Work Text:
Gotham rain had a talent for arriving exactly when Bruce Wayne least wanted company at his door.
It was nearly midnight, and the manor was quiet in a way it rarely was anymore. Tallant had fallen asleep reading on the couch with a flashlight, and Damian was tucked into bed after demanding three bedtime stories and a glass of water that he absolutely didn’t need. Alfred had retired early. And the older kids—Dick, Jason, Tim, Cassandra—were miles away in their respective boarding schools, grades and sports and extracurriculars keeping them busy until the next long holiday.
Bruce missed them more than he ever admitted aloud. The manor felt different without the chaos of teenage noise. Still, he liked knowing they were safe, thriving, still orbiting him even if from a distance.
Tonight, he didn’t expect anyone else.
So when the knock came—hard, sharp, cutting through the thunder—his instinct wasn’t suspicion. It was dread.
He opened the door.
And the dread became something else entirely.
“Talia?” His voice was low, steady, but the sight of her knocked the breath from him.
She stood soaked from head to toe, rainwater clinging to her dress, her hair plastered to her cheeks. Her lashes were wet, her lips pale, and her arms wrapped protectively around her abdomen in a way that made Bruce’s heart slam into his ribs.
“Beloved,” she whispered, voice breaking just enough for him to hear it. “I’m… sorry.”
His mind went blank for a full second. Then training kicked in.
He pulled her inside immediately. “You’re freezing.”
“You shouldn’t have opened the door that fast,” she murmured weakly. “You’re still Batman. Enemies exist.”
“I know when it’s you,” he said simply.
That earned a faint, exhausted laugh.
She was trembling. Bruce pulled off his coat and wrapped it around her shoulders, guiding her to the nearest seat. Her hand never left her abdomen. His eyes followed the movement.
“Talia,” he said carefully, “are you hurt?”
“No.” Her voice cracked. “Just… overwhelmed.”
He slowly knelt in front of her. Her legs were shaking. Her lips trembled. She looked terrified and defiant all at once—only Talia could manage both at the same time.
“Tell me,” he said, softer now.
She swallowed. Her fingers curled around his coat. And then she looked straight into his eyes—the same way she had the first night they’d ever stood this close.
“I’m pregnant.”
He didn’t blink. Didn’t exhale. Didn’t move.
Of course she was.
Of course it was his.
This was Talia.
This was them.
This was the unbreakable, complicated orbit they always returned to.
He nodded once. “Okay.”
Her eyes widened. “Okay?”
“Yes.” His voice didn’t waver. “We’ve done this before.”
That startled her enough to let out a shaky laugh that sounded dangerously like relief.
But then she inhaled sharply and added, quiet as a secret—
“Bruce… it’s twins.”
The rain outside slammed against the windows like it was reacting to her words.
For the first time, Bruce’s breath caught—not out of shock, but something deeper. Something like awe mixed with inevitability and something he couldn’t even name.
Twins.
His.
Hers.
Again.
“Talia,” he murmured, reaching for her freezing hands, “come here.”
She leaned forward before she even realized she was doing it. Bruce pulled her into his arms, into his chest, into warmth. She sagged against him with a soft sound—relief, exhaustion, fear, all tangled together.
“I didn’t want to show up like this,” she whispered into his shoulder. “I didn’t want to ask for anything.”
“You’re not asking.” His hand slid up her back. “You’re home.”
Her breath hitched.
Home.
She hadn’t had one in a long time.
A sound made them both turn.
Tallant stood on the staircase landing, messy-haired, blanket dragging behind him. His blue-green eyes, so much like Bruce’s, widened when he saw the figure wrapped in his father’s coat.
“Mama?” he breathed.
Talia straightened instantly, instinctively. “Tallant, sweetheart—”
The boy rushed down the stairs and Bruce caught him gently, slowing him before he could slip on the wet floor. Tallant clung to his mother’s waist once Bruce set him down.
“You’re wet,” Tallant said, voice trembling. “Are you okay? Did someone hurt you?”
Talia cupped his face, her thumbs brushing his cheeks. “No, my love. Just the rain. I’m fine.”
But Tallant’s gaze dropped to her stomach—the small swell that hadn’t been there the last time she visited.
“Mama… are you…”
He paused.
“…having another baby?”
Silence.
Talia opened her mouth, but Bruce answered quietly for both of them.
“Yes.”
Tallant blinked slowly. “Just one?”
Talia exhaled. “Two, sweet one.”
His jaw dropped.
“Two?!”
Before she could respond, another small voice echoed from upstairs—
“Why is everyone awake?”
Damian trudged down the stairs, hair disheveled, blanket wrapped around his shoulders like a cape. When he spotted Talia, he froze as dramatically as only a five-year-old could.
“Ummi?”
Talia’s eyes softened in a way Bruce rarely saw. “Come here, my little hawk.”
Damian sprinted the last steps and threw himself into her lap. She kissed the top of his head again and again, fingers gripping him as if she were making sure he was real.
“You smell like rain,” Damian muttered against her chest.
“And you smell like sleep,” she whispered.
Bruce watched them—watched Tallant pressed to her left side, Damian curled into her right, both boys holding onto their mother like something rare and fragile. Talia’s face softened, something melting in her features.
And then Damian looked up.
“Are you staying?” he asked.
Tallant held his breath beside him.
Talia hesitated. Just for a moment. Her life had never been simple. Her father’s shadow was enormous. The League’s politics were unforgiving. And she had come here with nothing but rainwater and exhaustion.
But before she could answer—
Bruce stepped forward.
“She’s staying,” he said, with quiet certainty.
Talia’s head snapped toward him, startled.
Damian grabbed her hand. “For real?”
“Really,” Bruce said.
Tallant leaned against her shoulder, relief flooding his small face.
Talia’s eyes softened into something Bruce hadn’t seen in years… something almost like gratitude. She exhaled shakily, and Bruce realized she had been holding her breath since the moment she knocked on the door.
“Beloved,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “You don’t have to do this.”
“I’m not doing anything I don’t want to,” Bruce replied. “You came here. That’s enough.”
She closed her eyes. “I didn’t want you to feel trapped.”
“By you?” His voice was soft, incredulous. “I’ve never been trapped by you.”
Her lips trembled.
The boys glanced between their parents like they were witnessing something sacred.
Bruce sat beside her now, close enough for their shoulders to brush. “The twins need stability. You need rest. Stay here. Let me take care of you.”
Talia let out a sound—half laugh, half sob—and leaned into him just a little.
Tallant piped up, “We’ll help! Damian and I can—”
“No.” Damian glared. “I’ll help. You sleep too much.”
“That’s not true—!”
Bruce smiled despite himself. “Both of you will help.”
“And Dick?” Tallant asked suddenly. “Will he come home?”
“And Todd?” Damian tilted his head. “He always brings candy.”
“And Cassandra?”
“And Tim?”
Talia ran her fingers through their hair. “Your siblings will visit soon, I’m sure.”
Bruce nodded. “I’ll call them tomorrow.”
Tallant brightened. “They’ll want to see Mama.”
Damian puffed his chest. “And the twins. I will protect them.”
Bruce placed a steady hand on his shoulder. “You will.”
Talia leaned back, exhaustion settling into her bones. Her voice dropped, gentle, weary. “Bruce… I can’t fight the League anymore. I won’t risk the twins. I won’t risk the boys.” Her eyes met his, vulnerable. “I just… need safety.”
He didn’t hesitate.
“You have it.”
The room softened. The rain quieted. The manor felt full again—alive in a way it hadn’t since the older kids left. The fireplace flickered warm light across Talia’s face, and Bruce realized something he wasn’t ready to say aloud:
He had missed her.
All of her.
More than he should.
Talia rested her head lightly on his shoulder. “I didn’t think you’d accept this so easily.”
“There’s nothing about you I’m unwilling to accept,” Bruce said.
She let out a soft, almost disbelieving laugh. “Even when I show up at your door pregnant again?”
“Especially then.”
She huffed. “You should at least pretend to be frustrated.”
Bruce looked at her stomach, small but unmistakably rounding beneath her wet clothes.
“…I’m overwhelmingly frustrated,” he said flatly.
She snorted. “Liar.”
“Very,” he deadpanned.
“Beloved—”
“You’re staying.”
Her lips parted, and she didn’t argue this time.
Tallant tugged her sleeve. “Mama, will the babies like me?”
Talia pulled him close. “They will adore you.”
Damian crawled further into her lap. “And me?”
Talia kissed his forehead. “They will fear you.”
Bruce hummed. “Correct.”
Talia elbowed him gently. “Bruce.”
“What? You know how he is.”
“Baba!” Damian gasped, offended.
Talia laughed softly—tired, relieved, real.
“My fierce little hawk… you will love them, and they will love you.”
Damian nodded with enormous seriousness.
And Bruce looked at the three of them—the woman he could never quite let go of, the sons they already had, the life that kept pulling itself back together no matter how messy everything was—and something inside him eased.
He placed his hand quietly atop Talia’s, over her stomach.
Her breath caught.
“Twins,” he murmured. “We’ll make it work.”
Talia leaned into him. “Beloved, if you say that, I might cry.”
“Then cry.”
Her eyes flickered up to his, shimmering.
“But you don’t have to be alone,” he added softly. “Not anymore.”
She nodded once, small and trembling.
And with the rain continuing its steady rhythm outside, Bruce Wayne held the mother of his children close as both boys clung to her, and for the first time in a long time, the manor finally—finally—felt like a home.
END.