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"Father?"

Bruce looked away from the computer to face his youngest child, who seemed so small in the dark cave. "Yes, Damian?" he responded. He had to admit that Leta had been right. Since allowing Damian to join them on patrol, the boy had become much tamer. It was almost as though he didn't have anything to prove anymore. Like he knew that he had a place in this family.

That made Bruce happy. Happier than words could ever explain.

Damian glanced around- probably to make sure his sister wasn't near- before peering up at him. "Why do you indulge Kent?" he asked finally.

He was almost taken back by the question, but it wasn't an off question. Most people couldn't see why the Dark Knight and Man of Steel were friends. Don't get him wrong, the Boy Scout was irritatingly optimistic and his lack of planning was grating, but he respected Clark. It had taken a long time for them to get there, but he almost saw Clark as, well, his brother.

Though, nowadays, it was almost painful to be around Kent too long. It reminded him too much of the time they had spent with Diana. The three of them, the Trinity. One had rarely been without the other two. Clark's presence made him miss Diana all the more.

Bruce, noticing his son's expectant look, sobered himself. "Is this about Jonathan?" he asked, hiding the quirks of his lips. He was almost glad that little Jonathan had the Kent habit of pulling surly bats away from themselves. He may not have appreciated it himself, but Damian needed someone like that.

Though, Diana would have argued that he did too.

Damian scowled, a near mirror image of himself. "Kent is a nuisance," he insisted. "He insists on being around me, Father. He will not leave me alone. He has even called the manor, according to Pennyworth! This has nothing to do with the ingrate."

Bruce nearly snickered, but thought better of it. "To answer your question, Damian, Clark is my friend," he admitted carefully. "I can depend on him when I need to and he knows he can depend on me." Usually, he would never say such a thing aloud. And with Leta, he wouldn't have needed to. But Damian was different than Leta. He didn't understand bonds outside of soldier and commander, not even familial ones.

The boy nodded his head, but still seemed a bit lost. "Leta has informed me that Kent meant a great deal to her mother," he stated. His voice was different, softer than what he was used to hearing from Damian.

Bruce was nearly surprised; Leta almost never talked about Diana. At least, not with him. Though, she may have around Artemis or her friends. But he nodded anyway. "He did. Clark and Diana were practically joined at the hip when she first came to our world."

Damian was lost in silent contemplation. "What was she like?" he questioned finally. "This Amazon Princess?"

A solemn smile forced its way onto his face. "Diana was the bravest woman I ever knew," he answered honestly. "And the strongest." And the most truthful, though he didn't want it to seem like he was comparing her to Talia. "She had the biggest heart and the greatest compassion." He chuckled wryly. "She was also very stubborn."

His son raised an eyebrow. "Like Leta?"

Bruce barked out a laugh. "Yes," he replied. "Like Leta." Though Leta was more quietly defiant, she was just as persistent. If she wanted something, she would try her hardest to get it. "Diana was the only woman who loved every part of me." The man, the bat, and whatever was in between. Diana hadn't been chased away, she had touched his heart in a way no other had.

God, he missed her.

Damian hummed in thought. "Why did you choose her over Mother?"

Well, if there was ever a question to throw him off.

But studying his son's face, Bruce knew what he was really asking. He was asking him for a true definition of his mother as compared to Diana. If it had been any other child, he wouldn't have answered.

But Damian wasn't any other child. He had been raised as a weapon, a means to an end. He had been manipulated and lied to his entire life. Bruce knew he couldn't contribute to that, not even in this situation.

Damian deserved the truth.

So Bruce sighed. "Talia has changed since we first met," he began slowly. "I'm not sure if it's due to the Lazarus Pit or your grandfather, but the woman I fell in love with wouldn't have done the things that she has." How Damian was conceived came strongly to mind. Not to mention how she allowed Damian to grow up. He would have never wanted his son raised by the League. "When Diana and I had your sister, we agreed that while we would teach Leta how to defend herself, we would not force our identities upon her. Taking up the mask would be entirely up to her."

His jaw clenched. "Talia never gave you a choice," he continued. "She raised you as an assassin, not a child."

Damian stared at him for a moment. It almost looked like he wanted to argue with him, but he seemed to decide against it. "And the Princess wouldn't have raised Leta as an Amazon?"

Bruce shook his head. "Not in the way you're thinking." Diana may have raised Leta with Amazon teachings, but she wouldn't have taught her to be a soldier. Not in the way Talia did Damian.

Before Damian could respond, a different voice cut in. "Mother wouldn't have taught me that men are evil, vile creatures that need to be contained and controlled," Leta supplied sleepily as she hovered down the stairs. She wiped the weariness from her right eye, touching down next to her brother.

Warning bells went off in Bruce's head. "Did Hippolyta teach you that?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Philippus," she answered with a small, tired grin.

He smiled at her. "Rough night, honey?" he observed, noting the bags under her eyes. His daughter didn't sleep very well most nights, most likely plagued by nightmares. Often, he would find her and Alfred in the kitchen at ungodly hours, a glass of warm milk in her hand.

Leta nodded with a hum, leaning against his shoulder. "It seems as though Morpheus will not leave me be tonight," she admitted, a small note of loathing in her voice. "Unfortunate."

Bruce chuckled. "Well, since it isn't a school night, you can both stay up with me," he allowed. "I just have a few things to finish up."

They both obliged, sitting cross-legged on the floor. Though, Leta must have been tired because she soon fell asleep on her brother's shoulder. Damian looked highly uncomfortable. "Father," he implored. "How do I remove her?"

Bruce bit down his smirk. "Remember what I said about your sister being stubborn?"

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Damian loved his mother.

Of course he did. How couldn't he? She had given him life, had nurtured him from infancy. She had taught him, trained him. She had prepared him for his rightful place; both as Batman and the future leader of the League of Assassins. So what if she had pushed him to his limit every day? So what if she had disregarded his injuries, no matter how severe? Everything she did, she had assured him once, was for his benefit.

But was it really?

Damian wasn't oblivious; he'd always known what Leta thought of his mother. She was too spineless to say it, but he saw how her nose wrinkled every time Mother came up. He saw her bite her lip, no doubt to hold back an insult. The distaste was obvious.

At the time, he had simply thought her envious. Her own mother was gone, after all, why wouldn't she be? But from Father's insight, he supposed that wasn't it at all.

His sister might not have liked his mother, but she wasn't jealous. No, she didn't like Talia on behalf of him. Because, in her eyes, Talia had mistreated him. Had done wrong by him. He finally understood that.

What concerned him was the fact that she may have been right. He knew Mother wasn't like those drunken parents they stopped every night. The ones who took their aggression out on helpless, defenseless children. He had never seen her like that, as abusive.

But was she?

Damian didn't want to believe it. His mother was intelligent and clever and loyal. She loved him, she wanted him to be the best. She was his mother. She had done right by him.

'Talia never gave you a choice.'

His father's words echoed in his head. How different would he be had Father been in his life from the beginning? How different would both he and his sister be if Diana Prince had never died? It was difficult to comprehend, the thought of being raised by another woman. Talia al Ghul was his mother, the only feminine influence in his life.

But what if she hadn't been?

Suddenly, there was a knock at his door. "Brother?" called Leta's soft voice. "Alfred has sent me to inform you that dinner is ready."

Damian didn't answer for a while. How would his sister sound with a full American accent, he wondered? Would she still address him as 'brother' or simply by his name? Would she use a nickname like the dreaded 'Ian' Kent was trying to force upon him? "I'm coming," he finally replied, going to meet her in the hallway.

Leta, dressed simply in a T-shirt and jeans, offered him a smile. "Alfred made spring minestrone," she told him.

He nodded, fighting the urge to smile back. "Pennyworth does his job well," he replied. He had quickly learned that while Father may have owned the Manor and may have been Batman, Pennyworth was the one who was really in charge. All it took was a stern glare from the man and he and Leta would immediately settle.

She beckoned him with her hand. "Let us go then," she suggested, walking along the hallway.

Damian followed her, questions resting on the tip of his tongue. He wanted to know what she was thinking, but she didn't want to sound like he cared that much. Finally, he settled on, "Why do you dislike my mother?"

Leta stopped and he nearly collided with her. She turned around, her usually blue eyes a steely gray and her lips pressed together firmly. "She hurt you," she answered after a moment of silence. Cold rage danced across her irises.

Usually, he would jump to his mother's defense and snap back at her. Today, he kept her gaze. "She was preparing me," he told her.

Her lip curled. "She was using you," she corrected. Her tone, however, didn't hold anger toward him. Toward his mother, maybe, but not toward him. "She had you for her father and only for her father."

Damian wanted to argue with her, but she was right. Mother only ever did what Grandfather asked of her. He was Grandfather's heir, his legacy. He secured the al Ghuls as the head of the League of Assassins. "She loved me," he retorted, carefully gauging her reaction.

Leta stared at him, a myriad of emotions passing through her face. "You favor your left wrist," she finally spoke. There was something ominous about her tone. "If I were to guess, I would say that you broke it. How, exactly, did that happen, Brother?"

He blinked. "Climbing the mountains of Interlaken," he answered automatically. "It was a test."

She nodded. "When I was four, Grandmother pit me against a harpy," she told him. "It marks the worthiness of an Amazon, you see. Mother had defeated the beast at that age as well. I dislocated my shoulder." She took a deep breath, pain flashing through her face. "When I see Talia, I see my grandmother."

With that, she waltzed away from him and into the kitchen.

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I really like how this chapter turned out. Anyway, I hope you like it and please review!