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XIX - Sins Of A Mother - Part I

Wayne Manor, Palisades, outer Gotham City limits

The great room was cold by the time Miranda awoke. She rolled onto her side and realized that Bruce was not there anymore. Images from the night before crossed her mind still half asleep. They made love three times throughout the night and each time was more exciting, more intimate than the last. She smiled at the memory. Her body kept memories of Bruce's touches.

Feeling floating between past and present, Miranda remembered how she had fallen for him.

Too quickly, ignoring the voice of reason, saying that it was not real, it could not be real. A fantasy of shared dinners, laughters, tours, a movie she had wanted to watch. The goodbye kiss at the end of the night, and the knowledge that mere kisses would never be enough. The night she had gone to his apartment, and willingly to his bed ... giving him innocently her virginity, her heart, her soul.

Their love affair lasted long enough before Miranda had done what had become her biggest mistake. In the first sun rays of the morning after a night they had spent making love, she had told him that she loved him. Just to have her heart destroyed in millions of pieces when Bruce had brushed his lips on her forehead and had spoken that he did not love her – at least not like she had deserved to be loved – and he could not love anyone.

Totally and completely helpless, she had delighted at his touch, believing that Bruce's apparent ecstasy had equaled her own, only to discover that her imagination was playing tricks on her.

Then he had left without even saying goodbye and had been absent for a long time. He had been reported as missing and many years had passed before she could find out, through her biological father, he had been alive but captive in a Bhutanese prison. He had been released by her father who had offered to train him in the arts of stealth and fear as a member of the League of Shadows.

Miranda's true father had considered him as his best student, his successor. However, Bruce had betrayed the League, her father's trust and eventually had become responsible for the death of his mentor.

It had been necessary a tremendous effort to try to forget Bruce's existence. Impossible, when his image had haunted her in vivid dreams during her long lonely nights and his name, along with pictures, appeared in the media in connection with another victory in his business. Or when a photo of a beautiful woman at his side had been displayed in gossip session.

Then the perfect opportunity had come up. The perfect partnership. Vengeance against the man who had discarded her like an old newspaper and had killed her father was simply a reward for her patience...

Woo him and win a place of trust beside him was easier than she had thought. But she was not prepared to fall in love again. She knew she was completely surrendered to his charms. She nibbled on her lower lip, more confused than ever.

And what now?

Miranda blinked as she was taken away from her thoughts by the insistent sms tone of her smartphone. She just received a text message. As she read it, her whole face expression started to change and a cold shiver ran down her spine.

I DID MY PART. NOW IT'S YOUR TURN.

A sob tore from her throat. Her stomach sank and a single tear ran down her cheek. It was done.

She dressed herself as quickly as possible, headed out from the mansion and drove to her apartment.

Already dressed in his civil clothes, Damian knocked impatiently at the door of Wayne Manor. It was the middle of the afternoon, but no one answered. He was expecting to find at least Alfred Pennyworth – the faithful butler. He was so badly wounded that he could barely stand. He was in need of urgent help and thought the old butler was the only person he could trust right now. Especially because he should be one of few people to know of the nocturnal activities of his employer.

Worried, he nosed around the windows, yet couldn't spot any signs of life inside the mansion.

A pair of French windows showed evidence of having been forced open.

Not a good sign, he thought. Bruce Wayne had important secrets to protect.

He could not go back to the Monarch Theater because it could endanger the lives of his friends. Then he made an important decision and decided to look for the only person who could provide some sort of refuge away from Bane's thugs. With any luck she would believe his story.

Miranda's Loft, Midtown District, Gotham City

Miranda cursed as she heard the doorbell ringing and remained where she was, crouched, hoping that whoever it was would just give up and walk away, leaving her alone to continue to packing. But the bell rang again, this time almost imperiously. A scary thought crossed her mind.

He wouldn't have the nerve to come here, would he? she thought.

She muttered under his breath again, stood up and walked out of her bedroom without the slightest mood to be stopped at the time she had to gather her stuff and leave the city behind.

She went downstairs and opened the door, encountering a teenager wrapped in a frayed gray coat.

"Yes?" Miranda asked, wondering who would be the visitor. She braced herself for the worst. The kid could be one of Bane's men.

"Are you Miss Tate? Miranda... Tate?" he asked.

Miranda studied the stranger carefully. His dark hair was plastered to his head and his striking blue eyes were highlighted on his pale face. It was obvious that he was nervous.

"Yeah. Do I know you?"

The boy took a breath.

"I suppose so. My name's Damian. I'm your son."

Mortified, she felt her mouth go dry. She stepped back and stared at the teenager before her. She must have misheard.

"It's some terrible mistake," she mumbled with difficulty. Damian glared at her and frowned.

"I'm very sorry but there was nothing I could do to ease the shock of revelation," he said flatly.

"You don't understand ... you made a mistake ..." she insisted.

"You and someone had a kid. You gave up that kid. I am that kid," he declared.

Without a word, Damian picked up an envelope from his pocket and handed it to her.

"I was adopted when I was two days old," he explained. "The staff at St Swithin's found it stuck to the blanket that had been wrapped around me."

With trembling hands, Miranda opened the envelope. A tiny medical ID bracelet of adhesive plaster fell into the palm of her hand. She picked it up, examining it carefully, knowing what she was going to see. A name written in large and faded block letters: TATE.

Miranda held her breath, shuddering. She had seen the nurse putting that adhesive tape ring around the baby's left wrist soon after his birth. Then the woman allowed her to hold the baby in her arms for a few moments. She could still hear the cries of the child as the nurse had got him away from her to take him to the nursery. She had broken into tears and thought she would never stop crying. Breathing hard, she looked up to Damian.

"Why did you come here?" she asked accusingly. "What are you trying to do?"

"I'd like to talk to you."

What that kid could want with her? Was he telling the truth? Miranda fought against the urge to close the door. The eyes of the stranger showed up supplicants and overcame her resistance.

"Come in," she said quietly.

The boy stepped forward and staggered but, before he could fall with strong impact to the ground, she reacted in time, grabbing and leading him to the nearest couch in the living room.

"Whoa," she exclaimed surprised. "Here. Sit down. Are you okay?"

Weakened, he noticed the necklace with the robin pendant hanging around her neck.

"He gave it back to you ..." he said in a small voice before losing consciousness.

Moments later, Miranda shook the bracelet in her hands silently. How could she know for sure that this boy was indeed the son she had given up for adoption fifteen years ago? How could she believe without reservation?

There was only one way to know.

Suddenly Damian awoke with the nagging sense that he had missed something. He slowly opened his eyes and tried to move but his body felt leaden.

"Hey, kid! Are you okay?" she asked.

He slowly turned his head toward the voice and gradually recognized the face leaning over him.

"Fine," he murmured.

"Luckily you woke up. We need to go to a hospital. You are badly hurt. Maybe with some sort of fracture or serious internal injuries." Her concern was genuine. "What happened?"

He tried to sit up and a sharp pain returned, forcing him to let himself fall on the cushions again.

"Be quiet. Everything's gonna be alright."

Alright? Nothing was right, she thought.

"I can't go to a hospital. Not until I'll find a way to stop them trying to kill me. He's after me," he explained.

"Who?" she asked afraid of the answer.

"The masked man. A mercenary."

"Bane," she whispered abruptly. Her heart was beating so hard he must be able to hear it and she was suddenly finding it difficult to breathe.

"Do you know about him?" the boy asked curious.

"More than I'd like to," she answered warily.

"Bat..." he interrupted himself in time. "Mr. Wayne... he is... was in trouble," he said hesitantly.

The name got her attention. She didn't say anything, but he could tell she was hiding something, and it seemed to bother her. His eyes entreated her. He still was not sure if he could trust her and did not know how much she knew about Wayne and Batman.

"I looked for Mr. Pennyworth but I couldn't find him. You're Wayne's friend... I guess," he continued weakly.

"Did they kill him?" she asked but couldn't meet his gaze. He found her question odd. In fact she seemed to know more than he had supposed.

"I'm not sure," he confessed.

Miranda's heart sank.

"That's why I came looking for you. Please, Miss Tate. I have nobody else to ask. Please. Do you believe me?" he pleaded, his voice was tired.

She had no answer. If she said yes, she would be taking the risk of ruining her plans and the boy's life. If she said no... How could she say no? Apparently he was her son. Her only son. But he had no right to convulse everyone's lives.

"I don't know what to say," she finally said.

"I don't fool myself, but I had no other option," the boy admitted.

Miranda was struggling in doubt, unable to decide what to say or not. However, looking at the suffered and anxious boy's face, she made a decision.

"How did you find out about me?"

"I've always known I was adopted. My adoptive parents are deceased. Recently I've found the ID bracelet identity among the records at the orphanage. I crossed the data with hospital records and the names in the phonebook. I saw your name. Besides, you left behind something that had belonged to you, " he glanced to her necklace. "I wouldn't come here if it were not absolutely necessary."

She touched the necklace. She had so many questions.

She thought about Bruce. If he were still alive and knew about Damian he would want to know him better. If he were still alive... Bruce knew about the boy? How he had managed to retrieve the jewel?

Shock, disbelief, fear, anger, panic and a sharp twinge of something else she did not recognize exploded inside her, like a bomb with an intensity so powerful that it drained all the energy from her body, leaving her weak and trembling in the face of the violent assault of so many emotions.

"I need to see something in your lower back," she spat.

"What? Why?" he asked, his facial expression showing slight confusion.

"Just let me..." she asked, reaching out a trembling hand.

Obediently and cautiously, Damian turned around a little and lifted up his shirt exposing several purple bruises. However, it was a birthmark of the size of an adult's thumbnail that got her attention.

Miranda gasped and he broke away.

"What is it?"

She stared at him, unable to speak. He was tall like his father and grandfather. His eyes were the same color as hers.

"You have a birthmark just like mine. Though mine is on my shoulder," she said with teary eyes.

Damian smiled and she wanted to do a caress over her son's bruised face.

"You're gonna stay here," she affirmed. Till I figure out what to do about my life, she added in thought.

"I hope that my first aid knowledge can come up with the goods for now," she said smiling.

He nodded his head.

"Call me Miranda. I think much formality would make it more difficult."

"You can call me DJ," he stated, discovering that he already was liking her.