Author's Note: Welcome back, one and all, to the latest installment of this series. It's good to be back again, and this time we're back on the streets of Gotham. New challenges, new characters, a few of whom I hope are surprises. Feel free to speculate where this is going to go, because speculation really gets the creative juices flowing. So, without further ado, enjoy.

Disclaimer: We do not own Batman

Cornered

It didn't matter where it was, which part, or if it was well-kept or allowed to decay, Gotham was and always would be a city of darkness. Even in the affluence of downtown where the skyscrapers stretched up from the ground below, the well-lit streets could not light up the upper levels of those buildings.

It made it so much easier for the black and gray-clad figure scaling one of the high-rises to escape notice.

Even if you could see them, what you wouldn't be able to see was any climbing gear. Second, it wouldn't be until later that you realized they weren't scaling down from the roof, but climbing up. Each time, a hand was stretched upwards, seconds would follow, and then the figure would move upwards if only by a few inches.

Yet they did not fall.

This was all possible because small points in the fingertips of the glove they, no, she, wore acted like small spikes, digging into the stone veneer and after an initial test, would hold as she pulled herself upwards. Though not as obvious, the tips of her boot also narrowed down, allowing for the footwear to find the small niches in the mortar and give a hold to keep from inadvertently slipping down.

Up this high, air moved about more freely, carrying with it a chill. She ignored it; a minor detail in this environment that she was more than used to. Up above she maneuvered around and sometimes on balconies that jutted out of the building. Sometimes she would jump from one balcony to the next. Periodically, she would rest and allow her limbs time to relax before making another effort at climbing. Such times allowed her to gaze out into the city, take in the view, and not be moved by any of it.

Just a couple more floors, and she should reach it. Taking in a deep breath, she raised a hand up to her shoulders to check, then went back to it. Fingertips reached for the side of the building, and climbing resumed.

Within her breast, her heart hammered. The knowledge that one mistake could send her falling to the streets below allowed a hefty amount of adrenaline to flood her body, keeping her on high alert. It was familiar and very enjoyable once you got used to it.

Finally, she reached the balcony which was her target. Grabbing onto the safety railing, she pulled herself up and over it, setting booted feet on the jutting structure and facing the glass sliding doors.

This was an older building, which in turn signified greater wealth. Sure, there were newer buildings out there with more luxurious and gaudy penthouses, but the rich and wealthy always craved status, and to go for older Gotham meant status. It was a waste of time and money if you asked her.

However, this pathetic dick-measuring contest of status chasing would serve her. Why? Because it meant that the glass sliding door was actually made of real glass, and not the reinforced and soundproof plastic that masqueraded as such. With a swagger, she approached the doors and took a nice look at the view inside, one much more preferable to that of the city.

There, on the far side, she could see it. Though older, that did not mean the owner had skipped out on security. It was the typical panel with keypad and transparent screen. There would be a timer that would countdown until the correct passcode was entered. Without it, an alert would be sent to the cops, and someone would be called to come over immediately.

At least, that's how it should work. Tonight was different because the owner, in all his arrogance and forgetfulness, did not turn on the system. What would be the point? He was going out to a place that had alcohol, and he would be raging drunk when he returned, with or without company. Either way, he wasn't going to be in a state of mind to punch in that code. It had happened before with cops leaving exasperated.

So in the attempt to save himself time and a visit from cops, he left it off. Who was going to try and break into a penthouse twenty stories high?

Taking a look at where the lock should be, she eyed it critically before raising up a hand, stretching out the fingers and really popping out the sharp-tipped claws. She placed the sharp claw tips on the glass, fingers spaced out, then turned her wrist to the right, then the left, then right once more.

A soft screech as glass was cut could only be heard by her and her companion. She continued turning and reversing her wrist until her hand began to push forward. Stopping, she took a calming breath, then pulled her arm back, retrieving a perfect circle of glass while leaving the reciprocating hole behind. Placing the glass down on the balcony floor, she then reached through the hole, one large enough to slip her hand and part of her arm through.

Angling to the left, she searched with fingertips until she found the lock. Though the security system was off, the balcony door had remained locked, but not anymore. There was a click, and then the door was slid open.

"It's your turn," she said softly as she tilted her body, her right shoulder angled to the floor. A black-colored mass then left her shoulders, jumping down onto the carpeted floor, a thin tail waving in the air as it padded its way deeper into the penthouse.

She slipped in and left the door open. It might as well serve as her exit too. Right now, she needed to keep track of her majestic companion who strolled around like she owned the place. Rounded, triangular ears extended upwards and out, a tiny nose taking short little breaths while the head moved from side to side.

"Go on, Isis," she purred. "Earn your keep. Find me where he stashes his little secrets."

The black feline looked back at her, dark pupils rounded in the dark penthouse, giving a meaningful look. One paw was held up, not quite stepping forward but ready to do so in an instant. Curling her lips, she began her own stroll towards the cat, and only then did Isis ventured forth and down a small hallway.

"Of course," she murmured and followed after. She spotted her feline companion sitting in front of a door immediately to her left, the small snout directed right up at the door handle. And this is where she came in, she mused.

It was unlocked, so easy. Isis was darting in, exploring her new kingdom. She, meanwhile, entered lazily, not closing this door either. She glanced around, noting a couple bookshelves, a couch and two chairs, and of course a desk set up. Her eyes zeroed in on the lone decoration in the room, a pastel picture of some flowers in a vase, and she rolled her eyes.

Now this was getting too easy.

As if on the same wavelength, Isis plopped herself directly below the picture and its frame. Smart cat, even she could pick up on the obviousness. With casual strides, she took her place in front of the picture and took hold of it. Lifting upwards, she pulled the decoration away and exposed the safe hiding behind it, sunken into the wall.

At least a little credit could be given here. It wasn't sticking out of the wall itself. Nonetheless, the owner could have made this more of a challenge. Speaking of, as she placed the picture on the floor, leaning it against the wall, it was time for the real challenge.

Breaking the combination lock. The truest method would be to use the combination itself. Other methods involved damaging it, but then you had to take apart the lock itself, and that was messy and time consuming. For that option, you needed heavier tools than what she currently possessed.

So clean and challenging it was.

Eyeing the turn dial critically, she noted how it went up to one hundred. If the owner had any brains, he would have left it at a random number. So, she turned it to zero, steadied her breathing, then leaned forward until the side of her head was pressed against the safe itself.

The dial was turned, spun around twice and then the turning slowed to a crawl. Millimeter by millimeter she turned, hitting every number until she reached six. Was that…? Yes, the first tumbler. Thanks to a little gadget she had picked up and embedded in the side of her headgear, she was able to hear a dull lifting sound muffled by the thickness of the safe.

Now the dial spun around once to the left and slowly was turned until it reached sixteen. Another tumbler fell into place, and then it was back to the right but not quickly. Again, with the slow pace and this time seemed so much longer until ninety two.

Grabbing the small handle, she pulled down then towards herself, moving back as the door opened. Within she could see a few stacks of cash, something for a rainy day, along with some cases that for sure contained jewelry. It was mundane, but not what she was looking for. Slid in the middle of it was something that was definitely not made of gemstones or green in color. Folders and documents and a thin notebook, that's where those were, and that was what she pulled out.

She went through it all, eyeing it critically. There was something here, something important, and she was determined to find it. She hadn't been casing this place for so long if she wasn't sure what she was looking for wasn't hidden here. It would be something if for once there was some effort to—oh, hello there.

One of these things were not like the others, and this was a blueprint of sorts. Taking advantage of the desk set up, she placed the documents and notebook down while opening up the prints. Yes, yes...and yes. This was it.

"We're done here," she said aloud, mostly to Isis who only looked up at her blankly. Folding the blueprints and tucking them away on her person, she began to head back to the open doorway and to the balcony only to come to a stop.

Looking over her shoulder, she eyed the rest of the contents of the safe thoughtfully.

After all the effort she had put into this little burglary, it would be such a shame if she didn't take advantage of it.

Besides, that was a lot of cat food she could purchase, and only the best for Isis.

It had taken weeks to get to this point. They had danced around each other, making promises, giving misdirection, sneaking out the back, reneging on arrangements. At last, the time had come.

Bruce Wayne had been cornered.

Lounging in his chair in the boardroom, the billionaire didn't have to fake the bored look on his face. Lucius sat patiently at his side. Around them were lawyers and financial officers, all prim and proper and ready to go to war.

On the other side of the table was perhaps the most unsettling person Bruce had ever had the privilege of meeting. Considering the psychopaths and maniacs he had encountered, that was saying something.

He was a main with white hair, all of it combed back, giving it the appearance of a fluffy snowball. Though he had the hair of an old man, his face looked as if he was 30, without a wrinkle in sight. It was a peculiar combination.

HIs name was Maximillian Shreck and despite the unsettling aura he gave off, he was not a man to be mistaken.

"It's...good to see you, Bruce," Shreck greeted him, his manner of speech sounding off. It was like he spoke before he thought of what he wanted to say, and then he spat out the best combination of words and somehow they all fit together.

"Good to see you too, Max," Bruce returned.

"It's been...a long time, since, I've been in this room." Max turned his chair to one side and then back to the other, looking around the room. "I like what you've done...with the place."

"A lot of hard work went into it. It was rather outdated and I felt it was time for redecoration."

"I believe you're referring to...the abrupt dismissal of your Board." A smile appeared on his face, as if he were giddy at the thought. "I have to say...I applaud what you did. There has been...so many times where I wish I could have done that. My Board has been treading carefully ever since. So, I suppose, I owe you...some gratitude, for what you did."

A man at the Shreck's side coughed nervously, clearing his throat. "You wouldn't believe the number of times he's mentioned it," he chuckled. "Any time the Board steps out of line, he just hints at a Board-wide takeover and everyone is walking on eggshells."

"You're welcome, Max. Anything I can do to make your life easier," Bruce said.

"You know what would make my life easier?" Max responded, suddenly very certain of what he wanted to say. "If you would take Computron off my hands."

The man at Shreck's side gave an exasperated look. He was a middle-aged man, his dark hair beginning to grey at his temples. If Bruce wasn't mistaken, his name was Daniel Mockridge, one of Shreck's subsidiary officers. In fact, Mockridge was in charge of Computron, which was the sole reason for this meeting.

That avoiding and dancing around each other that had been going on for weeks? It was all about Shreck trying to sell Computron to Wayne Enterprises. Bruce had done his homework, looking into the company and despite what Max had just said about off-loading, it was doing quite well for itself in the development of computer programs and software. There had to have been some kind of hitch, but as far as he and the Wayne Enterprises bean counters could see, everything was on the up and up.

That was when he looked into Shreck Incorporated and discovered it wasn't Computron that was the problem, but the Shreck business itself. Shreck Inc. was hemorrhaging money and capital and it needed a fresh injection to last the rest of the year. For years, Computron had been asked about, and Max Shreck had laughed in anyone's face about its availability. It was now serving as a dangling carrot to attract other companies to help out the struggling corporation.

Bruce wasn't one for looking a gift horse in the mouth, but he certainly did his homework.

"Before you feel like we're rushing you into any decisions," Mockridge spoke up, "perhaps you should hear our pitch first?" He then waved his hand to a television monitor, one that had been brought in by the Shreck envoys and placed at the side of the table. Picking up a remote, Mockridge turned on the television and hit play.

Immediately, the image of Computron headquarters appeared, an aerial view that circled around the building. A voiceover began speaking almost immediately. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the headquarters of Computron, America's top developer of software production and computer sciences."

The screen changed to a lab setting, where workers were hard at work, typing on computers, designing their latest programs. A man suddenly appeared, dressed in a green suit and purple tie. He had a green bowler's hat, a purple question mark appearing on it and the tie. "Welcome all," he said, the source of the voiceover. "It is I, Computron's own Riddleman, and I'm here to show you the wonders and mysteries of everyone's favorite program designers. Behind me, you can see our game division hard at work, creating the latest and greatest in a long line of gaming titles." A couple of the workers actually stopped what they were doing and gave thumbs up to the camera.

The screen changed, one of animation as balls of light followed along cables. The Riddleman had shrunk to the bottom right corner of the screen. "Computron is the leading developer in web design and computer programming. You've very well used our programs in any number of handheld devices, including your phone! But that's not what you're interested in.

"It's old, it's ancient, and it has fascinated us for millennia? Trapped, lost, a dungeon of traps and death, you will never escape. What am I?" the Riddleman suddenly asked. The screen changed, phasing in what appeared to be a maze. "Why, it's The Labyrinth! Computron's most popular and famous game! But why only play it in a digital world when you can experience it for yourself? Coming soon, you two can wander around the actual Labyrinth!"

The maze became live-action, the skyline of Gotham in the background as the fabled Labyrinth appeared in its likeness. "Why wait to experience this once-in-a-lifetime—"

The video came to a stop. That was because Bruce had reached over the table and taken the remote from Mockridge's hand and hit stopped. "You're actually building a theme park?" he asked incredulously.

"Not building—built," Shreck told him proudly. "Though the park isn't for sale...just Computron. I've put...too many resources into that park to hand that over."

"I must have missed quite a bit," Lucius piped up. "I'm unfamiliar with this Labyrinth game."

"It's only Computron's most popular game title," Mockridge bragged. "And with the sale of Computron, you'll be getting the royalties to the game as well."

"Wouldn't that give us the proceeds from the park too?" Bruce pointed out. "Since we'd be owning the trademark and all."

"I'm certain you can leave a little slice of that pie with me," Shreck said confidently. "After all...this is a negotiation."

Bruce and Lucius shared a look. Yeah, that wasn't going to happen. No way were they going to allow Shreck to continue reaping profit from a product he clearly sold off. They would have to keep a close eye on any documents prepared by Shreck's people. He had a nasty reputation for sneaking in clauses that greatly benefitted him.

"All of which we can discuss at a later time," Mockridge assured them. "There isn't really any point in discussing that if we aren't going to move forward with the sell."

"We are interested," Bruce began.

"Of course you are. Why wouldn't you be?" Shreck interjected. "It's Computron! Everyone would like to have it."

"And I'm certain we'll have plenty to talk about in the coming days," Lucius assured the other side. "What are you asking for, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Price can be negotiated," Mockridge responded immediately. "Computron does generate in excess of two billion dollars a year, so whatever price you do end up paying, it'll pay for itself within a year."

"Or more," Shreck added, a grin on his face.

"If you don't mind my asking, why are you looking to sell Computron?" Bruce suddenly asked. "It doesn't seem like you to want to give up such a big moneymaker, Max."

"Shreck Incorporated...is a very diverse company. My portfolio—I must say—is quite...expansive. There are just certain sectors...I don't care for anymore. Computer programming is just one of those."

"Yet it is an essential area in this day and age," Lucius pointed out. "Are you certain you want to sell."

"Oh, without a doubt."

"Then I'm sure you'll allow us to do our due diligence, review your company records, and then get back to you on what we'd like to offer," Bruce said.

"Of course, of course. Just don't take too long, Brucie. I have...a line of people, all of whom want Computron. And why wouldn't they? It's Computron."

Ugh, Brucie. If he could go one day in his life without hearing that infernal name, he would die a happy man. "Then you can count on us to get back to you shortly." He then stood up, signaling the end of the meeting. "If you would excuse us."

Everyone else followed his lead as they stood up. They all shook hands before beginning to collect their things, or at least that's what Bruce planned to do had Shreck not hung onto his hand and made a sharp jerk with his head. Clearly he wanted to speak in private, just without asking for it out loud.

Internally sighing, Bruce nodded and Shreck let go of his hand. The two of them walked off to another part of the room, where the other man began to talk. "I know you're going to want Computron," the white-haired man began. "But know that Computron isn't the only thing I wanted to talk to you about."

"Is that right?" Bruce replied, trying this best to not sound bored.

"Don't worry. You're gonna love this." Shreck then looked around them, acting as if he didn't want anyone to hear what he was about to say. "I'm starting a new...project. A new...company. You see, I didn't lie when I said...I wanted out of computer programming. I've found a new, exciting market—the energy market."

That caused the dark-haired man to raise an eyebrow. "You do realize just how difficult that is, right?"

He wasn't kidding, it was extremely difficult to enter the energy market. The current conglomerate of energy companies had a stranglehold on the sector, not to mention the government presence that guaranteed the continuance of such a structure. The barriers of entry were high, even for a company like Wayne Enterprises to get through. For a company in trouble like he believed Shreck Inc. was, he found it highly unlikely to succeed.

"Oh, believe me, I know," Shreck nodded. "However...I have a way in. I have plans—plans, Bruce—and it's at the investment stage. The sooner you jump in, the cheaper it will be for you in the long run. Any hesitation, the price goes up."

"I guess you'll have to tell me all about it—though not today. It's almost lunch and I have a very important meeting to get to."

"Oh sure, sure, as you like. What do I know, I'm just helping a buddy out. You...are my buddy, right, Bruce?"

"Of course, Max. And believe me, I want to hear you out. It's just, I've had this set up and I can't cancel. Words like alimony and child support have been passed around."

Realization dawned on the man. "When you put it like that… I understand. Go, take care of your business. We can talk...later."

As much as Bruce wished that was just an excuse to get out of that discussion, it was the god's honest truth—well, most of it. No way was he going to get stuck with alimony and child's support. That being said, it was definitely a family matter.

Now he just needed to let Lucius know about it.

It was all running together. There had been a time where even if he was overwhelmed, he would always keep an ear out, listening for that one detail that stood out.

But that was another lifetime ago.

That was when Sarah was still in his life.

Life had not been kind to James Gordon. How long had it been now? The days, the weeks, and the months were all running into one another. It was hard to tell where the breaks were.

Case in point, he was listening in on a debriefing with two detectives. A large chunk of what was being said had already been forgotten. It was another case, one that had led to a bust. Nothing too big, only a handful of arrests. Some career criminals taken off the streets once more, and nothing else to write home about.

Except, and this was where he should have been paying the most attention, this bust was just another connection in a much bigger case.

It always started with rumors. Then you find a two-bit crook throwing around names bigger than himself. Then you think about it and probe a little deeper, and surprise, surprise, you find something else, a tip of an iceberg that you had no idea was there. About a couple months ago, they found a name. Then they found a connection with another crime. Then it was more probing and investigating.

There was care being taken, because loose lips sank ships, or alerted the wrong people. He may have been old, but he wasn't too old to not remember a time with crime families dominated and ran the city. It was that which got his initial attention, but time and feeling old had taken their toll on him.

Gordon was trying, especially when he was hearing rumors about a new crime family rising from the ashes.

"Good work," he said, barely noting how toneless he sounded. Looking away from the detectives, the commissioner trudged away, his slow pace slowing down even more when neared the spot where—

Wake up. Please. Don't do this. Don't do this, please.

...and it had to be next to his office.

He hadn't moved it, the office. He hadn't seen any point. Because the one person who could have told him it was going to be alright would never be able to anymore. No signs of the bloodstain remained, but the painful memories did. Almost jerkily, he entered the room, cluttered with so much, and shut the door behind him.

His back leaned against the closed doors, his head tilted back, and his eyes closed. His body felt so tired, lacking any kind of energy, which was becoming more and more normal. Back when it had happened, there had been grief, but it had turned to rage and anger and luckily had a target he could direct it to. But now that target was gone, buried under what was left of Stonegate Prison, and he was left with…

...what was he left with? You never truly knew how important a person was until after they were gone. It didn't matter if it was sudden or drawn out, whether you knew it was coming or not, it still hurt. It hurt so badly.

Yes, he had held it together earlier, but even through the fog that he felt in his head, he knew that he was losing it. Losing his edge, his drive, everything. This couldn't keep going on. He couldn't keep going on. Being commissioner was hollow now. Saving and protecting Gotham was hollow too.

It was one thing to swear yourself to a cause, to give your everything for it. Once you had someone beside you, someone you cared about, who has the same goal, and drive, and then to lose them, that was something else entirely.

The moments where he felt like the toll being taken on him was too great were happening with greater frequency. It was only a matter of time until the crash came and when that happened, because it would be when and not if, it could wreck everything.

If there was one thing that hadn't changed about him, it was his sense of responsibility. For the men and women serving under him, for the city to whom he served, they needed him at his best. To be responsible. Sometimes, that meant that being responsible was staying to the bitter end or leaving before becoming dead weight.

He could admit it to himself, he was becoming dead weight.

Gotham deserved so much better.

Sarah had deserved so much better.

Taking a breath, his exhale was longer than the inhale. It was time to try to get back to work. Accomplish something.

Accomplish anything.

Bruce had never been more uncomfortable in his life.

The lunch date, such as it was, was not going well. The day was nice, so they had taken a seat on the patio of the restaurant, a large umbrella providing them shade. The round table didn't provide the sides a regular square table would, yet he still found himself on an opposite.

Seated opposite him was a little boy, his name Damian. Faintly, Bruce could make out similarities between himself and the boy; he couldn't help but do so. Right now, Damian was slouching in his seat, an ever permanent scowl on his face as he crossed his arms across his chest. He clearly didn't want to be here.

This wasn't the first time he had sat down with the boy for a meal. This was the third actually and the two prior ones had the boy more animated. It was clear he was spoiled as he held himself in high regard and the wait staff as mere peons. His current sour mood stood out in contrast to the prior occasions.

Perhaps that had to do with the girl that sat next to Bruce.

Cassandra seemed to be mirroring Damian's pose, arms crossed over her chest, slouching in the seat. Her hair was shorter, cut into a boy look. It looked good on her, in Bruce's opinion. Right now though, she and Damian were trading glares with each other, obviously engrossed with each other.

Yet, there was one other person at this lunch. Seated next to Damian was Talia, one bare leg crossed over the other, a cup of coffee dainty held in one hand as she sipped from it. Despite the clear unhappiness between the two…"children"...Talia couldn't have looked any happier. It was like she was oblivious to the awkwardness.

"Isn't this a lovely day?" she asked then, proving Bruce's point.

"It is," he agreed, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He was tempted to order a glass of bourbon to drown himself in; it wasn't like playboy, imbecile Bruce Wayne wasn't known for drinking before noon. Some things took priority though.

"I believe you had a meeting with this Shreck Incorporated," the Demon's Daughter continued, lowering her cup to the table. "How did it go?"

"You know how it is: a lot of foreplay and none of the pleasure."

"As long as they did not leave in a huff, it is still a victory."

"Nothing short of complete annihilation can be called victory," Damian interjected.

Bruce stared at the boy. "Is he talking about the business meeting, or his soccer team?"

A coy smile appeared on Talia's lips. "Both, I would think. His team is on the cusp of victory, I can almost feel it."

One of the previous meetings, it had been revealed that Talia had enrolled Damian into a youth soccer league. Damian had clearly been excited about it and it made sense to him. In most of the world, soccer—or futbol as it was called—was the most popular sport. That Damian followed it—though surprising—seemed to fit with his living abroad.

However, his team...was not that talented. From when he heard, they had lost their last three games, which equaled the number that they had played. They were going to be playing another 0-3 team this Saturday, which stood to be their best chance at winning a game.

"We better win, or I will see to it the 'team,' if you can call it that, is severely punished," Damian grumbled. Clearly his joy of the game was taking a backseat.

"Will you be able to attend the game, Beloved?" Talia asked pleasantly.

Why not? "Let me check my schedule first, but I would like to come," he replied.

This caused Damian to perk up. "Really? You will?"

That had been the right answer, it seemed. As...clumsy as he felt about this, Bruce did want to go to the game. It was another in a long list of things he wanted to do to get to know the boy better. He was his son after all and it was high time he got to know the boy better. That was what these lunch dates were all about.

Talia had been ecstatic when he had proposed their first meeting. Surprised, startled even, but she had wholly given herself to meeting with him with Damian in tow. Yet, he couldn't help but feel someone was missing.

That someone had been Cassandra. She hadn't been too pleased with his attempt to reach out to the al Ghuls. She clearly didn't like them. But if there was going to be a relationship here, all invested parties had to be on board. Getting Cassandra to this lunch date had been a massive undertaking as his first attempt to bring her to the second lunch ended in abject failure. She had avoided it like the plague.

Subterfuge had to be used on this third one and it had worked. Inviting the girl to have lunch had brought her and her ravenous stomach running. That quickly changed the moment Talia and Damian arrived. Bruce had the double pleasure of watching the happy look on Cassandra's face and the excited one on Damian's die in an instant, morphing into their current shared stink eye.

They had been that way ever since.

"I'll send you the details this evening," Talia continued, a breathtaking smile on her face. She really was a beautiful woman, exotic and alluring. It was times like this Bruce was reminded of that fact.

"Will it just be you, or will you be bringing...her…" Damian then asked, his tone changing into disgust at the mention of "her."

"I have no interest in your kickball," Cassandra immediately replied.

"It's called futbol, you cretin," Damian spat back through clenched teeth.

"You kick the ball, do you not?" she responded coolly.

"Well...yes…"

"Then kickball will suffice."

"But it's called futbol."

Well, this was going well. Bruce wanted to rub his palm over his face in exasperation. Two snipping children was not what he wanted to deal with. Picking up a glass of water, he made to take a sip.

"Perhaps you should come," Talia proposed, something Bruce nearly did a spit-take as he shot her an incredulous look. "You could learn the finer points of soccer."

"Futbol, Mother!" Damian whined.

"Whatever you say, Dear."

Now Damian was pouting for a whole new reason. Talia ignored it as if she were used to it. Instead, she had her attention on Cassandra. "So, tell me, what do you plan to do with yourself?"

Cassandra raised an eyebrow at the question. "I do not know what you mean."

"Well, you are a teenager, are you not? Surely you must have aspirations, or plans for your future. I would like to know what they are."

Cassandra stared blankly at the other woman, then looked to Bruce as if she had been asked some foreign concept that she never heard of. "I...suppose...I will keep up with my training," she began slowly.

Talia nodded. "A young woman should always be vigilant. One can only rely on one's self for protection. However, I do not see where your training will help you earn money, or create a livelihood for you. Gone are the days of dojos and martial artist trials."

Cassandra seemed to shrink into herself. "I...I guess I hadn't given it much thought," she said softly.

Damian snorted. "I bet you wished to continue splurging on my father's dime."

"Damian," Bruce said sharply, causing the boy to flinch from his tone. People at the other tables actually turned their heads, looking bewilderingly at him. They had never heard such a tone leave his mouth, so it was quite a spectacle. "That was uncalled for."

"He does bring up a point though," Talia defended. "I see a girl who is treading water and not learning to swim."

"She's had other concerns that took precedent," Bruce told her vaguely. "And she's a fast learner. I have complete confidence that she can do whatever she pleases."

There was a quiet moment then, one that was interrupted by Damian grumbling, "I'm a fast learner too."

"I believe I have crossed a line," Talia then amended. "I apologize, to both you, Beloved, and Miss Cassandra. I hope you can forgive my insolence."

"It's...alright…" Cassandra said. A look to her and Bruce could see a troubled look on Cassandra's face. Talia's words had left an impact and she was truly contemplating them.

Fortunately, that was when a waiter arrived. "Is everyone ready to order, or is more time needed?" he asked.

In a flash, Talia had a menu up, one of the four that had been lying in front of them all. "Ah yes, I had a question about your duck," she spoke, the previous exchange appearing to leave no impression on her.

Lowering a hand beneath the table, Bruce sought out Cassandra's hand, which had dropped to her side following Talia's questioning. Taking a hold of it, he gave it a comforting squeeze, offering the girl a reassuring smile when she looked to their hands and then his face.

They were going to have a talk about this. It would be later, but there would be a talk. He owed her that much. For now though, they needed to get through the rest of this lunch. He had a feeling that Talia would be the only one ordering duck, though.