TITLE: A Loss Like No Other

MAIN CHARACTERS: Bruce, Ra's Al Ghul

SIDE PAIRINGS:

RATING: WIP OR COMPLETE: WIP.

WARNINGS: m/m language, violence, mpreg

DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything. None of this (EVER!) happened. I'm just a poor student with an annual fee of £ 22 200 for my money-sucking university. Suing me won't do much good.

SUMMARY: Bruce grew unusually close to his Master, Ra's Al Ghul, and their relationship became intimate. With intimacy come emotion, and with emotion comes weakness.

The Masters were leaning at the rail, overseeing the training session as their apprentices fought seamlessly. One in particular stood out. Ra's Al Ghul stood with an intent expression of concentration on his face as he searched for flaws in his apprentice's technique, speed, force and planning. The others were chatting quietly among themselves while observing their charges. Ra's recognised Bruce at a glance, even though he was dressed just like all the others and his face hidden, as his movements were feline and elegant, yet powerful and sleek. Ra's did not have that luxury.

Bruce was just that good; Ra's had come to a point where he had to pay keen attention to pinpoint something that Bruce needed help with to improve. Most of the things he located were minor slips that even Ra's would have been hard pressed to take advantage of in battle, but they were there. And even most of those were just a matter of lack of practice, not the inattentiveness of his young charge.

Ra's let a smile slip onto his face as Bruce once again took down his opponent and moved on to the next one. That one too went to the ground, but as Bruce moved to his next, he suddenly stopped. The constant movement of the training session halted as Bruce stood still, swaying. His hands reached out for balance, less as he crumbled to the ground. Bruce had not even hit the floor when Ra's jumped the fence, free falling into the training pit and landing with an elegant roll, by his apprentice's side before any of the others even reacted.

.

.

Bruce had just taken down his opponent and was about to move on to the next when he felt a wave of dizziness slam into him like a tidal wave, knocking him off balance. His vision darkened and the ground felt like it had suddenly flipped its middle finger at gravity and then slam its whole fist in his face.

He awoke to the feeling of the cool breeze on his face and his Master Ra's over him, slapping his cheeks, looking worried. His vision was still swimming and unclear. Without any warning, he felt nausea rolling in his stomach and knew that in a few seconds his breakfast was going on Ra's shirt if he didn't move fast. If he had seen Ra's bewildered face as he knocked Bruce over and leaped up from the ground, he would have laughed.

He tore through the room to the outer layers of the building, easily gliding over the high tables without knocking over the weapons before he came to a screeching halt, emptying his guts over the rails and down the side of the mountain. Bruce heaved for breath as he leaned over the rails, throwing up down in the snow. He felt a warm presence at his back, but didn't turn around. Instead he gagged as another wave of nausea swept through him. Warm hands came to rest on his hips, steadying him. "Relax now," Ra's spoke calmly, "It will do you no good to fall over the rails."

"Right now I don't feel it will do me any harm either," Bruce replied. He had been sick for weeks now, over a month. He has hid it from Ra's, which was becoming harder to, as it had started kicking in around midday instead of in the early morning hours. Ra's didn't reply, but handed him a cloth and a cup of warm water. Bruce took them both, dried his mouth and carefully sipped the warm water, praying it would not set his tender stomach off again. "How long have you been ill?" Ra's asked, "As I presume this is not a result of our hard training session."

Bruce lowered his gaze, knowing Ra's would give him hell if he even dared to try to lie to him. "Six weeks," he replied.

Ra's face turned stony. "Six weeks," he replied, "A month and a half, and you have not though to mention to me that you cannot hold down your food?"

"I thought it would pass..." Bruce argued weakly, not feeling well enough to do a proper argument justice.

"And after six weeks?" Ra's did not raise his voice, or even snap at him, but Bruce could tell he was angry and disappointed.

Bruce bit his lip, "I... I didn't want to worry you..."

He observed Bruce as he sipped the warm water, seemingly relieved it stayed down. Ra's features softened minimally, "You always worry me," he replied. The truth was...Bruce did always worry him. The boy was very unlike the other apprentices they had at the monastery. The others were stubborn and there to learn the art. Bruce was there to heal, which was a whole different ball game. He had so much anger, and so much sorrow. He was starved for attention and care. He was like a kitten, needing protection, assurance and care.

The other Masters had frequently asked him why he had bothered to take on such a weakling. Why had he indeed? Because, despite his faults, Bruce was a survivor, and when it came to the arts, he was the best they had. He was crafty, intelligent and only Ra's himself could properly put the boy in his place in battle. The others challenged him, of course, but they rarely-if ever-beat him. But for such talents there was a price, and that price Ra's knew very well.

The custom of taking your apprentice as your lover, also teaching him the art of carnal pleasure was long outdated. That it once had been a part of the curriculum, it was now a practice by choice. Needless to say, most of the men took pride in their self-restraint-something Ra's had never understood-and did not 'swing that way' as they said these days. Bruce did not swing any way. He'd had a girlfriend when he left Gotham, and dated, but never anything serious. Ra's realised that Bruce quickly latched on to him, needing what he could give of affection.

It had started as innocent embraces, but it had not taken long until he'd taken Bruce to his bed. Since then he had flourished, becoming confident and secure-if sometimes pale from tiredness and sore. "How can I not worry?" he asked, "You're a trouble magnet," his lips quirked.

Bruce was relieved that Ra's did not seem to be too angry with him, though he was certain he would recieve his punishment as soon as he was well. He felt his nausea rise again and wrapped his arms around himself. With an endearing whimper he leaned into Ra's chest.

Ra's automatically wrapped his arms around the young man, arching a brow at the people staring at them from the inside. They all thought he was being too lenient with him, but no one voiced it. He was Ra's Al Ghul after all. Bruce breathed in, surprised to feel the nausea settle as he filled his lungs with the masculine scent of his Master. "I do believe you should see our healer," Ra's decided. "This cannot go on."

"But I'm feeling better," Bruce mumbled.

"And without a doubt you will be ill again the next time you smell something vile," Ra's replied. "You are done with training for today, and will not resume until your healer clears your for combat."

With his head hanging, both in sadness for not being allowed to train and from exhaustion, he followed his Master.