Chapter 10

"I'm sorry..."

Bruce turned around. He was back in Martha's art studio that Alfred had converted into a gym, just a year ago. He was in a polyester long-sleeved shirt, jumper pants, with his hands tucked into a pair of boxing gloves.

"I didn't understand what you were trying to do." It was Selina. Standing in the doorway with the rays of morning sunlight dancing off her many golden curls. "You were trying to give me a home with my mom. Regardless of the train wreck that she is."

"I'm sorry too," he replied, feeling a chill in the base of his bones, creep up his spine. "Perhaps I was too optimistic that she'd change. I only wanted you to be happy."

"I'm tired of being angry at her... of being angry at you." Selina spoke quietly, nervously knitting her fingers between her leather gloves.

He smiled as he stepped up to her. The cold that had sprung from the base of his bones had entered his cheeks and spread to his ears. But he didn't care. It felt like ages since he'd spoken with Selina, and certainly not in an amicable manner. He couldn't believe that reconciliation was finally in the cards. All he wanted to do was to live in the moment. "I hate it when we fight." His fingers were getting numb, as though there was a cold draft flowing through his gloves. "Selina... I've missed you."

Her eyes lit up as she gazed blithely at him. "I've missed you too." She moved in for a hug. Her warmth embraced his body, dispelling the cold in his being as quickly as drifting smoke on a windy day. He leaned in to wrap his arms around her. It felt good. Much better than it had ever felt.

"Oh, beloved..." Came the sigh of a female voice that didn't sound quite like Selina's.

His eyes flew open. 

It was dark, but not dark enough for him to tell that he wasn't anywhere near Wayne Manor. He was on a foreign bed with the sheets draped over him. And in his arms was someone warm, but definitely not Selina. He gasped and released the person at his side, moving as far away as possible without completely falling off. It was then that he realised he hadn't a shred of clothes on. Instinctively, he grasped at the sheets and pulled them closer to his chest.

"Calm down. I know it must be very confusing for you, but trust me when I say that you are safe," that person by his side moved off the bed. The voice sounded like it belonged to a female. She glided across the room, picked up what sounded like be a box of matches, came back and lit a lamp that stood by the bedside.

The glow of the lamp brightened the room somewhat. It illuminated the curvy figure of the person who had been by his side - except, like him, she hadn't a shred of clothing on her. He turned away quickly.

"What's wrong, beloved?" she said, leaning towards him.

"Can you please put something on?" he asked, keeping his gaze away from her. "I can't look at you like this."

"Hmm..." She sounded displeased, even while he could hear her doing something about her nudity. Following some sounds of moving fabric, she finally spoke, "Alright. I have a robe on. Will that do?"

Apprehensively, he turned back to take a look at her. She had her hands on her hips, a silken black robe with golden trimmings upon her body. Her skin was the shade of pale umber, tilted eyes shaded by luscious lashes, a perfect pointed nose, and red lips pursed, waiting for his response. If he had to guess, she looked to be close to his age. "Thank you," he replied. She nodded, wrapping her arms around her chest as she did. "Will you tell me who you are, and how I ended up here?"

"Father rescued you from the valley outside. Said you nearly drowned. Told me to keep you warm." She looked at him sternly. "I used the heat from my body to do just that. You were frozen solid when you first came in here."

Images from the events of his escape began to come back to him. The dark figure, the icy stream. Ensuing his near death event, he had most likely been brought back to the dwelling of the League, and placed in the room that he was in to be nursed back to health. Bruce also remembered what he'd read about survival in the alpine regions, and sharing the warmth of the human body to prevent frostbite. "Right. I'm sorry if I don't sound grateful. I really should be." He couldn't say that he was pleased to be back where he'd started - but at that very moment, he was just glad to be alive.

She eased up, a smile picking up the corners of her cheeks as she sat on a corner of the bed, her soft raven hair flowing like a river down to her waist. Stretching out a hand to him, she formally introduced herself, "My name is Talia, the biological daughter of Ra's Al Ghul, the Demon's Head."