Daminette-56

It’s muscle memory. He’s had the same routine since he was twenty five and first put on the cowl. He can tell by the distinct lack of pain that he doesn’t have any injuries that needed to be redressed, so he moves onto shaving the faint trace of stubble that appeared overnight. That is followed with a quick face wash and aftershave, then it’s just a matter of running a comb through his hair before he could reasonably step out in the main part of the manor where he could be greeted by anyone from Alfred to one of his several children to Lucius needing a quick answer regarding the company. 

Passing through the halls into the kitchen, he encounters none of that. He sees the coffee pot already full, steaming and filling the air with its aroma. It makes Bruce smile. Alfred’s always known him so well. Bruce would probably be dead before long if he didn’t have the older man watching over him. 

Something about that feels wrong. He stares at the pot, looking for an answer. Alfred… Death… Those two went together better than Bruce had likes. 

It’s too early to dwell on those things though. He moves on and grabs a mug from the cabinet. He turns the ceramic over in his hands. It’s so smooth and cold in his hands. It strikes another chord in Bruce. It had been so many years since he last saw it. 

Dick had bought it years ago; something about the design reminded him of one of his old family members at Haly’s. He had been so young then. Still flying around Gotham in a leotard, rain or shine, sun or snow, stopping criminals and wowing civilians with his theatrics. For a year, it was the only mug he’d ever use, but by the time he moved out, it wasn’t ever important enough to come pick up. Later on, Tim had broken it when he put scalding hot chocolate in the freezer to cool it down quickly. The ceramic had been through enough wear and tear that the quick change in temperature just made it shatter. 

But this doesn’t have a crack running through it. It’s as whole, intact, and bright as it had been all those years ago. Bruce sets it down. 

The rest of the kitchen is as it should be. Same countertops, same cabinets with some knobs worn with use while others remained pristine. The only thing off is the digital calendar strung up on the wall beside the fridge. No one would have thought to do that. All of them were aware of each other’s daily schedules, and any changes to the routine were put directly into the group chat. There had never been any need to have something in the kitchen of all places to let everyone know of their comings and goings. 

He inspects it further. Nothing is marked for today, so he scrolls back further. He’s shocked to discover that he had apparently arrived back home last night after being away for a business meeting in Star City. That couldn’t have happened though: he remembered last night in vivid detail. It was a night just like any other, spent patrolling the streets of Gotham and foiling the schemes of common criminals as he tailed a lower level mob enforcer. The west coast city hadn’t crossed his mind even once. 

Bruce raises a hand to his head. Had he managed to celebrate his apparent return so hard that he had blacked out several days worth of memories? That couldn’t be right either. He didn’t have any administrative work that would take him out of town for at least a month. A head injury would be more likely, but he didn’t feel any bumps or scars. Perhaps he had been drugged and is merely hallucinating the existence of the calendar. 

He sighs. The day was already shaping up to be something he’d need to tackle. The work never ends. When one fire gets put out, seven more pop up in its place. Bruce can barely keep up. It’s only the knowledge that he needed to that kept him going some days. 

“Have a lot on your mind, Master Bruce?”

He turns to that voice. It’s been so long since he’s heard that familiar dry inflection.  In the doorway, appearing from the dining quarters is Alfred, not a grey hair out of place and suit pressed. The older man stands dignified as always with a wry smile on his face. 

“Alfred…” he gasps. 

The older man raises a brow. “That is my name sir. I ask that you do not wear it out.” 

A chill runs down Bruce’s spine. Visions come to him: Bane, the raised soil of a fresh grave, the manor erupting and burning until nothing is left that Vandal Savage could use to bloat his ego any further. 

It’s all a dream. Bruce stills and relaxes. Might as well enjoy it. “I suppose I’m still recovering from the jetlag. Let me get a cuppa, and I’ll get out of your hair.” 

Alfred doesn’t respond. Bruce rushes back to the coffee pot where he pours a cup of the brew into Dick’s cup and heads out to explore the rest of the dream. 

Nothing about it is real, but it feels like it is. The cup is warm in his hand, the smell of the coffee fills his nose, and he can feel the wool rug under his feet. Taking a sip, he finds that he could taste it too, bitter and soothing on his tongue. 

Black Mercy isn’t an impossibility, but he could remember falling asleep back at the townhouse he was living in now. The stretching walls of the manor were nothing but a memory now. It could simply be a dream, everything being nonsense conjured up by his active mind while he remained lucid, but he almost never dreamed. And when he did, it was never this calm. 

That eerie easygoingness is only confirmed as he pads into the parlor where he finds Damian, still in pajamas despite being out of his room, with Titus pulling on a rope from his hand. 

“Come on, boy,” Damian laughed. “I know you can do more than that.” 

Titus gives it another good tug, lowering himself onto his front legs as he pulls the rope out of Damian’s hand, sending him flipping onto his back. Damian immediately squats to rub the dog’s belly, his smile wider than Bruce has seen in a while. He giggles as he narrowly avoids Titus’ licking tongue.  “Keep the licking to a minimum, please.” 

Bruce just watches. Other families had this scene of a boy and his dog playing together in the morning, but not his. Never his. Even when Damian was with Titus, the affair was strictly under the guise of ‘training’ despite his obvious adoration of the Great Dane. Titus had to be prepared for whenever he needed to go on a mission, Damian argued. 

He let the boy have his fun. Titus was always rewarded handsomely with treats after, but belly rubs and giggles had never been part of it. At least, not that Bruce is aware of. 

The laughs come to an end, and Damian stops, looking up to give Bruce the same wide grin that he had just been giving Titus. “Good morning.” 

Bruce curtly nods. His grip tightens on the mug. As Damian stands up and hugs him, Bruce is too shocked to do much more than accept it. 

“Sorry that I wasn’t awake by the time you got home. Next time you got to Star City though, could I tag along please? I’d love to see the Grell Museum.” 

“Of course,” Bruce answers. If it was just a dream, there’s no harm in the promise. 

Before he can ask into his current situation, Damian’s grin grows even wider, his eyes smiling in a way that makes Bruce’s chest feel tight. Like this, he looks so much like his mother. All of Damian’s abrasiveness and cold demeanor had come from him, Bruce knows that. Talia had been light and open even in the most tense of situations. 

“Thank you! I hope it isn’t for a while though. Everyone’s missed you around here. How did the trip go? Did Mrs. Ferris agree to the deal?”

There is no ongoing deal between Wayne Enterprises and Ferris Industries. Even if there was, there isn’t any trip for Bruce to speak of, so he pivots, “Nothing to write home about, unfortunately. How have things been here? Have you been behaving for Alfred?” 

Damian scoffs, “Naturally. Mother’s been the one driving him up the wall with all of her plans. I’ve been nothing but an angel.” 

“I’m sure you have, chum,” Bruce can’t help but laugh even if it leaves him with a bitter taste in his mouth that the fake coffee couldn’t wash out. Whether it‘s coming from seeing his son being so open with him or that his subconscious is dreaming of Talia, he didn’t know. “I trust that you kept things under control.” 

“As much as I could, at least.” Damian’s snarky smile shoots another dagger through Bruce’s heart, but it doesn’t matter. None of this is real anyways. “She’s already re-done half of the gardens. You know what she’s like when she has a plan in mind for something.” 

“That I do, Damian,” Bruce responds. “I think I’ll go pay her a visit.” 

And maybe also figure out another piece to what this could be. All signs are pointing to a drug similar to Black Mercy concocting some asinine version of his ‘ideal’ life, but this isn’t quite adding up. If that was the case, he wouldn’t have been able to deduce that it was all fictitious so easily. And his life wouldn’t be so… Mundane. 

It isn’t even a terribly convincing dream considering that the sun was well over his head when he stepped out back into the gardens that his mother had tended to for years before she passed. If this is supposed to be his ideal, it would still be hers. 

Everything about the yards is different from how he remembers. Many of the green spaces have been filled with flower beds and shrubs and manicured fruit trees, many of them Bruce doesn’t have the time to identify. They’re unimportant anyways; probably just amalgamations of vaguely plant shaped bushes. They aren’t what he was looking for. He searches until he finds a familiar flash of dark hair further ahead on the stone path, kneeling underneath a trellis tunnel. 

He approaches cautiously. Who knows what his brain would have in store for him. 

Once she sees him, she jumps up, immediately pressing a kiss to his cheek before looking him over with a smile. “My, you must have been in quite the rush to see me, beloved. Did you sleep well?”

“It was fine.” 

She hums and returns to the ground again to retake her activity. Bruce looks closer as her hands braid the flexible stems of the jasmine through the trellis above them. The breeze blows, leaving the air smelling like the powdery white flowers. The smell clings in an uncomfortable way that leaves Bruce’s hair standing on end. 

He takes in Talia more closely. Something about her is different from the others. There hadn’t been anything wrong per say about Alfred or Damian, aside from the obvious, but Talia seems like she doesn’t belong. She’s in clearer focus with brighter skin and clearer eyes. Her movements were more natural, more life-like. It’s like she’s never been happier than to do something as simple as weaving the jasmine around the wire trellis. Her face is the picture of content. 

Is it his previous intimacy with her that allows her to be more real to his dream self? Or is she in on whatever this was– Bruce doubts she’d ever string him along like this, but it wouldn’t be the first time that someone he had once loved so dearly had betrayed him. It wouldn’t be the first time she had done something like that either.

“I see that the cat got your tongue this morning, my love. What’s bothering you?”

He captures her wrist in the blink of an eye. “Where am I, Talia?” 

Her eyes go wide with pupils dilated so far they swallow up the emerald green. His eyes widen too. She is just as aware as he is. 

He tightens his grip as she struggles to pull away from him. 

“This isn’t how it went here. Please, Bruce…” Hurt flashes on her face. In the blink of an eye, her shock turns to sobs and her struggles to surrender. “We love each other here. We’re able to trust one another. Please. Please stop hurting me.”

Bruce flinches but weakens his grip. “What is all of this? What are you distracting me from?”

Her green eyes meet his at the exact moment as the breeze blows again. The smell isn’t so sweet this time. White petals fly between them before falling at their feet, limp and wilted. She gasps, “No. No no no-”

Bruce feels the ground disappear from beneath him before he sees it. It takes all the air out of his lungs as he tumbles down a pit of darkness that suffocates him more and more as the seconds trickle on. 

okay, so let's break down whatever this monstrosity is.

"I was only ever a tourist in her world" could not be a more inaccurate statement. if you've read any comic involving talia and bruce's relationship from the 70s-90s, you'd know they were obsessed with each other. while they had their flaws, it was a genuine, mutual relationship

"...and an unwilling one at that." aaand this is the magnum opus of this panel. we all know the retcon and how the fandom (and apparently authors) treats it. putting that phrase in any context with talia & bruce is like asking for people to take it and run with the "oh, it's canon again, let's all hate her now" or something along those lines. now, having that on its own just brought up would've been bad enough, but putting it directly above an illustration of the two of them clearly being intimate is like pulling the pin to a hand grenade.

"all steeped in her unorthodox cultural traditions" holy anti/arabphobia. the concept of this line even being thought of, let alone being written, making it past editorial, and being published. but then again, it's DC, so i'm not surprised.

"convinced his presence in my life would destroy me, she threw him [damian] in my lap." honestly, this may be one of the worst things ever written. the entire reason she sent him was to keep him safe and so damian could meet his father. could she have had other motives? yeah, maybe, but it wasn't to destroy bruce's life, nowhere near that extreme.

"... and ran away laughing." while i'm sure this is hyperbole, and she didn't literally walk away laughing, by saying that, implies she took pleasure in just dropping damian off with bruce and found it amusing. which, again, could not be any further away from the truth as this was one of the most difficult decsions she ever made + one of her biggest regrets. and due to the wording it implies she could basically care less about damian and just dropped him off without a second look, again could not be an even falser statement

"it became my job to both dismantle that time bomb, and to make it stronger." ah yes because the feral child will learn how to control himself, all thanks to his white father, after living with his arab maternal side for the first ten years of his life, yes, yes, exactly. and the whole "make it stronger" bit is so odd because you want to dismantle, which the definition of dismantling is: "to take apart a machine or structure so that it is in separate pieces." OR "to end an organization or system by gradually in an organized way." (oxford dictionary)

so you want to take what he learned from the league apart and just essentially reteach him? pick and choose what "pieces" from his time in the league he gets to keep and use while being robin? you do you ii guess.

now the big thing is, well, he would not fucking say that. bruce genuinely loved talia to the point he had her scent memorized. he respected her AND ra's. no way would he be caught dead talking about her or damian for that matter like this.