Batman Begins/Dark Knight 1. Thank You For Calling Old Navy in Gotham

**Heya! I already have two fanfics that aren't that far along, and I wasn't going to even attempt a Bane/TDKR fic because there are so many of you wonderful authors out there who have kept me...distracted...with your wonderful submissions that I didn't feel the need to try my hand at one. BUT, then I went to see TDKR again...and my love of Tom Hardy and Bane made me jump on the bandwagon. So here it is, folks! My own Bane fic. The summary is crap and the chapter titles...well they're stupid. I'm just pulling those out of my ass. But I think I may have something here.**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own TDKR, or Bane, or Gotham. I only own Israel.**

**Enjoy!**

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**Thank You For Calling Old Navy in Gotham!**

Israel bent at the waist, supported herself on the left foot as her right raised above her head, bent awkwardly, and then snapped back down as she went rigid, her hair flying about her. She then dropped into a split as the music from the stereo thrummed around her. The beats were rigid and crisp, but the notes that floated over it slithered and wound like something lulling and seductive. She twisted on her bottom, pulled herself to standing, her stomach leading the way at her head was the last to leave the floor. All the while she watched herself in the wide mirror making sure each move was perfect. The song ended and she stood still, her legs poised apart as she bent backwards so that her right hand could touch the floor. The entire room clapped, and she was brought back to herself, standing and taking a small bow. Her teacher, Mr. Barnard, came forward from his spot against the wall, clapping the loudest.

"Wow," he breathed, smiled wide and hard enough to show all of his teeth. "Just wow. That was just beautiful, Izzy. Breath-taking!" He came to stand next to her, close to her, and put his arm around her shoulders to draw her closer to him. She resisted. She found him to be creepy, and she wasn't like the other girls in class who vied for his attention. She wanted to have as little to do with him as possible. Unfortunately, because of that, he wanted to have everything to do with her. She watched warily as five of her peers, Samantha, Allison, Ebony, Michelle, and Rachel, gave her death glares from their seat on the floor. They had disliked her ever since she'd joined the class and Mr. Bernard had started to show more attention than the rest. Of course, it wasn't something she'd asked for, and it seemed that no matter how hard she tried to dissuade him, the harder he tried. And once upon a time, when she'd cared about what the stupid gaggle of mean girls thought, she'd tried explaining that to them, and of course they didn't listen. And for a while she let it bother her, but then she remembered that she'd graduated from high school and that she was an adult, and that she didn't have to care about what anyone thought. Which was why she didn't care as they stared daggers into her face.

"Saving the best for last," Mr. Barnard commented. "Well that will be all for today class. I don't think I need to you tell you all that I am very proud of all of your presentations. Beginning Thursday we'll partner up and begin work on our presentation as a whole for the Addict and Addiction Charity Ball. So be sure to be here on time. You all are dismissed."

Everyone began to grab their things and scatter, and as Israel tried to make a break for her things and the door she froze as Mr. Barnard called her back. The same thing every damn time, she thought.

She placed her things by the door and took a few steps away from it and, once the room was devoid of everyone except for Barnard and Israel, he gave her the full weight of his eyes.

"You're just beautiful," he admired. "Poetry in motion." His eyes swept over her, filled with lust. But she didn't flinch or fidget. He'd been doing this to her for months now, and while he still made her uneasy, nauseous, she wasn't afraid of him. If he tried anything, she was sure she could take him, the pocket knife in her jeans pocket told her so.

She smiled. It didn't reach her eyes. "Thank you." Her voice was deep, throaty, a gift from genetics and her mother. She hated it because it drew men to her. They thought she sounded like sex, and with her wide green and yellow specked eyes, fleckled oval face, and curly, frizzy mane of black hair, she supposed she looked like it as well. Thanks, genetics… "Mr. Barnard, as much as I love our talks, I have to get to work." It wasn't a lie.

He chuckled. "Always such a busy body. I suppose that's why you don't have time for me to take you out to dinner? You know, thanks to you and your fantastic little body, we've raised more money this year than ever before. The public loves to watch you dance."

"And I'm glad to be of help. But…I have to go to work." She backed away to her bags. Even she wasn't stupid enough to turn her back on him. "I'll see you Thursday."

"Probably before then," he commented. "Hey, you don't need a ride do you? My Mercedes is just outside and I'm about to lock up anyways."

She had her backpack on her shoulder by then and had slipped her Converse onto her feet. "I prefer walking. See you Thursday." She didn't wait around for more conversation. She left, taking a deep needed breathe when she finally reached the outdoors. The air had a slight chill to it. Winter was well on its way. Great…just what I need…

The shopping mall was good 4 blocks from the dance studio, but Israel never minded the walk. It gave her time to think, time to be alone which she always valued because she wasn't necessarily fond of people. By the time she walked inside the mall she was a whole hour and a half early for work. She traveled the crowded hallways, grimacing at the anyone who gave her any strange looks. She stared at the illuminated letters that hung over the archway. They read OLD NAVY. She hated her job, but inside she went and she didn't bother to speak to anyone until she hit the break room where her manager, Paul, was putting up a colorful bulletin board.

"Hey, you're here!" He called back over his shoulder. "Wanna give me a hand with this?"

She couldn't help but smile. He was the only manager she had that she actually liked. He was also the only one who knew about her situation. Besides that, he was nice to look at. He was tall, maybe around 5'9" or 5'10", and while most men wouldn't consider that tall, she was 5'4". Anyone was tall to her. He was a lithe man with clean cut brown hair and sparkling blue eyes and a very infectious smile, one that he flashed back to her as she just stood looking at him.

"Well?" He asked.

She held up her back and shook it a little. "I need to…use the bathroom. I just came from dance so I kind of smell…" She was blushing and she hated it.

"Well your towel is in the bathroom, so hurry up so you can help. I'm supposed to have this thing up before the next shift starts."

"Thanks, Paul."

He winked at her and she disappeared into the bathroom. There were 7 stalls and 5 sinks and a large mirror stretching across the wall. Paul had been nice enough to leave a large brown, fluffy towel sitting on the counter alongside a large plastic bowl, and a rubber doorstop, which she fitted under the door. She ran the hot water in the first sink, waiting for it to heat up as she began to undress. She folded her clothes neatly atop the counter and pulled a bottle of shampoo and condition from her backpack. She tested the water and sat the bowl under the faucet while she turned on the cold water. Soon she had a bowl of warm water which she promptly poured over her head. She glanced down, making sure that it went down the drain in the middle of the tiled floor before filling the bowl up again and dousing herself. Once she was sufficiently wet, she lathered shampoo in her hair and soaped a bit up in her hands and ran them over herself. She made sure she was thoroughly clean before she rinsed herself and began to load conditioner into her hair. She piled the wet, white tinted mess atop her head and let it sit, and while she did, she scrutinized herself in the mirror.

She wasn't tall by any means. In fact she looked a lot shorter and smaller than she actually way. She wasn't the skinniest woman in Gotham, but she wasn't fat. She had curves, hips and thighs and a handful of a chest that men desired. And she supposed, she thought as she turned to the side, she didn't have the worst ass in the world either. A dancer's body, she decided, was what she had. And thanks to her mother and her father, genetics had gifted her with striking looks. Her hair was a constant mane of rich black curls and frizzed around her head and hung down low on her back, and it framed her face perfectly, making her milk chocolate skin, freckles, and exotic eyes stand out even more. She had to admit, that even she found herself interesting to look at. Ya know…in that weird, alien type, beauty way. Generally, she was unmarked. She had a scar from where her lip has been pierced, and another where her septum had been pierced, but that was inside her nose and no one even knew it was there. There were also dog paw prints tattooed symmetrically just above the area where her legs met her hips, but that was it. She ran her hands down her stomach and over the tattoos, biting her lip with a frown. She missed her old friend.

A knock at the door jolted her from her thoughts and for a moment she panicked, almost ran to hide herself in the nearest stall. Luckily, it was only Paul. "You've got 30 minutes. Better rap it up!" He called cheerfully.

She pulled the bowl from under the faucet and, with one hand, poured it over her head while her other combed out the conditioner. She did it twice more before she convinced herself that all traces of the slick soap were gone. From there she bent at the waist and wrung out her hair, twisting and pulling at it until she had it in a wet updo. She frowned, because when she took it down later it was going to be beyond fluffy. She toweled herself off, applying lotion, deodorant, and body spray, and then pulled on a pair of skinny blue jeans, a white flannel v-neck with long sleeves, and a black, peacock printed scarf. She did her makeup, giving herself a red matte lip and black, kohl cat eyes, a small touch of blush a top her foundation and called herself done. She bagged her things, setting them outside while she went to grab the mop to get up most of the water on the bathroom floor. Once done, she donned socks and boots, stuffed her bag into her locker, grabbed her nametag and went out to meet Paul.

He was cashiering at the front and she was happy to wait for him in the men's section, helping out customers until he came over to brief her on how the store was doing. He got halfway through before he stopped and just looked at her. It made her fidget a little.

"What?" She finally asked.

"You look good today," he commented.

She looked down at herself. "Well…"

"Very well put together." He stopped and stared again.

"Paul…what?!"

He chuckled. "Nothing. Hey, do me a favor and keep an eye out today. We've had a lot of shoplifting over the past few days so if you see anyone…or you suspect anyone, just let me know over the walkie."

Work went by quickly and before she knew it, Old Navy was closed and she, Paul, and five others were going through the closing routine. After all the clothes were folded, hung, and put in their rightful places, all seven of them found themselves in the back waiting to clock out. Gianna, Vickie, and Adam were the first to clock out and immediately left the backroom to go wait at the front door. Susie clocked out next and all but ran to the bathroom, and then next was Tiffany, and finally Israel and Paul. Paul, the gentleman that he was, let her clock out first and smirked as he noticed that she waiting around for him. They walked leisurely with one another up to the front and Paul checked everyone out and closed and locked the store behind himself. Outside the mall everyone dispersed to their cars, and as Israel began to walk away Paul called her back.

"Where are you sleeping tonight?" He asked. "Cause if you don't have a place I would be more than happy to post you up at my apartment."

Israel smiled, but she eyed the ring on his left hand. "And I'm sure your wife would just love that."

"Fiance. Not wife. Not yet anyways. And I'm sure she'd be fine with it if I explained your situation."

Israel smiled. "I've got someone where to rest my pretty little head. Don't you worry."

"But I do worry…" His voice was small as he mumbled. "I'm just saying I would feel better knowing you had somewhere safe to go to every night."

She laughed then, a loud guffaw that erupted from her chest. "Paul, we live in Gotham. There's not a safe place in this city." She began to walk away backwards. "I'll be fine. You better get home. Don't want your wife to worry. I've got to get to bed. I've got an early day tomorrow." She waved at him and walked away, noting that his eyes followed her.

The nights were getting colder, and Israel was thankful for her hoodie and scarf. She walked quietly, sticking to the roads that she knew were lit, because the lights at least provided a small bit of protection. The noise behind her made her stop, look around. She didn't see anyone, but she felt as if she were being watched, followed. She began walking again, and when she heard someone fall into step behind her, she relaxed her pace, tried to calm her racing heart as her free hand idly went to her pocket. Her knife was still there. Someone whistled, a loud piercing sound that cut through the air and sent a chill down her spine. She didn't stop walking, fought the urge to run. If she ran, they would give chase and the chase was what excited men the most. She was forced to stop, however, when a looming shadowed figured came from an alley and into her path. He was dirty, probably homeless like she was, with a skull cap on his head and a worn jacket over his torso.

"Well lookie what we got here." His voice was low, scratchy. "A little kitty cat's wondered into my home."

She stared at him, sized him up. He was bigger than her, everyone was bigger than her, but that just meant that she was quicker…and the would fall harder.

"Here kitty, kitty, kitty," he purred. "Come 'ere and let me pet you." He came towards her and she stepped back, bumped into some hard and living behind her. Strong arms came out to wind themselves tightly around her, binding her arms to her sides. Panic set in, and she struggled. Both men laughed.

"Hey now, calm down. We're not gonna hurt ya…too badly." The other man, the one holding her whispered in her ear. "Just play nice and we'll make it good for you."

She hefted herself up, brought her heel down hard against his shin and the sickening crack that sounded after, along with his howl of pain made her smirk. He released her and reflexively reached down to cradle the pain. Once free, she tried to dart past the other man and had almost made it when his arm reached out, snagged her, threw her into the darkness of the alley. She knew she was in trouble. It was too dark. A passing car wouldn't see her if she really needed help. She had hit the brick wall hard enough to damage her right arm and elbow, which was bad luck on her part as she was right handed. But she pushed through the pain, flexed her arm repeatedly as she reached into her pocket and pulled out her pocket knife. It was a big once it was unfolded, a hunter's knife that she'd swiped from a convenience store some years ago. But it was still sharp. She kept it that way on purpose. The two men, one limping, started towards her, menacing as the light made them look like demonic shadows come to drag her to Hell. She held the knife lightly, but firmly in her hand, taking a wide stance as she prepared herself for whatever was the come. Inside she told herself she wouldn't let them rape her. She would kill herself before she let that happen again.

The man that she'd hurt snarled, spit on the ground. "Oh you're gonna pay for that, kitty. We was tryin' to be nice to you, but now you're gonna pay."

Her breathing was coming in pants and her hands began to shake. Just fight, she told herself. No matter what happened she had to fight. If she could just get past them she was sure she could outrun them. She was a fast one, after all. The injured man lunged at her and with nowhere else to go, she let him wrap his grimy hands around her throat, pull her in close, because she needed to be close. She stuck her hand out, digging the knife deep in his side and he let her go, hissed and pulled back, but he took the knife along with him. She went to retrieve it as he fell to the ground, but her movements were sloppy, and the other man grabbed her shoved her against the wall and pinned her there. His mouth pulled back in a vicious grin that bared discolored teeth and horrible breath. She went to struggle, to do something that would throw him off her but he pulled her forward, slammed her back so hard that when her head connected with brick wall her mouth went slack and stars erupted behind her eyes.

"You stupid bitch!" The man hissed. His held her hands over her head and with the other he pawed at her breasts and over her stomach. "I'm gonna make you wish you were dead."

She blow to her head had made her sick, almost numb, but she could deftly feel his hand running over her, pinching and and scratching at her. His annoyance ran high and he tore at her jacket, ripped her shirt so he could get his hands on her soft flesh. She moaned, dry heaved, tried to stuggled and he slapped her, open palmed in the face. And then the worst of it came. His hand went lower, and lower still until he was cupping her over her jeans.

"No," she moaned out. "No! Get off of me!" Her last resort was screaming, and she felt so weak because of it. She told herself mentally that this was indeed her own fault. She should have been able to take both these men down. "Get the FUCK off me!" She watched as he cocked his hand back, curled it into a fist and braced herself for the blow to come. She squeezed her eyes closed, waited, but it never came. Instead he released her.

"GETOFFME!" The man yelled as he was lifted by the back of his neck. He continued to fight until he came face to face with the most menacing thing he'd ever seen. If the eyes weren't enough to scare him, then the mask did the rest of the job.

"And what is this?" The voice that sounded was deep, accented, but mechanically filtered.

Israel's eyes went wide as she watched the hulking figure lift her assailant. He was a beast of a man, standing nearly seven feet tall, with more than enough muscles to spare, but there was something, she noted, that was wrong with his face. She pressed herself further back, tried to make herself as small as possible. She knew for sure that this was the night she was going to die.

"Is this how the men of Gotham City spend leisurely spend their nights?" He wound his free hand around the smaller man's throat, squeezed until his eyes bugged and he wheezed, struggled for a breath. "It did not seem as if this girl enjoyed your…advances. But perhaps I am wrong." A sound punch landed in the smaller man's abdomen and he was dropped to the ground to cough and immediately clutch his aching stomach.

"S-she was asking for it, man!" He pointed an accusing finger at Israel who, even though she was still bleeding from her head and finding it hard to keep conscious, cut her eyes at him and hissed. She was about to say something, anything to defend herself, but her would-be savior spoke before she could get a sound out. He went to her, watched as she pressed herself tightly against the wall. He held his hand out. "Come here."

She had a momentary internal struggle. She didn't want to move, to didn't want to be involved in the situation anymore than she was, but the larger man's eyes held a disciplined stare that irked her. He wouldn't let her get out of this, and he wouldn't let her stay where she was. She eased up the wall, fought against the dizziness and the bile that rose in her throat begging for her to vomit. She went to take a step forward, almost made it stand next to him, but then the Earth spun and she began to fall. She was fully expecting to scrape up her knees, but she never touched the ground. Instead, she felt a strong and firm hand catch her around the middle, and because of her torn shirt, the hand was warm against her uncovered stomach.

He had watched her carefully, even noted when she contemplated staying on the ground. But then she stood, and it sickened to him to see just how weak she really was. She shook as she walked, and he watched as she bit her lip and swallowed hard, turning ashen. But her falling forward was the last straw, and he reached out to steady her, his hand stinging as it made contact with her skin. She was so warm, so smooth, and an old feeling rushed through him, made him frown. He righted her pushed her forward toward the man on his knees.

"I think it only acceptable," he started, "that the victim decide your fate."

The man stared up at her, his eyes angry and judgemental. "But she was asking for it! You didn't see the way she was walking, the way she swished her pretty little ass! She wanted it! I'm tellin' you she wanted it."

She was light headed, nauseous, but his words had adrenaline pumping through her veins in an instant. She was angry that she shook, and before she could catch herself, she lifted her leg, kicked the man hard in his chest and when he fell to his back she stood over him, grunting harshly as the heel of her foot repeatedly connected with his stomach, his ribs, his face, and eventually his groin. Panting and out of breath she marched over to the man she had stabbed. He had remained quiet through the entire ordeal, lying on his side, cradling the knife that was still stuck into his side as he'd been too much of a coward to remove it. When she came to him, he looked up in fear, shook his head repeatedly as she reached for her knife, forcefully dug it out of him. His pitiful moan made her sneer. She marched back over to the man she'd abused, forced him onto to his back and squatted over him, shook him a little to get him to open his one good eye. When he did, she waved the knife back and forth before his face and clutched him tighter as he recoiled.

"I asked for it?" She asked lowly. She pressed the blade against his lips and then trailed it down over his cheek and neck. "I should kill you. I should take this knife and gut you like the fucking animal you are. I should cut your dick off and shove it down your throat." Her vision began to swim before her. She let him go, listened to his head drop back against the pavement with a soft thud. "But then I'd be just like you." She turned away from him then, tried to walk away, but she was nauseous and trembling. The adrenaline was leaving her. Her vision dotted, bile scorched a hot path up her throat, begging for release. Her legs gave out, she went down, and then she went out.

He stared at her for a while, all former feelings of disgust aside. She was indeed an interesting thing. "Bane," his second in command, Barsad called.

"Dispose of these…rapists," he voice rumbled. As if on command both men made pitiful noises in the night as Bane's men rose over them, aimed at them, and as the gunshots rang out, the night grew quiet, satisfied. Bane went to were the girl had crumpled herself on the ground, pulled her from her side onto her back. She was roughed up quite a bit. A bruise had formed of her left cheek, a cut above her right eyebrow. There were bruises around her wrists as well, and where her shirt had been ripped open he could see cuts, scratches, scrapes. He should have left her there, but there was something about her that drew him in. He lifted her; she weighed next to nothing. He started back to the uncovered manhole, cradling her against his chest, noting how, as the wind blew through the night, she turned herself more towards him and his warmth.

Barsad watched as his commander descended with the girl, found himself staring after them when they'd disappeared from sight. He grabbed the bag the girl had carried with her and followed down, a small smirk across his lips. Bane was nothing if not an enigma.


	2. A Night at the Newman's

**Hey there, me again! So, I have to give a thousand and one huge thank you's to every single one of you who favorited, followed, and commented on my fic. I can't even begin to explain how that makes my heart feel. And so on behalf of you guys, cause I wasn't gonna do this yet, here is chapter 2.**

**DISCLAIMER: I, unfortunately do not own TDKR, Bane, Gotham, or even the sex-god that is Tom Hardy. I do, however, own all rights and capabilities that make up the fantastic Israel Smith. **

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**A Night At the Newman's**

For the first time in a long time, Israel had nightmares of him, of the man who stole her childhood, her innocence. And the dream was always the same. She was always under him, her small hands pushing against his chest as she cried. But he never moved because was living stone. His breath was putrid, a hot constant steam of alcohol and something sickeningly sweet as he uttered, "Come on and be a good girl. You're always such a good girl for me." And then his hands, clammy and hot and shaking, would undress her, and she closed her eyes to the look on his face and the way his greedy, glassy orbs devoured her body. He moved to touch between her legs and she tried to seal her thighs. "Please, no! Daddy, no!" She tried to reason to him, her own tears blinding her, but his hand was over mouth. He pried her legs opened, moved between him, took her, tore her open for his own sick pleasure. From behind his mouth she cried, screamed, "No! No, no, no!"

Israel jerked, convulsed awake, and in the aftermath of her nightmare she clawed herself from the beneath the covers, kicking them away as she fell from the bed and moved along the floor until her back came against the wall. She panted, her body covered in a clammy, cold sweat that had the hairs on her arms raised and the hair in her head damp. Her eyes darted around the room. It was dark, and damp, and she was sure that this was a place she had never been to.

Bane had been out of the room most of the time his guest had been asleep, and when she had stirred and started to scream, he had only stopped in to check on her. He didn't wake her, he only sat in the nearby chair and watched as she tossed and turned, pushed the covers off of her only to pull them back for safety. He listened to her talk, begging for her imaginary captor to stop, to not touch her _there_. This quirked his eyebrow, and when her cries grew higher, when her pleading became overbearing to him, he rose to wake her but she awoke herself. He sat back down, watched with inquisitive eyes as she convulsed and shook, scrambled from the bed and didn't flinch when she fell from the cot with a sound thud and a scratch and backed herself into the wall. Even in the dark he could see how impossibly wide her eyes were, how they darted from place to place as she mapped out her surroundings. He didn't stand, only leaned forward in his seat, rested his elbows on his knees while he clasped his hands together. "You are safe, child."

His voice was like distant thunder and Israel pressed herself back. She could just make out his silhouette. She waited a beat, wanting to see if he would advance on her, but he stayed still, and she could feel his eyes on her. She found her voice. "Where am I?" It came out louder and stronger than she thought it would, for she felt so small, so weak. "What is this place?"

She was stronger than he had first thought, and Bane moved, stood to his full height and turned on the florescent light above. It was the only light in the room and it illuminated the small space in a sickly pale green light that caused the minerals in the stones around them to slightly shimmer and shine. Her eyes widened, and she realized that her nightmare, the one from the alley, that it had been real. She took him in. Tall, every ounce of him pulled taunt with muscle, and his presence exuded, demanded attention and power…and grace. But now, in the light, she could fully see his face and the mask that covered it; dark and metal and hard rubber. The tubes that covered the mouth piece resembled something animalistic, some kind of hideous, gaping maw, and faintly she noted that the nose she heard, the soft rasp of mechanical breathing, was coming from him. He was covered in some kind of vest that left his arms bare and there was something around his waist, a brace of some sort. His pants were green, his boots large and thickly soled. She noted all of this before she made his way back to his face, flinched at the intense stare he was giving her.

"You are in the underbelly of Gotham." His voice came filtered through the mask. All the while she had stared at him, he had been busy assessing her. She was a small thing, and he had known that when he'd brought her down to his room, but looking at her then, the way she cowered against the wall… She had somehow made herself look impossibly smaller. Altogether, she was quite a creature to behold. Now that he could see her in the light, he admitted that she was nothing if not an exotic beauty. Her skin, though blemished with scratches and cuts and bruises, still looked like milk chocolate cream stretched over the human form. But it was the hair and the eyes that he could not tear his eyes from. Together, they were striking features. Her long mane of rich black curls made her chartreuse eyes, specked with yellow, stand out even more.

For a moment they stared at each other and then finally Israel asked, "Are you going to hurt me?"

The question took him aback, not because of the words themselves, but because of the way she had asked, as though she would prepare herself for his onslaught. It made the corners of his lips twitch. OH, but she was interesting…

"No." His answer was plain, firm. "I have no interesting in hurting you."

She moved up the wall, planting her feet firmly beneath herself. She wanted to get out of there. "Am…am I your captive, then?"

His mouth twitched again. "Are you, indeed…" He could see that she didn't like his answer.

"If you're worried about me telling someone…or going to the police…it's not something to concern yourself with. They wouldn't believe me anyways…" She trailed off.

"And you expect me to take you at your word?"

Israel didn't like the way his voice had dropped. "I think lying to you would be a mistake so, yeah, take me at my word." She licked her lips nervously, and she didn't miss the way his eyes dropped to them, lingered on them.

He actually did chuckle then. "Interesting." He moved toward her then, and she panicked. Her eyes looked for an escape, but the door was too far away, and there was blood running down her thigh and leg. He would catch her before she would make it out, so instead she stood there, eyes wide, watching as he towered over her. "But know this," he leaned in close, "I know this city well, and if you do not hold true to your word, this is nowhere you can hide where me and my men cannot find you."

She was shaking, but she couldn't make her eyes tear away from his. She nodded, "Yeah…yeah I understand."

He lingered before her a moment, fought the tingling in his hand that made him want to reach forward and touch her face. Her lips, he told himself, were too full, too distracting. "You will shower, and then I will tend to your wounds. And then you will leave." He reached beneath the bed to retrieve her bag and tossed it at her. She didn't bother to try and catch it, and that made him smile as it was further evidence that she was not the stupid little girl he'd thought her to be. She didn't dare take her eyes off of him.

"So, where is your shower?" She asked. She followed his line of vision to the corner of the room where a circular shower head dangled from the ceiling and a pipe with a knob at either end protruded from the wall. "Of course there's no shower curtain… Can I ask you to leave while I do this?"

His eyes wandered over her again, from the crown of her head to her dirty bare feet, but he didn't say a thing, he simply walked through the opening in the wall. Israel stared after him for a moment, silently wishing that there was a door to shut or a shower curtain to hide behind, but wishing wouldn't make one appear. So instead she turned her back to the entrance and began to slowly shed her clothes. Though her captor had been generous enough to remove her boots, he'd left the remainder of her clothing on her person. Her shirt was in tatters and was barely hanging onto her torso. She removed it easily, wincing at the pain that shot through her. Her bra went next, and she removed her pants and panties at the same time. She was covered in dirt and grime, and blood, and she had so many wounds…wounds she did not remember getting.

She removed her soaps from her bag and then began to tamper with the archaic shower. The knobs that protruded from the pipe were labeled clearly as hot and cold as one was red and the other blue. She turned them both at the same time, listening as the walls around her seemed to moan and groan until cold water was finally produced from the shower head. She winced, shivered, but didn't move away. She patiently waited for the water to heat up and then adjusted the knobs accordingly until scalding hot water rained down on her and steamed up the entire room. She relaxed underneath the water, and didn't mind that her scraps and cuts stung and sang underneath the heat. It had been so long since she'd had a real shower and she didn't want to ruin this one. She lathered herself up, scrubbed herself down, and even took care to condition her hair. Once rinsed, she turned the water off, watching as the last of the dirt and the grime washed down the drain. She didn't see a towel, but she had a small, dry washcloth in her bag and she used that to dry as much of herself as she could. She bent at the waist to pull her hair up into a messy updo and moved all stray hairs from her face with a worn headband. She had just managed to fit herself into her bra and panties when she heard his heavy footsteps echo around her. She had enough time to get a plain white t-shirt over her head before he stepped into the room.

They looked at each other as he came in, a small metal box in his hands. "I see that you have finished." He sat in the chair and beckoned her to come over.

She didn't want to. They were both aware of that. But she went anyways, stood before him and waited. She was small compared to him, even while he was sitting her head only came a few inches above his. And she contributed that to the fact that it was a low seating chair

Bane didn't look at her, and instead began to pull astringent and bandages and cotton balls from his box. He would do this quick so that she could be on her way. It was bad enough that the smell of her soap, eucalyptus, was filling his room, buzzing around his head, no doubt imprinted on his sheets. He glanced at his bed warily. "You will need to remove your shirt," he instructed. When she didn't move he looked up at her.

"I can do this on my own," she insisted. "I'm not crippled or anything." His hard stare made her throat constrict. She didn't want to take off her shirt in front of him. His gaze…it penetrated her, hurt her.

"You can remove your shirt of your own free will…or I will remove it for you." His tone was low, dangerous, and she found her hands moving to the hem of her shirt, lifting it overhead. She couldn't bring herself to look at him, but she could feel his eyes wandering over her. "Overall," he started, "your injuries are not bad." He drenched a cotton ball in alcohol and began to smear it over the cut on her stomach.

She hissed, but didn't move away. Instead, she watched his steady hands. He had done this before. "It's not deep," she uttered.

Bane made a noise in his throat and then tugged at the waistband of her panties. "Lower these."

Her eyes widened, and she went to move back only to bump into the bed. "No," she rasped out.

His eyes hardened, a dark grey storm, the fury of which all turned on her. "Girl," he warned.

But she shook her head. "It's just a scrape. It'll be fine, I don't need to take my underwear off for you to clean it."

His fingers flexed. Did she think his intent was to rape her? Her eyes were frightened, but hard and set, and it made him want to reach forward and rip the flimsy material from her body. But he didn't. Instead he carefully reached forward, pulled her to him by the elastic of her panties and before she could struggle, he slipped them lower on her hip to clean the scrape. He faltered only a moment when he noted her tattoo: a dog's paw print. Despite himself, he leaned forward, cleaned the wound, but his eyes didn't leave the tattoo. He traced over it, let his gaze drink in every line, and the shading. It looked more like the bottom of a dog's paw than an actual paw print. The urge to touch it struck him, and he tore his eyes away, paid more attention to the scrape he was cleaning, but the tattoo wavered in his peripheral, taunting him.

When he was sure it was clean he pulled a bandage, covered the scrape, and slid her underwear back into place. Neither of them missed the tremor that rocked through Israel as Bane's fingers glided across her skin. He frowned beneath his mask. She was just as soft, if not softer, than he had expected. In silence, he tended to the rest of her injuries, and when he was done he left to put his metal box away. When he returned she had dressed herself in black knit harem pants that were tucked into her boots, and her white t shirt. She was putting the rest of her things into her bag as he came in. Her eyes shot up.

"Am I still free to go?" She asked.

"You are." His words were weighted, a reminder of their deal. "Barsad will show you the way out."

The lithe man from the alley appeared in the doorway and Israel didn't bother to linger. She gave Bane a soft thank you and then followed the smaller man out. She kept her head down as they wound through the tunnels. She didn't want any memory of this place and thought it better if she looked at her feet instead of looking around. Barsad stopped at a latter beneath an open man hole.

"Up you go," he smiled. She didn't smile back, but up she climbed, watching as the light of day grew nearer, and the darkness and nightmare from below fell away.

The first place she went to was Old Navy. Paul spotted her the minute she walked inside and he immediately gripped her arm in a gentle embrace and led her to the office. He shut the door after them and his had went her face, turning it towards the light to better see the bruise that marred her left cheek. "You were supposed to open this morning. What the hell happened, Izzy?"

She gently pushed his hand away. "Gotham City happened, like it always does." The worry he felt was plain on his face. "I'm fine, Paul. I am. You don't have to worry."

"The hell I don't!" He let out. "You…I can't let you sleep on the streets anymore. If you won't come stay with me, at least for a few days, then you at least need to go to a shelter or something. I'm begging you-"

"I've gone to shelters before. You don't know what it's like for women in those places. They don't get any kind of respect. The men there gang up on them…use them…beat them. I'm better off on my own."

Paul was steadily shaking his head. He'd never actually been to any of the homeless shelters in Gotham, but if what she was saying was true, then she was indeed better off on her own. But this couldn't continue. This wasn't the first time he'd seen her with a few bruises and cuts, and if he wasn't careful it wouldn't be the last. He contemplated the idea of letting her sleep in the store for a few weeks, but until he could find another arrangement for her, and just as he was about to bring it up, Camilla, the supervisor beneath him, barged into the office in a panic.

"You've got to see this!" Her voice came out shaky, breathy. "This shit is crazy!" She turned on the television, turned it to the news, and all three of them grew silent as they watched the events unfold.

Israel recognized him immediately. After all, he stood out like a sore thumb. He was there, in the middle of Gotham, at the stock exchange, and he didn't look happy. There were men with him, a dozen of them, and then the camera cut to the news reporter, a very pretty woman with brown hair and wide eyes, even though she was babbling on about what was happening, it was clear that she was terrified. He was holding the building hostage, and he had gotten into the computers, was doing something. The police had the place surrounded, their guns aimed, and Israel had sunken into the nearest chair as she watched the doors open and the hostages began to move out slowly, gathered together tightly. She knew was about to happen, she didn't know if the police knew, but she knew. Now that she had met him, she didn't exactly see him as the type to be foolish enough to get caught, and when an engine sounded and the hostages dispersed, she knew she was right. Motorcycles erupted from the building, carrying men in suits tied to the fronts and the backs of some of the bikes. They made their escape quickly, and once they were out on the main road, she knew that catching them would be next to impossible. She was going to tell them to turn off the television. She didn't want to see anymore, but before she could open her mouth to say anything, Batman's image filled the screen. She was standing before she knew it, inching closer to the screen as the watched him ride his tumbler through the streets of Gotham. She frowned as the watched the scene play out, even noticed when her masked savior wasn't on camera anymore. By the time Batman had taken to the air in yet another weirdo contraption, she was shaking, trying desperately to pull herself together. This was too much. It was just too much, and it was too similar to how things had gone before the Bat had taken 8 year hiatus. She was visibly shaking her head. She couldn't do it again, wouldn't go through it again.

The room grew quiet as the television was switched off. "Camilla, from here on out the employees who wait for rides will wait inside, and the ones who walk home," Paul's eyes fell on Israel who was took stuck in her own head to realize he was looking at her. "We'll start footing the bill for cabs. Maybe we can start taking up donations at the registers."

Camilla nodded absently. "I've got to call Larry…to make sure he's on time tonight…"

Paul nodded. His eyes hadn't left Israel. "Do that. And could you please print up what I just said and post it in the break room? And make sure that everyone here today comes to see me before they clock out. Thank you."

Camilla left the room and Paul shut the door behind her. "Izzy…" He called her name softly.

"I've got to get out of Gotham," she commented softly. "I can't…I can't go through this again." She couldn't make herself face him because she knew the moment she did, she'd start to cry.

Paul understood, but he said, "It won't be like last time. These guys, they're entirely different people." He was behind her then, made her face him and the moment she did, tears stared to scald trails down her cheeks.

"Oh Paul…you don't know."

"Israel, he's not the Joker."

She flinched as his name. "They're both crazy." The images of that night burned behind her eyes. "You didn't see him, you don't know."

Paul hunched, looked her in the eyes. "What? What don't I know? Didn't see who?"

The words thickened in her throat and she bit her lip. "I can't tell you."

"Tell me what? What is going on?" He was so worried and upset that he wanted to shake her. The Joker was in Arkham so she couldn't have seen him. He was locked away so tightly that it was literally impossible. And the light bulb clicked on over his head. "That…that masked man?! Him! You…you saw him?!"

Israel couldn't get enough air into her lungs. "Paul…Paul you can't say anything. Anything to anyone, do you hear me?"

He had released her, was raking his hands angrily through his hair as he paced around the room. "Did he do that to you?" He pointed at her face.

"No." She zipped her lips suddenly. She couldn't say anymore. She didn't know where or who this masked man's men were, or what he could see or hear, but she'd said enough. "Paul, you can't tell anyone."

"Go to the police." He said suddenly.

"What, no!"

"Israel, you go to the police. Talk with Commissioner Gordon. After today he'll listen, he'll hear what you have to say."

She was shaking her head then, horror filling her eyes as the sewers and his overbearing eyes and face filled her head. "I can't. I can't, Paul! And you can't either!" She stopped him from pacing, made him look at her. "He…he isn't like…the Joker." She swallowed hard, hating the bitter taste in her mouth. "He, he would at least toy with you, maybe give you a chance to escape. But this guy, Paul, he's…direct. I don't think he'll wait around, and I don't think he'd send someone to do his dirty work for him. If I go to the police, it's over. He'll come for me, and for you before the we'll see the sun rise. Do you hear me?" She knew that was she was saying was the truth. It had been in his eyes, it had all been in his eyes. "Just, please, don't say anything."

Paul was absently nodding. "Fine. I won't, but you're staying with me tonight."

"Paul-"

"No. I'm not taking no for an answer. You're staying with me and that's final. Understand?" His gaze was hard, and she could only nod.

After work, after they waited around for cabs and cars, Israel joined Paul in his car and they drove in silence until they reached his apartment. She'd never been to his place, had never even been to that part of Gotham, the luxurious part. She stayed on her part of town…in the Narrows. She started up at his luxury townhome and internally she winced. This place was too nice, much too nice for to step foot in. She was about to tell Paul that it was alright, that she would just make do somewhere, but he was already out of the car and opening her door.

"Come on. I'm sure Kristen already has dinner on the table." He smiled.

"Did you even tell her I was coming?" She mumbled.

He pushed her ahead of him. "Of course I did. She's excited to meet you." Paul produced a key and let them both inside. She immediately felt sick. The floors were tan colored hardwood and the entryway was all white walls with black accessories. Israel felt like she'd just stepped into a contemporary version of a Martha Stewart catalogue. She wanted to bolt, to get the fuck out of there, but she didn't. She simply followed Paul into the kitchen where a very thin, modelesque blond was standing over a cutting board chopping up lettuce. She looked up and smiled as they came in.

Blue eyes and bright teeth, Israel thought. Fucking Barbie…

Paul went to kiss her on the cheek and wrap his arm around her waist.

Barbie and Ken, Israel amended.

"Izzy, this is my fiancé, Kristen. Kristen, Izzy."

Israel forced a smile. "Nice to meet you."

Kristen smiled even wider. "So this is the famous Izzy. I beginning to think we'd never meet." She rounded the island in her 5 inch platform heels and right before she went in for a hug, Israel caught the unfriendly gleam in her eye. "Paul talks about you all the time."

"I think he talks about you more," she countered.

Kristen pulled away and, since she was sure Paul couldn't see, frowned in Israel's face, a very clear warning. "No, no I'm sure he hasn't." And then her face changed again, happy and light. "Come have a seat. I made steak and potatoes and asparagus for dinner." She went back to fixing the salad, gave Paul a light peck on her way, and Israel was left standing there feeling angry and out of sorts.

Paul ushered her into the dining room and made her take a seat. Before he left she caught him by the arm and made him lean down. "I want to leave." Her voice was tight, low. She didn't want Kristen to hear. She'd spent more than her fair share of time around mean girls and around women who thought themselves higher that she was, and she had also spent of enough time making sure to remove herself from those situations. "She doesn't want me to be here, so I'm going to go." She went to stand but Paul stopped her.

"Don't worry, she loves you already. I can tell." He winked then. "Besides, there's enough of me to go around. Be right back, I'm gonna go change my shirt."

She watched him leave, closed her eyes for a moment in an effort to clear the tension from between her eyes. It was going to be a rough night. She could already tell. She was startled when Kristen was suddenly in the room and talking to her. "Rough day at work?" She asked, setting the large bowl of salad down on the table. "You look tired."

"You're awfully quiet in those heels," Israel commented.

Kristen shrugged. "I guess you could say I grew up in them. My mother, always the socialite, bought me my first pair when I was 7. What about you? Were you close with your mother?" There was a glint in her eye that made Israel uneasy.

"I'm not one for games, Kristen. If you don't want me here just say so. I'll be happy to leave."

Kristen wasn't surprised, and the smile on her face didn't fade. "Well aren't you mature. Okay, I don't want you here." She let the sentence linger in the air but as Israel made to get up, she stopped her. "But if you leave now it will upset Paul, and I like to keep him happy. Even if that means putting up with his…toys." She eyed the younger woman. "And I have to say, that out of all the toys I've allowed him to have, you are by far the most interesting. He tells me everything, you know. I know all about your past and your junkie of a mother…your abusive father…how your mother and sister died…how your grandparents wouldn't take you in because, well let's face it, you're mother was a loose woman. How were they even to know if you were really your father's daughter?"

Through the entirety of Kristen's speech, Israel had remained quiet, unwavering, even remained eye contact, but inside, she was a storm of fury and rage, and hurt. How dare Paul share any of her personal life with anyone?! She wasn't some charity case to be dissected and picked apart, and she had feelings, real feelings, just like they did. She stared at the woman before her; pretty blond hair, deep blue eyes accented with dainty eyeliner on her upper lid, but none on her lower. She was gorgeous, and Israel couldn't help but smirk, because she saw through the beauty to the ugliness that was underneath, and then her mouth began to move of its own volition.

"Man, he must really talk about me a lot for you to feel so threatened, huh?"

Kristen shut her mouth, stared in shock.

"Not what you were expecting? What? Did you just expect me to sit here and take your criticism? Did you expect me to cry?" She was shaking with rage now, but she did her best to remain seated, motionless. She thought to herself, that the entirety of the words she was about to speak would be all the more menacing if only her mouth moved, if only her eyes watched. "I bet you were expecting me to cry. I get that a lot. Genetics…it's gifted me with a very soft appearance. But do you really think that what you're saying is going to hurt me? I lived that shit. Lived it and survived it, and I've got the scars to prove it. I can show them to you if you like." Her grin was feral, animalistic. "Women like you…you make me feel better about myself. You're so caught up in your own world, in all of your material things, that you have no idea what life could be like for you. Do you know what men do to women like you on the street?" He was leaning forward now, pleased that Kristen's eyes were as wide as saucers, and that genuine fear was creeping into her face. "You couldn't even to begin to imagine the things they'd make you do…the things they'd put inside of you because it made them hard to see you in pain, to see you cry, and plead, an beg. So go ahead, lady, look down your nose at me, find comfort in yourself when your husband tells you my sad little story. But know that I'm stronger than you, in every way that I can be, because I'm more secure with myself and who I am. More secure than you'll ever be."

She looked up then, watched as Paul came back in the room, but Kristen couldn't remove her eyes from the younger woman. She was too stunned at what had just come from her mouth, stunned and aggravated. Paul went to her, kissed her on the head.

"So did you two bond?" He peered at Israel from where he had his chin planted on his fiance's head.

She smiled. "Your wife is funny." She looked at Kristen. "I thought I was going to cry from laughing so hard."

Paul laughed. "What? You were busting out the big jokes while I was upstairs?"

Kristen made a noise in her chest and forced a smile. "I'll…I'll go get the plates."

"Need some help?" Israel asked.

"No! Uh, no. No I've got it." She hurried to the kitchen, her heels clomping as she went.

"Wherever did you find her, Paul?"

He knew it was sarcasm. "Okay, okay, ease up, missy."

But she didn't. "And I'm guessing that this apartment is her doing too, huh? No, no wait, it's her parent's money that bought this place. Nice going, pal. Ya know, my mom always told me to marry rich…"

He was smiling, but now it was forced. "Okay kiddo, stop. What's gotten into you, huh?"

She just looked at him, memorized that perfectly handsome face that held lies and deceit and betrayal beneath it. "Nothing," she finally answered. "Nothing, I'm just tired."

All three of them got through dinner just fine, and when all the dishes were washed and put away, Israel had protested when Kristen suggested that she stay in the guest bedroom. "Really, I would feel better sleeping on the couch."

Kristen frowned. "It pulls apart too easily. And I know that both Paul and myself would feel much better if you were upstairs and sleeping on a bed for once." The comment earned her a scowl from Israel. But Paul backed his soon-to-be wife up and Israel soon found herself in a very nice room with a plush bed and her own bathroom. She said goodnight to them both, made sure to lock the bedroom door before she climbed into the shower and scalded herself. It was there that everything caught up with her. She voluntarily sank to the floor of the tub and hugged her knees to herself while she cried. The tears were soft at first, falling slowly from her eyes, but as her brain replayed the day's events, the words that had been spoken to her, her chest heaved and her shoulders shook, and she silently cried harder. Her past was hard, tough, and it was something she was constantly trying to shake, to escape from. But it always seemed that just when she had buried, had distanced herself from the pain of it, it would rear her ugly head one way or another. Kristen's words had cut deep, too deep, and though Israel was too proud to show herself as weak in front of a woman such as Paul's wife, that didn't mean that she hadn't felt every blow that Kristen had dealt. And then there was Paul. The man that she had been confiding in for the past year and half only turned out to be like the rest of Gotham, clean and unassuming on the outside, but dirty and hurtful at the core.

That night she went to sleep making two solid promises to herself. The first was that she would never again open up to anyone the way she had opened up to Paul. It was obvious that, if she were to survive this world, thrive in it, she would have to keep to herself. Experience had taught her that people only came into her life with the intent of hurting her, wearing her down until she was nothing, using her own weakness and throwing them back in her face. She gripped the plushy pillow and closed her eyes telling herself that never again would she let that happen. The second promise she made to herself? Easy. Get the fuck out of Gotham. And she would start on that promise as soon as her eyes opened the following day.

Israel had a nasty habit of rising before the sun did. She opened her eyes, watched as the darkness in the room gave way to a pale blue light. She rose onto her elbow, looking around to gather herself. Right, she had spent the night at Paul's. Her mouth contorted into a grimace.

She'd slept on the floor. The bed had proved to be too soft, to…nice for her to sleep on. But she had taken the covers and pillows with her and had ended up making a very nice pallet by the largest window. It had been the most comfortable, most peaceful she had slept in a while considering that she'd only managed to sleep for maybe 5 to 6 hours. She pulled her cell phone from her pocket. It was on and she couldn't dial out. She mainly used it as an mp3 player and her alarm clock. The time read 5:04am. She needed to get moving. She had a plan and she was going to stick to it. She made the bed, showered, and clad only in her underwear, she silently carried herself and her things downstairs. The kitchen was empty, and she delighted herself in making a cup of black tea, Earl Grey, with lemon and honey, just the way she liked it, and then wandered into the laundry room. She dumped her clothes into the washer, piled in some detergent and started it up. She figured washing her clothes wasn't that big a deal since Kristen had insulted her the way that she did. Besides, they had new, state of the art appliances. Her clothes would be done in under an hour, and then she could leave, be out of their way. She was coming from the laundry when she stopped in her tracks. Paul stood in the doorway in a hoodie and sweats. She wanted to bring her hands up to cover herself but she was too stunned, and a little frightened, to make her limbs work. Paul's eyes went over her quickly, a flicker of lust in them before he discarded his hoodie and held it out to her, turning his head in the process.

"Sorry," he murmured. "I didn't think anyone was up yet."

She took the jacket and put it on, zipped it up tight and was thankful that it came down to mid-thigh. "Yeah, me either. I'm kind of an early bird."

He nodded absently and moved awkwardly into the kitchen. "Want some coffee? I normally have a cup before I go running."

She lifted the mug of tea that she'd made, immediately feeling awkward about not asking if she could even have it. "I hope you don't mind…"

"Not at all. Help yourself. I'm sure there's plenty to eat in here." Paul busied himself with the coffee, but every now and then he'd glance at her, linger on her exposed legs. "I feel like last night didn't go as well as it should have."

Remember your promise, she chided herself. "It was fine," she said happily. "Kristen's great. You're lucky to have her."

He laughed. "She's a bitch and we both know it."

Israel's lips quirked unhappily, but she didn't say anything. She stuck her face into her mug and took a sip.

Paul pushed a little harder. "She's nothing like you."

"No, she's better than me."

He looked confused. "If you're saying that because of her money-"

"Paul…what are you doing?"

He raked his fingers through his hair. "I'm just saying that had I met you before I met her-"

"Then you would be a pedophile because I'm 21 and she's 24 and you're 26." The washer sounded. She set her mug down. "Don't do this. It's too early to do this." She recognized that look in his eye, that sick lust that he would tell himself was misunderstood longing. She knew how this worked, how men like him worked. She'd fallen prey to it more than once. He'd talk her up, make her feel special, but once he'd had her, really had her, the infatuation would disappear, he wouldn't want her anymore, and she'd be left feeling empty, useless…suicidal. Paul took a step towards her, and she took a step back. "No." She said firmly. "I won't do this with you." She went into the laundry room, closed the door behind her and as she went to retrieve her knife she noted that it wasn't there. It wasn't anywhere. It wasn't with her. She looked at the door, waited a beat. She didn't think Paul the type to be like the rest, but he wasn't exactly the man she'd thought him to be. She stared at the door handle, dared it to turned, to move, but it didn't. And then finally she heard the front door open, close. She peeked out. The kitchen was empty. She closed the door again, put her clothes in the dryer, and then sat in a corner, her eyes steadily on the door knob.

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**I'm becoming quite pleased with where Israel is going. Mind you, I didn't start this fic with any sort of set standard or any kind of direction. All I had was Bane, and Gotham, and Israel for a name. **

**I'm taking this time to tell you guys how this is gonna go down from here on out. I tried to think about it from a reader's standpoint, because let's just be honest, when we start to like a fic and it's not updated on a regular basis or just left hanging, well it drives you nuts. That's not me presuming that any of you will get addicted to this fic. I'd like to think I'm not that conceited. This is just me keeping communication open with you guys. For me, school starts back on October 1st and my new job starts on October 4th, and so I'm going to write, write, write all I can before then. But, once all that starts, I think I'm only capable of putting out a chapter a week...or every week and a 1/2. So I'm gonna do my best to do that because I think I'm more excited about this fic than anyone else. Yeesh, I'm writing a lot here. So yeah, there's that, and also if you want to follow me...or keep up with me, as a person, personally (lol) my contact and social networking junk is below.  
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**...Sorry for all the words...haa.**

**Twitter: **(slash) TheWriterMegan

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	3. Dance or Die

**Oh hey there! How have you guys been? I feel like it's been forever since I've updated...and I know that can't be true. I think that's just me being impatient. Anywho, here ya go! Chapter 3.**

**Oh, and if you want to see the outfit that Israel is wearing at Dollies, just go to my profile page. The link is there. **

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**Dance or Die**

Her plan to get out of town was easy: Get money. Get gone. The only problem with the plan was that she only worked part time at Old Navy and she only received 9 bucks an hour for that pitiful gig. There was another way to earn money, and she'd done it before. It was a sure way to get at least one thousand dollars in a single night, and with that kind of money she would only need to do it for a night or two…maybe three if she just wanted to be sure that she'd be comfortable wherever she was going. But she hadn't been sure if she could bring herself to do it again. As it turned out, money and survival became more important than her pride, and she could bare all if it was only for three nights…and if it meant leaving Gotham behind then she supposed it would be cake.

Days and nights had passed and during that time things in Gotham had escalated. Her masked savior, she'd come to find, was named Bane. Kind of fitting, she thought. Commissioner Gordon had been shot and discovered in a drainage pipe. Israel immediately assumed that Bane was behind that. And Gotham's brooding and out of control son, Bruce Wayne, had squandered his billions, doubled down. The man was fucking broke. But such fiascos were only public, and as much as she had wished it so, things in Israel's world did not pass as uneventfully as she would have hoped. After a very heated argument with Paul, where he had confessed that he had feelings for her and she did not reciprocate said feelings, Israel had agreed to take up a temporary residence on the couch in the break room at Old Navy. Paul had been nice enough to bring her pillows and blankets from his house. And he had even brought her food and frozen dinners to keep in the fridge. She took all such gifts graciously, but did not let her graciousness go past that. She didn't want to lead him on and she was looking forward to the day he either grew out of his infatuation with her, or she was free of Gotham. Whichever came first, which she was hoping would be the latter.

She stared at herself in the vanity, noted how painted her face was. She thought the whole thing was stupid. Despite the uproar at the stock exchange and the return of the Batman, the Commissioner's brush with death…despite all those things, she was still at the charity ball for addicts and addiction. She was still going to perform. She'd tried to back out of it. She hadn't much felt like dancing lately, and she definitely didn't feel like putting on a show for the rich and powerful of Gotham City. But in the end she caved, and now she saw applying makeup for her part of the show. She'd been paired with Roger, a very tall lithe guy with bright green eyes and chocolate brown hair. He didn't say much, which suited her just fine, and he was a good partner. Together they'd come up with a routine that, she felt, would capture the essence of the charity. Mr. Barnard's face was suddenly in her vanity. He smiled down at her.

"You're up next." Once again his eyes fell over the way he wanted his hands to. "Very nice costume."

She frowned. Of course he'd think so…

She took her stance centerstage, vaguely aware that, though the audience couldn't clearly see her, they could see her silhouette. The music started; Marina and the Diamond's "Lies." The lights went up and she stretched along with the chords, her movements stiff in their fluidity, as if she weren't all human. And she knew that she looked like something otherworldly. She had white contacts in her eyes and was dressed in form fitting underwear that she had distressed and added tatters too. And her makeup consisted of black and grey streaks over her face and down her body. She'd even thrown a bit of grease paint into to hair to slick it back and add a muddied grey tint to it. An alien, she thought to herself, I look like an alien.

Roger appeared from the left side of the stage, and he balanced on one foot, stretched himself, barely touched her and they both recoiled when the bass thrummed through the speakers. Theirs was a dance of love and addiction and hate and self-loathing. She played the part as the drug, as everything he'd ever need, and he followed along willingly, gave up everything just to have her. During the bridge, she clawed her way up him, and he fought her the whole way until she was perched on his shoulders, both of them with their arms out, tried to balance. And at the beginning of the last chorus he tossed her up, caught her easily, and she curled and crumpled around his arm, tied her legs around his waist as they spun. She freed her torso, allowed it to drop back and then come up as she loosed herself from him and they went into choreographed movement. The end of the song was choreographed fighting that ended with him a beaten mess of the floor, and her standing over him panting.

And then the crowd went wild. Roger came to his feet, took Israel's hand as they both walked forward and bowed. They left the stage and Roger gave her a quick hug before heading off to the men's dressing room. She moved with the same haste. She wasn't going to stick around, couldn't stick around as tonight was going to be her last night in this god forsaken city. She only had to work one more night and then she was free. She headed to the showers, was all too happy to get the paint off of her and out of her hair. When she had dried and changed, she made her way out to the street to catch a cab. She had just flagged one down when Mr. Barnard's hand found its way into her shoulder. She jumped slightly. She hadn't heard him.

"You're leaving?" He asked. If only he understood how loaded his question was.

"Yeah, I've got to get to work."

"Work? There aren't many places that are open this late." There was a twinkle in his eyes. He'd heard about her new job. "Besides, there are at least a dozen people in there who want to meet you. Your performance is all they're talking about. One woman even teared up."

Israel removed his hand from her shoulder. "Work," she said firmly. A cab pulled up. "Gotta go. Goodbye, Mr. Barnard." He watched her leave, a bit angry that she hadn't given him the time of day. But it was fine, he told himself. She wouldn't get away from him that easily. He'd have her eventually.

The Bat had come to him, and he had expected no less. He knew that he would not have to seek him out. No, Bruce Wayne was an impatient man. Always quick to rush the inevitable. But he had left Bane disappointed. The older man had wanted more a fight out of him, more a challenge, he wanted proof as to why Ra's Al Ghul had chosen Bruce instead of him as a successor. Bane was hoping that they would at least be equals. He was Batman after all, Gotham's dark knight who had only proved to be nothing but a pitiful failure in Bane's eyes. And so, Bane had lectured him, beat him…broke him. And then he sent the Bat to Hell, escorted him there, made sure he was comfortable with a front seat view of what was to befall the scum that was Gotham City. But there had been something in Bruce's eyes, a sad sense of determination, and horror, and hope, that stayed with Bane. He knew that this man would not give up, would not lie down so easily.

The flight back into Gotham had been bumpy, but Bane had expected no less. He was not one to travel by traditional airlines even if he'd had the luxury of doing so. And he just gotten seated before a table of files when one of his lieutenants, a man by the name of Derby, appeared in his doorway, lingered there until he was granted entrance. Barsad stood nearby, watching with bleak and stoic eyes.

"What is it?" Bane asked. He sat back in his chair, folded his hands.

Derby was terrified of his leader, they all were. But unfortunately, the lieutenant had literally pulled the short straw and had been tasked with going to Bane to ask the question. "The men…we would like to celebrate before it is over."

Barsard's eyes flickered to Bane's, amused. He had heard such talk, but had dismissed it as such. He never thought they would be brave enough to ask.

Bane was quiet for a moment, and then, "You wish to celebrate before we have not even won?" He eyed his lieutenant. "Explain this to me."

"T-the Bat's in the Pit. Tomorrow Gotham with be in your hands. We…we are willing sacrificing ourselves for your vision."

"My vision?" Bane had risen from his seat, his hands clasped on the neck of his vest as he strolled around the table. "Did you not also agree that Gotham is a plague that must be wiped from this Earth?"

Derby could barely breathe, and though he wanted to, he couldn't make his eyes leave Bane. He whimpered when his leader's hand rested upright on his shoulders. "Please…wait…"

Bane stared at him, was sickened by him. He was a new recruit, but he had always been weak, had always questioned. "Barsad, tell the men that they may have their celebration." Barsad immediately left the room, and the tension in Derby's shoulders visibly eased. "However, my brother, I am afraid that you will not live to see it."

Derby's eyes widened. He barely got a sound out as his spine was snapped at the neck. The light in his eyes faded and he watched Bane's face until everything went black. Bane dropped the body, looked up as Barsard stood in the doorway. He looked down at Derby and said, "They want you to join them."

Behind his mask, Bane grimaced, but he nonetheless grabbed his coat.

Dollies was a popular gentleman's club in the Narrows, and the women there made good money as even some of the poor dopes from upscale Gotham snuck there to slum it while their wives and girlfriends held charities and went shopping. And unfortunately for Israel, this was where she had been making money for past three nights. So far, she had made a square seven thousand, and she wasn't going to return for a 4th night until the appeal of an even ten thousand crossed her mind. But that was her limit. She wasn't like most of the girls in the establishment that had been there for years, the girls who promised themselves every year that this would the last year they wasted in this hell-hole. No. This would be Israel's last night, and the next day she would leave Gotham and all the woes it had bestowed on her, behind.

It was fairly late when she got to Dollies. And she took the back door to get inside. Papa Joe, the owner and manager was standing in the middle of the dressing room fooling around with something on his phone. He was a sweet old man, tall and wide with a mustache and thick beard. He wasn't the type of man one would suspect of running a strip club. He was too nice, too gentle natured, but he looked after all the girls as though they were his own daughters, protected them to the best of his ability. She smiled at him as he gave a frustrated sigh.

"Did your phone mess up again?" She asked as she set her bag down.

He looked up, smiled. "This damned thing… My fingers are too damned big for a touch screen and for buttons. Why do they make phones the way they do?"

She laughed. "Because my generation is gonna rule the world. Here, let me see." She took the phone from him. "Well the reason you can't do anything is because your screen is locked. What's your password?"

Papa Joe huffed. "Like I remember. I'll just use the phone in the office." He took his phone and eased it into his pocket. "You know, I'm proud of you."

"Why?"

"For stickin' to your guns. For getting' outta here. You're only one of 3 who's done that. It's a big deal, girlie."

She smiled, touched his arm. "You go make that call. I gotta get out on the floor. Wish me luck."

He winked at her, left her to her own devices.

What made Israel so popular at Dollies was the fact that she threw herself into the roles. She didn't like working there, but she wasn't hooking, and there were ample body guards and bouncers to insure that, if the girls had a problem, they didn't have to deal with it on their own. Because of that, Israel felt a certain amount of freedom and safety in what she was doing. That night, in revenge against Kristen, she had opted for a long blond wig, did her makeup up the same way the other woman had done hers the night Israel had slept over. It was petty, she could admit that to herself, and no one would know she was mocking someone else, but it made her feel good to look in the mirror and see Kristen's look-a-like staring back. She pulled on a black, leather g-string along with a matching bra beneath a pair of black fishnets and a sleeveless button down that she tucked into her high waisted spandex shorts that zipped up on either side. Ya know, so she could easily take it off. She finished the look with bordello heels, a top hat, and a cane. She looked herself over. She didn't look half bad. Ugh, but the heels were going to be murder on her feet.

Every girl was required to dance a number on the main stage before the end of every shift and, since the main stage was currently empty, Israel decided that she would go ahead and get it over with. She was at the back of the stage, stared out over the cat-walk and nodded to the DJ to start the music. Britney Spears' "Piece of me" sounded loud over the speakers and when the spotlight hit her, Israel dropped into a wide squat and then pranced toward the crowd. She couldn't help laughing at herself because she knew she looked ridiculous. Some of the men cheered as she mouthed out the lyrics, using her cane as a prop as she rotated and swiveled her hips and her chest. One man, sitting at the bar connected to the stage was doing something on his phone, and Israel stuck her cane beneath his chin, raised his head so he was looking at her and then dropped down in front of him, spread her legs and watched his eyes go wide as he looked at her.

Her audience waved bills in the air and she went around to each one, getting close enough for them to tuck the money into her clothing without touching her too much. By the end of the song, she was down to the leather bra and panty set and had kept the fishnets on. She was just about to bow when two things happened that shook her so badly she thought her knees would give out. The door to the club opened, and in walked Mr. Barnard. His eyes immediately found her and he grinned wide, waved even. And, if that weren't bad enough, Bane and a dozen of his men walked in next. It was all happening so fast that it actually seemed like slow motion to her. She'd forsaken her clothes on the stage, didn't even bother to grab the bills that had fallen. The universe was telling her to get the fuck out of there and she didn't need to be told twice. She was almost to the back when a firm hang caught her harm. She turned, dreading who she'd see. It was Mr. Barnard.

"You know, when I was told you were working here, I didn't think it would be true." He grinned as if that were some kind of pick up line.

She smiled back, told herself to be polite. "I'm actually come towards the end of my shift, so-"

"Don't be in such a hurry." He produced a roll of bills from his pocket. "Let's find somewhere quiet."

A strip club. Bane's eyes hardened. Of course they would choose a strip club. He peered up at the flashing sign that read, Dollies, didn't budge from his stance as his men began to go inside. Barsad lingered behind, watched his commander as he eyed the building with repugnance. "We are still men, Bane."

Bane's eyes found him. He did not want to go into this place. It would be beneath him.

"They follow you wordlessly. You are what keeps them in line and I have had more than a few of them tell me that they are happy that you've come along."

He listened to his second's words, let them soak into him. He decided that he would go inside, but he would not stay long, not even an hour if he could help it. They were his brothers. They sacrificed so much because they faultlessly believed in his cause, in their cause. …In her cause…

When he went inside the smell of sex and perfume and alcohol filtered in through his mask, made him squint. He did not shy away from the naked women, did not avert his eyes. After all, this was the profession they had chosen for themselves. They wanted to be seen and touched and fawned over, but it still disgusted him. The entire scene of it made him angry; the way the women threw themselves at the men, the way the men happily offered money just to feel fresh, young bodies against their own. Pathetic was the word that came to mind.

Barsad had scheduled a private room for Bane, knowing that he would not want to be out in all the lights and glitter and people. He was leading the way there and only stopped when he noticed that Bane was no longer following him, that he had stopped and was staring. He followed his commander's eye line, watched as the girl from the previous night stepped down from the stage in a rush and made her way to the back. A man stopped her before she could disappear from sight, his hand wrapped tightly around arm. This made Bane's fists clench, but he turned then signaling for Barsad to lead the way, and he did. The VIP room was lavish, with black velvet walls and dark wooded floors. A leather couch sat towards the back of the room with a coffee table and a white shag carpet underneath it all. The overhead lights were imprinted into the ceiling providing minimal lighting that was supposed to be seen as seductive. Bane found it a nuisance. He sat on the sofa, leaned forward. "Bring her to me."

Mr. Barnard took her to one of the VIP rooms sat her next to him and laid a hand on her thigh. She went to pull away, but he gripped her tightly. "If you had needed money you could have asked me. You didn't have to do this."

She was uncomfortable, beginning to feel like a child being scolded. "And what would I have had to do for that money?" She countered.

He grinned wide, sat back and waved a 50 in front of him. "Let's start with a lap dance. And if you do that well…well then we'll take it from there."

She scoffed, stood up. "I'm not going to take this from you." She didn't far. His hand shot out, yanked her back so hard that she fell on the couch and her dance instructor was quick to cover her body with his own.

"Well then what will you take from me?" He was huffing, panting, and she could feel his erection through his pants. She didn't struggle hard. She didn't need to. He had straddled her, left himself completely unprotected, and she harshly brought her knee up and connected with his balls. The air stole from him, he slumped forward, rolled to the floor and Israel was quick to jump up, tear out of the door and into the arms of Barsad. He caught her firmly around the waist, led her away from one private room to another. Neither one of them said a word. They both knew where she was headed. He didn't shove her into the room, he merely opened the door, allowed her to enter on her own, and she did.

"It seems," Bane started as the door shut and she was trapped inside, "that we cannot avoid one another." It was one thing to see her in her underwear, but it was quite another to see her dolled up and on display for other men. He didn't like it, but his eyes traveled over her, found himself to be displeased with the blond wig and the excess of makeup. "I am surprised to find you here…of all places."

Israel should have been scared, should have cowered, but all the felt was anger, anger at herself. She hadn't needed this last day of work. She could have left that morning. The situation she was in was entirely her fault. She hovered near the door, didn't drop her head but looked dead at him. It was large couch, and it scared her the way he seemed to take up most of it. She didn't want to speak to him, he made her timid, afraid, but she'd always had a bit of a mouth on her, a temper that she'd gotten from her grandmother.

"Here of all places?" She asked.

"Ah, she speaks." The corners of his eyes wrinkled. "Yes, here…of all the places I could have…bumped into you. It had to be here."

It irked her how calmly the entire conversation was going. "I don't understand what you mean."

"I saved you from being raped, beaten, used, and you fought so admirably against your captors. But there had been something in your eyes, some fierceness, a viciousness. You really despised the act of rape, and yet here you are, your sex on display for the masculine filth of Gotham."

Her temper flared, but she calmed herself, reminded herself that he was more than three times her size and weight, and that she needed to survive this, had to survive him. "You're mocking me."

"You perplex me, dear child." He sat back a little, eyed her. There was too much skin on display, too much for his eyes to feast on, and he couldn't have stopped himself even if he wanted to. But this was her job, and judging by the looks she was getting as she'd fled the stage, it was a job that was at least decent at. "Come. Dance for me."

She was confused. "I'm sorry, what?"

He didn't repeat himself. He just stared at her. He knew she wasn't hard of hearing.

She sighed. _Fine then_. "Five hundred dollars up front. That covers this room…and me."

"You think yourself of such high worth?"

She came further into the room. "I'm a sure thing."

He chuckled then. "I will give you no money."

"Well I don't dance for free."

Oh, but she was brave, and it tempted him to test her, see how far he could push her. He rose to his feet, went to her, surprised when she didn't back down, only raised her head to maintain their tense eye contact. "My dear," his voice had dropped an octave, made the hairs on her spine stand on end, urge her to get the hell out of there. "You are not dancing for free." He bent down then, made sure that she could clearly see him. "You are dancing for your life."

She swallowed. And there was the kicker, the fatal punch line to whatever sick game he was playing with her. She turned away, headed for the door and when he caught her wrist she snatched back, and he let her wrist go, his hand vibrating from her touch. She was panting, trying to calm her racing heart. She hadn't given him permission to touch her. "I'm not…I'm not running…or anything. I just figure if I'm dancing for my life I had better make it worthwhile."

He eyed her.

"Oh for God's sake, you came in with at least 15 men! I'm sure if I tried to bolt one of them would catch me. I just want to change…" Yelling at him, she felt, was not the best way to go about things. But she knew he was toying with her, and she didn't like it.

"Barsad will escort you to your clothes and back here." He turned, went back to the couch. "You have 7 minutes."

She huffed, opened the door to see Barsad standing on the other side, and when he peered in Bane nodded to him. She stepped out, the door closed behind her and Barsad grinned, held his hand out elegantly and said, "After you."

"Seven minutes…" she pouted. "I'd like to see him shimmy into lingerie in 7 minutes." She was naked in the dressing room, staring at the array of dry cleaned costumes and outfits. When she'd first gone back there she'd tried the back door. She wasn't stupid. If she could get out there she would, but it had turned out that one of Bane's men had been posted there as well. Dancing for my life, she thought. So she had to make this dance special, had to convince him to let her go. Israel found herself wondering what a man like Bane would find erotic. He did not seem to be as perverse as most of the men who visited the establishment. No, he was simple yet complex, sophisticated yet unpolished, and she had a feeling he wouldn't go for what normal men would go for. He would want something different, and she found she wanted to give him something different. She pulled the wig from her head, shook her hair out while she removed the makeup from her face. She didn't reach for any of the costumes, she reached for the lingerie, and not the cheap ones. She reached for the outfits that were reserved for special clients like the mayor…or Bruce Wayne. She slinked into the bra and then the garter, making sure that she put the panties on last so that they would be on the outside in case he wanted her to take them off. She gulped at that thought. The tan thigh highs came on next, and after she secured them in place, she reached for a pair of black strappy heels and a set of pearls. She gave herself a matte, peachy lip with heavy mascara and a light touch of liquid liner and gave herself a once over. She was something to behold, something radiant and exotic and animalistic.

She went to the door, tried to relax her shoulders and wrenched her hands together before she turned the knob. Barsad's eyebrows rose when he saw her, but he only spared her a glance before leading her back to the private room. He reached to open the door for her but she stopped him. "I can do it," she said strongly, which was funny to her, because she didn't feel strong at that particular moment. She felt weak, and unsure, and scared. It took a few times, but she finally managed to get her hand around the door knob to turn it and let herself inside.

Bane was a patient man. After living the life that he had, he had no choice but to be. However, when the girl took three minutes longer than he had allowed her, he found himself on edge, felt the need to find her, bring her back there, to him. He was contemplating going to find her when the door opened. She walked in silently, glanced at him before making her way over to the music player in the wall. He could not take his eyes from her. She was not what he had expected. He had expected cheesy costumes and more wigs, heavier makeup, but it was not what she'd given him. She'd given him something softer, sensual, vulnerable. She'd given him baby blue lace and smooth tan stockings…and grandmother's pearls. She'd given him sex in its most basic, most stripped form…and it had made him uncomfortable. Bane was no virgin, far from it. He had been with all sorts of women, pleased and took all sorts of women, but this girl…this child, he reminded himself, she was something else, something new for him to play with, and he was fully intending to play with her.

"Is there anything special you'd like me to dance to?"

He stared at her.

A small smile touched her lips. "Or I can just choose." She went through the selection, keeping herself carefully balanced on her heels despite her knees shaking and his eyes boring into her back. She found a song that she thought would do perfectly: The Weekend's "High For This." Before she pressed play, she turned to him and though it was awkward she felt the need to ask.

"Am I allowed to touch you?" Her question hung in the air.

"Am I allowed to touch you?" He countered.

She bit her lip. "No. Not unless I say so. So, no."

His gaze on her was so intense, so invasive. "Proceed," he said.

She wanted to make him answer the question. She didn't want to touch him only to have him freak out on her. But he'd made it very clear that that conversation was over. "Or I'll just wing it…" she muttered. She pressed play and a high hum of a chord filled the room followed by an even higher one. Israel moved to the center of the room, and Bane immediately noted the change in her. This was not a girl that stood before him, it was a woman. A man's voice came over the speaker and she began to move, rocking her hips. She raised her hands above her head, held them in such a position that they could have been bound, and then they moved down over herself, ghosted over her breasts, her fingernails scratched down her stomach. She braced her hands on her knees as she lowered herself into a squat, opened her legs and then shut them before bending herself backwards. She supported her weight on her hands as she lifted her legs up, opened them in a wide split and then lowered her hips to the floor.

To say that she had Bane's full attention would have been an understatement. He was enraptured with her and the way she moved. She was so fluid. Israel climbed onto the coffee table and lowered herself on to back, arched her spine hard to that was considerable room between it and the hard surface beneath. She curled her legs up into a 90 degree angle, spread them, and then looked him dead in the eye as her hands tugged on the pearls that laid against her breasts and stomach. She let her fingers follow the little orbs down and let her hands disappear between her legs, let her head fall back and mouth part. She wasn't really touching herself, but she was almost positive that he didn't know that. Her heels touched the table, pressed into it as she lifted her hips. She was beginning to become annoyed that she wasn't getting a rise out of him, pun intended. It was as if she weren't even there, like she wasn't scantily clad and writhing for his enjoyment. She stood up then, poised herself between his open legs and extended her foot to push the table back to give herself room. She swiveled herself down to her knees and, taking a deep breath, she reached forward, laid her hands on his knees.

The moment her hands touched him, the intensity of the room changed, heightened. His eyes bore into hers and his fists tightened as he watched her climb up him, amused with the way she did her best to keep body contact to a minimum. She shook over him, fully expecting him to stop her or throw her off of him at any moment. But instead his hands remained fisted at his sides, eyes remained on hers. She hooked an arm around his neck, rolled her torso against his while she straddled him. He was so warm, and so large that her thighs shook as she stayed on her knees, completely spread open above him. And just when she thought she'd be comfortable enough to keep moving, he moved. It was a small motion, but after seeing him stationary for so long, it had startled her. He'd simply planted his heels into the floor, but it caused his knees to lift, caused her to fully seat herself in his lap and her eyes went wide when she felt him. Apparently, she was having an effect on him. They both stayed just like that, staring at one another, Israel panting, Bane barely moving, still like a statue. The only sound that came from him was the steady rasp from his mask.

There were gunshots then, gunshots and screaming and glass breaking, and despite her better judgment Israel flinched, leaned in closer to Bane as she peered over her shoulder at the shut door. Bane was looking at it too. And then the door opened, and Barsad slipped inside. He glanced at their positioning briefly before address his commander.

"Someone has tipped off the police. They've raided the place."

Bane gripped the girl behind her knees, stood with her and enjoyed the grimace and blush that ate up her face as she first clutched him to keep from falling and then slid down his body. His hands lightly caressed every inch of her backside stopping just short of her hair. "Our time together has ended," he said to her, almost joyfully. "But I will be seeing you again."

Israel was quiet, but in her head she wanted to tell him that they'd never meet again because she would vacate Gotham as soon as the sun came up. He left her then, gave her one last lingering glance before he disappeared out the door. The minute she was alone she began to shake, her knees wobbled and she took a seat on the sofa, avoiding the warm spot that Bane's large body had created. She didn't dare leave the room. It wasn't that the cops in Gotham weren't stand up guys. Some of them were. It was that strippers weren't exactly held in the highest regard and she didn't feel like taking a bullet just for being in the way. She waited, waiting until there was no more gunfire and no more screaming, until there was just music and quiet, and eventually the music stopped as well. She stood then, was about to rush to the dressing room to get her things, but the door flew open and 5 officers walked in, their guns trained at her. The lead officer, a man of some height with black hair that was clean cut and squinty, yet attractive eyes, holstered his gun and pulled his handcuffs.

She rolled her eyes. She knew this routine. And as the cop began reading her her rights, she easily turned around and put her hands behind her back.

She hated Gotham…

She hated cops…

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**This one was kind of erotic and it took me a long time and a lot of edits to get it to where I was at least a little happy with it. Any writer will tell you that they are their own worst critic soooo, I am asking that you guys leave me comments on what you think and how you feel about the development thus far. Also, I'd like to know where you'd like this story to go. I mean, I can't promise anything...but I'd still like to know.**

**Twitter: **(slash) TheWriterMegan

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	4. A Dream Shattered

**:D :D :D So here it is! So sorry it took me this long to get it you to you guys, and I know that it's a few days later than when I said I'd post it, but there were some things I had to add...and take out. **

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**A Dream Shattered**

They were holding her on bogus charges. Israel knew that, and it was pissing her off. She'd seen the inside of the Gotham City Police Department one too many times, but this was the only time she'd been there for three days straight. She knew what they were doing. They were trying to break her. They hadn't let her have a proper meal, but they had no idea who they were dealing with. She had gone hungry before, knew that restricting her movements would help her hold on a little longer. Then again, three days was nothing to her. She could go almost a week and a half without proper sustenance. It wasn't the lack of food that was bothering her, thought. It was the fact that they hadn't let her retrieve any decent clothing since they'd apprehended her at Dollies. And so she sat day after day in baby blue underwear, unmoving from her cot as many a different officer would come by, tell her that if she talked they'd let her out, and they would say it as they leered hungrily at her. But she didn't talk. She didn't say anything because it was ridiculous of them to think that she knew anything.

Day three was drawing to a close, and the black officer with the heavy mustache, the man she'd come to know as Dowdy, came and brought her a bread roll and a mug of water. He held the plate and cup out to her from between the bars and when she didn't take it, he set them on the floor. She could tell by his sympathetic eyes that he wanted to say something to her, something to help her along. But before he could get a word out Cramer, a pudgy man who was intentionally cruel and had trouble breathing, appeared in the hallway. He unlocked the cell, slid the door open and cuffed Israel after lifting her harshly to her feet.

"Come on, sweetheart," he bit out, not bothering to hide the way his eyes ogled at her breasts. He pushed her ahead of him, walked her down to the interrogation room, the one she'd seen way too much of. He sat her down in the chair and promptly left. She hung her head. She was so tired. She hadn't gotten a proper night's sleep in a while and it was catching up with her. She was alone for a while but eventually the door opened again, and when she looked up Officer Marshall, her ex-boyfriend for all of two years, walked into the room. He'd aged a bit since the last time she'd seen him, but being an officer in Gotham could do that. She watched him for a moment, noted that he was still just as handsome as ever. He had aged some, but he still had that killer chiseled jaw, those high cheekbones and honeyed brown eyes. He smiled gently and she couldn't help but smile back. To her, he was still the same gentle face. He was still the man that had been her savior when everyone else wanted to condemn her to death.

He handed her his jacket before he sat down, pleased when she took it and wrapped it around herself. Next he produced and ashtray and a pack of Camels along with a lighter, slid to her.

"I quit smoking since the last time you saw me." She slid the unhealthy temptation back to him.

"It's good to see you, kid." His voice had gotten a bit scruffier since the last time she'd heard him. They both sat in silence and then Marshall said, "I just got back into town. Had I known you were here and what was going on, I would have busted you out sooner." They both smiled and then his faded around the edges. "You know I have to ask…" He let his words hang, watched her eyes harden before looking at the wall.

"I'd like to think I'm not that dumb…"

"You've got to give me more than that. I need actual words, Israel."

She flinched. She'd heard him say those words before. He'd said them a lot when they were dating, said them in an effort to get her to communicate with him. But she was so locked up, so tight about her own emotions that it was too hard to try to express them. She'd never been taught how to do that and so instead of trying, she was quiet. It had been something that bothered him, but he didn't know that it bothered her just as much. Her mouth would be shut, but inside her there was a sea of emotions and words just begging to be spoken, but when it came to the mushy stuff, when it came to conveying her emotions that had nothing to do with anger and defending herself, she couldn't do it. It was hard to be vulnerable with someone, and that was what had ultimately ended the one relationship she'd even had that was worth a damn. When they'd first broken up, it had been his idea. She'd been wearing him thin, and he wanted more from her than she was willing to give. She'd agreed because fighting for him was hard, more than she could do. Fighting for him had meant bearing herself. It mean more than just being naked in front of him and letting him look at her. It meant turning herself inside so he could see how nasty and ugly she was, so he could poke and prod at the placed inside her that were wounded and scarred and inflamed. And so, she'd let the relationship die. Had forced herself to avoid him and what they were. It was only now, now that he was sitting across from her, that he was so close and that she didn't have a place to hide from him, that she realized how stupid she'd been, and how much she missed him.

She looked down at her handcuffed hands. "So ask." She didn't want to do this with him. It could have been anyone else…just not him.

Marshall dove right in. "Do you know who Bane is?"

"I'm guessing he's not the nicest guy around."

His lips thinned. "Are you associated with him?"

"No."

"Are you his girlfriend? Have you been intimate with him?"

She turned her rage filled eyes to him, leveled him with her stare. "…no."

"Do you know his whereabouts?"

"No."

"Do you have any information regarding him that would be useful in our investigation?"

"Seriously, what kind of shit is this?" She had finally snapped. "Do you really think I'd be involved with him?"

"…It's not so farfetched to think so. I know you from beginning to end and-"

She snarled, leaned forward and bared her teeth before she could help herself. "You don't know anything about the beginning."

He gave her time to calm down, to catch her breath. "I know your story, is all. And I know that girls with your story tend to let themselves be caught up in things that make them feel better, things that give them comfort. Now I'm sorry for all this trouble, but these were the questions I had to ask."

She was angry because he wasn't speaking to her with kindness and with sincerity. He was talking to her like he didn't even know her. "He saved my life. He saved me from being…from…he was there. He took those men off of me and he cleaned me up, even though I didn't ask or want him to. The fact that we were in the strip club together was coincidence. I don't know anything more about him than what's been said on the news. Happy?" She was ready to leave, and she was too tired for this bullshit.

"And when he saved you and he cleaned you up, where did he take you?"

She was looking at him, but she didn't answer. Not right away. "I can't say."

"Did he have you blindfolded?"

"No."

"Were you unconscious?"

"No."

"Then damnit, Israel, where did he take you?!"

"He took me down!" She yelled back. "And I hope that's enough for you because that's all you're getting out of me!"

Marshall grimaced. She was a tough kid, always had been. And he knew for sure that she was done talking. He couldn't blame her. He was told that she'd been held in a cell for three days and only God knew how she'd been treated. But there was a clue in what she'd said. There was something to it that triggered an answer in his brain that was foggy and unclear. "Alright. Alright, you are free to go. But I don't want you leaving town for 24 hours, understand?"

She frowned at him.

"Israel?"

"…fine."

He uncuffed her, allowed her to stand. "There's a bathroom down the hall. Wait there, I'll have someone bring you something to put on." He reached for her then, extended his hand to either pull her in to a hug or lay a comforting hand on her shoulder. She didn't know which it was going to be, and she didn't care. She recoiled from him, gave him harsh and critical eyes until he moved aside to let her get out the door. He didn't get to try to be sincere to her after he'd degraded her the way he just had. Sure she had a record, but it had never involved trailing around behind sociopaths and murderers.

The bathroom was easy enough to find, and once inside she locked the door behind her and sat on the toilet. Staying for 24 hours was out of the question. That was too long, too much time for something else to go wrong. She'd be nice to Marshall as he'd no doubt have someone tailing her. She'd stay for 10 hours at the most, and since it was already night fall she knew the time would pass quickly. She'd find somewhere to eat, get some shut eye, and once she had all her things packed she'd be gone before noon the following day.

She'd been given sweatpants and a large GCPD shirt to put on. She threw her lingerie in a plastic bag and felt ridiculous as she walked from the holding cells to the police desks as she was still clad in heels. As she was escorted to a desk for processing a few of the officers whistles and made cat calls. Luckily Marshall was quick to silence them. She sat in a chair and stared at the chubby officer who processed her paperwork in order for her to leave. All the while, Marshall stuck around, standing over them both as he watched Israel with concerned eyes. She ignored him, was tired of him and his cops. She wanted to lie down somewhere and sleep. She wanted to forget that she lived in an awful city. She wanted leave behind the life she'd live and hurry up and start a new one.

She was finished being processed, and Marshall was kind enough to walk her outside. The minute the doors opened Israel faltered, shivered. She'd been away from the outside world for three days, and somehow in that time the temperature had dropped. She hugged her arms around herself, already bothered by the irritation her heels were causing her, and started down the steps. She had almost reached the sidewalk when Marshall stopped her. She turned, looked at him, saw the sympathy in his eyes.

"I'll get you a ride," he said.

She'd started to protest, but another cop was headed up the steps and Marshall stopped him. "You," he said, "Officer…"

"Blake," the other cop offered. He had a heavy accent with a bit of attitude behind it.

"Do me a favor and take this one where she needs to go." Marshall motioned to Israel who scowled and hugged herself tighter. Just what she needed, to be hemmed up in a car with a stranger.

"Didn't know we were running a taxi service…" Officer Blake murmured.

That caught Izzy's attention and she looked at him then. Maybe he wasn't as bad as he seemed.

"That will be all, Officer Blake." Marshall gave his ex one last look and then headed back inside Gotham Central.

Officer Blake and Izzy stared at one another until he spoke first. "I'll bring my car around."

"Or I could just follow you to it. Seems…easier." He was handsome. He had a very pleasing face with expressive eyes and a hard jaw. But there was something about him that reminded her of herself, and she wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing. He seemed to be broken, just like she was, only his wounds, his hurt, wasn't as severe as hers. He'd had somehow found a way to mend what had been undone inside him. She worried her bottom lip as she wondered how he'd done it.

He started walking, and she fell into step with him, balancing on her toes as she walked so her heels wouldn't make noise. "I'm Israel," she offered. The moment she'd spoken, she shut her mouth, chewed on her bottom lip. It was new to her to want to talk first. Most of the time she was around people who willingly offered to fill up the silence, who made it so that she didn't have to speak if she didn't want to. And most of the time, she was all too happy to let them. But Officer Blake was a different story. He didn't speak, and the way he held himself made her feel awkward and out of sorts. She really didn't like that.

"My name's John," he said as he unlocked the driver's side and climbed into the car. She followed suit after he'd unlocked the door. He was immediate to start up the car, easily maneuvered out of the parking garage and into the streets of Gotham. "Where ya headed?" His tone had changed, become a bit more conversational, and she was about to answer when her stomach beat her to it. It sounded loud enough to fill up the entire car, and Israel put her hand over it and winced. "So food then?" John asked.

"Uhh, well I'd have to stop by Dollies to get some money first."

He looked at her like she'd grown two heads. "Okay…" He was suddenly making a U-turn and it made Israel so uneasy that she reached from the handle on the door. Her movement went unnoticed as John said, "I'll buy you dinner. I know this great diner a couple of blocks away. They make a great steak." He was smiling then, a beautiful that lit up the car, and Israel would have smiled back if she wasn't so leery of what had just happened.

The diner was old timey and small, and John directed her to one of the booths while he went to the bar to talk to the waitress. She watched him for a moment, considered him, but then her mind went to other things. She began strategizing, fantasizing about where she would go and what kind of life she would live. She'd been to the south once. She'd visited her grandmother in Florida, and she had enjoyed the sun and the beach, but she wasn't overly fond of the heat. No, the north was her best bet. She was in love with Autumn and Winter and loved wearing coats and boots. She was so deep in thought that she didn't notice when John had sat back down, and didn't feel him watching her until he shifted and moved the table with him. She blinked, looked at him.

He smirked. "Long day?"

She didn't smile back, but she nodded. "Something like that…"

"You look uncomfortable."

Honesty was always the best policy. "I'm trying to figure out what you want from me."

He was genuinely amused. "What do you mean?"

"People don't do nice things for nothing. So, why are you being buying me food? What do you want?"

The smile on John's face melted. "I…it's not like that."

"I'm capable of feeding myself, I'm capable of taking care of myself. I don't need you or anyone else to give me handouts or think that just because I'm a stripper," she flinched even as she said it, "that I'm easy and that all it takes is a meal for me to-"

"My God, would you calm down?!" He was looking around the diner to see if anyone had heard. When he caught eyes with Ms. May, the waitress, he knew that she had. "Look, I don't want anything from you, and I'm not judging you because you're a stripper. You looked hungry. I figured I would buy you food. That's all."

She eyed him. His face was sincere, but she didn't trust him. When it came time for her to leave, she would be sure to see if he really wanting nothing. "Fine," she said. She picked up the menu and scanned it, fully aware that, though John had done the same thing, he was steadily glancing in her direction. She had just about made up her mind about what she was going to order when she noticed him fidgeting. Oh for God's sake, here it comes…

"So why are you a stripper, anyways?"

Israel looked up at him, didn't bother to hide her perplexed anger.

John went on. "I mean, you're a pretty girl. I'm sure there's some guy out there who'd be more than willing to take care of you."

She clenched her jaw, thought back to Marshall. "I'm a tough girl to take care off," she offered quietly.

"Or maybe you haven't found the right guy." Honestly, John didn't know if he was hitting on her or just making conversation, but she looked up, leveled him with a cold stare, he knew he'd crossed a line.

"Talk about something else, or don't talk at all."

He took the hint. "Alright, why were you at the station?"

Her head snapped up. "You're…you're not good at picking conversation topics, are you?"

He smiled then, and it was genuine. "Come on, tell me. What did you do? Smash a car window, break a man's heart, beat up your boyfriend?"

"Give a lap dance to Bane," she added in the same conversational and listing tone. John had stopped altogether, his mouth hanging open as he just stared at her. She could see the questions behind his eyes and before he got the chance to ask, she stopped him. "I'm not going to talk about it, so don't ask."

The waitress came over then. Israel ordered the steak with a side of scalloped potatoes and broccoli. It would be the first balanced meal she'd of had in a year, maybe more. John ordered a steak as well, but ordered fries with his. They received their drinks first, Israel sipped on water while John had a Coke. She could tell that there were more questions he wanted to ask, but he was being polite and kept his mouth shut. She surprised them both when she asked, "Why are you a cop?"

"It helps," he answered automatically. "It keeps me busy."

"That's how you fixed yourself, then?" She was staring at him, waiting for him to acknowledge that in some twisted way, from another twisted world, they were kin. And he did recognize it, watched as she let every hurtful and rage filled emotion fill her eyes for less than half a second, and then disappear. But that half of a second had been enough. He'd seen it all because he knew what she was feeling, had felt and sometimes did feel the same way. He wanted to reach out to her then, wanted to touch her and let her know that he knew that they were the same without having to say anything. But Israel saw this, saw the way his hand twitched on the table, and she slowly pulled hers into her lap. She realized the position that she'd put herself, mentally kicked herself because she'd gone back on her promise. She'd never opened up to anyone like that before, or maybe she had and they just hadn't seen it. But this John Blake…he'd not only seen it, he'd understood it, saw her for who and what she really was, and he wasn't running away or asking for explanations. He was still sitting opposite her in the booth, his eyes apathetic and kind. She could feel herself slipping. She wanted to tell him things, things that she hadn't told anyone else because they wouldn't listen. But maybe John would, maybe he'd really understand. To justify her feelings, she told herself that she'd be gone by noon tomorrow. The she'd never see him again and that there was really no harm in telling him some things about herself. We're the same, she kept telling herself. He's just like me. I can trust him. But when she opened her mouth to speak the emotions and the words died in the back of her throat. The wall she'd built around herself was too high and too thick. She'd spent years reinforcing it, and after her latest ordeal with Paul she'd reinforced it again. She tried again but the words wouldn't leave her mouth. Had this been what Marshall was talking about?

"It's okay," John offered. "It ain't easy, that's for sure."

Their food came and even though it smelled delicious, Israel was too disgusted with herself to try and eat it. There was something wrong with her, something very, very wrong and what upset her the most was that she didn't realize how bad it was until that very moment.

John cleared his throat. "Let's just eat. We can talk later, or never if you want. No rush." He pushed a fry into his mouth and motioned at her food. It did look mouth-watering. All it took was one bite of her steak for her to dig in and destroy every single item on her plate. She finished before John did, and sat back in her seat while she sipped leisurely from her water. She was a full. It was an alien feeling for sure, and though it was uncomfortable, she relished in the moment.

John chuckled as he watched and finished the rest of his meal. She looked like she was in heaven, and even dreamily gazed out the window of the diner. He could tell by how slow she was blinking that she was tired, and when a yawn caught her by surprised he laid 30 dollars on the counter and stood up. She followed suit, but he stopped her. "You go use the bathroom and I'll warm up the car. It's cold out."

She gave him a skeptical look, but went to the bathroom anyways. It wasn't the cleanest place in the world…but it was dirtiest, and she knew that because she was sure she'd been in the dirtiest bathroom in Gotham…maybe even the continental United States. When she was done and she had washed her hands she gave herself a once over in the mirror. She looked like the definition of haggard. There were dark circles under her eyes and her makeup had run a little. She took a wad of paper towel, ran it under the cold water, and wiped her face down. She didn't look daisy fresh, but she looked a hell of a lot better than she had before. And her hair was a mess. It was tangled and frizzy. She immediately pulled it up on top of her head and twisted it into a tight bun. She was sure it would stay that way until she could at least get to Dollies. She went out to the car, chilled through her clothes when she get into the vehicle, and was so thankful that it was warm and cozy on the inside. She could feel John looking at her.

"What?" She asked.

He smiled as he pulled the car out onto the road. "I thought you had drowned in the toilet or something."

She quirked her eyebrow. "Well you're funny…"

John gave a small shrug. "So where am I taking you?"

"Dollies," she answered immediately. "You still workin' tonight?"

She shook her head. "My ride is picking me up there."

He nodded absently. "Ya know, I could just take you to your friend's place. It'd be no big deal."

"Dollies," she said again.

They drove in a comfortable silence, both of them sneaking glances at one another like a pair of shy teenagers. Israel didn't like it, but she couldn't stop herself. She liked him. She'd never tell him that, but he had a natural calmness about him that drew her in, made her feel comfortable, almost safe, and those feelings, they were so foreign that they were almost new to her. The sign outside of Dollies was lit up, but the parking lot was empty.

"You sure someone's home?" John asked as he watched her get out of the car.

"Papa Joe is always here." She leaned down into the car window. "Hey thanks…for the food and all."

"Any time you're hungry give me a call." He winked and they both laughed because he'd looked stupid.

She went to the door then, it was locked. She thought about pounding on it but Papa Joe's room was in the back, so instead she turned, waved to John who was still sitting in his car, and trotted around back. She tried the backdoor but it was locked as well, but this time, she did beat on the door. She even called out Joe's name, but there was no answer. Oh great, she thought, now where will I sleep. She didn't dare go back around to see if John was still there. There was no way he could be. She looked at her surroundings. Sleeping right outside the door was just plain dumb. There was no protection and anyone could just walk by and see her. The dumpster was pushed against the side of the building, and she figured that if she could wedge one of the corners out she could slip behind it and sleep there. While that was a good plan, she didn't know what she was going to do about heat. Her shirt was short sleeved, and while it was big, she just didn't see herself sleeping with her arm tucked inside the shirt the entire night. Besides that, her shoes were basically sandals. She eyes the dumpster again. Maybe the club had thrown out a piece of carpeting or curtain that she could wrap herself in. Just as she was going to look a hand touched her shoulder. She whipped around, pushed the person and flung herself back at the same time. Distance was always good, just until she could see who she was up against.

John caught his footing and immediately put his hands up in defense. "Hey it's just me!" He called. She looked terrified.

"What are you doing back here?" She asked trying to calm her racing heart.

"I came to check on you and make sure you got in safe. You didn't come back around to say if you were alright-"

"Was I supposed to?" She countered.

John shrugged. "I guess not…" He was looking at her now, really looking at her and she backed away.

She suddenly realized that they were alone and in the dark and that he was a cop, and she knew first hand that not all the cops in Gotham were good.

John didn't miss the change in her expression and immediately said, "I'm not gonna hurt you. Honest I'm not, I just wanted to make sure that you were okay." He stuck his hands in his pockets. The silence that settled around them was deafening, and finally he said, "There is no friend, is there?"

She frowned. "No. I was going to sleep here."

He nodded. "Yeah I figured…"

"I'm guessing that after last night they arrest Joe just like they arrested me."

John nodded absently. "He'll probably be back in the morning."

"Probably."

"So…where are you going to sleep then?"

She glanced at the dumpster. "I've got a few places in mind…"

He smirked. "Come on." He started walking and when she didn't follow he stopped, looked back. "you comin' or what?" He started walking again, satisfied when he heard her heels clack along after him.

"Where are we going?" She was cautious behind him.

"My place. You can sleep there. And you'll be safe."

The memory of her night at Paul's came to memory and she shook her head. "I can sleep here. Or I can find somewhere else. Not that big a deal…"

He already had the driver's side door open. "Look, I know you've been hurt, and I know it's hard to trust people, but I don't want anything from you other than to make sure you get a good's night sleep…and maybe some video games. It's hard to be Borderlands when you're playing by yourself."

She was still staring at him.

"I'll give you my gun, if it makes you feel any better…?"

The weighed the options of sleeping behind a dumpster versus sleeping inside on a couch or even a floor. "Deal."

[/] [/] [/]

John Blake's apartment was small. There was a living room and a kitchen and one bathroom that connect to both the bedroom and the living area, but it was cozy and simple, and Israel liked it. He'd let her in first and while he busied himself with shutting and locking the door, she amused herself with looking around his apartment. There were no paintings and she was guessing that the paint on the walls had come with the apartment. There was barely any food in the kitchen and hardly any utensils. The bathroom was bare of anything except a clear shower curtain and the necessary toiletries. His bedroom held a queen sized bed, a dresser, a hamper with a few dirty clothes in it, and a closet. She was about to go into his closet when he came into the room suddenly. He noted that she tensed up, her eyes immediately mapping out her exits.

"I'll let you have the bed." He looked around awkwardly. "Uhm, are you gonna sleep in those?"

She looked down at the shirt and sweatpants. "I can…?"

He smiled. "I've got a pair of boxers you can wear…and a wife beater…and maybe some socks. It can get cold in here. But that's only if you're comfortable with that."

She nodded then.

"They're in the top drawer." He backed to the door. "I'll just uh…I'll let you get changed." He shut it behind himself and Israel set out finding the items he'd named. As her feet were cold, she put the socks on first and then she undressed herself, felt a little awkward about standing in a stranger's bedroom naked, but reached for the wife beater and put it on. It hung low, just at the top of her thighs. She was searching for a pair of boxers when the door opened and John came back in, stopped mid-sentence when he caught sight of her ass as she was bent over going through his drawer. She snapped up and turned around, her eyes wide as she pulled the shirt down further. He shut the door, slammed it almost and went and sat on the couch. It was a good thirty minutes before she came out, and he was half expecting to see her clad in the GCPD shirt and sweats, expected her to say she had to leave. But instead she was in his boxers, her sock covered feet soundless on the hardwood floor. She took a seat on the couch next to him and very softly said, "I don't know how to play video games."

He was so nervous about seeing her bare ass that he almost didn't understand what she'd said. "I'm sorry, what?"

"I have never played video games."

He blinked at her. "Are you just gonna pretend I didn't just see your-"

"Yes," she said automatically.

"Alright then." He got up to turn on his television and xbox, and went back to the couch with two controllers. "I'll teach you."

They stayed up late playing Halo and Borderlands, and after a while Israel became at least decent at the games. Halo was her specialty, and she and John had become so competitive that they had begun talking smack and the tension in the room had risen. Israel was sitting with her knees to her chest as she talked the corridor of the game, her gun held high. She thought she was well on her way to finding John, but then a blue light stuck to her player's leg. She was so angry about it that she shook the controller. "I can't get it off," she huffed. "Why won't it come off?"

But it was too late. The light exploded and her character died. John jumped from his seat and fist pumped the air. "I win!" He said happily. "That means you lose."

Israel immediately took a pillow from the couch and threw it at him. "You're a cheater!"

He took the pillow to the face and immediately pounced on her. "I'll show you cheating."

It had been so long since Israel had been tickled that when John's fingers wiggled under her arms she forgot to suck in air to breath. It took all of 10 seconds for her to cry uncle and when John relented they were both left huffing and panting on the couch. When she came back to herself she realized that he was on top of her, his arms on either side of her body. She froze, but didn't feel as afraid and as wary as she normally did. John felt her freeze up, but when he went to move she stopped him. He remained perfectly still as she ran her hands up his arms and shoulders, and when she brought herself up to kiss him, he dipped his head, fed her his mouth. The kiss was chaste, sweet, and she was so timid about her movements. His mouth was hot and open to her, and she felt comfort in him letting her do what she wanted. He didn't rush her or take control, and she needed that. Their kiss grew heated and passionate, both trying to devour the other's mouth. Their hands roamed over each other and when John ground himself against her, she moaned and grinded back. He pulled her up then, lifted her so that her legs could wrap around his waist as he felt his way to the bedroom. They freed each other from clothing and were almost frantic in their need to fully divulge in one another. John's mouth was hot and wet and he did his best to cover every inch of her. The only time she stopped was when he moved to kiss between her legs, and he didn't push the issue. Instead he kissed his way back up her, was quick to reach into his dresser for protection and after covering himself, he slid into her. They both groaned at the contact and while he was going to wait, to let her adjust, her fingernails dug into him and her hips bucked, urged him onward and inward. Their sex was hurried and intense and Israel had almost let herself give into it all, almost let go, but as she felt him climbing higher and higher, her own sex was left stagnant. She felt wrong and cried out in frustration because this time would be like all the other times. She didn't know she thought it would be different. The problem wasn't with the men she laid with, it was with herself. She could feel him sliding against her and into her, and the movements felt crude. John's thrusts faltered. He dipped his head into the crook of her neck and as he came Israel had a brief moment of thanks for the condom. He didn't roll off of her immediately, he stayed still, kissed her neck and shoulder and mouth, and she let him while nausea rolled like a torrent sea in her stomach. He left her then, went to the bathroom to dispose of the product of their coupling, and she rolled onto her side facing away from the door. The light was flicked off, and when he came back to the bed he spooned with her and fell asleep within minutes. She, however, was not so lucky.

Her disgust didn't stem from him. John Blake wasn't the problem. Her disgust was with herself and with her past, because it was still taking from her, still weaseling it's way inside areas of her life that she felt it had no place. She shook her head into the pillow and then disengaged herself from John's arms. The tiptoed to the bathroom and shut the door, and then stared the shower. The water was scalding hot and she flinched as it beat down on her, but she didn't move away. It was always like this afterwards. They could always sleep fine, but it was in these moment were her past crept on her, clouded her eyes with nightmares and hurt and shame. She used his soap, Irish Spring, to wash herself. She felt dirty and cheap and it was no one's fault but her own. She thought she was ready for intimacy, but it was now to obvious that she wasn't. Probably never would be again. Thanks, dad, she thought.

She turned the shower and dried herself after finger combing her hair. She didn't reach for John's clothes, but instead donned the GCPD shirt and sweatpants. She didn't return to the bed or the room. It smelled too much of sex and it made her feel even worse. Instead she went to the couch and slept curled into a ball in one of the corners. As she went to sleep, she mentally told herself a story about a girl with a horrid past who left her troubles behind and went to live in a city called Paradise, because there every one could have a new chance and a new life.

[/] [/] [/]

She once again woke before the sun and as the pale blue light that she'd come to know as friend filtered through the windows she stretched on the couch. John wasn't up yet, and she knew she had maybe an hour to get herself together and get out before he woke. The first thing she did was rummage through his kitchen for coffee. He had plenty, and she'd expected him to. He was a cop, after all. She sat on the counter while it was brewing and made a checklist in her head. She needed to get to Dollies to get her things and her money. But if Papa Joe hadn't been released then she needed to stop by the police station to get his keys. Something told her that the police wouldn't just hand them over to her. Maybe she could pick the lock? No, she'd never been any good at lock picking. She could just break a window. Sure, Joe would be pissed about it but she'd be long gone and it's not like she was going to steal anything. So she'd go to the club, get in, get her stuff and buy the cheapest plane ticket. Or maybe she could buy a used car. That sounded better. That way she'd have her own mode of transportation.

A rustling came from the bedroom and John appeared in the doorway. He smiled when he saw her perched on his counter. "Boy, you wake early."

She forced a smile. "I made coffee."

"The smell is what woke me up. Good morning, by the way."

"You too…"

The silence was loud and uncomfortable, and then they both started speaking at the same time.

"Hey John, I gotta get outta here."

"I have tickets to the game today if you wanna go. Oh….you have to go."

She winced at the disappointment in this voice. "Yeah. It's just that I have a lot to do today so…"

"Yeah… Well hey the game doesn't start until three."

"John…"

He rushed back to his room and came back with the ticket. "Here, just take it. It's not like I have anyone else to go with."

She just started at the paper in his hand.

"Israel, just take the ticket. If you can't go, well then you can't. You can be a little late. I've got to check on the Commissioner and run some errands for him before I get there anyways."

"John, I don't think I'll have time."

"I'm not taking no for an answer."

She begrudgingly took the ticket and when John moved into the wrap his arms around her and give her a kiss she pulled back, removed his arms. "I really have to go." She saw the question on his face and as she slipped from the counter and eased into the bedroom she silently hoped that he wouldn't make a big deal out of what had happened. All she wanted to do was leave, and the only thing holding her up was the temptation of coffee and the fact that she couldn't find the bag she'd out her lingerie in…or her shoes for that matter. She was in the middle of looking under his head when she heard John come into the room. When she looked up he's placed a cup of coffee down on the dresser. It was obviously meant for her. She stared at it, her mouth suddenly turning sour at the thought of drinking it.

"No thanks," she murmured. "Have you seen my shoes? I have got to get out of here, I've got a lot of things to do…" She trailed off when she noticed that John was watching her intensely. And here it comes, she thought.

"Did I do something wrong?" He asked.

He got points for not sounding needy. "No." She shook her head.

"Then what's going on here? It's like you've….you've just turned yourself off or something."

She could still see the mirror of herself peeking out behind his eyes, but the image was clouded with confusion. "It's not you… It's me… I'm just…" Her mouth shut because the wall wouldn't let her say what she was feeling. She could never say what she was feeling, and she looked up at John, tried to convey that with her eyes, but she was scared that maybe he wouldn't see, maybe he didn't know after all.

But relief flooded her when he nodded, gave half a smirk. "Okay," he acknowledged. "Okay… But at least let me give you a ride to where you're going."

She nodded. "Yeah, I can do that…if I ever find my damned shoes." John left the room, set about looking for them as she continued to look under the bed, even though she wasn't really looking. Her mind had begun to fill with the possibility that maybe she'd met the right guy at the wrong time, because with John, he understood. He knew about the hurt and the guilt and the anger, and he wasn't pushing her to do something she couldn't do. It was like…breathing, and it scared her that she felt so natural around him, free and safe and herself. Besides the horridity of not being able to be intimate with him, or anyone, she had a hope that they could at first become friends. The promise she made to herself lingered just behind her eyes and she shut them tight, told herself that maybe he wouldn't hurt like everyone else did. Maybe she could trust him. She felt foolish even as she was thinking it, but the hope she felt was overwhelming and all-consuming.

When John came back into the room holding her shoes, Israel smiled. She wanted to ask him if she wanted to go get breakfast, but when she opened her mouth, those weren't the words that came out. "I have to go back to Dollies. All my stuff is there." She had confused herself. She was going to ask about breakfast. Why hadn't she asked about breakfast?

In the time it took for John to find her shoes, he'd managed do dress himself and sneak out to the car to start it up and run the heat. He stood by the door and waited and once she was ready, he opened the door for her. The morning was cold and Israel was all too thankful for the heat the enveloped her when she got into the car. As John drove they found themselves silent, listening to the background noise of the morning radio. The announcer was bragging about the Gotham Rogues and that caused John to glance over at Israel and smile. She forced a smile back, feeling a tad bit guilty that, after he dropped her off at Dollies, it would be the last he'd ever see of her. Sure, she liked him, but that wasn't enough, and he wasn't enough for to stay in a city that had caused her so much anguish. She had to leave.

The ride to Dollies was quick and this time, instead of dropping in the front, John drove around back, surprised when he saw a rather large older man standing outside the back door having a smoke. Israel smiled upon seeing him and when she went to simply hop out of the car, John stopped her. He'd gripped harder than he meant to, and the pressure of his hand made Israel snatch back. He let go immediately.

"Sorry," he uttered. "Hey look, the game starts at 3…I won't get there until 4…4:30. Just, at least try to show up, would ya?" He smiled sheepishly.

The corners of her mouth twitched, her effort to smile back. "I'm not making any promises."

He nodded. "Well if you can't make it to the game, at least let me take you to dinner sometime."

She opened the door, breathed deep from the outside air that free of the contaminations of John's questions. "Let me think on it." She got out then. Shut the door behind her and gave him a wave before she turned to Joe. John drove off, and the tension in her shoulders eased.

"You got a new boyfriend or somethin'?" Papa Joe let out the smoke in his lungs and held the cigarette out for to snag a drag from.

"I don't smoke anymore…" But she stared at the cigarette with longing.

"Right, right… You don't smoke no more. You don't drink no more. I couldn't be prouder of you if you were my own daughter."

"And you," she huffed. "What would your wife say if she saw you with that cancer stick between your lips?"

He winked. "Well what she don't know won't hurt her." He considered for a moment, let his eyes wander across the letters on her shirt. "They got you too, huh?"

She leaned against the side of the building. "Held me for three days."

"Yeah…fuckin' cops. I told 'em, I tried to tell 'em that me and my girls didn't have nothin' to do with the fuckin' guy in the mask. Buncha fat fuckin' chuds, didn't even believe me. Threw me back in that shit hole of a cell to refresh my memory."

"Sounds like you and I got the same royal treatment. Are you opening tonight?"

Joe snubbed out his cigarette. "Yeah, but I don't see the point. After the whole ordeal who's gonna wanna come back into my joint?"

She patted him on the arm reassuringly. "You've got the best girls in Gotham. Someone will turn up. Hey listen, I've gotta grab my stuff and go."

"So you're still leavin' town?" It was a question, but there was pride in his eyes as he asked.

"You know it."

"Good for you, girlie. Hey, if there's anything you need, you let me know."

"Actually, could you point me in the right direction to get a car?"

Joe chuckled, a movement that made his stomach jiggle. "Do you even have a license?"

She fixed him with a stare and he his laughter died in his throat, the smile on his face stayed though. "Come on." He headed inside and she followed after. He went to the nearest station and took a piece of blot paper and wrote down a name and an address. "This is my cousin Louie. You go there and you'll get a good runnin' car cheap."

She set the paper on the table. "I've gotta get changed and get going."

"Yeah you do that. I got some calls to make. If you're gone before I get back down here…just promise you'll keep in touch okay? You know how I worry."

She smiled sympathetically. "You'll be the first person I call as soon as I get settled in somewhere."

He gave her a soft pat on the back and then waddled away to his office. She had never been more happy to get out of GCPD attire and was quick to slip on a pair of cargo skinnies along with a grey, black, and white plaid button up and her hoodie. She zipped it up tight and slipped on her boots before crouching below her makeup station to free up a loose board in the floor. It took her few minutes to get it up, but once she did inside she found a pudgy manila envelope. She lifted it gingerly and when she looked inside she was happy to see that all her money was still in place. She pulled a fifty from it and went to the wall phone to call a cab. It didn't take them long to get there, and since Joe hadn't come back out she left him a note with the most minimal amount of sap she could and then left.

From there things ran smoothly. Israel had managed to find her way to Louie's junkyard and Louie had turned out to be a very tall busty woman with brown hair streaked with car grease as she had no doubt been running her hands through it. Even after Israel had mentioned that she'd been sent there by Papa Joe it took the two women a little over an hour to come to an agreement. Louie had wanted to sell the girl a 2008 GT Mustang for six thousand, and Israel was only willing to spend twenty five hundred to three thousand at the most. Sure, the mustang was nice, but it was going to cost her more than half her earnings, she wasn't going to take it. In the end they'd settled on a 2004 Honda Civic. It was a more than a nice car. It was white and shiny and the wheels looked new. Cosmetically there was nothing wrong with it, but Louie had said that there was a still a tiny bit of work to be done to it and that the only reason she hadn't sold it was because someone had been murdered in it. Strangely, this didn't deter Israel. She was more worried about the work that needed to be done.

"A few parts here and there need to be replaced, but I got all of 'em in the yard. I just need to clean 'em up and put 'em on."

"And after you do that, how much will it be?"

"I'll leave it at 2300."

"That sounds reasonable. Can you put the parts on today? Like before tonight?"

Louie nodded and ran her dirty fingers through her hair. "Hell ain't nobody here anyways, and I doubt anyone'll be comin' in. Everyone's hyped about the game."

The mention of it made Israel think of John.

"Not much of a football fan myself…" Louie mumbled while starting to walk away. "It'll take me a few hours. Gotta find the parts and clean 'em up, put 'em on…like I told ya." She absently pointed to the small shed. "You can wait in there if ya want. There's cable and a couch and a fridge with some fixings in it." After that Louie disappeared, but Israel could faintly here the older woman rummaging through other cars.

After much consideration she went into the shed, found that he heat was on and that the place wasn't too bad off. There was carpet and a computer and a flat screen with the pre-game coverage on. She took a seat on the couch and set her bag down near to her, being sure to keep it within her sight as her money was in it. The first hour of her waiting consisted of sipping on a Coke, watching cartoons, and listening to Louie give short clipped updates as she came in and out of the shed to grab one thing or another. The second hour consisted of Israel venturing out into the cold to watch Louie work. The older woman had nimble fingers and was surprising efficient about her work even though she wasn't quick about it. But Israel appreciated that. It meant that Louie did quality work and cared about the cars she was fixing up. The third hour was nothing but mind numbing boredom that had rendered Israel motionless and frustrated on the couch. It was at that point that she decided to at least try and take a nap. She settled down on the couch after shedding her hoodie, draped the material over herself like a tiny blanket and watched as Tom and Jerry chased each other around their living room. She didn't know how many cartoons she had watched before her eyes started to droop. Before passing completely out, she had a few moments where she fought sleep, where her head would snap up or her eyes would fly open and she'd startle herself. But eventually sleep won.

Her nightmare was short, but it was so real, so vivid that she didn't she was dreaming. It was dark and she was trembling, and someone was holding her arms behind her back, laughing in her ear. She fought against the grip and every time she did a blade would press in earnest against her neck. She could feel his breath through the bag over her face, hear him telling her that she had a very important choice to make. And then the bag was lifted and the nightmare played out in earnest.

Israel shot up in a cold sweat. Her mouth was so dry that it hurt when she tried to swallow. She hadn't had one of those nightmares in a long time. And even though her brain was already shutting down the painful memories, giving her the strange feeling of terror without really remembering what she'd dreamed about, she knew. She'd been there and it had been real, and she knew. She was fighting to catch her breath, to slow her heart and to ease the tension from her shoulder. She was almost there when the shed door tore open and Louie walked in covered in dirt and grease with a small pout about her mouth. She took the younger girl in for a moment and then motioned for her to follow her outside.

"You're car's ready." As Louie went back outside Israel literally shook herself, ran her clammy hands over her face and told mentally told herself that it had only been a dream, and that it was over and in the past. She reached for her bag and pulled twenty four hundred from her envelope, and then shoved it back inside, put on her hoodie. The car was parked in the driveway with the engine running and purring like it was brand new. Louie beamed as Israel handed her the money and counted it. She didn't mention that the girl had gone over by a hundred. She didn't know if it had been on purpose or not, but she wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"It'll run like a dream. And ya know Honda's are reliable cars anyways. You're all set to go, but I would put some gas in it before you seriously hit the road." Louie, not one for long goodbyes, especially with strangers, turned on her heels and left.

Israel sank into her new car, marveled at how clean it was on the inside and was pleased to see that the title and the insurance had been placed in the glove compartment. She had a license. Marshall had made sure she knew how to drive, but the last time she'd been behind the wheel of a car was when she was with him, and she was a little apprehensive about pulling the thing out onto the main road. She drove slow at first, telling herself that it was just like riding a bike. By the time she pulled up at the mall and parked, she was sure that driving wouldn't be a problem.

The time was getting later. She'd slept at the junkyard for too long as it was already 2:57. She marched into Old Navy and sought out Paul, who was in the office. He beamed when he saw her.

"Where have you been?" He went to pull her into a hug but she pulled back.

"I've been busy." She wasn't one to forgive so easily. "I'm just here to pick up my last check."

"Your last check?"

She nodded. "I'm kind of in a hurry here, Paul."

"What do you mean your last check?"

She didn't say anything.

"Are you…are you quitting because of me? Because of me and Kristen?"

"Don't flatter yourself," she mumbled. "I'm leaving. I have to get out of Gotham."

"Leaving…" He was standing now. "Well, where are you going to go? And who gave you money to just up and leave?" He eyed her suspiciously. "You didn't…you didn't do anything for money did you?"

She didn't have time for this. "Paul…my check. I need it. I'm running on borrowed time here and I have a flight to catch."

He was rummaging through a drawer. "Flight? But you told me that you hate to fly."

"I also hate living in this city. You tell me which is the lesser evil."

He found her check, held it out to her and when she reached for it he pulled it back. "I don't want you to go." His voice sounded sad, hurt.

"Why?" She challenged. She was becoming fed up.

"You and I…we never-"

"Paul, there was never a you and I. There's you and your wife and me your employee. That's it. There was never anything else."

His brow knit. "So you never felt anything for me? Ever?"

The tension between her eyes was growing. "Just hand me my check. I need to go. I have to go."

"Israel…"

She'd had enough. She grabbed her check, tore it out of his hand and turned to leave. When his hand wrapped around her arm she reacted on instinct. She turned on him, grabbed a fist full of his shirt and pulled him close so that when her knee intersected with his stomach the blow was hard, intense, sharp. He went down immediately, and Israel all but ran from the store. Once in her car she locked the doors and left the parking lot so fast that her tires squealed against the pavement. At the gas station, while she was pumping gas, she'd managed to calm down. She told herself that what had happened was okay because she wasn't going to work the next day and she wasn't going to see Paul or Gotham City ever again. She was going to leave, and that would be the end of it.

She took care to fill the tank up as she didn't want to have to stop unless it was absolutely necessary and then she was on her way. Traffic in Gotham was murder. Everyone was trying to get to the game or leave the game. She wasn't sure, she just knew she was annoyed, but all such annoyance disappeared when she caught sight of one of the bridges that led away from Gotham. Her hear did flip flops in her chest as she drove on to it. She was still stuck in stop and go traffic, but it didn't matter. It didn't matter because she was well across the water already and when she looked in her rearview, Gotham was steadily getting smaller, further away. She delighted herself with turning on the radio and didn't even mind that the song playing was stupid and that she didn't know the words. She hummed along with the tune and fought the urge to scream nonsense out the window. This was the happiest she could ever remember being and she it made her giddy and fidgety.

She inched forward, stopped again, repeated. She was almost to the middle of the bridge when a small tremor wracked her car. At first she didn't pay it any attention, but then it happened again, and this time stronger. Strange, she thought, as Gotham had never had any earthquakes before. She looked to the car next to her. The person inside looked just as confused as she was, and just as Israel rolled down her window to ask what was going on, the screaming started. It was a soft echo at first, a noise that was coming from Gotham, but then it was all around her. The tremors started in earnest and when she glanced to her left she noted that one of the other bridges that led both in and out of Gotham was shaking and trembling, and then the middle of it suddenly exploded. Her wide as saucers, and her body and limbs moving mechanically, she opened her door and got out. Her legs moved of their own accord, drawing her nearer to the edge of the bridge just like the other drivers were doing. She watched as the debris fell into the water taking cars and people with it. There were more blasts then, and Israel was willing to bet that the other bridges in town were being blown apart as well. Her realization came too late, and it was only as the bridge she was on started to rumble and shake that she started to run. The sound the bridge made as it cracked and upheaved underneath her feet made her stomach knot. Other people were running now, pushing past and shoving and throwing people out of the way to get themselves to safety. Someone shoved Israel, she almost fell, caught her footing and since no one else was doing it, she took to the top of cars. She didn't think she'd make it. In fact, she was almost positive that she was going to die, but her survival instinct was strong, and after years of keeping herself alive and taking care of herself, there was nothing in her that was just going to let her lie down and accept defeat.

She heard the blast before she felt it, and the sound of the explosion made her pump arms harder, drove her to pick up her feet faster. And then heat and fire were touching her back, pushing her up and forward like an angry hand. She was airborne for all of 5 seconds, but she felt it was longer. Her adrenaline was so high that it canceled out all other noised except the sound of her own heartbeat. Her vision tunneled as she sought out a suitable place to fall as if she could somehow control it. She was nearing the tops of cars now, and she forced herself to think back to something, anything that would help her from being too injured. Immediately grade school and tumbling came to mind. She remembered the mats and how she was to place her hands, the nausea that rocked through her when she had pitched herself forward, rolled along her back and ended up on her feet with her hands in the air as if she'd been some kind of gymnast. The same rules could apply, she told herself.

She leaned forward, her hands reaching out and when they touched the top if a red SUV she pushed herself, willed her knees to tuck into her chest as she rolled. She was numbly aware of the pop and crack that happened her in wrist and arm, the way her hip collided with the top of car, but she kept rolling. She ended up falling on the ground, and her shirt rose up so that the pavement could scratch tear at the skin on her side. She pulled herself up as fast as she could because the sound of objects hitting the water filled her ears. She was running again, not as fast as she was before. There was something wrong with her legs. She couldn't figure it out, but the adrenaline overcompensated, and she told herself that, if she made it out of this, she would personally check herself into a hospital.

She glanced behind herself once and horrid fear washed over as cars and people began to disappear, to fall. A curse word flew from her lips as she pushed herself, but a noise stopped her, made her slow her pace. A voice, tiny and loud, rang out over the screaming. It was crying, pleading for help, and it was ahead of Israel. She kicked herself into high gear, memories of her past telling her exactly what was happening and who was crying and that if she hurried she could help. The car was slanted to the side, but the side of the car facing the oncoming disaster was blocked by another vehicle. Israel could still hear the crying, could still hear that little voice crying out. And then she saw him, a small boy, maybe only 6 or 7 years old, was stuck in the backseat of the car. He had his book-bag on him as if he'd just left school, and there was a Batman toy in his lap. He was crying and had been yelling so hard that he was hoarse and was hiccupping. The two made eye contact and Israel wasted no time wedging herself in the small space between his door and a car that was a little too close. She tried the handle, it gave, but nothing opened, nothing happened. The doors had locked up, but Israel could see that the sunroof was open. She climbed inside, panic setting in as she noticed that the bridge was crumbling faster now. The boy was in hysterics.

She touched his face as she tried his seat belt, it was locked up too. "Hey, hey it's okay. Hey calm down, okay? I'm gonna get you out of here." She was beginning to tear up because she didn't know if she could get him out, could get either of them out. "What's your name?"

It took the boy a couple tries, but he finally managed to croak out, "Roman."

"Okay, I'm Izzy. Roman, I'm going to pull as hard as I can, and when I left the seatbelt, you've got to slip under it, okay?"

The boy nodded, his eyes huge and glassy and red. She did what she said she would do, she hefted herself above him, used her feet as leverage while she pulled at the seatbelt. He was a small boy thankfully and he slipped beneath it easily enough. Once he was out, she climbed out of the sunroof first and was helping him out afterwards the when the ground gave way and the car slipped into the water below. Israel had hold on him, was holding on tightly even though it was killing her. Her arm, her wrist, they were injured and though the boy didn't weigh anything her hands were losing grip. She could feel the section of road she was lying on start to give. "No!" She yelled out as if her words alone would stop it.

Roman cried, his eyes continually going from hers to the water and back again. "Don't let go!" He cried out.

"I'm not!" She answered, trying to ease more of herself back so she'd be able to gradually pull him up. "Help!" She screamed. "DAMNIT SOMEONE HELP ME!" Both their hands were slick and she was saying no repeatedly as she was his small hand slip from hers. She didn't look away as he fell, and he didn't look away either. She was crying, openly cry as she watched him fade away, smaller and smaller until the water enveloped him…and he didn't resurface. More of the bridge was giving, but she couldn't make herself move. She just kept staring, hoping that she'd seen him resurface even though she was blind with her own tears. He didn't.

Strong hands found her then, lifted her around her middle and pulled her to standing. A face filled her view, cupped her cheeks with big warm hands as she looked into bright brown eyes. "Come on. Come on, snap out of it! We've got to move! You've got to move! Let's go!"

She was numb on the inside, barely knew she was running or that someone was leading her. She wasn't even watching ahead of herself and occasionally she'd stumble, trip. She made it back onto the mainland along with at least 50 others. Something had happened and gone wrong because the streets of Gotham were disrupted and its citizens were in panic. There was a coffee shop nearby, and the man who had saved her lead her there, had her take a seat while he asked for something black and hot for her to sip on. But then a voice rang out on the television, and it was a voice that Israel knew too well. She raised her eyes to him, watched as he stepped out over a fallen and trashed football field. She couldn't hear what he was saying, couldn't make herself listen. She could only watch, stare, because he was the cause of this. He had shattered her dream, taken her hope. His name went around the coffee shop like a hushed and deadly secret. She watched him on screen as he spoke to an older man…hand him kneel down. He asked him a question, she didn't make out what it was, but that didn't matter, because Bane snapped his neck.

Israel jumped a little when a mug of black coffee was placed in front of her. She didn't reach for, and instead looked up at a black haired blue eyed man who taken a seat on the stool next to her. He glanced at her as he sipped from his own mug. "You're pretty banged up." He said. He motioned to her coffee. "I didn't get that for you for nothing."

She still said nothing.

"What were you doing just lying in the road like that? If I didn't get you when I did…you'd have fallen."

The image of large chocolate eyes flashed behind her own and she squeezed them shut, hugged herself. "There was a boy…I…I couldn't…I didn't…" She could feel the breakdown coming, could feel herself starting to shut down. She wobbled on the stool, started to fall and was expecting to hit the floor hard, when hands and arms caught her, lowered her down.

"Hey….hey kid."

But she was already gone, passing out and falling in to herself.

* * *

**The part with the child...that was hard to write. I think I cried a little. And the guy who saved her, I'm starting to love him. So much so that I'm thinking of using him in my own book as he won't get too much spotlight in this fic. **

**Sutur: I have no idea how many chapters there will be. I feel like it will be somewhere in the double digits as there are many characters and scenarios to cover, but I don't have an exact number in mine.**

**Heavenly Condemned: I would LOVE to see those drawings! AND, for anyone else who is reading this and likes the fic and is capable in the drawing/painting area, I would be more than excited to see any artwork you may have pertaining to this fic. If my drawing skills weren't limited to stick figures then I'd put out a pic with each chapter...but I can't draw. Soooo yeah.**

**Twitter: **(slash) TheWriterMegan

**Tumblr: **Clarks-World ...warning you I post some pretty adult stuff sometimes...

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	5. Interesting Circumstances

**Whoa. Let me first start by wishing each and everyone one of you a belated Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! I hope you guys had a blast on both of those holidays, because I know I did. I had a lot of you messaging me asking me if I had abandoned this story and if I was ever going to work on it again, and I hope this answers your questions. I'm an so, so, sososo, sorry about how long it took me to finish and post this. Honestly, I got so excited about posting it and that I didn't even edit it properly sooooo, I'm sorry because this isn't my best work...like at all by any standards. **

* * *

**Interesting circumstances**

"_Don't let go!"_

"_I won't!"_

_And she watched him drop, only this time the water was alive and rose up with claws and teeth, and it roared as it caught hold of the boy and swallowed him whole._

Israel startled, froze in the bed and stared wide eyed into the dark. It was a nightmare, but it had also been real. It had happened, and she had been there, and she didn't stop it. Her head hurt and so did her body. She didn't know where she was, and that particular moment, she didn't really care. She felt so alone, so tired, and angry and hurt. She rolled over onto her back, wincing at the pain that shot through her. She went to get up, fell back the moment she put weight on her left arm. Propping herself up on her right elbow she examined her bandaged limb, noted that it had been wrapped tight. She flexed her fingers and winced. A light suddenly came on and a woman with long black hair, braided down her back, stood in the doorway.

"It's not broken." Her voice was soft, comforting. "So you're lucky…but it was sprained pretty badly, and Lewis thinks you may have cracked a bone or something."

Israel examined her. She was average height with pale skin and a lithe muscle tone about her. She was in socks and sweatpants with a snug tank top fitted over her torso. "Where am I?"

"My place." She came further into the room, took a seat in the chair next to the bed and opened a box of medical supplies. "Lewis brought you here. You were passed out." She covered a cotton swap in antiseptic. "Roll over onto your stomach, would ya?"

"Why?"

The woman shook her head. "Do you have any idea how banged up you were?"

Israel's eyebrow quirked, but she rolled over, noting that she was only in a t-shirt and her underwear. She was going to ask who removed her clothes, but the intense stinging on her calves stole the words from her mouth. And then there was prodding, pulling, and Israel swatted the woman away, turned on her side to see what was happening. She had a line of stitches running horizontally across each calf. "What the hell happened?"

The woman went to tend to the stitches again but Israel pulled away, swatted angrily at her. "Suit yourself."

"What the hell happened to my legs?!"

"You tell me! You were like that when I got to you."

The two women stared at each other angrily, until a gently voice sounded from the door. "I dug some metal out. I'm guessing that when the bridge exploded something sliced you open."

Israel knew him, recognized the light eyes and dark hair. "You're that guy…" she started.

"The one who saved your ass?" He pointed to himself. "Yeah, that's me."

She fought rolling her eyes. He was cocky. Just what she needed… "Thanks…" The word came out harsh and forced.

A smirk briefly graced his mouth. "You should really let her put some alcohol on those." He came further into the room, and once the two were standing side by side Israel noticed that they favored one another not only in looks, but also in the way they held themselves, their stance. They were definitely related. Brother and sister if she had to guess. And, while they were both rather tall individuals, one was wide with broad shoulders and muscles while the other was thinner, a fitting smaller counterpart.

"I'm sorry, who are you guys?" They had helped her, bandaged her up, but Israel was nothing if not wary of new people. Sure they had done right by her…so far…but she was beginning to wonder what they really wanted.

The man, larger of the two, took a seat on the bed and watched Israel with a perplexed stare. When he reached for the younger woman and she recoiled from him. It made him frown. "I'm Lewis. That's my sister Joanna." He reached for her again and when she swatted at his hand it made the lines around his mouth deepen. "I'm not gonna hurt you. I just want to make sure Joanna did your stitches right…since she sucks at it…" The last part he mumbled, but his sister had keen hearing.

"Well if I suck at it, it's only because you taught me wrong," she fired back.

Lewis chuckled. "Or you're just dumb. Either one…"

Israel didn't care to watch them playfully bicker. "You don't have last names?" She asked.

"You need our last names?" Joanna asked.

Israel shrugged. "Just in case…"

Lewis scoffed and Joanna made her way out of the room. "I'll let you handle that. I don't wanna burn what I have on the stove."

"We bandaged you up, kid. We don't have you chained to the bed."

"You're a lot bigger than me…you wouldn't need to chain me to the bed."

"You've got to be kidding me." They stared at each other. Israel unmoving from the home she had made in the corner on the bed, and Lewis still sitting on the edge. He thought she was pretty, Her dark curls and surprising eyes caught your attention to her, but it was her tight, closed off nature that drew you in. She was so tense, so attentive. She didn't miss anything, and a person like that had secrets and stories that a person would want to hear. Lewis found himself wondering what she was hiding from the world. "You don't trust people easily, do you?" He asked.

Israel tucked her knees into her chest and scowled. "Do I have a reason to trust you?"

"You don't have a reason not to…"

Her eyes narrowed. He was handsome, she'd give him that. Tall and muscular, he had the face of a Greek god and the body of a soldier, and then there were those piercing blue eyes and that rich dark hair that just begged to have fingers combed through it. She shook her head. Those were just looks. She didn't know anything about him. For all she knew he and his sister serial killers whose quirk was to chat up their victims before brutally mutilating and skinning them. She was frowning again. "I can leave anytime I want?"

The corners of Lewis's mouth twitched. "You can, but I wouldn't advise it. You've got stitches in your calves and…well it's not safe out there for someone like you."

"Someone like me?"

"Yeah, someone who's…" Interesting. Attracts attention. Gorgeous. Sexy. Tiny. His mind screamed at him the things he wanted to say but he didn't dare let slip from his mouth.

"Is this about me being a woman?" Israel challenged.

"Partly!" Lewis blurted out. "Look, I just don't wanna see you get hurt."

"I can take care of myself just fine. I've lived in Gotham my whole life. I doubt a simple bridge bombing is going to-"

"You have no idea what happened, do you?"

[/][/][/]

After another argument, Israel had finally accepted Lewis's help into the living room. He sat her on the couch and went to grab a glass of water for her while she immersed herself in the news. He had been right, she had no idea what was going on. She watched as broadcast after broadcast was made, and each news anchor had the same panic in their eyes as the one before. She didn't see Lewis sit the water down on the worn coffee table, and she didn't feel him sit down on the couch next to her. All she could do was watch the news.

"So, it wasn't just the explosion?" Her voice came out small.

Lewis shook his head. "All of the bridges leading out of Gotham were blown except one."

"Why aren't the police on this?"

"Because they're trapped."

A fluttering blink attacked her eyes as she glanced at him. "What do you mean?"

"When the bridges blew so did some of the piping underground. The cops are trapped down there."

"Okay…but how many? There have to be some left who weren't trapped…" Her words died in her throat as the expression on Lewis's face darkened. "They are all trapped underground?" She asked incredulously.

"Leave it up to the Commissioner to get overzealous in his antics. He sent them all down there. Called it a training exercise." He scoffed. "The stupid fuck…"

Israel's head began to hurt as she tried to process the information, but everything inside her went blank when Bane's face appeared on the TV screen. "Him…"

"He's the one causing all this. He's holding the entire city hostage."

Israel curled into herself, barely winced at the pain that shot through her legs. She had been too late in getting out. She had been working against a clock that she hadn't even known about, had been playing some invisible game with God and when her time ran out He had shut the gates of Heaven…and she had been confined to Hell. The panic that rose inside her was stifling. But something didn't make sense in her head, she was missing some piece of the puzzle. "How…how is he keeping everyone here? That makes no sense. Why is no one leaving?"

"You weren't paying much attention in that coffee shop were you? You didn't hear what he was saying at the game? It was on the TV while we were there." Lewis didn't wait for her to respond and instead began flipping through channels. He lucked out when he found a station that was broadcasting the scene from the football game.

Bane immediately filled the screen, and Israel squirmed in her seat at the sight of him. She recognized the scene, recognized the man on his knees and had a moment of pity for him as he had no idea what was coming next. She reminded herself that in reality this man was already dead, and instead did her best to focus on the words that were being spoken. So much happened on screen that she only managed to understand bits and pieces, fragments of the conversation entered her head at random and when she managed to piece them together… Scientist made a bomb. Bane had possession of bomb. Scientist was the only one to diffuse bomb. Bomb given to random citizen. And then the scientist was killed again, only this time his death had a much deeper meaning on her than it had before. She went ashen as Bane's last words: sit and wait. "We are so fucked…" Her words came out as barely a whisper.

Lewis glanced over at her. "I think we'll be okay. The government will have to send someone in to help out."

Israel was internally panicking, and it was becoming so bad that she was beginning to feel irrational. "You don't know our government system very well, Lewis." The way she said his name made it sound like a slur. "An entire city has been threatened with a nuclear bomb by a terrorist…and you think the United States government is going to help?" She was starting to pant, and tried to keep herself from yelling. "They won't help. They'll watch, and they'll do that because it means that they won't get their hands dirty."

Just then Joanna appeared in the living room with her jacket and boots on. Israel eyed the gun tucked into the waistband of her pants. "If we're going to the store we need to go now."

"You need a gun to go to the store?" Israel asked skeptically.

Joanna didn't smile. "There are no police, kid. What do you think happens to a society when there's no law?"

Israel stopped smiling and Lewis stood from the couch and grabbed his coat. "We'll be back soon."

"I wanna go too." She knew she sounded like some spoiled child, but she didn't care. She didn't like the idea of being cooped up in a home with people she didn't know.

Lewis shot her a stern look. "You've got stitches in your calves. I don't think you'll be going anywhere anytime soon." He reached into the table next to the door and produced his own gun. "I said we'll be back and we will. Anything you want? Ya know, if it's still in stock?"

Israel only scowled.

"Right. Well then I'll bring you back some ice cream. That always cheers me up when the world is ending."

Joanna's laugh rang out loud as she opened the front door and stepped through it. Lewis winked at the injured girl on his couch and then shut the door behind himself. And Israel was left on the couch to stew in her own self-loathing and panic. She should have turned off the television. She should have gone to take a nap or a shower, something to take her mind off of the present events, but she didn't. Instead she stayed on the couch, flipped through the channels in search of more information and better understanding, and the more she watched, the more unhinged she began to feel. She didn't like being trapped. She didn't like not having options. She was confused, and angry, and scared. She felt hopeless and enraged all at the same time. She wanted to scream and to break things, to pull her own hair out. Do something, anything that would ease the tension and weight in her chest, anything to keep herself from crying. Bane had left her with nothing to do but to sit and wait like the rest of Gotham, but she's be damned if she'd end up as pathetic and docile as the rest of her God forsaken city. She wouldn't just sit and wait to die.

She was up and moving then, not bothering to flinch or fuss at the pain in her legs. She found her pants easily and slipped them on, followed by her jacket and her boots. The adrenaline had her crazed and frantic, but logic seeped back in as she reached for the front door. Joanna's words sunk in and made her swallow hard. Gotham with a police force was bad enough, but now the boys in blue were buried in the sewers, and who knew what kind of crazies that had brought out of the shadows. She turned on her heels, her eyes daring around the apartment. She reasoned with herself that they'd both had guns with them when they left, and they didn't seem like the type to just have two in their home. She was absently shaking her head. No, no there were more guns, she just had to find them.

The first place she checked was Lewis's bedroom, and boy did she luck out. He had five guns hidden in his room, one of which was small enough to fit her hands, yet large enough to put a hole through anyone who got in her way. Making sure the safety was on, she tucked into the back of her pants and set about looking for extra ammo. She never found any, but she did find an array of pocket knives lined neatly in the bottom of his underwear drawer. She stared at them and then idly fingered the gun at her back. And they wanted her to stay with them. She scoffed. Yeah right. She took two of the largest knives and stuck one in each boot.

And then she stood in front of the front door, stared at it as she gathered herself to face what was outside. She could do this. She told herself repeatedly that she could do this. She was shaking, but her hand reached for the knob anyway. She had been through worse, much worse. She could make it to Dollies and then form a plan there. She nodded. That was her plan. Dollies for protection, and then she find a way to get out of Gotham. She wouldn't die in the place that had stolen so much of her soul from her. She'd be damned first.

She swung the door open, preparing for screaming and gunfire, and was surprised to find that it was eerily quiet out. Night had fallen, and whatever area of town she was in didn't have many street lights. She stepped outside and shut the door behind her, another wave of overwhelming panic threatened to overtake her as she looked to the right and left of herself, seeing nothing but darkness. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, testing out her stitches and the pain in her calves. It wasn't so bad, she reasoned with herself. She could make it to Dollies and come up with a plan there, she figured. And so, reassuring her doubts by idly touching the gun at her back, she wandered into the dark.

[/][/][/]

Bane supposed that a lesser man who had accomplished the things that he had would have consider Gotham City a possession, would lay claims to this black mark of a society. He was not a lesser man. Bane held no such claims, did not let the idea cross his mind as he looked upon Gotham as filth, as a disease that needed curing, and he was such a cure. He stood on ground level, with his hands clasped at the collar of his vest, watching as his men lifted their belongings from the sewers. The League of Shadows would no longer need to hide in the underbelly of Gotham, not after the day was through.

He strolled down the alley and onto the street where Bruce Wayne's precious tanks sat in line like a fleet. He watched as his men loaded up the tanks and eventually took his place in the tank that second in the line, the one that Barsard was driving. Their ride to the prison was leisurely and silent, but his men seemed to hum with excitement. Bane remained quiet in his seat, watching as the townhouses and buildings passed him by, but his eyes darted to something moving behind a dumpster, and when she emerged, he couldn't help the small smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth, wrinkled the corners of his eyes. "Barsad…" His second in command immediately slowed down and pulled off to the side along with two of the other tanks.

Israel didn't make it to Dollies. Her injuries seemed fine to her at first, but two hours into her walk left her limping and sore and tired, and she was positive that she'd torn a stitch or two as blood was wetting the inside of her boot. She'd been sticking mainly to the shadows, not something the normally did when she was out, but the news and the idea of this new, lawless Gotham has her paranoid and looking over her shoulder. She had only managed to come across a few homeless bums, but they paid no notice to her as she slid by them, avoiding any and all light that would make her presence known.

The pain in her legs became unbearable, sharp and shooting and aching, it raged through her thighs and up to her lower back. She had to stop, needed to sit down and rest for a while. Luckily, Gotham was filled with hidden alleys and hideaways, and she was grateful to huddle behind a dumpster, telling herself that she would only rest her eyes for a few minutes, maybe an hour tops, and then be on her way.

Hours passed, and Israel shivered as she slept propped up against a brick building. She hadn't realized how tired and worn out she was until the sun woke her up. High and bright in the sky, it beat down her and she squinted up at it with a frown. Shaking off the confusion and the sleep, she yawned and slowly stretched, hissing at the pain that vibrated through her. On instinct she checked her legs. She had torn more than a few stitches, and there was so much blood that it made her sick to look at it, but for the most part her wound had crusted over. It was far from healing, but if she took it slow she figured she could make it to Dollies to get cleaned up and then head the nearest hospital. Realization dawned on her and she grimaced, if there were a hospital still open…

Standing was a challenge that required all her strength and the help of the wall behind her. She eased up slow, eyes closed as her entire body throbbed and rang in agony. She could have killed a kitten in that moment if it mean she'd get 2 Ibuprofen. She hobbled from behind the dumpster, almost crying as her legs felt like heavy, heated lead. She'd made it back to a part of Gotham that she knew pretty well, knew which way to go and which buildings to cut through to get to her destination, but she would never make it that far.

The silence around her was suddenly pierced with the sound of loud engines and heavy tires, and Israel, still fogged with sleep and pain, didn't feel the need to duck as large tanks some black and some camouflage rolled past her. She watched them curiously, but her curiosity turned to dread when the second tank in the lineup left rank and made a U-turn. She knew her own luck had never been good. She always been a target of some kind; someone always found her too pretty to look at, or too interesting to talk to; found her body too luscious not to be touched. And, because of those facts and because of her past, she knew that the tank that broke rank was coming for her, and her suspicions were confirmed when another tank broke rank and head back as well.

Where she normally avoided the alleys, avoided what they could hide and what they concealed, she found herself backing into one, and when the first tank came to a halt where she had been standing, she tucked tail and ran. Had she not been terrified for her life, and had she not heard the heavy, expedient sound of boots coming behind her, she might have left at her awkward footfalls and off balance gait. She promised herself that, when she made it out of her predicament she would laugh about it later. The footsteps were louder now, they were too close behind her, and as she tried to make herself speed up, to push herself forward, her legs began to fail her. Whereas before, when she only knew she had popped a stitch because of the blood, she could now feel the thread tearing through her skin, could feel fresh blood rush to the surface and spring down her leg. She gave a frustrated curse, her eyes watered with anxiety and fear as her pace slowed.

Her legs were going numb and she had resorted to crawling. When someone's hand fisted in her hair and wrenched her into standing, she came up swinging. The stinging in her scalp made her furious. Adrenaline kicked her into overdrive as she began to struggle, jamming her elbow into someone's ribcage before easily pulling the gun from her back pocket and shooting the man who'd taken hold of her hair in the knee. A strangled cry, and he went down. Standing and aiming, she could see them all now. There were 6 of them, and they were all so much more menacing that she could have ever pretended to be. But at least she was holding a gun. She fired a round at one. It barely grazed his thigh. However, a bullet was still a bullet, and the would felt like the mixture of a red hot poker and a paper cut. Reflex and self-preservation called for cradling the wound, and the man did so.

Israel fired another round into the man nearest her, mid-height and lanky with a few missing teeth. She caught him in the shoulder, and the impact of the bullet caused him to jerk back. Someone was reaching for her then, running to her with his arms out, as Israel went to fire another the harsh click, click, click of an empty chamber sounded through the alley. They were on her minutes. Her struggling was fruitless. She was too weak and too injured to inflict any damage onto anyone without a weapon. If she had seen herself, saw how pathetic she looked, suspended around the waist while two men carried her back to where she had run from, she might have stopped struggling, might have paid more attention to the man they were bringing her to.

She was dropped on the ground with a thud, and her pride kept her from cradling her legs. Whoever they were, she could feel them standing around her. She felt apprehensive as they weren't moving, they were just standing there, just waiting. Israel kept her eyes to the ground and yet still managed to keep her chest puffed out as if she didn't just lose her dignity. But then she heard it: hard, heavy, footfalls that, though they were intense, had a sense of leisure about them. She wanted to look up, wanted to see, but fear had set her to trembling and she couldn't make herself move. Another familiar noise, a mechanical rasp touched her ears. It was a sound she'd never forget, and immediately she knew who was standing over her. He knelt, took her small chin firmly in his hand and lifted her head.

Bane had sent his men after her, not at all shocked that she'd run. She was a survivor, he had learned that much about her if nothing else. But as she had disappeared in the alley, he took note of the way she moved, of the limp that bothered her, and then of the blood on her pants. She was injured. He'd ordered his men to bring her to him unharmed, and now he was staring down at her and she was yet again appearing so impossibly small to him. He strolled over to her, his eyes still assessing her. Was she always in such a state? Did she never have a look of normalcy to her? She was dirty, shivering, shaking…bloody, and she sat awkwardly, trying to keep her own weight off of certain parts of her anatomy, her head bowed.

Those eyes….

He had knelt before he knew it, his hand was touching her before he could stop himself. His grip was harsh, he knew, but the moment he lifted her head, the moment their eyes met…

"You again," his voice carried a cheerful lilt. Her watched her eyes widen, delighted that he got to see more of her matchless irises. He felt her give a small tug, testing to see if he'd let go of her face, let her go in general, but when his grip tightened she froze.

"Me…again…" Her words were almost silent, but Bane caught them.

"Must I always find you in such interesting places?" He turned her head from side to side, let his gaze slid over to such an extent that he heard her swallow. "And in such interesting conditions…"

His voice made chills erupt on her skin and she wet her lips nervously with nothing to say. They gazed at each other a moment long before Bane made a noise in his throat and pulled away. "Bring her." He turned, headed back to the tank and when one of his men went to scoop her up and carry her forward, she began fighting again in earnest.

If they were going to kidnap her, they were damn well going to have to earn it. She would make sure of that, and despite being in agony, she fought tooth and nail to keep from being stuffed into one of the tanks. It wasn't pretty fighting, it was nothing fancy. It was dirty and girly and mean. Israel gouged at eyes and skin, set her teeth to flesh, kicked at inappropriate areas, and once she realized that the men who trying to control her weren't fighting back, that they weren't allowed to hurt her, she kicked it into overdrive, swung her arms wildly and all but screamed. She didn't hear Bane approach her, didn't realize that he had turned back, but when one of the men pushed her, she fell back into something hard and solid. She turned, prepared to take on whoever it was, but when Bane's arms clamped around, immobilized her, and when his eyes, a fury of grey set on her, she could barely move. She stopped, it was momentary as she was trying to find a way to hurt him, to free herself of his grasp, but then Bane's gaze was torn away from her, he looked over her, past her and his eyes hardened, one hand coming up for something. And Israel was going to turn to look, but then something connected with the back of her head. Bane's eyes met hers, still all stormy skies and seas, and then she blacked out.

[/][/][/]

Israel swam to the surface of consciousness and found that it came accompanied with nausea. Her head lolled to one side and the world turned along with it. She knew she was going to vomit. She could feel the bile in her throat, the heat of it making her mouth water. She barely had time to open her eyes and search out the trash can next to the bed before she was leaning over it while both vomiting and dry heaving. Each movement, each shrug of her shoulder and quiver of her abdomen made her head throb more, made her stomach knot tighter. And, where she had started on the bed, she soon found herself kneeling on the floor, her arms wrapped around the bin as she continually dry heaved. Her stomach began to hurt from its lengthy session of contraction and release, and when Israel realized that the smell of her vomit was what was keeping her vomiting going, she immediately pulled away, threw herself away from the trash can and fell back on the floor. Her skin, clammy with sweat and heated with sickness, was greeted by the cool hardwood. She laid face down, slowly and carefully turning her head from cheek to cheek so that both could absorb the low temperature of the floor.

While she laid there, the fog in her head began to clear and she began to think. The previous events began to play back in her head in random succession. Images of Lewis and Joanna and Bane rolled over in her brain and when she touched the back of her head, felt the lump that had developed there, the nausea reared its ugly head again. She flipped onto her side, forced herself into a standing position and immediately winced and hissed at the pain that surged through her legs. She'd forgotten about her stitches. She hobbled to the bed, sat and pulled her leg up to see the damage. When she uncovered her wound she fought the dry heave that wracked in her throat. The stitches were still torn, and so was her skin. It was red and inflamed and puffy and throbbed when she touched it. _Infected_, she thought, _fuck me, it's infected. _She lowered her pant leg and stood again, slower, gentler this time.

She was in a spacious bedroom, though the contents of which had been stripped, it was still a rather nice room. The bed she had been in was a king bed, a California king bed she thought as it was longer that it was wide. The color on the walls were a pale greyish blue, and she could tell that there had been artwork, perhaps family photos hanging on them. In the far corner, next to the tall glass doors that led out to the patio, there were stacks upon stacks of books, all of which were weathered and torn, musty and yellow with age.

There was a door to the right of the bed, and another next to the stack of books. Israel figured that one was the closet, and one was the bathroom. However, other than the books and the bed, and herself, the room was empty.

The door to the bedroom was ajar and Israel immediately crept towards it. She needed to get to a hospital or she'd lose her legs. She gulped at the thought. She slipped into the hallway noiselessly. Her movements were slow, sluggish, as her head was throbbing, but despite that, she blinked continuously to keep her vision from spotting. She could see the kitchen clearly and she was guessing that once she cleared the hallway the living room would be to the right, but where was the exit door.

There was a sudden loud ringing, the sound of a telephone, and it shook Israel so bad that she almost lost her footing, but was scared her even more as the deep voice that answered the ring.

"Thomas." It said. "She hasn't stirred, sir."

Israel's eyes narrowed. She assumed that she was the "she" that was being referred to.

"Yes sir, I will check again."

Israel had no time to get back to the bedroom before a man with dark skin and a shaved head filled the mouth of the hallway. His face held a startled expression as he looked her over, his phone still pressed to his ear. There was silence between them until her captor breathed into the phone.

"She's awake…" The man gave a stiff nod before pocketing the phone.

Israel was holding herself up against the wall, bracing herself for what was coming next. The man was bigger than her, a lot bigger with a semi-automatic weapon in his hand, clad in camo and thick soled boots. Even at her best she couldn't take him, and now she had no weapon. He moved and she stilled.

He noted this, saw the way her eyes darted to him and to the space around him. He had been instructed not to harm her and so, to remove temptation, he began to lower his gun. The moment his hands touched it Israel began to back away. "Whoa, wait," the guy said. "I'm not gonna hurt you."

She'd heard those words before, and every time she'd heard them they'd been a lie. Her palms began to sweat and her heart raced. She was finding it hard to get enough air in her lungs. She kept her eyes on him as he put his hands up in what she thought he be mock defense.

"I'm not going to hurt you, I just need to get you back I bed." He spoke low, calmly, dreaded the wild fear that consumed her face. He took a step towards her, and Israel tensed.

She went to back away but her legs gave out. Her calves had had enough and she went tumbling to the floor, landed with a sound thump. She never lost eye contact with the man in camo, and she reacted purely on instinct when he tried to rush her. In as much pain as she was, it was relatively easy to extend her leg and for her the heel of her foot to connect with his groin. The impact made both of them grunt and groan, but as her captor knelt on the floor, Israel was busy scrambling herself up and back, retreating to the bedroom where the shut the door soundly and locked it behind her. Her heart raced, her vision spotted. She felt like she was going to be sick again, and the chills and fever that undulated through her didn't help at all. She could hear him cursing in the hallway and she crawled into the bathroom where she closed and locked that door. The only weapon she could find was a shaving razor, which she grasped tightly. She curled into the corner of the linen closet and shut the door before sliding the largest hamper in front of herself.

She was disgusted with herself for getting into her current situation, but she was even more upset that she was cowering in a closet with nothing but a razor to protect herself with. And as she sat, huddled and trembling, gripping the razor as if it were the last candle in the dark, she replayed the events from earlier over and over in head. She should have fought harder… She should have hid or run as soon as she'd seen the tanks… She shouldn't have slept behind a dumpster… She should have stayed put at Lewis's apartment… She shouldn't have taken that extra day at work… She shouldn't have given Bane a lapdance…

The mere thought of him made her jolt. His name conjured images of the large man with the menacing eyes and the contraption over his mouth. The thought of the first time she'd met him, the way he looked at her then and the way he'd looked at her at the club. And then again last night…

She was so fucked.

[/][/][/]

Bane had been on a helipad when he'd made the call. His guest was taking far too long to get to Gotham, and he was growing both irritated and bored. And as he stood out in the cold, eyes skyward along with a small batch of his men, he couldn't keep his mind off of her. His eyes narrowed. _Her_, he thought. She'd plagued his thoughts from the moment they'd met. There was something about her that intrigued him. When he'd run into her the second time, he'd dismissed it as merely a coincidence…a nice coincidence, but nothing more than that. However, when he watched her emerge from behind a dumpster, well he just couldn't ignore her anymore. And now his new pet was home, waiting for him to bring the tools to nurse her back to health.

The helicopter finally sounded in the distance and Bane watched as it drew closer and closer before finally landing on the pad. A tall woman with chestnut brown hair and sharp eyes slid from the machine clad in pajama pants and a t-shirt covered by a thick jacket. Her eyes cut to Bane and narrowed as she made her way to him carrying a black duffel bag.

"Doctor," Bane greeted warmly. "I'm glad you could make it."

The woman scowled. "You left me no choice…"

His hand gripped her upper arm tightly as he led her from the roof. "You had a choice, Mara, and you made the right one."

The car ride back to the apartment was mainly silent, and Bane watched with interest as his doctor first fidgeted in her seat, and then grew eerily still as she passed through the chaotic outside world. Gotham had become a violent free for all, and Mara watched, flinching as she witnessed families and individuals being ripped from their homes, murdered in the streets, their belongings going to new and far less deserving owners. Figures moved vigorously in the shadows as women and children screamed and cried. She wanted to shut her eyes to it, to ignore what was happening, but it was like a train wreck that you couldn't look away from because in some sick part of your head, you watched with sick curiosity. Her eyes cut to Bane who watched her with mild interest and amusement.

"Do you have something you'd like to say, doctor?" It was interesting to watch her squirm, to watch the emotions of shock and pity and rage pass over her features, and to see her hands ball into fists.

The words balled in her throat, rolled onto her tongue and tasted like bitter sweet taffy. "No," she finally bit out. "I don't." She had known Bane for a long time and in that time he had let her get away with a lot of things that normally, he would kill a person over. But she knew that talking back to him was something that he wouldn't let stand. Belittling or scolding him would mean the end of her life. And so, because of that, she sat silent in the car and simply watched as Gotham tore itself apart before her eyes.

The apartment complex was luxurious, and it made Bane sick. He had never been one for extravagance; however his plan had placed his headquarters in the center of Gotham. And so, because of that he had been forced to choose from the many expensive and indulgent apartments near the heart of Gotham City. As he exited the car and drew the doctor out along with him, he frowned as he glared up at the large building, a sour taste forming in his mouth. "Up we go…" he murmured.

The foyer looked like the inside of a hotel. The floors were tiled and white and the light was rich and golden. Bane altogether passed the opulence and dragged the doctor to the nearest elevator where he, Mara, and Barsad boarded. They rose up to the 26th floor and when the elevator opened, Barsad was the first one out followed by doctor Mara as Bane gave her a gentle nudge into the hallway. Hardwood floors led the way through eggshell walls and black metal doors. They stopped at the last door in the hallway and once inside Bane stood perplexed, doctor in hand, as Owen, the man he'd left alone with his new pet, stood awkwardly in the kitchen with what looked like a bag of frozen carrots pressed firmly to his groin. The man glanced over his shoulder as the door opened but didn't bother to remove the cold compress.

Bane's eyebrow twitched and he noted that the corners of Barsad's lips had tilted upwards. "Where is she?"

Owen nodded towards the closed bedroom door. "She's barricaded herself in there."

Bane handed Mara over to Barsad, and wordlessly he led the doctor to the bedroom door where he effortlessly kicked it open.

"What has happened here?" Bane asked, taking slow steps over to Owen.

"The bitch kicked me." He bit out.

Bane surveyed him silently and then asked, "…and did you strike her as well?"

Owen straightened then, set the frozen vegetables on the counter as a tremor of fear rocked him. "No sir. You told me not to harm her."

Bane continued to stare at him, watching the way his soldier's set shoulders wavered, the way he couldn't maintain eye contact for longer than a few seconds. "You may leave."

The bedroom door had been kicked in, and it took Israel's fear and anxiety to a level so high that she should barely get air into her lungs. She clung tighter to the shaving razor, held it out in front of herself as though it were a sword. There was talking in the other room, and Israel could clearly make out a female voice over the sound of someone pounding on the bathroom door. She closed her eyes tightly, willed herself to disappear, to be invisible because she knew that the bathroom door would give way, and when it did she fought against the tears that boiled and bubbled in her eyes. The footsteps that flooded the bathroom had her coming up with some kind of game plan in her head. Her first thought was to try and dart past them, but when she flexed her foot pain shot through her leg, a reminder of her injuries. Running was out of the question, and she's make a fool of herself before she'd get to safety.

Flight had been taken off the table, and so now her only option was to put up some kind of fight. She was surrounded my linens and towels, and she stared down at the razor in her hand and sneered at it. What had she been thinking? It was a shaving razor for God's sake! She wouldn't be able to inflict any damage with it. She looked around frantically, scanned the shelves for anything that would help, and when her eyes landed on a can of bleach based antibacterial spray, she snagged it, happy to find that it was more than halfway full. She would blind all of them.

The bathroom door caved easily, and there was a 5 second pause before the linen closet door was all but ripped off its hinges. Israel didn't hesitate. Her arm shot from behind the hamper and her finger pressed down on the button so hard that it hurt her knuckle. Bleach tinted cleaner came spraying from the nozzle and then there was a scream, a very feminine scream, and then the doorway was clear. Israel shot up, and moving in a furied shamble, she raced through the door, didn't pause long enough to see who was in the bedroom before she was moving towards the hallway. She surprised herself by almost making it to the living room, deceived herself with false hope that she'd make it to the door, but then a strong arm grabbed her so suddenly and so harshly around her waist that she thought she would vomit for the pressure on her stomach.

A feral growl erupted from her and she fought in earnest. It wasn't until she was placed on the bed, held there by a very large, very strong hand that she ceased all movement. A fury of grey peered down at her over an archaic mask and she found herself frozen. She wanted to move, to fight him, to get away from him, but his eyes told everything he would do to her and more if she even attempted to try it.

In the background Mara moaned and hissed at the stinging in her eyes while Barsad made an effort to help her pull a solution from her bag to help with the pain and to flush out the irritant. And while Israel heard the commotion, the only that filled her ears was the sound of her own adrenaline and the mechanical hiss of breathing. The emotions in his eyes came across very clearly as rage and slight amusement, and it made Israel cringe.

Bane had heard Barsad kick the bedroom door in, had heard dear Dr. Mara try to stop him, to let her coax his pet out of the bathroom. The entire situation was one he found amusing. He had strolled into the bedroom just in time to see Mara stumbling backwards out of the bathroom, her fingers clawing at her eyes, but what had surprised him the most was seeing her come running, hobbling, out of the bathroom. Her eyes has been wide, full of fear and anger and slight annoyance. She didn't even notice him as she skirted by him, and before he went after, he watched as she pushed herself down the hallway. He didn't have to move fast to catch up with her. She was a tiny thing compared to him, and he had always taken such long strides when he walked. He reached her within a matter of seconds, scooped her up like she weighed nothing, because did in fact weigh next to nothing. She struggled, clawed at him, and he could feel the pressure of her nails digging into him, tearing at him, but there was no pain accompanied with. She kicked at him, her heels landing soundly into his shin, and his patience gave in then.

Bane all but threw her onto the bed, holding her down with one hand while he leaned over her with the other. They caught eyes and her struggling ceased. Her gaze widened and he could feel the soft tremble that started in her as she stared up at him. She moved, tested his weight on her, and his hand pressed down harder, more insistent. Her shirt rode up then, and when Bane's palm lay flat against Israel's stomach, they both froze.

His hand was so warm against her, and everything in her coiled and squirmed and knotted. She felt like she might vomit, and before she could stop herself her hand reached for his, wrapped around his wrist in an effort to move it.

Bane pulled away immediately, clenched and unclenched his hand as he stared down at her. "Mara," he called, his voice sounded strained even to his own ears. She touched him and the feeling that came with that small bit of contact was not one that he welcomed, nor one that he was used to.

"I'm fine," the doctor said back. "My eyes are irritated, and I can't say I blame her, but I'm fine and I can see."

Her heart was racing and her skin burned from where his hand had been? What the hell was that, she thought quietly to herself, watching him carefully as he lifted Mara's head to check her eyes. She swatted at him, recoiled violently.

"I said I can see." She bit out. She smoothed down her clothes and slicked back her hair. "Now, if you would both be so kind as to wait outside, I have a patient to see to."

Barsad left immediately, a grin tugging at his lips as he eyed both women. Bane, however, lingered. Mara wanted to push him out of the room, shove him as far away from him as she could. But she didn't. She knew what he was capable. She knew the monster that was always just beneath the skin, always waiting to be provoked. Instead, she stood staring at him, moved little by little so that she was standing in between him and Israel because she honestly didn't like the way he looked at her, the way he responded to her.

"Bane." She called him, swallowed as his eyes slid slowly from the girl on the bed. "I can't work on her while you're in here."

He made a noise, a low rumble that started in his chest and died somewhere in his throat. But he left them in peace.

Mara turned then, watching as the girl on the bed coiled into the corner and hissed at her aching legs. "Hey, I'm not going to hurt you."

She was riddled with fear. Her tousled hair and brazen eyes made her look manic and on edge. When Mara sat down on the end of the bed, Israel did all but climb the walls to get away from her. This made the doctor sigh. The things Bane could do to people, the way he could make them react, what he could turn them into…

"It's okay," she said softly. "I'm Doctor Mara… Do you remember your name?"

* * *

**Like I said, not my best work. And it took me so long to write this because it is literally painful for me write scenes where Bane and Israel interact. Honestly, they're both such closed off people and they have this strane chemistry, and so when they interact it's hard to come up with something for them to talk about. But not to worry, it will get better. Israel is about to be closed off in an apartment with him for months, and Bane can't even stomach his own curiosity of her... Besides, she's got a backstory that's going to blow you away. **

**Anywho, love you guys! Leave me love if you have the time. **

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	6. The Bane and Mara Show

**This is a short one...I don't think I've ever written a chapter this short before, but I had some peoples messaging me both on here and my social networking sites asking when I was going to post something new. And then I thought, ya know, there is no need to draw this chapter out if I don't have to...and so I decided not to. And here it is. :)**

* * *

6. The Mara and Bane Show

Israel had a reason for not liking doctors, and the way Mara fussed and fiddled over her made her agitated and anxious. The entire examination had started with questions, testing her memory, and she had opted not to answer any of them. Then came the poking and the prodding. A flashlight was shone in her eyes. Her pulse and blood pressure were taken and, after Mara took a wild guess at her patient's weight, she set an IV with a fluid drip to hydrate her. Israel remained quiet, yet annoyed that all the while Mara spoke to her with an optimistic ambivalence…as if they weren't both in the worst possible situation imaginable, as if they weren't both being held hostage.

The thought sparked a lightbulb in Israel's head and she couldn't help herself before she asked, "He doesn't have you trapped here, does he?" The words came out harsh, judging, and she cut her eyes at the doctor, narrowing them in suspicion and disbelief.

Mara sat shocked. This was the first time the girl had spoken to her. "…I'm not here willingly…" It was all she could say while keeping her anger in check. "I'm going to need to address your legs. You can either have a morphine drip, or I can give you a local."

Israel had never been a fan of mind numbing drugs, and she wasn't about to accommodate them now just because she was injured. "Local." She watched the doctor go over to her bag and fish out a metal tray which she then began loading with purple medical gloves, a syringe, and some type of medicine, along with gauze, a bottle of rubbing alcohol and the hooked needle for stitches.

"You're going to need to take off your pant and then lie on your stomach." Mara returned to the bed, waited as Israel stared up at her with fear and irritation.

"Can't you just work around them?" The last thing she wanted was to be without pants while Bane was just on the other side of the door; a door that would lock or even shut properly thanks to a good kicking.

Mara's eyes softened. "I'm not going to let him come in here and hurt you."

Israel scoffed. "I think we both know you can't stop him…" She struggled with slipping her jeans over her hips and down her legs, gritting her teeth when the material brushed against the cut on her calves. She paused, hated that she felt so naked without her pants, but slowly lied face down on the bed, pulling a pillow underneath her head.

Mara sat in a chair and then rested the metal pan on the bed within reach. She pulled on the rubber gloves. "Do you have any allergies? Any medications you can't take?"

"No." Israel said bitterly. She didn't like that this entire situation was reminding her of the dark that clouded her past. She clung to the pillow as Mara poured alcohol on a cotton ball and the smeared the substance over an area near her cut. It was going to hurt, Israel knew that, and so she gripped her fingers into the mattress, set her teeth on the pillow and braced herself.

"Okay, take a deep breath for me."

She did, and then there was the poke of the needle. She'd had shots before, and they were normally no big deal, but the meat of her calves were so swollen and infected that every millimeter the needle penetrated felt like nauseating fire and salt. The insertion of the anesthetic was no better. She likened it to the feeling of rapidly warming her fingers after playing in the snow. There was another poke then, this time below the cut, and the same sensation tore through her leg. One leg was over, but there was still the other one. Israel tore into the pillow with her teeth, squeezed her eyes shut while small beads of tears corralled at the corners of her eyes. The other leg was just as bad, if not worse, and the stinging and pain was beginning to make Israel nauseous again.

She was brave, Mara would give her that. The girl didn't make a peep as she applied the anesthetic, and the only visible way that Mara could tell she felt anything was when she would tense and grip the mattress. "I'll give that a moment to take effect. And while we're waiting…do you have any other injuries that I need to take a look at?"

Israel bit the inside of her cheek. The medicine was taking effect, she could feel parts of the wounds numbing, but the parts that hadn't yet still felt like fire. "No," she bit out. "No, I'm fine."

"Ya know, this would be much easier if you'd cooperate." Mara's tone was soft, understanding. "For instance, we could start with your name?"

The first words that came to Israel's mind was 'bite me,' but thus far the good doctor had yet to hurt her, and she was definitely in need of medical attention. "…Izzy…"

The excitement Mara felt, the joy at feeling as though she was getting through to her patient made her want to jump up and down. "Izzy… Is that short for something?"

She shot the doctor a hard glance. "Just Izzy."

"Alright then, Izzy. I have to go outside and ask Ba…" His name died on her tongue. "I'll be right back. I'll be just outside and no one is going to come through that door but me. Understand?"

Israel gave a curt nod. The pain in her legs was easing and her slow yet steady hydration was making her relax slightly.

Mara eased out of the room, giving one last glance to the girl on the bed before turning to come face to face with Bane's chest. He stood tall, his eyes burning with curiosity while his hand clutched loosely at the neck of his vest.

"Mara." He said her name as if it were a sneer, and it made her shoulders straighten, made her lift her head slightly. He noted the change in her demeanor, noted the way her shoulders squared, her eyes hardened. It was the Mara he used to know, not the soft, caring thing she'd become. Nonetheless, she had made her choice and because of that she no longer held any interest to him. The girl on the other hand… His eyes left the doctor, eyed the door she'd come from.

"She's fine." She eased past him. Went to the island where she retrieved a pad of paper and a pen from her purse. "Bane." She called to him because he had lingered at the door, almost as if he were tempted to go inside. He turned to her, walked leisurely to where she stood and watched as she began to write a list. "She's going to need medication. Antibiotics, pain killers, steroids…" She wrote down every medication she thought would help. "Also, I'm going to need her medical file if she has one." She wanted to keep this short and clipped. She didn't want to have to talk to him, be around him, any longer than necessary.

That caught Bane's attention. "Need I remind you, Dr. Mara, that your stay here is temporary? Once the girl is in good health you will return to your home."

Mara bit the inside of her lip. "Yes. I understand that. However, since you have called upon me to help her, and since I am here, I will make sure that I know all that I can about my patient before I leave her in your…" She made eye contact with him, held it as she said, "less than capable hands."

Bane's eyes turned cold and he towered over here, standing mere millimeters away. "Your time away has made you brave…and weak." His hand came up then, rested on her shoulder and a sick smile played on his lips when she flinched. "Would you like me to remind you of who you used to be? Of what you used to be a part of? …of who I am?"

Mara's eyes grew wide and her haunted past, their past together, played evilly behind her eyes. "No," she rasped. "No."

He took his hand away. "Do not think that we would not welcome you back…with open arms."

She blinked rapidly, handed him her list. "Just…her medical file. I'll need it." She left then, tail tucked between her legs as she fled from the room and down the hallway. She paused at the bedroom door, gathered herself and caught her breath before proceeding inside.

Bane watched her go, a smile behind his mask. She had always been easy to get to. Even after his extensive training, she always found it hard not to wear her emotions on her sleeve. It was something he had enjoyed about her. His eyes looked over her list, not surprised that he had already made a mental list of the medications the girl would need. However he felt out of sorts that he hadn't thought to seek out the girl's medical file. "Barsad…"

[/][/][/]

Israel was still lain out on the bed. She felt marginally better from the fluid drip and for the life of her she wasn't sure if she even had legs anymore because she couldn't feel or move them. She heard footsteps outside the door and tensed, glanced over as she watched Dr. Mara step inside and then carefully shut the door as not to knock it off its hinges. She was flustered, and Israel could tell, but instead of bringing it up she asked, "how long until the anesthesia wears off?"

Mara eyed her patient's enflamed legs. "Right." She worked quickly to change the gloves she'd forgotten to remove and then sterilized the hooked needle after threading it. She set it aside and made sure to thoroughly flush out the wound with filtered water, and then iodine. She noted that Israel was no longer flinching. She picked up the needle and very carefully threaded it through the skin, pulling the thread through behind it.

It was a strange sensation, being stitched up. It wasn't the first time Israel had to have stitches, but each time the feeling felt nauseatingly foreign. The first time she'd had stitches she'd watched in a mirror as the doctor had sewn a gash near the back of her head. She'd been numbed up enough to not feel the pain, but she did feel the pressure and tugging of the needle and thread through the skin. It was almost as though she had been watching it happen to someone else.

Mara finished one calf and thoroughly checked her work before moving on to the next. The silence was getting to Israel. "How do you know Bane?" She asked. She felt the air in the room change, felt the doctor pause and tense before proceeding with her stitching. She was quiet for so long that Israel thought she wouldn't answer.

"We have a slight history," Mara replied tightly.

"But that doesn't tell me how you two met." Why she was pushing, she didn't know.

Mara's past swam behind her eyes. This wasn't a topic that she liked to talk about. It wasn't a really a topic that she liked to think about, couldn't have thought about up until 3 years ago. When she had her first child, Aiden, her husband had suggested that she get help, and she was in no state to disagree. She'd been a wreck. Constant night terrors had, at first, caused her to wake screaming, kicking, fighting. And after a while she'd managed to wake silently to keep from waking her husband. And after that she would go into the bathroom and cry, and eventually even the crying stopped. Instead of going to the bathroom she would just go sit in the kitchen or the living room and watch the sun come up. When her husband would wake she'd put on a fake smile and make him coffee…join him in the shower for morning sex, and then they would both leave for work. But it had been Aiden that undid her. A baby was life changing, and the hormones that surged through the female body were dangerous, and in her case deadly. And being a doctor, she'd known that, but reading about something in a book was different from experiencing it firsthand. Aiden was born, and she was unhinged.

Her husband, God bless him, had always been understanding, even when she finally broke down and told him about her past, about the things she done…about who and what she had been… He had never threatened to leave her, had always been patient with her, but it was the night that he found her standing over Aiden's crib, knife I hand… That was the night that he made her get help, because if she didn't then he would have taken the baby and left.

Her therapist was an elderly lady who wore her age like a silk veil woven with beauty and grace. She never one raised her voice, and anytime Mara got out of hand, went into a fit of rage, her therapist would pause, wait for the moment to pass before proceeding. It was only because of that woman that Mara could speak about her former life.

"He saved me…" The words came out a whisper, soft yet ragged.

Israel craned back to get a better look at her doctor, testing to see if her words were a joke.

Mara looked up then. "I say he saved me because at the time…that's what it was…to me." She swallowed audibly. "But I was young… Much younger than you. I was naïve and I wasn't street smart. I didn't know what I wanted out of life and had a friend, who I now know wasn't a friend at all, and she always led me into the worst situations." Her still hand began to move again, pressing the needle and thread through skin once more. "One night she wanted to go to a party. It wasn't the kind of party she thought it would be. It turned out to be just use two…surrounded by 7 men. I'm sure you can guess what their intent was." A sick chuckled escaped her lips. "They jumped on her, my friend, right away. And she screamed, and she screamed and begged me to help her, but I ran. I ran as fast as my legs would carry me right into to Bane. It was like I was out of the frying pan and into the fire."

Israel had grown very still, listened intently while her hands fisted the mattress. Listening to the tale made her uncomfortable as her own story was a slightly warped mirror of Mara's.

"I used to wonder why he took pity on me. Just from looking at him you can tell that Bane is not the kind of man to do nice things just for the fun of it. He always has an agenda."

"So he let you go then?"

"He did. But fate wanted me in his clutches. I went home, and I cried to my parents. I told them what had happened and they cried with me. I never heard from my friend again after that, but I tried not to think about her too often. Life was good and I was alive and well, and that was all that mattered. It only lasted for a month…maybe two at the most." Mara finished up the stitching on Israel's right leg and after checking it, drenched both wounds in iodine and bandaged them up. She helped Israel roll onto her back before pulling a light sheet over her. "I'm going to give you a sedative…just something to help you sleep." As Mara pulled away Israel's hand shot out and grabbed her.

"I don't want to be sedated."

Mara's hand was gentle as she pried loose her patient's fingers. "The anxiety and adrenaline…and fear…it will make it hard for you to rest, and Israel, you need to rest."

"I don't want to sleep." Her eyes had grown wide as saucers and her pulse spiked. The last thing she wanted to do was to close her eyes when she wasn't sure if she'd ever open them again.

"I'll be here the whole time. I'm not going to let anyone hurt you." Before, when Mara had said that, it had only been for reassurance, to help calm her down. But now she meant it, and to the best of her ability, she would protect this girl. She grabbed a syringe and medication from her bag. "I'll only give you a light dose. Just something to help you calm down. Sleeping will be up to you." She cleaned a spot on Israel's arm with alcohol and a cotton ball before sliding the needle into the vein to deliver the sedative.

Israel's reaction was immediate. She winced, her eyes fluttered and her lips slackened, but she was still awake. "Tell me more about you and Bane." Her words were softer now, hushed as the fought off the effects of the sedative.

Mara began to pack up her medical supplies and gave her a sad smile. "I think you've heard enough."

"If you tell me the whole story I'll let you dose me with enough pain killers to knock out a horse." She didn't want to sleep. She didn't want to shut her eyes for a single second, but stories of Bane were of importance to her. She was no spy, but she knew that if she learned more about Bane then she could perhaps find a weakness in him. After all, she wouldn't be content to stay his prisoner forever…or until he grew tired of her. This would just be a small price to pay.

"I'll tell you a little more, and then you'll sleep."

Israel nodded curtly, watched as Mara took a seat in the nearby chair. "Fate wanted me to be in Bane's clutches. That's the only way I can explain my parents dying. It was a month or so after I'd met Bane. I was at school when I got the news. When I was called the office I couldn't for the life of me fathom what I was in trouble for. I was a straight A student and all… I think I knew something was wrong when I sat down in the counselor's office instead of the principal's office. His eyes were sad. My first thought was that they'd found my friend's body somewhere, or maybe that a relative had died, and strangely my parent's didn't even come to mind. Strange how, as children, they seem so untouchable…almost like superheroes. They'd gotten into a car crash. It was a hit and run. My parent's car had flipped off the highway and luckily they died on impact. I cried." Mara shook her head, eyes sad, but her voice had a steely reserve. "None of my relative came to ID the body. At the time I was angry about that, now I know that it was because none of them wanted to take me in…as if I were a bad kid…" She shrugged.

Israel's eyes had turned to slits and her breathing was beginning to even out. She didn't want to sleep, but Mara's voice was soothing, and the medication was still coursing through her. "You were put in the state's care?"

The doctor nodded. "What they do to those kids…who they place them with…it's not right. And for some reason I went into it wide eyed and optimistic. I had no idea how bad the world could be. I was placed with a largely overweight woman who had already had a slew of children to care for. She collected us. I suppose, in retrospect, that her home wasn't that bad. We did chores and we went to church, but the woman was abusive and believed in corporal punishment. That was something that was new to me. I was there a full two weeks before I ran away…and that is when Bane found me. I don't even think he had to look hard. It was almost like he had been waiting for me…" Her words slowed as a lightbulb clicked on over her head. "…like he'd known where I had been the entire time…" She swallowed hard.

"He kidnapped you?"

"Oh he didn't have to. I went with him willingly. He made such promises about a life where I could do what I wanted, be who I wanted. I would be a part of a society that didn't have to abide by the normal rules, a world where anything and everything goes. Like I said before, I was young…dumb…and I went with him. And for the next 15 years of my life I allowed him to brainwash me and mold me into being what he wanted me to be. In fact, I am only a doctor today because of him. He and a few of his men had been injured. They were shot up and stabbed, some had broken bones… I can't explain how I knew to care of them or how I knew what to do. It was just something that came naturally to me. And Bane took note of that. He nurtured my healing qualities. He even paid for me to go to med school." A small smile graced her lips. "I used to think he was a god…"

There was a small knock at the door, and both Israel and Mara tense as Barsad came inside and motioned for Mara to follow him. She patted her patient's hand. "I'll be right back."

In the living room, Bane sat on the couch, hunched over a red file with at least 100 pages in it. "I believe that this is what you were asking for?" His voice was low as his eyes continued to scan the first page.

"Well you all work fast…" She couldn't help her jeer at him, and she couldn't help the scowl that marred her lips. The lightbulb above her head was burning bright and the question in her head haunted her.

He looked at her then, and she wished she could take back her words. "Your antibiotics on the counter as well as a few other supplies you will need."

She didn't miss his emphasis on the word 'supplies' and wasn't surprised to see a small plastic bag of medication sitting next to a very large box on the kitchen counter. "Thank you."

His eyes had already dismissed her. "You have one week, Mara. I suggest you make use of your time…and save your thank yous for someone who will appreciate them."

One of his soldiers immediately lifted the heavy box, but Mara stopped him as he headed down the hallway. "You don't go in that room without me."

The man laughed, but his eyes cut to Bane. "Sir?"

"Do as she says." He unfolded himself from the couch, closed the red file and held it out for the doctor. "I see that your bite has not left you."

"No thanks to you…sir." She took the file gently, made careful eye contact before going down the hallway. She opened the door gently, noted that Israel was fast asleep before silently proceeding inside. She motioned for the soldier to put the box down on the table at the far wall and then shooed him out. She suspected that Israel would be out for hours, maybe an entire day if the girl would just let herself relax. And, with the small amount of free time that was given her, Mara began to unpack the box, sneering that the large chemist set that she would have to piece together, and, while she worked, she read over Israel's file. It was going to be a long week.

**Don't worry...Israel and Bane will be alone together soon...prolly after the next chapter. I've got some things in the works that I'm sure you'll like. Also, Israel's file is a doozy. Of course, I'm not going to tell you all that happened to her right away. Her past is going to be revealed in pieces...but my goodness does she have one. How is Mara going to react to what she reads? More importantly, how is Bane going to react, because you know he's going to give it a read. **

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	7. A Dark Lightbulb

**Oh wow, yeah man, it's been a minute and I can't apologize enough about that! I received everyone's comments and messages and every single time I get a new one they make me feel like I'm on top of the world. The story isn't dead. I've just been super busy. I can't promise that I'll post regularly, but I'll do my best! **

**Enjoy!**

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**7. A Dark Lightbulb**

Israel's vision blurred as she woke. She blinked hard, lifted her heavy hand to rub at her eyes. She was in the same room she had been in when she went to sleep, but as the shades had been pulled and the room was dimly lit, she had no way to tell what time of day or night it was. Somehow in her sleep she had curled on to side, coiled tight into a ball with her back against the wall. She'd also buried herself under the comforter and pillows, only one of her eyeballs could see the room, and even that view was limited by the bulge of one of the more fluffy pillows. What she could tell was that she was still hooked up to an IV and, with a careful flex of her legs, that her calves were still sore and slightly inflamed.

Before she moved, she made a mental checklist of the events that had passed, reminded herself that she had indeed been kidnapped by Bane and that she had also received medical attention. She also reminded herself that Gotham had been kidnapped as well. Atop of all that, her legs were injured which would make escaping harder than it was already going to be. That made her huff.

So many negatives, she thought.

But the bright side was that she was alive and feeling much better. Also, as far as she could tell, she was alone the bedroom. She peeked her head up, noted that she was indeed by herself, and also that the table on the far wall was covered in beakers and boiling substances, one of which was green. It was a confusing sight. Had someone started a meth lab while she'd been out? And if they had, how long had she been out for?

Carefully she pulled herself upright, winced at the ache that ran through her. The bathroom door opened, startled her, but she marginally relaxed when Mara stepped through with a small smile. "You're awake." The words came out as a sigh.

Israel's eyes flattened. "I can go back to sleep if you want…"

"No, it's good that you're up. I can check your stitches." She wondered if the girl could see the heavy weight that she carried on her shoulders, or the sympathy that clouded her eyes. "Lie on your stomach for me."

Israel did as she was told, listened as Mara shuffled around to put on gloves. She had slept without pants so it was easy access to the stitches, but still felt anxious as she flipped over and the covers were stripped from her. Mara's hands were gentle as she unwrapped both legs. The fluids had helped, and so had the first dose of antibiotics. The stitches had held up well throughout the night, and the skin around it was less inflamed. Mara gently pressed on it and asked if it was painful. Israel was quick to say that it did hurt, but it wasn't as bad as it was.

"Can I shower?" She asked, glancing over her shoulder at the bespectacled doctor that was inspecting her.

"Yes, that should be fine. Just be careful as your soaping up, and let me know when you finish. I'll need to sterilize and bandage you up again." The doctor pulled the gloves from her hands and set them on the nightstand. "There are still a few towels in the linen closet." As Israel sat up, Mara pulled the IV from her wrist, massaged where the needle had been before moving the drip to the side so that her patient could stand.

Flexing her calves had been one thing, but to put her full weight on them, to force her muscles to support her was something entirely different. She could feel the slight stretch in the stitches, and her wounds burned as she wobbled into the bathroom. Israel was about to close the door behind when she suddenly froze and turned around. "Uhm, no one else will come here but you…? When I get out of the shower…"

"No comes into this bedroom but me." Mara confirmed.

Israel hovered in the doorway, glanced at the bedroom door that still hung loose on its hinges. But the doctor had protected her before, and it was very possible that she could do it again. She closed the door behind herself, turned around and was immediately confronted with the image of a sick, frail girl staring back at her in the mirror. She had never looked less like herself in her life. Ashen, with dark circles under eyes, her hair was piled atop her head in a tangled mess, some of her baby hairs were still stuck to her face from where she had sweated in her sleep.

She reached forward and opened the medicine cabinet wide until it hit the wall. She didn't want to see what she looked like. Instead she undressed cautiously, her ears burning with the strain of trying to hear if someone was coming. She peeled back the shower curtain, pleased to find that the previous occupants had left soaps and a loofa behind in their haste to escape. She turned on the hot water first and made use of the toilet while the bathroom steamed to the point of not being able to see too far in front of her face. She turned on the cold water then, balanced the temperature to a manageable scalding that made her wince as she stepped under the spray.

She had been so anxious to get in the shower that she hadn't even bothered to take her hair down, and the water drenched the bunch of her hair, gathered at the hair tie and then dribbled pleasantly onto her scalp and down her face and shoulders. Her aches eased under the water, but her wounds sung, vibrated in annoyance and pain. Israel leaned against the tiled wall, lifted one foot and then another to ease the stress on her calves. Her hand came up then, freed her mane of her hair and as it fell around her, weighed with wet warmth, she contemplated her position and went over her options in her head.

[/][/][/][/][/]

Mara checked her beakers, lowered the flame under one while watching the result of her concocting, a bright green liquid, drip into yet another cylindrical container. She went over her notes, made sure that she had done everything right. She had no idea how much medication Bane needed her to make. So far she had made 2 dozen canisters for his mask, and if he needed anymore than that, someone would have to make a supply run as she was running low on cocaine and morphine. She ran her hand tiredly over face, glanced at the red file that wavered in her peripheral.

_Israel…_

The girl's file had been interesting, though not in a positive way. In Mara's opinion, Israel was a miracle of sorts. For someone to have gone through so much at such a young age, and to still be…well…sane…functioning….

Her thoughts were interrupted when a knock sounded at the door. She glanced at it before going over, opening the door awkwardly to peer outside. It was Bane, and a smaller man stood behind him, a toolbox in hand. But the sight of him made her stand taller. "I can't let you in. She's in the shower."

The amusement in Bane's eyes caused them to shine, and he easily pushed the door open and pushed past her. "He is here to fix the door." He gave the smaller man one glance, and he immediately went to work. Bane on the other hand wondered around the room, and Mara didn't miss the way his eyes repeatedly fell on the bathroom door.

"What do you want, Bane?" She sighed.

He went to her work station, his eyes inspecting each beaker as he would have done with his hands. He saw her box of canisters and lifted one, still warm to the touch. "You must have worked all night." He was quick to pull one of his nearly empty canisters from his mask and replaced it with a new one. It clicked in place and he breathed deep, let his eyes fall over his good doctor. Adrenaline and renewed strength rushed through him, made him blink rapidly. "And you have done well, Mara." Her name on his lips sounded like a slur. "However, I will need more. I will need two more boxes…and once you are through…" His eyes found Israel's file and he went to it. "Once you are through you can return home to your husband and child. And no more will you have to think of Gotham and the shadow that presides over it."

Mara took him in, shoulders broad and straight, but his head was angled downward. He was reading her file, and she felt as though now was her chance. "What are your plans for her?" Her annoyance rose when he neither turned nor answered her. "Bane…this girl…"

"This girl…belongs to me."

She was pushing her luck and she knew it but… "She's been through enough as it is. I know you read her file before I did, and whatever you have planned for her…" She swallowed hard. "Whatever it is you want her to be to you…spare her."

He did turn then, his eyes cold and grey as they found Mara standing between him and the bathroom door. No doubt that she had put herself there on purpose. The corners of his lips twitched as she squared her shoulders back and took a more defensive stance. "Spare her…"  
He rolled the words around in his mouth as though he were tasting them. "From what, exactly?" His hands grasped the V of this vest as he surveyed her.

"From you." The air in the room was palpable. Even the repair man had begun working faster, made haste to get out of the room. Bane watched him go and then let his eyes slowly trail back to Mara.

"From me…" The tone of his voice was low, and he lifted his feet, strolled over to his doctor, watched as each of his footfalls made her shake. "Mara…" He peered down at her.

She flinched. The way he'd said her name took her back, far back to the days when her name from his mouth was a caress, was home…safety.

"If I let this girl go free…" He glanced at the bathroom door, listening to the shower that provided them with background noise. "…will you replace her?"

Her eyes widened, didn't miss the amusement and intrigue that welled in Bane's eyes. "Replace her? You want me to replace her?"

He stood tall, watched the array of emotions that moved rapidly across her face. "I will not go without, Mara."

The tone of his voice made her cringe, and she set her jaw, lifted her head. "There is a sea of women in this town and you have your pick of all of them!" She was pushing her luck yet again, raising her voice. And she knew it was dangerous but he'd always made her that way, he'd always been so quick to make her temper flare. "Besides…you already have…_her_."

His eyes narrowed, hardened, and his fists clenched tightly. "So you will not be taking her place?" It had been a jest from the beginning. He didn't want Maura. He'd had her, and she was only so complex. He had divested all her layers in a single year, and what had been left was steady, unimaginative repetition. She was a creature of habit, almost OCD in her ways. And while Bane practiced structure and discipline, his assertion and surveillance of the doctor bored him, bored him to the point of anger. It was a feeling towards her that he had not, and still could not explain, even to himself. He had wanted more from her than she could have given him, and to take her back under his care now would only result in her death.

In the bathroom, Israel had washed her hair thoroughly and finger combed it before wrapping it in a bun atop her head. She stood under the spray one last time before turning off the water and reluctantly stepping on the bath mat. The towel she wrapped around herself was impossible large, but it was soft and warm. She glanced at her clothing on the floor; a shirt and a pair of panties…that was all she had left…a dirty white shirt…and a pair of underwear. Panic rose in her throat, constricted her chest. She tried to remind herself that she'd once had even less than that, but that time seemed so far away, so long ago. And she had come a long way, had been doing so much better for such a long amount of time, that it was baffling to her, unconceivable really, that all her progress and hard work could be wiped away in a single day.

She reached down for them, held the worn materials in her hand as the image of her car going over the edge of the bridge flashed in her head. Everything she'd owned was in that car. All her money, clothes…her pride…all of it had been swallowed up by the water. She was shaking as she moved, putting one leg in front of the other to get out of the bathroom. She was beginning to panic, felt herself start to drown in it and it seemed like each step she took to the bathroom door caused another tidal wave of anxiety to sweep over head… Something was wrong…

The shower stopped then, and both Bane and Mara looked to the bathroom door, listened as the shower curtain was pulled back. Mara's face was panicked, but Bane disregarded her, headed for the door. He had more important work to busy himself with. "Finish your work, Mara. The sooner you finish, the sooner you can leave."

His timing was perfect. As soon as he shut the bedroom door, Israel opened the bathroom door. She stepped out timidly with an overly large towel wrapped around her. In her hands she carried the clothes she had been wearing, and she frowned down at them. "I don't have any extra clothes." Her voice cracked, and she began to shake as her eyes watered. "All my things were left in my car…my car…" She looked up then, her hands fisting and tearing at the worn and bloodied materials in them, angry that she was allowing herself to cry. The tears streamed down her face and she shut her eyes in the hopes of stopping them. "And my c-car….is at the bottom…of a lake…with that boy…" She had breakdowns before, but it had been so long since she felt anything so overwhelming, since she'd felt so out of control. Her legs gave out and she sunk to her knees, barely noticed with Mara grabbed the sheet from the bed and draped it over her shoulders. "I told him I would get him out…and then he fell…and I just watched. I couldn't do anything but watch!" Israel shook, convulsed, cried so hard that she thought she would vomit, and Mara sat beside her, held her tightly as though she were her own child, shushed her.

"Hush. Hush! There was nothing you could do. We'll get you new clothes. Everything is going to be alright."

"But it won't… He's got me, he's got me and my legs are busted and I don't have a way out. I don't have a backup plan! I've got nothing! I'm stuck!"

Mara made the girl look at her, made sure her eyes were on her. "Israel, listen to me. I need you to listen to me!" She wiped the tears that poured from her eyes and framed her face with her hands. "It's okay, it's going to be okay, because I am going to get you out of here." The words had formed in her head as a way of comfort, but as she voiced them, Mara realized that she meant them. She didn't care what she had to do. She would kill Bane herself if she had to! But she would get Israel out of Gotham.

Mara helped Israel to the bed and went through the closets and the drawers until she found an overly large shirt and a pair of boxers. She handed them to Israel, helped her get into them before giving her a mild sedative and another antibiotic. She then sterilized her stitches and bandaged them back up, but all the while the wheels in her head were turning. She would get this girl out. She would get her out and to safety, and she would make damn sure she was happy. Her mind went into overdrive as she watched Israel drift off and then went to survey her beakers. She'd been to Gotham before and if she was lucky she would still have some contacts in the city who weren't dead. But she'd need to get out. She'd need to get away from Bane's prying eyes and ears.

She looked over her workstation. He'd said he would need more, and in order to do that she'd need more supplies. Emboldened by her new objective she marched from the bedroom right to where Bane sat on the couch with a few of his men, going over paperwork. He didn't look up at her.

"I need more supplies." She said it coldly and with force.

"You will have them. Be patient." There was an amused lilt to her voice that made the muscle in her jaw clench.

"The sooner you finish, the sooner you can leave. Isn't that what you said?"

His eyes found her then, the corners of which were wrinkled. "It is."

"Then I need supplies, and I need them now." Bane's men were now looking rapidly between their leader and the doctor.

"And now you're suddenly in such haste to leave?" His eyes looked past her to the hallway. "What about your patient?"

"You've made me angry, and now I've remembered why I left your band of rejects the first time. You do nothing but annoy me and make me angry. You criticize and belittle. So forgive me I don't want to spend any more time around you than necessary." Her fists were clenched, and she fought hard to keep them at her side.

Bane merely surveyed her. "You always did have quite the temper, doctor." He stood then, watched as she moved back a few feet. "You will have your tools tomorrow—"

"I want them today."

The air in the room fell dead, and even Bane's men, Barsad included, cringed. Bane's hand found their way to the V of his vest, and despite the rage in his eyes, he stood relaxed, calm. "We don't always get what we want."

Mara stood her ground, planted her feet firmly beneath her and met Bane's intense eyes with little trepidation.

"You're trying my patience on purpose." He said the words lowly, as though he were talking only to himself, but then his eyes sharpened. "Would you like me to remind you of how I tamed that quick temper of yours?"

She smirked then, a bluff as she was shaking on the inside. "Are you going to break my nose again? Or this time will it be my legs? My arms? If you break my hands then I can't do any work for you." He was nearing her, and it was causing her to have to back up so quickly that when she collided with the shelf behind her it caused an ache to run down her back. He was towering over her now, his eyes ablaze with fury and anger, all of which he directed solely at her. For a moment, Mara realized that she could be living the very last moments of her life. She'd seen Bane kill people for much less, and it would have been easy for him to outstretch his hand and squeeze the life out of her.

"And if I refuse your demand, what then?" Bane's hands gripped the V of his vest tighter.

"I will go and get then myself." She lifted her chin defiantly.

"Assuming that I would let you go so easily, you would brave the unprotected dark of Gotham in an effort to hasten your release from my grasp?" He repeated her own demands back to her on purpose, watched as her resolve faltered. She was being unreasonable and rash, but such was her way when she was blinded by anger.

"Yes." She finally said. "Yes."

The corners of his eyes wrinkled, and he straightened his spine. "You will take one of my men to accompany you to the hospital for supplies." Bane went to the soldier nearest him and simple tapped his shoulder. The man stood, gun in hand and faced Mara, awaited further instructions. He took the parcel of money his leader gave him and tucked it into his shirt. "I would advise you to go straight there and come straight back." Bane turned back to his doctor. "There is no where in this city where I cannot find you, but it would be good for to you to keep in mind that the longer you are away, the longer I will be alone with your patient." His eyes narrowed. "And I can become very creative the longer I am kept waiting."

Mara's eyes widened. She'd forgotten that she would have to leave Israel alone with Bane, and that definitely put a damper in her plans. She's have to be quick, efficient. She eyed her guard hesitantly. "You won't harm her while I'm gone?" Her question was directed at Bane.

He turned to her fully. "Will I?"

She nodded and headed for the door, mindful that she did indeed have an armed tail. She gave Bane once last glance before leaving the apartment, listened as the door closed behind her guard and then made her way to the elevator.

Bane watched her go and then resumed his seat, continued going over the papers in front of him. Barsad was still standing, and though he wasn't fidgeting or moving, his silence was loud. "You have something you'd like to say?" Bane asked, never letting his eyes leave the paper he was holding.

"Are you sure she'll come back?"

"I have given her incentive, brother." He looked up at Barsad then. "You and Mara were not with us at the same time. She has a loyalty that will be the end of her. She will not leave the girl unattended for too long. Not when she fears that I have…devious intentions in mind."

The ride down was silent and awkward, and Mara couldn't believe that peaceful elevator music was still being piped into the small compartment. It seemed rude just to listen to it. Ground level of the apartment building was scattered with various members of the League of Shadows, all of which eyed her as she left the building.

Once outside, the large breath of fresh air she took compelled her to run, to get as far away from the building and from Bane as fast as her legs would carry her. But she knew better than that, she knew that if she tried to make a run for it her guard would stop her or gun her down. And she also knew that if she didn't come back that would leave Israel in Bane's hands. _Don't forget the mission_, she chided herself. She led the way for a block or so and then stopped abruptly. "Did you hear that?" She asked.

Her guard came to stand next to her, looked around while clutching his gun. "I didn't hear anything."

She took a cautious step back. "Then you're deaf. I know I heard something." She held her hand out then, panic written all over her face. "Give me your extra gun."

The guard scoffed. "You're crazy if you think I'm giving you a weapon."

"It's a long walk to the hospital and I'm not trekking the whole way there unarmed! If you get gunned down just how long do you think I'll last?" She shook her hand, insistent to have a gun placed in it.

The guard cursed, spouted off in a different language, no doubt complaining about the entire situation. Nevertheless, he pulled his pistol from its holster and offered it to the doctor. Mara clutched the gun tightly, removed the safety as her footsteps turned to silence. She was on the guard before he knew what was happening, and her gun pressed into his spine tightly. The trigger was pulled and then a body slumped to the ground. He stared up at the doctor wide eyes, mouth gaping as he gasped and tried to form words.

Mara's eyes were sharp, but sad. She stuffed the gun in the back of her pants and pried the larger one from the guard's hands. "I'm sorry," she whispered. She pulled the parcel of money from his shirt and tucked into her back pocket. "You're new. No way you're old enough to know who I was when I was at Bane's side." She took the time to look at his face. He was young with green eyes and brown hair. "He shouldn't have sent someone so young…" She pulled the pistol from her back and aimed it at his head. "I can end it right here if you want… Or you can bleed out…"

The two stared at one another and then finally the guard lifted his hand, pulled at the end of the gun.

"You're a smart kid…" She didn't hesitate. Her finger eased the trigger back, and with a loud bang the boy was gone. She stuffed the gun back in her pants, checked the corpse for any remaining ammo or anything else she would need. She had to be quick. She couldn't leave Israel alone with Bane for too long, and yet…she had so much to do. She'd seek out her contacts first. They wouldn't be too hard to find as they hardly gravitated to any other areas. After that she'd put a plan in motion, one that would ensure her and her patient's survival, and with any luck, one that would put Bane down as well. After that she'd make a quick trip to the hospital for supplies and then back to the apartment. As she walked away, she glanced back at the body on the sidewalk. For a moment she thought it might have been hard to come up with an excuse as to why she'd return without a chaperone when she'd left with one…but then she realized that Gotham was lawless.

That was enough of an excuse.

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**Alrighty, so now we're heading towards some Bane and Israel alone time. I feel like it's about time for them to confront one another without anymore interference, right? Well, at least for now. Mara's going to be out of the picture soon and things are going to get a bit more interesting. Feel free to leave me some love and suggestions...thoughts...angry feelings and what have you. And once again, my social networking bullcrap is below! Until next time! :D**

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