingers around the intricately carved ivory handle and slides it out of its black leather sheath. It's similar to a Jaegar knife, a modified version of which she uses sometimes in her work. But this one is far sharper, built to be used for… for…

I won't use it for that.

It's wrong it's bad.

Fear, true and bright and overwhelming, rushes through her. She suddenly understands that all the lines that have kept her tied to the normal world are being cut one by one. She's in danger but so are the people around her, the ones who don't see beyond the surface of her face or hear anything past her words.

Alice curses her earlier curiosity and feels her heart race. She should have told someone… should have told her father. They may have put her away but then she would be safe and…

Her grip tightens and then she puts the knife in its sheath, placing it back on the table quickly. She gets out of bed and falls to her knees in front of her desk, jerking open the cabinet so hard the entire thing moves.

Please.

She grabs the bottle that contains her remaining pills and shudders with relief.

It's not empty.

XXII.

Alice calls her doctor that day.

When she gets through, she introduces herself as usual, but before she can get past her name, the line is cut. She tries again and realizes the receptionist is hanging up on her on purpose.

There is a week's worth of medication left. A week's worth of self-control left.

That's what they're for, aren't they? Impulse control.

But the truth is this: she is now truly, terrifyingly alone.

My God… what am I?

XXIII.

John calls her.

She doesn't pick up.

XXIV.

As the days pass, Alice vacillates between an odd, numb sort of calm and frenzied panic. She takes her pills-

…thirteen twelve eleven…

-and fights to keep her hands to herself. There's a compulsion inside of her, just beneath her skin, that makes her want to smile at people, lie to them, beckon them into a dark room, a corner-

…a dark alley maybe…

-and do unimaginable things. Wonderful things. It would be fun, she thinks, to see how close people would let her get to them. Like a game.

No, that's not good. I can't do that.

I shouldn't.

But I want.

Gradually the calmness begins to take over and the screaming, horrified part of her begins to fade into silence. Alice no longer feels frightened, really. Expectant, yes, but scared? Far from it.

And yet she still hesitates when she thinks about John and feels a whisper of regret when his name appears on her phone. That hesitation, that regret keeps her from losing herself completely.

She hopes it's enough. She knows it won't be for long.

XXV.

She tries one more time to call her father. Her doctor.

No one answers.

Her pills run out.

XXVI.

"Hello, Alice."

Alice freezes and then closes her eyes briefly. Her fingers hover over the lock on her front door before she decides that there's no point. She opens her eyes, puts her bag down on the floor and turns around.

"It's raining outside," she says. "I hope you didn't get any mud on my carpet."

She hears a soft chuckle, low but genuinely amused.

"Sarcasm. Listen to that- you must be feeling better now that your mind is clearer."

A tall, muscular figure stands in a shadowed corner of her living room and Alice forces herself to look at it as it steps into the light.

It's a man, that much is clear, but he looks like no man she's seen before. His entire body looks sculpted out of stone, hard and menacing. His bare arms and shoulders are all thick muscles and smooth flesh and the rest of his body, clothed in all black, seems just as powerful.

What makes her step back, what causes her to nearly stumble over her own feet is the mask. It's wrapped around the lower half of his face, all the way around his neck and the back of his head like a monstrous insect.

His bald head and his blue-gray eyes though, make him seem vulnerable.

Human.

"You stole my pills," Alice says. "And you kept me from getting more. But are you real? Or are you just a part of me, some self-destructive part of my mind that finally took over? Am I orchestrating this whole thing or are you real?"

"Sharp as a blade, aren't you? I bet it's been a long time since you felt so sharp." His voice is strangely soothing, even as it rasps over each vowel and consonant. She wonders if his mask amplifies his voice. "And I'm real, little Alice. Very much so."

"What's your proof?"

He chuckles again and his eyes crinkle. "I'll give you another present, better than that pretty little knife you have in your bag. You like it don't you? You take it out sometimes when you think no one is looking, and study it."

Alice narrows her eyes at him but says nothing. He sighs loudly, an exaggerated sound, and nods at her.

"You'll have your proof. I'll give you a gift that everyone will see. By the end of the week, you'll have your proof that all of this is real."

He gestures to the couch and tilts his head to the side. "But please sit down, Alice. We have a lot to discuss."

"I'll stand," she says. She's not afraid of him- she's long past fear, but she is cautious. He could hurt her easily and she'd prefer not to get hurt. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Direct to the point. I like that." He lowers his hand and his eyes seem to glow. "Let's begin with the basics then. Everyone's lied to you since you were a child. You're not schizophrenic. You don't have hallucinations. You never needed those drugs."

"You don't know me. You don't know anything about me." Alice knows she sounds winded but she suddenly can't breathe.

"Yes, I do," the man says. "I know you because we were children together. I know what happened to you. And I know, Alice, what they did to you."

Alice feels a faint throbbing in her head. "You're lying."

"Peña Duro, Alice. Do you see it in your dreams? Are we still young when you dream of it? I had dark blonde hair when I was a boy. Do you remember that?"

"Peña Duro," Alice repeats. The words feel right. "That's just... That wasn't real. It was a prison. I made it up."

"It was real. Your father and mother took you there because they wanted to run tests on the prisoners," the man says. "I was on Peña Duro when your family arrived. Your father tried to keep you away from the prisoners and his work. From me."

"My father." Alice shakes her head. "My father wouldn't have…"

"He supplies you your drugs, doesn't he? Or he did." The man pauses, as if to let his words sink in. "Do you know what they're really for, Alice? Little Alice."

"Stop calling me that!" She's not ready for this. Not now, not this night. She took her last pill only a few hours ago and her grip on normal is tenuous, close to snapping.

The man's eyes flicker down and slowly move their way up her body. She shivers as if his gaze was a touch. It's intimate and perverse all at once.

"You're not so little anymore, are you?"

"Shut up."

"But you don't want me to. Not really." The man takes a step forward, and then another and another until he's only a few feet away from her. "You want the truth. I can see it in your eyes. Your father made a grave mistake bringing his family with him. He got your mother killed."

"Stop it."

"After six years on the island, he finally took you away. He took you away from me, the same way he took your mother away from you."

"You shut your fucking mouth."

"We were such close friends, Alice. Even as children. We were the same, you see." The man's eyes are bright and she notices the blonde lashes and the beginnings of crow's feet.

"I considered it fate, that someone like you came when I needed you the most. You showed me how to hide. You taught me how to use the shadows."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"And everyone thought I was the bad influence. They never suspected the doctor's daughter. His precious, pretty little girl, with her pigtails and sweet green eyes."

She realizes that he's reaching towards her, that his hands are on her face and that she's shaking.

"Your eyes, Alice. All these years, I always remembered your eyes and your darkness. You grew up so beautifully."

With a burst of strength, she brings up her leg and kicks him in the knee, shoving him away with both hands. She knows that she can't hurt him; she is far, far weaker than he is, but she can surprise him.

Alice runs towards the kitchen, meaning to grab something, anything, that she can use against him but she feels his arms around her waist before she can reach the doorway.

She's flipped over and thrown down like a doll and she can't help but gasp when the back of her head hits the hardwood floor. The pain is sharp and immediate but she can't think about that, doesn't care about that, because she can feel his heavy weight push down over her body.

Kill you I'll kill you I'll kill you!

"My mother died in a hospital!" she screams. She tries to claw at his face as she screams at him. "I wasn't there, she died but I wasn't there! You're a freak! Get off me! Get out! You're wrong, you're wrong, you're-"

He pushes both of her hands down against her chest and uses his other hand to cover her mouth and she screams against his palm, unable to bite down on his flesh.

"She died in the prison hospital," the man says. "You and I were hiding underneath one of the beds because I was going to show you how to escape the island. She was running tests on a prisoner. We saw him escape from his restraints."

Alice screams against his hand again and tries to push up, buck him off of her so she can tell him he's wrong, he's wrong, he's WRONG-

I'll dig my fingers into your face and tear it off and-

You'll bleed and bleed and I'll make you bleed more-

"He stabbed your mother with a scalpel, over and over, even after she was dead. You, fearless little Alice, you took Osito."

WRONG WRONG WRONG

"You took the knife from Osito and you ran. Before he could even turn around, you stabbed him in the leg and when he fell you stabbed him in the neck. You tore at him. His face, his eyes, his hands. You were so quick he barely had time to throw you off."

The light hits the knife as she raises it again and her small hands are sticky and warm the scent of copper hits her nose and she laughs and laughs even after the man in the gray jumpsuit stops screaming-

Mommy is dead but this will make me feel better.

"We ran, you and I, but the guards and your father caught up with us soon enough. You were laughing, all covered in blood and it was glorious. You were glorious and you made your father afraid. He blamed himself. Who would bring a child into a prison? His own baby girl. He thought it was his fault that you became something he couldn't understand so he tried to change you. Fed you lies and poison to make you doubt yourself. He told you your memories were hallucinations."

Alice stills, blinking up at the man's face. His eyes are boring into her, heavy like a weight, like his body on top of hers.

"He didn't understand that you were already perfect."

The man lifts his hand up from her mouth but his grip around her hands stays firm. She realizes then that he's being gentle with her- holding her down but not enough to hurt.

"I didn't remember." Alice says. Her throat hurts from screaming. "And memory… memory makes things real."

"You see things, hear things that aren't there and you end up hurting yourself."

"Forgetting doesn't mean it's not true," the man says patiently.

"I was sick as a little girl and my father tried to help me," she says. "He's trying to make me better and you're only making me sick again."

"Years of lies and electro-shock therapy. Psychotropic drugs. Memory suppressing hypnotics. You have an interesting definition of help."

"You're saying I'm a monster. That I'm a killer. Maybe… maybe I should be drugged. I need to be locked up."

"You need to be set free. I'm here to do that."

Alice closes her eyes and shakes her head. She whispers hoarsely, "I'm tired. I'm so tired now."

I've lost myself.

I've lost John.

"No, Alice. Just another few days and the drugs will be completely out of your system. You'll be free. And then everything will be wonderful. Gotham will be your playground and I'll make sure nothing gets in your way. Trust me."

"Who are you?"

I know you.

He reaches up to his face and she hears a familiar click. The mask from his face swings open and he reaches up and removes the front plate.

Oh.

He smiles at her. His face, far from being grotesque, is almost charming. Almost handsome. It is incongruous compared to the rest of his body.

Alice feels awe because his face is familiar, his crooked smile, his full lips- it is an echo of someone that she once knew.

"You're my only friend."

What happened to you?

He brushes her hair away from her face with his fingers and then lingers on her mouth. His touch is soft. Reverent.

Help me, John.

"I am Bane."

XXVII.

Days later, Alice is sitting on her couch reading when someone knocks on her front door. She puts aside her papers, walks to the door and looks through the peephole.

You shouldn't be here, John.

She opens the door a little and looks into his face.

You're too thin, you're not eating enough, are you sleeping?

"Alice," he says her name in a broken voice. "Listen, I'm here to-"

"You need to go." Alice says. Her voice sounds flat. "We're over."

"I know that but Alice…" John rubs his hand over his face. She studies his features carefully. Something is wrong.

"Alice, I'm here because something happened to your father today."

Deep inside of her, in a part that is becoming fainter and weaker with each day, she feels dread.

"What happened?"

"Can I come in?" John asks. She nods and lets him in.

John looks ill, the skin around his eyes and mouth too tight and he is nearly gray in the dim light of evening which fills her livingroom. She hasn't turned on the lights yet though she will have to in a few hours and in the dying sunlight, John looks like a ghost.

"My father?"

"He was at Bannerman, working in his office. His assistant was out and his receptionist left her desk for a few minutes and…"

"John, what happened?"

"I'm sorry, Alice, I really am. I'm so sorry," John says. He looks miserable.

"What happened?"

"He was attacked. Murdered. We think it's that criminal, the one that's taken over. His name is Bane, we know that now." John's voice breaks and he shakes his head. "We'll get him, Alice, I promise you. I'll do everything I can to get him."

Alice looks over at the papers she was reading earlier, still on the couch. They were delivered that afternoon by messenger.

Bane.

They are her medical files, with her history all laid out in black, dry text. Every drug, every shock treatment and surgery she was forced to endure. All her sessions with the doctors. Her father had always known she wasn't normal but he wanted her so badly to be that he did everything in his power to change her. And when he realized they could only drug her into submission, he cast her away like a declawed animal, left to fend for itself.

"I'll give you a gift that everyone will see. By the end of the week, you'll have your proof that all of this is real."

Alice is startled out of her thoughts when John pulls her into his arms and presses her against his chest. She sinks into him, pliant.

"Look, I don't know what's going on between us. I don't know what happened," he says. "But Alice, you're not alone, okay? I'm here. I'm so sorry about your father, but you have to know you're not alone."

Alice turns to the side and rests her cheek on his shoulder so he can't see her smile.

"I know."

And it's true. She's not alone.

XXVIII.

The next week is a blur of activity. Alice suddenly finds herself in the middle of a media maelstrom. As an only child, she is now the sole heir to the Cade fortune.

She hadn't realized how much of a fortune it was until she meets with her father's lawyers. They explain to her that her father left her everything, including new experimental formulas that he had created on the side with his own compounds and a store of unlabeled boxes in the wine cellar of her old home. Bannerman wants access to his work but Alice holds her permission.

Where were you all when I needed you?

Alice sits through the meetings quietly and they look at her with both pity and hunger. She's a prize now, the grieving daughter of a brilliant man. The unassuming, beautiful heiress who clearly has no taste for wealth or mind for business.

She is a soft target, ripe for the picking, exposed to the elements without protection.

If only you people knew.

She finds out that her father re-wrote her history on paper. There is no mention of Peña Duro or experiments on prisoners or her mother's murder there. No evidence of what was done to Alice, of what she had done, or the lifetime cache of medication that apparently is due to come her way.

Her father has covered up everything.

She sees herself on the front page of papers, usually alongside the now reportedly crippled Bruce Wayne. Sensationalists are claiming that Bane is targeting Gotham's wealthiest families and her co-workers, the ones who didn't know before that Alice Cade was a Cade now look upon her as a curiosity.

Commissioner Gordon orders a detail around her and a few other possible targets for protection and she's relieved that John isn't assigned to her. He has started to come around again, cautious and unsure of where he stands and she lets him. It's not that she feels much for him anymore- these days, emotions are almost an alien concept- but she doesn't want to touch him.

He's not for hurting.

It's the thought of him, the constant image of his face that stays her hand and keeps her from using her ivory blade.

For now.

She decides to wait until the media hype dies down, until Gordon calls off the detail, before making a move.

"You need to be set free. I'm here to do that."

She doesn't know if Bane can be trusted but she's willing to be patient to know for sure.

Besides, she can afford to wait.

XXIX.

Alice goes to work as usual, mostly to keep away from the few determined paparazzi that still insist on following her around. One night, she stays late, finishing up a Ghirlandaio when she hears a soft rustling noise behind her.

She pauses in her work and picks up the ivory knife she now keeps close before turning her back on the painting.

Bane stands a few feet away from her, his body like a fortress between her and the door. Behind him, the institute's old grandfather clock strikes ten and she waits for the chimes to stop before she speaks.

"You consider my father's murder a gift?" Alice holds the ivory handle tightly, feeling it grow warm in her hand.

Bane laughs softly and takes a step forward. Alice holds out the blade and he stops.

"Are you angry?" Bane asks. He sounds curious and Alice considers his question for a moment. Something dark and hot seems to grow in her chest, making it hard for her to stand still. She suddenly wants to move, to lash out-

"Yes," she says. She lowers her hand. "I'm angry."

"He deserved it though, didn't he, Alice?" Bane says. "For what he did to you all these years. Changing you into someone you weren't. Keeping you in a cage in your own mind. His own daughter."

Alice remains silent but she nods once.

"You're angry because he didn't die by your hand."

"You took that away from me," she says. She says the words and knows they're true. She's only angry that Bane took away what was her right. "It was mine to have."

"And I gave it to you, Alice." Bane holds up his hands, palms up in a parody of surrender. "I'll let you have anyone else you want from now on. I'll give you all the toys you need to play."

"You're assuming a lot about me."

"Perhaps," Bane says. He shrugs. "But really now, let's not lie to each other. A healthy relationship is built on trust, after all."

"Fuck you."

Bane laughs. "You have a little bit of a temper, don't you? That's good. You're allowed to have those feelings again. Anger. Hate. Desire. It's all yours to have. I gave that back to you."

She narrows her eyes at his tone. "And what do you want from me in return?"

Though she can't see his mouth, she can tell he's smiling now. He holds out his hand to her. He says nothing but she recognizes the wordless entreaty for what it is.

She stares at his hand for a moment.

What do I want?

"Hands behind your head, you freak!"

Startled, Alice looks behind Bane and sees John with his gun drawn and his dark eyes wide with shock. But he isn't looking at Alice and his gun is pointed away from her.

"Ah, a guest!" Bane says, turning around to look at John. "Uninvited. Unwanted. I'm sorry Officer Blake. You should probably leave."

"Alice, get over here and stand behind me," John says. His voice is cold and hard and unlike anything she's ever heard from him before. It sends a thrill through Alice and she wonders at the feeling.

"Alice," Bane says, glancing back at her. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to."

"Don't talk to her, you piece of shit!" John says. He looks at Alice and jerks his head to the side. "Come on Alice, just get behind me. Don't listen to this psychopath."

"A fan, are you, Mr. Blake?"

"Alice, come on!"

Alice feels Bane's gaze on her like a touch from his hand. She walks slowly towards John, keeping her eyes locked with Bane's pale eyes. But he keeps still as she stands behind John. She smells his detergent and sweat and takes a deep breath, closing her eyes briefly.

"Bane," John spits out his name like a curse. "What the hell are you doing here? What the hell were you planning to do with Alice?"

"He killed my father," Alice says softly and she feels John tense at her words. "He came here to tell me."

"Move and I'll shoot you," John growls at Bane. He moves his head towards Alice and she knows that he's keeping his eyes on Bane. "Alice, my mic is on my shoulder. Hit the green button and I'll call for back up. He took out your guards- they didn't respond during check-in and I was first on the scene."

She looks at Bane who stares back at her calmly. It's a sharp contrast to John, whose energy seems to radiate from him in waves.

"John, you shouldn't be here."

"Come on, hit the green button, Alice. We need to call for more men."

Alice curls one hand around his hip and reaches up with her other, pressing the blade against John's soft, pale neck.

"I wish you hadn't come tonight."

"Alice, what are you doing?" His voice rises but he keeps his gun on Bane. She thinks he's focusing on the wrong threat but he can't help it. He doesn't know any better.

"Please, John. Put your gun down," she says. She squeezes his hip gently.

"If he's making you do this-"

His words make her angry; after all the years she spent in a fog...

She presses down on his neck and feels his skin break. "No one controls me anymore, John."

"That's right. Not me, not Blake. No one anymore." Alice looks up at Bane and feels... gratitude. "Go ahead now, Alice. I'm here. Do what you want to do."

Not alone not alone thank you thank you thank god thank-

"Alice?" John's hands tremble but he doesn't lower his gun. "What are you doing?"

Alice licks her lips and rests her cheek against John's shoulder. She isn't sure what she wants to do with him but she knows that she doesn't want to hurt him. Something inside of her keeps her from pressing down too deep.

"I want you to leave," she says against his back. "I want you to put your gun down and walk away from here."

Bane stirs restlessly and she knows that he's not happy with her choice but he says nothing against her.

"Alice, don't do this," John pleads. "God, please, don't do-"

"Put your gun down," she says. She pushes the tip further in and he hisses in pain. "All you need to do is put the gun down."

For a moment, she thinks he won't do it. That he'll fight against her and she'll have to hurt him.

Let me help you, John. This one last time.

But then slowly, slowly, he lowers his gun.

"Put it on the floor and push it towards Bane."

She moves with John as he leans down and carefully puts on the gun on the floor. He kicks it away and stands up again. Alice presses herself against his long, lean frame and lets out a small breath.

"Good," she whispers. "You did good."

"This isn't you, Alice," John says hoarsely. "Why are you doing this?"

"I don't know why. All I know is that I'm finally doing what I want," she says honestly. She watches as Bane draws close and picks up the gun. It looks like a toy in his hand. "And you're wrong. This is who I've always been."

"Now what shall we do, pretty?" Bane asks. "Do you want to test out your new toy? You haven't broken it in yet, have you?"

Alice thinks. She can hear John breathing and she can feel the sweat on his skin. His dark eyes look at her, frightened and confused.

Don't do anything stupid, please.

"John, let me tell you a story," she says, leaning closer to his ear. "Once upon a time there was a little girl who didn't belong. She wanted to do things to other people that little girls shouldn't do. Her father knew she was wrong. Her father thought she was a freak so he did things to her brain, made her confused and sad, so she wouldn't want to do bad things anymore."

She licks her lips and nuzzles the skin behind his ear with the tip of her nose playfully before pulling back. John shudders- from fear or physical want, she doesn't know. Perhaps it's both.

"But the little girl had a friend who didn't think she needed to be fixed. He thought she was just fine the way she was. And when they all grew up, he found her. And he helped her find herself again."

"Will I be able to remember everything?" she asks Bane. She doesn't bother looking at him, keeping her eyes fixed on John's face. "There are still gaps in my memory."

"Maybe," Bane says. He's looking back at her but the gun is still pointed at John. "But I'll tell you what you can't remember. All you need to do is ask."

"Alice," John whispers her name and his eyes grow shiny and sad. "Please."

"Don't kill him," Alice tells Bane. "I don't want him hurt. I want him to be able to walk away from here."

"I love you," John says. "Please."

She takes the knife away from his throat but he doesn't move away. For a moment, she remembers what it felt like to be held by him and how safe she used to feel just sitting next to him. She thought once that being with him could help her be normal. The memory makes her almost sad.

"I know," she says. She touches his face. "John, I know."

He doesn't see Bane move until the last second, until the edge of the barrel is almost at his temple. His eyes widen and his mouth opens in a strangled cry before he crumples to the floor, unconscious. The blood that flows from his wound is bright and thick but Alice looks away from it. It doesn't make her feel good.

Bane puts the gun in his pocket and stares at her.

With John crumpled at her feet and the knife in her hand, Alice is suddenly confused. She isn't sure what to do next and her heart begins to pound and her head starts to ache.

What do I do now? Where do I go?

"Hush," Bane says and she jumps at the sound of his voice. He is now standing beside her, with his hand in her hair tugging her head back to look at him- only him. "Relax, pretty. Take a deep breath and let it out slowly. That's it. Good girl."

She takes another breath and feels calm wash over her. The pain helps her focus.

"What happens now?" she asks.

I need you to tell me.

Bane's eyes seem to glitter. He releases her hair but pulls her tight against him, running his hands down her back and her arms. Once again she's struck by reverent he seems, how each stroke is far more tender than she expects.

"I told you Gotham would be your playground. You're free."

Later, as they walk down a dark street away from the cooling bodies she's finished playing with, Bane pushes her up against a wall and pulls her hands up to his face. Her fingers are still sticky with drying blood but he shows her without speaking how to undo the side of his mask.

When he kisses her, it's rough and almost painful. He kisses as if he's hungry, as if he wants to own her; he puts his hand around her neck to hold her in place so she can't move away from him.

He holds her in place until he's done and when he smiles, full pink lips stretched over his sharp teeth, she thinks-

No, not free at all. Not really.

XXX.

Epilogue

"You've worked three shifts in a row. John, go home."

John Blake looks up from his place at his desk and the expression on his face makes James Gordon's stomach sink. He knew it was a bad idea to give the kid the file on his missing girlfriend but he couldn't find it in his heart to say no. Not when John was in a hospital bed last week with a bandage on his head, recounting the story of how Alice Cade had been kidnapped right before his eyes.

Gordon's gut told him that John wasn't telling them the whole story but the evidence at the scene seemed to back him up.

"I will. Soon, I swear. I just got… caught up in something," John says. The side of his face is still bruised and there are stitches near his hairline where he was struck. Gordon notes that John's been staring at Alice's headshot from her employee badge in the file.

God, if anything like that happened to Barbara…

It was such a damn shame. From what he's heard, the Cade heir was a little socially awkward, soft-spoken and shy but kind and polite. And there was no doubt that she was a beautiful girl- with delicate features and eyes so green they seemed almost unreal. She lived a simple, quiet life and did good work at the Art Institute.

She didn't deserve what had happened to her. No one did.

Taken away by the same monster that killed her father. There is no mercy in this world.

Still, there was nothing John could do about her case tonight… and quite frankly, Gordon wasn't planning on allowing him to get anywhere near the actual case.

That way lies madness.

"Have you made any headway into the new case?" Gordon asks, after John stares down in silence for too long.

"Yeah, I…" John blinks and shakes his head as if to clear it. He pulls three files from the side of his desk and opens one of them.

"Actually, I was going to talk to you about this tomorrow morning," he says. Gordon almost smiles; John's voice is stronger and his eyes are clearer than they were a few minutes ago. "I think this recent spate of murders are connected. The MO seems to be the same for all of these- torture and then death by a cut to the jugular. The weapon for all three match up too. It's probably a blade of some sort. Small but sharp.

"You think it might be one of the Arkham escapees?"

"I cross-referenced all the known escaped inmates and their, um, known preferences to the MO of this perp. None of the escapees make any sense."

John takes a deep breath and looks up at Gordon. "I think whoever is doing this is opportunistic and realizes that we're all stretched pretty thin."

"So he's smart and aware of our procedures," Gordon says. "Well, that's a start."

John looks down and his hand twitches like he wants to open the Cade file again. Instead he pulls his hand back and rubs at his head, near the darkest part of the bruise there.

He suddenly looks very young and very sad. Gordon opens his mouth to say something, try and convince him to go home again when John closes his eyes and laughs softly. When he speaks next, his voice is both a whisper and a sob.

"I think it's a serial killer."

End