I feel like Talia is an underappreciated character and wanted to try my own spin with her. Thanks to JT for the idea and for proofing!

This chapter does have some required reading if you don't know anything about William Blake. Check out these two links before diving in and you should be good:

.

wiki/The_Clod_and_the_Pebble

Sharp green eyes were fixed intently on the screen, narrowed in suspicion at the scene that played before her. Her back ached and her eyes were dry from so much time spent sitting and staring, but she didn't waste a second tapping the replay button when the video came to an end. And so it began again.

"Lady Talia?" Shiva asked, breaking a long stretch of silence.

"What is it?" she replied, refusing to tear her eyes away.

"If I may ask, what are you looking for?"

She didn't respond right away, her gaze still locked on the image of her son. Damian was pulling himself to his feet amongst the rubble, unhurt. She had long since muted the audio, not wishing to be distracted by the reporters obnoxious prattling. Stories of the Titans were all the same - another shallow victory and an empty act of heroism. Damian, like his father, saw the ills of the world and insisted on treating the symptoms instead of the causes.

Philosophical differences aside, distant pride still bloomed in the recesses of her heart when she saw him. My blood. My only son. My greatest achievement. She told herself that one day he would see the righteousness of the League's mission and return to lead them into glory. It was the persistent glimmers of hope and pride that demanded she check in on him, that she always be aware of his condition.

But neither pride nor hope were why she was still here, in this darkening room, compulsively replaying the footage of his latest heroics. She watched him intently on the screen, knowing what was coming but still somehow disbelieving. There.

The slightest of touches. His hand skimming lightly across a shoulder blade and down a slender arm before pulling away at the wrist. If it were anyone else, the move could easily be dismissed as casual and platonic. A simple gesture of camaraderie between teammates.

But it was Damian Al Ghul. Her prodigal child, who was trained in the art of death, not affection. Her little Damian, looking towards this darkly-clad young woman with the barest hint of a smile playing on his lips.

"Umi, up!"

She tweaked his nose instead, unable to help her smile when he scowled at her with more ferocity than a ten month old had any right to. Damian thrashed his little feet indignantly. "Umi…"

"Sleep, little prince," Talia chided. Their nightly routine was her favorite part of the day, more often than not the only time she got to spend with her son. Ra's had been keeping her busier than ever since she'd recovered from the birth.

"Up, peas," he tried again, ever insistent.

She sighed, glancing back towards the door to make sure his wetnurse hadn't lingered before she scooped him up. Damian made a happy noise as she rested his face against her shoulder, one chubby hand tangling in her chestnut hair. "Now go to sleep," she ordered softly, rubbing his back.

"tay."

He was dozing no more than a few minutes later, but she continued to hold him, enjoying the tickle of his soft black hair under her chin and steady sound of his breathing. She caught herself wishing for Bruce to be there with them, her heartbreak at their failed romance still fresh. At least you did not leave me entirely alone, beloved, Talia thought, pressing her lips to the crown of her sleeping son's head.

The fortress had eyes and ears beyond count. I should have known, Talia thought bitterly as she stood before her father.

"Need I remind you of what we're trying to accomplish? What's at stake? I wont have you coddling him."

She fought against the sinking feeling in her chest. "Children require a certain level of maternity to be well-adjusted. I assume you want him to be mentally and emotionally stable?"

"He's not being mistreated, if that is your concern. And I will not have it whispered that my heir is growing soft and weak because of you. The League of Shadows requires a strong hand to rule, the Al Ghul name on its own is not enough," Ra's replied, implacable.

The Demons Head had his way, as ever. She did not see Damian off to sleep that night, nor would she for any of the following nights.

She deliberated over the next few days, attempting to convince herself that it truly was a meaningless habit that her son had picked up after so many years spent with Bruce and his cavalcade of orphans. Acknowledging it may be something more meant grappling with the possibility that Damian was lost to the League - lost to her - forever. The thought caused a dull spike of pain in a long-buried place, and Talia quickly channeled the distant emotion into determination.

I am an Al Ghul. I will not languish in uncertainty.

At any rate, it was past time she called on him. Damian needed to be reminded of his heritage, of what was waiting for him.

She bid Lady Shiva to oversee things in her absence. When she mentioned she would be going stateside, something flashed in the other woman's dark eyes and she wondered for a moment whether she should offer to check in on Cassandra before pushing the thought away. Swallow your sentiment, Talia Al Ghul. We are soldiers first, mothers later.

She packed lightly, eyes falling on an ornate chest at the foot of her bed just as she was readying to leave. After a moment's hesitation, she approached it confidently and began sifting through the riches within. Beneath layers of silk and samite, small ornate treasures and gilt accessories, a tiny jade box was just where she'd left it. Talia closed her fist around it, certain it wouldn't be necessary, but wanting to be prepared all the same.

Jump City was a lively, ambient place. Talia had spent so long in the mountains, running the League of Shadows from the quiet austerity of Nanda Parbat (and avoiding Bruce and Damian, not that she would admit it) that she had to re-learn how to behave in common society. Rabble, she thought contemptuously.

It was a warm and temperate night despite the season, many a house and storefront still bedecked in Christmas lights as the city prepared to usher in a new year. She caught herself wondering if Damian observed either holiday, and decided it was likely after so much exposure to Western culture. Talia wasn't sure how that made her feel - of late she wasn't sure how anything regarding her son made her feel.

Shrugging it off, she pressed back against the concrete wall behind her, eyes locked on an adjacent rooftop. Earlier the chief of police had announced that the Titans would be assisting with crowd control due to unprecedented levels of debauchery and vandalism the previous year, and from there it had been easy to tail her son from the Tower to the tall apartment building he'd chosen for observation. Damian stood cloaked in shadow, invisible to the crowd below, but not to her.

The streets were packed with New Years celebrants, and the drunken cacophony was almost deafening. Even before she'd sequestered herself in the mountains, Talia would never have been caught dead at an event like this. Her social forays had always involved sophisticated parties, political scenes, elegant restaurants. Places where greed and corruption flowed as freely as alcohol and sincerity was a word from a dead language. It was those scenarios where she flourished, trading on her beauty, wit, and ruthlessness to forge alliances and bring low any who stood in the League's way. Remembering it now made her feel like a shadow. Ra's is dead, the League is dying, and my loves have all forsaken me. My claws have been pulled out one by one.

The Titans had split up for this particular mission, and the opportunity to speak to her son alone was too valuable to pass up. If Bruce's orphan, Grayson, caught wind of her presence, he'd have the Bat on her in the blink of an eye. She stood and watched for a few more minutes, weighing her words. Your kingdom awaits. Can't you see there's nothing here for you? Further away in her mind, other entreaties echoed. I've missed you, my son. Come home, if you still bear me any love.

Shadows swirled next to him just as Talia prepared to step out of hiding and she froze. Her. Raven. The witch stepped up next to her son and dropped her hood, moon-pale skin practically glowing against her dark surroundings.

She'd done her research on the woman - a half-demon whose legacy was both darker and more ambitious than Damians own. Talia had told herself her son merely sensed a kindred spirit in this creature, that perhaps she could spin any connection into a reminder of his own familial duty. She studied them intensely as the crowd below began a deafening countdown to usher in the New Year.

Damian said something to her, his words lost amid the raucous chanting. Raven took a step towards him and he reciprocated, every move they made analyzed by disbelieving emerald eyes. Only a few spare inches separated them when Damian rested a hand along the curve in her waist, while his other traced along her jaw and tilted her face up towards him. Their lips met as the countdown expired, Raven's small hands sliding through her son's black hair.

Talia turned away, setting a brisk pace back to her safehouse. Unbidden, her hand fell to the small pouch at her hip. She could feel the outline of the small box through the material as her thoughts carried her away.

It had started as just a mission. Ra's wanted the Bat, Talia was to deliver him by any means necessary.

She was perched elegantly on a ledge when he found them, all of the Black Glove's henches subdued beneath her. It had felt wrong, letting them live, but she decided it would be better to play by his rules for now.

"Who are you?"

"A friend to your cause," she replied easily. His brightly colored sidekick greeted her curiously, but she kept her eyes locked on him, smiling coyly at his suspicion.

"Police are on their way. You should leave while you can," he finally said. Batman himself made no move to leave.

"You wouldn't let them take me away, would you?"

"Leave," he repeated.

She dropped to the floor with a smile, brushing past him as she made for the door. The white eyes of his cowl followed her every step and the thrill of the hunt raced through her veins.

The next time she saw him he was unmasked, looking handsome and powerful in his pressed tuxedo. "Talia," she introduced herself, smiling at the flicker of recognition in his blue eyes.

"I don't suppose I could steal a dance from you, Mr. Wayne?"

"How could I refuse such a beautiful woman?" he replied gamely. Talia couldn't help but be impressed by his performance. This is his true mask, she realized.

He asked polite, unthreatening questions as they whirled on the dance floor. Where was she from, what brought her to Gotham, etc. She was amused by his attempts to wheedle information out of her.

"I came looking for a man," she answered.

"What man is that?"

"You wouldn't know him."

"You'd be surprised, Miss…?"

"Al Ghul."

The mask fell away then, his hands tightening on her waist and shoulder. Talia smiled triumphantly and stepped forward to cup his face. "Ah, there he is. I couldn't be sure," she lied. "You were hiding so well."

"What do you want?" he asked lowly, but didnt pull away. The look in his eyes was impossibly intense and for the first time in her life, Talia felt like she was the one in the snare. She forced herself to ignore the excited flutter in her stomach.

"I told you before, I'm here as a friend." Her hand traced his cheek. "You look like you could use one."

She hadn't meant to love him. Ra's had told her long ago that love was a sweet poison, as capable of killing as any other, and she had lived by those words. But how could she not love this man?

There were endless levels to Bruce Wayne, the truest of which he kept hidden away from everyone in his life. Talia longed to see them all, to examine him like some rare gem and watch the light catch on each beautiful facet. What glimpses she was allowed were fascinating to behold.

The day she found out she was pregnant was both the best and worst of her life. She had been so sure it was the final piece of persuasion she needed to win him to her side. Instead it had been a monstrous argument, culminating when he suggested this had been her plan from the beginning.

"Unsurprisingly ruthless of Ra's to use you this way. I'm certain he'll be impressed with your results."

The truth in his statement made her blood boil, even as another part of her was begging him to understand how he had captivated her. "You doubt my conviction? When you're the one choosing your pointless, self-imposed mission over my love for you?"

"No, Talia. That's what you're doing."

She'd feigned a miscarriage in the end, knowing Bruce would never abide Ra's Al Ghul to raise his child. Does he know about them? she wondered. Perhaps it was only a casual relationship...but no. Talia knew what she had seen, and while her son had become a stranger in some ways, she could not believe he would share any part of himself carelessly.

If her discovery had proven anything, it was that Damian had more of her in him than he realized. Talia loved passionately - destructively, even. There was a sensuousness to the Al Ghuls not at all present in the Waynes. Even her father's blood had once run hot for Melisande, though he wasted no time ousting her after Talia was born. Bruce may as well have been a glacier for all he allowed himself to feel.

He is as much mine as yours, beloved. And better than the both of us.

She thought back to Raven again. The two of them weren't so different, born and bred to serve their sires above all else. But the other woman rebelled in a way Talia had never dared, and what a bitter realization that was. Damian rebelled too. Perhaps if you had been a better mother, he wouldn't have. It was a useless thought, the past was the past, and whether or not she'd always been allowed to show it, Talia loved her son. That she was certain of.

The jade box mocked her from its spot on the bureau. It had been wise to bring it after all.

A collection of William Blake paintings were on loan to Jump City's museum, and it was there she found the object of her son's affection, standing before one of Blake's Great Red Dragons. Talia's long hair was bound in a scarf, telltale green eyes hidden beneath a pair of sunglasses. She'd watched Raven mill about the museum for nearly an hour, but something about the red dragon kept calling her back to this spot. She moved next to her casually.

"Favorite of yours?"

Raven shrugged and kept her eyes forward. "I thought it would be bigger."

Talias eyes raked the painting. Shed thought the same the first time she saw it. A battle of good and evil deserves a larger canvas.

"And the dragon should have seven heads," Talia responded. Someone had told her that, once.

The witch gave her a sidelong glance. "So the bible says. But Christians like to exaggerate."

I suppose you would know better than they.

"I prefer Blake's poetry to his art." She recalled a morning long past, where she'd recited The Clod and the Pebble while wrapped in Bruce's arms. "What do you think, beloved?" she'd asked. "Is love selfish or unselfish? Do I bring you heaven or hell?" His only response had been to press a kiss deep into her skin, and to this day she wondered if he'd been afraid to answer her honestly.

"Love seeketh not itself to please, Nor for itself hath any care; But for another gives its ease, And builds a Heaven in Hell's despair."

Talia started, head whipping to face the young woman next to her. How did she…?

Raven wore an unamused smile, gem-like eyes searching and unafraid. "But you know nothing of hell's despair." Her tone was nothing less than factual. "Who are you?"

She quickly recovered her composure, meeting her stare unflinchingly despite the danger that flickered across those purple irises. "No one," she answered. A lioness, chained and declawed. Can you imagine the indignity? I pray you are never caged. "I'll leave you to your dragon."

"I'll allow it," Raven replied in that same confident tone. Talia decided that she liked this pretty little demon. I wonder what Ra's would have made of her.

Damian sat patiently on his knees, still as a statue with one hand outstretched. He was alone in the garden and hadn't moved since she spotted him. A few more minutes passed before a flicker of movement in the underbrush caught her attention.

Furtively, with agonizing slowness, a small red fox detached itself from the foliage and took a tentative step towards her son. When Damian didn't move it padded closer, flinching every few steps as if it hadn't quite decided on him. At long last, it reached him and stretched forward to pluck something from his open palm, jaws working as it bolted down whatever treat her son had offered. Damian reached forward slowly, gently scratching between its pointed ears as it licked its chops. She'd seen enough.

"Damian," she called from the doorway. The fox vanished in a flash of red and her son stood up and turned towards her.

"Yes, mother?" He was short for a ten year old, something her father had remarked on irritably as though it was her fault.

"I dont think your grandfather would approve of his heir playing with wild animals," she said sternly. Ra's was constantly looking for signs of weakness in his prodigy and she wouldn't put it past him to make Damian kill the fox if he'd seen this display.

"Very well," he replied evenly, his face a mask of apathy. He was a perfect blend of her and Bruce, her golden skin and cat-green eyes, and his fathers dark hair and strong features. He looked more like him every day.

"Come along. You have lessons."

He fell into step beside her as they made their way to Ra's for his morning drills, arms held behind his back like the perfect soldier he was. "Mother?"

"What is it?"

"I'd like to know about my father."

Talia sighed. She'd been expecting him to ask any day now, their visit from Deathstroke's daughter Rose clearly having piqued his curiosity. "What of him, Damian? The Bat certainly isn't interested in knowing about you." The lie tasted bitter on her tongue, even if she agreed with Ra's about its necessity. Her son would need to face his father in battle one day, and it would be all the better if he already harbored some hostility.

"I could prove to him that I'm worthy. Grandfather tells me I'm ahead in my training, and that I'm better with a blade than-"

"The answer is no."

He fell silent and guilt twisted somewhere in her hardened heart. "You will meet him someday, Damian. But not as a supplicant seeking his approval. Remember what you were born for."

He didn't respond right away and she thought she saw tension in his stride. As they neared their destination he had another question for her. "What will become of me after? Once I've defeated Batman and the League is in control?"

How many times had she asked herself that same question? "Our mission is ever ongoing. The Lazarus Pit will ensure you have many lifetimes to keep watch over the world. At some point, Ra's will make a match for you and you will have your own heir to continue our good work."

And may your union end more happily than my own, she wished silently.

"Mother."

She smiled wistfully, not yet turning around.

"Damian. It's good to hear your voice."

"It was you at the museum, then."

She faced him, only now realizing how much taller than her he'd grown. "I see she keeps no secrets from you."

He said nothing for a moment, suspicious jade eyes locked on hers. "Why are you here?"

I hardly know anymore.

"I thought I was imagining it," she responded. "Your little signs of affection. I had to know for sure...and I had to try and bring you home one last time."

"My home isn't with you."

His words cut her more deeply than she expected. When did I grow so weak? Talia thought tiredly. "I can see that now," she replied. "I have something for you."

She ignored the way he tensed as she reached into her pouch. She had never once raised a hand against him, not even when he defected from the League. Ra's Al Ghul had been practically frothing with fury, and her pleas for mercy had fallen on deaf ears. Fortunately, her son was more than a match for Maya Ducard and the other would-be assassins who'd been sent after him.

Talia held the box out to him, feeling uncharacteristically weary. "Something your father gave to me long ago, when we stood a chance. I have no use for it anymore."

Damian didn't take it right away, looking stunningly like Bruce as suspicion settled across his features. "Why?"

"Women love trinkets. It's a weakness in us," she answered loftily. The emerald engagement ring had been her greatest treasure once. He'd chosen the stone to match her eyes, he said, but when she looked at the green and gold ornament all she could think of was the League.

He took it from her and she smiled. "I'll leave you to her now. It was good to see you, Damian."

"Wait," he said. "I can't believe this is what you came here for. You've always...you told me love was a liability."

"It is." She turned to leave, too tired to continue.

A dragon may need seven heads, but a demon could be happy with just two. I hope you come back to me, Damian, and not alone.