The first time he kisses her, it is out of desperation.

She's young. Time does not exist in the Pit but enough has passed that it is very hard to hide what she is. She's begun to bleed each month and though they do their best to hide it, it starts unexpectedly one month and even the swift knife slash he gives her inner thigh isn't enough to hide what it is. Word spreads like wildfire among the men and though none will come out and say it, the hunger that's always been in their eyes is now ravenous. She hides away, tries to delay what she knows will happen but at the same time spends most of her nights waking soaked in sweat and remembering how her mother screamed when the men pushed themselves into her body.

One day he tugs her outside to look at the wall. He's taken to doing that a lot recently, making her look up til her neck is sore and her eyes water. He makes her point out routes, sometimes he makes her climb small sections so her fingers get accustom to the rocks. Other times he makes her walk the spindly railing around the steps until the height loses it's dizzying quality. She's resistant but he makes her go, makes her look and narrate how she will rise. It's early but the men still come out of the shadows, looking at her hungrily. Her voice falters as she feels their eyes move across the tightly bound swells of her breasts and the curves they've tried to disguise. Fear knots her stomach and the falter becomes a whisper and dies into nothing as she inches towards him, desperate for some kind of protection.

His arm comes around her waist and he looks at her through the slit in his wrappings.

"Trust me," he commands and she nods instantly, unsure of what he is planning.

His arm tightens and lifts her, settling her on the rail. Before she can stand to walk, his hand presses to her thigh. He hooks two fingers into the bottom half of the fabric that covers his face and pulls it down, leaning forward and pressing their mouths together. Shock widens her eyes before his hand reaches up and cups her cheek, hiding the expression. She closes her eyes and tries to think of the princesses in the stories he tells her, but the most she can do is mimic the deep press of his lips on hers and try not to think of how the men lurking beside them can probably hear the pound of her heart.

He pulls back and looks at her. He's marked her as his with one press of his lips. The men know he is her protector, but now they know she is his. The fear abates with each pound of her heart, with each step the men take back into the shadows. He is the one they fear. None will dare touch what is his.

Not for a while at least.

The second time they kiss his lips are covered by cotton.

She is older but not wiser. Proved in a spectacular fashion by the fact that she's disobeyed her father and run back to the Pit. She knows he'll send men after her. Not because of love or anything so beautiful but because she is his daughter and he'll not lose her again. Not without a reason anyway. So when she runs he sends men after her. Her tricks are limited but she manages to evade them until she's standing on the lip of the pit with a rope around her waist. She jumps, knowing they will follow her.

In the midst of the chaos she finds him. He's sitting at the edge of the stairs, a mess of congealed blood and infected flesh. The wet rasps are the only way she knows he's alive, though some part of her knows he's dragged himself out here to die. And that same part knows he's chosen this spot so he can see the sky and imagine her climbing that last step to freedom. She tells herself that it's exhaustion and adrenaline that makes her drop to her knees and cry out. That draws all eyes on her except his which are focused above.

That makes her grab his face and kiss him.

It shocks him enough to make his entire body stiffen. To draw his attention to her even as agony makes his eyes roll. She'll never know if it was the agony or the kiss or some combination that gets him, but when she pulls back with lips stained red she knows he's aware it's her. Which is a good thing because in the next instant his eyes roll up and he crumples to the dust, unconscious. Only the frantic pound of his heart and the wet rasps of his breath assure her he's alive.

She goes up first on the ropes but shoves the men away and pulls him up herself. His pain makes her go faster, yanking until her calloused hands are bloody before tying off the rope and dragging him onto the sand herself. She lets the men take him in a stretcher but refuses to be separated from him. She says it's training, that she needs to watch him suffer to be stronger. But she knows it's a terrible weakness and that she needs it. She needs him. More than that she needs him not to hate her or think of her as that child flying away to freedom. So she watches and she listens and she suffers with every bone they break and stitch they put in.

Only when he's put back together and she burns the doctor's eyes to blindness does she feel cleansed.

The third time they kiss it's not really a kiss at all.

Mostly because he doesn't want to see her. He enforces this by leaving every room she enters. Training, meals, meditation. The task matters not. He will get up, unwind his massive bulk with eerie grace and leave the room the moment her toes cross the threshold. She does not know if he is embarrassed or angry or some combination. All she knows is that he wants nothing to do with her. All she knows is that he wants nothing to do with her.

So she gets better at sneaking around.

He still sees her, still catches her in record time but she gets a glimpse of him before he does. Sometimes she'll even get lucky and hear his voice. It's different with the mask on but she can still pick out the familiar tones, the way he accents certain words or letters. She finds she would give anything to hear him say her name. Talia. But he never does. Even when she bribes someone to try and get him to do it before he catches her.

She gets more brazen as time goes on. They both know she's trying to get a reaction out of him and it isn't working. She hides better and puts up more of a fuss when he leaves. Once she tries to follow him but gets a door slammed on her fingers. Finally she storms into his room. This is not done in the League. Not even for Ra's daughter. But she storms in regardless and waits for him, sitting on the bed. Somehow he knows she's there because he does not come in and, humiliatingly, she falls asleep on his bed. She wakes with the blankets tucked around her but no other evidence he was there.

So she storms down to the training center where she knows he'll be.

She takes no care for shadows or hiding. Anger and longing has made her desperate and that desperation has made her brazen. She strides into the room and when he makes to leave she kicks the door shut and triggers the mechanism that locks it, trapping him. And before he can go off or find a way to leave she grabs his cheeks and crushes her mouth to the cold metal of his mask.

He can't feel her and she can't taste him but he stiffens all the same. Until he doesn't. His body softens and the hands that are locked by his side come forward almost shyly to touch her waist. Her fingers are fisted in the cotton of the tank he wears, the tank that all her father's men wear. And even if all she can taste is the cold metal of his mask and the blood as one of the ports cuts her bottom lip, for the first time in her life Talia feels like a princess.

The fourth time is the time she almost loses him again.

They are doing the work of the League. She is trained as well as them, forged as strong but she does not go out as often. She is a liability. But he does. He goes and he does the bidding of her father and though Talia doesn't tell anyone she spends those nights in his room terrified he will not come back. It's childish and humiliating but until she sees the broad slope of his shoulders she does not think she can breathe properly.

And then word comes of the explosion.

Her father gives a non committed grunt. If the men are dead or alive does not really matter but it takes everything she has not to be sick at dinner. She cannot tell her father that she thinks she might die as well. He does not allow such things. Not in his daughter. Not after what happened to her mother. So she forces herself to eat, to not show how deeply she is effected. Not until it is late and she is free to slip into his room. She is already in tears when she gets there, intent on crawling under his sheets to sob.

Except his room is occupied.

Her eyes widen when she sees him. He's injured and, worse, his mask is broken. He's disoriented and she knows she should be running for a doctor. Instead she runs to him. She cradles him in her arms and lowers him to the floor before he can stagger around doing more damage. His desk is broken and the mattress is already overturned. She hasn't seen him without his mask on before, and the skin is a nightmarish thing. But it's his skin and he is her nightmare and the touch she gives his skin is gentle and sweet. One of his hands shakily reaches towards her and she catches it, pressing a kiss to the inside of his wrist.

Then she leans forward and kisses Bane for the first time as Talia.

Everything leaves her with a rush as their mouths move together. It must be agony for him but it doesn't show as his lips move with hers. She gasps softly and his tongue slides into her mouth. He must have some of the drug on his tongue because Talia feels intoxicated as she kisses him. So intoxicated she does not hear the door open until the room is alive with chaos. When they pull him away she does not fear it. He will not leave her now. Not now that they know what this is, what this feeling is.

It is not until her father excommunicates him that she realizes she cannot bear to leave him either.

The fifth time they kiss is when she follows him.

He leaves with his head held high. He's never truly cared for the League or her father. She thinks that, as in most things, she's the one whose kept him there the longest. She lets him leave too. Lets this be his moment. She slips out quietly in the middle of the night, cloaked in the shadows she knows better than the light. She's practical. She takes things that are 'hers' like jewelry they can sell or the money she's been hiding away since her father caught them kissing. She also takes medicine, enough to last them for longer than they'll need it.

He's waiting for her at the bottom of the steps.

He doesn't try to deter her or push her back to her father. He merely takes the massive pack and swings it over his broad shoulder, discarding the small tracking device she forgot to take off in her haste. Together they leave the League. They make it ten miles before they stop and take shelter in a cave. It's oddly like being in the Pit again but Talia feels no fear as she lays against his chest, listening to the steady pull of air into his lungs.

He does not speak when he pulls her closer. Nor when he unhooks his mask. Usually it is only to eat or drink or brush his teeth. But now it is only to kiss her. He is not gentle, not even like this but gentleness has never suited her. Her fingers slide to cup the back of his neck, running along the scars there and feeling the powerful muscles that knot his shoulders. Something on this night changes in the fervor of their kisses.

His hands disrobe her, scarred lips pressing over every inch of skin they can reach. She is only aware he's put the mask back on when it clicks into place. But before she can ask if he's alright he's inside her body and his head is buried in the curve of her shoulder. Then 'alright' doesn't even begin to describe it as they move together under the predawn sky. She whispers his name. Not Bane, not what he calls himself but the name he told her he was once known by. Before the Pit, before her, before all of this. That is her greatest privilege, knowing that name when no other soul does.

Afterwards they fall asleep wrapped in each other. It's a few hours at most and they both know tomorrow will be full of running. It's a necessary evil but not one either is particularly fond of.

At least this time they will be running together.