Stitch: The Lore of Sara Foxgrave

The absolute shock of the kiss broke the second Bane pulled his lips back a fraction of an inch, his heavy breaths fanning hot across her skin. For a split second, the electric buzz paralyzing Sara’s nervous system cleared, leaving behind a pure, panicked surge of adrenaline. Her brain was still screaming that he was a ghost, a hallucination, a threat to her sanity—and her body did exactly what her military training had drilled into her bones.

With lighting precision she broke her hand free from her chest and thrust them upward into banes jaw delivering a blow that took Bane by surprise.

Bane grunted, his head snapping back from the force of the blow, but he didn't drop. Instead, the sudden strike only fueled the protective, volatile fire in his brilliant green eyes. Before she could reset her stance to throw another strike, his massive frame surged forward with an overwhelming, dark gravity.

He slammed her back against the concrete wall a second time, harder this time, completely absorbing her aggression. His large, scarred hands clamped down around her wrists like iron cuffs, forcing her arms flat against the cold stone on either side of her head, pinning her completely beneath his weight.

He didn't give her a chance to breathe, let alone fight back. He slammed his mouth back down onto hers, the second kiss even deeper, darker, and more demanding than the first. It was a bruising, consuming declaration that completely cut off her air, forcing her to taste the rain and salt on his lips until her head spun.

When he finally tore his mouth away, a low, fierce growl vibrated deep in his chest, the sound echoing off the concrete walls of the nook.

“Stop,” he commanded, his voice a gravelly, dangerous whisper that brooked absolutely no argument. “Stop fighting me. I am very real”

Sara’s chest heaved, her unique eyes wide and wild as she struggled against his iron grip, her fingers still twitching to find a weapon, a throat, anything to push the illusion away. “You’re not—you can't be—”

“I’m real,” Bane snarled softly, his jaw tight as he shifted his weight, pressing the entire solid mass of his chest flush against hers, crushing her body beneath his to eliminate every single millimeter of distance between them. “Feel my heart beat, girl.”

The heavy, electric stillness between them didn't fracture. Bane kept his hands locked firmly around her wrists, his thumbs pressing into the rough leather of her jacket. The storm outside continued to throw sheets of rain against the concrete, but inside the nook, the air felt thick, hot, and entirely consumed by the two of them.

His brilliant green eyes burned down into her exposed, mismatched gaze—one a deep, muddy brown, the other a striking split of half blue and half green. He searched her face with a fierce, demanding intensity that made her knees weak.

“Why did you run out here, Sara?” he murmured, his deep voice dropping into a rough, quiet register that vibrated straight through her ribs. He didn't pull away. He stayed entirely inside her space, his breath fanning hot across her lips. “In the middle of a storm. To this exact spot. This exact corner.”

Sara’s breath hitched. Every instinct she had honed over years as a ghost agent screamed at her to bolt, to mount her bike and disappear into the treeline. But her body betrayed her. The warmth radiating from Bane, the solid strength of his hands on her wrists, the sheer rightness of his presence—it was a magnetic pull she couldn't fight.

As her struggle eased, Bane gradually loosened his grip and released her wrists. His hands settled at her waist, keeping her close without pinning her arms.

Popham. The word sat like lead in her stomach. She had woken up drenched in sweat, gasping, the name of the old fort tasting like copper on her tongue. She had convinced herself it was just a coincidence, a random piece of Maine folklore her brain had latched onto.

But Bane knew. He knew.

Her wonky eyes shimmering with a terrifying recognition—locked onto his. 

“You heard me say it?” she breathed, her voice a faint, trembling gasp against his lips. “But... I heard you say it. There's no way we were dreaming the same thing like that.” 

“I don't know,” Bane growled softly, his jaw tightening as he pressed her firmly back against the concrete wall, shielding her from the freezing wind. “I heard it in the dream. I woke up with the name of this place echoing in my mind, and I had to go see. And here you are. The girl from the pub who I share a property line with but never knew until now.”

“I don't know,” Bane growled softly, his jaw tightening as he pressed her firmly back against the concrete wall, shielding her from the freezing wind. “I heard it in the dream. I woke up with the name of this place echoing in my mind, and I had to go see. And here you are. The girl from the pub who I share a property line with but never knew until now.”

Sara swallowed, her eyes flicking away from his as his gruff words settled over her. “Look at me, Sara,” he ordered quietly.

Her gaze returned to his before she could think better of it. Her breath caught, and something in her expression shifted.

Bane noticed.

The corner of his mouth lifted “Hm,” he chuckled softly, a dark, low sound. His expression shifted, curiosity sharpening beneath the intensity of his gaze. “Now tell me, how the hell that’s possible.”

Sara was entirely lost in his eyes, completely consumed by the feeling of his heart pounding in perfect, heavy rhythm with hers inside her very soul. The walls she had built up over a lifetime were gone, leaving her completely exposed to him. 

“I don't know,” she whispered, drowning in the swirling green of the man before her. “But I've been dreaming of those eyes since I was a child. Tell me how that is possible, Sir.” she tired to cock her head with sass but faltered and it sounded more like a confession.

The way she said it, with that soft surrender in her voice, made something primal stir deep within his chest, his wolf pacing behind his rib cage.

“Since you were a child,” Bane repeated, the words tasting like a revelation on his tongue. 

He saw it in her eyes—the way her pupils dilated, the way her mouth parted slightly as she searched for language that didn't exist. She was a woman of action, a woman who knew how to hunt, how to fight, how to survive, but here, faced with the inexplicable, she was completely undone. 

He understood. He had felt it too. In the dreams, there was a closeness that defied the boundaries of skin and bone. A warmth that wasn't just physical, but something deeper—a pulling at the soul, a sense of belonging so absolute it made waking up feel like drowning. 

She's inexperienced, he realized with a sudden pang of something deeply protective, drenched in guilt. All those years of being alone, training, surviving on her own... she's never had this. Not in real life. and he... filled lonely nights with women whose names he never remembered, trying to drown the girl with the mismatched eyes from his mind.

The rain continued to hammer down against the historic stone, but Bane felt a strange sense of calm settling over him. He had her. She was here. The math of it all was staggering, impossible, and yet here they stood in the pouring rain, two broken pieces of a puzzle finally clicking into place. 

He leaned his head down, his nose brushing against the damp curls at her temple. The scent hit him like a physical wave—jasmine, rain, earth, and that sharp hint of neroli oil. It was the exact scent from his dreams. Every single detail. 

“Jasmine and neroli,” Bane murmured against her skin, his large hands shifting on her waist, pulling her so close the heat of his body soaked straight through her wet leather jacket. His voice was a low, rough vibration that anchored her to the floor. “I would know this smell even in my death Sara” 

He could feel her trembling against him—not just from the cold, but from the sheer weight of what was happening. Every nerve in his body was firing, screaming at him that this was her. The girl. The neighbor. The dream. 

Sara. 

Suddenly, a violent crack of thunder exploded directly over the fort, shaking the concrete foundations as a jagged blade of lightning illuminated the corridor, turning the world blindingly white for a split second. 

Sara wasn't there anymore.

The deafening blast violently fractured her reality. Her heavy, heated surrender collided with a dark, deeply buried trauma, and her trained ghost agent reflexes took over before her conscious mind could register the threat. 

Before Bane could tighten his grip, Sara drop-weighted her body, instantly collapsing her center of gravity to slip entirely beneath his massive hands. Using his own forward momentum against him, she planted her heal firmly against his hip, using the leverage to pivot and propel her smaller frame upward. She executed a tight, low-altitude tactical roll off the concrete wall behind him, twisting midair to maximize her clearing distance before her boots slammed back onto the slick stone floor. 

Her right hand blurred to her hip, tearing her signature weapon from her belt in a reverse grip. It wasn't standard government kit, but a masterfully hand-crafted piece. The blade was forge-welded Damascus steel, its face rippling with dark, smoky waves of folded carbon that tapered down to a lethal, double-bevel edge. The scales of the handle were a custom, deep forest-green pakkawood, ergonomically grooved to perfectly fit the unique geometry of her palm. Her fluid deployment and flawless balance showed the absolute mastery of an operative who treated her weapon as an extension of her own hand. 

With a blind, wild panic driving her muscles, she used her lower height to her advantage, lunging low and executing a vicious upward slash aimed directly under his guard toward his ribs. . 

Bane’s tactical instincts recognized the precise, lethal geometry of a smaller, trained blade-fighter before the Damascus edge even cleared the shadows of the alcove. He threw his torso back, sucking in his gut as the razor-sharp blade whispered past his canvas jacket by a fraction of an inch. 

They engaged in a short, brutal, high-stakes fight in the darkness of the stone corridor. Sara used her explosive speed to stay strictly inside his reach, her body moving with a fluid, terrifying grace that felt like a beautiful ballet of violence. She operated entirely within his blind spots, throwing rapid-fire combinations—slashing at his arm tendons to force a reflex release, while systematically checking his hips with her knees to keep him from grounding her base. Her green-handled blade spun in tight, defensive arcs, tracking the lethal lines of elite military CQC. 

Bane didn't strike back. He utilized tight, center-line defensive blocking, parrying her wrists at the absolute last second to absorb the blistering shock of her velocity. Even as he tracked her lethal rhythm, he was struck by a profound, breathtaking sense of awe. He was looking at this magnificent, small creature—half his size, completely fragile compared to his bulk—moving with the calculated ferocity of a wild animal. Her sheer power, her precision, and the beautiful, violent grace she executed in the dark completely captivated him. 

He yielded just enough to map her momentum, waiting for the split-second opening when her blade hand overextended. Pivoting inside her guard, Bane slipped behind her and locked his massive arms around her upper body in a crushing bear hug, stopping her forward momentum.

Sara fought the hold instantly, throwing her weight backward, trying to drive him into the concrete wall and break free. Bane braced himself against her struggles, but then he felt it—the change in her. This wasn't just a fight anymore. Her movements had lost their focus, her body reacting to something he couldn't see.

He'd seen Marines go through this before. He knew better than to try to overpower the fear itself.

Bane lowered himself against the concrete wall as he was slammed against it, settling cross-legged with Sara cradled against his chest. His arms remained wrapped firmly around her, giving her the steady pressure she needed without fighting every movement.

“Easy, girl,” he murmured.

She didn't hear him.

“Feel my heart, Sara, c'mon now.”

He brought her ear against his chest, letting her hear the steady beat beneath his ribs.

“That's it, Breathe with me.”

He drew in a slow breath, then let it out. When she struggled again, hed softly give a calming order or tighten his hold. He simply stayed with her, his voice low and steady.

“C'mon, Sara. I've got you.”

Her fingers caught in his shirt. For a moment, she still fought to get away, caught between the memory and the solid warmth holding her in place. Then her grip changed. Instead of pushing against him, she clung to him.

Bane felt the difference and rested his cheek against her hair.

“There you are,” he whispered.

The storm seemed to have settled. Curled against Bane's chest, Sara's breathing had finally begun to even out, her fingers still twisted in his shirt. He kept her cradled in his lap, one arm secure around her while the steady beat of his heart thudded beneath her ear.

Then the sky split open.

A violent crack of thunder exploded overhead, accompanied by a blinding flash of lightning that illuminated the nook.

Sara jolted violently.

Her entire body went rigid in his arms. For one terrible second, her eyes flew open, but she wasn't looking at Bane. She wasn't seeing the concrete walls or the rain. Whatever she saw belonged to somewhere else, somewhere he couldn't reach.

Then her body betrayed her.

Bane felt the sudden warmth against his lap and understood. Her face crumpled, and the last of the fight drained from her as though the fear had finally taken everything she had left.

He didn't loosen his arms or pull away. He simply shifted his position to support her better, shielding her against his chest as the thunder rolled into the distance.

“It's all right, Sara,” he murmured against her hair. “I've got you.”

"At least its raining" she sighed into his chest. Her fingers remained tangled in his shirt, but the desperate grip had softened. Her eyelids fluttered, exhaustion finally overtaking the terror that had held her captive.

Bane rested his cheek against the top of her head and let out a low chuckle

“That's it, silly girl. Just breathe.”

He stayed still as her body gradually relaxed against him. Within minutes, she was asleep in his lap, her face tucked against his chest, unaware that he was still holding her as carefully as if she were something precious.

Bane stared out into the rain, his jaw tight.

He'd seen men come apart under the weight of things they'd never speak about. He knew what trauma could do to a person.

But seeing it happen to her was something else entirely.

He gathered her a little closer, determined that when she woke, she wouldn't have to face it alone.