Another update! Far later than originally expected, but it's been a busy few weeks. Here's hoping this helps make up for the hiatus. This chapter is Talia and... hmmmm... I wonder.
Some implied hot and heavy bits in this chapter but nothing explicit. Just fair warning.
"Play it once, Sam, for old time's sake…"
"You must remember this,
A kiss is still a kiss,
A sigh is just a sigh,
The fundamental things apply
As time goes by.
And when two lovers woo,
They still say, 'I love you,'
On that you can rely
No matter what the future brings…"
—"As Time Goes By" - from Casablanca, 1942
November 26, 1942
Stale, warm air hung stagnant, growing heavy with unspoken words. Bruce lay there in the dark silence of the room, the sheets tangled around his feet as the body next to his curled. He turned his gaze from the gray shadows of the ceiling to the figure beside him.
"Good night," she said, accent stronger in her exhausted state.
"Early morning," Bruce replied, quickly glancing to the clock. "3:17."
Talia groaned, placing a hand over her hazel eyes. "Do you ever wish for normal sleeping hours?"
"Perhaps we would have gotten to sleep earlier if a certain someone didn't have a certain craving," he returned, smiling at her.
"Oh, don't you blame me. It's ungentlemanly to place blame on a woman. Aren't men supposed to be in charge of their own lives and the fairer sex are mere observers and servants?"
"I doubt anyone could make you just an observer, and I pity the poor fool who tries to make you his servant."
She raised her perfectly-shaped eyebrow at him, a hint of a smirk brushing her lips. "Pity? I don't know if pity would be necessary. Anyone that weak-minded would probably find it an honor to have his head as a trophy on my wall."
"Remind me not to get on your bad side."
Though the pair let out a small laugh, the reality of their situation settled over them in the early morning hour. This had been their habit for months—occasional meetings at Wayne Manor to discuss current events over dinner and wine, light conversations on culture and the arts during dessert until Dick was sent up to bed, and finally more in-depth conversations about the state of the world and their world over a nightcap.
Of course, when a nightcap and some stolen kisses in the shadowy corridors of Wayne Manor didn't satiate their appetites, they ended up here: the penthouse room rarely used above Wayne Enterprises. What had begun as a glorified crash pad for Bruce's late night work hours (and a closer stopover for Batman activities should restocking be necessary) had transformed into a fort of guilty pleasures and bad ideas. Not the least of which was sleeping with the daughter of Ra's al Ghul. Not once. Not twice. Hell, Bruce lost count after one night technically reached five on its own.
He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to his chest as his fingers twirled her long, brown hair, acting as a metronome to his symphony of lost thoughts. It had been almost a year since he had first laid eyes on the mystery of a woman next to him, and still Bruce found her no less enigmatic than an iceberg.
And if she were an iceberg, he'd be damned if he weren't the Titanic. With their spiderweb of issues, there was nowhere to go but down. Still, in these moments he didn't give a flying…
Language, he reminded himself, trying to curb his own foul mouth even in private lest he later unleash a slew of curses in front of his ward. It was a wonder that the worst the boy said was akin to "Holy banana peels!" Since the one time Dick let out an unholy onslaught of expletives he had surely learned from Bruce, the man was determined to be a better father figure.
Well, to be more accurate, since Alfred had threatened to take out Bruce's tongue with the newly-polished knives, but that was neither here nor there. He was nonetheless determined to be better.
And better also meant a better… whatever he was to Talia. Boyfriend? Labels didn't quite seem to fit with the pair of them. Unless "forbidden" was a label, they sort of bounced from enemy-by-association to lover-in-secret.
Over recent months, the divide seemed to have only gotten worse. The news of fighting overseas had gotten more grim, to the point where Bruce had even offered to enlist. If only it weren't for his flat feet.
Really? he asked himself. Flat feet? I can take down half the villains in Gotham in an evening, but I can't touch the Nazis because of flat fucking feet?
"I can't tell if I love it or hate it when you do that," said Talia, breaking him of his mental rant.
"Love or hate what?"
"When you talk to yourself. It's fascinating watching your eyes change, and your jaw twitches a little like you're speaking behind your mouth. Very entertaining," she teased.
"Is it, now?" He arched an eyebrow at her, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. "I can show you what I find entertaining."
Talia snaked her leg around his torso, tickling his upper thigh with her toes. "Beloved, I believe you have shown me exactly what you find entertaining a few times since we arrived."
"I still have a few tricks up my sleeve."
"I would prefer to see what tricks you keep in your utility belt…"
This time, his smirk turned into a full-blown smile. "I don't know if you're prepared for what I keep in there."
"You underestimate me," she returned.
Any exhaustion from before was momentarily forgotten, and Talia pushed herself up just enough to brush his jaw with a kiss. Her hazel eyes stared hungrily into his steel blue ones, fingers tracing up his bare stomach and up his chest. A time or two they graced a scar, but the shiny, pulled patches of skin illicit little to no response. She was used to scars. In a life like theirs, it came with the territory.
Still, Bruce couldn't fight the relief that came when she didn't pull away from him, didn't slap on a pitying face or pry him for answers. She knew everything she needed to, and allowed him to lock away the rest in the deep recesses of his mind. It only made him more comfortable, more sure of how he felt about her.
They continued to entangle themselves with the other, arms wrapping and legs gripping against flushed skin. The clock ticked its way to 4:00 as the pair lost themselves once more.
After months of their not-so-secret rendezvous, Bruce had gotten comfortable. Complacent. He knew this had to be to blame for their current state.
She stood there in the doorway, gaze not quite holding his, her posture stiff as the silence stretched on. Something bad had happened; he was sure of it. If he had been smarter, he thought, he would have realized it was only a matter of time. Their lives and relationships were anything but simple, and their peaceful relationship had already been running on borrowed time.
"I must return," she started. "My presence is needed."
Her tone was as stiff as her posture, monotone like an actor delivering unpracticed lines.
"Your father," Bruce said. No point in questioning.
She nodded, turning her face away for a moment. Again the quiet seemed to consume them, stretching the space between. It had only grown since dinner at Wayne Manor, where Dick's antics took up the bulk of the conversation until the boy realized something was wrong and he, too, felt silent. Now in the safety of the Wayne Enterprises penthouse, everything threatened to come to a head.
"Do you want to go?" Bruce asked.
"It is not so much a matter of desire as a matter of responsibility."
"Responsibility for what he's helped bring the world to? You're returning to have a hand in it now that he has bitten off more than he can chew. You have a say in this, Talia."
"Do I?" she asked, sharply turning back to him. "You understand my place so well, Beloved. Please explain to me how easy it would be for me to leave the only family I have left in the middle of a war—"
"That he helped create," Bruce interrupted.
"That he saw as fated," she amended, tone biting. "We have discussed this before: conflict is inevitable. This conflict was inevitable. My father has lived long enough to sense the patterns in humanity and saw this shift miles before anyone else. Is it his fault he is attempting to make the best out of a terrible but inescapable reality?"
"He is attempting to profit off of the lives of others. Thousands, millions have died because of his decisions. Is that what you consider making the best of a situation? Is this something you are happy to be returning to?"
"I never claimed to be happy!"
Her shout sliced through the air, taking the breath out of Bruce's lungs. It took Talia a minute to realize she had raised her voice. Then, all at once, her posture sagged just enough for Bruce to see just how difficult it was for her to hold herself together at all.
She looked defeated, he saw. Tired. Lost.
He walked over to her, resting his callused hand against her cheek. She leaned into it, closing her eyes. Bruce marveled at how soft and strong she could feel all at once, how beautiful she looked when her long lashes brushed her olive skin while her jaw squared with determination. She was still that beautiful contradiction he had met that December afternoon.
Suddenly, he felt lost, too.
"I need you to understand," she whispered, "I have a responsibility. You of all people should understand the pull of loyalty. The need to honor your family and fulfill your duties, no matter how difficult it may be. Please at least try to understand."
"And I need to understand my reservations. It's not just losing you to your family; it's losing you to what's he's brought upon us all."
"He needs me. He needs to see his inevitable conflict to the end and I intend to do what I can to help keep him safe. It is me or the alternative."
"Which is?"
Again she turned away, breath hitching in her chest. He allowed her a moment's peace before gently placing his hand under her chin and turning her back to face him.
"What is he planning?" he asked.
"Let me just say there are certain men who do not care as much about your flat feet as they do about your other skills, Beloved."
Bruce pulled his hand away, staring at her as her words clicked. World's greatest detective or not, there were certain blocks he had, one of them being his girlfriend's terrorist father.
"He wants me?"
"Well, not quite in the same way I do," she returned. "He does wish to recruit you. He believes you would be a fine—"
"Soldier?"
"Heir."
She paused, letting the word hit him. And, hit him it did. By the look of it, it punched him square in the chest before piercing through him. He took a step back, though she only moved with him.
"If only he had a son," she chuckled, though it lacked any humor. "A blood-related male heir. I would be free to do whatever I wish. But, that's life, isn't it? Freedom is so rarely a part of it, no matter what your lovely American textbooks like to teach. Humans so rarely have any real say in their lives. In mine, it is either he recruits you, grooms you to take over his empire, and I lose you to mortality due to his orchestrations or you cease to be the man I fell in love with. That, or I take your place. It is not his ideal, but it is the only other way. If I stay here with you, he will come after us. Trust me, that alternative is far less pleasant. I will spare us all of that fate of I can. Some conflicts may inevitable, but I do not wish to exacerbate them."
"So, this is it? Either I appease him or you do? We just cower to his whims?"
"Or fight to the death?" she asked, eyebrow arched. "Is that what you would have me do? Lose one of you at the hands of the other? That is a choice I will not make. This is the only way. You will stay in the city you so dearly love, continue to care for her and that boy, continue to be cared for by your father-of-sorts, and I will return home to care for my family. What little of it there is left. It is for the best."
"And we just forget each other?" Bruce asked. He felt the rush of anger boiling in his stomach. Though he knew he couldn't blame Talia for the unfairness of it all, he couldn't help but clench his fists as he stared into her eyes.
"No one said a word about forgetting," she said. This time, she raised her hand to his cheek, running her thumb against his cheekbone. "That would be impossible on my behalf."
"Not just yours," he said, unable to help resting his cheek against the warmth of her hand. "Still, this is goodbye."
"For now."
He nodded, closing his eyes as he took in the comfort of her hand. "How much time do we have left?"
"A car will be arriving for me within the hour."
The part of him that lusted for her wished to fill those hours with more tangled bedsheets and humid air, but the hole tearing at his heart kept him rooted on the spot. He could see from the look on her face that she felt the same, though there was something else in her face, too. Sweat prickled her forehead. Anxiety, he thought.
"Are you going to be all right?" he asked.
She smiled, pulling her hand away. "I'll adjust. As certain as I am that this is inescapable, I am certain we will see each other again."
"On separate sides?"
"I'd prefer to believe we would be side-by-side."
She felt empty. Simultaneously hot and cold. For the past week since their last meeting, she believed it was due to side-effects of a broken heart. A terribly weak human condition, she thought.
Until the doctor told her otherwise.
Alone in her chamber, high above the compound as the sun set, she counted backward to calculate the hour in Gotham. Bruce would be at work, toiling at his desk and playing the part of the suave businessman. Would he be thinking of her? Had he already rebounded with one of the many women who flung themselves at him at his various charity events.
She shook the thought from her mind. She was sick enough without adding to it. Then again, it was difficult not to think of him after recent revelations. He was a part of her now.
The sun burst its last rays beyond the horizon before ducking away entirely. As the orange of the sky shifted to purple Talia rested her hand on her lower abdomen.
They'd see each other again soon. She just wondered how much he would haunt her until then with the new life growing in her belly.
There you have it! Another chapter will hopefully come sooner rather than later. It's about time a certain urchin make his appearance...
As usual, thanks for all reviews/favorites/follows. They're always appreciated!
-Defective