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Son

Part 6

Hippolyte laughed cheerfully as he kicked the water. The lake projected small waves on the shore, not strong enough to topple the boy over. Diana smiled at the sight of her son so happy and carefree. She walked along, arms crossed, keeping an eye out for him from afar. The cold didn't get to him, very much like her. Still, his shoes would be drenched and uncomfortable by the end of their walk, and she was glad to have brought two extra pairs. And three changes of clothes. She still couldn't believe how easily children got dirty.

"Isn't he going to be sick if he keeps doing this?"

Bruce's worried tone brought her back to reality.

"I'll have him take a bath or a shower when we return to your house, if you don't mind," she said. "He will get himself clean, a good meal and a few hours nap will suffice."

The man didn't look convinced, but he didn't know Hip like she did. You never let him, a small voice whispered in the back of her mind. For good reasons, she retorted to herself. A shallow man, she had called him, and she had meant every word. It was odd, to think she had felt attracted to him nearly five years back. This lone one, drinking at the bar, looking as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. She had felt the same weight that night, had hoped she could share a little of it with him. Hippolyte had given her a reason to stay grounded. What did he have?

"He really likes water," Bruce observed. Diana smiled fondly.

"He was almost a year old when he walked in the sea for the first time," she recalled. "He loved it, and never grew out of it, I suppose."

Bruce nodded, seeming contemplative. She reported her attention on him and studied his profile more attentively. The world saw him as a notorious playboy and occasionally, a philanthropist. Yet, she remembered the scars marking his chest, the firm muscles underneath his skin, and the intensity in those eyes…Bruce Wayne was hiding something, and given the reputation Gotham had as being one of the most corrupted cities in the States, the last thing she wanted was to involve Hip.

Had her boy been older, had he been capable of defending himself, perhaps she wouldn't fear this growing closeness between father and son. As for now, she would stand firm in-between.

"Did he get that from you?" His question brought her attention back to his face. He sounded curious and inquiring, just content to make pleasant conversation. And yet…

"I loved the sea as a child," she replied, careful to study the odd glint in his eye. "Does that mean you don't?"

He shrugged.

"Never really cared for it," he admitted. "I never really took the time either."

Coming from a billionaire whose reputation included leisure and pleasure; that statement came as a surprise. She had read a few articles where he described days of retirement on the beach, enjoying the sun and the waves, and even injuring himself while attempting to surf. If he wasn't enjoying the seaside, then what was he doing? Again, the nagging suspicion of his hiding something to the outside world came to mind. If he pretended to be on vacations, then what kind of shady business was he involved into?

A thought occurred to her. Bruce was a tall man, a strong one. Diana had spent enough time in Man's world to recognize the time and energy it took to build a frame such as his. He hadn't gained the muscles he had overnight. If he was a crime lord, why bother training to fight at all? Most of those she had encountered wouldn't bother training –they'd hire goons to do the dirty work in their stead.

She reviewed what she knew of him, what she had read of him, and thought of the shadow in Gotham –the one whose name people whispered, like a prayer against ill luck. She had met the Batman, his existence was no longer a doubt in her mind. The question was; who that man could be? Diana frowned as she pursued her thoughts. Bruce, the Batman? The height matched, the voices didn't –though he had been using a voice distorter, the scars on his body would be evidence of his multiple fights. He did limp a little this morning –consequence of his injury from the chimera the previous night? As for his playboy reputation…it would be a perfect alibi. Who would think the sleazy Bruce Wayne to be a hardcore warrior?

"Is there something on your mind?"

Bruce was watching her intensely again. Those eyes, she thought, did not belong on the face of a playboy billionaire. Her theory suddenly didn't seem so disputable. Which also suggested he might know about her not being quite normal…Hadn't he been waiting up for her last night? Hadn't he welcomed her with barely a question asked about her activities? If she tried to call him on it now, she was nearly certain he would find a way to turn around the conversation into his favor…unless he was waiting for an opening to broach the subject? Gain the upper hand on her? Diana shook her head inwardly; that wouldn't do. If she was right, and the man was indeed the Bat, she wanted hardcore proof the man's identity beside her before disclosing her own secrets. A smart man like him would have made the connection between Wonder Woman and Diana Prince, especially since she had met him under both identities at once. Unlike him, she did not wear a mask.

But really…Bruce Wayne, the Batman? There was only one way to find out.

Son

The kick to his injury came out of nowhere.

One moment, they were walking and talking, albeit tensely. The moments of silence weren't uncomfortable; mostly broken by their common interest in Hippolyte. And then, Diana had stepped back and slammed her foot straight onto the spot the chimera had clawed him. Bruce grunted in surprise, feeling the sharp sting through his leg. He reflexively reached for his injury, all the while glaring at her. The knowing expression on her face informed him he had just been unmasked.

"You are the Bat," she stated blandly.

Apparently that was the question that had motivated her move, for she didn't show any aggressive sign afterward. A dirty one, he might add, but smart nonetheless. Bruce considered lying, but then, her knowing of his injury was her own admittance to her particular skillset. He wanted to snort in disbelief; after wondering how he might broach the subject with subtlety, it seemed she would tackle the matter straight ahead.

"And what are you?" he retorted sharply as he released his injury and faced her fully. "Princess Xena?"

The reference drew a small smile out of her.

"The comparison is tedious at best," she replied lightly. All humor then left her face as she became serious. "Were you going to tell me about your nighttime's activities?"

"Were you going to tell me you are a metahuman?"

Pot, meet Kettle. Diana held his stare defiantly.

"I believed your reputation to be true. Hippolyte is my son, he will be like me. I did not know if or how you would try to exploit that trait, or even how you would react to it," she replied sincerely. Her countenance turned stiffer and her face completely blank. "I still do not know how you will react now."

"Mother?"

The little voice put an end to their argument and both reported their attention on the third party. Hippolyte had stopped playing and was watching them uneasily. His denims were soaked to the thighs but he showed no discomfort. Instead, he nervously slid his eyes from one to another, confused and troubled.

"Everything is alight Hip," Diana said soothingly. "Mister Bruce and I were just setting a few things straight."

Bruce hesitated briefly, but added:

"I was telling her the story of the Dark Knight. It's alright Hip, it truly is."

Understanding and relief dawned upon his small face and he quickly returned to kicking into the waves. Diana was watching him with the same air of curiosity her son had just displayed.

"You told him about the Batman?"

Bruce winced inwardly.

"He asked for a story no-one knew. I don't know that many," he explained. "I never said it was me."

"Hip is a very smart boy. He would have figured it out faster than you believe," she said with a hint of pride.

"You taught him well," he remarked, and it wasn't quite a reproach. She gave him a flat stare.

"When you want to be left alone, you need to learn to be discreet. I don't want anyone to take notice of Hippolyte until he is ready. He needs to understand that every action has consequences, that the world isn't fair, but there is still good to be found in it. The stories I tell him don't all have happy endings on purpose." Her expression tightened. "I knew so little back then. I won't repeat my mother's mistake and shield the ugliness of the world from him. He needs to know both good and bad things happen to all sorts of people."

"He's just a child," Bruce protested. She met his eye unapologetically.

"So were you when your parents died."

He had no answer to that. They kept staring at each other for a while.

"You still haven't replied," she pointed out. "Will you be able to accept Hippolyte? No matter how –or what –he turns out to be?"

You'll stay in touch if only to make sure he doesn't turn into a monster, a small, cynical part whispered.

No, that's not why, another snapped.

Bruce eyed back the little boy –who had both sleeves deep into the water as he searched for something, a light frown on his face. The resulting expression was so Bruce Wayne, he couldn't deny him being his flesh and blood. He had very little family left to afford to turn away the last of his blood tie, and he loved the boy. It didn't matter if he hadn't known him for so little time, he knew he wanted to keep a connection with Hip.

"He's mine," he replied quietly, matter-of-factly. "I will."

Son

As he said the words, Diana felt he was speaking the truth. Before she could associate the new feeling with relief or further anxiety, he turned serious eyes onto her, and for the first time since that night, she felt their intensity run through her bones.

"I have a question too," Bruce said quietly. "You say Hip might be like you...but who are you?"

Diana stiffened and was tempted to look away. She knew his secret, one that could be very damaging should she chose to reveal it. But she wasn't quite ready to spoil every one of hers yet. Not until she knew how far she could trust him. She didn't have time to formulate an answer though, as an enthusiastic cry cut any word she was about to say:

"Mothermothermother!"

The little battery-on-legs she called her son ran towards her, proudly holding some oddly-shaped stone in his small hands.

"Look!" he said, thrusting the rock up. His sleeves were drenched, so was his shirt, not to mention his shoes and denims. Only his hair remained tolerably dry. "Isn't it pretty?"

The stone lacked color, the side appeared smooth to touch. Hip didn't struggle lifting it, even though it must weight quite a bit for a young child. The demonstration of strength didn't surprise her -as an Amazon, or a daughter of Zeus with super strength, she had a hard time evaluating the weight of things herself. Observing Etta, and later others, had been eye-opening on how to regulate her strength, what she should or should not be able to lift. She would have to teach Hip soon.

"It is very pretty," she confirmed, and happy with her agreement, Hip turned to Bruce to show his prize. To his credit, the man appeared interested in the boy's findings.

"I think it's a rock crystal," Hip went on. "You know; the lucky ones?"

"The one that shields against ill-will," Diana translated to Bruce. "One of Hippolyte's friend is a psychic."

"She's a true one," Hip went on happily. "She tells me e-ve-ry-thing about rocks and crystals!"

"Neat," Bruce replied, though she sensed his disbelief. "Well...perhaps we should head home. You are soaked and wet, Hip."

The boy stared down at his clothes, as if noticing their wetness for the first time. He glanced at Diana hopefully.

"Bruce is right," she replied and bit back a smirk at his defeated expression. "It isn't that warm outside."

"But-" he started to protest. One stare and his shoulders slumped in defeat. "Okaaaay." He stared down at the rock, then handed it to Bruce. "Could you throw it back please? It needs to return to its place."

Bruce bemusedly took the rock and threw it far into the lake. Diana briefly wondered if he was trying to show off –it was quite a distance, for a mortal.

"Let's go back," she said, putting a hand on his shoulder and edging him on the road. She saw Bruce eying her with that stare, and knew there would be words to be said.

The walk to Bruce's house was quiet, mostly. Hippolyte was the only one rambling, occasionally darting off to a bush to check if no injured animal was hiding there. It only took half an hour for them to return to the lake house. Standing down the steps, a man in his mid to late sixties was waiting for them.

'Alfred the handyman', she assumed, appeared lean and sturdy. He was smaller than her, but seemed in good health. He wore dressed up, comfortable clothes, and glasses. He also brightened at the sight of Hippolyte, and at the same time, turned wary of her.

"Alfred, this is Diana, Diana, Alfred Pennyworth," Bruce introduced her. She noted the hint of caution, although wasn't sure to whom it was directed. "Alfred was my guardian after my parents' death."

So he knew of his nighttime activities, she noted, probably knew of her difference too. Still, Hip greeted him happily without prompting, which was a good sign.

"A pleasure to meet you, Miss Prince," Alfred said. His tone was perfectly polite, but Diana sensed he was not particularly pleased with her. She briefly wondered if he held hiding Hip from Bruce against her a little more than the father himself did.

"Likewise," she replied with the same politeness.

They fell silent for a moment, each watching and wondering how to go on from there. As if responding to the tension, Hippolyte made his side clear when he reached for her pants and held it tight. The gesture, while small and seemingly innocent, did not go unnoticed. Alfred Pennyworth schooled his features in an even more neutral setting as Bruce gave him a warning stare.

For a brief moment, a tensed silence reigned. It was though quickly broken by the little boy.

"May I play with Legos, Mister Bruce?"

Diana glanced at the man, who approved with a more genuine smile. The four entered the house and the butler and Hip were dispatched to get the toys and settle somewhere, leaving them alone once again. Unlike earlier, they had matter to speak; yet she had no idea where to start.

"Would you have something to drink?" Bruce suddenly asked.

"No thank you." She replied, and decided she might as well open Pandora's Box. "Why are you the Bat?"

The man huffed, but didn't appear displeased by her bluntness.

"Straight to the point?"

"It won't do anyone any good to dance around what we truly want to know, and Hip and I return to Paris tomorrow," she reminded him.

He sobered instantly.

"I take it you wouldn't consider prolonging your stay for a few days."

Diana rolled her eyes.

"As I formerly said, Mister Wayne, some of us have to work to keep a living." He seemed on the edge of saying something she wouldn't agree with, so she went on: "Did you take on the cowl to avenge your parents?"

His mouth snapped shut and he glared at the floor. He muttered something about being too sober for this conversation before answering:

"They loved Gotham as I do, but she isn't a safe place for many people. I try to change that."

"Corrupted police?" she hazarded.

"Commissioner Gordon is a good man," he retorted, perhaps a little too dryly. "I trust him implicitly, as far as the Bat can trust anyone," he amended. "But he isn't enough. There are too many volatile people in this city."

She wondered at his sudden honesty; decided she might want to wait to analyze it further.

"How many people are in the know?"

Bruce walked past her, let himself sit heavily on the couch. He looked tired, she thought, older than his current age, as if the weight of the world had returned to crash upon his shoulders.

"Six people," he admitted. "All of them reliable. A few others may have suspicions, but they have nothing to gain by confronting or exposing me."

So Alfred was one of them, else he wouldn't speak so freely about it.

"How many know about you?" he retorted. Diana couldn't help but smile.

"More than just a handful." She had been in Man's World for a long time after all. "Most of them are family now." She paused when he seemed a little disgruntled. "I will not spread your secret. Very few know who is Hip's father. They will trust my judgment, if I tell them you are a good man, and will leave it at that."

Bruce harrumphed and nodded, but he had no other choice to believe her.

"So what are you, exactly," he repeated his earlier question.

The inquisitive eyes returned. She held them, unafraid, but felt them through her spine. No-one had made her feel so before, least a man. And then, she realized he had a lot more to lose than she did, should their secrets come out. Every time her identity had been threatened, she had disappeared. Etta, Samir and Charlie's families protected her; the people she had helped over the years wouldn't betray her. Should she have to vanish, she could do it. Hippolyte would make the task slightly more difficult, but not impossible. Who would think twice over the departure of a curator of the Louvre? Bruce Wayne though? Bruce Wayne was a well-known face with a very public reputation. He couldn't hide as easily as she, especially since the Batman's reputation tilted towards criminality.

The balance was inclining in her favor, she thought, and he was Hip's father. It would be fair to the poor man to know what he would be getting into.

"I am human, although a different kind," she said, and that was the truth. An ancient kind. Should she speak of it now? Perhaps it would be best. Diana briefly closed her eyes and asked: "How good is your Greek mythology?"

Son

Sometimes, Alfred wished he had placed bugs all over the house and had a permanent earpiece lodged to listen to Bruce's conversations. While he and Hippolyte were assembling cubs to form what bore a vague resemblance to a tortoise, he knew his charge and the woman, Diana Prince, were having a conversation. Bruce would tell him of it afterwards, but what wouldn't he give to be a fly on the wall!

"Mister Alfred!" Hippolyte chided. "If you don't want to play, you can go."

The butler immediately felt guilty and returned his attention to the boy. Hippolyte was clipping two legos together while eying him oddly. He didn't seem quite upset by his lack of involvement. In fact, if Alfred read him correctly, he was rather...expecting his leave. The careful distance in his blue eyes reminded him of Bruce's, especially when he was disappointed with something.

"Is something the matter, Master Hippolyte?"

The boy pursed his lips and briefly looked down. He put the makeshift tortoise on the ground and clenched his small fists.

"Why do you not like mother?" he mumbled.

The butler immediately felt guiltier. He thought he had guarded his inner thoughts well enough, but they hadn't escaped the boy. Upon learning of his existence, Alfred had resented Miss Prince, if only for the changes it might have brought to Master Wayne. He had watched his charge self-destruct for far too long, worse after Jason's death. A baby could have given him comfort, could have forced him to focus on life instead of death. Though Alfred knew he shouldn't be too hard on the woman -to her credit, she was no fortune hunter nor of the stupid kind, only claimed to think of her son's comfort. Still, his resentment had shown upon their introduction, a faux-pas he should have never allowed. And Hippolyte had sensed it.

"I don't dislike your mother, Master Hippolyte," he replied. "I just wished...I just wished we had met earlier."

"Why's that?" the boy inquired, curiosity edging.

And then he remembered Hippolyte had no idea Bruce was his father. And the resentment returned with a vengeance.

"It is nothing but a silly reason," Alfred said instead.

The little boy stared at his shoes, obviously upset.

"If the reason is silly, then why are you angry at her?" Hippolyte mumbled. "Mother is too kind to others. That's what Ethan says."

Alfred raised an inquiring eyebrow.

"Who is Ethan?"

All bad feelings seemed to vanish as the little boy met his gaze and beamed:

"Mother is Ethan's godmother! He's very tall -not as tall as Mister Bruce -and he keeps me when mother is busy! He travels a lot too. Mother says he's an eeeeeen...an eeeengeen..." He paused, considered, and concluded. "He likes to build things." Alfred eyed the legos and had a suspicion that engineer was the word Hippolyte was looking for. "And -and then Nadia comes sometimes too, and she's like my grandma because she knew first I was in mother's tummy and she's very nice too with little wrinkles right there," he pointed at the corner of his eyes. "But you can't tell that to a lady because it means she's getting old and ladies don't like to be remembered that." Another pause. "That's what Lily says."

"And Mrs. Lily is right," whoever that was, Alfred thought. He thought the boy must have mentioned her amongst the list of acquaintances the previous evening. Hippolyte giggled.

"It's Miss Lily," he corrected, giggling. "Mother likes her a lot." And suddenly his face turned serious again. "I like you, Mister Alfred. But if you don't like mother, I won't like you anymore."

For years, Alfred had gone through a myriad of emotions. He had to face visceral fear, hurt and anger, most on the account of Bruce and the twenty past years of stunts. He had, on quite a few memorable occasions, been badly injured for the cause. But every time, he had known what to do and what to say. Now, facing a four-year-old with a sharp mind, kind and honest heart, and, he suspected, a stubborn mind of his own, the butler felt at loss. He hadn't known the boy for long –had spent even less time with him that Bruce, yet Hippolyte had a gift. He could easily draw people in, soothe their troubled heart with a smile and bring indescribable warmth with an innocent touch.

Alfred realized he was starting to like the boy for his own, not only because he was Bruce's son. The thought of losing the child's trust suddenly felt…intolerable.

"I shall try to know her better," Alfred conceded softly. His words seemed to settle Hippolyte. Still, he glanced one last time towards the living room, overheard Miss Prince's soft intonation, and brushed away the curiosity gnawing him to focus on his surrogate grandson. He would try, he thought, if only for the boy's sake.