Bruce had eight happy years with his parents before his childhood was torn away from him. As dark as things could get now, he always had the memory of that to return to. What hurt him the most, what made him angriest, was that Talia had never even given their son that. "I'm not made of stone," he told her. "I have thought about marriage, family..." he snorted softly. "I've even been engaged a few times. But Batman always comes first, and while he's a priority, it doesn't seem... fair. To inflict that life on others. Especially a child." At least an adult could have a say, and even the Robins had some choice in the matter. But a newborn was so innocent... it terrified him to think of the damage his life could do.
"And if I died, I would only be doing to my child what was done to me, and I couldn't..." Bruce trailed off. The mission came first. Always. He couldn't change that. But to destroy his own child's life.... "Talia didn't do it on accident. Talia did it purposefully. Maybe not with malice - I know she did what she felt she was right for the good of the League," not that it justified her actions. "But she knew damn well that it went against everything I am, and she...
"She knew, Selina." Bruce looked at her. "She knew about my parents; how I became who and what I am. She knew that, and she made my son a murderer. She raised him without the love and affection that's all I have left of my parents. She gave him his education in a sensory depravation tank, robbed him of compassion and emotion... she didn't even give birth to him; he was born in a tube." He hoped she was right, that he could make a difference. He had so much to make up for, but he was working all uphill and fighting through so much of his own anger. "She taught him to respect and even revere me, but she also taught him that everything that makes me who I am is a weakness. And he's a warrior taught to perceive weaknesses and scorn them. I can only hope he never decides to usurp me." It was only half a joke.
Bruce closed his eyes again, pressing his forehead to hers and briefly turning his head to kiss her, slow and deep. He knew he was strong. He had no choice not to be. It was something you learned quickly with lives like theirs.
Resting his head on his bicep, dropping his hand to stroke her hair, Bruce said, "We're all broken here." He laughed softly. "Except maybe Alfred. The boys, Cassandra, myself - we've been put back together, and we work, but there are hairline fractures." A faint smile graced his lips, never reaching his eyes. "People always ask Superman and I why we're friends. We have several different answers each, and I don't talk about some of them - it's dangerous for him, and they're his stories to tell, not mine. But one of them is that we're both orphans; he of the most dramatic variety, the last of his race. At least until a few years ago.
"Tony's parents' didn't die until he was twenty-one, but when we met, Tony practically forced me to be his friend. His father was so distant, so dismissive, he was desperate to recognized, loved, by someone who could understand him. And he understood loneliness and child prodigies the way few really can."
Bruce kissed her again. "We all have pasts. And I really hope you won't back down - but there's a lot of heartache in this house. It can be oppressive. There are good things, too, and I promise to try... but it's not always easy for me." He smiled softly. "I'm going to need help."
Relaxing a little, he brushed a strand of hair back from her face, tucking it behind her ear. "Next question?"