History is Made at Night

by batmanbane

Author's Note: This is my first fanfiction, and I need to thank the authors who have encouraged and/or inspired me to write. Thank you to PoisonousAngel, Tatiana Koch, Sweet Little Mary Sue, Julie Reed, Paradisical815, TheSorceressCirce, and Baniac. And my thanks also to LeHaven and Icky Boodles, in absentia.

"And, I pray thee now, tell me for which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me?"

― William Shakespeare, Much Ado About Nothing

Chapter 1

She was a 27-year old journalist travelling with international relief agencies in the third world. Her beat covered the starving and oppressed, and the humanitarian organizations attempting to make a difference in the lands where soldiers ruled: Darfur, Somalia, Uganda… But there were only so many hopeful stories she could write on the subjects of clean water supply, available medical care and education for girls. The actions of bad men were never-ending, and her increasing cynicism convinced her that relief work was just a band-aid on a gaping wound. Wouldn't it be better if these countries just imploded, and started all over again?

In short, she was burned out. She returned home to Gotham City, and accepted a job at a fashion magazine. As associate editor, she was low man on the totem pole, overseeing the "new products" section of the magazine. But the lure of a regular paycheck with benefits could not be denied, and truth be told, she loved her new job and its perks. Was it wrong for her to own two Chanel suits, after giving so much of herself in Africa? She wondered what her colleagues at the Red Cross would say if they knew she now spent her days evaluating the latest lipstick colors.

But her life was about to change even more. Times were tough in the world of newsstand magazines, and when most of the high priced editorial team was abruptly fired, she was promoted to managing editor. In a press release announcing her appointment, the publisher wrote, "Her background in humanitarian and justice issues brings a bold new dynamic to Gotham Woman".

She shook her head and laughed as she read the release. Newsstand magazines were headed for extinction, but she wanted to take a crack at one anyway, at least until it was her turn to be fired.

Gotham Woman was housed on the third floor of the former Public School Number 4, where there was plenty of space, natural light and a large flat screen television where the staff could monitor the latest runway shows. The washroom doors displayed their public school origin, with the "Boys" and "Girls" lettering still visible on the doors. Upstairs there was a kitchen, and a former nurse's office containing a desk, bed, and washroom.

It was Saturday, and she was alone in the office, standing on a stool in the storage closet. She was looking for a suitable china teapot for a photo shoot, when suddenly there was a thunderous rumble beneath her. She felt the stool slip away from her feet, and then she fell to darkness.

She awoke to the sound of voices, foreign voices, and as she cracked her eyes open, she began to detect the figures of soldiers moving around the room. Panic spread throughout her body as she struggled to recall the present.

Did she dream Gotham? What the hell was she doing back in Africa, where she didn't want to be?

"Stay down, you need medical attention." A quiet voice advised her. "You're lucky you weren't cut, because you were laying on pieces of a broken tea pot."

"What? What's going on here?" she mumbled irritably. "I have a deadline and I have to get back to work…"

"Calm yourself, Miss." The quiet voice reminded her.

She frowned and tried to assess her situation. But she couldn't stop the belly laugh that suddenly tore from her core. "The tea pot broke? But I need that tea pot!" Her laughter echoed around the room.

She turned her head to discover that the voice belonged to a young soldier sporting dark hair and a beard. He wore a khaki jacket, camouflage pants and a red scarf around his neck.

"Hello." she whispered. "I'm Stella. Stella Browning."

Stella was almost certain the soldier blushed.

"Barsad." He nodded shyly as he knelt down next to her.

"Can you tell me what happened, and why you people are here?" Stella asked as she raised herself onto her elbows. Despite her disorientation, her reporter's instinct had kicked in.

"Our men had planned to set up operations here." Barsad explained. "But apparently the plans have changed and we are to go elsewhere now."

"What operations?" Stella demanded mildly. "I need to speak to your commanding officer."

"Shhhhh…" Barsad hushed her. "You need to be quiet".

"I need to get up". She countered. "I've got a deadline Monday and proofs due at the printer on Friday."

Barsad frowned and shook his head. "No, Miss… I'm afraid that's all over for you now." He cautioned.

"What?" Stella put a hand to her confused forehead and tried to control her panic. "Will you please just tell me what happened? Was it an earthquake?"

"You might say that." Barsad replied. "Just watch. Shrugging with disinterest, he gestured toward the flat screen television.

For the next several minutes Stella forgot her distress as she watched the tv in morbid fascination. GCN was broadcasting what looked to be a terrorist attack. The news crawl at the bottom of the screen repeated the same headlines. Suspected Terrorist Attack in Gotham City. Multiple Explosions. Mayor Feared Dead. The man behind the attack was Bane, the same masked man who had hit the Stock Exchange, and now he had just blown up the football field, the city's infrastructure, and all available exit points.

Stella should have been horrified; instead she was mesmerized.

Bane waltzed into the stadium as if he were born to it, savoring his moment in the sun on the Jumbotron. Part master of ceremonies, part talk show host, part remorseless killer, he introduced the crowd to a bomb meant to destroy Gotham, then murdered the only man who could disarm it, all on live television.

Clearly the gravity of what the terrorists had accomplished was lost on Barsad. He wasn't impressed, and didn't crowd around the tv to watch the replay of his work, as some of the other men did. He quickly rose to his feet as a figure approached. A dark shadow crossed Stella's face, blocking the afternoon sun.

Bane stood directly above her, holding her passport in his left hand. He had overheard Stella's laughter and now observed her from a relaxed stance, arms hanging loosely at his sides as his fingers twitched. Her eye travelled upwards from his boots, along the kneepads of his cargo pants and belt, to the tight-fitting, black shirt he wore over his heavily muscled frame. By the time she reached his neck, she realized her heart was pounding and she was holding her breath.

She swallowed nervously, anticipating the worst.

"Up, up." the masked man ordered Barsad, rotating his index finger in impatient circles. "Get her up." His mechanically enhanced voice lacked the joy and enthusiasm it contained in the footage at the football field. In fact, he sounded downright irritable, exhausted, and in pain.

Her heart leaped into her throat. Stella had just seen what he was capable of in a good mood, recalling the merry expression in his eyes as he entered the football stadium and proceeded to break the neck of his hostage. Now, it was Stella's turn to be interrogated… and his good humor had obviously expired.

"She needs a doctor, brother." Barsad said as he helped Stella to her feet. "I suspect concussion."

Bane shot Barsad a dangerous look. "She needs no doctor… the woman has merely fainted." He commented dryly.

Despite her disorientation, Stella couldn't help but feel offended by Bane's words. Humiliated by a dismissal she regarded as sexist, she somehow managed to capture the terrorist's disinterested stare. "I - I didn't faint." she insisted, "As scary as your mask is, I'm used to working around your type in the third world. I didn't faint. I was knocked on the head."

And just like that the dynamic between them changed. Her comments had earned his attention and now his gaze seized her dark brown eyes with a ferocity she found intoxicating. "Fetch a doctor from Gotham General." He ordered a nearby man. "Inform him that he works for me now, and bring me the woman's bag."

Bane then returned his attention to Stella. "I will search you." He stated matter-of-factly, continuing to hold her eyes hostage as his strong, large hands rounded her curves in search of a weapon he knew he wouldn't find.

"Oh!" Stella shouted, shocked by the intimacy of his touch. A furious blush spread across her pale skin, and something akin to electricity surged through every nerve ending, as if she had overdosed on vitamin B.

"Miss Browning is a journalist who has recently returned from Africa." Bane observed quietly, turning his attention to Barsad. "She has exposed herself to great danger in the name of justice." He paused, fingers twitching as his mechanical mask wheezed.

As Stella pondered the possible reasons for wearing a mask that resembled a cross between the jaws of an insect and car parts, Bane began to recite a list of her journalistic career highlights to his second-in-command.

Did he have a breathing problem? If so, he looked incredibly fit for having such an affliction. He was huge, solid, and had biceps a girl could get lost in. And between the stare and the swagger, he had likely lured countless women to his bed. To Stella's mind, he was… gorgeous. Could the covered portion of his face be any less so?

Breaking into her reverie, Bane spoke again, his mask producing an echo of deep and ragged astonishment. "And your… husband allows this?" he boomed in disbelief.

This wasn't the first time Stella had been interrogated by soldiers, and she quickly recognized that Bane was baiting her. He'd obviously found the wedding band in her purse.

"I'm taking a break from justice for now." she explained evasively.

"Because your… husband objects?"

The gold flecks in his hazel orbs smoldered dangerously, and his overall expression turned to one of triumphant glee. The cat was about to swallow the canary, and Stella decided that however the outcome, it was best to be truthful.

"I think you already know there's no husband." She answered, once again annoyed by his sexism. I wore the ring in Africa because sometimes it prevented unwanted advances from men like you."

Stella immediately cringed at her own words. How could she have said something so stupid? It had to be the knock on the head talking…

It seemed a lifetime before Bane reacted, and she swallowed hard as traces of fear began to crawl along her spine.

"Really?" he drawled cheerfully. "Men like me? Did you hear that, Barsad?"

Well, now he was making fun of her, and Stella's resolve was weakening minute by minute. She felt like a pawn in a game that Bane and Barsad had played many times before. She held her breath once again as Bane turned his attention to her hair.

"You are naturally fair, and therefore a distraction for my men. I should kill you." He croaked intimately as the mouthpiece of his mask touched the tip of her nose. When his probing fingers found the chignon at the back of her head, Stella felt something pull, and Bane revealed the bobby pin he had removed from her hair. "I am sorry, Miss Browning, but these are weapons." He hissed in a dangerously low metallic voice. "I cannot allow you to have them." And one by one, he removed all the bobby pins, as sections of Stella's fine, wavy hair fell to her shoulders.

"I have a solution, brother." Barsad called from the storage closet. "Dark chestnut brown." he added, emerging with a box of L'Oreal Preference #36.

"I wouldn't think that's necessary!" Bane said lazily as he swatted the box out of Barsad's hands. "Supply her with your kit, and make sure she wears the red scarf." He had once again broken his stare with Stella to address Barsad. "She is under your protection now, brother. If our men fail to understand this, they will answer to me." Returning his gaze to Stella, he now looked at her as if he was expecting her to thank him for the protection. But Stella had no intentions of thanking him because as far as she was concerned, he was putting her in danger.

"You will live and work here. I have a job for you to do, Miss Browning." He rasped. "Barsad and Abraham will see that you have what you need and that you are well fed. There are quarters upstairs for sleeping, as you already know. I warn you that all exits are blocked – within this building and within this city. Do not try to escape me."

Bane brought the back of his hand down and brushed it gently against her cheek before lightly cupping her jaw in his hand. His glittering hazel eyes were lit with intentions that made Stella uneasy.

"I hope you will be well tomorrow, Miss Browning." He said, not unkindly. "There is something I wish for you to see. Barsad will collect you in the morning, and then I will meet with you here afterwards. In the meantime, I hope the doctor brings good news…"

Stunned by the masked man's chauvinistic methods, Stella hugged her body and shivered involuntarily. Bane had made her feel like a picked-over tomato at the fruit market. And yet, her body belied her resentment, having hummed and throbbed uncontrollably in response to his touch.

"God damn you…" she muttered furiously as she watched him depart through a hallway and down the stairs. She reached for the elastic band around her wrist and yanked the hair he had loosened into a ponytail.

"Don't you touch me…."