You always know best, I'm certain. You thought about nothing but the welfare of those boys...
It was beginning to take effort to remind himself that none of this was personal--just another game to the doctor before him, the superficially delicate woman who seemed to delight in every twist of his frown, every suggestion of his pain. Bruce no longer cared whether he was reading too much into her questions: he'd met with enough psychologists to know the difference between professional interest and personal gratification. It was increasingly difficult to defend her actions against the Batman in Bruce's mind; the line about "knowing best" made Bruce think briefly of the telepaths in the Institute until he realized that it was simply a generic jibe at a controlling personality.
Generic. Not personal. General. She could've probably said the same thing to any father with aspirations for his children; it would've hurt the same. Not that Bruce would call himself a father necessarily, or even compare himself to just 'any other parental figure.' The stakes in his life were different, after all, and no matter what he did--
...he'd made a choice, long ago. Seldom did a day go by without him remembering it. Ever since Domestic Bliss had left Gotham City in the shape of Andrea Beaumont, Bruce Wayne'd vowed never to forget that first, original promise. Years had gone by, and his resolve had been tested, but while wards left and things changed that promise alone had never faded. Never left, never abandoned him, never failed to strengthen with each loss and obstacle along the way. He was prepared to give up everything for the sake for that promise, and there'd never been any doubt in Bruce's mind that some day he would...
As for the other things...
...yes. Yes, Bruce did think of them. Often. Too often. Things like Christmases without the Joker, Friday nights spent at home in front of the television. Listening to a Robin's voice not in the heat of battle but following the conquest of a fictional game. Dick's (still) easy smiles, Tim's gleeful punchlines, Barbara and the lists of pop culture references she sometimes insisted Bruce memorize. Coffee with Jim and the costume, Alfred dusting his hands off after handcuffing his latest would-be kidnappers...Talia in Paris with summer rain. And then those increasingly rare moments between missions where no one was really doing anything except maybe sitting in chairs in the Batcave, tending old (and new) wounds and forgetting to think about what came tomorrow.
Happiness.
And the darkness.
.......Bruce smiled, the physical gesture bringing with it an automatic mental blankness as he concentrated on thinking of nothing at all but the curve of Dr. Kisugi's lips and her cold, watching eyes.
"Oh, I wouldn't say I thought about nothing but their welfare," Bruce said, a slight suggestive tone leaving little doubt as to what that "something other than the boys' welfare" could be.
"And obviously I don't know best. I've just been lucky enough to be blessed with two kids who've grown up splendidly despite everything else."
no subject
It was beginning to take effort to remind himself that none of this was personal--just another game to the doctor before him, the superficially delicate woman who seemed to delight in every twist of his frown, every suggestion of his pain. Bruce no longer cared whether he was reading too much into her questions: he'd met with enough psychologists to know the difference between professional interest and personal gratification. It was increasingly difficult to defend her actions against the Batman in Bruce's mind; the line about "knowing best" made Bruce think briefly of the telepaths in the Institute until he realized that it was simply a generic jibe at a controlling personality.
Generic. Not personal. General. She could've probably said the same thing to any father with aspirations for his children; it would've hurt the same. Not that Bruce would call himself a father necessarily, or even compare himself to just 'any other parental figure.' The stakes in his life were different, after all, and no matter what he did--
...he'd made a choice, long ago. Seldom did a day go by without him remembering it. Ever since Domestic Bliss had left Gotham City in the shape of Andrea Beaumont, Bruce Wayne'd vowed never to forget that first, original promise. Years had gone by, and his resolve had been tested, but while wards left and things changed that promise alone had never faded. Never left, never abandoned him, never failed to strengthen with each loss and obstacle along the way. He was prepared to give up everything for the sake for that promise, and there'd never been any doubt in Bruce's mind that some day he would...
As for the other things...
...yes. Yes, Bruce did think of them. Often. Too often. Things like Christmases without the Joker, Friday nights spent at home in front of the television. Listening to a Robin's voice not in the heat of battle but following the conquest of a fictional game. Dick's (still) easy smiles, Tim's gleeful punchlines, Barbara and the lists of pop culture references she sometimes insisted Bruce memorize. Coffee with Jim and the costume, Alfred dusting his hands off after handcuffing his latest would-be kidnappers...Talia in Paris with summer rain. And then those increasingly rare moments between missions where no one was really doing anything except maybe sitting in chairs in the Batcave, tending old (and new) wounds and forgetting to think about what came tomorrow.
Happiness.
And the darkness.
.......Bruce smiled, the physical gesture bringing with it an automatic mental blankness as he concentrated on thinking of nothing at all but the curve of Dr. Kisugi's lips and her cold, watching eyes.
"Oh, I wouldn't say I thought about nothing but their welfare," Bruce said, a slight suggestive tone leaving little doubt as to what that "something other than the boys' welfare" could be.
"And obviously I don't know best. I've just been lucky enough to be blessed with two kids who've grown up splendidly despite everything else."