Archive of Our Own

“I thought you left with Damian already.”

Talia gathers her hair to one side of her shoulder, brushing it down gently before removing an earring. The dangling metal glimmers underneath the dim glow of the vanity table’s lamp, clanging as she sets them down on the table, the only sound echoing in the otherwise silent room. Her fingers moved across her collarbone to unfasten the necklace hanging on her neck before laying it down beside the matching pair of earrings. 

Behind her, the shadow himself stood still, the shape of him faintly silhouetted against the velvet curtains. She lifts her eyes to the mirror in front of her, unaffected as she meets his eyes. Her acknowledgment heightened the weight of his presence in the air.

Bruce remains where he stood. “I trusted him with Dick,” he says, as a matter of fact.

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, taking the other earring off. “He grew to become a good man,” she says.

Bruce hummed in agreement. She noted that he didn’t take any credit for himself. “He’s got a soft spot for Damian,” he says instead. “They all do, but him especially.”

“That’s good to hear,” Talia says in return, grateful for what he shared. She had worried about Damian struggling to fit in with his contemporaries, being born into the League of Shadows and trained under the Demon himself. Despite Richard Grayson’s apparent dislike towards her and everything she stands for, she was relieved to know that the same sentiment didn’t extend to her son. “But you’re not here to talk about your children to me.”

She knows that he understood what she meant, pointing out his prolonged presence within the Demon’s proxy territory without their son keeping the men’s animosity at bay. She took the time to shed the rings adorning her fingers off. “I could easily reach for my blades if you try anything.”

“I’m not here to fight,” he says shortly. She already knows this. He didn’t have any weapons on him—except his own person, of course. On good days like these, though, she could handle that on her own. Halfway into wondering if she’d have to play her part in this perpetual push-and-pull dance between them, he speaks again.

“You never told him,” Bruce pointed out, his reflection shifting. She felt him stepping near without even needing to see it for herself. “You never told him that you nearly lost him.”

Her hands linger by her jewelry box, prolonging the small task at hand. She keeps her eyes trained on it as she straightens up, as if bracing herself for something, though her expression remains aloof. “What put you under the impression that I did?”

“All those years with you, here, before you sent him to me. You never told him.”

“Is there a reason why I should?”

“Because he deserved to know.”

“He deserved to know, what?” Talia asks. “That I couldn’t protect myself enough for the both of us?” Her chair scraped softly against the floor as she stood. The sound sliced through the tension filling the space between them—sharp, final. 

When she finally turned around, she found herself surprised by his proximity. Not near enough to touch. Just close enough to let her see his quiet fury, thrumming underneath his steely pale blue eyes. But she’s undeterred. She’s handled worse than this from him. “That I had been so weak in my youth that I allowed both of us in a situation that nearly cost us our lives? And yours, too?”

“That you love him so much you decided to have him anyway, even after nearly dying,” he paused. A sharp, controlled inhale. “Even after I left. You love him enough to let him go. To let me into his world, despite us.”

The words float between them as silence curdles in. The air between them felt charged with words they hadn’t said and the weight of the ones they had. The delicate standoff eased when Talia moved and walked past him, into the bathroom, where he mercifully let her be. He had to know better than to follow. She could still feel his presence, but the distance allowed her to think.

“The knowledge would be useless to him,” she finally says out loud, unable to meet her own eyes in the mirror, opting to strip her face off of the makeup on it instead.

“He needed to know, Talia,” he says grimly. The faint hum of water running fills the silence. “Now, more than ever.”

Talia wiped her lipstick away. “Why?”

“He’s already convinced that you sent him away because he failed you here,” he tells her. Nothing she doesn’t know already. “That him being with me is the only way he can fulfill your expectations of him. That you sent him away because he was just like his father, who couldn’t fit here.”

Her silence remains while the water continues its rhythm. “I don’t want him to fit here,” she finally says, peering at her reflection. Tired eyes. Hollowed cheeks. Dulled skin. Pallid lips. Her entire face clouded with thoughts she couldn’t put into words, for doing so would mean giving them powers over herself. “I don’t want either of you to. I want more for him.”

Bruce could hear the things she deliberately didn’t say. I want more for you. Nothing new, but the sting is still there.

“You’re telling that to the wrong person,” Bruce finally replied, frustration bleeding into the tone of his voice. “He needs to hear that. Our son needs to hear that.”

She flinched from his choice of words; hearing Damian being called for who he was, out loud. Their son. Ours.

“He knows,” Talia said, her voice brittle.

“He is a child,” he interjected sharply. “A ten-year-old child, at that. His voice hasn't even broke yet, Talia. He doesn’t know anything except for what you’ve shown him. You know this, better than anyone else. The boy grew up thinking you loathed him, and everything he came from.” A hard swallow. “Everything he exists to remind you of.”

“What he thinks is exactly what I wanted him to know.”

“Maybe so. But the truth isn’t as simple as that.”

“I do not live by your moral code, Bruce,” she says, the coldest her voice had sounded thus far. She knew, without needing to see him, that this struck a nerve. “Here, the truth is what I make it to be. It will be as simple as I want it to be.”

“And what happens when you don’t believe it to be true yourself?”

Talia emerged from the bathroom ready to swear him off when she found him lingering by her vanity table. Near where she had been sitting just moments earlier. His hands hovered by her jewelry box like he’d been observing the content within by touch before she’d come out. He’s already staring at her through the mirror. He must’ve seen it, the pearls she kept within the box. The simple, unassuming ring she hadn’t worn for a decade. He must’ve recognized them, being the one who gave each to her.

The scathing words at the tip of her tongue melted away almost instantly. The sight felt like salt pressed to an open wound. She shouldn’t have taken off her makeup, the last piece of her armor. Better yet, she should’ve stayed inside. Now she’s exposed herself to the one man who knows her better than she knows herself.

“You shouldn’t be here, Bruce,” she says. Something sharper and bitter snuck underneath her skin. “I don’t need you here, in my house, my bedroom, to tell me that I’m a bad mother,” she started. “I already know what I am, and what I am not.“

His hand fell back to his side, eyes flickering between hers as he straightened up. The low light illuminated the sharp and rough lines of his face. Her eyes lingered on the uneven, scruffy patches of beard dotting his jawline. Most likely shaved some time ago and is now only just beginning to grow back. Their appearance softened the hard edges she remembered.

“I did not say that,” he said, articulating every word, his tone absolute with the restrained weight that comes from years of knowing exactly how the other person ticks. “Don’t twist my words.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” she snaps back, stoicism be damned. “You didn’t have to say it for me to hear it. What kind of mother chose to bear a child into this life? To raise him in a world like mine?”

“Talia,” Bruce started, shuffling from where he stood.

“To know what waits for him and was still selfish enough to keep him? Allowed him to succumb to violence and rage like his own mother did in the past?”

“You want him to think that you don’t love him. You want him to think that you’re a bad mother. You want yourself to think that you are. But you’re not. You are not,” he tells her, stopping himself to breathe. “You are… a lot of things, but not a bad mother. And our son deserves to know that.”

She stiffens, hating herself for how she forfeited so quickly, tearing her gaze away from him. Hating him for how he reads her, even after all these years apart. Would he be able to see it on her bare face, how much she wanted him to be right? 

“Just loving him doesn’t make me a good mother, Bruce,” Talia finally murmured. She shook her head. “Love isn’t enough. We both know this.”

“I know how it felt—“

“No,” she refuted, instinctively backing away as if his words had burned. “No, you don’t. You weren’t the one carrying him for nine months.”

His nonchalant facade crumbles along with hers. “Talia,” he starts saying again. She hated how soft his voice took when he called her name. Hated how she couldn’t help the way it tore down more of the bricks building her walls up with every sweet mention.

She raised a feeble hand between them. It was a pitiful gesture to regain her control over this conversation. “You weren’t the one whose own body nearly betrayed and took the one good thing you have in your life.”

“You can’t keep doing that,” he said, his voice low. “You can’t keep carrying it with you.”

“There’s nowhere to put it down,” Talia stressed on the words as she spoke them. She paced to the other side of the room. “He isn’t safe here, Bruce. He will never be safe here. This isn’t the life I wanted for him. I know that it isn't the life you wanted for him. I should’ve known, from that moment when I almost lost him. It was foolish of me to ever think that I could offer him anything else than this.”

When she turned back around, she saw herself reflected in his gaze and wondered if it was pity she saw swirling within the icy blue of them. What does it say about her, for her to hope things would go differently after Damian when she’d lived through the same thing for years underneath her father and the shadow of the League?

She shakes her head. “The way you’ve always talked about that accident… it’s not something that just happened, Bruce,” her voice rose in exasperation. “I should’ve known. I should’ve seen it coming—from my own father, no less. When I figured it out, I thought it had been too late. I almost lost him in my womb. I… I felt him slipping away from me.” The phantom pain throbbed on her lower stomach; a score her body will keep forever.

Talia could barely say those last words. All her shame and regret churned within her. These were thoughts she was never brave enough to say out loud, not even to herself. During Damian’s younger years, in the quiet moments when doubt whispered in her ear, she wondered if the boy could see shadows of her past looming over her. If, when he laid on her, the boy could hear the cracks of her heart. There are darker times in his youth where she’d rock him to sleep and found herself bowing down to her baby, whispering how sorry she was for things she couldn’t even begin to name.

When those green eyes they shared would look up at her, wide with wonder, Talia was convinced that Damian could see it; how distant she was. She wouldn’t be surprised if he did, with the sharp intuitions he inherited from his father. It was easier to ignore when he was much younger, but as he grew older, it was impossible to ignore how lost he looked in her world. And that was all her fault.

“I’ve been so selfish, deciding against everything working against us to have him,” she continued. “Sometimes I think maybe that was the universe trying to save him from this. From… from me.”

Bruce recognized the pain she’d carried, so deep and hurtful it has become convoluted with anger and misery. They were holding onto the same wounds, just from opposite sides. “I respect you enough not to pretend that I understand, but Talia, I know,” he says again, quietly. “I do know what it’s like to love your child so much you grow to hate how limited you are as a parent; as a person.”

The softly spoken confession hung in the air, raw and aching. Talia remained where she stood and saw him now, truly, for the first time that night. The pain fogging her thoughts and vision subsided for a while to let her see clearer. They said that Batman had held on to his second son’s dead body as it grew cold after his murder. Her mouth felt sour, reminded of the hurt she indirectly subjected him to for what the League had done with Jason.

“I’m sorry,” her voice hardened. The guilt and apology was no consolation, of course. They both know this.

His lips pressed onto a thin line. He nodded quietly. There’s acceptance in between all the hard edges of his face. “I am too.”

“Then you must understand why,” she says eventually. “Why I… I cannot go on living to see him do the same alive when Damian’s with me. I won’t allow it, Bruce. I want him to know the other side of the legacy he was born into. I knew from the moment I sent him to be with you that in time, he’d understand why you left, rightly so; why you couldn’t be here with us when he was a baby. And when that time comes, I… this part of his life, it wouldn’t fit anymore.”

His expression contorts into devastation. He had to learn it the hard way, after years of raising four children, even fostering two more. Which is why he had to push this for Damian.

“Understanding won’t lessen the hurt he’ll suffer if you keep this to yourself,” he says, as gently as possible. “You want him to resent you, to never look back… and maybe he would. But it’d stay with him, Talia. The rejection will stay with him. Forever. I know it because I’ve seen it.”

“I wouldn’t have blamed him if he never looked back. Not even for me,” Talia pauses, swallowing. “I want him to do that.”

“You don’t mean that,” he says, his tone clipped. But even as he said it, he knew her to be true. He sees it in her gaze, steady and resolute. He could feel the weight of all the time it had taken for her to get to this decision. Most importantly he knows it to be true because he, himself, had taken that exact decision too; to let go. He had even taken it twice now.

Beyond all his selfishness, of him wanting his eldest sons by his side after every unforgivable thing he’s done to them and hasn’t done for them, Bruce was relieved that they had the strength to stand up for themselves when he couldn’t. Their own father. While their leaving had hurt him deeply— still hurts him now and then—he can’t deny how proud he is of them to be able to make their own path. A life they chose for themselves, though still intrinsically entwined with who they were. Batman and Robin.

“You know I do, Bruce,” she says, the lines on her face softening. Just enough to let him see that it’s hurting her as much as it’s hurting him and their son. “Just like how I meant it, all those years ago, with you.”

If she closed her eyes now, she could still picture it. That first time she held Damian in her arms, her body still worn down from his birth. Even then she already knew what kind of life she wanted him to have—and that it wouldn’t be possible with her. “You’ve always been stronger than me. Always been the more forgiving one.”

“You give me too much credit,” he tells her, his voice raw. “From the moment I knew of Damian’s existence, everything I thought I already knew about myself and my life collapsed upon itself.”

Even before Talia had announced who he was, the first time he laid eyes upon Damian, he knew instantly that boy was his flesh and blood. He’d seen himself in Dick before. Saw that same echo in Jason, and Tim, and eventually Cass. Every one of them, at one point in time, had been a mirror reflecting every mistake he had ever made. But seeing Damian was like seeing a ghost of his past self—of the child he had initially begun his crusade to save. The child he’s still trying to save now, living within him.

Each of Damian’s features, so painfully similar to the same features he’d see when looking into a mirror, magnified the weight of his failures, every flaw he tried to move past from glaring back at him. The boy’s presence in his life now unstitched wounds he thought had healed over the years only for him to find that they were still rotten underneath. At forty-one, he still has so much to learn.

“I’ve made so many mistakes, Talia,” he said. “Some I haven’t forgiven myself for. Some I never intend to. I like to think it made me a better father, now, though there’s so much I still don’t know. But I wish it hadn’t taken so much pain and hurt to get where I am. And I can only work and hope it won’t take more for me to be even better.”

She swallowed a small smile. That’s what made them different. Hope. She’d given up on the concept of it a long time ago. “I trust him with you,” she tells him. There was no softness in how she said it. This was important, she recognized forcefully; he needed to hear her say this.

“I’ve not given you any reason to.”

“Yes, you have,” she tells him calmly. “He’s your son, Bruce. The fact that you’re here for him is more than enough reason. You love him as much as I do. You’re not a perfect father; I respect you enough not to make it sound pretty. Far from it, though I’m even further as a mother. I don’t even think I’m deserving of that title. But what I know for sure is that you’re a good man who always strives to become even better. I’ve known this from the second I met you, and it has always been true since then. Whoever that man is you put on such a high pedestal? It is who you are already.”

Her gaze was firm and expectant. He knew at that exact moment that he’d lost his case. There’s no room left to argue. This is what must be done. Just when he is about to open his mouth, a faint gust of chuckle fills the silence. Talia sighed before she added, “Sometimes… sometimes I envy that about you.”

He didn’t even have the chance to soak in her belief for him before he fixated on the regret limning her voice as she whispered the last sentence. For a moment, he didn’t speak, weighing whether to say what was on his mind. Torn between expressing his gratefulness for her belief in him and wanting to tell her that he felt the same way for her. Bruce doesn’t know what it was that finally propelled him to stumble out his next words. “He has your eyes.”

The remark took her off guard. He watches as more of her defenses chip away. Talia’s breath caught. The train of thoughts in her head came to a sudden, screeching stop. She blinked, unsure if she’d heard him right. “What?”

“I don’t mean that just because they’re the most beautiful shade of green,” he says more, unable to hold back his tongue. His eyelashes fluttered as he looked away, gesturing faintly. “I mean that he has that same look you did. That same fire you had when you… when we were younger and the world seemed brighter. Every day I look at our son just to see you—see both of us—and have myself catapulted back to ten years ago.”

Bruce had stopped wondering when he would stop seeing Talia in their son. It took some time getting used to seeing the same glint of determination and untamed defiance that had once captivated him, now staring back at him through a face so young. In the earlier days of the boy’s residence in the manor, Bruce found it hard to meet the eyes that carried so many memories of his youth. Those green eyes used to be a constant in his life, the shade of it etched in his memory; he knew the way it’d brighten with love when she held him in her gaze, how they would darken in disappointment, glisten with unshed tears. It was like with each glance, time had folded in on itself, haunting and comforting him all at once. Bruce suspected that Damian could see it, the ghost behind his stare whenever he looked at the boy.

She didn’t know what to say to that. The tension in the room shifted, becoming something else entirely—something much more fragile. Just as the weight of their feelings on parenthood subsided, now the weight of their past suddenly filled the space between them.

Talia inhales. She knows what he meant. For her, having Damian be the spitting image of his father even as a baby and an infant had been so painful sometimes that she couldn’t bear to look and hold him when he was younger. She resented herself for the few instances where she turned her baby away because her treacherous heart couldn’t help but crumble itself with each glance. Despite it all, she couldn’t help but feel a spark of pride whenever she saw how much of his father Damian was.

He watched the words wash over her before speaking again. “I said that because I see so much of you in him,” he debated on whether to continue before doing so. “He’s your son as much as he is mine. It scares me sometimes because you’re… the most incredible woman I know, Talia. I admire you so much. Always so strong, so loyal, so stubborn. You always carry so much on your shoulders. You never let me in. You would never share too much of that weight with me. And I don’t know how it could be any different for our son when the same blood runs in his veins.”

Her eyes glistened and she blinked quickly to hide it. “You’ve no idea how many times I wanted differently for myself,” she admitted, her voice tinged with a mix of bitterness and jagged vulnerability. “I can’t. But Damian… it has to be different for him, Bruce. That’s why I gave him your name.”

Bruce wore the same expression painted across their son’s face when she told him that he’d have to go live with his father. “I know. I want the same for him as you do, Talia,” his voice grew quieter, but even more insistent, “but it shouldn’t come at your cost. It doesn’t have to be this way.”

“There is no other way, Bruce. Ten years, and you still can’t see that,” she tells him. “My place in this world had been chosen for me even before I was aware of it. Contending with it was already hard enough without you in the picture. And while I’m grateful for your presence in my life, that you… you taught me there’s more to life than what I’ve been given, I now know what I want. I’ve decided for myself and I already know what my choice would entail for Damian, for me, and us. This is the fight I chose. This is the struggle I’m willing to live with. How many times do I have to repeat that for you? Of course, I’d be hurting him. Maybe he’d even grow to hate me. And yet the thought of that was somehow easier to swallow than the alternative.”

He didn’t back down, didn’t retreat from all her attempts to make him do so. A part of him hated her for how much sense she made, hated that she had already accepted the very thing he’d been running away from all these years. “I don’t know why I tried changing your mind,” he admitted eventually.

That cracked a small smile from her. “You want what’s best for Damian,” she said with resignation, “I can’t fault you for that.”

How could she, when this was exactly why she loves him so much? Because he couldn’t give anything up? Not really, not for good. But she wished that he would, anyway. So much hope wasted on her—on them. They’ve always been a helpless cause. What a shame.

“What’s best for Damian,” Bruce echoed absently, wanting to reach out for her and tell her that wasn’t completely true. While he does love their son and would do everything in his power to do right by him, he wants what’s best for her too. That all his love for Damian is also for her. He swallowed uneasily. “Then what do we do if what we think is best isn’t the same?”

“We do what we’ve always done,” she sighed. “We argue, we push back, and eventually one of us compromises. Because at the end of the day, Damian is what matters.”

He didn’t voice any sort of agreement, but she saw how the fight drained from his shoulders. This had always been the easier alternative, and she knows that he understands now. “You should get back to him,” Talia says quietly, “it’s late. He’d start wondering.”

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Talia thought she must’ve imagined it. “He would,” Bruce murmured. Another part of him that the boy inherited. “You let me believe we lost him for so long. Our baby, Talia.”

While her pregnancy had been an unexpected addition to their then-small family, Bruce knew even then the child would be the greatest gift of his life. He was so terrified, but some parts of him knew he yearned for it; to become a father. All the pain and strife he’d been dealt with in his entire life would be worth it if it all led to having his baby in his arms. Talia wouldn’t know, but he spent those first few years following his departure, their loss, and the end of their marriage constantly questioning himself. Would anything ever be worth it again after he lost his own family for the second time in his life? Even now sometimes he still wonders.

“I was furious at you for lying to me,” he says, slowly, the ice in his voice thawing, crumbling into shards that pierced her even deeper than anything they’d previously exchanged. There was no anger nor animosity left in his gesture and voice. Only searing hurt, and a pain so deep that it was only manageable because she was so familiar with it.

“I know.”

“You robbed me from being there for him.”

“I did.”

“You robbed me of his first words, his first steps,” Bruce recounted each memory he had to imagine for himself. He saw how his words pierced her; it was hurting him as much as it was hurting her. “I missed nearly all the important milestones in his life. You took it away from me.”

She’s resigned herself to accepting each lash, letting herself remain in the crosshairs of his gun, realizing that he needed to get these out of his chest before he left for good. But this one hurts the most thus far. “I did,” she repeated.

“You robbed me from seeing you become a mother,” the hurt in his voice seared. “The mother to our son.”

His nails dug into his palm, memories of their past crowding his thoughts. The first time she announced her pregnancy. His disbelief. Her fears. His doubts. And then a joy so vast he could hardly believe it exists, for him no less. For some time it had been so clear, visions of a life he imagined for their family. His hand on top of her swelling stomach. Ears pressed to the skin, listening for a heartbeat. Coming home to both of them. Her holding their baby by the crib. Small warmth on top of his chest. Tiny hands curled inside his. Her sweet voice cooing gently in the dark as he drifts off to sleep. A life spent protecting her, their son, their family. Satisfied to just be in their presence.

“You robbed me of being there for you," he said, finally managing to get the lump out of his throat. "I… we… we wanted him so much, Talia. I wanted you. I wanted you and me; us. A life with you.”

This was where she reached the end of her stick. She looked away, shielding everything she could from his knowing gaze.

A beat passes. His eyes roamed her face in the quiet that followed, studying her. The defiance in her beautiful eyes. The almost imperceptible weight pulling down her shoulders. The pain shadowing her expression. It was like watching a storm try to disguise itself as a calm sea. But he could see into the depth of her silence. Saw all of her weapons laid bare there. He could see everything writing itself across her bare face. The hurt. The exhaustion. The remorse. This was a version of her he hadn’t been allowed to see for more than a decade now.

“But when all of that passes, all I’m left with is my anger for myself,” Bruce steps closer. “No amount of understanding made it hurt less. Somehow, the more I see the reasoning behind your decision, the more it hurts. I should’ve never let go of you so easily, Talia. I’m ashamed of how quickly I gave up on you. On us.”

She began shaking her head. “Bruce,” she warned, his words striking too close to a nerve she wasn’t ready to acknowledge. “Don’t. None of it was easy, to any of us.”

This is so much worse than if he had continued bringing all her mistakes to light. Accepting his blame is light work; part of her felt like she’d spent the last ten years preparing herself to accept his contempt and scorn. But seeing him do it to himself was something else entirely because this is exactly what she wanted to protect him from.

“I should’ve known. I was so young—you were even younger—and I left you when you needed me most.” At this point she couldn’t stop herself from reaching out to him, pleading with him. Anything to make it stop. “I abandoned both of you.“

“Bruce, please,” Talia grasped his wrists, pride be damned. A weaker whisper tailed after her words. “Please. Enough.”

Her unwarranted touch stilled him just enough for her to speak. “You didn’t abandon me, or Damian,” she told him. “ I asked you to leave. I let you go. I gave up on us. Do you hear me? Yes, maybe you made it easy for me to give it all up. Yes, I had hoped that you would’ve known that I wanted you to stay without me having to ask for it. Yes, sometimes I resented how you hadn’t fought harder for us; how you hadn’t fought for us at all. But ultimately it was… it was all for good, Bruce. We know that. We can’t keep having this same conversation, over and over again. You and I both know this can only ever end one way. It’s been a decade and that is still true.”

He’s shaking his head and it’s tearing her apart. “You ask me why I still couldn’t bring myself to accept things the way they are after ten years. It’s because I spent every day of this last decade wondering what would’ve happened if I stayed,” his voice rose, cutting in. Then his face crumpled, forming an expression she’d forgotten he could make. “But when I remember what I’ve done with Dick and Jason… I was glad that you kept him away for so long.”

“Oh, Bruce,” she couldn’t help how the words slipped out of her. Urged out by the weight of the trust he’s giving her, freely admitting his failures, offering her his vulnerability despite everything that has happened between them. This man who so many believed was infallible, an omnipresent being cloaking over an entire city and its society, falling apart underneath her touch.

“Don’t do this to yourself,” she pressed anyway, knowing how hypocritical she must’ve sounded to him. Still, she poured all her strength to shun away the phantoms of his self-hatred enveloping them. Her demons are familiar, but his is an entirely different beast. She wished she could shake it out of him, take it for herself. She would’ve done it in a heartbeat if she knew it had been possible. Sometimes Talia thinks it’s because he wouldn’t let her. He sees her understanding, loathed and loved her for it.

“It is done. It’s in the past. It’s been in the past for so long. There’s no use in wondering what we could’ve done. I know because I’ve done it, too. But it’s over, and all we can do now is live out the consequences of the choices we’ve made.”

Bruce tensed up, his expression tightening even further. His decades-old heartache flared, a source of pain that he felt would never cease. “I couldn’t help but wonder that, maybe, if I had you—“

“Bruce… no,” she shakes her head furiously. “It won’t. Your self-deprecation doesn’t lessen any of my hurting. You know this is exactly why I had to leave.”

“Talia…”

“Us being together wouldn’t have fixed anything,” she told him, impatient and desperate. “It would’ve made everything worse, I think.”

“Meeting you, being with you,” his voice fades to somewhere far away. “It was the first time the world made sense to me, then.”

“But your world could never be mine, Bruce,” she says, her heart breaking all over again. “And mine could never be yours. We both know this already.” Talia breathed sharply, a hand pressing to her chest. It ached terribly. “You came to talk to me about our son and that discussion is over now. This conversation… there won’t be any use of it. So you need to leave and leave this behind. This isn’t about us,” she tries deflecting.

“Isn’t it?” He asked, hesitant. Giving her a chance to actually shut the conversation down. She kept her silence. “It’s about our son. Of course, it’s about us, too, in a way. You know I would’ve done anything to—“

“I know,” Talia interjected, not allowing him to finish his sentence. She had to live every day with the knowledge that this had to be what she chose for herself, and it will be what she continues to choose for the rest of her life. Because no matter how much she wanted it, and no matter how hard Bruce tries convincing her, she knows that there are things she couldn’t give him. “I know. And that’s exactly why I asked you to leave, all those years ago. That’s why I’m asking you to leave now. I can’t have you here, Bruce. You have to go.”

Pale blue eyes flickered between hers before dropping to her lips. “Because you love me.”

He took a step toward her. She flinched as the distance closed.

“Because I don’t want you to lose yourself.”

“Are those two not the same things?” Bruce asks. A conclusion only he could arrive at because she knows that he, too, felt the same way for her.

She inhales sharply. “What does it matter if I do? I never denied it. I just don’t see any point in talking about this,” she continued, even though she could hear herself losing any semblance of composure. “Do you want me to ask for your forgiveness? For Damian’s? To put into words why I asked you to leave all those years ago? Why have I kept away for so long? It would be pointless, Bruce. Wondering what could’ve been is pointless. Wishing things had gone differently is pointless. Things are already the way they should be. Nothing we say now would change it, and it surely won’t undo the past. So let me ask you again: why are you still here?”

Bruce stood his ground, taking another step towards her. They stood so close now that she could raise a hand and touch him without even needing to reach out for him. She could feel the heat of his presence on her skin, the weight of his words pressing upon her.

“Look at me,” he murmured. She lifted her eyes and saw how he hesitated. Talia’s not a woman of a small stature, but Bruce easily towers over her, and doubt looked odd on a man with a presence like his.

His hand hovered for a moment before it settled on her cheeks, tentative, as though he was waiting for her to recoil from the touch. She didn’t. His eyes flickered between hers. “You said you’ve made up your mind. You said that there’s no other way. You don’t owe me explanations, nor do I need you to explain yourself even to me,” he continues. “I know. I know you. But now that I have you here, I won’t make it easy for you to leave. I’ve done that years ago. I can’t do it again.”

“I’m not the same woman you married all those years ago, Bruce,” she says hoarsely, leaning to his touch. Strange how these familiar hands could invoke such foreign warmth. It’s been a while since she let another touch her intimately.

His eyes moved across her face. Direct. Intense. Honest. Resentment and affection coexisting. There was no grace in her stark exhaustion, no beauty in her bone-deep fatigue—just raw, unvarnished truth. One that didn’t need embellishment, just understanding. Over the years, he’d seen her at her best and her worst. The one thing that stays the same is how he’d still find her devastatingly gorgeous in any form.

It’s baffling that she’s just as beautiful now as the day she’d told him to leave her life, perhaps even more. He’d found himself cursing her, resenting her, and yet none of his contempt ever lessened how much he adored this woman. And here she was, fine lines near the corners of her eyes, a delicate shadow beneath them, a radiance underneath her skin that hadn't dimmed with time. He wondered how she felt about getting older. Perhaps she enjoyed it. Time had shaped her, refined her, made her even more striking than the image he’d held onto for so long.

“I am aware, Talia,” he says then, softly. His eyes strayed downwards again. “It doesn’t stop me from wanting you still, just as you are now.”

The careless admission crushed her. She asked him to leave so they’d never get to this point. Because now she won’t have the power to turn him away. Not when he leans close, resting his forehead onto hers. Not when his thumb brushed across her cheekbones as she breathed him in.

Talia’s eyes veered to his lips before she forced herself to close them. “It would’ve been easier if you just told me that and left,” she whispered.

“Would it?” He asked. “Nothing is ever that simple with you.”

A weak laugh slid out of her, and the sound rolled through his chest like a memory. 

He was right, Talia thought. This is what truly damned them. Their love burns bright because it’s hard-earned. It will never get easier, and despite how much he tries to tell her that he wants it to be, she knows he doesn’t. Not really. It hurts, but she tells herself it’s only because she wanted it to hurt. She wouldn’t allow herself to have it any other way. If she did, she’d have to sacrifice who she was. He would have to sacrifice who he was.

Talia leans back, raising her hand to gingerly brush away a stray hair from his forehead, eyes flickering over the faint silver threading through his dark hair. She laid it upon his cheek, caressing it. Bruce leans to the touch instinctively, needing more of her warmth, something he’d missed for the past decade. No amount of it would even be nearly enough to cover the perpetual cold he’d have to live with when he eventually leaves.

Her fingers glide along the stubbled edge of his jawline gently. Yet another proof that they were no longer the same person. She wasn’t—he’s not, either. He used to be the kind of man who always shaved clean because he hated the itch. “You used to hate this,” she murmured, half a statement, half a question, her voice as soft as her touch. It was a silly thing to point out. But he indulged her in it.

“I still do,” he says. He hasn’t changed that much. “Just… the kids. I’m sure you understand.”

She couldn’t help the small smile stretching across her lips. She does understand that. It’s funny that they’re both parents now, just not in the way either of them had hoped to be in the past. Talia kept it to herself, but she liked the new look. She suspects that he could tell, though, by the way he’s observing her.

It hasn’t even been a year since she sent Damian to him; since she came back into his life, just barely. If she was thinking straight, she would’ve berated herself for folding so easily. But now he’s lowering kisses to her open palms and all she could think about was how she managed to discipline herself for so long when this, here, is her gravity. This is where she’d find herself falling, over and over again. Like it was what nature demanded of her.

Bruce looks at her, his fingers digging into her hips, their lips so close it’s taking all of him not to lean in himself, his self-restraint visible in his gaze. He knows how to play this game. Knows that she has to be the one to make the first move. It has always been like this with them: he’d be riding the horse, but she would still be the one holding the reins.

“I miss you, Talia,” he murmured, the words barely more than air, as though saying them aloud might break him. His eyes, heavy with longing, traced the lines of her lips. Cautious, always with her, cautiously he says: “I miss you every day of my life. Having Damian living with me now makes that harder to ignore. Now that you’re here, I…”

Talia brushed her thumb over his cheekbones, lifting her eyes from his lips to meet his gaze. The slate blue of them had been eclipsed by his growing pupils, focusing as if he needed to see clearer to drink her in and it's still not nearly enough to sate the deep, hungry wanting within them. For a moment, the years that had passed between them seemed to disappear. She saw the young fighter she’d fallen in love with, the one who’d taught her that there’s more to life than what she’d been born into and helped her turn over a page for herself in her youth. Saw the pain he’d weathered through, the regret etched into every line of his face. This stranger, whose face she’d seen echoed in her son.

”Please don’t make me leave,” he says, voice so brittle like the thought of her doing so is hurtful enough to break him already. “Don’t ask me to leave.”

Talia could see her own hurt and yearning reflected in his eyes. “This will be a mistake, Bruce,” she whispered, her breath hot on his lips.

“I don’t care,” he tells her, meaning it. There are so few mistakes that felt as right as this. “I’ve made worse mistakes.”

She bruised, about to retract her hand away before he grasped it in his. “You’re not one of them, Talia,” Bruce adds then. “You never were. You never will be.”

“I should be,” She murmured, making one last ditch attempt. “Why couldn’t you just leave, Bruce? Quit me?”

There’s a myriad of long and complicated answers to that. But he chose the one that always felt true to him. “I don’t want to,” he says. His breath skirted over her lips. “I spent the last ten years trying and failing. I can’t, Talia.”

Her gorgeous face contorts with remorse. He hears her unspoken apology when she says, “We keep breaking each other’s hearts this way.”

“I’ll keep the hurt if it’d be all I have left of you,” he tells her. “I’ll keep the hurt if it’s the only way I can have you.”

Talia inhaled sharply. Her heart burned. She’d forgotten how it felt like, to be wanted like this. “I’ve never forgiven myself,” she confessed to him. “For every time I’ve hurt you.”

“Talia…” he sighed her name. “Neither have I, for myself. But if it’s my forgiveness that you want, then you already have it.”

God, she thinks. Maybe they have been hopeless all along.

“I forgive you too,” she tells him, because insisting on otherwise would mean living a lie. Despite everything, she couldn’t help but forgive him, like she couldn’t help but love him.

He tilted his head slightly, just enough to see her face, gauging her expression. It seemed to him that they’ve said all that needed to be said. Maybe he was asking too much of her; wanting to be with her, wanting to be wanted by her. He sees so clearly now, everything she wanted to ask him but couldn’t.

“I’ll leave now if you ask me to," he conceded, his voice barely audible, pleading to whatever providence existed that she wouldn’t. “Look at me and say the word, Talia, so I know that you truly mean it. Just one word, and I’ll be gone.”

She didn’t answer right away, could barely look him in the eyes. The intensity of it had been enough to quicken her pulse, heat simmering underneath her skin. Her lips parted as she tried to find it in her to say the word. But none came. He knew these eyes too well to believe anything she’d say anyway. Just like how she knew him too well to expect that he’d follow through on his promise. He’s knowingly playing by her book, pushing all the right buttons, and she liked that.

So instead, she reached up, lips trembling when they brushed against his. The touch was so hesitant, no more a kiss than a tentative brush of their lips together. She heard his heavy breathing and felt her knees weaken already. When she finally leans in to properly kiss him, the dam breaks loose.

Years of carefully trained indifference and false apathy unraveled as he returned the kiss. Years, and one kiss was all it took to have them right back where they left everything off. It wasn’t the blinding fire she expected or the easy comfort of partners who’d shared years together. This was something else entirely—raw, emotional, heavy with the weight of everything they shared.

She raised her arms onto his shoulders, tongue licking and prodding his lips before she deepened the kiss as their bodies flushed onto each other. All her sharp edges softened with his arms bracketing around her body. She was melting into him so quickly that she didn’t know why she ever pretended she could deny him this. Deny herself this.

The hand resting on her back grounded her, and for the first time in years, she felt completely safe to lay everything down on the table. Then, the first small moan she made when he ran another hand down her spine felt like a damning admission for her. Talia wondered if Bruce knew how much power he had over her.

He grabs her hips as she drags her lips to his jawline, his neck, the shell of his ear. When her lips returned to his, he was the one who grunted into it, taking more and more. This kiss felt urgent. Like he could feel how much she wanted him to take more of her. Could feel that she held herself back for so long only because she’d succumb to him as quickly as she did. They were making up for all the time they lost while simultaneously running out of time. 

“This won’t change things, Bruce,” she whispered as his lips moved across her jaw. She put a hand around his wrist and began to guide him to touch her.

“I don’t need it to,” he nipped the skin of her neck. Hot breath blows to her ear. Mouth wet for more of her. “I just need you now.”

She curled her fingers to his shirt. “It can only be a one time thing,” she whispered. Her body bending towards him. Her open mouth accepting.

“So let me make it a good one,” he says as strong hands slide to cup her breast, squeezing it gently.

“Good is dangerous,” she plays with the hair at the nape of his neck, “it makes you want more.”

“We always seem to find our way back to each other anyway,” he says, “why not do it on our terms?”

Distantly, she thinks about how pointless it is for him to ask her to reconsider the way their relationship worked. She entertained the idea of it before, and came to the resolution that having so little of him would be worse than having none of him at all. It had always been everything or nothing when it came to the two of them. It was why they had gotten married so quickly and separated twice as quick.

He felt her stiffening and withdrawing just as he closed his eyes to lean for another kiss. Bruce stopped halfway, retracting briefly to watch her face before he kissed the spot behind her ear softly. “I’m sorry. Forget I said that. Just… let me take care of you, Talia,” he says again. The words were barely more than air. “Will you let me? Please? It’s just us. Be here with me now. The world can wait for a night. And then for the rest, you can decide for us.”

She listened. Considered his words. Will you. Please. The way he looks at her, like he physically needed this. Perhaps more than the air he breathes now. Just this once, she tells herself, just this once… she’ll let herself get dragged under the currents of her want and desire.

His thumb skated over her cheekbones as her eyes shuttered close. Felt him kissing her neck, nibbling on the sensitive skin there as she sighs, losing her inhibitions. Her body now completely pliant underneath his touch.

Talia gave in. Her hands grasped the collars of his shirt as she leaned to offer more of herself to him. “I’m here with you,” she breathed out the words.

Her body is singing underneath his touch. The need inside her coiled further with every stretch of skin he covered with his lips. When his lips returned to cover hers, she finds that she doesn’t really want to think about the rest of their lives right now. Tonight she’d just be Talia, and he would just be Bruce. The world would just be the space between their bodies. “I’m here with you.”

She runs the hand pressing to his neck down his chest as they kiss before he leans back, taking time to search for her eyes before his gaze roved all across her. As if looking wasn’t enough, Bruce runs his hands up on her, his eyes drinking everything in appreciatively. Her clothes are still pressing onto her, but she might as well be bare already underneath his gaze. When he leaned in to kiss her again, his fingers had begun to hook onto the straps of her dress, sliding them off of her shoulder.

“No limits?” He inquired, leaning to lower kisses onto her bare shoulder now as she leaned back, stretching her neck. He pinched a nipple, earning a moan from her. She could feel his satisfied hum thrumming onto her neck. No longer clumsy, nervous and frightened of breaching somewhere unforgivable.

She swallows, “No… Take everything.” Talia bites down a moan as she feels his arousal pressing hard onto her thigh, throbbing against her. Heat curdles in her lower stomach. “You already know what I like, Bruce. Don’t disappoint me.”

He lowered her dress further until it pooled around her feet. Bruce felt his stomach tightening at the sight, ravishing her with his eyes. He didn’t need to look down on himself to know that he’s straining hard against his slacks. His mouth went dry from the sight. She’d always been beautiful, always been alluring. But the ten years it took to get them here had made her thoroughly captivating, and he was completely enthralled, captured in her image, all of her nearly too much. It was almost embarrassing that she didn’t even need to seduce him for him to get as hard as he is now. It takes him a split second before he started touching her, kneading her through her lacy lingerie gently.

“I won’t,” he says, remembering himself, self-assured as he returns to kiss her again. Lips he had kissed so many times. In devotion, grief, and desire. He's only so confident of his answer because there had been a time where their knowledge of each other's soul and bodily pleasure had rivaled the knowledge they have of their own. Despite his doubt, he's exhilarated with the sure possibility of exploring that memory again; see what has changed, what has remained the same. Exhilarated to realize how eager he is to please her. He palmed her breast through the laces slowly, tongue running up her throat, taking his time.

For awhile, the warm flesh within his grasp the only thing that assured him this was real. Then she began fiddling with the buttons holding his shirt together, triggering a sharp inhale from him when she touched his bare chest, pulling the cloth away haphazardly. Talia moved her palm across the skin, only now remembering how sensitive he was when touched here when he sighed heavily. That hasn’t changed, then.

He lifts her with great ease, holding her hips as she wraps her legs around him. Bruce groaned when she grounded onto his need, gripping her thighs. His kisses got messier as he came near her bed, laying her down at the edge, their lips still locked together as he lowers himself to his knees. His mouth moved past her lips to nip at her jawline before dragging down to her throat. Talia swallowed a gasp as his hands slid to touch her beneath the fabric of her lingerie, still not quite getting them off just yet. 

It had been a decade, but somehow his fingers remembered the curve of her collarbone, the dip of her waist, the soft plane of her stomach. Time had left its marks on her. He finds rare softness here and there on her strong body, white scars he never remembered touching in the past. She was perfect. With every inch of skin, Bruce traced the delicate geography of memories, places he'd once known by heart, worshipping this warmth he’d once remembered to be his home.

While she knew that Bruce enjoyed taking his time, she was aware that there was a magnitude of difference in the way he was now leisurely gliding his hand along her skin, finally taking the rest of her clothes off. Despite the things he’s doing with his hands across her body, it is his gaze that arrests her thoroughly. They had always been good at this part of their relationship, but now the tension between them felt almost debilitating, as if all those years apart had stretched it taut across time and space. She didn’t rush him, instead took her own time to watch him, touching him too. 

His hands veered lower and lower until it stopped, lingering somewhere she didn’t have to look down to confirm for herself. There’s an affection so terribly potent in his gaze, still captured within her own, as he traced the faint scar stretching on her lower abdomen with both his hand and his eyes—a quiet reminder of their son, who they’d brought into the world together.

“Talia,” he murmured while looking up to her, a tremble in his voice. This fading line held a thousand stories he hadn’t been there to witness. The absence of all the memories they never got to make together pulled at something deep inside him, an ache he’d buried but never forgotten.

Bruce finds himself thinking of all the years she spent on her own, raising their son. The dangers she must’ve faced while his boy grew inside her. He couldn’t begin to comprehend how difficult it must be for her to protect Damian while keeping up appearances as the Demon’s daughter. To command so much strength and power as heiress of her father's legacy and yet still be soft in the face of their son. He understands that, to some degree. But he could never fool himself enough to pretend that he understands what it feels like to be a woman in between all of that. He raised his hand to tuck in a stray hair behind her ear, eyes flickering between hers. 

It’s strange, reconciling this hardened woman to the young idealist he had fallen in love with all those years ago. Does she feel the same way when she looks at him?

She could feel the quiver in his breath as it blows onto her bare stomach. He took her hands to his lips as he bowed his head to her lap. Talia raised her hand to his cheek, eyes searching his, bringing him back to the present.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, her voice coarse and ragged, a hand carding back strands of hair that fell to obscure his face. He needed to hear this from her. The air felt thin and he was looking at her with reverence that she’d forgotten she could earn from anyone. It was like he wanted to sear every curve into memory.

The decade-long distance that felt like canyons between them, the wounds of the past bleeding open, the lives they’d built apart—she willed all of it to evaporate in this fragile, stolen moment. Let this be a requiem for everything they’d lost.

He’d begun shaking his head, and she heard his unspoken apologies. Saw his regret for how selfish he’d been, pointing blame at her for keeping their son away from him. How much he wanted her to hurt him in return. A macabre way of atoning for his absence. “It’s okay, Bruce,” she repeated forcefully, tugging him close until his forehead rested on hers, then in a softer voice, she said, “Be here with me now.”

She kissed him, once, twice. I forgive you, each of them seemed to say. Then the rest was all him. There’s renewed fervor in his kisses now, a new weight to his touch on her skin. Like he’s trying to undo all that has gone wrong between them with every touch. She felt full of feelings she was too afraid to name.

His lips must’ve done enough bruising to hers when he moved them down to her jawline, nipping down until his teeth grazed onto her neck. Talia inhaled sharply when he moved a hand to her knees, parting her legs before running a hand up her inner thigh. Their breathing gets heavier as his hands inch further up onto her. Dark eyes met hers as she looked from beneath them and onto him, the icy blue of them burning for her.

She bit onto her lower lip as his fingers stroked up the surface. His eyes snapped up to meet hers. She was mildly amused when she registered the surprise sparkling in his eyes at finding that she was soaked. “Did you really believe me when I told you to leave?” She asks him, pulling him up until their lips brush as she speaks.

She could feel his smile as he kissed her. “Hmm,” he murmured, kissing her jaw as he made another stroke. “You’ve been thinking of this even then, have you? You always get a rise from arguing with me.”

He didn’t put much thought into his teasing, but she didn’t say no. Red rises to her cheeks, made her look somewhat bashful. It does something to him. She was dripping and it was all for him. Because of him. He reveled in the realization, felt his own confidence buoy over from it, and even more when she moaned as his rough fingers finally slipped past her underwear, touching her where she needed him most.

She didn't deny it because the truth was, when she thought he’d left the estate with their son earlier, she was already planning to spend the night like this—but it’d have to be her own fingers pressing onto her now, instead of his. “I have always been a good actress.”

His tongue licks a path up to her ear. “You are,” Bruce murmured, begrudgingly agreeing, “but not when you’re underneath me like this.”

As if to prove a point, he chose to slide his fingers inside her right then. She gripped his shoulders as she moaned loudly, eyes rolling back, helpless as pleasure gripped her. Talia scrambled for her bearings as she curled her fingers onto the bed sheet while he moved his lips to meet hers again. The motion grew from practiced to rough in mere seconds as she began to lose more of her inhibitions.

Talia had barely begun to grapple with the gravity of what they were doing when he went down on her, kissing every inch of her skin while doing so. She didn’t even have time to panic when his tongue pressed onto her heat, a hand pressing down onto her stomach. Not giving her a chance to doubt. No take backs. She arched her body forward, a hand twisting onto the sheets while another squeezed her own chest.

“Bruce,” she cried out, gasping as he sucked onto where she was throbbing for him. He could barely hear her with her thighs pressing onto his ears, already drunk from the scent of her arousal. All the times she touched herself wishing it was him instead rushed onto her. She squirmed, already needing more. It’s too late to take it all back with him underneath her skin already. He holds her firmly in place as he builds on her needs.

She’s reduced to a whimpering mess in a matter of seconds as he continues on. Just when she thought he couldn’t possibly make her feel any better, he murmured something to her. The deep timbre of his voice vibrates onto her, nearly making her compulsively yank his hair back. Before she could, though, he pried her legs apart, easing away.

She swallowed, her body reacting involuntarily to the vacancy between her legs. “Eyes up here,” Bruce called, running a hand up her leg as he lifted himself, pressing his lips onto her calf and knee. “Talia. Look at me.”

When her eyes met his, another wave of want flooded her. His mouth was smeared with her, the sheen slickness glinting under the faint light of her room. He made a show of wiping it away with his hands before he leaned down onto her. His fingers hovered over her heat. “Why’d you stop?” She whimpered softly, rocking onto his hand.

He twists his hands to grip her inner thighs, pressing her down. “Don’t look away,” he murmurs, their lips touching once, twice. She murmured a curse, smothered against his lips. Her complaints faded away when his fingers sunk deeper inside her. “When I go down on you, don’t look away,” he repeated.

The taste of her on his tongue muddled her thoughts. Finding herself incapable of words, she nodded quickly, biting her lower lip when he added another digit. His free hand tipped up her chin, thumb prodding her lips apart. He tilted his head quietly, eyes flickering between her, and she understood. He wants to hear her. Bruce pressed another kiss to her lips before he lowered himself again. 

Talia didn’t even realize that she was holding back her breath until his tongue replaced his fingers underneath. His hands gripped her hips, encouraging her to rock into his mouth. She almost choked on her own breath when his eyes moved up to meet hers. 

Bruce eases back slightly, maintaining eye contact. “I’m going to let go of my hands now,” he says slowly, “but try not to strangle me to death with your legs.”

Talia catches her breath. “I won’t if you’ll be good down there.”

He smiled, mostly to himself. He pressed a thumb to her clit and heard her take a shaky breath. At this point, she was so wet it's almost like she's begging him to drink her up. “Then you won’t,” he says before lowering himself again, putting his mouth over her.

Talia learns quickly that this time he aims to please, rubbing his fingers along as his mouth sucks on her. Her entire body trembles with need. She was keeping up well with him until he started a particular motion with his tongue. It took everything in her not to wrap her legs around his head to help her regulate herself. She did the next best thing, loosening her grasp on his hair to grab his free hand, holding and squeezing it tight as he continued working on her. It did something so visceral to her, seeing him underneath. So eager to satisfy her, and yet she’s still the one playing by his demands, not looking away. It sent her hips moving with a mind of its own, her stomach tightening with the need for release.

She all but nearly evaporated onto the bed as she erupted with his name on her lips. Bruce answered when she reached out for him, not even remotely registering the soreness of his knees’s joints as he pushed himself off the ground, groaning when she ran both hands down his chest. She could feel the valleys of his hard muscles, every scar and patch on his skin, some she knew she carved herself, some she didn’t recognize—whispers of a life she hadn’t been part of. He felt absentmindedly self-conscious about his body. 

Their eyes met as her hands trailed over his arm, the sinew still taut beneath the skin, but weightened from years that had toughened him. Hardened the man she used to know. Yet, when her palm came to curl around his hand, she was met with the same steady and calloused skin whose touch she would know even with her eyes closed. There was tenderness in the way she moved as she continued relearning the contours of her lover. The kind of tenderness that ten years and all their ghosts couldn’t erase. 

Talia takes hold of his wrist, pulling him away. She leans closer, growing bolder as she reacquainted herself with the planes and curves of his body. She's letting him know how much she wanted him too, her eyes raking all over him as a reminder. He wouldn't know how many nights she'd pictured this, whimpering out his name. She brought his hand to her lips to suck his fingers, tasting herself with each lick. His adoring eyes watched with a low, approving hum, pressing down to her tongue before grabbing her forward to kiss.

His lips had begun exploring her throat when she reached between them, tugging him close by his waistband. Talia fiddled with the buckle of his belt momentarily before sighing in frustration. She tangled her legs with his thighs to assume control, maneuvering over their bodies and pushing his shoulders until he’s flat against the bed while she’s on top of him.

“A word of warning would’ve been nice,” Bruce managed to breathe out. He didn’t fight back to regain control. Which was smart, because if there’s a slim chance she could beat him at something, then more than often it’d be at hand-to-hand combat. Her slim built is deceptive that way; her hands seemed small on top of his chest but she could easily vault him over if she wanted to.

“If you’re unguarded, that’s on you,” she murmured into his ear, gliding her hands down his built torso, her fingers now ghosting over his crotch. The faint clink of his belt coming undone echoed in between their heavy breathing. He swallowed hard in anticipation, a hand sinking into her hair as she unbuttoned and lowered his pants.

Almost too much, the feel of her body grinding on his when she kissed him again.  A hand caressing his bare chest. Another on the side of his face, stroking before resting on his throat, his jaw held between her thumb and index finger. A pleased hum in the back of his throat as her lips press to his cheeks, his ear, his jawline. Bruce sensed absurdly that he might come even if this is all she’d do tonight, his hand running up her waist and spine, her breath hot on his face, soft moans escaping out of her lips every time her wet folds dragged across the length of his arousal.

Talia leans back just enough to watch him as she licks her palm before reaching down to finally, finally wrap her hand around his width. Registers pleasantly how hard he is for her. He had his eyes pinned on every movement, almost like he’d been hypnotized. It was only when she lifted herself up, guiding him between her thighs, making use of what he’d given her just moments earlier as lubricant, that he looked up to the ceiling. 

Bruce’s gaze remained pinned there even as she lowered her body, kissing a path down on him. Several shaky inhales later, his eyes returned to meet hers underneath, dark and hazy with desire—for her. He was stricken as he drank at the sight of her beautiful face pressing onto his hardened arousal. Fuck. He’d forgotten how dangerous this sight was; forgotten how much this woman can affect him despite not actually doing anything just yet.

“Don’t look away,” she said. “Those were your words.”

This time he was the one resigned to a pained nod. He was still gathering her hair in one hand when she started moving her fist. His hold on the makeshift ponytail tightened when she stretched out her tongue, taking a lick on his tip, sending a violent shudder that rocked his body. Talia saw how his arousal twitched and smiled, evidently satisfied by how much she affected him with just a touch. To know how his body, in her hands, became something even he himself is foreign to. She could tell from how white his knuckles were that it was taking all of him not to handle her the way he wanted. She takes another lick, and another, and another. It’s deliberate torture not to wrap her lips around him at this point.

Bruce grips her hair tighter. “Talia,” he murmured hoarsely, “do I have to beg you for it?"

Talia couldn't help the smile worming onto her lips as she kissed his inner thighs gently. "If I asked nicely," she started, hands caressing his lower stomach, "would you?"

He would. The answer came so quickly even he was flustered with it. The idea of her asking, my God. She's clearly amused at how equally aroused and embarrassed he is, red hues coloring his face. This was a game he liked to play—at least in their old lives. If it was up to her, she’d let him have his way without any break in between.

"Please, Talia," he conceded miserably, gritting his teeth.

“Please what?” she finally says. She would’ve done it anyway, but she wanted to hear it from him. “Ask me for it. Ask me for what you want.” 

“Take me in your mouth,” he breathed out.

She shifted, kneeling before him as she hummed. “Say that again.”

“Please take me in your mouth. It’s yours to take. Please.”

Smiling victoriously, Talia takes another lick before she wraps her lips around him, hollowing her mouth before sucking him deep. Bruce cursed as he rocked onto her. His eyes are half-lidded as he looks at her beneath, thumb brushing her cheek while she swirled her tongue around him. God, she looked so pretty with his cock inside her mouth like this. He’s rattling against the confines of his self-constraint as he starts gripping her hair in an attempt to preserve his vice. Muddled sounds of pleading and desire began to tumble out of him without so much of a thought behind each of them.

At her silent encouragement, he starts moving his hips along with her. The first sound that slid out of him had startled even himself, but it didn't take long before he started groaning every time her moans reverberate around him. He twists her hair around his hand before gently encouraging her to move faster, tipping his head back as he thrusts. When he slows down, she eases back to wrap just a hand around him while sucking on his tip, lowering her other hand to touch herself.

Bruce had to remind himself to breathe as he was entranced with the sight beneath him. He leans back, her free hand remained around his width as her eyes flit up to meet his. Need thundered in his ears when she opened her mouth, waiting. He held her chin up before sliding a thumb past her lips, breathing heavily as she took the finger in, and then another one.

“You’re gorgeous,” He tells her, his voice barely more than air. Felt faint just from seeing her like this. She smiled quietly, to which he bent down to kiss her himself, grunting to her lips as she began pumping him again. When Bruce rests back again, he led himself to her lips, easing away and resting his tip against her tongue several times before gently pushing her head down. Once again, she takes all of him in her mouth.

Talia registered the way his knees weakened as he touched her cheeks. His moans are no more than a low, ragged pleading of a man close to the tipping edge of his release. Bruce wrestled with his self control, gripping back her hair to force her to look up at him. "I don't think you'd appreciate me coming in your mouth," he said, voice wobbling. "Because I'm very, very close."

She found it in her to ease away for good, flexing her jaw as she inhaled. “You'd be right," she started, appreciative. Pleased with his consideration. "As much as I’d love to taste more of you, when you come, I want you to do it inside me.”

He’s still half delirious as he took in her words. Gentle hands took her wrist as he lifts himself up, pulling the hand she used to work on herself to his lips before he sucked on her fingers, tasting her on dainty fingertips and licking each of them clean. Talia bit her lower lip, lightheaded from all his brazen display of wanting, needing her, in any form. She moved to straddle him again, feeling him between her legs.

One of his hands began extending in an effort to reach out for his discarded pants. She caught on to what he was searching for and held onto his forearm, shaking her head. Concerned eyes glazed to meet hers. “Are you sure?”

Bruce looks imploringly at her, to which she shakes her head. “I’m safe,” she tells him, “you already know that. I can’t… my body isn’t capable of it anymore.”

He takes her hand away from her belly, the flash of hurt in her face rending his heart apart. “I know,” he says. “I’m not asking because of that.”

As a man, he can barely hold back. But as someone who used to be her husband, who’s never done this with her without pouring all he had in it, he’s deeply concerned about what this would mean for them. It might—it will lead them to say things they couldn’t take back. Spill contents of a Pandora's box they had tried burying a long time ago. Her eyes flickered between his. Saw the pleading within them. It disarmed her. Talia understood.

“I’m sure,” she says. She’s never been surer of anything but this; what they share between them. There are no words vast enough to contain it, but there is a tangible, living truth to what they have, breathing in the world. She lowered herself to kiss him again. “I’m sure. I want you this way. I want all of you.”

“Believe me, Talia, I do too. But I need you to look at me and say that again,” he tells her. “I need to know that you mean it.”

“I mean it, Bruce,” she says, resolute. Her eyes steady as they met his. “I want you with no boundaries. I want you to be with me without reservations. And when you come, beloved, I want you to feel you with me.”

He let out a quiet breath, tension he didn’t realize he’d been holding slipping away, giving way to something raw. Wanting himself, she sees it now written all over his face, in a naked way he rarely allowed himself to. She didn’t rush, though there was no more hesitation in the way she held onto him. What remains of his resolve, or doubt, crumbles as she leans her forehead onto his, her gaze searching and knowing. Sees his question, and in silence gives her reassurance. Understanding, always. She’s seeing in him what he’s seeing in her. He was no longer seeing her as the woman she had become, older, tougher, frayed around the edges; he was also seeing pieces of the woman he had loved and lost. He’s seeing something in her that no one else has ever seen.

Talia could feel his gaze lingering on her, piercing underneath her skin. As his hands moved gently over her shoulder, taking her in like she was something sacred, she couldn’t help but be reminded of their first night together. So many had changed since then—they have changed—everything, except for this passion between them. Always a fire burning, even during the few times they encountered each other in their missions during the last decade. A spark neither of them never quite managed to actually smother.

She thinks of it now, wonders if he’s having the same thought: that this was the closest their bodies had been without the weight of a sharp object threatening to break skin and draw blood. Remembers it in the back of her mind, the taste of blood and the sound of his breath. How different his touch had been then and now. How different hers was. Though with the same stutter of heartbeat that always led her to leave him be. Love’s too much of a coil around her heart that it never allowed her hands to harm him to a point of no return. She liked to think that it was the same for him, the way he had so many opportunities to subdue her but never took it.

Bruce’s hands moved up the length of her arm now. It stilled when it reached the slope of her neck, gentle as he cupped her jaw. Slate blue eyes met hers and she sees that he was remembering the same things. Their foreheads touched first. Her breath mingled with his, warm and uncertain, and they stayed there for a heartbeat. So close it feels like they're somewhat inhabiting the same body.

“Yes?” He asked again, in a voice so soft she could’ve imagined the question.

“Yes,” Talia says in return.

Then, he tilted his head, closing the distance between them.

Any shadow of doubt melted away in that moment—they were returning to each other as much as they were returning to themselves, stripped bare of time, of guilt, and regret. They were remembering each other and finding themselves while doing so. He grips her arms back as she arches further onto him, surrendering more of herself. Bruce kisses her neck, embracing her as he nips up to her ear. “My beloved,” he whispers softly.

The pet name, spoken so sweetly and freely, ripped a whimper out of her. Memories from their past flooded her, and though she knew his affection to be true, her rational side scrambled to invalidate it. To not believe him. He felt her stiffening and loosened the grip around her arms, sliding his hand to the back of her neck, pulling her closer, murmuring something that sounded like an apology. 

She doesn’t relent; she’s already made her decision by then. When they kissed again, it was she who deepened the kiss with an urgency that felt like surrender. “It’s okay,” she whispers, and then, in a quieter voice, “I missed that. I missed you.”

It felt like admitting to some great sin, missing him. The confession soaks onto him as he breathes her in. He stopped kissing her like he was afraid that she’d break, messy and bruising now, a thin line of spit stretching between their mouths as they part. Bruce placed his hands on her hips, his chest tight with anticipation as she was poised over him. Talia collected herself, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply as she willed herself to truly be here, at this moment, with him. 

One deep breath later, she was sinking into him. He grunted under his breath as she slowly took more of him, hands gripping her waist to cautiously help her adjust herself to the intrusion. Talia opened her eyes to see him fixated on the sight beneath them. He bowed himself forward onto her, arms tightly wound around her waist. The slight movement earned a moan from her.

He exhales shakily as his eyes rove across her face, lust-drunk. His heart was pounding so loud he could hear it in his head. “I missed you too,” Bruce managed to breathe out, lips touching her cheek as he spoke. He starts rocking onto her slowly, grasping poorly for what remains of his self-control. Even this felt almost too much. He was in so much trouble. “God. I missed this.”

She careened forward, arching her back as his hands moved up her spine. He worked on her chest, hands, and mouth moving to take and squeeze. Her fingers sank into his hair, grasping blindly as she let her head fall back. She grounded herself deeper, swallowing the entirety of his impressive length, her entire body molded onto him. He keened at how she tightened, the sound stoking more heat to her underbelly as she took his face in her hands, crushing her lips onto his.

The first push never felt unlike the first time, always sends her grappling for a beat. But after that, allowing herself to get lost in this heat had been terrifyingly easy. If anything, it’s almost unbecoming how much she wanted him. And she could feel it too now, how truthful he’d been when he said that he wanted her still.

She remembered moments of lovemaking with Bruce, memories from her old life. His mouth pressing to the back of her neck, fingers on her as he pushed into her from behind. Her climbing up to ride him while his hands dug onto her waist. Him pinning her against hard surface as he drove into her. Her hips rocking to his open mouth as she held onto a headboard. His thumb bruising her jaw as thick white drips off of her lips, the few times she’d let him finish in her mouth. Her asking, pleading for him to do whatever he wanted to her, his hand wrapped around her throat. Ten years, and here they are, their bodies still remembering how it felt to have the other pressing against it. As it should be, always.

Bruce leans back for a moment, trading her warmth for the bliss of simply watching her as she moved on top of him. He covered the hands hoisted on top of his chest while admiring the sight. He liked that she’s setting her own pace, using him for her desire. He could barely complain when she took her hands away to knead at her chest and rub herself, well and truly mesmerized with the way she was taking her own pleasure, and by extension his, too. He wanted to sear every detail of it to memory. The way she was taking him in. The way her fingers flicked on herself. The glistening sheen of sweat on her chest and neck as she leans back. The way her mouth cried out for him. Every thing about her right now enraptured him, and he’s satisfied just from being in the audience of it.

He moved his hands to her waist as he began moving in tandem with her. She lowered her head to kiss him, wanting and chasing. When her lips dragged onto his neck, the skin there gently held between her teeth, Bruce groaned out loud. That’d leave a mark, he thought, squeezing her waist so tight it might bruise her in return. His hands inched up to cradle the back of her head as she laid kisses across his collarbones while he whimpered onto her ear. He gripped her jaw before bringing her lips back to meet his, deepening the kiss just as she grounded onto him while he moaned her name into her mouth. She eased back, tipping her head up while his hand drags to her throat, applying gentle pressure.

It was only when her heavy lidded eyes met his that he felt urged to hold her to his body. It felt unbearable to even have an inch of space between them. As they come together again, his arms fanning all over her lithe back, he felt more of the pleasure rocking through her body. The friction she started between them had been enough to jumpstart them, but now he could give that back tenfold. He wanted more. He wanted, ached to give more of himself to her.

He moved his arms to her shoulder blades, kissing her collarbones as a method of warning before rolling both of them to the side. She landed with a gasp. He didn’t stop there, hands hurriedly moving up her thighs and hips to angle her hips upwards, finding just the position he wanted her in. She whimpered, reaching out for him until he bent over her again, her legs wrapped all around him. He thrusted deep while lowering himself, sucking onto her breast while fondling the other. A few more strokes and now he’s switching the motions up as she cried out, fingers twisting into his hair.

When Talia is beneath him like this, it’s hard to believe that this is the same woman who has given him some of the scars marking his body. She’s so soft and gentle sometimes that he would forget she’s just as ruthless as he is. Maybe even more. Over the years, he had found himself more often at her mercy than the other way around. And yet here he was, willingly walking himself into danger to have more of what she’d give him anyway.

This is the mother of his child. The woman of his life. Being a man shaped by discipline and reason, Bruce doesn’t believe in faith as a guiding force. But if he did, he’d plead for it to stay its hand anyway—to leave her as she is. Even if it meant that he’d never be able to have her. Not completely, and never the way he will always yearn to.

Talia moaned loudly as he thrust deeper. Her mind went numb momentarily before every touch and every stretch began to feel like touching heaven. With any other partner, she would’ve been wary about how loud she was being. Not that just about anyone can draw out so much of her with ease like he does. But she saw how he dipped his head until her lips brushed the shell of his ear, eager to drink her every whimper, every breath, every moan. Obscene sounds filled the room, and neither of them could care less if anyone would hear outside. He leans back, a hand moving to brush a stray hair away from her face before running it down and letting it rest loose around her throat. His hand remain there, gentle pressure pressing to her skin. When he kissed her again, she sighed into his mouth, their tongues tangling together in the heat.

His hands cradled her face as he grounded even further onto her. It felt so good she could feel a burn beginning behind her eyes, every stroke a threat to her lucidity. Bruce picks up on this, eyes flickering between hers. “Talia… is this okay?” He murmured softly in between labored breathing, “Is this good?” He asks again, desperate to know that she feels as good as him.

Talia swallowed, nodding wordlessly. This was worlds better than just good. “More,” she only managed to say. He’s being so gentle and yet every deliberate touch felt so raw. If her soul was a physical object within her it would be battered and bruised, molded by him. She whimpered, pressing her hands to his shoulders, “Bruce. Don’t hold back. I need you.”

Bruce lowered his head to her shoulder, lips dragging across her chest before inching up to her neck. It’s not that he didn’t want to. He just didn’t trust himself to last long that way. And he wanted this to last as long as humanly possible. If this was to be a one-time thing, he wanted to give her as much of himself as he possibly could. But then he felt her heels pressing onto his back and lost all his discipline just from that small encouragement.

He remained in his pace for a few more moments, his mouth closing on a nipple while he keeps a hand full of her unattended breast. She was giving everything to him now, her whole body pressing up to mold with his. He could get off just from the feel of it; her fingers buried into his hair, her fullness in his mouth, her warmth wrapped all around him, her high whine driving him on. Bruce started remembering just how pitiful and frustrated he’d been the first few years after she left. Could never truly replicate it with anyone else, this intimacy. The knowing that both of them knows each other in ways they themselves didn’t know.

Eventually he relents, picking up his pace. Couldn’t help but be greedy to hear more of her, feel more of her. He’s moving just enough to stoke the good friction but not too fast so that he can feel and relish the way she tightens around him when he’s deep inside her. She meets his thrusts in the middle, keeping up with him the way only a well-versed lover could, in a dance they were intimately familiar with from a decade ago. Bruce waits for when she’d subconsciously stretch her hands for something to hold onto. She always does. When she did, he took her hand into one of his, tangling their fingers together.

Talia squeezed his hands, looking up to see him above her, heavy-lidded piercing blue eyes pinned onto her, mouth ajar as he breathed and moaned along with her. God. She missed this view. This breathtaking image she tried to conjure up in her mind so many times on lonely nights with her own fingers inside her. It wasn't rare for her to think that she might've used up all her luck with him. The next line of her thoughts slipped away when he stroked deeper places within her, scraping a heavy moan out of her. Something he saw compelled him to lower himself, his entire torso weighing down pleasantly on her body.

He breathed up her neck and ear, kissing the shell of it gently as he spoke. “You are so beautiful,” he says, tortured. The flush in her cheeks has spread all over her body and he‘s never wanted someone so much in his life. It’s hard to imagine that he had the privilege of calling her his wife, a long time ago. Even harder still to live with the fact that he would never be able to refer to her with that title ever again. She had a faint smile on her gorgeous face, the expression so blissful that he wondered what made her look at him that way. It took the breath out of his lungs.

“Sometimes I dream of you,” he confessed, his words slurring, his mind and body unprotected. “I dream of this, Talia. I whisper your name in the dark when I touch myself, wishing it was you.”

The thought of him pleasuring himself with her in his thoughts made her keen out. “Bruce…” Talia whimpered, ripping a moan out of him as she tightened further. This is so much better than any dream she could’ve ever conceived.

“I need you to tell me this is real. Tell me that you’re real,” He asks her desperately, leaning back to stare down into his lover's adoring eyes. So afraid that he’d wake up alone again, yearning for her and the faded memories he had of her, of their past. He had already begun to forget when she came back barreling into his life. It was unfair of her to do so, but he couldn’t find it within him to be angry at her for it. How could he, when he never stopped wanting her back? When even as he held her now, he’s still losing her?

She could barely catch her breath. “It’s real,” she managed to claw out of her. It does something to her, knowing he still wants her as badly as she wants him all along. This man who had been her husband in a past life. Her free hand touches his cheek, lowering him down so that she can kiss his furrowed eyebrows. “I’m here with you, beloved. Can you feel me? Can you feel how much I want you? How much I need you?”

He moaned in affirmation. God above, yes, he could feel her. Could feel it when he reaches places that made her whine higher. So tightly wrapped around him. So alive underneath his touch. So close that he could taste her, feel her in the blood rushing in his veins. “I missed you so much, sweetheart,” he breathed out, lowering a kiss, and then another kiss. “I still do. I’ll miss you forever.”

She could feel the pinpricks of tears as she finally folded, tearing away her eyes from his piercing gaze to where their hands were joined. He leans back to bring it to his lips, her line of sight following, allowing him to see the tears in her eyes. She missed him just as much. So much that she could barely stomach saying the word now—not when he was moving onto her like this, looking at her with so much devotion that it coaxed more tears out of her.

It was when he kissed the back of her palm that a choked-up sob escaped her lips. “Bruce, oh God…” she murmured, her lover’s name almost inaudible if not for how she had pulled onto his hair, pressing her lips several times to his. “I… I’m…”

He leans his forehead onto hers, gripping her hips as he moves faster, hurried words tumbling out of him in succession. “I know… I know. I feel you now. I got you.”

Her legs are shaking as he folds up her knees, just enough to inch even deeper. His hands snaked around her waist, lifting her body up to mold against his while he buried his face to her chest. His entire body thrummed and simmered with the unspoken words pressing onto them, and so he said it before his body gave out on him.

“I love you, Talia,” his lips moved across her skin as he spoke, inhaling her scent deeply, tasting the words thoroughly. There’s reverence limning his voice, tinted with an apology. He’s violated an unspoken boundary, opened the Pandora's box, but Bruce couldn’t stop any of the words from tumbling out of him. It felt like he’d been holding these back for his entire life, the intensity of it threatening to consume him if he continued doing so. He couldn’t not say it now, with the subject of his adoration in his arms, wrapped all around him. The words felt like knives he’s forfeiting to her hands, trusting her with everything he had; to return it, to let it remain there, or to put the blade on his neck if she wanted to. “You’re everything, beloved. It will always, always be you. I love you so much it’s unbecoming.”

The words reverberated through her body, branded itself to her bones, tattooed itself to her skin. An echo that will forever reflect its own sound within her. It properly opened the floodgates as Talia scrambled to tug him up, kissing him deeply, so desperate to have him know that she felt the same way. No point of hiding it now; it has always been out in the open anyway. He must know that she would never feel this way for another, that he’s ruined her for any other person. This all-consuming adoration that has her throwing all her inhibitions away without a second thought. This raw yearning that made her body fight to give him a baby bearing a piece of both of them. This vicious affection that sometimes made her wish he’d go and grant her the mercy of hating her, loathing her. He must know that this is why she had to leave.

“I love you too,” she tore out of herself, needing to remind him of it. She never denied it, but he’s got a tendency to forget. She could taste the salt of her tears between their lips now as a soft sob escapes her. The knots within her chest unfurled in a heartbeat as everything flooded out of her, bumbling up the surface, as if her body was unfit to contain the rich, glowing intensity of her feelings.

Talia felt her body tightening, like her own heart was clawing from within, shouting at her to give him everything. It should be impossible to feel so whole, so complete, and yet still so empty. She’s falling apart and coming together and he’s holding all the pieces in his palm. She felt the pressure of his lips pressing tenderly onto her eyelids. Could perhaps taste her tears on his lips then. His joy and love at her acceptance and reciprocation pouring, soaking deep past her skin, into her soul.

As if he could read her mind, he kisses her again. One of his hands curled around hers as he brought it to his chest to press upon where his heart was, hers to do whatever she sees fit. Every thump and beat of it was the rhythm of an anchor pulling her back to a place she could never truly leave behind no matter how many times she’d tried. Bruce leans his forehead onto hers. “I know,” he whispered, a tremble in his voice. No need to say anymore than that; she understood completely. She curled her fingers, scraping his skin. He almost wanted her to draw blood. How he hated to see her cry, wondering if its because she’s so in pain or so in love. Perhaps both, like him. “I know.”

She sees it now, the glimmer in his eyes. He was blinking back tears of his own. The sight made her clench her stomach even further. “Beloved,” she cried out, raising her hand to his cheek. “Ah… my love.”

Bruce leans onto her touch, a choked up breath escaping him before he hung his head even lower until his lips brushed against her collarbones as he breathed. He felt a pinch of shame, distantly, for the hotness welling in his eyes. But she kissed the top of his hair and suddenly there was relief so palpable he had to scramble to hold on to this reality, to her.

She lifted her body, holding onto his shoulders while locking her ankles together as she kissed him. He moaned onto the kiss and she could feel his pace getting thrown off its rhythm, a twitch within her that let her know how close he was and how dangerously closer she was.

Talia hears herself, weakly calling for him again. Her stomach tightens as she pants, unable to form words. “Bruce, beloved, please…”

He cursed darkly, fingers digging into her hips. “Louder,” he tells her, gathering himself, “I want to hear you louder when you come for me.”

His next thrust sent her tipping into her need, all her reasoning evaporating as she cried out loud. The force of her release took her so quickly that her mind scrambled to keep up with her body. There was no reasoning behind the ecstatic whispers bubbling out of her. It was automatic, almost animal instinct, the way she arched her body onto him as he held her, taut in his arms. 

Bruce worked around his pace, tiding her over as he leaned his forehead onto hers. He himself is hanging on by a thread as he feels her release around him. She touched his cheek, meeting his eyes before kissing him deeply. He moaned into her mouth, fingers twisting into her hair. She’s squeezing him so tightly it might leave an imprint. Words nearly escaped him when she eventually found it in her to start moving her hips along again, her walls still contracting alarmingly around him. “God, yes,” he gasped, his vocabulary suddenly reduced to those words. “That’s good, baby. So good. Yes. So, so good for me. Lift your leg up for me, sweetheart.”

She obeyed, raising her ankles until he had his hands around them. From then on, her body is nothing but a mindless vessel for her wants. She let him guide her leg onto his shoulder as he pushed his hips forward. That first thrust was so deep it earned a choked gasp out of her. He kissed her calf, a hand gripping her thigh. Inaudible words were murmured to her leg as he continued on.

Talia stretched a hand to reach for him. He took it before lowering his body again. His hands moved, reaching over until it’s flat against her back as his lips pressed onto her neck. “You feel so good, love,” he groaned, “you take me in so well.”

The words sent her into overdrive. She clenched around him, hands sinking into his hair. “Bruce,” she cried out, pleading shamelessly. “Kiss me.”

When he does, her hands are all over his face. “Just like that,” she rolled her hips to meet him, “yes, right there.” His hand held her hips as he shifted her slightly. “Oh God. Bruce. That feels so good. Oh God.”

The slight adjustment and the new pressure heightened everything. He shifted onto a more indulgent pace but reached deeper places within her, taking the time so that she could relish the way he filled her. His body weighs down on her as he rests an elbow on the side of her face, her lips pressing onto the hollow of his neck as he pants straight to her ear. The position allowed her to feel the rumble shaking through his body every time he moaned.

Talia raised a hand to his bicep, squeezing it while the other ran down his back. He’s moving exactly the way she likes it. And he evidently knows this, as she could feel him smile as he kissed the side of her face. “You’re such an open book like this, beloved,” he tells her affectionately.

“Only… only because no one else makes me feel this good,” she whined softly.

He nipped onto her throat, hard enough to know that it’d leave a mark for days after this passed. The thought of her being with another burns. Made him even more ravenous. “No one else?”

“No one else,” she breathed out. “It’ll always be you, beloved. Only you.”

He groaned from her admission, deciding to set aside the petty jealousy he felt for some phantom another. She’s taking him in so well now that he couldn’t think of anything other than that it must be cosmic cruelty to make him feel like she was made for him when she’s the furthest thing from that. Possessiveness gripped him with a swiftness that left him reeling. Of course, she could never belong to anyone, much less to him. But right in this moment, she was his, and his only. He laced both of their hands together, pressing them onto the bed as he lowered himself to kiss her. Against all reasons, he asked her, “Are you mine, Talia?”

She tightened around him. Pleasure curdled within her. “I am,” she whispered in confession, squeezing his hands. “Yours. Always. I’m all yours, beloved.”

She hadn't had the chance to breathe before he devoured her. His gaze burrowed into hers, pale blue anchoring to deep green. “Tell me you want this as badly as I do, baby.”

“I do. I want this. I want you—all of you, Bruce. Give me everything. I can take it.”

“God, beloved,” he murmured between kisses, feeling her tightening around him as he lifted her hands up further, “can you feel how hard I am for you, sweetheart? Can you feel the way I'm throbbing for you? It’s all for you, Talia. It’s all yours. Everything I am is yours.”

Everything. She wanted that to be true so badly it hurts. So much so that tears had begun to roll down her cheeks again. “I love you,” she spoke to his lips. “I love you, Bruce.”

The prolonged eye contact as she said those words while he moved against her felt almost dizzying. It felt like his heart expanded in size just from hearing her say those words, again and again, every part of him scrambling to bottle it all up. He claimed her lips again, moaning heavily. Bruce can feel himself teetering on the edge, about to slip. It’d barely take a few good strokes before he tips over. “I love you too. I love you so much, Talia. God, it feels fucking amazing inside you. You’re so gorgeous underneath me, so beautiful when I fuck you raw like this, all filled up with me, my name on your lips. All mine.”

Talia squeezed both his hands tighter as she breathed. She’s not immune to his filthy words, finding herself at the precipice of another orgasm, all her nerves firing off hearing him curse. Something about a man who’s usually so meticulous and put together having to resort to vulgarity in order to make sense of his pleasure, and her being the reason for it. “I’m so close, beloved. I—please, Bruce. I want you rougher. Harder. Deeper. Make me yours completely.”

“Fuck,” he cursed low under his breath, growing unsteady. Yours. Always. He’s losing it. He lets go of her hands to grip her jaw, tipping it up roughly to press a bruising kiss to her lips. “Say the word and I’ll do it rough, baby.”

“Bruce, baby, please. Please.”

He groaned into the kiss before a hand guided her other leg onto his waist. He leans back to hold both her legs up until she’s properly folded in two, kissing her briefly before he straightened back up. Talia choked up a breath when he thrusts again, reaching deeper places within her that are only afforded by the new position. His hand lingered on her thigh before he slid it between them. She nearly bit her own lip at the pressure of his fingers.

Her mind scrambled to keep up with her body now as she watched him move onto her, so handsome with sweat running down his chest and messy hair from all her work. The picture of desire with his eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he thrusted onto her while keeping his fingers busy, mouth parted to breathe. Her stomach tightened when his eyes flickers up to meet hers, saw her own need reflected inside them. He began inclining himself towards her, always a force of gravity drawing him in, when she shook her head. “I want to watch you,” she managed to murmur, dimly bashful about it.

A gust of chuckle escaped him before he kissed her ankles, nodding. She cried out while he kept up his vigorous pace. Bruce didn’t relent even as her knees trembled under his admission; he wanted her so spent that she’d feel his absence for days after he left. Wanted to kiss her until he was all she could taste, lips swollen and bruised. Wanted her so satisfied that she couldn’t touch herself without thinking of him inside her.

Talia arched her back when he stroked a particular spot, yelping out his name without meaning to before regaining herself. She wrapped her hand around his wrists, squeezing it. “I’m very close,” she tells him, a tremble in her hands.

“I know, baby. I know. Me too,” he murmured in a rush. “Breathe for me, sweetheart. Breathe. I need you to let go for me now, beloved. I’ll be with you this time. One more time with me.”

Her brows pinched together tightly, eyes falling shut as she pulses around him, taking slow breathers painstakingly, which was incredibly difficult with how his fingers are working her most sensitive spots to the edge of her sanity. Every bit of air she inhaled seemed to come with body shivers by then. The only coherent words stumbling out of her lips are her pleadings and his name. The walls around them reverberated every time the head frame of her bed slammed onto it, the structure struggling to contain the motion of their bodies, but she could barely hear any of it in between flurries of their strangled moans and the sound of their skin slapping onto each other. Her nails dug so deep into the muscles of his forearm that it would surely leave marks later. “God, oh God,” she chanted haphazardly, each word demanding a heavy exhale.

Bruce watches the force of her orgasm drawing upon her gorgeous face as she loses herself to ecstasy. He barely had enough time to further observe how the force of her release ripped through her when she pulled him down, hands pulling his hair as he moved through her peak while holding her down. She was so sensitive now that she could feel every inch he claimed within her, every crevices of vein lining his length. Deep inside, throbbing, chasing and wanting as much as her to give it to her completely. Thinks of it now, emptying inside her, the way he nearly did when he’s in her mouth earlier, wet, the taste of him she liked. Could tell he’s close now.

“I love you,” she whispered, completely spent, seeing stars crowd behind her eyelids as she drew in slow breaths. “I love you, Bruce, beloved. I love you.”

”Say that again,” he managed to say under heavy breaths.

”i love you,” she squeezed all around him and he’s hanging by thread. “I love you, Bruce Wayne.”

He let out a shaky moan at that, “Say my name. Call me yours.”

”Bruce,” she murmured softly, “you’re mine, beloved.”

That’s when everything tightens for him. The sight of her coming undone beneath him, around his length, when he was still buried inside ruptured through him. Now the way she’s whispering her adoration has sealed the deal. He needed that, he thinks distantly. He felt himself coming apart and over the edge as soon as she said it, his mind going blank as he poured everything he had inside her. A chill ran down his body as he moved through his high, his stroke growing weaker with every thrust as he poured and poured, nothing in his mind except for her. Her name. Her voice. Her skin. Her scent. Her love. His entire world had collapsed only to crystalize into her form. Nothing exists for him except for Talia. All of her, for this moment that felt like it could go on forever. He wanted to remember nothing else but this.

Bruce let out a guttural moan before giving his last push with her name on the tip of his tongue, uttered like hushed prayers before his own high wrecked him. She felt the stutter of his hips as he painted her white within while she squeezed around him, willing him to give her everything with every heavy groan scraped out of his throat. His breathing is labored and shaky as he grows slack in her arms. Talia held him gently, the way she would in the past. So much warmth and love between her arms, and all his to take for the night.

He takes some of the deepest breaths of his life before lowering chaste kisses to her lips, gasping from his over sensitivity inside, how tight she is around him still. “Oh, I love you,” he whispered in a ragged voice, lips pressing to her temples. “God, Talia. I love you.”

He’s still moaning and whimpering into her mouth, still rocking gently into her as a tired smile spread over her face. So beautiful he can hardly believe his eyes. Bruce gave her a tender kiss, brushing sweat-matted hair behind her ear before tilting her chin up for yet again another kiss, pressed in between echoes of what he said following after. “Ya ruh al-ruh. I’m so in love with you.”

On his lips stretched a smile so tender that she couldn’t help but mirror it. There’s not a single waking cell of her being, her living body, unaware of his love for her. Spoken both in her mother tongue and in a whole other language that only they could understand. Ya ruh al-ruh. Words he’d murmur so often in the past, after she taught him, pressed into her hair as she lays to sleep in his arms. Words she’d give their son in his youth as she puts him to bed. Soul of my soul.

He allowed himself to linger there for a moment, lips pressing onto her collarbones before he pulled out, a shaky exhale escaping him. He couldn’t help the way his eyes slid down between her legs, watching the proof of what they’d done trickling down her inner thigh so he could see for himself that this had been real. That it wasn’t just another one of his dreams, something unreachable from a life he could have had if he chose to stay. If she had asked it of him.

She followed his line of sight, shades of red spreading across her face. Bruce bit his lower lip now, suddenly overwhelmed from picturing how often he’d seen this in the past after they made love, during the early days of her pregnancy. Remembers now, how he’d kiss her knees afterward, then her growing stomach, before kissing her lips as his hand rests on her belly. He’d tell her how much he loves her then, for being his partner, his wife. For carrying his baby. He’d tell her how thankful he was, how happy he was. She’d glow with happiness and he’d stare at her for longer than he needed to, often in disbelief that this is his life. Then he’d drift to sleep dreaming of her radiance, praying for her and their baby’s health, asking for the strength to protect and hold her through what they’ll face in the future. He felt what remains of the energy holding him upright deplete suddenly, and she seemed to know because Talia takes hold of his wrist, pulling him onto her.

She delivered intimate kisses all over his face; his forehead, his eyelids, his cheeks, his nose, his lips. She must’ve known what he was thinking about, the way each of her kisses felt like some sort of mercy, salvation beyond his earthly comprehension. There’s not a stretch of his skin unfamiliar with the weight and warmth of her lips when she’s done.

He shifted onto his side, sliding an arm beneath her neck as he rested her against his body. Her eyes fluttered close several times, sleepy. Her lips swollen from all their kisses. Her hair matted with sweat and sticking out in places where he’d pulled them. So beautiful that he felt like he could lift an entire building in his hands from the sheer joy and privilege of witnessing her like this. He kissed the top of her hair and she hummed drowsily. “Don’t let me drift off to sleep. I want to be here with you for a while.”

The silence that followed was charged with the echoes of what had just passed between them. Both of their breathing slows, regaining its steady rhythm, tangling together in the dim space. Neither of them moved, their bodies still close, limbs loosely entangled, hands interlocked. Now that all the heat has passed by, they’re forced to stand at the edge of somewhere they hadn’t been for a long time since tonight—somewhere between the past and the present. This can only be a one-time thing, they agreed on that. Which meant that they would have to find a way to handle their new places in life without doing this. They would have to learn, all over again, what it meant to be near each other without having each other.

Exhaustion was threatening her lucidity, and she had started blinking away sleep when he’d begun idly tracing on her arm. Bruce still doesn’t say anything; she thinks that he must be quietly satisfied that she’s so completely spent because of him. The quiet stretched on, not unwelcome but palpable, so she decided that she’d be the first to speak.

“I know you’ve met someone,” Talia said finally, her voice low and hoarse from exertion and something deeper. Her eyes remain pinned to the ceiling.

Bruce brushes her hair, humming. His touch lingered behind her ear, running a line down her neck. He saw through her, could sparse the unnamable hurt in her voice. It pained him. Then again, he would’ve been hurt anyway if she didn’t feel this way. 

He lowered his head to press a shallow kiss to the column of her exposed neck, gentle as his lips pressed onto the tender flesh where he could tell a bruise was blooming into a mark. Then he pressed another kiss to her shoulder blades. “I did,” he replied steadily, the words brushing her skin, carefully watching how the words landed on her.

The candor surprised her, though she was grateful that he didn’t try to lie or evade it. It still didn’t lessen the burn within her heart whenever she thought of him being with another. She wouldn't call it jealousy—at least not jealousy over his affection. In fact, Talia had found herself liking the few things she gathered about the woman from the League's sparse reports on her person. Within her, there was only jealousy over the sort of freedom that the elusive woman must possess in order to be with the Batman. Then again, it wasn’t her place to feel such things. She wouldn’t have wanted him to wait out on hope for her, anyway, because there was nothing she could give him. Not anymore.

“Take care of her well. The League already has their eyes on her,” she said after a beat. She felt his lips grazing upon her ear, not waiting for a reply before continuing. “When you leave tomorrow, I want you to never look back,” she tells him, a gentle warning. 

For the rest, you can decide for us, he had said earlier. They both know that she had made her decision a long time ago, being the first to leave. They've dropped a long pretense to keep pretending by now.

Talia turned her head then, looking at him, her face illuminated by the faint glow of the lamp standing by her vanity table. Strands of silver shimmered near her temples in between her glistening brown locks. He's reminded all over again of the passage of time. So much they've lost between them. So much they stood to lose still. Yet there it still is, that achingly familiar sparkle in her gaze. Something understood despite being difficult to name. “I want you to be happy, Bruce. It won’t be with me.”

The words hovered in the air between them. Bruce finds morbid amusement in her humble request. Happy. He is happy now, he thinks. The happiest he’d been after some time, being able to hold her in his arms, to be needed and wanted and unabashedly loved by her. Wished in futility that the rest of his life would go on like this. But he understood. Peace. Fulfillment. Self-purpose. That’s what she wanted for him—and for herself. He couldn’t bring himself to fault her for any of it. Thinks, knows, that he loves her even more because of it. So terribly selfish and selfless, simultaneously, their love for each other. In his silence, her words remained, unrefuted.

He was unreadable as he beheld her, touching her face. Perhaps thinking of his lover, Talia thought. If he’s in her bed tonight, then it must be because there’s some sort of trouble in paradise. A churning started within her; had she made things worse, then? Or maybe what took place tonight would be what finally pushed him to settle with his paramour? Maybe that'd be a good thing. He would need someone with him. Damian would—

Talia quieted her thoughts away before they could go awry and gain sharpness to truly hurt her. Not my place, she repeated silently to herself. Not anymore.

Of course, there would always be a familiar hollowness within her, not having him nor their son in her life, but she knows now that living with it is still possible. That letting them go was something she needed to do for her own peace and contentment. This would always be her final act of love for both him and their son. Even more than that, it would be forgiveness for both she and Bruce. Not only for each other but for themselves too. Acknowledging what they have, and what they could never have.

Eventually, she sees it in his eyes, the way his heart is breaking all over again as he finally says; “I want the same for you.”

She hears the many things he left unsaid within that humble sentence, and nods. “I am,” she says earnestly, though the words are more a sigh than an answer.

Her eyelashes fluttered as she leaned to kiss the palm of his hand. “I really hope you are,” he tells her, arrested by the sight. He truly wanted to believe her. “You know I’ll always love you, Talia. Nothing will change the fact that you changed my life.” He pauses. “You gave me our son. Your trust in me over him… it means more to me than you could know.”

She bowed her head, allowing her grief to wash over her. After she gave Damian to him, most of her time had been spent wondering if Bruce’s most hurtful words to her had been right; that she was so self-serving she’d use her only child as a weapon against him. The very child she'd risked her life to birth into the world. But she sees that he knows now. He understood that she kept Damian because she loves their baby, and that in allowing herself to have him, she’d damned herself by giving the world a hostage to forever hold as leverage against her. There is nothing so undoing as one’s own child, and Bruce might be the only person who knows this better than she does.

She lowered her defenses, shifting her body to mirror his before returning his gaze as she covered the hand resting against her cheek. For so long, Talia had thought him to be all of her best parts. Then, when he left, Damian became all of her best parts. Now that they both weren't hers... she had grown to understand that her best parts had always been hers. They just helped her see it better. Helped her arrange her priorities. The love she'd given them was all hers. Hers to own, hers to give freely.

“I’ll always love you too,” she tells him softly. “I would have lost myself if not for you. You... you were the best thing that ever happened to me, Bruce. Truly. You still are. I never thanked you for that."

The last sentence had been whispered, but the weight of its meaning smothered him. The sincerity in her voice made it hurt even more. He takes her hand in his, squeezing gently. Bruce Wayne, the man who doesn't believe in anything other than his calling, says: “Maybe in another life.”

She smiled sadly. “Do you think about it often? That other life?” she asked, her voice cracking just enough to betray the weight of the question. So many she’s still leaving unsaid: do you remember how happy we were together, how have you forgiven me for all I’ve done to us, would you say it again, how much you love me, how you always will.

“All the time,” he answered, no hesitation. His face so soft that for split second it felt like she was looking at a memory.

The honesty hung between them, fragile but unyielding. Talia took a second to entertain his idea of that other life he spoke of. Felt the weight of it pressing onto her now, that life they could’ve had together. The quiet companionship, the warmth of their home. Family gathering for dinner, laughing and arguing over the table. Their love a gentle thrum in the back of their minds in between it all, like waves buoying between the shores of their souls. Love they could pour into their children; into Damian, unbidden and unafraid of letting themselves be loving and loved. Her longing for it—for him, their family, and for that version of herself—will linger forever.

She had to be the one to say it, then. Always her. “No use in false hopes,” she says softly, “we gave it a shot in this one. A good one.”

Bruce fiddled her ring finger between his thumb and middle finger. He thought of the wedding ring she still keeps inside her jewelry box. He remembered her expression when she caught him observing the content of it earlier. Wondered if, in between her anger for him at the moment, she could’ve seen the ache pulsing within him when he realized that she kept every piece of jewelry he gave her. Every one of them was untarnished, polished to shine like they were frozen in time. The knowledge that she not only kept them but took care of them, had hurt him even more than anything she’d said up till that point. 

Talia wouldn’t know, but he kept his ring in the drawer next to his bed. Still in the tiny box it came with when they first bought it. She could never know, for it’ll hurt her as much as it hurts him when he saw hers. Worse, she might see it as a sign of his weakness, one of the reasons why she asked him to leave her all those years ago. He couldn’t bring himself to forfeit it. For so long, it was the only thing he had left of her. The only proof he had that their love existed and that it existed for him at a time when he believed that he was beyond anything as good. The only proof that she had been his in every way that mattered, for some time. That was until Damian came along.

“We gave it a good shot,” Bruce echoed, agreeing as he laced her fingers with his once more.

She squeezed gently, grateful for his gentle affirmation despite what she truly wanted. “For what it’s worth, and at the risk of repeating myself,” she started, “I’m sorry.”

Silence returned, ebbing between them.

“I am too,” he says. Sorry for leaving, for loving her still, for never being able to make them work.

She looked up at him, this time her gaze lingering on the contours she had traced a thousand times in the past. In moments of love, disappointment, and quiet companionship. The faint crease in his brow, the shape of his lips as he breathed. She saw echoes of his younger mirror now. There was their son in the slope of his nose, in the way his hair fell across his eyes, in how his eyelashes fluttered to his cheeks with his eyes closed. The reminder of why he had been here tonight sharpened her pain anew.

Talia shifted in his arms, moving until they were face to face. She remained in her silence, content with looking at his face. So handsome resting with true ease. She had started tracing shapes to his chest when she called softly, “Bruce.”

He hummed in return, eyes still closed.

She smiled to herself. “Bruce,” she called, now loud enough to have him open his eyes

“Talia,” he drawled gently in response, her name so sweet on his lips. She wanted to bottle it up and get drunk on it when he's gone.

As if the thought had wondered into her mind unbidden, she said, "it was wolf."

He was caught off guard by the shift, though she spoke it so casually it felt almost seamless. "Wolf?"

"Damian's first words," she nodded, remembering the words he'd hurled at her during their argument in the earlier hour. His first words. His first steps. "Well, he called them dhi'b, in Arabic. That took place when he's eleven months old. My father used to own a number of them, you know this. I tried keeping Damian away, but he enjoyed playing with them as a child. I think the beasts were rather fond of him, too. This one time, I called one of them by the wrong name and your boy corrected me. I was floored."

Bruce's smile grew. A warmth spread through his body. "He's a sensitive kid. Takes after his mother's temper, I suppose."

This made her laugh, the sound catching in her throat. She shakes her head. "I don't know. He's got your knack for memorizing things. The way he just sees things and latches them into memory, doesn't let go until he's examined them from every side."

It sounded like an unexpected compliment to Bruce. He welcomed it. "Sounds like he's got the best of both of us, then."

She glanced at him, the lines of her face softer now, open once again. Beautiful, he thought. Takes note of her expression. He already knows the answer, but he asked anyway: "what are you thinking about?"

About Damian, of course. Him. Both of them. Always the river running in the back of her mind. “You do know that not a day goes by that I don’t regret having to keep Damian from you, right? It’s cruel and unfair of me to ask for your understanding when I’ve hurt you so much, but I… I hope that you would, anyway. That you’d understand why I had to do what I did.”

His face softened. He knew, of course, but the Talia he knew from the past would've left him to read in between the lines. She'd come so far. Despite all his hurt, he's beaming with pride and gratefulness.

“That I—truly, I wish that I didn’t have to keep all of this to myself for so long,” she continued on, having trouble conveying what she was trying to say. “Carrying and raising him on my own… It was some of the hardest and happiest days of my life, Bruce."

Bruce watched her, expectant. She had avoided this moment for years, burying the words under layers of pride and fear, but now nothing was keeping them apart and the silence was begging to be filled. She sighed, searching for the courage to start, to trust that he'd understand. He deserved to know more than the medical reports he'd read about her pregnancy and delivery.

"It wasn't an easy pregnancy," she finally said, her voice small though unwavering. At this point, Talia had stopped the motions of her fingers. It remained still, warm against his skin. "It didn't stop when you left. The bleeding. The contractions. They said it was a threatened miscarriage, and there was nothing they could do if he came early. I thought... I thought with you gone, I could... bear it." Her voice retreated to a soft whisper. "I really thought I could bear it on my own. I've always felt stronger that way, always thought there's no one I could truly rely on except myself. That was until my body failed me... failed him."

She's holding herself with great composure, but there was an even greater pain rippling through her expression. "Every day after that was a nightmare; some kind of perverse countdown to something I feared was inevitable. Bed rest. Weekly appointments. Living in constant fear that I'd wake up and he'd be gone for real. I imagined that it would feel, in a way, like losing you all over again. I was both terrified and frustrated. Above all, so lonely in my pain. It made things even harder."

Every word landed like a blade to his heart. Bruce felt ashamed as he looked away when her voice broke. Contempt for himself and his absence like poison in his mouth. "We've always known natural birth wasn't an option. There had been too much damage already. But when the time came, I still wasn't prepared to see so much blood. I... I thought I was going to die before I even got to hold him."

The pain of her memory pressed into him, threatening to cleave. A burning had begun behind his eyes, so much that Bruce had to close his eyes briefly, struggling to steady himself as he held her tighter. "But you didn't," he said softly, more to himself than to her.

He tried conceiving a world where Talia's not in it and had to stop himself before he unraveled. The mere thought of it incomprehensible. Unacceptable. How would he even live in such a world? He wondered if she’d begrudge him, for caring more for her wellbeing than their son’s. He knows she wouldn’t share the same sentiment, would rather save Damian than him if she needed to choose between them, and somehow he loves her all the more for it.

"No," she said, hesitating before pressing on. "I didn't. But they told me afterward that I'd never be able to have another child. At the time, I wasn't thinking about losing the ability to carry another baby. I was just relieved that I'd done what needed to be done to keep him alive. It wasn't until I held him that I realized how much I'd been holding my breath. He was so small, so fragile, but he was alive. That alone had made all my losses worthy. I have so many regrets, and I do sometimes wish it hadn’t taken so much of me to get here but this… everything that led me here today, I wouldn’t trade any of it for anything.”

When Damian first came to the manor, Bruce had done all research possible over the boy and his mother. This meant that he already knew everything she was telling him. It doesn't lessen any of his hurting from picturing her going through all of that on her own. It says so much about her that she's truly given their son everything and yet still felt undeserving of his love. How does she endure all this? Bruce didn’t dwell on the question. It only made sense, being the incredible woman she is. The woman he loves beyond his mind’s understanding. He wondered if she knew how much he admired her, perhaps to the degree of envy at times. But above all he wondered if she knew how much he loves her right at this very moment. So much that it hurts.

In his silence, Talia searched his face for the anger and blame he directed towards her earlier this evening. But all she saw was pain—and something else.

"I wish you didn't have to carry all of that alone, Talia,” he finally says. “I wish you knew that you didn’t have to. I would’ve… been there with you. Held you through it all.”

The words, spoken so tenderly, gutted her. While ten years might've been enough for her to forget how kind he could be, Bruce wasn't the sort of man to say these sorts of things openly.

”I know that now," she tells him, a tremble in her voice. She pictured him standing by her during her delivery, steadfast firm hands gripping her to share strength and pain alike. The tenderness of it smothered her heart.

He tucked her head, lowering a kiss to her hair. "Never again. Don’t do anything like that ever again," he says, voice thick with emotions. A raw, powerful sense of protectiveness over her. Even from himself, he thinks distantly. Consoled only from having her close, safe for now in his arms. Foolish, perhaps, to wish that his love for her would be enough. If not to take away her pain, then at the very least to alleviate it. "If I leave tomorrow, and Damian is with me, then you have to promise me that you'd never treat yourself so unkindly ever again."

Her tears finally spilled over, a sob muffled against his chest. My God, she’s forgotten how good it feels to be held by him, so tender it made her feel invincible. She hadn't expected him to say any of this, and is thoroughly stunned by how disarmed she was from it. "I don't—"

"Then promise me you'll try," he interrupted. "And that you'll never stop trying. If not for me, or for yourself... then for our son, beloved. Please."

She let out a warbled breath, raising her eyes to him, the weight of her pain reflected in his. "Promise me, Talia," Bruce repeated once more, pleading and yet still insistent, urgency clear in his eyes.

He brushed her hair, pulling her closer and yet it’s still not enough. Talia hears his warbled breathing and realized belatedly he’s actually waiting—waiting for her to say it. The space between his brows were crinkled from worrying, she sees now; worrying that he might’ve asked too much of her. Worrying that he would fail her again.

"I promise," she says, her voice trembling but steady, resolute. Silence followed her words as Bruce seeks within her gaze. She waits, they both do, each for the other. “For our son. For me,” she added, “and for you, beloved. I promise.”

Talia watched the weight of her words wash over him, felt that familiar weight of his belief for her cloaking her entire being. When it seemed that he's seen what he was looking for, he leans in to kiss her forehead.

“Thank you,” Bruce whispered softly against her hair. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer. For a moment, Talia forgets what it felt like to hurt at all.

For awhile, the steady rhythm of his breathing was all she heard until he quietly spoke, "will you tell me more about him? About your time with him?"

She smiled onto his chest as she gathered her words. "He's a fast learner, started to walk when he was barely nine months old. I used to sing this specific nursery rhyme for him to sleep when he's a baby, and he started singing it to himself to sleep when he's one. That had been something precious to witness. I started calling him baby bird because of that."

Bruce smiled at that, humming to a familiar melody. She pulls back, tilting her head up to blink up at him, surprised that he knew what she was talking about.

“Does he still do it? In the manor?" she asked.

"No. Not that I know of, anyway," he replied, stroking her arm slowly. "I just remembered something you would hum to yourself in the rare occasion where we'd have slow mornings, in the past."

"You remember that."

"You think I'd forget how some of the happiest days of my life went?"

Her heart felt so impossibly full. He must be able to feel her affection for him bleeding out of her. She lowered a kiss to his chest, laying her head down in a way so that she’d be able to hear his heart beating under her ear. Then she continued on.

"Sometimes I had to leave him with my father for days, and when I came back he'd be eager to show me the things he'd learnt in my absence. They weren't always something I approve, and I had fights with my father over most of them, but I'm always grateful that Damian would look for my recognition anyway."

Each of these memories played like kaleidoscope in her mind. She could remember each of them like it had happened yesterday. So many fond memories, tinged with her pain. But she owed this to Bruce, and more than that, she wanted him to know. Wanted to share these memories with him. This is the least she could do for him.

Bruce does what he do best: he listens. His hand traced soothing circles on her back as he did so. Despite the hostile glares and harsh barbs he'd been subjected to by the boy since he came to the manor, Damian is an impressionable kid. He could only imagine how it must've been like when he was much younger, still unmarred by the world.

"When he eventually began grasping how numbers worked, they were a source of joy to him. He really liked counting things out loud, even if he had adorably struggled pronouncing some of the words when using English. Your son was barely three when I started teaching him Chinese. At that time he was already conversationally fluent in Arabic, Urdu, and English. So much to notice about him, at that age. Then, when he's about five, he learned how to ride a bicycle and I had trouble trying to keep him from breaking any bones. I don't know how he's still unscathed now. He'd only begun losing his baby teeth around the time when my father really started taking over his training over from me. He wasn't... allowed to be a kid anymore."

He squeezed her hands here, knowing she's also reliving memories from her own youth. Her lips curled downwards in the same way Damian would subconsciously pout when he’s upset.

"Sometimes I miss it," she admits, moving past her private melancholy. He raised their tangled hands to kiss the back of her hand, and she smiled sadly. "They grow so fast, don't they? Children. But I miss it. I wish I paid more attention. I wish I let it linger a little bit longer. When it was just your beautiful little boy and I.”

He stroked her cheek before properly taking her face in his hand. “I know,” he says, his heart folding upon itself. “I wish I was there to see it, beloved.”

Bruce thinks of all the things she must’ve left out. Imagined the nights when she’d wake up on her own to comfort their baby on bad nights. Imagined the early mornings when she’d stare at her reflection in the mirror hoping for the strength to be better for the day. Imagined all the times she’d look at Damian and see the clock ticking away for both of them. Everything he experienced himself, with Dick, Jason, Tim, Cass. He thinks of what he’d have done if he had been there for her. If they’d been together, helping each other through it all. Celebrating the big wins, reflecting on the small ones, but most importantly, learning from the losses and mistakes they’d inevitably make. Always on the same team, sustained by affection and mutual respect as partners.

“I wish I was there to see all of it,” he says again, his voice thicker, heavy with regret for all they’ve lost.

Her eyes glimmered, still rimmed red and raw from the tears she had shed earlier. “I'm sorry that I didn't let you," she tells him, a slight tremor to her voice. "But this isn’t about me, or my guilt. I just—I need to know that you’ll take care of him. You have to promise me, Bruce. Love him well. Surround him with warmth. Make him strong. Remind him to be kind. Protect him from my father… and from me, if things come down to it.”

“He loves you, Talia,” he says, insistent. She doesn’t deny it.

“And I love him. But that doesn’t change the way things are. The sooner he grows out of it, the better,” she looked at him, imploring. “He’s a strong boy, Bruce. An honest fighter like his father. But he’s still that; a boy. I have never asked you for anything, beloved, and I would never ask you for anything ever again. Only this. Only with our son. He loves you too, and he needs you, now more than ever. Because, while being his mother is the greatest gift of my life, it cannot be me. It cannot be the violence and loneliness that my world entailed. He has to grow to be a better, stronger person than the two of us. I trust you and I will depend on you for that. So please, promise me.”

He remained quiet, eyes flickering between hers. They both know all too well that people don’t grow out of love. She especially had to know, with who her father was. Bruce kept his silence, thinking about how she said earlier that he had always been the stronger one between the two of them. She couldn’t be more wrong. He had never seen strength like the way Talia is now asking him to promise that he’d keep their son away from her.

Damian's strength and power wasn't something he inherited from his father. All of it had been from Talia. Because he is her son.

Maybe what she believed is true; that this is the only way for them. That taking on this road is the only way she could move forward, even if it came at her cost. If she believed in it so much, then it had to be true. He would have to believe in her, test his own strength by doing what felt right by her.

His gaze remained within hers. Despite wishing things would have gone differently for the two of them, he admired her loyalty and conviction. He supposed it was why he loves her so deeply. But Bruce understood that she didn’t need his admiration. She didn’t need another man blindly praising her. He even doubted she saw her decision as honorable or deserving of praise—only as something that had to be done. So he nodded in assurance to her. “I promise you that I’ll endeavor to do right by our son,” Bruce tells her, “on my father and mother.”

Her face crumpled, overcome with emotions she never allowed him—or anyone else—to see, save for the day they had vowed their life and love for each other. A day from their previous lives. He’d told her about his parents then; she could still remember it, that first time she realized that she was capable of loving someone so much that she’d do anything to take their pain away from them. The first time she realized that this love would stay with her for the rest of her life, forever a changed person after he came into her life. The significance of evoking his own parents now was more than enough to etch his promise into stone.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. She was torn between gratefulness and guilt for asking him to be enough of a parent for the two of them. “I owe you everything.”

Briefly, Bruce wondered if she knew what a generous gift she had given him; her faith in him with their son. He knew it wasn’t for him, the fact that she chose to have Damian on her own. But he’s thankful for it anyway. Thankful that she’d been the one, his partner, his consort. Thankful that she’d given Damian so much love in his youth. Thankful for her trust. And so, this is a promise he would spend the rest of his life honoring. Now that he could never honor the vow that once bound them to each other, this would be the closest thing he had to it.

He raised her hand to his lips, kissing the knuckles gently in reverence. Unadulterated adoration glimmered bright in his eyes as he lowered a kiss to her ring finger. His affection total and infectious. “Loving you, and being loved by you… having you, and being yours. I’m a lucky man for it, beloved. For you. For Damian. You’ve given me everything already. There is nothing else to owe.”

”I find that hard to believe,” she tells him truthfully.

Their eyes meet and he tells her: “when I said to you, earlier, that I’ve forgiven you for everything, I also wanted to say that I wish you’d forgive yourself too.”

She inclined her head, inhaling softly. “Where do I start?”

He smiled. “I’d ask you to let me know when you figured it out,” he says, then he kissed her palm gently, “but I think this here, right now, between us… this is a good place to start.”

She traced his lips with her finger before lifting her body up to kiss him briefly. Afterwards, she took his own hand, lowering her lips to press onto his ring finger in return. Felt herself be accepted wholly; all the things she’d done, the things she will do. Every bad deed and every good intentions. Talia doesn’t disagree with him. She found it hard to remain in her self hatred when she is given the privilege to be loved so completely by this man. Could only hope that he’d understand she feels the same way, too.

Bruce watched all of it in silence, eyes heavy with love and appreciation for this woman he would’ve devoted his entire being and life for if she had let him. His beautiful wife. No. Not anymore. Marry me again, he thought, wanting to plead and kneel before her. Helpless, always, knowing that she’d never forgive him if he had spoken the word. So he doesn’t. It doesn’t change the fact that he is still hers thoroughly. It doesn’t change the fact that they both knew without needing to exchange words.

Bruce wrestled away thoughts of what they had lost, his hands moving to her lower back, another on her shoulder blades. He gathered her nimble body to press onto him, so small in his arms as he kissed her on the mouth. He leans his weight to the bed until his arms bracketed her body underneath him as his lips moved to her cheeks, then to her ear, to her jawline, her neck. His hand rests on her belly now and he breathed softly as his lips moved across her chest.

Talia brushed his hair, smiling down, taking a beat to admire him. Finds quiet pleasure to see how unkempt his hair has gotten after sex. “That tickled,” she tells him after a few more kisses, almost shyly.

“Mm. Maybe I should’ve shaved before coming tonight.”

She gingerly yanked his hair back, cupping his cheeks, putting exaggerated concentration to inspect his face. He enjoyed it, being observed by her. “It’s not that horrible,” Talia says then.

”You think so?” He asks, kissing her inner wrist. “The kids have been saying it made me look my age. I don’t know if that’s a compliment or an insult.”

“Coming from them, it’s probably the latter,” she smiled, bemused. “But you… aging looks good on you, beloved,” she says now, a finger tracing the lines etched across his forehead, the corners of his eyes, and now his lips as he smiled in return.

”That’s a funny way to say that you find this new look attractive,” a laugh bubbled out of her and his smile grew. “I have eyes, and I know what that look means.”

“Alright, humor me. What does it mean?”

“It means that you have a terrible crush on me.”

Talia laughed again and his heart felt so full he could’ve passed out. “A terrible crush!” She repeated, sheer amusement coloring her voice. “We have a child together.”

“We do,” he smiled fondly, staring at her before pressing a quick kiss to her cheek, “and… you’re not denying it.”

”It is, unfortunately, true,” he began to laugh and she couldn’t help but feel mildly flustered, which was ridiculous, since they were both already unclothed while pressing against each other.

“I wanted to say, earlier, that it looks good on you too,” he tells her, leaning up to lower a kiss to her lips. His hand traced the frame of her face, taking a handful of her hair. He takes the time to observe her, so graceful and captivating, the light of his life. “Aging, I mean. You’ve gotten even more beautiful, especially with these silvers.”

“Careful, Mr. Wayne,” she hummed pleasantly, smiling as he kisses up her neck. “You’re tempting me so quickly it’s unbecoming.”

“You’re going to try prohibiting a man from complimenting his woman?”

Her smile spread ever wider, not denying him, and he knew he’s got her again. Bruce breathed her in, nose pressed onto her neck as he held her closer. “It would’ve been a dream, Talia,” he murmured to her skin now, “to grow old with you.”

Talia breathed in sharply, tilting his face up as she held his jaw. Her fingers traced over his cheekbones, touching his eyelashes and eyebrows gently. “It would’ve,” she simply agreed, all of her yearning laid out in the open to join his.

He watched her in silence for a moment before leaning up and close. “Come here,” he murmured softly before kissing her.

She smiled onto the kiss, raising her hands to sink into his hair as she returns it. He sighed into her mouth, moving his hands up to cup her cheeks.

“I love you,” he tells her again, for saying it a thousand times wouldn’t lessen how much he means every word. “Talia, truly. I do. I wouldn’t be here if not because of you. I wouldn’t have wanted this with anyone else. Only you.”

She kissed him in response, humming against his lips. “I know, beloved,” she whispered.

His eyes traced her lips before returning to the rich green of her eyes. So in love it pained him. “Do you?”

“Only because I feel the same way for you,” she tells him steadily. Her soft heart worn on her sleeves now, only for him to see. “There is no one else I’d do this with except you, Bruce. When we met, you gave me a new meaning to the cause I’ve been brought up to fight for. I love you very much. I’ve known it even before I knew what the word truly meant.”

The hand he had on her stomach moved to cup her cheeks before he kissed her deeply, overwhelmed by her unadulterated affection. Felt her love wash him clean, anew. The warmth of her body in his arms, holding him wholly, so tightly that for a moment he had forgotten how it felt to be broken apart, to be damaged at all. Couldn’t have been when she loves him so.

Talia allowed him to part her lips with his tongue, drinking more of him in, basking the way it feels to be held and wanted and loved by him. He’s insatiable, seeking more and more of her, wide strong hands roaming all over the lean corded muscles of her body. This time resisting wasn’t even worth considering.

"I want you, baby," he says, aching with desire. “Let me show you how much. I need you to let me, Talia. I need you.”

Her body came back to life as he pulled her closer, kissing her better. His knees prodded to her thigh, opening her legs up before they press onto where she was soaked. “So soon?” She murmured to his mouth.

“Not even nearly soon enough,” he says in return. “I can never get enough of you.”

At the first groan that came out his mouth, moments from an hour earlier flooded her. All the ways their sweat-glazed limbs had tangled with each other. All the ways his mouth had hungrily pressed upon her body. All the ways her nails had run down his skin. The images ran through her mind in a supercut. It’ll be this way for a while, she thinks. But she still has him now. Outside, the world is still and quiet. The moon still reigns over the sun. They still have time. To give him what he needs, she thinks. To be the only one who can give him that. It made her feel heady.

“Then make love to me again, Bruce,” she asked him softly, her hips already moving onto him slowly, “I’m all yours.” He simply nodded.

That familiar thrill again, running through her. It didn’t take long before he was all over her again, touching her in all the right places as their breathing grew heavier and shorter. Bruce could feel it, the slickness of his earlier release and hers, mixed and welled inside her as he slipped a finger inside. It does something to him; knowing she’s filled with him and still wanted more.

Talia felt him slowly hardening as he lay onto her, capturing her lips, hands all over her back, grasping the ends of her hair in desperation. He slowly eased into her once again, earning a loud moan out of her while his was muffled against her chest. It felt so right, having him within. He takes a nipple into his mouth, sucking as she throws her head back, moving faster onto him while he grabs her hips.

His lips were hot against her collarbones she clenched around him. “Fuck. Oh God,” Bruce cried out, every inch of his skin singing back to life with her touch. “Kiss me, sweetheart. Please.”

Talia didn’t need to hear him ask again, tipping his face up before kissing him deeply, humming into the kiss before she moaned as he met her thrusts. “Beloved…” she whimpered, tightening once more.

Bruce groaned, touching her cheek. His hands grip her jaw before a thumb prods onto her soft lips, damp mouth parting as she sucked the finger into her mouth. He exhaled sharply at the feel of her wet tongue resting beneath his thumb. Eyes grew darker as he tugged her forward, kissing her so deeply she thinks it must’ve bruised.

“Say that again, baby,” he groaned to her mouth, broad hands lining the sides of her body.

“Beloved,” she drew out the words before pressing another kiss. “My beloved.”

His hold over her thighs tightened with just enough pressure as he snapped his hips, stretching her apart until he’s bottomed out within her, so deep and tight he could’ve seen God. “Yes. Say my name,” he tells her now, need pressing onto him, teeth grazing her lips.

“Bruce,” she moaned so sweetly. He groaned out loud. How generous she is with him, how very good of her to say his name so affectionately. He didn’t know it was possible to get addicted to a sound until now. She could see how much he enjoyed that; could feel it inside her body. He clenched a fist onto her hair and yanked it back just enough so that she’d see the way his lips parted as he panted heavily, dark eyes watching her with an intensity that could light up a city. So she said it again, this time while maintaining her gaze in his eyes. He folded thoroughly, murmuring a curse before licking her lips and kissing her again, ravenous and demanding, tongue prodding the walls of her mouth, savoring every bit of taste he gets. She has him wrapped around her fingers.

”Tell me again,” he pleaded then, “how much you love me. I want to hear you say it again.”

“I love you very much,” she tells him, their lips brushing against each other as she spoke. “I love you.”

He kissed her so deeply then that he felt faint. “You’re mine,” she murmured against his lips, fingers tightly wounded to strands of his hair. He knew she could feel the way his skin tingled from the simple words. “Tell me that you’re mine, Bruce.”

“Yes, I am. Yours,” he whimpered, bowing to her power, hips stuttering just from her staking claim on him. Sees again the faint purple bruise at the base of her neck and felt desire seeping past his skin, fingers coiling into her hair. Wonders if she could see it then, how much he yearned to be hers. He’s helpless and he wouldn’t want it any other way. “Always. You’ll be the death of me, Talia. I love you, completely. You have no idea… no idea, beloved.”

Oh, she had some ideas. She clenched around him and he nearly choked on air, a stuttered groan escaping his throat. She laid a hand to her lower belly and he might as well have lost his mind, thrusting deep knowing she’d feel it there. It earned a hard gasp out of her, glimmering eyes looking up at him with so much love and happiness and desire that he wished he could spend the rest of his life this way. They both knew then that he’s not going to last long for this round, especially with this pace. She doesn’t mind. In fact, he knew it aroused her even more, to see how worked out he is just from wanting her.

He cradled the back of her head as he deepened their kiss greedily. When she moaned, pride burned inside him, to know that he drew out these sounds from her lips. He felt nothing short of blessed to know that she willingly surrendered enough power and control to let him pleasure her. To know he has this beautiful, strong woman whimpering his name and professing her love for him as he moved within, nearly inaudible words of affection tumbling out of his own lips while her warmth tightened so exquisitely around him, deep inside her.

He had never in his life made light work out of making love to Talia al Ghul. He had thanked entities he doesn't even believe in for each time he gets to hold her like this. Her body, the altar on which he kneels to submit to his faith; the sweet high whines falling out of her lips as he makes love to her his own personal gospel. He only believes in a higher power because she exists and so this much devotion only makes sense when it is for her. It’s incomprehensible, almost maddening, and well truly beyond him, how much he wants her even now when they couldn’t possibly physically be even closer. How did he live so long without her? How will he live without her now, after all this passes?

After they made love for the second time that night, her hands remained pressed onto his cheeks. She’s still panting softly as he tucked a stray hair behind her ear, breathing heavily himself.

“I miss you already,” she managed to whisper, her hand caressing his face, threading his hair gently. Her voice so soft and small he could’ve forgotten that she was crying out his name while scraping her nails down his back just moments ago.

Their lips brushed as he spoke in return, voice hoarse from all his repeated prostrations of love and devotion earlier, murmured in between whimpers of pleasure and desire. “I miss you too, my love.”

They had rested for enough time that she had begun to wonder if this night with him would be worth the ache she would have to live with in the future. He lifted his eyes to meet hers, and she already knew the answer; of course it would.

Time and time again she asked herself if she’d change anything of their past if given the chance, and with each instance, she’s even more sure that she wouldn’t. She’d choose this, again and again. Even if it’s just to be touched by him this way. She’d choose him. Their marriage. Their endless separation. She’d choose Damian. Her love and loss. She’d choose the pain of losing them.

Fully present again now, she says to him: “I think I’d miss you even if we never met."

His eyes softened. Intimacy beyond any conceivable language. The way he kissed her in response was more of a reply than anything he could've voiced. "Let me hold you before I leave,” Bruce murmured afterward.

This time, it was she who answered with a kiss. It lingered, the weight of her lips pressing against him. He wants it to haunt him when he leaves at dawn.

He tucked her close, inhaling her deep enough so that her scent might stay in his system as long as he wants it to. Jasmine and rose of Taif running in his blood stream. “Sometimes I dream of staying with you,” he confessed to the dark. “I dream of making you happy. Sometimes I think I can contend with the thought of that being the only thing I want to do with my life.”

Talia breathed in deeply. “Sometimes I dream of leaving with you,” she murmured, her words muffled against his chest, holding tighter onto him. She could feel the curve of his smile as he lowered a kiss to her hair. She is cherished, here in his arms, submerged in his love. “We would’ve been happy together. I know you would’ve made me, as I am now. I think I would’ve done the same for you.”

“You would’ve,” he tells her. “You already are. Now, tomorrow, always.”

”It still won’t be enough.”

“It won’t,” he agrees quietly, closing his eyes. “I wish it didn’t have to be that way.”

She kissed his chest absentmindedly. “I do too,” Talia says, softly. Sadly. “And yet it is. But we’ll be okay, Bruce. I want to believe that we’ll be.”

Smoothing down her hair, he gave another kiss while humming in agreement. “Then we will, beloved,” Bruce says.

Tomorrow would come, inevitably. Bruce tries to keep his mind away from the quiet goodbye he'd already rehearsed in his mind for the past few minutes. This night was the longest time in a long while that he didn’t feel the itch to hide himself behind the cape and the cowl in the dark. Didn’t even have a single thought about it. He was thankful for it; for her. Always have been. Always will be. This has always been the singular reprieve only Talia could grant to him.

With her, there was never any need to perform. Not as Batman. Not even as Bruce Wayne. She had admired him even before she’d found out who he truly was all those years ago. Seen him for who he was, stripped of all he had put up to shroud his soul. He was always just Bruce in her gaze. And, despite struggling to understand why, she loves him for just that. Being himself. Even the parts he tried hiding away; the parts he wanted to leave behind, buried in the past. All the hurt she had seen and endured for. So many things he had done to try and be someone deserving of it all only for him to eventually see that, for her, every thing that made him who he was, ugly or not, was worthy of love.

There’s so few in the world that could surprise him, and yet she does it time and time again, even when she hadn’t been in his life for so long. She hadn't known that the first time they met, she was saving him as much as he was saving her.

He kept his eyes on her, burning everything into memory. The way her lashes fanned against her cheek. The faint part of her lips as she lay at ease. The way her cheeks press onto his shoulder, breath warm as it blows to his collarbones. The way her hair spilled across his arm onto the pillow in careless waves. A sight he'd dream into sleep those first few years after their separation, and the reason why he found it so hard to sleep on his own, without her, for so long. Now, everything about her nearness overwhelmed him. Her simple existence a balm to all his aching, the light of his life. Mine, he thought helplessly, gentle thumb tracing over her lips and nose. So easy to forget how hard and painful all of this was when he’s holding her this way.

This would be the image he'd see behind his eyelids as he lays in bed at night. Often, his most illicit, clandestine dreams would just be of her. In quiet and shadows, the sweet gentle rhythm of her breath. The tangible weight and warmth of her living body resting against him, his own sacred joy and treasure. Soft and unguarded in his arms—vulnerable, serene, unreachable. Never his to keep; never for long, at least. She's meant for something more.

Some more whispers of affection and fondness filled the silence before eventually, Talia's breathing is reduced to a soft blow brushing the space between them as she drifts away listening to his steady heartbeat. Please don’t ask me to leave. She surrendered herself to sleep praying that he’d have it in him to be the one who leaves without her needing to make him do it, this time. She’d done enough of that to last both of them a lifetime of heartbreak.

In her sleep, Talia dreams of warmth. Warmth in her kitchen. Warmth in her bedroom. Warmth in her house. Warmth in her life—her self. Bruce was there, lowering soft kisses along her shoulder, then to her cheeks, her forehead, and finally onto her lips. He was the reason why.

“Talia,” he called, the softest she’d ever heard his voice. She loves how her name sounded on his lips. “It’s time for me to go.”

Was this still a dream?

She touched his face. “I’ll miss you when you’re gone.”

“Ask me to stay, and I will,” he says, grasping her hand to kiss her open palm.

A sad smile stretched upon her lips. “Ask me to leave with you, and I will,” she echoed, the same offering she had once given him years ago.

The ache pulsed between them. “I love you too much to ask that of you,” he says. Something both of them already know.

“And I won’t forgive myself if you do stay,” Talia murmured in response, her heart breaking all over again. “I won’t forgive you.”

He smiled sadly, overcome with how much he adored her. “At least between all things, that will never change,” he says.

“Go on, now,” she tells him. “For both of our sakes.”

He squeezed her hands, bringing her into his arms as he kissed her hair, inhaling deeply. “Give our baby a hug for me,” she murmured to his chest. “Don’t forget your promise.”

“Of course, beloved,” he smoothed over her hair quietly. “You know how to reach me. Both of us.”

Her eyes prickled from the gentle reminder, the unspoken offer she could never take. She nods anyway. “Take care,” she tells him, meaning every word. “Be safe.”

“With your eyes on our every movement? We’ll be very safe.”

She couldn’t help the gust of laughter that escaped her. It’s very rare to hear Bruce make jokes.

He takes her unguarded stance to his advantage, tilting her chin up to kiss her. “We’ll be safe. I already broke a promise to you, once. I will spend the rest of my life keeping this one.”

Her face crumpled. Talia briefly thinks that she had never been so in love, but she’d be wrong. This was always how it was with Bruce. Why or how, she had stopped wondering. It has been a wonder at all that he'd found her, and she, him. A wonder to inhabit this world the same time the other did, and however temporarily, to inhabit this world completely together as one. To love each other the way they do. Unconditionally, without much sense at all, though it has always felt as natural as it is with breathing. She couldn’t remember how life was without him before even if she tried hard enough. Wasn’t even sure if she wanted to remember such times.

“I love you, Bruce,” she says then, the words stumbling out of her without any further thought.

He kissed her again, once, then twice. Each had felt like absolution. For the second time now, Talia has changed his life. Bruce was only able to hold steadfast because he carried the strength of her love and belief, for him and for their son. This pain, too, was for their small family. There’s no cost he wouldn’t pay for the joy of having their love in his life, in whatever form it will take in the future, to change and sharpen him to become the man they believed him to be.

”I love you too,” he tells her, leaning his forehead onto hers. “Never forget that. You are the love of my life, Talia. Always, completely.”

When she opened her eyes, she couldn’t see anything but emptiness.

In the morning, when she woke up alone in her cold bed, Talia smiled at the empty space next to her. She touched the sheets gingerly, letting her hand linger where his body had rested the night before. Eventually, she gathered herself together, pulling on her night robe as she stood. At the first staggered step she took, the awareness of how much strain she’d put her body on last night suddenly crashed into her. It took her nearly a full minute to get used to the pleasing soreness wrecking her body. When she eventually sat down on her vanity table, her eyes caught on a note folded neatly sitting on it. A note not unlike the ones she kept in a box hidden underneath the crooked floorboard below her bed, back at home.

Take care, beloved. Be well. Yours, always. The note reads. No signature. Just his handwriting. So simple and yet the weight of it could substitute the kiss he pressed onto her skin before he left earlier at dawn. Talia allowed herself to trace the curves once more. She thinks about him, the emptiness in her room. She thinks of him the night before, heat pressed onto her skin, affection coiled around her soul, deep inside her, calling for God. Catches sight of the faint purple blotch on the base of her throat now, remembering all of it to be true. Yours, always. It dawned on her then, that it was truly time for her to leave this behind. The second time she had to reckon with this exact realization, and it still doesn’t dull away the pain. Yet, she wouldn’t have it any other way.

He is where he was meant to be, with their son, leading a life with someone who’d cherish him in all the ways she couldn’t, in the city he loves more than he should. And she would quickly return to where she was meant to be, with her father, working towards something she believed in more than she should. But they dared to cling to their convictions anyway, each in their own way.

She met her gaze in the mirror, staring steadily into her reflection. Whatever Bruce Wayne saw in this same image, he had loved—he loves still. It doesn’t change anything, of course. After all, that had been what she told him last night. But then she saw flickers of their son, that same emerald gaze the two of them share looking right back at her. It doesn’t change anything, but she knows now that it will still be there anyway, belonging to her, and there it will remain. The heart beating outside her body. 

Talia remembers how terrified she’d been, the first time she held Damian in her arms. The deep ache her body had suffered from the demands of childbirth and sleepless nights before that day had evaporated the moment she lowered her lips to kiss her baby. How terrified she still is, now, whenever she thinks of him. All because she had allowed herself to love her beautiful little boy. Everything in her life suddenly became crystal clear in her eyes with his presence. Their son changed her life. Damian was, and still is, the best thing that ever happened to her. And she'd forever love Bruce all the more, for it was only because of him and his love for her that their son is now safe. That he exists at all.

It was because of her boy that she would no longer try to find satisfaction in living a life under the shadow of her father, suffocating under the weight of his expectations, yearning for his rare, conditional praises. She could no longer spend her life walking a tightrope, fearing the fall, finding justification for it. Ra’s al Ghul loves her, she knows this. She had never blamed him for doing the best he knew by his daughter. But the moment she watched newborn Damian’s tiny chest rising and falling in the soft glow of the nursery lamp, she understood that love had to be more than provision or discipline.

A child has to be more than a reflection of a parent’s fears, failures, and ambitions. She swore right then and there that the invisible scars she still carried from her past wouldn’t bleed and stain her son. It would end with her. The pain of her childhood and upbringing had always felt too heavy to comprehend until then. The woman reflected in the mirror now is defined by something else. Something new. Something better. Something entirely hers. She’s yet to understand the extent of her strength, but what she understands beyond any shadow of a doubt is that there is nothing she wouldn’t do for her son.

There’s a part of her still struggling to grasp just how much she’s forfeiting by letting him go. She would never see him grow into the fighter he was born to be. Taller, stronger, his eyes sharpened by training and experience. She liked to imagine he’d someday tower over her, not just in stature, but in legacy. She would never hear his voice deepen as it settled into the weight of command; fighting not for the League, not for her, not even for his father, but for himself. She would never be there to temper his rage when it outpaced his judgment, or to offer wisdom when his ideals collided with the world’s cruelty. She would never witness him struggle, stumble, and rise—choosing, day by day, what kind of man he wanted to become. Not a weapon, not a shadow, but a son. A protector. A legacy redefined.

But her dreams for him didn’t end there—and perhaps that’s what cut even deeper. She would never see him come home, not from a mission, but from school, grinning after falling in love for the first time. She would never comfort him through his first heartbreak, never remind him that pain, too, is part of life. She wanted more for him than the endless discipline of the blade, or the crushing weight of their lineage. Unlike her—born into a world where childhood was a battlefield and affection a weakness—she wished, quietly, selfishly, that he might have something gentler. That he might learn to fight not because he was forged to, but because he chose to protect what he loves. That he might grow not just into a man, but into a good one. Someone capable of caring not only for those he holds dear, but for himself, too.

This lonely longing will be all she had left of her boys; so be it. She will have to learn to live with it—the fact that she’d known a love like this and that the absence of it will be her eternal companion. She held on to Bruce's promise and thought of Damian by his side as he traipsed all over Gotham, finding a shared purpose in saving people, shaping the city to become a better place. Pride flared in her for both of them, thinking of all the love and happiness they’d share between them. She had done enough here; gave everything she could’ve to them. The few time she'd been given with both of them is worth several lifetimes. Now she too would learn to grow and make something out of herself.

Talia sensed the sunlight, radiant on the back of her shoulder. There, she felt their love keeping her still. She brushed away unshed tears, composure returning as she folded the paper before slipping it between her journal for safekeeping. Though most of her heart and strength may have been given away in pieces, safely kept by those she loves most, she held on to what she had left of herself; the source of it all. Talia al Ghul left Gotham City ready to weather more of the world’s pain, for she will always emerge as the stronger woman after that.