A year
After a particularly difficult night, Bruce would remember, he returned to her apartment.
It was almost morning, the night already showing a pale grey light, and the moon could no longer be seen. He should return to the cave, but something was drawing him to that place… In that night, he had sent to jail a psycho killer, man that had killed over thirty women in seven different cities across the country. Batman had not been able to avoid the first two murders in Gotham City. Both happened there, in Selina's area. Or in the neighborhood that was Selina's area.
He entered the empty apartment. No one lived there since she left; she had sold the place, and it was bought – Selina probably didn't even imagine it – by a company that was actually a subsidiary of Wayne Enterprises. Bruce wasn't sure of why he had done this… why he wanted the apartment. Why he made sure that it was never rented. Why, every once in a while, he went there.
Before, in the first couple months, he half expected to find her there. Could Selina really go away? Leave Gotham? She had always returned… and her place would be there, waiting for her. Exactly as she left, with the furniture she abandoned, everything the same, everything… except for her. Because it had been almost a year, now. Almost a year, and she was still away. Finally, a few weeks ago, it hit him: she wasn't coming back. She had left, and had no intention of returning.
The question was: why?
He couldn't avoid thinking it had something to do with himself. He would go to her empty apartment, and evoke memories of the last night they saw each other. Remember her words, their entire conversation, phrase by phrase. In his mind, he analyzed the possibilities, considering what would make the Catwoman leave Gotham City and, apparently, even her life as vigilant. However, Batman realized this analyzes wasn't an easy one… For as much as he wanted, he couldn't avoid to just think over and over about her last sentences… "I don't need anything from you. Or from anybody."And it could only lead to one conclusion…
She just couldn't stay around him anymore.
My fault.
Three days ago Barbara gave him news. He had asked her to see if she could track Selina, and so she did. "She is in London", Barbara told him. Had been there for over ten months. Bought an apartment in Chelsea. Even opened an art gallery, eight months ago. No sign of any activity as Catwoman, not as vigilant, not as thief. Looked like she was, as Barbara said, "living an ordinary life". An ordinary life. This just didn't sound like Selina. She was anything but ordinary, and no one loved the thrill of this "hero life" like her. No, this was strange. Wrong.
But there was that photograph…
Barbara had shown him a picture; it was taken a couple weeks ago, by a newspaper photographer, during an opening night in her gallery. When he saw her, it struck him: she had changed, somehow. He couldn't quite tell what, but she was different… still gorgeous – or maybe more than before; had she always been that beautiful, or all this time without seeing her had made him forget? -, still had that daring and vivid look, still had the charming smile, still… Selina. And yet, it was not the same woman, not exactly. This intrigued him, but it didn't bother him as much as another obvious conclusion he took from the picture:
She was happy.
She looked happy, she looked fine. In a way, he resented that. She had left Gotham, and was actually doing so well. What probably meant she wouldn't be back. It meant she didn't miss him. It was a disturbing thought for him, he realized.
However… he couldn't avoid feeling glad for her. He couldn't avoid looking the picture over and over, just looking at her smile for long periods of time.
Maybe there was no point in keeping the apartment empty. Keeping it as she left. She was never coming back, he knew it. Why keep that apartment there for her…?
Batman took a deep breath. Morning had arrived, and it was time to go home. Maybe sleep for a while; he hadn't done that in the last forty hours, while searching for that murderer. Rest… if he could. Try not think about her. About her new life away from Gotham… away from him.
No, she didn't need the apartment anymore.
He did.
Two years
Selina would always wish to be able to forget about that day, although she never could… It was the day, after all, in which she finally realized what her life would be like forever.
The nightmare ended as night itself was giving space for another pale, late winter morning. The doctor rested a hand on her shoulder and said:
"He will be fine, Miss Kyle."
Selina felt she could finally breathe again.
All started when Marion, the nanny, called her at work; it wasn't even noon yet. Selina heard as the girl told her, in an anxious tone, that Thomas still had a fever; yes, she had given him medicine; no, his temperature wasn't going down… and this had lasted the whole morning.
Selina left immediately, took a cab, and she was home in fifteen minutes… just to find her son sleeping restless, but still burning with fever, breathing heavily and, seemed to her, difficultly. At this point, Selina was half panicked already.
She called the pediatrician, he asked her to bring Thomas to the hospital. While calling for a taxi, she could feel her heart pounding, and the cold sweat on her hands. Selina couldn't believe how much fear she had in her, remembering nothing in her entire life as Catwoman that had frightened her this way. Her son on her arms, and feeling his skin hotter and hotter under her touch, she realized how much the situation caused her to feel… helpless.
The doctor examined him, and said, without a glimpse of doubt, that Thomas had pneumonia. "I'll not lie, it's serious", the man said. Her baby was hospitalized. They put tubes and needles inside him. He cried from pain and fear, while she kept telling him to be brave, telling him it would be okay. She felt awful. Felt like she was telling him a lie. It was a lie, wasn't it? She didn't know if things would be okay… she was scared. She wanted to cry too. Held his hand until he fell asleep. And in that hospital, watching Thomas' lungs struggle for air, Selina had the feeling they were the last people on Earth.
She never saw herself doing it, as it only hit her conscious when it was done. Selina had her cell phone on her ear, and it was calling… Nonsense, she thought to herself. Useless, her mind insisted.What was the point, anyway? Would he even pick up the phone? Almost nine o'clock in Gotham, almost time for him to go out on patrol. He would never answer it. Too late. Maybe Alfred would answer it? Maybe… And then… what? What? Should she leave a message? Saying what? "Please, ask Bruce to call me, it's an emergency… our son could be dieing."
Would he answer that?
"Hello."
It was him.
"Hello?"
His voice. He was there; she could hear him. Just a word of distance. She could respond him, she could speak to him. She could also feel her mouth dry, her hands trembling. She could tell him what she wanted to tell, and say…
"Who's there?", he asked, and she recognize he was no longer using his more casual tone, but the deep, husky tone she had come to love, the one that evoked memories… memories of their moments together, memory of the way he whispered her name before touching her skin, memory of the sounds of their love-making, or even the memory of that low sound in the back of his throat, the slight sign of pleasure he allowed himself to manifest when they kissed for the first time…
"Selina?"
She smiled. So, he knew.
Our baby is sick, that's how it would start. It would be a long conversation. He would ask what she was talking about, and she would tell him about their son. Explain to him why she left, and why the secret. He would understand, of course. He would be happy. Never disappointed or sad. But he would worry, because Thomas was sick. He would come even before she could ask; they would be together before the night ended. She would be able to rest her head on his chest as he held her tightly. Forgive me, she would say; there's nothing to forgive, that would be his answer.
And Thomas would be fine, he would be fine in the morning, so his dad could hug him for a whole hour, and his mom would watch from a distance, thinking her son looked so much like his father.
"Stupid!" She silently bit her lower lip, cursing herself for this act of desperation. "What am I doing?"
"Selina, talk to me…", he kindly asked.
"Talk…" And say what? Throw all that on him, tell him about the choice she made? Obligate him to choose too…?
"I… I'm sorry, Bruce…"
"What's wrong?"
He sounded preoccupied. He was asking with every intention of helping her, she could feel. However, what could he be thinking this was about? Probably thinking she was having trouble with criminals, maybe with one of her old enemies… How could he imagine it was all about a child… their child?
Her child.
"Nothing is wrong… really. I'm sorry, I just… I'm having a bad day, that's all."
"Please, Selina, don't hang up…"
She did.
Went back to sit by her son's bed, and held his hand again. They had each other, there was no one else; and that was the way things would be.
"I should go to London."
"Then go."
The Oracle – Barbara Gordon -, was staring at him from the computer screen, and her expression was emotionless, almost like she was bored.
"I suppose you can handle things around here for a couple days."
"No problem… I'll ask Nightwing to give us a hand."
"Do you think he will be avaible?"
Barbara sighed:
"I don't know, Bruce…" She gave him a severe look. "We can handle it, okay? We've done it before, you know that. If you're having second thoughts…"
"I'm just considering the possibilities." He was seating on his chair in the cave, chin supported by one hand, dressed in his Batman uniform. He hadn't left for patrol, however; could either do that, or call Wayne Enterprises and tell his people to prepare his private jet. Should Batman protect Gotham or should Bruce Wayne go to London? "She doesn't want me there."
"Are you kidding?" Barbara's eyes widened slightly, a sign of her disbelief. "If she didn't want you there, why did she call?"
"Many reasons. In a moment of strong emotions, one can do the most unexpected things."
"Yeah… tell me about it, traumatized-child-dressed-as-giant-bat…"
"I don't remember you complaining when you joined our lines", his answer came with a disapproval groan.
But Barbara couldn't avoid a smile:
"It was precisely what seduced me."
She watched as he remained in silence, eyes staring the cave wall, his lips pressed in a thin and tense line. The Oracle thought this needed an intervention:
"Listen, Bruce, if you are hoping or expecting her to directly ask for your help… well, you might wait for the rest of your life. You know the Catwoman would never do that. She has this whole… independence issue… you know, just like you…?"
"I know."
"This could be a perfect opportunity for you to settle things…"
"It wouldn't."
"Why…?"
"She would hate me, Barbara. I would just disrupt her life… she has a good life, doesn't she? An ordinary life… and I'm anything but ordinary."
"Neither is Selina, Bruce. Come on, she called…"
"She called Bruce Wayne, Barbara." He breathed deeply. "She didn't call Batman."
"You don't know that."
"I do."
She weaved her head in disbelief; how could a human being end up this complicated? There were times when she could do nothing but feel sorry for him.
"So what, Bruce…?"
"So, I must go on patrol."
"You're not serious."
He didn't answer that, as he was now adjusting his utility belt.
"Do you really think it would make a difference…?"
"Yes!" His voice was so harsh and cold that scared her. "I do think it makes a difference. This is my life, Barbara! I'm Batman, and I can't afford to be Bruce Wayne all of the suddenly, and leave all this like it's just a game…"
"Tell me you are not doing this because you resent her for leaving her vigilante life."
"It's not about that."
"So, you don't resent her?"
"This conversation is over, Barbara."
Batman walked to his car, turning on the loud machine; he settled the autopilot, and left the cave at full speed. The radio was on the police frequency, and there was no lack of work: a fire in downtown, hostage situation in the suburbs, and it seemed that a prisoner had escaped Arkham Asylum. "Let's just hope is not the Joker…", he thought to himself. And spoke:
"Oracle, we have a fugitive from Arkham; get me the details, will you? I'm taking care of a hostage situation…"
"You can be a real bastard, sometimes." He heard the bitterness in her voice. "You know that, don't you?"
"I do. It's part of the…"
"… job. Yes, you keep saying that."
An uncomfortable silence hanged between them for a few seconds. Finally, he said:
"The fugitive… can you…?"
"Yes, I can." She sighed. "Oh, I just hope it's not the Joker…"
Alone in his car, he smiled.
"Thank you, Barbara."
"You're welcome, Bru… I mean, Batman."
Three years
Thomas would never remember that morning. To him, it was just another ordinary morning, like the ones he was used to.
Left his bed and went to his mom's bedroom. She was asleep. He went to the living room, and found his plastic soldiers lying on the carpet. Played for a bit, but, soon enough, he was hungry. Looked for mom, she was in the bathroom; called her, and she came almost immediately.
"Sorry, baby, I didn't know you were awake…" She lifted him on her arms, and kissed his forehead. "Are you hungry?"
He nodded: "Yeah…"
"I'll make you breakfast." Hugged him tight, put him down. He followed her to the kitchen, and watched as his mother opened the fridge. She gave him milk and told him to wait while she was making toasts.
Thomas went to the sofa in the living room, jumping on it. He spilt milk all over himself. Didn't like how his wet shirt was sticky, adhering to his chest, so he took the shirt off. Sat on the floor and turned the television on. Pushed the buttons in the remote control until he found the cartoons.
Mom called him to eat breakfast. She asked where his shirt was, he told her it was wet. She took a deep breath: "Thomas…" He smiled, and she smiled back. Her fingers cleaned the milk on his face: "You had a moustache", she kissed his cheek.
He was eating and mom went to the front door, and came back with the newspaper. She played with his hair while reading.
Thomas was a just a few months older than two, but he could recognize when his mother was nervous. Suddenly, without an explanation, she was looking upset, saying "no, oh no…", while reading the newspaper. She even threw it on the floor. "God…", mom said. Thomas didn't know for sure what a God was, except it was a word his mother used when she was not happy. "Mom…", he said.
"I'm sorry, baby." She grabbed him and put him on her lap, pulling him close. "I love you, okay?"
"Okay." His mother would always say "I love you", all the time. Sometimes, when she did, he knew it was because she didn't want him to be scared.
Thomas didn't know, not yet, that sometimes she did it because she was scared.
He would always be sorry for this: it wasn't a happy moment when he discovered that he was father.
Bruce Wayne was waiting. No problem, he was used to wait. He was patient.
Across the street, he could see the building where she lived. Where she had lived for almost three years. He was watching the main entrance, hoping to have a glimpse of her before she left to work. Maybe ask her to have breakfast with him, if she had time. Or invite her to lunch. To be honest, he couldn't wait until dinner.
He was used to wait. He was. But they had waited for almost three years already… it was more than enough.
Bruce wouldn't mind if he had to wait for her all day… if he just could see her for a second now. Since he got to London, he couldn't think about anything else but Selina. He had dreamed about her, sleeping or awake. Pictured her in his mind, wondering what those three years had done to her. What would Selina Kyle be like, now that she was no longer Catwoman.
He hoped she wouldn't hate him for stalking her.
It was almost eight when she finally left the building.
Gorgeous as always, that's what he first noticed. He gave a step forward, with every intention of crossing the street.
But she wasn't alone.
When he saw the boy, the young child holding her hand, he was overwhelmed by surprise. Yes, surprise, but that was not the only reason; it was also because, in a fraction of second, all his doubts were gone. His eyes on Selina and her child – it was her child, he was sure -, he finally understood; the three years she was away, the way she left Gotham, even the harsh words she had spoken to him… all made sense.
Even more because, he knew, this child was also his.
Selina had barely entered the gallery, but Louise, her young secretary, approached her with a wide and anxious smile:
"You have an admirer…!"
She sighed: "You don't say…"
Her day had been ruined when she read in a silly social column about Bruce Wayne coming to London. He arrived the day before, apparently coming for business meetings. She knew better; nothing in Wayne Enterprises would bring him to London, or, better saying, would take him out of Gotham. She was sure he knew she was in London, probably knew it for a while… What had brought him there, she didn't know. She just hoped he would stay away, and respect the distance she put between them; but she knew him better than that.
The roses were already in a vase, placed over her desk in the office. "Roses, Bruce…? That's so corny…" But beautiful red roses, no doubt about it. She looked for a card; instead, she found a small wooden box, carved in Egyptian style, and that had a golden lock. There was a key next to it, and she used it to open the box. She was not surprise to found a three inch ivory statue of a cat; it had emerald eyes.
"Oh, that's beautiful!" Louise was looking over her shoulder.
"Yes, it is."
It was more than just beautiful, Selina knew; it was a millionaire gift. An Egyptian antique, that couldn't be acquired for less than a few hundred thousand dollars. She knew it. She tried to steal it once.
He had stopped her, of course.
Inside the box, there was also a small card. She recognized the handwriting:
"Breakfast, lunch, dinner… your choice. Call me anytime. 'B.'"
The number was written on the other side.
"Who's 'B.' ?"
"No one." Selina ripped the card in one movement, and told Louise to get rid of the flowers; "I'm allergic", she said as the girl stared at her with shocked eyes.
Anyway, she kept the cat.
He could see him through the fence, running around the small park of the kinder garden school.
Bruce Wayne didn't know what to do.
There was this child, and was his son.
He had his eyes, and had his hair; he smiled like Bruce did… when he smiled, that is. Tall for his age, Bruce thought. Handsome kid.
My son.
Never thought of himself as a father, not really. He knew he had been a parental figure more than once, for Dick, Jason, Tim… but not actually a father. Those boys already had parents, even if they were dead or lost parents. Not to mention, they were teenagers when he met them…
He never thought of himself as a true father. Less of all, the father of a small child.
Yes, but there he was. Watching that little boy. His little boy.
Selina… All this time, then, she was alone. She was raising their son. She was… a mom. Catwoman, a mother. Bruce would have never guessed, even though all now looked so obvious. Three years he had let pass, three years of silence, three years she had been on her own, three years he missed from his son's life. Three years!
What would feel like, he wondered, to be called dad?
Or, for that matter, how does it feel when you embrace your child, or when he smiles at you, or when you put him in bed…? Or when he cries… from pain or sadness…?
Just watching the boy as he played, ran, spoke, just doing that, Bruce felt so many… awkward feelings. He realized he was so proud, and unexplainably happy, and eager to take the boy in his arms and say: that's my son. He wanted to tell his child about himself, he wanted that boy to know him – love him. Right now, Bruce couldn't take his eyes from the kid, his chest heavy with an oppressive feeling… that he might lose him from sight, that he might never see the boy again.
And that scared him.
No doubt he was coming to think of the kid as he belonged to him somehow. Bruce couldn't avoid all the pictures in his mind… Taking the boy to Gotham, take him to Wayne Manor, watch as he would run upstairs, as he would enter his new room (there would be a room for him, with all the toys he could buy, and the nicest furniture…), and Bruce would show him the house, telling him stories about the Wayne family, about his own father… And the others would meet him. Alfred. Tim. Barbara. Dick. Everybody. They would agree, of course, that the boy looked so much like his father…
"No", Bruce realized, "this will not happen."
Selina left Gotham, and she never told him about her pregnancy or about their son. She didn't want him to know.
But now he knew.
And would never forget.
Selina walked inside the lobby of her building, carrying Thomas in her arms. At some point during their two blocks walk from school, he claimed he was tired; she didn't mind carrying him, she actually liked it… but he was getting bigger every day. Pretty soon she wouldn't be able to walk around with him in her arms, and it would be a sad day for both when it happens.
She almost dropped Thomas when saw that Bruce was there, looking anything but surprised.
"How did you…?"
It was a stupid question, she realized. He would enter any place he wanted, either because he was the famous millionaire Bruce Wayne, either because no doors, or locks, or fences, could keep the Batman outside.
"Your gentle neighbor, Mrs. Tanner, let me in." Selina noticed how his eyes went from her to Thomas, his features softening as he examined the child in her arms. He even let an almost imperceptible smile reach his lips. "She says 'hello', by the way."
"He knows!" Since when? How?
"Mrs. Tanner is senile", she snapped. "What now?" She had pictured this moment a number of times, and it was never like that.
"Will you invite me to your place?" He finally took his eyes from Thomas, and turned that very persuasive look to her.
"I… I don't think it's a good idea."
"Please." To Selina's surprise, Bruce took a step forward, getting close to her. He reached for her hand. "We have lots to talk about, don't you think?"
Thomas shifted on her arms, turning to look at this unknown man that was touching his mother. "Mom…"
"It's okay, baby." But it wasn't. Her heart was jumping inside her chest, and she didn't know what to do. "He knows, he knows…", it was the only thought her mind seemed to allow.
"We have to talk, Selina; sooner or later." The way he spoke reminded her of the old days, reminded her the man standing in front of her was no ordinary man; he was a man that usually had things going his way, and probably the most persistent being walking this Earth.
Tell him to go away and forget about it just wouldn't do.
"Fine." She surrendered to his plea, moving Thomas from one arm to another.
"Looks like he is heavy… Are you tired?"
"I can manage."
"I'm sure, but…" Bruce hesitated for a few seconds before proceeding. "I can carry him, if you like."
"No, not at all…" As she denied firmly, Thomas interrupted her:
"Okay." The boy had his arms reaching for Bruce. "Pick me!"
Selina was speechless, shocked that her son, usually suspicious of strangers, could be so… so… friendly.
"Of all people, Thomas, did you have to choose him?"
However, the small disappointment didn't last for long. As she saw Bruce smiling tenderly, Selina too felt that there was something right about all that, anyway. At least once he would be able to do this simple thing… carry his son.
"Come here, big guy", he said while lifting the boy from Selina's arms. He was not clumsy, or reluctant; actually, Thomas adjusted easily and comfortably, wrapping his arms around Bruce's neck, his head resting over his father's shoulder. Bruce supported the boy's weight on his forearm, and the other hand stroke gently Thomas' hair. "I got you, kid…"
"Thomas", the boy said.
"What was that?" All color had left Bruce's features.
"Thomas", his face was almost entirely hidden on the curve of Bruce's neck, "my name is Thomas…"
For a moment, Selina feared some kind of reaction from Bruce. However, he just stood where he was, his eyes staring the floor, his fingers caressing lightly the child's back. She had always wondered if he would be insulted, or angry that she had given, in secret, his father's name to her son; to their son. But now, watching Bruce taking a deep breath, and seeing the soft look he had for her… no, there was nothing to fear.
"I'm glad I met you, Thomas…"
It was Selina who couldn't avoid a smile:
"He could be a good at this… Who would have guessed? Bruce Wayne, a natural father."
The nanny took Thomas for a walk in the park.
And Selina opened a bottle of wine.
Bruce was by the window, still watching his son through the glass; the boy was crossing the street, the nanny holding his hand, while Thomas jumped and pulled, trying to get free of the woman's grasp. "Restless and defiant… Just like his mother." This thought amused him; he had been searching his son's features for similarities, and felt somewhat proud to see that the child had so much of himself. In physical appearance, that was. His temper… Just a few moments around him were enough to see that Thomas had taken a lot from Selina. Independent, self-confident, attentive. All those things Batman had come to admire in the Catwoman… in Selina Kyle.
"He is really something, isn't he?" It was Selina approaching quietly, and now was also looking through the window.
"He is perfect." An honest answer.
"You know?" She spoke calmly and in a kind tone. "He's doing great. We both are… doing just great…"
"I can see that."
She had an evaluative expression, and took those words in silence. He continued:
"That night, about a year ago… when you called me, remember?" Selina confirmed nodding her head. "Something happened to him, right?"
"Always the detective…" She was smiling, but her tone was bitter.
"Am I right?"
Again she nodded.
"I thought so." He looked through the window again, but Thomas and his nanny were no where to be seen. "You were going to tell me."
"I considered it", Selina corrected him.
"You considered…"
"He was sick, okay?" Now she sounded slightly irritated. "I panicked."
Bruce couldn't avoid the memory of that night; he couldn't avoid the thought that he had wasted an opportunity… He too considered another option, back then. He could have come to London, but, instead, he went on patrol. Saved lives that night, if he recalled well. And yet, his son was sick. Selina was alone. In panic.
"Why are you here, Bruce?" She suddenly asked, walking away from the window and putting more distance between them. "I mean, why did you come to London?"
Now. She meant to ask him why he had come to London now, of all times; he knew that.
"Business."
"I see… Bruce Wayne's business or Batman's business…?"
The deep breath he took was all the answer Selina needed. But he explained, anyway:
"There was this rumor that two of Falcone's men were in London, handling an old problem."
Carmine Falcone men? Selina shivered, the name bringing unpleasant memories. Falcone was a mob boss, the most powerful in Gotham. In the past, Catwoman had provoked and disturbed in many ways this Carmine Falcone, even giving him a scar on his face, so he would remember the Catwoman forever… Falcone hated her, and put a reward on her head – fortunately, he didn't know Selina was the Catwoman. When she left Gotham, she also left all behind her, but did the Falcone family still wanted…
"Do you think…"
"No. It had nothing to do with you. They were here for a man that testified in Falcone's trial." He left the window and walked to stand in front of her. "I took care of it last night. They will be send to Gotham's police..."
"You know I don't care about this. Not anymore."
"I know." Moving too fast for her to react, he placed both hands on her arms, a gentle but firm grasp. "Look… I came because I thought they were going after you…!"
"You could have just called…" She forced a smile, but Bruce remained serious.
"This is not funny, Selina", he pressed his fingers around her arms, and pulled her closer; "I was worried about you...!"
He embraced her, a strong and resolute hug, that left her speechless and surprised.
"Bruce…"
"I didn't know; not until today. I swear, if I knew about Thomas…"
"What? If you knew about him… what would you do?" She broke free of his arms, pushing him away. Her eyes were sparkling emeralds, full of resentment. "What would you have done? What will you do… now?"
Selina was not raising her voice, but her tone was cold and sharp: "What are you planning, Bruce? Do you think you will be a dad now?"
"I am. Like it or not, I am his father."
"To be honest, I don't like it." She noticed that the words affected him, as he slightly pressed his lips together. "I know it hurts, Bruce; but it's the truth." There were things more important than him, now. Things more important than their relationship. "This will never work, and you know it."
He said nothing, like she knew he wouldn't. Bruce was not one of many words, less of all when he couldn't find reasonable arguments to disagree.
"You know why I never told you. You know it would be better if you had never found out…"
"No." The husky tone of the answer was enough to show he was in defensive state. "Don't say that… ever."
Selina stared at him for a few moments. She was almost… sorry, almost regretting her words.
"You know what I mean." She made an effort to sound gentler. "It will just be harder on us, now."
"He is my son, Selina. He is mine as much as he is yours."
"It's not you, Bruce!" She turned, giving him just her back to look at. "It's the other you that I worry about…"
"Batman?" He sighed. "There are ways around this…"
"No, there is no way around Batman. Trust me, I can tell." She looked over her shoulder, and saw how he stared at her with an earnest expression. "It's too risky! We would always fear that one of those crazies from Gotham would discover… someone like the Joker…"
Bruce knew what she meant. He too had considered that. Had feared that. The last thing he wanted was that Thomas ended like… like Jason, or Barbara, both attacked by the Joker, one dead, the other forever condemned to a wheel chair. He didn't want his son kidnapped, tortured, afraid. And all only because his father once entered this crusade, insane crusade…
"You are right. You are. But, like you, I can make a choice too. Like you are no longer Catwoman, maybe it is time for Batman…"
"Don't say that. Don't say something you don't really mean."
"Believe me when I say that there's nothing I wouldn't do for him… and for you."
A sad smile softened her features: "I believe you." The smile left, but the sadness remained. "But it's not your choice, not really. It's bigger than you, Bruce. Those wackos in Gotham wouldn't give up on Batman just because you decided to quit."
"I don't have to stay in Gotham… Batman will not last forever, it will end someday!"
"Someday, not tomorrow. Maybe the day will come; maybe you will figure a way out… someday. Maybe you could move to London, and be the millionaire business man people think you are… and your mind will not be wondering about what is happening in the streets of Gotham, and you will not be receiving calls from Superman, or the Oracle, or Wonder Woman…"
"This day will come."
"It will. But it's not today, and it won't be tomorrow either."
He knew she was right.
"I'm sorry, Bruce. I really am. I never thought my son would need a father, but I wish he could have one." She couldn't bare the shaken look on his face. "You. I whish he could have you."
For a moment, she felt like crying. Selina didn't regret what she had just said or done, but she recognized it was a harsh thing to do, almost mean. Sure, she couldn't risk her son… but she felt terrible for the way she had hurt Bruce. "That's why you were never supposed to know…"
"Selina…", he called, as he was again looking through the window.
"Yes?"
"Do you think… I could at least say goodbye to him? Just… the two of us?"
"Sure. But you must promise…"
"What?"
"Promise me you will not hate me forever."
"Please…" He glanced at her. "I couldn't hate you even if my life depended on it…"
It was Thomas' first memory. The most clear memory from his first years of life. He would remember the park, the trees without leaves, the cold wind – it was winter -, and then, the outline of that man against the light, standing in front of him.
His father. He knew it was father. He just knew. There was something in that man, the way he looked at him, the way he looked at his mother… Or how he lifted him from the ground, and Thomas felt he could almost fly… and then strong arms wrapping around his small body, the warmth that came from that man, the feeling of protection, the love he felt when lips touched lightly his forehead. It was his father.
They seated on a bench, he on his father's lap, still being hugged… it was like the man just couldn't let go of him, and Thomas knew why: he was going away. That's why he caressed his head with such emotion, fingers passing through the dark locks that were so much like his father's; that's why Thomas could hear his father's heart pounding with such fury against the chest; that's why those hands trembled, hands the man used to hold Thomas' small fingers, the son's hands that were so much like the father's…
Thomas could listen as the man spoke, that solemn tone that could almost, but not quite, hide the emotion and tears he was making his best to conceal. The boy stood there, quietly, head on his father's chest, absorbing the words of that man. He spoke about himself, about how he was always trying to do good, always trying to do good things… but that, sometimes, to be able to do good things, you had to give up, had to sacrifice other things. The man said he didn't know, not anymore, if he was doing the right thing. He said he only wished to be there, with Thomas and his mom, but that wasn't possible. "Not yet", he said. "Someday", he promised.
He said he was sorry. He said it many times. He asked Thomas to forgive him. He also asked him to, please, don't forget him. He said he would take care of them, of Thomas and mom, even though it would look like he wasn't around. But he was. He would always be around, watching from a distance. "Because", said his father, "I'll think of you every moment."
When he told Thomas he had to go, the child cried. His father held him and consoled him, and kept the boy on his arms until he fell asleep. That man, his father, whose features Thomas wouldn't be able to recall, but whose presence the boy would feel for the rest of his life.