Bruce chuckled ruefully. "Clark... I'm a horrible father. Just look at Jason." He stared at the ground. "There were things I ignored with him that I should have... I shouldn't have brushed aside. There were things I should have gotten him help for, but I thought we could handle it on our own if we just didn't talk about it."
He thought about Conner, remembering when they had found out about him and then about his parentage, and the memory eased a little of Bruce's fear. "It's not a question of - of love," he said quietly. "Or whether I'll try. It's more... I look at him and I remember being that boy: far too serious for my age; smarter that anyone I knew; given anything I wanted. That's one of the reasons Tony and I bonded - we were the same, and it's so incredibly lonely. Kids like us don't have normal childhoods, even when they're happy ones."
Anger flashed in his eyes again. Holding out his hands, he stared at his palms. "And then you take that boy and make him a killer when he's barely out of diapers." As much as Talia professed to love him, to Bruce it was like she'd plunged a knife in his heart for every life she'd had their son take, knowing how Bruce would feel about it. He could practically see the blood on his own hands. "He would never have had a normal life, but how..." he paused. "How does someone you loved, who says she loved you, destroy a child like that?"