Zero Hour - Thursday, January 27, 2000, 12:22 AM
------------------------------------------------


Dean Whittier is a good man. He has a good job, as a mid-level insurance
executive. He has a good wife and two good kids in a good school. He even
testifies for the state legislature sometimes. He was spotted coming down
the stairs in the party, slightly flushed, slightly shifty. Not something
to remark on at the time, but, later, knowing what was going on, it put
him on a very short list of very good and very bad men who had a wonderful
evening and were fated to have a rotten night some later night. Tonight
was Dean Whittier's night. Talia's associate spotted the two-toned car
arriving. They heard the pleading, the crying. By the time Two-Face had
emerged from the back door (he went in at the front) and climbed into a
second car, Talia was there. He was easy to follow, the lights of the city
gliding across the tinted windows. Down to the warehouse district, to a
building set out from the larger buildings, painted pure white - it nearly
glows. The sign over the front door says "Champion Storage Co. We're
Number One!" But the car goes to the back door, where a man dressed as a
uniformed security guard steps out. The window glides down and Two-Face
handed out a small package, about the size of a pair of videotapes, to the
"guard". His voice was low and empty of feeling. "Anything going on?"

[OOC] Two-Face says, "Thugs can be anywhere on the premises. Imagine a
very secure, though somewhat cramped, underworld storage unit, one floor,
taller than normal, four rooms."

'Eggs' Overizi cracks his knuckles.


'Deuce' LaRoy stands outside near the storage unit entrance, arms crossed
over his chest, expression dark, sallow, and by nature unpleasant. He
looks up and says "S'alright, man. S'alright."

Two-Face's eyes are blank and soulless, one blue and pure and empty, the
other yellow and mottled red and empty as he stares at Deuce. "Yeah? Well,
we got to keep this place safe for at least another two weeks. Got a lot
of material to cover. The Fu Sings aren't givin' you any more trouble, are
they?"

Dark Figure remains crouched, on the edge of one of the buildings across
from Champion Storage. Peering through a pair of lenses, she sets her jaw,
and considers the building. A soft curse in her native tongue -
approaching street level is virtually impossible, given her clothing, and
Batman's swinging entrance style would show up against the building like a
speck of rice on a black designer Calvin Klein. Sparing a moment to
consult her palmtop, she reviews the specs of the building, occaisionally
darting her eye at the exchange while checking for any openings on the
roof of the structure.

'Deuce' LaRoy snorts contemptuously. "Not anymore, boss. Not anymore." He
idly opens his jacket and shows the two Desert Eagle .50 handguns strapped
under his armpits. "Bessy and Sal here had a talk with Chen Zhou. He got
the message. Twice to the head. Twice to the head." He spits off into the
shadows. "They got the message."

Dark Figure(#744Pc)

        A figure of initially indeterminate sex, the slender figure and
curved shape seems to hint upon closer scrutiny of a female. A black hood
hides her face completely, leaving only a slit across the eyes, revealing
them to be blue. The skin surrounding her eyes has been darkened with some
sort of smudge. But the perceptive will notice her sleek grace and the
athletic lines of a woman in superb physical condition without it
hardening her form. She wears a black bodysuit and jacket, with gloves and
tightly strapped boots, all form fitted. bandoliers around her arms and
legs, as well as a belt in the same ebony carry her equipment, the metal
darkened just in the same manner as any of her exposed skin. A sleek
length of rope has been looped carefully over one shoulder, and though the
only obvious weapons are a pair of guns in shoulder holsters, it would not
be foolish to assume those are not the limit of her arsenal.

An industrial strength ventilation system rattles and clatters away up on
the white-painted roof. Despite the glaring white paint, there is no
actual lighting up there - likely there is at least a trap door, given the
neighborhood. The building is divided into essentially four quarters,
concrete walls separating it out into smaller compartments. Two-Face says
"That's good to hear." And sighs like he's tremendously tired. "Check that
back in." he says, nodding to the videos. A twisted grin slinks across his
hideous face and squats, leering awfully, as he quips, "We don't want any
late fees." The window glides back up as he chuckles with Deuce, and the
car pulls back out into the dark streets.

'Deuce' LaRoy takes the videos, nods (twice), then turns for the entrance.
He glances warily around, then raps on the door.

'Eggs' Overizi slides the door open in response to the signal, nodding to
'Deuce as he does so.

'Deuce' LaRoy steps in, holding up the videos. "Chief dropped these off.
Get 'em secured. Remember, 'Eggs' - this is the good stuff. So don't lose
'em like you done the map to this place. Don't lose 'em."

'Eggs' Overizi starts to retort, but keeps his silence. He examines the
videos closely, and tucks them inside his coat pocket for now, leaning
back up against the wall and glaring around sullenly.

Dark Figure snaps the palm top shut, and tucks it into her belt.
"Imitation is the highest form of flattery." she murmurs softly, and
removes something from a boot sheathe. She aims, it, using a cup and
saucer grip, torward the top of the building, and presses the trigger.

A line shoots out silently, and catches on the railings to one side of the
sign. She latches it to the corner of the ledge she stands on, and then
takes a small handle and loops it onto the rope. Gripping it tightly, she
keeps her body tucked small, and slides down the length of the rope to
land on the roof softly.

'Eggs' Overizi looks up, hearing a soft sound overhead ... but he doesn't
see anything. He shakes his head, obviously imagining things.

A few other thugs are down in the back room watching TV: "Who Wants To Win
A Lot Of Money?" is on, and they're puzzling over a question. "Hey,
'Eggs', is the capital of Florida Miami or Fort Lauderdale?" one calls
out.

'Eggs' Overizi looks confused by this. "Miami's gotta be too obvious ... I
bet it's Fort Whatever."

'Eggs' Overizi starts to hum Cole Porter's "Who Wants TO Be A Millionaire"
under his breath, unconsciously.

'Deuce' LaRoy pulls a chair over and sits down in the front room. He
glances towards the TV-watching goons, sneers a little at the program.
"You know that whole things fixed, right, Charley? Its fixed. Nobody knows
none of them questions answers - I seen that movie with that guy. I know
from quiz shows." He pauses, takes out a toothpick and starts working on
his gums. "I know from 'em."

'Eggs' Overizi scratches his head.

"See, I told you." says one. (That's one.) "No, no, it's Miami, what kinda
question is that?" says another (that's two). The answer plays.
"Tallahassee?" says a third. (That's three.) "Where the hell is
Tallahassee?" So that's five, counting Eggs and Deuce, unless there's
someone else keeping quiet.

'Eggs' Overizi blinks, "Hey ... Tallahasswhat? That's ... you didn't give
me all the, um, all the answers."

"Well, I din't think it could possibly be..." "...I thought that was in
'Bama..." "It /is/ in 'Bama!" "No, no, look the guy got it right."
"#&*&$)in' suburban #(&*($&*$."

'Eggs' Overizi just looks increasingly sullen.

'Deuce' LaRoy glances over and points with his toothpick. "I had an idea
for a game show, once. Actually. Good idea, too." He eyes the toothpick
carefully. "You take one of those Valley Springs or Bristol mugs and you
put 'em in a big room. Then, you put a couple of good dogs in with 'em.
Dobermans or pit bulls or y'know, right? Give the guy a beefsteak and
chain it around his neck. Then give him five minutes." He flicks the
toothpick away. "Used to play that with the last crew over on the East
River Sunday nights. You got to know how smart guys like that were. Then
you'd see who's so damn smart. Yeah. Then you'd see who's so damn smart."

'Eggs' Overizi starts to laugh, "aw 'Deuce' you always crack me up. hell,
I'd pay good money for cable to see that on tv."

Ugly laughter drifts up from the back room. One guy thinks it's a lot
funnier than it probably is. "Are you kidding? That's great! That's great!
I love it! We could make a mint." "Why not have the boss flip a coin
before the fight to see if he gets Dobermans or pit bulls?"

'Deuce' LaRoy smiles, revealing a row of shiny golden teeth. "Sure, sure.
Yeah. I should save that for the chief sometime. For the - you know -
recreational activities."

Dark Figure moves quietly along the roof. She looks for a few things -
where the guy who was holding the package is currently sitting, if there's
any obvious spots where the package is sitting, or any not so obvious
spots that would match Two-Face's profile anyway.

This whole place is off of Two-Face's profile. It's one color. The sign
says that it's #1. Even Deuce's ID badge is #11111. The general layout
appears to be that Deuce and Eggs are in the lower left room, three other
thugs and a TV in the upper right room, and Eggs had the tapes. The trap
door is over the upper left room. No sound comes through the ceiling
anywhere else, even on Talia's microphone's highest setting.

Dark Figure considers. It's not like she's in a rush. So to start with,
the first thing she does is check and see if the trap door is security
rigged in the first place.

The trapdoor is locked, and opens inwards. The careful application of a
filament microscope shows that there is indeed a simple wire-break alarm
connected to it.

The thugs in the back room snicker. "I love these commercials." one says.
"Better than the &#&*# show."

Dark Figure again takes her sweet time to dewire the system, and waits
until a loud noise from the television before letting the doors slowly
drop open.

'Deuce' LaRoy glances at Eggs with half-lidded eyes. "Wonder what the
chief's up to; he's been traveling in weird circles lately. Weird
circles." He scratches the back of his neck. "And I don't mean the clown
or that green skinned dame. Don't mean them."

One of the thugs: "I seen him talkin' stuff over with one of the guy's in
Joker's gang, though. I tell ya, I don't envy those guys." A different
voice. "Did you /hear/ about the take on the DiCarlo Jewelry job, though?
Man, that was sweet."

'Eggs' Overizi shrugs, "the chief's always ghot more'n one thing on his
mind. I'm sure he'll tell us tomorrow or the day after tomorrow. And the
Joker ... nah, his guys live onna high horse but he's gonna off 'em
himself, likely as not. No way would i work for the clown."

'Deuce' LaRoy snarls a lip a little. "Yeah, for the two guys that was left
after the clown finished playing darts. But...I guess the take's bigger
for the guys whats left...you know. Bigger share, smaller square. Smaller
square, bigger share."

The trap door squeaks slightly when it slips open. The room below has
wide, low tables in it, with pale white linen tableclothes and white
cloths over box-shaped items there, of various sizes. The lights are on.

Upon the slow opening of the trapdoor, the darkly clad woman very slowly
lowers a scope - the kind kids use when they want to see something behind
them. She lowers just past the edge, and scopes it out in 360.

"That's deep, man. Hey, did you hear something?" says a thug. Another: "It
was the teevee, you doof. The Conspiracy Files is on now."

'Eggs' Overizi hears the squeak, barely. Looking up ... narrowing his
eyes, sure he must be imagining things/

'Deuce' LaRoy notes 'Eggs' glance. "You're lookin' twitchier than usual,
Eggs."

'Eggs' Overizi shrugs at 'Deuce', "I must be seein' things ... that
trapdoor look funny to you?"

Nobody is really looking into the upper left room, though Eggs' back is
right in the empty concrete doorway to the lower left room. The thugs with
the TV are out of sight around the corner, so is Deuce, presumably.
There's a number of strongbox-style lockers in the room with the TV.
There's not a whole lot in Deuce and Eggs' room except some chairs, a
table, and some guns, ammo, playing cards, pizza boxes and poket chips,
the detritus of a long night of guard duty for the thugs. The lower right
room is not visible from the trapdoor.

'Deuce' LaRoy doesn't bother to look up. "'That trapdoor look funny to
you?' Sheesh. You gotta learn to relax and let the work come to ya."

'Eggs' Overizi grumbles, "I shoulda gone into dentistry, like my brutha
... "

'Deuce' LaRoy mutters "...let the work come to ya." He runs a hand through
his short cut hair. He stands and walks slowly over to the pizza box on
the top of the pile, flipping it open and checking out its contents.
"Anybody want this pepperoni?" he asks, taking a bite of the cold slice.

'Eggs' Overizi flushes at the humilating words and shakes his head. If he
looks any more sullen his mouth will turn into a circle.

Dark Figure considers for a moment, slowly sitting up. She walks to the
front edge of the building, near the entrance where they all had come in
originally. Selecting some items from her bandoliers, she takes a few
minutes to wire together a seemingly harmless firecrackers - with an extra
something special - time detonators. She lobs them in different directions
down to the street below, and for a finishing touch, snaps off a
smoke-bomb. Uncorking it and letting it drop, the area in the front of the
building starts to fill with smoke. Talia calmly presses a button on the
back of her glove, and the first loud BANG! of a fire cracker
begins...sounding remarkably like a gunshot.

'Eggs' Overizi draws his gun, "criminey! where'd that come from ... aw ...
HELL ... " he rushes to the strongbox.

A thug back by the TV hollers, "What in hell?" They come pouring out of
the back room, towards the front exit just as 'Eggs' rushes back into it
and starts pulling a long low metal box out, fumbling with a key. Smoke
comes as one throws it open, and a sudden RACHHETA goes off, sparking
lights in the dark and haze.

'Deuce' LaRoy looks up, tomato sauce dribbling down his chin. "Whut the
#645@* ?" he asks, rhetorically. He crossdraws the two enormous sidearms
and says "Boys, we got company...Fu Sings musta not learned their lesson.
But we'll learn 'em."

Dark Figure pads back over to the trapdoor, moving quickly. She attatches
a line from a nearbye rail from the sign, attatches it to her belt, and
very slowly lowers her head to watch. Absently, she slides a pair of odd
sunglasses over her eyes, in case the smoke floods the room. She waits for
them to leave, tensely.

'Eggs' Overizi mutters "hell hell hell ... " all the while fumbling with
the key ... finally by accident as much as anything else he manages to get
it open, and crams the tapes in, locking them up. He keeps his back to the
safe, gun drawn and wavin' it about.

Dark Figure tries to sneak a peak at the strongbox - were there any other
tapes in there?

The three thugs and Deuce are in the lower left room, taking cover from
the entrance and readying their weapons - they can't see the trapdoor from
where they are, and they wouldn't care if they could, the crackle of guns
outside. Eggs is alone with the strongbox in the upper right. It was full
of carefully labelled video and audiotapes.

Dark Figure smiles, and drops down on the wire silently. Once she's landed
she unhooks herself, leaving the rope to dangle. Keeping low, she slowly
stalks torward Eggs, trying to keep out of his line of sight.

'Deuce' LaRoy shouts "You punk-ass Fu bastards wanna mess with our crew,
you got yourself a world of hurt..." He kicks open the doors, guns at the
ready.
There's an eerie silence outside, then another blaze of gunfire crackles
through the smoke, and the three thugs return fire, ducking out around the
corner to squeeze off a CRACK CRACK CRACK or a THACKETA of fire into the
haze. "Come get some!" hollers one. "Ya little punks don't know who yer
dealin' with!"

'Eggs' Overizi crouches down, trying to stay out of the line of fire, but
still maintaining his position in front of the strongbox.

'Deuce' LaRoy furrows his brow at the strangely empty street outside.
"...world of hurt..." he says, under his breath. He holds the Desert
Eagles at 'safe' position. "Hey...hey. Hold on a second." He mulls this
over. "Guys, I think we're gettin' $#^."

Eggs' attention is wholly in the wrong direction to see the Dark Figure's
approach.

Dark Figure pulls a knife from her sleeve. She's running out of time.
Reversing it, she darts up to Eggs and slams the hilt of the blade down on
the back of his head.

'Eggs' Overizi's head cracks and all the kings horses ain't puttin' it
back together again.

The other thugs are a little confused. "Huh? You think they're hidin' out
there?" One moves slowly into the doorframe, keeping low, his gun at the
ready.

Eggs slumps to the floor, blood oozing from his head wound. Head wounds
bleed a lot, but he'll be okay, but for now, he's taking a nap.

Dark Figure grabs the box. Dammit - she hopes she didn't kill him. Not
because she particularly cares about the man's life, but because she knows
a certain someone will never let her hear the end of it. She flat out runs
torward her rope line, trying to rehook herself as quickly as possible.

The box is lighter than it looks, but just as bulky as you might think.
The hook attaches quickly but the rope swings awkwardly to one side and
the trapdoor CREEAKs again.

'Deuce' LaRoy turns around, pointing the guns back inside. He sees
movement, and then sees Talia moving towards the rope. "Holy Hell!
She's...she's...get her!" Then, there's a cacphonious BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM
from the two pistols as he fires after her fleeting form.

Dark Figure jerks on her line, letting it shoot her straight up torward
the trap door. With a sharp swing back and a kick against the ceiling, she
flips head over heels and lands up top on the roof. As soon as she lands,
she unhooks herself.

'Eggs' Overizi groans, and mutters, "molars ... everywhere molars ...
sorry mommy ... " in his sleep.
'Deuce' LaRoy walks to stand under the trap door. He aims one of the
smoking guns up and empties the rest of the clip into the opening,
spattering sparks as he fails to meet any target."You...go...get...go
outside and get her!"

One of 'Deuce's' bullets CLANGs into the box, jerking it in her hands as
she rises. It punches a neat hole in one side and probably crunches a tape
or two. The thugs scramble outside, one clambering up onto the hood of a
car and trying to peer up at the roof, the other two running wildly around
both sides of the building, staring up. They keep that up, they're liable
to trip over the curb and knock themselves out.

Dark Figure runs torward the line she'd had to the building across the
street. She leaves the rope line regretfully - she hates to abandon good
equipment, but c'est la vie. She releases that end, wraps it around her
wrist and palm, tucks the box close in, and takes the jump, with the
greatest of ease - the daring young beauty on the flying trapeze.

BLAM BLAM BLAMETTY, the thug under her unleashes a series of blasts, one
slices through her cloak, another clanking into the box, but she is up and
onto the adjacent warehouse and gone before he can do anything. They rush
back to protect the rest of their precious cargo and call for help. No
sirens. Not tonight. Maybe someone will see a bullet hole tomorrow and
wonder, but at this hour there is nobody to hear her footsteps and nobody
to care about a few more gunshots.


Across town, near the docks, there's a black building with black doors and
black walls and a sign saying "Last Chance Storage." Two-Face slouches
into one of the rooms in this dreadful, roach-infested rat-littered place
and selects a video marked "Don Gianetti" from a box. "Let's go." he says
quietly. "This is number two."

Dark Figure perches in the corner of some shadowed building, eyeing her
prize with content. She'll go home and review the tapes, and once
satisfied, will find a means to deliver them. Pulling up her mask, she
allows herself a low curving smile. Perhaps, with this much of a prize,
he'll come to her...

'Deuce' LaRoy looks down at Eggs, teeth gritted. "You goddamned stupid
little nutjob! You shoulda held onna the tapes! Boss is gonna flip for us.
You know that right?" He lowers his guns and walks to a chair, sitting
down in it mournfully. "Gonna flip for us."

*********************(Takes Place Appx. 3 Nights
Later***********************

It's three, perhaps four evenings later. He doesn't know how she did it,
but somehow he finds an email waiting for him in his office. Clever girl,
it's quite difficult...near impossible to trace, and says only 'I have
something for you. Remembering our tango.' It is signed simply
'Sahiya'...and if he remembers his Arabic, the term translates loosely
into 'Desert Spring'.

Every good soldier knows that appropriate dress for battle is of upmost
importance. Batman has his suit. A policeman, his uniform. Tonight, for
this particular battle, Talia is no less particular - should he arrive as
expected her, he finds her barefoot, hair loose, and clad in a white silk
kimono - the scent of her beloved desert somehow clinging to her, even in
this frigid city of Gotham.

"Talia," a voice speaks. The Bat steps out from a side hallway of the loft
apartment. There's a haze of stubble around his jaw and a crease in his
brow - he's had a bad few days since last he and Talia spoke.

The apartment is decorated now. There's still ample space for her
practices, but there's also furniture, and high quality at that. As if
she's somehow come into a decision, and by her mind, found a place for
herself. She rises off the couch. Her arms crossed, she slowly lowers her
eyes to a pile of disks and tapes on her coffee table. She looks back up
at him. "You need no longer concern yourself with a compromise of your
identity." she says simply. The way she looks at him tonight - uncanny,
intense, as if to study every nuance of movement, voice, or expression.

Batman's mouth tenses a little. He approaches and shows by his movements
that the fatigue is bone deep. "How?" he asks, simply.

Talia's eyes momentarily show sympathy, and then smooth over. "I got in, I
got the container they were all held in, and I got out. One of Two-Face's
men got a rather nasty concussion, and I heard one of them mention they
would have to face his 'coin'." she shrugs a touch, and then leans over a
moment, carefully selecting a disk. She holds it between two fingers, in
front of her without extending it. "Our dance." She doesn't extend it, but
her body language is clear. If he wants it, he has to step forward and
take it.
Talia oh's softly. "There's also a few interesting things I managed to
learn along the way. I'm sure we'll get to that before our conversation
ends." She still holds the disk, watching him.

Batman steps over and reaches for the recording. If there's any indication
of relief as he touches it, its buried deep under doubts and dark
thoughts. He nods quietly and takes it, making no comment to praise or
codemn the action.

Disbelief floods her face, a certain incredulousness. "Do you want me to
leave Gotham?" she asks abruptly. "Is there nothing I can do to prove to
you I have had to let go of many things in the past? That will let you
permit yourself even the slightest feeling for me? Fine." she reaches down
and picks up several pieces of paper, practically shoving at him. Her
breath chokes as she continues to speak. "I did background checks on all
of these people. First of all, this is only half the people on the
invitation list. And second, every one of them is clean. As clean as their
sort can be, at any rate - not corrupt. Not a single one is considered
less then a good person, or at least, not a bad one." she thrusts it out
at him. "And since this is all I am useful for to you, you might as well
take it and get out." She's angry. She's really angry. And she's hurt. And
it's truely, truely unfortunate that as the cliche goes, she's beautiful
when she's angry.

Batman holds the disc loosely in his hand. He narrows his eyes a little,
studying the patent expressions on Talia's face, frowning pointedly. He
then takes the papers and turns, walking back towards the corridor he
arrived from. About halfway across the floor, he swivels on his heel,
glaring over a shoulder. "Your father visited me a few nights ago." Its
not an accusation, but a warning. "He entered my headquarters with his
latest 'Ubu' and threatened Alfred."

Talia looks absolutely stunned. "What?" she whispers. "No..." she looks to
the side, trying with all her strength not to cry. She only succeeds
partially - what falls from her cheeks is done with only silent
acknowledgement. She takes quick steps forward. She even dares to grab his
gloved hand. "I came to this city because I wanted to find you. Because I
wanted to make things right between us, Beloved. I do not know why he is
here, and I do not know how he even found you, or if he's after me.
Please...if you have any love left for me at all, please believe that."
she looks away, "It is just like him...even by destiny's hand, he robs me
of the one man that completes me - for revenge, for control...who knows.
But it is done, and you will never touch me with a loving hand again." She
lets go of the glove, and the dam bursts. She shifts away, so plainly
begging him to prove her wrong with the way she can't quite turn
completely turn from him. Fists at her sides tighten. Good chance when he
leaves, there won't be a piece of sculpture or crockery left in one solid
piece.

Batman reaches up and removes his cowl, slowly, carefully. His hair is
disheveled and unkempt, his chiseled features worn down. His eyes still
have the intensity of the boy in the alleyway years before, however, their
blue gaze steady and cold. "He came to taunt me with the knowledge that
you were here, in my city. He also implied that he has yet another one of
his mad schemes prepared, one he intends to be the last." He pauses, then
adds, with a somewhat fatalistic air "He and his thug got away, of
course." He takes in a slow breath, looking gloomily at Talia for a
moment, then moves over, gently taking her shoulders and turning her to
face him. He meets her gaze, brow furrowed. "Talia - listen. Listen to me
carefully. You're blameless. Your being here has nothing to do with his
plan. He said as much, and I believed him. I know him well enough to know
that he meant it when he said you were no longer part of his plans."

Talia shakes her head. "It doesn't matter. To you he is a taint I shall
always carry." she lifts glistening eyes to his. "I am pariah to you
because of him, and you will never trust me, no matter what I do. Even if
I tried to help you stop him. Even though I became a prodigal daughter for
love of you." she looks down at the hands on her shoulders and says, "I
have been in your city for just a few months, and now, the first time you
touch me of your own free will, it is because of him. Not for any passion
torward me, but for your passion torward stopping him." she shakes her
head. "The truely sad part is, I understand it. I always have, and you
know it. Look at us," she says bitterly, "Two children who will never, try
as we might, be rescued from the shadows our fathers have cast over us,
for good or ill. The shadows are very cold, Bruce. Very cold."

Bruce Wayne is silent for a long moment, but the look on his face shows
the truth that resonates in Talia's words. He closes his eyes for a
moment, speaking in a smaller, quieter voice. "I know, Talia. But I need
the cold. I need it. It keeps me alive. Keeps me going." He relaxes his
hold on her shoulders, opening his eyes slowly, looking briefly at the
floor, then back at her tearful eyes. "I'm like your father in more ways
than I care to think about, really. We both have an impossible mission we
want to enforce on the world. And we both use you. Cruelly. I am sorry,
Talia."

Talia looks at him for a long moment. "If you do not kiss me before you
leave," she says, "I will never forgive you. And if you stop after that,
you will never be able to forgive yourself." This is it. The moment that
will perhaps, define them both. And it would not be a far stretch to
realize, that should the husband refuse the Prodigal Wife....perhaps the
Father will accept return of the Prodigal Daughter. Very quietly, she
says, "I know you need the cold. But I need your warmth." It's as if her
very soul hangs, for good or ill, between the two of them, hanging heavy
on his choices within the next few moments.

Bruce Wayne says "Talia..." softly and leans forwards, as if to argue the
point. His eyes traverse the face of the woman before him, his head
tilting faintly. A hand moves up to cradle her cheek and he caresses her
hair. Then, with the inevitability of the beginning of a storm, he kisses
her lips. It is a longing, deep kiss - one that's obviously been waiting
for a long time but has a long history behind it.

One kiss becomes many, becomes a carress, becomes passion that is
definitively, his and hers. The night is both far too short, and seems
eternal. But neither can deny that they are truely the better for it.
Oddly, it is she who awakens before he does, and spends the hours before
dawn watching him, touching him. She seems to know the moment before he
will truely stir to waken, and presume to leave her in slumber. She only
smiles, murmuring, "If you allow warmth to grow in only a single place,
allow it to grow with me, Beloved." and lays her head down. She is asleep
by the time he wakes up, and silently takes his leave.