"You want a baby? With me?" Bane stared at you blankly, the canister of venom he was using to replenish his supply falling to the concrete ground with a thunk.

A bebé?

With him?

He was the man who broke the Bat. The King of Santa Prisca. A feared, monstrous man who could break a lesser like a popsicle stick.

A baby.

With him.

It was complete insanity. His venom addiction was too severe, what if it hurt the baby? Or you? Or what if he was never meant to have children? He was born and raised in a prison, his own father had abandoned him as a child. He would never live with himself If he abandoned another the same way. It was not what a man did, what a father did- What if he could not protect them? What if he could not teach them? What if he was not made to nurture, but was just made to destroy? His hands were too stained by blood to hold a baby, too large to not harm one if he had it.

With him.

Yet, when you asked the question, he was flooded by these things, these anxieties, these fears. He was never afraid of anything, not in his ruthless, bloody life.

"...with me?" He asked, softer this time as though to clarify that it was him you were asking. Not some unseen someone else more deserving, more nurturing.