Batman Begins/Dark Knight 1. Chapter 1

**Beyond the Shadow**

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Disclaimer: I do not own Batman trilogy or any of the characters

Warnings: Spoilers for the Batman trilogy and "Behind the Mask", departure from comic canon, some swearing/language

Pairing: Bane/Blake

Rating: M

Notes: This is a sequel to "Behind the Mask" and is not a stand-alone story. You can find "Behind the Mask" here: archiveofourown(dot-org)/works/474495

**Censoring**: FFnet is censoring my stories and this story is no exception. For this reason I will be posting a link to my AO3 profile at the beginning and end of each chapter, and making a special note when a large chunk of my story has been censored (ex. sex scenes cut out) so you will know when you're missing a big part of the story. I **STRONGLY** encourage everyone to read this story on AO3 because I feel that what I am being forced to censor greatly detracts from the story I'm trying to tell. However, I have censored everything in this story to meet FFnet's rating restrictions so that the story will be available here for those who prefer this website.

**"Beyond the Shadow" on AO3**: archiveofourown(dot-org)/works/684270

Summary: Gotham is saved but has lost its masked protector. As the city rebuilds, Bane – Gotham's near demise – must go into hiding. John Blake, police badge discarded, follows him. Together, Bane and John struggle to discover what is hidden beneath their masks and find out where they belong in the world.

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"Shit!" John cursed, gripping Bane's hand and dragging him back into City Hall and out of view. Only two steps out of the building John had seen a few survivors of the battle for the city wandering down the street. They were dazed and disoriented but still conscious enough to recognize Bane – their enemy – walking out of City Hall. "We can't go that way."

They both moved back out of view into the room where they had been reunited. There was still a smudge of blood from Bane's cheek and come on the ground and John knelt down to mop it up with the sleeve of his coat. He didn't care about the coat; he could get another one. All John cared about was keeping Bane hidden from an entire city that would want him dead. The authorities hadn't arrived at City Hall yet but it would only be a matter of time. Everyone knew this was where Bane had been seen last.

"We need to get out of here," John said, getting a bit frantic now as he grabbed the remains of Bane's mask and shoved it in his pocket before standing.

For a few minutes John had been blissfully uncaring about everything beyond this room. He was with Bane again and they had used that heavy, heart-fluttering word: _love_. John had felt Bane hold him, take him, _possess_ him and cherish him. Their lips had met and tasted and shared a few smiles. They had been reunited despite everything trying to pull them apart and had promised to stay together.

The giddiness from that and the realization that the bomb had been dealt with had been consuming. For a few brief moments John had felt like he was walking on a cloud, like there was nothing in the world beyond himself and Bane. Their reunion had been a glimmer of sunlight fighting a cloud-dominated sky. But the shadows were surrounding them again, reaching for them and threatening to drag them down and under.

There was no such thing as a happy ending. The success of their survival promised only more days of uncertainty and struggle. They were together and the bomb was dealt with. That didn't wipe away the crippled, smoking city of Gotham, or the hatred for Bane that would be seething below the skin of every citizen. Few knew of Talia's actions and even if the world knew it wouldn't matter; Bane had been the face of this destruction. Everyone would want him dead and all John and Bane could do is keep fighting to survive and be together every single day for the rest of their lives.

The giddiness was gone, stolen away like warmth by winter's greedy chill. It left John numb and heavy, his thoughts narrowing to his current task. He had to get Bane into hiding for now, out of City Hall and the broken downtown core. The streets were running red with the blood of the fallen; they wouldn't be alone long.

John turned and found Bane watching him, silent and calm. "You should go," Bane said simply when their eyes met.

"I already lost you once. I don't plan on losing you again," John snapped.

He walked towards one of the room's other doors, certain they would be able to find an exit to a more deserted street. Bane reached out and caught John's upper arm as he passed, stilling him forcefully with his strength. John was forced to remember that Bane wasn't a man who needed protecting. Removing the terrifying mask had in no way stolen Bane's strength or intellect.

"John, I know you are not foolish enough to bid with blind hope." Bane's hand continued to hold John's arm, though his grip loosened. "You know everyone in the city will be looking for me, and with only one way out of the city there is no hope for me, but that does not mean you must fall with me."

"_I_ have hope, so that's going to have to be enough," John said, voice hardened by determination. "We'll hide at my apartment for now until there's a safe way to get out of the city."

"You will not abandon your city," Bane told him softly, so convinced, so certain.

John opened his mouth to refute him but the words died in his throat and choked him. He had seen what state this city had fallen to, especially over the last week when he and Bane were separated. Much of the city was ruined, its people shaken to the core. Mayor dead, authorities dead, families dead. It would take a long time for Gotham to recover, and it would need as much help as it could get.

John's desire to help his city conflicted with his desire to be with Bane; how could those two desires come together after everything that had happened? Frustrated helplessness threatened to consume him but John shoved his thoughts away, ignoring the painful twisting of his stomach at the knowledge that someday he would still be forced to choose.

Bane, or Gotham.

For now he refused to make that choice and shook Bane's hand off. "My apartment is in the east end of the city. I know a few back alleys we can use to stay out of sight as much as possible."

He thought Bane might continue to argue but he nodded without another word and let his hand fall loose at his side. Desperate to have them both safe and alone, John accepted the silent agreement and continued his path to one of the back doors. City Hall was completely deserted, everyone in the area out on the front street, their blood staining asphalt and concrete.

Bane followed behind him after pausing to pick up his ruined body armour, not wanting to leave any hint behind that he had remained here. When John asked, Bane told him that his coat was out on the main street where he had taken it off to fight. "I can survive the cold," Bane assured him when John hesitated and looked back to City Hall's main doors.

John nodded and they walked through the building on silent feet and found a side door leading out to a narrow alley. The winter air welcomed them and John shivered, pulling his ruined coat a little tighter around himself. They walked away from the main street, instead approaching the road that ran along the back of City Hall. John leaned out of the alley to get a look, ducking back into the alley when he noticed a small cluster of policemen patrolling the street, looking for survivors.

John looked back at Bane, who was standing at his back and watching him for some signal. Then John closed his eyes, his conflicting thoughts fighting for control again. John should be stepping out onto the street and joining his fellow officers; just because he was a detective now didn't mean John didn't have a commitment to this city. But John had to get Bane safely into hiding before the city realized it was safe to step outside again, and before they grew bold enough to seek revenge. He couldn't leave Bane.

Couldn't? Or wouldn't?

He was startled when Bane's large, warm hand rested on his shoulder, stabilizing him. John's eyes slid open as he looked to Bane. The smile on Bane's lips was sad and understanding, but just the _sight_ of Bane's lips – no longer hidden by a mask – had John's eyes stinging with unwanted tears. "We are too old to believe in fairytales, John. I will not love you less for choosing your city."

John wanted to reach up and kiss him, to hug him close and hold his eyes and forget everything else. But that would only get them caught and bring their time together to an abrupt end. All he allowed himself to do was rest his hand on top of Bane's for a brief moment, taking in the shared touch. Then he pushed Bane further back into the alley so they could hide behind a dumpster as the policemen's voices drew closer.

Bane and John crouched together, backs against the wall. Their breath fogged the air in rhythmic puffs, John doing his best to keep his breathing even and silent. It was still bizarre to have Bane beside him and not hear the mechanical sound of his breathing through the mask; John found himself glancing over every few seconds to ensure Bane was still there and not just a figment of his imagination.

Bane was watching him too, eyes trained on him even though John could tell his attention was focused on the approaching threat. Their eyes held and John rested a hand on Bane's knee, half for balance and half for comfort. The policemen were right at the mouth of the alley now, voices clear as they echoed off the walls. "Do you think we should check down here?"

John could feel Bane's muscles tensing under his palm and John pressed down with a little more weight. He trusted Bane to make calculated decisions but he wasn't sure he trusted Bane to consider his own safety in his equations. Bane's eyes sharpened as they watched John and his muscles didn't loosen, but Bane remained crouching beside John in the drifting snow.

"Nah, there's nothing down there," a different man said, voice already starting to fade as he abandoned the alley.

Any other time John would have chided them on not checking everything, but today he let out a silent breath of relief. They continued crouching in tense silence, John ignoring the ache in his legs and back until he heard the scuff of shoes as the other police officers followed the first one's lead. John leaned forward to glance around the dumpster first to confirm they were alone, the voices almost completely faded now.

As he walked back towards the alley mouth he could feel Bane's presence behind him, shadowing him and watching his back. One final time John glanced out of the alley, seeing the police officers nearly two blocks down the street now. He glanced back to Bane, received a nod, and then together they ran across the open street to the next alley and back into the shadows to hide.

John's heart was racing badly, tripping over its rhythm in his fear of getting caught. Stopping now would only increase their chance of getting spotted though, so they continued following the alleys headed to the east, avoiding the open streets as much as possible. They were lucky only because the majority of the city was still in hiding, terrified of the battling and the bomb. Most were not yet ready to brave the city streets.

Walking through the streets alone with Bane made John feel like they were the last two people alive, and John had to remind himself that the city was not lost, that many people were still alive and relatively safe in their homes. He didn't know what had happened to his friends – what had happened to Bruce and Gordon, his fellow police officers and the orphan boys he had sent to the bridge? But he did know that the city had endured and would rebuild.

The further away from downtown and the bloody remains of war they got, the more deserted the streets became. By the time they reached the street with John's apartment building it was almost too easy to assume they were in the clear with no chance of getting caught. John refused to make a mistake this close to safety though; he refused to lose everything he had fought and sacrificed for in a moment of cocky assumptions.

There was no way of knowing how many people were still living in the apartment buildings lining the street. When John had gone back to hide his duffel bag most of his building had appeared to be ransacked and empty, but there was no way of knowing for sure if there were still a few residents in their homes, peeking out past drawn curtains to watch the streets.

In the shadowed alley John stopped and faced Bane, who had remained silent for the entire trek through the city. John could see something dark and conflicted in those grey eyes but now wasn't the time to ask. "I'm going to go first. I'll make sure the door is unlocked and no one is in the lobby. If there's someone in there I'll come back out so follow me in if I don't come out."

Bane tilted his head in understanding and John stepped out onto the sidewalk. The snow was heavier here, drifted up against the buildings and mostly undisturbed. John made a beeline for his apartment building, eager to get inside where he knew they would both be safe. He could feel his body beginning to drag, threatening to shut down if he didn't rest soon. All he needed was one final push of energy to get Bane safely into his apartment and then he could rest easy.

John couldn't see anyone looking out of the rows of windows along the street as he walked, no one looking to witness him pushing the heavy door open for his own apartment building. The door's hinges were stiff with frost and screeched horribly but John pushed inside and looked around quickly. He couldn't see anyone, nor hear any footsteps. It felt almost too easy but John wasn't going to complain; they needed all the luck they could get.

He remained just inside the door and waited, rubbing his hands together for warmth. A few seconds later the door screamed again and Bane walked into the building, body armour still slung over his arm. Again John forced himself to continue moving, climbing the narrow staircase up the seven flights and down the hall to his apartment, 708. The last time he was here he had repaired the broken lock on his door, not wanting anyone to break in again and steal his precious duffel bag.

With Bane at his shoulder John dug his key out of his pocket and slipped it into the lock, pushing the door open and stepping inside. He moved aside and allowed Bane to enter before closing the door and sliding closed all three sets of locks he had installed. When John turned back he took in the sight of Bane standing in his front doorway, looking around the apartment critically, and suddenly felt self-conscious.

This was John's home – or it had been before he had spent two months in that hotel room with Bane. By now 'home' to John was wherever Bane was, proven by the fact that this apartment had felt empty when John returned here to hide the duffel bag before the final battle. But this apartment was still his, filled with his few personal belongings, showing his habits and tendencies.

Bane wouldn't know this side of John. They had developed their own routine of living as they shared the hotel room, but what if this was different? What if Bane felt differently when he saw the way John lived before being kidnapped? John didn't have a lot of luxury possessions – hadn't had the money while making his own living as an orphan, and had most things stolen while kidnapped – and he had told Bane many stories about his life, but he still wasn't too badly off. This must feel odd for Bane because it felt odd for John too.

It was bizarre to have Bane standing in his front entranceway, clothes singed and boots dripping on the tile. This was a man that, despite his reasons, had tried to destroy and blow up John's city. Even though John had found a companion in Bane, he couldn't forget the fact that their meeting had begun with a kidnapping and capture. John had fallen in love with Bane, the man he had also been fighting against to save his city, and now Bane was here in his apartment.

The two conflicting sides of John had never clashed more resolutely than they were in this moment. The cop in him told him he was being blinded by love; Bane had made this city suffer and he should pay for that. The guilt inside John was nearly overwhelming when he admitted that he was hiding Bane in his apartment, purposefully protecting him from the police and that retribution for the things he had done.

The orphan in him fought this, not denying the validity of his thoughts but begging for a second chance. John knew what it was like growing up in a difficult situation. It didn't excuse the actions people made, but he knew that people _could_ change. John himself had made some bad decisions in his youth, angry with the world and unable to find any way of satiating that bitterness. But he had turned things around. He had become a cop and channelled that anger into energy used to protect the innocent, becoming a guardian to save others from the childhood he survived.

John truly believed that Bane could change – was _already_ changing. He had seen it in the small confines of their shared hotel room over the last two months. John knew he was still a long way off from gaining Bane's full trust – may never achieve it – but Bane trusted him as a confidant. Bane had shared a lot about himself and through opening up had grown calmer and more settled. The man standing in John's apartment was not the same terrifying beast he had been dragged to two months previous. All he needed was a second chance and someone who believed that he really was more than the mask that had originally defined him.

Bane still hadn't said anything, and hadn't moved. John cleared his throat, binding his thoughts before they overwhelmed him. "Welcome," he said simply. Bane glanced back to him but said nothing. For the first time since John had met him, Bane looked unsure. John realized that this was probably the first time Bane had been invited into someone's home as a guest, _welcomed_ anywhere. "Take your boots off and get comfortable," he suggested.

Bane continued to watch him silently so John decided to lead by example. He pulled off his boots and let them drop to the floor, melting snow leaving a puddle on the tile. Then he stepped onto the linoleum flooring and walked down the hallway, leaving Bane by the door to follow when he was ready.

John did a quick sweep of the apartment, ensuring no one had broken in a second time and completing a mental inventory of what hadn't been stolen. The living room was mostly intact minus his electronics, and no one had bothered taking any appliances from his kitchen since they were all old and second-hand. The bedroom remained untouched, clothes in the closet and duvet smoothed out and in place. John knelt down and pulled out the duffel bag from under the bed, feeling his heart rate begin to return to normal now that he knew they had made it. The duffel bag was safe, the city was safe, _Bane_ was safe.

He set the duffel bag on the bed and left it briefly to return to the kitchen and unfurl a large garbage bag. John peeled off his coat and shoved it inside. He felt a brief twinge of sadness at discarding the coat – Bane had taken John to get this coat before they had even become more than captor and captive. It was ruined though, and John had Bane here in his apartment with him, which was a lot more meaningful than a coat.

It was only when Bane stepped into the kitchen slowly that John realized he had thrown out Bane's mask shoved in his coat pocket without a second thought. John considered the garbage bag and then met Bane's gaze as Bane stood in the doorframe watching him. "I threw the mask in the garbage..." he said hesitantly, unsure if he had overstepped his bounds.

Bane walked towards him and stood by his side, tall and massive as John looked up at him from the ground. Then Bane knelt down beside him, matching John's posture. Plastic slipped through John's fingers as he allowed Bane to take the bag, but instead of pulling out the mask like he thought Bane might have done, John watched Bane drop his ruined armour into the bag as well. When he handed the bag back, Bane's mouth was tense with determination. "That is where it belongs."

John left the bag on the kitchen floor and turned fully to face Bane. He reached up and cupped Bane's face with his palms, warming the cold skin of his cheeks. "You're shivering," he noticed worriedly, feeling the tremor working through Bane's body as they touched. "I should have gone to get your coat."

"You worry too much," Bane told him, but made no move to push John away.

"Because I care," John reminded him and then leaned forward. Bane helped him stay balanced as their lips met in a brief, soft kiss. The weight of Bane's lips sent a thrill down John's spine, warmth enveloping him. He could hardly believe that they were both still alive and together, but he knew he had made the right choice.

He wanted to stay here forever, perhaps strip off the rest of their clothes and feel Bane again right here on his kitchen floor. The apartment was cold though, the heat turned down in his absence, and John worried about Bane even if Bane didn't take the time to worry about his own health. John pressed one final kiss to Bane's lips and then pulled out of his embrace, standing on stiff legs.

Now that they were in his apartment and relatively safe for the moment, the strain and stress John had been under was finally starting to catch up with him. His mind was exhausted from months of fear, turmoil and heartbreak when his city had been attacked, when he had been captured, and when he had thought he had seen Bane for the final time.

Similarly, his body was worn down from the fight for his city and his reunion with Bane. He hadn't slept for over twenty-four hours, and hadn't slept _well_ for a week since he and Bane had said goodbye. After their goodbye John had been in more than one fist fight, had been thrown down a pile of rubble, and had been reunited with Bane on the floor with minimal preparation. The pleasure he had received from his coupling with Bane didn't mean his body didn't still ache.

Knowing he wanted to get a few things done before he lost all his energy and fell asleep, John left the kitchen. He turned up the heat first, the radiator groaning as it slowly worked on heating the air. After that John dug out a little battery-powered radio he had set on his bookshelf; it was old and battered and not worth stealing but it still worked fine. He spent a minute tuning it until he found a station and then turned up the volume while continuing around the apartment.

He went to his bedroom and stripped down, intent on changing into a new set of clothes that wasn't covered in smoke, sweat and blood. As he peeled off all his clothes and let them fall to the floor he caught sight of himself in the mirror. His whole body was worn and bruised, dark mottled skin blending together. It was nearly impossible to tell where each mark came from, whether from a fight on the streets or from his coupling with Bane. The only marks he could distinguish were the ring of nips and hickeys left around his neck.

"You have suffered because of me."

Bane's voice startled John and he whipped his head around to see Bane standing in the doorframe, eyes exploring him. John relaxed quickly, comfortable showing his body to Bane. After their reunion proving Bane's continued attraction to him, and realizing that Bane had only said goodbye to him a week before to try to keep John safe, John's hurt heart and pride was beginning to mend.

He stood in front of the mirror and Bane openly. "I wanted the marks you gave me," he told Bane, voice hushed in the quiet apartment.

Bane approached him with slow, halted steps. When Bane was standing right behind him John turned his eyes back to the mirror, watching their reflections. Bane still smelled of sweat and burned fabric but John didn't complain as Bane stood against his back. John could feel the length of Bane's body against his own, and shivered when Bane skimmed rough fingers over his bare skin.

His fingers began at the column of John's neck, sliding down and following the curve to his shoulder and then rounding down to follow the line of his arm. Both hands stopped at John's hips and then carefully moved back up John's back where he could feel his muscles knotted together and a few cuts breaking skin from when he had been pushed down the pile of rubble. "You would not have these if I had not come to Gotham," Bane lamented, touching each bruise and cut like he might be able to take the pain into his own fingertips.

John stood in silence for a few moments, allowing Bane's touches until his hands rested on John's hips again. Then John reached down and laced his fingers with Bane's own, leading his hands forward until Bane was hugging around John's middle, their twined hands resting on his belly. The reflection of their eyes met. "If you hadn't come to Gotham I wouldn't have met you."

"Perhaps that would be better," Bane mused. "Then you would have gone to the bridge and to safety instead of to me."

"I made my choice," John reminded him tightly. "And I'm happy with it."

"Surely someone can make you happier," Bane wondered aloud. His fingers twitched against John's stomach and John tightened his hold, refusing to allow Bane to withdraw.

"I've looked, you know," John said. "You're not the first person to catch my eye." Bane pulled him closer possessively, John's back moulded to the defined shape of Bane's chest. "But you're the first to win my heart or give me hope for the future." He remembered what he had told Bane back in City Hall after their reunion. Bane had taught John that you _could_ change, and that you were more than the masks you wore for society.

"Hope is dangerous," Bane warned, eyes guarded in the mirror.

John's gaze softened. "I'm well practiced at handling disappointment," he assured and then turned in Bane's arms. He wrapped his arms around Bane's broad shoulders while Bane's arms looped around to hold the arch of John's back. "But I believe in you, Bane. And you're quite welcome to prove me right."

One corner of Bane's lips turned up and John could see him leaning forward, but when Bane hesitated John used his weight to pull him down the rest of the way into a kiss. He could feel his body thrumming, every inch of his skin hyperaware of Bane's weight and warmth against him. As their lips brushed Bane seemed to shake off his uncertainty. John moaned as Bane tightened his embrace, rising on his toes to be closer.

John could feel his length beginning to stir but his body was also starting to ache more insistently, his legs threatening to give out under his weight. He barely realized how tired he was until his knees buckled, Bane catching him and holding him up before John could collapse fully. Bane lifted him with ease, hooking his hands under John's thighs and sitting him on the vanity top.

John gave a grunt of displeasure when Bane moved away slightly, clutching at Bane's shirt tightly to keep him close. He was embarrassed at his own weakness but let his eyes drift closed when Bane's large hand cupped his cheek and tilted his face up. John nuzzled the hand and met Bane's offered kiss, swaying with his exhaustion but refusing to allow this to end.

Bane seemed to have other ideas though, pulling his lips back. John was about to protest but bit his lip when Bane's mouth trailed down his neck. Bane sealed his mouth over the juncture where John's neck met his shoulder and for the first time John noticed that Bane's teeth were crooked. The thought of having Bane's crooked bite mark on his neck surrounded by a hickey, paired with the sharp pinch of suction had John arching forward, but despite his interest, John's tiredness kept his libido from turning on more.

When Bane was done marking him he seemed to notice John's lack of physical response and pulled away. John continued holding Bane's shirt in his hands, bunching up the fabric and keeping him close, and Bane hovered close enough that John could feel the warmth radiating off him. "You should rest," Bane said.

"I don't want to," John grumbled, though he knew Bane was right. He could already feel his body shutting down. His eyes were beginning to droop closed again, his chest rising and falling tiredly. "I want to feel you again."

Bane chuckled lightly. "We were just together."

"You sent me away for a whole week," John shot back, smirking after a moment. "We have some catching up to do."

Bane leaned towards him and John pulled him closer but instead of another kiss or marking, Bane merely rested against John. He was considering dragging Bane's lips back to his own but as John ran his hands over Bane's shoulders and back he could feel the tense muscles there, wound into knots. Immediately John's heated desire softened to warmth and he hugged Bane to him, worried but pleased that Bane wasn't hiding this from him. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," Bane said calmly, though John could feel Bane tensing up further even as he stood there.

"The morphine is wearing off, isn't it?" John asked with concern. Bane merely grunted and John began carefully massaging Bane's corded muscles. "Maybe you should lie down."

Bane shook his head and stepped out of John's embrace. John wanted to pursue him but let his hands rest at his sides, not wanting to crowd Bane or pressure him. Just because they had both said 'I love you' didn't mean they didn't still need their own space and the ability to do things their own way. "Movement helps," Bane explained as he rolled his shoulders back, stretched and groaned. "You should sleep though."

"I want to stay up a bit longer and listen to the radio," John said. Bane looked like he wanted to argue but he remained silent, watching greedily as John slid off the vanity and bent down to grab a change of clothes from the dresser. John allowed the attention – relished in it – as he pulled on his new clothes and a sweater overtop, the apartment still warming up slowly.

When that was finished he walked back out into the hallway, brushing his hand across Bane's chest as he passed, his fingers catching on the burnt-through holes in the fabric. John was pleased that Bane followed him, though he could see the man's movements turning stiff and forced with each step he took. Remembering Bane's ruined shirt John thought back to the neighbours living in his hallway before this whole disaster happened.

He remembered an older man that had lived a few apartments down from him, tall and wide and very fond of dull colours. "I'm going to go see if I can get you some new clothes," John told Bane, slipping on a dry pair of shoes by the front door. "Why don't you look to see if there's any food left that hasn't gone bad."

"Alright," Bane agreed, standing by the door until John disappeared out into the building hallway.

John walked down the hall quickly, cold in the unheated space and unwilling to remain visible for long. At the moment he didn't want to run into anyone. Even though he had earned back the trust of Gordon and the police officers when he helped them over the last week, John knew that the last time many people had seen him it had been on the television in that picture with him standing close to Bane outside the courts. He was uninterested in defending or explaining himself; for now he only wanted to be with Bane and rest.

When he reached apartment 712 John pressed his ear against the door, listening for any hint of the room being occupied by the owner or someone who had broken in. He couldn't hear anything and quietly knocked, eager to avoid any conflicts. John still received no sign that anyone was in the apartment so he slowly turned the doorknob and pushed inward, the door falling open easily for him.

The apartment was dark and cold, mostly untouched. John kept his steps light as he entered the apartment, assessing everything he saw critically. Although he felt a little guilty for raiding a neighbour's apartment, knowing there was a chance that the man might return now that the battle for the city was over, John had to think about himself and Bane first.

He grabbed a garbage bag from the kitchen and then moved to the bedroom, opening up the closet in search of some clothes that would fit Bane's muscled form. John filled a bag with some shirts and sweaters, a few pairs of track pants and jeans, and was even lucky enough to find two unopened packets of briefs and socks on the closet floor. John was about to push the doors closed again when he noticed a coat shoved to the back of the closet. It was made of a dark, heavy wool and was probably long enough to reach Bane's thighs, the chest and arms looking wide enough to fit.

Pleased with his finds, John set the full bag of clothes by the door and returned to the kitchen. Taking a second bag he filled it with anything useful he could find: some canned food, a case of bottled water, some dry pasta and a few jars of sauce, and a few packs of batteries he found in the cupboard. Aware of the fact that he had to carry all this back and wanting to leave some food in case his neighbour returned, John tied off the bag and headed back for the door.

His muscles were screaming at him as John re-entered the hallway and walked down to his own apartment, bag of clothes slung over his shoulder and his second bag of food dragging behind him. Each step was gruelling, his limbs shaking with fatigue as he practically fell through his own door. John set the bags down in the hallway and turned back to re-lock the door, leaning against it tiredly as his heart slowed.

"John." Bane's voice carried through the apartment and John felt a tiny spark of light flicker in his chest, giving him just enough energy to push himself off the door and trudge down the hall toward the kitchen.

"Are you okay?" he asked as he rubbed at his blurry eyes, taking in the sight before him. It was such an oddly domestic moment, Bane dwarfing the kitchen chair he had stuffed himself onto at the table, the smell of soup warming on the stove top.

He could see the way Bane's shoulders were beginning to curl forward, as though trying to shrink himself and hide away. Bane's grey eyes were sharp and focused, his mouth a hard line. "Sit," Bane ordered. "They are about to repeat a news update on the city." Bane's gaze was unwavering and apologetic. "You will want to listen."

The small flame burning inside John, ignited by the knowledge that he and Bane were together and at least temporarily safe, dimmed but didn't go out. John found it hard to swallow as he took the second kitchen chair, the radio on the table between them. The speaker was releasing static at the moment and John could only wonder and dread what sort of news he would be listening to in a few minutes.

He rested his head against the wall beside him, static cocooning him in a haze. John heard footsteps and then hummed when he felt fingers brush his neck, the hickeys throbbing pleasantly and drawing back the memory of when he received them. "There are fresh clothes for you in one of the bags in the hall," he offered, keeping his eyes closed as he waited for the news.

Bane's footsteps moved first to the stove, a spoon scraping the edges of the pot as Bane stirred the soup, and then moved out into the hallway. John hoped Bane could find something he liked in the bag, though he doubted Bane would be picky. The news still hadn't come on and John was getting anxious, Bane's discomforted expression imprinted on his mind, so John stood up and busied himself with spooning the steaming soup into two bowls.

He took his to the table and opened a bottle of water. With just a quick glance around the kitchen he knew he would have to spend time cleaning out all the food that had gone bad over the last few months, but he was tired enough to ignore the unpleasant tang of decomposing food at that moment. As he sat back down at the table and ate his first spoonful the radio crackled back to life.

"_Speaking now with Commissioner Gordon mere hours after what many of us believed was the end of days. Commissioner, what can you tell us about the state of Gotham for all those still at home?_"

John felt a rush of relief at knowing Gordon was still safe and alive, though his stomach clenched with nerves when he heard the tired heartbreak in the man's voice. "_As far as we know the battle for Gotham has finally come to an end. The bomb, which was set to detonate this morning regardless of any triggerman's actions, did indeed go off. However, the reason I am here now speaking to you is all thanks to Batman, who I watched lift the bomb with his plane and fly out over the bay._"

"_Any news of him since?_"

Static filled the long, noticeable silence. "_No. I spoke to him before he flew the bomb out over the water. There was no autopilot in the plane. With the short length of time left before the bomb went off and the distance the Batman took the bomb to keep Gotham out of the blast radius, there was no way he survived the explosion._" The clenching in John's heart was sickening, making it nearly impossible to breathe. "_Every citizen of Gotham owes their life to Batman_."

John's ears began to ring with the sound of his heartbeat speeding up. Bruce was dead. But he didn't even have time to take this fact in fully, the news broadcast continuing. "_And that really means every citizen_," the radio host added, voice rough. "_I just received a report from the ground a few minutes ago. Apparently a large mass of Gotham citizens were warned about the bomb's imminent detonation and made their way to the Memorial Bridge, which I'm sure everyone knows is the one bridge left intact for the transfer of supplies._"

John looked up when Bane walked back into the kitchen, dressed in a new set of clothes. They were a bit loose but they looked warm and Bane looked more comfortable in them. Bane took the second bowl of soup from the counter and sat across from him, though neither of them made a move to eat. Both of them watched each other and then returned their attention to the radio.

"_I've been told that a school bus from Gotham City's St. Swithin's orphanage was at the front of the group at the bridge, the Father updating the police with new information on the bomb going off shortly. Unfortunately, no matter what the Father said the police would not listen._" John remembered telling the Father exactly what to say to get the cops on duty to listen, and he could feel a slow-building frustration under his skin. "_They still believed that the triggerman would blow up the bridge if anyone crossed it and when the Father approached they blew up the bridge. I can understand their wariness but if Batman had not taken care of the bomb, the whole city would have burned. No one would have survived._"

Static filled John's small kitchen again as the microphone was turned back to Gordon. "_Yes, it's an unfortunate example of the frustrating restraints the police and legal system sometimes forces us to deal with._"

John's hand trembled as he reached into his pants pocket and pulled out his badge; he had transferred it to his new set of clothing on instinct without even thinking about it. He brushed a thumb over his badge, taking in the details and golden gleam. His fury was choking him, constricting his throat. He felt a swell of grief, wondering if he should have gone to the bridge instead, but that didn't excuse the cops guarding the bridge.

They had had a chance to save lives from the bomb; not the whole city but a significant number. And instead of thinking beyond their orders, instead of taking a risk that could have saved dozens – probably hundreds – they had panicked and blown up the people's one chance of escape and survival. Bane and Talia had not blown up that last bridge, the Gotham Police Department had.

John's hand clenched around his badge. He felt the metal digging into his palm and cutting the outline of the emblem into his skin, but he could only clutch it tighter as anger ripped through him. John had trusted his fellow police officers – brothers in arms – to protect the citizens of Gotham even when John could not. He trusted them to think beyond rules and policies and act with sense and bold hearts, to do what was necessary when the time came.

The thought of being associated with the group of people who had decided to blow up the bridge and follow orders instead of _listening_ to the people sickened John. He didn't want to be connected to the people who would damn an entire city to death rather than take a chance. And he certainly didn't want to be bound by those same rules and policies. John would never turn his back on Gotham; he would always protect the city's citizens with all his strength. But he refused to be restrained, to be held back from making the right choice or forced to watch the bad guys walk because of a loophole. He would not tolerate injustice.

The anger and frustration welled up inside him, pressure building until John thought he might scream. Instead, John whipped the badge with all of his strength against the far wall where it clattered and fell to the tile. John hissed as he felt the muscles in his arm strain with his force, and when he looked down the emblem remained in blood on his skin. But the mark would fade and John would not pick up the badge again.

Bane remained seated across the table from him, observing him silently. John felt foolish for his behaviour and avoided Bane's eyes for a long moment. When he did finally look up, brown eyes meeting grey, he could see understanding in those eyes. John knew he had made the right choice when he went back to City Hall for Bane, because he didn't know anyone else he could be with at this moment.

Bane understood his frustration and anger, all fuelled by an overwhelming sense of helplessness as John wondered if there was anything he could actually _do_ that would make a difference. Bane could watch John throw his badge without judgement, would probably not even blink or chide if John returned to the destructive tendencies of his youth. He could watch John scream and rage without being scared or confused. Bane would watch and offer support however he could.

Not yet knowing how to act, how to handle the emotions boiling inside him, John returned his attention to the radio as the short interview continued. There had been another heavy silence and then the newscaster cleared his throat. "_What news about Bane?_"

"_The last sighting we had of Bane was at City Hall, and while we found his coat out on the street there has been no other signs of him_," Gordon continued to speak. "_However, it has been discovered that Miranda Tate was actually the mastermind behind this attack on Gotham. She confessed to me before she died after a deadly chase through the city as we struggled to secure the bomb._"

Bane's hands balled into fists on the tabletop, veins and muscles straining as Bane contained his emotions. John hadn't been sure how Bane would react to news of Talia, whether she was alive or not, since he had abandoned her revenge alongside the mask. But John could understand Bane's anger and sadness, which were clear on his face that was now expressive. Even though Talia had attacked John's city, John could still consider her through Bane's eyes.

Bane had protected Talia since she was young, watching her grow up and keeping her safe from danger. He had dedicated all of his life, strength and intellect to supporting her and helping her exact her revenge. Now for the first time Bane had withdrawn his support, forsaking Talia's revenge to move on and start a new life and to be with John. And as soon as he stopped protecting her, Talia had died, killed by her own cause.

John could imagine the sadness of loss, the pang of guilt, and the question that would plague Bane: what if he had made a different choice? Unsure of whether Bane would want comfort or to be alone but wanting to extend some form of comfort if possible, John reached over with his non-injured hand and rested it on top of one of Bane's fists. "I'm sorry."

"Do not apologize when you do not mean it," Bane said, clenching his eyes closed.

John flinched at the sharpness in his voice but didn't withdraw. "I do mean it," John stated. "Not for myself, but for you. She was important to you, and _you_ are important to _me_. So I am sorry to see you hurting."

He thought Bane was going to knock his hand away and braced for it, but to his surprise and pleasure he could feel the tension leave Bane's hand until it relaxed and unfurled out of the fist. "Thank you," Bane said simply, leaving his hand on the tabletop to allow John's hand to remain on top. "I made my choice though, and she made hers. There is peace in death."

John held Bane's hand a little tighter with his own. He wished there was more he could do but he was just grateful that Bane was allowing him this touch, this silent act of comfort. John tried to think of something to say but the radio was talking over him, and he decided to listen rather than to force words and cheapen this moment of pain.

Commissioner Gordon was still speaking, telling everyone listening that they would be making more news broadcasts when more information became available. "_For now I recommend everyone remain in their homes_," he encouraged and John wondered how Gordon was able to continue caring so deeply after so much suffering and disappointment, how he could stay with the police force when John had seen his own frustrations with it. "_Many of the criminals released from prison are still on the run. It will take time to track them down. The city has survived but we still have a long way to go._"

"_With Memorial Bridge blown up, is there no way for people to get out of the city?_" the newscaster asked.

"_During the battle the blockade at the Midtown tunnel was opened, but I would like to warn everyone that it will be a very slow process to get out of the city since we will be confirming identities with everyone leaving. The threat to the city has been vanquished. We will track down the criminals as well as those who joined their forces. And we will find anyone else who helped Miss Tate, including Bane. I cannot stop anyone from leaving the city if they choose, but I think the worst is over._"

"_Thank you, Commissioner Gordon. And to those of you listening out there, we will be repeating this message every fifteen minutes to keep people informed as they get access to radios. When we get more information we will make a new broadcast so stay by your radios and stay safe_."

The radio fizzled out and John was left in the kitchen alone with Bane again, static filling the air. John still wasn't sure what to say about anything they had just heard. He wasn't ready to talk about the bridge or his discarded badge, and refused to force Bane into talking more about Talia. John's palm was searing from his fresh cuts but he ignored it; the pain was the only thing keeping him awake now.

"With the tunnel being the only route out of the city and all the bridges destroyed, we won't be able to get you out anytime soon," John worried out loud.

His heart fluttered tiredly when Bane turned his hand until it was facing palm up, lacing his fingers with John's a moment later. "I was not going to leave," Bane informed him.

"It's not safe for you here," John snapped, though he allowed his fingers to knot with Bane's larger ones. "If you stay here then you'll have to remain in hiding for a _long_ time. Maybe with time people won't recognize you without the mask, but you have a pretty memorable build. There's no knowing how long you'd have to stay in the shadows."

"Freedom is something I am unaccustomed to," Bane said quietly. "And therefore it does not feel like a hardship to sacrifice it."

"I want you to be able to walk in the light like anyone else," John confessed, sighing dejectedly.

"John." The way Bane said his name without the mask hindering him, voice deep and gruff but also fond, was enough to catch his attention as he looked up again. "I was born and will always live in shadow. You are my light, and that is all I need."

John wanted to argue on principle even though he wasn't sure what he was arguing. His tired mind struggled to understand Bane's words. It was hard to understand how the man could be happy at the thought of living in hiding for an unknown amount of time, especially after escaping the confines of his mask. But he remembered how patient Bane was, how dedicated he could be to a cause. John just hoped that Bane's commitment to staying alive and staying with John would not lead to bitterness and anger.

Whether or not it was a good idea to argue didn't matter because John felt himself sway in his chair, holding Bane's hand just for balance now. He could feel his body truly shutting down this time, not even willing to stay up long enough for John to eat the now-cold soup. John's vision blurred as he groaned, trying to fight off his tiredness. "Bane..." he began to speak, though he wasn't sure what he was going to say next. Bane's hand slid from his and John called him again, a little panicked now. "Bane!"

"I'm here," Bane promised him, voice by John's ear, just as the chair's feet scraped on the tile and John's body started to tilt over and fall.

* * *

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"Beyond the Shadow" on AO3: archiveofourown(dot-org)/works/684270


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Non-censored version of the story on AO3: archiveofourown(dot-org)/works/684270

* * *

John woke up in bed, warm and bundled up in the sheets. He blinked his eyes open long enough to look out the window and see the darkened sky, and then he rolled back over and buried his face into the pillows. For a few minutes John lay there quietly, not thinking about much of anything at all. He couldn't quite remember getting to bed, or why every inch of his body was aching so badly whenever he shifted under the duvet.

He yawned and lifted a hand to rub at his face, which was when he felt the sting of cut skin on his palm. In the darkness he couldn't make out the shape of the cuts but the pain sparked his memories, drawing them all back until John was nearly buried beneath the weight of everything that had happened over the last few months.

Bane had come to Gotham, trapped all of the city's police in the sewers and set up a bomb that would detonate in approximately five months. John had been captured and taken to Bane, and manipulated into remaining captive. The city had fallen to ruin as Bane and Miranda Tate – Talia – continued to work behind the scenes.

John had grown closer to Bane and learned that he was more than just a terrible beast and a mask. Bane had saved him from being raped and kept him safe, and despite every reason against the union they had fallen in love. Bane had sent John away to be safe but John had gone to him anyway, forsaking the chance of survival in exchange for what he believed was going to be only a few more minutes with the man he felt closer to than anyone else in his life.

They had reunited and made love through their believed last moments. They were lucky enough to survive and now John had the opportunity to continue his life with Bane, to support Bane as he searched for a new identity after shucking his mask. Their ties to the past had been severed. Now was the time for new beginnings.

Bane was in John's apartment at this very moment, he realized with a shock. But as he raised his head from the pillow, eager to find Bane and see him again, the memory of the radio hit him with enough force to knock him back down to the mattress. Cops had blown up the Memorial Bridge and doomed every citizen to certain death in their panic, and Batman – _Bruce_ – had sacrificed his life to save the entire city.

Bruce was dead. John clenched his eyes closed, a few tears trickling slowly past his lashes. He cried for the loss of life, and he cried with wonderment and honour that he had known a man as brave as Bruce, who had given up his mind, body and soul for a city that needed saving but might not have deserved it. The thought of what Gotham might be like now without Batman scared John, but he hoped that he could be at least part of the man Bruce was. He could never live up to Batman's legacy, but he would willingly do anything he could to protect Gotham now that it was without a hero.

John allowed himself a few minutes to grieve, face tucked against the pillow and blankets over his head, cocooning him. And then he took a long time to slowly stretch out all of his muscles, working out tired kinks and loosening tight muscles before finally rolling out of bed. It felt odd to be getting out of bed, mostly rested, shortly after eight at night, judging by the clock on the bedside table. He knew he might have screwed up his sleeping schedule, but if he was honest with himself it had been ruined ever since he and Bane said goodbye a week before.

John wiped his face clear of tears and stood up slowly, allowing his body to adjust to holding his weight up. Last he remembered it was sunny when he was in the kitchen so he had at least gotten eight hours of sleep but he still felt tired and sore, run down after his experience over the last few weeks and months. He was hungry now though, stomach clenching as he remembered the soup he had been unable to eat before passing out.

He was still in the comfortable clothes he had changed into earlier in the day but his sweater had been peeled off, keeping him from getting overheated while he slept. John grabbed his sweater from the dresser and pulled it on, the added warmth soothing his muscles even though the apartment had warmed up by now. After that he left the bedroom, wondering why he had woken up in bed alone.

His stomach dropped when he found Bane seated by the window overlooking the city. Bane must have taken one of the kitchen chairs over to the window, the comfortable couch and armchair in the living room unused. As John stepped into the room Bane didn't lift his head or even twitch, which added more weight to the concern dragging John down.

John could read the tension in Bane's body, accustomed to reading his body and movements for clues about Bane's feelings when his face had been mostly covered. Bane's whole body was wound tight but his shoulders were hunched forward, head bowed like he was trying to shrink in on himself and hide away. John approached Bane slowly, letting his footsteps make noise on the carpet to ensure Bane wasn't startled.

Bane still didn't look up as John drew level with him, and John could hear the forced, ragged breathing dragging through his lungs. "Bane—" John began as he set a hand on Bane's shoulder, falling silent when in an instant Bane whipped around and slapped his hand off with enough force for John's wrist to twist at an awkward angle and burn with pain.

"Leave!" Bane growled viciously, hunching up further on himself.

Stung by the violent rebuff, John cradled his wrist with his other hand, holding it close to his chest. "What the fuck is your problem?"

"I said _leave_!" Each of Bane's words was punctuated with enough anger that it felt like John was getting punched in the gut. Bane' voice was primal and dangerous, and for the first time in over a month John stumbled back a few steps, scared.

John wanted to remind Bane that this was _his_ apartment and that if anyone was going to leave, it was going to be Bane. However, he knew that would not be a productive direction to take the conversation, especially when Bane seemed so agitated. It was terrifying to see Bane like this, like a cornered, injured animal. For the whole time John had known him, Bane had been very self-restrained and calm. Now he was unpredictable, lashing out without any clear plan or consideration.

From a few paces away John studied Bane, ready to run if necessary but also unwilling to give up so easily after everything they had been through together, to _stay together_. It was easy to see the way Bane's body was practically quivering with anguished tension, like a coil wound too tight and ready to snap at any second. John could also see a thin sheen of sweat across Bane's body wherever skin was visible.

Bane had not reverted back to some earlier version of himself; this was still the man John had fallen in love with. Bane was simply suffering, the effects of morphine withdrawal hitting him hard after years of dependence. John was still hurt that Bane was reacting to him so poorly but he told himself to be patient.

It seemed clear that Bane still cared for him, scaring him away rather than attacking him. And Bane had put John safely to bed when he passed out. John tried to remember that, to remind himself that Bane would have left or done something a lot worse than knock his hand off if his feelings had changed. John had to hold that close and focus on helping Bane rather than worrying constantly over Bane's intentions. It was easy to assume that things would be different out of the hotel room, that their relationship might become 'normal'. But that was a foolhardy thought because Bane – and John himself – was far from normal.

With a little more understanding, John cautiously stepped closer to Bane. The growl that began rumbling in Bane's chest lifted the hairs on the back of John's neck and he hesitated, barely within arm's reach. "I want to help," he said softly.

"You cannot help," Bane snapped. A groan worked up Bane's throat when he turned his head slightly to regard John, though he seemed determined to swallow it back down again.

"Let me try," John implored, not daring to approach further until Bane gave him some sign of acceptance. It made his heart ache to see Bane in so much pain and refuse any sort of help. It left John feeling spurned and frustrated even though he thought he understood. "I know you're not used to relying on others," John continued when Bane said nothing. "But it's just me. Trust me."

Bane's eyes remained sharp and distant for a few moments as they looked John over, judging him. And then, just when John was beginning to lose hope, those eyes softened. "Will you leave me?" Bane asked, sounding nervous for the first time since John had met him. Although John didn't want to see Bane suffering, he had to admit that it was interesting to see these new emotions Bane had never showed him before.

John took another step closer, well within Bane's reach now. Bane watched his approach but said nothing. "Do you want me to leave?"

He could see Bane swallowing hard, sadness and pain on his face. "No."

"Then I won't leave," John promised, moving to stand at Bane's side. Bane looked uncomfortable, sitting stiffly in his chair and making no move to reach for John or push him away. John knelt down beside him, ignoring the pain in his legs from the position. He wanted to touch Bane, to reassure him, but didn't want to cause further pain. "It's just me," he said again, trying to soothe Bane. "You don't always need to be strong."

When Bane reached for him John didn't pull away or protest. He watched silently as Bane carefully took hold of John's left hand, the one he had knocked away. John sighed contently when he felt Bane cradle his wrist and rub light circles on the skin with a warm thumb, the twinge of pain from the hit fading. "I've always been the protector," Bane said. His thumb continued to sweep even though John could feel his arm shaking with pain from being held aloft.

Silently John used his other hand to support Bane's arm, allowing the caress of his thumb to continue but easing the ache from Bane's reach. "I feel safer knowing I have you at my back," John told him seriously. "But you need to remember that I'm watching your back too now." Bane met his eyes and didn't look away, listening intently. "We're partners, and that means we protect each other. You're not alone any longer."

Bane's other hand reached up and John leaned closer to meet his rough fingers when Bane brushed them over his bottom lip for a kiss. John allowed Bane's fingers to trace the shape of his mouth and then pressed a few delicate kisses to those fingers affectionately. Even though they could kiss with their lips now that the mask was gone, this form of a kiss would always mean something special to both of them. It had been their first display of love, not allowing their situation or Bane's mask to hinder their budding affection.

After a few minutes Bane gave a pained grunt and drew his fingers away, resting his arm on his leg. He pulled his other hand from John as well, leaving John without contact as he knelt beside the chair. "I can take care of myself," Bane stated quietly.

"I know you can," John agreed, drawing Bane's attention back to him. "But you don't have to do it alone anymore. Focus on getting better rather than worrying about what I might think because I'm not going anywhere."

"Fine," Bane grumbled.

John didn't take the annoyance in Bane's voice to heart, knowing Bane was likely irritable with the pain he was experiencing. "Good," he said, forcing himself to stand before his legs cramped up any further. "Have you eaten?"

"I reheated the soup a while ago," Bane said, turning his eyes back to watch Gotham through the windows.

"Okay, I'll find something for both of us to eat since I'm hungry too," John stretched out his muscles, unhappy knowing they would ache for another few days while they healed. "Then you should probably sleep."

"I cannot sleep," Bane sighed tiredly.

"Not sitting there you can't," John chided.

Bane's gaze flashed up to him, angry again. "If I could sleep, I would."

"Fine," John held his hands up in surrender. "Continue sitting on the most uncomfortable chair in the apartment and wonder why your body hurts and you can't sleep." John took one step past Bane's chair toward the kitchen and grunted when a strong arm shot out in front of him, barring his path. Before he could say anything Bane tightened his hold and dragged John closer, pressing their lips together with harsh determination. John moaned despite himself, leaning into the kiss until Bane pulled away. "What was that for?" he questioned breathlessly.

"Because you are mine," Bane told him, heat coming off his body in waves.

"And you're a possessive brat," John informed him, though he kissed Bane again anyway. He'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy Bane's possessiveness, especially in moments like this when it was easy to take Bane's irritable withdrawal as a sign that his feelings had changed. John liked being reminded that Bane had chosen him as John had chosen Bane in return.

This time when John moved away Bane didn't stop him and John disappeared into the kitchen. Bane had dragged the garbage bag full of food into the kitchen but had left the bag of clothes untouched in the hall, though John figured this was due to Bane's tired, aching body rather than any pickiness about the clothing.

The radio was still playing on the table and John listened intently as the various newscasters updated listeners on new information about the city as well as repeated older news from earlier in the day that John had missed while he slept. None of the information was as earth-shattering as the first broadcast but John found himself listening anyway as he boiled some pasta and heated up a jar of sauce.

Hearing the news confirmed John's suspicion that it would be a long road to recovery for Gotham. With all of the police released from their underground prison they were able to start regaining control of the city. But there was only so much they could do in the first few hours and days, many of them exhausted and sick from being trapped for so long. Quite a few of the criminals that had been released by Bane had gone into hiding, no doubt lying in wait until they could either escape the city or run rampant again.

John had mixed feelings whenever he heard Bane mentioned on the radio, even though he knew it could only be expected. He was nervous knowing that the city and authorities believed that Bane was still alive, though they were unsure of his physical state after varying reports about the final fight between Bane and Batman. As long as the people thought Bane was still alive they would continue hunting him. But John was also slightly relieved hearing that no one had any idea about where Bane might have disappeared to after City Hall. Although the police would continue searching for Bane, they would also be forced to split their attention between that and helping the city recover. For now, Bane was safe here.

Each time the news updated, the dead and injured counts increased. It would probably take days if not weeks for the city to track everything that had happened: who had died and how, which citizens of Gotham had taken advantage of the situation to wreck their own havoc, and how much damage had been dealt to the city. John wondered what it would be like in a few weeks once people had begun to return to their homes. How many would abandon Gotham and head for the tunnel? How many would continue living and try to ignore how many neighbours, friends and family members were missing?

As John drained the pasta and split it between two bowls he noticed his police badge in the corner of the kitchen on the ground where he had thrown it. John picked it up and without another thought he dropped it in the garbage bag along with his coat and Bane's armour. He had every intention of continuing to help and protect Gotham and its citizens, but John had no interest in rejoining the police force. He was certainly not against the police, but he couldn't allow justice to be restrained.

John shook his head, momentarily dispelling those thoughts. The more he thought about the police blowing up Memorial Bridge and dooming the city, and Bruce sacrificing his own life as the only option to save Gotham, the more frustrated John became. For now he forced himself to calm his mind and body, focusing instead on doing what he could to help Bane through the effects of morphine withdrawal. John could search for a new way to help Gotham on his own terms once he was certain Bane was better.

Bane was still seated in the kitchen chair overlooking the city when John returned to the living room, a bowl of pasta in each hand. He held out the bowl in offering until Bane took it with unsteady hands, resting it on his lap. John settled in the armchair a few paces away from Bane, taking his first big bite of food in almost a full day.

He closed his eyes when the warm food began filling his stomach, relieved to finally be eating. John had to make sure he didn't eat too quickly and make himself sick but it was difficult to maintain control, knowing the food would banish the clench of hunger gnawing at him and help his body begin to heal.

John looked over and was surprised to see that Bane hadn't taken a bite of pasta yet even though he was staring at it hungrily. "Something wrong?" John asked in confusion.

Bane pursed his lips, an action John found very distracting. "It has been years since I have eaten in front of someone."

"No need to be self-conscious," John said quickly, trying to make this moment casual even though he could feel his own stomach flipping with excitement. It seemed odd to place so much emphasis on something as simple as sharing a meal together, but in all the time John had been with Bane he had never been trusted enough for Bane to remove the mask.

Bane sent him an unimpressed glare. "I have never been self-conscious in my life."

"Well don't start now," John teased, trying to keep things as casual and light as possible without irritating Bane further. Bane continued to stare at him without saying or doing anything and John shrugged, feeling a little unsure about what else he could do. Eventually he returned his attention to his own pasta, eating quietly.

He watched out of the corner of his eye as Bane held the fork in his hand and prodded at the pasta a few times. John would have chuckled if the moment wasn't so significant and fragile. There was something about Bane's uncertainty that was endearing, and the fact that Bane was even willing to show this small moment of hesitance to John had his heart melting.

John made no comment when Bane finally ate his first forkful of pasta, only smiling privately to himself at the unspoken trust before busying himself with his own food again. After Bane's first bite he began eating quicker, seemingly enjoying the pasta John had made. They ate in comfortable silence and John relished in the moment; this was the first time they had been at ease together since Bane had sent him away.

The food didn't last long and John took the bowls to the kitchen, washing them and setting them in the drainer to air dry. Bane still hadn't moved when John returned again, though his back was almost a smooth curve now with how much he was hunched over. "Why don't you lie down flat?" John suggested, leaning against the window in front of Bane where he couldn't look away or ignore John. "Or maybe take a bath to soothe your body."

Bane looked like he was considering arguing further, but it seemed that the food had mollified him slightly. With a sigh Bane gave a half-hearted shrug and began the slow process of standing and walking to the bedroom. John offered an arm or a shoulder but Bane ignored him, still determined to prove that he was strong enough to take care of himself. It was hard for John to watch Bane struggle with something as simple as standing and walking, his movements no longer fluid and precise, but he could only hope that this was temporary.

John followed Bane to the bedroom, wishing he could help but hanging back as he watched Bane lower himself down on the bed and lie still. The sheets were still askew from when John had woken up a short while ago and Bane made no move to pull them up over his body. Unsure of what Bane would allow, John slowly approached the bed and tugged the sheets up, watching them settle around the bulky shape of Bane's form.

John wished he owned a queen-sized bed since they would be a little lacking in space when they both lay down in bed together. However, John hoped that now they were together, and once both of their bodies had healed, they wouldn't mind sleeping close together every night instead of needing separate space on opposite sides of the bed.

"You kept it," Bane murmured tiredly.

John was confused until he followed Bane's gaze and saw the duffel bag set on the floor by the dresser. Then John sat carefully on the edge of the bed by Bane's elbow. "Of course I kept it."

"I wondered when you showed up at City Hall without it," Bane admitted, voice fading with each passing breath.

"I hid the duffel bag here to keep it safe," John explained. "I decided that if we survived we would come here together to pick it up." John slid off the bed and grabbed the bag, setting it on his knees where Bane could see it as he unzipped it. "Everything is still here," he promised as he pulled out Osito. He left everything else in the bag and set it back down carefully, and then settled Osito against the pillow near Bane's head.

Bane considered the worn, beaten teddy bear for a moment, blinking slowly, and then turned his gaze back to John. "I had to leave everything behind so Talia would not know I was... compromised."

"I went back to our hotel room two nights ago," John admitted quietly, cupping Bane's cheek with his palm. "My drawing books weren't there."

"I would not leave them there. But I had to burn them before anyone found me with them," Bane's voice was pained. "They were all I had left of you."

John traced the strong curve of Bane's jaw, comforting in a way he never thought Bane would allow. "It's alright. I'm here now," he assured his partner. "We don't need mementos."

Bane nodded once and settled more fully against the mattress and pillows. It felt a little odd to be reassuring Bane; even odder was the fact that Bane was responding favourably to it. But he felt something inside himself loosen when he saw Bane relax, a sense of accomplishment and warmth filling him. "John," Bane called to him as he wound an arm around John's waist.

John let Bane drag him down onto the mattress and wrapped his own arm around Bane's waist to stay close. "I'm not going anywhere," he promised.

"I will not be able to sleep," Bane complained, tightening his hold until John wouldn't be able to escape even if he wanted to. "The withdrawal is making me too anxious."

"Just rest then," John soothed. He rearranged himself in Bane's embrace so that he could lift his arm and trace light circles on Bane's back. He felt a shudder work through Bane's body and the following sigh ruffled his hair. They lay there in silence together, John continuing to trace circles long after his arm began to ache at the movement. They barely moved at all until John finally heard Bane's breath even out as he drifted off into a light sleep.

John stopped tracing his fingers across Bane's body once he was certain the man was asleep, but even though there were things John wanted to get done he didn't withdraw from the bed. He told himself that there was plenty of time to get things done later on. The war was over. It was time to rest. And John refused to have Bane wake up alone while the morphine withdrawal was taking its toll. So John remained in bed with Bane quietly, leaving only briefly for the bathroom or for some food before promptly slotting himself back into Bane's arms to doze with his partner.

* * *

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"Beyond the Shadow" on AO3: archiveofourown(dot-org)/works/684270


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Non-censored version of the story on AO3: archiveofourown(dot-org)/works/684270

* * *

Time passed quickly, John's body taking the opportunity to sleep while he remained in bed with Bane. John didn't fight it each time his eyelids drifted closed, the clock jumping a few hours ahead before he looked over to read it again. He knew his body needed all the rest it could get in order to recover and heal after everything he had been through the last few months, and it was nice to simply _rest_ with Bane, comforted by the knowledge that they were both safe and together.

Bane woke up every few hours but drifted back to sleep each time without a word, only shifting his weight or tightening his grip on John slightly before his eyes closed again. John was relieved to see him sleeping for so long even though his sleep was often disturbed by achy muscles and shivering. He remembered how little Bane slept back at the hotel and doubted Bane had had a proper good night of sleep in his life before now.

By midday the next day John's body had caught up on its sleep and he was growing a little restless. He still refused to leave Bane alone though so he grabbed a book from his bookshelf and settled against the headboard, moving Osito onto the bedside table closer to Bane's side of the bed. Bane woke up in a daze at the change in position but merely re-hooked an arm around John's middle before closing his eyes again, effectively locking John in place.

John hoped that Bane would be able to sleep through his withdrawal but that was just wishful thinking. Early in the afternoon John could feel Bane's arm wrapped loosely around him spasm, his legs doing the same a moment later. Then a slow, drawn out groan rumbled deep in Bane's chest and John could feel the anguish in the sound. Bane broke out into a sweat and began to shake, only groaning again when John bundled him up in more blankets.

"Bane?" John whispered worriedly.

When he lifted a hand to hesitantly stroke the top of Bane's head a large hand reached up and grabbed his arm, holding it aloft to keep him from touching Bane's skin. "Get me morphine."

"Bane, it's okay. You'll get through this. I know it's bad now but—"

John's voice cut away when Bane tightened his hold on John's forearm. "_Morphine, now_."

John could feel his bones grind together in the tight grip, his fingers tingling as his circulation was cut off. He tried to pull his arm away but Bane only held tighter. "Bane, you're hurting me." The pain was so consuming John felt lightheaded and nauseous but he didn't pull away again, terrified of Bane causing further damage. John refused to hit Bane; besides the fact that it wouldn't solve anything, John wouldn't cause Bane further pain.

"Morphine will make this stop," Bane growled, beginning to pull at John's arm until John could feel his shoulder begin to strain.

"I won't get it for you," John hissed, pain drawing fierce anger out of him. "I know you can fight this!" Bane twisted his grip and John cried out in pain, shifting his position just to keep his bones from snapping like twigs. He whimpered. "Bane, _please stop_."

The hand holding his arm twitched and released and John scrambled off the bed and out into the hallway, his fight or flight instincts kicked into high gear as pain continued to course through his arm. John cradled his injured arm with his uninjured one against his chest as he ran out into the living room and curled up on the couch. A few unshed tears stung his eyes as his arm throbbed, though the pain was secondary to the ache in his heart. John knew Bane was in extreme pain but it hurt to know that Bane was still a man to be feared.

The pain faded to a dull ache and John blinked away the tears but he didn't return to the bedroom. He sat in sullen silence with his arm held against his chest, staring out the window at the sunlit skyline. John didn't know if he was more upset that Bane had hurt him or that Bane had not apologized. John was just beginning to wonder if he had diluted himself about Bane, chiding himself on even expecting an apology, when he heard a lumbering weight approaching.

John looked up to see Bane stumble into the living room, leaning heavily against the wall to remain upright. Both of his arms were holding his stomach in obvious pain, his skin pallor and sweaty. Even with the short distance between them John could hear the shallowness of Bane's breathing and see the dark heaviness in his eyes.

John remained where he was on the couch but sat up straighter, on the edge of his seat. Bane didn't hesitate as he stepped closer, forcing one foot in front of the other until he was standing right in front of John. Bane wavered and then fell slowly to his knees, grunting upon impact. He held out a hand but John did not offer a hand in return, continuing to cradle his sore arm protectively.

After a moment Bane's arm began to shake noticeably in the air and Bane rested his hand on the couch cushion. John was expecting an excuse or justification so his heart jumped into his throat when he heard Bane's simple words. "I am sorry."

John considered Bane, taking in the details of his now-exposed face. Bane's lips were curled down into a sad frown, eyebrows furrowed and eyes downcast. John could tell Bane wasn't lying; he truly regretted hurting John. But John couldn't just shrug this off. He didn't want to be scared and hurt every single day. They weren't even at the worst of the withdrawal yet. What would happen when the pain intensified? Would John end up with a broken arm? A broken neck?

"I don't want to be scared of you," John whispered sadly. "You've protected me from so much."

"Everything except myself," Bane lamented, eyes fixed on John's own. "But that changes now."

John felt his stomach clench painfully as Bane struggled to his feet. "What are you doing?"

"I am leaving," Bane told him, his arms wrapping around his stomach again as though holding himself together. "I will not let myself hurt you again."

Bane didn't manage more than a few faltering steps before John reached out with both hands to grab Bane's arm, hooking himself to the crease of Bane's elbow to halt him. Bane looked down at him in confusion, unmoving. "You're not allowed to give up on us that easily."

Bane pulled against his hold but without the true intent of breaking free. "I do not want to hurt you."

"Then don't," John said strongly. Bane withdrew with more strength but John used all of his weight to pull Bane down, taking advantage of Bane's weakened state to bring him toppling down to the couch.

Bane groaned but didn't fight as John led him down onto the couch. "It is not that easy," he protested.

"It _is_ that easy," John argued. "I've never met someone with more self-control than you."

"And you're going to trust me?" Bane scoffed, beginning to push himself off the couch again.

John stilled him by cupping his cheek and turning his face back. Once Bane was facing him John pressed his thumb against Bane's mouth, denting his lips around the pad of his finger. Bane stilled immediately and leaned into the kiss, eyes a little wide as he watched John. As he met Bane's gaze John nodded seriously. "I trust you."

"I will never betray that trust again," Bane proclaimed. All at once Bane was on him, pressing their lips together. John moaned and met the kiss, tilting his head to lock their lips together. John was just considering the possibility of climbing on top of Bane to feel him again – their aching bodies be damned – but was halted when he suddenly felt Bane wrench away.

John fell back against the couch when Bane pushed him away and ran. He felt dizzy between his lust and confusion; Bane had initiated the kiss and yet now he was running away. John's answer came to him a moment later when Bane seemingly found the bathroom and John heard the sound of violent retching into the toilet.

John took a moment to compose himself, slowing his breathing and racing heart. Then he stood from the couch as well and moved to the bathroom as Bane continued to alternate between retching and moaning in agony. In the doorframe John watched Bane curl over the toilet, one arm still holding his stomach and his other hand holding the toilet lid up. John heard the horrible crack of plastic splintering as Bane held the lid too tightly, his hand coming away bloody when he let go of the broken lid.

John's instincts told him to run. The primal part of him saw a vicious beast in a moment of weakness; now was the time to strike or run. But John had no intention or interest in running. After all, when his world was about to go up in a ball of flames – literally – John had run _to_ Bane and _away_ from his only known chance of survival. Bane's words echoed in his mind as the large man heaved and gasped. _I will never betray that trust again_. John's arm still ached, demanding he make a different choice, but it was drowned out by all the memories of what Bane had done for him, and what Bane meant to him.

With a sigh John turned from the bathroom and out into the hall. He returned a minute later with a large glass of water and two blankets draped over his arm. John set the glass on the counter where Bane could reach if he wished but would not knock down by accident. Then he slowly unfurled the blankets and wrapped them around Bane, fabric resting heavy on his shoulders and hugging him protectively the way John wished to hold Bane.

Bane was panting as he looked up at John, face red from exertion and skin sickly. John hovered for a moment and then knelt beside Bane, purposefully close to Bane rather than keeping his distance. Bane continued to watch John warily as John lifted a hand and carefully wiped away a few stray tears from the man's cheeks.

"It's just from throwing up," Bane informed him stiffly, voice ragged.

John smiled softly, willing to accept Bane's explanation whether it was true or not. He leaned forward, ignoring the smell of sweat and sickness, and kissed Bane's cheek. "You don't always have to be strong in front of me, you know. For once in your life just let yourself struggle. Save your energy for recovering rather than pretending; I'm not going anywhere."

He thought Bane might say something sweet or meaningful, even a simple 'thank you'. John could tell Bane had heard him and had accepted his words as good advice because he could see the way Bane's jaw went slack and his shoulders relaxed slightly. Bane's lips parted and John found himself leaning forward ever so slightly in anticipation. Then Bane's non-injured hand reached out and pushed him back, unbalancing John and sending him toppling as Bane promptly threw up again in the toilet.

John massaged his wrists after they caught the majority of his fall and then stood. He resituated the blankets around Bane's shoulders to combat the chill John knew would be leaching into his legs from the bathroom tile. After that he grabbed his first aid kit from under the sink and knelt beside Bane again, lifting his injured hand.

Blood pooled in the dip of Bane's palm and as John cleaned the gash slowly he wondered if people even considered the fact that Bane bled like everyone else. During the last few months Bane had been transformed into the epitome of evil for the citizens of Gotham. Not without significant aid from Bane's own actions, to be sure, but it left John curious to realize that many had come to view Bane as something other than human. A beast, a monster, a nightmare.

None but John knew Bane like this: a man who bled, who ailed, and who could regret and change.

Once the cut was clean John wrapped a bandage around the gash. It would not need stitches but it did need to be kept clean so it could heal. By then Bane had stopped vomiting and flushed the toilet. Then he had grabbed the glass of water as he sat against the counter. John could see the ripples in the water betraying Bane's constant tremor but he didn't draw attention to it. He packed up the first aid kit but left it on the counter in case it was needed again.

He settled on the tile in front of Bane, giving the aching man distance only to avoid causing further pain, rather than due to any fright. Bane was a man of his word and John had meant it when he told Bane he trusted him. Bane was watching him, eyes dull and bloodshot and face gone pale. He was noticeably shivering and his non-injured hand was holding his stomach again, but he seemed more tired than nauseous now.

Sitting there in the bathroom across from Bane in silence, John knew this was more trust from Bane than anyone else had probably ever received. Bane was tired, weak, sick and injured, and he had allowed John to remain close and treat his wound, to offer assistance however possible. John was touched, knowing this was Bane without _any_ mask, offering himself to John without trying to be strong.

They remained in the bathroom for a few minutes, waiting to see if Bane would throw up again or if it was safe for him to move away from the toilet. Bane drained the glass of water and let John refill it, sipping the water more slowly after that. It brought back memories of the day Bane had saved John from being raped, and when Bane had kissed him with his fingers for the first time.

At that thought John shifted closer to sit beside Bane, slowly resting his weight against Bane's arm as he waited for any sign of pain. Bane tiredly moved his hand from his pained stomach to John's knee and left it there, heavy and warm. It was enough for John to finally drop the rest of his weight against Bane's arm, head on his shoulder.

"What do you think will help?" he asked after a few more minutes of their quiet breaths mingling in the small room.

"Time," Bane said, dread and tired acceptance warring in his voice.

John turned his head and kissed Bane's jaw, aware of the little raised bumps of scarring on Bane's skin. It felt a little peculiar brushing his lips against the scars, the bumps almost tickling him the way Bane's absent facial hair would have. Struck by the sudden idea, John lifted a hand to brush his knuckles along Bane's face, up from jaw to cheekbone.

Bane turned to him slightly, watching John rather than his moving hand. John saw the curiosity on his face. "I was just wondering if your hair might grow back now that the mask is gone."

"I doubt it," Bane said gruffly, not turning away from the touch but not straining to meet John's eyes fully either. "After Venom my hair has not grown back." Bane's skin warmed under John's palm as he moulded his hand to Bane's cheek. "Does it bother you?"

John knew the waver in Bane's voice was a rare occurrence and he felt something catch in the back of his throat at the sound of it. "Of course not. I fell in love with you like this, didn't I? Even with that terrifying mask on I loved you." Bane's gaze dropped to the floor and the quiver working through his body extended through John's hand and arm. John leaned closer and kissed the corner of Bane's mouth. "I love you still," he whispered.

The corner of Bane's mouth twitched upward as though entranced by some magic bestowed by John's kiss. John felt his heart flutter, desperately fervent to see those lips curl with a genuine smile again the way they had back at City Hall during their reunion. However, the pain from the morphine withdrawal won out and John steeled himself as those lips fell back into a forlorn frown.

Refusing to lose hope, John forced himself to stand up, stretching out his stiff legs and sore arm. "I know it'll take time no matter what, but is there anything I can do to help now?"

Bane was silent for a moment as he thought, blinking and breathing slowly. John could see that each movement for Bane was now forced, each rise and fall of his broad chest a fight against pain. "More soup, maybe," Bane suggested with no real interest.

Even though John knew Bane probably had little to no appetite, he remembered what it was like to throw up on an empty stomach. It felt as though your body was trying to shred itself. All you could do was wrap your arms around your stomach and try to keep yourself from falling to pieces. John blinked away the sympathetic pain and nodded. "You can stay here or go back to bed if you want. I'll get the food ready."

Bane offered no response and John took that as his cue to get to work. Luckily he had a cupboard full of soup, left over from his years as a rookie out on the streets, more intent on watching over his city than going home and making proper meals for himself. John got a pot of soup settled on the stove and then rummaged through his fridge for something he might feel like stomaching.

All of his perishable foods had faded in his absence – sour milk, mouldy cheese, the onion in his bottom drawer sprouting anew. John held his breath and pulled out an unopened jug of orange juice before quickly closing the fridge again. Then he redirected his attention to the freezer, praying for something appealing. In the end he found a frozen half-loaf of bread, some unopened margarine and a few individually-packaged slices of cheese, and it was with an oddly comfortable sort of domesticity that John prepared a grilled cheese sandwich for himself beside Bane's simmering soup.

When the food was ready John tucked a bottle of water under his arm and held a meal in each hand, heading out of the kitchen in search of Bane. He was surprised when he found Bane in the living room rather than in the bathroom or bedroom. John was even more surprised to see Bane on the ground, spine a rigid line and arms bulging as he did slow but determined push-ups.

John was about to scold Bane – maybe even chuck the bowl of soup at his head for his stupidity – but the words died on his lips as he looked Bane over. His muscles were taut, limbs held tense and poised, but Bane's eyes had sharpened with a look of satisfaction and relief, his mouth a neutral line of focus rather than a grimace of pain.

He knew Bane had noticed his entrance and his hovering but Bane said nothing, didn't even look up at him as he continued to gruellingly rise and fall. Silently John made his way over to the couch, setting the bowl of soup on the end table beside Bane's refilled glass of water. Although John still felt the urge to tell Bane off for not resting, he couldn't deny the improvement – however slight – so he settled on the couch and began chewing on his sandwich.

John watched Bane with greedy reverence, studying each corded muscle bunch up and release, holding all of that strong bulk aloft above the ground. Bane's massive form and power almost made it seem like he was pushing the ground away, rather than himself. More than once John had to pointedly remind himself that now was not the time to feel those muscles and taste that skin, or to slip himself beneath Bane's form on the floor as a clear, demanding hint. Despite Bane's stubbornness he was still sick.

He considered the idea of grabbing a new sketchbook to draw Bane like this but decided that he didn't want to keep the memory. Although he was proud of Bane fighting the withdrawal, John didn't want to be reminded of the suffering Bane was working through. Instead he ate quietly and then simply watched, sipping water occasionally as he wondered how long Bane would be able to continue.

It was obvious to John the moment Bane had pushed himself too far. Eyes sharp as they were and focused on Bane, John noticed the second Bane pushed himself up for another push-up and his arms wavered, Bane hesitating for just a moment before lowering himself back down and starting again. John knew that those arms would buckle soon if they were not given the rest they needed.

Just as determined and feeling brave, John stood from the couch and moved to kneel beside Bane who wavered again but didn't stop. John drew his gaze along Bane's body one final time, smiling sadly, and then reached out to rest a palm on Bane shoulder. A quiver shook Bane at the touch. Bane wobbled and then carefully lowered himself fully onto the ground where he remained.

"Was that entirely necessary?" John smoothed his hand down Bane's back, reminding those tight muscles to finally relax.

After a few moments Bane was loose as he lounged on the carpet, his breathing slowly returning to a normal pace. "Motionlessness is my most hated cage," Bane said. While the words probably would have had a dark bitterness to them – casting Bane back to his years of imprisonment with a true cage keeping him from moving freely – now they were dulled with exhaustion.

John leaned closer, one hand working out a kink he felt between Bane's shoulder blades and his other hand on the floor for balance. He whispered by Bane's ear, "Come eat."

Bane grunted and lay still for another moment before pushing himself onto his hands and knees. John could read the uncertainty in his movements even if Bane refused to acknowledge it. Without any ceremony he knelt beside Bane and dipped a shoulder, subtle enough to make the offer noticeable but unacknowledged. It was with a private smile of pride that John bore Bane's weight and helped him stand when Bane dropped a hand to his shoulder.

John led him back to the couch and got him settled, handing over the soup before turning back to the hallway to grab the bag of clothes he had stolen for Bane. He dropped the bag just inside the bedroom door but pulled out a pair of pants, a shirt and a large sweater before returning. John held them up in offering when Bane looked up from his soup. "You should change into these when you're done eating. They'll be comfortable and less..." he glanced down at Bane's shirt, which was darkened with sweat. "Wet." John made a mental note to use the laundry room in the basement of the apartment building as soon as possible.

Bane's lips twitched up into a weak smile and John could feel the distinct sensation of his heart taking wing. "If you insist," Bane consented. He stared at John for a long moment and then returned to his soup. "Though I would rather wear you."

John placed the clothes on the couch armrest and sat on the couch beside Bane. He didn't fight it when the man's weight pulled down the cushions, which drew John closer until he was practically plastered to Bane's side. Neither of them minded, their shared warmth calming. John smiled in fond amusement and kissed Bane's shoulder. "Just because you're pumped full of endorphins from exercising doesn't mean you can conquer the world."

"I do not want the world. I just want you," Bane rumbled.

The flush of heat that rushed through John's body was staggering and he suddenly found it a bit difficult to breathe. In an instant his mind and body flashed back to their reunion in City Hall; the tears of happiness and relief he blinked away; the drag of his bare skin against the floor; the branding hot wetness of Bane's breath – _lips_ – _tongue_.

John released a shuddering breath as his eyes drifted closed, desire flooding his senses. He wouldn't give in now though, not when he knew pursuing this thought could hurt Bane more. To diffuse the heat in the air John rested his head on Bane's shoulder, his hair brushing against Bane's neck. "You already have me," he murmured warmly.

"You know that is not what I meant," Bane retorted, though John could feel his body relaxing again, the heat seeping away.

"I know," John assured, enjoying the feel of Bane's breathing against him. "I want that too." He allowed his longing to lower his voice, draw out his words. "But I want you healthy first." Bane growled and shifted slightly where he sat and John could tell he was considering moving to pin John to the couch. But as much as John wanted that, he turned and pressed the most tender kiss he could manage to Bane's jaw. "Later. Trust me."

Without a word Bane relented and returned to his soup. It must have been cold by that point but Bane didn't gripe, eating gradually until the large bowl was completely empty. John was relieved to see Bane getting some food into his stomach and taking the time to gulp down as much water as he could manage without making himself sick again to avoid getting dehydrated. As he picked up the empty bowl and plate John could see the pain and tension creeping back into Bane's body, dragging him back down into a protective hunch and binding him there.

John wondered if Bane might prefer to sleep on the couch rather than forcing himself to move again, but by the time he got the dishes set away, shoved the rest of the soup into the fridge to keep for later and peeked back out of the kitchen, he found the living room abandoned. The new set of clothes was missing as well and John walked to the bathroom, hearing running water through the open door.

The majority of Bane's weight was resting on the counter, the surface bearing Bane's grip as he held himself up. He had changed into the clothes John had grabbed for him and although it still looked odd to see Bane in anything other than his cargo pants and armour, the material looked loose and warm. John took in the sight of Bane brushing his teeth, the cabinet mirror askew from when Bane had opened it to fish out a new toothbrush and some toothpaste.

The mirror captured John's reflection rather than Bane's, brown eyes blinking at themselves while shadowed grey eyes stared blankly at the wall and cabinet. A needling voice whispered in John's mind that it had probably been intentional; Bane had likely turned the mirror away to avoid his own reflection out of uneasiness borne from seeing his exposed face for the first time in long years.

John briefly looked over his own reflection in the mirror, taking in the dark shadows under his eyes and the disquiet sharpening his gaze. After a lifetime of fighting and struggling to survive – growing up in an orphanage, putting his life on the line to save the lives of others on the streets, falling in love with a villain and still hoping for a happy ending – it was impossible to fully turn off that instinct of caution. He would always be waiting, vigilant, for the next challenge to his fragile hopes and happiness.

"Come to bed with me."

John's eyes flickered from the mirror to Bane, who had set the cleaned toothbrush by the sink and had picked up his glass of water again. The words were spoken as a command but John knew by now the intricacies of Bane's voice. He could hear the lift of a question buried there, even though no uncertainty was necessary.

"Of course," John smiled gently.

He turned on his heel and walked to the bedroom, feeling like he was following even though he was stepping a few paces ahead of Bane. John knew he would always be aware of where Bane was in relation to him, feeling the undeniable pull to Bane like a gravity he never wanted to escape. He cherished the way they moved together, connected without words as they slid into bed and into each other's arms. It felt like home.

* * *

**Follow me on Tumblr for posting information and teasers for my stories:** **onewhositswiththeturtles(dot-tumblr-dot-com)**

"Beyond the Shadow" on AO3: archiveofourown(dot-org)/works/684270


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Non-censored version of the story on AO3: archiveofourown(dot-org)/works/684270

* * *

John dozed for a few hours and then woke in the evening, his body restless as he drifted back and forth between asleep and awake. Bane was thankfully still sleeping and instead of risking waking him up by remaining in bed while awake, John extracted himself from Bane's loose hold and the bed. He resituated the blankets over Bane's shivering body – seeing the raised goose bumps on his arms – and then exited out into the hallway.

He spent some time cleaning up his apartment a bit, focusing mainly on the kitchen. It took a while but eventually John had a garbage bag full of decomposing food he needed to get out of the apartment, throwing out any solids he couldn't pour down the sink. It was an unbearably smelly trip out into the apartment building hallway to drag the bag to the garbage chute and John noticed that his muscles were still tiring quicker than normal, but he was still proud of his work when he returned to the kitchen and found that already the stench was beginning to abate.

John lit a candle in the kitchen to help with the smell and then worked on the rest of the house, cleaning up the general disarray that always followed a thief like a whirlwind, any items not of value tossed haphazardly. It left John a little nervous, knowing at least one unwelcome person had gone through his things. But he reminded himself that the thief had come and gone a few months ago, and no one would dare cross John now with Bane by his side – sick or not.

Once the apartment was in some state of order John grabbed a frozen dinner from the freezer and heated it up, eating by candlelight as he listened to the radio. More updates continued to stream through the radio, informing John about everything that was happening outside his door as Gotham steadied itself and looked ahead to rebuilding. There were also increasing speculations that Bane had cast himself into the river, frozen and drowned, as everyone searched for some form of resolution despite being unable to find Bane.

There was so much to deal with that John's hand wavered over the radio, wanting so badly to turn it off and drown out the news and his thoughts. He knew it wouldn't solve anything though and dropped his hand back to the table, his other hand still occupied with his fork as he munched blandly on the freezer-burned chicken.

Many buildings would need to be rebuilt and mended from the riots and war. Hundreds if not thousands would need to be buried; John had no doubt that everyone had lost at least one person they knew. Everyone was in mourning, broken and defeated and too tired to celebrate their survival. Things would never be the same here again.

All of the stolen property would never be fully returned to rightful owners, many houses and apartments left empty by owners who would never return. Friends and family would hold each other closer but may never feel safe again. How could they? Gotham attracted the worst sorts of people, and the Dent Act had now lost all of its legal power against criminals. Batman had been their main protector but he had paid for Gotham's safety with his life – how long would that safety last? And when it inevitably crumbled, who could the citizens place their hope with?

John turned his hand over, palm offered up. In the flickering candlelight, radio static in his ear, John took in the outline of his police badge cut into his skin. He hadn't paid it much attention the last few hours since he had been busy worrying about Bane, but his skin still stung, refusing to let him forget his decision easily. How could John sit here and listen to the radio talk about the city – _his city_ – struggling and throw away his badge? Turn away?

John clenched his hand into a fist until he could feel the cuts crack and split open, taking the pain with greedy guilt. He deserved this pain, deserved _more_ pain. He had weathered the war by hiding away in Bane's arms and had chosen Bane over the people in the end. It was a choice John wouldn't change, but one he had to face. Just because he had chosen Bane didn't mean he would abandon Gotham, and he refused to be restrained and forced to abide any further injustices, but how was he going to help if he quit the police force?

With a heavy sigh John turned off the radio and stood from the table. He rinsed out the cardboard tray from his dinner and washed the welling blood from his palm. Then he blew out the candle, casting the kitchen in darkness, and headed to the bathroom. John took a long time to shower, allowing the warm water to wash away some of his frustration along with the blood, sweat and dirt he had acquired over the last few days.

He couldn't stay in the shower forever though, the water turning icy and driving John out again. John towelled off and changed back into his relatively clean clothes and then turned his attention to the bathroom counter to wrap his hand the way he had wrapped Bane's only a few hours ago. As he bandaged his hand he watched the conflict in his eyes, wishing his reflection could offer some form of wisdom.

Finding no inspiration and growing quite tired of looking at his forlorn expression, John turned from the mirror and packed up the first aid kit. He turned off the light on his way out and headed back towards the bedroom. Bane was fitful in sleep as John slipped under the covers, though the larger man calmed slightly as John curled up against his back. John hoped that some part of Bane could tell John was close by, the thought helping John's mind finally calm and return to his dreams.

#

He woke up in bed alone, a situation that had John's heart jumping up into his throat. It reminded him of the weeks he had stayed with Bane before they had grown closer, when Bane would wake up early and leave John alone to the cold bed while he left to wreck havoc on the streets. It also reminded John of the previous week when Bane had sent him away, after all the kisses and claiming, the discussions and soft glances. For one week John had woken up in bed alone and he had _despised_ it.

John could feel their unique gravity drawing him out of bed in search of Bane, worried and almost sick with the urge to see Bane again. The pre-dawn light was just beginning to paint the sky lighter through the windows as John stumbled out of bed and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, pulling his sweater tightly around himself before venturing out into his apartment to begin the search.

He didn't have far to look, the bathroom door closed and the rest of the apartment silent. On bare feet John padded up to the bathroom door and knocked softly, eyebrows knitting together in concern when he received no reply. "Bane?" he called, voice unsteady when he received only more silence. "Bane?"

Still there was no response and John turned the handle slowly, finding it unlocked. He wasn't sure what to expect when he stepped into the room, nor how to react when his eyes finally swept across the small room. The air was thick with heat and sickness, the empty water glass on the counter and the toilet seat up after Bane had no doubt spent more time hunched over it, throwing up anything that still remained in his stomach.

Bane was a bundle of clothing and muscle in the bathtub, curled up into a ball and barely fitting into the deep basin of the tub below the tap and far below the higher shower head. Bane's back was turned to the door and his body was rising and falling minutely, hinting at a normal breathing pattern as Bane dozed through his exhausted suffering. It would be a comical sight – the massive terror of Gotham curled up in the tub – if it wasn't so heartbreaking.

John grabbed some extra blankets and a spare pillow from the hall closet and returned to the bathroom, carefully placing the blankets on top of Bane. He knew they could only help so much at keeping Bane warm since the porcelain of the tub would sap most of Bane's body heat while he continued to lie there, but John wanted to do anything he could.

Bane stirred with a terrible groan as John struggled to tuck a few blankets around his body for extra warmth. John winced and silently scolded himself on disturbing Bane, but took the opportunity to sit on the lip of the tub and rest a hand on Bane's bicep. "Won't you come back to bed?" he asked sadly.

His concern mounted when Bane didn't even make an effort to roll over and look at John, let alone stand from the tub to return to the bedroom. "I cannot stop vomiting," Bane told him.

John believed him. He could hear the sharp catch in Bane's voice that came from upchucked stomach acid. "We could get a bucket," he suggested, his hand traveling the length of Bane's arm, down and back up. "You'll ache more if you stay like this."

"I would prefer to be here," Bane retorted. "At least until the nausea stops." From where he was sitting John watched Bane's eyes drift closed again and remain that way. "If it ever stops."

Knowing there was no point in arguing, John picked up the pillow from the floor and set it on his knees. Then he slowly touched a hand to Bane's neck as a warning. He received a grunt at the contact but no complaints. John charily hooked his hand under Bane's neck and shoulder, pulling him up until he could slip the pillow between Bane's head and the chilled porcelain.

The thanks he received was a quiet sigh of relief and John smiled as he brushed his uninjured palm along the crown of Bane's head. "It will stop," he promised, leaning forward to press a kiss to Bane's sweaty temple. Bane didn't stir at the caress or kiss even though John knew he was still awake, but John didn't take offense. "Just call if you need anything," he said as he stood, looking down at Bane bundled up in his tub.

He was halfway to the door when that low, always-precise voice spoke to him. "John?"

John paused and glanced over his shoulder. "Yeah?"

"Thank you."

"You're welcome," John smiled even though Bane wouldn't see it. He stood there for another moment and then headed for the door, leaving it open ajar on his way out so that he could hear Bane if he called for him. Bane never did actually call John for assistance at any point while he struggled through the morphine withdrawal, though that was probably at least partially due to the fact that he never _had_ to call; John fretted enough that he hovered as much as Bane would allow him.

The day passed with agonizing slowness as John watched Bane suffer, the worst of the withdrawal happening two days after his last injection of morphine. After years of dependence on morphine as Bane had lived his life trying to avoid the lingering agony of the Venom drug pumped into him, the fallout was horrible to watch.

For almost the full day after Bane had claimed the tub as his new bed, Bane couldn't stop throwing up. John didn't really want to listen to it, feeling his own stomach twist with sympathetic nausea. But the only thing John had to drown Bane out was the radio, and he was mostly unwilling to drown Bane out anyway in case he needed help. Early in the morning John would hear the retching followed by a growl or groan of displeasure, though by the time the sun was inching towards the western horizon John could only hear a few sad, broken, sobs.

Sometimes when John ventured into the bathroom he found Bane curled around the base of the toilet, staying close as he panted in case another wave of sickness swept over him. Other times John would find Bane back in the tub, blankets pulled tight around him as a protective barrier, tearstained and shaking violently.

At first John attempted to get Bane to eat something, worried about how hungry Bane would get. Bane couldn't manage to keep any food down though, immediately throwing up anything he swallowed, so John gave up and focused on keeping Bane hydrated. Even the water ended up in the toilet occasionally, but when Bane sipped very slowly and lay perfectly still he could sometimes hold down the nausea long enough for his body to absorb some of the water.

To be truthful, John was terrified for Bane. In only a day John could see how weak Bane was becoming, pain, sickness and stomach cramps stealing any remaining strength from his body. By the afternoon John had to help Bane from the toilet to the tub where he had thrown down a duvet for Bane to lie on top of. Bane would never comment but he didn't have to; John could feel how much of his weight was resting on John's shoulder, and couldn't miss the way Bane's feet dragged and stumbled.

Whenever Bane would allow John into the bathroom he would sit on the lip of the tub, offering water or wiping away sweat from Bane's brow with a warm washcloth. John wondered if he was being too overbearing but Bane never complained or sent him away. Sometimes when John stood up to rewet the washcloth or get more water Bane's hand would clasp his wrist – gently this time – and keep him close. John would always sink back down into a seated position at the silent request, only leaving when Bane released him.

John did his best to keep a brave face on when he was in the bathroom, but when he left to make lunch for himself or give Bane some privacy it was harder to fight down his panic. He would end up by a window looking out at the quiet city; many citizens still holed away and not believing the radio proclaiming their freedom and safety. A few times John had to swallow around a painful lump in his throat as his thoughts took a tailspin. John wondered what he would do if Bane died. _After everything they had been through to be together_.

He wanted to take Bane to a hospital but that was obviously out of the question. Just because Bane was sick and without a mask didn't mean he wouldn't be instantly recognized. John couldn't run the risk of taking Bane out of the apartment now, especially while he was so weak and defenceless. He wouldn't forgive himself if Bane was arrested or killed, even if every other citizen of Gotham agreed that it was what he deserved.

It was as these thoughts plagued him, the sun recently set on the far horizon, that John heard a hesitant knock at the door. The sound startled John so badly that he jumped, cursing quietly as he spun on his heel to regard the door across the living room and down the hallway. His eyes flickered to the bathroom door, which was closed, wondering what he should do.

He could ignore the person at the door but he didn't want any more thieves breaking into his house. He could rouse Bane except he doubted Bane would be much help anyway, and John wanted to keep him out of sight if possible. Bane wasn't making any noise in the bathroom, probably back in the tub and hopefully asleep, so John would leave him there and hope there was just an innocent neighbour at the door.

A second knock rung through the apartment, a little more insistent this time and forcing John into movement before the knocker woke Bane up. On quick, silent feet John rushed into the bedroom to pocket Bane's pocket knife and pick up his gun, clicking off the safety as he walked back to the front door. A third knock came, even louder than before, and John winced in fear at the thought of Bane waking up and coming to the door.

Feeling a little rushed now, John undid the locks on his door. As he reached for the doorknob he held his left hand with the gun behind the door, hidden but ready if it became necessary. He took a slow, steadying breath and then pulled the door open. John choked, feeling his heart hammering in his chest when he saw Commissioner Gordon standing out in the hallway, looking exhausted and harried but alive.

"Gordon," John choked out and then immediately chided himself silently. John had to make sure he didn't act too nervous or suspicious while Gordon was here; now was the time when John had to return the favour and protect Bane. John flicked the safety back on and shoved the gun into his waistband, trying to breathe normally. Gordon's sharp eyes watched the action but said nothing, no doubt understanding John's caution after what they had all collectively experienced. "What are you doing here?" John asked when the Commissioner didn't say anything.

"I think the better question is what are _you_ doing here?" Gordon shot back, angry and confused. John swallowed thickly, guilt immediately falling on him like a crushing wave. Gordon seemed to notice the reaction because he sighed, his eyes softening slightly. "I'm sorry, no. That was wrong of me. I'm here to see if you're alright." Gordon grimaced. "I didn't hear from you after we spoke last and no one has seen you and I worried..."

"Worried what?" John's voice was tight. Had Gordon assumed John had abandoned Gotham in search of Bane?

"Worried you were _dead_!" Gordon snapped, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. John was actually touched that the thought seemed to cause Gordon genuine distress. Not that John would ever say Gordon didn't care about his men, but as the Commissioner he had so many people to watch over that John guessed many didn't stand out for particularly notice. "You're a good man, Blake."

"Thank you, sir." John found it difficult to swallow, to breathe. His chest was constricting, denying him enough oxygen.

"Don't thank me, Detective," Gordon cut him off, eyes hard and calculating again. "I want an explanation as to why you're here at home and not out on the streets helping. I want to know why I had to go through police records to look up your address and come here instead of you contacting me."

"My phone was stolen months ago," John defended weakly. Gordon's eyes flashed with renewed anger and John struggled not to look away like a petulant child. He knew that wasn't a good enough answer for the Commissioner. John made sure his voice didn't waver; he didn't want his decision to sound half-hearted or lazy. "Truth is, I quit the force." Gordon raised an eyebrow and was very silent. "Not officially yet, obviously," John continued, words suddenly spilling from him without his consent. "But I threw out my badge."

John had been prepared for the anger. What tore through him was the look of disappointment on Gordon's face. "Scared, Blake?" Gordon asked quietly. "Or changed?"

"The last few months might have changed me, Gordon. But I have not changed sides. And I am _not_ scared," he whispered viciously.

Gordon wanted to believe him; John could see it on his face. "Then why?" Gordon looked past John into the apartment. "When the city needs you now more than ever? _Good men_ like you. Gotham would have been lost without you and you fought for it despite your situation. But you give up now?"

John knew Gordon was referring to his captivity with Bane, and their hushed conversation when Gordon had asked John if he had ever been in love before. John's gaze fell to the floor, suddenly ashamed. "I haven't given up," he told Gordon, though there was uncertainty in his tone now. "But I heard about the police blowing up the bridge just to follow orders and I can't... I _can't_ be confined by the law like that. I won't be forced into making those choices."

Gordon breathed a heavy sigh and ran his fingers through his hair, agitated. Then his shoulders slumped forward, defeated. "I know we had that conversation all those months ago about the structures failing you and turning into shackles. I meant it, and I still do," Gordon glanced up at him. "But you can still do more good with the police than you can as an independent citizen at home. The badge gives you more power, and you can use that power to do good."

John's jaw clenched. It sounded so appealing, and horribly easy to nod and dig his badge out of the garbage, to sacrifice some freedom and integrity for the power to actually do something meaningful. But he couldn't forget. "That power comes with strings."

Gordon nodded, not refuting him. "Yes, it does. And you will need to decide if you are willing to accept those strings." He didn't seem to expect John to decide right now, which relieved John as Gordon continued to speak. "Despite what I said before and what I've been through, I choose to accept those strings because I know it's my best opportunity to do good for my city. But who knows," Gordon's lips quirked up. "Maybe you can find a different opportunity."

John shrugged, not really knowing what to say. He had already been thinking about this, about how he could still help Gotham even if he quit the police force, but he hadn't been able to think of any viable options that made sense. He said the only thing he could think of. "So you're not resigning?"

"No, Gotham is stuck with me," Gordon chuckled softly, though the laugh was a little sad. The Commissioner had made mistakes in the past, especially recently. There would no doubt be some people unhappy with him maintaining such a powerful position after the speech Bane had read months ago.

John rested a hand on Gordon's shoulder, drawing his gaze. "The people are lucky to have you," he said seriously. He meant it, even if a small part of him worried about Bane's safety with Gordon still on the streets. Though John reminded himself that he had to care about the citizens' wellbeing, not just his own and Bane's.

"Thanks, John," Gordon smiled and then cleared his throat gruffly. "Just do me a favour and don't throw your badge away yet, alright? Think on it a bit more."

John nodded, thinking back to the second bag of garbage he still had shoved into the corner of his kitchen. It was filled with his badge and coat as well as Bane's armour and mask. He had not known how to dispose of it without risking the possibility of someone finding the items – especially together. "I'll think on it."

"Glad to hear it," Gordon smiled for another moment before the curl of lips faltered. John watched Gordon shove his hands into his pockets, suddenly uncomfortable. "Listen, I came for another reason as well. Next Tuesday is Bruce Wayne's funeral." John's heart stumbled, clenched, ached. He felt like all of the energy had left his body, leaving him hollow. All of his senses were too aware, the world sharp against him. "I know you two were close so I wanted you to know. It's not going to be a big thing, just a few of his close friends."

John was numb as he thought about standing over Bruce's grave, on the edge of the Wayne property no doubt. He would have to look down at the grave and know that his friend – one of his closest friends despite the short time they had really known each other – had sacrificed _everything_ to save his city. There would be no more Batman, no more Bruce Wayne.

Bruce had grown up to accomplish so much, _be_ so much, overcoming his many loses in childhood and youth. He had been an inspiration to John and a friend on top of that, someone John could relate to better than most. Bruce had experienced the same sort of sadness and anger that stemmed from the loss they shared, but he had _harnessed_ it and become a symbol for selfless justice. John had learned so much from him in the short time they had known each other, and he could only hope that he could follow a similar path someday. He hoped he could someday be that brave and help so many people.

At this thought John met Gordon's searching gaze. "Did he tell you...?" he hedged, unwilling to say too much in case Gordon didn't know.

He could tell Gordon knew when the man's stiff shoulders suddenly drooped, as though a heavy weight had finally been lifted. "You knew?"

"I could just sort of tell," John tried to explain. "Similar backgrounds and everything. I guessed and confronted him and he told me."

"He was a good man," Gordon whispered sadly. "We owe him so much."

John found it a bit odd that neither of them were saying it outright – _Bruce was Batman_. But he decided that it was because it didn't need saying. They both knew and shared that secret, and would continue to protect Bruce's secret the way he wished. Bruce had wanted to act as a symbol of hope for others; the point was never for anyone to know his identity. And while John thought that all of Gotham – the _world_ – should know, he would honour Bruce's wish in death.

They stood together in John's doorframe for a few moments in silence, mourning together. But it wasn't long before John remembered that Bane was in his bathroom and could wake up at any moment, making enough noise to draw Gordon's attention or worse, stepping out of the bathroom and being seen. Suddenly aware of how precarious a situation he was in, John cleared his throat. "Thanks for coming by. I'll definitely be there. Wayne Manor?"

"Yeah." Gordon fumbled in his jacket pocket and pulled out a slip of paper with a phone number written on it. "When you get a new phone you can reach me at this number. I'd really like to see you back on the force but even if you decide not to come back I'd like to stay in contact."

"I'd like that too," John said honestly, taking the paper and putting it in his own pocket for safekeeping. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry," he rushed to say, his cheeks hot, his collar too tight though he refused to fidget with it. "I'll never stop fighting to protect Gotham, but I know I've disappointed you."

"As long as you don't give up and keep fighting you will never disappointment me," Gordon assured him, offering a hand. Warm with the words, John shook Gordon's hand firmly.

When they broke apart Gordon took a step back out into the hall, though he wavered and stood still again. John remained in the doorframe, feeling nervous again as Gordon's eyes looked him over and then glanced past John's shoulder into the apartment. John refused to look behind him despite his sudden dizzying fear that Bane was there, in view. "Something wrong?" he tried to sound calm, merely curious.

Gordon shook his head and smiled again, eyes meeting John's own. "Nothing wrong. Though there was one more thing I meant to say before I head off." John's thoughts were spinning, fear feeding his nerves and leaving him fidgety. When John said nothing, Gordon returned his hands to his pockets. "I'm sure you've heard on the news by now that Miranda Tate was the mastermind behind all this."

John tried to swallow and failed, his mouth dry. He didn't want to be talking about these sorts of topics, the ones that could potentially have him slipping the secret that Bane was still alive. He was thankful that he could at least act out his discomfort and bolster it up to make it look more like betrayal and shock; after all, before Bane had told him everything John really had believed Miranda had been an innocent civilian – _a helpful civilian_. It was only when he knew the truth that John realized how many missions she had probably sabotaged, hiding behind a charming smile and a soft voice that could sweep you away.

"I heard," John spoke carefully. "I could hardly believe it was true. We told her so much."

"I know," Gordon grumbled, clearly just as upset as John if not more so. "But as I'm sure you've also heard, she died in the war. I was there when she confessed." John waited for Gordon to continue, not entirely sure what Gordon wanted to say since all of this information had been available on the radio. Gordon looked at him and seemed to pick up on his confusion, because he took a deep breath. "I wanted to inform you that she will be buried in an unmarked grave uptown in the Restwoods Cemetery."

John studied Gordon's face closely, trying to understand. "Why would I want to know that?"

Gordon's eyes flickered past his shoulder again and John felt his blood turn to ice in his veins. Gordon knew, or at least suspected that Bane was here with him. And of course Bane would want to know where Talia had been buried. Was this a trap to get Bane to leave the apartment and reveal himself? A ruse to get John to reveal Bane by accident? John prepared himself for a barrage of questions and felt unsteady when Gordon looked at him square in the eye and shrugged. "Just a hunch."

No questions, no demands, no interrogation. John knew Gordon wouldn't have said anything about Miranda if he didn't think Bane was here with him, and yet he was making no attempt to corner him. "I don't understand," John muttered truthfully.

"After I found out about Miranda's involvement I began thinking back to the conversation we had a few months ago..." Gordon trailed off for a moment, lost in thought. "Let's just say I want to believe people can change."

John knew it might give too much away but he couldn't hold back his heavy sigh of relief. "Thank you."

Gordon's eyes were soft but his mouth was a hard line. "Don't thank me yet, Blake. I'll see you on Tuesday at the manor."

With that said Gordon gave him one final nod and began down the hallway, headed to the stairs and out of sight. John remained standing in the doorframe watching Gordon until he disappeared. Only then did he step back into his apartment and close the door, sliding his locks back in place. After that John leaned against the closed door, trying to calm his heart and breathing. He couldn't believe that conversation had just occurred. He had never even hoped that someone might understand...

A few thoughtful minutes passed by before John finally pushed himself away from the door. He first made his way into the kitchen, digging through the bag in the corner until he found his badge and pulled it out. He looked it over for a moment, noticing that a corner of metal was stained red with his blood, and then he dropped it onto the kitchen table. John had promised Gordon he would think about it, but he was not comfortable carrying the badge yet.

The conversation with Gordon and his sudden appearance had made John anxious and he was desperate to see Bane again, to be reassured that Bane was really alive and in his bathroom. John forced himself to briefly walk past the bathroom to put away his gun and knife in the bedroom. Then he returned to the bathroom and knocked on the door tentatively. "Bane?" he called nervously, not hearing anything beyond the door.

He received a grunt in reply, permission enough, and John walked into the room. Bane was in the tub but he was lying on his back, glassy eyes blinking slowly at the ceiling. John hesitated for a moment, suddenly wondering if he belonged here. The two sides of his life – police and criminal, good and bad, light and dark – had just collided violently, splintering and shaking John to his core as he struggled to figure out where he belonged.

John had told Gordon he quit the police force to avoid the injustices, but wasn't allowing Bane to walk free an injustice after everything he had done? What sort of man would John be if he allowed Bane to avoid any punishment? Bane owed a lot to this city and needed to make some form of repayment. Restore balance. Yet, what sort of man would John be if he betrayed Bane and gave up on him? When they had reunited in City Hall they had promised to shed their masks and begin afresh, and John wanted to give Bane that opportunity to prove himself.

John was broken from his thoughts when Bane slowly tilted his head to the side, eyes clearing slightly as they regarded him. "John."

The hand Bane held up as both an offering and summon trembled visibly and John rushed to sit on the lip of the tub immediately. He took Bane's hand in his own and rested it on his leg, ignoring the clammy skin as his warmer hand rested on top. "I'm right here," he told Bane, whose eyes had gone glassy again and hooded.

"I love you," Bane murmured.

Stress, fear, and relief mixed into a dangerous cocktail of feelings and John choked back a sob, his face awash with tears that he couldn't seem to quell. A few tears pattered onto Bane's forearm where it was outstretched and Bane looked back to him. John could see Bane's eyebrows furrow as he struggled to focus, to sharpen his attention. "I love you too," John whispered it like a plea, overcome with too much emotion and uncertainty.

"Then why are you crying?" Bane wondered aloud, his other hand coming to rest on top of John's.

It was such a simple question, but it was so difficult to answer. "Just a little overwhelmed. Worrying about you, sad that my friend Bruce died..." Embarrassed, John wiped away his tears with his free hand. "There's just a lot going on in my head right now."

Bane didn't say anything for a moment and John wondered if he would ever say anything, or if he was expecting John to continue. John couldn't think of what else to say though; he wouldn't pile all of his fears and uncertainties on Bane now while he was so sick. Bane finally seemed to decide what to say, taking a shuddering breath. "You should go to the funeral."

John was caught off-guard at the comment. "Did you hear my conversation?"

Bane gave him a slightly unimpressed look. "The walls are not as thick as you seem to think." John bit his bottom lip, worried Bane might be angry or uncomfortable after the Commissioner's intrusion. To his surprise, Bane only tightened his hold on John's hand slightly. "Thoughtful of the Commissioner."

John dropped his gaze, oddly ashamed. "I was going to tell you."

"I know." There was no doubt in Bane's voice.

The trust spurred new tears, salt on John's lips as he sniffled. "Would you like to visit Talia?"

"Yes," Bane said, smile weak and wry. "But not now."

John's short laugh caught in his throat. "Obviously not."

"John," Bane spoke his name again. It never failed to warm John, to make him feel like everything would be okay someday. John looked up, Bane's eyes finally clear. "Bruce was important to you. You should say goodbye to your Batman one last time."

John wrenched himself away in shock, legs landing on the cold tile and sending a bolt of pain up his spine. "_You knew_?" he gasped, heart hammering. _Bane knew_?

Bane didn't stir in the bathtub, only watched John with his unwavering gaze. "I knew."

A sickening, sharp clarity fell over John like a pane of glass shattering over his bowed head. "You were the reason Bruce vanished all those months ago. Why he was gone so long."

He couldn't lift his head to see Bane's face. His eyes remained on the tile, wide and unseeing. "I was," Bane agreed after a minute, deliberate and certain. "When he confronted me in the sewers we fought." A pause. "I broke his back and sent him to the prison where I grew up."

On his knees and forearms, head bowed, John gagged. There was nothing to throw up but his imagination kept supplying him with horrible images of Bane and Bruce fighting, of Bruce sprawled on the ground unable to move. The sound of bones splintering seemed to be all John could hear, drowning out the sound of his quickened breathing. John gagged again and whimpered as his stomach cramped, his imagination assaulting him.

A hand touched the top of his head, fingers slipping tentatively through his locks of hair. John was too weak to pull away from the tiny comfort even though he hated himself for it. He wanted to say he couldn't believe it – _wouldn't_ believe it... but he knew Bane. John would not let himself be fooled by his own naive desires. This relationship could only work if he accepted Bane for all he was—

It struck John again, the clarity that had him clenching his teeth in disgust at himself as well as shock. Bane had just told him that he had broken Bruce's back and left him to die. Bane had nearly killed John's friend and hero. And still... _Still_ John was thinking about how to make this relationship work. How?

_How_?

How could he still love a man despite all of the horrible things he had done? Everything that went against John's beliefs and hopes, yet he was still willing to understand and forgive. The fingers soothing his hair felt so perfect and warm and John could only stay there and blink away tears. He loved Bane and found a companion in him unmatched by anyone else, but it forced John to question everything he stood for.

John realized after some time had passed that Bane had said nothing more. "Why." John demanded, angry and desperate, fingernails catching on the edges of the tiles.

"I have no acceptable excuse," was Bane's response. "It was before I met you. Before I understood his importance to you or the value of hope he symbolized." John was about to knock the hand away that continued to stroke his hair, insist that that _wasn't good enough_, but Bane continued. "But that does not excuse my behaviour."

His words were cold, emotionless. It sounded like an insult to John's ears, to hear Bane talk about this like it was nothing. "How can you be so calm telling me this?"

"Bruce's and Batman's demise came from me and it is my burden to bear," Bane said. "I accept that burden because my actions have hurt you deeply, and knowing I have caused you pain is the most difficult punishment for me to endure."

"Shouldn't you at least apologize?" John accused.

Despite John's sharp words, Bane didn't stop petting his hair. "I do not ask for forgiveness because I do not deserve it." Those fingers dug a little deeper, massaging John's scalp and the base of his skull. "I only ask for a second chance, a clean slate, to prove I have changed."

Embarrassed as John was, he wept. Not for long and not loudly, but he knew Bane would feel him trembling beneath his ceaseless fingers. John cried in despair, mourning the simpler days of his life when things had made sense. He was here with Bane, the man who had destroyed his city and killed his friend, and though John was not ready to forgive him, he _wanted to_. John coughed to clear his throat and wiped his tears away with the back of his hand, finally moving until he was sitting on the tile, parallel to Bane.

His knees were against his chest, his arms hugging them close. John kept his head bowed and allowed Bane to continue brushing his large fingers through his hair, but he couldn't meet Bane's eyes. "I will leave if you wish it," Bane offered, shockingly shy.

"I don't," John told him. He reached up and captured Bane's hand, moving it to rest on the rim of the tub with John's hand on top. John rested his cheek on his knees, watching as his fingers slowly skated across the hairless skin of Bane's forearm.

"Thank you," Bane said.

The words startled John, who finally flicked his eyes up to meet Bane's grey ones. "I didn't really do anything," he evaded the thanks, uncomfortable and confused.

"You gave me a chance and that is more than anyone else has done." Bane's look was serious and grateful.

John nodded but had nothing to say. He was willing to give Bane another chance; they wouldn't be here if he wasn't. John had seen the changes in Bane. Trusted him, and loved him. Bane had done many terrible things in his lifetime, but regret was not enough. He needed someone to believe in him in order to follow the new path he had chosen for himself, someone to bear witness to Bane's metamorphosis as he shed his former sins and began anew.

John needed to stop seeing Bane as a monster, to allow those actions to be cast off with the mask, for Bane to be free. He thought he had already done so, but it seemed far too easy for those fears and dark thoughts to return. It would hurt John and weigh down his own conscience, but he was the only one who could help Bane in this. He was the only one who knew Bane was more than the mask, knew that it was _worth it_ to give Bane his second chance. Because Bane could be so much more – was _already_ so much more.

John withdrew his hand and Bane didn't pursue him. "I need some air." He stood slowly, waiting for Bane to call him back or say something else, but the large man only nodded his understanding. "I'm going to try to eat something after that. Do you want anything?" John asked, feeling awkward.

"The thought of food still makes me sick," Bane said, actually seeming to pale slightly with nausea as he spoke.

"Alright," John said. He said nothing else as he refilled Bane's large glass with water and set it by the tub and then headed out into the apartment, closing the door behind him.

It wasn't long after he left the bathroom that John heard Bane throwing up again. He winced in sympathy, imagining how painful it must be to feel your stomach clench with such agony and your throat burn with acid for over a day. Bane didn't call for him though and John was guiltily grateful for that. He needed the evening to himself to think and sort through all of the realizations and decisions he had gone through that afternoon.

John ended up watching the streets below for a few hours, sitting close enough to the window that he could feel tendrils of winter's chill reach for him through the glass. He munched on some toast, his appetite abandoning him after hearing Bane say he had broken Bruce's back. John thought about a lot of things as he sat there.

He thought about what sort of determination and strength it would take for someone to have their back broken and then heal and recover, working until they were even stronger than before, and return to offer up their body and soul for their city again. Risking everything, and inevitably sacrificing everything. John wondered if Bruce had had any regrets as he took the bomb out over the water and wished fervently that he didn't have to wonder.

John also thought about Gordon, the men on the bridge, Talia and Bane. It was a quiet night of reflection as he considered the importance of every action and decision, what it meant to say you wanted to change when everyone lived in a grey world of morals, and what it said about John when he forgave a man for actions he thought unforgivable.

Finally when the moon was high in the sky and John's eyes and heart were too heavy to continue on, John stood. He left the apartment briefly to use the bathroom in one of the abandoned apartments, feeling less uncomfortable than he had when stealing clothes and food. John had noticed a few people returning to the apartments around him, but a few – like the one John had stolen from – remained vacant.

When he returned John didn't even hesitate by the bathroom door, stepping in with a sense of calm that only came from being too tired to form any thoughts. With automatic movements he refilled the glass with water and left it by the tub, Bane cradled in porcelain as he slept. Then John walked into the bedroom and slid under the sheets he had never bothered to remake. And with a relieved sigh, John fell into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

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"Beyond the Shadow" on AO3: archiveofourown(dot-org)/works/684270


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Non-censored version of the story on AO3: archiveofourown(dot-org)/works/684270

* * *

John woke with sunlight in his eyes and a light heart. It felt as though his mind had been busy working through all of his conflicting emotions and anxieties while he slept, leaving him feeling weightless when he blinked his eyes open slowly. It was a wonderful, relieving sensation, and John sighed contently as he stretched under the sun-soaked blankets for a few minutes.

While last night he had gone to bed uncertain of just about everything he believed and stood for, today John felt assured in his decisions. Bane's past did not have to be his present or future. John did not care any less for his city and its people just because he also cared for Bane. Loving Bane didn't mean he had abandoned his morals, or honoured Bruce's sacrifice any less.

Feeling renewed, John got out of bed with a small smile on his lips. He changed into a fresh set of clothes and then dropped to his knees, slipping carefully under the bed to pry up a floorboard he had loosened upon moving in. John was relieved to find his little safe box still where it should be, the thief missing out on this opportunity.

John sat against the bed frame with the safe box in his lap, taking a few minutes to input the correct combination for the lock on the lid. Hearing the lock click welcomingly, John pulled back the lid and looked down at his emergency kit he had always thought was borne from too much paranoia. Now it was paying off.

Inside was a wallet with one thousand dollars in small bills, all of his personal documents, scanned images of the credit cards he had had in his wallet, another wireless radio, a prepaid mobile phone and a booklet with his emergency contacts. John took out the phone first and turned it on, inputting Gordon's number into the list and then calling his bank.

As he waited on hold John pulled out the wallet and two hundred dollars in cash and put the rest back into the box. He knew he was going to have to go grocery shopping and would probably use the two hundred dollars right away but John was uncomfortable carrying more money around in his pocket at one time. He could always come get more money if he needed to buy anything else immediately.

By then someone at the bank took his call and John focused on explaining his situation, hoping his credit and debit card hadn't been used for too many purchases since John lost his wallet. Luckily Gordon had reported John missing shortly after he had been captured by Bane's men and the bank had cancelled all of his cards and frozen his account. John would need to return to the bank with photo ID before they could issue a new card and open up his account again, but at least no one had gone on a spending spree using his money.

He made an appointment for later that day and then hung up, very aware of the number of minutes he had on his phone even though he had loaded it up long before this whole situation. After that he put the safe box back in place under the floorboard, keeping only the phone, two pieces of photo ID, the wallet and money with him. He shoved the wallet in one pocket and the phone in his other pocket and then headed out into the hallway.

John's heart gave a little leap of hope when he saw that the bathroom door was ajar rather than tightly closed as he had left it the evening before. He knocked against the doorframe and then slowly pushed the door open, peering in cautiously. John found Bane at the sink – cabinet door open to face the mirror away again. Bane was still clearly very sick, a hand clutching at the counter just to hold himself up, but just seeing Bane standing on his own free will was encouraging.

Bane glanced over at him, saying nothing as he continued to brush his teeth slowly. John swallowed nervously, remembering their conversation the night before. He hadn't exactly left the topic on a good note, saying he didn't want Bane to leave but little else. "How are you feeling?" he began hesitantly.

Bane remained silent for a moment and then turned to spit out the foamy toothpaste. John stood watching him as Bane grabbed his glass of water to rinse out his mouth. Seeing Bane perform such simple, domestic actions with his mask finally removed was a little jarring but not at all unpleasant.

His patience was rewarded when Bane finished with the water and leaned against the wall, looking at him. "Exhausted, but I haven't vomited in a few hours."

"That's really good," John said with relief, hoping the worst of the withdrawal was over with. His eyes trailed away for a moment, taking in the makeshift bed in the tub Bane had been using. More quietly, he asked, "Why didn't you come to bed when you were feeling better?"

"I did not think I was welcome," Bane said, eyes always on him.

John winced and weathered his bottom lip. He tried to figure out how to best voice all the thoughts that had been plaguing him the night before, and the revelations his subconscious had left for him when he woke up. It felt like so much had changed inside John and it was difficult to find the words to explain.

Then he decided that actions spoke louder than words and strode across the room. In a rush John wrapped his arms around Bane's shoulders and held tightly – _desperately_ – and gave a shuddered groan of happiness when Bane slowly wound his own arms around John, dragging him closer. The embrace was almost painful – both of them holding too tightly and Bane still flushed with fever – but John didn't let go for a long, long time.

He only released his hold when he felt Bane waver and slump back against the wall. John remained close as Bane grunted and moved his hands to John's shoulders for support. John would never draw attention to it but knew Bane was suffering from a full day of throwing up, surviving only on water. Bane would be severely weakened from the lack of food and the toll the withdrawal was taking on his body, but John was now positive the worst had passed.

"Come to bed," John suggested, worried Bane might fall down and be unable to stand again.

Bane grunted his consent and allowed John to walk him out into the hallway and towards the bedroom. As they walked Bane kept half of his weight on John and the rest against the wall, sweater dragging along the wallpaper. It was impossible for John to support the full weight of Bane's muscled bulk but it felt good to help Bane as much as he could, aware of the trust it implied.

By the time they got to the edge of the bed Bane physically collapsed and it was all John could do to situate him near the middle of the mattress and pull the still-warm blankets up around his shoulders. He sat on the edge of the bed and brushed his fingers along the smooth dome of Bane's head, massaging every few moments when it caused Bane's eyes to drift closed.

When Bane seemed comfortable and relaxed John began to pull away, wanting to give Bane some peace and quiet to catch up on sleep and hopefully regain some of his leached strength. Bane's hand reached out and caught his wrist, much more careful of his hold this time as he lightly tugged John back, trying to drag him down to the mattress.

John detached himself easily with a sad smile, reassuring himself again and again silently that this was only temporary and that Bane's strength would return. Bane reached for him again and this time John laced their fingers together but remained sitting. After a moment of unsuccessful pulling, Bane's eyes opened to regard him. "Lie down."

John couldn't quite contain his chuckle, though it earned him a glare. "Bane," John sighed, holding Bane's hand a little tighter to remind him that he wasn't leaving. "I slept all night. I want to get up and do something. I'm not ready to sleep more."

"I did not say anything about sleeping," Bane pointed out gruffly, eyes dark.

Heat rushed through John but he refused to give in to his temptations. Bane's health was more important than sex. "Let's wait until you're feeling better. You can't even pull me down onto the bed right now," John pointed out. Bane growled and began to use a little more of his weight to lead John down. John fell forward but held himself over Bane, offering a warm but light kiss. "That wasn't a challenge," John said with fond exasperation.

Bane said nothing until he finally let go of John. "Do you have any plans for the day?"

Not wanting to make it look like he was too eager to leave – though John was looking forward to the chance to stretch his legs – John lay down on his side beside Bane. There was enough space between them that it wouldn't get too tempting to just crawl on top of Bane, but still close enough to share warmth. "I'm going to go to the bank to sort out my bank account and then I'm going to pick up groceries."

"Sometimes I forget what a normal person's day is like," Bane confessed, fingers trailing up and down John's forearm. "The life I've known has been filled with prison and planning and training."

John shuffled forward on the bed so that his knees brushed Bane's side. "Will you tell me more about your past someday?" he requested.

"You want to hear more?" Bane asked, a little dubious.

John smiled encouragingly. "I want to hear it all. When you're ready," he added.

Bane parted his lips as though to speak at the same time as his hand slid up John's arm and around his side to hold the arch of his back. John barely had time to take a breath before Bane's mouth was on his, a spark of greedy possessiveness in the way his lips consumed John's own. John moaned, his minimal restraint melting away as Bane pulled him closer, engulfing him in heat as their lips moved together.

John submitted willingly and opened his mouth, allowing Bane's tongue to dip into his mouth. At the same time John grabbed Bane's bicep, using his arm as an anchor to drag his body across the bed and slot them together as an intimate puzzle. John was just starting to think that some morning sex couldn't hurt when he heard Bane groan – pained – into his mouth and pull away.

John watched worriedly as Bane curled up slightly, arms abandoning John to hold his own stomach. Bane was flushed but John knew it had to be from more than the kiss when he saw the colour begin to drain from Bane's face. "Are you going to throw up again?" John asked, wondering if he should run and get a bucket.

Bane shook his head and curled up into a tighter ball, face scrunched up in pain. When John got a closer look he could see that Bane was clutching his belly, rather than his stomach. "It just hurts," Bane admitted, voice tight. John knew the pain must be excruciating if Bane was displaying and admitting it.

Wishing he could do something to free Bane from this agony, John rested his hand lightly on Bane's arm again and willed warmth into him. He felt his heart clench sadly as he watched Bane's face contort with pain. It was perhaps the first time John had seen Bane show pain in the long time since they had met; even at City Hall Bane had still been numb with morphine.

John blinked as a thought came to him, something he hadn't really considered before. In all the times Bane had been injured before he had never shown anything more than mild discomfort or annoyance, as though the injuries were bothersome more than painful. And when John had seen footage on television of Bane fighting it had looked like he was invincible, a wall of strength taking each hit without even flinching.

It was true that Bane was still handling the morphine withdrawal well, silent in his suffering without any complaining. But he was obviously still in pain and John wondered if this morphine withdrawal was even worse for Bane than it might have otherwise been since Bane had gone so many years of his life being slightly numbed from the world. Suddenly every physical touch and ache was magnified by Bane's lack of familiarity with it.

It left John nervous to touch Bane again, worried he would cause further pain. Would John's touches feel so novel that they hurt Bane, or would they feel even more pleasurable than before? John bit his lip but made the decision to slowly shuffle away, unwilling to make any mistakes right now.

Bane's eyes flashed open at John's retreat. For a brief second Bane's expression was heartbreaking – lost and desperate. Bane hid it after a moment but it had John rushing forward to kiss him again with all the love and passion he could express through just the touch of their lips. "I just don't want to hurt you," he whispered against Bane's mouth afterwards; an apology.

Bane slumped back against the mattress, looking worn out. "I thought that was my line."

"We can take care of each other," John reminded him, and to avoid any further temptation John sat up and got off the bed entirely. "Speaking of which, do you want some food before I leave?"

"Not really," Bane grumbled impatiently, face a little red as he continued to hold his belly.

"The pain might be worse since you haven't eaten," John said. He hated hovering over Bane being useless, so John made Bane's decision for him. "I need to make food for myself anyway so you can just try some of mine and see if that helps."

"Fine," Bane wheezed, saying nothing else.

John knew not to take the sharp tone to heart and pressed a light kiss to Bane's temple before leaving the room. He pulled out a few slices of frozen bread and popped them in the toaster, grabbing the package of frozen muffins behind the loaf and putting one in the microwave to thaw. With a new glass of water and a plate of plain and buttered toast alongside his small plate with the muffin, John returned to the bedroom.

Bane had sat up slightly against the pillows, arms holding him together as he breathed deeply. Those watchful eyes opened when John entered, considering the food John was balancing precariously in his arms. John set the glass of water on the bedside table beside the watchful Osito where Bane could reach and then put the plate of toast by Bane's elbow, placing his own muffin on the other bedside table.

He didn't sit down right away though. Instead he returned to the bathroom and pulled a heating pad from the bottom cupboard and took it to the kitchen to heat it up in the microwave. This time when John entered the room Bane looked at him with mild amusement. "Dreams of being a nurse?"

"You wish," John shot back, laughing off his embarrassment as he climbed onto the bed. He could see Bane's eyes look him over, that imagination no doubt kick-starting. John kissed Bane briefly for it and then refocused on his task. "You get a lot of injuries and tense muscles as a cop in a city like Gotham. The heat helps." John slowly lowered the heating pad on Bane's belly and then relinquished his hold to allow Bane to resituate it until a pleased sigh escaped.

Bane's eyes drifted closed, the quirk of a contented smile briefly twitching his lips. John smiled in happiness and relief at the sight and then looked down, finding half of a slice of plain toast bitten away. "How is the food settling?" he asked. Bane grunted, sounding relatively uninterested as the heating pad lulled him. "You should eat a bit more," John prodded.

A snore answered him and John rolled his eyes. He wished Bane had eaten more food before he fell asleep but at least he had gotten something in his stomach. John moved the plate of toast beside the glass of water and then threw a blanket over Bane's lower half, not wanting to cause Bane to overheat and wake up. Bane needed as much rest as he could get.

Knowing he would just lie in bed with Bane if he didn't get up, John grabbed his muffin and one slice of toast before exiting the bedroom. He wrote a short note for Bane to remind him that he was heading out and would be back later. At the same time John ate his muffin unceremoniously, gulping down some water before setting his plates in the sink for later. Once John confirmed that he had everything he needed, he grabbed his keys to lock his door on the way out and exited into the streets for the first time since the final battle for Gotham.

It was an odd experience being back out on the streets. John had received a little acknowledgement as a cop on his patrols before Bane and Talia's destruction tore through the city. But now strangers would look up and stare at him, some of them no doubt remembering his face from the news. John could see everything from curiosity and relief to distrust and suspicion on people's faces as they remembered the picture of him standing beside Bane.

One person in the grocery store actually leaned closer to him and hissed in his ear. "_Your master loosened your leash?_"

John ground his teeth together but kept his eyes on the unorganized shelf of food. As much as he wanted to spin on his heel and relieve the nameless man of a few of his teeth with a fist, John wouldn't give him the satisfaction of being proven right. John had to prove that there was more to the story than that unexplained photo, and that could only be done by displaying his actions to the people of Gotham. So John clutched his little basket of food tighter, praying that the man wouldn't do something stupid like attack him – because John didn't think he could hold himself back then – and briskly walked away down the aisle.

It was the only outright negative experience John had his first day back, but it left him edgy and unsettled. It seemed like no matter what he did, he never belonged. Lost parents with no home, too much of a hothead for the police, and too empathetic of others' – _Bane's_ – experiences to properly act as an 'upstanding citizen'. It was frustrating and disheartening but there was nothing John could do other than cling to his old routines.

Almost immediately after the war had ended the government had brought huge masses of food and medical supplies using available helicopters. They were doing their best to restock Gotham after months of surviving on pitiful rations. Everyone was still in the mindset of war though, and grabbed everything they could to hoard away in case darkness fell over the city again. No one yet trusted the idea of freedom again, scared of believing and then having it ripped away a second time.

John grabbed what he could off the shelves and paid at the counter. What he managed to collect in his bags would last them a while, even if the selection wasn't very plentiful. He had managed to get some vegetables and a small bag of bruised apples, as well as some milk, bread and cheese, but everything else was non-perishable foods that they could rely on until stores were properly restocked.

He stopped back at the apartment briefly and put all the necessary items in the fridge and freezer, not wanting any of the precious food to go bad. When he glanced into the bedroom he found Bane where he had left him, half covered and asleep, so John left again before he could disturb Bane. John spent his time before his bank appointment at the library since his computer had been stolen. He printed off a map and wrote down a few addresses he would need for later – the cemetery where Talia was buried, Wayne Manor, and a few stores John wanted to stop at.

After that, with a little more time to spare, John researched morphine withdrawal. He read about the common symptoms and a few suggested remedies to alleviate the pain and suffering. John was relieved to read that morphine withdrawal was not fatal, but he had seen with his own eyes how much suffering could still occur even without the threat of death. The websites he looked at recommended lots of water and plain foods, rest and even a little exercise when possible to help with the muscle pain and cramping.

John wrote it all down and then looked up at the clock, realizing he had to be on his way. It wouldn't have taken him too long to get to the bank normally, but just like many of his other personal belongings his bike had been stolen months ago. The sidewalks were packed with people walking around, few people with gasoline left for their cars or money to buy more while gasoline was so rare and expensive.

He made it to the bank early and was thankful he had thought to book an appointment ahead when he saw how crowded the main lobby of the bank was. John waited in the haphazard line to get to the front where a frazzled-looking man was directing people to different lines depending on their issues. John explained he had an appointment booked and was led to a line near the back of the bank where a row of offices with fogged-glass doors stood.

Luckily, once he was finally seen the matter of getting his accounts back in order was relatively simple. He handed over his ID and answered a few questions about his activities over the last few months. It helped that the news and Gordon posting a 'missing person' report when John was kidnapped backed up his story.

John was issued a temporary debit card he could cut up when he was contacted to return to the bank to pick up his replacement debit and credit cards. John thanked them for their time, understanding their hesitance about using the mail system for his cards while everything was unorganized, gave them his new cell phone number and headed out.

With more access to money, John stopped at an electronics store on his way home. He bought an inexpensive netbook, wanting access to the internet more than he cared about replacing his television or getting a more advanced phone. He couldn't afford to splurge at the moment; he was only buying the computer out of necessity. Once his purchase was made John headed home quickly, unwilling to linger or spend any more time away from Bane.

When he returned to the apartment he found Bane awake and in the living room, pacing back and forth across the row of windows. Bane's steps were pained and halted, his entire looming body stiff as the late sun cast shadows across the carpet. But this was a vast improvement over the man who had been sleeping in John's tub, unable to eat let alone stand up and carry his own weight.

Bane glanced back at him as John stepped further into the apartment, setting down his bag and toeing off his boots before hanging up his coat. Once Bane saw that it was only him, Bane relaxed and let himself pause as he leaned against the window. "Are you alright?" John wondered, knowing Bane to normally be contained in the movements he made. At the same time, it was good to see him moving on his own again, however slow and unsteady.

"Better," Bane said. "It feels good to move."

John nodded and set his bag on the desk. "I got groceries. Is there anything you feel like?"

Bane thought about it. "More toast."

"I can do that." John noticed the word 'more' and hoped that implied Bane had finished the previous plate of toast John had left for him.

"I could help," Bane offered, pushing away from the window to stand straight again.

"Let yourself rest for once," John ordered. "Just because you can stand doesn't mean you need to cook."

"I refuse to be a burden," Bane said.

John sighed and crossed the living room, not allowing Bane to look away. "You're not a burden." Bane looked unconvinced and John pressed on. "Was I a burden when you took care of me after your guards nearly—?"

He still couldn't say the word, refused to vocalize it. But he knew Bane understood what he was referencing because his eyes narrowed. "That was different."

"You nearly died, and now you're immediately going through withdrawal," John reminded him in exasperation. "If the situations are different, then yours is worse." Bane looked like he was going to argue but John noticed his knees beginning to buckle. "Just sit down, would you? If you want the complete truth, it's nice knowing I can actually do something for you in return for once."

Perhaps he had struck a chord because Bane's eyes widened slightly. "I trust you," Bane said carefully.

All at once John felt self-conscious. "I know. But you're smarter and stronger and you can do everything yourself," he rubbed the back of his neck. "You don't _need_ me."

"John," Bane said in a way that made John look up from the carpet. With utmost seriousness, Bane continued. "I need you."

"What, to make you toast and let you sleep in my tub?" John laughed past his grimace.

"No." Bane stepped towards him. Each step was thought out and slow and John could have moved away easily if he chose. Instead he remained rooted in place. "I need you to believe in me, and to see the potential of a bright future, because I do not remember how to do that." John dropped his hands to his sides but began to fidget with the cuff of his shirt. Bane stepped right up to him and lifted his chin with a finger. "I need you because before you I thought I was unlovable and good as nothing but a weapon."

"You can be so much more," John whispered as he stared into Bane's eyes, swallowing hard.

"I know," Bane said. "And you are the reason I have the motivation to try. Never forget that."

Bane grunted when John threw his arms around his neck, but held him close as they shared an embrace in the middle of John's living room. There were a million things John wanted to say, touched by Bane's words, but nothing needed to be said. Silence reigned as they continued to hold each other, and John's memory of Bane's weakened state was the only thing that could pry his arms away.

"I'll make dinner," John said, smiling warmly when Bane acknowledged him and made his way over to the couch. Now that a war was not being waged right beyond their window, both John and Bane were beginning to tread towards a possible domestic situation. And while John had always been scared of searching for this, worried he would lose it the same way his parents and home life had been torn away as a child, he had to admit that he was beginning to enjoy it.

* * *

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"Beyond the Shadow" on AO3: archiveofourown(dot-org)/works/684270


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: The reason this chapter is so short is because there is literally a 3,500 word sex scene cut out to meet FFnet's rating rules. **

**Even if you don't read any other chapter of this story on AO3, PLEASE make this the one chapter you do read uncensored: archiveofourown(dot-org)/works/684270**

* * *

Over the next few days Bane steadily improved. As he began to manage eating more and actually digesting the food, his strength slowly returned. He was still shaky and tired easily, but whenever Bane's body wasn't aching he would be pacing around the house or attempting some light exercises to stretch out his muscles. Bane would usually only manage a few sit-ups or push-ups before he was groaning and panting harshly on the carpet, but he was stubborn and it would usually take John standing over him and threatening him with bodily harm for Bane to sigh and surrender.

John knew Bane valued his strength and was discomforted at seeing his body react so negatively to the withdrawal. The few days of extreme sickness and loss of appetite had caused Bane to lose a few noticeable pounds. Bane had a lot of bulk to him between his size and muscle so he never got skinny, but John could see the slight sharpening of his jaw and the definition of his muscles softening ever so slightly. He knew it wouldn't last forever – Bane would be back to his normal exercise routine as soon as he was able, John had no doubt – but it was definitely eye opening to see Bane as a softer, calmer giant.

John remained in the apartment most of the time, only going out occasionally to pick up a few things if they needed them. He spent a large majority of his days reading, leaving Bane mostly alone since Bane continued to sleep through the worst of the withdrawal. All of the websites he had used to research morphine withdrawal had warned him about the potential for serious depression which caused John to hover occasionally, ready to talk to Bane or let Bane pull him close under the covers whenever he needed.

He was impressed by Bane's strength though – his internal will to overcome this and move on. While Bane sometimes needed some reassurance – though he never asked for it – Bane never seemed to fray too much at the edges. If anything, Bane was gradually knitting himself back together; perhaps even stitching up some old scars from the past John had not even known about.

The websites had told John that the worst of the withdrawal would happen in the first two or three days, and that all symptoms should mostly fade in a little over a week. The desire for more morphine would linger for much longer, but since Bane was already showing tremendous restraint from seeking any out, John was not very concerned. Now that the worst of the withdrawal symptoms were behind them, Bane was realizing that he _could_ get past this and that he would be better without the morphine numbing his awareness of the world.

In order to distract Bane from the pain when he was awake, and to prove that Bane was more than just his physical power, John pulled out his old chess set and brushed away the layer of dust on the board and pieces. They took to playing games in the afternoon when they were both awake and alert, and while John had always been able to outmatch anyone at the orphanage or police station, his cockiness was quickly put in check when Bane won the first two games they played.

Both of their competitive natures came out and chess became their new primary pastime, though they both continued to pillage John's stuffed bookshelf in the evenings. They even ended up watching a few movies on John's new netbook since his DVDs had not been stolen along with his other electronics. It was a bizarre experience to sit beside Bane on the couch and watch a movie on the computer as though they were anywhere close to normal and it left John reeling at first. But he remembered that everyone had to relax sometime, and John was glad that Bane was finally finding a way to ease out of the mindset of war.

John was still careful about avoiding any temptation for either of them, not wanting to push things before Bane was capable. However, when John woke up early Monday morning to the feeling of the covers being thrown aside and his pants being dragged down, John wasn't going to complain. He was still half asleep, mind muddled as he blinked his eyes open to take in the sight of Bane kneeling over him and pulling his pants down past his knees.

Their lovemaking was passionate and slow, and when Bane collapsed back against the bed John fell on top of him, unable to hold himself up with Bane's support gone. He lay there for a long time as his body cooled, the room's air ghosting over his sweaty skin as he shivered. Finally Bane grunted and rolled onto his side, sending John toppling onto the mattress. A second later the blankets were around them, and then Bane's arm was threading around his waist.

Bane was like a furnace under the blankets and John felt his eyes growing heavy even though he had just woken up. He thought Bane might have already fallen asleep, his arm loose as it held John close, but then John felt Bane's lips moving against his jaw. "I love you."

John's heart sprouted wings and flew away, leaving behind a pool of warmth. "I love you too," John said. He lifted a hand above the blankets to cup Bane's cheek, tilting his face towards the ceiling slightly. Then John reached up and peppered kisses across Bane's face, first trying to kiss each tiny pinprick of scarring from the needles that had administered morphine – which Bane was finally breaking free of – and then devoting a few moments mapping the cut on Bane's cheek – made by John's own hand – with his lips.

After that he sealed his lips over Bane's, greedy even though they were both worn out. He was addicted to Bane's lips, to feeling and tasting them after so long. John had loved Bane readily with the mask on, and would have continued to remain by his side if the mask had never been peeled away, but there was no point lying. Being able to kiss Bane was much better than kissing the harsh, cold metal of the mask.

"Let's stay in bed today," John suggested on a whim. His body was still loose as Bane cradled him close, and John had no interest in getting up. At some point they would need to get food, but for now John was content just lounging in bed. Maybe they would read a book together, and in the afternoon with the golden sun on their skin they would make love again, but for now they would doze in a shared embrace with matching smiles on their lips.

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**A/N: The complete, uncensored version of the story: archiveofourown(dot-org)/works/684270**

**My tumblr: onewhositswiththeturtles(dot-tumblr-dot-com)**


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Non-censored version of the story on AO3: archiveofourown(dot-org)/works/684270

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When the dawn announced Tuesday John was already out of bed and in the kitchen making breakfast. While his body had been exhausted from his lovemaking with Bane the day before, John had woken up with the lightening sky a few hours before he had set his alarm. Even though he had kept himself distracted all week – especially yesterday – John's dreams had plagued him with images of Bruce's face and words, the memory of his own parents' funerals, and a chilling rain that seemed to permeate every second of his sleeping and left him stiff when he woke up.

John had left Bane asleep in bed and turned off the alarm when he had gotten up. He had grabbed his suit and dressed in the bathroom after showering, tying his tie in the kitchen while he waited for his toast to be ready. He wasn't expecting to see Bane before he left and had no intention of waking him – Bane knew that the funeral was today and would not panic if he woke up in the apartment alone.

Of course, anticipating having the apartment to himself until he left for the funeral, John ended up startled when he heard footsteps approaching him from behind. He spun on his heel but was already relaxing, growing accustomed to the reality of sharing his apartment with Bane. John had come to enjoy the sound of feet other than his own causing the floorboards to creak, knowing that even when they were spending time doing separate things they were not alone.

"Bane," John greeted just as his toast popped out of the toaster. Bane said nothing as he entered the kitchen, looking weary but determined. John turned back to the toaster to pull his toast onto a plate and shivered when Bane came up behind him.

Bane wrapped his arms around John's waist, holding him in place. "John," he said simply and then sealed his lips over John's skin where his neck met his shoulder. It was incredibly possessive and reminded John of the week prior when Bane had littered John's skin with love bites and hickeys. While they had not made any visible marks yesterday while tangled in the sheets of John's bed, this made him eager for another opportunity to be marked as Bane's again.

It wasn't that he was uncertain of their relationship, and he knew that he would be hiding the marks from anyone's view anyway whenever he left the apartment. John just liked the slight tenderness of the skin Bane nipped and sucked, and he liked being reminded that they were there whenever the fabric of his shirt brushed over the sensitive skin.

They remained like that for a moment and then Bane's mouth left John's skin just long enough for him to yawn. "You don't need to be up with me," John said, guilty but not enough to forcefully send Bane away.

"I'm up," Bane shrugged against John, which was his way of saying no without starting an argument.

John smiled to himself and remained captured in Bane's arms as he reached for the butter and prepared his toast. He slotted in another two slices of bread without asking, setting the toaster and standing there in Bane's warm embrace as he munched on his toast. He liked feeling Bane hold him like this. He knew Bane trusted him and felt no threat to turn him clingy, but it was still nice to be held like you were a cherished treasure.

When the rest of the toast was ready John put the two new slices on a second plate and slipped out of Bane's grasp. He left Bane at the counter to put butter or jam on if he wished, John moving to the fridge to pour some orange juice. Once their food was ready the two of them moved to the kitchen table and sat down across from each other.

John's apartment faced west so the sun wouldn't spill in through his windows until the afternoon, but already he could see the sky lightening. They were having the small funeral before Gordon's shift started, and he would be picking John up in front of his apartment in twenty minutes.

"You still have not thrown it out," Bane said, drawing John's eyes down to his police badge that was still sitting on the kitchen table. After John had spoken to Gordon he had pulled the badge back out of the garbage like he had promised, but he had been so focused on taking care of Bane that he hadn't thought much about his future. "Having second thoughts?"

The question pulled at John with a sickening weight. "Would you leave me if I went back?"

Bane crossed his arms and stared at John thoughtfully. "I fear the contradictions would tear you apart, but no. I would not leave."

Something in John's chest loosened and he breathed a little easier. It was reassuring to know that Bane would stay with him no matter what, but it was also stressful knowing that this decision really was his alone. It was a difficult decision because police work had been John's escape, helping him deal with his own internal anger borne from being unable to save his mother and father. It was the only way he knew how to actively do _good_ for his city, and John didn't know if he would be left with nothing if he abandoned it.

However, he had seen the limitations of the police and the law and he couldn't be part of it anymore. The contradictions Bane mentioned were also in the legal system, with under-the-table deals and loopholes letting the worst sorts of criminals go because of money or connections or conflicting priorities in the legal head offices. John couldn't make the decision to work with the police and be knowingly constrained from enacting real justice.

"It's just hard to let go of something you thought was going to be your salvation," John said.

"I understand."

John looked up and then away, ashamed. Of course Bane knew what he was talking about; Bane's assumed salvation had been in the form of his closest companion. Although the last week had been taken up mainly with thoughts of Bane's health, John knew many of Bane's silences had probably been filled with thoughts and memories of Talia. "I'm sorry."

Bane reached across the table and rested a few fingers on the back of John's hand. Even that tiny amount of warm weight was comforting. "Right now we are focusing on you."

John swallowed and smiled. He sometimes worried that Bane was too selfless, willing to accept anyone else's problems and let them drive him rather than face his own struggles. However, with only a few more minutes left before John had to head downstairs to meet Gordon, he knew it wasn't the right time to start delving into Bane's psyche.

Momentarily willing to relent, John looked down at his police badge. He picked it up with his free hand, turning and tilting it a few times as the brass caught the light from the lamp hanging over the table. Then he sighed and slid it into his pants pocket. "I can't wear a badge that promises I'll do everything in my power to protect Gotham and its citizens when I know my power is restrained by politics." John held up his palm to the light now; the shallow cuts he had left on his skin were almost healed. He looked back to Bane. "I can't, and I won't."

Bane reached another inch further forward and fully encased John's hand with his own. Then he squeezed lightly and John was filled with a sudden strength and confidence. He turned his hand until their palms were slotted together and squeezed Bane's hand back in gratitude. After that he regretfully pulled his hand back and focused on eating, knowing he didn't have much time left.

As John drank the last of his juice he stood from the table, moving all of the empty dishes into the sink. He checked his watch, feeling anxiety begin to nip at his heels. Bane was still seated at the table and John pressed a quick kiss to his lips before rushing to the bathroom. After that he grabbed his wallet and his police-issued gun and headed for the door.

Bane was there waiting for him, standing by the coat rack. He was a silent sentry as John pulled on his jacket and boots but when he was finished Bane reached forward and clasped John's upper arm, stilling him. "Make sure you say goodbye." Bane's voice was too even; he was consciously working to keep his voice calm.

John raised an eyebrow, confused. "That's usually what funerals are for."

"Just don't rush it," Bane pressed. "Take the time you need."

Their eyes held and John nodded, his nose burning as the first warning sign for the oncoming tears John fought down. He sniffled and nodded again, a little frantic now as he struggled to maintain control over his emotions. "I will."

Bane rested a hand on John's shoulder, squeezed, and then dropped his hand back to his side. "I will be here when you get back."

John gave a small smile at the thought and then headed for the door. He did his coat up while climbing down the stairs and by the time he reached the front lobby he saw that Gordon's car was already parked. The street was deserted with the early hour and John could see that most of the snow had melted after a few days of warmer weather.

He slid into the passenger seat and buckled up, offering a small welcome and thanks for the ride. "How has your week been?" John asked after a few minutes of driving in silence.

"Hectic," Gordon said. The stress was in his voice. "I'm sure you've been listening to the news on the radio." John didn't get to do more than grunt before Gordon continued. It seemed that Gordon had a lot resting on his shoulders and hadn't been able to talk about it with anyone, so John was willing to listen. "Gotham has faced a lot but I've never seen it in such disarray. It will take months for things to fully return to normal."

Gordon told him about the clogged hospitals, the scattered legal system, and the swarms of criminals Bane had released. Gordon knew that they were still in Gotham – there was no way for them to get out with someone always checking faces at the Midtown tunnel as many citizens decided they had finally had enough and left. But the criminals were being smart about it. Some seemed to have taken this as a second chance to start fresh while others hid beneath the cloak of lingering chaos in the aftermath of the war as they slowly regrouped.

Gordon said that the police force was weakened after many officers had been hurt or killed. But even if they were at full strength they wouldn't have enough manpower to track all of the criminals down. Not that it mattered. With the Dent Act torn down by Gordon's own words, the police had no way of re-arresting many of the criminals that had walked.

By the time they reached Wayne Manor Gordon hadn't even taken the time to ask John how his week had been. John was relieved; he didn't want to have to lie outright, especially after everything Gordon had done for him... for _them_. Besides, he didn't mind listening to Gordon, even though it made him sad and a little guilty for leaving the police force when they were in such dire need of help.

It was obvious that everyone blamed Gordon for weakening the Dent Act, and were only keeping him as Commissioner now because there was no one else as experienced to handle the current disorder. The sad lines cutting deep across Gordon's face showed that Gordon knew all this but would continue protecting his city as long as he could. Even when Gordon knew it would all be torn from his hands someday and he would no longer have his title and power to act, and knew he wouldn't be thanked.

John realized that it was Gordon's own personal sacrifice for what he believed in.

Gordon parked the car by the front of the manor. They both unbuckled their seatbelts but before John got out he placed his badge and gun on the dashboard, careful but purposeful. Gordon stared at him for a long moment and then got out of the car. John followed him without offering any explanations. Now was not the time for them to discuss John's job. Now was the time to remember and honour Bruce.

They found Lucius Fox and Alfred Pennyworth on the front steps of the now-empty manor. Everyone shook hands and then Alfred led the way across the grounds to the small family cemetery on the hill. The grass was soggy under their feet as the weak rays of sunlight melted any remaining snow and frost but no one complained.

John was surprised at first that there were so few people here until he realized that this had been purposefully kept as a private affair. Despite living in the public eye, John knew he was looking at the rare few Bruce had willingly given his trust. John was honoured, both by Bruce's trust in him and from standing among such inspiring individuals.

There were three gravestones in the small cemetery. Two were slightly worn by the elements while the third was pristine and new. John swallowed hard as they stood in a line in front of Bruce's grave and wouldn't allow himself to think about Alfred being forced to pick out the gravestone and organize it.

The four of them stood shoulder to shoulder in silence for a few long minutes, lost with their own thoughts and memories of Bruce. Standing there together felt like a salute; an idea John liked. They owed a lot to Bruce; their lives would not be the same without him in it, before and now.

John thought of saying something but hadn't prepared a speech. Normally that wouldn't stop him but everything he thought of to say felt private. He could see Gordon fidgeting with a small book in his hand though, and when their eyes met John gave him an encouraging nod.

Gordon looked down at the muddy grass, restlessly holding the book for another minute longer. Then he stepped forward to stand beside the grave, facing them. Gold ink on the dark cover of the book caught John's eye and he squinted to read it. _A Tale of Two Cities_ _by Charles Dickens_. Curious about the choice, John offered his attention willingly.

"I see a beautiful city... and a brilliant people rising from this abyss," Gordon began quietly, speaking more to the pages than to anyone else. Each word seemed to pain him to speak but Gordon pushed himself on, forcing out the words. "I see the lives for which I lay down my life, peaceful, useful, prosperous and happy." His voice trembled with gratitude and John felt his own throat constrict with emotion. "I see that I hold a sanctuary in their hearts, and in the hearts of their descendents, generations hence." Gordon paused, each word now heavy, his face tired. "It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done. It is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known."

As Gordon spoke his words grew stronger, louder, and John felt warmth fill his chest. Although John missed Bruce, and knew he would miss the man more in the future, he was undoubtedly proud of Bruce for what he had done. Gordon was right; Gotham was much safer thanks to Bruce's Batman, and few had what it took to make such a sacrifice. Because of Bruce and Batman, Gotham was a better place and its citizens could rest easier. The city was in disarray now but these days of darkness were passing.

When Gordon finished speaking he stared into the distance for a moment as though lost, searching for a new path to follow. Perhaps he was seeking the strength to continue on. Then he closed the book and held it in front of him, his eyes drifting over to Alfred. John heard the laboured breathing beside him, Alfred fighting down his anguished tears. Without needing to be told, John bowed his head and followed Gordon and Lucius out of the cemetery.

John pulled the wrought-iron gate closed quietly behind him, leaving Alfred to have a few minutes alone. However, he was still close enough to hear Alfred struggle to speak as he began to cry openly. "I'm so sorry. I failed you. You trusted me and I failed you..."

John blinked and swallowed thickly but continued to walk. He knew Alfred's grief-stricken words would haunt him.

No one spoke as they walked slowly back to the manor steps where their cars were parked in a row. Lucius shook their hands and then excused himself, walking further down the driveway to his car. John hesitated by Gordon's car and, as he expected, Gordon spoke. "Can I change your mind? About quitting the force."

John shook his head, resolute in his decision now. "You know what you said about structures becoming shackles. You were right and I can't take it, the injustice." John knew his voice was becoming rough but he couldn't bring himself to care. "I mean, no one is ever going to know who saved an entire city."

"They know," Gordon said with such certainty that John couldn't help but look to him. The sun was in Gordon's eyes and John felt drawn to that light, and the small reassuring smile Gordon put on, maybe for himself as much as for John. "It was the Batman." John let out a shuddering breath and tried to smile, but he didn't think it reached his eyes. He wanted what Gordon said to be enough. Gordon half-turned back to his car and then paused, looking back over his shoulder. "At least let me drive you home."

This time John's smile was genuine with gratitude, relieved that Gordon was respecting his decision. "Thanks, but I don't think I'm ready to leave yet. You have to get to work anyway." The sun was higher in the sky now. "I'll just call a taxi."

"You have a phone now?" Gordon asked. "I'd like it if we could keep in touch."

"It's pay as you go so I don't have a lot of minutes," John warned, though he wasn't against the idea of maintaining contact with Gordon. "I'll give you a call and you can save the number." Gordon nodded and pulled open his car door. Feeling an immediate tug of nostalgia, saying farewell to a huge part of his life and his equal commanding officer and mentor, John saluted. "Sir."

Gordon's smile was fond. "That wasn't you when you were a cop, and a detective, John. It certainly isn't you now." John could see the sunlight glinting off his badge, which was still on the dash. Gordon offered his hand and John shook it tightly. "Jim will do."

John's lips quirked at the corner and his shoulders relaxed. Jim was right; saluting wasn't really in John's nature. But it had felt right, and he didn't regret it.

John waved as Jim started up the car and Jim gave him a small wave in return before driving away. It felt odd for John to not be rushing off to work as well; from his time in the orphanage and school to his years in the police force John had always been dictated by the routine of daily life. Now his days were anything but ordinary and he wondered how long he would be able to go before he had to pick up more work. John would have to eventually, if only for the money, though he had no idea what sort of work he would choose after leaving the police.

John felt tired even though he had only been awake for a short while already and he sat on the bottom step of Wayne Manor. He wanted to go back to the cemetery but would respect Alfred's space, giving him the personal time he needed. While John sat on the step he watched the sun slowly climb higher, sneaking past the tree line as the rays of sunlight finally grew strong enough to fight the chill in the air.

When he saw Alfred slowly walking towards the manor John stood, hands shoved into his pockets. He didn't know if Alfred wanted to be left alone or if John should say something. As Alfred got closer John could see the redness of his eyes, the sun highlighting a few drying tear tracks down his cheeks. Alfred looked at John when he got closer, solemn but not unwelcoming. "Thank you for coming."

"I'm sorry," John blurted out, suddenly feeling an unmanageable weight of guilt cling to him. Alfred gave him a confused look which quickly turned into a studying look. John felt compelled to continue without being asked. "If it wasn't for Bane and Miranda, Bruce would still be alive."

Perhaps he had said too much, given too much away about his personal connection with Bane. After all, one didn't apologize for the actions of another if they did not feel connected and responsible. Alfred's look didn't turn suspicious though. Instead his gaze softened with a hesitant understanding. "You cannot take responsibility for everyone's actions, and that includes Master Wayne's."

"But—"

Alfred held up a hand and John fell silent. Even though he was being scolded, this made John wish he could remember his own grandfather. "Master Wayne was determined to protect his city. If it wasn't Bane and Miss Tate then it would have been someone else. And remember," Alfred's voice grew stronger and John wondered if Alfred had forgotten his grief or if it was powering him. "They didn't kill him. Master Wayne chose to fly that bomb over the bay to save Gotham because that's the sort of man he was. He chose his life – and his death – and even though we may not like it, we have to respect it."

Properly chastised, John swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. "Gotham was lucky to have him. I just wish they knew."

"He never did it for the recognition," Alfred said. "And I think it's better that people don't know. Master Wayne always wanted to be a symbol of hope, a reminder that anyone can be a hero. I never agreed before. I was always so angry that he was sacrificing his own life." The chuckle that escaped Alfred was half sob. "But I think I finally understand. Now that he's gone..." John could hear the grief tightening Alfred's throat. "We can only hope that Batman's legacy will inspire a new protector of Gotham."

"I hope so too," John said honestly, though he was internally conflicted. He wanted to protect Gotham the way Batman had, but he would never have resources like Bruce. And John had to admit that he couldn't work on willpower alone.

Alfred smiled warmly and offered a hand. John shook it for longer than was politely necessary. "I wish you luck in all your future endeavours."

"Thank you," John couldn't help but smile in return. There was something about Alfred that just felt like warm support. When their handshake finally ended John cast his gaze across the grass. "Would it be alright if I stayed at the cemetery a little longer?"

"Of course," Alfred nodded. "You can stay as long as you like. I'll just be in the manor trying to get everything organized. They'll be reading the will next Monday at Wayne Enterprises. Make sure you stop by."

John's eyebrows furrowed. "Why?"

Alfred considered him for a long moment. "I helped Bruce write his updated will before I left." Regret deepened the creases on Alfred's face and John knew they all had regrets to bear. That was all Alfred seemed inclined to say, and judging by his slightly mischievous look John wouldn't be able to get any more information out of him. "Goodbye, Mister Blake."

"Goodbye," John returned.

He watched Alfred climb the steps and disappear into the manor before turning back to look at the cemetery in the distance. As he began walking across the grass, uncaring of his muddy shoes, John thought back to the news reports he had heard over the last week. The death and injured count always seemed to be increasing, and the names of people in the public eye had been listed with some details when available.

There had been a whole segment discussing the mayor, who had not been publicly mourned while everyone was terrified of any punishment for doing so. And late Thursday evening it was confirmed that Bruce Wayne was dead. Of course everyone had presumed him to be dead when he disappeared months ago, when Bane took full control over Gotham. Alfred had put in a report explaining that Bruce had left the country on a trip before Bane's spectacle at the football stadium, but that all contact had been lost when his private plane encountered bad weather.

Nothing had been done at the time; everyone was too focused on staying alive to really worry about a formerly-rich businessman going missing. Many speculated that Bruce had left the country, embarrassed over his losses, and had thought little more about the matter. However, when the war had finally ended and loose ends needed to be tied together, Alfred had filed another report explaining that he received news that Bruce was in fact dead.

Whether or not Bruce's disappearance coinciding with Batman's had drawn up some suspicion hadn't really mattered when Batman returned to save the city and Bruce was never seen again. Besides, John doubted there were many who would jump to the assumption that someone like Bruce – who always put on the show of a rich playboy – could possibly be someone like Batman. Even though John thought Bruce deserved the recognition, he understood now why it was better people didn't know.

In the cemetery John knelt in front of Bruce's grave. He could feel moisture seeping through his pants to press the wet fabric against his legs but he didn't care. John stared at the grave, reading the name which was not paired with any lengthy inscription, and then bowed his head. "I sometimes wonder if I made the right choice," he admitted to himself and the grave. "I worry that if I had done more to escape Bane and fought my feelings for him you might not be dead now. I would still have my friend and Gotham would still have its protector."

It didn't matter to John that there was actually no body buried beneath the new grass, Bruce's body destroyed in the explosion. It still felt to John like he was speaking with his friend, like Bruce was merely sitting against the gravestone looking back at him. John's breath caught in his throat and then the tears began to fall so quickly that they pattered onto John's thighs before he could brush them from his cheeks.

"Am I selfish to want love? I don't know," he sniffled dejectedly. "I didn't ask to fall in love with him. I _tried_ not to. But he's everything I need in a companion. He understands, better than most. And he's patient but _challenges_ me. Fuck," John swiped his tears away angrily. "I'm kneeling here trying to beg forgiveness from a dead man for loving the person who killed him."

John half-stood, embarrassed by himself, and then froze. Bane's words came back to him. _Make sure you say goodbye. Take the time you need_. John sunk back down into the mud and for a few minutes he just let himself cry. The tears eventually waned, leaving him with a headache but a calmer mind. John remained where he was for another few minutes in silence, chilled air tugging at his hair.

"I love him," John said strongly. "And I can't regret falling in love with him. I'm just going to miss you, as a friend and for what you did for this city. I wish it hadn't had to be you or him. But I guess that's just further proof that life isn't fair," he snorted humourlessly. "As if I needed anymore reminding of that fact."

John rubbed the back of his neck and looked behind him to the sun. He liked the way the sun made his cold skin tingle with warmth. John let out a long breath through his nose and turned back. "Alfred told me to respect your choices and that's what I'll do, because Bane told me about how he broke your back and sent you away. You didn't have to come back but you did. Just like with taking the bomb over the bay. That was your choice and I have to accept it. You chose to protect the safety and happiness of everyone in Gotham, including me, and I won't take that gift for granted."

He slid his fingers through the soggy grass, ignoring the cold ache that soaked into his fingers to the bone. After only a few days of warmer weather and sun John could see that the grass was struggling to turn green again, ready for a fresh start as nature was reborn. More snow might come before spring gained enough strength but John knew it would come eventually, battling away the darkness of winter.

"I want to be like you, Bruce," he spoke to the gravestone even though his eyes remained on the grass. "I want to protect this city the way you did, but I don't know how. I'm not strong enough and I certainly don't have the equipment necessary. I'd like to think it's just a matter of will to go out and fighting crime but let's be honest, I wouldn't last long."

John laughed and shook his head at the thought. He took a few deep breaths and felt his body calm, his thoughts slowing to a manageable pace. John looked back to the gravestone. "But I guess it's my turn to figure that out. You've already done so much for me – and for everyone. I don't think I could have kept fighting if I didn't see there was more I could do and be." John stood on stiff legs and walked up to the grave, resting his hand on the cold stone. He was grateful to Bruce and would always miss him, but it was time to let him go. "It's your time to rest," he said, patting the stone. "You've earned it."

When John finally left the cemetery, the pain in his chest was manageable and he didn't have to fight the urge to look back over his shoulder.

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**Follow me on Tumblr for posting information and teasers for my stories:** **onewhositswiththeturtles(dot-tumblr-dot-com)**

"Beyond the Shadow" on AO3: archiveofourown(dot-org)/works/684270


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Due to FFnet censoring me I had to cut out a sex scene in this chapter. However, this sex scene is actually really important for the story so I would ask for readers to either read the entire chapter on AO3, or at least go over to AO3 for the sex scene part (trust me, you'll know where in the chapter it was haha).  
**

**Link to AO3: archiveofourown(dot-org)/works/684270/chapters/1318418**

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They had to wait a few more days before Bane could find a similar sense of peace to the one John had discovered after his final discussion and farewell with Bruce. Although Bane was strong enough to move around John's apartment now and had begun to slowly rebuild his exercise routine, he still tired easily.

It didn't help that the constant ache from Venom still plagued Bane. When John had asked, Bane explained that every day he adjusted more to the pain, and that it began to fade as his entire body detoxed. Bane suspected that the ache in his bones would never fully fade, but it was a pain he could accept and ignore as it weakened. Still, they both knew it would be stupid of them to venture out into such an unsettled city when Bane would tire before they even reached the cemetery.

Bane didn't push the issue, though John could see the building tension in Bane's body. Bane was a man who could sit perfectly still for hours if it suited him, but if he wanted to go somewhere or do something, any form of inactivity poisoned him. It didn't help when John received a short text from Jim, clearly giving them directions to find Talia's specific grave in the cemetery. _Row 11, 7 right_. Bane had begun to pace after that and John restrained himself from snapping at him, knowing it wouldn't solve anything.

They spent a few days inside, exercising and relaxing together. John only ventured outside to pick up a few more groceries as well as a few new sets of clothes for both himself and Bane, also collecting his replacement credit and debit cards. John was relieved when Bane seemed to relax anytime they spent time together, growing aggravated only when John left and Bane couldn't follow. In the last few months Bane had held complete control over Gotham and could go anywhere; now he was trapped in a small apartment. That sort of containment could drive anyone stir crazy.

That wasn't what worried John. What worried him was when Bane began to give in and settle into the apartment life. Bane adopted a rigid routine of eating, exercising and sleep, only indulging occasionally in entertainment or John's body when John forcefully dragged him to bed. As John watched Bane move around the apartment he knew he was watching the fire beginning to dim inside Bane as he grew listless. By Friday night John feared Bane was reverting back to his mindset from prison and knew he had to remind Bane what freedom felt like.

From the pile of stolen clothes John had collected, Bane pulled out the clothes that fit him best and changed. When he was done John stood in front of him, looking him over and trying to determine how likely it would be for someone to recognize him. John was actually shocked to see that while Bane was intrinsically the same person, there had been a few subtle changes recently that amounted to a different appearance.

In the nearly two weeks Bane had been sick and recovering he had lost at least ten pounds of weight. Because of this his body had grown slightly softer, especially around his face and neck. Bane's cheeks were smooth, his jaw a slight curve rather than a sharp line. All of his skin was beginning to heal, including the cut John had left on his face and the worn, raw skin from Bane's mask before it had been removed. Even the scars around his mouth from the needles had grown less angry and red, pinpricks scabbed over and healing.

The rest of Bane's body remained mostly the same, simply because his massive frame had nothing to do with weight. Bane naturally had broad shoulders and a large chest, always making his upper body look intimidating and overpowered – which it was. It didn't matter that Bane was recovering from morphine withdrawal; Bane's speed and skill in fighting had not diminished and one good punch could knock an average man flat on his back with at least one body part broken.

The muscles on his arms and legs had changed slightly. Bane's muscles in his arms bulged a little less, at least making it easier to find shirts that fit, and his thighs had softened. In fact, anytime they rocked together on the bed and John groped wherever he could reach for stability he could feel a little more flesh beneath his fingers, corded muscles somewhat faded. However, John knew that wouldn't last long as Bane focused on returning to his exercise routine. Bane would always be muscular, big and strong, but every inch of him looked a bit leaner.

Bane still stalked around like he was in prison and had to put on a show to scare off any competition but John doubted that would ever fade; those sorts of behaviours became ingrained. But with the softer face, the slightly narrower build, and the lack of armour and mask, John felt relatively certain that no one would recognize Bane, especially if they left the apartment at night. As long as they didn't get into a conversation with anyone and kept their heads down they should be perfectly safe.

John hooked his hand around the back of Bane's neck and dragged his mouth down, sealing their lips together for a slow kiss. Bane groaned and pushed John back against the vanity, pinning John between the furniture and his body as he deepened the kiss. John moaned and smiled, speaking against Bane's lips. "You look good."

Bane caught John's bottom lip between his teeth and tugged for a moment, and then pulled away. "You look pretty appealing yourself," Bane praised, eyes roaming John's body hungrily.

John hummed, smile turned sultry. They were on a mission though, and while he had half a mind to strip Bane back down and lead him back to the bed, he knew that this outing was important. Bane needed to re-experience the freedom he had claimed, and he deserved the chance to bid farewell to Talia and the accompanying emotional weight Bane never acknowledged but John saw clearly.

"Let's save that for later," John suggested, even though he knew it meant waiting at least for another day. Going to a cemetery didn't really build sexual desire. He didn't mind though; they had plenty of time for that later.

Bane reached forward and clutched at John's hip with one large hand, dragging him closer and pressing another kiss to John's lips that left him dizzy and out of breath. Then Bane relented, smirking as he exited the bedroom. John slumped back against the vanity for a moment, scolding his libido into behaving, and then followed Bane out into the hallway. By the time he reached the front door he saw that Bane had already slipped into the woollen coat John had stolen for him and it immediately made John want to taste those lips again.

The coat hung well from Bane's broad shoulders and hid the majority of his bulk and muscle. While Bane was still noticeably tall and broad, his telltale muscles were hidden from view. Now Bane just looked like a surprisingly large businessman. John offered a hat, aware that the outside temperatures were still quite cold after the sun went down, and Bane pulled the toque on until the fabric fit snugly around his bare head. It wasn't really a disguise, but if John didn't know Bane so well and hadn't watched the recent changes, he wouldn't give Bane a second glance on the street in passing.

John pulled on his own coat and hat and slid on his boots before disappearing briefly to the kitchen. He rejoined Bane by the front door with a backpack on and a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, uncomfortable as the stiff material of Bane's armour dug into his hip. John had transferred everything they needed to dispose of from the garbage back to the two smaller bags after dinner.

Bane looked him over and crossed his arms. "You still look like a burglar."

"That's why you're taking the duffel bag." John grunted as the bag slid down his arm and the full weight hooked against the crook of his arm, but then he held the bag out for Bane to take.

Bane took it and hung it from his own shoulder, not even hinting at noticing the weight of all his armour pulling on one shoulder. "Now we look like a team of burglars."

"It's better than a huge, bulging garbage bag," John grumbled. "We'll go to the water first and then we'll head to the cemetery. I have everything on the map."

"Lead the way," Bane said, motioning to the door. They both knew they had little choice in the matter; they had to dispose of all incriminating evidence as soon as possible. John's soiled coat could be abandoned pretty much anywhere except in John's apartment building since it was generic, but Bane's armour and mask were a different story.

Originally they had planned to burn everything but that would draw too much attention. Their next thought was to throw everything in the swift-moving river and let everything get carried out to the bay. John had worried that everything would drift back onto shore but Bane had nullified this fear by filling up the bathtub with water and dropping his mask and armour in. There was enough metal and weight to the items that they sunk like rocks, and they would be able to tie more rocks to the armour and mask by the shoreline to ensure that the current didn't keep anything afloat.

John led the way out of the apartment and down the hallway, taking the stairs down to the main floor. This was the most dangerous part since the lobby was well lit and the majority of the building was still taking up residence here. John adopted the mindset he knew best, that of a cop. He walked purposefully but didn't rush, giving off the impression that he knew where he was supposed to be and shouldn't be disturbed. Bane was a silent presence at his side and together they passed through the light of the lobby and out onto the darkened street.

The walk to the water's edge took a long time, made longer when John took a detour through an alley in order to deposit his bundled-up coat into an already-full dumpster. It was at least a fifteen minute walk from John's apartment and John knew the garbage collectors wouldn't inspect everything. Nor would anyone feel the need to test the coat for DNA; the amount of clothing thrown out due to smoke or blood damage was probably insurmountable.

The streets were not deserted since they were only out walking around 9pm, and at first John and Bane remained out of sight as often as possible. After a while John checked his watch and realized how much time they were wasting with that method, knowing that they were risking just as much by remaining out in the open for a longer period of time than necessary.

They were currently on a small side street that was empty, backs against a closed coffee shop window as they watched for pedestrians. John glanced over at Bane critically. He didn't look tired out by the walk yet. Bane looked back at him, reading his face. "I can run if I have to," Bane assured him.

John licked his lips, feeling how chapped they were from the cold air. He didn't like the idea of them being in that situation, or of them getting split up, but they had to prepare. "If we have to split up, where do you want to meet? The hotel?"

Bane's lips twitched but then he shook his head. "No, they might have their security cameras up again by now. Let's meet at the park near your apartment."

It was a park they had passed when they left on this journey and John nodded his agreement. "Alright."

Bane's hand reached forward and held John's forearm tightly, as though John was about to run. "Only if we must."

John placed a hand on top of Bane's, calming. "Agreed."

With that decided they took their first steps onto a populated street and didn't duck into an alley to avoid passing people on the sidewalk. John couldn't help but tense up when someone brushed by his shoulder and could see how stiff Bane's steps were beside him. The couple who brushed John's shoulder didn't even look over at them though, nor did the next few people they passed. Everyone had their own destination to focus on, rushing to get out of the cold weather rather than wasting time taking in their surroundings.

John and Bane never stopped being cautious but they allowed themselves to continue forward without pausing after that, comfortable enough that they weren't drawing attention. When they reached the river they climbed down the worn concrete steps to the shoreline, walking carefully to avoid slipping on the large wet stones scattered across the shore. It was low tide now, allowing them to walk a little further away from the streets.

There were no street lights out here, John and Bane blanketed in a protective darkness. Giddy with adrenaline and relief, John wrapped his arms around Bane's shoulders and dragged him into a greedy kiss, listening to the lapping water and a few distant car engines as their lips slid together. Bane didn't push him away but didn't return the intensity of the kiss, reminding John that now was not the moment to celebrate. The kiss turned soft and brief and then they pulled away. John was relieved it was dark so Bane couldn't see his blush, though he knew there was no need for him to apologize.

They had chosen a patch of the shore far enough away from the closest street that someone on the sidewalk wouldn't be able to make them out in the dark. The only potential threats now were others who might walk onto the shoreline, which was unlikely considering the dropping temperatures. Still, John and Bane made quick work of finding a few larger stones or broken-apart bricks and tying them to the armour and mask.

Bane was in charge of throwing everything as far out into the water as he could since the weight would not hinder him. One at a time Bane threw every iconic piece of his former identity into the inky black water, John standing by his side. In the same way everything had sunk to the bottom of John's tub, each part of armour was swallowed by the river's waves, swept away and buried by the current.

Soon Bane was left holding the last and most important piece, his mask. The fabric and metal was slightly bent out of shape, the clasps done up again and a brick attached to it with the string John had brought from home. John watched Bane, wondering if he would have to say anything to encourage or reassure Bane. It seemed that Bane had already moved on though, because after staring at the mask for only a moment he threw it with all his strength, releasing what had basically been a part of him to the water.

Bane didn't even stare out at the river afterwards. Instead he turned to John, perhaps predicting John's expression even if he couldn't make it out in the dim lighting. "I already chose you, John. And my own freedom." Bane's arms encircled John's waist and John allowed himself to be pulled closer. Bane's body protected John from most of the cold wind coming off the water and John shivered as they began to share heat. "I am free to be with you, unimpeded by Talia or the morphine. Nothing could make me question that."

John met Bane's kiss and smiled. Arms wrapped around each other, sharing warmth as they kissed by the water, John could almost imagine them as a normal couple out on an evening stroll. They would never be normal and John didn't _want_ them to be normal, but it was nice to know that they could still share moments like this.

Their kiss was shortened by a particularly cold gust of air, both of them shuddering together despite their coats and shared heat. Unwilling to linger any longer, they picked up their empty bags before John took Bane's hand and led him back to the streets to continue their trek to the cemetery. The walk kept them warm thankfully since it took them another fifteen minutes to reach the cemetery, which was empty at this time of night but luckily unlocked.

They walked through the cemetery to the eleventh row of graves and then looked to the gravestones on the right side of their cobblestone path. John was thankful that Gordon had given them directions or else they wouldn't know where to look. John led the way down the row of graves until he came to the seventh one from the path. The only engraving on the gravestone was a simple _MT_ but the soil below was fresh and loose – a new grave. Although Talia as Miranda Tate had had her own rights as a Gotham citizen, the police couldn't risk labelling her grave fully. Regardless of what she did to the city, no one wanted fanatics digging up or defiling the grave.

Bane walked up behind him and John shuffled sideways, allowing Bane to stand directly in front of the grave while John stood as a support at his side. John looked up at Bane, barely able to make out his face with the small lights that lined the path cutting through the middle of the cemetery. "Should I give you some time alone?"

Without a word Bane reached over and wound an arm around John's waist, holding him flush against Bane's side. "I want you here," Bane said simply.

John didn't argue. He relaxed against Bane's side, taking comfort in their combined warmth against the cold night air. John didn't know how long they stood there together in front of Talia's fresh grave since he didn't bother looking at his watch. It didn't really matter how long they were there because they weren't leaving until Bane was ready. There wasn't much for John to think over; he had believed that Talia as Miranda was an ally and she had betrayed him. It had stung but he could move on. Bane had a lot more to deal with.

He could feel how tense Bane was against him, standing rigid. John worried that Bane was spending more energy trying to hold himself together rather than actually managing what he was feeling. But before he could think of something to say, Bane began to speak. "I wonder if Talia would still be alive if I had not met you." John swallowed and remained silent. "But then I realize that her revenge had become her life. She never planned to survive, and I do not think she planned for me to survive either." Bane hesitated. "I was ready to be done."

John rested a hand on top of the hand Bane had on his hip, squeezing tightly. He could feel his heart aching at the thought. "Bane."

Bane held him tighter. "Then they dumped you on my floor."

John felt his heart clench, remembering that day. Even though things had worked out for them, that first memory of being dropped on Bane's hotel room floor sent a shock of adrenaline through him. John remembered the pain from the wound he had received on the back of his head, the way his vision swam, and the sight of Bane sizing him up when he first spoke John's name. "Not the best day," John admitted with a sad laugh.

Bane turned and brushed his lips against John's temple, immediately nudging those memories away. It was important to remember how they started off because John could never underestimate Bane, but John also had to remember that they were both very different people now than when they first collided. "No, but I will still cherish it. It was a new beginning, and it offered the first choice I felt was my own in my entire life."

"Whether or not to kill me?" John wondered, eyebrows knit together.

"I never planned to kill you," Bane told him. "My choice was whether to love you."

Now John's heart was fluttering warmly. "Happy with your decision?" He tried to keep his voice light but couldn't fully remove the serious worry from his tone. After all, John knew that Bane choosing him meant betraying Talia. Just as choosing Talia would have inevitably led to John's death. Regardless of what Bane said about not planning to kill him, John knew that Bane's love was what saved him in the end.

"Without a doubt." They were simple words, but powerful ones. Bane was a thinker and a planner; the idea of him making a decision without doubting it and considering every other option spoke volumes.

John couldn't help it; he smiled. But when he turned from Bane to the grave he felt his smile fade away. Even though he hadn't known it at the time, he had driven a wedge between Bane and Talia. While he still saw Talia as someone who took advantage of her friend, he knew Bane was not a weak follower. He made his own decisions, and that meant Bane could still hurt at losing a friend and companion. John knew it wasn't really his place but he felt a question on the tip of his tongue. "Did you get to say goodbye?"

Bane released a breath and John felt Bane's whole body deflate against him. "I never took the time to say goodbye to any of the people I fought with. And in City Hall, Talia and I both knew we were going to die. As far as we knew the bomb was going to go off in the city." Bane's fingers twitched against John's side and John rested a hand on the middle of Bane's back, pressing forward so that Bane could feel his touch through the woollen coat. "She touched my mask and said _Goodbye, my friend_, and then she left." Bane cleared his throat. "I never said it back."

"Why not?" John asked, keeping any accusation out of his tone.

"Perhaps I hoped that if I didn't say goodbye, it would not have to be the end," Bane mused. "I wanted to be free of her revenge but I did not wish her dead." His voice cracked and John looked up, surprised. In the dim glow from the path John watched a sparse few tears trail agonizingly slow down Bane's face. "Now it is too late."

John kept one hand on Bane's back, grounding Bane, and lifted his other hand from Bane's hand on his hip up to Bane's face. He tilted Bane's face away from the grave just enough to brush those tears away with his thumb, allowing some warmth to seep from his palm into Bane's cheeks. "It's not too late."

"She will not hear me," Bane argued, turning back to the grave and pulling his face away from John's touch.

"She may," John said, not wanting to get into a heated discussion about the possibilities of the afterlife. "But either way, saying the words will help you. Releasing them will help you move on."

Bane turned back to him. "Did you say goodbye to your Batman?"

"In my own way," John nodded. "I helped me let go. I'll never see him again but I got to say what I wanted to say."

Bane stared at him and John could feel his body shaking as he held John. Then Bane detached himself and John let him go, his arms crossing over his chest for warmth. He watched Bane step gingerly around the loose soil until he stood by the gravestone, one large hand resting on top. John thought Bane might speak then but instead he watched as Bane's legs bent and gave out, dragging Bane to his knees.

Bane's hand was still on the top curve of the polished stone and his other one came up to brush over the front stone face, finger tracing the plain letters _MT_. Bane's head bowed until his forehead rested against the cold stone, his eyes clenched closed as his shoulders shook with silent tears. "Goodbye, my friend," Bane whispered. "I am glad you have finally found peace."

John struggled to swallow around the lump in his throat, his nose stinging with the threat of tears as he wiped the cuff of his coat across his eyes. He hadn't cared for Talia but perhaps John owed Talia at least some form of thanks; she had given Bane something to fight for that led him to John. And regardless of John's own personal feelings for the woman he had trusted and been betrayed by, Bane had cared for her and his pain made John ache horribly.

He continued to stand at the end of the grave while Bane knelt by the gravestone. John was hyper aware as Bane's quiet crying tapered off, his body relaxing and finally sagging against the gravestone. John wondered if Bane's emotions were heightened the same way physical contact had become with the morphine out of his system. He worried that this had been too much, too fast. But when Bane stood slowly and turned to face John, he knew this had been exactly what Bane needed.

Bane seemed lighter and looser, but also stronger as he stood. John realized that he was looking at a man freed. He watched as Bane walked around the grave towards him, calm and certain without glancing back at the gravestone or away from John. Their eyes remained locked until Bane was standing right in front of John, chest to chest, and then he leaned an extra inch closer. "Let's go home."

Hearing Bane call John's apartment 'home' had John's heart thrumming rapidly in his chest, and despite being in the freezing cold in the middle of a cemetery, he grinned. "That sounds like a good idea," he said as he took hold of Bane's hand, lacing their fingers together. He waited for Bane to make the first move in case there was anything else he wanted to do or say at Talia's grave, but when Bane turned back to the path and led John towards the exit he didn't complain.

Since they would not be taking a detour to the waterfront John was looking forward to a shorter, more direct walk home. Based on the map he had printed off he estimated that it would only take about twenty to thirty minutes tops. By now the streets were more deserted, and when John glanced at his watch he wasn't surprised. He hadn't noticed how much time had passed between their walking and errands, but he couldn't say that he minded.

They were a little over halfway home and John was looking forward to being back in his warm apartment, tired of winter's last attempt at maintaining control before spring took over. That was when he heard the cry for help. John had just enough time to see a young man being crowded against the street wall by three larger guys before Bane was dragging John into a nearby alley, hiding them in the shadows.

John wrenched himself from Bane's hold immediately and dashed for the alley mouth. His hand touched his belt but he didn't hesitate even when he found no gun on his hip. The only thing that stopped him was Bane's force pushing him back against the brick wall, using just enough strength to knock some wind out of John's lungs to stun him. "Get off me," John growled, grappling at Bane's arms in an attempt to remove them from where they were pinning his shoulders.

"And let you run out and get shot?" Bane snapped. "No."

They were close enough to the fight on the street that John could hear them talking. From what John could make out of the conversation the three larger men were part of a gang that considered this area part of their territory. Whether or not the smaller man was part of a rival gang or just an unfortunate victim John couldn't tell, but it didn't seem to matter to the other men either way.

John heard the sound of a fist hitting skin, a groan and three sets of sharp laughter. John's teeth ground together. "You expect me to just hide while that man gets beat up?"

"You have no gun, no badge, and no mask," Bane shot back. "What good do you expect to do?"

"I have to do _something_!" John hissed. Now that he had regained his breath John began struggling anew, but Bane held him so tightly against the brick that John couldn't move.

"No you don't," Bane said, not even sounding winded by John's struggling. "You are not Batman."

"No, I'm not," John agreed. "But maybe I can be something else."

"Yes," Bane sighed. "_Dead_. I will _not_ let Gotham extinguish your fire."

John's eyes narrowed. "Do you have so little faith in me?"

"I am thinking realistically. You are clearly not," Bane said.

John's jaw clenched until it ached, his heartbeat pounding angrily in his ears, demanding some form of action. With John's body pumped full of adrenaline Bane's words stung, even though with a clearer mind John might have agreed with him. "I can't just let assholes act like this and get away with it."

Bane removed some of his weight from John, leaving just enough to keep John pinned without causing his back to hurt from being against the wall. "I understand this is important to you. But I am asking you to _think_. Dying will not help your city."

John opened his mouth to continue arguing, and then closed his mouth again when Bane's words sunk in. John was angry, _furious_ with his inactivity and with Bane for hindering him, but he had to admit that Bane had a point. John could race out and try to break up the fight but there was a good possibility he would end up seriously hurt or dead due to the encounter. Bane could follow him out and join the fray but that was putting Bane at risk of discovery. John wouldn't allow that.

_Think!_ He told himself, trying to push past the adrenaline coursing through his veins, howling for blood. Bane was right; there wasn't much John could do by running out into the street. But maybe he could get some backup. An idea flashed through John's mind and he reached down toward his pocket. Bane caught his wrist and pinned it against the wall, and when John looked up he saw that Bane's eyes were sharp and frenzied. "I will not lose you!"

John was still angry with him, but he couldn't stop his heart from clenching with affection at Bane's concern for his wellbeing. He had come up with a solution though, so John held Bane's gaze. "Trust me."

He could feel Bane's hand twitch around his wrist and then withdraw, giving John full control of his right hand. John immediately dug into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone, dialling 911. Each second that passed as the phone rang before someone picked up had John fidgeting in Bane's hold, but before he could give up entirely on the police his call was finally answered. He explained that he was reporting an in-progress attack and gave the address as well as any descriptors of the attackers he knew the police could use, and then hung up.

In the silence of the alley John could hear a final, pained groan and then the sound of someone spitting. "Maybe this'll teach you to carry some extra cash to pay for your safety next time you decide to travel through our territory," one of the attackers said.

John heard another hit to flesh, a sharp cry, fading laughter and then silence. He clenched his eyes closed, breathing quickly as he tried to calm himself down. While John and Bane had bickered, that man had been beaten up and left on the sidewalk in the cold. The police had said they would be there in ten minutes but by then the attackers would be long gone.

John was frustrated and anxious to _do_ something but Bane was leaning against him, keeping him immobile. Bane's face was tucked against John's neck, breathing in John's scent on each long inhale. And although it softened John's anger slightly to feel Bane holding him so close, he was not in the mood.

He raised his hands and pushed against Bane's chest until Bane stepped back, giving John space and freedom. John dropped his phone back into his pocket and then pulled out his apartment key, pressing it into Bane's hand. "Go home, I'll meet you there."

"Where are you planning to go?" Bane raised an eyebrow, looking unimpressed.

"I'm going to stay with him until the police arrive," John tilted his head towards the street.

"Then I will stay also," Bane said.

John rolled his eyes. Bane's concern was endearing; his hypocrisy was not. "The police will be here in less than ten minutes. While I am pleased that the general public doesn't seem to recognize you without your mask, I am not risking any cops seeing you." Bane pocketed the key but didn't move. John sighed and stepped forward. He held Bane's frozen cheeks between his palms and kissed him with all the fury and passion he had left in his body. Then he pushed Bane away with enough strength to cause him to stumble. "Now _go_!"

Bane stared at him for another second and then turned and ran, heading to the far mouth of the alley to take a different route back to the apartment. Even though John was worried about him getting spotted, John knew Bane had enough skill and experience at hiding from the police to make it back safely. He listened until Bane's footsteps faded and then faced the nearer street, racing out into the open.

The attacked man was still sprawled on the sidewalk, unmoving. The rest of the street was empty, though John doubted it was a coincidence when he saw another pedestrian turn the corner onto the street, see the motionless man and turn back to take a different street. John was disgusted at the unknown pedestrian but not as much as with himself.

John ran across the street and knelt by the man's head, feeling for a pulse. He found one and breathed a sigh of relief. John looked the man over, assessing the wounds he could see based on the fight he had heard; as far as he could tell, the man would need to go to the hospital but wasn't in danger of dying. That didn't make John feel any less guilty though, and John focused on gently shaking the man awake.

The man woke in a panic but John soothed him, assuring him that help was on the way. John was relieved to see the man calm down again, laying still on the pavement as a few uncaring cars drove past. John asked the man a few questions to ensure that his memory was intact, and pulled off his coat to throw over the man when he began to shiver violently and groan as his injuries were jostled.

By the time the police arrived John couldn't feel his fingers, arms, or face. He tried to stand up to greet the two police officers who stepped out of the police cruiser but found his legs frozen at their bent angle. Luckily John knew one of the cops from his old precinct, a soft-spoken man named Drew who helped John to his feet and got his coat back on and done up. Through numb lips John mumbled a fudged account of what he had seen, saying he had happened across the fight as the attackers were walking away.

"I thought I heard someone say you handed in your badge," Drew said in confusion while his partner called for an ambulance.

"I did," John said, shoving his hands into his pockets in a futile search for warmth. He didn't feel like explaining himself right now and silently prayed that Drew wouldn't push the subject.

Luckily, Drew just nodded in understanding. "It's in the blood. And lucky for this guy you found him."

John tried to smile but knew it came out as a grimace. If this victim had been truly lucky then John would have protected him from getting beaten up. "Is there any more information you need for my statement?"

"No, I think we have everything." Drew clapped John on the shoulder, a touch John barely felt as his body fought to warm up now that his coat was back on. "Go get warm, Blake. And thanks. We'll take care of him from here."

John tried to smile again and then gave up; he didn't deserve any thanks. He parted with a wave and a farewell and quickly walked down the sidewalk towards his apartment. He hoped that Bane had made it back safely and that John wouldn't encounter any other idiots on the street, uninterested in any further confrontations tonight.

Thankfully he didn't run into anyone and made it into the apartment lobby without further incident. John headed for the stairs and walked up quickly, his body still thrumming with adrenaline and anger. Drew had thanked him for calling the police and staying with the victim until they arrived but John should have done more. But Bane had held him back, turned John selfish. The warmth that came from Bane's concern for him warred with John's frustration at failing a citizen, and by the time he reached his apartment he was a whirlwind of pent up aggression and energy.

The door was unlocked when John tried the doorknob, and he stepped inside the apartment quietly. He slid the locks closed behind him and kicked off his boots, but kept his coat on for extra warmth as his body slowly began to thaw. Bane was leaning against the wall where the hallway turned into the living room, eyes locking on John as soon as he arrived even though Bane said and did nothing.

John, uninterested in tiptoeing around this, walked directly up to Bane and sealed their lips together. John felt like he was going to explode if he didn't release some of his built up energy, and this seemed like the most pleasant way of doing so. Bane's arms came around John's waist as John clutched onto Bane's shoulder with one hand and held the back of his head with the other hand, deepening the kiss until it was vicious and burning.

Bane pushed away from the wall and John stumbled, but Bane held them flush together and picked John up a second later. John grunted and hooked his legs on the angle of Bane's hips, holding himself aloft as Bane quickly moved them into the living room and onto the couch. Bane sat down and took John with him, who settled in his lap and began grinding his hips in a demanding circle.

Bane groaned but could say nothing as John continued to kiss him greedily, their teeth knocking together with their zealous movements. At the same time John's shaking fingers fumbled blindly with the hem of Bane's shirt, tugging it over Bane's head in a rush before dropping his hands immediately to his next target: the button of Bane's pants. Bane pressed the heel of his palm against John's crotch and John moaned, nipping angrily at Bane's collarbone as his frozen fingers continued to fail him.

John got Bane's pants undone at the same time as Bane worked John's zipper down, fabric straining with their combined force. John stood on shaky legs and pulled off his pants and underwear, not willing to take the time to remove his socks and shirt before sneaking his fingers below Bane's waistline. With one sharp tug John got Bane's pants and underwear halfway down his thighs and that was all he needed before he retook his position on Bane's lap.

When he was spent John collapsed, feeling the new tiredness in his spine and limbs that had struggled to support his demanding arch. John reached up to brush fingers through his hair but found his arms too shaky to lift. He gave up and left them to rest against the couch, too focused on trying to remember how to breathe.

He groaned and shifted slightly when Bane withdrew but remained on the couch instead of pursuing him, eyes half lidded. Bane knelt over him, one hand on the couch by John's shoulder to prop up his weight while his other hand skimmed through John's hair, soothing him into an exhausted, content lull. "Better?"

John hummed and tilted his head back, pressing his lips to Bane's wrist before relaxing again. His skin was beginning to feel a bit chilled again, sweat meeting the air, and he shivered. Still he didn't move, emotionally and physically spent. John grunted when he felt the cushions dip and rise as Bane removed his weight, but before John could find enough energy to peel his eyes open he felt strong arms around his middle, hoisting him up.

Taking the hint, John wrapped his arms around Bane's scored shoulders while Bane's fingers hooked under his thighs. They remained chest to chest as Bane carried John into the bedroom, setting him down and pulling the blankets up to his chin. John knew he was a mess but decided not to care until tomorrow when he would shower. He fumbled with his shirt until Bane helped him out of it and then John slumped back against the pillows, already half asleep.

Their coupling had driven all of his anger, frustration and guilt out, leaving only exhaustion and a lingering thought that he had done all he _currently_ could do for that poor man on the street. It wasn't exactly a sense of pride that filled John, but it was one of mild satisfaction. Until he found a better way to properly protect himself and others on the streets, John had helped to the best of his ability.

He would've drifted off immediately except he could still feel Bane's weight dipping one side of the bed, rather than Bane getting up and slipping under the covers with him. John forced his eyes open into slits, gazing up at Bane through his lashes. "You coming to bed?"

Instead of answering right away, Bane cupped John's cheek and jaw with his palm. Bane's thumb brushed over John's lips softly and John stretched languidly, enjoying the kiss. Bane still didn't lie down though, and John's eyebrows furrowed as he opened his eyes wider. He found Bane studying him, looking nearly as exhausted as John felt but also sad.

"It is not that I don't have faith in you," Bane said quietly, regret in his words. "It is my fear of your potential. I dread that you will sacrifice too much and I will lose you."

John reached up and rested his hand on top of Bane's, pressing his lips against the rough pad of Bane's thumb. "You won't lose me."

"The same way you thought you would never lose your friend Bruce?" Bane posed. John frowned, struggling in vain to find enough energy to maintain this discussion properly. "Few plan to die, my love."

The combination of his exhaustion, memories of Bruce and the other loved ones John had lost, and the incredibly rare endearment from Bane's lips, John began to cry. The thought of dying and leaving Bane alone in the world hurt as much as the thought of losing Bane. John could feel his stomach begin to roil and his tears wet the pillow as he cried quietly, subdued. "I promise I won't die," he whispered.

Bane kissed John's temple. "Sleep," Bane said. "You will feel better in the morning."

John reached for Bane and calmed when Bane laced their fingers together. "Stay with me."

This time Bane kissed John's quivering lips. "Always." John wanted to argue but his plan to wear himself out had been too successful. John only managed to stay awake long enough to feel Bane moving out of his pants and slipping under the covers with him before sleep claimed him.

* * *

A/N: My tumblr: **onewhositswiththeturtles(dot-tumblr-dot-com)**


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Non-censored version of the story on AO3: archiveofourown(dot-org)/works/684270

* * *

Bane was right; John did feel better in the morning. He woke with Bane curled around him like a huge warm cocoon, his breath fanning over John's shoulder in even gusts where his face was tucked in the curve of John's neck and shoulder. When John stretched his body ached, but with that good sort of burn that came from a successful workout session. John felt spent and relaxed, regardless of the memories that returned to him from the night prior.

John reached down and laced his fingers with Bane's, both of their hands resting on his hip. Bane slept on and John smiled against the pillow. The alarm clock on his bedside table told him that it was already nearly eleven in the morning but John felt unbothered; he had nowhere to be but here in Bane's arms. He managed to doze a little longer until his stomach began to growl with the demand for food, which was also when Bane woke up and rolled John on top of him.

John straddled Bane's waist and brushed his fingers over the grooves he had left in Bane's shoulders the night before. The skin was red and raised but it would heal; Bane didn't pull away from his soft touch even when he winced. "I wish you didn't have to feel pain," John said, leaning down to press his lips to each tiny cut. He wanted to protect Bane, to take the pain into his own body rather than see Bane suffer.

To his surprise, Bane gave a tiny shrug of nonchalance. "You cannot truly appreciate pleasure without pain."

John's heart swelled. He was always amazed at Bane's strength – not just his physical abilities but also his mental willpower. John cupped his palms around the rounded curves of Bane's shoulders, hoping his warm skin would soothe Bane's torn skin, and pressed his lips to Bane's. John would never grow tired of this, of being able to roll over in bed and find Bane there, of being able to kiss Bane whenever he pleased.

Bane's words had struck John last night, reminding him of the fact that, for the first time in his life, John had someone else to live for. Bane would stay with John even when everyone else had disappeared, and Bane was strong enough to fight off anyone trying to separate them. John would not lose Bane the way he had lost his parents; he could trust Bane to remain in his life as the partner John needed and craved.

In return, Bane had reminded John that he owed Bane that promise in return. Just because John wanted to protect Gotham didn't mean he had to be reckless about it. Bane had made a good point; John would not be able to help anyone if he was dead. And John refused to throw his own life away when it was so entwined with Bane's life and happiness. Besides that, John was in no rush to die; he had a lifetime with Bane to look forward to.

They kissed for a long time, lips sliding together in a dance that was now delightfully familiar. John was just beginning to feel a warm tingling in his groin when his stomach growled louder than before, effectively ruining the moment. Bane pulled his mouth back, and even when John tried to pursue him Bane kept a few inches of space between them. "How about some brunch?" he recommended.

"I can help," John said. However, when he made a move to get out of bed he felt his limbs turn to jelly, still tired from the night before.

John sunk back down onto the mattress and this time Bane loomed over him, kissing John's jaw before sitting up and getting off the bed. "Rest."

John thought about arguing but the blankets tucked around him were warm and soft, making it easy for his eyelids to droop closed again. "Bane," he called out softly, wondering if they could just stay in bed all day. He received no response and when John forced his eyes open again he found an empty room and a clock informing him that he had dozed and over ten minutes had passed.

Missing Bane and wanting to stretch out his body, John finally dragged himself out of bed. He was still tired from the night before but sunlight was streaming into his eyes, waking him up. With sluggish movements he pulled on some sweatpants and a t-shirt, tugging a sweater on overtop before heading out into the rest of the apartment.

John found Bane in the kitchen, standing over two frying pans filled with bacon and eggs. John walked up and leaned against the counter, watching Bane curiously. "I'll admit, I never imagined seeing you like this."

"Like what?" Bane asked without looking away from the stove top.

"So domestic," John said. "Cooking bacon and eggs for a late morning brunch in nothing but a pair of sweatpants," he teased.

Bane glanced over at him and then turned off the heat for the burners, the food ready. "After I got out of prison I had to learn to cook for myself," Bane explained.

John grabbed two plates from the cupboard and set them on the counter for Bane. He watched as Bane pushed an even helping of bacon and eggs onto each plate. "I guess I never really thought about your life between prison and when you came to Gotham, but it makes sense." Bane handed him a plate silently and John searched for courage. "Would you tell me more about that time after prison?"

Bane leaned against the counter as well, mirroring John's position. "Those were not happy times."

"I'd still like to know…someday," John said, trying to smile past his nerves. There was still so much about Bane he didn't know and he hoped that someday Bane would be comfortable enough sharing those details with him. Now that the city was not at war and Bane didn't need to conceal information about Talia, it was safe for them to share more about themselves. "I could tell you more about my years at the orphanage if you're interested."

"I am interested," Bane told him truthfully. "And it would be nice to tell you a few more stories." John's smile grew and together they moved to the kitchen table. When John took his first big forkful of food he couldn't stop his eyebrows from rising in surprise, causing Bane to chuckle. "You were not expecting it to be good, were you?"

"Not _this_ good," John admitted, shovelling more food into his mouth. His eyes met Bane's and John blushed. "I like it, you know," John spoke shyly, worried about saying something wrong. "When you act like this. I'd love you no matter what but…" he shrugged with one shoulder. "It's nice."

"This is the first time I have enjoyed these sorts of routines," Bane told him, serious but warm.

John felt his heart flutter as he reached across the table, his hand resting on top of Bane's in the middle of the table. "Me too."

After that they mostly ate with just one hand each, their other hand occupied with their fingers knotted. They didn't speak much over their food, enjoying the bacon and eggs while the food was hot. Once they were done John grabbed the plates and washed up since Bane had done the cooking. When he left the kitchen he found Bane by the window, highlighted with bright, warm sunlight as he sat in the chair he had dragged over.

He had a book in his lap – one John recognized from his own bookshelf – but when John pulled up a second chair to sit with him Bane set the book aside. It became a new routine for them throughout the weekend. They sat together by the windows, watching the streets below grow busier as people hesitantly returned to their routines of work, school and play.

Occasionally they listened to the news, which discussed the promotion of Deputy Mayor Peters to Mayor and the other initiatives being taken to return things to a balanced normal. Other times John and Bane would sit together in silence, reading books plucked from John's collection. Most of the time though, John and Bane talked, sharing stories back and forth that had been off limits until the war had come to a close.

Always, no matter what they were doing, Bane would move his chair to sit directly in the sunlight. Even when they left their spots for meals or for exercise, they would resettle the chairs wherever the sun was when they returned. Bane was drawn to the sun like a housecat and it left John smiling privately whenever Bane wasn't looking. The light and warmth seemed to melt Bane, leaving him with a tiny but constant up-curl to his lips, even when he spoke of memories that were clearly painful.

The only story that was strong enough to temporarily remove the smile of contentment was the day Bane described where Talia's father, Ra's al Ghul, ex-communicated Bane from the League of Shadows, the only group of people Bane had ever felt he belonged with. "It was the only home I let myself believe in after I got out of prison," Bane told him sadly. "And it was taken away because of what had been done to my body by the doctor – something I could not control."

Bane closed his eyes and John watched him. He wanted to say something helpful or comforting, telling Bane that he was sorry or that he was better off without the League anyway. But Bane already knew all that and John didn't think it would help to say again. So he remained seated across from Bane, taking in the beautiful sight of sunlight catching in Bane's lashes and soaking into his skin. They sat in silence for a while and when Bane finally blinked his eyes open again, that tiny smile powered by the sunlight had returned.

John was happy to see that Bane seemed calmer in general, and John knew it was because Bane had finally gotten some freedom. Even though their walk through the city on Friday night had not been without incident, Bane's energy had been spent and he was no longer tense or anxious.

John would have been worried that the apartment wasn't enough for him and that Bane was only pretending to want to be here, but when Bane gazed out the windows, grey eyes alight with the sun, John saw no longing there. As Bane had already explained, he had gone so many years without sunlight or freedom that it was not something he could miss or wish for. Bane could not be cooped up forever, but Bane's preferred form of freedom included movement and choice, not the sun.

#

Monday came too soon for John, even though he was as excited as he was nervous. Alfred had suggested that John should come to the reading of Bruce's will at Wayne Enterprises and John wasn't going to do something stupid like ignore the blatant hint. But when John shut off his alarm clock in the morning and slid out of bed, Bane still buried beneath the pile of blankets and sleeping on, his movements were jittery.

John felt the same way he did on each Christmas morning when he was young, his mother's absence a heavy weight in the air as John's father pushed one small box into his hands each winter. There would be no other presents under the tree, which would be a sagging little pine picked from the reject pile at the nearest convenience store. John had no money to buy his father a present and John's own present was always bought with money that truly didn't belong to either of them.

John would hold that box in his hand each year, a mix of excitement and anxiety filling his chest until it was hard to breathe, until he wondered if he might somehow drown. Then John would pull away the haphazard wrapping with shaking fingers, hesitate, and finally lift the lid of the box with a wince. Because John loved gifts like any child did but he _knew_ that it would never be something he deserved. They had more important things to spend money on than a colouring book or a shiny red fire truck.

That was how John felt now. He was eager to see what Bruce might have left for him but at the same time, with a sense of dread, John knew that whatever it was would be _far_ too much. Bruce shouldn't have left him anything; there was nothing of his possessions that should rightfully go to John. Bruce had written the will though, with Alfred's help, so John wasn't going to turn away from his final wishes.

John decided to dress up for the occasion, if only a little. When he checked the weather on his netbook he saw that spring was finally taking command again after the last cold weekend of winter. The sun would be bright and clear with the temperatures slowly climbing throughout the day. With this in mind John watched himself in the mirror as he put on a blue shirt with a matching sweater and tie; he would grab his lighter lined jacket from the hall closet on his way out.

He grabbed a bowl of cereal and stood by the window as he ate, the apartment quiet but lived in. The reading of the will was at ten in the morning so John left after he was done eating, taking his wallet and phone with him. Bane was still asleep so John left a note on the bedside table beside Osito, even though Bane knew where John was going. Then John kissed him on the forehead and headed for the door.

John wasn't sure how many people to expect at the reading of the will considering how few people had attended the private funeral, but he was still surprised to see the boardroom almost completely empty as he walked in. He checked his watch, wondering if he was early, but then a lawyer at the head of the table began to speak. "Mister Wayne's will was not amended to reflect his more modest state. Nonetheless there are still considerable assets to dispose of."

John came to a standstill near the door and listened. With the man's words John realized that Alfred and Bruce must have written his latest will only a short time before Bruce lost his fortune. John continued to listen as the lawyer reading the will explained that the contents of the house would be sold to settle the estate's accounts with the rest going to Alfred.

"The house and grounds are left to the city of Gotham on condition that they never be demolished, altered or otherwise interfered with," the lawyer said. John could feel his body deflating at the thought of what government officials might think of doing with the gorgeous grounds, but then perked up as the will continued. "That they shall be used with one purpose, and one purpose only: the housing and care of the city's at-risk and orphaned children."

John looked up suddenly, eyebrows lifting in surprise and lips curling with a proud, grateful smile. This must be the gift Bruce had left for John to hear, and the one Alfred had persuaded John to come listen to. John's memory flashed back to the day he had confronted Bruce in his manor, challenging him not to give up on Batman or the city. Despite having his cover challenged, Bruce had only asked John one question: "why did you say that your boy's home _used_ _to be_ funded by the Wayne Foundation?"

_It might be time to get some air and start paying attention to the details_, John had said, disappointed but also hopeful. _Some of those details might need your help_.

Bruce had listened to him. Not only had he donned Batman's mask again, he had left the huge manor house and grounds to orphaned and at-risk kids. Even in death Bruce was still helping and protecting the people, giving lost children an opportunity for support and love that could offer them better futures than they would have otherwise.

John laughed once, silently, amused and pleased that his words had been taken into serious consideration. Content with what he had heard, John turned to leave, but paused when the lawyer spoke up again. "My clerk can help with any of the smaller correspondences and instructions."

It seemed presumptuous to assume Bruce had left him anything else – what he had done with the estate had more than impressed. But he was already here and decided it couldn't hurt to ask. John followed the signs through the hallways and into the elevator, finding the aforementioned clerk five floors down from the boardroom. She looked up at him as he entered the office, clipboard and pen ready in hand. "Blake, John," he offered.

Her eyes skimmed over the clipboard and then turned back up to him. "Nothing here." Her voice was soft, almost apologetic.

John should just leave. He didn't need anything, didn't _want_ anything more than what he had already been given. But there was a glimmer of hope deep inside him, thinking back to all of the advice Bruce had given him the few times they had gotten a chance to talk. Maybe Bruce had one more piece of advice or help he could offer John before John was truly on his own.

He fumbled with his wallet, pulling out his driver's license. "Try my legal name," he said, handing the card over for her to check.

_Don't be disappointed_, John scolded himself as the clerk gave his card and then the clipboard another long look. _Don't be disappointed_, he thought again as she handed back his card. But then she circled something on her list and handed over the clipboard. John saw his name and signed beside it. When he handed the clipboard back the clerk turned to the side, rifling through boxes of tagged envelopes. To John's surprise she grabbed a small black duffel bag from the ground and handed it over to him. "You should use your full name. I like that name," she said as she handed the bag to him "Robin."

John nodded and took the bag, feeling the weight of it when it was fully passed into his hands. "Thanks."

It was Christmas all over again, making up for the holidays that had passed Gotham by without any notice during the war. Excitement and anxiety plagued John as he wondered what was in the hefty duffel bag. He wanted to open it _now_, but also never wanted to know what it was Bruce could possibly think John deserved receiving. In the end, as John fidgeted with the leather handles in the hallway he decided to open the bag when he got home and headed for the door.

Bane was awake and in the living room by the time John made it home. His chair was by the window as usual, though the sun hadn't crept high enough in the sky yet to hit Bane's outstretched legs. John slid out of his boots and coat before walking slowly to his own chair by the window, bag in hand. Bane looked up at him and closed his current book, eyes flicking down to the black bag.

"A present?"

"I guess so," John set the bag on his chair, standing beside it.

John could feel Bane's eyes switching between the bag and John. "Are you going to open it?"

John sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, more apprehensive now that he actually had to open the bag. "He shouldn't have left me anything," he hedged.

"John," Bane's voice drew John's gaze from the bag to soft silver eyes. "If he left it for you then he wanted you to have it."

Those eyes infused calm into him and John nodded. He sat in his chair and rested the bag in his lap. Bane didn't bother pretending that he wasn't paying attention, eyes watching John's trembling fingers grab the zipper tag and pull. John really hadn't known what to expect, but what he found tucked inside the duffel back still surprised him enough that his eyebrows lifted noticeably.

He reached inside and pulled out a heavy-duty beacon flashlight and what appeared to be a harness, the buckles and nylon already set up with a coil of strong-looking rope sitting at the bottom of the bag. "Does he want me to go rock climbing?" John wondered aloud, looking over the sturdy climbing harness in his hands. Bane had no answer, only observing quietly, so John set the harness in his lap and dug further into the bag in search of some explanation.

Tucked into a corner at the bottom of the duffel bag John found a few more items. He found a slip of paper with a set of latitude and longitude coordinates scribbled on it with blue marker, paired with a small battery-powered GPS device. The third and final item was a sealed envelope half-crushed against the rope.

John pulled out the envelope and returned everything else to the bag, instinct telling him that the harness, rope, coordinates and GPS device were all separate from this plain envelope. He set the duffel bag on the ground and tore open the envelope, this time unsurprised when a few notebook pages with Bruce's scrawl fell into his lap.

Bane stood from his chair and John looked up quickly. "You don't have to leave," he insisted. "I don't mind you being here."

"I need to stretch my legs," Bane said. John smiled when Bane tilted his chin up with a finger and kissed him softly before exiting the living room. Although he hadn't been lying when he said he didn't mind Bane staying with him, John appreciated the consideration and privacy. Returning his attention to the letter from Bruce, John unfurled the pages and began to read.

_John,_

_There are two things that I want to say to you, both of which I wish I had the chance to tell you in person. However, with the city in the state it's in I fear that such an opportunity will not come. _

_First I want to thank you. You have been a true friend and an inspiration. I don't think I could have found the courage to take up my mask again without your visit. If something happens to me at the end of this, please do not regret our discussions. The choices I will be making in the near future are my own, and ones I will be proud of. You offered me a glimmer of hope but are in no way responsible for what is to come. _

_Second, I want to say that I am sorry. I should not be leaving you with this harness and GPS. It is not fair of me, and it is a selfish choice. But I will do it anyway because I love this city and its people and I know I cannot protect it forever. It is not your destiny or your obligation to take my offer, but I can think of no hands or heart more capable. _

_You have a fire in you, John. One that could light up the darkest of places and mend the most broken of hearts. You could become a beacon of hope for these people and lead them from the shadows shrouding Gotham. _

_So again I apologize, because the option I hand to you is not a fair one, nor a prosperous one. Darkness cannot be defeated; it can only be kept at bay by the individual actions of people brave enough to shine light into the shadows. If you choose to follow me then follow the coordinates I have left you. Also, on the final page of this letter you will find detailed information for a small bank account I set up in your name to help support you on your way. _

_Although a part of me hopes you will burn this letter and find a quieter, happier life than mine, I know that the decision lies with you. So I shall simply wish you luck on your future endeavours, and on a happy life. Even if you follow the coordinates please do not forget the importance of love and happiness, because it will be what keeps your fire burning despite all hardships. _

_Thank you for everything,_

_Bruce_

John read the letter and then reread it, letting the words sink in. Then he flipped to the final page, seeing a few strings of numbers that indicated an account number, a passcode and answers to pre-determined security questions. When he saw those strings of numbers John could feel his fingers quiver and he quickly folded the pages back up, carefully slotting them back into the envelope where they were safe.

He sat there for a while on his chair, the envelope resting on his thighs as the sun slowly snuck higher into the sky until it finally spilled into John's apartment and onto his body. John felt his skin tingle with warmth and light and closed his eyes, imagining himself as the beacon of light Bruce described him as. He raised a hand and pressed it against his beating heart, visualizing the fire inside him that Bruce mentioned; the one that Bane cherished so dearly.

Sitting like that, John breathed in and out slowly. He had never really meditated before but he figured this must be what it felt like as he followed his slowing breathing. Despite the emotions whirling inside him from the letter, and the hint of what Bruce had really left for John to take if he chose, John felt calm and peaceful. Although his alleged 'fire' was supposed to lead others out of darkness, it also centred John.

Eventually John stood up and packed everything away in the duffel bag, setting it on the floor by his chair. He stretched out his stiff legs and walked to the bedroom where he had seen Bane disappearing to. As he expected, he found Bane sitting on the edge of the bed, unmoving and calm. _So much for 'stretching his legs'_, John thought with a smile. Aloud he said, "You're not a very good liar."

Bane's eyes slid up John's body to his eyes. "I am an excellent liar," Bane refuted. "I just do not try with you."

"I'm glad." John walked further into the bedroom, approaching slowly until he was standing between Bane's parted legs. Bane held John's hips and pulled him closer, and John ducked his head down to kiss Bane softly.

Bane groan quietly into John's mouth and returned the kiss, lips warm and inviting. "I was not expecting this sort of reaction after you got a letter from Bruce," Bane admitted after they parted.

John brushed his fingers over Bane's head and down the back of his neck, the pads of his fingers tracing the ridge of scarred skin that started at the base of Bane's neck and disappeared below his shirt. "It was a good letter," John said, wondering how much detail he should give. It wasn't that he didn't trust Bane; the letter just felt very private. "I feel empowered and cautioned all at once. Both of which lead me to you."

He didn't fight when Bane lifted him and led him onto the bed, stomach down on the duvet. Nor did he complain as Bane silently relieved John of his clothing, first pulling John's shirt over his head and then pulling down his pants and underwear. When John was completely naked on the bed he crossed his arms beneath his head, comfortable and warm as Bane hovered over him.

Although John always enjoyed their more passionate couplings, John liked these moments where Bane's possessiveness was displayed through calm touches of affection. Bane liked to pin him, touch him and taste him, and it left John shivering with a slow-burning pleasure. The goal of this wasn't to achieve orgasm, but John still found these connecting moments distinctly memorable.

Bane knelt over John and then carefully lowered his weight, knees denting the mattress on either side of John's hips. It was reminiscent of the first night John had spent with Bane in the hotel room when Bane had tended to the long-since healed cut on the back of John's head. That night John had pushed up against Bane and fought frantically, for his life and against the twinge of guilty arousal that shot through him when Bane brushed his fingers along John's spine.

Now John pressed up only to feel Bane lead him back down with insistent tenderness. He lifted his head enough to look over his shoulder, drawing Bane's lips down to his jaw for a few moments before Bane calmly pushed him back down again. John remained splayed on the bed, arms cradling his head and his legs spread slightly as Bane traced his spine and the curve of John's narrow hips.

Before meeting Bane, John would have never considered himself a submissive partner. And yet with Bane it felt perfect and natural. John had always tried to maintain control of everything, untrusting of anyone else's ability to lead – in life or in the bedroom. Without control John had felt lost and anxious. But then he had met Bane and had no choice but to give up control to the masked man. John had dug his heels in at first, but as he and Bane became friends and then lovers, John realized that it might not be scary having Bane lead him.

John doubted he would be able to give up his control to anyone else, but Bane was different. When John submitted to him Bane continued to treat him as an equal, rather than just a body used for pleasure. It was why John trusted him enough to submit; Bane was not stupid or greedy with his power. It was an equal exchange between them and John felt safe with Bane leading.

Bane had further mellowed after he had gotten sick and he had allowed John to lead their coupling when Bane was too weak to hold himself up, both of them finding a perfect balance to their relationship. Submitting actually helped John relax, knowing Bane would keep both of their needs in mind. And John had actually realized that it was a private turn on for him to have Bane controlling his pleasure, his body always burning hotter when Bane held him in place and claimed him.

John's thoughts screeched to a halt when Bane began to nip marks down John's sides, pinching the skin with his teeth before sucking the mark darker and then moving his mouth down an inch to begin again. John closed his eyes and focused on Bane's mouth on his skin, pleased to know that he would have two columns of love bites lining his sides when Bane was done. At the same time Bane kept his hands pressed firmly against John's shoulders, keeping him immobile. John loved the calm form of possession Bane had over him, demanding but affectionate.

When Bane's marks were done he lifted himself up and rolled John over onto his back. John didn't stifle the pleased moan that fell from his lips when he felt his sensitive skin press against the sheets, the bites stinging with a sweet, intoxicating ache. Bane settled above him again, kneeling but with his weight keeping John on the mattress. Bane's fingers dug into John's hair as his eyes roamed John's body unhurriedly but keen.

"Don't you want to know what the letter said?" John wondered aloud, surprised that Bane hadn't asked yet. Bane was a person who always liked to know everything he could; after all, knowledge was power.

Bane leaned forward until the length of his body was moulded to John's. Then Bane buried his face against John's neck and breathed in deeply, his warm breath ghosting over John's skin. "I do not need to ask. If you want me to know then you will tell me."

John weathered his bottom lip, staring at the ceiling as he skimmed his hands lightly over the defined muscles of Bane's shoulders and arms. He suspected that Bane would be angry about Bruce suggesting that John take up his mantle, especially after their conversation on Friday night. But even though John was nervous about Bane's reaction, he had no intention of lying or hiding this. They were a pair and this would affect both of them; John wouldn't accept anything until they had come to some form of agreement.

"The letter didn't give a lot of details. I think Bruce was being careful in case someone else found the letter before it got to me," John said, slipping one hand under Bane's shirt to feel the raised line of his scar. John should have felt uncomfortable like this, completely naked while Bane was fully clothed, but it was comfortable and Bane's body kept him warm. "But I think he left me some resources I could use to follow in his steps if I chose."

John felt anxiety twist his stomach into knots when he noticed Bane's breathing catch sharply and then turn shallow. "Gadgets will only keep you safe for so long," Bane warned. Bane's arms curled tighter around John, holding him close on the bed.

"I know that," John pursed his lips. "But Bruce talked about a fire in me... It sounded like the same fire you've mentioned." Bane nipped John's collarbone a little too harshly, stealing a tiny gasp from John's lips at the sharp pain that faded to a dull throb as soon as Bane removed his teeth from John's skin. "What was that for?" John grumbled.

"You still sound unsure," Bane said when he lifted his head, grey eyes holding John's own. "Do not doubt the light you shine, or its worth."

"I don't see it," John told Bane honestly.

Bane stared at him, studied him, and then kissed him. The kiss was hopeless and sad, desperation making each movement a bit sharp as their lips locked and moved. John was confused, his uncertainty mounting when Bane pulled away but seemed at a loss for words. Bane's hand came to rest over John's heart, palm noting each of John's frantic heartbeats. "It is your selfless courage and concern for others," Bane struggled to explain. "Your love despite many hardships."

"It is a powerful weapon," Bane continued, "but also a dangerous weakness." John wished his heart would stop racing; it was making him feel dizzy. "Hope allows you to fight harder and longer than anyone else, but that will draw attention you do not want." Bane was frowning and John swallowed; there was fear in Bane's eyes. "Creatures of darkness hate the challenge of light. Once you become a big enough threat, they will not stop until you are dead."

John finally looked away, unnerved by the certainty in Bane's voice and face. "Maybe what Bruce left me will help," John said weakly.

"All he could have left you was money, gadgets and words of encouragement," Bane said strongly. "And none of those will stop a fist," Bane pressed his hand down harder until John felt his ribcage ache, "a knife," Bane dug five crescents into John's skin with his nails, "or a bullet." At that Bane used enough of his weight on John's chest for John to feel that initial panic of his lungs struggling to drag in enough air.

Bane remained like that for only an instant before pulling away but his point had been made; John had been shaken. "You're just trying to scare me," John snapped, knocking away Bane's hand from his bare skin.

"Fear is what keeps you alive," Bane retorted. He looked pained at hurting John, but he had still done it all the same!

Jaw clenched tightly, John dragged himself from beneath Bane's weight. Bane didn't stop him, only sitting up and watching as John stood and started pulling on the first clothes he could find on the ground. "I still think it's worth looking to see what he left me, at least," John said. His voice was strained even though he had caught his breath.

"You are going now?" Bane asked. It sounded like someone had a vice grip on his throat.

John wanted to leave without another word but he forced himself to take a few deep breaths and not do or say anything he would regret later. When he was sure his expression wouldn't look too much like a glare, John half-turned to face Bane. "What's wrong with going now?"

Bane's eyes flickered from John, to the sunny window, and back. "It's daytime." John knew what Bane was thinking but John could still feel his skin throbbing with lingering pain. The crescents Bane had left circling John's heart stung with each beat of his heart and the love bites on his back and collarbone that now brushed against his shirt with every movement no longer felt pleasing. He was going to make Bane say it, and take pleasure in the way Bane's eyes flashed. "I cannot go with you."

"No," John stated simply, trying to keep his voice even despite the fact that his heart was racing. "You can't."

Bane stood slowly, a primal growl vibrating in the back of his throat. John didn't take a step back when Bane towered over him because he knew Bane wouldn't truly hurt him, but that didn't mean John didn't feel the adrenaline slipping into his veins, prompting a fight or flight instinct. John did neither and instead continued to stand directly in front of Bane. He wouldn't fight Bane, nor would he run from him.

"Go," Bane ordered quietly.

John suddenly wavered. Bane was trying to hide it but now that his mask was gone, John could see the tightness of his lips curling down as his eyes glanced away. Bane was hurt, frustrated and remorseful. "Bane..." John began hesitantly.

Bane's gaze snapped back to John with such ferocity that John's heart stammered in his chest. "If you are so determined to die, then _go_!"

It felt like a rock was in his throat. John tried to swallow and when that failed he just turned on his heel and strode out of the bedroom. He grabbed the duffel bag quickly and rushed for his coat. John didn't even take the time to put on his coat, merely slinging it over an arm as he shoved on his shoes and stumbled out the door. It was his apartment he was leaving, and the man he loved. He would return; there was no doubt in his mind. But he felt too sick with emotions right now. He needed space.

John knew he probably looked like an emotional wreck when he paused in the lobby, his face hot from dwindling anger and from running down the stairs. He set the duffel bag down and fumbled with his coat, his body shaking as he pulled it on. Then, before he could think too much about the sour note he had left on or his desire to go back and make amends, John slung the duffel bag over his shoulder and stepped out onto the sidewalk.

* * *

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"Beyond the Shadow" on AO3: archiveofourown(dot-org)/works/684270


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Non-censored version of the story on AO3: archiveofourown(dot-org)/works/684270

* * *

It was busy outside at this time of day, especially considering the fact that things were starting to grow warmer again. All of the snow was gone by now and even though a chill still remained in the air, the sun was warm enough to counter the wind's bite. John hoped that spring truly was here and that winter was finally behind them, appreciating the freshness of the air as he took deep breaths.

He walked to the library where he rented a few minutes of time on one of the computers since he had left the apartment in too much of a rush. John looked up a car and truck rental company within walking distance and printed off the map, continuing on his mission without lingering. He turned on the GPS and inputted the given coordinates to confirm that the distance indicated was undoubtedly beyond the city limits and then walked into the rental building to find a cheap car he could rent for the day.

Once everything was sorted he headed for the Midtown tunnel. The GPS was telling him to head in the opposite direction but John knew he would have to get onto the mainland to reach an accessible highway he could use; the destroyed bridges were under repair but they would still take time. In the car John had a chance to look around more of Gotham, taking in the destruction of war he had not been able to see from where he had walked the last few weeks.

Some of the roads were raised, giving a better view, and traffic was horribly slow near the tunnel with security checks being completed for anyone trying pass through the tunnel. This left John staring at his ruined city, some buildings scorched and crumbling even though the blood stains had been washed away from the sidewalks and gutters. The lump in John's throat grew thicker, choking him and forcing John to turn his gaze forward before he got anymore worked up.

John approached the tunnel at a crawl and rolled down his window as a police officer he didn't know stepped up to the car. John handed over his ID and explained that he was going out of town to visit a friend for the day, but that he would be back after a few hours. He added that they were planning to do some rock climbing to de-stress, which was a good decision since a minute later the cop nodded and asked what was in the bag. John showed him the harness and the GPS, and got out of the car obediently to show the cop his trunk and the back of his car before he was finally cleared to leave.

"Don't stay out too late," the cop warned him as John slid back into the driver's seat. "It's a bigger hassle getting re-admitted after dark."

"I'll keep that in mind, thanks," John gave a friendly smile and started the engine, finally heading through the tunnel and on his way.

The drive itself was relatively short after John managed to pass through the tunnel. The majority of the drive included heading back to the opposite end of town and then just continuing on a little further. The mainland roads were flowing at a relatively normal pace and there was no damage to drive around. John enjoyed the drive, turning up the volume of the music on the radio and rolling down the windows enough for chilled air to blast him in the face. John felt his adrenaline spike and then seep out of him, leaving him with a smile and relaxed muscles. It felt good to leave everything briefly behind as he pushed the car a little over the speed limit.

He pulled off the highway at a diner and bought a burger, eating quickly in the car. Then he continued to follow the GPS directions as it led him down increasingly less-traveled roads. Eventually he ended up at a literal end of the road, and John put the car into park before checking the GPS again. The map on the screen was encouraging him onward, into what appeared to be a small forest. There was no road, only a small section of dirt and gravel to indicate that someone might've once driven through the grass before.

John checked the GPS one final time and then shrugged. He shifted gears and began to drive slowly along the path, hearing grass and sturdy weeds scrap against the bottom of the car. The ground was bumpy as John drove over rocks and tree roots but he continued pressing forward. A short distance away from the road John saw the trees beginning to part for a clearing and a relatively large waterfall. John knew he had arrived even before the GPS chimed to indicate that he should stop.

John parked and turned off the car, enveloped for a moment in silence before his ears picked up the various noises of a busy forest. He could hear the distant roar of the waterfall intermixed with the songs of a few birds cheerfully announcing spring. John grabbed the duffel bag and locked the car, approaching the waterfall curiously. Through the cascades of falling water and mist John could see a dark shadow indicating what he assumed was a hole in the cliff face.

Knowing what the harness was now for, John returned the bag with Bruce's letter and the GPS to the car for safekeeping and then began to get everything else set up. He slipped into the harness and got all the buckles done up tightly to fit his body, clipping the flashlight to the harness belt. After that he searched for a branch strong enough to hold his weight. John found the perfect branch from a tree that was overhanging the small gap between the grass he was standing on and the waterfall. From where he was standing John could see that the bark was worn from ropes rubbing against it in the past.

It took a few attempts for John to throw the bundle of rope high enough for it to loop over the branch and fall back to the ground, the loose end already clipped to the harness. Once he was successful John got the other end of the rope tied securely around a tree. He tugged on it a few times to confirm that the knot was strong and then walked to the edge of the clearing, feeling a slight wave of vertigo as he wavered with his toes dangling off the edge. He wasn't up particularly high but swinging in a harness into the complete unknown was a bit daunting.

John took a few deep breaths to centre himself and his mind drifted back to Bane. Now that John was calm he was able to think about Bane without feeling a flash of anger or guilt. He had not handled the discussion well; John knew that. He just couldn't stand feeling belittled, and hearing Bane say that he didn't think John could handle this was about as belittling as it could get. Bane was strong, intelligent and skilled and he probably knew better than John what this sort of goal would require. Although it hurt to hear it, John feared that Bane might be right about this whole idea of taking up Batman's legacy.

Regardless of whether or not Bane was right though, John couldn't let himself give up. It felt too much like failure, even though he knew he would only disappoint himself – Bruce had actually said in his letter that a part of him hoped John wouldn't follow this path. John needed to give this a chance though – he had come so far already – so with one final tug of the rope to confirm it was stable John took a running leap and swung towards the waterfall.

An undeniable jolt of fear had John's body going tense, preparing to hit a stone wall. He wanted to close his eyes and just pray but he couldn't even seem to blink. His whole body was frozen as gravity moved him and the seconds dragged by as he approached the waterfall. John didn't want to hit the waterfall, didn't care what was beyond it as panic gripped him. But then the cold water of the waterfall drenched him and John felt his body awaken.

John sailed through the waterfall and into the cave mouth hidden behind it. His momentum took him far enough into the cave mouth that he wasn't in danger of toppling back out into the pool of water below the waterfall. John did lose his footing as he tried to land, collapsing into a shallow stream rushing further into the cave. His clothes were soaked through but the chill renewed his energy, adding a tremble to his movements as he stood and unhooked the harness quickly, eager to see what he had been led to.

He pinned the harness under a few loose rocks, not knowing if he would need the harness to get back out of the cave. Then he unclipped the flashlight from the harness and walked a few steps further into the cave. The further he got away from the mouth of the cave, the roar of the waterfall and the sunlight filtering in through the water, the darker and damper everything became. Soon John was standing in what he knew must be a cavern, though he couldn't make out many details beyond what was highlighted with the small slivers of sunlight sneaking in from holes in the cave ceiling far above.

John turned on the beacon flashlight and held it aloft, light stretching to fill the cavern. He only managed a quick and awed glimpse at the size of the place before he heard a flurry of wings in the air. John ducked just as he saw a mass of darkness rushing towards him like angry tendrils seeking to destroy the light he was holding. Then he felt wings brush by his face and body as a disturbed colony of bats escaped further into the cavern for some peace.

John straightened slowly, his heart pounding but an awed sense of adventure filling him and pushing him forward. As soon as he had lifted his head he had seen what the cavern held; the rows and columns of tunnels dug into the cave side. There were at least twelve openings, each one bordered by a brick archway and highlighted ever so slightly by lights further down the tunnels.

Possessed by curiosity and excitement, John walked towards the old but strong-looking architecture. He could see that the manmade walkway of brick below the tunnels was raised out of the water, well above where John could reach, but he continued forward anyway with the flashlight illuminating the water he walked through mindlessly. The water was halfway up his thighs and slowing down each of his steps but John trudged forward, already looking for a place to hook up the harness again when suddenly his foot landed on a smooth step rather than rock.

John took another step forward and his body lifted further out of the water. He realized then that his legs were slightly numb from the cold water but that was forgotten when he felt the ground below him tremble for just a moment before it began to rise. John looked down in surprise as a platform rose out of the water, taking him with it, and then immediately looked forward again. John could see that it was lifting high enough for him to reach the brick walkway and he didn't even need to wait for the platform to stop moving before he began walking forward again.

While the mouth of the cave and the first part of the cavern was clearly naturally formed, John could immediately tell that these tunnels and walkways had not only been manmade, but had also been used relatively recently. It was impossible to tell out on the walkway since the dampness of the cavern slicked all the brick, but when John explored further into the tunnels things got drier and he could notice varying layers of dust on the ground.

Some tunnels were caked with dust, John's moving feet kicking it up and making him sneeze, while other tunnels seemed mostly clear and clean. Although it would be impossible to tell for sure, John suspected that the rooms and tunnels only beginning to collect dust were the ones Bruce had probably used before Bane had broken his back and sent him far away to the unnamed prison of Bane's nightmares.

It didn't take John long to find the rooms filled with gadgets and equipment – items that must have taken plenty of money to have made but would have never shown up on Bruce's bills to be taken away when his money was taken away. There was a whole arsenal here, locked away in rooms kept sealed so the dampness of the cave couldn't damage them. John noted that there were no guns in sight; in fact there were few weapons at all, and the ones in sight were non-lethal. The majority of what had been left to John was for hand to hand combat and cloaking. It was about being smart, not about running into any fight without a plan, guns blazing.

John spent a long time exploring and looking around, walking a short distance into a few tunnels before he feared getting lost and turned back. He could hardly believe that all of this had been left to him if he chose to use it. No one alive except for Alfred probably even knew this place or these gadgets existed, and Alfred wasn't going to bother selling them off. Alfred had helped write the will and knew the legacy Bruce was offering John. He wondered if Alfred had the same guilty uncertainty as Bruce on whether they actually wanted John to accept this role or turn his back.

After he had done a bit of exploring John walked back closer to the brick walkway that overlooked the raised platform and the massive cavern. There had been a room John saw when he first stepped off the platform that he wanted to look through. He had been able to see a few large bookshelves stuffed full of books and notebooks packed spine to spine. It had spiked his curiosity but he also got the sense that it was important, and had saved it for last.

Inside he flicked a switch and a few bulbs in the ceiling buzzed and turned on. John barely got a chance to look over the spines to read the titles of the books to see what subjects they were on – many focused on fighting, stealth, technology or history judging by his glance – before his attention was caught by a thin notebook left on the chair in the corner. The notebook was only about the size of an address book, and John picked it up and sat down, flipping it open to read the first page.

He found that the notebook was filled with all the information Bruce could have never risked leaving for John in his letter. It was a reference of everything John would need to know if he was going to carry on Bruce's work. It gave the names of the notebooks John would most likely find useful – schematics for gadgets, maps of the city streets and sewers – and provided discretionary contact information for people who might be able to help John with certain issues. It suddenly made sense to John why Lucius had been at the private funeral when he read in Bruce's scrawl: _Lucius Fox – armour and gadgetry._

John wondered if Lucius would be willing to make armour for him or if he had 'retired' from that sort of work when Bruce went missing and, months later, ended up dead. John programmed the contact number into his phone – which he noticed had no signal down here in the cave – and then continued looking through what Bruce had left. The last thing that the notebook explained was where to find a book of maps Bruce had made up for the tunnels connected to the cave, explaining that many of the tunnels could lead back to different parts of Gotham while remaining separate from the sewers.

John kept the smaller notebook in hand as he stood up from the chair and began looking through the shelves of books. When he found the book of maps, which was thick with many full pages of maps, John flipped it open and began studying it. The first few pages showed the tunnels that were closest to the cavern, and it didn't take long for John to narrow his focus to one tunnel that he could take back out into the forest rather than swing back through the waterfall.

His clothes had never gotten a chance to dry with the cavern's damp air and John was finally forced to admit that he should head home. He was chilled and tired, even though it felt like his excitement would leave him limitlessly energetic. John had to remember that he needed to return the rented car and get back before the tunnel security increased, and even if he felt alive and awake now, he still had a lot to do before he could fall into bed and sleep.

John decided to take the book of maps with him to study at home but left the smaller reference book in the room for safekeeping. He closed the door solidly to keep out any excess moisture in the air and then followed the map on one of the first pages. John first passed a room full of small defence gadgets and grabbed a stun gun for good measure. Then he followed a tunnel that first went further into the cavern and then took a sharp left and sloped upward. In here John had to use his flashlight to see, no lights set up on the walls of the tunnel and no breaks of sunlight in the ceiling.

He knew it was probably to make sure the tunnel mouth wasn't lit up in case someone was walking through the forest and he guessed right. By the time John reached the mouth of the tunnel the ceiling was forcing John to bend over slightly, the width of the tunnel only the reach of his arms. The actual mouth of the tunnel was covered by a thick curtain of vines and was behind a few tall, spiky bushes, and while John was relieved to know it was very unlikely for someone to find the tunnel, he was slightly unhappy that his jacket sleeves had gotten somewhat torn up.

Nonetheless, John manoeuvred through the vines and bushes and breathed a sigh of relief when he could stand straight again. He was surprised to see that the sky was changing from a rosy red to a darker purple – the sun was going to set soon. Remembering the cop's warning at the tunnel, John rushed through the forest towards the distant thunder of the waterfall, which led him back to his car.

With a sharp enough tug he was able to pull the harness from beneath the rocks John had left it under. The harness came swinging back through the water and John dragged it up and over the branch, dodging it as the soaked fabric and buckles fell to the ground at his feet. He got everything untied and dropped the wet harness and rope onto the floor of the car, hoping the rental company wouldn't mind if the floor mats and driver's seat was a bit wet.

John had to blast the heat on the drive back, the hot air from the vents slowly thawing out his cold body and drying his clothes until they were just uncomfortably damp against his skin. He had taken so long in the cave that he was hungry again, and he picked up some fries and a sandwich at the same road-side diner he had gotten lunch from. The owner looked him up and down but said nothing as John sat and ate quickly. John wondered if his eyes looked a little wild to the owner.

Getting back through the tunnel didn't take as long as John had feared. Although the cop had warned him about security getting tighter, there were fewer people trying to move in or out of the city as the sun set below the horizon. The drive through the tunnel was a short one and John only had to wait behind a few cars before it was his turn to answer questions, get his car searched a second time, and be sent on his way.

The rental company was a little unhappy that the driver's seat was wet but since there was no dirt on the seat and it would be easy enough to dry the fabric, John didn't get charged extra. While he was still in the warmth of the rental building John reorganized his duffel bag, moving the letter, the sheet of coordinates, the GPS and the book of maps into side pockets while bundling up the still-wet harness and rope into a plastic bag one of the customer service reps was willing to give him. He knew the flashlight would be fine against any moisture but wasn't as confident about the stun gun, keeping that in the pocket of his jacket.

John would admit to himself that he was stalling before heading back to the apartment. He really hadn't left Bane on a good note. What if Bane thought John wasn't planning to come back? Or what if Bane was at home waiting for him, having spent the whole day locked up with his anger building inside him? John had gotten a chance to briefly escape the confines of the apartment and let his anger and hurt fade away; Bane had not.

Regardless of the very real possibility of facing Bane's wrath, John hung the heavy duffel bag from his shoulder and headed back out onto the streets. John and Bane had faced so much uncertainty and hardship, barely even daring to hope that there was a chance for them to be together. They were supposed to be sworn enemies on opposite ends of a physical and moral war. Instead they had fallen in love and, through trust, communication and determination, they had outlived the war and had found a way to be together.

John wasn't going to throw that away because of an argument – which he also reminded himself had stemmed only from Bane's concern for his safety, rather than any malicious intent. John believed that if they could find a way to share their beliefs and compromise to find happiness for them both during a war, they could certainly discuss the possibility of John following Bruce's path rationally. And besides that, John just really wanted to tell Bane about what he had found. The cave, gadgets and knowledge Bruce had left meant that John really could take up Batman's mantle, and he wanted to share that with Bane.

As John was walking he felt his phone buzz in his pocket with an incoming text. He paused mid-step and pulled out the phone, checking the screen. The text was from Jim. _I just went to the roof of the precinct. The Bat-Signal is fixed. Do you think it's possible?_

_No_, John was about to text back, because Bruce was dead. John wouldn't have gotten a glimpse of that cave if Bruce was still around and continuing on the legacy of Batman. Nor would the cavern have been so dusty if Bruce had recently been there. It seemed almost certain that Bruce had gotten the light fixture on top of the police building fixed before he died, but that wouldn't bring him back now.

_Yes_, was the next thing John wanted to text, because he could tell Jim was equally excited and relieved at the possibility that Gotham still had a masked protector to ensure justice even when the police were bound by the law. John wanted to be that person. He wanted to give this city hope and make them feel a little safer each time they stepped outside or turned off the lights to sleep at night.

_I don't know_, John finally texted back, because he wasn't ready to make any promises. He _couldn't_ make any promises without first talking to Bane.

He shoved the phone back into his pocket again and started walking, but he couldn't get the idea out of his head. He imagined what it would be like to be walking the streets at night and see the Bat-Signal lighting up the sky, calling out for him. Before long, John was fully engrossed in the daydream of people calling on him for help, _trusting him_ to be their protector.

Before John even realized it his feet had carried him on a side trip into the gang territory he and Bane had discovered on Friday night, rather than following the direct route to his apartment. What actually clued him in to his location was a shout down the street, which startled John out of his daydream. He blinked his eyes quickly to clear them and saw four men about a block down the sidewalk from him.

Three of them were crowding in around a man whose face John couldn't see as the punches and kicks rained down. The fourth guy was standing a foot away from them, watching the spectacle, though his eyes had caught John's approach before John even noticed the situation. "Hey asshole!" the man shouted at him. "Why don't you turn the fuck around and walk back the way you came?"

John's feet stalled and he stood, frozen, on the sidewalk. This was far too reminiscent of Friday night, except this time Bane wasn't here to drag him away to safety. John could run away, save himself and call the police, except this time the fight did not look to be one of warning for the victim curled up into a ball on the sidewalk. By the time the cops arrived the victim would be dead. Choosing his own life would mean leaving this stranger to die.

John saw the deadly glint of a blade being drawn and that was all he needed to make his decision, John throwing his duffel bag back behind him in preparation. The man who had shouted at John was slightly smaller than the three other guys hitting and kicking the person on the ground, so as John sprinted forward he drew his stun gun and aimed past the watcher. The man behind him cursed loudly and the knife clattered to the pavement, the man's body spasming and falling limp as electricity overpowered him.

While a normal stun gun would only provide one shot, Bruce seemed to have all the best gadgets in his arsenal and John got a second shot off – downing a second potential attacker with electric barbs to the shoulder – before the other two were upon him. The watcher took advantage of his distraction with the stun gun to land a punch to the side of John's head, sending his vision spinning as the gun was knocked from his hand.

The fight was a little more evenly matched in terms of numbers but it still wasn't great, especially since both men were taller than John and had managed to land the first hit. John brought his hands up to protect his head and face from hits and backed himself against the wall of a building to protect his back when he noticed one of the thugs trying to circle behind him. However, he could only protect so much of his body at once when there were two pairs of fists and feet hitting every exposed inch of him.

John managed a few well-timed hits himself, sending the watcher stumbling backwards with a broken nose spurting blood and the other man wheezing as he held his stomach. But it wasn't enough. John didn't have the strength or speed to overpower them both at the same time, to rain down enough substantial hits to incapacitate his attackers.

The pain fuelled their rage and they both swarmed him together, grabbing hold of his collar and slamming him back against the brick wall, causing the back of his head to crack against the brick. John's vision swam and when he regained his footing he realized how dizzy he was. The two men didn't even need to hit him for John to stumble to the sidewalk. John only had enough consciousness left to curl up into a ball to protect his stomach and to wrap his arms around his head before the two gang members started hitting and kicking him hard.

John lay there on the sidewalk, simply praying that they would get bored and walk away before they remembered the discarded knife a short distance away, or the closer stun gun. He grunted at the impact of each hit to his body and felt tears spring to his eyes and trickle down his cheeks. It wasn't the pain that made him cry. It was the disappointment in himself for being unable to protect people the way he wanted – even with Bruce's gadgets – and for realizing that he might die before he could tell Bane he was sorry.

John wasn't stupid enough to try to hit his attackers back or run, knowing that moving his arms or changing his position would just allow for a more deadly attack on his body. He was just beginning to give up hope when he heard a hesitant shout from across the street. "H-hey! Stop that!"

The attacks stopped and John peaked out between his arms to look across the street at the same time as his attackers did. He could see a woman standing there, maybe only a little older than John himself. She had a cell phone pressed to her ear and a determined scowl on her face. "What the fuck are you gonna do about it?" one of the men yelled back, taking their first warning steps off the sidewalk and onto the road.

The woman's eyes flashed with fear but her mouth remained in a tight line. "I called the police and they're going to be here any second!" she warned. "So unless you want to go to jail you better run while you have the chance!"

John looked up and saw the two guys waver and pause, glancing both ways down the street. In the far distance John thought he could hear a siren, though that could have been his ringing ears. The thugs seemed to decide it wasn't worthwhile risking getting caught though, so they spat a few more insults at them both and then ran down the street, leaving their two friends behind where they were still sprawled on the pavement. John was relieved that they seemed too nervous to remember John's discarded duffel bag.

A second later John heard footsteps pounding on the pavement as the woman rushed to kneel beside him. "Are you alright?" she asked quickly, touching a hand hesitantly to John's arm before pulling it back again, likely not wanting to risk injuring him further. She looked like a well-dressed businesswoman, coat done up tight with brass buttons, brown hair falling in ringlets and lips painted a vibrant red.

John struggled into a sitting position and rested his back against the brick wall, his head feeling fuzzy as blood dripped sluggishly from his nose and lip. He first reached for his stun gun and put it in his jacket pocket. Then, instead of answering her question, John asked his own. "Why did you do that? They could have attacked you before the police arrived."

She remained in front of him but didn't reach forward to touch him again, giving him some space. "I saw what you did to save that man they were attacking. If it wasn't for you he'd be dead. I guess..." she huffed and fidgeted with the cell phone in her hand. When their eyes met, her green eyes were sharp. "I guess you inspired me to do the same."

Through the haze of pain John realized that this was what Bruce as Batman had hoped for. It wasn't about being the 'sole hero' for everyone to turn to and rely on. Not only was it stupid for John to assume he could handle the whole city's problems at once and protect everyone, but it also wasn't fair of John to see himself as the only person who could be a hero.

Wearing a mask was to remind everyone that they could be a hero too. It was to encourage and inspire everyone to fight _together_ for what was good and just in the world, forming an unspoken army of the light. Bruce had been right; there would always be darkness in the world. And no matter what gadgets John had, he would never be as strong as a collective group of citizens all fighting for the home they cherished and the people they loved.

Perhaps that had been Bruce's mistake and his downfall. For all his beliefs about everyone having the potential to be a hero, he had been unwilling – or perhaps unable to accept help. Yes, he had allowed Alfred and Lucius to help him prepare, but Bruce wouldn't let anyone truly fight alongside him. John could understand the desire to keep everyone safe and far away from danger, but John was also starting to grasp that he had to let everyone make their own decision rather than dictate who could help and who should stay home.

"Are you going to pass out?" the woman wondered in concern, waving her hand in front of John's face and snapping him out of his reverie. She was watching him critically, no doubt wondering why he hadn't responded to her comment.

John shook his head and then winced, immediately regretting the action as his headache sharpened. "No, I'm okay. Sorry." He didn't ask for her name and didn't give his own. He didn't need his name showing up in the police report when the cops arrived any minute; they would no doubt grow a bit suspicious seeing that he had been involved in a fight here two times in a few days. "Thank you so much. What you did was amazingly brave."

Using the brick wall behind him for stability, John stood slowly. He rested his hand against the wall as his vision danced and then calmed. "Yeah, well," she shrugged, standing to match him. "Same goes for you." John gave a weak smile, feeling foolish rather than brave but unwilling to get into that sort of argument right now. "Shouldn't you wait for the police to check you over?" she put both hands out as though ready to catch him if he stumbled.

"No, I'll be fine," he assured her. "I have someone back home." The thought made John's heart swell.

Her look was skeptical. "First you need to _get_ home. What if you have internal bleeding?"

"I have some experience with this sort of thing," John explained vaguely. "I'm beaten up but I don't think there's any internal damage."

John watched her eyes narrow. "Do you make a habit of this?"

John didn't know what to say; saying '_I want to_' suddenly seemed foolish with the unimpressed look she was giving him. Truthfully, John had always wanted to act like this. But when he had been a cop he had been bound by rules and regulations, and had sometimes been forced to turn a blind eye or assist with 'more pressing' problems. "Is it such a bad thing?" John huffed.

She sighed and crossed her arms. "You leave someone at home, worried sick that you may never come back alive, and go gallivanting off searching for fights? Don't get me wrong. What you do is brave," she added. "But it's not fair of you to leave your girlfriend at home while you're out playing hero."

John felt a blush creeping into his cheeks. "It's a guy," he said, though he couldn't exactly explain why he felt the urge to correct her. John didn't know this woman, and he would likely never see her again. John couldn't say exactly who he was dating – even the thought of using the words _dating_ and _boyfriend_ sounded bizarre – but he didn't want anyone assuming he was with any person other than Bane.

"Regardless," she shot back, not even batting an eyelash.

_What if he's a super strong, incredibly smart behemoth of a man?_ John wanted to ask, but he knew it didn't change anything. Bane's size, strength and intelligence didn't matter here. What counted was his heart, a valuable possession he had not trusted with anyone other than John. And John was being careless and unfair. John had hated being stuck in the hotel, sometimes staring blankly out the window wondering what Bane was doing, who he was fighting, if John would ever get the chance to see him – talk to him – _hold him again_. Now John was doing the same thing to Bane.

It was time to go home.

"You're right," John said, offering his hand. She considered it for a moment and then took his hand in hers, handshake strong. "It was a real pleasure to meet you," John told her genuinely.

"Sara," she volunteered with a small smile.

"Sara," John repeated and then slid his hand away. Again he purposefully didn't offer his name, and while she looked somewhat unhappy about that, she didn't press him. Just then John heard the distinct wail of sirens approaching. John glanced down the block to the nearest alley and then back to Sara. "Listen, do you think you could avoid telling the police about me?"

Sara pursed her lips, her dark lashes casting a small fan of shadows across the arch of her eyes when she also turned her face towards the street where the siren could be heard drawing closer. Then she looked back to him, eyes pinning him in place. "I better not see your face around here again," she admonished, a glint in her green eyes.

John snorted, walking a few steps backwards toward the alley and bending to pick up his duffel bag. "Same goes for you." Truthfully, neither of them should be in this part of town.

Sara tilted her chin and said nothing more. She only turned her back to John, allowing him to disappear while she shifted her attention to the injured man John had first attempted to help. John ran as fast as he could and ducked into the alley, remaining hidden in the shadows until the siren pulled onto the street he had just left. Only then did he start walking further away, maintaining a normal pace to avoid looking too suspicious. It wasn't like John could run away, his whole body aching every time his feet hit the pavement.

John kept his head down as he walked back to the apartment, knowing he looked a wreck. By the time he made it back to the apartment he was struggling to climb the stairs. His legs shook beneath him, his shoulders aching as he held the majority of his weight upright by clutching to the stairs railing, dragging himself up one step at a time.

When he reached his door he fell against it, barely able to stand any longer. He turned the knob and found it to be locked, his palm sweaty as he tried and failed to finally reach safety. John lifted an arm, ignoring the twinge of pain in his shoulder, and knocked. There was no response and John felt a queasy sensation of concern in his stomach. He knocked again, so hard that he scraped skin off his knuckles.

John heard footsteps approaching and the locks being slid out of place, but instead of Bane opening the door John heard footsteps retreating away. Terrified now, John turned the knob quickly. All at once the door fell inward, no longer supporting John's weight and causing him to sprawl to the hard floor with a pained curse and groan, his duffel bag falling off his arm beside him. His vision swam again for a moment but cleared, and John lifted his head to see Bane pausing in the hallway with his back still turned to John.

"_Bane_," John called out sadly, wondering if he had screwed up everything by leaving earlier that day. Bane still didn't turn, his shoulders hunched up tensely. His neck straining from looking up at such an awkward angle, his head feeling too heavy to lift, John pressed his forehead against the cold floor. "_I'm so sorry_."

For a few long, _painful_ seconds John heard nothing but their breathing, John's much harsher than Bane's own. Then John heard the floorboards creak as Bane turned and approached him. John's relief was consuming, his heart seeking Bane's comfort. When Bane paused in front of him John fought to push himself to stand, regretful but knowing neither of them wanted to see him grovel.

His legs gave out as he began to stand but Bane caught him, hands under John's armpits and bringing him easily to his feet. John kept his head down still, knowing things would get infinitely worse when Bane finally saw his face. John miscalculated though; he hadn't expected there to be enough blood matting the hair on the back of his head for Bane to see. But he knew Bane had seen it when Bane released a growl that made John want to cower. "Who did this to you?"

"It was my fault," John said in a rush, his eyes still on the floor. "I wasn't paying attention and I walked back into that gang territory. Some thugs were attacking this guy and they were going to kill him and—_Bane_!" John let out a dry sob as Bane's hands began to squeeze him too tightly, his ribs hurting with the compression.

Bane pulled his hands back and pushed past John, slamming the apartment door closed and sliding the locks in place. John flinched, surprised the wood hadn't splintered with the force. He was expecting Bane to brush past him again and continue into the apartment, leaving John to tend to his wounds alone and think about what he had done, so he gave a startled cry when Bane scooped John up in his arms and carried him further into the apartment.

"Bane...?" John looked up at him, which was a mistake because Bane's mouth tightened into a thin line when he saw the drying blood on John's face and chin from his nose and split lip.

"_Quiet_."

John dropped his gaze again and did as he was told. He didn't deserve to fight back now. He had abandoned Bane, left him to worry, and gave him a good reason to worry when he came back to the apartment beaten up. John wanted to cry but he wouldn't; he shouldn't look for pity. He had brought this on himself. Bane carried John into the bedroom and set him on the edge of the bed, stepping out of reach before John could raise his arms and pull him closer. "Undress and lie down," Bane told him and, before John could say anything in return, Bane stepped back out into the hallway.

John managed to kick off his pants and shrug off his jacket, but when he tried to pull his shirt over his head John's arms quickly fell back to his sides. His muscles were knotted together from the pain of being hit, and he lost his breath whenever he stretched his chest and stomach too much. John still hadn't managed to undress like he had been told when Bane returned with the first aid kit in his hands.

Silently Bane set the first aid kit on the vanity and walked closer to John again. He gripped the hem of John's shirt and helped him out of it with extreme care. Then he gave a light nudge to John's shoulder, hinting for him to lie down flat on his back. John didn't argue, lying in his underwear as Bane moved the first aid kit onto the end of the mattress and then sat by John's hip, eyes studying his body critically.

The first thing Bane did was to examine John's body, pressing lightly at the bruises that were already beginning to mar John's skin. Bane asked John a few questions about the pain, and where it hurt, and while John felt lightheaded with agony each time Bane touched his bruises, John answered as calmly as he could. He assured Bane that he didn't feel out of breath or disoriented, and that the ache of his body did not indicate any internal damage.

Once Bane was certain that John didn't have any internal bleeding he told John to explain in detail what had happened, where he had been hit and how. John could see the way Bane's jaw twitched with how tightly he was clenching his teeth together as John spoke, Bane's knuckles white from the fists Bane was making in his lap. When John was finished telling the story he was expecting a scolding. Instead, Bane silently turned and opened the first aid kit.

There wasn't much Bane could do for the bruises littering John's skin; they would take time to heal. John thought that Bane might be pressing with a little too much force against John's ribs where he had been kicked but John bit his lip and remained silent, taking his punishment. Bane cleaned up John's face and lip and confirmed that John's nose wasn't broken before turning his attention to the cuts and scrapes where feet and fists had landed.

Bane finished closing a cut on John's cheek with two thin strips of medical tape and John could already feel his eye beginning to swell and pulse with his heartbeat. He hadn't seen a reflection of himself yet but he knew he would have a bad black eye. John was distracted from that thought when he felt Bane's fingers brush along John's jaw; although Bane's face was purposefully clear of emotion, his hands were shaking.

John reached up and rested his hand on top of Bane's but Bane knocked his hand away, eyes narrowing slightly. "Don't," Bane said simply, removing his hand and gaze.

John rested his hand back on the mattress and used all of his focus to keep his tears at bay. "Bane—"

"Turn over," Bane spoke over him. He didn't even wait for John to move on his own after the order. Bane turned back and held John where there weren't bruises, rolling him over onto his side and then his stomach. John grimaced when he felt the back of his head peel away from the pillow, wet and sticky with drying blood. Bane didn't even comment as he moved the soiled pillow out of the way and led John down to rest the non-bloody side of his face on the second pillow.

When John's face was hidden from view he let his tears slip free and wet the pillow, though he made sure that his body didn't shake with sobs. All of his excitement to tell Bane about the cave had slipped away from him. Now John could only feel regret and disappointment, at the way he had failed Bane and himself. John had been too weak.

As Bane knelt above John, the first aid kit by John's elbow, John made a final attempt to smooth things over with a joke. "We need to stop meeting like this," John said, referring back to the first night he had spent in Bane's hotel room. He sniffled quietly and waited for Bane's response, seeking some sort of sign that Bane had – or _would_ forgive him for this. A laugh, a chuckle; even an unnecessary but comforting caress of fingers.

Bane offered no such sign. Instead he just brushed away John's matted hair and worked on cleaning the cut from where John's head had been slammed back against the brick wall. John hissed and clutched at the blankets as the cleaning materials stung and added fuel to John's pounding headache, but Bane's touches remained precise and clinical.

John curled up into as much of a ball as possible considering the fact that Bane was kneeling over him to reach his head. John held the same defensive position he had on the sidewalk, hoping it could protect his heart from the stabbing sensation he was currently experiencing. John had pushed Bane too far, insisted when he should have conceded. Now he had lost Bane, the one man John felt truly comfortable with, and loved by.

John was so wrapped up in his deepening self loathing that he didn't even notice when Bane finished tending to his head wound. He only noticed when Bane withdrew fully from John and the bed, the mattress dipping and then rising as his weight disappeared. John clenched his eyes closed and listened for the sound of footsteps leaving the bedroom, ending this encounter. So focused on this, John was startled when he felt the bed dip again and arms encircle him.

He yelped but didn't fight as Bane lifted him back into his arms. John was confused about what was happening until Bane lay down carefully on the bed, half sitting back against the pile of pillows they kept at the head of the bed. Even when Bane was settled he kept John cradled in his arms, one behind John's shoulders and the other slung over his stomach to hold John's hip.

John's non-injured temple rested against Bane's shoulder, the rest of his body resting against Bane's torso and his legs stretched out on the mattress. Uncertain and hesitant, John lifted a hand, skimming it over Bane's tense shoulder before reaching further around to hug Bane tightly. Despite the awkward angle, Bane hugged John closer in return, and that was when John could finally release a shuddering sigh of relief.

"I am furious with you," Bane informed him.

"I know," John said, though he was smiling. Bane was holding him, _hugging him_; they would get through this.

Bane squeezed John a little tighter. It hurt John's back and hip where he had been kicked but he still didn't want to pull away. "What were you thinking?"

"Bruce's letter led me to this cave he had filled with gadgets and maps and tunnels that apparently run all under Gotham," John explained quietly. "I got so excited at the possibility of actually having the equipment I would need to protect this city like Bruce did. And I thought about how you could use the tunnels to move around more instead of being cooped up in my apartment..."

John took a deep breath and continued before Bane could say anything. "Then when I was walking home Jim texted me and said the Bat-Signal was fixed and I got swept up in it. I kept thinking '_this is a sign_!' Before I realized it I was back in gang territory and I saw them beating up that guy..." Bane's arms around him kept John rooted in reality, but all he could see in his mind's eye was the gleam of a hungry blade being drawn. "They were going to kill him if I didn't intervene!" John said as he looked up.

Bane looked down to meet his gaze, and Bane's dark sorrowful eyes had John shuddering. "And instead they nearly killed you."

John dropped his eyes, utterly ashamed and disappointed. "Even with the gadgets Bruce left for me I can't protect the people. I would let everyone down if I tried. I'm too weak," John forced out the words even though it pained him to admit it aloud.

Bane's hand lifted from John's hip to beneath his chin, tilting his face back up. "You must accept your limitations before you can go beyond them."

"How?" John whispered. "I thought that Bruce's armour and gadgets were the difference between me and him and that the cave meant I could do this."

"Armour would have helped," Bane said pointedly. "But Bruce was trained by the League of Shadows." John's eyes widened. Bane had told him about the League of Shadows from his own experiences but he hadn't mentioned that Bruce had also been associated with the group. "Bruce prepared for years before he became Batman. Be realistic," Bane implored him. "As a vigilante you fight alone, and you do not have that experience."

"I can't fight like that without you accepting it," John said. "When I was on the sidewalk before that woman threatened the thugs with the police, I was most scared of the thought that I might die before I could see you again."

"Think about how I felt," Bane reminded him, voice still low and strained with restrained emotions.

"I know," John hugged Bane tight enough that he could feel Bane's body expanding and contracting with his breathing. "I've been terribly selfish and I'm so sorry."

Bane's hand moved back to John's hip and pulled him even closer. "Tell me why this is so important to you," Bane requested as he pressed his face against John's neck.

For a moment John silently breathed in Bane's warm scent, feeling his body relaxing in the embrace. "Ever since my parents were killed I've felt helpless," John began, trying to capture everything into a simple explanation. "Put with a foster family that discarded me when I didn't settle _properly_, left in an orphanage and then cast out into society with no supports at all. I grew up alone in a city that attracts darkness."

John sighed, hiding his face against Bane's shoulder. "On the streets you aren't sheltered from all the crimes that happen; people beaten and killed for items not worth owning, or just because. I joined the police force because I thought it would give me some control. I thought the badge would let me stop all those street crimes. I didn't want anyone else to die needlessly." John shook his head sadly. "But the law bound me and kept me from helping everyone equally."

"And you feel that becoming a vigilante will allow you to help everyone," Bane mused.

John hesitated. "Not everyone," he was forced to admit. "I realized that I can't help _everyone_. I'm only one person. The police and the legal system still have their part to play. But I want to protect the people who are alone and powerless, like I was." John lifted his head and sought Bane's gaze. "The people that the law deems less important, or the ones who the law simply doesn't have the time to help. I want to fill that void."

"You do not wish to be the next Batman?" Bane asked him, curious now.

John lifted the shoulder that hurt less in a half-shrug. "I wanted to, before. A part of me wanted that control to know I could do anything and that everyone would look to me for help. But I've realized a lot in the last few weeks, especially tonight." Before John continued he leaned forward and sealed his lips to Bane's because they were _right there_ and Bane was looking at him with such concentration and understanding, and longing.

Bane kissed John softly, holding him close as their lips brushed warmly. Once John was sure that he wasn't talking himself into a deeper hole, that Bane was still here with him, John spoke again. "I don't want to be the next Batman. I want to be something new," he told Bane. "I want to help people help themselves, _empower_ them and _support_ them. I want to be there when someone is alone and has no one else to help them."

"How far would this go?" Bane wondered. "Bruce's death was not a fluke. If it was not me as the cause then it would be someone else. In a profession like this, death is a matter of _when_, not _if_."

"We all die someday, Bane," John said sadly. "Shouldn't we make the most of the time we do have? Do something worthwhile?"

"Not if it means I will lose you," Bane's voice cracked.

John wilted. He closed his eyes, his heart thumping painfully against his bruised ribs. He asked himself the question: if he had to choose between this dream and Bane, what would he choose? John realized that it wasn't a difficult question to answer, despite his years of seeking this dream and the associated fulfillment. John had had been obsessed with the idea, assuming it would be his only option for happiness, to help others avoid the childhood and life he had experienced alone.

But John had found fulfilment and happiness with Bane, a much deeper and meaningful joy than he knew fighting nameless thugs could ever bring regardless of who he helped in the process. If John chose this dream then he would have power, but he would still be alone. And that was the real root of the issue. John didn't want power or control, he wanted to save his past self from growing up alone, and protect others from experiencing that same empty, lost feeling.

Bane made those feelings go away. With Bane, John was finally not alone.

Something warm and powerful bubbled up inside John at that thought. Eyes still closed, John leaned forward and sought Bane's lips again. Bane met him halfway. Bane's kiss was initially greedy and desperate but John moved his lips tenderly, soothing him with a soft dance of lips until Bane shivered and stopped holding John so tightly his lungs felt constrained. Eventually John pulled away just enough to kiss each of Bane's closed eyelids, feeling Bane's lashes flutter against his skin before moving on.

When John sat back in Bane's embrace he saw that Bane still refused to open his eyes, as though preparing for the worst when John gave his answer. Again John leaned forward and brushed his lips over Bane's own, affectionate and warm. Finally Bane opened his eyes and John met them, brown locked to grey. "I will always choose you, Bane."

Bane's eyes widened, his lips parting slightly in surprise. "You would abandon your dream...for me?"

"Well, not abandon. But I'll find a different way," John clarified. "I wanted to physically go out and fight crime because Gotham is so rough and ragged at the moment after the war," he explained. "There's a lot of petty crime on the streets that just needs a physical intervention but the cops are spread too thin to be everywhere at once. But I'll find another way to help this city and the people without anyone to rely on. Maybe I can find a different job or—"

John's energetic ramblings were cut off when Bane locked their lips together tightly, kissing John hard enough that he saw stars. John whimpered when he felt the sharp tear of his lip splitting again but they didn't stop, bodies moulded together. When Bane pulled his lips away John opened his mouth to speak – to ask what that had been for – but Bane spoke in a rush. "I will train you."

John's eyebrows rose in shock. "But I thought you didn't want me to fight."

"I don't," Bane said. "But your optimism is infectious. I cannot help but believe that you truly could help this city because I know the power of your hope. Do you remember when I told you that the light of your fire was hope to more than just you?"

John cast his mind back. He remembered the day he had started to fix Osito and Bane had pinned him to the wall. John glanced over to the bedside table where Osito sat in his usual place of honour, and then looked back to Bane. "Yes. That was after the guards nearly—"

He still couldn't say the word. Luckily Bane didn't force him. Bane just nodded. "I could not bear to see your fire go out because it gave me hope. You saved me." John's heart was fluttering, touched by the sincerity in Bane's words and on his face. "It would be unfair of me to restrain that hope, but I _can_ train you and make sure that you are safe while you pursue your dreams."

"Bane..." John whispered in awe when he saw a few stray tears slide down Bane's cheeks, emotion overcoming them both. John lifted a hand and swept those tears away gently, holding his palm against Bane's cheek after. "You don't have to. I can find another way."

Bane tilted his face into John's hand slightly, easily. It was touching to see how comfortable they had both grown with each other, and how willing they were to show affection and weakness despite years of hiding behind masks of strength and indifference. "I want to," Bane said. "I am happy with you, John. I have somewhere I belong, but I am still purposeless." John's heart ached at the thought of Bane feeling useless and lost. "My new purpose can be to train you to make sure you can fulfil your dreams while also _surviving_."

"I love you," was all John could say, because his emotions were choking him and making it hard to do anything but smile stupidly.

"I love you too," Bane said in return, his smile softer but just as heart-warming. "But I have two conditions for this."

"Anything," John promised. "If you're going to do this for me then I want to make sure that you're happy too."

"You will not go out looking for fights until you are properly trained," Bane stated.

"Agreed."

"And when Gotham no longer needs a physical vigilante I want us to find new ways of helping," Bane said. "I will not train you only to race you to your death faster."

"I promise," John said easily. "I want to do this, but I don't want it to be my life. _You_ are my life." Bane leaned forward for a kiss but John resisted for a second longer. "I have one condition of my own. I want you to fight with me," John held Bane's beautiful eyes with his own, smiling with all the love in his heart. "I don't want a protector. I want a _partner_."

"I would not have it any other way."

They sealed their promises with a kiss.

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**Follow me on Tumblr for posting information and teasers for my stories:** **onewhositswiththeturtles(dot-tumblr-dot-com)**

"Beyond the Shadow" on AO3: archiveofourown(dot-org)/works/684270


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Due to FFnet censoring me I had to cut out another sex scene in this chapter. I would recommend for readers to either read the entire chapter on AO3, or at least go over to AO3 for the sex scene part which occurs after this 'chapter' ends.  
**

**Link to AO3: archiveofourown(dot-org)/works/684270/chapters/1344992**

* * *

For a week John and Bane rested in the apartment. They spent time pouring over the book of maps John had taken from the cavern, studying where they would be able to find different tunnel entrances throughout the city and trying to decide how they could best use them to get around without Bane being recognized. Towards the end of the week when John was beginning to heal after the attack on the street they decided to find one of the tunnels and explore.

There were two tunnel entrances near John's apartment and once the sun set one evening John and Bane slipped out of the apartment and sought them. The first tunnel ended up being a bust, destroyed when the sewers had been blown up in the war. John had sent Bane a withering look and they had backtracked, and his mood had vastly improved when he found the second close tunnel open and accessible.

There was a small tram system set up and since John lived on the side of town closer to the waterfall beyond Gotham's limits, it only took twenty minutes underground for the air in the tunnels to grow damp. It wasn't long after that when John heard the distant roar of the waterfall and they passed rooms built into the tunnel. They got off the small tram and began to explore, John showing Bane everything he had discovered on his trip almost a week prior.

By the time they were done looking around John was exhausted, still worn down from the fight as his body worked on recovering. They couldn't stay overnight at the cave though, because even though there was some non-perishable food set up in a cupboard, staying would mean that they had to wait until the following night. Despite the fact that it had been over a month since the war had ended in Gotham, John and Bane would not yet risk Bane walking outside during the day. However, the idea stayed with John that if he and Bane planned a longer trip out to the cavern, Bane could walk under the sun in the forest.

They got back on the tram and Bane pulled John onto his lap, holding John in his arms. Content, warm and tired, John rested his head against Bane's shoulder and promptly fell asleep for the twenty minute trip back. He only jolted awake when the tram reached the end of the line. John rubbed at his bleary eyes and allowed Bane to lead him home and into bed.

The rest of the week was spent with chess and movies, the internet and the radio as John kept up to date with the news. John also dug out a spare drawing notebook from his bookshelf and took advantage of their time inside to sketch a few drawings of Bane's exposed face and changed body.

John was itching to begin training but he forced himself to wait, lounging on the couch and watching Bane's rigorous exercise routine day after day as his skin was bathed in sunlight through the windows. John would never get tired of watching the muscles on Bane's arms and back flex, noting a new smoothness to his movements as the exercises fought off any lingering pain from Venom. John often found it difficult to hold himself back from making each of Bane's routines end with their limbs tangled together.

When the weekend rolled around John had healed enough to walk out in public without drawing attention. John's lip had healed and while his black eye wasn't completely gone, the ghost of a shadow beneath his eye could be blamed on lighting outside and in rooms instead of raising eyebrows. A few of the bruises marring the rest of John's body were still taking time to fade, particularly the ones on his side where he had been kicked. But they could be hidden beneath John's clothing.

The first thing John did when he could walk back outside during daylight hours was pick up more groceries to restock the fridge. Then his second stop was the bank, Bruce's letter tucked away in his pocket for safekeeping as he was led into a different office with fogged glass walls. John explained the situation – loosely – and handed over the final page of Bruce's letter, which he had made a copy of before coming to the bank.

To say John was stunned by the amount of money waiting for him in the back account Bruce had left for him would be an understatement. John ended up leaving the bank in a bit of a daze, his mouth probably hanging open in shock. If he and Bane spent the money wisely and didn't splurge – something John knew they could both do easily since they were unaccustomed to having or spending money – they could live comfortably on what Bruce had left them without having to find jobs.

That didn't mean that John wouldn't find work he enjoyed in the future if he could think of another profession other than being a cop that could help the city, but the option was freeing to have. Bane had a similar reaction when John told him the news, admitting that he was relieved to know he wouldn't have to relinquish John to a normal job anytime soon. With Bruce's money John and Bane were free to spend their days and nights together, training and just taking the time to truly _be_ together.

Bane would only start John's training once John was completely healed without a single shadow of a bruise on his skin. John was disappointed at first when the first few weeks consisted only of exercises but found out quickly that even the exercise was enough for him to work out his tension and pent up energy. John had an exercise routine of his own but the one Bane drilled into his head had John panting and sweaty at the end of it every single day. By the time they finished each evening John could barely drag himself into the shower and bed before collapsing.

He worried that he was too weak even for this, that Bane would call the whole thing off and tell him that it just wasn't meant to be. John wouldn't give up though, and as the days turned into weeks his stamina and strength vastly improved. With some of Bruce's money John ordered a treadmill and they both took turns running on it since Bane couldn't run outside despite the warming weather. The routine also included sit-ups, push-ups, lunges, and many other exercises that quickly built up muscles and endurance.

The day combat training started was the day John pushed himself into a standing position from the floor after completing his last set of push-ups, breathing a little hard but grinning and watching Bane eagerly. "What else?" he asked, no longer ready to simply crawl into the shower and sleep.

Bane sent him a smirk and beckoned him closer and John felt a newfound energy fill him like a starburst, excited and willing. First Bane moulded John's posture, showing him how he should hold himself and what stances he should use in fights for the best balance and power behind his punches and kicks. John did his best to mimic Bane's demonstration and then followed Bane's touches as he adjusted John's position.

It was sometimes difficult to remain focused when Bane's hands touched John's hips or inner thighs, widening his stance, and it was even harder for John to not purposefully mess up his posture just to get Bane to correct him. But even though their training sessions occasionally got derailed to the couch or the floor or the shower, for the most part John focused strictly on listening to everything Bane taught him.

John was particularly excited when Bane finally nodded and told him they would start fighting. John assumed that the first few sessions would be review for him since he had received some good training when joining the police force and had used said skills during his years patrolling the streets. However, the first punch of Bane's that connected had John wincing and staggering back. He was about to scold Bane for using too much force when he became conscious of two facts. First, Bane was holding back. And second, the bad guys wouldn't.

It snapped John out of his cocky mindset and focused his attention fully on listening to what Bane told and showed him. Even though John had some hand to hand combat experience, what Bane was teaching him was something entirely different. They practiced each movement repeatedly until it was engrained and became muscle memory; every offensive and defensive move, as well as the stances.

It wasn't enough for John to learn how to hit or block attacks; Bane would stall their lessons if John didn't properly return to his steadying stance halfway through a fight. More than once John would forget to move his feet and Bane would trip him, sending him sprawling to the floor to prove just how important it was to remember the basic stances. "The basics are what will save your life," Bane told him. "Fancy moves can confuse your enemy but will also waste your energy."

Although John had been impatient for his combat training to begin, he was grateful to Bane for insisting they wait until John had completely healed. Every night when John rolled into bed he was sore, new bruises across his skin from punches, grabbing holds and the times John ended up hitting the ground. His body ached but it was a good sort of ache; the kind you could grow addicted to because it was paired with endorphins and satisfaction at a successful day of work and effort.

They began with the basics and stuck with them. Even when Bane taught John a move with more flourish, good for distracting an enemy, Bane would always go back to the basic movements and stances again, ensuring they were drilled into John's memory. Bane's teachings didn't just focus on punches and kicks though. They also worked on ways John could use his elbows and knees, and Bane made sure to point out all the weakest parts of the human body so that John could incapacitate even someone of Bane's size and stature.

It was tough work but John loved it, and it was clear that Bane loved it too. Between the training and the relaxing walks John and Bane took some evenings to stretch out their muscles, Bane really seemed to settle down contently into the new routine. When John suggested taking a few days off – weary from training – it was Bane who encouraged John not to give up and offered a calmer but still continuous week of training.

Despite Bane's qualms about John risking his life for Gotham, training John put Bane at ease. John could see the fire in Bane's eyes as he was driven by purpose, his goal to protect and prepare John for the future he wanted to chase. And as the first month and then the second passed, John noticed the way Bane grew less overbearing when it came to John's safety. Bane was still possessive in general and John loved that, but it also made him pleased and proud to see Bane less concerned about John's safety and more trusting of John's own ability.

John knew it wasn't just Bane who noticed the changes. Since John wasn't working and had promised Bane not to seek out fights on the street before he was prepared to defend himself, John had decided to occasionally help Jim with relatively _safe_ police work once in a while when they needed an extra hand. There wasn't a lot John could do to help when he didn't have an official badge but sometimes Jim just needed an extra hand or pair of eyes to go through some files or offer suggestions on problematic situations.

John had texted Jim with the offer to help and hadn't been expecting much in return, but was pleasantly surprised when Jim invited him over to his office. When John arrived he had immediately noticed the way Jim's eyes studied him critically, a look of surprise and maybe even awe on his face. "Been working out?" Jim asked him.

John had looked down at himself, for the first time realizing just how much his body had changed. There was no more fat on his body, just toned muscle beneath his skin. He also knew from when he looked himself over in his bathroom mirror that his chest was broader and his arms and thighs a bit thicker. John had thought the changes were only visible to him because he was looking for them, but apparently they were more obvious than he thought.

"Keeping busy," John said vaguely, trying to control his pleased smile.

It wasn't that John had been out of shape before his training began but he liked knowing that his body looked physically able and strong, and that he was quickly learning the skills to back up his appearance. The exercise continued every day and John challenged himself by trying to keep up with Bane, slowly edging closer to matching the number of push-ups and sit-ups Bane did each day as part of his routine. Bane also continued to teach John more moves while reinforcing what John had already learned. But once John had the basics down they began to practice, which quickly became John's favourite pastime.

It didn't matter that Bane was holding back enough that John only received bruises and not broken bones; fighting Bane was still the most challenging thing John had ever done. Bane had obviously grown up with these sorts of skills, first picking up crude versions of fighting to keep himself alive in prison and then having his skills honed by the League. Bane was a deadly opponent, physically strong, viciously fast in his reflexes and sharp enough in his calculative intelligence to plan the fight so far ahead that John would be lucky to land a hit.

John never really planned on winning a fight against Bane; it seemed like one of those unattainable goals used only as motivation to continue improving. Winning wasn't John's main goal anyway, and he knew that fighting Bane was very different from fighting the average thugs on the street. What he had already learned would likely be enough to help him win any fight he got drawn into on the streets of Gotham, though that didn't stifle John's desire to learn more. Especially when he noticed the way Bane began to look at John differently.

Bane had never looked down on John, nor made John feel lesser. Bane had always treated him as an equal, both as an individual and as a partner in the relationship. However, John had noticed the curl of satisfaction and pride on Bane's lips whenever John did a move or sequence of movements particularly well. He had also caught onto the way Bane's eyes darkened when he watched John exercise, arousal evident.

John had originally been concerned that Bane would dislike John growing stronger and more skilled at fighting and defending himself – perhaps Bane _liked_ having someone weaker to protect. That fear had been quickly swept aside when John saw Bane's reactions to John's changing body. Bane was _turned on_ by John growing stronger. He pushed John harder and further, challenging John in ways no one had before that left John determined and elated.

And as if things weren't going well enough already, the sex was amazing. Not that it had been in any way lacking before, the mere memories often sending a heated tingle to John's groin, but things were different now when they made love. Bane was still tender and loving but he was no longer hesitant or cautious. He was assured in all of his movements as he prepared and took John, always holding John close but never like John was made of glass and might break.

John loved it and he couldn't imagine being happier than he was in those few months in his apartment with Bane, training and exercising and settling into a real _life_ with Bane as his partner. He knew his training must be nearly complete, or at least Bane would feel comfortable enough with what John had learned for them to start patrolling the streets.

A part of John was almost dreading the thought of going out into the city to protect the citizens, even though he was also excited; his evenings spent at home and on relaxed walks with Bane had become a comfortable part of his routine that he looked forward to every day. John knew change was inevitable but he wasn't rushing towards it any longer, assuming things couldn't get any better than they already were.

Then things got even better.

It was late afternoon and the sun was spilling into the apartment. John and Bane were both dressed down in shorts and t-shirts, overheated from the sun and from their movements as they circled one another. Their exercises were done for the day, as were the lessons and now they were having their last duel before they took a break for the evening. Despite a tiring day and a rigorous week they were both still riled with energy, neither of them backing away from the fight.

Bane had been training John for almost three months by that point, and it had been four months since Bruce had died to save Gotham. John was proud of his progress, memorizing everything Bane taught him and practicing even in his spare time. As the offensive and defensive manoeuvres grew instinctual for him, John's movements began to speed up as he acted and reacted quicker each time he fought against Bane.

He hadn't thought much about it before this afternoon when John suddenly realized that he was out-stepping his partner. Bane was still undeniably fast – John was certain that Bane had also improved these last few months of repeated, continuous training – and was deadly if he managed to pin John, but John noticed that Bane was able to corner him less and less frequently.

Bane was a powerhouse in every way – strength, speed and intelligence – but his strength was what could always send an opponent to the ground. However, John was lighter on his feet simply because of his smaller body size and as soon as he had his stances and moves memorized, John began being able to dance around Bane and avoid the attacks that would normally leave him dazed.

A smile appeared on John's lips as he repeatedly skipped out of Bane's grasp, and that smile slowly morphed into a grin as Bane grew more agitated and fought to pin John with more force. John was on a roll though and kept jumping out of Bane's grasp, always a step ahead of him so that Bane's hands would grasp empty air instead of John's body. John blocked every attack Bane sent his way and studied Bane's actions, looking for an opening he could exploit.

John knew it when he saw it and lunged forward, not wasting an instant to second-guess himself. He ducked around Bane's string of punches and hooked his foot between Bane's legs, taking advantage of the split second Bane was unbalanced from his attack to catch his foot and twist, sending Bane stumbling. Before Bane could react John had already swivelled around and kicked the inside of Bane's knee, buckling it and sending Bane to his knees.

Not willing to lose this advantage John rushed forward again, tackling Bane with all the weight and strength he possessed until Bane collapsed flat against the floor, John's arm hooked around Bane's neck and pulling back against his throat. Bane tried to struggle free but John tightened his hold against Bane's windpipe warningly and Bane finally fell still.

They were both panting hard, John's body pinning Bane's to the carpet with his arm still securely around Bane's throat. John wanted to count it as a victory but he wanted Bane to admit to it as well. "Yield," he demanded, scowling when he felt Bane's muscles tense up at the consideration of continuing to fight back. "_Yield_!" John said louder, tightening his hold until Bane's head tilted back, his neck no doubt aching at the abuse.

One by one John could feel the muscles in Bane's body loosen and relax. Then the magic words came, a whisper but very real. "I yield."

Triumphant, John released his hold on Bane's neck and with his free hand grabbed the collar of Bane's shirt, pulling it down. He was exhausted and proud and aroused and John didn't think twice before sinking his teeth into the meat of Bane's shoulder. John could feel the vibration of Bane's groan beneath him and the distinct rise and fall of Bane's hips grinding against the carpet.

When John pulled back he saw the ring of his teeth marks and dropped his lips down to kiss the mark, soothing the flesh with his tongue a moment later. Bane shuddered noticeably and ground his hips up and back down again and John smiled. "_Mine_."

Bane moved them, slipping from beneath John to the side and sending John toppling. Before John could react or complain Bane knelt down and hoisted John up into his arms, carrying him to the bedroom without a word. John was practically thrown onto the bed, bouncing once on the mattress before Bane crawled above him and pinned him in place. "_Yours_," Bane returned against John's lips and then stole his breath greedily.

* * *

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"Beyond the Shadow" on AO3: archiveofourown(dot-org)/works/684270


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: Non-censored version of the story on AO3: archiveofourown(dot-org)/works/684270

* * *

Meeting Lucius was terrifying for John for many reasons, none of which were forgotten even when Lucius easily agreed to meet with John when he called him using the contact number Bruce had left. John was intimidated by Lucius' intellect, unsure of whether Lucius would agree to help him and utterly terrified of how Lucius would respond to John's request for a second suit of armour.

When John sat down in Lucius' office he didn't know how or where to start. But something in the way Lucius looked him over told John that Lucius might have already guessed about why John had asked to meet with him. Perhaps it was his changed physique – the same reason Jim had studied John for an extra moment also sending Lucius' eyes across John's frame critically as they shook hands.

"Let me guess," Lucius began, John's words dying in his throat at the tone of sad resignation in the older man's voice. "Bruce chose you."

John ducked his head, suddenly wondering if this was something to be ashamed of that he had accepted Bruce's mantle. Did Lucius think Bruce had chosen wrong? Did he think John should have cast the option away? "Yes, sir."

Lucius sighed and leaned back against his desk. "And I bet you're here looking for a new suit of armour."

"Two suits," John mumbled, heart clenching with terror.

Lucius looked surprised for the first time. "Two?"

John weathered his lip and briefly looked out the wall of windows. If this went sour then John and Bane could run. They would pack up everything they needed and disappear into the tunnels. From there they would travel to the cavern and take one of the cars John had found stored deeper down one tunnel attached to the cave. They would leave Gotham behind to fend for itself; John wouldn't let anyone take Bane away from him.

"Yes. Two," John said, trying to sound stronger than he felt. "Bane will be fighting with me."

"_Bane_?" Lucius echoed, looking horrified and angry. "The same madman who's responsible for the death of my friend and boss, and for leaving this city in shambles even five months after the war ended?" Lucius levelled John with a heavy stare and John struggled not to shrink too noticeably. "_That_ Bane?"

John felt a lump rising in his throat that he fought down. He knew Bane was responsible for these things; denying it would do him no favours. But it still broke his heart to know that this was how people saw Bane. No one else knew the other side of Bane. No one _cared_ to know. "That would be the one."

"Oh, John," Lucius sighed. "I saw the photo of you with Bane on television all that time ago but all signs indicated that Bane found some way to sneak out of Gotham. I thought you had gotten away."

John hadn't thought that anything could be worse than hearing people judge Bane for his past mistakes without listening to the other side of the story. But this was worse. _Much worse_. The _sympathy_ in Lucius' voice had John seething, his teeth grinding together. "He's not keeping me captive!" he said. "I'm in love with him!" John felt a blush take over his face as Lucius' eyes widened considerably, and John continued to speak before Lucius could mention his psyche or Stockholm syndrome. "Please, just let me try to explain."

He felt a little lightheaded with his heart beating so quickly, his tongue still heavy with those words. John had told Bane that he loved him and didn't question it. They had fallen in love and remained in love despite every obstacle – even sickness and vast differences in their moral beliefs. But saying the words aloud to Bane were different than speaking them to someone else; John hadn't even said these words to Jim when they had spoken in the middle of the war.

John was ready to pick up the pieces and run if Lucius kicked him out. But to John's utter surprise and relief Lucius rubbed his temples and then nodded with a quiet promise. "I'll listen."

With an appropriate amount of detail John began to explain how he had met and fallen in love with Bane, thankful that Lucius was at least willing to listen to him. John admitted that he had originally met Bane when kidnapped and that he had considered the possibility of Stockholm syndrome, but then told Lucius about everything that had happened that showed him Bane's other side – the part of him behind the mask.

"He's the one who told me that the bomb was going to go off with or without a triggerman," John said, hoping with all of his heart that Lucius might understand like Jim had. "I know there was the issue with the bridge but if Bane hadn't warned me and told me to tell the police then there wouldn't be single citizen with a chance of survival if Batman hadn't come."

"He still orchestrated all those attacks," Lucius argued, though he sounded weary rather than angry. "He killed many innocent people and terrorized our city for months. Gotham is _still_ struggling to recover."

"I know," John said strongly, because sounding like he was trying to forget those facts wouldn't help his argument. "There is darkness in him, but there is also light," he insisted. "Bane has the real potential to be good, and he _wants_ to be good. He just needs to be given a chance to prove that he is more than his past actions." There must have been something in his expression that spoke to Lucius, because John could see his face melt into understanding. "He left behind a lot more than just his mask."

Lucius remained where he was against the desk, his fingers drumming rhythmically against the polished wood as he thought. "And this is why he needs a suit as well?" Lucius asked after a moment.

"Yes," John said quickly. "He's been training me and teaching me how to fight and defend myself. We're both going to protect the streets of Gotham together." John could see that Lucius was still deliberating and John put in one last plea. "I wouldn't be where I am now without him. Please, Lucius."

Lucius was silent for a long time; for so long that John thought he must've said something wrong. He didn't say anything though, not wanting to rush Lucius who looked slightly dumbfounded as he took in all the new information John had piled on him. John was ready to run. He and Bane could be in the tunnels before anyone reached the apartment. They could be out of the city before nightfall.

After what felt like a lifetime of John wavering on the balls of his feet Lucius cleared his throat. John looked to him nervously, waiting for the final decision. "Understand this," Lucius spoke slowly. "I saw what Bruce's life did to him. I would not wish that on anyone else, nor help you attempt to replicate it."

John swallowed and nodded, relieved that Lucius seemed to have accepted what John told him about Bane but disappointed that he refused to help. "I understand."

John turned to walk away and was halfway to the office door when Lucius started speaking again. "However." John wavered and then turned on his heel, scared to hope. "I can tell that you are determined and cannot be talked out of this idea. And because of that I will make armour for you." Lucius' eyes were sharp and conflicted. "I hope the armour – and a few other trinkets I have leftover from Bruce – will keep you alive long enough to choose a different life path to follow."

John's gratitude was briefly forgotten when he was forced to ask the uncomfortable question. "And Bane...?"

He watched as Lucius pushed himself away from the desk and walked over to the row of bookshelves built into the wall. John forced himself to remain quiet even though he was breathing quickly, his palms sweaty as he fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. Lucius continued to stare at the rows of bookshelves as though considering which one he felt like reading rather than making a decision that would change John's – and Bane's life forever.

Lucius turned slowly and finally answered. "I'll need measurements for the both of you."

"Thank you," John breathed, overcome with gratitude at Lucius' willingness to help, to _listen_ and _understand_. "I promise that we're not planning to make this our entire life. I cannot express my gratitude—"

Lucius lifted a hand to silence him, not unkindly even though he looked tired. "I can begin on your armour now, if you'd like to follow me." Lucius returned his attention back to the bookshelf he was standing in front of and tilted a book out. In the next second part of the bookshelf began to slide open.

A thrill of excitement passed through John. "I would love to. And I got Bane's measurements before I left. I have them with me."

Without a word Lucius beckoned him through the hidden doorway and John followed. Lucius took John's measurements and then accepted the sheet of paper filled with the measurements John had taken for Bane. He asked if there were any special details they needed, asked John a few more questions about his intentions as well as a few more specifics about Bane, and finally added some extra notes to his sheet of paper. Before sending John home Lucius shook his hand and John finally remembered to smile, reassured that they were in agreement.

A week later Lucius gave John a call to come back to Wayne Enterprises to pick up both suits. Everything was packed away in two heavy bags, one for each of John's shoulders. "I took some liberties with the masks," Lucius told him as he indicated the two bags waiting for John on the floor by his desk. "Based on what you told me."

"Thank you again, Lucius," John wanted to hug the man but held back, settling for another handshake. "I really can't thank you enough."

"You don't get off that easy," Lucius said warningly, renewing the nerves that had been knotting John's stomach all week. Every time he had heard footsteps in the hallway of the apartment building he had been overtaken by the fear that Lucius had told the police and that the National Guard would break down his door to get at Bane. It had never happened, but now it seemed like that was because Lucius had a condition that needed to be met.

"What is it?" John asked, trying not to act too nervous.

To his surprise, Lucius offered a tiny comforting smile. "I would like to meet Bane for myself. Someday soon."

After everything Lucius has done for them John couldn't exactly argue. He knew Bane would take some convincing and they would also need to determine a way for them to meet up where it was safe – maybe Lucius could visit John's apartment one evening. However, John nodded and agreed, promising that he would speak to Bane and get something organized. And then, feeling a little overwhelmed and grateful that he had men like Jim and Lucius in his life who were willing to give people a second chance, John gave Lucius a quick hug before bidding farewell.

Back at the apartment John dropped both bags on the floor and groaned, collapsing onto the couch while Bane carefully unpacked the armour Lucius had made for them. Bane had been extremely hesitant about asking Lucius for help but they had both discussed it and agreed that they couldn't just run around the streets without masks, and Lucius was their best chance of help with his experience from helping Bruce.

Now they had matching sets of armour made of dark coloured materials, mostly all black with just a bit of dark blue in the trim. The fabric was form-fitting and strong, close-knit and reinforced to withstand hands and blades. The fabric was warm but allowed their skin to breathe so that they wouldn't get sweaty if they had to run or were in the middle of a fight. There was also an extra layer of laminated fabric woven into the torso and legs to act as a bulletproof vest that would protect their vital body parts.

To finish it off they had each received a new mask to wear. John's mask was black and similar to Batman's old mask, covering his eyes and nose with the edges of the mask curling around his temples like spread wings. Bane's mask was vastly different from his old one though, hopefully ensuring that if anyone saw him in it they would not immediately relate it back to Bane's old mask.

Bane's mask covered most of his head, fabric shaped to fit his head with just his mouth and chin visible, the scars from his old mask nearly faded and smoothed over by now. The fabric covering Bane's head was black but there was a white design imitating the shape of John's new mask over his eyes, like white wings over his eyes and flaring out from his cheekbones to his temples. John had to admit that he liked the way Lucius had designed Bane's mask, the white design on the black background looking like a flare of light emerging from the darkness.

"I'm sorry you have to wear another mask," John said sadly when he watched Bane slip on his new mask for the first time, Bane kneeling on the floor and John still sitting on the couch.

Bane took John's own mask in hand and knelt between John's knees. John leaned forward willingly and Bane helped him slip the mask on, caressing John's cheek when both of their new masks were in place. "I chose this, as did you. It protects us. It is not something I can regret."

John leaned further forward until he was teetering on the edge of the couch cushion. Bane reached up and held his hips, supporting John as he moved to the floor and pinned Bane beneath him. John touched the pads of his fingers to Bane's exposed lips and then moved them to Bane's jaw, leaving room for his lips as he descended. "I love you."

"I love you too," Bane returned, his words swallowed in their kiss.

#

John stood on the rooftop far above where the glow of the streetlights could reach him. Bane was standing beside him, nearly shoulder to shoulder as they both watched the nearly deserted streets below. At the same time they listened to the police radio built into the armband of John's new armour, keeping track of where the police force was scattered throughout the city and where someone might need their help.

They had chosen to stand atop this building near the waterfront, knowing that all of the cops on patrol were further downtown. There was a fire escape ladder on the side of the building that would take them directly down into a darkened alley, but if they had to rush for another part of town in a hurry they had the Bat parked behind them on the roof – a near-silent flying machine passed on by Bruce courtesy of Lucius Fox.

Bane touched a hand to John's elbow briefly, drawing his attention briefly away from the streets. "Have you picked a name yet?"

John pursed his lips in consideration. "I was thinking of something like Nightwing." It was a tribute to Bruce's Batman but it was also something new. "It makes me imagine flying over the city at night, watching over everyone."

"I thought you were supposed to symbolize light." John assumed Bane was lifting an eyebrow but he couldn't see it behind his new mask. John hated that Bane's face was hidden away from him again, but he was reassured by the knowledge that when they went home their masks would come off again and it would just be the two of them together again.

John remained silent for a moment. He had already thought about this a lot over the last few months and the last few days especially as he and Bane finally prepared to begin this new chapter in their lives. When John thought about what he and Bane would be doing he realized that he could not be a true beacon for the people of Gotham; it would draw too much attention.

John would have to balance the line between light and shadow in the same way Bane would, giving up a normal life in the light for one of cloaked secrecy. They would have to embrace the shadows so that others could enjoy the light. The shadows would keep them safe and hidden from prying eyes, and would allow them to act beyond the law that governed most people in order to do what had to be done.

John wasn't worried though, for himself or for Bane. It wasn't about defeating the darkness; it was about embracing both light and dark – the good and bad in every person. Bane may claim to be born in the dark and moulded by it, but he still had enough light in him to warn John about the bomb, and to love John despite all obstacles. Similarly, people spoke of John's fire and light but he still had enough darkness in him to use unconventional methods to seek justice.

There was darkness in both of them but they would not be consumed by it; their hearts were filled with light and they were beyond the power of any shadow that threatened to loom over them. With this thought John reached over and took Bane's hand, lacing their fingers together despite the fabric of their gloves. "You cannot have light without darkness."

Bane stared at him for a long moment and then squeezed his hand, pulling him closer and sealing their lips together in a private, loving kiss. John held the curve of his hand against Bane's neck and leaned into the kiss, moaning contently. He knew that they would still share this no matter what happened.

The moment was broken when they heard a scream coming from a few blocks away, in the direction of where John knew a less frequented park was. John detached himself from Bane's lips and looked in the direction of the cry, Bane casting his gaze in the same direction. Then John felt Bane's hand touch his hip, drawing his attention back. "Ready?" Bane asked him seriously.

John's heart was racing, pounding against his ribcage with nervous excitement. He was scared of the life he was about to take on, of the things he might have to do. But Bane was with him and would always be by his side. Together they would navigate their way through the darkness and, when Gotham was ready to stand alone, they would step beyond their chosen shadows into the light.

John nodded. "Ready."

**END**

* * *

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"Beyond the Shadow" on AO3: archiveofourown(dot-org)/works/684270

**Final Author Notes**: I've had a few people ask me the same questions so I thought I'd answer them here for everyone:

_1. __Will I write more Bane/Blake fanfiction?_

Yes, though the details are currently being withheld while I do some work behind the scenes. I would recommend following my tumblr (above) for future updates.

_2. Why did I choose to make John Nightwing instead of Robin?_

I made this decision because in my mind it's always Batman & Robin. I can't see a Robin without Batman. Even though John does have a partner in Bane, I don't see it as the same. To me the idea of Nightwing is slightly more independent so that's why I chose it for John.

_3. Is Bruce really dead?_

I followed canon closely for this story, as I always do. Bruce is still alive and well with Selina in my story as he is in the movie. The reason I didn't write him in is because as far as John knows in the movie, Bruce is dead. Alfred knows otherwise, and Gordon and Fox have a suspicion, but no one else has any clue. So for now I maintained that point of canon.

I also feel that John might've approached the idea of taking up Batman's mantle differently if he knew Bruce was still alive out there. He might worry about intruding, or wonder if he should find Bruce instead. Since I wanted John's reaction to be the same in this story to finding the cave as he had in the movie, I kept John's knowledge (or lack thereof) of Bruce the same.

**Thank you so much for reading!**

**owswtt**


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