The Things That Bind Us- Damirae

Chapter Twenty-One

The gentle scraping of a razor over skin, clearing a path through shaving foam, was the sound that had characterised Bruce's mornings for decades. God, he felt old. The image in the mirror had more lines by the day and far too much grey at the temples. He was surprised the black had lasted so long in his hair. Maybe the follicles were as foolhardy as he was.

Bruce splashed water over his face and looked back up at the mirror. That would be Damian's face, in some years. He would grow in to it, as Bruce grew out of it, grew old, degenerated. The ripple of muscle with every move wasn't what it used to be. Batman would only live for so long in Bruce's flesh, before it would go to another. But it would always be in his soul- that spirit of justice, the creature of the shadows.

He recalled a conversation that he'd once had with Selena. God, he missed her.

Between gloved hands tipped with metal claws, she'd tenderly held his face, planted a kiss on his lips, and whispered, "You can't do this forever. I can't do this forever. The Bat and the Cat."

"You don't think we can last forever?" He had asked.

She had looked through his mask, at the man himself, beneath the borders. All he was had been lain bare before her.

"You and I, we'll outlive eternity." Her forehead had rested against his. "But these two," her claws had lain against the symbol on his chest, "they'll get slow. They can't dance forever. And I know it'll break you to accept it."

It would break him, Bruce realised. He could cling on to his strength, keep up the fight for another five, ten, fifteen years even. But the inevitable couldn't be fought. Not even when you keep company with gods.

What was the remedy then, to the desperation of losing purpose?

Repurpose yourself. Or find new purpose.

He couldn't just expire in his mid fifties. There was still the fight for justice. Oracle had proven it, after the paralysis.

That haunted him still. Her pain. Jason's pain. And Alfred. And Tim and Dick and Damian and Jim Gordon- the list just kept going on. If there were a button to press to make it all go away, he would press it in a heartbeat. But life isn't so simple. Keeping the company of gods couldn't help with that either.

Bruce looked, puzzled, around his room. What was he doing again?

The freshly pressed shirt and suit gave him the answer: another board meeting that Alfred was forcing him in to. Any second now, the old butler would knock to-

Knock knock knock

Right on time.

"Master Bruce," the butler stepped in to the room, "you've some visitors."

***

It wasn't the sprawling grandeur of the manor that weighed down Shiva's effortless confidence, but the knowledge of what lay within. Not the ancient beauty of the empty ballroom, dancing still with the ghost of the aristocracy, nor the dusty monsters of glimmering diamond and pale candle wax suspended from the ceilings, but a feeling and a person. Shiva's humanity pained her.

Within that house was what she couldn't give, and whom she couldn't give it to.

Pennyworth greeted the deadly pair at the door of the Manor with a familiar, unsurprised, "Ah good afternoon."