Sometimes, life gives you an opportunity.

It isn't quite a second chance. Things are too complicated for that, time is never kind enough to allow a do-over. A chance to get it right.

But sometimes, an opportunity exists, and still, you hesitate. There is a moment when both paths will lead to ruin, but one to an assured, known existence, and the other to something else. The other to something more.

Bruce has been the Batman for a long time, and he had thought he was the master of his fears. He had thought that nothing could make him take pause anymore, but there it was, the obvious opportunity laid out before him and he found a trembling deep within him, unlike any he'd felt for many, many years.

His path through time had led him to a moment almost a decade before he'd left the present. He had snaked his way into a familiar compound in the English countryside, refusing to believe what he may find. But there it was, before him, guarded only as preciously as the other resources in her complex. He felt an unexpected surge of antagonism towards her, a shivering sort of disgust just underneath his skin.

No doubt doing so would set off some kind of alarm, but he went to the controls and carefully opened the tube, without shutting anything down. He didn't expect to stay long enough to meet any sort of security.

He pulled off the long gloves he wore, and looked into the shimmering substance, and he reached in to take hold of the tiny child within.

Once out of the biofluid, it made no movement for a moment. And then, suddenly, it coughed slightly, and the fluid spilled from its mouth down its chest, and then it took a great deep breath. Instinctually, Bruce murmured, "Shh…" and wiped the baby's face and body with his sleeve, drying the viscous wetness from the thing's skin.

And then the infant opened its big eyes, and Bruce froze cold, forgetting, for a moment, where he was – who he was – everything about him faded away. He held his son in his arms, nearly trembling in fear as he fathomed the sheer weight of the moment.

Then, quietly, he said, "Damian." The baby looked at him with curious, shining eyes. He did not cry. Bruce brought the child closer to his chest, and dipped his head slightly to look right into his eyes, one hand gently brushing down the boy's body, so little, so delicate. "Damian," he said again, and the baby blinked, and he reached up and his tiny fingers took hold of Bruce's nose, and he made a soft, gurgling sound.

A miniature smile appeared on his small lips, and delight shone in his eyes.

Bruce closed his own eyes and held the child close to his body. Part of him wanted to take this boy and run, he wanted to take this baby and watch him turn into the boy that would come to him, years later. He wanted to find himself at this moment in time and hit him, attack him, curse him for not finding his baby and taking his baby, because this child – this child here, in his arms, its tiny hands clutching at his shoulders – this was his child.

He touched Damian's soft head, and laid him down on one arm. "I'll see you again soon," he muttered, and then he leaned down and gently pressed his lips against the child's forehead. Bruce murmured something against the child's ear, touching their cheeks softly, and the baby made a gurgling, squeaking noise again.

Bruce was gone by the time that security showed up to check on the state of Talia's child, and the boy was left floating, unconscious, in the biotube once again, but Bruce's words hung in the air and the liquid and in the very foundation of the place, and in the years to come – the years that had passed – Damian al Ghul Wayne would find comfort there, as if someone was whispering across the tides of time into his ear four quiet words.

"I love you, son."