AN: As promised, here's the next chapter. This is a loooong one. Enjoy, dear reader!

11

"Good morning, Alfred," I say as I pull a chair to sit at the kitchen island.

"Good morning, Ms. Prince. Is Captain Trevor joining you for breakfast?" he asks, setting a glass of orange juice in front of me.

I take a sip, enjoying the freshness, and shake my head. "He woke up early to train with Clark and Bruce. They should be done in about an hour."

"Ah, yes," Alfred says as he pulls out a couple of pans and sets them on the stove. "Master Wayne was sent a few new toys for his gym."

I chuckle. "Sounds like the boys are having a playdate."

He smiles. "It would appear so. Though, not too long ago, Master Wayne would've never shared his toys."

I laugh at his comment.

Alfred opens the fridge and pulls out a jug of what looks like pancake batter.

"Would you like some pancakes, Ms. Prince? Young Mr. Allen didn't eat his usual share this morning."

I frown. "He didn't? That's unusual."

Because of Barry's incredibly fast metabolism, his breakfast alone tends to cover the caloric needs of a large man for an entire day.

Alfred nods. "I agree. He only ate half of what I served him and pushed his food around for twenty minutes before saying he wasn't very hungry."

Alarm bells go off in my mind. "Did he look like he wasn't feeling well?"

There aren't many things that can make Barry sick; his body deals with foreign pathogens at an incredible speed. Even indigestion only bothers him for twenty minutes or so.

As Alfred pours batter onto the pan, he turns slightly toward me with a pensive look. "He did seem unwell, but it appeared more emotional than physical. He was unusually quiet."

Barry, quiet and not hungry? Something is definitely wrong.

Alfred flips the pancake and, with practiced ease, grabs a bowl, breaks two eggs one-handed, whisks them, and pours the mixture with a sizzle onto the other hot pan.

"I asked if I could provide something to make him feel better, but he thanked me and said there's no remedy for what he's feeling. I must say, young Mr. Allen looked quite heartbroken."

My face falls, and my heart aches for him.

Oh, my sweet boy.

I don't think I've ever seen Barry down—he's always so happy and cheery. I can't even picture his face without a big, ear-to-ear smile.

"Did he say what he was planning to do today?" I ask Alfred as he slides a perfectly shaped omelet in front of me, followed by my pancakes.

"No, he didn't. Though usually, when Mr. Allen has a lot on his mind, he goes to the lake."

Alfred opens a drawer, pulls out a tablet, and taps it a few times before nodding. "Yes, that's where he is right now."

He hands it to me, and I see Barry sitting cross-legged by the edge of the lake, mindlessly throwing pieces of bread to the few ducks swimming there.

I nod. "I'll go talk to him. Hopefully, I can help."

Alfred smiles softly. "Ms. Prince, if anyone can help him… I'd bet it's you."

I thank Alfred for the food and immediately head to the lake. I rack my brain, trying to figure out what could have Barry feeling down, but nothing comes to mind. Yesterday, he was so happy about the news of my pregnancy. I wouldn't put it past him to hide his feelings to allow Steve and me to have our moment, but he's not very good at hiding them. Barry wears his heart on his sleeve—always has.

I turn a corner and see him in the same spot he was twenty minutes ago, only now his shoulders are shaking.

Oh no. My heart sinks.

"Barry?" I call softly.

He jumps, startled by my voice, and wipes his face with his sleeve in a desperate attempt to hide his tears. When he looks up at me, my heart twists. He looks so young, so vulnerable.

"Oh, Barry. What's going on?" I sit next to him and immediately pull him into a hug, my belly slightly in the way but nothing I can't manage.

He breaks down again, and I pull him closer, his head tucked under my chin. I don't know what's caused this, but I can't bear to see him in such pain.

An overwhelming need to comfort him washes over me.

"Sweet boy, whatever you're feeling, I promise it won't feel like this forever. So cry. Cry until you're ready to talk. I'll be right here. Always."

And he does.

The sobs that shake his whole body eventually subside into sniffs and silent tears. I feel him lean into me a little more before he pulls back.

He runs a hand over his face, then plucks a few blades of grass, lost in thought. After a deep breath, he leans forward, crawling to the edge of the lake. He cups water in his hands and splashes his face a few times.

I watch as he sorts through his thoughts and feelings. He dries his face with his sleeve and sits back down beside me.

With sad eyes, he looks at me and says, "Ten years today. Since I lost my mom."

I close my eyes. Grief is such an unpredictable beast. It rarely hits when you expect it. Sometimes it's a random thought, a phrase, a song, a smell, a watch…

They say time heals all. I disagree. Time gives you the ability to lessen grief's impact. You learn to navigate it, to function when it comes. It happened often with Steve. Not long after the war, I'd find a copy of a book by Edgar Burroughs, and a smile would tug at my lips as I remembered his love for the author. Decades later, I'd find one and feel an overwhelming urge to cry, almost running out of the store.

Grief never leaves you, and today, it has stampeded Barry's heart.

"It's crazy to me. How—how could I have lived in this world for ten years without my mom?"

I know he's not expecting an answer, so I rub his back, giving him the space to speak freely.

"I'm turning twenty-one this year, Di. This year, I'll have spent more than half my life without my mom. I don't understand!"

I shake my head slightly. "It's a hard truth when you realize how fast time can move when all you want is for it to slow down. Conversely, sometimes all you want is for time to move faster, to create distance in the hopes that you'll leave that pain far behind. But you know what I've learned, Barry? The pain never leaves you. It doesn't always have to be a bad thing. Grief is the price we pay for love."

I swipe a tear from his cheek with my thumb. "This pain you're feeling today? Even ten years after her death, it's evidence of how much you loved her. And I know she loved you with all her heart."

I rest my hand on the side of his face, and he leans into it. He smiles, but his eyes fill with tears again.

"You would've liked my mom, Di. I bet you would've been friends."

I smile sadly. "You know? I think so too. How could I not like the woman who raised such an amazing, kind-hearted boy?"

He closes his eyes and smiles. "She had the best smile, and her laugh… it was music. I would do anything to hear it."

That's where it comes from, I think—Barry's always the one to lighten the mood, always trying to make people laugh.

He looks at me and studies my face a bit. "It's strange. I may be crazy, but I think she sent you to me. You remind me so much of her, Di. She used to call me that too."

"Call you what?" I ask.

"Her sweet boy."

I realized some time ago that maybe there was something of his mother that he saw in me, something that reminded him of her. Steve also pointed it out after I once said that I was craving a crème brûlée from the bakery near our home in Paris while we were in Gotham. Not five minutes later, Barry zooms past Steve and comes to a stop in front of me, holding the light blue paper bag that I know so well.

"Sorry it took me so long. There was a line," he said with a smile.

I won't deny that my heart did a flip when I realized I was the mother figure in Barry's life. How could I be anything other than honored and grateful to have the love of such an amazing boy?

I can't help the tear that slides down my cheek. "Come here."

I pull him in for a hug, cradling the back of his head. "I have no doubt in my mind that your mother would be so proud of the person you've become, Barry. You're kind, thoughtful, and generous. And you are the sweetest boy I've ever met."

I feel him tighten the hug, and, as if agreeing with me, the baby kicks.

"Wow!" Barry throws himself backward as if someone just shot him and points at my belly. "That was insane! I'm not gonna lie, I momentarily forgot you were pregnant and was very afraid for a moment."

I rest my hand where the baby just kicked and laugh at his reaction. "She does that quite a lot these days. Here, want to feel it?"

He looks at my belly and up at me, unsure. After a moment, Barry seems to decide it's okay.

He extends his hand toward me. I chuckle because he looks like a child waiting to be led through a scary place by an adult. I take his hand and place it right by my belly button.

"I don't feel anything," he says not a millisecond after I place his hand there.

I shake my head with a smile at his lack of patience. "Give her a second. She'll say hi to you."

He stares at his hand with such focus you'd think he was trying to shoot laser beams out of his eyes. I feel a flutter and know the kick is coming at any moment. As if my daughter knew, she kicks right where Barry's hand is.

"Ahh! That. Is. Insane! It's like something out of Alien! Wowowowow. Does it hurt?" he asks, still staring at his hand.

I laugh and shake my head. "No, but I'm assuming as she gets bigger, her kicks will be stronger. So I'm expecting discomfort."

He nods, and after a couple more kicks, Barry stands and stretches his hand to help me up. We walk silently toward the house, and right before we cross the threshold, he stops and takes my hand.

"Thank you, Di. For always being there for me."

I squeeze his hand. "You don't need to thank me. You would do it for me."

He smiles. "I would. You're going to be as amazing a mom to that baby as my mom was to me, y'know?"

I feel a knot form in my throat. "You think so?"

He nods. "You kidding? I know so."

I hug him fiercely and give him a kiss on the temple. I think that's the greatest thing anyone has ever said to me.

Voices approach. Steve, Bruce, and Clark must've finished their workout and are on their way for breakfast.

I pull back and take his hand, giving it one last squeeze. I nod toward the kitchen, and Barry smiles and walks in.

I take a deep breath and pat the couple of stray tears under my eyes to avoid irritating the area. I walk in, and Alfred gives me a look. I smile and nod, letting him know it's all good. He gives a discreet nod and raises an eyebrow. I can almost read his mind.

I would be a rich man had I bet money, Ms. Prince.

I respond with an arched eyebrow.

"… so those aren't the final versions?" I hear Clark ask.

"No, they wanted me to try them out and get back to them with anything that might need improving," Bruce responds, taking a drink from his water bottle.

"Other than adding a few more hooks to support the load of the weights and adjusting the distance between the footholds, I'd say it's pretty much done," Steve adds, swiping a towel across his forehead.

"I'm assuming breakfast is much needed after the arduous exercise you gentlemen have done?" Alfred asks.

"Yes, please, Alfred," Bruce replies, plopping down on one of the chairs.

"Actually, Alfred. Could I get some of that too, please? My appetite just opened up," Barry tells him while looking at something on his phone. He doesn't realize it, but the three of them are looking at him, having noticed his very puffy face.

"Glad to hear it, Mr. Allen. Coming right up," Alfred replies, already on the move.

The three of them turn to look at me. I mouth later, and they nod. Since I know Clark can hear me, I tell him, Today is ten years since his mom passed.

Clark closes his eyes and hangs his head with an exhale. Steve looks at me and takes the few steps to get to me. He takes my hand and stares into my eyes. I know he can tell that I've cried. I may be able to hide it from everyone else, but not him.

Barely above a whisper, he asks, "Are you okay?"

I nod. "Yes. Promise."

The next day, as we packed our bags to go back home, a knock came at the door.

"Come in!" I said as I folded a few more shirts.

The door opened, and Barry's head popped out from behind it. "Hey, guys. Do you have a sec?"

"Sure, man. What's up?" Steve replied as he zipped up his bag.

Barry stepped inside, hands shoved deep in his pockets, shoulders slightly raised. I stopped what I was doing and gave him my full attention.

"Um, well. I'm assuming Di told you about yesterday?" Barry asked Steve.

He nodded. "Yeah, hope you don't mind."

Barry shook his head. "No, not at all. If she trusts you, I trust you." His eyes widened a little. "Of course, I trust you anyway, even if Diana was a complete stranger to me, because you're a cool, trustworthy person. Like, I would share my credit card PIN with you if you need proof. It's 62—"

"Barry." I stopped him, knowing that if I didn't redirect him now, we'd have a completely different conversation from the one he actually wanted to have.

He stopped abruptly. "Sorry… um,"

He took a moment, as if deciding something. Steve and I shared a quick glance, wondering where this might be going. It was obviously something relating to his mom.

"I wanted to ask a favor from the two of you. Say no if you don't want to or have plans or whatever. You don't have to do it."

Steve narrowed his eyes. "How about you tell us, and then we can decide?"

"Yeah, yeah." He took a deep breath. "When my mom died, it was all very hectic. Not only did I lose her that day, but I also lost my dad, since he was arrested and all. CPS took me almost immediately. It took longer than usual for my mom to be buried because the police had to follow certain protocols. About ten days later, the CPS agent who handled my case came looking for me at Central City's orphanage and told me she was taking me to the cemetery so that I could be there for her burial."

Steve sat down on the bed, and I followed him. I already knew all of this because I'd read it in Barry's file. Bruce had detailed relevant information on each of us. But I'd never heard it being told by Barry himself. It broke my heart all over again, especially because he was only ten years old.

He continued.

"I lost it. I had somehow made myself believe that I was dreaming. That I didn't come down to the kitchen that day to find my mom in a pool of her own blood. That my dad hadn't been arrested for a crime he didn't commit. That I wasn't alone in an orphanage where I would get backhanded for asking for more food."

My fists tightened as I felt rage at the person who dared hit a child for asking for more food. A child who had just lost both parents. They were supposed to be a safe haven, not a prison.

I felt Steve cover my clenched fist with his hand, and it relaxed.

"I was in such a state of distress that they decided it would be best if I didn't go. There was a part of me that believed that all this might still be a dream. But if I read her name on that tombstone, it would be game over. And…"

I saw his eyes shine, but he didn't let the tears fall. So, I made my best effort to do the same.

"Up until not too long ago, I still believed that. But it's been ten years, and my mom's gone. I've accepted that. I'm ready to go visit her. She deserves someone to leave her flowers. She deserves a clean tombstone. My dad and I, we never could afford to have it cleaned. No one's been to see her. But… I don't want to go alone. I don't think I can. That's what I wanted to ask. Will you guys come with me?"

I immediately stood up and hugged him. "Of course, we'll come, Barry."

"Are you sure you want both of us to come, or just Diana? It's okay if it's just her," Steve asked with zero resentment.

I pulled back and looked at Barry. He shook his head.

"I want both of you. She's the heart, but you're… safety, y'know? That's something that I didn't have when everything went to hell. I feel like I need both. I mean, if you don't want to come, it's fine—"

Steve stood and squeezed Barry's shoulder. "I'll come. What are friends for, huh?"

We talked to Bruce to ask him if it'd be okay to reschedule our flight to Paris. Instead of departing from Gotham early the next morning, we'd leave from Central City to Paris at night. Barry insisted we didn't need to stay the whole day.

Steve and I told Bruce what Barry had asked, and his face immediately went solemn. If anyone here understood what Barry went through, it was Bruce. He nodded and looked over my shoulder at Alfred to signal him to make the changes.

Barry was very quiet during the short flight from Gotham to Central City. We made a quick stop at his place, where we waited downstairs for him to grab cleaning supplies. Not thirty minutes later, we were walking among tombstones in Central City's Cemetery. The sky was clear, the sun was out, and there was a nice cool breeze. We followed Barry in silence until he came to a stop.

Compared to the other tombstones, the one Barry was looking down on was dirty, covered in moss and plaque. The only way we could tell this was Barry's mom's resting place was by the barely legible 'Allen.'

Barry knelt and opened the bag he had brought. He pulled out a bottle of soapy water and some sponges. He sprayed the whole front and back and looked at us.

"Will you guys help me?"

We nodded. "Of course."

We got to work. It took us around twenty minutes before Barry stopped abruptly, and a sob exploded out of him as the name 'Nora Allen' became very much legible.

Steve's arm immediately went around Barry's shoulders and pulled him in. "I know. I know."

I moved to kneel on his other side and hugged him too. I rested my hand over his heart, and his chest jumped as sobs racked his body. Barry didn't cry for long, but it still broke my heart. A short while later, he pulled back from our embrace and pulled out a clean rag, wiping the front of the tombstone. It was clean, but Nora's name was faded.

Having thought ahead, Barry pulled out gold paint and a thin brush. He dipped it in the gold liquid and went over the letters.

I heard the crunching of leaves behind us. I turned and saw a staff member standing at a respectful distance but clearly waiting for us to move. I turned back around and didn't pay much attention to him.

Feeling satisfied with his work, Barry put down the brush and looked at the tombstone.

"Better, right?" Barry asked no one in particular.

I rubbed his back. "Yes, it looks beautiful."

He nodded. "There's only one more thing…" He reached into his flannel shirt's pocket and pulled out an envelope. He grabbed the rag and pulled out the small glass from a frame that was placed at the top right corner of the tombstone.

He wiped it clean and rested it on his lap. Barry opened the envelope and pulled out a laminated photo. He leaned forward and slid it into place, covering it with the glass.

It was a beautiful family photo. Barry was sandwiched between his parents—cheek to cheek. They looked so happy. Barry clearly favored his dad more; from his strong jaw to the shape of his eyes and hair, but his smile—the one I've come to love so much—he clearly inherited from his mother.

"That's how I try to remember her. She was beautiful, right?" he asked, looking longingly at it.

I nodded. "She was."

We stayed there for a couple more minutes before Barry gathered things up. He and Steve both offered me their hands and helped me up.

"Thank you for coming with me," Barry said.

Steve patted him a couple of times on the shoulder. "No need to thank us."

We started walking back when the worker who was waiting walked past us and put some kind of sticker on the side of the tombstone. We frowned, and Barry asked,

"Excuse me. What's that for?"

The worker looked up. "Oh, it's just a marker for the maintenance crew to identify the tombstones that have to be cleaned."

Barry shook his head. "There must be a mistake. I can't afford to pay for that."

I was about to interrupt and tell him that I would pay for it when the worker smiled.

"Don't worry about it. We got a call from Bruce Wayne's private office. He's taken care of it. We received instructions to let you do this first cleaning, but we'll keep it nice and clean for you from now on."

I smiled. He can pretend to be emotionless all he wants, but Bruce cares, and when he cares, he cares deeply.

"Oh… um. Thank you," Barry stammered out.

"You folks have a good day," the man said. He climbed into his golf cart and drove away.

Barry turned to look at us. "I should thank him."

Steve nodded. "Yes. It would probably be best if you send him an e—"

Barry looked around quickly and zoomed out before Steve could finish his sentence.

"—mail," he exhaled. "Bruce will have an aneurysm when Barry gives him the inevitable hug."

I chuckled. "Yes, probably."

We waited a few more minutes before Barry zoomed back, ruffling our hair a bit.

He was covering his mouth, trying to control his laughter.

I looked upward, already feeling a smile pull at my lips. "What are you laughing at?"

"Well, I got there and looked all around and couldn't find him. So, I thought he would probably be in his bedroom reading or something. He was there, and I immediately hugged him and said, 'Thank you.'"

Steve looked at me and back at Barry. "What's so funny about that?"

Trying to control his laughter and failing miserably, he said,

"In my rush to thank him, I didn't quite realize that he had just gotten out of the shower. So, my ear was pressed to his naked chest, and he had nothing but a towel on."

Steve and I started laughing uncontrollably. After a minute or so, I had to ask.

"What did he say?"

Barry wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. "Get the hell out of here."

We started laughing again until it naturally died down. I threw my arm around Barry's shoulders and kissed him on the temple. It was almost tangible how a big weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He was so excited to go visit his dad and tell him all about it.

We dropped him off, and he made us promise we would give him a call before we left for Themyscira. Feeling glad to have accompanied him today, Steve and I flew home.

AN: Hope you liked it. Let me know if you liked it. Would love feedback. See you next Sunday :)