This one is a tie-in with my one-shot Interruption (or rather Interruption comes from this one). It's almost fully complete, so expect regular weekly updates.

Please enjoy :)

Son

1

The Batman was patrolling again. The night had been quiet so far, which was rare for Gotham. Perhaps villains had decided to take a break, or perhaps this was the calm before the storm. Either way, he felt he would be wasting time by staying out longer.

Perhaps I should cut it short…

The November night was deadly quiet and he had a busy day tomorrow. The urge to return to the manor was growing steadily. It was almost three in the morning already.

As he was anticipating his return, the unmistakable noise of thugs in action caught his attention. He moved onto the next room, a shadow melting into the shadows of his beloved city, and discreetly landed on a high rooftop. From his vantage point, he spotted a woman cornered by seven men, faces unknown to him. They did not represent the local mob, they were just a crowd eager to have some fun. Not on his watch, he thought. The moment one of the men grabbed her arm, he jumped into action.

Surprise caught the thugs off-guard and Batman easily flattened them –too much muscles, too little brain. When he turned to finish the remaining ones…they were already drooling on the pavement. The woman rubbed her palms together and met his eyes unblinkingly.

She looked somewhat familiar, with her dark hair, dark eyes, olive skin and tall enough on those heels to rival Bruce Wayne's height. She wore a blazer and dark jeans, close to her frame to show off her slender body. The playboy in him whistled in earnest appreciation. No wonder why she had been attacked, he thought grimly, she was one of the most beautiful creatures he had ever met. Then again, seeing the men twice her size biting the dust and her standing without fear, he figured she would have good reason not to worry.

"You do exist after all," she spoke in a low, melodious tune. "Thank you for your help."

The particular sound of her voice triggered the memory and Bruce realized that he did know her.

5 years ago

Jason was dead. The words kept playing in Bruce's head like a mantra. He blinked at his half empty glass of whiskey. The ice cubs had half melted already. How long had he been staring emptily at his drink without taking a sip? He glanced at the clock. One a.m. The bat would have been out patrolling for two hours at this time, if not four already. But he hadn't had the strength to draw out the costume tonight.

Jason had been dead for a week, and he couldn't even be mourned properly as Robin. He had to tell the public his son had an accident during an impromptu holiday. Dick and he had a rather loud fight in Wayne Manor and the young man had left the compound vowing to never return. Alfred hadn't spoken to him since the burial, and Bruce couldn't bear the silence and hypocritical condolences from people he couldn't care less about.

His son was gone and that was the reality at the end of the day.

So he had left Gotham, had stopped in a small town to crash the bar, far away from his usual getaways. No-one had yet approached the brooding, large man who clearly wasn't looking for company. He was glad about that. Had he gone to Gotham, a flock of women would have surrounded him, try to 'cheer him up' and that was the very last thing he wanted right now.

"Is the seat taken?"

Or perhaps he had spoken too fast. Bruce turned around to say that he had no interest in-

"No, it's not," he found himself replying.

The woman gave him a short smile and pulled the stool to settle comfortably. Her dark hair was set loose over her shoulders, the olive skin of her face glowed in the dim light, and he could smell a faint wisp of jasmine in spite of the overbearing alcohol in the air. It wasn't her stunning beauty that changed Bruce's mind though, but the deep sadness he could read in her eyes. The woman wasn't looking for a fling; she just wanted some peace to grieve, just as he did. And men were less likely to approach a woman if she kept company to a bigger man.

She ordered some strong alcohol and contently ignored him for a better part of an hour. As he expected, no-one dared to approach them as his frame kept unwanted company at bay. The clock was close to hitting two thirty when she decided to leave. She dropped a bill to cover her due and, after a quick acknowledging nod, departed from the bar. Bruce watched her make way through the few remaining drunks and wondered if she was alone. Even though he thought this town fairly safe, he didn't want her to risk being approached by the wrong kind of people. He dropped a bill in turn and followed her out. Thankfully, she hadn't gone too far.

"Excuse-me miss?" The woman turned around. Her eyes flickered in recognition and polite curiosity. "T'is not safe for a woman to be out so late," he tried to explain without sounding patronizing or overbearing. The alcohol in his brain didn't help formulate a coherent thought. He added for good measure: "Allow me to walk with you for a bit. Please."

She was tall, almost taller than he with those high-heels, so he met her eye on equal ground. She started at him silently, as if questioning his motive. The intensity of her gaze made him wonder if she was reading through him. Something must have helped her make up her mind, for she eventually nodded her agreement and both fell in step.

"I'm staying at the hotel six blocks down," she announced and her voice sounded soft and melodious.

"The Majestic?" he inquired. She nodded. "Me too." A thought occurred to him. "Did you walk here?"

"I needed to clear my head," she admitted. "Did you?"

Bruce gave her a rueful smile.

"Even if I had, I'm not stupid enough to drive after drinking."

"You didn't take that much," she pointed out. He felt her eyes on him again, and the curiosity that bleed through her voice. "Who were you drinking for?"

The abruptness of her question caught him off-guard; he nearly didn't answer. But then he looked in her eyes and saw understanding and compassion and he blurted in spite of himself:

"My son died. I couldn't…I couldn't stay at home."

His thoughts came to a halt. He no longer had a home. Wayne Manor had been burned to the ground, and he had no desire or the inclination to see to its rebirth. Not with the wound caused by Jason's death still so raw.

"I'm sorry for your loss," she said, and he sensed the genuineness in her tone. Curiosity came to him in turn:

"Why were you here?"

Honesty for honesty, and he was grateful when she answered:

"It is the death anniversary of a very dear friend," she said, and Bruce felt a deeper sadness in her words. He suddenly wanted to reach out for her, touch her hand and comfort her, but wasn't sure his gesture would be welcomed. That 'dear friend' of hers sounded more like a lost lover.

"I'm sorry for your loss," he echoed instead, and she gave him a tight smile.

They walked the rest of the way in silence, entered the hotel together and reached the elevator. Her room was on the third floor, same as his. They stared at each other when they paused in front of her door. The woman hesitated a moment but then asked:

"Would you like to stay the night?"

Bruce wanted to decline. He desperately wanted to decline and leave to go…where? Back to his room, alone, drunk and depressed? Alfred wouldn't drive in the middle of nowhere to get him back to the manor. And she, a beautiful woman, was offering something familiar, emotionally safe and impersonal. He eventually nodded and followed her inside. They both knew it wouldn't be about passion or love or whatever fairy tale people loved to hear. When she closed the door behind them, when he gently pressed her back to the wall, he was a lonely man seeking distraction from grief and when she kissed him, she was just a lonely woman seeking comfort. They could be lonely together, just for one night.

They fell into her bed in a mess of tangled limbs, lost themselves in each other with surprising ardor. The overwhelming sadness was left at her door for a few blissful hours; the only sounds heard being their respective pleasure. The next morning, Bruce woke up first, was greeted by the sight of her bare back. She still sounded asleep. The alarm clock indicated five in the morning, which was far late than he usually stayed. He didn't want to leave, he realized. He wanted to stay a little longer in this little cocoon and forget himself in her arms a few hours more.

Bruce forced himself to slip out of the bed and picked up his clothes in silence. Before leaving, he glanced one last time at the woman. Her breathing pattern hadn't changed but she was awake now, he could feel it in his guts.

"Good-bye," he whispered, his voice barely audible in the quiet room. "And thank you."

He left without waiting for her answer.

Present Day

The woman he met one week after Jason's…what was she doing here?

"What are you doing out so late?" he snapped. "Don't you know Gotham is dangerous, especially at night?"

The woman smiled wryly. She looked amused, clearly unafraid of him, which startled him more than he cared to admit. A small sound caught his attention. The woman made a move of appeasement as he reached for his batarang.

"It's alright Hip, you can come out," she called softly. "He won't hurt you."

A small boy stumbled from behind the dumpsters. He couldn't be older than five, small and lean with a mope of dark hair on the top of his head. He hurried to hide behind the woman's leg and peeked at him shyly. The childish behavior might have amused him, if he hadn't been caught off-guard.

"My car broke further up the street. Thank you for your concern but the hotel is expecting us. We will return to Metropolis in the early morning."

She ran a soothing hand in her son's hair, a protective gesture too. Bruce felt dismissed. Unable to speak, he pulled his grappling hook and flew away to the next rooftop. He hid in the shadows and followed them from till they reached the hotel they seemed to be sleeping in. It was a cozy hotel; the kind that should have sent a taxi or something to prevent this kind of situation. He frowned, pretty sure he was the owner –he might have to show up unexpectedly one of these days and interrogate the manager himself. Still, she didn't seem to be in need of money, which was a good start.

Bruce pondered on what she had said. Return to Metropolis. Did she live in Metropolis? Why was she in Gotham? he wondered, his heart beating wild. Bruce Wayne hadn't received a note from her, had he? Hip –a nickname he assumed –her son?

Could it be? He wondered in the back of his mind. He'd skim through his emails tonight; see if he hadn't missed something inadvertently. And then…her name. He didn't even know her name. Easily done, he countered. A little hacking in the hotel's database…

Bruce forced his heartbeat to return to a more normal pace, but he was completely distracted. One last tour, he thought, and then he'd return to the cave. He needed to focus, find out what was going on, and then…then he'd figure out what to do.

The following afternoon…

Diana checked her watch again, a little bit irritated. Ethan had promised to bring back Hippolyte at five, and he was running late. She knew the young man had a bad habit of not anticipating the traffic. They hadn't anything planned for the evening, but it had been a long day and all she wanted was to hold her little monster.

She suddenly felt eyes on her, and looked around to find the source. When she did, her body tensed. A tall dark-haired man was standing on the other side of the road, his eyebrows furrowed, fixated on her. Her heartbeat accelerated; she knew she had taken a risk by returning so close to Gotham, but she hadn't expected him to wander in the streets in plain daylight, even less in Metropolis. She could only hope he had not recognized her.

"Mothermothermothermother!"

A small blunt force strong enough to topple any other adult slammed into her leg. Hippolyte gave her a healthy hug with a happy grin, as if he hadn't seen her in weeks instead of mere hours. Diana bent to pick him up and settled him on her hip. He usually protested, claiming he was too old to be carried like a baby but today, he seemed to sense her uneasiness and wrapped his arms around her neck in strong childish embrace.

Ethan arrived seconds behind.

"Sorry Aunt Di," he said, his face flushed in embarrassment. "Some guy ran into Lil's bike, I made a detour to drop her off on the way."

He looked a lot like Etta, with his red hair disheveled and his sparkling eyes. Diana smiled a little; now that her son was in her arms, she could forgive a little lateness.

"It's fine, I haven't been waiting that long. Was he good?"

"It was bo-ring, mother," Hippolyte complained, his voice smoothed in the lapel of her coat. "May we go to the park?"

"He played with Legos all day long," Ethan supplied, ignoring the boy's declaration. "It's been raining nonstop."

Hippolyte pulled back and gave her his best puppy eyes.

"Mother, please?"

Diana patted the boy's back.

"The park it is," she agreed, and Hippolyte cheered. "Thank you Ethan."

The young man saluted and wished her a good evening. Once he was gone, Diana put down her son and took his hand to guide him on the pavement. She quickly glanced back at the man. He was still there, still watching them. The unreadable expression on his face made her uneasy. She brushed the feeling away and focused on her boy, his small fingers trustingly clutching hers. She allowed herself to be distracted by his babbling all the way to the playground. There, she let him hurry to join the group of children already shrieking on the swings and other games and sat on an empty bench. Once she was sure he was distracted, she let her smile fade.

Hippolyte was already close to turning five. After nearly a long century of retirement from man's world, she couldn't recall the last time years had gone so quickly. She closed her eyes briefly, breathed in and out, willing the nervousness to flee her mind. He was safe. They were safe. The lonely man could not know. Diana opened her eyes, feeling a little less upset, and immediately glanced at the playground for signs of her son. When she had started praying the gods for her loneliness to cease, she hadn't expected an answer. She hadn't expected that kind of answer either.

"It's a boy," the doctor said, carrying the struggling newborn in her arms. "Ten finger and ten toes –ouh strong little fellah."

Diana, sweaty and exhausted from the past hours of labor, welcomed the baby and cradled it against her chest. Her son was a reddish little thing with a wrinkled face and a great set of lungs. He was still covered with fluids and blood and other mess that had come straight from her insides, yet a small tuff of black hair covered the top of his head. She had never seen anything so beautiful.

"We'll clean him while you rest," the nurse said. Diana felt reluctant to part from the screaming little thing and her hands actually trembled when he was taken from her. She kept him in her sight the whole time, refusing medication that would not affect her anyway and waiting for him to be brought back.

When she had started feeling dizzy so many months ago, she had passed it off as a consequence of too many late nights working on her latest project and lack of proper rest. When she had retched for the fifth morning in a row, she had seriously started worrying that she had been cursed. Amazons didn't get sick, or at least very rarely, and she hadn't been sick in the near century she had spent in Man's World. It wasn't until she had to race to the bathroom in the middle of her diner with Nadia, Sameer's granddaughter, that the latter had insisted to do a complete check up on her. Thank the gods Nadia was a doctor. She could hardly envisage walking into a clinic being who she was and consult a complete stranger.

It turned out to be a much more humane issue after all. She was pregnant. And she had no idea how to feel about that. A living being was growing inside her. And the father…Hades, what about the father? A man she had spent one night with; a handsome, broken man with cold and lonely eyes, who had most likely forgotten all about her two hours after leaving her hotel room. If Hippolyta knew, she would have received the dressing down of a lifetime. Not to mention her future child was male.

But now he was there, he was hers, and she would not give him up.

"Here's the little angel back," the nurse announced when she returned with her precious cargo.

He looked so fragile, so innocent from the outside world. How was she supposed to protect him? Was this how her own mother felt when she held her in her arms for the first time? The baby snorted and Diana couldn't help but smile. She had spent nearly a century on her own. Thanks to this little man, she wouldn't be alone anymore.

"Is the seat taken?"

His voice startled her she nearly jumped and berated herself for being so naïve; she had not expected him to follow her.

"It's a free country," Diana replied without looking at him, not trusting her own reactions. She waited until he was seated to steal a glance. He hadn't changed much since she had last seen him, then again, it hadn't been so long. He was still handsome in a rugged way, tall and broad, and the same loneliness seemed to hang over his shoulders. He didn't meet her eyes, too focused on the little boy playing in the sandbox. He was seeking for a sign, she knew, something that would or not confirm what his primary thought had been after seeing her with Hippolyte.

She decided to cut it for him.

"The answer is 'yes', Mr. Wayne."