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It's 6 PM on the dot when Nick, her doorman, rings up and says she has a visitor.
Talia isn't expecting anyone, so she draws a knife from her armory and wraps her robe around herself tighter before she walks up to the buzzer. "Who is it?" she calls into the speaker.
"He introduced himself as Peter, ma'am. A Peter Myers. Said you'd know who that was."
Talia frowns. Peter Myers was the alias she had given Jason Todd, back when she was still playing it by the ear with her father, with Bruce, with Damian. And of course, with Jason himself. A lot has happened since then, and the name had receded to the back of her mind, much like the boy himself.
Of course, Talia has thought about him sometimes, the boy she had returned to Bruce, but not nearly as much as she should. The bleeding-hearted boy who would not be deterred, would not be denied his reckoning. In the end, her men told her he had crawled out of the ruins with blood, snot and tears streaming down his face, defeated.
The decision to deny him had never been hers after all.
"Ma'am," Nick says, hesitant, drawing Talia out of her thoughts. "I know it's not my place, but he looks—erratic. He's been shivering and talking to himself for the last five minutes. Are you sure I should let him in?"
Talia leans closer to the speaker. "Is he armed?"
"Not as far as I can tell."
Talia considers that for a moment. It is a very short moment.
"Send him up," she decides.
-
A few years ago, Talia would have told you with confidence that there was no man on earth more suited to be a father than Bruce Wayne. Not in competence, or in composure, but in heart. Children had been Bruce's soft spot for as long as Talia could remember, a result, perhaps, of having lost his own childhood so early on in his life. But the very thing that made him suited for love made him susceptible to weakness.
The Batman could not afford a weakness. It was the reason she had sent him packing—and sent her heart with him, all those years ago.
It's become increasingly clear off-late, however, that the past has a habit of returning. In more ways than one.
"I-I'm sorry," Jason says, his teeth chattering. "I didn't know where else to go."
Talia ushers the boy in and scans him with a critical gaze. There are no physical signs of injury on him, beyond old scars and bruises that are fading. Without his usual weaponry, he seems vulnerable. Should a passerby see him, they would mistake him for a mere college student, albeit an athletic one.
Up close, however, Talia can see the signs. The dilated pupils, the sweaty, matted hair sticking to his forehead. He's clutching one arm with his hand, like he's hurt, but Talia is unable to spot any obvious sources of discomfort.
"Jason?" she probes.
"It-It's that fear gas," he stutters. "I tried to c-check out the a-apartment he g-got for me, but I guess s-something flew by and..."
Talia sits him down. Brews him a cup of tea. After a quick sweep by the windows to make sure he hasn't been followed, she sits back down, holds his hand and allows him to breathe.
A long time ago, her beloved had told her of a man in Gotham City who used his intellect to drive fear into the hearts of men. Talia had hardly had to point out the irony.
"I use fear as a tool against those who wreak havoc in the city," Bruce had defended. "Scarecrow uses it as a weapon on the innocent."
Listening to Jason now, Talia wonders which side of the spectrum Bruce had categorized his own actions into—the tool, or the weapon? The boy trembles like an animal, like the lambs her father's men would feed to their pet tigers. To say nothing of his innocence or his supposed havoc. A curse upon this world, Ra's had called him. All Talia can see now—even years later—is a boy, lost with nowhere to go. Yet again.
"Jason," Talia says. "I think you should start from the beginning."
-
There had been a war in Gotham, of sorts. A foolish, ill-advised war for control over the city's criminal element. In Batman's summation of the matter, Jason had chosen the wrong side.
"No more Red Hood, he said," Jason had spat bitterly the night before, after he'd finally stopped shaking.
Talia had silently agreed with Bruce's assessment, if not his methods or his reasons. Jason's current predicament is far from what she had desired for him too, back when she had bathed him in the Lazarus Pit.
Desiring a better future is one thing. Forcing one's hand into it is an egregious violation Talia hadn't thought Bruce to be capable of. Last night, Talia had sat on her couch for a long time after Jason had gone to sleep, shaking, much like Jason had. If Jason wasn't here, in need, Talia would have driven to Gotham herself to have a word with this new man her beloved had become. What little Jason had explained to her about Vandal Savage or Zur-En-Arrh's involvement did not matter.
But with Jason compromised, Talia's hands are tied. The slightest suggestion of adrenaline could be dangerous for him. The fact that he ventured out of Gotham and arrived in Metropolis without succumbing to a heart attack is a miracle. Or, perhaps, a testament to the boy's bravery. Talia hasn't known Jason Todd his whole life, but she has hardly known him to be cowardly.
"Morning, T."
Talia looks up from her phone and catches Jason in the hallway, rubbing one hand across his neck sheepishly.
"Good morning, Jason." She sets her phone aside. "You seem to be in better spirits."
"Yeah," he scoffs. "Guess the gas subsided eventually, but. It'll be back."
Talia frowns. She's not entirely sure what the components of Jason's failsafe are, but addressing the issue is imminent. Imaging tests will be necessary, as will blood and urine samples. There are a few contacts from medical school she still keeps in touch with, an expert neurosurgeon one among them. With enough hours and dollars, she's almost certain she can find a treatment—as long as her beloved hasn't already foreseen the possibility and constructed a contingency, that is.
Talia sighs and stands up. "Are you hungry?"
"Relax." Jason shoos her, heading into the kitchen. "I can handle breakfast, since. You know. You let me stay here."
"Is that safe?" Talia asks dubiously.
"An open fire and a butter knife aren't going to kill me, Talia," Jason mumbles, searching around her kitchen for pots and pans to house the carton of eggs he pulls out of the fridge. Talia seldom cooks, but her fridge is usually stocked on account of raising an adolescent boy who deigns to visit her every now and then. She lets Jason poke around the kitchen, opting to head to the showers instead.
By the time she returns, the breakfast table has completely transformed, two plates of omelettes waiting for them. Jason sits on one side, and when she wanders into view, he beckons for her to join him.
"That smells lovely," Talia notes, pleased.
Jason's expressions shift into surprise, and then he smiles. "Yeah. I wasn't sure if you were a vegetarian too, since you know...with Damian..."
"I am too fond of red meat to give it up, but I usually forego it for breakfast," Talia assures him.
Jason looks relieved. Throughout breakfast, she catches him sparing glimpses around her apartment, evidently curious. Of course. Talia has never invited him here before, even if knowledge of her current base is fairly widespread to those within her trusted networks. After a lifetime of anonymity, discretion and constant travel, one of the first things she had decided was that her Metropolis home would be decidedly—and loudly—hers.
Talia looks around the apartment now and tries to see what he sees, this unfamiliar woman who only ever made herself known to him during the horrors of his re-awakening. What does he conclude, she wonders. What parts of herself does her home give away?
"It's nice," he says, after a while, gesturing around them with his fork. "I didn't know you, uh..."
Talia smiles. "Live in a regular house, just like everyone else?"
Jason shakes his head, but he's smiling too. "I mean, can you blame me? Long as I've known you, you've always been that cool, mysterious, badass lady, strutting up and down places most people could never afford."
Talia's smile turns sly. "Is my apartment not reflective of that aesthetic?"
Jason laughs. "Nah. This," he says. "This is homely. I like it." He hesitates for a moment, his face soft with a kind of uncertainty he has always tried very hard to hide but isn't very good at hiding. "It's good to see you, T."
Talia gently curls a hand around his wrist. "Likewise, Jason."
Jason nods, lowering his head to avoid eye contact. A pang of sympathy strikes Talia. No words are needed for her to understand the terror, the betrayal of trust he's endured in the last few weeks. She's surprised he even came to her. He had certainly seen through her poorly-thought-out efforts to stall him, back when he was still planning his homecoming. But for him to bear no ill-will towards her, none at all...
Talia isn't sure if he's just naive or deeply lonely.
"We must figure out how to disable your failsafe—and soon," she decides, letting go of his hand. "You have miraculously survived this long, but I do not trust your foolhardy courage to carry you all the way through."
"You think that wasn't the first thing I thought of, after I woke up?" Jason's face suddenly darkens. "Batman's a fucking control freak, Talia. You try and rewire my brain, he's going to have a plan in place for that."
"I am aware," Talia tells him. "Which is why he will have to answer to me if he gets in my way."
To her dismay, this does not seem to inspire confidence in Jason.
"I didn't come here to get in between the two of you. Trust me, I've had enough of being played like a hot potato between Bruce and his exes," he confesses harshly, then reigns himself in with a shake of his head, his eyes wet with tears when he looks up at her. "I came here because I wanted—I wanted to see for myself y'know? The life that Bruce thought was oh-so-better for me." His eyes crease with hurt. "You know what it is? It's a two bedroom apartment in a neighborhood I've never been to in my life, hundreds of miles from my city, from my home. From—" His voice cracks, but he manages to spit out a broken, "From him."
"Jason..."
"Look," Jason says, voice hardening again, "I know I've done my fair share of shit, okay? But I've worked just as hard to play by his rules, too. I took all of this pain, this hurt, and I buried it so we could try to be a version of us I could recognize again. And you know what I realized? That version is dead. Not because of me and what I became, but because of him."
Talia curls her fingers into a fist. She knows she must be the placating, responsible adult here—that Jason is in a lot of pain—but his words strike her as so deeply familiar that she can't help but stroke his hair. He deflates, then gives into her touch.
"Would it be so bad?" she asks, after a long moment of silence.
"What?"
"Starting afresh," Talia says. "Starting over."
"Not you too," Jason groans, pulling away.
"Not for him," Talia interrupts him, careful to maintain the gentleness of her tone. "For yourself."
"Gotham is home," Jason says. "You know that's never going to change for me."
Talia suppresses her annoyance, though she must admit, it takes a valiant effort. Bruce and Jason's apparent love for Gotham is not a sentiment she has ever shared, not in the parochial sense, at least. Talent, intelligence, grit...these are traits that the world at large could benefit from, but to men like Bruce and Jason, Gotham is the world. No amount of training or distraction could have ever lured Jason away from what he believed was his rightful return, and no amount of love could have ever lured the Batman into making his mission a global enterprise. They had failed—both she and her father—in that regard. Talia knows the adage about frogs and their wells.
"Well," she says, standing up to clear their plates. "If it's not a cure you're seeking, I'm not sure what you want me to do. You have already ruled out any possibilities of me getting into a fight with your father."
"As fun as that would be to witness, I think I'd really just rather stay here for a few days and kick my feet up for a bit. Just until I come down again," he says, staring at her, waiting for the slightest give in her expression, the slightest rejection. "Is that okay?"
Even with the wariness in his tone, it almost sounds like he's pleading. Talia swallows her surprise and sets the plates down carefully. Ever-so-carefully.
"Yes, Jason." She turns over her shoulder to glance at him. "That should be perfectly fine."
His expression clears into relief.
-
When Jason had knocked on Talia Al Ghul's door of all places, he had mostly been expecting a throwaway safe house, not a lived-in penthouse apartment that seems more suited to a city bachelorette than one of the most dangerous women in the world.
Of course, he's seen an armory tucked behind a vault in her study somewhere, but beyond that practical necessity, Talia's house is extremely...personal. Lush plants, priceless artifacts and statuesque interiors are about the only dead giveaways that this house belongs to an Al Ghul. The doorman is most likely ex-military, but apart from him, there aren't any reinforcements or fly-on-the-wall attendants like Jason had been expecting. Either Ra's cut her off, or this is a choice.
The longer Jason stays at the penthouse, the more he realizes it's the latter. Jason's not sure where father and daughter are at these days, but Talia makes no mention of Ra's, nor does she step out on errands at his behest. Which is not to say she isn't busy. Jason has caught her on more than one occasion with a laptop propped up or a phone by her ear, but the directives aren't so much a 'bring his head to me' or a 'finish him.' It's all talk about contracts and conferences, and (likely) some subtle corporate espionage. She doesn't even seem bothered about Jason overhearing her. The first few days, Jason told himself not to trust it. That he was weak for going to her. That in all likelihood, this 'house' could be a ruse, a distraction Talia was using to lull him into a false sense of security while she and daddy dearest co-conspired to put him and his dad's heads on a pike.
But Talia had never harmed him in any way, and the only person who had conspired against him had been Bruce, so it's obvious he doesn't have the greatest judgment. Now, Jason is used to her smooth, indistinct voice in the other room while he inspects her mini-library, like they're in some weird, twilight zone where neither of their dads exist and the only problem they have is deciding what to eat. Talia hardly ever cooks or cleans, relying on a rotating door of staff who only arrive whenever she decides the house needs going over.
It's not a vibe Jason had ever associated with her. The Talia of Ra's was prim, upright, ahead of everything and ruthlessly calculative. Here, she's kind of a slob. Most of the time, Jason catches her lounging on her sofa, reading a book or drinking a glass of wine, spine loose and curled, head propped up on her hand. She wears sweats. The day Jason had arrived, there had been takeout boxes in the garbage. Talia al Ghul. Eating takeout. He would have definitely chalked it up to a fear gas hallucination, had it not been for the extreme calm he felt, walking around a normal-person-apartment in a normal-person-neighborhood.
Normal by their standards, anyway.
In any case, the more Jason thinks about it, the more he realizes he knows very little about Talia. His trust of her is more instinctual than anything else, a certain softness that's remained from their days together at the League. He knows Talia's loyalty is first and foremost to Bruce, that Jason's return home was likely delayed by her feelings for him. But he was using her too, and she's certainly never held that against him, so it's all water under the bridge where he's concerned. Besides, she's always opened her doors to him without reluctance or conditions, no matter how long it's been since they've last spoken. There aren't a lot of people he can say that about, so he's decided it won't kill him to slow down and show a little faith.
(Probably).
On the fourth day Jason is here, the doorbell rings, and his adrenaline spikes just a little. He's so startled by it—had almost forgotten about the failsafe, even—that his breath starts to stutter.
Talia notices instantly and gestures at him to relax.
"Relax, my darling," she insists, when the edges of his vision begin to turn green, her hands firm on his curled wrists. "There is no danger here. It is very likely someone I am expecting that I have forgotten to mention. Nick?" she calls.
"Rei Sayu, here for your weekly Japanese lessons, ma'am," Nick's voice arrives, tinny and metallic through the box.
Jason feels his brows lift sky-high.
"Allow her up, please!" Talia instructs, still sitting by Jason, still holding his wrists. When she turns to him, her eyes go soft with concern. "Are you alright?"
Jason nods jerkily, then forces his tongue to roll long enough to ask: "Japanese tutor?"
Talia shifts, a bit self-conscious as she tucks hair behind her ear. "Yes. Damian has taken an interest in manga lately. I believed I could understand his fascination by reading the works in their original language."
Numb as his tongue is, Jason feels his mouth fill with a small smile. "Cute."
Talia snorts and pats his knee before getting up to get the door.
Talia is not what you'd call a typical mother, and Jason suspects that her relationship with Damian is hardly normal fare, but envy and longing rush through him with a fierce force anyway. He fights it down in favor of heading to the guest room.
"Sayu-sensei!" he hears her greet, high and delighted. The rest is in Japanese, the instructor's fluent and Talia's somewhere near it. It's an uncharitable thought and one he's had before, but Jason wonders if Damian knows how lucky he is—that he could be the worst version of himself and still have a place to call home.
-
The next day, they decide to eat in. Talia calls her cook over, a round-faced girl around Jason's age named Fatiha, who does a bad job at concealing her curiosity as to who he could be. Jason just awkwardly lingers in the background while she and Talia make small talk about the Metropolis traffic and weather and what ingredients Talia has in her fridge.
"Oh!" Talia says suddenly, one hand coming up to rest on Jason's back. "Forgive my manners. This is Jason. My," she pauses delicately, "step-son."
Jason tries not to stare at Talia in shock or glare at the Meteors hoodie Fatiha is wearing over her hijab. He nods lamely. "Sup."
Fatiha's mouth falls open. "Step-son?!" She stares back and forth between Talia and Jason like they've got two heads each. "No offense, Miss Head, but you do not look old enough to have a step-son his age, what the hell! I thought you were single!" Her tone sounds slightly resentful.
Talia laughs. "Why, thank you, darling. And no, Jason's father and I are no longer together. He's just here for a visit."
"Oh, where from?" Fatiha gives him a sidelong glance.
"Gotham," Jason mutters, arms crossed.
"No wonder you were giving me the stink eye. How does it feel to be from a 3-time World Series losing city?"
Jason rolls his eyes. "We'll get you back for that next year."
Fatiha snorts loudly in disbelief. Jason decides he likes her.
"Fatiha's family is from Indonesia," Talia tells him, later that afternoon, when they sit down together for lunch. "She has a younger brother around Damian's age." Her voice grows soft, almost wistful.
"She seems nice," Jason says, then gestures to the kheer they're having for dessert. "Great cook."
"Yes. I do quite adore her cooking," Talia says.
"No filter, though."
Talia inclines her head in agreement. "That is to be expected. People in Metropolis are rather...genial."
"See, in Gotham, we just hold you at knife point," Jason says fondly. "Isn't that nice? No wonder we're always losing the World Series." He points at Talia in warning. "Don't tell Fatiha I said that."
"You are too old to lose sleep over a sports game you did not play." Talia pats his hand down in gentle rebuke. Jason wonders if she knows her ex-boyfriend is just as much of a delusional Knights fan as he is.
Ex-husband, his brain prompts. Of course. That had happened, for a brief period of time. Talia had introduced Jason as her step-son, and technically, by a very loose definition, that is what he is to her, but he's fairly certain they've never thought of each other in those terms before. More than that is Fatiha's assessment of Talia—not old enough. Here, in Metropolis, with no bodyguards, no assistants, no overpowered assassins around her, Talia seems awfully young all of a sudden. He pictures her out and about in the city all by herself, a Kors shopping bag over her shoulder, and it startles him. It's stupid, but for the first time since they've known each other, he realizes that she can't be a lot older than Dick is. And Dick isn't even old. Not old old. Not Bruce old.
Jason suddenly feels uncomfortable.
Talia gives him a strange look. "Is something the matter?"
"Nah, I just." Something strangles his voice, renders him quiet. He thinks back to those days in the League, the days when her hand gently stroked his head or her voice quietly soothed his ears. He doesn't remember much of what they said to each other, just that she had been there, watching him, watching over him. She'd always seemed maternal to him back then, cunning and protective and overly anxious about his well-being. She'd also just been a girl.
"T," he says quietly. "I'm sorry."
Talia leans forward, eyes concerned. It's that maternal instinct again, the Talia who holds herself with authority and responsibility, even though Jason is nothing and no one to her, and she's a stranger to him. For a second, she reminds him of Bruce. The one who raised him. "Sorry? For what, Jason?"
He dares to look up at her smooth face, her graceful features. "I never said thank you. For...for looking out for me. I know you did it for him, but that doesn't mean I'm not grateful." He laughs harshly. "Don't get me wrong, there are definitely days where I wish you'd never brought me back, but. You did okay by me. All things considered."
Talia's expression morphs into a deep sadness. It's the first time they've openly discussed it, those days at Ra's palace, the days after. Had Talia not supported his goal and given him something to work towards, he's almost certain he would have walked right back into his grave and gotten in. No one has ever wanted him to live that badly before. Sometimes, Jason loves her for it.
"I am sorry as well," she says, her voice unexpectedly wounded. Jason perks up in surprise, but she shakes her head. "I think back to those days often, and I regret that I had not done more to help you. That I hadn't...reached out, after your return to Gotham."
A hard lump forms in Jason's throat. He fights the urge to swallow. "Wasn't your responsibility."
Talia makes a noncommittal noise, drawing absent patterns on the table cloth in front of her. "In truth, I had not expected your plan to work," she admits slowly. "I expected my beloved to win, not with his fists or his intellect, but with his love. That he would soften you, and you, him. I was certain that anything you had for him, he was prepared to handle."
Jason snorts derisively and looks at his own fingers. "I think you vastly overestimated how much he gives a shit about me."
Talia shakes her head again. "He has changed. Anyone who knew him back then knew how much he adored you. I was certain, I—" She breaks off. "When I found out my father had tracked Damian down, that he'd been keeping Damian from me, I was horrified. I had kept Damian out of sentiment when I found out I was pregnant, but in the end, I chose to give him away so he would not be raised into a soldier of either war—not your father's, nor mine." Her voice grows thick. "The most painful realization for a mother to have is that even the best intentions can be waylaid by fate." She cups Jason's cheek tenderly, her eyes glassy and wounded. "I know it is a feeble excuse, but I do hope you can forgive me, my darling. I had only ever wanted the best for you."
Jason kisses her hand. "Done."
Talia smiles, then leans forward and kisses the crown of his head before standing up. "You are a lovely boy. For whatever it was worth, I am glad our lives put us together."
"Yeah," Jason says hoarsely. "Me too."
Later that night, after a persistent bout of sleeplessness keeps him up, Jason wanders out to find Talia in the hall, listening to music at a low volume on her record player. A man is singing, his voice quaint and wavering in a language Jason vaguely recognizes as Urdu. Talia is holding a lit cigar and staring out the window, the band of it glinting in the low light. With her knees drawn to her chest and her feet resting on the table, she looks soft, faraway.
"Mind if I join you?" Jason gestures to the box.
Talia turns to him, surprised. "Jason. I was not aware that you smoke."
Jason sits down at the other side of the couch and throws an arm over its head. "Mostly just ciggies, when I was a kid. Bruce made me stop when I moved to the Manor, but I picked it back up recently to cope with the—" He gestures uselessly. "You know."
Talia pushes the box in his direction. "Suit yourself."
Jason grins and takes one, examining its shape between his fingers. "Definitely winning cool step-mom points for this."
Talia snorts and holds a hand out. "Here. Let me prepare it for you the right way."
Jason acquiesces, watching her cap the blunt edge off with the blade on her coffee table. She reaches for a lighter, a hot-pink little thing, and spreads the flame evenly, her face pursed in concentration. Jason wonders when she picked the habit up—if she used to sneak off away from Ra's as a teenager to try it. He's a little amused by the image, Ra's Al Ghul raising a moody teenage girl. When Talia hands it back to him, he mutters his thanks and holds it to his mouth, leaning forward so she can light the foot of it for him. A brief flame engulfs everything for a second, and then Jason leans back, cheeks hollow, dense flavor curling his tongue. It's an expensive smoke, the kind that warms your chest and soothes frayed nerves. Jason must not have realized until now just how many of those were frayed, because his entire body unwinds with the taste of it. He leans his head back on the couch and blows it out with a steady exhale.
"I didn't want anyone to reach the wrong conclusions about you," Talia says, after a while. "That is why I introduced you that way."
Jason closes his eyes. "Mm."
"Did it offend you?"
Jason opens his eyes and tilts his gaze at her. "Nah."
She leaves it be, satisfied, which is perfectly fine to Jason, too. He mostly just came here to sit around and smoke anyway. The song on the record player changes, its smooth swish almost hypnotic. It's a different song, but the singer is the same one as before. Jason doesn't understand the words, but Talia beats a rhythm with her hand against her thigh, eyes fond and full of nostalgia.
"This is a signed volume of Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan's greatest hits," she explains, noticing his unvoiced curiosity. "He was a maestro bar none, during the active years of his career," Her voice turns soft, smoke-wistful. "My father met him a long time ago, at an event somewhere in London. Listening to his music together was a great joy of ours. The signed copy was a gift, for my 14th birthday."
Jason thinks back to days at the Manor, collecting classics with Bruce and playing baseball in the hot summer sun. There was a time when Jason had considered killing Bruce—had honestly considered it with his whole heart. And then there are days where Jason remembers what it was like, being the center of his world for however brief a time. He's not sure if there's a middle ground for this kind of love.
"You ever miss your dad, T?" he asks, staring down at his cigar so Talia won't read him for filth—at least not through his face.
"Sometimes," Talia hums. She doesn't ask him if he misses Bruce. He's a little annoyed that he's that fucking obvious.
"How come you don't go running back every time you do?" he asks, trying to pass it off as a joke but unable to convey enough levity to be convincing.
Talia gives him a look full of fond and obvious sympathy. "My father is not your father," she says gently but firmly, refusing to talk in circles. "But I did run back quite often, as you probably know. Maybe more often than you would believe."
He's a literal control freak who couldn't ever love a kid the way they need it. What did you possibly run back for? Jason wants to accuse, a little startled by his own disbelief. But he knows the saying about pots and kettles, so he simply brings his cigar back up to his lips and waits for her wisdom. The last thing he wants is to have a he's different conversation—like some sort of walking stereotype.
"After I found out he had been keeping Damian from me, I knew my decision was made for me," Talia explains. "I'd lived in Metropolis before, back when I left my father for the first time. When I realized Damian had a friend here, that I could be close to him while still pursuing my own dreams and ambitions, it felt like a sign."
"Great," Jason says flatly. "So I have to wait for him to betray me in a horribly fucked up and irreversible way and hope it wakes me up enough to learn my lesson?"
If that's the case, then Jason has to wonder just what the hell is coming next, considering everything that's happened up to this point has already been—a lot.
"Coming from a lover of literature, that is a very unpoetic rephrasal, my darling," Talia teases, then rests her hand on her curled up fist, contemplative. "I cannot advise you on what to do with Bruce. I do not know if leaving him will make you any happier than fighting by his side, by his rules." A memory arrives, clear as day on the dim light of her face. "There was a time when I believed that I would rather die in the Batman's world than live in my father's."
Jason makes a face, even if he knows Bruce and Talia have historically had sappy-mushy feelings for each other and that he can't ignore it even if he wants to because those feelings resulted in him having a brother he hadn't even known about until a few years ago. Who happens to now live in the same city he does.
"You know you are like, way out of Bruce's league, right?" he says anyway.
Talia gives him an exasperated look. He smirks.
"In the end, I chose my own path," she continues, like Jason hadn't said anything. "I made my own world. Even if he has been resistant to the idea of it, I would like to believe that this is what every father would want for his child, eventually." She gives Jason a small smile. "It is what I want for my children, as well."
"Make your own world, huh," Jason echoes, swallowing.
Talia says nothing, lifting her cigar back to her mouth. Jason mimics her, deep in thought.
They release the smoke together.
-
In the morning, Talia catches Jason doing push-ups on one of her yoga mats, listening to chatter from—what sounds like—Gotham City's police radio.
She frowns in disapproval. "Jason."
Jason stares up at her, his eyes unfocused. Thick lines of sweat have already begun streaming down his forehead and onto his chest. His arms are trembling, but he holds himself with poise, a determined scowl on his face. It's a look Talia has seen on him before.
"What," he sulks. "This is good for me. Builds immunity to the gas." He lowers himself with a deep groan, then rises again. "Besides, I'm not doing it all in one go. I'm spacing the sets out. And you know what I've noticed?" He grins, his voice going breathy and ragged around the edges. "I'm holding up a lot better than I was last week."
Talia sighs. "As relieved as I am to hear that, you must know that your masochistic behavior greatly concerns me."
"I'm fine," Jason dismisses, then heads back into it. The radio says something about Batman, Robin and a thwarted bombing.
Talia spends the rest of the morning checking her emails, while Jason showers and returns to read a book. A text arrives from Damian, asking to meet for dinner tonight. Talia cancels a meeting she'd been meaning to attend and has her assistant block time for him instead, no interruptions. Another notification, this time from her stylist, piques her curiosity. It's an invite to a private viewing of dresses she'd expressed an interest in, open schedule. Talia's fingers hover over the mousepad, uncertain of when she'd find the time.
"Phew," Jason says, startling her. "Are those yours?"
Talia murmurs curiously, then follows his gaze back to her laptop screen, where a stunning series of gowns and dresses stare back at them.
"Yes," she says, with a little delight. "I had these designed with Oscar de la Renta a few months ago. I've been invited to a fitting, now that they're ready."
Jason stares at her, surprised. He's been doing that a lot lately, ever since he arrived. Talia imagines this side of her is unfamiliar to him. It had been unfamiliar to her, too, during the years where she had been at her father's side, enacting his orders and overseeing his various missions. Now, with time on her hands, she has slowly re-discovered those parts of herself that she had either consciously or unconsciously buried. Good food, great wine, a sacred romance and gorgeous dresses have all been among her most cherished indulgences. Three out of four, she's been learning, is not so bad a score to keep.
"You should come with me," Talia decides, clutching his face between her hands and checking his pale under-eyes. "It would be good for you to get some sun."
Jason scowls. "Out in the city? What if it activates my failsafe?"
Talia gives him an unimpressed look. "I hardly imagine women's clothing will trigger your fight-or-flight response. Unless you take after your father, of course, in which case I will prepare to endure a lot of impatient sighs and agitated pacing." She smiles smugly. "After all, I do remember you saying you were eager to work on your immunity."
Jason averts his gaze, caught.
"I will buy you something as well," Talia placates, patting his knee and standing up to go make some calls. "Perhaps we can start by swapping out your leather jackets with something more agreeable."
"Hey!" Jason calls. "I like those jackets!"
Talia pretends not to hear him.
Despite her teasing earlier, Talia books a chauffeured vehicle with tinted windows, just to err on the side of caution. Metropolis' midtown plaza is not too far from her apartment, and the boutique has already closed its doors to the public in anticipation of their arrival. If any other threats emerge, Talia knows Jason has no reason to fear. There's a reason she's known as one of the most dangerous women in the world, and even if Jason may never admit it except under duress, it's probably why he sought refuge with her in the first place.
There are definitely days where I wish you never brought me back, he had said, and while Jason does have a flair for theatrics, Talia doesn't doubt that he meant it. It pains her to recall those words, their tone. But his presence beside her gives her hope, gives her reassurance that perhaps those days are lower in number than the others. That he's fighting back against it. A parent's naivete. Beyond all talk of murder and crossed lines and failsafes, she is certain Bruce worries as well. She has seen it up close, after all, what a father who conflates safety with control can do.
"Looks like we're here," Jason announces, drawing her out of her thoughts. "Doesn't look like they're open, though."
"On the contrary, my darling," Talia says with a self-assured smile. "They are open just for us."
-
Even though Jason had not put up too much of a complaint in the first place, Talia is surprised by his patience. He takes a keen interest in the clothes, walking around the store and examining various fabrics while she tries her dresses on.
"Nah, not your style," he says, to a purple camisole the attendant hands her.
"Too League-y," he says, making a face at one of her green gowns that she'd been on the fence about.
"Every color is your color, T, but there's something about this orange that I'm really vibing with," he says, when she emerges from the dressing room in a midi-dress she had particularly liked.
A part of her wonders if his enthusiasm is in jest, but the longer they spend at the store, the more she realizes his interest is genuine. He doesn't hurry her up the way Damian would, or complain the way Bruce has. Talia is hopelessly endeared by it. It's an unexpected charm she hadn't anticipated, in part due to her own biases about Jason's background and upbringing. It's a foolish assumption to make. She realizes she has much to unlearn by the end of their time together.
Three hours later, Talia and Jason emerge from the store with bags full of clothes, utterly content. There's an Armani across the street that will most certainly have shirts his size, and Talia is just about to point to it when a crushing boom ripples across space and time, piercing their ears. Jason ducks and shelters his head under his hands and bags.
"WHERE IS SUPERMAN?" a voice roars, almost deafening. Talia casts a glance over her shoulder and sees a massive cyborg, at least one hundred feet tall, stomping its way through the city center. The people around them run helter-skelter, but Talia maintains a talon-grip on Jason's shoulder.
"W-we should d-do something," Jason chatters, and Talia curses. She had not wanted to retraumatize him, but it's evident that his eyes are already scanning their environment for a weapon he can use, a strategy he can pull together to subdue the machine a hundred times his size, even as his entire body trembles under her touch.
Talia has loved Bruce Wayne for a majority of her adult life and respected him just as much, but she has half a mind to use the Justice League's teleporter and travel to Gotham City—if only to shower him with some choice words about his actions and their consequences. It is not entirely unfeasible for a woman of her caliber.
A flash of blue and red curves through the air, however, halting her. The crowd around them breaks out into a cheer. Talia's grip on Jason's shoulder loosens.
"G-got to g-get c-civilians out o-of t-the—"
Talia turns to him and cups his cheeks. "My love, this is Metropolis," she interrupts. "Kent will handle it."
Jason takes in a wheezy breath. "N-need—"
"Kent will handle it," she repeats, watching his bloodshot eyes turn narrow, uncertain. She takes the bags from his hands and gestures for their driver to come over and take them. Once both their hands are free, she folds his palms within her own. "Jason?"
"F-Fine," he breathes.
She raises a skeptical brow.
"Better than before," he amends. "I'm getting used to it."
Talia exhales in relief. The cyborg has already been dealt with elsewhere, she presumes, as is the tradition in this city. Most of the passersby slowly return to what they were doing prior to the invasion. Metropolis lives to see another day.
"C-coolest guy on Earth," Jason grins. Some life has returned to his face, his breaths finally slowing down. "This was almost worth coming down all the way here and having a panic attack."
Talia squeezes his hand. "I am not as easily impressed."
"C'mon," Jason scoffs. "It's Superman."
Talia raises a brow archly, as if to say, And?
"Who's your favorite superhero, then?" Jason demands, then makes a face. "Wait. Don't tell me it's Batman, oh my god." He shields his face. "No, don't. I don't want to know if it is."
Talia forcibly peels his hand away and guides him in the direction of the Armani she spotted earlier. She will not be dissuaded.
-
They return later that evening, roping her driver and Nick into helping them up with their bags. It is, by all measures, a day well-spent. Talia is looking forward to taking a nice bath and preparing for her dinner date with Damian. Jason opts to stay in. He has already had an ordeal once today, and the two brothers are not as close as Damian and Richard are, which is a matter of dismay to her.
It is a sign she has been getting greedy.
Fatiha arrives to make dinner, and Talia hears Jason making small talk with her by the kitchen while she lays out a pair of earrings to wear in her bedroom. A Mother's Day gift from Damian. He will appreciate her wearing it, she thinks. It will go nicely with a dress they bought today.
"—coolest step-mom ever, I hope you know that," Fatiha's voice floats through the hallway. "She let me take three whole days off so I could go to, like, all the Eras: Metropolis shows back-to-back."
The befuddlement is plain as day in Jason's voice when he says, "What's that?"
"Dude, how do you not know? Have you been living under a rock or something?"
"Wait. This is a concert, right?"
"Yeah! Did Gotham not get a tour date? I would not be surprised if Gotham didn't get a tour date, because you guys—"
"That's the bomb that Batman and Robin defused earlier today," Jason mutters (oblivious to Fatiha's shriek of "wait, what!"). He raises his voice. "Hey, T? You hear about this?" His footsteps grow louder as he approaches the bedroom.
Talia reaches for her phone, just as Jason arrives at her doorway.
"You might want to check where Robin is," he mutters quietly, one ear focused on Fatiha in the hall.
Talia swipes her screen open, just in time to see a text arrive from Damian.
Mother, unable to make it. Bombs all over the city. Firefly.
"Firefly?" Talia mumbles, doing a quick search through Gotham's online news outlets for answers.
"Garfield Lynns. Pyromaniac," Jason explains, slowly entering her room to sit by the edge of her bed. "A concert sounds like his classic MO, though I'm pretty sure he's hit up other locations as well, considering how these things go." He jerks his head towards Talia's phone. "Let me guess. He rain-checked?"
"Duty calls," Talia says, trying to quell the disappointment in her voice as she sends a Be safe, jaan-e-man back and sets her phone aside to return the earrings to their box. Their debut will have to wait another day, as will the dress.
"I'm sorry, T," Jason says genuinely.
Talia shakes her head. "It is the life he wants. It is the life I chose for him, when the choice came to me."
Talia is not naive. She knows her independence in Metropolis has come at the cost of a certain loneliness. And for all her reluctance to raise a Robin, she is very aware that Damian and his father have no compunctions about that arrangement. Considering her upbringing, these are not the most terrible concessions she has had to make. She'd rather Damian be with Bruce, than the two of them be with her father. There is no outcome where everyone gets exactly what they want. Life would not be life, had that been the case. It is simply her turn to shoulder the disappointment. She looks up and smiles feebly at Jason.
Jason's grip on the edge of her bed tightens. "Fatiha made enough dinner for two, anyway."
Talia nods. "Good. I'm glad."
Jason looks up at her. "You want me to leave you alone?"
"Unless you would like to watch me do my skin care routine," she teases wryly, trying to bring some lightness back into the room.
Jason just shrugs. "Sure."
Talia's heart softens. "Go lock up, I think she's nearly finished."
Jason nods, heading out to the kitchen to say goodbye. Talia pulls out her products from different drawers in the meantime, humming to herself to soothe the ache in her gut. She hears Fatiha call out a faint, "Bye, Miss Head!" at the door and smiles. This is her life. This is the life she has chosen. Her loneliness is hers. Her companionship is hers. She accepts it, with all its costs and burdens.
When Jason returns, she grabs him by the wrist and takes him to the bathroom. "We will start you on something as well," she declares, clapping her hands together decisively. "I have noticed some faint pigmentation on your face, and I know you are not doing anything about it."
Jason snorts but doesn't say anything to refute her. Talia prepares a basic face mask for him, an aromatic ubtan that she likes to use on herself and Damian—on the rare occasions he lets her near his face, anyway. The first few weeks after she met Damian, she had hardly known how to touch him or where, shocked by his very physicality, by all the features of his face that were hers and all the features that belonged to her beloved. Her heart did not soften at the sight of him. It cracked. Talia had never been a maternal person, had never looked at a child and felt a longing beyond the natural protectiveness that every adult owed to the children around them.
But she had longed for Damian, once. She had cried herself to sleep at night during their separation, wondering where he was or with whom. She had held Jason, barely 15, barely 16, barely conscious, and imagined his dark black hair to be Damian's own.
When she learned that Damian had been with her father all along, she felt a grief so deep she was certain she could have died from it. For the child, of course, but also for herself. Her work. For the life she had been trying to build, in a city away from the League she had been raised in. A part of her was relieved when she sent Damian to Bruce in the end. At least he had a tendency to take to children instantly, no matter how ill-advised it was in their line of work.
The path to motherhood since then has been a strange, slow one, full of pauses, restarts and misunderstandings. And of course, as is the case tonight, rain-checks. But it has also been sweet. The next time Talia is here, she will use the example of his older brother and coerce Damian into letting her dote over him. Jason has taught her how to lean into it. By the time Damian is here, she will be a natural, like she had never given him up at all.
"Smells nice," Jason says, breaking their meditative silence to crack open an eyelid and glance up at Talia.
Talia shuts his lid again and continues rubbing the face mask proportionately over his skin. "I must admit," she confesses. "You have been full of surprises today."
"Why, 'cause I'm doing girl stuff with you?"
Talia gives him a look at 'girl stuff,' but his eyes are closed. "Yes," she replies, eventually.
"I spent a lot of time with my Ma growing up. When my dad was in jail, I mean," Jason explains, his voice quiet and fond. "It was just the two of us for a long, long time before she died."
Talia's hand pauses. Bruce had told her a long time ago about Jason's parents, but she had quite honestly forgotten all about it. Had forgotten he was an orphan at all, even if she had known he wasn't biologically Bruce's. The first time she met him, she had been very focused on finding the parts of him that were Bruce, and, by some sort of hypothetical proxy, Damian. She had always suspected that Jason searched for Bruce in her too, a comrade in her loneliness. It has never occurred to her that she re-ignited something infinitely more tender in him. Much of his behavior begins to fall in place in her mind, a mere shadow of how he must have been with the woman he once called 'mother.'
"I see." Her voice softens. "She sounds like a wonderful woman."
Jason smiles. "She was." He hesitates. "I know you're pretty cut up about not getting to see Damian tonight, but I, uh. I'm glad you got to stay in."
"Yes," Talia says gently, brushing his hair out of his forehead and pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "Me too." She leaves him and heads to the mirror to begin her own routine. "You'll make an excellent husband to a very lucky girl one day."
"T," Jason whines, trying to bury his face in his hands before remembering he has product all over himself. He scowls at her helplessly.
Talia laughs, startled by his ridiculousness. "What did I say? I was under the assumption that it was normal for a boy your age to want to settle down with a partner."
Jason squawks loudly. "I'm only 22!"
Talia looks over her shoulder, conspiratorial. "You know, Fatiha is your age. Very smart girl, very lively. You could benefit from fraternizing with her. I've heard that her parents are very respected in their community—"
"Stop that," Jason mutters. "I don't want to fraternize with anyone, and I'm pretty sure she has some kind of lesbian crush on you."
Talia sighs. "By the time I was the age Richard is now, I already had two kids."
"I don't count," Jason argues, then gestures between them. "This is a very recent development."
"Is it?" Talia asks curiously, patting her cheeks and examining her own gaze in her reflection.
"What, you mean to say it isn't?" His tone holds a strongly implied don't be ridiculous.
"I suppose not," she concedes. "My point still stands. I am sure your father wants to see some grandchildren within his lifetime as well."
Jason snorts. "Dick can take that bullet."
"But they would not be mine," Talia reminds him. "Not the way yours would be."
Jason pauses for so long, Talia has to check to ensure that he hasn't actually left the room. Then, he glares up at her, two little holes amidst a face full of white. "You can be really manipulative, you know that?"
Talia hums, pleased with herself as she returns to her face. "So I've been told."
Jason gets up and walks over to her, his arms boxing her in until her neck is loosely locked within his grasp. "You're too young to be a grandma anyway," he says, bonking her head lightly with a closed fist before letting her go.
"If you say so," Talia smiles at his back.
-
Damian materializes on her doorstep the next day, school bag slung over his back and a firm frown on his face. "Why is Todd examining the cherry tomatoes outside in your orchard?"
"Hello, my love." Talia comes up to him to press a kiss to both his cheeks. "Your brother is...recuperating from a makeshift lobotomy of sorts. I believe your father was responsible."
"Not these theatrics again," Damian throws his head up in resignation, then insists, "Todd's consequences are of his own making. Father observed a threat and neutralized it effectively. It was justified."
Talia refrains from comment, choosing instead to ask about Damian's progress at school. Damian is undoubtedly more excited to discuss Batman and Robin's progress with Firefly, who has since been apprehended and whose fires across Gotham have all been doused. Talia looks at him and feels pride and uncertainty in equal measure. Pride for the boy he is, fear over the parts that remind her of her father and his own. For the longest time ever, there were only two men in the world Talia loved as dearly as her father and her beloved. But there is a reason she chose to leave them both. She has always wondered if she is selfish, taking this freedom for herself but choosing the mission for Damian. For leaving without him, even if she tells herself it was for his own protection. All she can hope is that he understands her choices one day—even if he may resent her for them now.
"...Of course, Father is expecting me back tonight, so I can't stay long," Damian is saying, drawing her attention back. "But I wanted to make amends. For last night."
An apology without an apology, Talia thinks with a rueful smile. He is already your son more than mine, beloved.
"As long as you are happy, jaan-e-man," Talia tells him gently. Damian's face softens. Everything in that moment is so poignant, so fraught with feeling that Talia has to reign it into the back of her throat. She pushes through with a smile. "Now. How much time do I have you for?"
Damian glances at his watch. "I can stay," he draws out, then decides, "for another hour. I'm sure Father can do his pre-patrol routine without me."
"Then I suppose I should catch you up on my recent escapades with Demon Slayer over tea?" she suggests.
Damian's face brightens with surprise for a second, then falls back into modesty. "Yes. That would be appropriate."
They spend the remainder of their time together in this fashion, a mother and her son pushing past the awkwardness and meeting somewhere in the middle. Damian praises her tea blends. She examines his report cards. Neither of them speak of her father, of how relieved they are they got away, or how terribly they miss the tastes of home. That kind of confession is for another time, when there are more hours on the clock and fewer obstacles between them. For now, Talia takes what she can have with her son—with the only other person in the world who knows, intimately, what it's like to be raised in the House of Al Ghul. Though the traces of his heritage are fading with each day, they are still there, growing slightly more pronounced each time he leaves her home and returns to his father's. It is a bittersweet feeling.
Eventually, their spell is broken. Time ticks over, and Jason comes home, a vaguely guilty look on his face as he begins taking his shoes off in the foyer.
Damian and Talia exchange a glance, then raise their brows at him.
Jason opens his palms to them. Within his grasp is a splotch of red, pasty in texture and dotted with seeds, like they've been crushed between his fingers. Cherry tomatoes.
'W-was trying to bring some back," he chatters. "Car swooshed by and s-startled me."
Damian scoffs, unimpressed.
Talia shakes her head with a sigh.
-
The last day of Jason's visit, Talia watches him pack his new clothes into a duffel bag, an emptiness gnawing at her insides. Perhaps it is because Damian left so early. Perhaps it is because Jason stayed so long. She imagines her apartment will feel emptier in the days to come. Jason brought so little with him, but his presence had taken up enough space to be missed. Neither of them say anything to each other, out of fear, perhaps, of what may spill out. Jason studiously avoids her gaze. She busies herself with a newsletter piece she had promised to contribute to her alma mater back in Cairo.
"I'm heading out," Jason says, a little after lunch, dressed in khakis and a collared blue shirt she had picked out for him because it matched his eyes. "Need to stop at my place in New Troy and pick up a few things."
Talia tilts her head towards him, startled. "Will you be returning?"
"Of course." Jason frowns. "I wouldn't just leave without saying bye to you."
She relaxes. "Alright. Do you need a car?"
"Nah, I'm taking the subway." He catches her making a face and rolls his eyes. "Look at you, all uptown girl-ing at me. You've probably never been in one your whole life, have you?"
"I have never had the need to," Talia says archly. Then, with a little concern, "Will you be alright?"
"Yeah," Jason says, rolling his shoulders like he's prepared for a fight. "Absolutely peachy."
"Be careful," Talia tells him. She has half a mind to send Nick to tail him, just to ensure he would be safe, but she's not sure he'd appreciate the gesture. If anything, he'd probably catch on quickly, which is just as likely to aggravate his adrenaline.
"I'll be fine," Jason promises. "It's just a few toiletries, I promise. I'll be back before you know it."
"And then you will head directly into action, back in your city, I assume?" Talia says dryly, trying to convey just how much she is opposed to the idea.
"Of course." Jason grins, bending to press a kiss to the back of her head. "I've got a few loose ends that still need tying. Can't let anyone get too comfortable without me."
Talia sighs. Jason calls out a quick goodbye, then picks up his wallet and heads out the door. It's still 4 in the evening, and New Troy is in another part of the city altogether, so Talia decides to continue writing until he returns.
She's only barely begun typing again when her doorbell rings.
Talia glances at the clock with a frown. If Nick hasn't buzzed the visitor up, then it's probably Jason, returning to retrieve something, though she can't fathom what it could be. She walks up to the door and swings it open.
It is not Jason in her doorway.
It is Bruce Wayne. Clean-shaven, in a pressed, casual suit, smelling intensely like an aftershave she doesn't recognize. Talia tries to suppress the flutter of her heartbeat. Tries to find even just a modicum of calm within her as they stare into each others eyes—his searching, hers surprised.
In the end, all she can muster is a soft, "Beloved."
She is surprised by how calm she sounds.
"Talia," he greets in turn, nodding in gratitude when she lets him in.
"My doorman did not notify me of your arrival," Talia says, watching his back as he wanders into her space.
Bruce turns to her. "I took the fire exit." There is judgment in his tone, like he refuses to believe that the daughter of an Al Ghul would live in a place this poorly fortified. But her home, like her heart, has always been an easy access to those she desires to share them with—a fact, she supposes, he either hasn't learned about her, or refuses to remember.
"The aftershave is new," she notes casually. "Is this a favorite of Catwoman's?"
Bruce doesn't deign to respond. His detective eyes absorb each corner of the room with a subtle sweep, lingering on the open box of cigars with two pieces used and the half-read Dostoevsky on her coffee table. The most obvious clue, she supposes, is the brown leather jacket on her coat hanger, well-worn and familiar.
"Where is he," he demands.
"Out," Talia replies. "You just missed him by a few minutes, though he said he would return soon, if you would like to wait." She gestures at two lounge chairs that overlook the street below.
Bruce remains standing. "I didn't realize you two were close."
"Yes," Talia agrees. "It is a development neither of us anticipated, but I suppose our circumstances have allowed for it."
Bruce's eyes narrow. "The Lazarus Pit."
"Partly," Talia replies, heading to the kitchen to brew herself some tea. If he won't sit, that is fine by her, but she has decided she would rather have this conversation with her hands busy.
"I suspected," Bruce says. "But I had no proof. I always thought the Pit could only rejuvenate the living." He stares at her, his tone growing suspicious. "I also had a hard time believing your father would do something like that unless he got something in return."
"I suppose you believed right," Talia says. "It was not my father who chose to bathe Jason in the Lazarus Pit."
"It was you." Bruce's stare turns hard, confused. "Why?"
"Beloved," Talia says to him, exasperated, "Do you really have to ask?"
He turns to the window to avoid her gaze. She picks up two cups of tea and joins him by the chairs. This time, he accepts her invitation to sit.
"I suppose this conversation between us has been long overdue, though I must confess, your obliviousness surprises me," she says, taking a long sip of her tea and setting the cup down. "Jason has been back for the better part of three years now, and I know the two of you have worked together on occasion. Have you really not asked him about the circumstances of his return?"
"It doesn't matter," Bruce gruffs. "It doesn't change anything."
Talia stares at him, incredulous. The answer sounds too prepared, too memorized by rote repetition. "Do you expect me to accept that you believe that?"
"He returned to murder, to throw in with the very people I trained him to stop," Bruce grits out. "You'll have to excuse me if I didn't think to ask a few questions."
"No," Talia refuses, scanning his face, the weary lines around his eyes. "I don't believe this is a lack of curiosity. And even though I am well aware of your sacred code, I refuse to believe this is a moral compunction, either. You are a detective, a father. You have asked yourself this question repeatedly: how? Perhaps you have even consulted a few occult experts and your formerly deceased friends. But you haven't broached it with the one person who has all the answers. Why?"
Bruce crosses his arms. "Why don't you tell me? You seem to think you know everything anyway."
Talia ignores his retort. "It is because you are afraid," she says softly. "You have failed him several times, in several, lasting ways. It would kill you to look at his pain. To know you were not there to protect him from it. Is that why you built him the failsafe?"
Bruce remains silent.
"It is not like you," Talia says. "It is cruel. And it has not deterred him in the slightest. Not in the ways that matter."
Bruce stares at her with a look so cross, so wounded with resentment that she feels her heart soften despite herself. A beat of silence occupies the space between them. Then, at last, Bruce says, "Tell me." His voice is quiet, almost imploring. "Tell me how he came back."
Do not do this to yourself, she wants to warn. But hiding the truth has helped no one, and it is high time Bruce faced his reality.
"I will tell you what I know of the matter," Talia begins carefully, waiting for him to consent. He says nothing in response, but his eyes lock with hers, an implicit, if reluctant, agreement.
"He was vegetative, unconscious. Workers at the cemetery say he dug his way out of his own grave—I do not know how," she says. "Perhaps it was fate. Perhaps it was a higher power. Do they not say God himself was so impressed by Abraham's sacrifice that he allowed the man to keep his son?"
Bruce flinches.
Talia carries on. "All of our intel confirmed that he had been living on the streets of Gotham for at least a year after that, homeless. When he came to us, he was mute. My father wanted to know how he had cheated death but grew frustrated by his lack of answers. I, on the other hand, believed that enough time and enough nourishment would jog his memories."
Bruce's expression goes cold. "Homeless," he repeats, low and hollow and angry. "Vegetative. And you didn't think to bring him to me?"
Talia's eyes lower in shame. "I owed it to my father to find answers," she confesses, then, a little quieter. "And I had grown lonely, having given Damian away."
"So you kept him from me," Bruce growls. "While I was in Gotham, believing he was dead, grieving him."
"I did," Talia says simply. "I know my own accountability in the matter, beloved. Jason and I have discussed it."
"You kept him. And he didn't—he didn't ask to come home?" Bruce demands, his voice astonishingly small for a man his age, his greatness.
"He could not speak, beloved, but he yearned to return to you. I could sense it," Talia tells him gently. "He was cold as marble when the doctors tried to communicate with him about worldly matters. But he softened when I spoke of you."
"That doesn't sound like the version of him I got," Bruce reminds her, his voice harsh, suspicious.
Talia inclines her head. "He had not yet found out the truth," she says. "If you recall, I mentioned my father growing impatient. I did not want to rush the boy, did not want him to find out so suddenly, all the—developments that had occurred in his absence. But time was running out. We used the pit." She looks up at Bruce. "When he found out you had a new partner and that his murder had gone unavenged, my men told me he fell to his knees and wept like—"
"Enough," Bruce says roughly, shielding his face with his hand like she had struck him. "Enough. I don't want to hear any more of this."
"He has had to live it," Talia says shortly.
Bruce wipes a hand down his face and picks up his cup to take a long swig. Talia is surprised the conversation has even lasted this long. Perhaps he should have worn the batsuit. It would have allowed him to make an easier escape, at the very least.
"So why is he here now," Bruce says thickly, a likely result from the tea, but Talia would not be surprised if there was an element of emotion to it. "He made it more than clear to me what he thought about moving to Metropolis."
"I suppose he wanted to be around someone who would love him without judgment or condition," she says pointedly. "And I admit—it was very easy. He is very easy to love."
Bruce glares at her, but without his usual heat. The creases around his eyes have softened into something sad, something contemplative. Talia lets him have it, his silence. The street below is bustling with activity, but he watches it all unseeingly.
"I want him to be happy," he says, at last.
"It is not for you to decide what that looks like," Talia returns.
It is the same thing she has told her father—not so much in words, but in actions, in the life she has built for herself.
She can only hope Jason can tell her beloved the same.
-
Jason returns to Talia's building, a ribbon-wrapped potted plant carefully cradled in both his hands. A parting gift, of sorts, that he's sure Talia will be amused by. It's cherry tomato.
On his way up, he nods at Nick, the doorman, and lets the heavy glass elevators escort him to Talia's penthouse apartment.
"T! I'm home," he calls, pushing the front door open with his shoulder, then stopping dead in his tracks at the sight of the man in the lounge chair in front of him.
Bruce looks back at him, wary and awkward as he scans Jason from head to toe. His eyes drift to the plant in Jason's hands and his brows lift ever-so-slightly. Jason ignores the tiny surge of adrenaline that zips through his spine. It makes him slightly dizzy.
"It's an inside joke," he explains flatly. "What are you doing here?"
"You weren't answering your comms," Bruce says. "Oracle was unable to track you down through your cell."
"I left it at home," Jason replies with a scowl. "What, I'm supposed to get sign-offs on my PTOs now?"
"I was worried."
Jason shrugs that off, because the last thing he needs after all these days of R&R is to go running back to the very person who made him need it. "So, how'd you find out I was here?"
"Damian told me," Bruce says.
"You ever teach him that old saying about snitches getting stitches?"
"There will be no fighting with your brother," Talia says firmly, emerging from the hallway behind them. She smiles. "Welcome home, my darling. Is that a cherry tomato plant you have with you?"
Jason smiles, leaning down to accept a kiss to his cheek, forgetting, for a second, that Bruce is watching them. "Yeah. Figured I owed you one, after what I did to the last one."
"This is appreciated, but very unnecessary." Talia takes it from him, flicking a few crumbs of mud off his shirt and smoothing down the material.
"You know me. I don't like an unsettled score," he says. "Besides, I wanted to thank you. For—" His eyes drift to Bruce, and he feels his throat close on him. "You know."
Talia gives him a look of understanding, and suddenly it's too much, the weight of these last few days, the value they've had to him.
Bruce clears his throat and gets to his feet. "I should get going," he tells Talia, then turns to Jason, his gaze slightly uncertain. "I heard you were returning to the city tonight. Would you like a ride back?"
"I'm good," Jason says. "Talia's got a car for me."
If Talia is offended he's decided to co-opt her chauffeur, she makes no mention of it. Bruce looks slightly surprised, then thinks the better of whatever he was going to say and goes rushing through the door. Talia leaves Jason's side to close it.
"Jeez," Jason says, when she returns. "He give you shit for anything? Let me know, I can punch him whenever I see him next."
Which is hopefully not soon, he adds to himself.
Talia shakes her head, amused. "I do not need you to protect me from your father. I am very much capable of doing that on my own."
"Heck yeah."
Talia laughs, throwing her arms up. Jason readily bends over to engulf her in a hug, his face buried in her shoulder, her hands resting on his back. They sway. Jason feels that familiar twist-and-ache in his chest, signalling the arrival of tears. He blinks rapidly, pushing them back. He's not sure if it's just his mind playing tricks on him, but he hears a faint sniff from Talia, like she's doing the same thing.
"I suppose there's no changing your mind about returning to Gotham?" she says archly, but her voice trembles.
"I've got to go home, T," he tells her gently.
"I do not mind," she says. "If you want to stay. If you'd rather...."
Jason swallows. It's not so much that he doesn't like Talia, or that he can't see himself living here. If anything, being close to Talia feels good, makes him feel like he's a kid again. But everything around him—Talia's house, her work, her freedom—none of that seems worth disturbing. She looks happy here. He might be an asshole, but he's not that big of an asshole. He wants this for her.
"I've got a lot of shit on my plate I need to deal with," he says slowly. "But this has been nice. Thank you."
"Okay," she mutters, scrunching her nose and wiping a line from her eye discretely. "Don't be a stranger."
"Yeah," Jason laughs shakily. He's crying a little too. "We'll see each other again next time. It'll be your turn to visit, and my turn to host."
He'll get a proper place by then—not those shitty little safehouses he keeps shuffling through but a home. Somewhere deep inside his old neighborhood, somewhere decidedly his. A place he cares about. A place he wants to save. A place he's proud of claiming as his own.
Talia's expression clears, like she's very surprised. "Yes," she breathes. "I suppose so."
He grins. "Great. I'm looking forward to it."
"Perhaps a little too much," she notes dryly.
"You're gonna love it, T," he says. "Just you wait. I promise."
"Okay, Jason," she says softly, squeezing his arm in goodbye. "Be careful."
He leans down and kisses her cheek. "You too, Talia."
-
Despite his best effort, he ends up crying shakily in the back of the car, palms scrubbing at his eyes while the driver pretends not to notice. He's not even sure why he's crying. He sure as fuck isn't sad. Memories of his week with Talia keep flashing back to him at random, the good ones, and it's like something is lifting off of him, making him lighter, looser. Above the streets, the skies are a dark orange, daylight swiftly fading. By the time they reach Gotham, it'll have turned pitch-black.
Out of the corner of his eye, Jason spots an Aston Martin a few hundred paces ahead, stuck in primetime traffic but overtly familiar. He doesn't even have to see the number plate.
"Hey," he says roughly, leaning forward in his seat. The driver glances back at him, startled. "You see that Aston Martin over there? The black one?" The driver nods. Jason draws his wallet out and pulls out a whole wad of cash. "I know your boss probably pays you really well, but if you overtake that guy, I'll give you a real hefty tip."
The driver grins.
It doesn't take a lot of effort to bob and weave between the other cars on the highway after that. They're probably over-speeding, but eventually, they manage to catch up with Bruce's car despite the lengthy head start the latter had, the two vehicles running parallel to each other.
"C'mon, c'mon," Jason mutters, bouncing his thigh impatiently as their cars keep slipping apart, then lining up again. Through the open window, Jason can see Bruce in the driver's seat, his face tense and bewildered. Jason's own side is tinted, keeping him concealed.
The engine revs. The chauffeured vehicle races ahead, smooth and boundless, and well in the lead. Jason laughs to himself, loud and gleeful like a little kid, whooping and hollering when they clear the gap once and for all and soar ahead, like a bullet grazing past its target.
Jason lowers his window, laughing, the tears in his eyes starting to dry against the whipping wind.
Then, he lifts his hand into the air, sticking out his middle finger.
See you back home, sucker, he thinks, retreating back to his seat.
The adrenaline, for once, doesn't threaten to kill him.