Brutalia: The Language of Flowers

That would have been fun though. It had been years since he and Talia have had an adventure that entailed both of them being conscious. In the month that had passed since their last shared dream, they’ve grown closer than ever. There had been times before where they had gotten close, but the shared visions allowed for no secrets between the two. It was easier to smile and laugh and open up to her about his troubles. He joined in on Damian’s calls– just for a second, just to hear her voice as she told him to mind his manners and not to interrupt their son’s lovely story about his day. 

He doesn’t smile now though. No, she would see it, and it would be all too obvious how she managed to make his heart sing. It had been easier when she was still away, but now, she’s by his side in the waking world. Has been for two days now as they gathered supplies before heading to Brussels on Zatanna’s intel. She would see his grin and return it with one of her own that made her eyes crinkle and take Bruce’s heart away when she turned away from him to carry on with their task. 

“Are we positive she’s in Brussels? Both you and Talia said that she was normally based out of Marbella.” 

Zatanna huffs, but her tone stays light. “As positive as we can get. It’s where she told her family she was going. What for or where? Couldn’t tell you, but I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” 

There isn’t a chance to respond before the comm chimes the call’s end. 

“Well, that’s fortunate. Your friend is quite helpful.” 

“I don’t see your men here searching the city,” Bruce responds. “We’re just lucky we didn’t have to ask Constantine.” 

Talia hums and says nothing else. 

Bruce adds on, “So are you going to tell me why you approached her to begin with?”

“No.” They keep walking the streets of Brussels. A coven is near this area, operating out of a hole in the wall behind a music store. Talia keeps scanning the area, looking for the woman she met only once months ago. She had said the woman was distinct: short and slight with dark skin and wide eyes. 

Bruce keeps an eye out on his own. The name, Mary Montagu, had pulled up more than Bruce had expected online. He still has no idea how Talia had come to find her, but spotting the young witch shouldn’t be too difficult in a crowd. The question of how this really began has weighed on Bruce. Everything else was known. The promise of a new start for Damian was a worthy risk for accepting the flower. Zatanna had found the spell that had bound their sleeping selves together. Of all things, it had only been a low level communication spell tied solely between the two of them with little chance of being broken by anyone not already involved. Zatanna said she could try, but she couldn’t guarantee what the results would entail. Bruce figures it wouldn’t be worth it.

His acceptance doesn’t mean he isn’t curious though. But she isn’t ready to talk, and Bruce has decided he’s okay with that. Over the past few weeks, he had been allowed to see a new side to her where she couldn’t hide behind manufactured smiles and situations. He trusted her to have good intentions. 

He steals another look at her. She’s in her green set again. She’s always looked so beautiful in it, but she’s beautiful in everything. Her jaw is set, her gaze focused, but when Bruce takes a half step closer to her, he can see her lips curl into a small smile. 

He needs to look away. He’s too wound up. All of this energy needed to be burnt up training or fighting, but so far, there hasn’t been any time for that. He doesn’t see much of a need for it coming up either. Montagu isn’t as powerful as many of her peers that he’s encountered. He isn’t going to underestimate her– he’s seen too much to know that physicality didn’t carry much credit to power– but she’s a low level sorceress who didn’t even break five feet tall. Chances were that any fighting that occurred would be over as soon as it started. 

It only makes Bruce more curious to know why Talia had reached out to her. 

He looks down the street. They’re coming up on the music store again for the third time that night. Talia had insisted they couldn’t sit and watch for those leaving. She hadn’t listened to his explanation that the store had one exit and any comings and goings would be clearer if they waited. She’s been like that the whole night; jittery and unable to sit still. The movement isn’t going to any waste. He’s positive that Talia’s hair has never been more squarely tucked behind her ear.

She’s doing it yet again, lips pursed in uncertainty when Bruce finally sees their target in the crowd. He points the witch out: hair up in twin puffs, braids stretching down her back, wide eyed and too focused on her device to notice she’s being watched. 

Talia goes to take off, but Bruce holds her back. “Remember what Zatanna said.” 

Talia pulls her arm out of his grasp. “Fine. I will allow her to walk away with her life.” 

Bruce rolls his eyes, but follows her. As if Talia would kill her for this.

They zip through the crowd, pushing and dodging swarms of innocent civilians until finally, they towered over the witch. Only to find her staring back at them with a confused look on her face. “Señora al Ghul… What can I help you with?” 

“You know what.” 

The young woman doesn’t look like she understands any more than she already did. “I apologize, but I already told you that I don’t have the time to train you.” 

“We aren’t here for that,” Bruce interjects. He gives Talia a look. What could she have asked to be trained in, he wondered. He looks back to the witch with a scowl. “What’s the clock out clause for your curse?” 

“Curse?” The witch blinks at them. She looks between them before cocking her head at Talia. “Oh, the rebirth spell? Señora al Ghul, I told you what you needed to do. It was in the daffodil’s song.” 

Bruce slowly inhales. He looks down to Talia. She meets his gaze with a fiery glare. “We both did exactly what it said. We spoke and were honest. We have reconciled, but the dreams are never ending and causing my partner pain. End this.” 

Bruce takes note of Montagu's reaction. She shrinks back, eyes looking everywhere but at them, but not out of guilt. Out of fear. He looms over her, blocking her against the wall and preventing her from running off. “What was in the daffodil’s song?” 

“Just the parameters for the spell, I swear.” She raises both hands in surrender. “It said to listen to your hearts and allow the flowers’ meaning to come true. I thought it was clear cut, I’m sorry for any misunderstandings. I hope the dreams haven’t been too jarring.” 

“The flowers had meaning?” He coolly looks over to Talia. 

She shrugs. “Don’t give me that look, I didn’t pay attention to the words. I thought the fact that it sang was the gift and the rebirth thing was typical witch nonsense.” 

“Well, next time you accept a flower from a witch, maybe you should. Those are generally important.” It's Talia’s turn to roll her eyes, but she slinks closer to Bruce anyways. He rests a hand on her lower back before turning back to Montagu. “Well, we have resolved our issues and came clean to each other. What else do we need to do to end this?” 

The witch looks at how close they were. Bruce pulls Talia closer. He didn’t trust either of them not to pull somesting. Both of her brows are so high they’re nearly touching her hairline. “You guys got back together and are still bonded? Have you admitted your love yet?” 

That gets a reaction out of Talia. She practically jumps out of Bruce’s grasp, face grim and hand on her holstered sword. “You promised a new chance for my son, not me.” 

“And I told you I can’t fix things. I’m not strong enough,” she snaps back. Anger finally bubbles over,and she puffs her cheeks before sighing. “The connection spell snapped to the easiest relationship to fix which I can only guess is him.” She gestures to Bruce before giving a small smile. “I thought the flowers would have already told you enough, but if you want something more on the nose, turn around.” 

Bruce still has no idea what the sorceress is talking about, but he still turns. Talia does too, and out of the corner of his eye, he can see Montagu ducking under his arm and running down the street, quickly turning around a corner before losing herself in the crowd. 

Part of him is excited. Their search would go on for longer, possibly giving them another night where it was just the two of them passing the hours anyway they could. Last night, they played chess. The game had one on for over an hour, but finally, Talia caught him in checkmate. Her smile had been wide enough to show all her teeth as she laughed. In her joy, she had even jumped from her seat to hug Bruce unprompted. 

But part of him was also agitated. He had fallen for the oldest trick in the book. It only would’ve been more embarrassing if the witch had yelled, ‘Look, a bird!’ 

“Detective, we should quit our jobs now. We’re nothing but idiots," Talia says through newfound giggles. 

Bruce takes a closer look at the other side of the street. It’s a flower shop, but he can’t point out anything unique about it other than how coincidental it happened to be. 

Talia nudges him. “We’ve been speaking English, but she’s been speaking florist. Look closer.” 

He does. In the flower shop’s display stood a singular shelf with only a single vase on its surface. Red and pink flowers puffed out of it, a mixture of bushy pink roses and vermillion tulips. He shakes his head, looking back onto the flowers that have predominantly starred in their shared dreams. He couldn’t give meaning to all of them, but he did know some. Marigolds-grief, especially tied with loved ones. Sunflowers- joy and adoration. Roses and tulips? He had to laugh at himself with how obvious it was. 

“Does this mean you’ve fallen back in love with me, Bruce?” She bats her eyelashes. She puts a hand on his chest that he’s quick to cover with one of his own. 

“That would imply that I ever stopped loving you.” He pulls her close. Her breath hitches as he curls an arm around her waist, pulling her in until their hips touch and he can smell her perfume. “And how could I? I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again. You are everything I could ever dream of. You’re cunning, dedicated, ambitious, compassionate, and have never failed to call me out on my shortcomings.”

Each word makes her blush grow stronger and stronger, but her expression never breaks. She gasps in fake offense. “Not one word of my good looks? I guess you are a selfless man after all.” 

“If I had to list that, we’d be here all night.” His gaze falls from her eyes down to her rosy lips and suddenly, everything feels right. Her lips are on his, arms wrapped around his neck pulling him even closer to her. Her heart beats over his, and it doesn’t take long for the kiss to become heated. Her hands twist into his cape as he traces her mouth with his tongue until finally he pulls back. Her flush is far from gone and her lips are swollen, and she’s never looked more beautiful. “I love you, Talia.”

“Bruce,” she pants. “I don’t know what to say.” 

His heart clenches. She doesn’t continue. He accepts it though; the years have been turbulent, and a few weeks of peace don’t mean that she’d be likely to return his feelings. 

Right as he’s about to nod, her hand comes up to caress his face. “From the moment I saw you, I was yours. You’ve seen my dreams, Detective. I know you can piece together what my heart wants.” 

Bruce leans into the touch. 

Talia pauses and stares directly into Bruce’s eyes through the cowl. “Please don’t let what you’re saying be a lie.” 

“It’s not,” he says. 

Without saying another word, she leans back in. The kiss is bruising, and Bruce can’t get enough. He kisses her back with equal passion. She fits like a puzzle piece against him. Their tongues meet again, but this time, it’s her who pulls back. She presses a chaste peck to the corner of his mouth. 

He chases her, meeting her lips again for another moment. She laughs as she pulls away, turning around so she can look at the floral display while in his arms. “You know, I was really looking forward to a bit of a fight.” 

“There’s still time,” he murmurs into her ear. “I was gearing up for one too.” 

Talia raises a brow. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Maybe,” he smirks. “I do have a few questions before we take off though.” 

Her smile falters. “Ask away.” 

“How come you could change the dreams and I couldn't?” It comes out a bit more whiny than Bruce intended, but he prays she doesn’t notice. 

Of course, she does, and she pokes his cheek. “Don’t sound so petulant. You just always see life for what it is, and never what it could be. It’s the same reason why all of your dreams were so drab.” 

“I’m still not convinced that those were mine. You don’t have any proof.” 

“Mmhmm. And what’s your other question?” 

He already asked it twenty minutes ago, but hopefully this time he’ll get a response. “What did you ask her to train you for?” 

Her face goes red. She mutters something he can’t hear. He asks again. 

“I asked her to teach me how to garden. At least enough to keep a plant alive for longer than a month,” she whispers. Her face twists into a pout. “She said she was too busy.” 

Bruce can’t help but laugh. It’s crazy to think that a woman who’s so perfect in every other aspect of life could struggle with something so mundane. He lifts her chin so she’s back to looking at him and kisses her with a smile. 

“Don’t laugh at me. It wound up working in my favor.” She wraps Bruce’s arms around herself tighter. “I’m really sick of flowers now.” 

They’re both so similar and so different all at once that it leaves Bruce at a loss for words. He isn’t used to having to use a more passive guiding hand. Dick, Jason, Tim, and Cassandra had always been more upfront about what they needed from him. Damian could be, but he often needed more reading in between the lines to really understand what the boy needed. He took after his father in that regard.

So Bruce started listening. He started approaching unpromptedly, just as he had done before. He stopped doing all of the stuff he knew brought his youngest to feel even smaller than he already did. 

Things aren’t perfect of course; they still had disagreements. Some days included long stints of silence where it felt like Damian was imagining being anywhere but there with Bruce, but it was okay. He hadn’t heard Damian confide to Talia about something he had done in over a week now. The fact that it had taken so long made Bruce angry at himself, but it’s still a sign of change regardless. 

Those changes had already added so much to Bruce’s life, and after three weeks had slipped by without his sleep being interrupted, he let himself get comfortable. And because of that, he’s now falling through a black void. 

A black void with no catches or any bits of light that Bruce can work with. 

He’s given up struggling at this point. It could still be another lucid dream of sorts, but now he’s just waiting for another flower to show up or for Talia to be the one to bring him back into the light. It’s almost relaxing at this point. 

“Get back, beast! I do not wish to fight!” 

He hears the sound of metal against metal; a telltale sign of a sword being taken from its scabbard. Fear creeps into Talia’s voice. He hears her yelp and takes off running. His feet are hitting nothing solid, but the black slowly shifts to light until he’s in a forest, dodging trees and jumping over gnarled roots. He shouts, “Talia!” 

She finally comes into view, her khaki slacks already dirty and her black boots digging into the ground to keep her upright. “Detective! We cannot kill it!” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it!” He recognizes the red beast immediately. Its red leathery wings flare, knocking Talia to the ground with a shout as it roars. Bruce looks Goliath up and down, looking for whatever could be upsetting the creature so much. He was typically so timid. He’d never hurt his trusted owner’s mother. Bruce finds nothing through, and Goliath already has Talia in his hold. 

Bruce jumps, and after using the demon bat’s arm as a trampoline, he lands on Goliath’s back. With one hand keeping him atop the beast, Bruce knows he only has one chance to save Talia from an unknown fate. His right hand flies to his utility belt, quick to pull out a canister of knock out gas. He sets the atomizer off and guides Goliath back to lay on a field of soft grass instead of falling forward onto Talia. 

Goliath lands without a sound, already asleep from the chemical cocktail. Bruce offers Talia a hand, “Any reason why you’re dreaming of our son’s pet trying to eat you?” 

“Why are you so quick to assume it’s my dream?” She ignores his hand and stands on her own. “Are you sure you aren’t tackling something related to our son preferring animals to us?” 

Bruce raises a brow, but becomes suddenly aware that she can’t see since he arrived in this dream in the batsuit. So instead, he smiles. “He’s always been that way?” 

“As long as he’s been alive. I worried when he was young that if it came down to me or a sand cat, he’d choose the sand cat without hesitation.” 

“Why a sand cat specifically?” He asks back, but he can picture Damian, even as he is now, struggling to choose who he’d prefer the company of. 

Talia sighs and runs a finger through her hair. “When he was three and got upset with our insufficient number of cookies, he packed a bag. He told me goodbye and said that the sand cats would never be so cruel to him.” 

“Mm, I have to agree with him. The sand cats would never refuse him any cookies.” Bruce’s smile grows when Talia huffs. 

“I didn’t refuse him. We just ran out.” She shakes her head, smiling at the memory before a small whimper comes from Goliath’s body beside them. Her grin quickly falls. “Dami!”

She dives down to Goliath’s body, rifling through a bag that had been tucked under one of his wings. She gently pulls a small bundle out, and Bruce is so grateful that this is nothing but a dream. He’s at her side immediately helping to cradle the infant in her arms. 

With only one look, his heart is already won over. The baby looks so much like Damian and yet so different. Head covered in dark peach fuzz and limbs scrunched up close to his tiny little body. Bruce has to stop himself from littering the boy’s tiny, chubby cheeks with kisses. He looks up to Talia to find her gaze is focused on the baby as well. “Is this him?”

Slowly, she nods. She brings Damian closer to her chest. A little hand reaches out. She just looks down at his sleeping face as he tangles his fingers in her long locks. “Just as beautiful as ever. Like a mini you; just cuter.” 

Bruce lets the joke go ignored. He doesn’t see what she’s talking about. Baby Damian is one of the cutest things he’s ever seen, naturally, but all Bruce sees is Talia. He sees the strength of Talia’s nose already starting to take shape and the fullness of her lips. He sees her olive skin and the beginning of a tan forming as melanin developed.

“Here,” she whispers, holding Damian out for Bruce to take. Bruce doesn’t hesitate. “You should get the opportunity to, at least once.” 

Damian nuzzles closer to Bruce’s chest plate. Tears burn in his eyes. Bruce doesn’t know what to do. The number of times he’s held a baby have been few and far between, and Damian couldn’t be older than just a couple of months. He was just so little, able to fit in the crook of just one of Bruce’s arms if he ever got brave (or cocky) enough. 

“He’s perfect.” 

“He absolutely is. I never knew I was able to love someone as much as I love him,” she says, her voice soft. She steps closer to embrace their son as well. “When he was only a few months older than this, he stopped sleeping for longer than fifteen minutes… It terrified me. I went to every healer available to make sure that he was okay. Everyone said he was healthy.” 

Bruce pulls his baby closer, careful to make sure that the gauntlets weren’t pinching him. The little guy must have been exhausted with that kind of schedule. Probably drove his mother a little crazy too. Talia isn’t telling the story with a frown though. She still has a soft smile on her face. 

She shakes her head, her grin growing wider. “My father had to pull me aside. He told me that no one could live that way– if he was awake, I was awake– and that I needed to find a solution soon. I tried everything, until one day, at my wit’s end, I found out that our son just wanted some solitude.” 

Bruce chokes back a laugh. “I wonder who he got that from.” 

She gives him a look. “We may never know.” 

Always so independent. That makes Bruce proud. Bruce could spend all day just watching Damian sleep, chewing on his little fingers and getting the sleeve of his bodysuit wet with drool. His chubby cheeks are flushed, and he stirs making Bruce startle. 

Talia laughs, “It seems that he’s waking up now. He must be excited.” 

Damian stirs again, and Bruce is terrified that he’ll somehow fall right through his arms. Through all of the love, Bruce feels awkward in a way he’s never felt before. Not even as a child. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do– if he’s supposed to talk to the infant or if he’s supposed to rock him. Damian’s already waking up, so maybe rocking would be a bad idea? Since this is a dream, how similar would this Damian be to a real baby? 

More and more possibilities run through his head. New anxieties grow. All of his kids came to him already old enough that there wasn’t a hole in their skull. They didn’t have weird physiologies that frightened Bruce because so many things could go wrong.  They could communicate. But all of his worries come to a screeching halt when Damian opens his eyes. 

They’re already so green and inquisitive. Once again, Bruce is swept away by just how much his son takes after Talia. But Damian looks up at him and immediately, his lips start to quiver. 

“Here,” Bruce says as he holds Damian out for Talia to take him back. “He shouldn’t see me in the suit.” 

Talia waves the idea off and nudges Damian back. “He was running around in your cape before his third birthday.”

He thinks about it for half a second before pulling the child back to his chest. “It won’t scare him?” 

Damian is quick to settle, and Bruce is grateful for it. The idea of being away from the little guy made him feel incredibly anxious anyways. 

“No, beloved. He’s already felt who you are.” 

Bruce prays that that’s true. He repositions Damian into the crook of his arm, carefully balanced into his chest, and goes to pull the cowl down. Damian liking the cape wouldn’t mean that he’d appreciate the stoicism of the mask. It immediately made the boy’s lip stop moving so much. He stares and stares until at long last he smiles. Bruce smiles back. 

He looks up to Talia. Her smile is ear to ear. It’s one that he’s seen on her before; one that is exclusively reserved for her son. Every time she was near the teen, Bruce saw it there. She looked at Damian like he was about to disappear at any moment so she needed to appreciate him while she still could. When Damian would turn his back to her or look the other way, that smile would only get wider. 

It’s obvious that Damian really is her whole world. Bruce bites his lip. He had kept her from her son for years, only adding to the fear that a time would come when she’d see Damian for the last time.

But at least she got this. She got the days of Damian’s scrunches and peach fuzz and toothless smiles. She got all of these early days, and she’s still around to see everything the future has in store for their son too. And she’s the only reason Bruce got to enjoy any of this. 

He wraps an arm around her and pulls her into a hug. He doesn’t have the words to say. 

They send the rest of the dream just doting on Damian. Talia always knew the right thing to do when he cried and never stopped singing sweet praises to him. At the moment, the little guy was on his stomach on Talia’s chest, trying his very hardest to look up at her face. Bruce can’t help but notice how good she is at this. How this could have been his life if he had just able to adjust. But he can’t dwell on it. It was as Talia unintentionally told him weeks ago in the second dream, ‘There’s only now and the future.’

She sits up though, holding Damian close to her chest. He looks up at Bruce with big eyes, and he can’t help but to cradle his son’s cheek. Talia smiles into Damian’s hair before it falls. “The sun is setting. We’ll be waking up soon.” 

Bruce looks up; she’s right. It’s just over the horizon, tucked behind pink clouds that faded to a dimming blue sky. He sighs with a smile. “This has been one of the better dreams we’ve shared.” For a moment he thinks about leaning over to kiss her, but he reconsiders. “Thank you.” 

She runs a hand over Damian’s hair. She hums, “The door was already open for us to share our memories. I didn’t want to keep you out anymore.” 

“I can’t ever thank you enough.” He runs his thumb over Damian’s smooth skin. He already misses his baby son. It hurts to know that he never got this in real life; not with Damian, and not with any of his other children. He never got to see them this small and cute. He never got to have all of those years they spent elsewhere. He’s grateful that they mostly had loving parents who doted on them all the same, but he’d still sacrifice a lot to have been able to give that to Cassandra. 

He doesn’t notice he’s frowning until Talia reaches over to smooth it out. “He will still be there when you wake up, Bruce. Even now, he’s still the same baby. All of them are. Show them all the love you feel. Give them hugs and compliments. Take them to have fun like you used to.” 

“I will.” He promises himself that he absolutely will. Not just Damian, but all of them. He needs to reach out more often, check in not just to supervise, but to remind them that he cares. It’s felt like too long since he’s gotten a huge toothy smile out of them. Not since Alfred. 

He looks up at her again, her gaze still squarely on their son with tears of her own starting to form. He doesn’t think about it this time. He leans over and kisses her forehead. Her head jolts up, nearly hitting him in the jaw, but it doesn't stop him from smiling. “Have you seen any flowers though?” 

Bruce hasn’t seen one the whole time, even in the grassy knoll they settled in to play. Not even a stray bloom drifting in the wind. 

Something about his question makes Talia laugh. It sounds like a bell ringing. “My love, I think you should take a closer look at what Damian’s wearing.” 

He knows that it isn’t true. Tim is just as likely as Damian to get sidetracked or wander off. All this feeling is that he misses Tim and that last night’s dream had more of an impact than Bruce thought possible. Maybe Damian would just be better off living with his mother again, even if it hadn’t gone well the last time. Or he could split the time between them. That would solve the issue entirely. He wouldn’t need to choose when both were equally present. 

But it wouldn’t solve it, would it? 

Damian was probably already planning some sort of escape as it was. Bruce didn’t know if it would be to go back to his mother’s side, but it was clear that he was getting close to his wit’s end. It’s gotten to a point where Bruce wonders how much he’d get to see of his youngest son once he heads off for college. 

He has to call it in early. His mind can’t find peace. He messages Dick and Jason to cover for a couple hours, but neither responds. Jason turned on read receipts just to show how disinterested he is in the idea. 

He goes home after sending Damian a short message. He trusts him enough to finish the last hour of their regular patrol. He falls asleep unusually fast, clinging onto the hope that he wouldn’t see Talia haunting his dreams again for at least a week. 

From the looks of it, he may get away with it. 

He watches the characters glide across the stage. For whatever reason, his brain conjured up a ballet for the night. Thankfully, it was one that Bruce had seen before, years ago. He watches the dancers exit stage right, and suddenly Clara was in full view instead of being drowned in a sea of others. 

His heart sinks to his stomach. It’s absurd. Her hair is up in pigtails, long silvery strands flying as she spun with a wide smile across her face. The bows only made it look more infantile on such a grown woman, but Silver danced on, gently curtseying and rising up on her pointe shoes for an effortless arabesque. She bows as she accepts her Christmas gift of a nutcracker, the grandfather holding the boy in his arms. 

Bruce thought such a dream couldn’t get worse, but he recognizes the nutcracker. He held him the same way, years ago in Qurac. Jason, still short and small and so unlike the wall of a man he was today dances across the stage, lifting Silver into the air. Bruce’s heart squeezes at how similar he looks to what Bruce remembers. Red costume with green and yellow trim, hair curled into a middle part that Bruce never was particularly fond of, full of such energy and passion that Bruce struggled to keep up with.

The rest carries on in this fashion. He doesn’t recognize everyone in the production, but he knows the ones lucky enough to have clear faces. Alfred is in the background as the conductor. His parents are the Sugar Plum Fairy and the Cavalier. Harvey is one of the Russians, and Bruce can’t confirm without seeing her face, but he knows that the Rat King is none other than Stephanie. There were so many more; civilians that he just wasn’t fast enough to save. He remembered their faces from the news. 

His pain feels fresh seeing all of them. His shame builds and builds as he recognizes another face. The people he’s failed were in high enough numbers to fill a rather crowded show. And those were just the ones he remembers. He wonders, clutching his chest, just how many more there were. How many families missed their child or parent, how many people missed their best friend or coworker or the neighbor that would always lend a cup of sugar. 

But he can’t look away. Not only would it be a disrespect to their memory, but he waits for Talia to appear somewhere. If she was going to be anywhere, she deserved a place on that stage. He failed her several times over. One of those led to countless deaths at the hands of her sister. 

But she never appears, and the show is now coming to what Bruce believes to be its conclusion. He breathes a little easier knowing that this was only his own mind keeping him accountable. He relaxes his arm. It’ll fade soon. His arm falls onto a comfortable weight in his lap. 

Bruce’s heart drops again. It ‘s a bouquet of flowers; a good size one at that. All were the same flower, a Mexican Marigold. Even in the dim lighting, he can make out their vibrant yellows and oranges. He stares at the semispheres of rippling petals before looking back up to see Stephanie carrying Jason off in their heated battle. 

He can’t hold back any longer, and the tears start. Why is this happening to him?

He thought he had made his peace with this. He couldn’t save everyone. Even Clark wasn’t always able to save everyone. 

But he should have been there. Should’ve been faster, smarter, more considerate. He lost two Robins due to his own inability to be there the way they needed, and now he was going to lose a third though he prayed the loss was less permanent. How many more was he going to lose? 

“Beloved, it’s okay. You aren’t alone.” 

There she is. The cherry on top. He brushes her touch off of him. Why did he have to get stuck with her? Out of the corner of his eye, he sees her, and the betrayal shoots through him red hot. She had no right to witness something so personal. Not anymore. “You need to go.” 

“Not when you are like this. I know that your losses have always hit you hard-” 

He crunches the bouquet in his hand. “If you know that then why would you have kept two of my sons away from me, Talia? What did I ever do to you to deserve that?” 

She doesn’t answer. She didn't even try to touch him again. He looks up at her to see her looking down at her tightly clutched hands. 

“You never even apologized. All of your manipulations and lies and betrayals, not once did you ever say sorry. Then you took the people you know I love most in this world away from me. Why? All of these years, I couldn’t bring myself to ever understand. I would’ve helped you,” he forces himself to say through his cries. “You never let me.” 

Another long pause of silence stretches on. Bruce can’t pay attention to what is going on on stage. Something about seeing Jason so small again felt impossible. 

Small sniffles pull him out of his fog.  “I am more sorry than you will ever know, Bruce. Please just allow me to explain– You don’t need to forgive me, but you’re correct. You should know why.” 

Bruce holds his breath. 

“Hiding Jason’s revival is easier to explain than–” she stoppes, giving him a sideways glance before returning her gaze to her lap. She looks so unsure of herself that Bruce instinctively wants to comfort her, but his emotions are too volatile. It wouldn’t be the first time he left her to soothe her emotions alone. After a moment, she continues, “When one of my father’s people alerted me to Jason, I was shocked. My father was as well. He studied the boy as much as he could, and I was only barely allowed to train him. No matter what I tried, Jason wasn’t getting better. His body was alive, but his brain had suffered too much, I suppose. I don’t know whether it was from the bomb or from the grave…” 

She trails off, and Bruce is grateful. It’s always pained him to think of how Jason must’ve felt at that moment. It took him years to finally tell Bruce the full story; what little of it there was. He had been alone, in the dark without oxygen or food and still persevered. A weaker man would’ve died again, but Jason had never been anything less than exemplary. 

“I didn’t tell you then out of fear of my father and how I knew it would crush you. Grieving once is already hard enough, and he was not the boy you knew. Jason deserved to be remembered for his courage, and I knew I could get him back to that. It broke my heart to see him that way and hear him cry for you… I was torn over what to do all the time. Eventually, I was down to my last resort, but when he came back, he hated you. We had to hide for a number of years after-”

Bruce interrupts. “What about Damian?” 

He glares at her, unable to control his expression enough to hide his wrath. Damian had already been born by that point. Still young, probably not even at Talia’s hip yet. 

“I will get to that part, my love,” she mutters. She wipes her wet eyes. “I spent those years trying to tell him of you and how much you meant to him, but he didn’t listen. He felt abandoned and replaced, but not by my influence, I promise you. I thought as time went on that he’d come back to appreciating you, and that if he returned to Gotham before that, he’d try to kill you. I wanted to spare you the hurt of fighting your son.” 

“Fat load of good that did me,” Bruce snidely returns. That had been a dark time. 

“I know, and I’m sorry.” Talia’s sniffles turn to quiet cries. “With everything else going on, I just saw no need to keep him tethered any longer. My father was no longer of any danger, and Jason had grown into a young man. I knew what he was going to do, but I was too entrenched in my own misery to stop it or warn you. I’m sorry.” 

Bruce can barely hear her through her hands and over the crescendo of the music. The show still hasn’t ended, and at this point, he wasn’t sure it ever would. It feels as if the Nutcracker defeated the Rat King ages ago. When would he just wake up? 

He has to move past that though. He ruminates over her words, and while they were decisions he never would make, he understands. From her cries, it doesn’t seem like it had been a ploy to win back his affections after he had left her yet again. He remembered how she knew Jason from before he passed. What little time they had spent together had endeared her to the boy. 

He reaches out. Just a simple hand on the shoulder is all it was meant to be, but it turns into a hug, awkward with the armrest between them and the flowers in his lap. 

Talia doesn’t return the gesture. Her cries grow stronger. “Did you ever want Damian?” 

Bruce stiffens. His arms lock around her. He couldn’t believe that she just asked him that. “”Of course I wanted Damian. I wanted him then, I want him now, and I wanted him before I ever knew him.” 

“Was it just me you didn’t want then?” 

“I don’t see how that’s relevant to why you kept my son away from me.” He pulls back his touch. She shrinks back, and for a second, Bruce considers telling her the truth. He had wanted her too much. Everything she asked of him eventually turned into a yes. He let her into his home, he made peace with her father, he had married her. He was scared of just how far that would go. And right now, he was scared of where this is going. 

She looks up from her hands and gives Bruce a watery look that almost destroys him. The Waltz of the Flowers just plays louder and louder until she looks away again. “Did you think it was easy for me, Bruce? My father wouldn’t have had it any other way. I had to watch as my beautiful son got warped from a child to an heir while doing everything I could to keep his smile going. I told him stories of you, no matter how painful it was for me. I let him wear your cape and played along as he re-enacted them. You got to be the hero while I was the one who was actually there.” 

“Why didn’t you come to me for help then? If you were so scared of Ra’s-” 

“I wasn’t scared,” she spits back. “I was infuriated. I nearly gave Damian up to avoid it, but my own weak will wouldn’t allow me. Contacting you would have been meaningless considering you would have been just as powerless as I when it came to facing my father. Until he grew older, Damian was safest at my side where I could defend him from the worst.”

A new wave of shame rips through Bruce. He had assumed the worst and best out of her, but she had blown it out of the water. Talia had rather lived under her father’s thumb or given up their child than give him a call. He clenches his jaw. Everything he thought he understood already is false. 

But she has a point. He’s aware of just how vindictive Ra’s could be when slighted. He knows how the man could be even to those who hadn’t done anything to get on his bad side; both of his daughters had seen their fair share of revenge at the hands of the man who was supposed to cherish them both. 

But then why would she have lied to him about miscarrying after their battle with Qayin? 

He asks her so and watches even more of the light leave her eyes. “Because I realized just how much my dream would cost you. You would die to protect me so long as I was carrying your child.” 

“Talia, I would’ve,” Bruce stops and swallows the lump in his throat. For a moment, he worries about another carnation coming up, but he presses on. “I would still die to save you. Not because of our relationship or Damian, but because you’re you. The world wouldn’t be the same without you in it.” 

The theater goes silent. Faint rings of the orchestra’s celesta start, but Talia still doesn’t speak. Bruces watches her clench her fists, mouth opening and closing. His hair stands on end. 

“Don’t lie to me. I know you wouldn’t. You didn’t even call after I said that I lost our child. You left me.” She lifts her face, looking up to meet his gaze. Bruce can see all of the anger, guilt, and grief swimming in her green eyes. “I don’t blame you for it. I felt that you only planned anything long term with me out of obligation. It was unplanned and happened so fast. I didn’t want to anchor you after you already had made it clear that our desires simply couldn’t align.”

He’s spared from having to respond when applause rings out from the invisible audience. He tears his attention away from Talia to see the dancers lining the stage and bowing. Though they’re all smiling wide, Bruce can’t. He clutches the bouquet in his hand. He should have enough flowers for his loved ones to get one each, but they deserved so much more than he could ever give. 

As they leave the stage, Bruce feels like he’s losing them all over again. His parents are the last to exit. His mother blows a kiss before curtseying, and his father nods. They join the others backstage, and Bruce stands. “We need to continue this. First, just let me drop these off.” 

“I don’t think you need to.” He’s stopped by Talia’s hand grabbing his– the one that should be holding the bouquet. “Look.” 

Back on the stage were the dancers, no longer in costume and just as he remembered them at their happiest. Each holds a monumental amount of marigolds and beams back at him. 

He sits back down. He can’t believe it. He should, given that all of this is simply a dream, but it makes him feel lighter to see them cherished. He’s torn out of his stupor by Talia’s soft sniffles and by something being placed in his lap. 

“I think something got lost in translation.” 

He looks down to see a bouquet, golden and amber, sitting in his lap. In his other hand was one as well. He passes that one to Talia, pushing it into her unwilling hands. “You deserve them too. I failed you just as much as everyone else.” 

“No, beloved, it’s the other way around-” 

Bruce wraps her in another hug. “It’s equal. You said it yourself: I made you feel unloved when that could not be farther from the truth. I have hit you unpromptedly. Without meaning to, I spent years pitting you against the only family you had left. In your moments of need, I wasn’t there. I failed you.” 

She relents. She softens in his embrace and eventually returns it as much as she could. “You have never failed anyone, my love. Some tragedies are unavoidable. We’re all still learning how to live, and at times, we make mistakes.” 

“Do you really believe that?”

She nods. “Life is a game where none of us know the rules. You’re doing the best despite that.”