There's something to be said about this particular Gotham night, that the Bat had decided to come out from his cave earlier than usual. Even more so, considering that he hadn't been actively patrolling Gotham for a few months now.
But she knew exactly why he was out here tonight. It was for the same reason she made her way to this city, after all.
Her heels clicked as she landed smoothly on the rooftop, a warning she didn't need to give when it was him on the other side. He knew her by scent after all, Jasmine and Rose of Taif. Just as she knew him by heart.
He didn't acknowledge her immediately, but she knew he noticed her. It was there in the way his shoulders relaxed, how his body subtly turned just until she was in his peripheral vision. The white cowl lens of his Batsuit couldn't ever hide his gaze from her.
"Beloved." She called as she stepped out from the shadows, her white dress stark and clear against the dark concrete of Gotham’s buildings and the deep blue of her skyline. At this he turned fully, like a moth to a flame, and the weight of his full attention fell on her like a well loved coat.
A barely there quirk of his lips, a faint nod. "Talia," and he said it like a love song still, just like he used to before, the affection so palpable he might as well have screamed it from the rooftops. Her name spoken sweetly, settling in their shared space like morning dew, a welcome familiarity. "You're here."
She moved closer to his position, until she too could stare out into the distance at a simple building. Innocuous at first glance, nothing but a men's dormitory, but to the both of them it meant something. "Where else would I be today?"
They stood in silence, neither willing to break the gentle sense of reverence that had bloomed around them. The Bat and the Demon Head, in vanta black and crisp white, what a sight they must make.
"He did it," Bruce spoke, and there was awe in his voice, pride too, "He is all grown up." This, she could understand, the mixed bag of feelings he must have felt as he helped their son move into his dorm room. The joy at his accomplishments and the ache already tearing through him at the absence in his home. He was used to this, kids growing up and leaving home, but it still cut through him like the first time. She had felt it too, when she had given Damian to her beloved in hopes for his safety.
"He's all grown up. Studying to be a doctor, just like his grandfather." Talia teased, her shoulder brushing against Bruce’s like they were still young and foolish, not who they were, with years of life's experiences under their belt.
"Just like you," He retorted, always quick with his responses, and she had to turn away from him, lest her face give her away to his all-seeing gaze. Just like you, he said. Just like her. She almost wanted to bring up his own failed medical school years, but refrained to keep the peace that seemed to seep into his frame as he continued staring at the dorms.
Once she had wanted to be a doctor, had studied hard and gone to school for it. She had dogged the heels of the league's healers for years as a child, watching as they mended the wounds of their members and brought people back from the brink of death. In the privacy of her mind, she had thought of them more miraculous than the glowing green waters her father was so fond of, for they were not magic. They were miracle workers, and she wanted to be one too.
It had been a part of why she had fallen for Bruce, too. The surly not-boy who hailed from the West, who had slaved under the sun under her father’s watchful eye, the one who had followed the healers around just like she had done, entranced by their quick skill. Many days were spent laying under the stars, sand finding its way through the blankets despite their best efforts, talking about their dreams for the future, their ideals and their driving goals. Bruce had talked about his father and his deft hands, how he had once held a young Bruce’s palms and marvelled at their steadiness. Talia talked about her wish to pursue medicine beyond the league's facilities, a valiant pursuit of miracle work and healing. They had laid there, splayed hair tangling between them, their hopes murmured into the chill of the night, smiling at the thought of a better future.
That had been when Bruce believed there would be an end to his crusade, where he would go back and finish his degree, a path that didn't stop at his demise. That had been before Talia returned to the league, her father’s expectations heavy over her shoulders in a way she couldn't bear to disappoint. They had taken their sides, and taken parts of each other in the process. Now, watching Damian leave the cycle of pain and violence that they had shackled themselves to, she couldn't have been prouder.
Whatever stopped her before fell away as the memories flooded in. "Just like us, Beloved," her eyes remained fixed on the building, even as his stayed on her, "like the two of us. The best parts of you and me."
He searched for something in her bare face, devoid of the usual coverings, and seemed to find whatever he was looking for. After a beat, he turned and joined her in her watch, the faintest of smiles on his face. Even now, it felt like a victory.
"The very best indeed."
She didn't know how long they had stood on that rooftop, basking in each other's presence, savouring the rare moment of peace in their lives. They were getting old now, his hair was streaked with silver and her eyes crinkled with crow's feet, but the fight never seemed to end.
In the end, as the sun rose over the horizon, painting the skies in a dusky pink, she knew it was time to go. This time it was Bruce who called to her, voice strained with emotions they couldn't afford to think about. "Talia," her name, sung like a love song, following her as she made to vanish into the night. He always said it like he had more to say, but he never seemed to win the battle to say it.
"Beloved." Then again, she was the same.
"You're leaving."
"I must."
He didn't say anything in response, and she steadily made her way to the other edge of the rooftop. But it felt wrong to leave like this, so she turned back to look at the figure he cut against the light of emerging dawn.
"Keep an eye on our son for me, dear."
"You speak as if you won't," He said, and they both knew he was right. Still, it didn't hurt to say it.
I loved you, the words lodged themselves in her throat, and she fought to keep them there. I loved you. I still do.
Somehow, it seemed like he knew what she tried not to say. In some ways, he wanted to say it too.
Bruce lifted his hands to his cowl, baring his face at long last, and her heart clenched at the sight as she suspected it would always do. She felt wrongfooted, confronted with him like this, left without words to say.
"Be well, Talia."
All she could spare him was a nod, taking in his face one last time before she disappeared into the night.
There was no time for what-ifs and memories. The Demon Head had a lot of work to do.
