Family United

Batman and all related and recognizable characters belong to DC Comics, not DC
Luder.

^V^

"That is the thankless position of the father in the family-the provider for
all, and the enemy of all."

J. August Strindberg

^V^

Although our nightly dinners were hardly meager by any standard, this one was to
be more lavish than usual. No doubt father had planned an intimidating six
course meal that would surely rival with the feasts of the Romans. Since it was
such a special banquet, when Ibn asked for a snack a little before five that
evening, I denied him.

"I'm starving," he bemoaned, his hunger being second to the fact that I was
requiring him to dress up for the occasion.

"No, people in Sudan are starving, you are just very hungry," I corrected him as
I tested the water that was filling the large bath tub.

He smirked ever so slightly before saying, "Well, we're close to Sudan…"

"Ibn…"

"Sorry," he paused before removing his bath robe and stepping into the tub.
Within seconds, he frantically began lathering up soap to make massive mountains
of bubbles.

He had spent the day with Father, playing chess, reading and enjoying each
other's company. Ibn had most likely offered a barrage of questions about our
trip to the United States, of which Father most certainly offered vague answers
to sate the child's curiosity.
And as much as my Beloved wanted to see our child when he woke, Father had
forbidden it.

"So, is this a special dinner?"

Distracted, I looked at Ibn before nodding, "Yes. A celebration of sorts."

"What kind of celebration?" he asked as he lathered soap onto a washcloth.

"A surprise. For you."

His face lit up and I saw the temptation in his eyes begging him to ask what the
surprise was. Instead, he asked, "Will there be cheesecake?"

"I'm sure there will be something of your liking for dessert."

Ibn proceeded to cover his face with bubbles and I couldn't help but laugh. As
much as he physically resembled his father, he had a much lighter, more amiable
spirit despite what he had faced in his brief years. It often forced me to think
on how very different Bruce must have been as a child, both before and after his
parents had been taken from him so abruptly…

After I had taken him to Ibn earlier in the day, Bruce had seemed uneasy,
distracted even. I offered him my quarters to rest in private for the remainder
of the day, of which he surprisingly accepted. No doubt he also craved time to
himself in order to sort out his latest discovery, as well as to begin making
plans of escape. For this reason, Father had restricted all communication
sources to the main control room in order to prevent any ill use.

In fact it was in the control center that I found my father shortly before I had
asked Ibn to bathe and change for dinner. He had been seated at his chair before
a number of monitors and as I had walked in he had just depressed a button on
one of the numerous panels.
"Father?"

He had stiffened slightly before rising and facing me, "How is the Detective
fairing?"

"He is resting in my chambers," I replied. "Where is Ibn?"

"Resting in his chambers, as well."

I paused before saying, "I'll see to it that he gets ready for dinner."

When I turned to leave I felt his hand on my bare arm. He rarely expressed
physical contact with me, and far too often it was done as stern reinforcement
to an order he had given. But his fingers gently clasped my elbow, garnering my
attention instantly, "Yes, Father?"

"I've contacted… the others."

Although I kept quiet, my eyes widened in surprise.

He let my arm go and returned to his seat, "They were pleased to hear he was
alive and somewhat well."

"What else did you tell them?" my voice was quiet.

"Nothing of value. I tried to assure them that the Detective was not being
imprisoned but convincing them became futile when they threatened to find me and
make me pay for my transgressions…"

"Perhaps if they were able to speak with him…"

I expected him to bark at me at what a foolish idea it was but had been all too
surprised when he responded with, "I had considered it actually, to put their
minds at ease. Then I realized there was no real benefit of that… and allowing
the Detective access to the control room… Perhaps later, once matters have
settled." Silence fell between us before he looked over his shoulder at me,
"Dinner will be at six."

After seeing myself out, I made my way to Ibn's room to see him on the floor
wrestling with his dog. Leaning against the doorframe, I smiled as Caesar took
the upper hand, pinning Ibn to the ground as he licked the boy's face from chin
to brow.

"It seems you've lost."

Ibn sat up at the sound of my voice, pushing the dog away as he did so, "He
cheats. There's no way I would lick his face." As if insulted, the dog grumbled
quietly and rolled onto his side.

Once bathed, Ibn donned his bathrobe once more and disappeared into his closet.
"Can I pick something out?"

"Something appropriate, yes."

"So no pajamas?" he whined.

"No pajamas," I replied, "And when you're dressed you may head to the dining
hall. Grandfather will be expecting you."

"Can Caesar come to dinner?"

I smiled before leaning over and kissing his brow, "Of course he can."

From there I made my way to my own chambers. I had not set foot in them since
leaving Bruce earlier that day and was uncertain as to what I would find. Upon
entering the room, I was not surprised to see that the lights had been dimmed.
After I closed the door behind me, I glanced over to see that the bed was empty
and showed no sign of use.

Instead of calling out his name, I moved silently towards the bathroom where a
light boldly passed through the silk curtains hanging in the open doorway. When
I pulled back the curtains, I noticed Bruce standing before at the marble sink,
holding a damp cloth to his side. The bruising about his throat had intensified
and a score of other contusions had developed on his arms and chest. Before I
could speak, he removed the cloth and rasped, "There aren't any clocks."

"It is nearly half past five. Father is expecting us for dinner at six," I
answered his unasked question as I approached him. While he rinsed the cloth in
the hot water that filled the sink, I took the opportunity to look over the
wound on his side. It was angry and red, surrounded by bruising, both new and
old. "I can call upon Dr. Weltman if you would like."

He grunted his decline before wringing out the washcloth and pressing it firmly
on his irritated flesh.

Knowing he never spoke unless absolutely necessary, I continued, "There are
garments in my dressing room for you." When he didn't reply, I sighed and left
the room, "I'll get them for you, Beloved."

"No."

Pausing at the doorway, I asked, "I'm sorry?"

"Don't call me that," his voice was quiet but the underlying sternness was
impossible to misread.

"I… I don't understand," I said, making my way closer to him.

He set the cloth on the smooth countertop and faced me, his fists clenched at
his sides, "Yes, you do."

The look in his icy eyes deterred me from pushing the subject any further, at
least for the time being. I took a deep breath before leaving him momentarily in
order to retrieve him a change of clothes. As I selected a pair of dark slacks
and a silk dress shirt, I listened to the faint sound of running water. When I
returned he was washing his face, his movements guarded and stiff.

"Did you rest well?"

He shook his head and reached for a hand towel to his left. As he patted his
face and hands dry, he elaborated, "I didn't even bother. It would be just as
difficult to sleep here as it would be in one of your father's detention cells."

"Surely you don't mean that."

He looked away from me for a moment as he returned the towel back on to its
respected bar. When he faced me again, something had changed in his eyes. The
anger and frustration had succeeded just enough to allow his anxiety to come
through. I moved closer, setting the clothes on the smooth countertop. It took
all of my will to keep from touching him as I spoke, "I will wait for you in the
bedroom."

I had made it to the door before he said, "Talia…" he paused but when I looked
back at him his eyes evaded me and he finished, "Nothing."

After a curt nod, I left him to change. Not ten minutes later, he emerged, hair
wetted down and combed, face clean shaven, both doing little to hide his
exhaustion. I had changed as well, into a long midnight blue sleeveless dress. I
caught him looking over me briefly but when I met his eyes he glanced towards
the door, "Shouldn't we be going?"

"Anxious?" I asked, doing nothing to hide the amusement in my voice.

The look on his face said he was and his voice did little to convince me
otherwise, "No… Lead the way."

We navigated the vast corridors with only our footfalls on the marble floor
breaking the silence. Although he was succeeding at keeping his face calm and
relaxed, the bunching of his shoulder muscles and the clenching and unclenching
of his hands suggested anything but. The sound of muted laughter greeted us as
we approached the great Redwood double doors. I looked over just in time to see
my Beloved swallow hard before letting out a long breath.

The doors opened from within, as two man servants greeted us with curt bows. I
watched as Bruce's eyes scanned the large dining hall, ignoring the priceless
tapestries and sculptures as he searched for the face he had waiting to see.
Father and Ibn were in the sitting area in the far corner of the room. He
watched on as his grandson held a scrap of cheese above Caesar's black nose.
Ibn, whose back had been towards us, had no awareness of our arrival, but Father
was quick to offer a slight nod of acknowledgement.

"Watch, Grandfather," Ibn said as he set the cheese sliver directly onto the
bridge of the dog's nose, "Wait, Caesar." Long laces of drool began to quiver as
they dripped from the dog's flews. After a full minute of absolute silence, Ibn
grinned and cried out, "Eat!"

The dog tossed his head back, tossing the cheese into the air long enough for
him to open his jaws and engulf it.

Father applauded my son's efforts as he stood, "Well done, Ibn."

"Want to see another trick?"

Father shook his head, "Perhaps after dinner… I believe your mother and our
guest of honor are waiting," he spoke and turned the boy to face us. Ibn's face
lit up for a moment but when his eyes fell on Bruce's form, his smirk was lost
in a gaped mouth of surprise. He walked over slowly, his icy blue eyes widening
with every step. When he was within a yard of us, he gulped audibly and motioned
for Bruce to kneel down.

Without hesitation, and despite his injuries and his own befuddled shock, Bruce
did so.

Ibn's breathing had hitched slightly and I could tell he was doing his best not
to cry.

But I couldn't help let loose my own brimming tears when Ibn asked, "Are you
really him?"

"Who?" Bruce's voice was quiet, the nerves he had been containing slightly
coming undone.

"My father."

I was surprised at how quickly Bruce replied, "Yes."

And just as shocked to hear Ibn completely change the mood of the situation with
a smirk, "She didn't tell me you were a giant."

My father's footsteps grew closer and as if by instinct, Bruce rose to his feet,
nearly assuming a fighter's stance. Father noticed immediately and instead of
taking offense, he set one hand on Ibn's shoulder before extending the other
towards my Beloved, "You are looking much better than last I saw you."

Bruce tentatively reached his own hand forward and they shook briefly. Ibn could
barely take his eyes off of Bruce's face, although Bruce's gaze found trouble
deciding whether to look back at his child or into the cool eyes of his foe.

Instead of letting any more tension build, I stepped forward and kissed the top
of Ibn's head, "Show your father to his seat."

I watched on as Ibn slowly slipped his hand with his father's before walking
towards the table. Customarily, three chairs were present, two on one side and
them my father's ornate chair at the head. That night, there were four, the
additional one at the foot of the table. Ibn spoke quietly, no doubt timid in
the presence of his father and said for him to take the new chair. Ibn then
flashed a grin at me before taking the chair at the side of the table nearest to
Bruce.

My father touched my elbow for the second time that day and guided me to my own
position beside Ibn. As Father seated himself he glanced quickly at Ibn before
engaging my Beloved, "I must say, I was expecting offensive action by this
time."

The shock that had overcome Bruce's face the moment we had entered the dining
hall finally ebbed away, replaced with a furrowed brow that showed his
irritation. He studied my father's face momentarily before replying, "Expect the
unexpected then."

"Cooperation is… entirely unexpected."

I looked over at Ibn who was completely lost in the exchanges between the two
men of his life. Thankfully, before their near civil feud could develop, the
first course had arrived, a butternut squash soup dressed with sea scallops. My
father quickly indulged as did I but father and son had lost their appetites.

I encouraged, "Ibn, your soup."

He whispered, "I don't like scallops. They're like erasers."

"Please."

He reluctantly put his spoon in the soup but proceeded to only stir it quietly.

The awkward silence that had fallen not a minute into the meal endured four
additional courses. I had tried to encourage conversation when the roasted beet
Carpaccio had been placed before each of us but Bruce's icy eyes looked well
beyond his plate. When the vanilla bean infused Panna Cotta was served, Ibn
managed to find the effort to engulf the dessert.

Before I could make another attempt at civility, my father spoke, "I trust the
meal was not distasteful to you."

"It's difficult to stomach your false pretenses and a large meal at once, Ra's."

"By which do you mean?"

My Beloved glanced at Ibn momentarily, who was finally focusing on food instead
of his father.

Father stood and approached Ibn, gently, touching his small shoulder. "Ah, of
course. Perhaps later this evening we can discuss my distastefulness… as for
now, do enjoy the company of your son… Good night Ibn."

Ibn wiped a smudge of chocolate from his lips before replying, "Good night,
Grandfather."

We watched as my father proceeded to leave through the main doors we had entered
just two hours earlier. Looking back to Bruce, I could see he was doing his best
to hide the tension that had overcome him at the sight of his most notorious
enemy sharing a moment with his own son.

An occurrence I would hope he would soon adjust to.

"Ibn, show your father your chambers, would you?"

He nodded, excitement causing him to bounce slightly in his chair.

Once more, Ibn locked hands with Bruce, this time leading him to the hall. When
Bruce looked back to me, I nodded, "I will be in a while."

After I was certain they were gone, I pursued my father, finding him once more
in the control room. He had brought up the security video feed from Ibn's room,
where my Beloved was following his son in a brief and animated tour. Whether my
father had intended to or not, he had adjusted the audio volume just as I had
entered, bringing their voices to life.

"This is my chess table, Grandfather and I play everyday. Do you like chess?"

"I do."

"Do you want to play?"

"Of course."

As they sat across from one another, Ibn set up the pieces, "You can be black,
I'll be white. Unless you want to be white?"

"Black is fine."

As the game commenced, Ibn fought to concentrate on his plays while asking his
father questions. "Where do you live in America?"

"On the East Coast.."

"I want to go to America; can I come see your house?"

Bruce was slow to respond, "We'll see."

"Do you work a lot?"

"I do, I'm pretty busy."

"Mother said you work all the time. But I still want to be a detective when I
grow up."

Bruce then paused, "Why a detective?"

"Because you're a detective."

"I'm… Ibn, no, I'm not."

Ibn paused before setting his rook back down, "But, Grandfather… He always calls
you the Detective. He wouldn't lie to me."

"Neither would I." Before any more confusion could arise, Bruce changed the
subject to the tricks Ibn had taught Caesar.

Father turned the volume down, "It appears they are becoming adjusted to one
another."

I thought momentarily that was a cold way of observing father and son meeting
each other for the first time, but kept it to myself. I replied, "That they
are."

"Once they have bonded it will be easier to convince the Detective to stay. Be
sure to show him how much he is needed. How much he is needed by all of us."

"Father…"

"Yes, daughter?" he asked, still without having turned to face me.

"What if the others come? To try and take him from us?"

He was quiet for what seemed like an eternity. Then he peered over his shoulder,
"This family has been united after all this time. I will see to it that it stays
united."

^V^

Chapter 6: Battle Plans