Q:Your explanation is as rationalized as ever. For better or for worse, I am forever bound to you, as well you know. I cannot make my heart harden to you any more than I can reject my dependence on oxygen for survival. I sorely wish you had not taken things to such a level of intimacy with Wayne, but the logic behind it lamentably makes perfect sense. I do not know how to proceed from this point forth. I do not know if this is to be your final indiscretion. All I can be sure of is my love for you.
As always, I value your loyalty, service, and love to me. I have always known that there would no better choice than you to lead my Army, to share the glory of Gotham’s downfall with.
I am glad that you have come to see things from my perspective. Do not underestimate your Leader. Everything is truly done for the cause.
Q:You have truly convinced yourself that I wish for you to be a Jezebel? Please, Talia. Do not make me laugh. And please, do share with me your motives. Perhaps that will serve to raise my spirits.
Fortunately, my motives to explain myself are independent and do not depend on the status of your opinion of me.
Eight years ago I moved to Gotham, in an attempt to seek closure in the city of my father’s own death. In all of my distress, I was curious of the American capitalist who had thwarted my father’s life mission. Eventually I swore to myself to learn what it was that Mr. Wayne held to his heart most intimately so I could not only destroy it— but do so in the most of heinous of ways.
I knew I had to finish my father’s mission.I knew that in order to destroy Bruce I was to destroy Gotham. I pondered over each and every tactic used in the League’s history that I could fathom to bring down human civilization. Bombings, widespread terrorism… All of these means possessed the capacity to be potent, My father in all his experience aimed to implement all these things in his plans for Gotham, yet in the end, for some strange reason, my father had failed.
And so I immersed myself day and night in several psychological obsessions— in becoming Miranda Tate, in my obsession for vengeance, in my obsession for Bruce Wayne. In whatever I could, I sought insight as to the most perfect way to ensure his downfall, to be better even than my father. But to my dismay, I eventually found out that Bruce Wayne, the man who I thought had everything, truly had nothing. and had given up on everyone. He was a man who was losing purpose in living. How do you make a man whose only desire is death feel true despair?
In the latest stages of the forging of my identity, I tried a great deal to do so little as to get a mere glimpse of the sore hermit. Whenever he thought that he was needed again was only time he was willing to lay down the psychological mask. I implored him to reopen the reactor, thinking it as the best way to conclude the city. He always adamantly refused my advances until at last, the events at the stock exchange. Mr. Wayne begged me, a stranger, to take over his own family’s worthless legacy, The end result? Not only had he transferred his company to me, but the illuminate qualities of a savior that he wished he had within himself. In short, I had become a projection.
When I had gained such a level of intimacy with him as planned, at last I was able to see beyond his mask and see how I could truly destroy him. You see, Bruce Wayne is so convicted he has saved the fate of his city not because he is Batman, but because he has me.
I peered in his eyes that night in the mansion and then that I knew what my father had failed to realize.The true source of despair is not bombings, or methods of violence. The true source of despair is the audacity to hope and that is the only everlasting thing that me and you, Bane, are able to manipulate into destroying Gotham inside and out. When hope is gone, that is when truly everything is burned to the ground.
I am sorry that you do not see this my way. So be it, then. In your mind, let me be persecuted for the Cause. Perhaps it is my cross to bear as Leader in exchange for the glory that is to come.
Q:Do not try to twist an indiscretion into something noble. Wayne did not need to be bedded in order for our Cause to profit. Even if you believed that to be the best course of action, I would have hoped you would have the class and decency to at least inform me. You know how dearly I love you, Talia. Do not insult us both by rolling me around that forked tongue of yours.
I am aware of how one might deem my actions self-contradictory to my objectives but I am far from the Jezebel you so longingly desire me to be. I chose to withhold speaking to you of my true intentions with Mr. Wayne because I saw no purpose in it— in the end, the nature of my relationship with Mr. Wayne is incomparable to what is ours. And even if I had told you of my plans with what little ‘class and decency’ I have left, there would have been nothing you could do or say to persuade me otherwise… Yes, I pursued sexual relations with Mr. Wayne intentionally— and do you know why?
Q:I have forgiven you a great many things. Every last action I have undertaken for the entirety of your life has been to benefit you in some way. I have done nothing but love you, Talia. And yet you see fit to betray me with the very man whose hands are still stained with the blood of your father. I do not believe there can ever be a time when again I will look upon you with fondness. I will fulfil your mission, my destiny, as I swore to you I would. But there is no recovering from this, Salome.
Pity that you can’t see things the way I do. I found my action tactically advantageous. I only did what I thought was necessary for the mission, for my safety during the months to come as I have decided that I shall carry the detonator on my person. It’s your choice as to whether you interrupt this as a roadblock to our relationship…
And you know I will always love you— nothing will ever change that. But the mission comes first. You will see how the means justify in the end. I hope you will understand someday. The shame is temporary for the glory that shall rise.
Fear Comes Later.: Reunion {Talia & Bane}
Talia smiled as she felt him pull her tightly against him and she beamed in mirth when he pushed her back onto the bed, removing his boxers. The mattress shifted under his weight as he knelt at the foot of the mattress, nude. He then proceeded to unbuttoning her jeans. She gazed at him hungrily at…
In the darkness as his hands had began to run over her body she thought she could assume he had made up his mind. She could hear the increase in his breath, feel the intermingling of their unspoken collective love and lust increase within every fiber of her being. After many years, he could not resist his osito. Even after all that she had done to him, somehow he never could.
Suddenly, with a growl, he lifted her and slammed her against the wall, gripping her arms tightly. She could feel his breath on her face. The sensation of it only brought her body a familiar warmth.There was barely any light in the room, yet she could still see the torn emotion in his eyes. And then it crossed her mind the possibility of him never forgiving her.Never loving her as he had once did painfully long, long ago.
The sorrow inside her stirred. She tried to fight it back. Bane was already losing it— no reason for her to, either.
But Talia showed no indication of being disturbed by his anger. Her gaze was cool, untouched, yet intimate. Willing to receive whatever he was ready to say to her. She knew Bane would never dare hurt her— right? Around her, and only her, did he solely possess self-control.
“You destroyed us. Destroyed me. I should break your neck for what you did to me… what was taken,” he had hissed in such honesty she had never seen before.
A dead beat of silence.
She never wavered from his gaze, but she wanted to. It was true, that she had destroyed an opportunity for them to live a more normal life. Sure, it had been a fantasy of theirs for a while to raise a child together, perhaps leave the League of Shadows and give the child the perfect normal life they never had.
But her father had convinced her of their delusions.
She was sorry for the pain she had caused Bane but she did not regret what she had done. No matter what he did, no matter what show of anger he could offer, she would always firmly stand on her decisions. Decisions that were not made in any haste or flight of emotion, but decisions that she had carefully crafted and chosen, manipulated, knowing well of what would be the consequences. And he was oblivious to all of it.
If only he knew, if only the love of her life knew that their child was still alive. Alive! Gloriously alive!
He could not know, and he would never know— and Talia had already made peace with that.
But the way he had looked at her, so lost and yet so certain, the way he had touched her that night, made her think otherwise.
With Bane before her in the flesh, quivering in a display of emotion, she had the slightest urge to confess and make amends. How ideal. But ultimately impossible. She opened her mouth to say something when suddenly he pulled down her hips and took her. She let out a noise of pain, of pleasure in response to his sudden entrance.
As her arousal increased, as their breaths and movements became harder and harder, everything began slipping away in a pleasurable long-awaited blur. Talia was sure this meant more to her than it did to him. Bane was oblivious to how much she cared, how human she was…
Yes, the past was over. And now they could focus. What mattered only now was the present, the future.Their future. At least, that is what she hoped.
Dick Grayson: Miranda started out the game deciding to play light. Her mind was half...
Miranda started out the game deciding to play light. Her mind was half focused on the chessboard. The rest was dwelling upon the mission in Gotham, Bane. She thought about why she was here, sleeping around with Bruce, making friends with the adoptive scion, pretending to be clueless about…
I was thirteen then, still a young girl. I can still remember the day. It was my birthday. My father bought me a new chess set; I was ecstatic. The other members in my League had a marvelous feast in my honor. We were still in Ireland, at the League of Shadows home base then. My father Ra’s and I were in front of the board. He was the one who had introduced me the marvelous game of strategy and cunning, of plotting and deceit. I didn’t know it then, but it was a game I was to play my entire life.
“Choose the best move. You have one minute,” my father said when he finished assembling the pieces on the board thoughtfully.
A blitz puzzle. How I loved the challenges he gave me. And yet at the same time I hated him for it. He was ever critical and demanding, but I wanted his approval always, more than anything in the world. I was afraid to always make the wrong move—I feared his judgment and wisdom. We all did. I terribly loved him then.
He clicked the tab of the chess clock and the ticking started ominously. He played black, as always. I was white.
I analyzed the board.
I had a knight situated on D6. All the rest on my side were pawns and a king. In my possession was a bishop that didn’t look to helpful. I brought my knight to F5 in fear of the black rook situated on E6. I looked at the clock nervously; I couldn’t believe ten seconds had gone by. My father’s king took one of my pawns but that was okay. I would sacrifice a pawn in order for my knight to fight another day. My knight advanced to G7, putting my father’s king in H5 in check. I turned to my father proudly in satisfaction but my father’s face was stoic as his king moved to G6, evading my attack. I was crushed. I didn’t know what to do. I looked at the pieces in the board blankly. With my knight in G7 and my father’s king at H5, I knew I had to move my knight somewhere to avoid being attacked. All I had were pawns and one bishop on the wrong color. The knight was my only hope. But to where? I looked at the clock. Ten seconds. I panicked, picking some rash move of escape for my knight. By the time the clock rang, he had put me in check.
“Wrong. Reassemble the pieces and try again,” he said sternly.
I assembled the pieces again and started the clock, this time moving my pieces differently. The rook was a force to reckon with. The alarm sounded, revealing a poor prognosis for my king.
“Again,” he commanded.
The clock ticked. Every time I stared at it too much time had passed. How was I supposed to think rationally in such pressure? How was it possible to put my father in checkmate in such a short moment of time? Surely I could do it in two, but not one.
Once more, I tasted defeat. I wanted to curse but I knew better. I bit my tongue and reassembled the pieces, resetting the dreadful clock.
“Again. Have you retained anything at all from your lessons? You are a stupid girl, you are moving blindly. Where is your strategy? A waste of time,” he said gruffly as he criticized my every move. “Waste of my evening.”
My fists were clenched as I moved my pieces. My first try had gotten me the farthest, so I would execute those moves again. My face burned as I struggled to keep up with his attacks, moving to protect my king. The way his chess pieces moved across the board seemed so effortless, graceful, and noble. Threatening.
I looked at the clock. Ten seconds. I looked at the board, scrutinizing everything. There was no way I could put his king in check with the time I had left. But I could inflict some damage. I could debilitate the king.
“Choose the best move…” my father’s voice resounded in my head.
The moment I captured his rook, the alarm rang. I exhaled, my eyes wandering away from the board to the green eyes of my father—stern, handsome, serious eyes that were glittering with approval.
“It has been quite a while since the last time you played, hasn’t it? Your mind is somewhere else, and that’s a bad thing because it makes you vulnerable and easier to read to others,” the child quipped up above the sound of the patter of a captured piece placed on the table. Talia blinked, drifting away from the flashback. Her father’s green eyes didn’t go away. Those eyes, familiar, were in front of her now. Eyes that were younger and unceasingly stared back, awaiting her next move. They made her miss her father. It made her want to focus on the mission even more. And part of the mission was playing pretend. But sometimes playing pretend could hit close to reality. Nevertheless, she could not afford to be affected by the irony, by a child. She regained her composure.
“Are you dating Bruce? Because if you are, you deserve the most understanding girlfriend award then; any other woman would have broken up with him long time ago thinking he is cheating on you. After a month, you don’t know anything about him,” Richard said.
“Yes… we are together,” Talia said tersely as she thought about the next move she was to make on the board. She slid a piece forward and waited as Richard analyzed the game.
“Your turn,” Richard replied as he made his move on the board. “I mean look at the media.”
He got up from his seat to get another cup of coffee. She heard him still speaking loudly to her in the kitchen next door.
“I know we must not believe everything that has appeared in the newspapers and tabloids, but we know how Bruce is. It’s a pity, you are very pretty. I guess you have many men wishing to marry you. By the way, where are you from? Where did you study college? I mean, I bet making your way to Wayne Enterprises hasn’t been easy, right?” he asked, returning with another cup of coffee. “I so want to know more about you, I mean. If you and Bruce are dating, it’s natural we know each other better.”
Talia found herself annoyed at the young boy’s barrage of questions. She doubted that his mistrust would be troublesome; he was just a little boy after all, so she wasn’t worried. The League of Shadows had intel teams that were proficient in cyberhacking and falsifying records and infiltrating databases. Miranda Tate’s identity was foolproof. The League of Shadows could cause the economic downturn of any civilization with the flip of a hand. If Richard factproofed anything, he would find nothing.
“My childhood was rather difficult, but I’m happy that I had such obstacles to make me grow stronger as a person. My mother died when I was eight. But I had a… family friend who took care of me. I didn’t meet my father until I was nine. I moved around with my father a lot. That’s why my accent is difficult to place,” Talia replied, making a move on the board, then turning to look up. “My education was at College of Manchester. Of course, it is hard for anyone to climb up the rungs of capitalism… But I worked hard for it. And I’m thankful that I am CEO now and I have high prospects for Wayne Enterprise’s future.”
She took a sip of her coffee and smiled at Richard. “I look forward to getting to know you, too, Richard. Bruce has spoken to me lots about you. Bruce has been cloudy lately with lots on his mind and he can be a loner at times, going off away somewhere for long periods of time without having the decency to inform anyone… If you need anything, I’m here.”
She didn’t like how he mistrusted her. But whether it was for objective purposes or for personal reasons, she wasn’t too sure. But Richard’s eyes were like her father’s. And she didn’t want to admit how much it affected her.
Dick Grayson: Miranda quietly smiled upon reception of his comments. The way he...
Miranda quietly smiled upon reception of his comments. The way he talked was a little bit annoying. Everything she said he absorbed and voiced his opinion on. He nitpicked on the slightest fallacy he could determine in her speech. His behavior was indicative of intelligence beyond his years.
Miranda helped him organize the chess pieces, reflecting on how he said people were all the same in the chessboard. One’s physical abilities did not matter in the game that was created for the mind. Chess was a game of skill. No two players were ever the same, even if they had the same rating; each one had his own method, approach, and mind. And you could learn much about a person, about their patience and confidence, by reading moves on the chessboard.
Miranda started out the game deciding to play light. Her mind was half focused on the chessboard. The rest was dwelling upon the mission in Gotham, Bane. She thought about why she was here, sleeping around with Bruce, making friends with the adoptive scion, pretending to be clueless about Bruce’s whereabouts. The truth was that she was just playing the part of Bruce’s concerned lover. Any decent girlfriend would end up angrily banging her man’s front door, having not heard from him for days. And any decent girlfriend, of course, would find some excuse to be all motherly to poor little Richard in an attempt to win her lover’s heart.
The press had been battering her with questions about her relationship to Bruce. The tabloids had practically labeled her a tiger. Whenever she and Wayne went out publicly, they were pounced by the press. They ruthlessly posted pictures of them on dates, captioned them in witty and scathing comments. She despised it. Bane obviously became aware of the ‘affair’ but didn’t care to mention anything of it. She was afraid of his silence but she knew he was well aware of her position as leader of the League of Shadows. She was free to do whatever she pleased. And even he could not deny the advantages of having Ms. Miranda Tate being Wayne’s squeeze. It would ward off suspicion of her attaining such a high corporate position despite being a ‘nobody.’
She was thinking about their plans for the reactor core when an unexpected capture of one of her pieces caught her unawares. She recognized the opening Richard used as one that she had read about once—and it was skillfully executed. Early on she became aware that he thought quickly for his age and was mindful of her ploys on the chessboard. She hadn’t played in so long and she knew that affected her gameplay. That and the fact that her mind was becoming cloudy.
Whenever she was looking down at the chessboard determining what move to make, she could feel Richard’s penetrating gaze upon her, analyzing her face. However, she fearlessly made eye contact with him, reading his as well. She wondered what he thought when he looked at her. Something was going on in that mind of his. But she knew it couldn’t be suspicion… What had she done so far that would make Richard suspicious about anything? Nothing. Nevertheless, she wondered how much he knew about her, how much he knew about Bruce.
Behind the chessboard, Richard asked her a question out of thin air, peering at her with piercing green eyes.
“Do you have sons, Miss Tate?” the child asked.
“I have no children,” she stated matter-of-factly.
Which was the truth.
Talia al Ghul indeed had a son, many years ago—but Miranda Tate didn’t. Ms. Tate was a business woman and was happily rich and childless and lonely. And if Ms. Tate could afford spending time with any distractions, it was all for her new lover, Mr. Wayne.
Dick Grayson: “Yes. Seven years. It’s been… quite a while working my way up,” Talia...
“Yes. Seven years. It’s been… quite a while working my way up,” Talia said, eyeing the chessboard situated on the steel grey accent table. On either side of the table was a chair. Miranda took one and seated herself. She placed the coffee mug besides the board. The pieces were scattered…
Miranda quietly smiled upon reception of his comments. The way he talked was a little bit annoying. Everything she said he absorbed and voiced his opinion on. He nitpicked on the slightest fallacy he could determine in her speech. His behavior was indicative of intelligence beyond his years.
Miranda helped him organize the chess pieces, reflecting on how he said people were all the same in the chessboard. One’s physical abilities did not matter in the game that was created for the mind. Chess was a game of skill. No two players were ever the same, even if they had the same rating; each one had his own method, approach, and mind. And you could learn much about a person, about their patience and confidence, by reading moves on the chessboard.
The chessboard was a common sight in her childhood. She remembered that it was her father who first taught her how to play. He was a grandmaster and often played with the other men in the League of Shadows. The board game was one of the few entertainments allowed in their spartan living because it helped them become better warriors. Chess—it was how he had taught her strategy. Taught her war.
She hadn’t played for so long, nine years. But the game, so etched in her memory, was very hard to forget. Miranda had always been good at chess, one of the best players in the League. Not as good as her father, but at least better than Bane was.
Richard’s re-surfacing in her life was interesting and a little bit sad. He had no idea of what was to come, what was in that head of hers. He was completely oblivious to the fact that their lives had been intertwined, once before.
And Miranda intended to keep it that way.
The way things were unfolding that day were indeed ironic however. Completely random. After all that had happened, all the trouble Richard had caused her in life, they just now simply sat down to play a game as if the Event indeed was nothing at all… Miranda was surprised at her resilience, her hardiness, her coldness. Bane was still touchy about the Event, she knew—but Miranda was just the opposite. At first she was troubled as any woman would be, but still a warrior on a mission that could not afford unnecessary sidetracking. What she had done needed to be done. There was no other way. For sure, she had put the past behind her.
She slipped the black pawn to E4, politely saying, “Good luck.”
Dick Grayson: “You have a point,” Talia said, sipping the coffee with obligation. “I...
“You have a point,” Talia said, sipping the coffee with obligation. “I still have lots to learn about the capabilities of my position.”
Of course, she could know where Bruce was if she needed to with the flip of a hand. Never mind that her alias was CEO of Wayne Enterprises—she was leader of…
“Yes. Seven years. It’s been… quite a while working my way up,” Talia said, eyeing the chessboard situated on the steel grey accent table. On either side of the table was a chair. Miranda took one and seated herself. She placed the coffee mug besides the board. The pieces were scattered throughout the space as if there already had been a game in progress. She picked up the queen, feeling the piece for its weight, admiring the detail.
“I love your chess set. Whoever gave it to you must love you very much… Chess was once a favorite pastime of mine,” Talia said, placing the queen back. “I have many fond memories of the game.”
And it was true. When was the last time she played a game? With her father, she remembered. It was either eight or nine years ago. Before the Event. When their relationship was still strong.
“Care for a game?” Talia asked casually.
Dick Grayson: “Yes, he is. There are some times I go to his place to sleep there so...
“Yes, he is. There are some times I go to his place to sleep there so I’m not alone” Dick replied with a gentle smile on his face as he observed Talia trying to spot something that indicated he was right about his feelings; he couldn’t avoid feeling there was something that didn’t fit because…
“You have a point,” Talia said, sipping the coffee with obligation. “I still have lots to learn about the capabilities of my position.”
Of course, she could know where Bruce was if she needed to with the flip of a hand. Never mind that her alias was CEO of Wayne Enterprises—she was leader of the League of Shadows!
She, however, already knew where he was. But, to ward off any suspicion, she would have to pretend she didn’t. She would have to pretend Bruce was the crappy distant-minded lover who went off in long trysts by himself without even telling her. But such was customary for his personality. Gotham had become accustomed to his moods, his disappearances.
She looked back at Richard’s curious eyes. His eyes—how they disturbed her. They were unceasingly curious and inquisitive. She stood up from the table to avert his gaze. She wandered into the living room adjoining the kitchen, pretending to be fascinated at the rather drab and unoriginal landscape paintings on the walls. One caught her eye, one portraying a rocky moor popular with moss, ferns, and heather. A forbidding landscape to train in, to learn how to survive. A place of memories of old, fights and arguments and desire and things. Everything that she had thought she had swept away under the carpet was coming back.
She couldn’t help but think of Ireland, her old home. Her father. The tempers, the passions of Bane. And the irony of it all, the irony of being under the little boy’s mysterious gaze right now. She backed away from the painting. She wasn’t being emotionally disturbed.
She was just being cold.
She backed up. The edge of a table grazed her spine. Her hands brushed something that moved underneath her fingers. She turned around.
A chessboard.
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