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The first sign was the way she fought.
Talia started taking fewer hits, dodging more, defensive on occasion instead of eternally offensive, and Bruce was glad. He thought she was listening, finally hearing him when he begged her to be more careful.
The second was the fact that she finally agreed to wear the suit he made for her. Shrike took to the rooftops at Batman’s side on the nights Robin didn’t, her jet black form only visible in snatches of streetlight, descending on criminals with brutal grace.
In the day, she walked on his arm with the same effortless confidence as ever, head held high, steps sure. Sometimes, when she approached him from a distance, he simply stopped and watched as she strode towards him, and he knew that in her mind she walked above the mass of humanity, sure steps through the throng of those she viewed as peasants, her mien holding her far above the sewers that bore Gotham’s people. And while Bruce loved Gotham’s people, he loved Talia more.
He doesn’t know whether there were more signs he missed, distracted by his love and his adoration and the careful balancing act that his relationship with Talia required, but he must’ve missed something, because when he finally notices, it’s so obvious he can’t fathom how he didn’t realize sooner.
The sound of retching wakes him from a deep sleep, and he finds himself rushing to the en suite before his brain catches on to what must be happening.
Defense and armor and vomit in the early morning all point to something he didn’t think was possible.
He finds her on her knees for the first time that he’s known her, her hair curtaining her face as she heaves into the porcelain, her naked body hunched and braced for pain. He’s at her side in an instant, slipping his hands into her hair to pull it back, and he sees the way she winces away from him. It’s just the slightest movement, but it’s enough to set off alarms in his mind. He’s shocked still, watching as another wave of filth pours from her lips. The first tears he’s ever seen her shed gleam on her cheeks.
When she stops, she only pants into the basin for a handful of moments. Then she straightens and turns to look at him, her hair slipping from his fingers, her face perfectly composed as if nothing happened at all. If he couldn’t see the shine of her tears and smell her acrid breath, he might even believe it.
“Talia?” He asks, and his voice sounds strange and distant in his ears.
He reaches out and she takes his shaking hand. She sets it on her belly. She’s warm. His eyes won’t leave her skin.
“When I was a child, the seer prophesied that the son of the bat would become the greatest warrior our people would ever know.” Her mouth sets in an unyielding line, her face hard as marble. “I knew he would be mine.”
Bruce’s eyes widen with some depthless emotion he cannot name. He twitches involuntarily, his hand leaving her skin for an instant, and Talia’s nails dig into his hand in response, holding him fast.
“Come with me,” she says - commands - and when he meets her eyes they are filled with an unholy glow. “Stand at my side. We will raise our son to be the greatest warrior the world has ever known, and all our enemies will fall at his feet. Our son will conquer the world.”
Against his will he pictures it, he and Talia in fine robes, the way her belly would swell with life. He pictures their son in his arms, dark hair and bright eyes, first steps on the sand and gummy smiles and babbling that would turn to attempts at Dada and Mama and -
And a sword in his hand before anything else.
Talia is full of devotion, but not to him or to building a family together.
She’s not seeing what he would love to have. Dick would be such a good brother. Alfred would adore a baby in the family. Bruce would marry Talia in an instant if he thought she would accept a life with him, a real life, a life that filled the manor with love and happiness and light.
Talia sees triumph and glory offered in her father’s hand.
And Bruce wants no part of that.
She must see it in his face because her eyes shutter, the light gone out between one blink and the next.
His hand falls limp into the space between them.
His mind turns from visions of impossible futures to memories of the past. Talia had no interest in him when he was training in her father’s house. She never responded to his affection or his efforts to save her, she didn’t have any interest in leaving the league at all until…
His stomach is the one to twist this time. He can feel the way the bile wants to escape at the realization that Talia only approached him once he became the Bat.
Her face could be carved from marble now, not a hint of the warmth she once showed him. His mouth is dry. He isn’t sure he can bear to hear her answer, but he has to ask. He has to know.
“Was it ever real?”
Talia’s eyes are so cold.
“...I don’t know.”
And yet, despite her words, when he offers her a hand to help her up from the floor she takes it.
She brushes her teeth. He stands behind her and meets her eyes in the mirror.
They do not speak.
She lets him lead her to the bed, lets him wrap his arms around her and weep into her hair.
They fall asleep together, three where once there were two.
He wakes to an empty bed.