[Talia al Ghul's POV]
The night air of Gotham City was thick with the stench of decay. It clung to the rooftops, seeped into the cracks of crumbling buildings, and lingered in the shadows where the dregs of humanity festered. The city was a festering wound, a place where hope went to die, and yet, it was also the home of the man Talia al Ghul could not seem to rid from her thoughts.
Bruce Wayne. The Batman. Her beloved.
The League of Shadows' mission here was complete, and her father's orders had been carried out with precision. The criminal underworld of Gotham would feel the aftershocks of their work for weeks to come, though they would never know it was the hand of the Demon's Head that had struck them. Standing on the edge of a rooftop, overlooking the city, Talia felt a pang of something unfamiliar—nostalgia, perhaps. Or maybe it was simply the weariness of a woman who had seen too much, done too much, and yet still found herself drawn to the one man who had always eluded her grasp.
The city sprawled before her, a labyrinth of shadows and light. The skyline was jagged, a silhouette of broken dreams and forgotten promises. The faint hum of traffic below was a distant murmur, drowned out by the occasional wail of a siren or the sharp crack of gunfire.
Gotham was a city that never slept, but it did not live either. It existed in a state of perpetual unrest, a battlefield where the lines between hero and villain blurred into obscurity.
She adjusted the hood of her cloak, pulling it tighter around her face. The fabric was dark, blending seamlessly with the night, and the faint glint of her armor beneath was the only hint of her presence.
The League's uniform was a second skin, a reminder of who she was and what she represented. But tonight, she was not here as the heir to the Demon's Head. Tonight, she was here as Talia. Just Talia.
The thought of seeing Bruce again stirred something deep within her. It had been too long since their paths last crossed, and though she would never admit it aloud, she had missed him. Missed the fire in his eyes, the way he moved with the grace of a predator, the way he spoke with a voice that carried the weight of the world.
He was a man of contradictions—a man who fought for justice yet lived in the shadows. A man who wore the mask of a bat to strike fear into the hearts of criminals, yet beneath it all, he was still the boy who had lost his parents to the very darkness he now battled.
She wondered how he was coping. The death of his son, Jason Todd, must have shaken him to his core. Bruce had always been a man who carried his burdens alone, burying his pain beneath the cowl and the mission.
But even Batman was not invincible. Even he had to feel the weight of loss, the sting of failure. She knew this better than anyone. She had seen the cracks in his armor, the moments when the mask slipped and the man beneath was revealed.
If only I could tell him the truth.
If only she could reveal that Jason was alive, that he was well, and that he was under her father's care. But such a revelation would come at a cost.
Ra's al Ghul's plans were not to be trifled with, and his interest in Jason was… troubling. The boy was a weapon, a tool to be shaped and molded, and Talia feared what he might become under her father's influence. But for now, she had to remain silent. To speak would be to betray her father, and that was a line she could not cross. Not yet.
She leaped from the rooftop, her movements fluid and precise. The city rushed past her in a blur of light and shadow as she navigated the rooftops with ease. The wind whipped at her cloak, tugging at the fabric, but she paid it no mind. Her focus was singular, her destination clear. She knew where to find him. She always did.
It did not take long to spot him. He was perched on the edge of a rooftop, his silhouette unmistakable against the night sky.
The cape billowed behind him, a dark shroud that seemed to merge with the shadows, and the pointed ears of the cowl gave him an almost otherworldly appearance. He was a figure of myth, a legend brought to life, and yet, he was also just a man. A man who had given everything to this city, to his crusade.
She landed silently behind him, her boots barely making a sound against the gravel. He did not turn, but she knew he was aware of her presence. The Batman was never caught off guard. Not by her. Not by anyone.
"Talia," he said, his voice low and gravelly. It was a voice that commanded attention, a voice that carried the weight of authority. But there was something else there too. A hint of… something. Surprise? Relief? She couldn't tell.
"Bruce," she replied, stepping closer. The distance between them felt both vast and infinitesimal. They were two sides of the same coin, bound by a connection that neither could fully understand or escape. "It's been a while."
He turned then, his eyes narrowing beneath the cowl. The white lenses of the mask hid his true expression, but she could feel the intensity of his gaze.
It was a look that pierced through the layers of armor, both physical and emotional, and reached the core of who she was. It was a look that had haunted her for years.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, his tone guarded. There was no warmth in his voice, no hint of the man beneath the mask. But she knew it was there. She had seen it before.
"Can I not visit an old friend?" she said, her lips curling into a faint smile. The words were light, but the weight behind them was anything but. They were more than friends—they were allies, enemies, lovers, and adversaries. They were everything and nothing, all at once.
He didn't respond immediately. Instead, he turned back to the city, his gaze sweeping over the skyline. The silence between them was heavy, filled with unspoken words and unresolved tensions.
"The League's presence in Gotham hasn't gone unnoticed," he said after a moment. His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it. A warning. "If you're here on your father's orders—"
"I'm not here on my father's orders," she interrupted, her tone sharp. The mention of Ra's was a sore subject, a reminder of the divide that separated them. "I'm here because I wanted to see you. Because I… needed to see you."
The admission hung in the air between them, fragile and raw. It was not often that Talia allowed herself to be vulnerable, to show the cracks in her own armor. But with Bruce, it was different. With Bruce, she couldn't help but be honest.
He turned to her again, his expression unreadable. The silence stretched on, and for a moment, she wondered if he would say anything at all. But then, he spoke.
"Why now?" he asked, his voice softer now. There was a hint of something in his tone. Curiosity? Concern? She couldn't tell.
"Because I don't know when I'll see you again," she replied, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions raging within her. "Because I know what you've lost, and I… I wanted to make sure you were alright."
The words were true, but they were not the whole truth. She couldn't tell him about Jason. She couldn't tell him that his son was alive, that he was out there somewhere, waiting to be found. But she could offer him this—a moment of connection. A moment of understanding.
He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. The cape swirled around him like a living thing, and the faint scent of leather and smoke filled the air. He was so close now, close enough to touch, and yet, the distance between them felt insurmountable.
"I'm fine," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. But she knew better. She could see the pain in the set of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders. He was not fine. He was far from it.
"You don't have to lie to me, Bruce," she said, her voice gentle. "Not to me."
He looked at her then, really looked at her, and for a moment, the mask slipped. She saw the man beneath the cowl, the man who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. The man who had lost so much and yet continued to fight. The man she had loved for as long as she could remember.
"Talia…" he began, but the words caught in his throat. He didn't know what to say, and neither did she. There were no words that could bridge the gap between them, no words that could undo the choices they had made or the paths they had chosen.
And so, they stood there, two figures silhouetted against the night, bound by a connection that neither could fully understand or escape. The city stretched out before them, a sprawling testament to the darkness they both fought against. And for a moment, just a moment, Talia allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, there was still hope for them.
But the moment passed, as all moments did, and the weight of reality settled back onto her shoulders. She stepped back, the distance between them growing once more.
"Be careful, Bruce," she said, her voice soft but firm. "The city is not the only thing that can break you."
He nodded, his expression unreadable once more. The mask was back in place, the walls rebuilt. But she knew what lay beneath. She had always known.
With one last look, she turned and leaped from the rooftop, disappearing into the night. The wind rushed past her, carrying with it the faint scent of Gotham's decay. But as she made her way through the city, she couldn't help but feel a sense of… something. Relief? Regret? She didn't know.
Somewhere out there, Batman continued his relentless crusade, fighting to fill the ever-expanding void that consumed him.
She saw it in his every move, in the way he threw himself into the abyss of Gotham's chaos. He blamed himself for the loss of his son, Jason Todd, and that guilt had become his penance, his retribution.
If only she could tell him the truth, if only she could ease his suffering. But the time was not right, and the secrets she carried were not hers to reveal—not yet.
Their son, Damian, was a light in this darkness, a beacon of hope and pride. He was everything she could have dreamed of and more.
With his striking resemblance to Bruce, his sharp intellect, and his prodigious talents, Damian was a testament to the legacy of both his father and the al Ghul bloodline.
He was her joy, her purpose, and her greatest triumph. How she wished she could share this with Bruce, to let him know that a part of him lived on in their son.
Damian was not just her child—he was theirs. He carried Bruce's strength, his determination, and his unyielding sense of justice. But for now, this truth had to remain hidden. The weight of it would only complicate matters, and Bruce was not ready to bear it. Not yet.
She knew her beloved would endure. He was Batman, after all—the man her father had once seen as a worthy successor to the League of Assasins. Bruce's resilience was unmatched, and though he might be lost in the shadows now, she had faith he would find his way.