Chapter 2 - Arrival

Talia piloted the combat-jet onto the rooftop of a skyscraper in Gotham City. The jet's turbines hurled the snow atop the landing pad into thin puffs of doughy air.

"Merde," hissed Talia in perfect French. "I hate flying in the Winter."

The combat-jet settled awkwardly on the landing pad, but it was hardly Talia's fault. A blizzard howled mercilessly outside the combat-jet's windows.

"We'll wait here," she said. "The storm is too unruly. And I don't want to risk being seen."

Talia stepped out of the cockpit and moved to open the hatch door. "I'm going for some air, it is insufferable in here."

Talia pressed her body against the hatch door but it wouldn't budge. Outside, the blizzard raged on.

"Well?" she demanded, pressing her body against the hatch door. "Are you going to help me?"

The lone passenger in the combat-jet stood up. He was 6 and a half feet, broad chested, and possessed a piercing set of hazel eyes.

He looked like a man who was about to walk to the gallows. His eyes were wide and focused on something immediately before him, but he was looking at his feet.

"Children," he repeated. "I—I have children."

"Yes, I believe I already explained the situation to you," she hissed. "Now are you going to help or are you just going to stand there while your City goes to shits?"

Bruce Wayne moved over to her. The blizzard pushed abnormally strong against them.

"It's 'go to shit,'" said Bruce. He braced himself against the hatch door. "Singular. Not plural."

"Vete a la verga," snapped Talia. "That means 'fuck off' in Spanish."

"I know Spanish, Talia."

"And I know twenty other languages, so you can bite me if I make a mistake."

"On three, then," said Bruce. "Uno, dos, tres-!"

They slammed their weight against the hatch door. The door flung open. Outside, the blizzard roared like an ancient animal.

"Let's go—!"

But a cold gust of air pushed the two of them backwards. Woof! The hatch door slammed shut. And outside, the muted roar of the blizzard raged on.

"Ma de!" groaned Talia. "Why is it so cold in this stupid city?"

"Altitude," gasped Bruce. He lay on the floor, holding his side. He couldn't catch his breath, no matter how deep he inhaled. "Wind chill is w—worse."

He coughed horribly. It was happening again. The life draining from his core. Like he was dying.

Talia immediately kneeled next to him. She unstoppered a vial with her teeth and spit out the cork.

"Drink."

Bruce glared at her. Inside the vial was a dancing green liquid..

"We've been over this, Bruce," she said. "For all your moral codes, you want to save your city, do you not?"

Bruce continued to glare at her. But her attractive Eurasian features were purely indifferent to him.

"So that's the infamous Batman scowl," she said, chuckling. "Does that actually work on criminals?"

Bruce took the vial and drained the liquid. It was hot, like alcohol, but tasted like bitter herbs. He tossed the empty vial at her feet.

"Good," said Talia. She picked up the vial. "You have to remember to take it daily, and at the same time. Otherwise, your body will—"

"You don't have to remind me." Bruce stood up. He hated to admit it, but he immediately felt better. Like he had drank a super-bottle of caffeine. Life burned in his belly once more.

Talia narrowed her eyes at him. "Here. This should help."

She pulled out something small from her jacket pocket and flung it at him.

Bruce caught it with one hand. It was a small watch. He turned it over in his hands. Maybe there was a secret compartment underneath.

"It's just a watch, silly fool," said Talia. "I've set it as a reminder, to help you keep track of your serum."

Bruce wound the watch around his left wrist. A little loose, but it was good enough.

"Remember. Drink one vial per day. If you miss a dose—"

"—my body will decay," finished Bruce. "I think I got it."

"That's not all. If you push your body's limits, it will put a strain on the bioregenerative properties of the Lazarus. You will have to ingest more of it to keep up."

"So we're looking at two vials a day, then," said Bruce. "How many vials do I have?"

"We had a liter and a half when we left Tibet . . ."

Talia produced a black nylon bag from an overhead bin. She unzipped it and brought out a leather box with runes etched along the surface.

"60 vials . . . twice a day . . ." her eyes were counting the vials in the box. ". . . you have a thirty day. Give or take."

"Thirty days," said Bruce. "So I have a month to find this . . . what is his name again?"

Talia closed the lid of the box. "'The Grey Paladin.' I believe he took some loose inspiration from your own name: 'The Dark Knight.'"

"That's obvious," said Bruce. His head was swarming with thoughts. He put a hand on a passenger seat, just to steady himself.

"I have children," he repeated again. "How old are they—dumb question, they're as old as I've been dead. Are they . . . are they nice? What do they like to do—?"

Talia sneered. "My god, are you really this pathetic? The way my father talked about you, he made it seem like you could do anything." Talia shoved the box into his stomach. "Listen! Your city is in danger, again. It needs you, it needs the Batman, again. I revived you from death because your Justice League failed to stop him. And yes, you have two children with the Amazon Princess Diana of Themyscira. But you won't have any children, or a city, if you don't stop hyperventilating and help me stop Roland."

Talia was merciless with her verbal onslaught. Bruce grabbed the box with both hands just to steady himself. Breathe, in and out. He remembered his discipline. His training to calm himself in tense moments.

"You're a piece of work," he finally managed to say. He was speaking roughly, like the words wouldn't come out of his throat. "I've been back one day, you know."

"Technically you've been back for weeks," said Talia. "We didn't want to wake you until your body was adequately healed."

Bruce opened the box in his hands. Dozens of vials bounced around inside of it.

"Don't lose that," said Talia. "That's the last of the Lazarus I could spare."

The box felt wrong in his hands, and yet, a small humming emanated from the center of box. Like he was holding a bundle of live electricity. He respected the power, even if he hated it.

"Wait," said Bruce. "Why don't you have to drink this stuff everyday?"

"Because my father and I drink directly from the source. It lasts several decades. But reaching the source is difficult, it requires great sacrifice and devotion– and no, you can't reach it. You could never."

"And why is that?"

Talia smiled darkly. "Because you must kill someone to access the source. Are you ready to do that?"

Bruce remained silent. He put the box into his coat pocket.

"Exactly," said Talia. "So plan B will have to do. Thirty days to save your city – should be a scenario you are familiar with."

"Thirty days is plenty," said Bruce. Now that he had a mission, his mind was starting to clear. That's how he had survived during those early days as Gotham's protector. He didn't have time to think about the murders and the brutal violence. He kept his mind on the mission: save the city.

And he would do it again.

"Okay," said Bruce. He breathed in deeply. His breathing was back under control. "Where can I find Roland?"

"That's more like it," said Talia, a faint smile on her lips. "But that's the million-dollar question. I have no idea where he is."

"What are you talking about?" demanded Bruce. "I thought you were atop this situation."

"No, you fool," snapped Talia. "I just spent the last several weeks bringing you back from the dead. I know just as much as you."

"Okay," said Bruce. "Then who would know where to find Roland. Your father?"

"I haven't seen my father in weeks," said Talia distastefully. "He disapproved of bringing you back. Said you didn't deserve it."

"He was right," said Bruce. The painful thoughts threatened to take over him again: he had children. He had a family. And yet, no he didn't.

"But," said Talia thoughtfully. "I think I may know someone who might know."

"Who?" said Bruce.

Talia's green eyes suddenly became wide with glee. "The mother of your children."

"Diana—?"

Pain. Saying their names aloud made everything real. Too real. He was starting to remember the emotions he felt. He saw Diana's blue eyes, her raven locks, her pale checks. Everything about her strong and beautiful. The woman he loved.

Had loved. He had died, hadn't he? Sacrificed himself for this city.

Talia was watching him very carefully. The way a doctor looks at a patient about to throw up.

"I'm fine," said Bruce, anticipating her question. "Don't worry about me."

"I don't," said Talia coolly. "Now, if you're over your pity party, we can focus on our next move. The Princess and the Kryptonian have swallowed their prides and have accepted our help – by that, I mean my father's help. They are fighting Roland's army, preventing him from completely overrunning this city. But it's like shoveling against the tide. There's always more."

"Sounds like them. My friends," said Bruce. His throat was tight, like he was sick. He had to fight off the adrenaline, the emotion. "Where are they?" he asked. "I need to talk to them."

"Right now? I imagine they are with their families."

Families.

Pang! Another wave of emotion hit him like he had been spinning for hours. Was Diana married? Of course she would. A flash of anger rushed through Bruce: it was his family, and he had been robbed of raising his kids. And just as quickly, that anger morphed into guilt – his children, Bruce was not there for his children. Like his own parents, his children grew up as orphans.

Bruce knew what an orphan life was like. He never wanted that for his own kids.

"The world stops for no one, Bruce," said Talia, watching him like a disinterested cat. "Not even for Batman's death."

She had attempted to sound smug – but underneath the ruthlessness was a measure of pity. Bruce hated that this merciless woman might actually feel sorry she sounded for him.

"If it makes you feel any better, they've settled for completely sedentary lifestyles," said Talia distastefully. "Barbeques, holidays, that sort of thing. Your children—her children grew up perfectly ordinary. They wanted for nothing."

"Good," said Bruce, getting his breathing back under control. His mental discipline started to take hold once again. "That's good."

Finally, Talia sighed the most patronizing of sighs. "Fool, if you really care about this family that you've never met, don't you think you need to stop this city from destruction?"

"What do you know about caring?" said Bruce. "You're a murderer."

This time, it was Talia who looked a shade hurt.

"I'm a survivor," she snapped with the alacrity of a whip. "And you are every bit the fool my father pretended to ignore."

She turned away from him. "If you can't control your emotions, then perhaps I did make a mistake. I'm leaving you at your old home. Your own your own, Detective."

"Wait," said Bruce. She was right. He hated to admit it, but her cold logic burned through the chaos of his emotions. "You're right. If I don't stop Roland, nothing else matters."

Talia stopped in her tracks and beheld him. Something like stubborn approval shone on her face.

"Then let's get to work," said Talia. She whipped out a cell phone. "I'll call you're the Princess and the Kryptonian, have them meet us at a secure location. They've been following Roland's movements for weeks, and they surely have a lead on his location—"

"No," said Bruce. "I don't need to meet with them."

Talia narrowed her eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"I need their intel on Roland. I don't need them. Find me their base of operations. We'll steal the information back."

Talia put her phone down. She was smiling. "Well look at this. The big bad bat, scared of a domestic."

"Let's move," he said brusquely. "Base of operations, where is it?"

"It's outside of Gotham City. Near Pike's hollow."

"Pike's hollow," said Bruce. "That sounds familiar. Dammit, why can't I remember?"

Talia headed back to the cockpit. "Give it time. Cheating death is no walk in the park, you know."

Bruce settled back into his seat. The blizzard was waning, and yet he could barely make out the silhouette of his city. Slowly, the memory came back to him: the nights perched atop the gargoyles, the skyscrapers, the winding bridges and the endless streets. All of it a distant memory to him. Like he had awaken from a nightmare. Awaken from death itself.

"The suburbs," he said suddenly. "Pike's hollow is in the suburbs. Why are we headed there?"

The P.A. system came online, and Talia's voice spoke to him through a speaker. "Because, Detective. That's where your ex-lover has made a temporary base of operations. And we're going to steal in."

Suddenly, the combat-jet shook with power. They were taking off, and the turbines spun with terrible force.

But that force was nothing compared to the sickly nervousness developing in Bruce's stomach. He was going to see Diana's home. And her family—his family, once upon a time.

But that was a dream. And like all dreams, you eventually wake up to reality.

"And we're off," said Talia. Her voice had regained its composure. "Now you make yourself comfortable, Bruce. It's going to be a long night."