Disclaimer: this chapter has MATURE content. I mean it. MATURE, as in, if you're offended by this kind of thing, it might bother you. I personally think it didn't turn out to be heavy or too explicit, and it has a context in the story, but still… be warned!

You were warned… If you like moments like this, though, happy reading!

P.S.: if you follow the comics, there's a not so subtle reference in this chapter to one particular moment between Bruce and Selina in recent arcs that I really liked. If you catch it, let me know!

AliaAtreidesBr

It was Victor Stone, the Cyborg, who asked Batman to go to the Watchtower that night. He had been waiting for Victor to contact him, of course – he had, just the day before, enlisted Cyborg's help to exam Henry's tissue samples, hoping that the young man's access to S.T.A.R. Labs would give him a better chance of finding something, or, hopefully, ruling out any problems with his son's health. Batman had even plans of, at the end of the night, calling Victor, though he reasoned that it might be too soon to ask about results.

So, when Victor called himself, and told him to go to the Watchtower as soon as possible, Bruce was truly alarmed.

He drove back to the cave, calling that night's work off a few hours earlier. His arrival wasn't noticed by Alfred, and he was glad; he wasn't in the mood to explain anything. Taking hold of his portable teleportation device, he typed the necessary code and watched as things got increasingly blurred and indistinct, the cave disappearing before his eyes. In a millisecond, however, the scenery had changed: he stood inside the Watchtower, alone in its main hall.

Everything was silent and still, as was usually the case in the Justice League's headquarter. No one was there to greet him; the main room was empty, its large windows showing the impressive sight of Earth seeing from space. Nevertheless, he heard Cyborg speak through the communication system:

"Batman. Welcome." There was a moment of hesitation before he finally completed. "We're in the laboratory. Come and meet us."

We. Who was "we"?, Batman wondered. He hadn't talked or asked for anyone's help but Victor's. Still, he wasted no time; taking the elevator, he reached the Watchtower's vast laboratory in less than a minute. As the door sled open to him, Batman immediately took notice of the person that was with Cyborg: Dr. Silas Stone, director of S.T.A.R. Labs and Victor's father.

"Hello, Batman", the man greeted him. "It's an honor to finally meet you in person."

He looked slightly anxious as he reached his hand and offered it for a handshake – a gesture the Dark Knight ignored.

"Dr. Stone", he drily answered, a slight nod of his head being the only sign of acknowledgment that came from him. He then turned to Victor. "You brought your father."

"I did", Cyborg quickly answered, obviously unsatisfied. Batman's impoliteness towards his father had not passed unnoticed. Before he could speak again, though, Silas Stone did:

"I asked Victor to bring me, Batman." His own tone was now firmer, and he seemed to had regain his self-confidence, even some of the arrogance that had made him infamous among his colleagues from the academic circle. "I helped him with the exam of the human tissue samples you asked him to test."

"I'm aware of that", Batman pointed out. It was no surprise that Victor had enlisted his father's help: Dr. Silas Stone was one of the most brilliant minds in the world, especially when the topic was human genetics. But that was precisely what was bothering Batman; why did Victor need his father's help, so much so that he had had to bring him to the Watchtower?

"Victor told me you had sent this material to him, but he said nothing else: not about why you wanted it tested, or even how you had obtained those cells…"

"It's not your concern, Dr. Stone." Batman quickly replied, his tone harsh.

"Indeed", the doctor agreed, "it's not my concern. But that's the reason I'm here now: because it could be someone else's concern."

Batman frowned:

"What do you mean?"

"Batman", Cyborg called. He spoke gravely, a hint of sadness in his voice. "My father… he discovered something."

So that was it, then: there was something wrong with Henry. In his chest, his heart pounded furiously; his mouth, suddenly dry; and through his constricted throat, he managed to ask:

"What did you find out, doctor?"

Silas removed his glasses, cleaning its lenses on the edge of his white coat. He put them back, looking up to stare straight at Batman's mask.

"You have to understand, Batman… I couldn't work on this in my own laboratory, surrounded by my team. As soon as Victor sent me the material, I realized it belonged to someone… special?"

Batman exchanged glances with Cyborg, who avoided his gaze. The Dark Knight insisted:

"Special? Victor, are you sure you sent him the right material…"

"I am, Batman." Victor half-human features showed sympathy. "We ran tests over and over… including DNA tests. It is the material you gave me."

Dr. Stone seemed slightly intrigued:

"So you didn't know either?"

"Knew what?"

"That this person… he's a meta-human."

Those words came as an abrupt punch to his jaw would: he felt dizzy and his mind went off for a moment, the word "meta-human" consuming all his thoughts. Henry. His son. Meta-human? How could that be?

"This… it must be… a mistake."

"It's not", Cyborg affirmed.

"No. No, it's impossible…" I would have noticed, Batman almost said. He stopped himself in time, however, again aware that Victor's father was there. That brought him another question:

"What kind of meta-human are we talking about?"

Cyborg would have answered him, but his father was quicker:

"The bad kind, Batman. The kind that will get more and more powerful, till the day he will destroy everything around him."

Selina found him at the cave, in the gym, relentlessly punching a heavy strike bag that hung from the ceiling.

He was no longer in his bat-suit: shirtless and bare-footed, he wore fleece black pants and nothing else. His face and upper-body were covered in sweat, suggesting to her that he had been beating that punching bag for a while, now – his knuckles, already raw and reddish, were another clue.

"Bruce", she called. She had entered room unnoticed, apparently; he hadn't acknowledged her presence in anyway.

He briefly looked at her, just from the corner of his eyes. Then, he took another deep breath and clenched his teeth, delivering another round of punches in astonishing speed and strength. Finally, he held the bag in a resolute, tight hug, forcing it to be still. And there he stood; arms around the punching bag, his forehead against it, breathing heavily as he regained wind.

She placed herself next to him, watching as drops of sweat came down the side of his face and ran down his body, loosing themselves as they were absorbed by the fabric of his pants or simply fell on the ground. It crossed her mind that he didn't look merely exhausted – he looked beaten.

"Are you okay?" She didn't mind that her question betrayed how worried she suddenly felt. "You didn't come to bed this morning, didn't join us for breakfast or lunch, you didn't even go upstairs to say 'hi' to your son… It's been almost twenty-four hours since I last saw you. What's going on?"

His breathe seemed to have returned to its normal rate, but he took air in again in a deep, prolonged inhalation. As he exhaled, he let go of the punching bag and stood straight, turning at her as he said:

"I'm sorry." His apology wasn't casual; in fact, it was given in an unexpected and poignant tone.

That caught her by surprise; she suddenly felt slightly guilty, wondering if, perhaps, she had spoken too harshly before.

"It's okay", she muttered, in undeniable shock. "I… I didn't mean to scold you… I…"

"I know."

She felt his eyes on her, a brooding gaze that brought her alarm.

"What's wrong, Bruce?"

He answered her by raising a hand to her face, his warm palm against her soft skin. He caressed it gently, his thumb tenderly tracing the lines of her cheekbone, his fingers advancing across the smooth skin of her neck and finally finding her nape. He knew she loved that: how he ran the tip of his long, skillful fingers over that sensitive area of her body, causing her to lean back against his hand and groan softly. But as he took another step closer to her, placing his other hand on her waist and pulled her to him, she protested:

"Bruce… c'mon…" She took advantage of their proximity, taking hold of his face with both hands and forcing his eyes on hers. "Answer me, please…!"

He fought her hold, though, and managed to place an avid kiss over her lips, one she didn't refuse. This gesture was wildly uncharacteristic of him: though a passionate lover, he had never been one to avoid conversations by seducing her – she couldn't say the same about herself. He also had rarely shown such urgency for her, at least physically; wasn't he the one that made such a big deal about self-control and restraint? Few were the occasions in which he had allowed himself to be spontaneous, even after all the years they had been together.

Hands on his chest, she pushed herself a few inches away from him, allowing her to look at him again.

"You're scaring me", she whispered, feeling the furious beat of his heart against her own palm, tasting his sweat on her lips.

She saw the strain on his jaw as he forced his mouth in a straight, tense line, his eyes lowering to stare down at the floor.

"I didn't mean to scary you", he declared, his own voice little more than a murmur. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Selina… I…"

No words came. He silently embraced her, his arms a strong grip around her. She had her own head on his chest, skin against skin, and she could feel his hesitance – it was a physical thing, showing itself in the way he behaved. His hug was full of need, his breathe in an anxious pace; whatever was in his mind, he just couldn't find a way to tell her.

"It must be horrible", she spoke against his warm thorax, "this thing you can't tell me."

He didn't answer – his only reaction was to heartily kiss her brow.

"But you can, okay?" Her own voice was a trembling sound, words tumbling as she tried to express something that was, even to herself, yet unclear. "Whatever it is… whenever you're ready… you can tell me… You know this, don't you?"

Closing his eyes, he leaned and again searched for her mouth, finding it as he gently held her chin and rested his lips on hers, a chaste kiss.

"I love you, Selina", he said, their foreheads touching as he lowered his hands to held hers, their fingers intertwined and their bodies close together. "I love you…"

"Bruce…" His name came out in a whisper, a soft, pleasant sound on her tongue. She never thought much of the word "love", except on the rare occasions she would hear it from him.

But yes, she loved him too; desperately, at times.

She released her hands from his grasp, running them over his sweat chest and stomach, feeling the flushed skin of his thorax, the firmness of his tense muscles as he reacted to her touch. As she reached his neck, her long nails grazing him lightly, he kissed her again. Lips parted, their tongues meeting and dancing inside each other, his taste and his obvious need for her.

"We should go upstairs…", she said, breaking their kiss.

"Let's stay here", he asked softly. "I don't want to… wait."

She complied, nodding her head in agreement as he placed several tender kisses on her neck and collarbone. Through the fabric of his pants, she felt his hardness – he was obviously ready, anxious for her, but also seemed to hesitate. Perhaps, she wondered, he wanted to be sure that she was just as engaged into this as he was.

If he needed a gesture, she was sure to provide it: she lowered her hands over his naked upper-body, finding the waist of his training pants and placing her fingers under its elastic band, pulling it down. They fell loose around him, leaving him completely naked as he stepped out of the garment.

"Handsome… so handsome…" She whispered, smiling against his mouth as he fervently kissed her once again.

He helped her as she undressed: his quick fingers unbuttoning her blouse, and he silently watched as she gracefully slid out of it. He liked to watch her, she knew; his stern features changed by desire and joy as she exposed herself to him, fraction by fraction of her body revealed as she deliberately removed her clothes. Naked, she again leaned against his thorax, the contact of skin on skin finally bringing her some peace. His chest was so broad and protective, his arms enlacing her and sheltering her completely – like that, she always felt safe. For a moment, Selina realized, she truly believed nothing could harm them.

Still, she felt his restlessness; he kissed her eagerly, and soon Selina had her back against the wall, her body pulled up as he held her over his pelvis. It was all so natural, so easy for them: she knew what to do, as did he. Her legs around him, her elbows supported on his shoulder, their faces so close as she grabbed portions of his hair and watched his eyes. She loved his eyes – those dark-blue pools, filled with desire, glaring at her intensely while she moved her hips and found his erection, finally allowing him to penetrate her.

"Selina…", he muttered by her ear, lightly biting her lobe as a growl of pleasure grew in his throat. Yet another thing she loved: his hoarse voice and moans, the sounds of their love-making that were so private and theirs, this side of him that she knew to belong just to her.

"I'm here", she answered, aware that he needed her to. He needed to see it, feel it: she was there. She was there, with him, and wouldn't go away.

Reassured by her words, he moved; thrusting into her, without any rush. He was good, no, great at that, she had always felt; able to move inside her in the rhythm she gave him, always capable of reading her and her needs, attentive to even the slightest signs. But, above all, she loved their intimacy: how she was able to watch his features as he enjoyed every thrust, or the way she messed with his hair by grabbing it and pulling it as she got close to come. Things and gestures that were theirs, only theirs, and that no one could take from them.

Except for themselves, of course.

He pushed himself inside her a bit deeper, causing her to gasp in pleasure as she felt him reach for her mouth, kissing her intensely. His powerful arms were around her, sheltering her from the cold contact with the wall behind her, holding her as to keep her face just above his. So handsome he was, she thought, a man whose chiseled features just didn't match the roughness of his night-persona. His straight nose, perfectly outlined mouth, squared jaw… his remarkable blue eyes.

It was a blurred vision, his face, as she felt herself lost into waves of pleasure that carried her to her climax and caused her to moan loudly and finally cry it out, calling his name as her body tensed and she clasped her legs around his hips, arms tightly enlaced around his neck, her long nails grazing the skin of his shoulders and her mouth searching for his, searching for that one kiss of release. Too much, it always felt like too much for her to take, that feeling of beautiful completeness that took over her as she abandoned herself to the bliss of that sensation, all the while still feeling him inside her, watching as he was overjoyed by the sight of her orgasm.

It never took him long to come after that, and this time wasn't different; as she still trembled in his arms, he pulled her to him and followed her, his face buried into her collarbone, groaning against the softness of her skin. A moment she cherished with all her heart, those times when he was no Batman, no legendary super-human; he was a man, her man - nothing more.

They stood like that for a moment, holding to each other, their bodies shaken and aroused. Selina was the first to let go, leaning back against the wall and looking at him, his flushed face sweaty and relaxed. She caressed his unshaved chin, her other hand getting loose into the mess she had made of his hair.

"That was… pretty amazing, Bruce."

"You're amazing", he replied, kissing her one more time before sliding out of her.

She couldn't help but gasp as they parted, already missing that closeness they shared. Her feet again touching the floor, she looked straight up at him, pursing her lips for a second. She had a confession to make herself:

"I came down here for a reason…", she started tentatively. "I wanted to talk."

He frowned, obviously intrigued:

"About?"

"This isn't the right moment", she quickly added, knowing it to be true. Not the right moment, with Bruce so troubled and clearly upset. And yet, all things considered… perhaps there was no better time; maybe, it was precisely what they needed. "I think. I don't know, actually…"

"Just tell me", he insisted, taking her wrist in a firm grip. They were naked still, Selina realized, and considered that this wasn't how she had envisioned this conversation.

"Maybe we should get dressed."

It took him a moment to actually move, his gaze so intense and scrutinizing that she felt overexposed. It was a great relief when he let go of her arm to get their clothes, tossing her shirt at her and quickly putting on his pants. He patiently waited, however, for her to do same; it was only when she was done that he asked, his voice hoarse and tired:

"Is it about Henry?"

"No", she chuckled. "No, it's not… why did you think so?"

He closed his eyes and waved his head, dismissing her question.

"No reason… I just…" He opened his eyes again, and took a deep breath. "It seemed important, and I presumed… presumed it was about him."

"It isn't", she whispered. Again she moved towards him, a gesture he replied almost unconsciously: his hands immediately came to rest on her waist, fingers softly caressing the skin of her lower back as he waited for her to proceed.

"Well?", he urged.

"Well…" She looked straight into his eyes. "I think... no, I know." She was nervous, she realized. Her hands trembled slightly as she placed them on his shoulder, just as she said it:

"I'm pregnant, Bruce."