Amaranthine

Chapter 1

Forever Yours

"No love left in me. No eyes to see the heaven beside me. My time is yet to come, so I'll be forever yours." – Nightwish

The city was black. Cold, empty of what it should have been, filled only with what would destroy it in the very end. Colorless, save for the swirls of gray, white, and that lovely black. Dark, just like its soul. With shadows choking it, devouring it. Killing it so very slowly. The light had never left because the light had never been here. The light could not survive in an endless shadow. The light was meaningless.

The city was corrupt. Little worms of rags and riches skipping about with their tattered shreds of clothing or their high priced designer suits as they thought the very same, making deals, making contracts. Making a list and checking it twice. The corruptness of the cesspool was not prejudice, but welcomed each and every kind. The homeless man on the side of the street would steal a child for a wealthy businessman if it meant a meal, a home, a chance to keep on living in the slums. The corrupt were the corrupt and no one was excluded from the club.

The city was bleak. The city was hard. The city was so many things all rolled into one terrible hell…

Gotham City was hilarious.

Where else could you find such fun? Where else could you find such resources? Why, everything was here, and more. Everything from capable and willing men, weapons, money, shelter. Pretty girls easily snatched by the mind. Pretty girls offering utter devotion…

So much fun. So many perks. Who knew?

He knew. He'd always known. Gotham was the place to be. Gotham was the place to make the mark. He'd been away for a while, but now he was coming back to reclaim what was his. The welfare of this place, the order of this great city would rest within the palm of his hand again. Years had passed, but he was ready. Finally, he was back. Finally, he had those precious resources again.

Smoke filled the air of the black city he could never leave. Night consumed the twinkling stars and ate the moon. People were screaming. Sirens were shouting. Gunfire had spilt the air, that sweet sound that made him curl his toes. So much fun…

But maybe, he thought with an unusual frown, maybe not as much fun as before. His number one player was gone. His very best friend, dead and left for the fishes, all because of something as simple as self-sacrifice. That very fact had kept him away for a while. That fact alone had almost made him never want to enter Gotham again. How could he come back to the city of the shadows feeling so empty? Feeling so lost?

Feeling so… incomplete?

But in the end, it had no longer mattered. In the end, he found someone to steer his mind to newer directions. Someone who understood him. Someone who had such a pretty smile.

Someone who knew how to have a good laugh.

He smiled as the smoke rose higher, as the picture took form and let everyone know that he was back, and he was happy. The smiley face the smoke became cast its deadly grin over the city, over false order. Over what he would snatch, and make his once more. The soul of Gotham was up in the air ever since certain people had disappeared or died. And he would be the first to jump and catch it.

More explosions. More screaming. He clapped his hands and giggled, and skipped along to the meeting point, glancing back every now and then to look at his art, at that deadly gray smile. He spotted the man in the dark trench coat leaning against a wet alley wall, and lifted a brow. How fifties, he thought, and chuckled softly as he approached.

"Nice weather we're having, don't you think?" he asked lazily, and jumped into a rain puddle, smirking at the wet splatter of dirty water now on the man's trousers.

"How did you get the smoke to do that?"

"I got all A's in chemistry." His eyes wandered up the forgettable man, wondering if this was the same guy he'd been negotiating with the whole time. But if he wanted certain allies, he'd had to suck it up and be kind. This man had been the messenger. And he was here to give the final one. "So what did the big boss think of my little performance? Pretty impressive, huh?"

"Quite," the man nodded, pulling out a few papers from the depths of his pockets, and a cell phone. "We enjoyed the show immensely. And while remembering certain rules, like those of scratching backs, we are willing to work with you."

"Oh, goodie," he drawled, and hurriedly snatched the papers and phone to stuff in his homemade attire. "Tell the big boss I'll send a friendly text." He saluted the man, and turned around.

"Not only am I here to tell you we've accepted your offer for partnership, but I'm also here to collect." The man stepped forward, causing him to halt. "You mentioned chemistry before. There is talk that you've been a busy bee in that department. And tonight's show with the smoke confirmed it. I was told to graciously ask you for your various formulas."

"Oh," he muttered, and sighed before giving a few shakes of his head. "You see, that would be a problem. And while your organization and I have decided to do business, that doesn't mean I have to be a good little boy and share my toys."

"It would help your relationship with us if you'd just corporate."

He frowned. "Are you gonna break up with me, then? Because…" He stepped closer to the man, the heels of his shiny shoes clicking along the concrete. "I really don't like that. I'm doing my best to be a nice guy by you people, and you threaten that you'll leave me?" He sniffed at that, and bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing when the man's back hit the wall, leaving him weak. Leaving him all alone.

"No, you misunderstand," the man told him, wishing he could reach into his belt for his gun for safety. Wishing he'd just kept his mouth shut. "I'm just the messenger, after all. I'm just telling you what I was told."

"Just the messenger," he repeated slowly, clicking his tongue and giving another onceover. "You know what they say about the messenger, right?"

The man brought his hands together, ringing them so their new partner wouldn't see them shaking. He wasn't getting paid enough for this, he thought. He'd never wanted to be the one to make the deal. "Yes… They say you don't kill him."

For a moment, he was silent. And then the smile broke out across his cheeks. That very famous smile. The man jumped some when he began to laugh. That very famous laugh. He didn't know whether to be terrified or relieved by it.

"Is that what they say? Well then you are free to go, my friend." He swept his long coat back, and made a big gesture for him to carry on his way.

The man in the trench coat swallowed nervously, and gave a brisk nod. "We'll be in touch."

The messenger took more steps than he would have thought. In fact, he thought he would have successfully gotten away. But after the first few nervous and jittery steps, the anticipated sound of a swing and a loud, wet crunch filled the air, and made him smile once more. He turned around, saw his little buddy lying in a growing dark pool of his own blood, the open gash in the side of his head leaking brains and blood into the city streets.

"Whoops!" he laughed, shrugging his lean shoulder. "Guess I don't care about what they say!"

He heard the very soft, very feminine giggle of the body against the shadows of the ally. As she stepped further into the light, he looked down at her hand that held a bloody rubber chicken.

No one would have expected a brick to be in there, that was for sure.

"Did you see that? I split that guy's head open like a regular Moses." She kicked the man's dead foot, and slung the rubber chicken over her petite shoulder. "Nice coat, though."

He grinned down at the dead man, looked back up into the smoke above. Yes, he thought, this would definitely be fun. He was back. He was ready. And he was excited. Gotham didn't need to be reminded of him, because Gotham had never forgotten him. And now, they would have him forever.

He made a show out of stretching and yawning. "Boy, am I bushed." He took a step, crunched his shoe into the ruined head of his dead messenger, and gestured for her to follow. Just like she always would. "Let's go home."

"Whatever you say, puddin'."

He smiled.

Do you know how to cause complete chaos?

I do.

The night sky was clear, full of stars, full of the giant white moon. The air was bitter cool for the desert, the evening chasing away the heat, undoing what the sun had done all day, giving rest to the hot, cooling the sand and sending a thankful breeze. In practically the middle of Indian nowhere, the sky was vast and bright, the sand soft and bearable. A camp was made for shelter upon that bearable sand, and a giant fire started to ward off that cold breeze that could chill to the bone.

In practically the middle of Indian nowhere, freedom had been given, and the lost had been found.

The big fire roared, the light dancing upon the makeshift overhang of an incomplete, half-finished tent. Blankets had been set on the sand for a temporary bed, scattered bags open after various items had been found. The flames gave warmth and light, the blankets comfortable sleep after a long day of hiking. The stars glittered, the moon shone, the breeze traveled and the fire flickered.

In the middle of Indian nowhere, a woman gasped loudly, let her head fall back as she clutched at the skin above her with long, pointed nails.

Feminine moans filled the air. Deep, guttural groans and growls from the one above her shushed her, and yet continued on. The woman, with her reaching limps and curves that beckoned him, shook her head back to rid her sweaty face of the long black curls that were steadily becoming a nuisance because of their length. With pale skin, dark brows, and eyes as black as the sky, she opened her red mouth to give him more of those arousing sounds she knew drove him crazy. The man, almost encompassing her completely with his vast size, took her knees and pushed them up almost to her shoulders as he continued to please them both. The threatening mask around his head hissed loudly, dug into the flesh of her neck, shoulders, and chest as he took and took and took from her.

Bane had once taken Camille Lane away by force. Now, she came to him willingly.

Please don't make me leave again.

He found he couldn't turn her away. Found that he couldn't make her leave him again because she was his.

Wearing only her nude colored bra, Camille pulled Bane closer to her, wrapped her arms around him as he furiously drove himself into her body. She growled at him when he pushed her back down, held her knees up for him so he could support his weight with his hands on either side of her. She raked her nails down his back, over his sides, keeping them on his strong hips as he pounded away at her, edging them closer to release after weeks and weeks of being apart.

After she had returned to free him from the pit, Bane and Camille had walked all day in the Indian desert. With his large hand gripping hers, he pulled her closer to a destination he knew, a place they would have to travel to on foot because they had no other means of transportation. And when night had fallen, the weariness of hiking for hours caught them and stopped them so that they could make some kind of shelter with the supplies she'd brought with her. Bane knew he could have had another hour left in him to walk, would have carried her during the extra time if the wound in his side had not been clawing at him in discomfort, and the wheezing sounds of his mask losing medication hadn't stopped him. And after the fire had been created to keep them safe and warm and the shelter built, Camille had taken on the job of taking care of him for a second time.

From long days in the prison that had claimed him again, Bane's skin around his clothing was burned from the sun. He was filthy from weeks trapped in hell, his breathing practically reduced to nothing but a wheeze from the declining medicine inside the mask that kept him alive, and the puncture wound in his side inflamed and infected from poor care. And always wanting to be prepared for the very worst, Camille had brought along with her to India everything she thought she would need to tend to him once she found him. She'd softly washed his burnt skin to clean him, running the soapy rag over the grime and sweat from six weeks trapped in the pit. She'd only wondered briefly about how exactly he'd ended up there again, figured maybe it had something to do with the Nightwing. But remained silent as she helped soothe him.

Camille had pulled his face down into her lap so she could replace the withering canisters inside his mask with new ones, and so she could tend to the angry cut against his ribs. Bane had closed his eyes against her touch, still a little shocked that she was even here in the first place.

He'd made her leave. And here she was.

With his wound cleaned, treated and bandaged, Camille had simply tried to soothe him further as the fire danced behind them by running her hands along his skin. She'd taken off the armored vest he'd been wearing, ran her fingers over the muscles of his body that she knew all too well. Before, when they'd been separated, she couldn't seem to function, couldn't seem to adapt in the world she'd become disconnected from. She'd ruined her chance at a good relationship with a good man, and had quit from the job that had become her purpose in life. With him now, she felt more like herself.

With him now she could finally function.

After a few minutes had gone by of soothing him, she'd scooted away to clean the mess of bloody bandages from his wound, and put away the first aid kit. She tried to ignore Bane's hard stare at her, tried to ignore the evidence of his arousal. She felt that maybe they were too tired to reunite the way they wanted. He should rest instead of looking at her that way. She should prepare for the next day and make sure they had everything they needed instead of feeling a heat stronger than the fire that warmed them.

Bane had suddenly pounced on her and began tearing her clothes from her body in desperation.

Six weeks was too long, he thought as he stared down at Camille with her black eyes, her pouty lips, yanking her shorts down her legs and ripping the flimsy barriers to pieces. Gone was the need to rest and plan for the day ahead. The only thing that mattered was her willing body, his need to have her because it had been too long without her. His mask hissed at her violently as he watched that aggressive lust fill her eyes, as that carnal strength inside her blossomed and manifested.

Now, Camille moaned as she grasped at his pounding hips, as he made her body bounce along the blanket with his strong, hard thrusts. He drove her up again, arousal spurting inside him each time she moaned out his name.

"Don't stop," she whispered and gasped some more, forgetting herself and saying things she would have wanted to remain unsaid. She whimpered as her fingers dug into his hips, and could only feel his body after being without him for so long. "I missed you, I missed you…"

Bane groaned deeply as he pushed to her limit, squeezed his eyes shut as she came around him, emptying him, undoing him. He twitched inside her, felt the warmth. Felt Camille after so long. He buried his face in her hair, and let himself follow her into the sweet release.

Panting, Camille placed her hand on her sweaty forehead and tried to breathe, tried to calm down from the rush of being with him again. She lifted her head to look at him when she felt him leave her body, pulled one of the straps of her bra back over her shoulders as he stood and walked closer to the fire. Camille brushed some of her hair back, watched the skin of his back flicker against the light of the flames as he calmly stared at them, completely naked and completely back to his normal self. She covered her bare lower half with one of the blankets, sat up and wrapped her arms around her knees.

What would happen now? she thought, as reality finally started to sink in. Now that she had left Gotham, now that she had quit her job and had flown all the way to the other side of the world to rescue a criminal, what would she do? If Bane decided to keep her with him, what would become of her then? And if he didn't, how was she supposed to survive? She'd spent all the money she had to get here and find him, and had no way of getting back to America. And once she went back, what would she do?

So many questions, and not enough clarity. What was her purpose now that she had left her life to save him?

Maybe she shouldn't go back to Gotham. Camille absently remembered the woman she'd seen in a dark alley long ago after Bane had released her the first time. Beaten and raped and robbed. And she'd just walked away from her, because there was nothing she could have done. She could have done something insignificant like call the police and help the woman, but in the end her actions would be pointless. Gotham ate people, destroyed them, tore them apart from the inside out. She hated that place, and knew they deserved everything that had been going on for years. Bane had once told her that the city hated both of them. She found that she believed him, believed it because so much had gone wrong with how she'd been raised, how she'd lived in the society that was very wrong. She looked back to Bane still staring at the fire.

Her story was his story.

Camille knew that they were the same. She'd told him that herself. And she'd never felt right about the way she'd been living, never felt that she was where she belonged. But if she and Bane were the same, then maybe she'd been doing it all wrong for all this time. If they were the same, maybe that was exactly how it should be.

Gotham is wrong. There was no right. All that mattered was where you wanted to be.

And she knew where that was. Making the decision, she swallowed softly and began to speak.

"After you left Gotham, there was a big investigation," she said to him, knowing he was listening to her with a slow movement of his head. "They tested me, questioned me. Kept track of me. This jerk detective didn't believe a word I said because he was so obsessed with finding you. But I was still labeled as a rape victim, and still had to go through the procedure. They forced this strict schedule on me, made me go to therapy and answer more questions about you. And I had no choice." Camille took a deep breath, tried not to remember how she'd felt during that time of being herded by the ones who were supposed to protect her. "They were still keeping track of me after I left to come here. They just assumed I was this important puzzle piece that would link them straight to you. And certain individuals in the police department know how you're connected to India. And by now, I'm sure they know I came here."

Bane slowly turned around to look at her, still not bothering with any pants because they were the only ones around for miles. He walked closer to her, kneeled down so he could watch her face more carefully. "I can see that anxiety again. Tell me what worries you."

Camille swallowed again, felt oddly foolish now that he was staring right at her. She'd been independent her whole life, had made sure she could still take care of herself even when she'd been married to an uprising painter. And now that she was suddenly so very dependent, she didn't know which words to use exactly. "If I go back, it'll only be worse. Gotham has a bad taste in its mouth because of the last woman who did something like this. I could go to jail. That detective really didn't like me, and would find some way to lock me up. Or they could put me away. If I go back…"

Her voice drowned out, and when she didn't continue, Bane gave her a look and finished her sentence for her. "If you go back… without me?"

Camille held his gaze, then looked away. This is ridiculous, she thought to herself. Suddenly annoyed, she stared at her hands because she'd run out of words. Foolish words, she thought with an inner scowl, and wished he'd move away and stop staring at her.

She wanted to stay with him. But for good this time. Bane concluded that the moment he'd seen her face and the war raging in her eyes on how exactly to ask him. She wanted to stay because she feared what she'd return to because of her actions with him. And as she remained quiet and suddenly reserved, his mind raced.

He remembered telling himself long ago that she could never thrive in his world. The life he led was something she knew nothing about, something maybe she wasn't fully grasping when she wanted to ask him certain things. For a life like his, you had to either be born into it, or severely trained. And in his case it had been both of those conditions. And while Camille had been raised in abuse and violence, she'd only forced herself to escape from her hell and do whatever it took to stay away from it.

But while he knew those things about her, he knew more. He knew she had a temper that could be harnessed and used to her advantage. He knew she had an intelligent mind that could work in his favor. And he knew, deep down inside her, that she had strength. A strength that went beyond what was inside her, a physical strength he'd seen before. Inside her womanly body was a force that could be fueled, and used. That aggression that could be turned into power.

You either had to be born into his world, or severely trained. Bane continued to stare at her, and began to see something else.

"Darling Camille," he started, waited until her eyes met his again. "You would leave that world for mine? You would leave the comforts of society for those of what the world would call a criminal? I won't say you don't know what you are asking me, because I know you do. But to exist in my world, you must be molded into something else. You must learn how to survive when the world is against you." She went to look away again, but Bane took her jaw and held her steady so she would know what she would be in for. What he would mean for her. "You would leave your simple, safe life, the life you tried so hard to build for yourself, for the life of a mercenary?"

She contemplated as she looked into his green eyes. Time before him had been wrong, and time while they'd been separated had no longer worked for her. She knew her answer, because there was no other option. "I will," she murmured, and leaned a little bit closer to him. "If you ask me to."

Bane could have smiled, could have been impressed that she had just switched the whole decision onto him. But the only thing he did feel was that he had misjudged. Maybe she really didn't know what she was asking of him. Maybe he had to clarify a little more. "You must understand completely, Camille. I will return to Gotham, but not soon. And during that time you will have to be broken down and built back up to what I would need you to be. And then there are… other conditions you would have to understand."

Feeling like she was going to be given a lecture, Camille leaned back to rest on her elbows. "Tell me."

"I run quite a detail oriented operation. My men work for me, and me alone. My woman…" he continued, refusing to allow himself to fall back into old ways when it concerned this subject. "Will be my woman."

Camille lifted a brow at him. She remembered how she had tried to be with another man, and that it had only caused her grief because she'd been craving for someone else the whole time. But then the face of Talia entered her mind, and suddenly she knew why he was telling her this in the first place. "That only works if it goes both ways."

He tilted his head some at her. "You assume I sleep with multiple women?"

"All I know is that I won't live the life Talia did." Speaking of her around him used to be like walking on eggshells. But Camille would refuse to allow a ghost to steer her around. She'd already told him once that she wasn't his past lover. The old agreement he'd had with Talia no longer mattered, the agreement of being spiritually connected, but not physically. Bane had been faithful to Talia in his heart, but his body had been a different story. The same had gone for his dead love. Now, she knew Bane wanted to make sure that there wouldn't be a repeat of that kind of relationship. "What goes for you goes for me too."

"Understandable," he muttered, and found that he could accept it. "Another thing you must understand is the physical aspect of this life. You cannot survive how you are now. I would need you to become something greater. You will wish for death during the training that would be necessary. With this life, you will be bound to me completely. You will be hunted, attacked, and at times targeted by those right within reach. You will have to know how to take a life. And be able to do just that when the time comes. The dogs will be after you," he murmured, trying to get through to her because he oddly felt like he needed to. "For the rest of your life, you will be unsafe and always on guard. Forever, Camille."

She took everything in, each and every sentence, each and every word. But she found that it hardly mattered. And she could only come back to the same decision. No other option for her. Looking at him now, she knew there never would be. "If you ask me," she repeated in a whisper.

Suddenly, he felt somewhat dizzy. Suddenly he realized that what he was asking of her, he'd never had with anyone else. So many conditions, and yet she was willing to meet them all. Only time would tell in the end, he knew. But he knew Camille, and that she would meet every one of those conditions because she didn't have any other choice. It would be hard. It would be tiring for both of them, because he didn't trust anyone else to teach her except for himself. She could fail miserably. She could give up. She could die.

I missed you, I missed you.

Bane looked at her again, lying back on her elbows, staring at him with those pretty dark eyes. The corners of her mouth lifted, and then she was smiling at him. Smiling at him in that way she had when they'd separated. She'd come back to free him. After he'd sent her away so many times, she was always coming back when he needed her. And, Bane discovered, he did need her.

Two lost souls whose miserable beginnings had forged them into what appeared to be polar opposites. Their pull to each other narrowed the distance, then had all but eradicated it. She'd saved him. The night he came to terms with what he had really been to Talia, the night his sanity had hung in Camille's ferocious and unbreakable grip. As impossible as it should have been, she was his answer. He was hers.

I missed you.

"Will you stay with me?" he asked her slowly.

That smile stayed in place, her lips continuing to curve in the light of the fire. It may have been the world's most odd and unacceptable proposal, but she found that it suited her. It suited her just fine because there was no other option. Not since the day she had signed her name on the dotted line to take his case back when he'd been admitted in the asylum.

"Where else would I go?"

Ignoring her, Bane reached out and took the blanket that covered her lap. Slowly, he slid it away and exposed her. "Say yes."

Camille reached for him, held his shoulders as he flipped them around and made her straddle him. She had left everything she knew for him. She was giving up her safe life for a man in a mask. She pulled her bra off her chest, sighed and leaned down a little as he slipped his hand into her scalp and grasped her curls. "Yes," she whispered.

In the middle of Indian nowhere, she gave herself completely to him. No other option.

Not anymore.

TBC

A/N: I can't tell you how much I missed Bane, Camille, and my wonderful readers. But now I'm back with the sequel, and ready to write for you again. I hope you all stay with me for Amaranthine. I have big things planned because I love you all so very much. Also, I revamped my profile. Lots of fun stuff there for the fans of Mercenary. Review for me, my loves. And welcome back!