Part 16: Respite

Frantically, I shake my head and point to the valve in my neck. When he pulls out a handgun, I let out a startled cry and press closer to the pillar.

Finally, out of fear, I croak out, "You crazy old son of a—"

He places his finger on the trigger and squeezes. I fling myself to the right just before, clumsily dodging a bullet to the face. My hands push against the cement and I half-crawl, half-fall behind another pillar. A second later, a bullet whizzes past my ear, sending bits of stone flying from the pillar I'm using as cover.

"You're insane if you think I'm letting you get into this building," the man snaps at me as his hasty footsteps ring closer.

Another bullet, more spraying rocks. Can someone please get their deranged grandfather and his gun?!

With shaking hands, I take out my phone and text Blake a quick, erroneously-spelled, "xpnes". Translation: COME HERE AND BRING SOMETHING COMBAT-WORTHY WITH YOU!

Crap! He doesn't have his phone, does he? Someone stole his pants!

A gun appears in front of my face. The older man's finger dances atop the trigger. His expression is mirthless and tight; there won't be any further hesitation. Reaching up, I wrap my hand around the barrel of the gun and twist it away from my face in one motion. It's more of a reflex than anything else, but it does the job. Startled, the man pulls the trigger and the bullet flies off into the courtyard with a loud BOOM. My left ear rings at the sound.

Quickly, I snatch the gun from his loosened grasp, duck between the man's legs, and start dashing back towards the window I last saw Blake studying. As a last thought, I start bobbing and weaving while I run. I am not about to be an easy target for this crazy person if he has another gun stashed away.

"Get back here!" I hear him call. Oh yeah, let me just turn around to my death. I don't think so.

Wait, why the heck am I running? I may not know how to properly use a gun, but he doesn't have to know that, now does he?

I spin around and aim the gun at my attacker with the fiercest look I can muster up when I feel this exhausted and scared out of my mind.

He freezes.

I gesture with my gun to put his hands up. With quiet indignation, he obliges. He's suddenly calm and cool, but I can tell he's plotting some way to flip this scenario. Should I just … go ahead and pull the trigger? My finger taps against the metal.

"Just what do you and Bane want from Bruce Wayne, Miss Paisley?" the tall gentleman pipes up in the most smooth of voices I've ever heard. "I assure you, there is nothing left here for that man. You may as well run and tell him that."

My ears are burning with anger. I grit my teeth and take a step towards him. My gun stays aimed directly at his head. With the anger I have churning inside of me right now, it would only take another wrong sentence for me to go ahead and pull this trigger.

"I would never…" I choke out, "...work with that man. Never. Don't suggest ... I run errands for him."

His gray brows quirk upwards in silent surprise. The sound of unsteady footfalls breaks us out of our intense stare-off. I glance behind me to find Blake hurrying towards us.

"If it isn't young Detective Blake!" My captive has a hint of joviality and warmth in his rich voice as he watches Blake's approach. "I had the strangest feeling that you'd be here today. I can't say I expected you to arrive without pants, however."

"Nice to see you too, Mr. Fox." Blake greets him with a respectful nod of his head and a small, embarrassed chuckle. It only takes Blake a few moments to figure out the situation that's happening between his bud and I. "You both are on the same side. Mr. Fox, this is … Valencia. She wants Bane to be stopped just as much as we do. Valencia, this is Lucius Fox— he runs Wayne Enterprises now. He also wants to take down Bane. There's no need for anyone here to shoot the other, so let's put down the weapon."

I slowly lower the gun and then (carefully) shove it into one of my pajamas' pockets with a spiteful frown at this "Lucius Fox".

He drops his hands back to his side. "That explains it. I'm sorry for the scare. With what I've seen in the media, I wasn't sure where your true allegiances lie—with him or the city. It wouldn't be the first time I was tricked by an unassuming female companion of his. Please forgive my mistake." Judging by the bit of apprehensiveness lingering behind his stare, he still doesn't trust me. Yeah, I'm keeping his gun.

Blake relaxes his stance when he sees that nobody is going to get shot. "Lucius, I'm hoping you know of a way to get into the cave. As you can see, I don't have a key on me right now," Blake explains.

"I've got mine on me. In fact, I came here to see if you were finally ready to make this decision." Lucius walks over to the door and unlocks it. He pushes open the heavy door then gestures us inside. As we pass him and enter into the slightly warmer mansion (I can feel his distrustful gaze on me when I pass him), he asks Blake, "How in the world did you lose your pants, son?"

I walk into the center of the large foyer and survey the grandiose inside of Wayne Manor while they continue their conversation. The ceiling must be at least ten yards above my head. Huge paintings, maybe replicas or originals, by famous artists hang against the cream-colored walls, leather furniture is arranged everywhere, a grand piano covered in a thin layer of dust is near the stairs that lead up to the second floor.

As I scan my surroundings, I don't let myself wander too far away—I want to casually eavesdrop on the conversation between Blake and this old "friend". I hear Blake make a disgruntled noise. "We went to Arkham to get Bane out. We didn't know he already had plans to escape. S-Someone—some crazy lady—stripped me down and tied me up in one of the cells. She took all of my stuff: my badge, my gun, everything."

"Talk about a plan gone sour," Lucius says. "You don't look so good. You're going to need medical attention, the both of you."

"Nah, I'll be alright. I've got a concussion, maybe, but it's nothing. Been through plenty worse. Rose.… Valencia is going to need some help."

"Alright, tough guy. I still insist that you both get some rest while we're here. No one is going to find us in this place, not with reinforced security, and neither of you are going to accomplish anything in your beat-up states. We'll go down to the cave, I'll watch over you both while you rest up, and patch you up as best as I can."

"You're a good man, Mr. Fox. I think we'll take you up on that offer."

Their conversation becomes muffled. I turn back towards the men, only to find that they have started whispering to each other. Probably because of me. I walk over to them and they quickly and suspiciously clam up. Yes, definitely because of me.

Lucius folds his arms. "You're sure we can trust this little one? We're taking a big and serious risk in bringing her down there. If Bane finds out how he can get to this cave, it will be bad for all of us."

"Please trust me," I say with difficulty. "I want to help." I notice now that my voice sounds funny, slightly tinny.

He regards me carefully, then nods. "...Alright, could be a bad idea, but let's head down then. We don't have time to lose."

He starts walking towards the back of the mansion, to a room the size of my itty-bitty unit's living room, where there's a billiard table sitting in the center of the area and drinking cabinets lining the walls. I'm back at Blake's side now, helping him to keep up with Lucius's long strides. He seems slightly abashed at the help, but grateful.

Lucius goes over to one of the drinking cabinets and begins fiddling with its side.

"What happened to your throat, Valencia? Have you always had that stoma stuck in there?"

I shift my gaze down to my feet when he looks over at me. "...It's nothing…. Taken out soon."

Lucius doesn't press me any further on the subject, but something in his eyes tells me he has an idea of what happened. My face stays hot long after he looks away from me.

"There we go," he says suddenly. With a nearly inaudible "whoosh", the drinking cabinet sinks down into a slot that opened on the floor, revealing a long and narrow passageway behind the wall where it had previously been sitting against.

I nearly drop Blake at the sight. This is almost as cool as pulling a book from a bookcase and finding there's a secret room behind the wall. It's like ... Scooby-Doo, next level.

"Cool, huh?" Blake says when he catches my awed expression. "I had the same look when I first found this place. Had to … take another entrance, though."

We step behind Lucius, into the smooth, chrome tunnel. The cabinet quickly shifts back into its place against the wall, throwing all three of us into rapid darkness. Circular light fixtures in the ceiling flicker on and, once again, we can see. Lucius continues forward, so we hurry after him. In here, it's too narrow to walk side by side, so I let Blake hold onto my shoulder as I follow behind Lucius.

"What is this?" I ask.

"The place where one helluva great guy used to keep his eye on our city," Blake explains.

We walk through the tunnel for another twenty minutes until we hear the sound of running water. I stand on my toes to look over Lucius's shoulder, heart racing, not knowing what to expect.

We step out of the tunnel and onto a small, black platform overlooking an underground enclosure. Hundreds of large bats hang overhead, their thin, veiny wings wrapped tightly around their furry bodies. From here, they look like one massive, twitching, blinking entity that blankets the ceiling. Water spills out of the walls; the roar is loud enough to hurt my ears, which are still ringing after nearly being shot in the face by Lucius. My heart still hasn't stopped racing; I could have ended up just like Tippy.

After a few seconds of standing there, the platform shifts and I nearly lose my balance and go tumbling down to the roaring waters below. Blake tightens his grip on my shoulder, keeping me from taking the sudden plunge.

I stare down at the churning, most definitely cold waters rolling beneath us, then look back to Blake. I give him a grateful nod.

"Hold on tight," Lucius says, a full two seconds after we've already begun moving. Old fart.

The platform moves us forward. I plant my feet firmly against it as it brings us towards the center of the cave, where I see another small, rockier platform rising to meet us. Our platform arrives next to this new one. On it, there's a numeric keypad waiting for us.

It's just like a spy movie. Tippy would have loved to see this.

Lucius Fox steps to the raised platform and enters a long series of numbers into the glistening keypad. The keypad and its platform sink back into the ground. A moment later, the whole cave begins to quake. The bats screech their protest at the movement and come soaring down from their high-up home to swoop right at our heads. The men stoop down quickly. I duck down just in time to miss a mouthful of fur and wings. The rush of air as those hundreds of little mammals push past me sends my hair whipping around. I put my hands over my head and get closer to the ground as the stream of bats continues to pass over us.

As I'm down here, bats squeaking above my head, I think it's probably not the best idea to open my eyes and see just how far away I am from the ground, especially considering my fear of heights. That little voice in my head doesn't win out all the time, however.

I peel open my tightly-squeezed eyes and peer over the edge of our platform to look at the water. Instead, I'm greeted with the sight of something straight out of a wild science fiction novel by Philip K. Dick or Alan Dean Foster.

Out of the water rises what looks like a glass-encased laboratory. Water rolls off the sides of the large dome, revealing a wall of large-screened computer monitors displaying maps and other satellite imagery, tables filled with various, unidentifiable tools of some kind, a gymnasium equipped with weightlifting sets, a treadmill, and much more. As the dome lifts above the water, the glass separates and it's two halves pull away from the center, opening the lab to us. Beyond that dome rises another platform stationing motor vehicles and small aircraft. There are a couple of motorcycles and the absolute sleekest custom car I've ever seen in my life.

Above my head, lanterns attached to the walls of the cave come to life and cover the previously dim cavern with bountiful light. A small staircase shifts into place by our own platform. It leads up to the largest area, the laboratory.

I climb to my unsteady feet, but have to duck once more as one last bat straggles past. With a little flap, it moves on and follows its herd out of the cave. Once I'm sure it's the last of them, I stand back up and look around.

"Blake," I mutter. "What do you get up to in your free time?"

Lucius and Blake laugh as they ascend the slippery-looking staircase. I step behind Blake, ready to catch him if he should tip over and start to fall.

"This isn't my creation. I kind of…." He pauses to catch his breath, then continues. "I inherited it, I guess? It sounds weird now that I've said it aloud."

"No, no," Lucius says from the front of our small group. "He meant for you to take up the mantle, I'm sure of it. I'd say 'inherited' is the precise term to use."

We come to the lab and thankfully climb off the staircase. There's so much more up here than I thought. There's a medical area, complete with acute beds, heart monitors, IV stands, and drug cabinets. I hadn't been able to see it before, but there's even a library situated at the back. Talk about your perfect man cave.

"You two should rest." Lucius's voice cuts into my awestruck eye feast. He guides Blake and I over to the medical facilities, where he issues us to climb into the beds. We oblige, neither of us having the strength to object. I want to see more of this place, but I can barely stand. My lungs feel dried up after fighting to adjust to this new way of receiving oxygen. I'm winded and mentally exhausted.

Blake doesn't waste any time getting into his bed. He falls backwards into it and immediately starts to doze off.

"Nah-ah-ah, Mr. Blake. We've still got to get you fixed up before you fall asleep," Lucius chastises him. Blake mutters a "right," and sits back up. Lucius hooks him up to one of the heart monitors and instructs him to lay on his side. I climb on the empty bed and watch as Lucius uses a wet cloth to dab at Blake's face and the back of Blake's head. It comes back with spots of red, but it's not a profuse amount. Lucius finishes cleaning his head, applies some kind of disinfectant, then exchanges the cloth for a bag of what has to be ice. He leaves the bag for Blake to use. After handing the wincing detective a bottle of pain pills, Mr. Fix directs his attention to me.

"I'm fine," I lie as he approaches me. To be perfectly honest, I'm not eager to have this guy too close to me again. I'm already planning to sleep with one eye open.

Lucius raises a brow. "I wasn't coming to help you, young lady. I'd just like my gun back. I'm an old man—I need any protection I can get."

I scoff, but dig in my pocket.

"Please… don't shoot me. I'm not on his side," I add, then give him the hefty handgun. He studies me, then makes a condescending "hmph!" when he sees his gun.

"You should always put the safety on when you pocket a gun," he warns.

"I know that," I snap back, then glance at the floor. "I just … didn't know how to."

"It's simple. Here."

Lucius hands me the gun again and points to a little lever above the grip. He flicks it so that a little red dot disappears.

"There. It's different for every gun, but just find something similar and you'll be right as rain."

I try flicking the lever a few more times, trying to keep the bored expression on my face. Secretly, I'm thrilled to have learned a little more about guns.

"Uh, thank you, Mr. Fox." I make sure the safety is back on and hand him his gun back.

"Don't mention it. Really. Now, let's get you some pain pills for your throat and then you get some rest. I'll keep an eye on the detective and wake him up every few hours or so."

I take the offered pain pills and water. I'm a little wary about drinking and eating with this valve protruding from my throat, but it shouldn't grossly affect ingestion. I force down the pills with a bit of discomfort, then sigh with relief. The searing pain is finally going to be numb.

Lucius walks away. He must have found the switch for the lights, because the lanterns affixed to the cave's roof dim and we're cast into the dark. It's chilly in the cave; my skin is crawling with goosebumps. I ease myself back on the bed and draw the soft, white cotton sheets up to my chin.

My eyes still feel oven-roasted and gritty, but I manage to get them closed. Once again, I settle into this well-known state of blankness. It's like my mind cleanses itself of all the negative happenings in my life and I'm suspended above reality. It feels good; nothing can disturb me in this little bubble of mine. In my mind's eye, nothing can hurt me and the things I care about still exist.

It's not as easy to escape to the bubble this time. You know, Tippy would tell me this kind of coping mechanism isn't healthy. She'd say I need to accept reality head-on and deal with it. In fact, she's said it plenty of times before. In grade school, whenever someone said something to me or did something to me that was completely uncalled for, I'd just grin and bear it, then force myself to forget it. It was less trouble than dealing with that unpleasant person. Quickly, I gained myself the title of pushover in school. You could do or say anything to Valencia Paisley, and she'd just take it.

I didn't want to cause trouble; I just wanted to fit in, remember? I remember thinking I wasn't strong enough to do or say anything back to these people. I told myself it was easier to retreat into my books and writing instead of dealing with the problem head-on. Over the years, I got a little better at confrontation, but not so much better at facing my problems.

But they're impossible to ignore right now. It's like the weight of the day is coiled around my little, protective bubble and it's squeezing it, crushing it, readying it for the pop!

What would happen then? Will my sanity be able to stand all that's happened so far? Am I strong enough to face something as big as Gotham's second reckoning?

For Tippy's sake, I've got to be.

I can't just hide in my apartment this time around; that can't happen. After what Bane has done to Tippy, and to me and my life, I have to take action.

I go to sleep with these thoughts swirling around my mind.

One of Bane's hands lurches out of darkness and clips my bare shoulder. He's holding back, but the punch is still enough to make me stumble a few feet backwards.

"Again," he rumbles.

I edge towards him with my arms held upwards in a defensive stance. Bane mimes my movements. I come at him with a right hook, aiming for the side of his head, keeping my elbow up like Bane taught me. Bane ducks to his right and delivers a blow to my midsection.

I lose my breath for a moment, but recover in time to clumsily dodge another blow. When his punches keep rolling, I'm forced to back away and throw up the universal time-out signal.

"Okay, I'm calling it! That's it! Time out!"

Seeming disappointed, Bane lowers his hands. "Improvement will not come to those who give up so easily."

I wipe my brow and gasp for air. "You're not beat? We've been doing this for over an hour now." We're dressed in similar clothing, dark tank tops and shorts (I'm in a pair of old black Soffes, he's in basketball shorts), but I'm the only one sweating.

"I usually spend four hours at a time training."

Annnnd I'm without a comeback. "Okay, Steamboat Willie. We can try again in a few minutes. First ... how much do you know about Tennessee Williams?"

Tired and sweaty, I drag my previously forgotten backpack over to Bane and plop down near the edge of the derelict skyscraper's roof we use for training. I whip out a copy of The Glass Menagerie and hold it out to him. "We're doing a character analysis paper for my creative writing class and I'd love to hear your opinion on the characters."

Bane sits beside me and takes the thin play out of my hands. He thumbs through it, eyes lit with interest.

"Each of Williams' characters are sublimely written, even down to the gentleman caller," he surmised.

I edge closer to him. "You've read the play?"

Bane looks at me from the corner of his eye and then shifts his gaze back to the book. "You're surprised at this?"

Hotness rises to my face and I grab at my ankles. I always seem to embarrass myself in front of Bane and feel silly. "Well," I mutter, "all I've really ever seen you read is nonfiction, so it's a surprise for me."

He nods. "For many years of my life, all I had were books to pass the time. I suppose I wanted something to escape back then, so fiction was a welcome read and this play somehow found its way to where I was. Presently, I'm more interested in reality than fiction."

"Good for you, now stop making me feel like a weirdo for thinking you don't read fiction," I say with a light elbow jab to his side. I take the book back and smile at him. "But really. I'm glad you're past that point in your life and this is your reality now."

Bane reaches over and gently tucks a bit of hair that snuck out of my scrunchie behind my ear.

"As am I," he says.

I look down at my book to try and hide my blush. Lately, Bane's gotten less prickly with me and I don't really know how to react to it. He's even been the one to initiate some of the touching between us, like just now. Albeit, it's always very hesitant. I'm not complaining, but I would be lying if I said this new development wasn't going to take some getting used to.

"So," I drawl after clearing my throat once, "who was your favorite character?"

"Laura Wingfield, the daughter," he replies.

I grin at my roommate appreciatively. "Really? Most of my classmates said theirs was Tom."

"At their age, most would relate to his desire to escape and chase after his dreams. He was also a funny character, and his devotion to his family was palpable, especially for Laura."

"Mmm, that's true. He really cared about her and his mom, even though Amanda was completely off her rocker. I think there was only one girl in class who said she was her favorite. But she'd make for an interesting analysis paper."

Bane chuckles at this. "How would you title a paper on Amanda Wingfield ?"

I think for a second, then say, "I'd go with, 'If Your Mom Gets Like This, It's Time to Pack Your Bags and Make a Run for It'."

Bane laughs louder than before and I join in.

"What?" I tease, thoroughly enjoying the fact that I got him to laugh. "Tom ended up leaving, didn't he?"

"It's not quite the title I'd suggest for a university-level paper," Bane jokes, still smiling behind his mask. "Did you have a favorite character?"

"I was a fan of Laura," I respond. "I really wanted to hear about her future. It all ended so bleakly with Jim."

"It felt as though Williams was indicating that Laura and Amanda stayed stagnant after Tom left, perhaps because he left. That was the sacrifice he had to make in order to achieve his own goals—let his past go and move forward."

"And I don't really blame him; he wasn't happy living with them," I agree. "But Laura was making strides there at the end. I think there was some hope that she may turned her life around."

"Even under the constant pressure from her mother? No one could thrive in that sort of stifling environment."

"Maybe she was inspired by her brother's determination, or even by her heartbreak from Jim. She even gives him her prized unicorn at the end, the one that could have represented herself."

Bane doesn't seem convinced. "That could have been indicative that her heart would always belong to him. Perhaps she'd given up right then."

"Or," I argue, "she could have been giving it to him as a way to say thank you, you know? For making her feel normal. It seemed like she had room for improvement from there."

"Considering the fact that Tennessee Williams' sister, the inspiration for Laura, died in an institution…. I have minute hope for Laura's foreseeable future."

Grim, much? But, sadly, true. "But when you take the real out of fiction and remember that his sister didn't die until after the playwright did, there might have been a real chance at happiness for Laura. Maybe she didn't get married, but the meeting with Jim might have inspired her to try her hand at school again or even something else that she wanted to do. Some things are unchangeable, cold, hard facts, but I've always thought that your future can change."

"There are many, namely those of the religious sort, who believe our fate is set in stone before we are even conceived, but I do admire your argument for Laura's future. None of us know how our lives will end, as much as we'd like to."

"That's what my professor said, too." I put the playbook back into my bag and stand up. "You know something? That felt good. I always like to bounce ideas around with other book lovers, especially when their name is Bane," I quip with a little bat of my eyes that makes Bane give me that same condescending but secretly pleased look Tippy gives me when I say something to purposefully make her smile. I still have my doubts that Bane is his real name, but I learned a long time ago to leave his past for him to bring up.

"Flattering," Bane says as I "help" him to his feet so we can resume our training. He does most of the standing on his own, but I like to think I help him in these situations.

"We will work on your right hook again. Try to hit me," Bane orders. I untie my jacket's sleeves from around my waist and put it on since the sun is beginning to set. I can already feel the heat vanishing.

I duck down into my defensive stance and fix Bane in my sights. I try to imagine my fist hitting the side of his head instead of failing miserably once again.

"Stay focused," he reminds me.

I squint my eyes. Is it just me or is it getting a lot darker a lot faster? The sun's already gone down below the horizon, yet the rate that night is setting in is much too fast. Shadows aren't crawling across the ground; the whole sky, starting at the North Star, has begun to leak black. No lights come on in the distant city. First, Bane is swallowed into the blackness, then the ground, and then me. Suddenly, I can't see a thing. I drop my hands to my sides and glance around.

"Bane!" I call out.

There's no answer. I hear footsteps to my right; I spin around to face that direction. Total darkness is the only thing I can see.

From the darkness, a whistling noise rings out. The sound is followed by familiar, sputtering gasps of pain—Bane's mask.

Panicked, I glance from left to right, trying to find where he could be. But the noise is coming from all directions at once, reverberating around me like I'm trapped in a cave.

I dig around in my pocket but nearly scream when I notice I'm no longer wearing my Soffe shorts and tank top. I'm dressed in wooly pajamas and a strangely wet blazer.

My hand slowly closes around my phone and withdraws it from my pocket. Everything has gone eerily quiet, like I've been transported out of a city and into some silent, forgotten graveyard.

I hold my phone up, eager to turn on its flashlight, but terrified to see my new surroundings.

"Bane?" I whisper.

Bane? Bane? Bane?

My voice echoes around me in a seemingly endless taunt, until it fades away. In the distance, maybe a few yards from me, I hear what sounds like Bane's mask breathing. My fingers twist my phone in that direction, then lightly press the onscreen flashlight button.

Light beams directly against a body. Bane is standing in front of me, not even a foot away. He's dressed in white.

His hand latches around my throat and raises me into the air. I kick and try to scream, but the only sound that comes out is a startled yelp.

Bane walks forward, his eyes downcast and refusing to look at me. I continue to kick and struggle and beg until he lets go.

Instead of the ground, I hit nothing. I tumble through the black air, screaming and screaming until I finally feel—

I sit up in bed with a start.

The darkness lingers even as I blink rapidly to let my eyes adjust to it. Air escapes from my lungs when the dark finally fades away. I now see that I'm still in the dim cave and that this darkness isn't the same as the kind I'd been lost in during my dream.

Everything's okay. Everything's okay.

I repeat this mantra in my head, but I'm still shaking like a leaf. My body is sweating; any second now and I could break into a panic attack.

My knees rise up to meet my moistened forehead. I let my head rest there as I try, unsuccessfully, to stop the tremors in the rest of my body by hugging myself.

Shoot, why am I dreaming about him? I want him and his memory out of my life completely. After what he did, the only place I want to see him is behind bars for the rest of his life, not plaguing my mind like some sort of brain-eating parasite.

As I collect myself, the deceitfully pleasant beginning of my dream—the memory of Bane and I discussing art—sifts out of my jumbled thoughts and rises to the forefront of my mind. I feel a perplexing and inexplicable sadness.

"Hey, hey. You okay?"

Blake must have heard me wake up because it's his voice I hear right next to me and his hand that rubs circles into my back.

I hug myself tighter and keep my head lowered so Blake, who seems to have moved over to sit on my bed, won't see that I'm crying. "I'm okay," I tell him. "Just a nightmare." I sigh deeply. "You should be resting, Blake."

"I'm good, no worries. It's actually been a few hours, and I'm feeling a little better. Wanna talk about your nightmare?"

I don't say anything at first, afraid my voice might tremble or break.

"It was more like a memory that turned into a nightmare," I gradually admit. It's much easier to talk now that my throat isn't in pain. I raise my head and rest my cheek on my knee. "It was about Bane, of all people."

Blake looks off into the distance with a furrow between his broad eyebrows. "You lived with him for months. It's only natural to have him on your mind after spending so much time together. You knew him better than most here in Gotham."

"I thought I did," I whisper at the cave walls. "Did you … Did you think this might happen?"

"I thought he could change. Seeing how he treated you, I thought maybe he even …. Well, that kind of emotional crap isn't important right now. We just have to focus on getting you out of this city alive and then taking care of him."

I sit up straight and look at the detective. In the faint light, I can make out bloody scratches on one of his cheeks, the swollen pouches beneath the red-rimmed, whites of his eyes, and the way his lean figure is slouched over and bending towards the ground like a wilting flower.

"What happened to you in Arkham?"

Blake touches his oozing cheek, winces, and lowers his hand again. "That attendant that helped us.… One of the patients was pushing her head down into their toilet, drowning her."

I shudder. What a horrible way to go.

"I got to the alarm, but, next thing I know, someone knocked me over the head and I was out cold. When I woke up, I was stripped, hanging upside-down, tied up like freaking butchered meat, and locked in a room with some laughing woman. She left and I got out, but not before I picked up this beauty from one of the nicer patients." Blake points to his facial bleeding. "I made my way outside because the whole building was burning at that point. That's when I found you in my car. God, you were half-dead and bleeding from your eyes and mouth. How in the world did you even get out there?"

I'm still reeling from Blake's story. He's asking me how I got to the car after he escaped what sounds like a David Copperfield act?!

I rack my brain for answers and can't find the memory of me getting out of the building.

"The last thing I remember was being in Bane's holding cell and seeing this guy with a painted face and really, really cheap-looking shoes…," I begin, "...and then … Bane, he was … He's the one…." I can't finish.

Blake thinks my trailing sentence is linked to the valve in my throat. "It's okay, don't force yourself to talk if it hurts your throat. Bane did this to you?"

I nod and try to hide my face with my hand as I grow frustrated at my inability to speak and my sudden blurry vision.

"I'm sorry, my throat's fine. I just…." I think of Tippy again and Bane and Gotham City and my facade falters. Blake puts his hand on my heaving shoulders. My first instinct is to just let the tears flow freely, to just let it all out and accept Blake's comfort, but I keep it together. I've got to. I will not be the weak person I've let myself be in the past, not after this.

I inhale, good and long, then release. Once I blink a few times, the tears dissipate.

"Yeah. He did this to me," I state loud and clear. He thinks he clipped all his loose ends by getting rid of Tippy and me, but he missed one of us and now, I swear on everything, I'm coming for him harder than anything I've ever chased in my life. I just wished I had the strength to hurt him like he's hurting everyone else.

Blake looks disgusted. "I'm sure of it now: some people can't change. But I'm going to take care of things. Watch." His eyes drift around the cave and linger on the various equipment.

I admire his commitment to help his city. I really do. But to do this alone is crazy—the news said Bane has attack helicopters full of some of the most dangerous people in Gotham City. How can I tell Blake that I sincerely want to help bring Bane down without the detective shutting down the idea completely? To him, I'm just a 20 year old college student whose past record shows no indication of a backbone and whose favorite pastime is to call on him for help. I'm without a plan, but I'll keep working on it.

I look down at the covered ridges of my toes, defeated for now. "Someone's got to," I murmur. We sit in silence as we relive the other's experiences.

This detective is one of the good guys. I can't believe I blamed him for any of what's happened. If it weren't for Blake, I might have had Bane put in my apartment and had zero support. I could have died multiple times during these past few months without him. Tippy could have gotten hurt ages ago by Bane. He may be part of the corrupt GCPD, but Blake's turned out to be a hero and an amazing friend.

And I told him I didn't want anything else to do with him.

Blake exits his contemplative state first and asks, "Ma'am? Are you sure you're alright?"

"I'm just thinking about how stupid I was to say all those things to you back at the hospital," I reply uneasily. "You deserve none of what I said."

Blake shrugs. "Don't I? I didn't stop anyone from barging into your home and dropping off a convicted terrorist. I watched it happen."

"Don't say that. You believed in Bane just as much as I did. You didn't make him do any of this."

"Yeah, but I didn't do a thing to prevent it. Thanks to that, we've got people getting hurt left and right."

No wonder he didn't say anything to me when I was hurling all those hurtful words at him in the hospital. He thought he deserved them. He has that kind of self-blaming personality, too; he's beating himself up over something Bane caused.

Heck no! There's no way I'm about to let my detective tear himself apart like this.

I push my hand into my pocket, pull out my wallet, and whip out a small, white business card, the one Blake gave me on the day we met. I shove the card in front of Blake's unassuming face. He studies it, then watches me for an explanation. My stomach clenches at the vacant, self-loathing glaze that's settled over his eyes. The card stays held in place by my shaking hand.

"You were the only person in Gotham City that stood beside me through all of this. When we needed help, you were there for us, for me and for Bane, and you pit yourself against your own city to do that. You may not realize it, but you were only doing what you believed in. You couldn't have seen this coming."

Blake's stormy face tells me he still isn't buying it, but he smiles warmly at me just the same.

"You have so much to be torn up about right now, but you're still concerned about me," he says in a not-so-concealed attempt to move my attention elsewhere. "Why wouldn't I be torn up over not protecting someone like you? Don't worry about me. You've got to take care of yourself sometimes, too." With that, Blake stands and makes his way back to his bed.

With tongue firmly pressed against the smooth inside of my right cheek, I make the decision to let the subject drop for now. He's the only one who can decide not to blame himself; pushing him on that won't help. All I can do is let him know that I don't blame him. The guilt over what I said still lingers in my mind as I stash the card I've held onto for so long back into my cheaply made wallet.

I listen to the rustling noises that Blake's bed makes as he climbs back into it and lays down. After a while of shifting about to get comfortable, he falls still.

I turn my attention back to my cavernous surroundings. With the nightmare I just had, there's no way I'll be getting back to sleep. I slip out my phone, intent on checking the news for Gotham, when I notice I have a notification that isn't from Candy Crush Saga.

It's a text message from Blake's phone.

There are a few new one-shots over on tumblr. Check them out if you want some story gaps filled!