Batman Begins/Dark Knight 1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer for all forthcoming chapters: I own none of the recognizable characters, I own only my OC's and some of the story line. I am making no money what so ever on this, so don't sue me.**

* * *

_Tell me what has become of my rights  
__Am I invisible because you ignore me?  
__Your proclamation promised me free liberty, now  
__I'm tired of bein' the victim of shame  
__They're throwing me in a class with a bad name  
__I can't believe this is the land from which I came_

_- They Don't Care About Us, Michael Jackson__  
_

* * *

It was almost amazing how quickly the great metropolis of Gotham became a desolate ghost-town after the initial uprising.

The outer edges of the city, where the middle and lower upper-class lived and worked, were vacant and deserted almost all hours of the day, curtains and blinds drawn on all windows, doors locked – some even barred, cars dead in the street and no noise except the buzzing of tired street lamps and the occasional miserable yowl of a lonely alley-cat. Light seemed almost afraid to shine through glass into the night, the inhabitants scared that someone, anyone, would come for them for seemingly no reason, and haul them off to certain death.

The inner city, the downtown area, where all the greatest corporations and businesses had ruled and thrived before, were now littered with rubble, trash and the odd dead body in the mouth of darkened back streets. People roamed the roads, thicker crowds than out by the rims of the city, though one could never be sure of the intentions harbored by the group as they headed your way. Were they mercenaries, upholding the frayed and obscure guidelines that passed for law these troublesome days? Or were they a wandering gang of the newly released Blackgate prisoners, hard-cored criminals out for blood and the raping of innocents? Or was it simply a cluster of frightened individuals, finding safety in numbers when going out to look for desperately needed food?

Winter had not quite yet settled over the rooftops and street corners of Gotham. The temperature had plummeted over the first week of the so-called "revolution", almost in sympathy and homage to the lives sullied and lost in the deadly uproar, but still no snow had fallen on cracked concrete sidewalks and no ice had formed along the edges of empty windows, sparing for but a moment longer the homeless and unfortunate.

The faint roar of a large plane sifted down through the thick fog clouding over the sky. No one but those privileged with the information would know that the plane was military, a Hercules cargo aircraft, bringing the negotiated supplies to the broken city. It would fly over the skyscrapers and rooftops twice a week and drop multiple crates of food and medicine, meant for the hungry and hopeful citizens. But it rarely reached the starved, poor people that needed it, because of the gangs of depraved convicts and madmen. Or, if they were quick, the ever vigilant soldiers of fortune with the big guns and hardened eyes. At least about half of what they took went to the needy and sick masses. A dark shadow in the clouds became more pronounced as it descended from the sky, the noise of the Hercules peaking before fading slowly into the darkness of the night, a parachute slowing the fall of a supply-crate revealing itself as it neared the ground in its lazy fall to earth, swaying lightly from side to side. With a scraping sound and a thud, it hit the concrete, the light fabric of the parachute sweeping over it graciously. And for a moment all was quiet again.

Then careful footsteps echoed from a nearby alleyway and a shadowed face peeked out into the dimly lit street, looking both ways twice before setting eyes on the untouched crate. With a deep breath that turned into a light white cloud of exhale, the shade edged out into the open, leaving behind the safety of the close-quarter alley. With the hood falling low on a smooth brow, the face of the crouching figure stayed anonymous as it almost crawled across the pavement, staying out of the direct light from the streetlamps and moving with practiced urgency. There was no time to loose. Surely others had seen the descending package of goods, no doubt hurrying to its drop-off point.

The scritchy-scratchy noise of a walkie-talkie made its way out of a pocket on dirty, tan cargo-pants, _"Come in Charley, this is Julius. Have you acquired the package? Over."_

A calloused hand gingerly touched the crate while wary eyes continuously darted across the shadows along the buildings, desperate in their search for unwelcome guests. Gloved fingers reach into a large pocket to fish out the offending piece of radio equipment.

"Jules, quit the army talk, we ain't army, alright?" a scoff fogs the air for a second. "I've reached the crate," then with an indulgent sigh, "Over."

"_Roger that, over."_

The walkie goes back in the pocket before she yanked the pack from her back free. Another quick look around and a hard listen for unwanted sounds. Out of the backpack a folded-up duffel bag is produced and whipped open as she crouches in front of the crate, briefly fiddling with the handle. It's opened easily and the lid carefully lifted until the contents are in plain sight, ripe for the taking.

Time being of the essence, ration-packs and first-aid kits – among other things – are stuffed into the old, tarnished bag with calculated quickness. In the distance shouts and the roaring of engines could be heard, still far off, but close enough that the supplies get dropped into the bag too fast to arrange them properly. With the duffle bag full it's zipped up and put aside as the thief begins to stuff the spacious backpack instead, breathe coming out in quickened bouts now. It was a big crate, and would have more than enough food and medical supplies for several blocks of people, but the mercenaries usually kept two thirds of all the supplies regularly dropped throughout the city, and people were starving.

"_Come in Charley, hostiles closing in, over." _

Her face turned to the sky, knowing that the other end of the walkie-talkie is up on a roof, high above ground, a necessary look-out when dealing with such risky business. With panicked speed the rest of the rations are shoved into the pack.

"_Charley, get your ass moving!"_

The sound of engine roar drew nearer, too close for any kind of comfort as she sneered in annoyance and let the lid of the crate drop closed to hide the missing of items for a moment more, possibly buying the desperate woman a little more time for a close-call escape. Charley could see the lights in the distance then, heard the mechanical droning, and quickly the bags were hoisted up and with labored movements as she darts, still crouching low, into the alleyway from whence she came, barely making the comfort of the darkness before the high-tech, camouflage-printed tank pulled up not 10 feet from the half-empty crate, two motorcycles flanking it. Charley forced her breath to quiet, pressing her whole body tightly against the brick wall, trying to blend in with the weathered clay as the mercenaries dismount from their vehicles.

_One, two, three, four…_ She counts ten walking armories in all, leering at the automatic weapons slung across their torsos. She wouldn't stand a chance at that kind of resistance, having only the humble Glock stuffed down the backside of the cargo-pants and the old switch-blade in her front pocket. Charley, fear trying to claw way into an already desert-dry throat, slowly edged along the wall as the mercenaries moved to secure the perimeter, one – luckily – briefly looking into the occupied alley before walking on, gun lowered unthreatened to point at the ground.

Out of the tanned tank climbs a rugged-looking merc, a scruffy short beard grazing his chin, messy, cropped black hair on his head and unfeeling dark eyes scanning the area with practiced accuracy before jumping to the cold hard ground. Their captain, the team leader, _el general_. He walked in front of the vehicle, hands confidently on his belt as he directed his men to the crate with a few short, _foreign,_ words.

Charley knows she has to speed things up, that getting away alive was a window closing fast. Booted feet make little to no sounds as she speeds up, eyes never leaving the scene by the tank as she knows that they will start shouting in angry, loud voices any second when they find supplies plucked out from right under their noses… again. It wasn't like they didn't have enough already, they were greedy, enjoying holding the public under their thumb with high-priced necessities. Just as her fingers reach for the chain link fence separating the two halves of the alley, the barks and yells echoes down the walls and she hears the orders to search the area. The time to disappear was nigh.

Slinging the duffel bag over her shoulder she climbs the fence just as a merc makes it down her alleyway with his gun raised, ready to shoot and possibly kill at the first sound or sign of movement. "H-hey! Stop!"

She knows he's yelling at her, but it only makes her haul her ass over the top of the fence that much faster, hitting the ground as she launched herself away from it the moment she cleared it, the impact bringing her to her knees. A spout of bullets rain down around her and she scrambles desperately to her feet, head almost at her chest as she scurries alongside the wall, flinching as the bullets give of '_pings_' when they hit the metal fence.

"He's down here, hey boss, over here!" she heard from behind her, not bothering to look back as she focused her line of vision on the mirroring alley across from the street she was heading out onto.

"_Charley, there's two behind you!"_ the walkie-talkie screeched from her pocket and she straightens up to sacrifice safety for speed, sprinting across the deserted asphalt without as much as a turn of the head. Hearing their approaching footsteps and knowing sanctuary was at least another alleyway away she pulls out the Glock, firing a few blindly placed shots behind her, hoping to slow them down, if only a bit.

"Arh, my arm!"

_Thud._

A grin stretches across her mouth. One down, one to go. More shots pelt the space around her and she hissed as one slices into the sleeve of her hoodie, nicking her upper arm. Hearing the thundering footfalls behind her, she ignored the bite of it and pushed herself harder, making it into the next street as she heard shouts from further behind her, guessing the other mercenaries just caught up to their wounded friend. Charley rushed into the next passageway, a profound sense of relief filling her when she spotted the grate half way down, a dumpster strategically placed on top of it. She knew that she'd have to dispose of her follower before she can get to safety, and to do it before the rest of them caught up.

She fired the rest of the clip behind her, daring a glance over her shoulder. Shit, he was much closer than anticipated. To her agony she missed him complete and swore profoundly under her breath as she stuffed the gun back down her pants and drew out the knife in her pocket. She finally reached the dumpster, having to duck under another row of shots, and she hurled her body, shoulder first, into it, dropping the bags on the grate as it moved back on its ruddy, old wheels. As the mercenary approached she managed to skim around the corner of it as bullets pebbled the wall behind the container, and rolled behind the huge box of stained green plastic before he could get another shot, ignoring the pain in her now sore shoulder.

The knife flings open with a '_sheek'_ and Charley lets out a calming breath, waiting for the merc to come around the dumpster looking for her. "Come on out, you bastard. I promise I won't shoot," he tried, panting from the little run she'd put him through. Charley resisted the urge to roll her eyes, knowing damn well that the fucker would have no problem pulling the trigger if as much as a strand of her hair came into view.

She could hear his ragged breathing, hear the way his feet hit the ground almost cautiously as all the muscles flexed in her body, getting ready to pounce. A reassuring tug secures the hood over her forehead and she nervously shifts the knife to her other hand.

_Come on, you dumb fuck._

The toe of his boots peeked around the dumpster's side. With an angry cry she launched forward and up, catching his rifle with her shoulder to bring its barrel out of harm's way, counting herself a lucky woman that he doesn't pull the trigger right then, which would no doubt have left her deaf and vulnerable. Having anticipated some kind of surprise attack but still not being able to fully prepare for it, the merc stumbled back a few steps but kept on his feet, much to Charley's dismay. One of her arms pushed up, trying to disarm him as the blade, gripped so tight her knuckles had turned white, drove in between two ribs, the slick, sharpened edge easily cutting through jacket, skin and tissue. She tuned out his dire cry of pain, letting her mind go blissfully blank to do what she must, and gritted her teeth as she yanked the gun-strap over his head as he falls to his knees in pain. Charley threw the weapon behind her and backed away from him as he let out a hoarse groan. She ignored the rifle, opting for the silent blade, hoping that its quite killing-potential will buy her a few precious moments, after disposing of this one, to escape from the rest of the mercs. A few seconds pass by undisturbed, before she's forced to take a fighting stance, shoulders hunched and arms up and out, feet spread and knees bent, as the injured merc tried to scramble to his feet, wheezing and coughing. _Good_, she thought, _hit the lung._

"Son of a bitch!" he cried, desperately pressing a heavy hand over the blood-oozing wound in his side. It glittered wonderfully in the light of a fluorescent tube hanging over an emergency exit not far off from where they stood. She could tell he recognized that coughing blood was _not_ a good thing as he stared dumbfounded at the red smatter that colored his hand when he went to wipe his chin. She tried not to get too giddy when she realized that this may go much smoother than originally thought, knowing the bubbling in her chest would only serve to distract her. Pushing it down, determined to enjoy it later, she leapt forward to catch him – hopefully – unaware. A sluggish arm blocked her first punch towards the bloody weak point; an old and dirty trick in the big book of fights and very much predictable. But he doesn't see the fist coming at his face before it impacted, his nose blossoming with pain and a spray of crimson before spreading over his entire skull, his eyes blinded with answering tears as a howling cry lodged in his throat.

As he fumbled in the sudden dark of his vision a stray drop of blood lands on Charley's cheek, and she grimaced and gripped the knife impossibly tighter as she's brought back to the first time she killed another human being.

_It had been amidst all the chaos that Charley had taken the mantel of killer that first week of utter disarray and turmoil, one faithful night when she had left her home when what little food she had stocked up had run out. She used to live on the edge of the Narrows, poor by city standards – she'd had the graveyard shift of one of the local gas stations before a flock of newly released Blackgate prisoners had looted and destroyed the place and killed the owner. That night, as her stomach had growled angrily at her for neglecting it so, she had dared venture out into the empty streets, shaking with both hunger and fright, armed with a meager can of pepper-spray and an old purse. Flickering streetlamps illuminated her path as she inched on, practically scuffing her dad's old leather jacket on the brick walls as she crept along them. Before she reached the supermarket at the end of the block a strangled cry crawled up her spine when she warily passed another dark alley. A whimper had her halting her steps and she slowly fished the pepper-spray out of her purse, clutching it to her chest as she moved into the darkness, following the sounds of soft sobs. Truthfully she hadn't known what to expect. She had heard the quiet calls for help and knew she'd had to do something, anything. So with her wildly beating heart in her throat she crawled down the passage, straining her eyes to see through the shadows. The crying grew louder as she came closer and then she saw the source of it as her eyes finally adjusted. A young girl was lying on the cold ground, being kept down by a man at least twice her size, holding a loose hand to her neck as he fumbled with the button on her pants. The girl cried weakly, having given up calling for help when no one had come. A fat lip was seeping blood onto her chin, a bruise already forming across her brow, evidence that she had fought as much as she was capable of. A seething disgust and a hopeless wrath started to congeal and thicken in the pit of Charley's soul then. She noticed the monster looming over the girl was wearing a dirty, grey jumpsuit, the bold lettering on the back reading 'Blackgate Penitentiary' on the back and realized this poor girl probably wasn't his first victim, not by a long shot. The anger took hold of her as the girl choked on another sob, trying to fend him off with feeble hands, and Charley aimed the can at his head, walking forward with determined steps. _

"_Let her go!" she yelled though her voice was shaky, from fear or rage she couldn't tell, as she stopped approximately three feet from them, the can of spray in her outstretched arm, finger on the release._

_The brute finally noticed her and lifted his head with a scowl on his harsh face. When he realizes it's another frail woman threatening him, a bucktoothed grin spread across his mouth._

"_Well well, another one wants to play. Don't worry sweetheart, I'll be done in a moment," his voice was filled with malice and cockiness, and he ignored her words, unzipping the girls pants. Charley looked to the girl, seeing her stare back at her with a plea in her watery eyes. _Help me_. She gritted her teeth and focused her glare back on the rapist._

"_I said, _let her go!_" _

_When he didn't acknowledge her at all she pressed the button of the spray. It hit the side of his face and took immediate effect as he yells and falls on his ass, scrambling away from her while furiously rubbing his cheek and jaw._

"_Go, get up!" Charley shouted at the girl, who doesn't hesitate to follow her order, not bothering to re-do her pants before climbing to her feet and running out of the alley. Charley looked after her, making sure she's reached safety before turning back to the offender to empty the can in his face._

_A fist connected with her cheekbone before she even got the chance to look at him and a cry of pain mixed with surprise escaped her as she spun to the ground. The can flew from her hand and landed out of her sight with a rattle as her hands braced her fall, pebbles and sharp something's biting into her palms as she grimaced. A swift kick to the stomach sent her sprawling on her side, the leather jacket taking most of the damage._

"_You bitch!" the assailant growled, standing over her, one side of his face red and swollen from the pepper-spray as he sneered and glared down on her curled up form, "You fucking bitch! You're gonna pay for that."_

_He kicked her again, this time in the ribs, and all the air that was left in her lungs rushed out, leaving her weak and breathless. As she gasped, trying to suck in just a tiny breath, a hand fisted in her shoulder-length hair. He pulled her up by that grip and she whimpered, hands clinging onto his as she scrambled up to stand._

"_Let go," she cried, even though she knew there's no way he'd actually comply, "Please." _

"_Please? You trying to beg me, girl?" he laughed in her face, Charley cringing as the foulness of his breath hit her full on. Then he threw her against the wall, blanketing her body with his. Bile rose in her throat as the wrath let way to desperate fear, and she duck her nail into his hands as they closed around her throat. _No,_ the word echoed horribly through her mind, _no, no, no, no no no no no, NO NO NO, PLEASE NO_. _

_But no one came to her rescue; no one heard her desperate cries as the monster fumbled with the weathered button on her jacket, his hands clumsy and heavy. _This is what you get_, she thought as another whimper escaped her, _for trying to help someone. The one time you go out during this hell on earth, and this is what happens.

"_Stay still sweetheart, and I'll let you live," he leans in to whisper against her neck, and she has to fight with all her control not to vomit and pass out. His stubbled chin is pricking the sensitive skin on her throat and she prays to whatever entities there might be that it'll be swift and painless when he kills her. Hope is a long gone memory when his thick fingers finally rip the last button, hands immediately groping her through the t-shirt underneath. Charley tried one more time to knock his hands away, slapping his cheek with as much force as she could muster. The hand around her neck loosened for just a tid-bit, and she took the chance, trying to dart off to the side. But another hard punch to her abdomen stopped her before she could move more than a few inches, the hand now gripping her throat to the point of choking._

"_Fucking bitch, you think you can run?" he hissed, now unzipping her jeans, and she cried out again. She choked on her sobs and tears started tumbling down her face. _

_A cold, smooth object pokes the hand that she'd let fallen to her side. At first she couldn't really feel it, couldn't really register anything else than the despair and pain filling up her body and mind. The poking became more insistent and finally she let her head roll to the side, her face scrunching up almost painfully as another rough hand tried to yank down her pants before busying itself with his own zipper._

_Charley's eyes widened considerably and a sob got stuck in her chest when she laid eyes on the girl she had saved not five minutes ago. The girl was shaking and her eyes were wild as she poked Charley's hand again. She looked down to see a large-ish wine bottle touching her skin. She looked, stricken, from the girl's gaze to the bottle a few times. And just as the beast – too preoccupied to have noticed Charley's saving grace - finished pulling down his own pants and grabbing for her breasts, a tremendous strength and an unquenchable spirit shot straight to her soul, that violent and magnificent fury returning through the haze of despair, and she wrapped her fingers around the bottle's neck. _

"_Hey fuckface," she whispered, shakily but loud enough for him to notice. _

"_Yeah?" the sneer on his face transformed to an awful grimace when she swiftly kneed him in the groin, taking advantage of his temporary lapse in attention, and he yelled and stumbled away from her, clutching his private parts. "Fuck!"_

_As the first full breath entered her lungs she lifted the bottle, vengeance burning in her eyes. He looked up just in time to see the hatred on her face and the glint of the glass as it came swinging for his head. It shattered against his skull, coming home right above his ear, and with a gurgling groan he dropped to the ground. Blood soaked through his greasy, choppy hair and onto the ground as he fell silent. For a second or maybe two Charley just stood and breathed, just focused on pulling the delicious, cold night-air into her lungs, let her system get use of it, before exhaling with a slight tremble down her spine. _

"_Is he dead?" The timid, almost shrill voice brought her out of her daze and she looked over at the girl-child who stood hugging herself. She stared at the fallen criminal, Charley's eyes following her gaze and warily crouched down beside him, the broken bottle still tight in her grip. She gingerly pressed two fingers to his neck, searching for a pulse. It was weak, but it was there. Fuck. Normally, she'd have run away, go home and pretend nothing had happened. But the festering wrath hadn't let go of her yet. She knew he was evil to the core, knew that if he recovered from this, he'd go about his merry way and continue to hurt others at his own behest, knew that two lives had been brutally defiled that night and that they wouldn't be the last if he lived. She looked to the girl again, saw the angry bruise on her brow, the clotted blood on her lip and the haunted look in her eyes, and she knew what she had to do. _

_So she tipped him on his back by the tip of her boot, and twirled the bottle in her hand, before crouching down. She jerked when his breath rattled and his eyes cracked open, and she almost backed out. Almost._

_With a sneer on her lips and a deathly glare directed at the beast now at her mercy, she lifted the broken glass above her head, and then brought it down hard on his throat. Something told her she should feel sick and disgusted by the way his blood sprayed, the girl gasping and gagging behind her, but she didn't. She saw the light of life leave his eyes, snuffed out, rightfully, by her hand, but didn't feel guilt or remorse._

_She felt… nothing. Sweet nothing._

"_Now he's dead," she said, her voice devoid of emotion. Standing up she looked one last time at the dead and bloodied body, threw the glass bottle away and turned to the girl, "Are you okay?"_

_She stared at Charley for a long time, trying to decide if she had jumped from the frying pan into the fire; the woman had just killed a man in cold blood when he lay crippled and helpless on the ground. But then she remembered what he was, what he had done, and what he would most likely had done to her if this angel of wrath hadn't come along._

"_Yes, I-I'm okay. I-I-I, h-he didn't, I-I mean, he didn't get t-to…" she couldn't go on as tears of relief and aftershock fell from her eyes and her whole body started trembling. Charley strode forward to catch her before she plunged to the ground, embracing her as sobs raked through her and she clutched onto the leather jacket. _

"_Shh, it's okay, you're okay," Charley cooed mindlessly as the fury simmered down and gave way to her inborn empathy, her mother instincts on high alert as she did her best to console the weeping child. She maneuvered them out of the alley, away from the gory sight and broken memories, and navigated them out into the lit street. _

"_Thank you," the girl murmured between sobs. A few minutes passed by before the tears ran out, for now, and she pulled away to dry her eyes, "If you hadn't-"_

"_No, don't think about it right now," Charley said quickly, holding the girl by her shoulders, "You survived, we survived, that's what matters right now." Tears burned her own vision and she wanted nothing more but to be held by her own mom and sob until her body became dehydrated and weak, but right now she didn't have that option. For one, her mother was thousands of miles away. And second, she had to take care of this kid, had to take her somewhere safe and make sure she really was alright. She looked into the girl watery blue eyes, "What's your name?"_

"_Julie," she hiccupped and ran the back of her hand under her nose._

"_Hi Julie, I'm Charley," she smiled softly, letting go of her shoulders and sticking out her hand. Julie shook it, sniffling and trying to smile through her puffy eyes._

"_That's a boy's name," she hiccupped again, a huff of choked laughter bubbling out of her._

_Charley actually grinned this time, "So I've been told."_

The memory was over in a few seconds; Charley blinked and narrowed her brow. The merc was blinking his tears away, glaring at her, baleful. The knife switched hands as he came for her, fists raised and ready; she ducked under the first swing and punched the knife-wound between his ribs. He crumbled to the ground with a scream. A cheap shot, she knew, but right then she needed to end it; the rest of them were getting closer, the shouts becoming louder by the second.

This damned rebellion had left no survivors in its wake, had left no one untouched by its sweeping embrace. Many were forced to do things no man, woman or child should ever have to do, let alone be able to. It reduced the population of Gotham to nothing but beasts, animals, who had to give into instincts of survival if they wanted to live on. Unspeakable acts of cruelty and necessity happened frequently and unhindered, the Law trapped underneath the city and unable to help the people as they had sworn to protect. Mothers became murderers and children became orphans.

Charley stepped around him and jerked him up by his short hair. He groaned and tried to resist, but went still as a mouse when he felt the cold, sharp steel of her knife digging into his jugular.

"Okay, okay, chill, chill," he tried to negotiate, holding his hands up in a peace-offering, "I-I give up, I-"

He didn't get a chance to work out another syllable before Charley pressed the blade against his skin with force and dragged it across in one swift movement. Blood rushed down his front, soaking through his clothes as she let go off him, and he fell to the ground in an inanimate heap. As the last breath of air left him, gurgling in thick crimson liquid, she was already at the grate, opening up the hatch to reveal a dank, dark passage underneath. She shoved down the bags before climbing down herself, closing the hatch and drawing the container back over it by a string attached to the bottom of it. Halfway down the ladder she saw the flickers of flashlights and the shouts of the mercenaries as they reached their fallen comrade.

"_Suckeeers_," she sung under her breath and climbed the rest of the way down before hoisting up the bags once more and reaching into her pocket for the walkie, "Jules, come in. I'm in the clear… over." For an agonizingly long ten seconds the line was silent, and all of her worst fears started to bubble and sputter under the surface.

"_Charley, this is Julius, roger that. Meet you at HQ, over."_

A breath of relief rushed out of her at the sound of her partner's voice. She adjusted the straps on her shoulders and started walking along the tunnel, navigating by touch alone as the blackness engulfed everything around her.

Charley did not feel guilty. She did not feel regret or remorse. She didn't feel the need to repent or grieve over the life she had taken. Why should she? He would have killed her had she not struck first. It was kill or be killed. Gotham had turned into a dog-eat-dog kind of town, and she'd be damned if she ended up on someone else's plate. No, she would survive, as she always had. She would adapt, she would change, she would nurse the wrath and viciousness that festered in her soul, because it made her capable of these otherwise terrible acts, so others wouldn't suffer. She would become a vengeful spirit, and she was determined to carry on with her deeds as long as she could still draw breath.

No one should hurt the way she had. The way Jules had. Whenever that pesky ghost of reason and shame resurfaced in her she needed only think of how Jules had looked that night, how her young eyes glistened with a torment no woman should know – let alone a thirteen year-old girl, the crimson smear on her pouty lips that should have been upturned in a carefree smile, the uncontrollable shaking in her slim body. When she remembered _that_, all the unwanted guilt and regret melted away like snow in the sun.

She would kill, depraved of feeling, if she had to. _When_ she had to. One more wouldn't hurt the growing count.

* * *

**Hello there! So, this is my first fic in the Dark Knight trilogy. It's a fic I've been working in for some time now, it will be somewhat of a rollercoaster ride. The rating is for violence, language and mature content, so pretty much the whole shabang! So I hope you'll enjoy the story. **

**Tremendous amounts of thanks to my beta HarleyQuinn88, you da bomb!**

**Review if you liked it, thanks!**

**TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

_August evenings,  
__Bring solemn warnings to remember,  
__To kiss the ones you love goodnight.  
__- Paperthin Hymn, Anberlin__  
_

"He's dead, sir," the young man confirmed, his fingers now stained red from pressing them against the dead man's slid neck.

Barsad nodded in acknowledgement but remained quiet. There really wasn't anything to say. They had lost another half a shipment of supplies, and to a disobedient young rebel no less. Barsad had no idea how they got to the crates so fast; the drop-off site varied a little bit each time because of the wind and weather, all anybody would have to go on was that it would touch down inside a few blocks of the agreed location. Maybe it was luck, maybe they had somehow found a way to hack into their communications, he didn't know. What he did know was that he was the one who had to drag his ass back to Bane and tell him that another precious cargo had been snatched out from under them.

_Oh joy._

And then there was the dead man lying before him, a stab wound in his side and his throat slit mercilessly. _And_ the other one with a bullet buried in his arm. This was turning out to be a very unsuccessful night. In reality most of their forces, as they were now, were men and women hired and taking in from Gotham's underbelly, people with dead-end jobs and no futures who had joined the rebellion because they saw no harm in it, saw something better than the hole they'd been living in, and the Blackgate prisoners who either wouldn't or couldn't give up their life of violence, or had trouble adapting to a life outside the gates. The dead boy lying by his feet had been one of them. No official training or boot camp, only given a gun and a target; that's what was offered to those who joined in from the streets. Barsad and the rest of those who had been there since before the beginning were mercenaries by profession. They had undergone many hundred hours of vigorous training, had many successful jobs on their resume, and most importantly, they had the trust of their boss. They were trained soldiers and warriors, and would never have been dumb or slow enough to let an adolescent _child_ come close enough to actually cut open their jugular.

_Shame_, Barsad thought. He'd been a teenage boy with big dreams too when he had first been acquainted with their illustrious leader. Unlike the perished youth before him though, he'd had a chance of growing up and realizing his life-goals, becoming the trained soldier he was today. Shame, when a useful life ceases to exist.

When the squad of men he had brought along for this little expedition, hoping it would have been an easy take, had searched the area with no luck, no sign of the perpetrator, he ordered them back to the vehicles to bring the unpleasant news back to HQ; the late John Daggett's luxurious penthouse.

Bane was not going to be happy. This was the seventh shipment of supplies that had gone missing. _Well,_ Barsad mused as he climbed onto his black motorcycle, _not_ entirely _missing_. It was true, the shipments had not stayed 'gone'. They actually, somehow, managed to pop up out amongst the common folk, food and medicine given to the ones in need of it most. Of course they had brought in these people, when they caught them, to interrogate them as to how exactly they had acquired these rare goods. Some had lied, and had been promptly killed – as an example, of course – but others had nervously told the truth: that they didn't know who or how, just that these precious packages of food and medicine somehow found their way to their doorsteps. All very miraculous, if one was to believe the word on the streets. And the mercenaries, as cruel and terrorizing as they were, couldn't blame them on having what appeared to be a guardian angel.

Now, though, they had an eyewitness. Only, he didn't exactly witness anything useful before he took a bullet in the arm – only that the thief had been alone and that it was a man, possibly a young one at that. And that he had been fast enough to outrun them, outsmart them, and then escape them, which was small feats in themselves. He had wounded one, ruthlessly killed another, and then disappeared without a trace.

Nope, Bane was not going to be happy. Not in the least.

* * *

Before everything had gone to shit, before the terrorist-spurred revolution, Charley had been a nobody. Quite literally, in fact. She had no special talents was so ever, no noticeable accomplishments, not a single damn thing that could put her on any piece of informative or valuable paper, before or after her inevitable death.

She was from a lower middle-class family, oldest of two sisters born to a social worker mother and a factory-worker father. When Charley was born, the surprise both of her parents felt was astounding; due to a mistake during a sonogram, apparently, they had been assuming they were going to have a healthy baby boy to take home at the end of her mother's pregnancy. They had already painted the baby's room baby blue with matching crib and changing station, along with everything else being boy-themed down to the stuffed football plushies and silhouette trains on the walls. But through the surprise, happiness and bliss filled them and they adjusted to the change as well as could be expected. Her dad, though, having been set on names for a boy, had persuaded her mother to name their newborn girl after his grandfather. She had only agreed on the terms that her middle name was to be very much a girl's name. And that he changed diapers for 3 months. And so Charley Evelynn Hunt came into being. Yeah, quite a mouthful.

Because her father had been set on having a boy, she became the unavoidable outlet for all his father-son related activities; they watched the Rogues' games together, always cheering and booing along with the crowds at the stadium; they played catch in the backyard, daddy telling her that big girls don't cry whenever she fell and scuffed her knees, tapping her chin as the smile on his face slowly made its way to her own lips; he took her to hockey and karate practice, whooping along with her mother from the stands when she scored a goal or laid her sparring partner flat on the floor.

He didn't call her 'sweetie' or 'princess', he didn't encourage her to be feminine, he didn't take any special care with her being a girl at all.

He called her 'kiddo' or 'champ', he praised her when she excelled at hockey and other sports, and his indifference to her gender taught her a valuable lesson in equality. Her mother was always there to help her with the aspects of being a girl, and she became a most important figure in Charley's life when she reached her teenage years and started being interested in boys. Her parents had been good parents, and she wouldn't have traded them for anything, even with all the times they would annoy her and nag her, she loved them with all her heart.

Charley's sister Holly, younger by five years, grew up to be a real girly girl. She loved everything pink, had taken ballet lessons since she was seven, and spent her later years shopping with friends and studying to become a dance-instructor. Charley inevitably grew up to be somewhat of a tomboy, and took on a surrogate role of the defensive older brother that never was, beating up boys that broke her little sister's heart and hanging out with the all the cool guys from school.

Then when both Charley and Holly had graduated high-school, Charley working odd-end jobs since her grades had not been college-good – she never was very book-smart, or math-smart, had always been a hands-on type of person, like her dad – and Holly going on her second year in college in another state, their parents decided to make the drastic change of moving out of the country. Her dad had been offered a good-paying managing job up in Canada by an old school-buddy of his, and her mother had gone along with it, not having much left over for the city of Gotham after it took away her own parents.

And then Charley was left alone in the big city.

She had kept regular contact with her parents of course, and two times a year her sister would visit for a few weeks and around the holidays, but other than that Charley had no important relations left in the city. She had friends, sure, but everyday life was just as dull as ever. She lost interest in sports with her dad not around, and every day was just a passageway to the next. The only thing she did regularly besides working to pay her bills had been self-defense, taking lessons in the brutal art of Krav Maga. She had heard so many horrible stories from both co-workers and friends about what happened to young women wandering the streets alone at night, and being that was a time of day she couldn't avoid being out from within the safety of her own home because of her job, she decided to take preemptive action. She would not let herself become a victim when it could be prevented. And because of the karate lessons she'd had as a child, the fighting came easy to her; she was a 'natural survivor', her teacher would say when she'd disarmed her sparring partner and thrown him to the ground.

And the night she'd saved Julie it had all just drained itself from her mind in her fear and desperation, all the training and knowledge and skill just emptied out in a flash. Because it was one thing to fight in the gym, with a person you knew was only there to learn too, people watching all around you, and another thing entirely to be attacked in a dark, dank alley by a hardened criminal with no one to come to your aid. Reality had sucker-punched her, hard. But when she emerged victorious on the other side, the anger had burned in her chest still. Anger at the rapist for every crime and life-crushing act he had ever done, anger at the terrorists who had in actuality made it possible for the psychopath to even be out there again, but most of all, anger at herself for being weak and pathetic, when she had been taught, had learned, better.

And the anger never subsided. The past month it had made a burning crater, right below to her heart, and had ever so subtly turned into a smoldering wrath, a vicious rage that overtook her mind and her body when she wasn't careful. It had eaten away her shame, had burned away her guilt and any shred of mercy that had ever lived in her. The only thing that comforted her was that this anger was at least pointed at those who deserved it; at criminals, at bullies, rapists, villains, law-breakers, greedy demons and all wicked people alike. The world had become black and white to her; there were monsters and there were innocents. No grey area registered with her, no loopholes or exceptions; you did wrong you got punished.

Charley knew she wasn't a good person, not anymore at least. And for the most part she was okay with that; if she could spare an innocent life when it mattered then she gladly bore the weight of another corrupted life taken. Maybe 25 was a young age to view the world with such indignation, such doom and gloom. But it was too late to change that now. So she trained her body to the best of her capabilities, building her strength and her stamina while practicing the lessons of disarming and counterattacks she had learned, burning the knowledge and determination into her skin with pain and sweat and blood.

When she walked into the basement that night, backpack slung over her shoulder and the other dragging behind her, Julie threw herself into her arms as she always did. Charley dropped the bags and embraced her young charge, breathing a sigh of relief; they were both safe, for now, and had successfully gotten away with stealing yet another crate of precious supplies.

Julie pulled back, her hauntingly wide brown eyes searching the older woman's face, "I was worried there for a second, they were closing in pretty quick."

Charley smiled a crooked smile, the curve of it obscured slightly by the small scar marring her bottom lip, and brushed the blonde bangs away from the young girl's forehead, "You know me, I'm luckier than a leprechaun."

Julie scoffed and slid the backpack onto her own shoulder before turning and dumping it on the kitchen counter. The basement one-roomer they lived in wasn't much, but it was safe and it had all the necessities they needed. It had a metal-framed bunk-bed with lumpy mattresses in the smallest bedroom that had ever been built, Jules having claimed the top one with childish excitement when she'd first set eyes on it. Along with the beds the only other thing that had fit in the room was a thinly built closet stuck in the opposite corner, holding what little clothes they had brought with them. They had a small bathroom with a tiny shower, but a shower nonetheless, and the living-room was merged with a small kitchenette with two heating elements and a few drawers and cabinets and a sink, with a small table with two chairs dividing the room. On the table laid a laptop, nothing much to look at but one of their most important belongings. Their recreational space had a beaten up old three-person couch pushed straight up against a wall with a small box TV angled to it, an oval wooden coffee table in between, and a bookshelf next to the couch. There were only two very slim windows to let in the natural light, both at street-level. The whole apartment was only accessible through a trapdoor that led up behind the bar of the old Korean restaurant they lived under. The old couple who owned the place, and lived above it, had taken in the girls when they had needed it the most, and kept the pair's little secret to themselves.

Julie started unpacking the bag onto the counter, the walkie-talkie still fastened to her belt. Charley dragged the duffel bag up next to her and wandered over to the couch, letting her tired body fall into it with a great sigh. For a few minutes she just watched Jules silently empty the bags onto the countertop, everything getting organized and separated into categories. She glanced at the sniper-rifle lying carelessly on the small coffee table. Eying the black piece of deadly metal she raised her voice, "Jules? Did ya remember to-"

"Yes, the safety's on! Jesus, I forget one time and you never let me live it down…" the girl grumbled under her breath and Charley was pretty sure she was rolling her eyes at her.

"Just making sure," she mumbled with a snort, moving the rifle further away with the toe of her boot so that it wasn't pointed directly at her.

When the dull throb in her arm finally got to her, she unzipped the hoodie and shook it off, careful around the nick in her upper bicep, for a moment grieving over the hole now adorning her favorite piece of clothing. It was still bleeding a bit when she twisted her arm and neck to look at it, blood crusted and smeared across her skin.

"Ouch," she murmured, even when the pain was nothing more than an irritation now. For a few mesmerizing moments the crimson sheen held her eye as another drop sluggishly slid down her arm.

"You got shot!"

Charley jumped and looked up at Julie with hazy and startled eyes, "Wha-?"

Within moments the young woman had procured a first-aid kit and was cleaning the wound with a coarse cloth, "You should have told me sooner, no need to get it infected."

"Jules, it's barely a scratch, really. I'm fine," Charley dismissed with a wave of her other hand.

Julie scoffed and ripped open a packet of bandages with her teeth, "You know, you don't have to be so tough all the time."

Charley let her eyelids fall closed and intertwined her fingers in her lap as her elbows rested on her knees, trying to stay as still as possible when Julie applied the bandage. Her voice was scratchy and far away when she spoke, bringing the young girl's movements to a temporary stand-still, "You know what happens when I'm not."

Charley didn't have to open her eyes to know what kind of look the girl was giving her; one of pity, of regret, and a little bit of shame. When she was done wrapping the bandage around Charley's arm she sat and just stared at the side of the older woman's face for a long while. It wasn't that she was ungrateful or anything of the sort. Even with her young mind she knew about the kind of sacrifices Charley had made for both of them in this godforsaken revolution. And it made her hate the people behind it even more.

Jules lifted a timid hand and ran it over the peach fuzz of hair that speckled the right side of Charley's head, remembering the day she herself had taking shears and a razor to Charley's auburn hair on the latter's own behest. The change from normal, shoulder-length dullish hair to the radical side-cut had been a sight to begin with, but Charley had adapted and embraced the new concept quite quickly, as Julie had learned she did with all things. Julie could see the logic behind the act: the woman didn't want to be recognized as a woman, simple as that. She said that it was better this way, safer, if the terrorists thought that it was a man acting on his own who stole from their supply-crates; better to be a man on the streets at night, rather than being seen as a target.

A target. A _woman_. It wasn't fair. Any of it. But what was life, if not unfair? It wasn't like anybody ever asked for the bad things that happened to them, they just… happened. The best anyone could ever do was to accept and move on, adapt and change and hope that tomorrow brought renewed sunshine with it. At least they were doing something good in this time of chaos. In a moment Julie would pack the medicine and the food into distributable cardboard boxes and then Mr. Tohn would drive them around in his van to get the stuff out to the drop-off points, places where common folk could gather afterwards and get half a bag to take home with them.

Julies hand twirled the short strands of auburn hair between her fingers, lost in thought. She wished she could see the face of Gotham's Reckoning when he had once again been told that his men had lost a chunk of the supplies. Would he be the angry-violent type and throw things about in a fit of rage, maybe even kill a henchman or two? Or would he sit and seethe in a corner, plotting revenge with manic ire in his eye? Jules didn't care. Charley had dropped her head, enjoying the soft touch of Julie's hands, reminding her so much of her mother when she would comfort her as a child. Julie finally patted her half-buzzed head and stood, wanting to get the packing done before midnight when the third party of their rebel operation would show up to take half their stock and they'd go around playing Robin Hood.

* * *

"You are telling me, that once again, our men were tricked and fooled by a _boy?"_

Barsad knew that tone and it made his throat narrow a bit. Although he was loyal to Bane and was proud to call himself his right hand man, that tone, the one he used when trying to reign in the rage, always set his hair on end. His words came out clipped and short and he would have pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance if he could.

"A _child_, Barsad?"

The hardened mercenary stood up straight and met his leader's furious eyes with his own steel colored ones, his accent coloring his words, "We are not sure about the precise age of the man, but he was fast and skilled enough to take down two men, one killed."

"I see," Bane drawled, steepling his fingers under his chin while resting his elbows on his knees. A flurry of files and papers laid spread out on the square dinner table beside him, Barsad having interrupted him in the middle of his research. Bane gazed steadily at the man, measuring his words in his head. They certainly had to put a stop to this vigilante. They had to catch him and make an example of him. It was beginning to be a thorn in his side, to be quite honest. And if there was one thing he would not tolerate it was disobedience.

"Go get a warm meal and some food, old friend. Then come back and we shall converse of possible countermeasures for our young rebel," he said, the mechanical hiss of his mask nothing but background noise to the soldier who had known him for so long. Barsad nodded and saluted him before vacating the penthouse. Bane leaned back against the chair, the wood groaning under his weight, his tactical mind already coming up with devilishly clever ways of catching their little renegade.

* * *

**Hello again! So here's the next chapter, hope those of you reading enjoyed it. Bit of a filler, next chapter has much more action in it, promise ;)**

**I'd like to thank atiketook and BeautifulAngel for their short but highly appreciated reviews, thanks you guys!**

**And another big thanks to my beta, HarleyQuinn88, you're the best!**

**Review, if you please :)**

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

_Refuse, resist, war is my destiny  
__Desire unleashed, war is my destiny  
__Chaos, A.D., war is my destiny  
__Under a pale grey sky, war is my destiny!__  
_

_War Is My Destiny, Ill Bill_

Charley remembered being on the phone with her sister when the terrorists, led by the intimidating, monster of a man, Bane, hit the stock exchange. She had been lounging on the couch, with a bowl of cereal in her hands and the phone between her ear and shoulder, the TV on when they interrupted her regular show with 'a special news report'. She remembered joking with her sister about how bulky and ripped this new macho-criminal was, and how silly he looked with that metal mask encasing most of his face. She remembered calling him a Halloween-enthusiast and describing his military outfit to her sister, who proceeded to make fun of his fashion sense in a high-pitched voice.

But when the Batman had entered the footage, chasing after the lawbreakers and showing his concealed face for the first time in nearly a decade, Charley's end of the phone grew silent. The bowl of half-eaten cereal was placed on the coffee table, abandoned, and her whole body leaned forward as to not miss a thing on the TV screen. She remembered her sister asking where she went in her ear, answering her only after the initial shock had subsided.

Sometime after, when she had hit the shower before going to work, a thought dawned on her. What made this _villain _so special that the Batman himself had cancelled his disappearance act to chase after the brute? He hadn't reappeared when the mafia took their last stand against the police before the Harvey Dent Act came into power. He hadn't bothered show up when a madman serial killer sacrificed 12 children in the name of his dark deity before he was caught. But he showed up after eight years to catch a, then, relatively unknown mercenary who hacked the stock exchange and killed a few people?

It hadn't sat well with Charley, but what was there to do? She just prayed that Gotham's finest hadn't made the wrong call when they chased after the Batman instead of focusing their forces on catching this newest addition to the city's underbelly.

And then when all hell broke loose that day at the stadium, it all clicked into place. Of course Gotham's dark knight had known who this lunatic was, or at the very least had a terribly good sense of foreboding. But then when they really needed him, when a wild-eyed hired killer stood with all their fates in his hand… then he had vanished.

That was when the fires started.

* * *

"_Hurry up Charley, I see lights in the distance, over,"_ Jules warned her over the 'talkie' as she made her way up another set of stairs.

"Roger that," she huffed back, taking two steps at a time to increase her speed.

They had been so unlucky that the weekly crate had landed on the roof of a 25-story building. It was an enormous gamble to go after the crate at all, but they had missed the last two and people were getting needy, not to mention pushy. The revolutionists' comm channels had been buzzing about it.

This was how they found out about the shipments; Jules, the little genius, tapped into their radio signal and directed the pair to the supposed drop-point based on what the mercs revealed through the talkies. Charley had no idea how she did it, what she used or anything, but it worked, and that was what mattered.

But Julie had a weak body, a result of much sickness as a child, and Charley had refused to bring her along the first few times. She was small, especially compared to Charley's 5'7'' height, and gangly, lacking both muscle and endurance. So she kept away from the real action, hidden away on higher ground with a walkie-talkie, watching Charley's back through a sniper's scope. She had actually only fired the rifle once; it had been a too close for comfort shot, nearly hitting Charley instead of the perpetrator, and she had refrained from shooting it since. Now it was just a comforting weight in her hands.

When this crate had dropped on this _stupid_ building's roof, the race was on. It was risky, insanely so, but with having failed the last two times, they couldn't afford to let it slide.

Finally she reached the roof access door and tried to push it open with both stealth and speed. It opened easy enough and she bent down and placed an empty old can, one she had picked up off the street before going in, between the door and the panel for easy and silent future access.

"_Hurry up,"_ Julie spoke over the radio, and even though she tried to hide it, Charley could detect a certain level of stress in her voice. Shit, they were getting closer.

She could see the crate now and ran straight over the rooftop, not bothering to see if somebody saw her. Hey, it was on the top of a freaking building, who was going to be there? The area was dark except for the fluorescent wall light besides the door, the rest was bathed in the light of a nearly full moon. It was light enough to see the shapes and large details of the roof, but not enough to see the texture of the floor or what lurked in the corner shadows.

"_They're three blocks away, Hunt,"_ Julie's voice scratched over the comm unit on her belt and she scrambled to rip the pack from her back, hastening to fill the duffle bag first as always. Out of nowhere the hair on the back of her neck stood, goosebumps breaking out over her throat at the sensation, and deep down she knew that she had made a mistake.

"Did no one ever teach you that it is not nice to steal?"

Oh. Holy. Fuck.

Instead of snapping around to face the voice like any sane person, Charley stilled her hands as she felt adrenaline start pumping rapidly through her veins, her instincts igniting and preparing for a fight. She dropped the packet of non-perishable food she had in her hand, ignoring the way the can clinked on the ground and rolled away, the duffel bag dropping to her side with a thud. She thought she could hear the faint shuffling of boots on tarmac and the rustling of clothes, straps and guns.

That voice sounded _awfully_ familiar…

"_Charley, what happened? Why did you-_" she softly clicked the mute button on the walkie to drown out Julie's young, frantic voice, taking a deep breath as she slowly turned around, her eyes now straining to see through the shadows.

First she thought that maybe she had finally gone completely bonkers. With her hand hovering over the gun by her lower back she found a big fat _nothing_ when she had turned a full 180®. She frowned, her body now feeling cold and uncomfortable under the fading adrenaline, cocking her head to the side much like a confused dog.

Then, with a trained precision and tact, a squad of at least a dozen armed-to-the-teeth mercenaries poured out onto the rooftop, filtering around her without getting too close as they formed a horse-shoe shaped wall of danger between her and the only exit short of jumping off the side. Charley didn't dare move a muscle as her wary eyes scanned each rough face of the soldiers.

It was a trap. _Of course it's a trap._

Why didn't they attack?

Then _he _stepped out from the shadows, silent as a snowflake hitting the ground, and her heart most literally skipped a beat. For a second nothing moved, her mind had gone completely quiet, and time itself stood still. Then terror hit and she felt her knees grow weak.

"Have you nothing to say, no defense for your actions?" his voice was almost robotic, obscured by the mask they had all come to know as a sign of death and destruction. He stood tall, his hands clasped casually behind his back, his vibrant eyes questioning.

Charley was pretty sure that Jules was freaking out from her lookout point, wondering if she was in fact lining up the shot that could save them all. She saw no other way she was getting away from that building top alive. When Bane took a single step forward her body sprang into action, and in the glimpse of an eye she had her own gun trained right between his eyes. And she hated herself all the more for noticing how her hand, her whole arm in fact, shook with tremors of fear.

He held up his hands, palms out in what could only be described as a peace-offering, and chuckled, the sound warped and sending another wave of shivers down her spine, "I do not think that is a good idea, my boy." The mercenaries raised their assault rifles simultaneously, all trained on her trembling form.

Fucking. _Hell._

_I'm going to die,_ Charley thought, the gun still trained on Bane as her eyes desperately tried to keep track of all the terrorists.

For half a minute no one moved a muscle; Charley looking the big brute of a man dead in the eye, no matter how terrified she felt, Bane staring at her with his madman look, gauging and judging her every breath, while his men just waited for the kill-order.

"Why don't you just kill me now?" she made sure to speak with a rasp, lowering the tone of her voice a few octaves to seem more like the man they thought she was, and lowering her gun, though still grasping it tight by her side.

Bane stared at her in silence for a minute, then waved his hand once and nodded his head and the mercenaries lowered their weapons. "I thought you should at least have a fair chance at defending yourself, boy," he spoke and she could clearly hear the cruel amusement in his voice. It made her hate him more. "Let us settle this as men, shall we?"

She knew what he meant. He wanted to fight her, go toe to toe, throw the ol' fists for a swing._ Yeah right, fair my ass._ She should just shoot him now and be done with it, let the mercs kill her afterwards and go down in history. But, even then some little part of her despised that; she wanted to see the sun again, to see her family once more, to _live_ damn it! She didn't want to die, not yet, not now, and not like this. It was selfish on a whole new level, but…

"Great," she muttered, but still clicked the safety back on the gun and stuffed it back down her pants, before she dropped the backpack sluggishly hanging over her shoulder to the ground. _Great,_ she thought again, rolling her shoulders to try to loosen some of the unshakeable tension that had settled. _I'll get beaten to death. Just great._

Charley was no fool; she knew very well she didn't have a chance in the world to beat this guy in hand-to-hand combat. But what the hell was she going to do? A bullet killed a lot faster than a fist, and some sick, twisted form of hope in her thought that maybe he would make a mistake, maybe she could run for it, maybe Jules would fire that fucking rifle, just _maybe_ she wasn't a dead woman walking just yet. Bane took a few long, slow strides forward, his arms spread in a "Come at me"-gesture when he stopped fifteen feet from where she stood. Charley breathed in air through her nostrils a few times, curling and stretching her fingers repeatedly, rolling up her sleeves, exposing her skin to the late October cold before she dropped into her fighting stance. She scoffed at him, wearing only that characteristic braced vest, his arms bare to the almost frosty air, muscles bulging without effort… oh man, she was so dead.

Now… who would throw the first punch?

* * *

Really, he had expected more. Much more than this adolescent raider, who had supposedly killed and injured _his_ men. Really. Preposterous.

When the young rebel had first come through the roof access he had spotted all the flaws that this boy obviously had. He moved like an apprentice, eager but inexperienced. And that would be his downfall. He should have never gone up against the likes of Bane, but he didn't know that. He would, though, soon.

To catch this bandit had not been hard, at all. The last shipment of goods had simply gone untouched, his men guarding the building to make sure of that. Then it was just a matter of feeding incorrect information in different directions and seeing where the bait was taken. It seemed their communication had indeed been faulty if this amateur could siphon such valuable intel. But it had inevitably led them to the little thief. The youngster had dressed in slack black cargo's and a dark hooded sweatshirt than hung very loose around his torso, the hood _cleverly_ drawn so low the shadows engulfed his face, the only thing visible his chin and the gleaming of wet eyes, obscuring his identity to any that may look upon him, his booted feet moving surprisingly silent, but not silent enough. No, this was definitely just a little boy, heading way out of his league. He wondered briefly if the kid had had any formal training at all, thought it seemed unlikely.

No matter, they were going to get to the root of this very soon.

He watched, both annoyed and unimpressed, as the boy trembled with trepidation. This was going to be easier that he thought, and he almost laughed.

Now, standing in front of his meager opponent, he guessed he felt sort of sorry for the boy. He was going to enter into a world of pain soon, born of his own foolish actions with no one to blame but himself.

Bane studied the boy as his body dropped, his feet spread apart and fists raised, eyes locking with his, and he felt something was off with the look in those eyes. For a moment he merely stared at the not-yet man, trying to separate the whirling raw emotions that he saw. Something was definitely off with this youth.

Before the mercenary had any time to analyze the fiery look in those eyes the thief rushed forward and threw the first punch, a weak and fast jab towards his abdomen that he easily deflected with a wave of his thick arm. Another fast but poor hit towards his head, also easily blocked. Then he danced back, breathing easily through his nose as his eyes scanned the humungous challenger in front of him. _Ah_, Bane thought with realization; he was holding back, testing his opponent instead of going all in on a fight with a man he had never known. Clever boy.

"Good move, gauging your adversary before leaping unprepared into a fight," he admitted, slowly circling the youth with casual steps, "But it will not help you, I'm afraid."

Though Bane enjoyed a good fight, he knew that not many people on earth had the strength to stand as a worthy rival to his unearthly power. One of them had been the Batman, and that one was already broken, though a good fight it had been.

But this puny excuse of a man was nothing; an ant under his boot. For heaven's sake, he was a street urchin, Bane was a trained assassin. So he threw a punch at the kid, never much been one for playing with his enemies, intending to hit the boy's jaw. And he was mildly astonished when his fist didn't hit its mark. The youth had ducked under his punch and backed away with surprising speed and skill. Maybe he had underestimated him, if just by a pinch.

But it was of no importance. Bane would teach this young man what happened when you messed with your superiors, he would teach him a lesson in pain he would never forget.

Pure instinct had been all that kept her from being hit by that punch. Adrenaline seemed to slow down time and her body took on a mind of its own as it narrowly dodged another brutally strong fist swinging for her noggin.

Oh, she had no chance against this guy. But she couldn't give up, she wouldn't.

"Hmm," he hummed as he circled her, much like a lion seizing up his prey, "Have you had training, boy?"

Charley remained quiet and clenched her jaw as she spun away from another wrecking-ball fist, feeling it graze her shoulder instead of her face. She was literally flying on autopilot, her mind blank as a fresh piece of paper as she ducked under yet another fist. It was when she tried to block the lion's paw coming for her cheek, when her forearm took the brunt of it and immediately started burning with agony, that her senses returned to her, if only a little bit.

She yelled through clenched teeth as she backed away from him, refraining from clutching her hurt arm, trying not to show anymore weakness. And he just stared at her, his head tilted ever so slightly to the side, his eyes drilling into hers.

"It is not nice to ignore your superiors when they speak to you," he said merrily in the end, taking a menacing step towards her.

"You are _not_ my superior," she rasped, her lip twitching in disgust and her brows so low they were obscuring her vision. He was subtly taunting her into doing something stupid, and it was working. She could _feel_ the insult, and she knew he was baiting her, but the anger that simmered in her chest was starting to burn bright and furious. And it was making her foolish. With a grunt she swung at his face, even when it was so high up. But he simply caught her wrist in an ironclad grip and the skin around his eyes crinkled slightly. Her eyes grew wide as he applied painful pressure; he was laughing at her, that bastard. He held her fast when she struggled to get away as his other hand flew straight at her face. A sickening crack resounding throughout the area when his fist connected with her cheekbone, and she cried out as her sight grew dark, white dots appearing as wayward stars, a nauseating pain exploded from the no doubt broken bone as her head flew backwards and her knees buckled.

"I most certainly am, young one," he drawled, indifferent to her sobs of agony, "If nothing else, I am your elder. Have you not learned to respect your elders?" He held her up by the tight grip on her wrist, dragging her to stand once again, and she barely stayed on her feet.

Some say fury blinds you. Others say it fuels you. Right then, it did all sorts of wonderful and imbecilic things to Charley. It shoved down her pain and opened her eyes, and she was glad for it. But it also numbed her sensibility and she spat at his face, a nice dime-sized mix of blood and saliva landed quite perfectly, if a bit off target, on the exposed hollow of his throat.

"Fuck you," she grinned in her wrath-induced cockiness, teeth painted crimson as she bared them at him. Delirious but sincere in her insult, Charley drew her free hand back with much effort and threw it at his face, which was now nicely placed at eye-level.

Bane could have easily stopped the fist making its way to his face, but he didn't; he stayed perfectly still instead, intrigued as to see the scene play out before him.

Charley's knuckles connected with the tubes on the mouthpiece of his mask, which she found out that instant was made out of _very_ solid metal. Almost feeling the bone crack under the force of her own punch she reeled back and clutched her hand to her chest, grinding her teeth to keep from screaming out loud, instead letting the roar of pain push through her teeth.

His head had barely moved back an inch, she noticed much to her dismay and horror, but his eyes never left her shadowed face, as he continued, passively, to watch her writhe.

"Not the best idea," he finally chirped, crow's feet visible and mocking her.

With the quickness of a serpent striking its prey, his free hand flew to her throat, choking the last breath she had taken from her lungs, as he let go of her wrist, lifting and holding her up primarily by the excruciatingly painful grip on her throat and jaw.

Both of her hands flew for his, and she ignored the pain in the broken one as she frantically tried to pry his thick fingers from her neck, blunt nail digging into flesh as her eyes grew wild in panic. Casually, Bane lifted a hand to swipe away the glob of spit, wiping it off on the front of her hoodie, his fingertips dusting over the swell of her breasts. At first she counted his lacking reaction as her luck turning, but a second after the look in his eyes changes, and a foreboding sense of dread coiled in her stomach. A tiny frown pulled at Bane's brow, bemused as he did it again, running his fingers more firmly down her chest, otherwise so hidden in the big sweatshirt.

Charley's panic reached an all-time high, and if her lungs had had air left in them she would have been hyperventilating. She wanted him to stop touching her, and she wanted it _now_. Her neck was hurting, her spine straining to hold up her entire body, her face was cracked and blinding her vision with pain, yet she managed to gather her wits and attempted to kick him, hit him, anything, any_where,_ to get him to stop. But her leg only twitched in her struggle and her hands refused to leave his hands, still certain that they could peel them off of her.

"St-op," she croaked, tears filling her eyes, her whole body trembling from the simple act of conjuring her voice. Of course he ignored her desperate plea, now intrigued as he cocked his head at her, eyes strangely asking and fascinated. She tried to shake her head 'no' when his hand lifted and slid the hood off of her head, her face now revealed in the pale light of the moon, clear to him as day because of their proximity.

"My my," he chuckled, taking in her features. The square jaw and round chin could easily be mistaken for a young boy's traits, the straight, wide nose another neutral point. Her hair was cut short, almost entirely absent from one side of her skull, and was a rich auburn that shimmered red and golden in the low light. But her lips were full, thick, pretty even when stained scarlet, her eyebrows were shaped and defined, framing her verdant eyes. Eyes that gave away her identity clearer than anything. Eyes that burned with a passion he had often found characteristic in women of strength; in the eyes of a mother defending her child, in a woman looking at her lover, in a young girl with an otherworldly spirit and will. He had seen this particular look many times in his life, but it never ceased to amaze him; the fire and brimstone of pure, undiluted wrath that could set any soul aflame. Those almost emerald irises held so much anger, so much delicious rage, and it was all directed at him, and not even the taint of fear and panic in the face of almost certain death could take away the glow.

Their little thief was a _woman. _

"How interesting," he drawled and she had to grind her teeth to refrain from spitting another vicious curse at him.

But then he surprised her completely when he let go of her jaw, watching carelessly as she crashed to the ground, coughing and sputtering while trying desperately to draw air into her deprived lungs, busted hand held to her shaking chest as she stared absentmindedly at his military boots, a small voice in the back of her head telling her that they would be coming at her face any second now.

But when they didn't and she had managed to gulp down a few breaths, feeling her body respond to her instructions once more, she got to her feet and stumbled away from him, a hand at her sore and bruised throat as she glared at him.

"I will admit that I am somewhat surprised," he spoke, loud enough for everyone on the rooftop to hear him, his hands gripping the front of his vest in a casual pose, unthreatened and uncaring.

Seething hate flowed through her veins, hot and blinding, and she had to fight the overpowering urge to launch herself at him again, the only thing keeping her at bay the fact that she _knew_ that she could never beat him like this. So she remained quiet, tried to tune out his demanding voice as she racked her brain for any possible escape routes or miracle moments, forcing her eyes from his to scan the area once more.

"I had not expected our little miscreant to be a _little girl_," his eyes gleamed in malice and amusement as he watched her struggle with herself, knew that his baiting insults goaded her rage to act, to fight, but still she held her ground. Bane heard his men take surprised intakes of breath, shuffling their feet and adjusting their grips on the weapons, some even hesitating in their aggression towards the female in front of them. "But it matters not," he continued, tilting his head back slightly to look down at her, "For you will surrender nonetheless, child."

Charley clenched her fist, feeling the sting of her nail digging into her palm as she stood perfectly still, his words running through her mind. Did he really expect her to go down without a fight? Maybe he did, she was after all both outnumbered and outmatched in every way. Every option was a lose-lose scenario.

She was utterly and completely fucked.

A sound like thunder ripping from a clear blue sky tore through the night and the merc closest to her crumbled to the ground, his head snapping back as a bullet tore a fleshy tunnel through his eye socket.

Chaos ensued. In a second every merc was pointing a rifle at a random corner of the sky, yelling at each other as they searched for a gunman they would never see, not in this darkness.

The only two people not frantically waving their arms around were Charley and Bane, one filling up with hair-raising hope, the other as cold and calm as ever. Disarray unfolded across the roof for a precious few minutes, before a second merc fell victim to Jules' deadly aim, the man dropping to the ground like a blood-gushing sack of potatoes, screaming and clutching his very crater-like stomach. Okay, so Julie wasn't the greatest sniper in the world; beggars couldn't be choosers.

"Silence," the huge terrorist spoke, loudly, in the end, his voice carrying over the frantic babble of his men, silencing each and every one as they got a hold of themselves, "Men, point your weapons at the thief, if you please."

And they did, Charley's mind working over-time and making her dizzy with all the changes in her situation; one second she's dead meat standing, the next the little devil Jules finally takes the shot, the third she's fucked again. She could feel a cold sweat forming on her brow and a terrible ache settle in her body, but she kept still as a statue, afraid that one wrong move would result in one of the jittery mercs getting trigger-happy.

In an act of faith, Charley slowly un-muted the walkie-talkie on her belt and raised it to her ear, trying to hold her breath when she heard the shaky voice of her young sidekick whisper to her, _"Tell him he's next if he doesn't let you go."_

The older woman knew what Julie knew; if she just shot him now, his men would surely kill Charley right then and there, before the young girl could even reload her rifle. Charley both condemned and praised Julie in that moment; the girl was acting selfishly, attempting to save one insignificant person in the face of Gotham's rescue. If she would just pull the trigger without regard for Charley's life, then the city was saved, millions of lives free. Yet, Charley wanted to live, wanted to exist… wanted to be the one to bash in this horrible monster's face with his own mask.

So selfishly she locked eyes with the brute once more, "You're next." She smirked grisly when the look in his eyes changes from uncaring and amused to alert and annoyed, knowing that he understood _exactly_ what she was saying.

"Is that so?" he drawled again, not so sure he liked the now cocky woman in front of him.

"Yeah," she huffed, running the back of her hand over her chin, blood smearing on her skin from a fat-lip, "Unless you let me go, of course."

_Of course,_ he thought, now thoroughly irritated, narrowing his eyes at her and despising her when she didn't even flinch under his violent glare. _Insolent chit._

"And if I do not?" Bane questioned, raising one skeptical eyebrow.

The girl smirked again, "Then your pretty face gets to paint the ground red." Her head hurt, her hand throbbed, panic and fear were still clawing at her insides, but she couldn't for the life of her snuff out the little sparkling gleam of hope growing in her gut; she knew she had him trapped in a dilemma, and maybe, just _maybe_, she'd get off that roof alive, only slightly worse for wear, and actually get away from the cold, vile clutches of death.

"Personally I don't give two fucks if we both die, right here, right now. My partner would be doing the world a favor, even at the cost of my own life," she said, taking a single step towards him, enjoying his glare. "But that's not up to me," she spread her arms mockingly, "I'm not the one holding the rifle."

"Indeed," he admitted. He had not counted on a sniper, had not counted on possible back-up for a simple thief, but clearly he had been outsmarted.

Bane narrowed his eyes to the point of actually burning a hole through her mangled face: nobody outsmarted him, and got away with it.

But she had him in a pinch, and eventually he had to concede.

"Very well," he sighed, stepping away from the only way off the roof, hating how her eyes widened in disbelief that he was actually letting her go - without much of a fight at that.

For a whole minute she just stared at him, doubt and distrust keeping her from moving too hastily. But when he just glared back at her with no indignation that he was lying or tricking her, she, cheekily, reached down for the half-filled duffel bag, hoisting it over her shoulder before ever so slowly inching forward, eyes shifting between him, his men and the door.

Eventually she reached it, held her back to it as she winced, her broken hand trying to open the heavy door behind her so she could keep her eyes on the still deadly threat. At last it gave way, and just before she disappeared into the dark staircase, she heard him speak to her, heard the subtle warning and promise in his voice;

"Your days are numbered, little girl. And I _will_ be your Reaper."

* * *

**Hello again! So, this chapter was a bit heavier on the action, Charley and Bane finally had a confrontation! So, I hope you liked it, if you did, please leave a review.**

**As always many many thanks to my awesome beta HarleyQuinn88, you are the best, girl!**

**And muchos gracias to my two reviewers, BeautifulAngel and Atiketook, you guys give me hope ;D**

**TBC**


	4. Chapter 4

_Such a beautiful color__  
__You wear upon your skin__  
__And the perfect shade of purple__  
__On a flower permanent_

_Purple,_ _Pop Evil_

* * *

She was alive. It was unreal.

It seemed impossible.

Charley had vaulted down every step of stairs in the building until she had reached the street, bursting through the broken front doors with abandon, her mind focused on one thing, and one thing only: getting the hell away from that entirely cursed place.

Adrenalin had pumped her legs and focused her mind, instinct had lead her down without accident or delay, but now, after running nonstop for fifteen minutes, now that she was 'safe', everything came crashing down. Her cheek hurt like a motherfucker, the split lip throbbing somewhat painfully while still seeping blood, and her ears were ringing at a deafening volume. She ran into a closed gas station, the wooden back door easily giving way when she hurled her entire body at it – no alarm in these dark times – and she made her way to the ladies' room in a few seconds. Charley slammed the door shut behind her and leaned her back against it, sliding silently to the floor as she strained her ears; had anybody followed her?

When nothing moved, when no one started banging angry fists on the bathroom door, then, and only then, did she let fall the tears that had hidden behind her eyes. A few drops at first as everything, every horrifying moment, settled in her head. Then a flood of salty tears started streaming down her face, blurring her vision and stinging her marred skin. Her hand slid into the auburn lock on the top of her head and tugged hard as a sob lodged in her throat painfully, and she shakily lifted the other hand to swipe under her runny nose, and she was never happier to be alone, but at the same time it was also the loneliest moment in her life. Her whole form started trembling with adrenalin withdrawal and she suddenly felt so very cold, goose bumps rising on her arms and legs and on the back of her neck. She couldn't remember ever feeling this bad, inside and out, ever in her existence. Everything that could possibly have gone wrong that night, had gone wrong sevenfold, and she was certainly feeling the awful aftermath take its toll. Somehow she had kept her neck unbroken, had kept Jules safe too, and for that small mercy she was grateful.

But she had just gone toe to toe with the second biggest threat to human-life currently residing in Gotham, with the terrorist from Hell, with the Reckoning himself. And she had survived. She had had the crap beaten out of her with nothing but a few waves of his massive hands, had her 'identity' revealed and had spit in the face of Death. And she had survived.

Charley let out a choked sob and clutched her hands to her chest.

She had _survived._

* * *

After the last of her tears had gone dry on her cheeks, her skin now annoyingly tight from the salt, and after her body had stopped shuddering, Charley ventured out of the gas station with wary steps, starting the long trek to their home near the Narrows. She had kept radio silence to ensure a trouble-free passage back to the Tohns' basement for Julie; now that the terrorists knew how they kept in touch, maybe they ought to get rid of them - she wasn't sure if they could trace or hack the walkies, but knew that they would try.

Alleyways weren't so scary to her anymore, but still her hand hovered over the gun in the back of her pants when she went down the still creepy, dank passages, hugging the walls to the best of her ability. But no one jumped out from the shadows on this night, and she hurried her strides. Finally the scenery took on a forced familiarity and within minutes she was banging on the back door of _Tohn's Korean Kitchen_. In silence she waited until a light shuffle of feet could be heard from the other side. Charley knocked on the wooden frame in a simple but distinctive series of taps and the door ever so slowly creaked open, revealing a tired old face peeking out from the shadows inside. "Oh dearie, it's you," croaked the elderly woman, a small smile tugging at her lips, "Come in, quickly now."

The door opened just enough for Charley to slip inside a back room, shutting and bolting behind her with audible clicks of metal locks.

"Is-"

"She's fine, she's in the kitchen with Ji," she interrupted, ushering the younger woman along with a hand on the small of her back, strong for such a kind, tender old lady. Charley went along, quite compliantly. When the two of them entered the kitchen, Charley practically threw herself at the young blonde girl sitting on a barstool in the middle of the room, almost spilling the hot contents of the cup the latter was holding in her hands.

"Jesus Char, you're choking me!" Julie gasped even as she hugged the older girl with her free arm tightly.

The Tohns laughed sofly at the girls, Yoon standing beside her husband with a hand on his shoulder as the two miscreants hugged, both glad to have them back whole. When Charley pulled away from Jules, to not suffocate the poor child, only then did the old lady notice how half of the older girl's face was painted red, blue and purple. Her eyelids had begun to swell too, she was pretty sure her cheek was cracked, and her skin was changing colors vibrantly the more time passed.

"Oh my goodness, child, _sit down_!" Yoon ordered, grabbing Charley's upper arm quite forcibly while shooing Julie from her perch, dragging the bleeding girl down until she plopped her ass on the barstool, Yoon's weathered face contorting in concentration and worry.

"Ow," Charley murmured when Yoon let go of her arm to go search for a first-aid kit, rubbing the sore spot where bony fingers had dug into her muscle, pouting like a child on time-out.

"You look like shit, girl," Ji smirked, the old man as much of a smart-ass as he was a wise man, handing her a cup of steaming, yellowy amber liquid, "Here, its sage tea, drink up."

With a snort, and a subsequent wince, she sipped from the cup, cringing when the warm porcelain made contact with her lip.

"Tastes like crap, old man," she raised her eyebrow at him, smiling painfully when he bellowed a hearty laugh and slapped her knee once.

"Ah well," he grinned, stepping aside when Yoon swept back into the kitchen, "it'll do you good."

"What have you gotten yourself into, you stupid girl," the old lady harangued, popping open the case full of medical necessities. The comment stung, not because of the obvious but nonetheless harmless insult, but because Charley recognized the motherly concern lacing Yoon's gentle voice, a lump of guilt getting stuck in her throat when she started tearing up again. With shame in her eyes she looked at the old woman, regretting ever getting her and her family involved in this mess. They were good people in a sea of worms, and they deserved least of all the misery that had befallen the city.

Yoon paused in her ministrations when she felt the girl's deep green eyes settle on her wrinkly face, her heart aching when she saw past the battle scars and crimson war paint to the torment behind those too-old eyes. Yoon harbored no ill feeling towards the girls-turned-outlaws, had in fact over time come to care deeply for the two of them. She greatly appreciated what they were trying to do in such harsh times, but feared that the cost of their good deeds would not go unpaid, as had been proven that night. The elderly lady lifted a tender hand to the young woman's unbroken cheek and with her thumb brushed under an unswollen eye before the tears that glistened in the corner could fall and patted her cheek softly, before lifted a cotton-ball soaked in hydrogen peroxide to the cut on the other side of her young face.

Charley flinched instantly, "Ow!"

"Don't be such a baby," Yoon murmured, focused on cleaning the cuts as quickly and painlessly as possible. Charley pouted but kept her mouth shut, glancing once at Julie, who was standing off to the side with a look of great concentration on her face to give the old woman space to work, still holding that cup between her small hands, sipping it every now and then.

They had gotten lucky, _extremely_ lucky at that. No one went up against Bane like that and won. Not even the Batman, their greatest hero, had been able to get the better of that monstrous hulk of a man. Well, they hadn't exactly won, per say, but there they were, still living and breathing, and it all seemed too good to be true.

While looking at Jules' young face, her blue eyes watching Yoon's work carefully, Charley made a decision. No more risks. No more. From now on their main priority was to be safe, take extra and triple precautions, no more going for the loot if as much as one tiny thing could put them in harm's way. They had given in to the demand of the mob, going after such an exposed crate, the needs of the many tipping the scale in what had been the mercenaries' favor.

Well, not anymore. The people would just have to wait, or risk their own hides, if they decided to be the greedy assholes that got them all in this mess to begin with.

As Yoon went about her way to clear away the blood and grime from her face, placing band aids where needed, Ji refilled her cup with more tea when she had gulped the last of it down, Charley told Julie this, and got only agreement in return. The young blonde was much too hard for a child, and a child she was very much in every way possible, and that night she had taken not one, but two, lives, all on her own. The purity that Charley was trying so very hard to protect was starting to diminish, ebbing away as the days went on with the Revolution hanging over all of their heads.

It fueled the fire ever burning in Charley's gut; that twisted entity of hate, anger and righteousness that made her strong, and she refused to let the lost city ravage another innocent - _her _innocent – as long as she could draw breath.

A series of knocks, the same knocks Charley had used earlier, interrupted their quiet talking and Ji shuffled to the back door, and they could hear him exchange hushed murmurs with the visitor, coming back into the kitchen a minute later with their clever 'informant'.

"Hey guys," John Blake smiled tiredly. That was, until he saw the band aid and vibrant bruising on Charley's face and the half-smile fell into a grim line, "Jesus, what the hell happened to you, Charley?"

"Ran into a wall," Charley grumbled dismissively, taking the icepack Yoon was holding out to her and pressed it against her cheek with a wince. Well, it wasn't exactly a lie.

She and John had been 'acquaintances' before it all. They'd met at her Krav Maga classes, and she had kicked his ass more than a few times, though he was always quick to knock her onto her back afterwards. She'd been deeply relieved to hear he hadn't been trapped underground with the rests of his co-workers, and had sought him out immediately after the fall of Gotham; both for safety and information. She knew him as an honest soul; rugged and a man of few words, but honest nonetheless.

"We ran into Bane and his men," Jules revealed, crossing her arms and looking almost triumphant, "Charley beat him up."

Both Ji and Charley snorted as John lifted at skeptic eyebrow, Yoon shaking her head at the young girl.

"If only," Charley groaned, slumping on the stool and easing out of her hoodie when Yoon started tugging at her sleeves, muttering that she was going to go do some laundry.

"You are damn lucky to be alive then, Charley," the handsome police officer said, crossing his arms, "you seriously got into a fist-fight with that brute?"

"Yes," Charley grunted, the icepack sticking to her face uncomfortably, "not by choice, mind you."

Julie proceeded to recount the whole fiasco to the dark-haired man, not letting any details slip. Charley kept quiet under the whole story, closing her tired eyes when they began to sting with fatigue. John listened intently to the young girl, his eyes going wide when she told about Charley actually spitting at the mercenary.

"You did what?" Ji spoke up, and Charley visibly flinched and ducked her head under his scolding tone, "oh you bird-brained fool, you."

"I wasn't thinking," she muttered, refusing to meet his eyes.

Ji smacked Charley on the back of her head, ignoring her yelp of surprise and continued to scold her for doing so many stupid things that night, disregarding the small smile on her lips that appeared when he reminded her of her own father.

"Damn straight you weren't thinking," he huffed in the end and shook his head, before Julie went on to tell the rest.

When Jules was done speaking, still holding on to a cup of now cold tea, John dragged another barstool over and sat down besides the bloodied woman, absentmindedly inspecting the bandage on her arm that covered up the flesh wound she had acquired recently as he went on to tell them about new coordinates and different pieces of information that would make their work a little easier, plus their next target. John had been helping Julie with the hacking and the techie stuff that made up their mission, something Charley completely tuned out when they started chatting like exited little nerds, and started studying the threads in the jeans John wore, at one point going as far as to reach out and pluck at the edges of a small hole forming above his knee.

Julie had prepared half of their spoils for John to take with him for distribution. She eagerly went to get it from their basement room, Ji tagging along behind her to help carry the boxes. When they were out of sight, John lifted a hand and ran it carefully through Charley's short hair, smiling when she closed her eyes and sighed in bliss.

"You could have gotten yourself killed tonight," he said, his brows furrowing at the thought.

"I'm still not sure if this is real, or if it's me lying on that roof, dreaming before he stomps my face in," she admitted. The whole deal still seemed eerily surreal, and she fully expected the monster to come charging through the back door, like a bloodhound following her trail.

She hadn't told anyone about her little breakdown in the empty gas station, and certainly wasn't planning to. She was supposed to be the unbreakable one, the strong one, the savior. She couldn't remember the last time she had cried anywhere near that hard, might have been her first Thanksgiving alone, but she didn't dwell on it. This time was different, though, somehow. The way she had shook and trembled in that bathroom, the way the sobs had hurt so violently that she had trouble functioning at all, so bad that she couldn't get a hold on herself and breathe a damn steady breath for fifteen minutes straight, feeling completely lost and light-headed and ashamed afterwards. In the end the tears had dried up but her body had still jerked with pathetic cries and whimpers.

So when John cupped her unbattered cheek and ran his thumb under her eye, caressing phantom trails left on her skin, she was visibly startled, "Your eyes are red."

Charley looked at him, saw that inquisitorial look take over his chiseled features, and she knew that he knew. He knew.

A battle worthy of Titans went on inside her body as she fought valiantly to keep her eyes from misting over again and a sob from clawing up her throat, refusing to give into that devastating feeling once more, and if she could help it, never again. She refused to break eye contact, in fact couldn't, and was scared that if she made a single move, so much as breathed wrong, she might crumble, might crack, and not be able to come back from it. He gazed steadily back at her, his dark brown eyes holding no judgment, no accusations, only comfort and understanding, and god knew she could use some of that right then.

In spite of the intense struggle inside her mind a lonely tear dropped, sliding shortly down her face before hitting his thumb still stroking her heated skin. John frowned, an act he indulged in quite often, watching it travel sluggishly over the back of his hand before dropping to the floor, never to be seen again.

"Charley…" he started, but halted when her face scrunched up, begging him not to mention it, not to say it, for she thought she might _die_ if he did.

So he held it in, held back the words, and instead lead her face to his, drawing her forward and meeting her halfway. Their lips touched gingerly, and even though the cut in her lip protested, the sweet taste she earned from mere touch overpowered her senses, making her take deep, almost labored breaths through her nose, and a comforting gesture turning to savory passion when he reciprocated and delved his tongue in between her lips, teasing her until she couldn't help but moan into his mouth, her hands abandoning the icepack in her lap and burrowing into his short hair instead.

During their lessons in self-defense, when they would pin each other beneath their bodies in a disarming hold and when they fought to take the other down, even then had a spark of something made their eyes meet, their breaths to deepen, and with Charley it made her gulp and bite her lip. It attracted them, made them friends at first, something more later.

It had never gone to the point of an actual relationship, with the dates and the cuddling and the holding hands, but Charley was fine with that. It was a kind of archaic, primal pull, it was instinctual, it was rough around the edges, it was _raw_.

Charley thought it was just mutual need to have somebody to turn to, warm flesh to heat your bed, thought it was just fine like this.

But John knew, he knew why they crashed together with all the hot, fiery energy of a volcano erupting. He had that old anger etched into his very bones, had it simmering under the surface always, having lived with it most of his life and having adapted it to his needs. He saw that same fury in Charley's eyes, saw it clear as day, but it was like watching a child wield a sledgehammer. It was new to her, it was foreign under her skin still, and it scorched her hands when it got out of control. But it also gave her drive to do what she felt she must, it pushed her to do amazing and terrifying things, and it would continue to fester in her heart because now it was there to stay, now it had found a home in the wreckage that was her broken humanity. And he felt he needed to keep an eye on her, knew that the fire could destroy those less worthy, but he also saw in her so many things he hated about himself, and he loathed that he couldn't let go of her.

But it was alright, in the end, it never did matter.

Plus, the sex was mind-blowing.

She had been about to crawl into his lap, her tears and the unfortunate breakdown forgotten, wanting to taste more, take more, when her ears picked up the sound of feet shuffling closer. With much regret she pulled away, forcefully holding in a whimper when he did too, his hands untangling from her hair and falling onto his own thighs instead.

It wasn't like their 'thing' was a secret, it would have been the worst kept secret in the history of secrets, but Charley would do anything to preserve Julie's innocence, and when that was failing in every other way the least she could do was try to not dry-hump and continue to suck face with their 'business partner' right in front of her.

When Julie and Ji came back into the kitchen though, Charley made a quick decision.

"Here ya go John," Jules chirped, carefully setting a stack of boxes on a counter, grinning and proud of her hard work. Ji grunted when he too set down a slightly taller stack next to hers, eyeing the blonde child with amusement and exasperation.

John glanced at Charley before smiling at her young friend, "Thanks Jules, I'll go drop them off."

"I'll help," Charley quipped, trying to look as nonchalant and innocent as possible, not a small feat in her case.

"Uhm, okay. Why?" Jules asked, looking puzzled in her ignorance.

"I, uh, my legs are a little restless, you know, after all the excitement tonight," Charley babbled on with an excuse, making an effort to sound as sincere as possible, "I don't think I'll sleep good if I don't, you know, work out all this, ah, pent up energy."

Ji snorted mockingly and John lifted an amused eyebrow, both seeing right through her elaborate lie, but the one needing convincing was already convinced.

"Oh, okay," Jules shrugged, "You'll be back later?"

"I'll try," she promised, hugging the girl goodnight before watching her drag herself back to their apartment. Ji just gave her a look that told her he'd know where she'd be and be safe, 'cause one couldn't be too safe in these dark times, before he too exited the room to go find and possibly help his wife.

"You are not helping out," John stated, staring at her with a blank look before getting up to get the boxes arranged for easier carriage.

"What? Why not?" Charley protested, standing up with a start, before her whole body swayed and her head spun, "Whoa, head rush."

John snorted a short breath and rolled his eyes, "Exactly."

"I'm fine," she sneered, perhaps a bit too sharply, her mood turning mildly sour all of a sudden. It had only happened a few times that anyone had gotten the best of her in a fight, in a serious, to-the-death fight, that was, and it wasn't exactly like she was proud to have been beaten so thoroughly in every way possible that she felt she might never get over it. Of course she'd taken plenty of beating in her short reign of rebellion, but that night had been the pinnacle of bad timing, bad luck, bad everything. And everything was getting on her nerves.

"Yeah, right."

Despite of his obvious dismissal of her current physical prowess he'd let a few boxes remain on the table, and when he turned to go out the back door, Charley wrestled with her body for control and picked up the supplies to follow him out, yelling to the Tohns that they were leaving, mostly so that they could lock up the door behind them.

* * *

**Well hello again :) Again, this chapter was a bit of a filler, but still important to the story. Also, the next one will have a somewhat classy lemon, so stay tuned!**

**As always I want to thank my awesome reviewers for last chapter; perfect . fluke, MaroonShoes, atiketook, Camaro Love and BeautifulAngel, you guys are the best, your reviews are highly appreciated, so keep 'em coming ;)**

**And a thousand thanks to my beta, HarleyQuinn88, for catching most of my silly mistakes.**

**TBC**


	5. Chapter 5

_I must confess__  
__I'm addicted to this__  
__Shove your kiss straight through my chest__  
__I can't deny, I'd die without this__  
__Make me feel like a god  
__Music, love and sex  
__Adrenalize me__  
_

_- Adrenalize, In This Moment_

* * *

They walked the hollow, abandoned streets in silence, not knowing what to say and not wanting unwelcome attention. It was a cold night and Charley had managed to pluck her old leather jacket before they left. It did little to stifle the shivering that seemed to reach all the way into her bones, but at least she wouldn't suffer from hypothermia anytime soon. Stars and that nearly full moon cast a pure white light on their surroundings, outshining the tired street lights from a rare clear sky. It wasn't often that Charley got to enjoy a night like this, and she didn't hate the silent cop's company, walking with stoic face beside her, and for once she smiled, a sweet smile, one she felt unfamiliar with these days, but there it was.

They went through a couple of blocks like that, dropping off boxes at certain doorsteps and under scheduled stairs and other such crevices along the way, serving the 'good people of Gotham'.

Charley struggles with the pain in her face, but says nothing. She knows that John is aware of it, knows he's dying to say something though she doesn't know what, and is all the more grateful when his mouth stays shut and the silence stretches on.

At the end of the trip they're standing of the front steps to John apartment complex, and he turns to face her, looks at her with those big brown eyes and she feels as though he is seeing straight through all of her barriers, all of her defenses, and she feels naked and exposed and she _almost_ hates it.

"Don't look at me like that," she says, knows he won't stop but needing to say it anyway.

And there he goes, with that crooked smile that sets her teeth on edge and her belly on fire, "I don't know what you mean".

She glares at him. "Whatever." Looks up at the sky so she won't have to look at his smug face, "are you home tonight?"

It might've seemed a dumb question since she'd just walked him to the door, even knowing that they'd both inevitably end up in his bedroom anyway, but it was a valid question given the circumstances. For all she knew he could have plans to go sneaking about, gathering intelligence and what not, whatever cops did when they were alone on the job, or he could have a rendezvous with Gordon later. She didn't care.

Except that maybe she did.

"Yeah, I have a few hours," he replied, short and to the point with no need to elaborate. Charley nodded and finally looked at him, though now his gaze had fallen to the ground instead, that characteristic frown on his face, brooding.

"'Kay," she murmured, cocking her head to the side and letting her eyes skim over that handsome face with the sharp features. And for not the first time she wondered what the hell he was doing with her.

Another silence, one that stayed for a few minutes before John finally seemed to find what he'd been looking for in the pavement and made eye contact with her. He took a step closer and then another, forcing her neck to crane to look up at him when he stood at least half a head over her, especially since their bodies were a hair's breadth away from touching. She felt his breath whisper across her now cold cheeks, the icy weather having blissfully numbed the pain in the bone, and she thought she smelled a faint hint of mint.

And for a small moment time passed by them unnoticed as he stared into her mossy clear eyes, searching for something he wasn't sure he wanted to find but enjoying the ride nonetheless. John lifted a hand and ran a finger along the edge of her jaw, his gut tightening when she tugged her bottom lip in between her teeth and biting down on it while purposely continuing to look him in the eye. His traveling digits ended up gripping her chin gently between thumb and index finger, hesitating for no more than a second before leaning down to cover her soft lips with his.

It was short, it was sweet, and when they pulled away a minute later, it was clear to them both that it was nowhere near enough.

No words needed be said as John swiftly headed for the front door with keys in hand, Charley a short step behind him and making sure it closed and locked when they'd gotten inside before following the rogue policeman up the stairs and down the halls.

As soon as his apartment door had opened and closed behind them, Charley urgently and a bit forcefully shoved him against that door, not wanting to wait another second for that sweet bliss she knew he'd provide her. Simultaneously they kicked off their boots, something crashed to the floor but not a care was given.

John groaned and pulled her further into his body when their mouths clashed, sweet but impatient kisses, until it wasn't enough anymore and he fervently parted her lips with his tongue to tangle with hers, let it slide over the scar that rested there and finding satisfaction in the shiver that ran up her spine, his hands deftly pushing her heavy leather jacket off her shoulders, neither of them caring when it hit the floor with a thud.

He moaned hoarsely when she bit into his lip, his hands taking hold of her upper arms and turning them both with practiced agility and then she was the one with her back against the door, his fingers pulling at the short tuffs of hair at the nape of her neck and she moaned and whimpered when his mouth found hers again and continued to abuse her will and her restraint until she reached for his police issue coat with shaky hands, tugging it off of _his_ shoulders with jerky motions, instantly going for the buttons on his shirt while he shrugged it off the rest of the way.

Charley let a sigh of relief rush out when she got the last button undone and not so much helped as forced him out of it, not giving two fucks about where it went when she could finally lay hands on that mouthwatering, sculpted by many years of working out and chasing down bad guys, smooth-skinned chest and stomach, and she ran her palms over him completely unabashed, not caring if she was acting like an addict, because maybe she was. She pressed her lips to his collarbone, nibbling and licking a short trail up to the pulse point in his throat as her hands splayed out over his firm stomach and up and down his ribs and waist, craving the way his muscles trembled under her touch. When he nudged her shirt's waist up she complied and let it come over her head before she was on him again, this time reconnecting their mouths in a flurry of ridiculous passion.

Her pants were next, and she agonized over how difficult they were being, and punished John with rough bites and tender licks to his jaw and neck when he chuckled at her misery.

But Charley couldn't help the hiss of pain when it sprouted around her neck right as John went in for the kill. He drew back, a frown on his brow, and pushed her head up despite her protests and held her still so he could look at the cause.

What he saw was a bruise in the shape of massive hand, so clear and dark that the individual fingers were most prominent. It was an angry, painful purple shade and he almost smacked himself over how he hadn't noticed it before.

"It's nothing," Charley murmured, trying to draw back his attention to what she desperately needed from him, hooking her thumbs in the edge of his jeans before fiddling with the button. Truth was she hadn't thought about looking into a mirror since the failed supply run, but knew that she was probably sporting a big fat bruise and looking quite a guilty mess right about then.

And she couldn't help but question again what the _hell_ he was doing with her, here, now, what on earth he saw in her that apparently attracted him, especially then with her half her face beaten and bruises and showing all the wondrous colors of the rainbow. She knew he could, and maybe should, go out and find a nice, sweet, normal girl who could give him that ordinary life with kids and dogs and a house on the side, because he certainly deserved it and he was not going to find it with her.

But maybe that was the point; normal was dead and buried six feet under ground and it wasn't coming back any time soon, so maybe this was right, it felt good, and when everything seemed hell-bent on snuffing you out of existence you took your pleasure where you could get them…

God, she really hoped neither of them was that shallow.

John remained silent, but she saw the anger seep into his feature, that old anger that had infected his soul, when she didn't know, sparked by her near-death experience and it both excited and frightened her. With a growl he pressed into her so hard that she thought she might stop breathing altogether, and gently at first he nipped at her neck, not caring if he touched the bruise or not, only caring about the burn in his stomach that needed sating.

And she hated him for it. And she loved him for it.

It hurt, but it felt so good, and she had no choice to embrace the suffering as he ravished her skin and her pain, and she moaned unable to stop herself and held him tighter to her before becoming almost savage in the way she demanded his jeans off of him.

And then they were almost naked, almost _there_, and he lifted her up by her thighs and she gladly wrapped her legs around his waist. Without much labor he moved them through the apartment, trying to balance them both and continue to keep their lips locked at the same time, before they finally made it to the bedroom and he lowered her to the bed and followed her down.

She felt his need press against her, and she wanted it so much, let him know by tugging on the boxer briefs refusing her release. But he denied, teased her and busied himself with her bra, getting it off of her relatively quick with nimble fingers. Tormenting her further by holding her hands above her head, only pausing for a second when she whimpered again, another bruise encasing one wrist, squeezing them briefly on purpose and relishing that moan of both pain and sweet bliss before kissing and licking his way down her throat and chest.

It was always like this. They'd start out slow, sensually, almost like lovers, soft, neither willing to give up their pride or disillusions, not to begin anyway. Brief caresses and bitter-sweet kisses like it ought to be, and sometimes that was good, it was great, sometimes it was just what she'd need to keep her sanity in check. But it always intensified; never did they manage to retain that façade. And when the sweet kisses and delicate touches proved not enough, _never enough,_ when they turned hard and brutal and violent and they showed their true colors, when that anger and wrath grew so intense that it couldn't be held in any longer, when it refused to back down and it lashed out, then, _then. _

Then they both could find that saccharine rapture and it could take them, could finally manage them, and they would stay in the clouds so long that they'd forget what the Earth looked like.

Charley felt that she might explode before then, before it was finished, but she didn't and she whimpered to let him know that she was hurting. But he didn't care, he never cared, and it always made her feel like a pestilence, but she couldn't help it.

A throaty moan escaped her when a hot mouth closed over the peak of her breast, and she couldn't help but arch her back, willing to do just about anything to get him to give her what she wanted. And he knew it, so he teased her more, needing to hear her pleas and mewls and those delicious moans, and only when _he_ was satisfied did he travel down her stomach, regrettably letting go of her wrists and her fingers tangled in his dark locks, scratching sharp nails over his scalp, making his hair stand on end.

Charley almost cried out when he finally _touched_ her, ghosting over her velvet curled mound and delving into her wet core, rubbing, stroking, _licking_, until her heartbeat drowned out her own moaning and she forgot to exhale for far too long. But it was not enough, he was torturing her, again, and he'd never stop, she knew.

And suddenly his lips were on hers again, and she could taste herself on his tongue, and somehow their under garments were gone, her belly tingling and burning because she knew what came next, she knew he couldn't keep teasing her and that eventually he'd give in, just like her, he _had_ to give in.

"John," she breathed his name, delirious when he pushed into her at last, his head falling onto her shoulder with a needy groan, and then she was home, they were there, and she finally felt okay.

"Again," he growled, drawing back and thrusting into her with agonizing slowness as she clung to him, her hands now clenching his hair.

And because her mind was gone now she obliged, she moaned his name again, anything to get him moving. Her thighs tightened around his waist in response to the hard, deep, _penetrating_ drives of his hips, guiding his mouth back to hers and biting his lip, savoring his groan.

It always ended like that. Violent and painful and it was necessary. And it was _always_ heartbreakingly good.

Charley keenly felt the pressure building in her stomach and did everything in her power to keep it on the edge, because she liked it best when they fell together. But it was hard, because he was _there, _and she needed it so much, and it felt so good she almost gave in again.

But then he slowed down, and she knew he only did it to tease her, only did it to torment her further and he breathed against her neck, and suddenly she was angry because then she felt so cheated.

She didn't think that she was playing right into his hand when she took that anger and used it, fueled by it, and pushed at his shoulders, rolling with him so that she was on top, so that _she_ was in control, and she felt him deeper within her and couldn't hold in the shiver tested her resolve or the sigh that whispered over her lips. But she was, she was giving him just what he wanted, and she didn't care, because now she wanted it all, wanted all of him, and she was just going to take it.

John moaned, the sound intense and lip-biting, Charley rolled her hips, creating that gorgeous friction they both needed desperately, and she did it again and again, taking more with every move, pinning his hands at either side of his head when she felt him prepare to flip her again, trying to inconspicuously grasps her thighs.

She looked at him with that sultry gleam in her eyes and now she would take so much that he wouldn't be able to do anything besides feel while she did it.

"Charley," he groaned, trying to fight her hold on him, test her and set her on edge because he loved it when she was angry, but not being able to do much else than gasp and pant when she moved her hips just right, like that_, just like that_, and she drove him crazy.

"Again," she mimicked, feeling in her ace now, having him wrapped around her pinky. The tables always turned quickly and sporadically with the two of them; if you wanted the upper hand, to be in control, you'd have to establish a foothold fast, or you'd end up being the one taken from.

But he didn't mind, in fact he needed it, needed this, needed for her to take from him, or he might combust.

He repeated her name and lost his grip on that escalating feeling when she gave and took equally, and just when she threw her head back in bliss and cried out her pleasure did he follow her over the edge and into oblivion, losing his breath and getting lost in the way she felt around him, in the way she hugged him and sank down on him, and it was just too much.

And afterwards, when they'd somehow gained back their life's blood and caught up with their rampant panting, she'd collapse onto him with heaving chest and he'd cradle her in his arms, satisfied for now, the burning simmering down to hot coals. And when the world didn't want their attention anymore they'd rest, finally, in whichever way fit their mood and then they'd sleep like the dead.

Because maybe they were dead, inside, maybe they were just hollow figurines, and this was just them helping each other, like the good Samaritans that they were, to feel alive again, anything to feel alive.

But it was okay, she was okay, and when she wasn't she would just take more.

* * *

When Charley woke up from a nightmare in the middle of the night – well, early morning really – the bed was empty beside her. Not realizing it at first she searched the mattress with a hand, eyes closed and still half asleep, in need of some kind of comfort because of the bad dream. But no one else was there, the sheets were tangled around only her tired body, she was naked and it was cold.

Normally she didn't mind waking up in John's bed alone, sometimes it was even better, but this time she could have used his body for warmth to ward of the imposing cold that sifted in through old window frames and thin walls and the shadows growing in her own mind. He obviously hadn't bothered trying to turn the heat on, Charley concluded and shivered when she tossed off the sheets to get up.

Her mouth was annoyingly dry and she had to pee.

Eventually she found her undies, after searching half the bedroom in the dark; they had ended up under the edge of the bed, and she almost fell on her face trying to get into them. On a nearby chair she found a used t-shirt, sniffed it twice and deemed it not too dirty. In fact it smelled nicely of the cologne John wore, and suddenly she kind of missed him. She had no idea how long he'd been gone, or how long he expected to stay gone, and a small part of her whispered that neither did she know if he'd even come back at all.

Shaking her head, she put the shirt on, loving that it fell all the way below her mid-thigh, rubbing a hand over her stomach to feel the soft, cool cotton against her skin. Then she headed for the bathroom and almost fell into the toilet in her sleepy daze.

After washing her hands, she chanced a look in the mirror.

Well… It was bad, but not as bad as it could have been.

Her eye was still a bit swollen and was kind of bloodshot, but she could see easily enough. Her cheek was really airing out the colors, though most of it was purple with a bit of yellow here and there, and it still hurt, but she had almost gotten used to the throbbing by now. Now, her neck she had to cringe at. The handprint was almost burgundy, still as clear as day against her skin, and she suddenly felt uncomfortably self-conscious about it and wished she could go steal a scarf right then. It really was one of the most god awful things she'd seen, and it was on _her_ skin. Worst of all it reminded her of him, of the monster in human-form; of Bane. It almost felt like he'd left it as a mark on her soul, and no matter what she could do to cover it up, she'd _know_ it was there. She couldn't run from it or hide it or get rid of it.

Charley bit down on her lip so hard it snapped her fully awake and she shook her head, trying to free herself of those thoughts, and splashed cold water over her achy face, and it helped. A bit.

It was almost completely dark in the apartment when she shuffled towards the kitchen for a glass of something cold, almost no light seeping in from streetlights and none from the nearly full moon because of the thick clouds now smothering the sky. Charley didn't bother to turn the lights on, could navigate the rooms almost by heart, and found it slightly sad. She got a glass from an old cabinet and filled it with water from the tap, not really fancying beer from the fridge at the moment, the only other option being a carton of milk that she wasn't sure hadn't expired.

Even though it was an unholy hour of the day she thought about going home to Julie. But John's bed was so nice, so much better than her bottom bunk. And just like that she felt like a selfish asshole. She'd promised Julie she'd try to get home when she was done doing whatever it was she was doing, and now she was going to destroy that promise because of a soft bed and possibly another good lay if John came back before dawn.

_Ah, what the hell, she's sleeping anyhow._

Really, she was allowed to be selfish every once in a while, and to be quite honest, she thought she had damn well earned a good night's sleep after what that barbarian had done to her face. It had been the first night she'd slept through for a while, being the night owl that she was, so fuck it, she was going back to bed.

Charley refilled the glass and took it with her back into the bedroom, setting it on an end table before going to the window. With two fingers she created a small gap in the blinds so that she could look out onto the darkened street. Not looking for anything in particular she just skimmed the terrain before looking up to the sky. It was still cloudy, still dark as hell, and it even seemed like it might rain or snow later.

Just when she was about to go back to bed, a shady figure appeared at the edge of the street, having turned a corner and walking quickly down towards the building. Charley recognized the posture when he got closer and a small, almost insincere, smile tugged at her lips before she abandoned the window-looking and crawled back under the sheets, wishing for a duvet.

She feigned sleep, almost didn't have to, when she heard the apartment door unlock with soft metal clicks, listening silently as he took off his jacket and shoes, hearing how he ambled through the rooms and by the time he reached the bedroom he was pulling off his pants, hopping from one foot to another before kicking them across the floor.

Charley had made sure to only take up half the bed, knowing how he liked his space and she felt the bed dip when he sat quietly on the edge.

"You're awake."

Ah, busted.

"Mmh," she hummed tiredly, lying on her stomach with her good cheek on the pillow, watching his back with one eye.

His head turned to look at her out of the corner of his eye, and the sparse light from the streets lit his features like a silhouette, and she thought that he was quite beautiful then. "Nightmare?" he asked.

Charley remained quiet this time, hating that he knew. And she realized just how much she hated that he could read her like an open book when she tried so damn hard to make sure her pages never turned. No matter what she did or what she said, he'd always see through her lies and the stony exterior, and she loathed it. She didn't _want _him to see through her, Charley had put those defenses there for a reason, and he carelessly wandered in whenever he pleased, like a damned shadow in the night.

She heard him sigh softly, the sound almost shaming her. John pulled of his shirt and tossed it too, before he twisted and laid on his back, not bothering to stretch down to pull the sheets over himself at first, just looking up at the ceiling with his hands resting on his bare stomach, and she was back to thinking he was beautiful again.

In all truth she didn't know what to call what this was, what they were. She literally had no words for it; at least no words that fit the description. She thought that the term 'friends with benefits' was the one that came closest, along with 'fuck-buddies'. But it was both more and less than that, and when she'd sit down to think about it, it confused her immensely and she usually ended up with a headache. All she knew for sure was that they enjoyed each other's company… sometimes. Or was it just whenever it was convenient? Or was it…

_Ah, piss._

Charley closed her eyes and listened as John sighed again and reached for his half of the sheets and turned on his side. Which side, she didn't know, not until she peaked and found him watching her from not even a foot away.

For a while they just stared at each other in silence. In the end John lifted a hand and ran it down her back, pushing the sheet down to her hips before moving the edge of the t-shirt she wore up with slow moves, exposing her skin. For a second she wanted him to undo it, she was cold and a hair away from her teeth clattering, but then he laid his wonderfully warm hand in between her shoulder blades and she couldn't stop the delighted sigh that trickled from her lips and her eyes closed of their own accord.

He traveled lazily up and down her back, caressing her flesh in meaningless patterns, scraping blunt nails to give her shivers every now and then, and she teetered on the edge of sound sleep. In the end she turned on her side and let him pull her in, pressing his chest against her back and draping a warm arm across her stomach, intertwining her fingers with his. His breath was hot on the back of her neck and she didn't feel cold anymore, felt right at home.

Before she completely gave herself to the shadows, his steady breathing lulling her, she felt his fingers untangle from her to caress her stomach instead, and she thought she felt him whisper a kiss over her bare neck before she fell asleep.

* * *

**TBC**

**Hey again! Thanks for reading as always, hoped you all liked this little treat ;)**

**Thanks to my reviewers, perfect . fluke, BeautifulAngel, Bulwark, The Knees Of Bees and atiketook, you guys are gorgeous and I love your reviews, they keep me inspired to write more. Thanks to perfect . fluke, The Knees of Bees and BeautifulAngel for the kudos to my OC and her non-mary sue-ness, it means a lot that you can say that :)**

**Appreciations upon my beta, HarleyQuinn88, you're awesome-sauce!**

**Please review if you liked it :)**

**Ta-ta!**


	6. Chapter 6

_Every time we lie awake  
__After every hit we take  
__Every feeling that I get  
__But I haven't missed you yet  
_

_I hate everything about you  
__Why do I love you?  
__You hate everything about me  
__Why do you love me?__  
_

_- I Hate Everything About You, Three Days Grace_

* * *

Charley woke up again at the crack of dawn - in late October that was around 7 am - her internal clock stirring her when she'd had what it thought to be enough sleep. Try as she might she couldn't go back to dreamland, for several reasons really. One, yes she still felt like shit and should probably go take some aspirin, or a fifth of vodka. Two, well, she had to go home sometime, might as well get it over with. But she still did not want to get up _at all._

Surprisingly enough she was still laying on her side, a strong hand resting on her hip instead of across her stomach, and Charley could hear deep breathing with the occasional snore without listening too carefully. John never had trouble sleeping in when he had the chance, a trait she envied dearly, but he was a light-sleeper by nature and almost anything could wake him. She knew he could wake up several times at night and in the morning, only to roll over when it was nothing and go back to snoring.

With all the stealth and care of a ninja, Charley gently lifted the hand off her hip and laid it behind her, stopping to listen for changes in his breathing. Hearing none she slowly twisted and lifted her back off the bed, breathing a sigh of relief when she finally sat on the edge without waking him.

They needed supplies, and she and Julie were probably going to go on a scavenger-run that evening; they'd soon need warmer clothes, maybe more ammo if any was to be found, and of course any extra food they could get their hands on.

They'd have to go downtown for clothes, most of the high-end fashion stores had been torn apart, which meant there were still some clothes but no people, maybe even a few abandoned houses or apartments with loot still in them. The ammo they'd probably have to either venture deep into the Narrows or something close to the East End, looking for street sellers or any hunting/gun stores. Maybe that old place her dad used to buy his fishing gear from would still be unplundered…

Charley ran her hands up her face, careful to avoid her sore cheek, and into her hair, resting her head there with her elbows on her knees, just trying to gather the energy to handle the coming day. She was tired, not just physically, tired in her soul, in her bones, in her heart, everything was weighing down on her and she felt it vividly. She didn't even have that much responsibility, just provide for a few hundred people in an unimportant part of a huge fallen city. What was a couple hundred mouths compared to the millions of others living there? None of what she did really mattered, she was just scrounging up food that people could surely go get themselves, risking her neck and hide, for what? She hadn't made as much as a dent, anywhere.

Nails that probably needed clipping dug into her own skull, and the anger switched allegiances and tore inwards, and promptly she felt penetratingly lousy. Sometimes she wondered what the hell was wrong with her; she was most likely a psychiatrist's wet dream the way her moods changed, how she didn't mind killing people in the name of a justice she had defined for herself, and her most recent emotional attachments, being what she thought of as a surrogate mother and an angry sex-buddy. Okay, so maybe she'd be in jail before she actually got to meet with the psychiatrist.

But of course she was going to go look for more food and medicine for the people, who was she kidding? Mostly because if she wouldn't do it, who would? She'd heard rumors of other people standing up in silence all across town, knew she wasn't the only half-decent person in the whole city, but it was every man for his own quadrant, so far at least.

Charley glanced over her shoulder, had to resist the urge to run her fingers over John's dark hair. It wasn't that he looked angel-like in his sleep, even now his features were drawn into a soft frown, but at least when he was out he couldn't analyze and mind-rape her with his chestnut brown eyes. His black locks were messy from a night of tossing in his sleep and he looked much less intimidating than when he was awake.

She turned her head away, ran a hand over her chest, still wearing his t-shirt and still loving the cool feel. Still smelled of him too.

It was still kind of overcast and dark outside, the sun still not over most of the buildings, its revealing light not yet reaching too far, and the room was just about visible to her. She sat up straight, skimmed the floor to see if she could spot her bra but gave up when it didn't immediately stand out. Slightly disgruntled, Charley shrugged away the loss of her bra and gingerly she touched a hand to her face instead, testing the tight skin over her bad cheek, flinching with a hiss when it throbbed in return._ Ow._

Next she put her fingers to her throat, clenching her jaw to keep from crying out when she accidently pressed too hard. Well, last night's necking certainly hadn't done her any good.

Maybe she could borrow some of Julie's precious makeup to at least make an attempt at covering it up. It was going to be there a long time, she knew, had a little experience with bruises from her old karate days, and of course recent events. Though, it could be beneficial too; it'd hide her face, her otherwise clear complexion, when she wandered around pretending to be of the other gender.

But mostly it was pretty inconvenient.

Right when she'd made the conscious decision to try and stand up on her two feet, leaning forward to get the necessary momentum, a firm hand closed around her wrist and held her back. Charley barely held in a yelp of surprise and whipped her head around to glare at the perpetrator.

John still had his eyes closed, but she could see the change in his face, he was very much not sleeping anymore.

"Where're you going?" he mumbled, and she realized he was caught between dreaming and being awake, a rare situation for him, one she didn't really know what to do with.

"Uh, home, I guess," she said quietly and shrugged.

He seemed to consider her answer for a moment before he tugged suddenly on her arm, catching her unaware and _man, he's strong, _pulled her down again, drew her body to his and nestled his face into the side of her neck.

"John, come on," she tried, holding back a sigh when his lips soothed an aching spot on her throat.

"Stay," he whispered, strengthening his argument by tangling his legs with hers and wrapping his arms around her to hold her in place. It did feel rather nice to warm her cooled skin against his bare chest, her hands trapped between their two bodies, nails digging into his flesh when he kissed her throat again.

"Ah… John, stop it," she tried again, a futile effort really; even she didn't feel any conviction in the words and made no effort to halt his actions, "Come on, I gotta go."

"Make me," he teased, now becoming more awake with the soft body pressing against him.

Charley really didn't have the energy or the will to argue further, and let him capture her lips, not minding the morning breath all that much. Lord knows she could use a good start to her day, a day that would probably turn sour sooner or later, if her recent luck was anything to go on. So she let him kiss her, kissed him back and sighed in pleasure when his tongue tangled with hers.

John pulled back and smirked when he heard her whine softly, clearly not pleased with the sudden lack of lip-smacking. Through the blinds filtered the dim newborn light of dawn, and it illuminated her face to him, and even though the sight was a mess of pain and purple, turning to sickly yellow at the very edges, he didn't draw back or wince. He was too used to it, plain and simple, and he knew the face hiding behind the bruises. And no blemish could take away from the fire in her bright viridian eyes when she finally opened them to stare back at him, and he wondered how she couldn't see it, couldn't realize that she was looking into a mirror, looking upon what she was on a path to becoming if she never let go of that fury tainting her humanity.

"What?" she frowned at the distracted look on his face, looking right into her eyes but at the same time looking straight through her. _Again_.

John blinked, stunned for a second, before making a grimace, and instead of answering her question, turned his attention to her hair, running a sluggish hand through the short tufts.

Charley glared at him, glared harder when he ignored her, but couldn't maintain it at the delighted feeling running over her scalp and down her neck at his slow ministrations. Her hair had been curly with big ringlets before the terrorist coup, rich in color and voluminous and had reached just past her shoulder blades, and it had been one of the things she'd liked most about herself. When the circumstances called for her to take scissors to it, she'd been bitter, but had done it nonetheless.

She'd only truly hated it when John had taken one look at it and had cringed. It was only then that she'd realized the fascination he'd had with her hair after they met, and the way he loved to hold her by it when they had sex; he'd liked it, had liked that trait about her, just like she had herself. She'd felt like throwing around heavy objects that day, preferable hitting the dark-eyed cop with some of them.

But done was done. It would grow out again. If they ever survived this, that was.

It seemed he'd gotten used to the short haircut though, he'd still run his fingers through it every chance he could get, so maybe it wasn't _that_ bad.

The hand in her hair traveled over her neck, and up the curve of her shoulder, and Charley could feel him smile at the way she shivered when it slid slowly down her upper arm, finally landing in the dip of her waist. There his fingers played with the hem of the t-shirt and she wanted him to kiss her again.

Besides fighting and killing, her only other outlet for the ire poisoning her from the inside out was this. Them. It gave her the same kind of high, the same feeling of satisfaction, and she needed it because it wasn't every day that she got to kill a bad guy. But then she could lose herself in him, in the roughness, after a long day of just being _angry_, so damn angry all the time, and it tore at her, so she needed him.

John leaned in again, sensing that her thoughts had taken on a darker nature by the forlorn glaze that covered her eyes, and caught her bottom lip in between his teeth, licking at the scar and the fresh cut beside it before taking her mouth with his, and now he was very much fully awake.

_I could be here forever._

And then she realized that she really could, and it _scared_ her. It scared her almost as much as when she'd seen Bane come out of shadows the night before to greet her with pain and suffering, and that was saying something.

Charley pulled away from him, tried to reel in her feelings, and having a hard time, and now it _terrified_ her. No, no, no, she shouldn't be here, she should have gone home earlier, so much earlier, she had to go, and now.

"I…" she started but lost her words; he was looking at her with a questioning frown, and suddenly, there it was. With just enough light to illuminate his eyes to her, she saw it; the anger. And then it _was_ staring into a mirror, a masculine and mature form of it, but it was there. Her lips parted in surprise; how could she not have seen it?! It was right there, staring her in the face and she'd been too damn _stupid_ to see it before.

"Charley?" he asked, genuinely confused by the almost haunted expression that scrunched up all her features.

"I…" she began again, stammering like a deer caught in the headlights. She wondered how he could have kept it hidden from her, how she hadn't seen it. Had she been so lost in the harsh comfort he'd provided her with that she hadn't been able to realize what was really going on?

What _was_ really going on?

It was like a veil had lifted, one she had not been aware of at all. _That_ was why they clashed so hard and so gorgeously; the anger, it had connected them, and John had obviously seen it before her, seen it _long_ before this moment.

She pushed away from him, hating the puzzled look on his face, hating that she could inflict any sort of sting on his marble exterior, on his expression-void mask. A _mask_. A mask he put on everywhere he went, even with her, only time she'd ever seen him without the polite front was in the throes of passion, when he'd let go for just a little while.

Charley didn't have a mask to hide her anger, her soul-festering wound, she hadn't put thought into it, hadn't needed it so far. Except with Julie, when she tried to act as caring and nurturing as possible because that was what the girl needed, and-

And John was just better at it than she was. Better at hiding it and smiling when instead he wanted to lash out. He'd evidently had a lot more time to practice this than she had.

With as much haste as her still tired and very sore body could muster she twisted away and sat up, struggling to get out of bed as quickly as possible.

It was like she'd had an epiphany. All the armor-piercing looks he'd throw her way, the way he _handled_ her so well, how he always knew when to talk and when to shut the hell up, how he knew when she needed comforting touches instead of meaningless words. He'd known all along.

Even though she knew it was stupid, stupid as hell, she felt kind of betrayed, used. Like he'd strung her along, if he'd seen the anger he held himself, why hadn't he said something, done anything, helped her to not feel so damn miserable all the time!

Then she could smell him, smell him everywhere, and suddenly it wasn't comforting, it was smothering, and she fought with her limbs to tear off his t-shirt, throwing it in a corner and dashing out of the room.

"Charley, what's wrong-," his words faded the farther she got, and all she could think was _everything._

Eyes flickered around the living room while she jumped from one foot to the other to get her pants on, and she heard him sigh exasperated and then the sound of sheets being tossed around and springs in the bed creaking when he got up, shuffling of fabric as he put on pants, and she didn't want to face him, had to go now.

"Hey," he'd crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe, watching her rush around frantically, narrowed his eyes a bit when she ignored his call for her attention.

Charley had finally spotted her shirt hanging over a lamp and pulled it on, not caring that it was inside out, just needing to hurry out of there. She almost hadn't heard him, her breathing and blood pumping in her ears a sound beat to her hectic scampering, and she knew she must look like a lunatic, knew she was acting crazy, _knew it_, but couldn't help it, had to get out.

She pulled on her boots while hopping towards the door, having just picked her jacket up off the floor when a strong hand closed around her upper arm. Charley startled and whipped around to face him; she hadn't even heard him move.

"Hey, come on, talk to me," John said softly, but his hold on her was firm, his eyes hard.

But Charley had her mind set and with strength that surprised him, she yanked her limb free so violently that his hand actually hurt, and backed away so fast you'd think she was fretting for her life.

"Don't," she sobbed, though no tears were on the way. Then she closed those grassy eyes in a desperate attempt to get a hold of herself, and when she opened them again _her _mask was in place, and he saw it, saw what had happened, and felt his gut tighten in guilt.

"I'm fine," she spoke, calmly now, never took her eyes off of him as she pulled her jacket on, zipped it up and walked backwards to the front door.

"Charley, wait-"

"No, John, just. Don't," Charley shook her head, lifted a hand in a stop-gesture, "I'll, ah, see you later."

To leave him there, with both recognition and confusion on his gorgeous face… it was anguish. And it was the exact reason why she had to leave.

With one last look of regret and meek ire she turned from him, closing the door with a soft click behind her, having to take a couple of deep breaths before she could assemble the courage to walk away.

* * *

Charley had been in love before.

She thought about that feeling as she trudged the empty streets, heading for home. It frightened her that what she felt in John's presence was even reminiscent of that emotion. She didn't _want_ to fall for him, didn't want the distraction, the _burden_, nor did she want to be his weakness as he'd become hers. This wasn't a time for complications in one's personal life.

Charley knew she'd have to keep her distance from him now, had to let go of him. Had to take time to think less of him again, think of him only as a friend and as a useful person to have around.

She groaned.

No more sex.

_Great_.

But she couldn't really blame him, now could she? The only person with any kind of guilt was her. _She'd _made the mistake of relaxing in his company, _she'd _been the one to let her guard down and open up to him,_ she_ was the one who stayed over when everything crumbled around her and she needed comfort. Because _she_ hungered.

The sun was finally over the lowest of the rooftops, blinding her when she rounded the corner of Elm St. and Seventh. The clouds had dispersed a bit between her leaving John's place and almost being home, the weather was crisp, cold as hell, and in the distance loomed great dark grey clouds and Charley couldn't help but tense up, knowing she'd need to bring out the thicker pants and long underwear if she wanted to be out making trouble at night.

When she finally reached the back door of the Korean kitchen, Charley took a moment to let that newly found ability come forth, for the mask to slide into place. She was okay, she was fine. Maybe she'd even smile.

She knocked on the frame in the series of taps agreed upon. It took a minute for the old man to reach the door and unlock it, but finally she was let into the warm back room, greeting Ji who returned it with a grumble about it being too damn early.

The leather jacket slid from her shoulders, and she let Ji get back to snuggling with his wife as she went for the trapdoor, trying to open it as silently as possible, then make her way down just as quietly. Normally, this was their usual bedtime, right around dawn when the cover of darkness slipped up. But after the night they'd both had, a few more hours of sleep was well deserved.

Charley stuck her head in the bedroom door and saw Julie still sleeping soundly, one arm hanging out from under the wooden guard that thankfully stopped her from falling off the bed completely. She didn't want to disturb the blond youngster and tiptoed back into the living room and sat on the worn couch, sighing and resting her head on the back of the seat.

Why hadn't he just… showed her? Told her, let her in on the big secret. It wasn't too much to ask, was it? To be in the loop, especially when it concerned _her? _Because it did.

It would have meant _so much_ to her not to be alone in it, not to suffer alone, to understand and be understood by someone who _knew._ And all the times she'd felt guilty for being so rough on him, so greedy in taking from his solace, it meant nothing, because in the end he'd taken equally from her, because now she knew that what they needed was the same thing.

Charley let the mask slide, now that she was alone again, so alone, and she felt her throat tighten and that tell-tale pressure behind her eyes. It really had been an emotional twenty-four hours, every time she turned around something new was grating on her unusually fragile nerves, and it made her sick to her stomach. If she couldn't handle all of it, all of the stress, if she couldn't be strong, then what good was she? The fury that normally guided her hands in absolution had betrayed her, had mutinied and turned on her, and she felt it keenly eating away at her insides, and it made her eyes prick with salty tears.

Why did everything have to go so horribly wrong?

As she sat there on the couch in aching silence, Charley fought to hold back those tears that wanted so eagerly to fall, and she came to see how much she had changed, and how much things had changed around her. Before all this, all the anarchy and chaos, she'd been a relatively boring person, doing her job and somehow making the downtime pass by, and it wasn't much, but she'd give anything to go back to that mundane life. She hadn't wanted to be this way, didn't _want_ to be angry, but it had just been thrust upon her and now it would never leave, and it was killing her inside.

And even though she felt no sorrow for the lives she had taken, knowing it was the right thing to do, she felt the weight of the responsibility on her shoulders, and it was crushing her. Honestly, she had no idea how long she could go on before she'd turn into a hollow shell of her former self.

Because she had _really_ changed, already on the road to becoming something less than human. She was a woman of action now, letting her instincts lead her to survive. She barely smiled anymore, had adopted that somber, steely glare that made her enemies hesitate. She would pass up love and comfort for the sake of her own safety, because life was complicated enough. And her heart felt empty for it.

Charley was tired, so very tired, and because it made her feel more human she let the tears roll down her cheeks in big fat drops, closing a hand over her mouth to stifle the sobs that evidently followed.

In choked silence she sat there crying, hoping that she didn't wake Julie while she broke under the pressure.

Outside it started to snow in small, gentle flakes that fell graciously towards the ground, no wind to pick them up or throw them around, and it was peaceful, and she needed some peace. So she sniffed, wiped her cheeks dry with care and worked on steadying her breathing for a minute. Breathe in, breathe out. Inhale, exhale.

When she finally felt calm, if just _enough_, she got up, checked on Julie again and found her still sleeping, and then rummaged through the apartment to look for warmer clothes.

In the end she could shimmy into a pair of not-too-holey, faded jeans with leggings underneath and a clean long-sleeved shirt, black in color, and another hoodie. Her old leather jacket would keep out the cold well enough with the extra layers cladding her. Before she left their small space again she managed to pull on a pair of wooly socks, carrying her boots with her up the hatch, only putting them on when she'd cleared the area, sitting on the stair to the Tohn's upstairs apartment.

Charley would spare Julie for a day in the cold; she'd go scavenging on her own. Already her gun was stuffed in the back of her jeans, loaded and safety on, plus her trusty switchblade in her pocket and another small, back-up knife hidden in her right boot. On her back hung a grey, used but good, backpack, empty and ready to carry her expected loot.

Upstairs she tapped lightly on the old couple's door, bowing her head in greeting when Yoon's tired face peeked out.

"I'm going out, alone," she said, stuffing her hands in her pockets.

Yoon scrutinized her in silence.

"Uhm, Jules is still sleeping, I… didn't want to wake her," Charley kept talking, more to fill the empty space than anything, "I, uh, will you tell her not to worry, and that I'll be back later?"

Yoon continued to stare at her in silence, but this time she nodded 'yes' and Charley had to smile, if only a little.

"Thanks."

She turned to leave, was at the top of the stairs when she heard the weathered woman speak to her, finally, "Be careful, child."

Charley paused in her steps, nodded to show she'd heard her, before hurrying down and out, not wanting to have time to change her mind.

* * *

**TBC**

**Hi again my lovelies! So, a bit of a longer wait on this. Normally I'd like to stay ahead of the story by a few chapters, but since I finished my exams for this semester I've rediscovered Skyrim and.. yeah.. But now I've got that (mostly) out of my system and some new ideas flowing, I'll get back to writing. Sorry, rambling there.**

**Thanks to my reviewers atiketook, BeautifulAngel and perfect . fluke for your lovely reviews, they are much appreciated and inspiring as always, it's nice when someone 'gets' your writing. Thanks guys.**

**And appreciation upon my beta HarleyQuinn88 as always, treasured madam.**

**Now, review! Make me happy :D**


	7. Chapter 7

_Sometimes I fall, I slip  
__My heartfelt desire to be more like you  
__Tryin' not to quench your fire with the things I do__  
_

_- My Life Be Like, Grits_

* * *

The snow was still drifting from a now light grey sky when Charley stepped out from the Tohn's Korean Kitchen. It didn't yet lie too densely on the pavement, not yet being a hazard or nuisance. A few crystals landed on her cheek when she looked to the heavens, but this time instead of being numbing and welcomed they stung with the chill they carried, making her cringe and she knew she had to be on the look-out for some painkillers.

She tugged the hood of her sweat-shirt up and fisted her hands in her pockets, one securely around her knife, ready to strike, adjusting the pack on her back with a roll of her shoulders, and started walking south towards the down town area of Gotham.

Crossing one of the smaller bridges – that hadn't been blown apart by the terrorists - from the Narrows over onto the southern island was probably the toughest part of her journey, and it wouldn't get any easier by the time she had to go back. A few cars were parked along the road, empty and derelict, but other than that the way was clear. Well, if you didn't count the occasional gang of Blackgate prisoners and other such sketchy groups. Charley could remember one time when a big dude with tattoos on his face had blocked her way, his gang snickering behind him, asking for a toll – "or else". Only the pointing of a loaded gun had gotten her across the bridge that day, afterwards getting a serious case of side stitches from running so hard.

This time when she crossed the bridge she only ran into a duo of scavengers like herself. They looked rugged, both men and both having a untrimmed beard from not shaving, thoroughly packed in warm clothes and carrying a load of bags - stuffed bags - between them. They saw her coming a mile away, like she had them, and the two had eyed her with suspicion, just like she did them.

They'd crossed to the very edge of the side of the bridge, Charley taking the opposite side, to get as much distance from each other as possible, neither party wanting a confrontation. She thought about holding them up at gun-point to take some of their goods. But they might be carrying firearms too, and then she wouldn't stand a chance. Also, they were doing the exact same thing she was doing; just trying to survive.

So she drew her hood down, watching them carefully out of the corner of her eye as they passed each other, satisfied when she could turn her head every ten feet and only see them getting farther away from her.

If only she could get that lucky on the way back too.

Her fingers constantly played with the release button on the blade in her pocket, paranoia and carefulness going hand in hand as she kept scanning her surroundings, looking for anything out of place. The streets were mostly devoid of human life, but steadily as Charley walked closer to the areas of the city that never slept before now she spotted more and more people, lone wanderers as herself and groups varying from couples to parties of five, relieved that no gangs of criminals had reared their ugly heads as of yet.

Charley walked the quickest yet most unused way to maneuver the downtown area, towards the fashion stores, jet-set grocers, and overpriced cafés, her steps as quiet and quick as she was capable of making them, willing her body to shrink as to avoid unwelcome attention from her 'peers', wishing and praying for this to be an utterly uneventful trip.

Most of the stores front windows were broken, wholly or partially, some having been set on fire with the smudge and ash darkening the walls, exterior, and everything inside. Paper, wrappers, flyers and other such thigns littered the roads, trashcans overflowing and all the cars had a light layer of snow coating them, as it was sure to do everything else pretty soon.

Charley couldn't help but grip the knife tighter, her arm twitching to reach for her gun, the deeper she went into the previously high-end territory. In a twisted way she kind of liked it better this way. She had never been much of a people's person; she hated parties where the majority of attendees she didn't know, never eating out at a restaurant, fancy or not. She'd preferred her tight-knit network of friends and acquaintances over the shallowness and insincerity of a crowd. It wasn't even until after the revolution had lain the streets abandoned that she'd ventured into the downtown area, and even then it was only out of utter necessity.

She walked past a couple of boutiques, all windows – or what was left of them – sporting 'on sale' summer clothing and casual autumn wear, none of which she was looking for. The first all men's store on her way, she promptly went into, but not before meticulously checking to see if anyone was watching her steps.

The front door was hanging on one hinge, screeching whenever a stray wind would stab at it, most of the glass gone except for in the outer edges of the metal frame. Most of the mannequins and clothing racks were knocked over, some stripped bare. Of course the cash registry was as empty as the Dead Sea, lying on its side on a counter. Charley briefly glanced over the overturned environment, but her eyes were primarily searching for any clothes that seemed thicker than most, anything that could fit either her, Julie, or the Tohn's.

She didn't think of John. Luckily, she didn't really have the time to. That was one of the main reason she was doing then looting trip then and not later; she didn't want to think about him anymore, the thought of his solemn, chiseled face made her stomach ache and her heart sick.

No, she focused on the task, focused of the sounds around her and any warning they might bring. In the back of the store, near the dressing rooms, she crouched down with her back to the wall, trying to sort out a pile of what appeared to be leather coats and jackets. Julie could use a jacket to keep out the cold better; leather would do if she couldn't find a padded winter jacket, or maybe a parka… Jules liked parkas.

There was no way Charley was giving up her dad's old leather one, no matter how many layers she would have to stack up underneath – it had sentimental value. After sifting through the pile she found one of very good quality. It was probably a size or three bigger than Julie, but it would allow for extra clothing underneath, so she grabbed that one and folded it up real nice before lining the bottom of her backpack with the squared fabric, standing up and going to another corner of the store.

Near the door to the backrooms and office she found a rack with a few pairs of thick sweatpants, grabbing four pairs in the sizes that came closest to fitting her motley crew, folding and stuffing them in the pack too.

Walking past a closed door on the farthest wall from the street a foul smell assaulted her senses, first making her cough and gag trying to breathe through her mouth before she could pull the collar of her hoody up over her nose to dampen the sickly scent. For a minute she considered just running out the broken front door, but at the same time knew that something good might be behind that backroom or office.

She just hoped she could keep the contents of her stomach from spewing.

The lock was in poor condition, but it was still locked, so Charley pulled out her switchblade and struggled to jimmy it open. With one last forceful shove it broke and the door swung open slowly with an ominous creak, revealing a pitch black room. The smell of rotting flesh became penetrating and Charley gagged again, squinting into the dark, moving a hand to pinch her nose shut under the fabric, her other hand fumbling at the inside wall for a light switch.

With a sharp click a fluorescent light came from the ceiling and unveiled what the shadows had been trying to hide, and Charley wished she'd stayed away.

Slumped in a chair behind a desk sat the remains of what used to be a human being. Judging from the half-long black hair spread out across the table in a sooty halo, it had been a woman. She lay with her head against the metal surface, her face thankfully completely covered with the dark treads; she _did not_ want to look at the decomposing face of this unfortunate soul, if the stench was anything to go by.

She spared but a moment to look the dead body over, noting how she was clothed in a pinstriped business suit, and concluded that she had probably been the manager of the store, and it seemed, one of the first victims of the revolution.

Charley didn't dare speculate over the cause of death, knowing it could be a number of horrific reasons, instead prying her eyes from the sight to look for anything useful that might've remained in the room.

Trying very hard to ignore the decaying person behind her she scanned and rummaged through the shelves lining the room's walls and the boxes scattered across the floors, trying to keep the collar up over her nose the whole time, though it proved to be challenging. Most of what she found was useless; tape, scissors, printer paper and various shipping forms, but eventually she could scrounge up a first aid kit with contents intact and half a box of ramen noodles. She quickly stuffed her findings into the backpack and vacated the store, not finding anything else of value, and took a deep breath when she was finally outside, relishing the fresh crisp air as she drew it down into her lungs before letting it go in a white puff that lingered for only a second in the space in front of her.

Checking that particular store off the map in her mind's eye she continued down the street, searching every window she went passed to see if anything might have what she sought.

The snow was not letting up, but at least it wasn't windy, the flakes just gliding gently through the air and around her, only annoying when flying into her eyes and disturbing her vision.

She wished she's looked for a pair of gloves in that shop though, feeling her fingers stiffen with the cold even when stuffed deep in her pockets. She made her way into a healthy foods market, and eagerly took the expensive vitamins that no one else wanted, knowing they'd come in handy when food became scarce to get that extra nutritional kick. Her backpack didn't have room for much more and she still needed to look for more clothes and ammo, so only a couple bottles went in the pack before she moved further down the street, the only thing she still needed from this area was the clothes.

But not one of the stores had what she wanted, which was a damn winter jacket for Julie and something warm for the Tohns. Charley felt a little bit like she was on a shopping trip, trying to find gifts for everyone for Christmas, though the holiday itself was months away. It made her feel a bit more normal when she thought about it like that, so she kept moving, going into a residential block to look for a place that didn't look too burned or trashed.

It was almost peaceful, wandering through the light snow that could have been beautiful when seen with the right mindset, looking at buildings like she was shopping for a new shirt. _Almost_ peaceful.

The constant cold of the knife in her pocket kept her grounded when her mind wandered, in situations like these when she'd space out to everywhere and in between really; her finger sliding slowly back and forth over the release button kept her in the present, alert and aware, not missing a thing.

She saw several people walking the streets, much like her. Some seemed lost, stumbling around and looking to the building tops and at the sky, seemingly trying to find their bearing, others were suspicious individuals, dark clothes and dark faces, hard eyes and twitchy hands, on the lookout for anything that could benefit them. And others, too, who would fit in anywhere in the middle those two wayward points, just people of Gotham trying to live in this time of chaos thrust upon them.

Charley ignored them, ignored the looks thrown her way and disregarded any and all questions and gestures for attention, her whole body tensing every time one got too close.

No, she continued on her path undisturbed by the ghosts that flickered in the corners of her eyes, only having the time of day to find a suitable high-rise.

In the end she found a place that fit her standards, and moved inside the lobby with careful steps. It was empty of people, papers and trash littering here and there, but for the most part it didn't look too bad. Charley walked slowly and as soundlessly as possible towards the elevators, raising an eyebrow when one of the metal slide doors to one looked like someone had tried to pry it open with a crowbar or something of the like. With one look around she opted for the stairs instead, hoping that some of the lower apartments had remained untouched.

_Yeah, tough chance._

But she moved on anyway, taking silent steps onto the first floor of flats, sidestepping what looked like a typical homeless man sleeping besides the door to the stairs.

Charley glanced into the first apartment, the door wide open, the place completely trashed, cringing with she saw the lower half of a body sticking out from under an overturned couch, and quickly urged her body forward and away from what could only be a horrific scene.

It took a few minutes of walking down the halls and up more stairs before she came to a place that could meet her already low standards. The door had been closed, and upon opening it she had found the place relatively intact. There was a broken lamp on the ground with porcelain shards strewn across the mahogany floor and a window was shattered, fresh crisp air whipping the beige-colored curtains around its empty frame, but other than that the room looked somewhat untouched. Charley speedily surveyed the other rooms and found the whole apartment blissfully empty, of dead bodies or live bodies alike.

Most of the rich folk living it up in downtown Gotham had been taken to the mockery of a court at Gotham's Courthouse, directed and orchestrated by the infamous Dr. Crane, psychiatrist-gone-madman extraordinaire. Charley had gone a few times, being 'one of the people' that she was she apparently had that right to watch the mob sentence other folks, just because they had more income than most, a mere shadow of a lawful trial to support their claim. No, that was not justice.

Charley had once stood up to the crowds of the discontented and had defended a middle aged mother of two. Jane Hudson her name was. Charley had remembered her name since high school, when Hudson had been but a young woman when her rich and influential father had died, leaving Jane a fuck-ton of money.

Jane Hudson had been born into money, and a lot of the people being sentenced in Crane's court had been too. And with some it had been their only crime. But with Jane it was different. Maybe not different in the sense that others hadn't done just like her, for Jane Hudson had not kept or spent the money she had inherited, no. She had given away almost all of it to charity and scholarships and to the general benefit of the people, something sure to send her egotistic father writhing in his grave.

Maybe others had given too, had lead decent lives with what they had been handed or earned, maybe. But those people Charley could not remember. The difference was that she remembered Jane because one of those scholarships had sent her little sister to college, had saved her from humongous amounts of student loan debts, and had prompted said sister to read and then retell what she'd learned about the one woman wonder that was Jane Hudson.

And because it had meant something to Holly, it had meant something to Charley, so she had yelled and screamed and had stepped forward, had pushed through the resentful masses, and had demanded at least a fair examination of Hudson's crimes, which she believed to be none-existent.

The courtroom had gone eerily quiet, murmurs and whispers had run through the droves while Charley had stood wide-eyed with heaving chest between the fancy chair they had placed Mrs. Hudson in and the throne of lies Crane had built for himself. Her throat was sore and her voice was rough when she rallied the crowd with tales of how the accused had done more for the people of Gotham than anyone present in the Courthouse. She had turned the mob against Crane, the jury against the judge, and had seen Jane Hudson out of the halls and into the street herself, reuniting her with husband and kids on the pavement outside.

It had been a small victory, one that Charley couldn't savor for long when she'd gone back the next day to witness Crane's men execute a 19-year old boy from a wealthy family with a bad public rap sheet.

Charley rummaged through the apartment while she thought about that little triumph, and though a bitter-sweet thought it was, it was more welcome than her recent failures, and she gladly recalled Hudson's crying children when they embraced their mother and the husband when he grasped Charley's shoulder with tears in his eyes before pulling her into a bone crushing hug.

As it was, the Hudson family was now one of the few hundreds under Charley and Julie's 'care'. They were now hidden away from prying eyes, as safe as one could be in the broken city of Gotham.

In the master bedroom of the abandoned apartment she found several pieces of thermal undergarments in a bag beside some skiing equipment, stuffed away in a closet. Charley decided to save some room and keep the whole mess in the its current container to carry with her, propping it up against the wall by the front door so she wouldn't forget it later.

Charley could also remember the icy glare from the good doctor when the people had found Mrs. Hudson not guilty, the deathly sour scowl marring his otherwise sharp features, all directed at her, and she had known then she'd been labeled a whistleblower, and was extensively more appreciative about her 'fake' identity because of that moment.

She moved on from the master bedroom to what seemed like a kid's room. A boy's, if the blue walls and the model cars on shelves was anything to go by. Maybe, she thought, something in here would actually be Julie's size. God knew Julie could use some more meat on her bones, the little twig that she was, and the food scarcity was not helping in keeping her a growing girl. Charley began tossing around stuff in drawers and closets, finding a few long sleeved shirts that might fit the blonde youngster quite well, if her by-the-eye measure was anything to go by.

So Charley stuffed the things she could use into the backpack and moved away from that room too, going into the kitchen to see if anything eatable was left.

Lately she hadn't felt much for returning to the Courthouse. She knew a lot of Gotham's citizens used much of their time down there, many of them feeling that it was an outlet for their frustration and feelings of repression, watching the more elite crowds of the city being sentenced to death, no matter what their so-called crimes were. Personally she found it disgusting, that one could judge another person so severely without knowing the extent of their deeds, conforming instead to the demands of the mob. But she also knew that she herself didn't have much say in that matter, being the confirmed killer that she was. In a twisted and entirely selfish way she felt that her actions were infinitely more righteous in the end; she killed in self-defense, and the people falling to her onslaught were the bad guys. The people being accused in Crane's court had only been targeted because of their wealth and status. While Charley knew that many of them were corrupted and greedy bastards, a lot of them weren't, and their families shouldn't have to pay for their sins either.

Charley went through the kitchen cabinets with practiced meticulousness, knowing exactly which kind of items she could use. Again she found a number of ramen packets and stowed them. The stuff was always edible and filling, a necessity in dark times. She also found a box of cup-a-soup, some canned veggies and a couple of diet protein bars. In the fridge, which was not on anymore, stood a few bottles of mineral water in the door, and she packed it all into her bag, slightly annoyed when it had almost no room left.

If she wanted any ammo and other such supplies she'd have to trek back to the Tohn's and drop off what she'd scavenged so far, then travel the long way up to Northern Midtown to look for gun stores or street vendors.

Trying to plot the route in her head, she stood by the kitchen table meant to seat four, her pack on the table as she tried to arrange things more compactly, her mind was elsewhere and she didn't hear or expect the intruder making his way towards her position.

It was only when a forearm closed over her collarbone and throat that she realized she'd made a mistake. The perpetrator pulled her back, causing her to stumble and her hands flew for the arm to grant her leverage though none was supplied.

"What do we have here?" the man behind her spoke, his voice rugged and his breath stinging the cup of her ear.

To Charley's horror another man entered her field of vision, sauntering into the room and leaning casually against the doorframe, watching her struggle and fight with a smirk. In his hands was a big kitchen knife, playing at the tips of his fingers and she could see the predatory gleam in his beady dark eyes.

"A little thief, I'd say," the other man continued, moving his gaze to the deadly tool in his grip.

Okay, so Charley was seriously getting tired of being called a thief, but had to tuck away that thought when the man behind her tightened his grip around her throat, squeezing her windpipe. She couldn't reach for her knife for fear of being choked, so she had to think of something on the offense… and fast.

And because she had been in numerous fights before, because she had trained in these kinds of situations, she came up with a good enough plan relatively fast. No common mugger was going to take her down like this.

So before one or the other guy could speak another word of insult she grimaced in preparation for the inevitable pain, and dug her fingers into the jacket covering the elbow crushing her neck and tugged hard, simultaneously spinning inwards under the man and wrenched her head free, grunting when her face got wedged briefly and further trauma was inflicted on her tender face.

She retained her hold on the man's arm and twisted it behind his back, breathing easy once again when he gasped in surprise; he wasn't at all prepared for the sudden blitz. Then he sneered in pain when she pulled his arm a little higher, testing his flexibility to the point of hurt and beyond, bringing him to his knees with a forceful shove.

Continuing her lucky streak she conjured forth her blade and put it against his throat, applying light pressure to let him know she was deadly serious.

"Hey!" the man with the knife yelled, angry and about to take steps towards her, abruptly stopping and holding up his hands in surrender when the drew blood and his friend flinched.

The next few moments were smothered in tense silence.

"Now, gentlemen," Charley croaked, awfully relieved to now hold the upper hand and still trying to be aware of both men's movements, hoping they wouldn't make themselves a hazard, "What would you propose we do now?"

She felt the man gulp against the sharp edge of her knife, used it to tilt his head up with a bit of force, knowing how the blade bit into the sensitive flesh.

The man with the kitchen knife didn't dare take down his hands, even as he spoke with relative calm, "What d'ya say, Jonesy?"

The addressed however, did quiver when he answered, "I, uh, I think whatever the boy says, Jack. You noticed the knife at my throat, yeah?"

"Clever, _Jonesy,"_ Charley drawled, allowing herself to smirk, "So why don't you fine fellows tell me what you've been up to recently, hmm? Looting, stealing… killing perhaps?"

Might as well press them for a few answers. Whereas they didn't look like typical Blackgate inmates they did look rugged, and if they were indeed hardened criminals she couldn't let them go without regret.

"Stealin'? Tha's rich comin' from someone standin' in a kitchen that ain't their own," Jack snorted, boldly lowering his hands a few inches, the steely blade gripped tightly in one of them.

"Well, these are desperate times, _bud,_" Charley countered. She just wanted to know if she'd be justified in killing these two crooks if it came to it, otherwise she's have no problem just running along if they turned out to be nothing more than a pair of bullies.

Jonesy gulped under her, his Adam's apple bobbing against the edge of the knife, "Ain't that the truth."

"So tell me, what have you been doing under the occupation?"

Jack's eyes shifted around the room as he thought.

"Better be truthful, Jackie-boy," Charley gritted out, pressing the switchblade a bit harder against Jonesy's exposed neck, drawing just another drop of blood as he whimpered.

"Okay okay! Jus', hold on," Jack almost yelled, his face showing genuine concern for his friend, "We've, uh, been around the edges, you could say. Takin' a bit here and there, nothing too lavish, I promise."

"Have you _hurt _anyone?" her tone was harsh, "And don't you lie to me." She emphasized her command by drawing another few crimson pearls, ignoring Jonesy's pleading protests.

"No, no, I swear!" Jack was desperate now, holding his hands far above his head, his body tense.

"Don't lie!" Charley screamed, jerking Jonesy's arm, making him cry out in pain.

"I'm not, I swear!" Jack yelled back, eyes shifting continuously between the knife, her steely glare and his trapped friend, "Jus' let 'im go, I swear, we didn't hurt nobody!"

She saw the truth in his panicked face, couldn't find a trace of the hardness and bloodlust in his look that lingered on the usual suspects, something she'd earned the ability to detect. It might be a mistake, she wasn't a goddamn expert or a freaking lie detector, but after the whole ordeal the night before and the fiasco that morning, she was just so damn tired. And even though the kill might give her a kick or even grant her that sick but saccharine satisfaction it always did, she knew when to stop. Yet, at least. Charley was well aware of how her humanity was shriveling under the chaos and cruelty the revolution had brought upon them all, and she felt that she needed to at least try and limit those moments when her soul would break off another piece.

"I will hunt you down and slice out your eyes if you're lying to me," Charley growled, forcing Jonesy to his feet with sharp pressure on his throat and a yank on his bend arm, ignoring the strangled cry he gave when the knife dug into his skin and his arms twisted to a sick angle before he could catch up to her movement. She swiftly removed the knife from his throat and propelled him forwards with a hard shove.

Jonesy stumbled, but before he could crash face first into the floor Jack caught him and hauled him upright, clapping him a few times on the back to assure the former hostage that he was okay. Then they both turned, Jonesy's hands slowly rising to mimic Jack's, Charley wasting no time to pull her gun on them. Their eyes widened slightly at the sight of the barrel pointed in their direction, but they remained silent.

"Do I make myself clear?"

The two rugged fellas exchanged glances before Jack spoke up, "Yes, sir."

"Good. Now, if you would please settle down over by that wall," she waved the gun towards the spot she meant, "So I don't have to shoot you."

They nodded, shuffling quickly and lowering themselves to their knees, back against the wall.

"On your asses, gentlemen."

As they complied, Charley zipped the backpack and hoisted it over one shoulder, sidestepping around them to keep her front towards them, backing out of the kitchen and to the front door, not taking her eyes off of them when she bent down to pick up the previously found plastic bag, gun still pointed in their direction.

"Now, don't you guys get up for a while," she called, reaching for the door handle with the few fingers on her hand not occupied with holding onto the bag.

"Yeah yeah, jus' get outta here!" she heard Jack shout back, and snorted before she shimmied out of the apartment, quickly closing the door behind her and jogging down the hall, eager to get away before the two men regained their courage.

Standing out in the cold, letting icy flakes of frozen water land on her exposed cheeks, Charley felt kind of proud of herself.

Maybe realizing that sometimes she needed to reign in the anger, the rage, that she needed to master the veil, the mask, so she could dance as well as John did in the masquerade disguising their inner animosity, had also awoken her need to feel human again, to truly tame the wrath inside so that maybe one day she could function as a normal person again.

The beast within had wanted her to kill them, had wanted to end their lives, simply on the basis that they had threatened her. Oh, it had wanted it so badly, to feel that release, the high, to feel satisfied. But Charley had stayed strong; she had pulled on the leash and had won.

And for once, she didn't feel like total shit.

* * *

**TBC**

**Hey folks! So, yes, I know it's been a few months, and really, I have nothing to say in my defense, other than life got in the way, summer, and started my educationally obligatory internship, so, time consuming, yes... Also, I've written myself into a hole, but am slowly crawling out of it, so bear with me..**

**Thanks to the awesome people who reviews last chapter! leafleave77, Jess Hill, HalfshellOnut, Biobrush and Shuttlelauncher! It means so much that you like it, really, its 50% of the reason I keep writing, so keep reviewing!**

**Oh, and no beta-ing on this chapter, can't get a hold of HarleyQuinn88, so if anyone could step up, that'd be great!**


End file.
