A/N: Thank you for the reviews! This is a very, very short chapter, but it fitted I think, just a little snippit - Diana will be back in the next chapter but I felt like I needed to show a little of what Bruce is going through in the seven months she's gone.

Chapter Twelve - Tell Me About My Son

"Tell me about my son."

For several seconds, Batman was silent, and only looked at Shayera. So John had finally told her. Images flashed through his mind. Terry. Warhark, John changing, his older self. Diana...gone.

Of course...Diana was gone now anyway.

Pushing that aside like he had every day for the past six months, Bruce swallowed. "What do you want to know?"

"Everything," she answered simply.

He saw moisture glimmering in her eyes, and understood. Whatever John had told her, he'd made it clear that there was no chance for them, at least not now. Shayera wanted to know all about the son she might never have.

"His name was Rex," Bruce continued. "And his eyes were green, just like yours. Shaped exactly the same. Built physically like John. Mechanical wings, not organic ones like yours."

"Mechanical? How is that possible?" she asked.

Batman shook his head. "No idea, I didn't have the time to examine them closely. His armour made it clear he had Thanagarian roots. You must have taught him well - the way he fought, it was...like watching a male version of you."

She looked down and nodded. "What happened?" she asked, her voice choked with the sobs that she wasn't letting show.

So he told her. Her told her all he could remember, leaving nothing out. By the end of it they were both fighting the emotion. Part of his mind was scoffing at the idea, but the rest of him was too tired to deny it. His arms were literally aching for Diana. And she was on Themyscira. Not for the first time, not for the hundredth time, the urge welled up to go after her, wrath of the gods or not.

Alfred would know what to do. There was probably some ancient kind of etiquette code that he should be following for this exact situation. Though there was only one reason he hadn't told Alfred. Because he knew exactly what his expression would be. Or rather, what his total lack of expression would be. His mouth would thin, his brow would pucker only slightly and he'd say 'I see, Master Bruce', or something equally condescending and disapproving to make Bruce feel like a naughty school boy. Except school boys could be forgiven, their transgressions forgotten since they were only children.

He wasn't. And he'd disappointed Alfred so many times in the past that he wasn't sure he could be forgiven this time. Even more so because it concerned Diana, and in Alfred's eyes, there was no one more qualified to be mistress of Wayne Manor. And Bruce had screwed up probably the best - if not the only - chance he was going to get. He'd rather face the Joker, Bane, the Riddler and Poison Ivy all at once than have to tell Alfred that.

Of course, Alfred, being Alfred, knew something was wrong. How could he not? If it came to a choice, then Batman was the real him. But in the last few months, Batman had pretty much taken over. It was so much easier that way. Batman wasn't emotional, he didn't need anyone and so therefore didn't miss anyone.

Batman didn't miss Wonder Woman.

Batman didn't think about the fact that he'd turned Diana's whole viewpoint on imminent motherhood on its head. One moment she had a child gifted to her by the gods, and the next it was an accident resulting from a night that had never technically happened?

Batman didn't have to listen to the fact that Bruce's heart called for the princess constantly.

He suppressed a groan.

What if she never came back? What if she gave birth to and raised their child there? What if he never saw it, boy or girl?

He looked back at Shayera. Tell me about my son.

Bruce never, never wanted to have to say those words.

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A/N: Review please!