Chapter Eleven: Bowing a Mountain

"Can I go with you?"

He looked down at the small girl between his feet, who was looking up at him with round eyes speckled with curiosity. The girl was understandably bored; Bane had discovered the coloring book under the bed, every page filled in. For a six year old, she was methodical about filling in the lines but had burned through the whole thing quickly. Other scraps of paper had been doodled on, and Bane had come across a picture of himself stuck on the bulletin board in the kitchen, next to his maps. Tori had drawn him as a tall rectangle with sausage arms and a round black head. Cartoonishly, she had reduced him to his basic elements – strength, and the mask.

Bane stroked her head, feeling the soft brown curls beneath the pads of his fingers. She leaned away from him, but didn't step back.

My, but she was a remarkably brave little thing.

"Yes," he said finally. "You may come with me."

There was childish pleasure on her face, and she grinned, exposing baby teeth. She was tired of being cooped up in the apartment, tired of staying on the floor and coloring. It was very early in the morning, and the sun had not yet risen, so the chill was still in the air. Tori pulled on a large gray sweatshirt Talia had brought and rolled up the sleeves clumsily. Bane came over to her with a Glock in his hand, the heavy black handgun loaded and menacing.

He knelt next to her, looking her straight in the eye. She never looked at him directly, but always stared at his mask as though it would leap off his face and bite her.

"If you try to run away," Bane said quietly beneath a rush of static, "I will shoot you. Do you understand?"

She nodded.

Bane stood up and went down the hallway without another word. She followed behind him like a well-trained dog. He pushed open the door to the bedroom where Sarah was, and saw that she was awake, sitting in the chair and looking out the picture window again. It had been three days since he had changed her bandages, and since that encounter she had been looking at him strangely, not questioning but trying to say something. She was trying to figure him out; Bane delighted in making himself appear complicated to his captives.

"We will be back at sunset," Bane said flatly. Sarah jerked, turning to face them with fear scrawled on her features.

"Why? What did I do?" she cried, starting to get up. Bane gripped the thick straps of his armor and decided to let Tori answer that question.

The little girl, clad in a new sweatshirt and jacket that nearly fit, hurried up to her mother. She kissed her cheek and whispered in her ear, "I wanna go see our home, Mommy, okay? It's okay, Bane will protect me."

It's okay, Bane will protect me.

The words rolled in Sarah's head like a cannonball.

How could her daughter put so much faith in a monster?

Sarah lifted her head, pushing back her freshly-washed hair, and looked Bane squarely in the face. "Mr. Bane, bring my daughter back," she said firmly. Inwardly, she was trembling fiercely.

"That depends upon the actions of your daughter," Bane replied, and beckoned Tori over to him. The little girl nodded at her mother, and then willingly followed her captor out the door.

Sarah sat up in the chair. "Let me come with you!" she called, but it was no use; the door shut behind them. Sarah wiped her eyes and tried not to let the tears fall. Had it really only been a few days since Tori had been rescued from the ice? And already, she was following him around as though he were her father? It was the first time she didn't know what was going in on Tori's head.

And it was this thought, more than anything else, that made her start to cry. She hugged her ribs very gently and let the tears patter onto her broken leg.

It was late morning when Sarah roused herself. The sunlight slanting through the window warmed her bones and made her doze, but a sudden nearby shower of gunfire jolted her awake and back to her senses. As quickly as her broken limb would allow, she pinned the curtain back in place and them limped into the other room, still unsteady on her broken leg. By gripping the corners and sticking to the edges of the room, she managed to get to the kitchen without falling. Inside there were maps tacked to all four walls, and cardboard taped neatly over the windows. Not an inch of space was wasted. The counters were clean and so were the cabinets, although one of them was hanging off its hinge. The ransackers had not been gentle to the apartment.

She found cold pancakes in the refrigerator and ate them without warming them; there was a toaster but no microwave, and the toaster looked as though it had seen better days. Obviously something rummaged out of the trash. Sarah swallowed the leaden lumps of dough and felt them sink into her stomach along with the weight of fear.

Bane had better protect her daughter.

Her eyes roved over the kitchen table as though she was looking for something; unseeingly, she settled on a corner of the map. It was bulged upwards in a peculiar way, although it took her a moment or two to recognize why.

There was a knife beneath the map. The fear in her stomach was wiped away by a hot prickle of exhilaration. And then the fear was back.

Was it a test? Had he deliberately left it there to see whether or not she would take it? Sarah unconsciously wiped her hands on her jeans as though shaking off the very memory of stealing the knife. But taking the knife would be an insurance policy. She couldn't kill Bane with her bare hands, and couldn't make an escape attempt with a broken cabinet hinge. And she would have use for the knife if...

If something happened to Tori while she was with Bane.

With that thought in mind, she slipped the knife into her cast and limped away as quickly as she could.

It was a good thing she did, because just as she sat down in her chair by the window, the door opened. The sound of sensible high heels clicking across the hardwood floors hit her ears, and Sarah remembered Talia. But Bane had told her not to speak to Talia. The memory of his hands, big and terrifyingly close, skimming up her spine send shudders across her skin. Instantly the nausea was back, and she folded her hands across her stomach.

A sheaf of dark brown hair hid Talia's eyes as she stepped into the bedroom. There was a crease between her brows as she scanned the mostly empty room, and then finally spoke. "Are you here by yourself?" she asked, setting down the canvas bag full of supplies. Had Bane honestly been so foolhardy as to leave his captive by herself? Broken leg or not, that was a serious lapse in judgment. A bad feeling tickled the corner of her mind, and she pushed it away. Was her most prized general, her most trusted ally, finally losing his mind? Did he want his captives to escape? Was he tired of them?

More importantly, where was the girl?

Sarah didn't speak, and Talia eyed her. "What happened?" Talia tried again. Had she gone mute?

The woman threw her a look, pleading and afraid, and Talia knew that she had acted up in some way. Bane must be punishing her. "Has he forbidden you to speak to me?" Talia asked, and from the expression on Sarah's face, she was correct. "Well. That is no problem. You can speak to me as you wish, I shall not inform Bane."

And she still didn't speak.

Even in her irritation, Talia was proud of Bane for instilling such obedience in his captives. "Has he taken your daughter, then?" she goaded, trying to get a reaction out of the mother. Her hands curled into fists, and she turned back towards the window; Talia thought she heard a sniff. "I brought you some books," Talia tried a different tactic. "There are not many left, but I tried to find the thickest."

Behind the glassy layer of tears, she could see the gratefulness in Sarah's eyes.

Talia wanted to study the mother. Bane had taken the girl away then, and left the mother alone. For what purpose? And why had he forbidden his captive to speak to her? "I shall not tell Bane," Talia repeated. "He has no way of knowing."

The look in Talia's eyes was familiar. Let us keep a secret, you and I, the look said. Let us be two women for a moment, two women sharing a secret.

"I don't know where they went," Sarah said finally, her voice cracking a little. "Tori...my daughter...she said she wanted to go back to our old apartment. So she went with Bane."

An unnatural twinge of jealousy went through Talia. Again, Bane was escorting a young girl around a dangerous area, most likely protecting her from danger. She used to be that child. But she couldn't dwell on that, and instead pushed on. "He will keep her safe, you know," Talia said. "For all of his strength, Bane can be...quite gentle."

"Uh huh," Sarah muttered, looking away. Her mind flashed back onto the memory of his hands – gentle, caressing, and yet totally alien. The idea of him stroking her bare back in such an intimate manner was repulsive.

Talia narrowed her eyes, and then felt relief break over her in an icy sheet. "Has he forced himself on you, then?" she asked soothingly, ever the protective ally, but inwardly she was beaming. It was just sex then – she had encouraged Bane to take women in the past, to slake the worst of his thirst, and he had always followed her advice. But he had surprised her by taking a pair, his tastes did not run towards young girls. The daughter must have been a coincidence, nothing more. She could deal with sex, she could deal with Bane's lies, because they were hollow lies. He was merely manipulating the emotions of his bed partner.

That, Talia could handle. She was familiar with sex – it was a powerful and useful tool.

"No," Sarah laughed, roughly and bitterly. "No, he was changing the bandage on my shoulder when he..." she cleared her throat, and gestured behind her. "Touched my back. Stroked it, like I was a dog or something."

This made Talia suspicious. He was seducing her then? Giving her something else to think about besides their captivity? Ah, Stockholm Syndrome. He wanted double insurance; he wanted them unable to leave, not only physically but emotionally. Again her pride soared – truly, her general was the best among men.

"He is not a violent man," Talia said.

"Not a violent man?" Sarah snapped, and Talia noticed with cool detachment that the woman was filled to the brim with anger – no, not anger. Rage. "Not a violent man? Do you have any idea what you're saying? He's killed people, snapped their necks and broken their bones! He's enslaved an entire city and held them all captives! He's killed innocent boys, little boys, and children! He's a...he's a monster! A sick, twisted, son of a bitch!"

Talia waited patiently until the outburst had subsided. "He is a gentle man. Circumstances have made him who he is."

"That's bullshit," Sarah said fiercely, her voice quavering beneath tears and anger. "If he's gentle, it's just another ploy. I don't trust him around my daughter, and if he tries to hurt her, I'll kill him." She met Talia's eyes unwaveringly.

Oh, my dear friend, Talia thought to herself. You have so much to do before this little bird's wings can be broken.

"What about when he's around you?" Talia queried, tilting her head like an elegant feline. "Has he ever hurt you?"

Sarah went quiet.

"And what about your daughter? Has he injured her?"

"If he hasn't yet..." Sarah said lowly, "then he will. He's not...I mean, he's...he's a terrorist." She looked up at Talia. "So are you."

She appeared to be considering this. "Have you ever had a job?" Talia wanted to know. She gestured with her palms, balancing something like she was the Scales of Justice. "You should know that occupations are only titles. They do not define a person. If you label yourself, then you open yourself up to scrutiny and misjudgment."

"That's all this is to you people?" Sarah spat, heavy with venom. "A job?"

"Someone must clean a city," Talia said frankly. "Someone must dirty their hands and be willing to face the fire."

"How did he drag you into this?" Sarah asked sharply. "Do you honestly believe in killing a city full of women and children? Has he really brainwashed you that much?"

Talia was a superb actress, but at that statement she could not hold back a titter. Thankfully, she turned it into a cough. This woman was so disillusioned, so obtuse and shooting blindly in the dark. It would be kinder to enlighten her – kinder to let her know who was truly pulling the strings. "Bane did not brainwash me, you silly girl," Talia said. Her smile was a shard of ice. "He would do anything for me. He's nothing more than a tool, my dear, a very powerful and loyal tool. He raised me."

Sarah's expression was really quite amusing – she was staring at her like a dead fish.

"Purging Gotham was never his idea," Talia continued. "He would have gone along, frustrated and alone, unless I came and gave him purpose. Gave him clarity. He raised me, and in return, I molded him."

The idea of Bane being subservient to anyone – to Talia, a woman, no less – was both absurd and impossible. Bane was a mountain, a man of unfeeling, uncaring muscles and raw rage and the ability to kill anyone at any time. He did not bow to anything; mountains didn't bow to winds, no matter how loudly they howled.

And yet there was so much smug truth in Talia's eyes.

"You...?" Sarah stared at her. "You're the one trying to destroy Gotham?"

Talia checked her watch. "Yes. And now, my dear, I do believe you've had enough instruction for the day." She stood and raised her eyebrows. "There are food and books in the bag, if you desire them."

Sarah had the sudden urge to pluck the knife out of her cast and send it thudding into Talia's back. Right between her shoulder blades. But she couldn't move, her mind was still reeling and trying to comprehend.

"Wait!"

Talia paused at the doorway.

"Tell Bane to let my daughter go free." Sarah said. This was the person commanding Bane, and she remembered her delirious thoughts of petitioning for her daughter's release.

"I don't think so," Talia mused, "You see, where would your daughter go? And my general has already proven himself reluctant to obey orders concerning you. And I am now reluctant to give them. He can do as he wishes with you two, I will not stop him."

"You're the one who ordered him to kill us?" Sarah asked, her eyes huge and frightened.

There was a look of surprise on Talia's beautiful face. "Yes. I thought you two would be a unnecessary distraction. But now that I have seen you are nothing more than a woman to fuck and a brat to abandon, I think you two are minimal threats."

Sarah couldn't think of a thing to say, and she watched dumbly as Talia walked out the door, every inch the supreme conquering hero.

Tori hugged Bluey close to her chest, feeling more content than she had in months. The snow had slackened off, and the weak winter sun was trying its best to warm her chilled hands. Bane loomed over her, carrying a duffle bag slung over his shoulder, full of supplies from their house. The apartment hadn't been touched, although the building next to it had been blown up. Tori had picked through the rubble, trying not to scrape herself on the twisted pieces of metal, while Bane merely stepped over piles of charred bricks.

"Thank you for letting me get Bluey," Tori said. Bane glanced down at her, amused. She took pleasure in such odd things. And yet he knew the sentimental attachment of a stuffed bear – for him, it represented a simpler time. No doubt there would be a time in Tori's life where she looked at the cheap blue bear and thought the same thing.

That is, if she lived through this time in her life.

They continued walking down the street, and Tori looked up at Bane's enormous, careless hand. Everything about him was coiled danger, except that hand. The very hand that broke that man's neck, that very hand that tied up her Mommy and left her alone.

But it was also the same hand that saved her from the ice.

The last time she had tried to hold her daddy's hand, he jerked away from her as though she pinched him. He had been drinking the Bad Stuff then, and his hands shook and his eyes were watery; he had given her the funniest look, and then kept walking. Tori had gone home and sung to Bluey Bear until she felt better.

So she didn't reach for Bane's hand. She wasn't sure if he would break her neck or flinch away, so she kept the space between them intact.

Bane stopped, and the hand she had been watching turned into a fist, halting her.

The back of his neck prickled. There had been a crunch in the rubble, the sound of tiny rocks being ground against pavement. Bane didn't move at first, the two of them just stood in the street, waiting.

Rat-ta-tat-ta-ta-tat!

A wild burst of gunfire cracked across the street and Bane hurled Tori to the pavement. He felt the impact of the bullets in his lower back, but the pain didn't flare into his mind; years of being on Venom and he had never gotten used to the feeling. He waited and then scooped up the little girl, pressing her against his side. She was screaming, burrowing her head into the crook of his elbow and hanging onto her bear for dear life.

Then the skirmish started.

He dropped her, yanked the shotgun off his back and pulled back both barrels. He blew a hole into the torso of a very young woman, who fell on the sidewalk, already dead.

Ra-ta-tat-tat-ta!

They rushed him, but with one powerful twist he broke the neck of one and splinted the shins of another. He sent the butt of the shotgun crashing down and he caved in the skull of an older man with yellowed teeth.

"Bane! Baaaaaane!"

Tori was sobbing, howling, trying to twist out of the arms of John Blake. The man was holding the child as best he could, but she was putting up quite the fight.

Bane glared at her, eyes blazing, and sent his knuckles crushing through the face of a teenaged boy. He couldn't fight for his life and get Tori at the same time – a wild animalistic urge bolted through him, and picked up the body of an older woman and physically threw her into the remaining crowd.

It had been a sting. Just as quickly as they had come, they were gone. Corpses were strewn around him; in five minutes, he had killed seven people with incredible efficiency. Breathing hard, his dark eyes glared at the car swerving down the road, no doubt holding John Blake and his little girl.

Her bear lay in the road, dirty and bloody beneath the leg of the gut-holed teenager.

Wordlessly, he scooped it up and took off after the car in a flat-out sprint.

A/N: OH DEAR LAWD ITS DONE.

This was a bear of a chapter to write. It seems so awful to me now that I'm rereading it, everything's so jumbled and messy and the only thing I really like is that last action scene with Bane and Tori.

I want to thank you all for your reviews; I'm taking four full-credit courses this summer for the first time, and I just don't have the time to personally respond to each one. I do, however, read every single one and I completely adore them. :) So please, by all means, keep them coming!

This chapter is also indirectly dedicated to batmanbane, who has been dexterously nudging me (or unconsciously nudging me, I don't know) towards making this a Bane/OC romance story. Looking over the previous chapters, it does kind of seem like it's aiming that way. Which is hilarious, since this story was originally written in protest against the sappy Bane/OCs. But after reading the beautifully written She Rises, and reading batmanbane's comments, I'm kind of weakening.

That doesn't mean this is going to turn into a romance. I'm just considering it. :) Any thoughts on this?