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“What’s this even about, B?” Robin asks, looking around the warehouse. It’s like all the warehouses they encounter—abandoned, dark, dusty. The only difference is that there’s no drug deal to be busted up in this one, no villainous plan to foil. Just standing around in it feels…wrong, like they should be doing something, but tonight they have a different mission.
“The message didn’t say,” Batman replies, blunt in his paranoia.
It’s not uncommon for Batman to receive messages. Often, Commissioner Gordon will pass them along, or the middle man will get cut out entirely and whatever the message is will be broadcast on local television by any number of the rogues. This time, it was sent directly to the batcomputer, giving no more information than a location, a time, and brief note about “important cargo switching hands”.
He’s not nervous, he’s just—reconsidering if it was a good idea to bring Robin along. A not insignificant part of him expects that the supposed cargo will be a bomb meant to kill him. His child sees enough of those, has experienced enough of their concussive blasts, to last a lifetime.
“Ugh.” Robin rolls his eyes and paces around, bored. “How much longer?”
They arrived early, taking painstaking care to scope the entire building, and coming up empty. “Any time now,” he says, knowing they timed it just right. It’s late, late enough that if it weren’t summer, Robin would’ve been sent to bed already. The sun will be coming up soon, and depending how long it takes here, they might even get to see it. Batman glances over, watching as Robin does a lazy cartwheel. “Are you feeling tired?”
Robin comes to a halt and meets Batman’s eyes, amusingly serious. “Not really. I mean, okay, a little, but I’m fine to keep working. But after this…can we call it a night?”
They’re alone, so Batman doesn’t feel bad about reaching out and grasping Robin’s shoulder. Usually, any comfort like this is left for the batmobile, the Cave, home, somewhere no one else can see. Robin startles, just a little, not expecting it. “Of course we can.”
Even though he’s thirteen—time is passing so quickly; wasn’t he just turning ten the other day?—Robin ducks his head down and steps into Batman’s space, pulling the cape around his shoulders. Batman holds him close, ignoring how off it feels to be tender in this persona, and so out in the open too.
“Thanks, B,” Robin mumbles, eyes closed, forehead pressed to Batman’s chest.
Having his son so close does wonders to calm Batman down, his mind settling. Whatever this is, whoever they’re here to meet, both of them will be fine. He’ll make sure of it.
They aren’t standing there long before a figure drops down from the rafters, several feet away. Their body is loose, non-threatening, but appearances don’t mean much in this line of work. Instantly tense, Robin steps away from him, putting on an air of calm ease. Batman doesn’t move, simply narrowing his eyes at the intruder.
At, of all people, Talia al Ghul.
He doesn’t bother to wonder how long she was hiding, or what she might’ve seen or heard. In fact, he has no doubt she’s been here the whole time, somehow evading him like she always has. Her skills are certainly a match for his own—it’s not surprising that she was able to send a message directly to him. He’d assumed it was someone he knew, or rather who knew him, but he hadn’t expected her. It’s been a long time since they last saw each other, almost a year, and they hadn’t parted on the best of terms. (He still wonders what could’ve happened between them if Ra’s hadn’t forced him to leave, if Talia had gone against her father.)
Pushing the thoughts away, Batman notices something off about her immediately. Her clothes are far from the luxurious, perfectly tailored robes she’s always wearing, but instead rugged jeans with rips at the knees and a plain, dark hoodie. Her hair is shorter, too, and unstraightened, swishing in soft curls around her shoulders. Even with the shadows obscuring her, she’s beautiful.
When she speaks, however, he’s reminded that this is business. There’s no time for him to get sentimental.
Talia spares a glance to Robin, who quirks his lips in acknowledgment. She looks away, to Batman, and steps closer. Nodding briefly, she says, “Let me make something clear before we get started. I am risking myself to be here. Neither of you saw me, and this never happened.”
“Of course not,” Robin interjects slyly, moving to the side easily. Talia follows the movement, stepping back and opposite of him, so she’s still fully facing them both. Robin sizes her up, amused by how she does the same. “Anyway. What exactly is totally not happening right now?”
Batman interrupts now, asking the more important question, “You mentioned cargo.”
She hums, and then, she pulls the hoodie off as gracefully as she ever does anything. Underneath, tucked close to her body in a sling, is a baby. A tiny little thing with Talia’s dark skin, a tuft of dark hair sticking up from their head. Asleep, Batman thinks, with one hand hooked onto the neckline of Talia’s undershirt. Young, so very young. Batman begins calculating. Based on size alone, he guesses the baby is maybe a month or two old.
Robin stutters, “Is that—did you have—”
For all Robin and Talia can play cat and mouse, they don’t know each other well. Robin knows her mainly as a formidable foe, a potential ally, a friend of Bruce’s—an adult friend. Talia has heard more, since he’s always found it easy to talk to her, especially about one of his favorite people. It’s almost…amusing to see Talia look at him again, her face impassive.
“Yes,” she says simply. “He is, and I did.”
“Oh.” Robin grins at her words, bouncing on his toes. He’s always loved babies, and Batman half-expects that he’ll ask to hold the infant. Instead, Robin says, “I mean, congratulations, but why are you here?”
He says it like he already knows, like he’s only asking for the benefit of getting her to talk.
“He’s mine, isn’t he.” Batman speaks quietly, but they both hear. No surprise on either face. “Talia—”
“Father is…displeased with me,” she interrupts, stepping closer. Her voice stays calm, her demeanor falsely blank. “I’m being sent on a difficult mission, one which I cannot bring him along on. And if he cannot be with me, then he should be with you, Beloved.”
His mouth goes dry at the familiar endearment, and he stares down at the baby—at his baby. Talia’s skin and eyes, Ra’s nose, his own chin.
Robin creeps closer, slipping underneath Batman’s cape. “What’s his name?”
“Damian al Ghul.”
Batman and Robin sound at the name at the same time, prompting a small smile from Talia.
“Can I hold him?” Robin asks, peering at Damian.
Talia shakes her head, but carefully pulls the sling off anyway, supporting Damian with her other arm. “I cannot stay long, Beloved. Father surely knows I’ve come here, but it would be best if you didn’t meet.” Her eyes flick to Robin. Batman gets the impression she’s downplaying whatever happened with Ra’s—if she thinks Robin shouldn’t be around him, then it must be serious. With a sigh, she presses a kiss to Damian’s forehead and murmurs a goodbye in Arabic. Then she settles him in Batman’s arms, her fingers lingering on the small cheek. Even now, the baby doesn’t wake.
Sincerity coats her words as she says, “I trust you with Damian. Make sure he knows I love him, please.”
“Of course.” He can’t make his voice as gruff as it should be. “If you ever need anything….”
Talia nods, meeting his eyes through the lenses. “I know.”
For a brief moment, they stare at each other, unblinking. Then Talia brushes a kiss to the bare skin of his own cheek, steps back, and disappears into the shadows once again.