Chapter Text
Helena fell asleep before they even left the training room.
Diana and Bruce had returned from putting away the weapons only to find the girl asleep on the side bench. Diana picked her up gently and led the way to her room. She didn’t know what Bruce had in his room (the man was paranoid; a good idea when Barry and Hal were plotting together), but she guessed he didn’t have the multitude of cozy blankets that she did. Opening her door, Diana stepped inside the room. Helena didn’t stir as she was laid onto the bed and covered with a blanket. Diana tucked her in, pushed some of Helena’s curly black hair away from her face, and turned back to where Bruce stood in the doorway.
“Kitchen?” she whispered.
He nodded before stalking away, his cape swirling in his wake. By the time Diana reached the kitchen, Bruce had already put poptarts in the toaster.
“Wild berry?” Diana picked up the empty box. “Barry will love it when he sees his favorite flavor is gone.”
“The dangers of having me cover a shift while accompanied by a four year old,” Bruce said as he gingerly picked the poptarts out of the toaster. “Besides, if I’m breaking Alfred’s sugar rules, I might as well go all out.”
Diana took the proffered plate and hopped up onto the countertop. Bruce grabbed his own package of poptarts from the freezer and leaned against the opposite counter. He began to methodically nibble the edges of the poptart, saving the middle for last. Diana just watched him for a moment.
“You look good, Bruce.”
He glanced up at her, still nibbling.
“You seem happier,” Diana continued, “Happier than you’ve looked in years.”
Slowly a tentative smile formed on his face. When the Justice League had first formed, Diana had heard some of the members say that Batman had no humor, that he was just anger and broodiness and focus dressed up in a Halloween costume. It took her a while to realize that Bruce only showed softer emotions around those he cared about (and the first time he had given her a true smile, she had nearly broken her jaw smiling back).
“I am happier,” Bruce said as he finished his snack. He reached up and pulled the cowl off his head, revealing flattened hair and tired, smiling eyes. “I’m home.”
Diana smiled back. “And how does Helena like her new home? She seems happy.”
His mouth tightened. “She’s adjusting well. The entire family is enamored with her. The Manor is busier than it’s ever been.”
It was never easy to parse out Bruce’s expressions, but after many years as his friend, Diana had learned his language. She frowned, her head tilting. “Then what has you concerned?”
He frowned as he crossed his arms. “I’m not her father.”
Diana smiled fondly at him. “Bruce, I know her situation isn’t exactly the same, but not being someone’s biological father hasn’t stopped you from raising a child before.”
“Maybe it should have.”
Her plate almost slipped from her grasp at the words. “What?”
“My record as a father isn’t exactly stellar, Diana,” Bruce said. No, his voice wasn’t quite Bruce’s. He was speaking like Batman did on a case: direct, logical, emotionless. Lost in the facts. “I disowned Dick, Jason died, Tim’s family was murdered, Damian and Cass were raised as assassins, Stephanie had to imprison her own father – half of the things that have happened to them are because of me.”
“That’s not –“
“My fault? Of course it is. Six times I’ve been a father, and six times I’ve left them worse off than they were before. And now I’ve been arrogant enough to think I can do it again. I never should have let it happen. Any of it.”
Diana stilled, then set her plate aside. “You speak as though you regret taking them in, Bruce.”
The silence was like a slap to the face.
“Bruce, you don’t—“
“No!” He held his hand up as he interrupted her. His eyes were wide, almost frightened; it was a look Diana hadn’t often seen. “Of course I don’t regret them. I’d never regret any of them.”
She slid off the counter to stand in front of him. “Then what do you fear?”
His hands dropped to grip the counter behind him. The leather of his gloves creaked as he stared through her, taking measured breaths through his nose.
“Bruce?” she whispered.
“What if they regret me?”
Diana had been at Bruce’s side through some of the most horrific things the universe had ever seen. She had been there through wars and invasions and betrayals. She had seen him at his lowest moments—when Jason’s body was still cooling in its grave, when Bane had broken his back—
And yet he’d never sounded more broken than he did now.
So she hugged him. She took those two steps over to him and wrapped her arms around his waist, pulling him towards her. She didn’t know what to say, didn’t know if saying anything would help him, so she hugged him instead. He didn’t even pause before folding her into his chest, gripping her as if he would fall without her there to keep him there. She leaned her head against his and threaded her fingers through his hair.
And as her fingers carded through his hair, the words began to slip from her lips.
“When you were gone, I would talk with the boys quite often. Sometimes it was a meeting, other times it was over the phone. They do have regrets, Bruce. They told me about them.” She felt him tense and gripped him more tightly, keeping him in place. “Tim regrets not showing how much he cares for you, that you’ve been his father for years before he called you that. Dick regrets the time with you he lost by putting distance between you after your fights instead of staying to fix things together. Damian regrets not knowing you from birth, even though it’s not his fault. And Jason—“ Diana took a shuddering breath as broken sobs echoed through her memory, “Jason regrets so much, but nothing more than the fact that he isn’t sure you know how utterly he loves his father.”
She pulled back and cupped his face in her palms. His eyes were bright as he looked at her, his cheeks wet with tears.
“They regret many things, Bruce, but they don’t regret you.”
Another breath.
“I don’t regret you either.”
And with her words gone, Diana leaned forward and pressed her forehead against his. Bruce didn’t reply, and she didn’t press. Perhaps her words meant nothing. Bruce was a determined man, and once he had an idea in his head it was hard to change his mind—but if that were the case, Diana would say it again. And again. And one day, perhaps he would believe it.
Eventually, Bruce cleared his throat and pulled his head back. Diana turned to lean her back against the counter next to him. Bruce may be more open than Batman was, but even he could only express so many emotions in a day.
“Helena should be waking up soon,” she said, glancing at the clock on the wall. “I can cover the rest of your shift. You two should go home and rest properly.”
Bruce grunted but didn’t move towards the door. Instead he stayed where he was, face clear of the desperation that had overcome it a moment ago. He was never one for conversation after something like that.
“I should probably buy some more poptarts for Barry.” Diana picked up the empty box from the counter. “We ravaged his supply today.”
“You should come to dinner this Friday.”
Diana whipped her head towards Bruce at the unexpected statement. He stared straight ahead, his arms folded across his chest.
“Should I?” she said.
“Helena would like it,” he continued, “and everyone will be there. They always enjoy seeing you.”
“I see,” Diana said, turning back to look forward. “And you of course don’t care either way.”
A playful smile grew on her face as silence grew between them. She glanced at Bruce after a few seconds, satisfied to see an almost constipated expression replace the previous stoicism. Giggles escaped her then, and she nudged his shoulder as she laughed.
“Of course I’ll come,” she said. “After all, I still need to defeat Timothy at that Spicy Uno game he’s so fond of.”
Bruce cleared his throat. “He cheats, you know.”
“Oh, so do I.”
His head swiveled towards her, his brow furrowed in surprise. She raised a finger to her lips.
“Don’t tell Jason,” she whispered.
And as Bruce’s laugh reverberated through the kitchen, Diana leaned against his shoulder and joined him. Perhaps a day would come where they wouldn’t do this anymore. Perhaps a day would come when Bruce would truly be gone, and she would sit and list all of her regrets too.
Let that day come, Diana thought.
It was worth having someone worth regretting to lose.