InsaneJournal

Bat and Batbaby
Who: Bruce and Helena
What: A welcome home.
Where: Batcave
When: Backdated to right after Bruce's reappearance
Warnings/Rating: C for cute and F for feels.



Coming back here had never been something that Helena saw herself doing, but with no one else insisting that she come back or stay for reasons x, y, or z made it inherently easier to find herself in Gotham. Not in the little apartment that no one knew about, or even the big empty manor that was a mirror of the one she grew up in, but under it, in the cave.

The last time she had been here, Damian had died. She didn't look at the place where she cleaned him up and didn't trip the alarms that marked the entrances, but slid past them, not with a flourish and hip swing but a languid calm that marked the frequency with how often she'd done this same thing. The sensors and alarms were left intact for the next person that came through, whoever that might be as she sought out the niche where Damian had once drawn his kittens.

Faint traces of them still remained on the walls, too deteriorated now to determine what they were if someone didn't already know. She traced the place where they had once existed in full, the stone cool and slightly damp under her fingers. Helena hadn't told Eddie that she was here, that she was already waiting for Bruce's return. Everyone else? Not really their business. She curled onto her side and waited. He'd come. He always came.

Bruce was relieved to find that Arkham was, for now, still standing, because it meant that the Manor was his home and not the home of displaced inmates with nowhere to go. Once he reoriented himself to being back in this Gotham instead of the one he'd just spent years in, that was where he headed. No Alfred, of course. No Julia. The halls were as quiet as he remembered, since no one was here anymore. He'd let the hired help go a long time ago, with very generous pay packages, and save for the occasional gardeners to tend to the property he took care of everything else himself. Which meant that there were likely a lot of dusty rooms, much being neglected, but here and now he couldn't bring himself to care.

His pets were probably with someone else, maybe Eddie in Marvel or Stephanie in Mass Effect. Something about that made him sad, but he brushed past it, like parting curtains, and headed down to the Cave. Down, down, a creak of metal and he stepped into a place that was achingly familiar; the other Cave had some similarities, but it was still different. This was his. This was home. And, he had a lot of catching up to do.

No alarms were tripped, no sensors set off, and so there was nothing to alert him to the presence of another. Nothing but his own senses, and he came to a halt when he saw her. The girl from the warehouse, he realized, the one who was familiar yet strange. He looked at her. "What are you doing here?"

She heard him before she saw him. Not because of particularly weighty footsteps, but getting into the cave from the manor involved noise. The elevator, the disturbance of water dripping and she uncurled from her spot when she heard the first creaks of the elevator flooring.

Uncurled, but did not get down. She set her chin on the very ledge, body stretched out and arms crossed underneath her. And there he was, a few years older, closer now to her father's age than he had been when they first met. Would he be more like him in temperament? Less? The same Bruce that left? She blinked lazily at him. "Waiting for you." A shockingly simple answer as she gripped the edge and back flipped off slowly, all muscle control and tightly banded muscles keeping her form tight.

And once on the floor of the cave again, she did a little prancing step, a bounce from one foot to the other, bottom lip caught between her teeth. What if he hadn't come back? That was the only what if that weighed on her, too heavy for whatever remained of her heart. Just this once. No one was watching, no one was here but them. No one to care if the walls crumbled just a little bit and she reached out to him. Her hands gripped the bottom hem of her sweater and tugged it down irritably before she launched herself at him again, almost picture perfect to the last time she saw him, but this time her arms went around his shoulders and her weight slammed into him in an embrace that was as much a hug as it was a body check.

For him, it had been years since he'd seen her. Bruce remembered anger, he remembered harsh words, and his memory was still fuzzy when it came to who she was and their shared past; he didn't understand why she was here. Waiting for him. Was she still angry? He couldn't tell, and so he regarded her warily as flipped off the edge and landed on the floor. He knew he was older, knew he kept getting older and he'd one day reach the age where his body was going to start turning on him. But that day wasn't today, and time worked strangely enough between this Gotham and that one that, still, he could claim to be in his thirties-- though not for much longer.

He felt older. More battle-weary. And so, he didn't think he could muster up the same fire he'd had during their last encounter. Not for this. "I see." Which, literally, he did, and then silence fell between them. He knew she was going to move before she did, and he braced himself for an attack... an attack that never came. Instead of violence she threw her arms around him, and even though the force of her body slamming into his was enough to shift his weight back before he found his footing again, it wasn't like before, fists and words raining down.

She was hugging him, he realized, despite the force, and it didn't matter that his memories hadn't fully returned or that he'd clearly hurt her before. He hugged her back, arms around her and his cheek against her hair, because maybe he didn't need to remember. Maybe knowing how he felt was enough for the moment.

It wasn't forgiveness that kept her arms tight around his neck, her feet arched down and toes barely on the floor of the cave, but something else entirely. As mad as she was, as mad as she had been, maybe it had been a good thing to have that meeting in that place. Maybe it had allowed for that dam to finally break and for the anger to start flowing out and away so something else could take its place.

Something like missing him. Her arms tightened, her weight dragging off her tiptoes and settling on his shoulders and she absolutely did not give a fuck as she turned her head, forehead tucked into the curve of his neck. "Good. Even if you are an asshole that goes missing for a month. You can tell me about it later. Maybe." Maybe if he wanted to. Maybe if she was in the mood to listen. Maybe when she decided to let go. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

No maybe on breathing in, nor out, a slow whisper of air for these moments stolen away from anger and grief and a divided family. "You made me -" Worried. Afraid. Lonely. But Helena couldn't fill in the blank with any of those words - none of them fit correctly. She hadn't been worried - she had been the one that was sure he would come back. Fear had to be eradicated. Loneliness only came on some nights, when the pills and the training weren't enough to keep the dark at bay. No, it was something else, and she left it for him to fill in the blanks if he was so inclined. All she was interested in doing at the moment was hanging on.

Even if she didn't yet forgive him for things he couldn't remember, even if she was still angry, Bruce thought this was progress. A start. Her arms right around his shoulders, forehead tucked against his neck, he held her close and decided to savour this for as long as it lasted. "I'm sorry," he said, a smile in his voice when she said he was an asshole who went missing for a month. "Maybe I will. Later." He didn't want to talk about the lost time now, about how things had been there and what he'd had to do in order to adapt and survive. Not just that, but to be effective as well.

"I made you what?" Worried seemed the most obvious choice. Some had worried he wouldn't come back. Some had been afraid of the same thing. "I missed you," he said, a second later. "I still don't remember everything, but I missed you all the same." Maybe that was what she'd been trying to convey, too.

"I can hear you smiling," she chided, slightly, but her face moved against his throat, cheeks bulking up as her mouth lifted. "It's pretty much the same song and dance when we go missing. We got somewhere, we learn something, we come back." What they learned varied as much as the Batfamily varied. Did the details matter? Always. Except for right now when it was more important to have him back.

And that was almost more important than him not remembering. Of all of them, he would be the one to push at the memories he didn't have. She snickered, quietly, hands still clinging to broad shoulders as she hung on. "You can tell me how much you remember too, maybe. Later." A sigh, and one hand fell from his shoulders. She turned just slightly, one arm still around his shoulders, not quite breaking his hug and without a word she cocked her arm back and slammed her fist into his abdomen. "You made me uneasy. No one believed you were coming back except for me. Jerk." Her tone was surprisingly affectionate, considering the last meeting and what she'd just done, and after a second, she sprung off her tiptoes to get her arm around his shoulders again.

He said nothing when she said she could hear him smiling, but he let out an exhale that held a hint of laughter, more air than sound, and he felt relief washing over him even though he didn't entirely understand why. Bruce nodded against her in agreement, though, because there was some lesson to be learned whenever the hotel plucked them from here and dropped them elsewhere. "Yes. Sometimes it takes years, sometimes not." It had been less time this time around, but three years in that Gotham had felt like longer than six in his.

"Later," he agreed. " I remember more than before." Not enough, still not enough, but more all the same. Maybe the hug had lulled him into a false sense of security, but Bruce wasn't expecting the blow to his abdomen; he didn't double over but he came close, a wheeze and a wince as he looked up at her. "Uneasy," he echoed, straightening up as he affected to regain his composure. "I'm glad someone believed I would come back." Despite the fact that she'd just punched him her tone was affectionate, and a second later she was hugging him again; she was confusing, this girl, but he returned the embrace a second time despite it.

"And that's for making me uneasy," she huffed, and settled back into the warm curve of his neck again. "And I know, I need to work on my strength training. You didn't even double over." Close didn't count. If he'd been a thug or a villain the time it took to hit him a second, or even a third time, was not time she had to spend. "I'll get on that." The later hung onto the end of her sentence, unspoken. Everything was later right now, slotted to a nebulous second place in favor of reunion.

Even worrying about what he'd remembered had taken second place for a little while. "Someone had to hold down the believer's fort with Eddie out of the city and Selina playing mob princess and everyone else scattered to the winds." That was the easy, if not completely truthful explanation. "I knew you'd come back because otherwise you'd miss us too much. You'd never trust another Bat with us." It didn't matter if they'd all wanted a different Bat at some point or another, he wouldn't ever give up on them.

Although leaving hadn't been intentional on his part, Bruce knew his absence had caused problems. He thought he might even deserve the blow, if not for leaving then for past mistakes; he had plenty of those. "Don't be too hard on yourself. It's not easy to make me double over," and oh, was that teasing? His lips twitched. It might be. "But training is never a bad thing." Even now, with years and years under his belt, he still trained. He hadn't stopped. Then again, he couldn't exactly afford to slow down.

She described the way things had been in Gotham recently with near perfect accuracy. Eddie had been staying away because of his relationship with Death (that was still strange to think of), Selina was caught up in the mobs, and there seemed to be fewer and fewer bats in the roost these days. Birds, too. It troubled him, but even with limited numbers behind him the Bat wasn't going anywhere. Not again. "You're right. I wouldn't," he admitted. "I used to think this Gotham, and all of you, would be better off with a different Bat. The right one. Once, I would have thought that being replaced was the best thing that could happen." His arms tightened around her, near imperceptible. Once, but not anymore, went unsaid.

He was - he was teasing her! Was that a little huff of a laugh? Yes, definitely. "It's not easy to hit you at all," she added warmly. "I've been training," that came quieter. There was always training, but she'd been on restricted activity following her shooting (theoretically at least) and she'd been working more on cardio and endurance since then. It was time to add a more rigorous strength training back in. She couldn't afford to lose anything.

There was another huff against his neck, this one seeming to say that he was ridiculous. "We all had a different Bat. The right one for one of us was going to be the wrong one for someone else. You're the right Bat." Their own Bat and Bruce held a special place in each one of their hearts, but that didn't mean that they didn't have room for this one - or that's what Helena believed anyway. She settled a little closer at that slight tightening of his arms, noticed more with the sound of clothing rasping together than actual pressure. "I'm glad you don't feel that way anymore. And I'm still glad you're back. Who else would I use as a practice dummy?" Was that her teasing him back? Sounded like.

“Good.” Bruce said it like there’d actually been some doubt otherwise, but it was good-natured humor. The day he became easy to hit was the day he was in a lot of trouble. For a brief moment his expression turned quizzical when she said, quietly, that she had been training, but there were still a lot of gaps in his memory and he didn’t have the pieces necessary to fill them. But for the first time he felt like there was time to recover what he’d lost. To fix what he’d broken, even if he didn’t remember how he’d broken it in the first place.

He stilled when she said he was the right Bat. That was difficult for him to swallow, primarily because he’d always had so much difficulty believing it. “Hearing you say that means a lot,” he said, after his pause, and he smiled a little when she said she was glad his feelings on the matter of right vs wrong Bat had changed. “Your practice dummy? Of course. That’s all I’m good for.” Another smile.

His agreement on being a practice dummy finally got a laugh, warm and affectionate. "Maybe not all." Despite the fights they'd had, he wasn't a practice dummy made solely for taking hits. They'd all taken their shots at one another and maybe - maybe it was time to stop that. Helena hung on a little tighter to his shoulders.

"Look, the last time we talked, I put a lot of blame on you." Blame for Damian, for what happened, for what he hadn't done. There was a difference between blame and responsibility, and one of those was destructive. It wasn't any good for her and it wasn't any good for him. "I talked a lot with my - with someone about blame and blaming others and what happens after. I shouldn't have done that with you. You deserve better than that. And we deserve better than that from one another."

Bruce didn’t expect any kind of apology. Gaps in memory or no, he didn’t think he deserved one. He didn’t let go, didn’t step back, but his expression became wary, like he wasn’t entirely sure where the conversation was heading. “You weren’t wrong,” he admitted. “I deserved the blame.” He’d never known how to absolve himself. But guilt? That was an old, old friend. He wasn’t sure if he deserved better, but deserving better from each other… that made sense. “I know I’ve made mistakes. And I know, even if I don’t remember, that I’ve hurt you.” He paused. “I want to… be better. For there to be more than anger between us.”

"No, no, see -" She shook her head. "Blame is about assigning fault. It's being used to clear our own consciences of wrongdoing and assigning all of it to another person without accepting our responsibility in what happened. Saying that you did something wrong is different than saying you're to blame. Are you following? If I tell you that you did something wrong, you can fix that, you can not do it in the future. If I tell you that you're to blame," she sighed. "How are you going to fix that?" She shook her head again.

"I hurt you too," she confessed quietly. He didn't remember - she'd taken that from him whether he knew it or not. "But more is going to take time." To get this far had taken months already, but the anger was flowing out, no longer dammed up in her soul. "I wouldn't be nearly this angry at you if I didn't love you," she huffed out, amusement and warmth in her tone. "I need time. And even if I do come back here, it's not going to be the same as before. It can't be."

Her explanation of the difference between casting blame and identifying one’s mistakes did make sense, and Bruce nodded. Blame piled on the guilt, it was regret and wallowing, and the hopelessness of not being able to atone for what was done. But he knew he had his faults, and he knew there were areas in which he needed to improve and mistakes he could learn from. “Yes, I’m following.” He managed a small flicker of a smile. “I don’t want to repeat the same mistakes over and over.”

No, he didn’t remember. But there was a hint of something, a feeling, that made her words ring true. “I understand needing time, and I know, too, that it won’t be the same.” Nothing ever was. “But I’m alright with that.”

"No one wants to repeat the same mistakes over and over." But sometimes they did. As much as they expected out of one another, they were all human (or mostly) and none of them perfect. She sighed against his throat, her arms tightening around his shoulders. It wouldn't be the same, but maybe in time, it would be stronger. "So am I," Helena finally said quietly.

The need to run wasn't climbing up her spine yet, to exact distance and space along with time, and so she hung on. Just a little bit, she told herself. Just a little bit longer.