She drank from her coffee, watching the boy and the man playing on the grass.

They were down in the yard, while Selina stood on the balcony of the master bedroom. It was a bright, chilly morning, the pale blue sky struggling to impose itself against the grey clouds that lurked on the far horizon, clinging to Gotham City's skyline. There was barely any wind, but the occasional breeze would make her shiver, she standing outside, on the high terrace, in nothing but her nightgown and her dark, silky robe. Bare feet on the cold stone, her hands around the warm cup of coffee, her eyes on Bruce's tall figure as he held Henry's hand and walked with the boy, exploring the limits of the Manor's gardens.

Father and son – they seemed an unordinary pair, Selina realized, and in that moment, they certainly were. As much as Bruce was anything but ordinary, when around Henry, he was just a dad. That was how their little boy saw his father, and that was all he needed, at least for now. The father that would play with him, change his diapers, put him to bed. To Henry, there was no Batman. No crime-fighter, no hero. Not even Bruce Wayne, the millionaire entrepreneur. Her son couldn't care less about things like that – all he wanted was his father. All he truly wanted was his father's love.

It was so strange, Selina thought: once upon a time, all she had care about was Batman. If not for that bizarre turn in their relationship, if not for the fact that she had accidently gotten pregnant, things would have remained the same. She would still be Catwoman, prowling over Gotham's rooftops, and Bruce… well, she would have never find out it was Bruce under that cowl. Where would they be?, she wondered. The possibilities were many, but she was certain that this, their little family, would have never happened.

They did have it now, though, and it was hard to even conceive the possibility of something different.

She heard Henry giggling, the boy running in his clumsy, short steps as he tried to reach Titus, who had easily escaped him. The child loved that dog, loved him in a crazy, obsessed way. It didn't matter to Henry that Titus was no cute, playful puppy, but a stern, dark, large Great Dane, big even if considering the usual standards for that particular breed. It had been love at first sight, at least from Henry's part – in truth, Titus had never been too receptive to the child's adoration. Selina remembered how the dog reacted when she first brought the baby to the house: the only word to describe it was contempt. Bruce had taken Henry in his arms and approached the animal, wanting Titus to get used to the baby's scent. A vain effort – the Dane would just turn away from the child, refusing to even look at it. When Bruce insisted, Titus merely left the room… though not before glancing dejectedly at his master, a profound disappointment in the animal's eyes.

Dogs had never been Selina's pet of choice, but she had a way with animals, and that was why it was no surprise to her that Titus had reacted like that, at first. The Dane had been Damian's pet, and no creature could accept the replacement of a loved one, not even – perhaps especially – a dog. And although Henry was in no way a substitute for Damian, it probably had been shocking for Titus, that moment: seeing Bruce holding another child, handling the baby with so much love and care. Dogs were loyal, Great Danes even more so, and they didn't forget. Not those that had conquered their hearts.

Damian… Bruce's son. His first child. A Robin. She had never met the boy, not in his civilian identity, anyway. He had died before Henry was born, even before she had told Bruce about her pregnancy. And that child's death, Selina had concluded long ago, had most certainly defined the way Bruce approached her pregnancy and his role as Henry's father. She had thought about it too many times to count: if Damian had not died, what kind of father would Bruce be today?

Today, he was a protective, attentive, caring father – good things. But that was not all. As Henry grew up, as time passed, Bruce seemed to be increasingly apprehensive, more and more concerned about the child. She couldn't help but notice how Bruce behaved around Henry, how he would seem, even in the most peaceful moment, to constantly fear something. Simply putting, he was afraid. Always afraid. Always watching Henry like something horrible was about to happen. And in a way, she understood it, of course: throughout their child's still short existence, they had already been through a lot. And that was just the beginning: considering Henry was the son of Batman and Catwoman, it was an undisputable fact that their child was probably susceptible to dangers that other parents could hardly phantom, and would face threats his entire life. She knew that, as Batman's child, Henry was a target for people like Scarecrow, Bane, the Riddler… the Joker – a thought that was nothing short of terrifying.

Despite all that, she still had a hard time believing those things could scare Bruce; he was no stranger to that way of living, and had never reacted with fear when facing whatever life would throw at him. No – Selina knew there was something wrong. This was not simply Bruce's usual paranoia, or his understandable concern about his son.

It was something else.

"Mommy, mommy", Henry called her, "look, mommy!"

The little boy smiled and waved frantically at her, having just noticed her presence on the balcony above the garden. He ran away from his father, standing directly below the terrace.

"Hey, baby-boy", she answered while leaning forward and making herself more visible to the child. "What' you doing?"

"Ti-thus." He pointed at the dog, who was peacefully asleep on a sunny section of grass.

She nodded:

"Yeah, baby, I know…"

But Henry had once again dashed across the yard, straight at Bruce. In a second he had his arms around his father's leg, laughing loudly and asking his dad to pick him up. Yeah, that was her kid… a little firecracker, she used to call him. Loud, funny, restless. And totally adorable.

And that was Bruce: taking the boy into his arms and sheltering him on his chest, an embrace that made the child seem so small and light, a tiny baby protected by that large, surprisingly caring man. She had seen that very same interaction at least a thousand times, but could never get tired of it… of that perfection. All this love, she used to think, and the phrase occurred to her once again. Bruce was that kind man: quiet and stoic, hardly able to put into words whatever was going through his heart. In all his relationships, in almost any human interaction he got involved, he had always been the one people couldn't read. And not just as Batman: Selina had heard more than a few stories told by Alfred, or Dick, or even by Jason. Bruce had always been difficult to live with: for the boys, he was the demanding father figure that was hard to please and communicate with. She knew it too well, if nothing else, because of her own experiences with him – they had experienced a tricky start themselves in their relationship, to say the least.

But there was Henry: for some reason, Bruce's walls just seemed to drop when he was around that child. He would just change; from the man that took life so seriously to the father that was so open and gentle.

Maybe that reporter, Kent, was right: something good could come from that stupid article Vicky Vale wrote. Selina had always felt that all the secrecy was robbing something from them, and she believed Bruce thought the same. It was all about protecting their family, their baby, but they were losing something too. They might have had their little sanctuary in there, inside the Manor's walls, but there was an entire world out there that they were missing. A dangerous world, yeah, full of dangerous people and things, but also a beautiful, exciting place. There were a thousand, a million things she wanted her son to see and experience, and she was sure Bruce felt the same. And now, now he would be able to actually do it. He would be able to be next to his son in public, no questions asked. He would be able to take the boy to his first day of school. To his first visit to the beach. To his first little league game, or to watch a football game. Or even to the playground – why not?

Although, of course, Selina wasn't so sure that those things were possible for Henry, or would be. A normal life. Could Batman's child be given that? Or Catwoman's child?

Or was Henry already living in that strange, crazy world of capes and villains?

In a week he would be two-years-old. Two years since the day he had entered that world, two years since she had become a mother and realized that everything, everything in her life had changed. Two years since she stopped thinking about herself as just Catwoman – she was Selina Kyle, someone's mother. In many ways, two years ago she had been born too: as someone that suddenly knew too well what she had to do and what was her place in this world. She had job: to keep that little boy happy and safe, and do her best to make sure he would grow up to make his own choices. Choices that, hopefully, didn't necessarily involved dark caves and colorful outfits.

Perhaps that was exactly what Bruce feared, Selina considered: that, no matter what, he wouldn't be able to keep Henry away from the darkness of their lives. That, somehow, their son would be dragged into it, much like Dick, Jason, Tim, even Damian were.

What was that Vicky's article had said? That the Wayne family was cursed? That tragedy surrounded that family?

Selina didn't believe in curses, or silly ideas like destiny. Your fate is in your hands, she used to say, and someone like her should know what she was talking about. She had been born in poverty and had lost her family before she was old enough to remember her parents. An orphan, a troublesome child, a street-rat kid. Odds were against her, and yet… there she was. Alive. Well. Happy.

But the world had ways of turning things upside down, and that she would admit too.

"Mommy, look!" Henry was yelling and waving again, now riding his tricycle on the deck by the pool. Next to him, Bruce smiled.

"Are we allowed this?",she thought. "This happiness?" Children playing outside, smiles, peace. People had that, didn't they? Good days, without worrying about secrets, about deaths, about saving the world. They could have it. Even people like them: scarred and hurt, who had been through so much, who had seen the worst side of mankind.

She took a long, relaxing breath, and finished her coffee. As her eyes wandered ahead, they met Gotham's skyline, grey clouds surrounding the city.

A storm was coming, and soon the skies would get dark.

II

When Doctor Nigel Lark, M.D., pediatrician, attending physician at Gotham General Hospital, told her he would talk to her, Lois Lane wasn't surprised. Her many years as journalist had taught her many things, but one of the most important, perhaps the most vital lesson, was this: if you were willing to ask, there was always someone willing to answer.

In that particular case, the question was quite simple: she needed information about a patient Dr. Lark had had under his care for a brief amount of time, almost two years ago – a child named Henry Kyle. Lois had read at least a hundred times over the article written by Vicky Vale, and decided that Vale must have had an informant, someone that had fed her data similar to what she had found herself in the envelope that was left at her doorstep. Her meeting with Colonel Trevor, two days ago, hadn't been too helpful, but she didn't expect it to be; he had seemed as surprised as she was when he saw her – probably even more so – and that was important information in itself. It meant that at least the package didn't come from him, something that, after all that had happened to Trevor in the last few years, was a pleasant surprise. Lois would often wonder when would Steve finally let go, when would he decide that protecting the "capes" wasn't worth it, and would finally snap. The way she saw, Colonel Trevor either was a great man – far greater than people thought -, or a dangerous man; a villain in the making, she would privately think.

She had been wrong before, however, and it seemed that with Trevor that was the case. That Dr. Lark, however…

It was easy for someone like her to dig information when she needed to, even if it meant that she had to call in favors and compromise to things she wouldn't ordinarily be prone to. But the fact was: if Lois Lane wanted something, she would get it. Even if she had to risk her life for it – something that was more frequent than she would like to admit. Nevertheless, that was precisely what made her the best reporter in the U.S., or so Lois thought. And if she had her hands in something like Catwoman's civil identity, her ties to the government, and possibly more, well, it was worth the effort.

That was why she expected more trouble than she actually faced.

It had been so easy: once she called and asked for Dr. Lark, someone asked her to wait. Just a few minutes later, Dr. Lark came to the phone, and he didn't seem surprised or even upset when she identified herself as reporter. He spoke calmly and kindly when she asked about Henry Kyle and Selina Kyle, confirming he had treated the boy. He also told her, in a gentle tone, that he couldn't talk to her about the reasons the boy had been admitted, or the treatment the child had undergone and that ultimately cured him. And when Lois asked why he couldn't talk about it, Dr. Lark let a long, loud exhale escape through his lips, and said, in a way that made Lois believe he was slightly disappointed at her:

"Look, Miss Lane… I honestly can' talk about this anymore. If you have any more questions, you should talk to Dr. Elliot."

"And who's Dr. Elliot?"

"The Head of the Pediatric Department."

If Dr. Lark thought the suggestion would discourage Lois, he would be very let down – it took only four hours for her to get at the door of Dr. Elliot's office. There, she was received by a young and unresponsive secretary, who bluntly asked her to wait. "Dr. Elliot is in surgery", she explained, not even the shadow of a smile in her features. And when Lois asked if that would take long, the woman snorted in disdain.

Although Lois couldn't exactly call her experience a warming welcome, it was hardly something she hadn't been familiar with. A decade as a reporter had put her through a lot worst, and for a lot less; therefore, as she patiently sat on the couch outside the doctor's office, her smile and her serenity were genuine and sincere – as was her resolve.

To her surprise, however, the waiting was brief. She had barely made herself comfortable on the small sofa when the phone on the secretary's desk rang. The woman took the call without hesitation, her customary answer coming in a mechanical and thoughtless flow:

"Dr. Elliot's office, Debbie speaking, how can I help you?"

There was the usual moment of silence from her part as she listened to the caller; a few seconds, no more. When she spoke again, however, she sounded slightly surprised.

"Yes, doctor", she said. Her eyes moved quickly from the computer screen in front of her to Lois, still on the couch. "I understand, doctor."

Whatever was that Debbie understood, it was something she judged unpleasant: she frowned deeply, and her cheeks were getting visibly flushed. She hung up the phone in unnecessary strength, her desk shaking and screeching from the violence of the gesture. Then, she turned to Lois and spoke gravely:

"Dr. Elliot will see you now, Miss Lane."

The reporter couldn't help a slight raise of eyebrows from surprise, though she avoided any comments. Merely nodding in agreement, she answered:

"Alright. Great."

Taking her bag and standing up, she followed the secretary to the door that led to Dr. Elliot's office, just a dozen feet from the sofa. The woman opened the door without knocking, and silently led Lois inside; and just as the journalist entered the room, Debbie pulled the door behind her, leaving to Lois the task of introducing herself.

She would have, if the man that stood by the window to her left had given her a moment to do it. Instead, he approached her quickly, a hand stretched to greet her properly:

"Miss Lane", he said, his voice a smooth, serene sound.

"Doctor Elliot, I assume", she answered. The hand she took in hers for the brief greeting was soft and warm, though large enough to easily close around her slender fingers. A surgeon's hands, she realized, that must be strong and precise.

"Yes, yes", the man showed her a shy, agreeable smile. "I'm Thomas Elliot. But most people call me just Tommy."

"Doctor Elliot is good enough for me." Lois was too familiar with people trying to flatter their way out of unpleasant questions to fall for Tommy's sycophantic attitude.

"As you wish", the man smiled broadly, his arms gesturing towards the pair of chairs that were by his work desk. "Shall we?"

"By all means, we shall."

Taking a seat on one of the chairs, Lois watched as the doctor did the same. He was a tall, bulky man, who had sharp blue eyes and angular features. His hair was abundant and thoroughly combed, auburn strands and long sideburns that framed perfectly his clear, well-shaved face. He was wearing the typical white coat of doctors, but under it, he was dressed in expensive clothes and shoes, that fit him without a single noticeable flaw. All and all, he was a very handsome man, whose grave voice and polite manners were seductive and engaging – or would be, if Lois wasn't too familiar with that kind of behavior.

He sat and placed his hands on the arms of his chair, a relaxed smile on his composed features. If he was in anyway uncomfortable by the situation, he hid it pretty well. He allowed himself a few seconds to exam her before speaking:

"I understand you were in touch with staff members about a particular issue…"

"I talked to Dr. Lark", she promptly admitted. "But he didn't seem inclined to discuss the… how did you put it? Ah, yes… 'issue'…"

Dr. Elliot chuckled and nodded.

"You shouldn't take it personally, Lois…" He halted. "Sorry… may I call you Lois?"

"Sure."

"Well, Lois, any… reluctances you might have felt from Dr Lark's part can be easily explained", he solemnly said. "You see, not only are we bond, by ethical reasons, to the doctor-patient confidentiality, we are also legally forbidden to talk about the patient you mentioned to Dr. Lark, or his treatment."

She frowned. "Legally forbidden?"

"Yes."

Lois took a moment to consider this. Then:

"I understand. I suppose you can't confirm the allegations published by The Gazette, then?"

The man smiled slyly. "About Bruce Wayne, you mean."

"Yes", she agreed, carefully examining the doctor. He spoke with much complacency about what seemed to be a thorny issue. "The article mentions him as the father of that child, and…"

"We can neither confirm nor deny…"

"Okay, Dr. Elliot, I get it", she quickly interrupted him. She had no time for that kind of nonsense. "But fact is, Mr. Wayne has been seen at the hospital several times when the boy… this Henry Kyle… was being treated here."

Thomas Elliot leaned back on his chair, still smiling. "Is that a question, Ms. Lane?"

"If it was", she returned, "would you dignify it with an answer?"

"All I can say is, at the time, I wasn't part of the staff. And from what I've heard, Bruce Wayne was, and still is, a generous benefactor of Gotham General Hospital's Foundation, so…"

"So doors are closed." Lois nodded slowly, staring at Dr. Elliot while in deep thought.

"I only intend to be faithful to the truth… and my professional obligations."

"Hm-hum." Lowering her gaze to her notebook, she flipped pages back and forward. Then:

"Doctor Thomas Elliot", she solemnly said. "Graduated as M.D. at Johns Hopkins University, summa cum laude, of course…"

The doctor chuckled, a cocky half-smile turning the left corner of his lips. "Of course."

"Double Ph.D… Biomedic Engineering and Pediatric Neurosurgery." She glanced briefly at the man. "Impressive."

"Thank you." He had place his hands over his knee, legs crossed and a relaxed, satisfied expression as he listened to Lois talking about his achievements.

"Two years as Chief of Surgery in Metropolis Central Hospital…"

"Yes." He agreed by vehemently shaking his head up and down. "That's when I became a huge fan of your articles at the Daily Planet, by the way."

Lois said nothing to that. She kept reading from her notes:

"After Metropolis, though… I couldn't find any records about you, Dr. Elliot. You were a talented, promising young doctor… and guys at MetCentral said you just left. Quite suddenly."

The smile on the doctor's face melted.

"That's two years without a sign. You can imagine that there are all kinds of guesses about where you went, Dr. Elliot. Kahndaq. Washington D.C.. LexCorp."

"Talk, talk, talk. People will talk, Miss Lane; it's inevitable."

"So, those rumors…"

"You can fish as much as you like, Miss Lane. I'm not biting."

"Well", she gestured idly, shrugging and smiling, "you can't blame me for trying."

He watched her in silent coldness.

"Two years off the map, and then you come up here, in Gotham."

"I'm from Gotham, Miss Lane. So is my wife."

"You have no living relatives, though."

The arrogant smile returned to his features. "You seem to know so much about me, Lois… why do you even bother asking?"

There was something threatening in his tone, something she couldn't put into words, but that was easily felt. "Do my questions bother you, Dr. Elliot?"

"No", he quickly answered, "no, not at all. I'm just curious, Lois. I was under the impression you wanted to investigate information that was published by the Gazette… I never imagined I might be the target of your… research."

"You're not, Dr. Elliot."

He frowned. "Could have fooled me."

"Not my intention. Although I did find myself surprised to discover that you, the person that I was about to interview, was one of Bruce Wayne's childhood friends."

He laughed. "What…?"

"It's the truth, isn't it? The Elliot family, it's one of the big names in Gotham City, isn't it? Along with the Waynes, the Cobblepot…" She went back to her notebook. "You went to school together, didn't you? You and Bruce Wayne…"

"Hang on", he asked, his hand up to signal his urge for her to stop. "Yes, we did. Bruce and I, we were friends as kids; we were classmates in elementary school, we even went to camp together… but that was years ago. Over twenty years ago."

Lois examined him for a moment, realizing that, for once, Dr. Elliot seemed perfectly sincere in his words. Still, she insisted:

"And you didn't remain in touch?"

"No, we didn't." There were even hints of sorrowfulness in Elliot's tone. "When Bruce's parents were killed… well, he changed. He just… he just shut us out."

"Us?"

"Everybody. Anyone that was part of his life when Thomas and Martha Wayne were alive."

Standing up, the doctor walked to the window again. He turned to stare at Gotham's grey streets as he spoke:

"I did try to keep in touch. I wrote, I called. But Bruce… he was gone. The boy who had been my friend, my best friend, even… he died that night, in Crime Alley."

Lois tapped her pen on the pages of her notebook. "You didn't speak recently, then? Didn't run into each other in a party, or…"

Elliot chuckled. "I'm a doctor, Miss Lane. I work long hours, and I barely have time for my own family… you won't find me at silly parties and galas, I assure you."

She considered those words for a moment, silently observing the man by the window. Then:

"Do you have kids, Dr. Elliot?"

He coldly stared at her. "Why do you ask, Lois?"

"Just curious."

The man sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. "I do."

Lois nodded slightly, taking notes. Dr. Elliot insisted:

"Again, what does that have to do with…?"

"You are a father, Dr. Elliot. And you knew Bruce Wayne."

"So?"

"So, please, tell me… why would he keep his son hidden, why would he keep secret the fact that he has a child?"

"That", Thomas Elliot replied while smiling furtively, "is the one question I'm in no position to answer. Lois."