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Selina blinks as her eyes adjust and the world comes back into focus. The light is murky, dim. She’s staring at a ceiling she doesn’t recognize, a far-away hole, bright blue sky. Her body is heavy, stiff.
The cloud lifts from her mind as she reaches up, runs fingertips along the line of her neck.
Drugged. She remembers the faint sting of the needle from behind before everything went dark.
Those minions of Bane’s were damn stealthy when they wanted to be.
Selina purses her lips.
The bastard. It’d been stupid, thinking giving up the Batman would be the end of it. Thinking Bane would play fair.
But she isn’t dead yet, so that’s promising. It’s about the only thing that is.
“Ah, Miss Kyle. You’re awake.” The voice comes from nowhere; deep, reverberating, mechanical in nature. “Good.”
“Not part of the deal,” Selina grumbles, trying out her voice. It cracks in places, weak from sedatives and underuse. She wishes she knew how long she'd been out. She grimaces as she sits up.
Bane’s face fills the scope of her vision; she leans back on instinct.
“I have a job for you.”
“Sorry, not looking for work.” She rubs her forehead, tries to bully her mind into focusing as the last of the sedative wears away. “Not from you. Not anymore.”
It’s a solid strategy going forward, seeing as her last job ended here.
The bald bastard doesn’t reply, staring at her with those damn smiling eyes. As if she amuses him. She tries her damndest to keep her face even.
“Well, if you’ll excuse me,” she says, moving to stand. “I’ll just be going.” A heavy hand falls to her shoulder, immobilizing her. She huffs as she sits back down.
Worth a try.
“I’m afraid that’s not possible.” It’s then Selina notices the bars.
A prison cell. Terrific.
It’s not a modern one either; this place is all stone and rusting metal.
We’re not in Gotham.
For once, that’s a bad thing.
“You will stay as long as you're needed,” Bane says. “Complete the task to my satisfaction and you will go free.” Selina leans back further, bile rising in her throat, but Bane steps aside, giving her a better view of the rest of the cell. Of the man passed out on the cot across from hers.
Wayne.
“You didn’t kill him?”
“Of course not.”
“Why?”
“That is not your concern,” Bane says. “Your only concern is that he remains alive.”
Her head snaps back toward him.
“Do I look like a nurse to you?”
“You will have help,” Bane answers. Selina glances back at Wayne. He doesn’t look good. If it wasn’t for the shallow rise and fall of his chest, she would have sworn he was dead already.
“And if he dies?”
“Then you die.”
Fantastic.
There’s no mistaking who’s in charge here.
“Right,” she says. “Got it.”
“Good,” Bane replies. “Now, quiet.” He holds a finger over the spot in his mask where lips should be, eyes smiling, as if she were a child.
Selina’s not used to taking orders, but instinct keeps her quiet now. She sits back and watches Bane turn his attention to Wayne, watches him kneel close to the other cot. She hears the shallow gasp as Wayne wakes, listens to Bane’s rambling speech about hope and pain and Gotham and bullshit.
“...when Gotham is ashes,” she hears him say. “Then you have my permission to die.”
Selina cringes.
Psycho.
Bane stands, using Wayne's bruised body for leverage; the man howls in pain. Selina winces at the sound.
Bane leaves without so much as glancing back at her. She listens to the lock turn, to his heavy footsteps as they fade away. She looks back over the walls, the stones and bars.
Damn it. Her gaze travels across the cell. Wayne is still grimacing in pain when he catches sight of her. His eyes are hard, dark and unblinking.
Well, this is awkward.
“You?” His throat sounds as dry as hers feels.
“Me,” she replies, the word coming out less flip than she’d intended.
“Why?”
“To make sure you stay alive.”
Wayne nods before turning his head, eyes fixed back on the ceiling.
They don’t speak again that night. There isn’t much else to be said.
Selina wakes to the rattling of the cell lock; she half-expects Bane, but the man who enters is a stranger, small and short with a round face. He doesn’t seem threatening, but still, she watches him with a wary eye, muscles tensing out of habit.
“I take it you’re the help he promised?” Selina asks, hoping this one understands her. The blind old man in the next cell spoke gibberish.
“I am,” the man says, his voice accented but understandable. He moves past her, focusing his attention on Wayne.
Wayne doesn’t stir.
“You a doctor?” Selina asks. The man shakes his head and nods toward the other cell.
“He is.”
Selina fights the urge to roll her eyes. She glances back across the cell. Wayne’s still out cold.
The ‘doctor’ calls out to the little man, babbling more in that language Selina doesn’t understand. The man listens, nods.
“I’ll bring food,” he tells her. “You will have to feed him.”
Selina raises an eyebrow.
“How bad is he?”
The man regards her for a moment before answering.
“His back is broken.”
Selina frowns.
Damn.
Stubborn ass. Selina’s eyes narrow as she pushes a piece of bread closer to Wayne’s cracked lips. They don’t budge.
“What are you waiting for, airplane noises?” she snaps. “Eat.”
“Why?” Wayne asks through gritted teeth.
It’s the first thing he’s said since last night.
“You die, I die,” she answers.
“You think Bane is going to let you live?” There’s a dark humor in his eyes. Selina had seen flashes of it before—in a ballroom in another life—but here, without that thin veneer of civility, it’s unsettling.
“No,” Selina replies, because she doesn’t, “but on the off chance he’s the kind of lunatic terrorist who keeps his promises, eat up.” Wayne continues to glare at her, lips pressed in a thin, immovable line. She huffs. "If you think I enjoy feeding you like a toddler, think again."
He doesn't respond.
“Are you always this dramatic?”
His eyes narrow further.
Apparently, the answer to that question is yes.
His lips don’t move, but those damn eyes of his hold steady, dark and full of things she can't make out. Selina sighs, closing her eyes. She feels every ache in her lowered shoulders.
“Look, I get it,” she mutters. “I’m the last person you want help from. But you are not the only one stuck down here, so just work with me, damn it.” She opens her eyes to find Wayne still watching her, his glare softened.
She tries again.
He takes a bite. His glare persists, but he takes another.
She purses her lips to keep from smirking.
Progress.
Selina’s not sure what made him relent, but she’ll take it.
Three days in, Wayne tries to sit up.
It doesn’t go well.
“Hurts?” Selina asks. His baseline glare intensifies as he lays back down again.
“Next time Bane’s around, ask him to knock out one of your vertebrae and you can judge for yourself,” Wayne replies through gritted teeth.
It’s the longest string of words he’s said since they arrived.
“No need to be testy,” Selina replies, biting back a smirk. “I could always hit you in the head until you black out.”
She’s only half-kidding.
“No, thanks.”
Colossal brat or no, he is in such pain, Selina considers doing it anyway.
She’d only enjoy it a little.
The little guy with the key, whose name she learns is Yusuf, visits them a few times a day. It's a nice change of pace; at least he talks.
And doesn't glare.
Selina appreciates that.
Yusuf brings supplies, blankets, food. Changes of clothes. Small but welcomed comforts. He’s nice enough, but she still feels caged.
She is caged.
“Don’t think we’re going anywhere,” Selina says, nodding toward the hole in the sky. “Why lock us in?”
“To keep them out.”
Ah. The other prisoners. The cell she shares with Wayne is pretty isolated, with the gibberish doctor their closest neighbor, but she’d seen a handful of others at a distance. Far-off voices, feet shuffling around day and night. All part of the endless murmur of the pit.
"They've been shy," she observes. Yusuf nods.
"They've been told to keep their distance, from you both," he says. "Warned not to touch you on pain of death," he adds. Selina snickers.
Who knew Bane had a soft spot for women?
"That won't stop them all from trying," Yusuf continues, meeting her gaze. "Best keep your eyes open."
“I always do.”
After that, he leaves her the key. She feels Wayne’s eyes on her as she shifts the weight of it in her palm, runs her fingers along the edges. The walls don’t seem so close that night; she breathes a little easier.
Wayne doesn’t talk about the pain, but Selina can see it in the hard lines of his face that deepen every time he moves. In cracked lips, pursed together, narrowed eyes.
He doesn’t talk much at all; neither does she. There isn’t a lot to say.
But for a guy who doesn’t talk during the day, Wayne makes an awful ruckus in his sleep.
After a month, Selina is used to the constant moaning and shifting, to the labored sound of breathing. The occasional name, muttered in fitful sleep.
It’s not quite as familiar or lulling as the bustling city traffic she grew up on, but she adjusts.
One night while staring at the ceiling, memorizing each of the dips and cracks, Selina realizes he’s quiet.
He’s never quiet.
“Wayne?”
There’s no answer. Selina turns to her side, tries to discern the rise and fall of his chest from across the cell, but in the dim light it is too faint to see.
Damn it. She crawls out from under the rough blanket, the stone floor cold against her bare feet as she makes her way over to his side of the cell. She settles on the edge of his cot, leans close. Watches him breath soft, shallow breaths.
He’s just asleep, Selina, she tells herself, shaking her head. He’s not dying on you.
Selina sighs, her gaze traveling from his chest to the stubble on his chin, ragged and unkempt. Her eyes settle on the healing cut just above his eyebrow. It’s half-hidden by hair, still angry and red around the edges. She leans in for a closer look, reaching over to brush the hair away.
His hand catches her wrist before his eyes open; his fingers tighten like a trap.
“Easy, tiger,” Selina says, pulling against his grasp. He’s amazingly strong for an invalid. Dark, bleary eyes widen in recognition, but he doesn’t let go. “Just making sure you were breathing,” she continues. “Pure self interest. Don’t get any ideas.”
Selina thinks she catches a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips; she figures it’s a trick of the light.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replies.
His grip softens, lingering a moment before letting go.
They watch on the tiny screen as the city falls into chaos. They watch Bane leave the stadium in crumbles, talk of liberation, arm a bomb and snap a physicist’s neck.
His speech to Wayne comes back to her in bits and pieces.
“He’s playing the entire city for a sap,” Selina says, glancing over at Wayne. By the grimace on his face, this is something he already knows.
The next morning, Bane exonerates the Batman and frees the prisoners from Blackgate.
“For the record,” Selina tells him as they watch a sea of orange jumpsuits flood the streets, “no one with half a brain ever believed you killed Dent.”
There is a long pause before he answers.
“Thanks.”
The night after the broadcasts, Selina wakes to find Wayne rolling himself to the floor.
“What the hell are you doing?”
He doesn't reply. She hears rustling outside their cell door, sees Yusuf enter, carrying a length of rope on his shoulder. The doctor in the next cell babbles at him.
"Now what is that for?" she asks. Yusuf doesn't answer either, walking past her. Selina watches as he loops the rope around a bar in the ceiling, brings it down, and moves to fit it around Wayne’s chest.
“He says we must first fix his back.”
Selina stares at him.
“By stringing him up like a fucking puppet?” She turns to the blind man. “Where the hell did you study medicine?”
Even Wayne, from his position on the floor, gives her a sideways glance at that.
Selina shakes her head. Stupid question.
She looks back to the doctor.
“So, what got you locked up, Doc?” she asks. “Was it a malpractice suit?”
The blind man turns away; it’s Yusuf who answers.
“He incurred the displeasure of powerful people,” he says. “Including your masked friend.”
As he secures the rope around Wayne’s chest, Yusuf tells a story about the doctor and a plague, Bane and his mask. A legend of a mercenary and a princess, of the child who escaped. When he’s finished, he stands and pulls on the rope. Selina winces as Wayne is brought to his feet.
She's not prepared for Yusuf slamming his fist into Wayne's back.
Neither is Wayne.
His screams echo in her ears long after he passes out.
It takes a week, but eventually Wayne stands on his own. Selina watches his feet find the floor as he pulls himself to standing. He lifts the rope over his head, gripping it tight as he finds his balance. He sways, legs unsteady after months of underuse. Selina moves to help him, but he growls at her to get away.
“Fine,” she says as he holds himself up. “Just don’t crack your head open.”
Through the pain, he snickers. She watches him take a deep breath.
“So,” she asks. “What now?
He looks up, meets her eyes. There’s something different behind them now. He looks past her. Selina follows his gaze to the hazy circle of sky.
She should have figured.
For a guy who was bedridden a week ago, Wayne’s working up a hell of a sweat.
“This is your brilliant plan?” she asks from the relative comfort of her cot.
“I’m not meant to die in here,” Wayne says between push-ups, his eyes focused not on her, but on the bright blue circle of sky.
“Me either, sweetheart,” she replies. “But I don’t see how falling to your death will do either of us any good.”
Selina’s not sure when it became us and we, but some time between force feeding him bread and watching their city blow up on television, it had.
Wayne doesn’t reply, focused on his workout. Selina sighs, looking around at walls and bars she’s long memorized, scanning for any overlooked weakness.
“There has to be a better way,” she mutters to herself.
“There isn’t,” he says, breath labored from exercise. He pushes himself to sitting, rests against the stone floor. She watches as he closes his eyes, stretches out the muscles of his neck. Her own muscles feel useless, weak.
She’s been stuck in this cell for far too long.
Of course, that’s not stopping him.
A minute later, Selina is climbing from her cot, down to the floor beside him.
“What are you—”
“You’re not the only one here who needs a workout,” she says as she pulls her hair back. “Spot me.”
He holds her feet and she does close to two hundred sit-ups before tiring out. She grins as she lays back, sweat dripping from her brow, into her hair; the stone floor is cool and refreshing against her back.
“Beat that,” she mumbles, staring at the ceiling of their cell. She eyes a low-hanging bar right across the middle, feels herself smirk. She tilts her head to one side, meeting his eyes. Selina nods to the bar.
“Bet I can do more pull ups than you.”
A faint smile tugs at the corners of his lips.
“You’re on.”
A couple of weeks later, Wayne decides to make the climb.
“You sure that’s wise?” Selina asks. Several weeks of training had helped him regain much of his former strength, but she still caught him wincing when he stepped the wrong way. He still tossed and turned in his sleep, his face tight with pain.
He doesn’t answer her; he doesn’t have to.
He’s so damn driven—so determined—that later, after he falls, Selina doesn’t have the heart to tell him I told you so.
The days steam inside the pit, the air hot and thick with humidity. But at night, the pit turns damp, cold.
Damn cold.
Selina grits her chattering teeth, pulls the thin blanket higher.
Her discomfort doesn’t go unnoticed.
“Come here.”
Between shivers, Selina snickers.
“No, thanks.”
A moment later, Wayne stirs. Selina turns in time to watch him climb out of bed.
“Just what do you think you are doing?”
He looks at her from across the cell; his face is blank, innocent.
“You’re cold,” he replies, matter of fact, taking a step forward. “You wouldn’t come to me, so—”
“So what? You decided you’d hobble over here and try your luck?”
“It’s practical.”
“I will break you in half.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time.”
It’s a dark joke, but it’s the first one he’s made since being thrown in here.
That was something.
He crosses the space between them in two strides, stands over her cot and waits. She glares at him, but he doesn’t budge. A draft of wind passes through their cell; she shivers again.
“Fine,” she relents, too cold to care. “But if you try anything, Wayne, I swear, you may be the goddamn Batman, but I will cripple you for real without breaking a sweat.”
She doesn’t see him smirk, but she can hear it in his voice.
“Noted.”
It’s a tight fit on one cot, but still, it’s effective; he is surprisingly warm.
Sleep comes much easier when she’s not freezing to death.
Like everything in the pit, their new sleeping arrangement becomes habit. Selina lets it continue without complaint. In addition to keeping her warm, it keeps him quiet. The nights they share a cot, he doesn't stir; there are no dreams, no mumbling. No names.
It’s some of the best sleep she’s gotten in months.
Wayne’s a perfect gentleman, of course; his hands never wander. His hold is chaste, comforting.
Selina tries not to be offended.
“What the hell were you thinking?”
Selina’s seen Wayne angry before now, but this time it’s different.
This time, he’s concerned.
So much for being asleep.
She pulls the cell door closed behind her and twists the lock. Wayne’s across the cell and beside her in an instant, crossing boundaries as he reaches for her bruised face. She bats his hands away.
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not,” he counters, taking her face in his hands with determination if not roughness. She doesn’t back away. There’s a fire in his eyes, a spark that draws her in. She watches as he eyes the scrape high on her cheek, the trickle of blood at the corner of her lip.
“A few bumps and bruises, that’s all,” she says, flicking out her tongue to lick the blood away. “You should see the other guy.”
Or rather, guys. There’d been three.
Nothing she couldn’t handle.
More or less.
His eyes are hard as he examines each of her cuts and scrapes, looking for anything out of place. His fingertips ghost over her skin; they are as rough as she’s imagined, but the touch is soft. She waits. He tilts her head to one side, toward the light; she obliges. He frowns, his gaze traveling across her body in that annoying, methodical, clinical way he has; she can almost see the checklist being ticked off in his head.
“I’m fine,” she repeats, her voice softer to her ears than she’d intended.
Wayne glances back up, meets her eyes. After a moment, he lowers his hands and takes a small step back. The air feels emptier, everything farther away. Selina shakes her head. Wayne still has that caged look about him, but none of his anger is directed at her.
“What happened?”
“Went for a walk,” she says, sitting on her cot. She stretches her neck, rubs the small bruise forming on her forearm. “Ran into a few of our neighbors who needed a lesson in manners.”
His shoulders stiffen.
“You shouldn’t have gone alone.”
“I can take care of myself.”
Sure, it’d been dicey for a second there, but she’d managed to gain the upper hand. They’d wake up with massive headaches and sore groins.
“This time,” he counters.
“Anyone lucky enough to get the jump on me only does so once.”
He’s still not happy, but he lets the matter drop. His arms seem tighter that night, more stiff; she figures it’s in her head.
As it turns out, Selina doesn’t have to worry about another incident.
She never sees those three men again.
The rest of the prisoners don’t so much as look at her now; their eyes avert whenever she’s close by, they scurry away when they see her coming.
It has to be more than tales of her killer right hook.
After a few days, Selina mentions it to Yusuf. His reply is short and to the point.
“Bane does not make idle threats.”
Selina frowns.
Message received.
After the FBI agents are hung from the bridge, Wayne busts the TV.
Selina’s grateful.
She’s seen enough too.
“I’m not chanting, don’t ask me,” Selina tells him before he tries the climb again. Wayne rolls his eyes. He’s more than determined this time. Anger burns off him in waves; she can feel the heat of it.
For a minute there, Selina thinks he might pull it off.
Less than halfway up, his footing slips and he falls.
She looks away on instinct, wincing as she hears the sickening crunch of body against stone.
Yusuf helps her carry him back to the cell.
“You bleed an awful lot,” she tells him later while tending his newest scrapes. It’s self-preservation, she tells herself. Wouldn’t want him to catch an infection and die.
His eyes are glazed, far away.
“Hey,” she says, shaking him softly. “Still with me, Wayne?”
He turns his head, meets her gaze straight on. His eyes are empty.
The emptiness frightens her more than she cares to admit.
“Could always be worse,” she says, wringing out the bloody rag in a bowl of water before dabbing his forehead again. He tilts his head, watching her. After a moment, she catches the slightest crinkling at the corners of his eyes; his gaze softens. He nods.
“True.”
One afternoon, Wayne catches her looking up at the opening in the sky.
“No.”
“I don’t recall asking,” Selina tells him. “I could make it.” Months of training had strengthened her muscles and her resolve. She was strong before, but now, she’s stronger. The top of the pit didn’t seem so high, so unreachable, anymore. “You heard the little guy; a kid did that.”
She feels Wayne’s gaze, heavy on her back.
“No,” he repeats. Selina smirks.
“What, don’t trust I’ll lower the rope for you?”
There are several beats of silence before he answers.
“I trust you.”
Selina turns her head, glances back at him. She scans the lines of his face. He’s not kidding.
“Then you’re an idiot,” Selina replies, looking back at the bright blue sky. She can almost feel the sun on her skin.
“Been called worse,” Wayne says, taking a step closer. “Promise me you won’t try it.”
“And why should I do that?”
“Because I’m asking and because you owe me.”
She looks back at him.
The guilt angle.
To her surprise, it’s effective.
It never used to be.
Well played, Wayne.
“Fine,” she concedes. “But if we're going to get out of here some time in the next century, you need to do more sit-ups.” Selina points at the ground. She doesn’t feel bad for the order; he was probably going to do them anyway. “Get cracking, Batman.”
She swears she sees a hint of a smile on his lips before he obliges.
A pair of voices pulls her out of a deep sleep; she focuses on the sound as they drift over from other side of the cell.
“I fear dying in here while my city burns,” she hears Wayne say. “There’s no one there to save it.”
The raw sincerity in his voice hurts to listen to. She’d never heard anyone speak with so much love for anything, much less Gotham City.
“Then make the climb,” the old man replies.
The lazy bastard spoke pretty good English, when he wanted to.
“How?” Wayne asks.
“As the child did, without the rope.”
Foolish old man.
Selina closes her eyes as the voices fade.
A week later, Wayne decides to try again. Without the rope.
So much for keeping him alive.
“Remember, you die, I die,” she tells him as he wraps supplies in a length of cloth. “So, don’t die.”
“That was quite the motivational speech,” Wayne replies, smiling softly. “I almost choked up.” There’s a light in his eyes now; he seems younger, optimistic. Damn near cheerful.
It’s worrisome.
She trails after him through the courtyard to the edge of the wall. He’s about to climb when he pauses, turns back to her.
“Selina—”
“Yeah, yeah,” she interrupts, giving him a soft shove back toward the wall. “Just get us out of here already.”
He snickers before reaching for the first stone and hoisting himself up.
Selina doesn’t watch this time. She can’t.
She leans back against the wall and waits, her eyes focused on the group of prisoners gathered below. She watches their upturned faces; their chanting echoes in her ears, blotting everything else out. She closes her eyes against the sound, leans her head back against the wall. The chanting is constant now, maddening. It grows louder with each passing second.
Then, silence. A half-second of painful, heart-dropping silence before the deafening roar of cheers. Selina lets out the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.
Son of a bitch.
She traverses the lowered rope with ease, her arms strong from months of pull-ups. He’s waiting at the top, offering his hand. The sun is bright and hot and the best sight she’d ever seen.
“You don’t have to go back there, you know,” she tells him once she gets her footing. He’s staring off at the horizon. “You don’t owe those people any more.”
“The only reason I’m alive is to go back.” He turns to face her; a question lingers behind his eyes. “Come with me.”
Selina hesitates a second longer than she means to.
“And why would I do that?”
“I could use your help,” he says. She catches a flash, a gleam in his eyes, something bright and determined and ambitious in all the wrong ways.
He’s going to get himself killed. Her eyes drift to his outstretched hand; a smirk tugs at her lips.
That would be such a waste.