Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You chose this story because you might have thought being romanced by THE Bruce Wayne sounds like a not-so-bad idea. He's rich, he's hot and a total bad boy type. He also doesn't have any siblings nor parents that you need to deal with so you will never experience the evil in-laws trope.

You're not wrong. But it's not all glitters and rainbows either.

If that doesn't disinterest you yet, well I guess you're in for a trip down my memory lane in dealing with the-- entrepreneur, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist-- Prince of Gotham, Bruce Wayne. 

It all started when the tabloids ran amok with the story of how this rich son of Gotham mentioned how he is interested with the idea of having someone to share his wealth with. Someone who "Doesn't mind him throwing his wealth away on parties," as he said. It got women all over Gotham head over heels on trying to win him. It meant they'd have a chance with him---with his wealth. His very existence boiled me.

"He's so shallow!"

"Yeah, he is. But you didn't need to rip that page to shreds. I bought it and I haven't read it yet," Monica, my colleague, snatched the paper.

"Tomorrow, there's gonna be a movie premier downtown. He's definitely going to be there so after school, I'm gonna drop by a rental shop for this beautiful dress that I'm sure he won't be able to take his eyes off of," the blue sky mirrored her eyes while she gazed upon them longingly.

"Yeah and then you'd run into the sunset together and braid each others hair," I reached over my table to retrieve the food complaint file with a laugh "That's so rude. If I could just bump into him one day, I would definitely be able to get him!" Monica laughed too but she was also very confident in her looks and physique.

She had the dream body, long eyelashes and hypnotically blue eyes. She could've easily been a top model or an actress. "I hate to break it to you dear, but you need to remember...," even so, no one is perfect. "... we're teachers. We don't have time to deal with people like him," and that's because...

...5 days a week, we would wake up earlier than everyone. We'd need to pack our lunches and rush to school before the gates open. We need to make sure every class and toilet were safe and empty.

Once the bell rings, we need to stay in class and make sure our students could learn. That's the least tiring thing. What takes up most of our energy is making sure these students make it to the end of the day alive.

In Gotham, even schools weren't safe. We're usually either hostages to bad guys or threatened by people who wanted to relieve their stress by swinging their guns around. At least twice a month, the police would come to our school because of these situations. We've lost so many teachers because of that and it's highly likely that we might be next. It's the worst job in Gotham right after being a banker.

And yet, rich people like pretty boy here can go anywhere he wanted in this world but chose to stay in Gotham even though people like us, don't even get that choice.

"Look! They got a picture of Batman on this page," Monica exclaimed. "Where?!" I had lunged myself at her. In the crime section, half of the page was covered by a man in darkness. His figure was barely seen even with my eyes squinted.

"It says here that he barged into Penguin's club last night and caused quite a wreck. It's a good thing we didn't go there. You would've thrown yourself at him and get him caught," Monica joked.

I wouldn't do that. In public. If it's private, sure, maybe--- most likely--- but that's not important.

"Geez Monica. It's not everyday we get to see Batman in action," I reached over to my desk and grabbed a pair of scissors. "Yeah you can cut out his photo...," she sighed.

"You have to be realistic here. He's a vigilante. No one knows his real identity and he might actually be, you know...," her voice dropped to a whisper. "...deranged," "MONICA!" "What?! It's not impossible!"

Once I'd cut out the picture, I folded it nicely and tucked it in my purse. "Well, you need to be realistic too. At least Batman has a calling for justice and can throw a punch. What does Bruce have?" I tilted my head with a smile.

"Hmm, gee, I don't know, shitload of money," her smile extended from ear to ear. "You got it," "Aaand he might be a good father since he adopted Dick and Dick has been a great student as of now," Monica added.

"Would you be a good stepmom to him though?" I asked. She scrunched her face. "Okay, fine. Maybe I'm not cut out for the Wayne family," she surrendered.

After school hours, I would take my scooter home but that day, I chose to stop by the market. I could've chosen another day but I chose that day. Which was a mistake. A big mistake. 

I saw a new recipe online and it got me dying to try it that very night so of course, I went to the market for that very purpose but the ingredients were a challenge for me to find in that store that when I got out, the sun had long set.

My scooter that I parked outside was gone. Gotham was a small island and the scooter had a bright pink seat so it won't be hard to find in the next few days but walking home would be the biggest challenge.

Nighttime in Gotham was like another universe. Gangs would roam the streets. Electric shops that were still open would be the main target for a robbery. People who dressed like they don't belong would be the main character for the night because it meant they don't belong in Gotham nightlife.

That day, that person was me. 

Barely a few steps after I left the store, I can see a group of masked teens following me from the corner of my eyes.

You might think that it'll be fine, I'm an adult.

Wrong.

Those teens were armed. Nightlife people were always armed.

If I do anything, there's a potential I'd anger them, they'd chase me and most likely kill me after stripping me from everything I had. Yet, if I don't do anything, they'd follow me, corner me and then strip me from everything I had.

I'd live to see another day but I would've spent my days regretting that I survived that.

I need to lose them. 

I glanced at the sky. No Bat signal. Good. It meant there's nothing too dire that needs Batman's attention nor the police's.

I could go to the police station.

Wrong again.

Police here were incompetent. If they were competent, Batman wouldn't have existed. 

Focus.

There were 4 teens in total. I couldn't fight them because I didn't know any self-defense and don't have any weapons. I know that's really dumb for someone who lived in Gotham but, in my defense, I'd only been here for about 2 years and I was a teacher so I don't really have the time to do anything else.

The more I think, the further my legs brought me away from my home and we ended up in the middle of Gotham Central Park.

Shit.

And the masked teens were gone.

Double shit.

Seconds later, they knew I realized it. Surrounded by the trees, using the shadows to their advantage, the teens started hooting and hollering at me.

My heart was pounding.

My hands rummaged through my purse and, conveniently, an idea popped into my head as my fingers latched onto a few items.

The bushes shook.

A shadow jumped out and dashed straight towards me. I pulled my hands out, my lungs forced out all the air inside while I press both triggers of my perfume and lighter, causing a stream of flame right onto his face and hair. His scream left the other 3 shocked but cemented their aim for the kill. 

I should've died that night, but I didn't. I, thankfully, didn't.

A small red figure dropped from the sky and triple KO'd the other 3 in a single breath and a wide smile. Once he was done with them, he turned to me.

When he saw my face, his smile dropped in a blink of an eye. He took a step back. "Wait!" he froze as I said it. I reached into my grocery bag.

"I want to thank you," I bought a packet of candies for my classes. Since this person who saved me was about the same size as my students, I assumed he'd like it too.

He stretched out his hand as far as he could and grabbed the candies. "Thank you teacher--," he bit his bottom lip.

"You know me?" I asked. "I mean, who doesn't know you? You're like... the best teacher in Gotham!" he laughed nervously. "Really? That's quite a big honor," I gazed as long as I can.

His hairstyle, voice and body looked very familiar. His red tunic and yellow cape were really a questionable choice for someone who would lurk in the dark. "Say, are you a vigilante too or do you like... dress like this for fun?" I wondered. 

He showed a constipated look. A face so common in the classroom when a student doesn't know how to answer a question. His mouth then gapped with a finger pointed behind me. He shouts "It's Batman!" 

"WHERE?" I turned.

Nothing.

I just got played by a child. 

Monica burst into a fit of laughter. "It's not funny!" hiding my face in my jacket. "You have to admit that the kid is very witty,"

"He could've just said that he couldn't answer my question and leave politely instead of tricking me. How did he know to use Batman as bait too? That's so unfair!"

"He's a child," Monica calmed down. "He might be witty enough to trick you but he's not mature enough to be polite to make an escape. To think that he'd know you're a teacher too--- that kid must've done his homework. What if, you know, he's one of our students?" 

"Hm, possible but highly unlikely. None of our students can hide from us and this kid is a pro,"

"Cuz he used Batman as a bait,"

It's no use telling her about this story. She'd always focus on the wrong things.

"The point is--- I think he's Batman's sidekick,"

"I don't think he's the type to work in a team plus, what made you think that?" Monica sipped her morning matcha and melted on her chair.

"Well... they wear masks,"

"Everyone wear masks in Gotham," she snickered.

"He can do one of those acrobatic movements,"

"Batman can't do acrobats so it's unlikely he'd be able to teach his sidekick that. Maybe he's just another hero-wannabe. Don't worry. The press will make a coverage on him sooner or later," she patted my shoulders and went off to her class.

The bell rung and that's signal for me that I was late for mine.

It's my turn to watch over the students during recess and usually, students had their own groups to do everything together except for one kid.

The only kid with no lint on his clothes and hair always slicked neatly with no imperfections. He didn't take the cafeteria food as usual and would only eat from his lunchbox which was always perfectly crafted by a personal chef. 

"Hey Richard!" he looked up at me when I greeted him. "Teacher, you can just call me Dick you know," he seemed nervous. "What's for lunch today?" I smiled.

"Today, Alfred gave me something Japanese," "Japanese? Like a bento box? How come?"  "He said he wanted to try something cute for once," he opened his lunchbox and everything was so colorful and the smell was delectable.

"Wow! He's so cool. Alfred sounds like he can do anything," Dick smiled at my compliment. "He's great. If you'd like, I can ask him to make one for you," Dick was always the perfect student. Even if he had a sucker of an adoptive father.

Alfred was more of a father figure to him than Bruce. Albert was his emergency contact. Alfred was the one who made his lunch. Alfred was the one who helped him with his homework.

Bruce?

He just took all the credit like all rich people do.

"That's so nice of you but I don't really eat other people's cooking. You see, I'm a picky eater so maybe you can have Alfred write down the recipe instead," I said. "Okay!" he didn't seem as nervous as he was initially.

When Dick first came to this school, everyone knew who he was. The Flying Graysons.

It only took him one night to lose everything he had ever known. Such a sad fate for a brilliant child. Most of our students here had experienced some kind of trauma so he should've been able to mix well with the other kids but no.

The other kids didn't like the fact that he, out of all people in Gotham, got adopted by Mr. Wayne. They thought it was unfair. He wasn't even born in Gotham.

"Richard," his blue eyes shot up to meet mine when he heard his name. "If you need something, don't be afraid to call me, okay?" "Okay," he smiled. 

He already had Alfred and Mr. Wayne at his beck and call, and even though Alfred was enough as a father figure for him, he might still need someone to give him the motherly love. Something that Bruce can never provide.

Monica sent me home in her sedan that day. After cooking my own dinner, I got a call from an unknown number. I left it alone until it reached voicemail.

"I know where you live," the voice felt like sandpaper to my ears. "You hurt my friends so now, I'm going to hurt you," the voicemail ended.

I peeked out my window and saw someone standing on the other side of the road. It was the teen whose hair I burnt yesterday. He had a sickle in one hand and a gun in the other.

I should've rented somewhere safer but the rent would be a bit higher than the one I already had. I had only a kitchen knife in my bag and the teen was a fast runner.

I can slip past any crowd but he's persistent. He really wanted to kill me. He kept shouting at me and shooting everywhere. Everyone had to make way for him to save themselves.

I kept asking other people for help but no one wanted to put their life on the line for a stranger. 

The cold tile beneath my feet felt like thorns. I couldn't feel my face anymore. It was so cold. My hand still gripped at the knife in my bag but I still hoped I won't be needing it.

I ran and I ran until I saw a bright light in front of me and a huge crowd dressed in thick black cloths.

People just came out of the cinema. That's right. There's a movie premier. But there'd be children there. It won't be safe for them.

Right before I reached the crowd, I took a turn into one of the most darkest street I've ever seen. What's worse was that it was a dead end. 

"Dumb bitch," the teen laughed. "I finally caught up to you,"

"Please, if you do this, you're going to throw your life away," I tried reasoning with him but it only made him laugh even more.

"You're not the boss of me," he pointed the gun at me as he slowly walked closer to me. "Beg for mercy and I might spare you," he's so close, I can smell the tonsils in his throat.

"Please don't kill me," 

His hand flew up to my head and threw me to the ground. His heavy boots slammed against my head.

"Let me go...please. I promise I won't report you to the authorities," he laughed after hearing that.

"As if you can do that. I am the authority," he flung his leg back and kicked my face, sending me rolling against the wet tar. He raised his gun again. "Die you bitch!" 

The sound pierced through my ears.

I braced for the impact that never came.

Instead, I felt small hands touching my face. 

Someone yelled out my name.

I opened my eyes and the same soft blue eyes that greeted me this morning greeted me again but with such sadness, no child should experience. "Richard?" I wiped my face.

"Oh no... don't look at me right now. I'm not beautiful," I laughed, hiding my face beneath my palms.

He held my hands tightly. "No, you're always beautiful," his hands were shaking.

I was a bad teacher. I made a kid cry. 

"Can you walk?" someone else was there with us.

I peeked between my fingers and saw the teen grimacing on the floor far away from us. The other man, his polished shoes now clouded by the puddles. The edges of his kashmir coat was wet. His previously slicked back hair had some strands escaping. He lend out a hand.

I took a deep breath and pushed myself up. "Richard, you should go home. I'll be fine," I wiped his tears away. "You're bleeding," he looked at my head.

"It's just a scratch," I did feel something warm trailing from my scalp. "We'll give you a ride home," the man spoke, trying to put himself closer to me.

I took a few steps away from him but my head was spinning. I held my head, trying to keep it all together. "I can walk home from here, Richard... so you go home," my vision started to get hazy and everything felt like lead.

Even breathing felt suffocating.

In the back of the alley, the teen managed to stand on his legs. With the scythe in one hand, he took a leap.

None of the other two noticed it.

I mustered up the last bits of energy I had left and lunged towards Richard's adoptive father. I pushed him away as much as I could and reached my hands above my head. The swing came too fast that my mind didn't process before my body could react.

The blade craved itself within the skin in my hands. The weight of the scythe tore through my flesh and blood trickled down my arms.

I wanted to let go but I can't let Richard lose another parent even if I hated the man.

The man swung his fist forward and sent the teen flying back but the damage was done. My head spun one last time before I lost all consciousness.

Chapter Text

My body felt light. I felt the warm sun peeking through the curtains. The blanket over me felt cool and soft too. When I took a deep breath, my room smelt like toasted vanilla which it shouldn't have. I forced my eyes open and noticed the ceiling very high. The bed was very big and the door was very far too. When I tried to pull my body up, my muscles tensed. My hands were bandaged and every move felt searing my fingers. I was connected to an IV drip and my throat felt very dry. How long was I out? I remembered that I was chased to an alley and the Wayne's saved me but I didn't remember anything after that.

I grabbed the cold metal pole and stumbled myself out of the room and down the long hallway. There was nobody except for the random paintings and sculpture decorating the walls. The corridors felt endless, warped almost. My spinning head and weak knees making it harder for me to move. I had to lean myself on the wall for some balance. 

"Miss...," 

His sudden voice pierced through the silent halls. I turned around. My knees barely able to balance. He tall physique stood half way down the corridor, shoulders filling the empty space like he's part of the decorations. "Mr. Wayne," I hoarsely replied. In three long strides, he closed the distance and now towering a full head above me. His eyes flicked from the IV drips to my face and I hid my dried out lips. "Did you have a good rest?" his voice was low and smooth, polite but I'd still be careful with the likes of him. "I slept well. How long was I out?" I maintained my sight away from his face. Such a face was too dangerous to be seen this close. I could smell the cologne he wore on his neck. "3 days. Dick wanted to make sure he's with you when you woke up but he still needed to go to school," Bruce was more talkative than she thought. "I reckon this is the Wayne Manor?" I try to remain polite. After all, he's still a client of our school. "You're correct. How'd you know?" he peeked to catch my gaze but I looked away. "Lucky guess," biting my inner cheek to force the burning spite I had for him. "You were hurt and unconscious so we brought you here to recover," he pulled himself back. "We?"

"Dick and I--- and Alfred, our butler. He arranged your stay here and has been taking care of your needs while you were unconscious,"

"I appreciate it but I can't afford to owe anyone... especially you," the pole rattled under my unsteady grip. Something flickered across his expression. "You're not. I am," his voice sounded gentler. "You saved my life and it is, I, who is indebt to you," his lips extended from ear to ear but his eyes were cold. "I'll consider you to have repaid me. I'd like to go home now," the longer I stood, the weaker my knees felt.

"Sorry, but I can't let you do that. At least not until you've healed," was it because of him being taller than me... or was it because of our social statuses... but I really hated that he's looking down at me.

"Mr. Wayne, I can take care of myself and I'm more comfortable in my own homes," my fingers stung when I gripped the metal pole harder. His eyes flicked from the pole to my face again. "I'll consider your request once you're able to walk on your own without an IV drip. Until then, stay here," as if he's talking me down from a ledge. "For Richard," he added. 

Hearing another word uttered through his lips could make my ears bleed but I can't get rid of Richard's sad image from my face. 

Bruce's hand hovered, then settled gently over mine on the pole. Rough but warm. The pole was steadier with his gentle grip. "Let me take you back and we'll need to replace your bandage. I think you've opened your stitches," he uncovered my palms. The bandages were stained red and my fingers were practically screaming in pain. "Okay,

He carefully stitched me back neatly as if he's used to it. Right before he could bandage my hands, I stopped him. "Where can I take a shower?" "You don't need to worry about that. Alfred have arranged a maid specifically for you to assist your daily life," he sounded so casual just telling me I should depend on someone.

"Can I reject that offer?"

"You can. But Alfred won't approve it," there was a slight smirk.

"I hear you and I don't want a maid,"

He arched a brow. "Why?"

"I don't like to depend on anyone," 

For a brief moment, there was a silent chuckle. "Okay," he finished wrapping my hands and stuffed all the items back into the first aid kit. "I'll inform Alfred about this. The bathroom and toilet is down the hallway to the right. If you need help, Alfred's room is downstairs by the family kitchen. If you're bored, the library is down the corridor where you found me," I simply nodded with every instruction. "I'll have Alfred send food to your room for now," "About that...,"

I'd rejected so many things from him, would he think I'm purposely being hostile to him?

"What about it?" his voice firm. "No, nothing," I couldn't bring myself to tell him. I stared at my hands. "Thank you, Mr. Wayne," "You're welcome, Miss,"

Richard was delighted to find that I'd woken up. He had told the other teachers about the incident and how Bruce had written a formal letter to the school about my current situation which they agreed to give me 2 months of medical leave. It's rare for my school to be so generous with sick leave but it's Bruce who asked for it. His request could generally be a formal order and they can do nothing against it. The perks of being a rich man. 

Richard went on to entertain me for the next few hours. He showed me all of his acrobatics tricks he learnt before he ended up at the orphanage. It's something he'd always wanted to show me at school but never got the chance to. Now that I was practically bedridden, he finally had his chance. Then two knocks ended our little entertainment. It was Alfred with a bowl of soup. He placed it on the bedside table with a silver spoon inside.

The soup stared at me eerily. "I'm sorry Mr...," "Call me Alfred," "..Mr. Alfred but I can't eat food that I don't cook," Alfred looked bewildered at my confession. I smiled awkwardly. "It's... complicated but I don't feel safe to eat someone else's cooking. I'm so sorry,"

"I understand. However, with those hands, how will you cook?"

"I can fast until I recover. These IV drips should be enough for my glucose too since I don't use much energy," it sounded so dumb but there's nothing I could say to ease the situation. He glanced outside the room as if someone was waiting by the door. "I understand," he said, taking the bowl away.

Richard, who heard everything, asked "Did something bad happened when you ate someone else's cooking?"

I thought for a while and figured telling him won't bring any harm. "When I was a little girl like you, there was a family gathering that I attended. Everyone brought a dish to be shared. Well, someone brought something that shouldn't be eaten but everyone else ate it except me. Everyone got sick because of that but everything is fine now," it was the truth but just not the whole truth. Richard seemed to believe it when he nodded attentively. "Well, Alfred is a great chef. He won't ever serve something inedible," he said. "And that sounds great but I'm just wary. Make sure you don't tell your dad about this," I made him promise. He then ran off to the kitchen for lunch.

A short while later, my peace was interrupted by the man of the house. "Mr. Wayne," I greeted. "I heard your little story from Dick,"

Shit.

He brought the same bowl of soup from before. Light steam floated due to the heat from the soup. He pulled a chair and sat right next to my bed. I could see the faint scar among the stubble on his chin. He brought a spoonful to his lips before taking a sip and swallowing it. "It's not poisoned," he said a few seconds later. "Why are you going to far to care for me?" Is this how he flirted with other women whenever he's out of the house?

"I've told you before. I'm indebted to you. The least I can do is to treat you until you're fully cured and without food, you won't be able to fully heal yourself," he was stern this time. Probably annoyed by my hostility. "I've told you before that I've considered your debt is repaid,"

"It doesn't work like that,"

"Then what will it take for it to work like that?"

He took out a straw and placed it into the soup. "Eat,"

I pursed my lips. "Fine,"

It took all the strength within me to drink the soup until the last drop, but if Bruce was able to eat it and was fine, it should be fine for me too. "I'm done," I handed him back the bowl. He smirked. "Good girl," and left.

Heat rose up to my cheeks.

I threw my face on a pillow and screamed as loud as my lungs could. He won this round but I'll make sure to defeat him next time.

That evening, I wanted to take a long bath before dinner. It's been 3 days since I last cleaned myself and I felt sticky. With the drip pole assisting me, I slowly made my way to the bathroom. I turned on the hot water and let it fill up the tub. I couldn't really scrub myself with soap so I was hoping the hot water would suffice. I made sure to lock the door before stripping and dipped into the tub.

All my worries and aches were soaked away the moment the water reached my neck. Only my head and my hands were left out.

Once I was done, I wrapped myself clumsily in a bathrobe, struggling to balance the tension from both feet and cradling my back against the wall. My hair dripped trails down my neck, and the bandages on my hands were soaked through, heavy and useless. I couldn't tie the straps together but just held the front closed with my elbows. The moment I opened the bathroom door, a shadow filled the corridor.

Bruce was leaning against the wall as if he’d been waiting.

I froze, clutching the towel tighter with my elbows since my hands were useless. His eyes flicked once to the damp, unraveling cloth on my fingers before meeting my face. It's clean but dangerously wet. He didn’t speak immediately. He just… looked. And somehow that was worse.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he said finally, low and even, as though trying to keep his annoyance in check.

“It was just a bath,” I shot back, voice sharper than I intended.

“It was reckless,” he corrected. He pushed off the wall, taking two slow steps toward me. The closer he got, the more I noticed the faint creases at the corner of his eyes — concern dressed up as irritation. “Wet bandages mean infection. Infection means fever. Fever means you'd collapse again, and I’m not planning to drag you out of another bathroom.”

Heat pricked at my face, though not from the bathwater. “I don’t need you to drag me anywhere. I can take care of myself.”

“Clearly,” he murmured. Then, softer, almost as if he regretted the bite in his tone, “Go back to your room. I’ll change the bandages.”

Before I could argue, his hand brushed against my elbow, steadying me just enough to make me realize I’d been swaying on my feet. I wanted to jerk away. I wanted to prove him wrong. But instead, I let him guide me, towel and all, down the hall — hating how much steadier the ground felt when he was beside me.

Back in the guestroom, I sat on the edge of the bed, my damp hair clinging to my skin while Bruce sat across from me with the first aid kit open, his sleeves rolled to his elbows. “Hold still,” he said, leaning slightly forward to get a closer view of my palm while I can count the amount of scars on his supposed to be polished skin. His movements were precise, deliberate — like every motion carried weight. He peeled away the damp bandages slowly, his touch careful but firm. Every tug and pull stung, but I refused to make a sound.

“You don’t have to act like it doesn’t hurt,” he murmured, eyes flicking briefly to my face.

“And you don’t have to act like you’re in control,” I shot back.

His lips twitched, not quite a smile. I won this round.

He slid the fresh gauze into place, movements precise, almost practiced. I caught myself staring at his hands — steady, deliberate, the kind that didn’t belong only to a billionaire socialite.

The thought distracted me just long enough that when he tied off the final wrap, the robe slipped loose at my collar. A breath cold of air touched my chest. I shivered while his gaze faltered — for the briefest second — and I felt the burn of it like a spark against skin. His hands froze. For a breath, neither of us moved. His eyes flickered upward, catching more than I wanted him to, then flicked away just as quickly, disciplined. His ears, however, betrayed him — tinged faintly red.

Then a polite knock at the door made us both jolt. Alfred stepped inside with a tray. “Dinner, miss.”

He rose smoothly, slipping back into his armor of composure. I covered my little exposure with my palms, heart hammering so loud it drowned the clink of porcelain as Alfred set the tray down.

“Thank you,” I whispered, not sure if I was thanking Alfred for the food or for ending whatever almost had just happened.

Bruce took a smile bite of each dishes. "You're good to eat. Everything is safe," his voice steady again.

Alfred took the liberty to spoon-feed me even though I'd rejected him a few times. He said it's part of his responsibility. He informed me that I still need to eat solids so soups will only be served for lunch. I had to negotiate with him the things that he'd do for me. He seemed to get the idea but he still insisted and didn't want to negotiate. He's more persistent than Bruce himself. He seemed more like Bruce's father than a butler.

After dinner, there was nothing else I could do except surrendering myself to the plump cold pillows. The manor was huge but it felt empty. Well, that's not my problem. I was just a guest and in 6 weeks, I'll be out faster than they could say bye. 

Chapter Text

On my fifth day there, I'd renounce my rent in my old apartment and was currently looking for a new rental somewhere safer once I could leave the manor. My belongings were all packaged and stuffed into a container store south of Gotham and unfortunately, my phone was one of the things in there. I couldn't request Alfred to retrieve it so I'd make do with the facilities they allowed me to use like the computer in their library. Alfred had made lunch earlier for me since he mentioned he needed to run some errands downtown. He didn't mention anything about the man of the house and it's 11am so theoretically, he should be in his office in Wayne Enterprise.

I used the chance to enjoy myself in his astounding collection of books. He had most of the rare collections including but not limited to Tolkien's first editions and the early editions of Shakespeare. Quite an unexpected feat coming from the man who frequented bars more than educational institutions. Every shelf was organized according to age group and genre, while the books were arranged alphabetically. I pulled a hardcover one from the adult section which I assumed was a standard educational book but I was wrong. It was The Republic by Plato, annotated in neat, narrow handwriting along the margins. Notes on philosophy. Counterarguments. Whole pages of commentary. It's unlikely that Bruce would be the type of person who'd read something like this. Albert would be too busy. Richard was too young. Yet, the person who owned this book had deeply consumed the contents of this book from cover to cover. This wasn’t for show. Whoever owned this book actually read it. Studied it. 

“You’ll find the margin notes more interesting than the book itself.”

His voice carried easily in the quiet room. I jumped, nearly dropping the volume. Bruce had been leaning against the doorframe, jacket off, tie gone, a few buttons undone, looking far too at ease in a place that screamed solemnity. "I didn't notice you were there," I forced a smile, pressing the book harder to my chest. My tongue itched to say something less polite, but I had to swallow it down.

“I have that effect on people,” Bruce replied smoothly, stepping further into the room. “I have the ability to make myself invisible sometimes you know especially in quiet places,” “Or perhaps you simply don’t belong in them,” I said lightly, hoping it would pass as a joke. His brow arched. “Strange. You say that while holding my book, in my library.”

I cleared my throat and straightened. “Yes, but I meant—well… you don’t exactly strike me as the type to spend hours in solitude with books. I mean look at you,” I gestured to his physique. "A man like would usually be surrounded by other... stuff,"

That earned me the faintest flicker in his expression, almost imperceptible. His smile stayed in place, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Stuff," his deep voice reverbed through the eerily quiet atmosphere. "And what type of man do I strike you as?” he asked.

I hesitated. A reckless playboy with too much charm and money for his own good. But instead I answered carefully, “The type who seems… busy elsewhere.”

His gaze lingered on me, sharp enough to make me wonder if I’d overstepped. Then, unexpectedly, he gave a soft chuckle. “I see. A man who doesn’t belong in his own library.”

I lowered my eyes. “I didn’t mean it unkindly,” his chuckle at my comment left a sweet lingering bitter taste on my ears. “Good,” Bruce murmured, his voice deceptively calm. “Because I don’t take offense easily.”

That was a lie, and we both knew it.

“You surprise me, Mr. Wayne,” I said finally, letting the edge of honesty slip through. “For someone who lives surrounded by noise and light, your library feels…oddly quiet--- like a hideout.”

His eyes lingered on me as if weighing something unspoken. “And is that a compliment, or a criticism?” his brow lifted, his tone measured, teasing but sharp.

“Neither,” I answered, tucking the book back into its place. “Just an observation. I wouldn’t want you to think I was judging.”

His lips curved faintly like a smile dragged to his face. “You already are.”

I smiled back--- so polite it could've been a wall. "I don't intend to sound rude so I hope you can excuse my casualty," 

I did the readings in my room. Obviously I won't want to spend another second in the same room as him. But, to think that he of all people had read this, it sounded so wrong. The clock struct 1 pm and my body had started to feel weak from hunger. I took off my IV drip, confident that I could move on my own without any assistance. Slowly stumbling on my feet to get to the door. It's difficult but I just needed some practice. As soon as I reached the bottom of the stairs, my knees were already shaking. Now I just needed to drag my body to the kitchen and pour myself a bowl of soup.

Once I reached the kitchen, Alfred still hadn't come home yet. It's fine. My fingers still hadn't healed yet but the pain should be bearable. I should just be very careful to not let the stitches unravel again. I reached for the ladle, fingers trembling as I tried to grip it properly. As I expected, the pain still stung but it wasn't too unbearable. Today's soup  seemed more like a stew. The broth was thick and had a lot of chunky solids floating around. The scent itself was warm and smelled of home, but the handle felt as heavy as an iron bar.

A pair of hands filled my vision, grabbed my bowl and the ladle. "Try not to exert your finger so much. I doubt you'd like me to restitch you again," Bruce placed the bowl on the dining table and went to get his own bowl of soup. "I appreciate the concern but again, I don't need any help," I brought myself to the dining chair. He placed his bowl right next to me and sat with a smile which I reciprocated. "You don't need to be polite with me. Neither Dick nor Alfred is here. You can be honest and just confess that you hate me,"

I glanced at him. His smile unwavering. He completely saw through me but, subtlety had never been my strongest trait. 

My fingers fiddled the spoon. "I thought corporate would be more... indirect,"

“I’ve learned it’s better to be upfront,” he said, lifting his spoon with infuriating ease. “Besides, Dick used to tell me about this teacher whom has never been able to hide her feelings from anything. For example, like when the cafeteria served food with ginger, or when a kid made a fart joke, or when she really hates one of her student's dad,” "You made that last one up. I doubt Richard notices that," "You'd be surprised at how much the kid had matured over the last few months," 

"Well, a teacher should be worried when she notices a very bright student of hers with a very... questionable father figure,"

"A teacher," he leaned slightly forward. "Should mind her own business,"

"If we minded our business and ignore the future of our children--- especially from incompetent parents--- we might as well go behind bars for being complicit of child neglect," my voice rose louder than I intended.

His brows furrowed and his voice dropped an octave. "This isn't about Dick, is it?"

The air snagged in my throat. I just stared at my light reflection on my stew, untouched. I closed my eyes and took a deep quiet breath.

My fingers shook as I lifted the spoonful of stew with a steady smile "Not at all."

"Well then," he leaned in and plucked the spoon from my hand before it could touch my lips. He took a bite and swallowed it. "It's not poisonous," he slid back the spoon into my bowl. "How long do you intend to keep this up?" I groaned. I could see how many women fawned over him. He smiled as if it's a daily occurrence. "A good host ensures the safety of his guest, or in this case...," he gestured to me up and down. "...patient. Even from a stew," his tone was all smooth and civil.

I rolled my eyes with a short gasp. The audacity of this man.

"Well most hosts would just ask whether the food is fine,"

"Well I'm not most host. I'm Bruce Wayne,"

I let out a long sigh, a wry smile creeping up to my cheeks while he remained with a proud smirk.

He started eating his stew while I waited until he finish it and leave me alone. The stew was thick, the spoon was too heavy for my fingers, and my stitches throbbed the thought of balancing it without making a mess on the table. I'd decided to start eating once I was alone.

I took a glance at him, making sure if he had finished eating or not. He did. For a while now.

"Are you waiting for something?" I asked. His gaze flicked from my hands to my eyes. Without a word, he took the spoon again, dipped it back into the bowl, and held it out between us. My head snapped toward him. “You can’t be serious. I'll just wait for Alfred to come ba-," "He won't be back until dinner," his voice was maddeningly calm. “It’s this or you starve. I don’t imagine Alfred will be pleased if he comes home to find you passed out on his floor again. Especially not to me,"

Heat crawled up my neck. “This is humiliating,”

His mouth curved—half a smirk, half a challenge. “Then consider it motivation to heal faster.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but he’d already lifted the spoon closer and touched the edge of my lips, patient as though I was a stubborn child. I would prefer to smack his hand away and just run back to my room but I couldn't disagree with my stomach any longer. I leaned forward and took the bite.

The stew was warm, comforting. His gaze, infuriating. If we weren't under his turf, and if he weren't so rich and powerful, I would definitely enjoy a writing a diss track of him.

He waited for me to chew, his expression painfully unreadable. When I swallowed, he dipped the spoon again. He seemed to be enjoying this. “You don’t have to look so smug,” I muttered.

“I’m not smug,” he said, lifting another bite. “I’m efficient.”

“That’s one word for it,” I leaned forward again, more reluctantly this time, and he tilted the spoon with maddening care—as though I might break if he wasn’t precise. He must've thought I was just a frail woman. No. I wouldn't even be categorized as a woman in his dictionary.

“You know,” I said after swallowing, “for someone who pretends to be incompetent with responsibility, you’re very good at playing caretaker,”

His brow arched, his hand steady. “And for someone who insists she doesn’t need help, you’re very good at playing patient,”

His tone wasn’t rude—it was soft, almost too soft. It's boiling me whole.

Before I could retort, the spoon was already waiting again. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?" I tried to compose myself.

“Only because you’re not spitting it back at me,” he said smoothly, drawing the spoon away. His eyes lingered where the spoon touched but only for less than a second. “Don’t get used to it,” “I won’t,” he dipped the spoon once more, steady, patient, maddening. “But you might.”

My breath hitched—not enough for him to notice, I hoped. “You’re insufferable.”

“Efficient,” he corrected again, lips twitching.

The rhythm continued—his hand, my silence, the bite, the chew—until I realized I had almost finished the bowl without touching the spoon once.

And then—

The sound of a door closing downstairs, the faint shuffle of Alfred’s steps echoing in the hall. Bruce set the spoon down with an ease that felt rehearsed, as though nothing unusual had happened at all.

By the time Alfred appeared at the kitchen doorway, Bruce was already reaching for his own bowl, expression carved into perfect composure.

“Lunch went well, I see,” Alfred said, eyes glancing from my flushed face to the nearly empty bowl in front of me.

Bruce smirked faintly, the kind of smile only I could notice, before answering with practiced nonchalance: “Surprisingly efficient,”

When he left, I felt a sudden emptiness in the atmosphere. Something I had never felt before and only he could make me feel this way. Such a feeling that cannot be described by anything else except a single word. Yes... 

Loathing.

Chapter Text

The clock read a little past nine. I had been pacing my room, unable to shake off the strange feeling left from lunch this afternoon. His spoon against my lips lingered in my head far longer than I’d admit and I hated it. I needed a distraction. Something that could bring me back to comfort and bliss.

Remarkably, my legs were no longer as weak as they were before. As if all tension and fatigue had washed away somehow. Did Alfred put something in the stew? Whatever it was, it's doing wonders to my health. So I took the chance to leave my room for the second time today. I peeked my head out and there was nothing but silence. Everyone must've gone to bed.

I crept down the corridors, past the library and down the stairs to the main study where the recent newspapers were placed. Similar to the library, the study was packed with books and documents related to things I shouldn't be nosey about. There's also a very old grandfather clock leaning on one side of the room with nothing else beside it. An odd placement but it's probably a rich people thing. 

After a minute of looking, I found it in the form of a folded newspaper Alfred had left on a side table. The front page screamed across the fold:

“BATMAN FOILS ROBBERY DOWNTOWN — CRIMINALS DELIVERED TO GCPD TIED IN CHAINS.”

My breath hitched before I even realized it. My hands reached for it as if it was calling me to read it. 

Batman.

The city’s silent guardian. Gotham’s shadow of justice. Someone who didn’t look away when corruption slithered under every stone. Someone who believed, like I did, that rules mattered—order mattered—and that no one, not even the worst of this city, was allowed to drag everyone else into the dark. He was my beacon of light through my dark days of living in this godforsaken island.

While everyone else in the school thought education was something unnecessary, I believed that perspective could be changed—and that I could be the one to change it. When I almost gave up, he showed up—not in my classroom, but in the streets, reminding me that even in Gotham, change was still possible.

I traced the grainy black-and-white photograph with my eyes. Only his silhouette, cape flared against the light of a streetlamp. Yet somehow, he looked… dependable. Like an immovable truth this city had long forgotten. Sometimes, I wonder why he would go through such lengths in saving Gotham but he must've seen the possible bright future this place has to offer, just like I did with my students. 

“You’re a fan.”

The voice snapped me from my thoughts. I turned, startled, to see Bruce leaning against the grandfather clock with only two pieces of towels covering him. One for his shoulders and the other for his bottom half. His hair was damp, as though he’d just stepped out of a shower, but there was a weight to his posture—like he just got out of a fight. 

I folded the paper too quickly, heat creeping to my cheeks and my fingers stinging from the sudden movements. “I respect what he stands for. Gotham needs him.”

He stepped closer, pouring himself a shot of whiskey from the sideboard. The glass clinked against the decanter, unhurried. His expression was unreadable, but there was the faintest tug at the corner of his mouth.

“Ironic,” he said finally, taking a sip.

I blinked. “What is?”

“That you can admire a man who hides behind a mask… and yet despise someone who shows you exactly who he is,” his tone was casual, almost lazy, but his eyes didn’t waver. His gaze pinned to mine like a cop interrogating a suspect. The only light source was from the table lamp by my side, hardly strong enough for me to be able to see his full expression.

My throat tightened, and I forced a small laugh, though it sounded brittle in my own ears. “That’s hardly the same thing.”

“Maybe not,” he said, looking down into his glass. Then, softer, almost to himself, “Or maybe it’s exactly the same.”

The words settled like lead between us. My breath caught, and I looked away, unsure if he’d meant it as an accusation or an observation.

“You look tired,” my voice came out softer than I intended. “I’ll leave you alone.”

I placed the newspaper back where I found them and stood, careful not to meet his eyes. His silence followed me out of the library, heavy, watchful—like he hadn’t decided whether to let me go, or whether he wanted me to stay... like he might say something—something that pressed at the edges of his silence. But no words came. Only the low sound of liquid pouring into glass, and then the steady hush of him drinking it down.

I didn’t look back.

On my sixth day, my fingers finally bent--just a little. I tried not to give up at the sight of my hand twitching around the cup Alfred has set out for me. He had drafted a recovery plan for me to make sure my tendons were working well, after all, "You are Master Dick's favourite teacher," he said. He really knew how to motivate people. 

We waited in the drawing room when the Wayne family doctor arrived not long after breakfast. He was a very old man. Walked around with a stick and smelt of medicine and mint. He poked and prodded, reviewing my stitches, adjusted my bandages, and murmured some clinical reassurances which I couldn't tell if he meant healing well or getting worse. Though my stiff joints and pulsing cuts would lean more on the latter.

I caught Bruce leaning in the doorway during the visit, arms crossed, face maintained brewing calmness. Just watching.

When the doctor left after a short talk with Alfred outside, Alfred reentered the drawing room with his usual tray--this time no food, just papers and a phone. His expression remained towards me but his shoulders carried the kind of weariness I'd only ever seen in teachers on parent-teacher meeting day. "Sir," he began, voice low. Him and Bruce exchanged a whispered discussion. Eyes flicking at me every few second. My ears could only pick up a few words like "press", "guest" and "gossip".

Gotham loved a scandal, especially when it centered around the billionaire playboy. This time, my name would be in the same title with him.

"They won't hear a word from us," Bruce finally spoke loud enough for me to hear. "With respect, sir, they'll find ways to dig deeper into this. Her life as an educator would be at stake," Alfred frowned. Bruce didn't look at me, but I felt the weight of his decision pressing heavier than his shadow. "We'll give them something to make them look away. Her reputation stays clean,"

It was oddly protective. Something I hadn't expect someone like him would do.

Alfred inclined his head back, though the flicker of disapproval didn't leave his eyes. "Very well. I'll continue running interference but it won't hold forever. They will find out eventually so it's best to have a place once that moment arrives," "I know," Bruce's voice remained solid and confident but laced with uncertainty. The air already felt so heavy by that time. I knew I shouldn't have said anything but they're talking about what they should do with my life, my future. Even if they knew better, I should also have a say in it or at least, know the plan.

The cup felt colder and suddenly heavier in my fingers. I pried my lips open even when my heart felt the heavy. "I appreciate the consideration... Mr. Wayne. Though I respect your methods of deferring the press, shouldn't I be included in this conversation?"  keeping my tone even, careful and respectful. I wouldn't want him to think I was insulting his experience. 

His jaw flexed, unexpectedly. His eyes throwing daggers at me. "Don't make me laugh,"

The sudden tremors of my fingers made it harder to stabilize the cup I'd been holding. I could manage unruly students, parental complaints, even the politics of a crumbling school—but him? His glance carried a weight that could erase months of careful work in a heartbeat.

My eyes flickering elsewhere, anywhere but at him. I could see Alfred saying something to Bruce but my ears had failed to pick up what he said.

in this room, in this world of Gotham’s wealth and influence, my usual skills were powerless. He didn’t just judge me—he could shape what everyone else thought of me, and there was nothing I could do to control it. He could put my name in the center Gotham, he could also erase everything that I was. That was the power of Bruce Wayne.

My chest tightened, and a brief catch lodged in my throat as I swallowed the sting, forcing my hands still. My eyes flicked down to the cup before me, refusing to meet his.

I can protect my students, navigate my school, maintain my dignity—but here, in this world, I am small.

The sting lingered quietly beneath the surface, a reminder that even the strongest resolve could feel fragile in the presence of someone like him.

My throat clenched. "I'm sorry," but it wasn't enough to cut silence between us. The weight only thickened until Alfred cleared his throat, breaking the moment.

Bruce’s gaze lingered for a moment, unreadable.. The sound of his shoes clacking against the hardwood floor was louder than his voice when he finally spoke. "Alfred will see to it that all yours needs are met," and then he was gone. The door slamming shut behind him, dropping the tears I hadn't realize I had been pooling.

Alfred, ever gentle, collected the cup as though nothing had happened. “He’s just worried, miss,” his voice calm, patient. “Master Bruce has… unusual ways of showing it.”

I gave a small, humorless smile. “Unusual is one word for it.”

In just a day, I memorized Bruce's movements in the manor. He'd usually wake up late and go to Wayne Enterprise for about 2 hours. He'll come back home and lock himself in his study for the whole day. Only coming out for dinner and back to his study sometime until past midnight. It gave me a chance to avoid him for the next three days. Alfred's schedule for me was helpful too and it made sure our movements won't ever collide. 

However, that day, I got hungry. Too hungry that I couldn't sleep. I looked at the clock. It's almost 1 am. He should still be in his study since I hadn't hear his footsteps to his room yet, but if I could just make a run for it, he won't even notice I went to the kitchen. Would Alfred mind if I take some biscuits from the shelves? I'll tell him in the morning. Right now, my stomach was hurting so much, I could taste the gastric juice.

Slowly, my bare feet padded against the cold floor as I made a quick trip to the kitchen, careful not to wake anyone. I passed by the second library where Bruce's study was and rushed down the stairs. It was dark everywhere, except for the muted glow of the wall sconces.  I glanced at every direction, making sure no one was there except me.

When I reached the kitchen, I had to admit--I didn't know where Alfred store the biscuits. However, I saw something better sitting in front of the kettle---a few packs of instant cup noodles. It wasn't something I'd expect to see in a very old manor but if it's edible, it's edible.

I took the liberty of preparing myself a cup noodle and I promised myself to tell Alfred about it. Or maybe leaving a note would be better. He might be a 4am type of morning person and would question why a cup noodle was missing. Yeah, I'll leave a note.

Just as I was about to take a bite, a shadow shifted near the doorway. “Good evening,”

My stomach jumped, my feet froze against the floor. I whipped around—and there he was. Bruce. Standing in the dim light, a cardigan slung over his shoulders, hair damp with sweat, shirt collar undone, hands casually tucked in his pockets. His body posture screamed tired.

My face heated instantly. Of all the times to run into him, it had to be now. For a second, neither of us moved. The silence stretched, heavy with something I couldn’t name. I swallowed whatever emotion in my throat "Sorry, I was hu--,"

“You don’t need to avoid me,” he said, his tone calm, yet somehow pointed.

I blinked, mouth opening and closing. Avoid him? Me? Pfft… I laughed awkwardly, forcing a hand to the back of my neck. “Me avoiding you? Ehe… no, I just… never noticed you at all for the past three days.” as if he's going to believe that.

His face was shadowed but I could swear I see him smile.

I’d hoped my little maneuvers were subtle. Alfred must have told him everything—how I ducked behind vases, couches, even walls, every time our paths crossed during recovery sessions. My cheeks burned hotter. Clearly not.

“I see,” he said softly, almost to himself. “Interesting method of survival.”

I swallowed, clinging to the cup noodle like it was a lifeline, wishing I could disappear into the shadows I’d so carefully studied.

“I’m sorry.”

"Huh?"

His shoulders were squared. He stepped into the light. Eyes tired and conflicted.

“For what?” the words slipped out before I could stop them.

His jaw tightened. “I should’ve said it differently.” he's referring to that comment he made.

"Don't make me laugh,"

I forced a small smile, though it felt light on my lips. “It’s okay. I understand your concern… you’re more familiar with the press. I shouldn’t have questioned your professionalism. After all, I'm just a teacher,” my voice was steady, but I meant every word I said. 

Something flickered in his expression. Surprise, maybe. Or disappointment. I couldn’t tell if it was directed at me—or himself.

I nudged my cup noodles at him. "Would you like some?" he didn't reply but just stood there. "I just thought, you look tired and maybe hungry and I have food--well technically it's your food but I made it so... I mean if you want," maybe it's because of the brooding silence but I couldn't stop my mouth from blabbering. "If you don't want to eat then that's okay too. I mean, you're obviously very tired and I'm sure just listening to me yapping just adds on to the tiredness--if that makes sense," 

“You really talk a lot when you’re nervous, don’t you?”

I flushed, feeling my ears burn. “I-I just… I didn’t want to seem rude or… inconsiderate.”

He took the seat right next to me, brushing his fingers briefly against mine to hold the cup. “It’s fine,” he said quietly, taking a careful sip. “Thank you.”

I watched him, my heart thudding in that awkward, fluttering way, and realized… maybe he wasn’t the intimidating, untouchable figure I’d been avoiding after all.

In fact, when he's not speaking, he's quite good-looking. His hair was perfectly black. His eyes were deep and had a nice balance between charming and daunting. Almost the splitting image of Superman but in a more... haunting way. 

"I hate you," 

It was so sudden and out of place. His eyes shot up, locking with mine. I gasped, my hand flew to cover my lips. "Who said that?" feigning ignorance. A chuckle slipped past his lips. "Who said that?" he repeated.

"What?" I gazed, innocently.

"You just said..,"

"I don't know what you're talking about,"

He leaned in slightly, a small smirk forming. “Interesting… I could’ve sworn it came from right here.” pointing to my lips with the spoon.

I laughed awkwardly, trying to regain composure. “I think you must’ve imagined it.”

He hummed quietly, amusement flickering across his eyes.

Chapter Text

It's been almost two weeks now and my hands had mostly healed. I didn't need to be concerned about the stitches unraveling again nor the risk of infection. All that's left were light bruises and recovery therapies since my tendons had forgotten how to contract and expand. I might actually be able to help Alfred with chores now or do my own laundry. The idea of a man---even if he's a butler--- cleaning my garments wasn't something I was comfortable in. Because of that, I'd been wearing very loose clothing to avoid anyone for noticing I hadn't been wearing any undergarments. It's uncomfortable having to crouch every time I cross paths with them but I couldn't let Alfred clean them, and I definitely couldn't let them marinate in sweat until I could wash them myself.

I wore a loose white shirt and a long jean skirt. I felt like wearing makeup today but knowing my hands, I could just do a very simple look but that's fine. I'd been playing patient for too long, I started to forget how to present myself visually. If I let myself go while I was in this manor, I might lose myself.

In the family dining area, I helped Alfred setting the plates. He told me to prepare 4 plates today. "Won't Bruce usually have his breakfast in bed?" I asked. "Usually. However, he had a midnight snack last night so he would be waking up a little earlier than usual," Alfred sneaked a smile at me. He definitely knew.

Moments later, Bruce and Richard came downstairs. Both equally lethargic and barely keeping their eyes open. "Good morning Master Wayne, Master Dick,"

"Good morning Alfred...,"

"Mornin' Alfred...,"

Bruce sat at the head of the table while Richard and I sat next to him but across from each other.  I took a beignet from the pile that Alfred cooked. Then out of no where, Bruce grabbed my wrist and brought my hand to his lips before taking a bite of it. Richard audibly gasped and Alfred froze from behind the kitchen counter. "It's not poisoned," he casually said and took a bite out of his own beignet.

"What was that for?!"

"I was checking whether there's poison in your food," I mean, yeah, like he always did but...

"Did you have to take my wrist with you? You could just take it from my hand instead of... whatever that was,"

He smirked. "Where's the fun in that?"

I tried to maintain my composure while Richard had already scrunched his face over his father figure's morning flirting. "Mr. Wayne, please don't flirt with my teacher in front of me," "Would you be more pleased if I did it behind your back?" Bruce chimed as he sipped his coffee. "Maybe not that either. I mean, it'll be unfair to other women if I have the higher ground," I held my cheeks, acting shy. Bruce was about to make his shot but Richard cut him off.

"Speaking of unfair-- my history teacher gave us a paired assignment that's due in two weeks and everyone's already paired up,"

My gaze shifted to him. "What do you mean, everyone? You don't have a partner?"

He shrugged. "No one was willing to be partnered up with me," he didn't seem to mind it but there'll be a commotion if he didn't have a partner and ended up doing it himself. He'd be accused of having someone else to do it for him.

My brows furrowed and lips instinctively pouted. “Well, of course. The popular kids get picked first. Always," I picked up a single mozzarella ball. "Don't quote me on this but...," I pinched a small bite and handed it to Bruce. "Did they have brains or not?”

Richard hesitated. “Um… yes?”

“Don’t make me laugh. They were—”

“Popular,” Bruce cut in smoothly, taking it and popping it into his mouth. 

“RIGHT,” I slammed my other hand on the table which I instantly regret. Alfred grimaced at my excitement. The pain pulsed through my palms which I had to cover my mouth to avoid any sort of sounds to escape. Holding back my tears while Bruce was quick to take the 'injured' hand to run a quick analysis. "You're fine," he breathed. "But it hurts so much," I squealed, biting the insides of my cheek. "You'll be fine," he repeated.

Richard grinned for the first time that morning, eyes bouncing between us. “So… you two do agree on something.”

Bruce chuckled “Don’t get used to it.” Alfred cleared his throat softly. His gaze landed on me, then flicked to Bruce. The message was clear.

After breakfast, Alfred allowed me to assist him in some chores. Though getting my hands wet was still out of the question, he allowed me to wipe the dishes dry instead. "Miss," Alfred called. "Since the day is fair, I thought you might enjoy some fresh air. Master Bruce will join you," he glanced at Bruce who was still sipping him coffee with newspaper in hand on the dining table. "Join me... for what?" I blinked. 

"There basket, shears and pruning scissors are in the garden shed. The flower beds near the gazebo are due for tending. Some light trimming, nothing strenuous. Fresh air aids recovery, you'll find," "Gardening, Alfred?" Bruce arched a brow. "Character building," Alfred replied smoothly "Now off you go,"

And just like that, Bruce and I---two unlikely companions---armed ourselves with shears, clippers and an awkward silent thick enough to hear the wind bustling against the leaves.

The sun was just about to reach its peak, the October heat barely made a change in temperature. "I have to say," I glanced at the blooms lining the path, flower bushes in careful rows, and plants bending in the breeze. Albeit not having the flower itself in the middle of Autumn, the dried leaves gave the overall garden quite a picturesque aesthetic. "Your garden's beautiful. Alfred really does it all doesn't he?" 

"He does more than anyone should, but the flowers?" he gestured at the beds, fingers brushing the air. "Those choices were mine," his mouth slightly tilted. His eyes proud.

The gravel crunched softly under our steps as we head toward the gazebo, a basket of tools swinging in his hand between us.

"So the infamous Bruce Wayne secretly moonlights as a gardener? Next you'll tell me you crochet,"

He didn’t answer right away. Just glanced at me, the corner of his mouth barely twitching, before finally deadpanning, “Don’t spread it around,” but his eyes hinted a little humor. 

I rolled my eyes, though the silence between us didn’t feel quite as sharp as it used to.

The bushes lightly tugged at my skirt. "I wonder---is there any reasonings for you to decide the flower you put here? Or do you choose it based on the aesthetic?" "Mostly because of its uses. Alfred tends to use a lot of spices in his cooking so I figured growing those spices would be easier for him," "I see," then something caught my eye. A large area of green foliage with nothing but a wooden sign.

Bruce seemed to catch it. "Alfred planted that one last year," "What plant is it?" "I believe it's Canterbury Bells," "Canterbury Bells,"

A plant native to the mountains of Europe.

"Has it bloomed yet?" “They’re biennial. But they should bloom just in time for spring.” "I never thought you'd be the kind of guy who'd had the patience to wait two years for anything,"

"Some things are worth waiting for,"

Something in his tone brushed against my ribs and settled uncomfortably in my chest.

I cleared my throat. "Is it a girl?"

His eyes cut to me, quick and sharp, and for the barest moment, something slipped through. But then it was gone, shuttered, smoothed over into calm composure.

“Not everything comes back to romance,” he said evenly.

I laughed “You're right” with an attempt to escape the topic, I plucked the shears from the basket with clumsy fingers, holding them awkwardly against the stems.

Bruce stepped closer, adjusting the angle of my grip. “Here,” he murmured, voice low, steady. His hand placed over mine briefly, guiding. Barely pressuring them but just enough to move them.

I never noticed his hands would be so defined and more calloused than I expected.

Before I could say anything, a sudden chill touched the back of my neck. Shivers ran up my spin. "Wha-- what did you just do to me?" I shrieked. Surely, he's not thinking of trying to do things to me. "I didn't do anything," he looked as confused as I was. 

A soft patter sounded against the gravel.

He tilted his face skyward. A single drop landed cold on his cheek, then another. Within moments, the rain spilled down in sheets.

"Come on," Bruce threw the shears away, clasping my hands--not roughly, but firmly--as he guided me toward the gazebo and the end of the path.

We burst into the gazebo, half-laughing, half-gasping from the sprint. The rain didn’t just fall—it crashed, soaking us through in seconds. My hair clung to my face, water dripping down my neck. His shirt darkened to nearly black, outlining the cut of his shoulders, the lines of muscle I was definitely not staring at.

Then his gaze caught mine—and faltered. For the first time since I’d met him, Bruce Wayne looked… unsettled. His eyes flicked down, fast, then away again. Heat rose up my neck, sudden and sharp.

Oh. Right. White shirt. Rain. Bra.

Wonderful.

I tugged his cardigan tighter, trying to smother the blush crawling up my cheeks with humor. “Relax, Mr. Wayne,” I said, forcing a crooked smile. “I won't do anything to you. Aren't you supposed to be more used to this by now?”

His jaw tightened, a muscle ticking like he was caught between smirking and frowning. For a man who’d probably dated half the Gotham social registry, he didn't react as I expected.

"Don't tell me this-," he looked away the moment I was able to draw an assumption. "-is what makes you nervous,"

Silence pressed in with the rain. He turned his head back. His deep set eyes found mine again, steadier and clearer.

“I never cared much for any of that,” he said quietly. No defensiveness. No smirk. “Most of those women… they only liked the idea of Bruce Wayne,” "Is that not you?"

"Only what I show them,"

The phrase lingered. I didn’t know what to do with that. My mind was blank but I felt something.

So I forced a crooked smile. “Well. Lucky for you, I’m not exactly interested in the ‘idea’ of Bruce Wayne.”

He raised a brow, rain still drumming against the gazebo roof. “No?”

I shook my head, tightening his cardigan around me like armor. “I can’t even stand the real one most days," I joked. "You can't do this, you'll risk an infection... or... you don't have to act like it doesn't hurt... blablabla you're very annoying," I mimicked him from how I remembered him. "I don't sound like that," for a heartbeat, I thought I saw the corner of his mouth twitch. "Oh really? Well Alfred would disagree," I copied his tone again.

And there it was.

For the first time since I arrived here.

He laughed. A laughter that left too quickly than when it arrived.

And something in my chest… shifted.

I turned away to hide the sudden warmth rising on my face, wringing water from my skirt as the storm battered against the gazebo roof, thunder rolling somewhere in the distance. My pulse hadn’t slowed since the run—but I wasn’t sure it was entirely to blame.

The rain hammered against the gazebo roof, drowning the world in white noise. My soaked shirt clung uncomfortably. The October wind seeping through every seam. I rubbed my arms briskly, trying not to shiver.

Bruce tugged off his cardigan, the fabric damp but warmer than the air, and draped it over my shoulders without a word. His hands lingered—just for a second—at the edge of the fabric, hovering but untouched, as though making sure it wouldn’t slip.

“Thank you,” I murmured, softer than I intended.

"You're welcome," he then lowered himself onto the bench across from me, elbows braced on his knees, water dripping in slow motion from his hair.

His gaze found mine, steady and unyielding—set into a face that was far too striking for its own good. Every line of his face carved sharper by the dimmed light, every inch of him built to draw attention.

I swallowed hard, suddenly too aware of how close he was, how easily the weight of his presence filled the gazebo.

I fiddled with the cardigan sleeve, acutely aware of the warmth it carried, his warmth.

I should’ve said something—anything—to fill the space. But the storm outside pressed closer, and for once, neither of us seemed willing to break the quiet.

Before another second passes, I slid across the bench and leaned against his shoulder.

He went stiff.

Body heat is a good source of warmth too,” I said lightly, as if I weren’t counting the thundering beats of my own pulse.

For a second, I swore he almost lifted his arm—like he might put it around me. The tiniest twitch, hesitation caught mid-motion. But then… nothing. He stayed as still as the stone columns around us.

“…Practical,” he murmured at last.

"Efficient," I corrected.

The wind cut sharper through the gazebo, and when I noticed his hands resting stiffly on his knees, I didn’t think—I just reached for them.

His fingers were colder than I expected.

I brought them close to my lips, cupping them between my hands, and blew a soft stream of warmth over his knuckles. Again, and again.

His breath caught—not loud, but enough. His hands stayed rigid in mine, as though he wasn’t sure whether to pull back or hold on.

“Warming you up is going to take forever,” I murmured, focusing on the task instead of his eyes. “Bigger frame, more surface area. Not exactly efficient.”

When he finally spoke, his voice was low and composed.  “I think a smaller body would be easier to freeze than a bigger one.”

I huffed, pretending I didn’t notice the weight of his penetrating look on me. “Then consider this charity work.”

The rain lasted barely fifteen minutes, but it was enough to soak us through. By the time we reached the manor steps, Bruce’s cardigan sagged heavy on my shoulders.

Alfred stood at the door, warms towels in hand though he hadn’t used it. His gaze flicked to the cardigan wrapped around me, then to Bruce, and though his face revealed nothing, I could feel his thoughts whirring.

“Sir,” Alfred said quietly as he handed Bruce a freshly folded Gotham Gazette. “This just came through.”

Bruce opened it, eyes narrowing at the front page headline:

“Bruce Wayne Accused of Teen Harassment — Mystery Woman at the Center?”

The grainy photo beneath the headline made my breath hitch. It showed Bruce lifting someone—me—into the back of his sleek car. My face was entirely obscured, hidden beneath his coat draped over me, but the implication was clear: whoever I was, I was involved.

“They couldn’t get a shot of her face,” Alfred noted, voice low. “But the speculation has already begun,” his glance flicked, just for a second, in my direction before settling back on Bruce. “And you know how relentless they’ll be, once they scent a mystery,” and this mystery was a potential scandal. 

Bruce’s jaw worked, but his expression stayed rigid. He folded the paper with a sharp snap and tucked it under his arm.

“They’ll find nothing,” he said simply, turning into the manor with that unshakable calm that made it impossible to tell if he was furious or utterly unmoved.

And just like that, I was left on the threshold—drenched, hidden under his coat in a photograph splashed across the city, suddenly the nameless ghost in Bruce Wayne’s latest scandal.

Chapter Text

Bruce set the paper down, jaw tight. He didn't even bother drying himself before diving into his work. “Our lawyers are already preparing a statement. We’ll control the narrative before it spreads further,” his fingers were quick to move on his laptop.

"Are you going to give them hush money?"

I bit my tongue. It was too direct. Too harsh.

His eyes lifted to mine, steady. “Is that how you see it?”

From the day I could remember, that's how the rich always do it. When something didn't go their way, they'd just give the money for them to shut up.

“Isn't that how this works? Whoever has the deepest pockets decides what’s true,” the words were already out before I could stop them.

The room fell quiet. Albert and Bruce just stared at me in disbelief.

My pulse beat in my ears. I shouldn’t have said that. Not to him. 

I quickly looked away, fiddling with the hem of my sleeve. “Sorry. Forget it. I just… got a flashback,”

Bruce didn’t push, but I felt the weight of his gaze linger. Is he convinced or is he questioning me?

Alfred cleared his throat delicately. “If I may, sir, the simplest course is to stonewall. Let the case die quietly, buried under better headlines. Gotham is fickle. Within the week, the papers will chase another scandal.”

“Stonewall…” The word echoed in my chest, heavier than it should have. I felt that old tightness in my ribs.

Don't reciprocate and don't give it any attention. People will eventually get bored with it since they'll think it's a one-sided issue. It sounded too much like the stories I grew up with. Families silenced, truths hidden.

I pressed my palms together in my lap, forcing my voice steady. “I see. That… does sound like the easiest way.”

Bruce’s gaze flicked toward me, sharp but calm. “It’s not about silence. It’s strategy. Letting the fire burn itself out.”

I nodded slowly, the tension easing. He was right. This wasn’t about buying people off or burying bodies—it was about refusing to give the scandal air. About letting me go back to being just a teacher.

“…Then I’ll trust your judgment,” I said softly. “If this protects my students from hearing my name in whispers, then I can live with that.”

Bruce’s shoulders lowered almost imperceptibly, and Alfred’s eyes softened—just a fraction—like he’d approved of my answer.

I wet my lips, careful not to sound like I was undermining Bruce or Alfred. “May I offer another option?”

Bruce’s eyes flicked toward me, steady and unreadable. Alfred inclined his head, the barest gesture of permission.

“What if we… simply tell the truth?” My fingers curled around the hem of my already dried shirt. “The boys harassed me. You intervened. We have the doctor’s records of my injuries. It’s not scandal, it’s fact. Let Gotham print the truth, for once.”

Alfred frowned. “Miss, Gotham’s appetite for truth is… selective, to say the least. They bend it until it screams.”

“I know.” I swallowed, forcing myself to meet Bruce’s gaze. It felt like presenting a business proposal than a casual suggestion. “That’s why we go further. We countersue.”

Both men stilled.

I lifted my chin, though my heart thudded hard. “Not for money. Just for a single dollar. It’s not about compensation—it’s about principle. About showing we’re not afraid to stand on the moral ground.”

For a long moment, the only sound was the tick of the grandfather clock.

Bruce’s jaw flexed. “You’d turn their game against them.”

I nodded. “They wanted a spectacle. Fine. But let it be a spectacle of truth. Not gossip.”

Something flickered in his expression—not quite approval, not quite surprise. But I felt the air shift, just slightly, in my favor.

Bruce’s voice cut low, firm. “No. It gives them more ammunition. A countersuit means depositions, statements, public scrutiny. Every word you’ve ever said in a classroom could be dragged out or they can frame you when you resumed working,”

I flinched, but kept my shoulders square. I wasn’t naïve enough to think Gotham’s press was kind—but wasn’t hiding worse? Eventually, someone will pick up the story again since it's left with a cliffhanger. 

Before I could speak, Alfred cleared his throat softly. “With respect, sir… she has a point.”

Bruce’s head turned sharply. Alfred rarely contradicted him outright. At least, that's what I noticed for the past 2 weeks.

Alfred’s gaze rested on me, then shifted back to Bruce. “Her proposal frames her not as the object of salacious rumor, but as what she is—Master Dick’s teacher, an educator, and a victim who was defended. That is a story even the most vicious columnist will find difficult to shred without revealing their own teeth. It'll also be good to your reputation,”

The weight of his words pressed through the room like a hush. For a moment, I almost saw Bruce falter.

The door clicked shut behind her, leaving the study in a silence only broken by the faint sound of her footsteps trailing away. Bruce stayed standing, jaw set, his gaze fixed on the fire like it had personally offended him.

Alfred poured him a drink before speaking. “It seems, sir, that Miss Vale’s paper was first to run with the story.”

Bruce’s eyes flicked to him, sharp. “Vicki?” a name he used to be so familiar with.

“Not directly,” Alfred corrected gently. “A tip was passed along. She didn’t… orchestrate it. But she didn’t stop it either. The paper smelled blood, and she is, if nothing else, a reporter before she is an ex.”

Bruce didn't budge from his spot like a bronze statue cemented to the floor.

Alfred’s tone softened, the kind he only used when treading over old scars. “It wasn’t personal, Master Wayne. Merely business. Though I daresay that distinction makes little difference when one’s name is in print.”

Bruce downed the drink in one swallow, throat working, but said nothing. His reflection in the window looked carved from stone but with cracks only Alfred knew how to see.

It's finally midnight again. Ever the rain just now, the air felt more chilling. Was it really because of the temperature or was it because of the morning newspaper?

Ever since I read that paper, I couldn't sit still. I couldn't enjoy my time with Richard when I should be helping him with his projects. I kept giving Alfred the wrong spices when we were making dinner.

The blanket Alfred provided for me didn't feel enough anymore. My body felt too cold. My feet kept looking for another heat source in this freezing temperature.

I remembered that Bruce had other guestrooms so he must've more blankets to spare.

I went out of my room and decided to see if Bruce was already asleep. I knocked on his bedroom door but only silence greeted me back. So, I went to his study room.

Before I knock, the study door creaked open, and there he was.

Bruce’s shirt hung low this time and was clinging in ways I tried not to notice. His broad shoulders tapering to a chest more voluptuous than a man with his schedule had any right to maintain. His hair dripped in uneven rivulets, one drop sliding along the pronounced curve of his Adam's apple.

He's ridiculously so handsome, I should sue.

I frowned. “Why are you always wet when you leave that room? There’s no shower in there.”

He froze, just for a second. Then his mouth curved very slightly. “Old pipes. That room leaks when it rains,”

My brow arched. “Only that room? Sounds like a design flaw,”

He stepped towards me. Just a single stride and I could smell what type of soap he used. Heat bled from him, mingling with the cool dampness radiating off his shirt.

It got my mind overheating just figuring out where I should look. If I look straight, I could be accused of being perverted. If I look down, I could be jailed for being indecent. I took all my strength to restrain myself from being tempted to look up where his eyes were.

“Maybe I just like the rain,” he said, voice pitched low, like it was meant only for me.

"A-ha-ha-ha," my laughter came out robotic. At that point, I couldn't think anymore. Everything was dizzying and having him being so stoic and fresh out of the shower didn't help so breathing exercises were out of the question.

It's because of the weather that I was acting this way.

My hands reached out to balance myself but ended up tugging to the sleeve of his shirt. The fabric was chilled, plastered to his skin. My fingertips skimmed his forearm through the cloth, a brief, accidental stroke. He was so warm, my fingers wanted more. 

Bruce went still, utterly still, but not like before. His eyes tracked my touch, darkening, pupils dilating. His breath on my face deepened, warmer and heavier than he wanted me to notice, and his jaw flexed like he was biting back the urge to close the space between us.

Everything felt loud when there was nothing but silence.

He didn’t pull away. He let me linger. As if to let me take what I want. 

My throat tightened. “You’re cold.”

“No,” his voice was hoarse now, betraying him, “not cold.”

The air charged, thick and intimate.

I finally raised my head to meet his eyes. His gaze flicked—once—to my lips, then snapped back to my eyes like he regretted it. But I’d seen it. That hunger, that almost-loss of control.

For a heartbeat, it felt like the house, the storm, the world had gone silent around us.

Then his phone buzzed.

The sound snapped him back. His shoulders straightened; the storm shuttered behind his eyes. He dragged his phone free with a clipped, “Wayne.”

I pulled back my hand, pretending my pulse wasn’t racing.

While he spoke—“politician… cover-up…”—his gaze flicked to me, hanging on whatever was there between us, burning, like even when he should focus on one thing, his mind couldn't stop going for what he wanted.

When he hung up, he stayed there a beat too long. Then, softly, rough at the edges—“Go back to bed.”

I spotted Bruce in the corridor the next morning, phone pressed to his ear, voice low and clipped.

“…Yes. Release it. No names—just enough for them to bite.”

He ended the call the second he noticed me, pocketing the phone like nothing had happened.

I fiddled my fingers nervously “Something wrong?” I asked carefully.

His eyes softened. “No. Just business.”

But by lunch, Gotham’s headlines weren’t about me anymore.

"Councilman Caught in Multi-Million Dollar Laundering Scheme"

“Wayne Family Takes Legal Action Over Defamation Claims”

I stared at the bold letters in shock. “This… this is about him?”

“Turned out, it was easier to turn him down,” Bruce said flatly, pouring himself a coffee as if we weren’t watching a scandal unravel in real time. “Thankfully our resources caught them in the act just in time,” sipping his coffee with Alfred humming in agreement.

By noon, the headlines had shifted. Everyone was too focused on the sins of the councilman that I was free from their lenses. 

I exhaled slowly, shoulders loosening for the first time in days. My name was nowhere. No grainy photos. No speculations. Just… gone.

Bruce folded the paper shut and set it aside like it was already old news.

“So it’s over?” I asked, searching his face.

“For you,” he said simply.

And that was enough.

I traced a fingertip over the margin of the paper, careful not to smudge the ink. “So they won’t come after me again?”

“They won’t risk it,” Bruce said. His voice was flat, certain. “Their father can’t afford the attention.” he leaned against the armchair.

Relief swelled in my chest, spreading warmth I hadn’t felt in days. A small, unthinking smile tugged at my lips.

“Thank you. Both of you. You and Alfred.”

His eyes flicked down at that smile, then back up at me. His arms relaxed imperceptibly, shoulders easing as he straightened. A muscle twitched near his jaw, a subtle exhale slipped past him, and his fingers flexed once against the armrest, betraying the rare stir of curiosity he couldn’t hide.

“You don’t owe me thanks,” he said softly, voice steady, but his gaze lingered longer than necessary, following the rise and fall of my chest as I settled back into the couch.

I sank slightly into the armchair, letting the paper rest on my lap. My hands weren’t trembling anymore. My pulse slowed. Relief bloomed quietly, a steady warmth spreading from my chest to my limbs. I was safe. For now. And that was already more than enough.

A Glimpse from Him

The cave was quiet. Too quiet.

The newspaper clippings on the Batcomputer glowed like they were still alive, headlines shifting across the screens—Councilman, cover-up, scandal. All neat. All handled. From CCTV's, ledgers, witnesses, everything was meticulously documented that no name slipped from the case.

It should have been enough. Case closed. Gotham moved on. She can return back to the life she had but he couldn't. Not after experiencing her.

Not the bruises. Not the trembling hands from that first night. Not the snobby remarks she always shot at him.

But the look she gave him earlier—so radiant and warm, it almost felt like the sun. She’d said thank you like I just saved her life.

He adjusted the cowl off his head and set it aside, jaw tight. He should’ve been running recon for tomorrow’s patrol. Checking inventory. Updating schematics. Instead, his fingers moved unbidden over the console.

Her name. Her records. Every breadcrumb Gotham had left behind about her.

Grades. University transcripts. Employment history. Old photos in grainy yearbooks. He lingered on one—her smiling, surrounded by other teachers, brightness in her eyes that even time hadn’t dimmed.

He zoomed in before wiping the focus off of his face. 

This wasn’t procedure. This wasn’t mission work. And yet—

“Dammit,” he muttered under his breath, pulling up another file.

If Alfred walked in, he’d have no excuse. Background check, maybe. Routine security sweep. He could almost hear Alfred’s sarcasm already.

But the truth pressed heavier than the cowl on his shoulders: he wanted to know her.

Not the victim. Not Dick’s teacher. Not the ghost in the tabloids. Her.

And that was dangerous.

His cursor moved again, almost automatically. Apartment records. Rental history. She was living closer to the Narrows now—dangerous territory, even with the border to Midtown.

He told himself it was practical. Necessary. If someone came after her again, he’d need to know where to find her.

That was all.

Security risk. Just another name to protect.

But he zoomed in on the scan of her application anyway. He could see the address in one keystroke. The handwriting at the bottom—her digital signature—shaky and a little curved, like she’d taken her time to write it. He stared longer than he should before moving on. Too easy.

He shut the screen off.

The monitors went black, his own reflection staring back in fractured pieces across the glass.

This wasn’t who he was. This wasn’t mission work.

He pushed away from the console, stood, forced himself to grab the cowl again. Focus. Gotham doesn’t sleep. You don’t have time for this.

But when he pulled the mask back over his face, her smile still lingered, haunting him like an afterimage on the glass.

Chapter Text

It's been 3 weeks since I left my students and I was starting to miss them. Richard would always share with me what he'd seen and did at school. How the substitute teacher would try and fail to manage the classroom. How the other students sometime ask him when I was coming back. Eventually they stopped asking when Richard kept telling them that if they miss me, they should just visit me. Of course, at the Wayne manor. 

Compared to the horror stories Richard probably made up the first time he stepped foot on school grounds. Of course, the kids didn't want to put their lives on the line and see if the stories were true or not just to see me. I didn't hear any stories about the teachers though which was surprising. I thought we were close enough for them to be worried about me, especially Monica. Not a single word from her. When I asked Richard about it, he just brushed it off. 

That night, I told Bruce about wanting to start working again and he didn't like the idea of that. "They've probably forgotten half the syllabus already," Richard chimed in. "And the finals is just around the corner. If she doesn't come back, her class might fail. Not me though. I'm always in the lead,"

"Richard is right. I can't let them fail just because I can't use my hands. Plus, I've recovered enough. I don't need bandages anymore and the stitches have already faded except for the minor bruises,"

"Your doctor cleared you for another week," Bruce didn't sound too unhappy though so that's a good thing.

"How about this--- I'll get off from work early and won't do any hard labors,"

"Hm...," the gears in his brain shifted. "Okay..," he agreed.

It felt like a small victory to have Bruce agreeing with me. Richard seemed delighted too.

"On one condition," Bruce added. "You must continue staying here until you're fully recovered,"

"Wha-," I wanted to reject it but seeing Alfred approving the condition, I didn't feel like I'd win if I negotiate even further. 

"Okay," I mean, I doubt I could fully stay true to my promise of not doing hard labor if I were to live on my own in my new apartment.

It's Friday and my first day back at school since that incident. Thankfully there was no major changes. I met my substitute for a while and informed me all the things she did while I was away. She complained how Richard was the toughest kid she had to handle since he kept going missing every 10 minutes which was new even to me. She gave back all of my documents with added notes in colored sticky pads and we bid our goodbyes.

During lunchtime, Monica dropped by my class with her own lunchbox. Since it's colder now, she's dressed in the most beautiful one piece wool dress with her hair up in a tight bun and a matching wool cap. "It's so good to have you back!" she beamed. Her body naturally wrapping mine in an embrace. "These last 3 weeks without you felt so boring. I had no one to talk to during lunchtime, and no one would back me up during meetings and there were soooo many meetings you missed," her mouth ranting on while her hands unclasped the lock on her lunchbox. "Um-- Monica..,"

"Oh! Sorry I forgot that you have a rule of not eating in class. Well, the girl who substituted you didn't mind so I just got used to it. Can it be just this one time? I'm sooo hungry,"

"Okay. I'll let you off this time but there won't a next time," 

She grinned. "You're such an angel," there was a slight rasp in her voice.

Just then, Richard came in unannounced. "Alfred told me to give you this at lunchtime," "Thank you Richard!" I rewarded him with a single piece of candy I had always stored in my classroom. Before he left again, I noticed him staring at Monica from the corner of his eyes. Though I doubt Monica noticed that. It's better if she didn't. 

Monica hummed. "You're quite lucky, aren't you?"

"Hm?"

"Well, the Wayne's saved you, treated you, let you stay with them and... giving you lunch to school," gesturing to warm lunchbox in my lap.

"I thought you hated rich people," she bites down on her sandwich. "Well... yeah but I don't think the Wayne's are those type of rich people,"

"Pfft," she rolled her eyes. "Did I say something wrong?"

"You've only known them for--what, three weeks? And you're already changing your mind about rich people. What happened to the--- rich people are the source of all problems, they're the seven deadly sins and all those capitalism talks you always do whenever the rich made headlines,"

"Monica... I just don't think the Wayne's would do something like that...," I murmured.

Her shoulder's tensed. "Don't you think you've gotten a little... I don't know... overdependent on the Wayne's? They're rich. They're not entirely good. They're very good at playing pretend. You of all people should already know that,"

And she's right. Rich people tend to have big dark secrets that they hide from everyone. The richer they are, the bigger the secret. But the Wayne's felt different and I'd like to believe it that way.

"Monica, you'd hate me for this but my gut is telling me to trust the Wayne's. They've been so kind to me," 

She sighed. "There's nothing in this world that could make me hate you," her voice was gentle again. "I'm just worried. If people think you're trying to be the next Mrs. Wayne, Gotham will eat you alive when that happens,"

I leaned back on my chair. "You're right...," 

That night, Bruce and Alfred had prepared the garden for a night picnic. Bruce mentioned that there's a meteor shower tonight, the sky should be clear so we should be able to see it. The manor was already far away from the city so we didn't need to worry about light pollution.

The garden smelled of smoke and rosemary, the skewers crackling softly over the grill. Bud-shaped lanterns swung from the tree branches, casting little pockets of gold against the autumn dark.

I breathed in deep, filling my lungs with the crisp air, the scent of char and spice.

“Smells good, chef,” I teased, stepping up beside Bruce. He held a pair of tongs with the same focus I imagined he’d use to negotiate billion-dollar deals, turning the skewers with measured precision.

One corner of his mouth tugged upward. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

“Oh, I’m not. I didn’t realize Gotham’s most eligible bachelor doubled as a grill master.”

From across the lawn, Dick groaned dramatically. “Please don’t encourage him.” He was sprawled on the grass, propped up on his elbows, tossing a football into the air and catching it with loud, lazy thuds.

Alfred appeared from the direction of the house, carrying an unopened bottle of red wine and two glasses. “I see the smoke hasn’t claimed the skewers yet,” he quipped as he set them on the side table. His eyes glinted knowingly as they flicked between Bruce and me before softening into their usual warmth. "I can do at least this much in cooking Alfred," "Yes, tell that to fire extinguisher we had to change every time you wanted a midnight snack," Richard and I cackled at Alfred's sassy reply while Bruce just rolled his eyes.

I leaned closer to the grill, inhaling. “Okay, I’ll admit—it smells better than anything I could manage.”

“Trust me,” Dick said, rolling onto his side. “She burns toast.”

I swatted the air in his direction. “Traitor.”

"Some people just don't have a talent in cooking," I added. "Cooking isn't a talent. It only takes practice. I'm 13 and already the better cook than both of you combined," Richard rolled on his back.

Bruce turned one of the skewers with a slow, practiced motion, the firelight painting his face in shifting amber. “He’s not wrong,” he said evenly, though the corner of his mouth betrayed the faintest smirk.

“Oh, great. Betrayed by both Waynes in one night,” I muttered, folding my arms.

“Not both,” Alfred interjected smoothly, pouring the wine into glasses with a measured hand. “I, for one, have no doubt you’d master the art of toast if given another decade or two.”

Dick burst out laughing again, nearly rolling off the lounge chair.

I bit back a grin, shaking my head. “Thanks, Alfred. That really helps my confidence.”

Bruce glanced up from the grill, and for a fleeting second, our eyes met through the haze of woodsmoke. There was something in his gaze—not mocking, not even teasing—something quieter. Steadier. It almost made me forget the warmth wasn’t just from the fire.

He looked away first, adjusting the skewers. “You’re better at other things,” he said simply.

I blinked, caught off guard. “Like what?”

He didn’t answer right away, letting the silence stretch as though he hadn’t meant to say it out loud. Then, with deliberate calm, “You’ve been good for Dick. For Alfred. Even for the house.”

I blinked at him, surprised at the softness tucked beneath the words. Then I laughed lightly, letting the smoke cover the sudden warmth in my chest. “Well, I'm glad I could be useful to all of you,”

“That’s not what I meant,” he said, finally glancing at me, his gaze steady in the lantern glow.

I hesitated, then smiled, a little relieved. “A friend, then.”

“Mm,” he said after a pause. “A friend.”

I turned toward the garden, lantern light gilding the hedges and gazebo in soft gold. “Well, I think I’ll get used to this.”

Behind me, the tongs clicked once against the grill. When I glanced back, Bruce was still watching me. For a heartbeat too long.

Alfred didn't stay though. After setting the glasses down with quiet precision... “I’ll leave you three to the sky,” he said, tone mild but eyes faintly amused. “The wine will keep,” with a slight bow of his head, he retreated toward the manor, his silhouette disappearing into the shadows between the lanterns.

Dick flopped onto his back, pointing upward at the sprawl of stars above us. “I think that one’s Orion. See? Belt, sword—boom. Easy.”

I squinted, following his finger. “That just three dots in a line.”

Bruce flipped the skewers and only glanced once at the sky. “He’s right. Orion. You can see the shoulders and legs if you trace them.”

I tilted my head back further, eyes adjusting, and—slowly—shapes began to form in the glittering dark. “Oh. I see it now.” not that I could.

“Can you find another?” Dick challenged. “Bet you can’t.”

Bruce’s gaze lifted, scanning the constellations with practiced ease. He raised a hand, pointing out a cluster above the treeline. “Cassiopeia. The W-shaped one.”

I searched, squinting again. “Where?”

He shifted his legs and moved behind me. His body not quite enveloping me but just enough for me to feel his body heat radiating behind my back, barely touching. His head rested on my shoulder, barely putting any weight but just enough for me to feel his breath on my ear. His hand trailed from my shoulder, down my arm and to my hand, guiding it to point up to the sky. “There.”

And suddenly, I saw it. The stars bent into shape, sharp and clear against the velvet dark. My breath caught—not just from the constellation, but from how near he was, the faint warmth of him at my back despite the autumn chill.

“Got it,” I whispered.

He didn’t move for a moment. Then, almost imperceptibly, he whispered “Good.” right into my ear.

My heart, please be still!!!

We stood like that until Dick let out a triumphant shout. “Found another! That one’s the Big Dipper—see? Even easier than Orion.” Bruce moved back to where he was before. 

I laughed, easing the tension. “Leave it to a thirteen-year-old to outdo us all.” he just smiled as if all that was nothing.

But even as I turned back to the stars, I felt the echo of Bruce’s warmth, lingering like the afterimage of a meteor yet to fall.

“Wait—look!” Dick shot upright suddenly, pointing skyward. 

A streak of silver tore across the black canvas of the sky, fast and brilliant, gone in the blink of an eye.

“The first one,” Bruce almost sounded excited---not as much as his Richard though.

Another flash followed, then another. Soon, the night was alive with falling stars, each one carving a brief, dazzling arc before vanishing into the dark like a rain of light.

“It’s… beautiful.” I breathed. 

Beside me, Bruce stood utterly still, his gaze fixed not on the heavens. For a moment, the meteors seemed secondary to the quiet radiance we had. "Very beautiful," he muttered.

“Make a wish!” Dick shouted, sprawling back into the grass again, his grin wide enough to split his face.

I squeezed my eyes shut, whispering a wish into the night. When I opened them again, another meteor streaked past, burning brighter than the rest. My chest swelled with a giddy kind of wonder I hadn’t felt since I was a child.

Minutes passed like that—our laughter weaving with the night air, Bruce stuffing me full of meat and vegetables, Dick shouting each time he spotted another, Alfred refilling glasses and making dry comments about 'celestial debris'.

It felt… peaceful. Like the house itself had exhaled.

Eventually, Alfred excused himself with the bottle, muttering something about “cleaning up before dawn,” and Dick’s laughter dulled into yawns.

He curled on the blanket, the football tucked against his chest like a pillow. Within minutes, he was asleep beneath the stars, breaths steady.

The garden fell quiet again. Only the lanterns swayed gently, and the meteors had long ended their show. Only the stars decorated the sky again.

I hugged my knees, gaze still skyward. “When you live in a small apartment in the middle of the city, the only thing you can see in the night sky is the moon, the clouds and the batsignal," I laughed at the end. "I still can't believe I get to experience this. It almost doesn’t feel real,” I whispered.

Bruce sat right next to me. The firelight had long since died, but something else was keeping us warm.

“Some things are,” he said simply, his voice low enough to blend in the night itself.

I tilted my head toward him, studying his profile in the lantern glow. His nose was more defined that I thought. “Did you make a wish?”

His lips pursed “I don’t make wishes.”

“That’s sad,” I said, turning my eyes back to the sky. A final meteor streaked past, bright and fast. I pointed toward it instinctively, even though it was gone before he could follow my finger. “I think that’s half the fun of it. Believing for a second that maybe—just maybe—something out there is listening.”

He didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was quieter, almost caught in the night breeze. “What did you wish for?”

I laughed softly, shaking my head. “If I tell you, it won’t come true.”

But the truth was, I hadn’t wished for anything tangible at all. Just… more moments like this.

I leaned back into the blanket, the grass cool against my palms, and let the silence settle comfortably between us. The stars shone brightly in the place of the meteors but the weight of Bruce’s gaze was the thing I felt most clearly—the kind of presence that's heavier than the bottom of the sea.

When I finally turned, his eyes were already back on the sky, as if he hadn’t been looking at me at all.

A Glimpse From Him

The manor was quiet when Bruce left the cave. Nearly four in the morning.

Her door was cracked open, a thin stripe of light cutting into the dark hallway. Tempting him to go in.

Just a peek, he thought.

He pushed it wider, careful, and stilled.

She was on the carpet, papers scattered in messy halos around her. Red pen uncapped, laptop glowing faintly, the cursor blinking on an unfinished sentence. She had dozed off mid-marking, cheek pressed into the crook of her arm, hair spilling across the page.

Bruce crouched, gathering the loose sheets into a neater stack, shutting the laptop with a soft click. She stirred but only to reposition her sleeping pose.

For a long moment, he only looked at her. The steadiness of her breathing. The faint crease still between her brows, as though even in sleep she carried the weight of the day.

Something in his chest tugged and he knew what it was. Something he's very familiar with.

With practiced care, he slid an arm beneath her shoulders, the other beneath her knees. She stirred again, murmuring something incoherent, but then nestled instinctively closer against his chest. He could smell the shampoo she wore when she got home after home. The faintest snore slipping from her lips. 

Bruce froze. Then, slowly, he rose, carrying her with the same certainty he carried Gotham’s weight.

He laid her on the bed, pulling the blanket over her shoulders.

His hand stayed for a moment—hovering inches from her hair, from the soft line of her cheek. Almost but never touching.

Instead, he stepped back into the doorway, letting the shadows reclaim him.

Chapter Text

Today's the day I could finally move my things from the storage into my new apartment. I wore an old denim jumpsuit I had brought just in case. Richard came into my room just in time when I was struggling to tie up my hair. "Are you going to go out today?" he asked. "Yep. I want to go the the storage unit and move all my stuff to my new apartment. I just got the keys yesterday and I'm planning to check it out today," I was so excited that I didn't think of the implications if I told him my plans.

His eyes sparkled. "Can I come with you?"

I smiled. "It'll be too boring for you. There'll be a lot of heavy liftings, cleaning and organizing, you know?"

Hearing that, Richard quickly pulled up his sleeves to his shoulders. He raised his arms to a 90 degree angle and did the same with his elbows, his hands forming tiny balled fists as the muscles in his arms became prominent ever so slightly. "I'm very strong, you know?"

I didn't think I could talk him out of him when he's determined to do something. That's the kind of kid Richard 'Dick' Grayson was.

I pursed my lips. "Hm, okay...,"

He sung a moment of victory. "But---," I stopped him. "You need to tell Bruce about it,"

He rolled his eyes. "Why do we need to include him in everything?" "Because he's basically your dad," I leaned my head back. "No, he's not," "Technically, he is and by law, I can't take you anywhere without parental consent," "I'm a big boy! I don't need his consent for anything," "Ok fine. At least, Alfred needs to know," "Hm...,"

Richard reluctantly agreed and went of to find Alfred.

Moments later, Richard told me Alfred would be driving us to the new apartment. I'd already rented a moving truck and movers to deal with moving all the boxes and furniture but I still need to get there before them. When I down, a car had already been waiting for me. I reached for the handle but the door opened from inside. It was Richard and he was frowning.

"You didn't actually think I would let the two of you go without me?" Bruce was at the driver's seat which explained Richard's reacting that way a lot. I slid inside and closed the door behind me.

"Mr. Wayne, don't you have other businesses to attend to?"

"It's a Saturday. If they're brave enough to disturb me on a weekend, they should be brave enough to pack up their things," he peeked from the rearview mirror. I clicked my tongue. "True that,"

Based on the website, it should be in a gated community but when we passed the security gate, there was no security and it's long been vandalized.

"Are you sure about this place?" Richard spoke the question that we all thought. "Maybe it's so safe here that they didn't need security," I tried to be positive. Bruce didn't say anything but just kept driving until we found our parking spot.

When we went upstairs, the staircase had a very unique scent between a cigar and urine. I could feel Bruce and Richard judging it. I just didn't want to look at them.

The apartment itself wasn't any better.

Turned out, it was a studio apartment and it had no rooms except a single bathroom with a toilet. At least it had a bathtub so that's one of the perks. The studio was barely larger than the guest room I’d been using at the manor and my old apartment. A single window with rusty hinges let in weak afternoon light, and the wallpaper peeled in spots where damp had eaten through. My storage boxes were stacked against the far wall, swallowing what little floor space there was.

Richard wrinkled his nose. “It smells like… old socks.”

“Let's only take small breaths until I can figure out where the smell comes from,” I said quickly, forcing a smile as I dropped my keys into the chipped ceramic bowl by the door. The clink sounded too loud in the empty space.

Bruce lingered by the threshold, his broad shoulders nearly brushing both sides of the doorframe. He didn’t say anything, but the silence stretched heavy, judgment tucked inside it. He was trying so hard to control his thoughts but his silence already gave it away. 

I slipped in between the towering boxes and to the window, opening it to let fresh air inside. “It’s just temporary. A few days and I’ll make it homey. Curtains, maybe a rug.”

Richard muttered, “Or a hazmat suit.”

I shot him a look, but he only grinned—half-teasing, half-hoping I’d admit this wasn’t good enough.

For a moment, I wished the space could transform with just a thought, into something worthy of the warmth I’d grown used to at my old apartment. But this was mine. However small, however shabby—it was mine.

I started listing the good things this place had to offer. Bathtub, built-in hot water, a big window, clean ceiling, a built-in antique stove, a non-squeaky door hinges and a working lock. It's not much compared to anywhere I'd live but it's good enough. It's not too far from school and closer to my first apartment here. Everything will be A-okay.

All three of us got to work. Bruce naturally took the heaviest without comment, Richard tried to show off but ended up struggling and letting Bruce with heavy duty. I swept and mopped the floor while they arranged the furniture according to my layout idea.

The bed would be lined against the window with a small side table on the other side with a paper folding screen dividing the space. Everything I owned were DIYs though Richard did most of the work complaining and challenging Bruce with everything, Bruce seemed delighted to entertain him.

Then, we finally came to the final box. It was dustier than the other boxes and the cardboard had already slowly deteriorating. I already knew what it was since it's the only box with tape that's already peeling. 

Richard took a pair of scissors and cut it open.

Inside, tucked between a stack of worn notebooks, was a little leather-bound diary. The corners were frayed, the lock long broken.

Bruce leaned over just enough to glance inside. “Yours?”

“My handwriting hasn’t changed much,” I admitted with a crooked smile, flipping through a page covered in messy hearts and doodles. “Age ten. Every secret crush and horrible poem is in here.”

Dick snickered. “Oh, this is gold.” throwing himself to grab it.

I snapped it shut before he could reach it. “Don’t even think about it.”

Beneath it lay a slim velvet box. I froze, brushing off the dust before opening it to reveal two simple gold bands. One with a diamond, the other with an engraving inside the band. My throat tightened. “My parents’ rings. See this?” I raised the engraved band into the light, thumb brushing the words as if they might fade.

"Love wins all,"

"I guess that's what they believed,"

Bruce’s hand, steady on the edge of the box, stilled for a second—like he wasn’t sure whether to pull away or stay. “You’ve kept them well.”

I nodded quickly, closing the lid as though the air itself might tarnish them.

The last item I lifted out was a picture frame, glass slightly cracked but the photo untouched. Three smiling faces, arms thrown around one another with a baby in the middle. My parents, my sister, and me.

Dick craned his neck to look, his grin softening. “That’s you?” pointing to the baby.

I swallowed against the lump in my throat. “Yeah. But that's a very old historical artifact,”

I lingered on the photo longer than I meant to, thumb brushing the cracked glass.

Bruce noticed, of course he did. His gaze was steady, quiet in a way that made it hard to breathe.

But before the silence could thicken, I forced a shrug and slipped the picture back into the box. “It’s fine. Really. What happened… wasn’t all bad.”

Dick frowned. “How could it not be?”

“Because,” I said briskly, stacking the box shut with a firm pat, “I got to grow up with someone who loved me more than anyone else could have. Our family’s maid. She was my grandma’s best friend, and she stayed with me when no one else did. She taught me everything—cooking, sewing, how to balance a budget with two nickels.”

"Kinda like Bruce," Richard said. "Yeah," I just remembered. Bruce also lost his parents when he was young and it was Alfred who raised him to be the man that he is. 

My voice softened without permission. “Kinda like you,”

Bruce’s jaw tightened, a shadow passing over his features, but I kept going, lighter now, like brushing dust off an old shelf. “So no, it wasn’t all bad,” I dusted the frame and placed it face down on the bedside table. "Sometimes we need to let go of the past and keep moving forward," 

“That's good to know,” Bruce echoed under his breath, so low I almost didn’t hear it.

I smiled brightly, pretending not to. “Alright soldier! Grab some fairy lights. This place is about to look less tragic,"

And just like that, the subject was closed—at least, on the surface.

Richard and I threw ourselves on my bed. Everything was done.

Bruce somehow miraculously fixed all of the issues this place had to offer---the damp walls, the peeling wallpapers, the billowing stove, clogged pipes and even the flickering overheard lights. 

The old sock smell was gone and the air smelt of cinnamon and apples now from the new candles I got. The apartment finally felt less like an abandoned unit and more like the start of a new chapter.

"Not bad," Richard muttered, tucking his hands under his head. "Still tragic, but I'd seen worse,"

I snorted and shoved his shoulder. "High praise,"

A series of knockings at the door cut through the moment. Sharp. Quick. Too deliberate to be the landlord.

Bruce straightened himself from where he stood and Richard sat up. "Expecting someone?" Bruce asked. 

I shook my head.

The knock came again. This time, banging on the door.

I quickly rushed and opened the door. Monica stood there, hair in a fresh blowout despite the autumn wind, lips curled in flawless smile and Chanel no. 5.

"Oh goody you're here!" she wrapped her arms around me. "I'm so glad you found the place!" then walking past me into the apartment. "Isn't it just...," her gaze scanning through the space until they found Bruce. "...charming~," her voice dripped like honey.

She set her designer bag on my tiny table like it belonged there. She sat on the floor right next to Bruce. "I didn't expect you'd have such a fine company," she extended a hand to him. "Likewise," he shook it.

"I was worried you might've gone for something... smaller, but I'm glad you accepted my suggestion,"

Richard folded his legs, brows lifted. "Smaller?"

Monica glanced side eyed at Richard, smile never faltering. "Well, we all know your favourite teacher here prefers something more modest and vintage. So I thought she'd opt for somewhere more classic,"

"You chose well," I said brightly, settling opposite Bruce. 

Monica’s gaze softened—too soft. “Oh, of course. You’ve always been good at making do with less. It’s… charming, really. Not everyone could pull that off.”

“Or survive it,” Richard muttered, shooting her with his gaze.

Monica didn't acknowledge it, instead, turned her attention back to Bruce. 

"So, Bruce Wayne," she purred, leaning a little closer to the table, perching her chin on her knuckles. "It's not every day one sees Gotham's most eligible bachelor in a studio apartment. What brings you here?"

"Helping a friend,"

Her brows arches. "A friend--- how generous of you~,"

"He carried the fridge up three flights of stairs," Richard barked a laugh. Monica hummed. "Not quite what I expected from someone with a mansion. You could just rent some people to do the heavy jobs for you,"

"Well, that's not entirely true. I did had some people to carry all those boxes and stuff upstairs. Bruce and Richard just helped me with the rest of the things like cleaning and repairing and whatnot," I chimed in. 

"Huh.. I see you're more comfortable with people like them," Monica shot. Richard and Bruce perked up. "Oh you two might not know this but--- she actually has bad experience with rich people," she added. 

"Monica," I didn't want them to know.

It's just a story from the past, my heart reasoned.

"She was actually---also---born with a silver spoon,"

All of the hair on my body stood. A shiver shot up my spin in a rush.

It's not going to happen again, my heart kept going.

"Monica, can you not do this right now?"

"She was practically royalty back in Metropolis,"

I could hear my heartbeat, the honking cars, the notifications in my phone all at the same time in maximum volume. 

I need to let go of the past, but I couldn't.

"Monica, please...,"

"But when she was two, her whole family got poison to death and you'd never guess who did it,"

My lungs felt insufficient and my throat felt tighter.

"It was her mother's twin sister," 

My palms felt slimy but numb at the same time. My mind kept telling me that this was the end but my heart kept pumping like an engine. I kept gasping for air but none of it was enough. 

I couldn't hear anyone anymore--just the deafening crash of my heartbeat in my ears, the way the walls seemed to tilt closer... and closer.

"Hey,"

Bruce's lips were moving but the noise didn't go through. His hand found my hands, and he crouched in front of me until his body blocked out Monica.

I closed my eyes, trembling. "I'm sorry-- I--," 

"Don't apologize," he said, his tone calm in a way that felt impossible. "I'm fine," I said, still gasping for air.

"You're not and it's okay," his other hand pressed against my back.

"Breathe with me," he said.

But I couldn't. My chest heaved uselessly, shallow and frantic. My fingers clawed at the front of my jumper, desperate for air before I drown.

And then-- his hand gently pulled mine away from my lap, pressing it flat against his chest. His sweater was warm beneath my sweaty palm. Solid.

His chest rose, slowly. Then feel again.

Inhale. Exhale.

I squeezed my eyes shut, tried to follow. My lungs stuttered. I shook my head. "I can't---,"

"Try," he murmured.

He leaned closer this time, so close that I could hear it--- the steady pull and release of his breath over my head.

I swallowed.

My forehead brushed against the fabric of his shirt, and before I realized what I was doing, I leaned into it---clinging to the rhythm that wasn't mine.

"Good," his voice was softer. "Again,"

My nails curled into his shirt, holding like my life depended on it. The smoke from the streets, the neighbour's laughter, Monica's shrill voice---all of it blurred out until there was only this: the rise and fall of his chest beneath my hand, the sound of his breaths filling the silence.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

It took forever. Or maybe only minutes. But little by little, my body fell into the rhythm he gave me. My lungs opened again, shallow at first, but then deeper and steadier.

"That's it," his voice so quiet that it barely stirred the air. "You're alright. You're safe,"

Safe. A word so simple yet so difficult to obtain. My eyes burned but I held in the tears.

I didn't even notice Richard sitting on my right. "She good?" he asked.

"She will be," Bruce's answer was firm.

When my breath finally slowed enough that I could feel the ground beneath me again, Bruce eased back just slightly, though he didn't take my hand off his chest. His other hand steadied my back, grounding me like I'd float away without it.

The room was quieter now with just the right amount of warmth. 

I opened my eyes, trying to focus--and that's when I noticed Monica, standing stiffly behind the table, arms crossed over her perfect blouse. No more honey-dripped smiles, no more sweet laughter. Just a slightly tilt of her head as if she's mocking me to tilt and fall.

Richard jumped at her. "You've done enough now,"

Monica blinked. "You can't use that tone with me. I'm still your teacher,"

"Out," his tone offered zero negotiations. "Now,"

Finally, she didn't argue. She just scooped her bag from the table, her eyes darting once--past Richard, past Bruce-- landing on me. And in that moment, her smile returned. Subtle. Thin.

The door clicked shut behind her and her heels echoed as she went down the stairs.

I swallowed and retrieved my hand from Bruce. "Sorry, I just---panicked,"

Richard crouched down next to me, his brows pulled low. "She wanted to hurt you,"

I held my head in my hands. "But...Monica's always been---," my throat closed around the word 'kind'.

I thought of her giftbags, her invitations, our trips and our memories together. But the look in her eyes just now---that wasn't the Monica I'd known. That was someone else entirely.

Bruce's  hand lingered a moment longer against my back before he finally drew back. "You don't need to figure her out right now," he said. "What matters is you're alright,"

I straightened my back, eyes closing. "Maybe...," I whispered. "I don't know her at all,"

But that would mean all those 4 years of friendship would mean nothing.

Richard's face softened. He reached out and squeezed my hands. "She's not worth your time anymore,"

I gave a shaky little laugh, more out of exhaustion than amusement.

Chapter Text

Richard and I were sent to school together by Alfred right before he send Bruce to Wayne Enterprise. "Remember to finish your lunches," Bruce reminded. Richard grunted "You're not my dad," and went in first. "You're okay with him being like this?" I looked back at Bruce. "He'll be fine,"

Being the first people at school, it always felt eerie to walk down the quiet and dark hallway but today, I had Richard with me.

Before the first bell rung, I was at the lounge doing final checks at my lesson plans for the rest of the day. Then, Monica walked in with a new designer bag and a lipstick colour. I always wondered where she got the money to get new wardrobe every season but now I see that money had never been an issue for her. "Good morning," she beamed.

She sat right next to me and leaned on my shoulder. "What are you doing so early in the morning?"

"Just making sure I have all that I need," I said, eyes not leaving my laptop. "It's brutal out there. One of the kids brought in a Joker mask but got it confiscated by security," she groaned and then took a quick whiff.

"New perfume?"

"Huh?" I smelt my blouse. "Oh no. This is Mr. Wayne's cologne. I think it got stuck to my blouse," 

"Oh-- how so?" 

"Alfred--his butler, insisted to drive me to school since Richard is in the same school with me. They said it's good discipline for him to arrive early,"

"Oh... that's nice to hear. You got them to care for you too,"

"It's not like I wanted them to. I rejected the offer but they're relentless. But, I can't really complain,"

BAM! 

Monica suddenly slammed something on the table. "I got something for you," 

It was an old handheld mirror with a slight crack in the mirror. "When I saw this in the thrift store, I instantly thought of you because it's so... vintage! I hope you'd love it,"

When I held it, it felt like it's one day away from deteriorating. "Oh... that's so nice of you,"

She giggled. "I mean it really matches your outfit today too. So brown and dull. Orange is all the rage this season but you really don't care about trends at all,"

I didn't know how to reply to that except just smile and a thanks. 

"Y'welcome. Love you babes," she pecked my cheek and went off to class. 

I looked to my right where a full-sized mirror was glued to the wall. My hair was braided and pinned. I wore a brown wool sweater, a checkered brown skirt and black boots. How could my clothes be out of season when it's basically a default autumn outfit?

I shook the out of my head and continued working until right before the first bell rung.

At lunchtime, I stayed in the classroom to review my student's homework. Richard stayed with me to have his lunch together. Alfred packed us both the same thing: fruits and chicken wraps. Right before I start eating mine, Richard swooped in to take one of my wraps. I laughed in disbelief. "Are you trying to be like Bruce?"

"Just checking for poison. You never know if Alfred suddenly decides to turn to the darkside," he gleefully stuffed it down his throat.

Then, Monica came. "You can't eat in class, Richard," her voice stern.

"It's okay. We'll make sure to clean up and air out," I said.

"What would the principal say if you misuse your authority like that?" she said and she meant it. 

Richard clicked his tongue. Her closed his lunchbox and left, not without glaring at Monica first. 

Monica went in and sat where Richard sat. "You really didn't need to do that. We both know Richard is a very good student," I said. Monica sighed. "You've changed,"

"What?" 

"Did something happen between you and the Wayne's? Why are you suddenly so kind to them? Especially to Mr. Wayne?" her eyes flicked to the lunchbox. "You got their butler to make your lunch too?"

"This is--,"

"If I knew better, I'd say you're trying out for Mrs. Wayne's position,"

"It's not like that!" I shouted.

Monica let the silence surround us. Then she smiled.

"I know you'd never do that," she put a hand on my shoulder. "You're not someone who would do something like that," her hand trailed down my arms and reached for my hands. "You're the best person I'd ever known. Mr. Wayne will be in the same level as you," she pulled me into an embrace. Her perfume was so strong that it masked Bruce's. "Just be careful," she whispered. 

She left my classroom right after that but I could still feel her presence there.

"Mr. Wayne will never be in the same level as you...,"

Or is it that I will never be in the same level as him?

Monica's sudden change in attitude felt weird. Almost like she's a whole new person, it's getting uncomfortable for me to chat with her.

When school ended, Monica insisted to give me a ride home. Before I could reply, Richard was quick to interrupt her and took me away. 

I sighed. "Thank you,"

"She's weird,"

"She had never behaved that way," 

"She's always been like that,"

"No she's not. I've known her for 5 years. She's an angel,"

"I'd say she's a retired Queen Bee who doesn't know when to stop,"

"Maybe there's something happening back at home that's disrupting her behavior at school. Some people don't know how to express their emotions well and she might be experiencing that,"

"Why are you defending her?"

"You're too young to understand,"

"I'm 13! I'm not a kid. If I can handle my shit, then she should too," he frowned.

"Language kid...but you're right," a message popped on the screen of my phone.

"You shouldn't have to rely on your students for rides all the time. Let me take care of you," 

For someone with a fully developed frontal lobe and a degree, she should be more mature in handling her emotions but then again... sometimes even people with PhD didn't know how to express their emotions without making a fool out of themselves.

It's been a few days since and Monica stopped approaching me. We're getting busier due to prepping for the school trip so I didn't mind the extra silence.

I checked my online calendar and realized, though we're getting closer to the date of the trip, I was also getting closer to the day I leave Wayne manor.

I'd packed my things in a single suitcase the day before my final day with Richard's help, though he's been very vocal about making me stay a week more. It's not that I didn't want to, but it didn't seem appropriate for me to stay any longer when there's no use for me here, especially when there's a bachelor in the house. It's just inappropriate for me to stay without causing a scandal.

The first time we met was during a dark and cloudy night. I was saved by the Wayne's when I thought that was the end of my life. I would've been content to have ended it after saving them, but now that I've met them, I'm more grateful to have had the chance to experience them.

"You're house is so far away too," Richard grumbled.

Bruce was putting my suitcase in his carboot. We both laughed. "It's just a 30-minute drive," I said. "Yeah. Minus traffic. Now I can't see you whenever I want to," he kicked a rock with a pout. "We'll make sure to pay her a visit," Bruce said which made his mood slightly better. 

Alfred gave me a Tupperware filled with cookies. "For the endless nights of lesson planning," he said. I had to admit, it made my eyes stung. 

We bid out temporary goodbyes and Bruce said nothing the entire drive to the apartment.

After a month of living with him, I learnt it's best to know the difference between his silence than trying to get him to talk. It's very difficult initially but eventually, he was able to warm up and let me in his circle.

When we arrived, he didn't hesitate to carry my suitcase for me up to the highest floor without stopping as if it weighted nothing.

"I thought all that muscle is just for show," I commented when I unlocked the door to my apartment. "Sometimes,"

Once the door was opened, naturally, I invited Bruce to come in for tea--as thanks for carrying my things and driving me here. But he refused to step foot in it. He just stood by the door like a shadow. His dark eyes lingered on me before he spoke in that quiet, gravel-lined voice: "Call me if you need anything,"

I nodded. "I will,"

And he left. His footsteps fading down the stairs.

I closed the door and for the first time in weeks, silence felt uncomfortable. No Richard's jokes echoing down the hall, no Alfred's footsteps, no Bruce's eerie presence. Just me, four walls, and a key that suddenly felt much too heavy in my hand.

I leaned against the door, eyes closed. 

It wasn't exactly loneliness. Just the echo of the warmth I'd grown used to.

Chapter Text

Today's the day. I packed my necessities in a single backpack with a single fanny pack for easy and safe access to my cards. I decided to use my shoes that had built-in roller skates for faster movement especially for the kids who tend to go off on their own (like Richard).

The school had rented a school bus for our two-day trip and a male teacher (who happened to have a license to drive it)  will be driving it. There's only a single bus since not many of the students were interested in the school trip. "It's just Metropolis," they said. Not that I mind. Less students, less lives I need to care. Only 70 students joined the trip which meant 7 teachers were chosen to go and that included Monica and I. 

Then my phone rang. An unknown number.

"Hello?"

"Has Richard arrived yet?"

"Bruce? How did you get my number?" as far as I'm concerned, not once had we exchanged numbers for the last 5 weeks of us knowing each other.

"Richard gave it to me,"

"Uh-huh," I checked the bus. He had taken the window seat with no one sitting next to him. "He's here," I said.

"Good. I have a favour to ask,"

"And that is?"

"Keep him out of trouble,"

"Is that an order I hear?"

"Please,"

Is that a beg?

"Don't worry. I'll be sure to keep him company,"

"Thanks. I appreciate it,"

"No phone on duty," Monica suddenly purred into my phone. "Oh--oh! Sorry... I gotta go now," I ended the call. "Who was that?" she asked. "Nobody," "Why are you suddenly being secretive? I'm your best friend. You can tell me anything," she leaned in but I stepped back. "It's really nobody," I took my backpack and rushed over to sit with Richard. 

I could feel her glares at the back of my neck.

"What's up with her?" I murmured to myself. "Probably seeing you as a competition," Richard said. "Competition? For what?" when I asked that, Richard looked at me in disbelief. "You really don't know?" "I mean if it's your dad that she wants, we're just friends," hearing that, Richard raised his brows. I smiled flatly. "I don't do relationships with my student's parent--- even if he's the richest guy on Earth," "Bet. If I'm right, we'll go on a family trip," "Family trip? With who?" "Me, you, Bruce and Alfred," "Hmm...," 

It's not entirely a bad idea.

"Okay, but if I win, you need to give me a performance," "Of what?" "Celine Dion, It's All Coming Back to Me Now," 

Richard giggled. "That's so corny! What are you, 40?" 

"If you don't want to do it then the bet is off," I pursed my lips mockingly. "You're never going to win this," his laughter growing. "It's on!"

The 4-hour drive from Gotham to Metropolis felt so long when you're sitting in a bus filled with 70 children under the age of 15. It's like a zoo of exotic animals that didn't know when to rest, eat, or pee. We stopped twice--thrice because one of the kids got motion sickness and threw up along the way. We had to open our windows for the rest of the trip and tried to suppress the potential bullying the kid would get by the other children by putting said victim to sit with me and Richard. With Richard's reputation, no students were brave enough to pull tricks near him. 

One time, a kid decided to play pranks on him when he's in the toilet. They splashed him with a bucket of mop water. He came out wet and they had a good laugh. Until he flew across the toilet, and mopped the floor with them-- at least that's what I'd heard. That's a few days before I got assigned to his class. Turned out, he's just one of the students who stands with justice-- the type of student that we would see once in every lifetime, at least in Gotham. 

Metropolis itself was like a whole new world. It's the total opposite of Gotham.

Skyscrapers filled the view everywhere with big windows and modern architecture. Everywhere we look, everything was bustling with energy. From people running errands, to the children playing in the alleys. After we stopped for lunch, we eventually got to our first venue of the day which was the Daily Planet. Here, with the help of Bruce Wayne, we got an exclusive interview with Superman for the kids. Those who were fans of him were ecstatic. I only watched from afar since it's my duty for the day was to keep them safe in one place while Monica, on the other hand, was too busy trying to get a picture with Superman herself.

"At least someone's busy," Richard chimed next to me. "You're not going to take a picture with him too?" I asked. It's not everyday we get to see Superman this close. 

He shook his head. "I've got my fair share," talking like a true Wayne.

We spent about 2 hours there before leaving for the second venue which was LexCorp. We got a slot with one of their researchers to share the latest science advancement which was the DNA-editor that's being developed by both LexCorp and Wayne BioTech. When he mentioned Wayne, almost everyone glanced at Richard from the corner of their eyes. Was it jealousy or was it content... I couldn't tell. 

After LexCorp, the sun was starting to set and we finally were able to retrieve to our hotel rooms.

Rumour had it that Bruce Wayne had sponsored the trip so the budget was immaculate. Not that I could confirm. I didn't deal with that.

After making sure all balconies were locked, students were given free time after dinner to relax in their own rooms. Each room would have 4 students while teachers would stay in the rooms by the exit and the elevators. Richard didn't seem happy about it but even if he complained about it, no teachers would comply to his requests. He stopped complaining after getting a call though so I guess whoever called him, made him accept the circumstances.

Once curfew hit, I went to my own. For some reason, I felt relieved knowing I won't be sleeping in the same room as Monica. The 'me' from 2 months ago would've been sad about it but now, not really--in fact, I was glad. I was paired up with a veteran teacher who had fallen asleep as soon as she touched her bed. So, I took the chance to hit the pool. 

"Seventy kids in one building...," my eyes staring at the glistening body of water. "It's herding caffeinated goats," I leaned back to the pool chair. My nerves were frayed thin. 

For a second, I wanted to breathe. Metropolis smelt different than Gotham. No toxic gas, no maniacal laughter from the streets and no sudden gunshots every few hours. My shoulders finally unlocked and my body melted into the plastic lounger.

My phone then buzzed on the side table. "Unknown number," who was it this time?

"Hello?"

"Well done teacher," Bruce's voice. Smooth and even.

I smiled despite being by myself. "Why are you calling this late? If I'm not mistaken, Richard brought his own phone so you could've directly called him instead of checking on him from me,"

"I'm checking in on you," 

"For what?"

"You look like you want to jump into the pool," he said. 

My eyes flickered to the glowing lights under water. "Well... it's not like I can. The rules here said pool time is before 10pm,"

"And it's not like you should swim in batman pajamas,"

My back straightened. "Excuse me?"

"Top's a little oversized, I could practically see your collarbones and... bunny slippers?" my eyes swept the empty pool deck, the chairs, the dark corners. No one was there except me. "How do you--,"

He chuckled low. "You should save my number next time,"

"Bruce," my voice sharpened. "Where are you?"

He paused.

"On your left,"

I did--- and there he was. Reclined in the lounger like he had always been there with a cocktail in one hand, another holding his phone to his ear, lips curving up at my stunned expression.

"You--," I marched over, pressing the phone tighter to my ear. "You came all the way to Metropolis?"

"Business," he said, like it's enough to explain what he's doing in the same hotel as me at 10pm. "But I wanted to see for myself that you were both alright," 

"Well, Richard has been great so far. He did complain about his room for a bit but then he calmed down," Bruce nodded at my explanation. "And you?" he raised a brow. "What about me?" "How was your day?" 

My mouth opened, then closed again. The words tangled somewhere between embarrassment and gratitude.

He lowered his phone, his real voice deeper without the filter. "You're safer when I'm nearby. That's all,"

I stared at him for a long moment, pulse racing in a way I'm not allowed to name. Then I huffed, dropping onto the chair beside his. "You're unbelievable,"

"Not the first time I've heard that,"

The silence that followed wasn't awkward. Just... full. Almost like back then when we were at his gazebo. This time, we were accompanied by the city hum behind us.

I tugged at my ridiculous pajama sleeves. "You weren't supposed to see me like this," 

His turned his head to me, his eyes soft. "Trust me, I've seen worse,"

For once, I didn't argue. I just laughed.

We both leaned back, let the night air cool our skin and listened to the sound of him breathing steady beside me.

"You really didn't have to come all the way here," I said at last, staring at the glow of Metropolis skyline across the water. "I've got this handled. I've been doing this for 2 years,"

Bruce leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees. "I don't doubt that,"

I glanced at him. I realized, his eyes weren't on the city, they were on me. He looked so serious.

"But?" I pressed.

He sighed slowly through his nose. "Not everyone sees things the way you do. Not everyone cares the way you do. And sometimes... even the people who should protect you, won't,"

"Let me protect you,"

I remembered what Monica said to me. My chest tightened, unbidden. "That's... oddly specific," I murmured.

His jaw tightened--- then he smoothed it over with a quiet shake of his head. "Just experience talking,"

I wanted to ask more, but something in his expression warned me not to push. The faintest shadow over his face.

So instead, I gave him a crooked smile. "Well, for the record, I don't need babysitting. Even if the babysitter is Gotham's most eligible bachelor,"

That earned me the tiniest huff of amusement. "Noted,"

I looked away quickly, heat threatening my face. "Good,"

But even as I said it, part of me was... glad. Glad he was here. Glad he cared enough to check twice and then show up in person.

"I should go. I've got an early meeting tomorrow," Bruce's voice stiffened, almost reluctant. "Tomorrow? It's Saturday tomorrow," "Preparation I can't push off," he pushed himself off the lounger and fixed his clothes.

I nodded, even though something about his tone didn't quite match the excuse. "Right. The empire waits for no man,"

His mouth curved again just slightly over the edge. "Something like that," he stood, gaze flickered quickly over my ridiculous choice of outfit. Lingering longer than I thought they should.

"Good night Mr. Wayne,"

And then he was gone, walking back to the elevator, leaving behind the echo of words unsaid.

I went to sit where he sat, laying flat. I stayed there until his cologne completely disappeared along with his warmth.

He's probably already halfway to Gotham by now.

Probably.

Chapter Text

As morning duty teacher, my teacher roommate got up earlier than I did and rushed to wake up everyone else. I slipped into my colored coded uniform and went to the cafeteria, waiting for other students to arrive for breakfast. When everyone got down, the head teacher gave a short announcement while they all ate. Among the crowd, I saw Richard playing with his food. Maybe he only eat what Alfred makes...

"You should eat too," Monica suddenly appeared, handing me a plate of omelet. "It's okay," I pushed it away. "Oh right. I forgot. You don't eat other people's cooking. But you're gonna starve if you don't eat. At least have a little bit," she insisted. "No, it's okay. I can handle it," I said, still pushing her hands back. 

Suddenly, her hands shifted and the plate fell and broke on the floor. "What happened?" another teacher rushed in. "You don't need to push me that hard," Monica cried out. "I didn't push you. You dropped the plate on your own," "I'm just worried you'd get sick from not eating. You don't need to starve yourself just to lose weight," 

What was she on about...

"I know you're getting insecure about your growing tummy but please don't forget to care for yourself too,"

"What are you doing? Why are you lying?!" my voice cracked at the end.

"Teachers please. Don't bring your personal issues during school hour. We're here to take care of the kids, not humiliate ourselves in public," the other teacher glared at both of us. "I'm just so worried...," Monica wept. "I'm not--," I raised my voice but the other teacher snapped back at me, calling my full government name. "Fine," I grunted and went to the other side of the cafeteria. 

The other teacher brought Monica out, as she smiled with the corner of her eyes.

For today, the students and teachers would separated into two teams. One half would go to the Metropolis Museum of Natural History and the other to Metropolis Future Tech Exhibit. Thankfully, I was assigned to Richard's team since I was the only teacher whom he'd be willing to cooperate with-- as said by the other teacher. Unfortunately, Monica was also assigned to the same team. 

We went to the museum first. A few students were in awe with the amount of dinosaurs the museum had to show but Richard didn't seem impressed. "They're just bones," he said. "Fun fact, bones have DNA and with the new DNA editor technology we learnt at Lex Corp yesterday, dinosaurs can technically come back from extinction in the next 10 years or so. So maybe, in the future, someone will make a dinosaur theme park like Jurassic Park," I said. Some liked the idea while some shivered at it. "What if the dinosaurs escape? Won't that be dangerous?" a students questioned. "Well, that is dangerous but if we have the technology to make dinosaurs, we would definitely have the technology to protect ourselves against it too," I answered. "We don't need all that because we have Superman!" one of the boys shouted and the other students cheered. 

Ever since their meeting with Superman yesterday, it had been a nonstop topic among them. At least now, they all have something in common rather than the fear they had in Gotham.

We went up to another level where it's the children section. Each students' were given a free pass entry for the day and once we said "Go," all students ran around the area to explore everything they could in span of 1 hour. Like yesterday, Richard stayed with me. "It's boring," he answered my question before I even get to ask him. "Okay," I nodded.

We sat by the window, sharing a piece of bread. Suddenly, Richard turned around and stared outside the window. I followed his gaze and there's a white van parked in the alley. A few men dressed in black got out of the van and they went to the back of another white van. Richard was so focused on it, he almost went through the window. 

The van suddenly shook and I could hear very faint screaming from their direction.

"I think we should go," I murmured.

Then, the roof of the van grew a bump. And another. Something was pounding on the roof of the van so much that the bump grew bigger. Until it broke and whatever what inside it jumped out. It landed on a rooftop right next to the museum and hollered. It's shrill noise rattled the museum's glass panes, making the skeletons above the children tremble as if they'd come alive. 

It wasn't like anything I'd ever seen before and it had grown to a size of a sedan. 

"We need to get to safety," I pulled Richard away from the window. I shouted at other teacher, telling them to gather the other students but Richard had other plans. He pulled his hand out of my grasp. "Wait-- Richard!!" "I'll be back soon! Just be safe!!" and he ran off. 

I wanted to chase after him but the other teachers were struggling to gather the other students. 

Bruce was definitely going to kill if he found out I left his son go off alone.

Once we gathered the students, the security informed us of a safety bunker right below the museum. We went to use the emergency staircase but it only made the students scream due to the loud noises coming from the outside and the echo didn't make it better. Some were pushing, some were hollering, some were crying.

As a teacher in Gotham, we were trained for school shootings, bombings and toxic gases. We were never trained for monsters roaming in the city though.

We didn't stop moving. We kept rushing until we reached the ground floor. A security pointed to a door right at the end of the room with a glowing sign above it: BUNKER. 

I shouted for the other teachers to start moving the students inside while I do a quick headcount as they pass me one by one.

"31... 32... 32?" 3 students were missing. Aside from Richard, two students weren't found. Other teachers yelled at me to follow them but I shouted back "I'm going to find the other kids. You guys stay inside,"

I ran back upstairs.

With the grounds shaking, the ceiling on the brink of collapse and the booming noises from outside, it's almost impossible to find the other two kids in a large space. I screamed their names but they didn't shout back. I kept running from one end to the other, hoping for even a glimpse of them.

It's only until I screamed on last time, I heard a reply. A very quiet shaky reply from under the security table.

Debris started to rain on me so I picked up my pace and retrieved the last two students. When I found them, they had covered themselves with some cardboards, tears staining their plump cheeks. "We didn't want to be loud... we thought the monster would hear us," they sniffled.

I swallowed my fear. This wasn't the time for me to be afraid. I need to get them to safety and that's my duty right now. 

I grasped both of their little wrists. "I'm going to get you two out of here," the ground were still trembling, the air thickened with dust. After what it felt like forever, I finally saw the bunker sign through the haze, salvation within reach. My lungs burned, but I held on to the two kids, one in each hand, dragging them through the storm of falling plaster and screaming steel.

CRRRAAACK!

I looked up-- too late.

A slab of concrete the size of a car cracked loose, breaking free in a rain of dust and sparks. 

My knees buckled as I shoved the kids forward with everything I had, spreading my arms wide like a spring for them to be out of reach. My heart was already braced for the bone shattering crunch of the last second of my short-liven life.

But instead--

THOOM.

The world shook.

Something---someone--- slammed down between me and the falling ceiling. The concrete shattered like it had hit a mountain, turning into fragments exploding across the floor.

When the dust cleared, he was there.

His red cape unfurled. Broad shoulders steady like an unmovable force of nature. The "S" gleaming on his chest like a promise.

Superman.

He had one arm raised where the slab had struck him, not a single scratch. His other hand reached back, steadying me without even looking as if this was a daily occurrence.

"You're safe now," his voice was calm like the river in a forest, like the chaos around us was nothing more than a storm he'd already weathered. 

My eyes wandered in a daze, chest heaving, heart pounding. 

I wanted to thank him but I needed to make sure my students were safe. 

Then, I heard. Two cries not far from me.

The small bodies crashed on me, clutching me tighter, shaking with the adrenaline of what almost was.

I had been ready to die, and he had stopped it like swatting a fly.

He adjusted himself, cape flaring. "Get them to the bunker. I'll handle the rest," the monster roared. It rattled the museum walls.

And just like that, he was gone--- launching upward with a sonic crack that shook the air around us.

I stared after him, knees weak, the kids clinging to me like I was a real shield. "Teacher, please don't die yet," "We promise to be good kids, please don't leave us," they cried. I gently put my hands over their soft heads.

I didn't have time to ponder any questions, I need to get them so safety. 

We resumed rushing towards the bunker, but right before we reached it, a hard steel hit the back of my head. I stumbled on my legs, my grasps on the kids loosening. My ears ringing, the kids screaming.

Someone else swooped in and took them away into the bunker. The doors closing right in front of me.

Chapter Text

When I opened my eyes for the second time that day, I saw the bright fluorescent light of the hospital ceiling. I wasn't sure what happened after I got knocked out but I thought I was left to die. Thankfully, I wasn't. 

"Good, you're up," my teacher roommate was there right next to me. "Susan? What happened? Did the final two got to the bunker safely?" 

"They did alright. Thanks to Monica," she murmured. "Monica?"

"You passed out right outside the bunker door but no one saw you. Monica found the last two kids and brought them in. You should've just stayed inside the bunker when you had the chance. Now everyone is waiting for us until the doctor's decide you're good to go,"

"Monica didn't find them---I did!"

"Well, she's telling everyone that she did and between two of us, she's been spreading stuff about you since you passed out," it took me a while to notice that Susan had been knitting a pair of sweaters. 

"Rumours?"

"Uh-huh," she nodded.

"Like what?"

She placed down her needles and glanced at me. "I'm a married woman. I personally don't have the time to get involved with my colleague's personal drama,"

I sighed in defeat.

"But you didn't hear this from me," she hushed. I quickly leaned in.

"She says you're pre...," her voice trailed at the end. "I'm what?"

"You're pre...," her voice trailed again. "Can you repeat that?"

"YOU'RE PREGNANT!" "WHAT?!" 

She'd been spreading rumours that I was pregnant?! 

Sure I'd been gaining a few pounds but that's just because I'd been eating a lot at Wayne manor. Alfred was basically a culinary chef with how he handled food, there's no helping it. But the main question was---

"With whom?" I asked. Susan widened her eyes, said nothing but I understood everything she meant. "No...," "That's what she did. And unless you can you prove that you're not, there's no stopping her," 

"But why would she do that?"

Susan rolled her eyes with a grunt. "Look kid. I may be old--,"

"We're both 27,"

"Mentally. And speaking as a completely objective third party outsider with absolutely no personal interest in the matter--- she wants Bruce Wayne,"

"Bruce?! That's it?!"

She nodded. "It's sad to think that she was willing to throw away her friendship because of some guy," 

I frowned. "She's so...,"

"Shallow? Inconsiderate? Selfish?"

"Mean!"

"Hm, not what I had in mind but sure," she smiled flatly. 

I threw the blanket away and ripped the IV drips from my hand. "Hey--Hey--- where do you think you're going?" "I'm going to clear my name,"

"As if you can do that," she laughed.

"What do you mean?"

"You've been friends with her for 5 years and you still don't know? Are you sure you're friends?"

"Susan. What. Do. You. Mean,"

"What's Monica's last name?" she said. 

"That's easy. Monica Vanderbilt," 

"Uh-huh. Now look at your blanket,"

I glanced at the blanket on the floor.

Vanderbilt Hospital.

"No,"

"Yeah,"

"No!"

"Yep,"

"She has a hospital?!"

"Her family has a hospital. She's basically set for life,"

"Then what's the point of her being a teacher in the slums of Gotham?"

"That girl only has one thing in mind and that's Gotham's most eligible bachelor," 

"But why would she do that--- she could just go to one of his parties and take him right there and then," "You think she never tried that before?"

Then a nurse came in. She said I was fine and good to go. I'd just need to avoid putting pressure on my head and I'll be fine.

As soon as Susan and I got out of the hospital, I ripped my hospital tag which had the name Vanderbilt on it. It felt like I was branded by Monica, like she owned me and wanted to control me.

When we got back to the hotel, almost all of the teachers looked nervous and avoided me.

This must be Monica's doing. What had she been telling them this time?

I wandered around through the crowd, hoping I'd get to listen in any conversations that might give me a clue but almost everyone went silent the moment I reached 5 feet near them. Then--

Someone tugged on the edge of my shirt. I looked down and found one of the students. 

"Miss, is it true?" she asked. I knelt down to meet her gaze. "Is what true?" I asked.

"That you want to be Richard's new mom," when he said it, I could hear gasps from the other teachers.

"SHUT UP!!!" Richard's voice echoed through the hall, louder than I'd ever heard him. Everyone hushed instantly, no one dared to meet his glare. "Mind your own business!" he spat.

The teachers quickly ducked their heads, but I could feel more eyes on me from the tables nearby-- whispers spreading like wildfire. 

My stomach turned.

"Say that again, and I swear--," his breathing shallow, his jaw locked, like he was holding himself back from jumping over the crowd to anyone who talked about it.

"Richard Grayson," Susan's voice echoed back from right behind me. The corner of her eyes showing signs of early aging. "If you want to fight, do it outside. The rest of you, once you finish you dinner, take your bags into the bus. We're leaving in an hour,"

Richard gritted his teeth and stomped his feet up to his room.

I sighed with relief. "Thank you Susan...,"

"Don't mention it. I have 3 more like that back at home," she snickered.

While the other teachers were overseeing bus boarding, I took the chance to go upstairs. I knocked on the doors until he replied "Come in."

Richard stood by the balcony, which I thought I'd locked it yesterday, overseeing Metropolis. "Richard...," I called out. "Don't listen to them. They don't know anything," he murmured. "I don't need another mother either. I only have one mom like I only have one dad," 

I came into his room and slowly sat on his bed to not make a sound. "I know," in fact, I didn't know---but it's not entirely unexpected. 

"I'm happy enough to just be your teacher,"

"I know," his tone was stern--- just like Bruce.

They do have something in common after all.

"Richard, can I ask a favour?" I requested. He turned around to face me. His blue eyes a splitting copy of Bruce's.

"Can you not tell Bruce or Alfred about this? At least until I've dealt with it,"

"Pfft," he rolled his eyes. "You're dealing with the Vanderbilts, this isn't a fight you can win,"

"Oh! So you do know," I faked a gasp. "Duh. Monica has been aiming for your throat for a while now. Can't believe you didn't notice that," he went inside and sat right next to me. "We should always find the good in everyone, you know?" I said. "But we shouldn't ignore the evil within them either," he snickered. "Evil is quite a strong word. Let's just say--- sometimes people make mistakes,"

"One day you're gonna get yourself killed by thinking like that,"

"Richard, everyone should have a second chance in life. This is their first time living after all," I clasped his small hands. They were rougher than I thought but it's expected for a Flying Grayson.

We both looked outside the balcony. The lights within each skyscrapers almost looked like stars the further they get.

"Promise me to not tell Bruce and Alfred. This is my fight. I don't want to get them involved and you shouldn't too," I held his hands tightly.

His eyes flickered to me for a moment, before looking back outside. "Fine--- but only for a week. After that, I'm going to tell them,"

When we got back to Gotham, the sun had long rested and we were greeted by a line of vehicles but only one stood out. A black limo with the Wayne emblem on the hood.

As the bus halted, students flooded the streets back to their own homes with their families. Among the crowd, I saw Richard going straight to Alfred who had been waiting outside the limo. He opened the back door and Bruce was waiting inside. A gentle smile adorned his face. His eyes cutting through the crowd and landed on me.

But I need to put a boundary between us.

With a deep breath, I smiled at him only for a second before turning away and leaving the premise.

When I got home, all the tiredness came washing over me as if they'd been held in until I could come home. 

The moment I threw myself on my bed, all the worry in my mind felt like they're sorting themselves.

Monica... Bruce... the public...

It seemed like I'd been caught in a crossfire between the elite. I won't get a good final picture at the end of the day but I need to untangle myself out of this situation. 

At that point, I was determined to reduce contact with Bruce except for anything regarding Richard-- purely professional, just as everyone would like.

I pulled out my phone from my bag. My fingers scrolling through my call log in search for a single number that I did not save. 

When my eyes found it, I quickly went to the messaging app and sent a quick message.

'Let's stop being friends. It's not a good look for someone like us,'-me

Quick and concise. I was sure he'd understand. Our status were just too different. No one would believe me if I say that I didn't approach him for his money.

My phone jingled once. He replied.

'Tomorrow. 8PM. Gotham's Observatory. We'll discuss,'-Richard's adoptive dad

Chapter Text

Gotham had this unspoken rule of being home before 8pm. If you're a few minutes late, you'd be caught up in all sorts of crimes.

I learnt that the hard way during my first week in Gotham when Joker decided 9pm was the best time to bomb the train tracks and I was inside said train. Thankfully Batman was there or I would have been a goner.

When I checked the clock, it's only 6pm. If I get there by 7:50pm, it'll still be safe enough but, just in case, I'd be arriving way earlier than that. 

I stood in front of the clothes I'd laid out on my bed. Compared to my other clothes, these two were the only ones passable as a dinner outfit-- a plain black dress for unexpected mourning and a milkmaid dress for the imaginary tea parties with friends I thought I'd find while working but didn't.

Get a hold of yourself.

This wasn’t a mourning and it’s not a tea party.

It’s not a date either.

It's just a small meet-up for a short discussion. With Bruce. At eight. At the Gotham Observatory. 

That's at the other end of town which was going to take a while for me to get there.

In the end, I went with the safest thing I owned--- a black skirt and a black blouse. A default outfit for when you have nothing to wear on a definitely cold night.

Safe. Business-casual. Definitely not 'trying to hard'.

But as I caught my reflection in the mirror before leaving, I couldn't help but wince. I didn't feel pretty enough. Even with makeup, I didn’t feel… good enough.

So I whipped out my phone and started googling for inspirations. A good outfit tip was to look at how famous celebrities dress. But anyone could tell they're dressed expensively. What I needed was something that even I could do with the things I had right now.

I kept scrolling to what almost felt like forever until I found it--- a picture of Audrey Hepburn in a black dress, black gloves and a pearl necklace. That looked like something someone of his status would wear.

Surprisingly, I had all those things.

It didn't take long until I get to complete my outfit and when I looked in the mirror, I actually thought I could be someone who could stand by Bruce's side...

But that would be impossible.

I was a commoner after all. 

By the time I reached the observatory, my stomach was a knot of nerves. I scratched the idea of wearing the pearl necklace and opted for a white blouse underneath instead. I just didn't feel safe to be walking around Gotham with that around my neck.

The main dome was quiet, the massive telescope looming in the center, bathed in the soft glow of overhead lights.

And in the middle of the room--- a table for two. White tablecloth. A single candle. A bottle of wine.

It was so cute.

Nearby was Bruce, standing by the railing, still dressed head-to-toe in black. 

"Evening," his voice felt almost too casual, like dinner at Gotham's Observatory was a normal thing. I mean, it would be for him. 

"This is...," my brain short-circuited. Even though he dressed the same, walked the same, talked the same--- he seemed different. "...formal," 

One corner of his lips curved upwards. "I thought we could talk somewhere quiet," he went to the table and dragged out one of the chairs.

Somewhere quiet? His library was somewhere quiet. This was a rom-com setup waiting to happen. 

I sat down, trying not to look too entertained as I felt. "You really didn't have to go through all this trouble. I was expecting coffee in paper cups, not---," I gestured at the table, at all of this.

"It seemed appropriate," he said, taking the seat across from me. "You've had a hard week."

He poured a glass of wine for me before taking one himself. The simple, quiet gesture made my chest feel oddly warm.

"This isn't really a parent-teacher meet up," he said finally, his voice as calm and deep as the ocean floor. His blue eyes flickering on me. "It's a thank-you,"

I blinked. "A thank-you?"

"For putting up with Dick," he circled his glass, speaking dryly and I couldn't help but laugh. " 'Putting up with' is a strong phrase. He's not that bad," I said, smiling.

He raised an eyebrow, his lips spreading into a more obvious smile. "You don't have to spare my feelings. I'm well aware of Dick's... temper,"

"He's getting better," I countered. "And honestly, it's nice having him around," watching Richard being independent at school made me want to be independent. "He makes my days less quiet. Chaotic, but not boring,"

That earned me another rare, chuckle accidentally slipping from his lips which he bit back. 

"That's why I want to thank you properly. He listens to you in a way he doesn't with anyone else. I don't take that for granted,"

"You're exaggerating," my cheeks warmed a little but I hoped the dim lights didn't gave it away.

"But if you must thank me, I'd take a free dinner over a gift card any day, so... thanks,"

Bruce leaned in and uncovered the food that had been waiting right in front of us--- a bowl of pasta with some pan seared steak and baked asparagus. "Wow-- this smells amazing! I wonder what spices Alfred uses this time," 

"What if I told you I was the one who cooked it?" he leaned back. "Hm... maybe in another universe," I stabbed one of the steaks.

"You don't think I can cook?" he almost sounded offended. "Mr Wayne, I lived with you for 6 weeks. Not once had I seen you in a kitchen holding a knife except for returning a cooking knife you found in Richard's room--- which is very concerning now that I think about it," 

He frowned as I said it. "Don't think about it too much. He's training his knife skills," "For what?" "To learn how to cook for himself in the future," "In his room?" he nodded. "O...kay?" I brought the steak to my mouth and it simply melted the moment it touched my tongue. 

"Look at you," 

My eyes glanced at him and the view almost made my heart leap.

His eyes had softened with a smile that's simply placid with flowers surrounding us. For a moment, I'd forgotten why I was there.

"You ate without me testing it," he spoke. I snapped out of my daze. 

My eyes went back and forth from my greasy tipped fork to his dazzling clean ones. "You're right… thanks to you,” my voice trailed at the end. 

"I'll have Alfred make an extra lunchbox for you so that you can eat it for dinner too," he took a bite out of his own pasta, but I quickly rejected the offer.

"No need. I'm planning to lose some extra weight. I don't want to look like I'm pregnant," I joked. "Nonsense. Besides, I think you'd look good pregnant too,"

Suddenly an image of me behind pregnant with Bruce beside me popped into my head.

NONSENSE!

I shook my head. "You shouldn't be saying that. Some women can get offended if you say that to them,"

He sipped his wine. "What about you? Are you offended?"

I swallowed. “No,”

He leaned back with a smirk.

“But I don't think I have any intentions of being pregnant any time soon,"

"How so?" he leaned forward.

"I was basically raised by a single mother so I don't really see the need of a father figure... not that I'm saying having a father is useless! That's just my experience!" my throat tightened.

But he just laughed. His laughter filled all the nooks and crannies of the observatory. "Don't worry. I understand...," followed by silence.

"B-but...," the silence felt heavy. I didn't want our conversation to end awkwardly. "I think if I were to have a father, I'd want him to be like Superman,"

"Superman?" his neck perked and brows furrowed-- very slightly. If you blink, you wouldn't notice it. "Why Superman?" he asked.

"He's strong and kind," I remembered when he saved me in Metropolis. "He makes me feel grateful for being alive," the way he looked at me as if he's proud of me. “Like how I'd imagine my dad would be if he could see me right now,”

Bruce stayed quiet. He just stared at me.

“You know,” he said at last, “I think he’d be proud of you too.” he smiled.

That made me laugh softly, the knot in my chest loosening. “That’s very sweet of you to say,” I murmured.

We finished our meal slowly after that, talking about lighter things — books we’d read, places we’d never been but wanted to see. He listened more than he spoke, but when he did speak, he was so different from the way the tabloids portray him. How can a man who has read most of the books in the world, would shake his ass around at Penguin's---one of Gotham's notorious criminals--nightclub? It seemed very unlikely but there's photos so how could it not be true?

It got me thinking--- which was the real Bruce Wayne? Is it the guy getting high every fortnight? Or is it him who's sitting in front of me?

After dinner, Bruce suggested we have a short walk around the place. Turned out, he had rented out the whole observatory for the night. No wonder it was empty. He also had the staffs set up a telescope for the night’s main event — Jupiter and its moons were perfectly visible, he mentioned.

Bruce gestured for me to take a look first.

I leaned down, closing one eye, and gasped.

“Oh wow… it’s so clear,” I whispered, almost afraid to breathe too loudly. “I can actually see the moons!”

When I stood up, Bruce was watching me, just faintly amused. “Your turn,” I said, stepping back.

He looked through the telescope with the same quiet focus he had for everything. “You’re right. It’s clearer than I expected.”

“Imagine what the kids would think if they could see this,” I said softly, glancing out at the wide expanse of stars above us.

“I thought about bringing Richard here once,” Bruce admitted, straightening. “But he wasn’t interested.”

I grinned. “He’s thirteen. I don’t think anything interests him unless it explodes.”

He cleared his throat and smiled. "Kids," shrugging his shoulders.

Eventually, I stepped back to the railing, staring at the glittering skyline in the distance. “This is actually… nice,” I admitted.

“That was the idea,” Bruce said, joining me. “You deserve one night without worrying about students, or parents, or anything else.”

I smiled faintly. “You’re not so bad at this whole ‘thank-you dinner’ thing.”

“Good to know,” he said quietly, almost like he was filing that away for later.

When we finally headed out, he insisted on driving me home. At first, I tried to argue, but it was late, and considering we're in Gotham — I just let him. Being with him was safer than being alone in this outfit.

I reached for the door handle but he was quick to open the door for me. "Watch your head," he said. "What a gentleman," I commented and slid inside his car. He closed the door gently and went to his side of the car. He was just being polite. Bruce Wayne probably did this for everyone.

Kinda made me wonder how many women had he brought home before me.

When he drove me home afterward, the car was quiet but not awkward. I couldn't shake off the idea so I just kept myself quiet, worried it'll slip.

It's a first for me to sit in a man's car that's not a colleague. Unlike the male teachers, the interior of his care were mostly either pure black, leather, or something made out of wood. It smelt just like him--- a little bit of vanilla, musk and citrus. He only had one hand on the steering while the other stayed on his lap, sometimes on the gear shift.

His fingers were long and slightly wide. He would've made a great hand model if it weren't for the callouses and scars.

He didn't do much chores since I knew Alfred was the one doing most of it, so how did he get his hands to be like that? It's not like he's out here crime fighting like the polices, or training with monks in the middle of nowhere.

Gotham’s skyline glittered outside the windows, and for once, it didn’t feel quite so dark in Gotham. Sure, there's still some people running around with knives and clown masks, but, being in the car with him, didn't feel so bad.

So this was how it felt for the rich in Gotham---being able to feel safe going out at night without thinking of the uncertainties the night life of this city could bring.

When he pulled up in front of my building, I reached for the handle. “Thank you for tonight. It was… nice,” I said.

“Good,” Bruce said, and I swore there was a hint of satisfaction in his voice. “Then maybe we should do it again sometime.”

I blinked, surprised. “Another… parent-teacher meeting?”

His mouth curved, just slightly. “Something like that.”

And before I could answer, he was already out of the car, opening the door for me. He held out a hand. "Next time, we'd need a plan on what to talk about. We barely discuss about Richard," I reached for his hand and stepped out of the car. "We shall postpone the discussion some other time. If you'll have me?"

His hand felt warm.

"Hm... I'll think about it," 

I climbed up the stairs and went inside my room. The sweet scent of home wrapping me in a warm embrace. I peeked out my window and saw him standing outside his car with his head looking up to me.

Was he making sure I got inside safely?

I waved to him and he waved back. He brought his right hand to his mouth, covered his lips with the tips of his fingers and unraveled it. He went inside his car. His engine roared as he drove away.

Did he just blew a kiss at me?

Chapter Text

A Glimpse from Him

Wayne Manor was unusually quiet in the morning. Alfred continued with his morning routine while Bruce scrolled through something on his tablet, his eyes scanning over each section as always, never staying longer than 10 seconds.

Richard, however, was staring straight at him from the other side of the table. The gears in his head bursting with electricity. 

Finally, he spoke.

"How was your meeting last night?"

Bruce didn't look up. "Productive,"

"Mm-hmm," Richard dragged the sound out, leaning back in his chair while tapping his cereal bowl with a spoon. "A meeting under the stars just to talk about me,"

Bruce finally peeked up from his tablet with the kind of gaze that usually would shut his boards of directors up. It didn't work on Richard though.

"She looked pretty in a dress, didn't she?" Richard grinned. "What did you two even talk about? My grades are perfect. I'm the sportiest student----or did you just bat your eyelashes at her hoping she could read your mind over how pretty she looked?"

Bruce frowned.

Richard's grin widened. 

"You're imagining things," Bruce cleared his throat. "Wow. Things are really going to get heated if the media finds out about this," Richard laughed, nearly spilling his cereal. "Come on. You're going to be late for school," Bruce pressed.

Richard finished his cereal in one chug and wiped his lips with the back of his hands. He then sprinted to the front but as he passed Bruce--- "Make sure the school doesn't know about this. Especially that woman,"

Bruce paused.

He watched as Richard ran to Alfred who had already waited in the car with the engine warming up. The sun rising from the east, illuminating the dark streets of Gotham.

It's been a week since then.

I lathered my hair with conditioner and stuffed my head in a plastic bag. The dress I wore was hanging in my wardrobe since the day I last wore it.

Bruce kept his word on having Alfred make meals for me and Richard and I had been exchanging lunchboxes daily. Initially, he'd give it to me before the bells rung but a few days after that, he stopped giving it to me directly but would just place it underneath my table instead.

I knew very well why he's been distancing himself but it felt like losing someone dear to me.

Some staffs had been running their mouths too. Anytime I join their space, they'd look very uncomfortable and Monica would always stand right in the middle of it with a smile. One that could throw a dagger at you.

Very immature if you ask me.

All of us were adults. We should be able to control our emotions by now but then again, not everyone was raised the same way. Some people weren't as lucky enough to be matured even if they die of old age. 

I spent my time in my classroom for the whole week since then. Just focusing on my job and my students. Richard kept to himself most of the time and when I tried to talk to him, he would run away.

I'd like to message Bruce about it but every time I open his chatbox, I'd be reminded of the night when he blew me a kiss. When that happens, I'd just shake it off but I still couldn't bring myself to contact him on my own.

He's probably just used to sending women home, that's all. 

After two weeks, the tension between the staffs and I had almost died down. Monica probably wasn't able to fuel the fire any more since she didn't have any updates for them--Richard was staying away from me, Bruce didn't make any appearances at school and I didn't have anything to tell them.

A few students tried approaching Richard about this issue--- probably paid by Monica to get new information. Initially, Richard was calm and judge brushed them away, but eventually, they got too persistent that he almost became violent. 

At this rate, Monica was going to endanger Richard's school life and good reputation.

As a teacher, I couldn't let my personal life affect my students.

That day, I approached Monica. 

As usual, she was surrounded by the staffs---her little court--- and when I got there, they all suddenly had other things to do and left me alone with her.

I stopped right in front of her desk.

"What’s wrong?" Monica asked, voice sweet as spun sugar, her smile deliberately slow.

"I need you to stop whatever game you’re playing," I said, keeping my voice steady.

Her blue eyes widened, feigning innocence. "Game? You want me to stop working? Sorry, I don’t have a rich bachelor backing me up — some of us have to actually work for a living."

I took a deep breath.

"I know you're rich, and I know you like Bruce Wayne. But don't jeopardize Richard's school experience just to get to me. Bruce and I have nothing to do with each other except for the fact that both of us care for Richard,"

Monica straightened, her chair scraping back. She stepped toward me, closing the distance until our shoes nearly touched.

"So you just expect me to sit back," she said, voice dropping low, "and watch you steal my crush?"

"Monica," I said sharply, "it was a silly crush. And you never even tried to talk to him!"

"That doesn’t give you the right to!" Her voice cracked, a flash of something wild in her expression.

"You knew I liked him, and you went after him anyway."

"I didn’t ‘go after’ anyone!" My own voice rose now, and I forced it back down. "It was coincidence. I met him, he helped me, and he turned out to be—"

"A good person?!" She laughed, harsh and ugly. "Don’t make me gag. You could’ve died in that alley for all I care — you should’ve said no!"

My hands curled into fists. "Are you insane? You’d rather I die than accept help?"

Monica’s jaw set.

"Bruce. Wayne. Is. Mine." Each word like a knife between my ribs.

I stared at her, my chest tight, before stepping back. "Then maybe you should tell him that yourself," I said coldly. "Because from where I’m standing, it looks like he made up his own mind."

Her eyes flashed with fury.

I turned and walked away before I said something I couldn’t take back.

After school, I went straight back to my apartment. Grocery shopping could  wait.

Confronting Monica had wrung every ounce of energy out of me, and all I wanted was to collapse in my bed and not move until morning.

The stairwell was quiet except for the hollow sound of my footsteps. As I reached the third floor, I passed by a door that made me stop in my tracks.

It was the same as any other apartment door --- except this one was beaten, its paint chipped and one hinge slightly bent like someone had tried to kick it open.

That... definitely wasn't like that this morning.

I didn't even know someone lived there either.

"What are you looking at?"

The sharp voice startled me. I glanced down the stairs and saw him --- a boy, maybe ten, climbing up toward me two steps at a time.

"Do you happen to know who lives here?" I gestured to the door. 

"Yeah," he said when he reached the landing, not even hesitating. "That's my place,"

He pulled a key from his pocket and jammed it into the lock like he'd done it a thousand times before.

"Oh," I said, surprised. 

He glanced at me over his shoulder --- messy black hair falling into his eyes--- and I caught the oil-stained white shirt, the sweat-darkened collar, the bruises scattered along his cheek and forearms.

He looked like trouble, but not the kind you should be afraid of. The kind you should be worried for.

"Do you live alone?" I asked gently.

His shoulders stiffened. "That's none of your business," he shot back. 

Then he pushed the door open and slipped inside without another word, leaving me standing there with more questions than answers.

My apartment was right above his so it took just a minute for me to arrive at my door, shoving the keys in my door knob and settling on my bed after locking the door again. I threw my shoes across the floor and was ready to lose myself in mindless youtube videos when shouting echoed from downstairs.

At first, I thought it was just another argument between neighbors--- something this building had its fair share of--- but then I heard the unmistakable sound of a body hitting the floor.

I rushed to my window-- which wasn't that far really. My bed was literally leaning against it--- and looked down.

There he was--- the boy from earlier. He was throwing punches at a kid twice his size while two more tried to grab him from behind.

"Stop!" I shouted before I even realized it. I was 3 levels above them so it's likely that they heard me but he didn't even glance my way.

It was messy and brutal. 

He fought like a cornered animal, every strike fueled by rage. His smaller stature taking in every hit they swung at him. And the wildest part? He was winning.

One of the bigger kids ran off holding his nose, another cursed and limped away, and the last one finally backed off, glaring.

The kid stood there, chest heaving. His shirt now streaked with blood--- probably his own.

It's normal for me to witness kids throwing punches at each other. In Gotham, that's basically a daily occasion. But I was never the only adult witnessing it. Usually, there'd be other more mature adults around to deal with it so I never had to deal it directly.

I didn't know what to do. Part of me wanted to run down there and drag him upstairs but I just stayed by the window until he finally limped his way inside and started climbing up the stairs.

By the time he reached his floor, I was standing in front of his door.

He froze. "What do you want?"

"You should clean that cut before it gets infected," I gestured to the cut on his brows.

He frowned. "I don't need your help,"

He's feisty and not used to gentleness---like a street dog.

"I didn't say I was going to help," I said, crossing my arms. It's best to let him approach me instead. "But I've got a first aid kit if you change your mind,"

He grunted, unexpectedly.

I thought he'd tell me to get lost again but he just shoved his key into the lock, and went inside without another word.

I sighed. Maybe he wouldn't take the offer now, but at least he knew it was there.

Chapter Text

The day after I met the boy, I found him waiting right in front of my house. I didn't say anything but I didn't tell him off either.

I jammed my key in and went inside, leaving the door open. I took out a cookie jar and a cold bottle of milk from my fridge. I glanced back at the door and he's just standing outside, his eyes wandering into my home.

"Would you like some?" I placed a cup on my table.

He swallowed. "You said I can use your first aid kit yesterday,"

"Oh that," I reached under my bed and pulled out the white kit. I placed it on the table, right next to the jar.

His eyes glued to it instead of the kit.

"It's chocolate chip cookies I got at Subway. The big ones," I took a seat across from the door. "Take some before you go,"

He looked around, as if going inside was a crime. He seemed hesitant as he reached in, his feet not going past the door. When he realized he couldn't reach it, his knees slowly crept in-- his feet hovering from the floor.

Once he got the jar, he quickly pulled himself out.

As he tried to take as much as his little hands could hold, I took the chance to introduce myself--- my name and where I worked. 

He took a bite out of the cookie. His head barely reached my doorknob. "I'm Todd. Jason Todd,"

"Do you live with your mother?" I asked. He nodded.

It was lucky guess since I saw a woman's shoe when he went inside his home yesterday. It was battered and dirty... just like the rest of his house which I only caught a glimpse.

He placed the cookie jar on the floor and reached in again, taking the first aid kit this time.

"I'll return this tomorrow," he said and ran off, jumping down 2 stairs at a time back to his level.

I sighed.

He's poor and he didn't seem to be from my school... or did he?

I took the jar and closed the door before going back to my bed where my phone was resting. I quickly texted a colleague which I just got acquainted with.

"Susan, do you have a kid named Jason Todd?"

After half an hour, she replied.

"Yeah. He barely comes to school and when he does, he only pick fights," 

"Do you have his report card?"

My initial thought was to know his academic levels. A kid of his status need all the help he could to change his life around.

"I do...," 

I heard an audible sigh from her end.

"Just don't go in too deep," 

She emailed me his report card and his files.

That night, I did a quick study of it and that's when I decided he shall be an addition to my life.

Since then, every morning I'd knock on his door and invited him to go to school with me. For a week, he rejected me. Saying that school was for losers and that he didn't have time for it.

One Saturday night, I found him waiting outside my house with blood stain under his nose and a black eye. He didn't want to go to the clinic, saying that it's too expensive but he accepted my offer to let him stay the night. 

I gave him my bed while I slept on the floor. I burnt extra candles and gave him extra blanket so that he could feel toasty in this late autumn cold.

I couldn't sleep though. My heart cried at his circumstance. 

A bedridden mother, an absent and abusive father... he barely had anything to eat for himself so he'd steal stuff from the streets which led him to multiple street fights. And he's only 10.

I surfed the internet for any childcare services that could provide for him but the only good one was Wayne Orphanage and that's closed after Bruce's parents died...

Bruce.

He took Richard in when his parents died.

I wonder if he would...

He wouldn't. 

Jason's parents were still alive. It'll give him trouble if he just take him in.

If only I was rich enough... I'd take him away from his family and give him the life he needed.

But I wasn't.

It became our little routine after that day.

Jason would wait outside my door in the middle of the night and went home before dawn breaks. Probably to hide the fact from his mother that he'd been sleeping in someone else's home.

I spent extra on groceries too just to make sure he'd always sleep with his belly full every night.

After a week, Jason came back to school too.

It was rough for the first week... but after a while, he learned to calm down. Since he's in Susan's classroom, I asked her to send him to me every time he throws a tantrum.

Richard seemed to notice this though. When Jason greeted me in the hallway, I would always see Richard glancing at us from the corner of his eyes. 

I'd greet him but he's still keeping his distance.

Monica was thrilled with me being close with Jason. She stopped her little game entirely. She probably thought I'd given up on Bruce and Richard.

But I didn't care.

During that time, I just wanted Jason to know what it's like to know peace. 

It's mid November now. It's going to start snowing anytime soon.

It's a Saturday so Jason spent the day trying to make his house warmer for his mother while I took the chance to buy him a new winter coat. As I found a perfect red coat for him, I saw a blue winter hat on the same statue. 

It reminded me of Richard. It's been a while since i last spent time with him. He might not like it if I approached him at school but maybe I can post it to Wayne Manor instead.

After paying for both items, I walked home through the breezy streets.

Winter was not so different from other seasons in Gotham. The air was heavier than usual and pigeons won't roam the streets as much. 

I wrapped my coat tighter around my and started picking up the pace. Halfway down the block, the sound of footsteps joined mine.

Not just one pair. Two.

I sped up.

So did they.

I risked a glance over my shoulder. Two men. A black mask covering the lower half. Same blank, unbothered eyes.

I turned down a busier street, hoping to lose them in the crowd, but the crowd thinned the farther I walked. 

The sky was already bleeding into that Gotham orange that meant night would fall too soon.

I glanced at my watch--- it's only 7pm but in winter, sunlight was scarcer.

My pulse thundered in my ears as I cut through a side alley--- bad idea, but I needed a shortcut.

My phone.

I fumbled it out of my pocket, fingers shaking so bad I almost dropped it. 

Somehow, without a second thought, I opened my chat with Bruce.

That's when I heard it.

Footsteps quickening.

So I ran.

The cold air sliced into my lungs as I weaved through trash bins and puddles, my shoes splashing. My purse and shopping bag banged against my hip as I sprinted, praying I could get out to a main road before they---

"Got you,"

My coat was yanked back, cutting the air off my throat.

I stumbled, slammed against the slippery floor hard enough to see stars.

I hit send just as one of them wrenched my phone from my hand and threw it to the other end of the alley. 

"Let's go, sweetheart," the taller one growled, dragging me forward. 

I inhaled as much as I could but before I could scream, the shorter one muffled my scream with his leather gloved palms--- cutting my air supply in the process.

I twisted, kicked and fought---anything to get free-- but he was already pulling out a sack from his jacket.

My last clear memory before darkness swallowed me was the glow of my phone screen on the wet asphalt--- Bruce's name at the top.

Ice and gasoline.

That was the first thing I noticed when I woke up. My head felt heavy, my throat raw. I tried to move, but my wrists and ankles burned against the rough rope. I'd been unmasked but my eyes were wrapped tightly-- pressing my lashes flat.

A feeling all too familiar.

My throat felt tight and my chest felt heavy. My mouth started gasping for air but the atmosphere was too thick with gas that every breath felt toxic.

I started counting in my mind, a de-stress method after years of therapy.

I forced myself to breathe through my nose, slow and quiet, and that's when I heard them.

"Boss said we wait for the call,"

"And if the call never comes?" another voice--- raspier.

"Then we burn this place down,"

My pulse pounded so loud I thought they might hear it. I tried to speak, but my tongue was basically tied in fear.

Something cold touched my neck. 

Slowly gliding down my skin to the nape of my neck.

A sharp ting followed as it clashed with my necklaces--- metal against metal.

"Shame to waste a pretty thing like this," the other muttered, I could smell his lunch on top of my nose.

I jerked against the ropes, heart thundering. My breaths came quick and shallow.

The one laughed. 

A part of my clothes was torn with a sound that made my stomach drop.

A memory locked in the back of my mind started to flash in my eyes and a strong deja vu.

Somewhere outside the room, a door slammed.

"Hey---who's there?"

Then--- shouting.

A loud crash.

Shots were fired.

Screams were heard.

Something soft and heavy hit the floor.

And then---

Silence.

As if time itself had stopped.

A silence so deep, I could hear my own blood rushing in my arteries.

Then came footsteps. 

Slow.

Steady.

Close.

I held my breath. As if hiding my breathings could make me invisible.

The blindfold was yanked away in one swift motion---everything was dark. The fluorescent lights had been shattered, and the first thing I saw was  a silhouette against the doorway which wasn't too far away.

Broad shoulders. Cape sweeping the ground.

"Batman...,"

The name slipped out of me before I could notice it.

He didn't say anything. Just crossed the room in three strides and crouched in front of me, gloved hands working on the ropes tying my wrists and ankles to the wall.

The moment my arms were free, the adrenaline hit all at once that my body couldn't process it fast enough.

My body just collapsed like a ragged doll, but he caught me before I hit the floor. His arms were unsurprisingly big, and smelled faintly of smoke and rain--- and faint hint of cologne that I'd smelt before.

"Can you stand?" his voice was low, gravely--- the exact same as in every news clips I've ever heard. 

I nodded, though my legs wobbled and my arms were shaking.

He didn't trust that nod. So he just lifted me off the floor with one hand--- like I weighed nothing.

His bat crest on his chest felt hard and cold under my fingers. His cape and cowl were wet. I couldn't hear any heartbeat but he felt warm.

I buried my face in his shoulder without thinking. My heart was still racing, but the fear was gone. Not entirely but the old memory had gone back to where it should be.

Locked again at the furthest part in my brain.

"Don't look," he said as we passed the men he'd taken down.

I kept my face against him, grateful for the excuse not to see what he had done.

He didn't set me down until we were outside, under the dim light of a flickering streetlamp. The air was freezing, but I barely noticed until my breaths came out visible. 

"You're safe now," he said, voice still low, but softer. 

I chuckled.

"I don't think so,"

His head turned down to me. 

I swallowed whatever saliva I had. "This wasn't the first time this happened to me," my voice trailed off.

He didn't move and didn't say anything.

"Sorry," I looked up to him with a smile. "Pretend I didn't say anything," I bit the inside of my cheek, praying for time to move quickly and the sun to rise so he would leave. 

But it didn't.

Instead, his hand reached down to mine and gently held it.

I looked down.

"When I was a teen, I lived with my grandma's friend... but then someone broke in and took me away. No one came for me so I could only wait until everything ended,"

The wind cut through the following silence, sharp as a blade.

"They didn't do anything to me though thankfully. I was a pretty ugly kid so they weren't interested in me except for my family... or at least what was left of it," I felt like I need to address the elephant in the room. After all, usually, unspoken things were done to girls who were kidnapped. I just got lucky, that's all.

His grip warmed me even though the leather was cool.

"But tonight...," I said, almost whispering now. "You came,"

"You called,"

He crouched down so that we're eye-level with each other. He reached out his other hand and wiped the single tear streaking down my cheek that I hadn't notice.

He then reached his belt and pulled out my phone-- the same one I dropped on that alley.

I checked the screen and it had 3 missed calls from Bruce. 

"He can't know about this," I muttered. "It's not his burden to carry," I glanced at him. 

It's probably due to his cowl but I couldn't read what he's thinking about at all. His eyes seemed clouded either with too many or no thoughts at all.

"It's a secret then," he said, towering over me now.

I nodded. It felt strange, swearing Batman to secrecy, but something about the way he said it--- as if he'd already decided--- made me believe him. He kept his identity for years now, this would be like a walk in the park for him.

It's not like him and Bruce were close friends either.

He glanced toward the city, scanning the shadow. "I'll take you home,"

I wanted to say I could manage, but my legs were still trembling too badly to even stand on my own. He noticed this because before I could say anything, he simple scooped me up again, one arm under my knees, the other supporting my back.

"Close your eyes," he said.

I did.

The city moved differently when you're out here riding a motorbike with Batman.

I could hear the wind tearing past, the honking horns, the hum of streetlight and the distant clang of pipes. 

I was hidden underneath his cape so no one would notice I was with him on the road.

My heartbeat started to slow, just enough for me to finally hear the faint rhythm of his breathing and heartbeat from behind.

I took a peek out of the cape. My breaths flew away due to how fast we were. 

I glanced up to the sky. There were no stars visible-- Gotham had a busy nightlife after all---the light pollution made it almost impossible to see the stars. But something else trickled down the sky instead.

The fall of the first snow.

Gently drifting down.

My arms wrapped around Batman's torso tighter. It's been so long since I last felt human touch.

When he finally set me down, it was in front of my apartment door.

"Will I... see you again?"

He hesitated--- just a fraction of a second--- before stepping back into the shadows.

"When you need me," was all he said.

And then he was gone.

I stood there for a long time before I found the strength to go inside, leaning against the door once it was locked. A long sigh escaped from my lips as my shoulders relaxed.

When my phone buzzed in my hand, I nearly jumped out of my skin.

It was a message from Bruce.

"Someone is following me,"

--was my last message to him.

"Where are you?"

"Answer my calls if you're okay,"

Both of those were sent a few minutes after my initial message.

"Are you safe now?"

---his latest message.

I stared at it for a full minute. He might wonder what had happened and he might want to question me about it. That's not something I'd want to do.

With shaky fingers, I typed back:

"Yeah. I'm home now,"

Three dots appeared by his name on the screen, disappeared, appeared again.

"I'm coming by in the morning. That's final,"

I tripped and fell onto my bed. For the first time that day, I let out a small laugh.

I knew there was no point in arguing with him anyway. But with his presence, I can forget tonight ever happened.

Chapter Text

I couldn't sleep that night.

After Batman left, I thought I could relax and pretend like nothing happened but I couldn't. After almost a decade, the memories came back--- of being thrown into the back of a van, having my mouth gagged with socks, the burning sensation of ropes around my flesh, and a voice from a person whom I knew all too well.

When sunlight peeked through my curtains, I took it as a sign that I should start washing myself and change my clothes. I considered taking the day off but that's just going to be another different set of work for me to do.

Then my little moment of self-negotiation was interrupted by light knockings on my door. I pulled my sleeves down to hide the rope marks and peeked through the hole.

It's Bruce and Richard. 

I took a deep breath and fixed my hair in the mirror and puffed some perfume over my clothes.

As I opened the door, Bruce was holding a black lunch carrier. Richard was beside him, his usual mischievous grin I missed dulled into something softer.

"Good morning," Bruce said, as if this were just another casual Saturday.

"Morning," I tried to mimic his tone, stepping aside.

"We thought you might want this," he handed me the carrier. It was heavier than usual and based on how the container was unable to contain the smell, the dish this time may be his best dish yet.

"You should probably eat it before lunch," Richard said.

I smiled faintly, clutching the carrier to my chest. It's still warm. "Thank you but you didn't have to,"

"Actually," Bruce's voice gentled. "You should take the day off. No school, no errands. Just... breathe,"

"But---the school would contact me,"

"We've dealt with that," Richard said, too proudly. 

"What have you done?"

"It's nothing you should be worried about," he said.

I rubbed my temples. "Come in," I walked away from the door and placed the carrier on the table while I leaned back on my bed. "As I said in my message, I'm fine. Turns out I wasn't being followed. Those people just happened to be walking in the same direction,"

Bruce's eyes flicked down for just a second, but it was enough for me to pull my sleeves lower. His brows furrowed slightly before smoothing back into calm neutrality. "Whatever it is, we're glad you're safe,"

"Whatever it is, you should deal with it before it deals with you," Richard scoffed. Bruce gave him a quick glare before swiftly opening the carrier.

The smell of food masking all of my sense and sparked my hunger which made me realize that I hadn't eaten for almost 20 hours. I was starving.

"Alfred made you some garlic chicken rice for lunch, stew for dinner and dumplings for supper. You can heat those up for later but right now, have some chicken soup," there were 2 flasks and two lunchboxes in total. All filled with food.

"Wow that is... a lot," my jaw dropped. "How did Alfred find the time to make all these in a short amount of time?"

"He has his ways," Richard said and scoured for a bowl and a spoon in my pantry. Once he found them, he poured some soup and brought it over to me. "You look like a cat being pulled out of a drain," he commented.

I touched my cheek which was cold to touch. "Was it too obvious?" I forced a laugh. He placed the bowl into my palms and sat back with Bruce.

The soup stared at me and as much as I was tempted to eat, I couldn't.

"You two should have some!" I pushed the bowl towards them. "We've eaten on the way," Richard said, tapping his full stomach. "Is something wrong?" Bruce inquired. "No! No... nothing's wrong," I glanced at the soup---a memory flashed in my mind again. 

A bowl of soup.

An empty shack.

Familiar faces.

When I opened my eyes again, Bruce was staring at me. As if he's trying to read my mind. As if he knew I'm keeping something from him. As if he already knew what it was.

I didn't like that he's looking at me. The way his eyes just glued onto me--- like a hawk.

"You're not touching your soup?" he finally spoke.

"I'm not that hungry," the truth was... all his efforts to desensitize me just went down the drain in a single night but I couldn't bring myself to let him know that.

Thankfully, he didn't press, but he didn't look away either. He just nodded slowly.

"Eat when you can," he said finally, standing up.

Richard followed his lead, though he shot me a quick look before he went to put the lid back on the soup. "Thanks for coming," I said, forcing a smile to smooth over the atmosphere.

Bruce's expression softened, and for a moment, I saw the man who showed up at the observatory again. "Just rest today," he said again, more like an order than a suggestion this time. "We'll handle the school if anything comes up,"

Then, they were gone.

I sat for a while, staring at the soup. My mind kept telling me that Alfred wouldn't dare to put anything inedible into the soup but when I tried to reach for it, my body started to tremble. When I finally get to hold the spoon without spilling, I tried to stuff my mouth with it but my throat gagged and rejected it out of my system.

I leaned back again, feeling weaker than before.

Curse these memories... if only I could forget them for good.

My eyes wandered around my room, trying to look for something to forget what I just remembered until it landed on the coat I wore last night--- hung behind the door with a slight rip near the front buttons. The fabric was still frayed and darker around the hems where the ground had scraped it when I felt on the asphalt.

The memory of last night hit again, layered by the old memories--- a gloved hand, the knife against my skin, the sound of laughter too close to my ear. The only difference was the presence of poison.

I grabbed my phone and scrolled through Bruce's missed calls from last night, almost dialing him.

Almost.

Instead, I shoved the phone in my pocket and grabbed my keys.

The moment I swung open my door, Jason was standing there with a hand out just about to knock. "Jason," my breaths hitched. "I smell something... good," a light flush on his cheeks.

My plans to investigate had to wait.

I ended up eating with Alfred's cooking with Jason. He ate a spoonful before me until I felt confident enough to eat. Thankfully, Bruce's method was still working, I simply needed to restart the process. After Jason left, it was almost noon.

I had enough strength to go back to the alley so with a small cast iron in my totebag and a bad idea, I made my way back to where I was taken away.

The alley was empty when I got there.

No trash, no broken glass, nothing. No sign that anything had happened at all.

I ran my fingers over the road where I thought they'd pinned me, half-expecting to feel bloodstains or hair strands there.

Nothing.

I remembered my shopping bag--- where I kept Jason's new jacket and Richard's new winter hat. 

No signs of it too.

It's all so frustrating.

There's no camera, no witnesses, nothing I could use to prove to the GCPD (Gotham City Police Department) that I was kidnapped.

Just like in that moment almost 10 years ago-- a case that only I knew due to the same circumstances.

At least I knew now that what happened last night was planned. Someone else paid them to get me. Someone who had enough money to orchestrate my death. And at that moment, there's only one person rich enough with a strong reasoning to do it.

Of course it was her.

She'd smile at me tomorrow, pretend nothing happened, maybe even gloat in her own quiet little way to her board of directors.

I would smile back.

I would find out everything and I would expose her of everything she was.

Chapter Text

I was kidnapped on Sunday morning.

On Monday, a group of animals accidentally escaped the nearby petting zoo and ended up at our school.

On Tuesday, it was announced that it's Susan's last day at school---someone sent a tip to the headmaster that she had been embezzling school funds for her personal trips to the Bahamas.

I barely knew her.

But I knew she won't do something that would jeopardize her job.

She's a single mother after all.

When the first bell rung, my hands stayed pressed flat against my desk, palms sweating. My students were still talking to themselves. If I remained motionless, they would stay that way until I tell them to sit. They're 13 and most of them didn't understand the concept of discipline yet.

Something bounced off my forehead, snapping me out of my thoughts. I looked down on my table and found a thick piece of eraser. When I glanced up again, Richard's eyes were already on me.

His brows furrowed as if he's trying to read my mind.

I cleared my throat and finally started the class.

By recess, the room was empty--- the children rushing out like piranhas.

I stayed where I was, leaning back on my chair.

If anyone walked in, they'd think I was just another tired teacher catching up on grading and lesson planning. But every minute I spent here made me itch to jump on Monica.

I knew she was behind Susan's departure.

Behind my kidnapping.

But I couldn't prove it.

She wanted to isolate me. 

But why?

"Don't think about it,"

I startled.

Richard was standing in front of my desk. His face as serene as a quiet lake in a forest. 

I wanted to. God, I wanted to.

I wanted to pretend like nothing happened as pretend that everything was as normal as any other but I couldn't.

Their gaze, their whispers, their thoughts--- everything they do was burning me to find an escape like a mousetrap.

My pen twitched in my fingers.

"What are you talking about?" I forced a smile. 

He stayed silent for a beat. Then: "Whatever it is you're thinking, it's not worth the risk. Just leave it to the professionals,"

I did that 10 years ago. It didn't save me then.

"I'm not going to do anything dangerous," I tried to sound light. "I'm too busy with the upcoming final exam which you should start studying for," I lightly nudged his elbow. He snickered. "I can do it with my eyes closed," "Then I expect a perfect score," 

He paused. "I'm a genius, not a prodigy," 

Then the classroom door creaked.

"Yo, teach,"

Jason strolled in, hands shoved into his pockets. His glance flicked briefly at Richard before landing on me. "What's for lunch today?"

" 'We'?" Richard's eyes widened.

"Richard, this is Jason Todd. He's my neighbor. Jason, this is Richard Grayson, he's--,"

"Son of Bruce Wayne, I know,"

"Adoptive," Richard muttered.

Jason smirked. "You got lucky,"

I did not expect them to not get along. They're both boys, they must've something in common other than their gender.

Before they got in a heated argument, I had to push them out of my classroom. Richard muttering something under his breaths and Jason claiming he's was a waste of fresh air.

I doubt they'd stop bickering but at least it's not within my sight.

Once I shut the door, the classroom finally felt quiet. But the tick of the wall clock was driving me mad---as if telling I didn't have time to relax, I need to expose her NOW.

I gathered the last of the worksheets on my desk and went to close the windows--- and that's when I saw her.

Monica, standing by the staff parking lot, speaking to a man in a dark suit. Their backs leaning on the wire fence. 

She handed him something--- an envelope, thick enough to go through the fence--- and he smiled.

Satisfied. 

The man left first. Monica glanced around once, then clicked her heels back inside the building.

I stayed frozen by the window long after she was gone.

Minutes later, the bell rung again which meant recess was over and students should be back in their classroom.

A few of mine started coming in one by one, still chatting with their friends. 

Truthfully, I wasn't the type of teacher who would eavesdrop on my students' conversation but I heard someone mentioning seeing a teacher who happened to be the one I was targeting at a place that someone of her job title shouldn't be present in.

So after school, I went to the shopping alley, got myself a sequin skirt and a trip to the salon for a big blowout. 

Although I didn't have any trustworthy friends to go to a nightclub with during my student days, I'd seen my fair share of clubbing outfits within my time here in Gotham. Sometimes, the hour where I go to work was the same hour they start going home, but that usually happen once a week. 

Despite the dangerous nightlife this city holds, some people live for the thrill.

Once the sun set, I quietly make my way to the Iceberg Lounge with my outfit hidden under a trench coat, a face mask and faked a runway walk I learnt through watching videos online.

When I got there, it's so much different than I imagined.

The front door had a red carpet and there's a line of people waiting to go in while those in limousines just walk down the carpet with a smile. They're not ordinary people either.

Celebrities, models, high ranking government officials... this club seemed to hold more people of power than any other building in Gotham.

But that's not my goal.

While I lined up, a limousine parked right at the other end of the red carpet. The back door opened and a woman emerged out of it, completely taking away everyone's attention to her. From her red-bottom shoes to her skin colored dress, she became the center of attention. 

Monica.

Her smile flashed under the strobe of cameras from paparazzi across the street. She looked radiant, unbothered--- like a queen gliding through her kingdom.

I hid myself behind the person standing in front of me.

Thankfully, she breezed past the bouncer, barely sparing a glance around her.

No ID check. No hesitation.

She's probably richer than I imagined and that hospital in Metropolis was unlikely her only source of passive income.

Meanwhile, it's been a full hour and the line barely moved. The bass from inside rattled the pavement under my boots.

By the time I reached the bouncer, my palms were sweating so badly I nearly dropped my ID.

It only took him one glance --- trench coat, mask, fake posture --- and shook his head.

"VIPs only," he growled. 

"I'm on the list," I lied.

His eyebrow arched. "Name?"

"Michaela Jackson," I stammered out the first fake name that came to mind.

He didn't even look at the clipboard. Didn't even at least laugh at the bad attempt. Just crossed his arms and threw away my chance to get my snoop. 

But I didn't give up.

I circled the building, heart pounding, heels clicking, until I found a side entrance left open for deliveries and dancers.

I hesitated only a second. Then slipped inside.

The air changed immediately.

Dim lights. The smell of tobacco and expensive perfume. Laughter and glass clinking under a low jazz beat with a giant ice sculpture in the middle of the room.

I stayed in the shadow of the hallway, hung my coat over my arm, back pressed to the wall, trying to quiet my breathing.

My choice to match the sequin skirt with a plain black backless top was accurate to the rest of the guests present. 

Through the archway, I spotted my target, sitting in the arms of an older man with a cigarette between her fingers like she's in her natural habitat.

The same man leaned in close, saying something in her ear that made her laugh.

I raised my camera, hands shaking, and snapped a picture. 

"No cameras!" a staff noticed the shutter clicked.

Two security guards heard the staff and started to make their way toward me.

I cursed under my breath and bolted.

The crowd blurred as I ran, heels clattering on the floor, my coat catching on the edge of a table so I had to let it go.

The back door loomed ahead--- I slammed my body through it into the cold alley.

I didn't look back but I could hear them getting closer.

My lungs burned while I prayed in my heart to be spared. 

A gloved hand grabbed my arm, yanking me back---

And then a shadow dropped from the sky.

The guard went flying.

I stumbled back, staring at the silhouette towering over me, cape billowing in the wind the same as the first time I saw him.

His voice cut through my daze "You shouldn't be here,"

I clutched my camera tighter. "Then maybe you can tell me why one of my coworkers is,"

Behind him, a smaller figure --- yellow cape flashing ---kept the guards at bay.

"This isn't your area of expertise. Go home," he turned his back towards me. 

Panic flared in my hot chest. I lunged forward, grabbing his arm before he could leave.

"At least---," my thumb fumbled over the camera screen, pulling up the photo with shaking hands.

I shoved it toward him "--tell me who he is,"

He only glanced once before turning that unreadable gaze back to me.

"He's none of your concern," he pulled free, heading towards the boy with the yellow cape.

"Wha--- he's part of my problem. I need to fix this," I chased after him, words spilling faster than I could breathe.

Neither of them spoke back to me.

"You know this man," I pressed. "Tell me!"

The yellow caped kid shot his grappling hook to the roof. His eyes avoiding mine and soared up to the roof.

Desperation choked me.

“Please!” My voice cracked as I grabbed a fistful of Batman’s cape. “I need to know who he is—his connection to her—please.”

He stood still, the cape heavy in my fists.

Then, he shot his grappling hook to the sky and flew into the shadows.

The alley went quiet except for my breathing — ragged, too loud — and the distant thud of boots as the guards limped away.

I swallowed hard, throat burning.

“Fine,” I whispered to the empty air.

I couldn't disappoint myself any further. “I’ll find out myself.”

I turned, ready to run back to the lounge.

Snow came down and a cape fell over my shoulders — heavy, warm — cutting off the night wind.

“Not here,” he whispered behind my ear. “Let’s talk somewhere safe.”

Chapter Text

My apartment had never felt smaller.

I sat on my bed, knees tied together with an invisible rope, the weight of his cape still lingering on my shoulders even though he'd taken it back.

Batman stood by the stove, back to me, cape trailing against the floor like a shadow that refused to leave. The boy--- Robin, he said--- leaned by my door, looking everywhere but at me.

The situation made me regret not choosing a bigger studio apartment but my paycheck didn't allow me to choose comfort than necessity.

I wanted to speak first, but my throat felt tight.

"Thank you...," I finally managed.

The cowl turned, those white eyes landing on me.

His white contacts made it eerie to make eye contact.

I cleared my throat. "For saving me," I clarified, quieter now. "Again,"

He didn't move for a long moment, and then: "You shouldn't have been there,"

"I know," my fingers twisted the hem of my skirt, pulling down after noticing it got shorter. Or has it always been that short?

"But you knew who that man is and...," based on his disagreeable scowl, I stopped that sentence.

Neither of them spoke either.

The silence was deafening.

"You don't need to tell me his name," I said carefully. "But at least tell me if I'm wrong. If I am, I'll let it go and stop pursuing her,"

Robin glanced at him, maybe a scoff. Batman didn't reply his gaze.

Instead, he stepped closer.

"You're not wrong," the room felt colder when he spoke.

He placed my towel over my lap, covering my legs.

"But if you keep pushing," he added. "You will be in more danger than you realize,"

I sighed. "Then help me stay out of it,"

He's saved me twice so I owe him my life--twice--but it didn't make him suddenly have the controls over my life.

He turned his head slightly to Robin, who perked up his neck, as if they're communicating with each other.

"Avoid the Iceberg Lounge," he said at last. 

Robin opened the front door and poked his head outside.

"And anyone seen leaving it with a red envelope," he added, following Robin out the door and into the shadows of the hallway.

"That's it?" my pulse quickened. "That's all you're giving me?"

"You wanted to know if you were wrong," he said. "You're not, but don't make me pull you out of there a second time,"

And that sewed my lips shut.

Monica took the rest of the week off. None of the staffs complained about it even though she made no preparations for her substitute.

For 2 days, I watched as the girl tried to manage her classroom but most of her efforts were in vain.

Monica's class was one of the 3 sophomore classes. Majority of those in her class were those who had no intentions of learning. Most of the times, after they graduate, they'd end up either working in nightclubs as dancers or wasting their life away for no-good mafia groups.

I used to tell her to try making her students take the better options in life through studying but she would never listen to me.

So I tried approaching the substitute teacher. I told her we could switch for one period, so she could have a breather. I could see color coming back to her face as she heard it.

So, for one period, I handled Monica's classroom.

Most of the female students wore micro skirts while the male students wore leather-tight pants. I never noticed it ---they would wear knee length coats outside the classroom ---now I saw what they're really like.

No wonder her classroom door was always closed and her lights were always dimmed.

I thought she had a broken bulb.

But no.

It was intentional.

She wasn't teaching them to be better people.

She was training them.

I took a deep breath and straightened my back. “All right, everyone. Books open.”

The students barely looked up.

Two girls whispered in the back row, leaning close over a phone.

A boy in the corner was sketching something obscene on his desk.

“Phones away,” I said firmly.

Most of them rolled their eyes and laughing.

So I decided to try a different approach.

"Did Miss Monica leave you anything to work on?" 

No answer.

But some of them started exchanging glances.

"Okay," I said, keeping my tone even. "You can do your own work, but keep it down," 

That got a few cheers and claps.

I leaned casually against the teacher's desk.

"You all seem...," my eyes flickered at the groups at the back of the class, pointing their fingers to the window like they're shooting with guns. "...busy,"

A boy at front snickered. "We're always busy,"

"With what?" I shot back.

He clammed up and the girl next to him elbowed him hard.

"Nothing," she said quickly.

Another boy muttered under his breath. "She's not here so chill,"

I caught that.

"Where is she, then?" my fingers held a pen between my fingers like a cigar-- a pose I saw the guests at the lounge did.

They glanced at each other.

One of the girls smirked.

"Ask the penguin dumbass," she said, almost laughing.

A few other laughed with her.

I straightened slowly.

So it was true.

The bell rung and I didn't press further. That was enough information I could get without raising suspicion. 

They bolted for the door after covering themselves, leaving me sitting alone in the dim classroom, my pulse loud in my ears.

Monica wasn't just turning a blind eye.

She was funneling these kids into something.

And if the Penguin was involved, it wasn't just escort work---it was organized crime.

My eyes glanced at one corner of the classroom---where the CCTV should've been placed--- it was but it's covered with an old black tape.

The staffs knew. 

On the way back to my own classroom, I nearly ran into Jason in the hall.

"Whoa!" he yelped, stepping aside. "What's got you looking like you saw a ghost?"

I glanced down the hall, then back at him.

"You know any kids from Monica's class?"

Jason shrugged. "Yeah. Why?"

"Think you can talk to them for me?"

He narrowed his eyes. "About what?"

"Just... see what they know about Monica,"

Jason studied me for a long moment, then grinned.

"Fine. But you owe me a month worth of supper for this,"

That night, I decided to pay a visit to the diner. Not that I didn't like it there, it's just a lot cheaper and safer if I could cook my own food.

I didn't eat anything though. Just order a cup of coffee and stayed for the ambience. The partial boring silence of it lets me organize my thoughts better. The windows were bigger for me to see the snow too.

The diner itself was mostly empty, the low hum of the neon sign outside flickering across the linoleum floor.

I stirred my coffee for the third time, even though it had gone cold ten minutes ago.

“You’ve been quiet all night,” Bruce said from the seat behind.

He'd been sitting there for a while. 2 hours ago, he called me out for a casual chat---as friends, not as parent-teacher. I chose this diner because it's closest to me while still being far enough from spying eyes.

I glanced up at his reflection in the window. He looked so out of place here — the richest man in a booth of a greasy spoon, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened.

“I didn’t realize you were the talkative type,” I said.

“I’m not,” he leaned back, watching me carefully. “But you look like you haven’t slept in days.”

My lips pressed together, inhaling deeply.

“Something happen at school?”

I hesitated.

This wasn’t Bruce Wayne’s problem.

This wasn’t anyone’s problem but mine.

But the words came out anyway.

“Monica took the week off.”

His brows lifted. “And that’s bad?”

“Her class is falling apart,” I said. “And I think… she’s doing it on purpose. I think she’s preparing them for something. Maybe someone too but that's terrifying to think.”

Bruce’s jaw tightened — just slightly — before his face smoothed back into neutrality.

“You sound sure.”

“I am sure,” my fingers curled around the coffee mug. “But I can’t prove it. Not yet.”

He stayed quiet for a long moment.

“You’re looking for trouble,” he said finally.

I scoffed.

That's not the first time I heard that.

“I’m looking for the truth,” I shot back.

His gaze met mine--through our reflection-- steady and unreadable.

“Sometimes the truth puts you in more danger than the lie ever did.”

I swallowed, my throat tight.

“Are you telling me to stop?”

His silence was an answer in itself.

“You know I can't do that,” I said. “If I just sit back and watch, I’m no better than she is.”

Bruce’s expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his eyes — something softer.

He nodded once, almost imperceptibly.

“I figured you’d say that,” he said at last. He reached into his pocket, pulling out cash for the coffee.

“Just… be careful,” he added, standing.

And then he left, the bell over the diner door jingling softly behind him.

Chapter Text

I spent most of my Friday night going over the photos Jason had taken using my camera.

Monica's students--piling into a van that didn't have a school logo during their gym class.

Monica herself--holding a clipboard, checking names.

Ever since that day, I couldn't look at Monica the way I had.

Each photo felt like another nail in a coffin I hadn't built yet.

By Saturday morning, Jason showed up banging at my door with a manila envelope.

"You're up early," I said, blinking against the sunlight.

He grinned, holding the envelope like a trophy. "Got you something,"

Inside were scraps of overheard conversations, hastily written in his messy handwriting.

Names, location, little fragments of sentences.

It was far more than I expected from him.

"Jason, how did you get all this?" 

He just grinned--stupidly.

I couldn't tell if I was grateful for his efforts---or angry for the danger he put himself in.

Jason bounced on his heels, pointing to one of the papers. "I heard them mentioning something about Mrs. Peridot,"

Peridot---Susan.

I scanned through the papers again.

They did do something to her. She wanted to expose them but she was caught. They did something that made her back down on her own.

"So? You gonna follow it up?" he said---too enthusiastically.

I clutched the papers.

"I know where she is," he added. "Well... mostly," 

"Jason--,"

"You don't have to say it," he cut me off. "I'm coming with you,"

I opened my mouth to argue but his grin turned smug.

"You're going to need someone who can protect you---and who else can take a punch here except me!" his hands locked on his waist with his chest spreading proudly.

I pursed my lips.

"Or you can go and leave me here... alone... in the dark... with no food in this cold winter...,"

This child...

I sighed.

"Fine," I said at last. "But you're staying where I can see you,"

His grin widened. "Deal,"

Jason told me that Susan had been living in Smallville since she left Gotham.

Therefore, this won't be a casual visit, it'll be a full weekend trip. A single trip there will take about 19 hours by car-- faster if we got tickets by flight, but on such short notice, I didn't think I could afford flight tickets for two.

So, we had to make a plan.

I would scour the internet to find anything that I could rent for the next 3 days without it breaking down halfway to Smallville while Jason darted back and forth from his house to mine, tossing fresh clothes, underwear, flashlight and a pocket knife into a duffel bag.

"Why do you need a pocket knife?" the correct question was why do a 10-year-old had a pocket knife.

"What if we get attacked by burglars on the road?" he shouted back.

"You're not helping," I cried out, my stress level reaching the top of my head. 

Once he had everything he needed, I told him to bring any snacks for the road. 

He took my cookie jar, bread, instant coffee, tumbler--basically any dry food we could consume while I have my hands on the wheels.

I reached under my bed for the emergency funds I had been saving--- just enough for this trip and a little extra to spare. 

After half an hour, I finally found a used car that's good enough for 40 hours of driving and comfortable enough for Jason to have a good sleep at the back seat if we couldn't stop for the night.

He wasn't so tall so he should be able to sleep soundly without folding his legs.

I was about to contact the owner when there's a gentle knock at the door.

Jason and I stopped moving. 

He glanced at me. I shrugged my shoulders.

He reached for the handle and cracked the door open--then froze.

I frowned and slammed my laptop shut.

Standing in the hallway were Bruce Wayne and Richard Grayson.

Like always, Bruce looked impossibly tall in the narrow apartment corridor, his head nearly brushing the top of my doorframe, hands tucked in the pockets of his long coat.

Richard, beside him, wore a grin halfway between 'Excuse us for coming unannounced' and 'I know something you don't'. 

"Morning," Richard said cheerfully, as if this was completely normal.

“Good morning,” I smiled back. “Um… if it’s about your assignment—” I began, then stopped when Richard’s gaze drifted to Jason’s duffel bag on the floor… and mine, not far from his.

"Planning a trip?" he tilted his head.

"That's personal," I tried keeping my tone light.

Jason, traitor that he was, grinned sheepishly. "We're going to Smallville and you're not invited!" mocking Richard.

I wanted to rip my hair out. It was supposed to be a secret. Especially from them!

Before I could argue, Bruce stepped inside, closing the door behind him. His long legs ate up the space between us in a few strides, his sweet cologne hitting me first.

"You're not going by yourself," he said simply.

"This isn't up for debate--," I started.

"Yes," he interrupted, his tone quiet but absolute. He glanced at both Richard and Jason-- with a smirk.

Jason looked between us, clearly thrilled at what he thought Bruce was implying.

Richard's grin widened.

I felt like I was cornered.

By noon, Jason was bouncing around my apartment like a pinball, too excited to notice how badly I wanted to crawl back into bed and pretend this morning hadn't happened.

“You’re bringing the cookies, right?” he called, already stuffing his hoodie pockets with snacks.

“They’re in the bag,” I muttered, glancing nervously at the clock.

As if on cue, my phone buzzed.

"Come down,"

Bruce said, on the other end of the call.

I looked down from my window and saw an RV parked in my parking spot-- hulking and shiny. The kind of thing you'd expect to see in a camping commercial.

At least it wasn't the bus-sized one.

Jason and I went downstairs and found Bruce already behind the wheel, Richard leaned against the passenger side door, arms crossed, looking far too pleased with himself for someone who self-invited to other people's road trips.

“Ready?” Richard asked.

Jason glanced at me. "It's okay. As long as we don't tell them, it'll be fine," I muttered.

Jason and Richard sat at the back while I kept Bruce company in front.

Bruce barely cranked the gear shift when Richard and Jason were already fighting over a granola bar I packed in my purse.

I twisted around in my seat. "Boys!" both froze mid-argument.

I took a deep breath, "There's more in my bag," fingers clawing at the seat "So don't fight,"

The two exchanged glances, neither backing down.

I rubbed my temples, silently cursing under my breaths.

I was too overwhelmed for this.

Bruce turned his seat and took the bar in their hands. He unwrapped it and took a big bite--Jason and Richard stared, slack-jawed.

"Take a new one. Each of you," he said and turned back to the wheel.

They obeyed, still muttering but quieter this time.

I turned back in my seat, exhaling through my nose. “Thanks,” I said.

“I thought you’d be better at managing children.” His voice was almost casual, but I caught the edge of amusement in it.

“Office hours only,” I said with a sigh. “If possible, I want my weekends quiet.”

Bruce shifted gears, eyes still on the road. “Then why spend so much time with Jason? He’s not your kid.”

I glanced at him. His eyes were still on the road but it felt like he's looking at me.

"He's just...," I hesitated. "...special,"

Bruce was silent for a beat. Then: “Did you talk to his parents about this trip?”

I looked away.

“You could get sued.”

“I know,” I admitted softly. “But he’s better off without them.”

Through the rearview mirror, I watched Jason and Richard bicker quietly over the next snack.

"Some kids aren't so lucky to have affectionate parents," my voice low enough for only Bruce to hear. “Jason is one of them. Every time I see him, he’s bruised. That’s not how a child should live. I just want him to have a chance at being normal.”

For a while, the only sounds were the hum of the road and the quiet crinkle of snack wrappers from the back.

"I'd say you're doing right by him," Bruce said finally.

I blinked, surprised. "What?" 

"Jason. You're giving him stability. Discipline when he needs it. That matters,"

I let out a soft laugh. "Talking from experience?"

His hands stayed steady on the wheel, but the corner of his mouth lifted--barely.

"I've had practice," he said simply.

Bruce’s eyes stayed on the road. “It’s not easy,” he said quietly.

“Some days you feel like you’re doing everything wrong. Other days you think you’ve got it figured out — until something blows up in your face. But what matters is that he knows you care enough to show up. That you’re there.”

I sat back, chewing on that.

“I don’t know if I’m the right person for him,” I admitted. “I’m just… me.”

“And that’s enough,” Bruce said, with such certainty that it made my chest ache.

Hours later, the RV rolled into a quiet rest stop just off the highway.

The gas station lights buzzed faintly against the dark sky, the air crisp enough to sting my cheeks when I stepped out.

After dinner, Jason and Richard both fell asleep on the twin bed in the back--Jason sprawled barely half of the bed while Richard took a 90 degree turn on it, his head almost dangling by the edge.

I hugged my coat tighter around me and stared out at the stretch of the empty road.

"Cold?"

I turned. Bruce stood a few feet away, his jacket collar popped up against the wind.

"A little," I admitted, but the air felt so fresh and clean.

He got closer and took out a heat pack from his pockets. "Here,"

It was so warm and toasty. "Thank you Mr. Wayne,"

"I thought we've past formalities," he leaned against the RV, folding his arms. "Old habits die hard," I brought cupped the heat pack in my palms and brought it over to my lips.

It had a very faint scent of his cologne-- a hint of vanilla and oud. 

"The kids are out cold. You should get some rest," I said.

"I will," he said, looking at the stars above us. "Just needed some air,"

The muffled drum beats from inside the gas station filled the silence between us.

"What made you decide to adopt Richard?"

He didn’t answer right away.

He kept his eyes on the sky for a moment longer, as if the answer might be written up there somewhere.

“He didn’t have anyone else,” he said finally.

“That’s it?”

He turned his head slightly, one corner of his mouth twitching. “That’s enough.”

I tilted my head, waiting for more.

Bruce shifted his weight against the RV. “He reminded me of myself, when I was his age. Angry. Lost. Pretending he didn’t need anyone.”

He sounded almost... melancholic---mournful even.

For a moment, I could almost see it — a boy in a suit too big for him, standing alone in an empty house.

My chest suddenly ache.

“So you just… brought him home?” I asked softly.

“I gave him a choice,” Bruce said. “He could stay in the system, keep running from foster home to foster home. Or he could come with me.”

“And he chose you.”

Bruce nodded once.

I looked back toward the RV, where Richard and Jason were snoring in unison.

For a moment, I forgot the cold. 

“You must be doing something right,” I murmured.

“Some days,” he said. “Other days…” He exhaled through his nose. “I wonder if I’ve given him too much freedom. Or not enough. If I’ve made the right calls.”

I wonder that too.

Every time I let him go back home on his own to his parents. How would they react if I had been taking care of him for the past month? Would they beat him again? What if this whole time, I've been doing everything wrong?

“That’s normal," I said, my voice quieter now. "Parents second-guess themselves all the time.”

Bruce’s gaze slid toward me, sharp even in the low light.

“I know.” His gaze flicked to me. “That doesn’t make the stakes any lower.”

My fingers tightened around the heat pack.

I hated it when he's right.

Then Bruce straightened, slipping his hands back into his coat pockets.

“You’re doing better with Jason than you think,” he said. 

I tightened my grip on the heat pack, my throat suddenly warm.

“Thank you,” I said, almost a whisper.

Bruce straightened, slipping his hands back into his coat pockets for a moment before pulling one free and holding it out to me.

“Let’s get some sleep,” he said.

I stared at his hand, the heat pack suddenly forgotten in my own.

I placed my hand in his — warm, steady — and let him guide me back to the RV.

My heart thudded all the way to the door.

Chapter Text

I woke up to the steady rumble of the RV on the last stretch of highway.

Richard was at the kitchenette, pouring coffee into a mug, while Jason was busy trying to make himself a bowl of oats with half the packet spilled on the counter.

Bruce was still driving, one hand on the wheel, quietly humming along to All I Want for Christmas Is You on the radio.

I was still curled up in the same seat where I’d fallen asleep last night — but someone had draped a blanket over me.

“Sleep well?” Bruce asked, handing me the mug.

My vision was still blurry, but it cleared as soon as the bitterness hit the back of my throat.

“Ooh, that’s good.” I smacked my tongue against the roof of my mouth. Smooth, rich, just the right amount of bitterness.

“It’s called luwak coffee,” Bruce said.

“It comes from civet poop!” Richard called from the back.

I gagged so hard I nearly spilled the mug.

“Oh my god—Jason, get me a plastic bag!”

Jason bolted upright, rummaging through the storage cabinet.

“Dick,” Bruce muttered, reaching one arm across the console to rub my back.

“It’s really not that bad,” he said, trying to sound persuasive. “They clean it before they sell it — it’s perfectly sanitary.”

Jason came running back with a grocery bag just in time for me to dramatically cover my mouth with it.

Richard was laughing so hard he nearly choked.

By the time the nausea passed, Jason had plopped down on the couch, grinning like this was the best road trip ever.

Richard was still laughing under his breath, until Bruce shot him a look in the rearview mirror that made him muffle his giggles.

The RV fell into a companionable quiet after that.

I sat with the blanket still wrapped around me--- a granola bar in hand--- staring out the window as Smallville came into view--- fields stretching endlessly on both sides, the sky a pale pink from the rising sun.

For a moment, it felt like we were driving into another world entirely. It was breathtaking.

Susan's house was smaller than I expected-- a standard farmhouse with flowerpots on the porch and two plastic tricycle lying on its side in the yard which were coated in soft snow.

When she opened the door, she froze-- just for a heartbeat-- before schooling her face into a polite surprise.

"Hey, Susan," I said with a small smile and a basket of fruits.

For a moment, she just stood there. Then she stepped aside and let me in.

The living room smelled faintly of coffee and laundry soap. A few boxes were stacked neatly in the corner, and there were graded papers on the kitchen table — signs she’d been piecing her life back together.

"Where are your kids?" I asked.

"Still asleep. The snow kept them in bed longer than usual so unless I go up there, they won't budge," she laughed dryly. Her eyes sunken and her cheeks hollowed.

"It's been a while," she said.

"Yeah...," I placed the fruit basket on her one of her cabinets which had her wedding photos lined up.

"Smallville seems great!" I raised my tone. "Your house is beautiful! And I liked what you did with the decor. You always had a great sense in interior designing~,"

Susan chuckled weakly, bending over to collect her children's toy in the hallway until movement outside the window caught her attention.

Jason, Richard and Bruce had gotten out of the RV. Bruce stretched his legs, Jason waving a stick around like a sword while Richard dodged half-heartedly.

Susan's eyes narrowed-- staring at me from the corner of her eyes.

"You wanted to know what happened?" she said.

My head dropped slowly. "Yeah...," 

"You already knew that Monica is behind all this?"

I nodded.

Susan exhaled sharply and turned away. "You need to leave it alone,"

"I can't,"

"You think you're the first person to try?" her voice sharper. "The first person who thought they could take her down?"

"No...," I said softly. 

"We're teachers. Our job is to teach, not change lives. Don't be another Ron Clark wannabe and think you can save those kids,"

Her back was still to me, but I saw the slight tremor in her shoulders.

For a long moment, the room was so quiet, I could only hear Jason and Richard laughing faintly from outside.

I took a step closer.

"Maybe I can't save them," I said. "But I can at least stop her from hurting more of them,"

Susan stood completely still.

"I was just like you...," her voice low, almost shaking. "Passionate. Positive. Purpose,"

"Susan, what did she do to you?"

She turned. 

Her eyes burned red with tears, her lips quivering. She didn't say anything but her gaze told me everything.

I swallowed hard, the weight of them settling on my chest.

"Let me stop her. At least, everything you lost won't be for nothing,"

Susan closed her eyes.

For a moment, I thought she was going to throw me out.

Instead, she walked over to a small cupboard, unlocked a metal box, and took out a folder and a flash drive.

She set them on the table with a soft thud.

“This is everything I had before I left,” she said. “Emails, photos, financial records. Enough to get her fired — maybe worse.”

Her hands stayed on the folder a moment longer before sliding it toward me.

“Don’t make me regret this.” her hand clasping the locket hanging around her neck.

I nodded, clutching the folder like it was made of glass.

“I won’t.”

The RV was parked in a quiet clearing just off the backroad, further away from Monica's home. The only light coming from the campfire crackling outside and the light bulbs inside.

Jason and Richard had finally passed out after spending half the evening trying to one-up each other roasting marshmallows that Bruce brought.

I waited until their soft breathing filled the little RV---draping the blankets over them--- before I carefully pulled the folder closer.

The lamp above the table cast a weak glow over the pages as I flipped through them — emails, bank statements, photos of Monica with her students at places they had no business being.

My stomach turned the further I read.

It was a nightmare to read. Reading the proofs right inside my hands made nauseous.

What's worse was Monica wasn't in the center. She was just a pawn.

It was a network of human trafficking centered around Gotham's underbelly.

"Falcone," 

I jolted out of my seat.

Turned out, Bruce had been standing right behind my back, reading the documents without me noticing.

"You're going to wake them," his voice came, low and quiet. 

"I thought you were outside," catching my breaths.

"I was," he closed the door behind him and took the seat across from mine--one hand braced against the table, scanning the papers I'd spread out.

"This is out of your league," he warned--again.

I groaned. "Bruce, I really don't want to have that talk again. I'm going to do this whether you like it or not,"

"Not like this you're not. If you go head first, you're going to die,"

And he was right, again.

I pressed my lips together. "I don't want to drag anyone else into it,"

His gaze stayed on the papers a moment longer, taking one piece and leaning back against his chair.

"She's working for The Romans," he said, his tone clipped.

"The Romans?" "They're the biggest mafia group in Gotham. Basically controlling everything there," "How did you know?"

His gaze flickered at me. His hand gesturing to himself.

"Oh--right. Wayne Enterprise,"

Of course, the elite would know more about politics. They're part of it.

He set the paper down, steepling his fingers.

"She didn't just chased Susan out of Gotham," he said. "She took something else from her. Something Susan isn't ready to say out loud,"

"What do you mean?"

"Notice how it's a Sunday morning and yet someone who should've been there isn't there?" his voice even lower now.

I remembered the hallway where Susan cleaned out her children's toys. The necklace around her neck. The wedding photos. The silence.

"Her husband," I whispered.

Bruce nodded once.

He continued "She's wearing black which meant---," my stomach dropped. "... she was mourning,"

The folder on the table blurred as my eyes stung, anger rising to replace the heaviness in my chest.

Susan had always been a single mother from the day I worked in that school but she never told me why. Everyone knew she had 3 children though. Her youngest was 2 years old. The other two were 5 and 7 years old. Her husband died when she was in labor. Or so I've heard.

Questions rushed into my head. Her safety, her bravery.. her children.

Oh God. Her children.

"Do you think---,"

Our eyes met.

There were only 2 bicycles outside.

Bruce didn't answer, just held my gaze.

Jason's faintly stirred in his sleep. 

I felt like someone just punched me in the gut.

My eyes started to burn. 

He didn't need to say anything else.

Images I didn't want flashed through my mind--- Susan cleaning up toys, her haunted eyes, her bony arms..

She wasn't just a wife who lost her husband.

She's also a mother who lost her child.

My throat closed, and before I knew it, my vision blurred.

My mind imagine myself in her position--- if I lost the people I deeply cared about to the same person, and not being able to do anything about it.

My hand flew to my mouth, and suddenly the tears were spilling before I could stop them.

Anger and grief hit me all at once, a tight, painful knot in my chest.

I turned my face away, pressing my palm against my eyes, furious at myself for crying in front of him.

Bruce didn’t say anything — didn’t tell me to stop, didn’t move to leave.

When I finally dropped my hand, his was there, covering mine, steady and warm.

“She didn’t just lose her husband,” I said hoarsely. “She lost her son.”

He nodded.

“And if you go at this recklessly,” he said quietly, “You could be in her place,”

And what would stop her from doing it to me?

From getting to the people that I care about?

My eyes glanced at the boys sleeping in the twin beds at the end of the RV. 

She knew I care for them.

So, can I stop her if she tries to get to them?

I nodded, swallowing hard, the tears drying on my cheeks and leaving something sharper behind.

“Then we do it right,” I said.

Bruce’s hand lingered for just a moment before he closed the folder and stood.

The fire outside had burned down to glowing embers, casting the RV in soft orange light.

Sleep wouldn’t come easy tonight.

But now, it's not just for the future of those kids--- it's the future of mine.

Chapter Text

A Glimpse from Him

The RV was quiet. His watch struck 12pm. Usually at this time, he'd be patrolling the streets but tonight marked the second night his mantel was untouched.

Bruce leaned back in his seat, the faint orange glow of the dying campfire casting soft light across the space.

Richard was sprawled across the bed, one leg dangling off the side. Jason had managed to claim the blanket and curled himself into a ball like a cat, his hair sticking up in every direction except for his stubborn middle part.

And her--

She was still at the table, slumped back against her chair like a rag doll, her mouth slightly open, quiet snores filling the silence. The folder of evidence just inches from her fingertips.

Even asleep, her brow stayed furrowed.

He wondered if Monica haunted her dreams.

His gaze lingered on the way one loose strand of hair fell across her face, the way her chest slowly rise and fall as she exhaled.

Bruce's gaze drifted from her to the folder, then to the boys.

The evidence she had was enough to burn Monica's position to the ground---and enough to pain a target on her back so large, it might as well be lit up over Gotham.

She might as well jump into a fire pit and she won't able to tell the different.

He had already drafted three contingency plans in his head by the time the fire outside popped, throwing sparks into the air.

If Falcone sent men after her, there would be safehouses. 

If Maroni got involved, there would be lawyers.

If both of them decided she's a liability---

His jaw tightened.

No.

He wouldn't let it get that far.

Richard mumbled something in his sleep, rolling onto his side.

Jason snored softly.

The sight hit Bruce in a way he didn’t expect — all of them together, crammed into this little RV, breathing the same air.

It felt warm than it had any right to be.

The thought lodged somewhere he didn’t want to examine too closely.

Instead, he glanced at her one more time, at the folder beneath her hand.

She’d said Then we do it right.

So they would.

I woke to pale morning light streaming through the RV windows.

The campfire outside had gone cold.

For a moment, I couldn’t remember where I was -- until I spotted Jason curled up in the back bunk, a pillow wedged under his chin, hair sticking up like a dandelion.

Richard was half-buried under the blanket, only the top of his head visible.

And Bruce—

Bruce was still in the chair where I’d last seen him, sitting upright with his arms folded across his chest, chin tilted slightly down.

Asleep.

The sight startled me.

I’d never actually seen him asleep before-- not at meetings, not at functions, not at the manor either.

His face looked different without its usual tension, like someone had finally loosened a knot.

I didn't notice it before but his brows had very distinct shapes-- almost like bat wings.

Careful not to wake him, I slipped to the tiny bathroom and took the fastest cold shower of my life.

When I came back out, the RV was still quiet except for the faint hum of the heater.

I tiptoed to the kitchenette and began rummaging for the food supplies--anything for an easy breakfast.

A soft yawn came from behind me.

Richard was sitting up now, rubbing his eyes. His eyes barely opening and his hair spiking in every direction.

“Morning,” he mumbled.

“Morning,” I said, keeping my voice low. “What do you want for breakfast?”

“Anything that isn’t oats or marshmallows,” he said, stretching his arms over his head.

I checked the mini fridge and found a packet of bacon and some eggs enough for all of us. "How about eggs and bacon?" 

By the time Jason stirred, the smell of coffee and bacon filled the little RV.

It felt strangely domestic — all of us eating together at the tiny table, Jason bragging about how he could totally beat Richard in an arm wrestle, Richard rolling his eyes, Bruce silently sipping coffee like he’d been part of this morning routine forever.

And for a fleeting second, I almost forgot why we were here.

Almost.

Because the folder was still in my bag, and tomorrow was waiting.

The lounge smelled like stale coffee and printer toner. The principal had called a quick staff meeting for “urgent administrative matters”.

I’d chosen my seat near the window, the folder from Susan pressed flat beneath my coat.

Monica arrived late, hair perfect, voice lubricated with false sweetness. She took her usual spot near the window because she needed her daily vit D.

The meeting begun like usual-- trivialities about the upcoming Winter Break and winter decor competition. Everyone had their jobs cut out for them---except Monica, oddly so. 

After almost an hour, the meeting ended.

When everyone was just about to rise from their seats, I stood.

"I'd like to address the elephant in the room,"

Heads turned. 

“Which is?” the principal asked, suspicious, already leaning toward closing the meeting.

“Student safety,” I said. “And school resources being used outside school hours.” I slid out the folder and took out white envelopes---one for each staff. I slid the envelopes across the table for everyone to scan. 

Each envelope had a copy photographs of all the photos Susan had caught through the span of her career here with newer additions by Jason.

Students going through the back gate and into a white vans every week on the same time, same day.

Murmurs. Monica didn’t move.

“Kids cut class,” she said lightly. “We all know how bored they get.”

I let that hang. Other staffs had their eyes on me. Was it fear? Was it resentment?

“Which teacher signs those students out on that date?” I asked.

Monica answered before she thought. “Permissive field trip. The homeroom teacher processed the sign-out,” her tone was flippant.

I didn’t interrupt her smile.

I slid another sheet forward: photocopies of attendance records with scrawled signatures on the side. I pushed one in front of the principal. “That signature is your hand,” I said. “You signed those students out.”

Her smile remained untouched. "So? It's real-world simulation. It's good for the students to be able to learn through practicality than theory,"

"Like when you agreed to send those kids to Iceberg Lounge every Wednesday morning and Friday night in the guise of field trips?"

The room went silent. No one dared to look at her.

For a second, Monica’s expression didn’t change-- still perfectly composed, still smug.

But her hand froze on the envelope, grip tightening just a little too long making it crumple just the tip.

“That’s ridiculous,” she said, a little too quickly. “Those signatures could be forged and these pictures could edited. Even if it's true, they could be years old,”

"Open your envelope," I said. 

Each photograph was timestamped and clear as day, showing Monica herself standing at the entrance of the Iceberg Lounge, clipboard in hand, students lined up behind her.

Her smile wavered.

“Forgeries, though, aren’t impossible,” I said. “So, I brought in a copy of the school ledger,” I set a bank statement on the table, circled dates with a red pen. “There are deposits labeled ‘educational donation’ deposited into Monica Vanderbilt’s account on nights that match with visits to Iceberg Lounge photos. For example, you had a field trip on March 12 this year, that deposit was made the same night to your account.”

“We were out camping,” Monica said.

“The receipts didn't match,” I said. “Explain the ledger line here: $8,000 — labeled as ‘donation’ — withdrew cash two days later, deposit from Phoenix Janitorial Services — a company with no contract with us.”

Her mask began to sweat. She opened her mouth, closed it. “You’re reaching.”

“I didn't add this one into the envelope but I will show it here,” I tapped my phone and projector connected to it. The screen filled with an image: Monica at the Iceberg Lounge, a man in a silver suit with a limp cigarette, handing her an envelope. The EXIF timestamp was displayed under it-- November 14, 1:07 a.m. A low murmur rippled. Monica’s smile thinned.

She lunged for pre-emptive strike: “That’s staged. Anyone can…anyone can—”

My voice stayed even. “I have emails between you and this name whom I shall not name right now... but I'm sure you know who I'm talking about,” I raised the USB for everyone to see. 

A few of the staff chuckled nervously, glancing at each other as if trying to figure out which side to be on.

She surged back: “You have nothing but hearsay.”

A phone buzzed.

Then another.

Soon, everyone's phone was ringing.

"Miss Monica," the principal, tremors in his voice, pointed to her phone. Her face drained of color as she read whatever was on the screen.

My phone wasn't buzzing but the tabloid I subscribed to notified me of a new post.

I unlocked my own phone and opened the notification.

A livestream clip — grainy but clear enough to make out Monica’s face — projected above a headline:

“Gotham Prep Teacher Linked to Crime Syndicate?”

The clip played on full volume, showing Monica a few seconds ago with a clear view of my presentation.

The room went silent except for the chorus of phones buzzing with more reposts, more tags, more reactions.

Other tabloids started pouring with their version of the same scope, the same livestream-- the meeting, the photocopies on the table, Monica’s face.

It captured a key angle: a student outside the staff door, phone hidden, filming the room as the conversation escalated. The livestream tick showed viewers climbing.

Sometimes, some students would try to eavesdrop staff meeting to know the next school holiday-- they probably didn’t realize they’d just become the only neutral, unedited witnesses to the entire exchange.

All eyes were on her now. 

Monica’s composure snapped like thin glass.

She jabbed a finger at me. “You think you’re better than me?" the words came out jagged, bitter.

"You're using that boy Grayson to trick Bruce to fall for you!"

Silence fell in the room like snow. Someone coughed. The livestream was already counting viewers in the hundreds. Phones were buzzing with screenshots.

Monica's phone buzzed again before I could reply.

She answered.

Her face went white as her contact barked at her. She looked around the room and the stupid little veil of security that used to hang around her snapped. 

My phone buzzed again-- this time from an official news website.

“Wayne Enterprises Pushes for Investigation Into School Corruption”

She stumbled, mouth open, crimson rising to her ears. She glanced at me as if to slit me with her eyes, but all she had was a raw, animal desperation.

The staffs surrounded her, making a barrier between us, her claws missing me by an inch.

Sirens surrounded the school grounds. Monica was brought out in cuffs as paparazzies flooded. Students had to be sent home early as parents came back to address the situation and safety of their children. Meanwhile the police lined the premise with their police tape.

The hallway felt impossibly still once Monica was gone, her shouts echoing faintly from the front steps as the officers loaded her into the squad car.

I stood frozen where I was, my heart still hammering against my ribs.

Most of the staffs scrambled to save face, probably hiding any evidence that they're part of issue. A smaller margin began to release sighs of relief. 

And then I felt it-- the faintest shift of air beside me.

Jason stood at my right, Richard at my left.

They didn't say a word.

They didn't have to.

I let out a shaky breath, a laugh bubbling up before I could stop it. It all felt so unreal. 

But I couldn't have won alone.

Bruce had played his card-- louder and sharper than mine-- it was the card I didn't have but needed to gain victory.

Chapter Text

It's been almost 2 weeks since I put Monica behind bars.

The government had to intervene since Wayne Enterprise decided to sue. Because of that, paparazzies didn't focus on me as much because this was the first time Bruce came in person during trials. I did had to go to court a few times as a witness in the beginning, but once I gave Bruce the folder, the spotlight shifted away from me.

Bruce advised me to not leave my home until the issue died down. It could take weeks but it gave me a chance to repurpose my life.

In the first week, I was terminated of my position. There was no explanation, just a short email notifying of my expulsion.

I wasn't angry though. Sure, I had no way of paying my rent for the next month and I couldn't say goodbye to my students-- for that, I was sad. But I felt more relieved that I won't be a part of that organization anymore. I wasn't sure how I could explain it better... part of me wished it wasn't true but in a way, I was happy.

Susan Peridot was the only one who contacted me after that day. She sent back the basket I gave her but filled it with home-made scented candles and a letter as thanks. She told me she won't be resuming her career as an educator anymore but she'd take care of her family's bee farm. She sent me a picture too; her two children and her. Her cheeks had regain their color.

In the second week, staying inside made me itching to go out. I could only see the outside through the window by my bed and digital screens. I had my groceries delivered and Jason's visits became less of him coming in for food and warmth, but more to tutoring him while the school was still closed. 

At night, sometimes I would see something standing on the rooftop across my window. I wasn't sure if it was a person or two since they blended so well with the shadows but I knew someone was watching me.

Like other recent nights, dusk crept in. The sun's final burn reminded me of the faint campfire we shared on our way back and from Smallville. Keeping a part of me full of anticipation to experience the same thing again.

I sipped the chocolate drink I prepared before bed. Just staring at the batsignal decorating the night sky. 

Maybe because it's winter now, or maybe because Batman and Robin together made them a stronger enemy against crimes, but the batsignal didn't shine as much as it was prior. 

Then, my phone vibrated for the first time in weeks.

I'd placed my phone DND (Do not Disturb) since d-day to keep my peace but there's only one number that I made sure could overrule that setting.

I slid my thumb over the screen and set it on loudspeaker, then placing it on the coffee table.

"Are you home?"

He asked. His voice was the same as I remembered: even, calm and softer than the headlines made him. It made me more confident in my suspicion that his playboy persona was nothing more than an act.

“Yeah.” I wrapped my knees to my chest, leaning against the frame of my bed. “I’m okay. The cameras have moved on since you started showing up in court.”

"Good," there was a faint sounds of sirens... or the sound of someone moving far away. "I had security sweep your block this afternoon. They'll keep it clear for the next few nights,"

I wanted to protest but at this point, it's ridiculous to argue with a man who could clear a crowd with a single call.

“And the Wayne Foundation will fund temporary educational support for all students, plus counseling for affected families.”

“You’re a good man,” I said before I could stop myself.

"A 'thank you' would suffice. I'm still far from being good,"

I let out a meek chuckle. “Thank you.”

"You're welcome,"

There was a rustle, and then he said the thing that made my throat tighten: "I'm moving Richard to Gotham Academy after Christmas,"

No flourish.

No dramatics.

"I've already started the paperwork. It's settled,"

Relief washed through me, but so did a strange ache. Richard would be safer—thank God for that. But he would no longer be my student, not in any formal sense. The relationship that had tethered me to the school had already frayed when I was fired, but hearing it from him felt like watching the last thread being cut.

"You're right. Gotham Academy is better and safer for him," I spoke.

At least, I still had Jason nearby. I might not be his official teacher anymore but I was still his neighbor.

"The government and I would also handpick new staffs for the school so that the school didn't need to shut down,"

That untied another worry I’d carried. Jason would still have a place to go during the day—though whether he’d actually go was another matter. Hopefully, he’d have a teacher who cared enough to make him feel seen.

“That’s… great.” I let out a sigh of relief.

From what I'd experience, students with good families come to school to learn, while students from the opposite families come to school to be loved. They still need to learn but being cared for is a higher priority. It's the second and third base of our hierarchy of needs according to Maslow.

Bruce hesitated, the pause feeling less like distance and more like weight. “One more thing,” he said, his voice lower now. “About what Monica said…”

My skin went cold.

I hadn’t forgotten. I couldn’t, even if I wanted to.

The silence stretched—small, private, suffocating. I glanced out the window. On the rooftop opposite, something shifted in the shadows, like a cloth caught in the wind.

“Do you believe her?” I asked. “That I was using Richard to make you fall for me?”

His answer came without hesitation. “No.”

“Does Richard believe it?”

He didn't answer.

"Do you believe in love at first sight, Mr Wayne?"

"Not entirely,"

“That’s how I was too…,” I paused, pressing my forehead against my knees. The words felt raw on my tongue. “Until you brought Richard into my class on his first day.”

I let out a shaky laugh, softer now. “It wasn’t romantic or anything like that. It was… maternal. The second I looked at him, I just—knew. He looked so small, so determined to act bigger than he was. And I thought, if no one else does it, I’ll keep him safe.”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy like before. It was listening silence.

“I hated you for adopting him before I could,” I admitted. “Not because I wanted to be his teacher, but because… I wanted to be his protector. I was jealous of you. I still am, sometimes.”

I still remember Richard's first day.

He was thinner and slightly shorter but still 3 apples tall. He didn't talk to anyone, he isolated himself for the first few weeks. But one day, his character flipped 180 degree. He's now the sun in my class. The star. His class became his stage and he's the main character. Everyone loved him and so did I.

The line stayed quiet long enough that I thought the call had dropped. Then Bruce said, his voice softened in a way that surprised me:

“You’ve protected him in ways I couldn’t.”

I rested my head on the window panel. My gaze still fixed at the shadowy silhouette.

Why did those words feel heavier than gratitude?

I wanted to tell him he’d protected me too, in ways I couldn’t admit out loud. That I hated how much I depended on his presence too much than I should--- even as a shadow, even as a voice.

But the words stayed trapped in my throat.

"Goodnight, Bruce,” I said instead.

There was a pause--- one beat too long for formality.

Silence stretched.

“Goodnight...,” 

Then my name rolled over his tongue a split second before he ended the call.

I froze, staring at the window, as if the glass itself had caught the sound of my name and the silhouette I'd been staring at shifted and disappeared.

Chapter Text

It's been a full month, and Christmas was right around the corner. I needed to start planning what to get Jason and Richard. The gifts I got them in November was gone in that alley. Plus, gifts might be more expensive now too and I didn't have extra money to buy extravagant things.

If they were girls, it might be easier to figure what sort of gifts they'd like but they're boys. Do I get them balls? Baseball bats? A hat?

I thought the silence of my apartment would be a relief, but it wasn't.

Without the noise of students, the smell of marker inks, the petty staffroom gossip, the space felt too wide, too empty.

And it wasn't a big apartment to begin with.

Jason called out to me.

He was hunched over my table on the floor, a pencil between his teeth and a math worksheet sprawled beneath his elbow. The boy had managed to knock over the salt shaker, scatter cookie crumbs and smudge graphite all over his fingers in less than fifteen minutes.

It's winter break but I wasn't going to let him play around all day everyday. I need to at least train him so that he could continue life without... me... 

I shook my head.

I set down a glass of warm milk beside him. "That equation won't solve itself,"

He groaned, dropping his head dramatically to the paper. "I thought you said you weren't my teacher anymore,"

"I'm not," I leaned against the inactive stove, arms folded. "But you're in my premise and I don't let anyone within my premise flunk basic algebra,"

Jason peeked up at me, the corner of his mouth twitching like he wanted to stay defiant but couldn't. "You sound exactly like a teacher,"

"Old habits die hard,"

He rolled his eyes, but when I brushed the hair out of his face, he didn't pull away.

For a second, I let myself breathe.

Jobless, maybe. Fired, sure.

But teaching wasn’t just a paycheck; it was stitched into me.

And sitting here, watching this stubborn, brilliant, maddening boy wrestle with numbers — I realized it wasn’t something a board or a principal could take from me.

While Jason tried to wry the solution to the question, I thought it would be a good time for me to read my mails. 

I took a handful of them from my shoerack and arranged them on the table across from him.

Brand subscriptions, book clubs, rentals, bills... I sorted each mail from trivial to urgent. 

The final envelope was heavier than others. Cream-colored, thick stock, the kind you only ever saw in legal dramas.

My full government name was scrawled across the front in official fonts with a confidential stamp over it.

It didn't come from Gotham. The return address read Hamilton & Banks, Attorneys at Law, Metropolis.

I almost tossed it straight into the bin. I didn't want another reminder of who I should've been.

But curiosity won.

My finger slid under the flap, and the paper rasped as I unfolded it.

My lips muttering quietly "We write to inform you that as the last surviving heir of the...,"

...you are required to attend a formal review of inheritance assets. This includes, but is not limited to, property holdings, trust funds, and other financial securities. Please respond before December 31st to arrange an appointment. Failure to attend may result in forfeiture of said estate.

I reread the letter twice, though the words blurred together into a single heavy sentence: last surviving heir.

The words blurred the longer I stared at them. Inheritance. Assets. Pending claims. My throat tightened as if the paper had wrapped itself around it. All those years I’d spent running from the past, and here it was—folded neatly into an envelope, dropped in my lap like a curse.

I pressed the heel of my palm to my forehead. The air in the room felt thinner, sharper. What was I supposed to do with this? What was I supposed to become now?

"I GOT IT!”

Jason’s voice cracked the silence, loud and triumphant.

My head jerked up. He stood at the table, pencil in hand, grinning at the math sheet between his elbows. He bounced on his toes, holding it out for me like it was treasure.

I blinked, the paper in my lap suddenly burning. In one motion, I slid the letter under the stack of old newspapers on the counter.

“See? Told you I’d figure it out!” Jason beamed, still oblivious as he should.

I forced a smile, leaning forward to ruffle his hair. “You did. I’m proud of you.”

And just like that, the weight of the letter stayed buried, hidden beneath the boy’s laughter, even as its shadow pressed at the back of my mind.

Later that night, after Jason had dozed off on my bed with a blanket tangled around his legs and cookie crumbs on his cheek, I found myself restless.

It's moments like this that made me unable to let him go back to his parents. If I could, I want him to be mine.

But I couldn't.

The letter was still hidden under a stack of papers, but it pulsed at the back of my mind like a heartbeat I couldn’t ignore.

So I climbed the fire escape.

The December air cut sharp and clean, wrapping around me like a warning and a relief all at once.

Gotham stretched wide below, its windows glittering like restless eyes. Above, the Bat-signal burned pale against the clouds.

I hugged my cardigan tighter, letting my breath plume into the night. For a moment, it was just me and the skyline. Quiet. Still.

Until I realized I wasn’t alone.

At first it was only a shape, a shadow darker than the others on the other end of the rooftop. Then the cape shifted in the wind.

Of course.

“You always show up when I needed you,” I called softly, voice catching on the cold.

From across the rooftop, the white slits of his cowl turned toward me. Batman didn’t move, but the silence between us felt heavier than words.

I swallowed, eyes flicking up to the glowing signal. “Tell me something… Do you ever stop feeling it? The past?”

The wind tugged at his cape, but he didn’t answer.

I let out a small, humorless laugh. “You wouldn’t dress up like that if you hadn’t gone through something. People don’t… fight like this unless they’re trying to make sure no one else lives through what they did.”

His silence was almost confirmation.

I pulled my knees up to my chest, resting my chin on them. "How did you decide this is what you needed to do? That this... all of this was the right thing?"

He didn’t answer. The cowl hid everything.

"What if I don't want it... what if I don't want any part of them?"

He shifted just slightly, the cowl shadowing his mouth. “Want it or not, it’s yours. Decide wrong, and it will decide for you.”

A chill threaded my spine. “So who’s supposed to help me decide?” 

Bruce drove the two of us to Metropolis the next morning.

After Batman left the night before, I sent him a text. A request for him to accompany me to the bank in Metropolis. He agreed almost instantly with no questions asked.

But first, I had to make sure Jason got to school on time. Since he’d slept at my place, it was easier to wake him, feed him, and shove him out the door before personally walking him through the school gates.

Now, hours later, the gleaming skyline of Metropolis rose around us-- steel and glass stretching so tall they looked like they could scrape the clouds.

The bank itself loomed like a palace of marble and glass, its golden crest glittering in the winter sun. I hugged my coat tighter as we crossed the lobby.

Everyone here looked tailored, polished, expensive. My boots squeaked faintly against the pristine floor.

“Here,” Bruce murmured, guiding me toward the reception desk with a hand at my elbow.

He carried himself like he belonged in a place like this. Of course he did.

I, on the other hand, felt like an impostor, waiting for someone to notice the seams in my coat or the way my voice caught when I introduced myself.

The receptionist smiled, professional and sweet in a way that didn’t touch her eyes. “We're here for an appointment with Mr. Hamilton," I spoke, trying to mimic Bruce's posture and formal tones he used on interviews.

The receptionist checked something, then nodded. “Mr. Hamilton will see you now.” A woman in a navy suit appeared and led us down a hall.

The conference room was too bright, too cold, with its polished table and chrome fixtures. I sat stiffly, my right leg bouncing as a pair of lawyers in sleek suits slid thick folders across the table.

“Thank you for coming on such short notice,” one of them said. “Let's cut to the chase, shall we?" the other flipped through his document. "As the last surviving heir, you’ve inherited more than property. There are assets, trust accounts, investments — and obligations.”

Each word landed like a foreign language.

The folder in front of me blurred the moment it opened.

Paragraphs swam, numbers tangled, names of estates and assets slid past my eyes without catching. All I could hear was the tick tick tick of the expensive clock on the wall, echoing too loud in my head.

“...if you’d just review page six—”

The lawyer’s voice dimmed to static. My eyes darted across the table. Bruce sat calm, unreadable, hands folded loosely as though he’d done this a thousand times before.

“Mr. Wayne,” the second lawyer said carefully. “Forgive me, but… is this matter connected to Wayne Enterprises?”

I snapped upright, my voice louder than I intended. “He’s with me.”

Both men blinked.

Bruce didn’t move, but I felt him glance at me-- a flicker of surprise before his expression settled back into marble.

I forced myself to sit straighter, though my legs stopped moving, my index finger was tapping furiously under the table. “He’s an important person in this. He stays.”

The lawyers exchanged a look but nodded, shuffling their papers again.

I tried to read the next line, but the words kept fracturing, sliding away from me.

Something about trust funds, something about dividends. My throat went tight.

I barely heard myself whisper, “I can’t… I don’t…,” I want to run away. 

Bruce wrapped his hand around mine, his voice was low but firm. “She’ll review it in her own time. Continue.”

The room tilted back into focus — not because I understood, but because he steadied it. His eyes were clear, his attention sharp. He wasn’t just there to accompany me. He was present, every step, until the end.

The lawyers droned on, sliding more papers across the table. Stocks. Holdings. Land titles.

I couldn't breathe under the weight of it. My eyes kept flicking toward the door, wondering how fast I could get out of here.

A voice brushed low, just for me: “Your grandmother's trust funds. Page nine.”

I glanced sideways. Bruce hadn’t even looked at me, but his finger tapped once on the folder, steady, like a compass needle pointing north.

I flipped, and there it was. Page nine. Smaller words. Easier to digest. I could focus, if only because he had directed me where to look.

The lawyers continued.

“Rental properties,” Bruce murmured, almost too soft to hear. “Passive income. They’re asking if you want to keep them or cash out.”

I swallowed, nodding as though I understood. My heart still galloped, but I was no longer drowning.

Every few minutes, he would give me just enough— a whispered phrase, a nudge of his pen toward a number, a quiet translation of jargon into plain words. Each time, I anchored myself to his calm and managed to answer without stumbling.

It was humiliating, how badly I needed him there. But it also made me realize… without him, I would’ve bolted before the meeting even ended.

By some miracle, I kept my composure until the last paper was signed, the last handshake exchanged, the last polite smile forced across my face.

The moment the conference room door closed behind us, I sagged against the cool marble wall of the corridor, my lungs desperate for air.

“Thank God we won't need to come back,” I exhaled, half in disbelief, half in relief. “I thought it was going to take weeks.”

Bruce’s stride was steady, his hands in his pockets. “You’ll still need to decide what to do with it. Assets don’t manage themselves.”

I waved a hand like swatting at a fly, desperate to close the subject. “Later. I’ll… deal with it later.”

The important thing was I wasn't broke anymore and I had the money to buy presents for Richard and Jason--which reminded me...

"What do you think Richard and Jason would want for Christmas? I got them gifts in November but...," he didn't need to know about the details. "...I lost them,"

"Hm...hard to say. Dick is growing faster everyday and Jason seems like he won't complain at anything," he commented. "How matching Batman pajamas?"

"Batman? There's a new hero in town right? How about Robin?"

His lips flattened. "Might be too obvious,"

"Not so different than a Batman pajama,"

"Okay, okay. How about a special mug?"

"Special? Like custom?"

"You can get custom designs with affordable prices," his way of saying cheap.

"That's kinda a good idea...," I scrolled through an online shopping website. "But do you think they'll get here on time?" 

"If you order it now, it might arrive a day before Christmas Eve. But if you'd like, I can get you the gifts, you just put in your name,"

"And take credit? I can't do that,"

He laughed softly.

"Okay okay," he didn’t push, just a gentle touch behind my back as we made our way through the grand lobby and to the car parked in the valet.

The drive back was cold and quiet. Not like... atmosphere but the air conditioner was so strong, I wanted to dive into his coat if I could. But his attention was glued to the road.

So I just hugged myself and hoped that we could get back as soon as possible. My attention was on the snow slowly drifting from the clouds, Metropolis shrinking into the distance.

Then, without warning, Bruce flicked the signal and turned off the highway.

The road narrowed, lined with skeletal trees and frosted brush, until it opened onto a stretch of coastline. The beach lay frozen under a pale sky, waves sluggish with ice, the air sharp with salt and winter.

He parked close enough that the sand crunched under our shoes when we stepped out. My breath puffed into clouds instantly.

The beach was nearly deserted. Just wind, salt and the white hush of waves breaking under a thin sheet of ice.

I dug my hands deeper into my coat pockets, my boots sinking into sand that crunched like glass. Every breath came out as a cloud, vanishing before it even had shape.

Gotham was right across the ocean, brooding and dark.

Behind me, his footsteps. Heavy but slow. 

He didn't say anything, just stood there. 

His cologne blended with the salty air.

When I turned to him, his collar was turned up against the wind, his shoulders slowly growing white with the snow resting upon them.

A gust of wind cut through me, sharp enough to steal my breath. It was so cold even my bones could feel it.

The sand shifted, an arm pulling mine to step back barely a full step when my body was engulfed by his thick coat like wings, wrapping both of us inside. 

All I could smell was him, and all I could feel was.. him.

"Better," his throat vibrated quietly.

It felt like we were back in the gazebo in the rain, in the observatory watching the stars... just us. And no one else.

But this time, it was different. Steadier.

Like he was holding back the whole world so I could stand still for once.

It felt like an impossible dream I didn’t want to wake up from-- not because it was romantic, but because it was safe.

Because he was good.

Better than I’d let myself believe.

Perhaps he had always been a good person. I was just too blinded by his money to see it.

Too stubborn in my own hate to admit it.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

His head tilted, the weight of his coat shifting around us. “Hm?”

“I hated you before knowing you,” the words trembled, but I forced them out. “I know now you’re a good person. And you’re exactly the kind of person Richard needs growing up.”

The silence that followed was soft, not heavy. The kind that felt like snow falling — soundless, but impossible to ignore.

His gaze stayed on the horizon, where the gray sea met the white sky. Where Gotham sea connected with Metropolis shore.

"Dick's stronger than he looks... but even he needs somewhere to land,"

His voice echoed through my ears.

I let myself melt deeper into his coat. My back learning on his torso. "You're right,"

Chapter Text

It's the day before Christmas Eve and I still didn't have anything to give for Jason and Richard.

Everything was back to the way it was before the Monica's chaos except I didn't need to work anymore--I got rich in a single night. Sounds great right? Well, it would if I didn't have a conscious. 

But today was a special day and I wasn't going to let my reality ruin it.

As usual, Jason came up to my house after giving some food and medicine to his sick mom. He never told me why he preferred to stay with me instead of her but sometimes, I would see a new bruise or a cut on his face when he came back so I never asked him. 

This time, as he went through the door, his face was gleaming brighter than a thousand suns.

It made me want to just throw a blanket over him, wrap him in a burrito and feed him every thing I had in the kitchen.

In his hand was a red envelope with a gold wax stamp.

"What in the world?" I wiped my hands on a towel, onions still stinging my eyes. I thought about trying a new recipe--- New Orleans Gumbo, ratatouille (not the Disney version) and some rice.

I know it's not the usual Christmas dish but what's important was that it's very filling, nutritious, very delicious, affordable and easy for me to make. It's 100% beginner cook proof that's almost impossible for me to fail.

Anyway--

The stamp had the Wayne crest on it so Jason had been jumping from excitement.

I opened it and it was an invitation to the annual Christmas Ball that the Bruce holds since he was 26. That was also the same year he became known as the billionaire playboy etc. Maybe it was a mid-twenties crisis. A second period maybe. Or his frontal lobe just fully developed and his brain said "Hey, this is a good time to shake my ass around,"

But that's not my problem. 

One look at Jason and my heart ached. It would be his first time attending such an extravagant event and being the only trusted adult there, he must thought I'd be willing to go with him.  People like us didn't belong under the crystal chandeliers and golden halls, sipping champagne with the rest of them.

Bruce and Richard was standing at the very top of the social class while Jason and I were almost at the very bottom. Jason had history of being sent to juvenile and I had history of being framed for being scandalous. Bruce could burn through headlines because money insulated him. Jason and I? We’d just get burned.

The rich were usually above the law, and that stayed true even for a good rich man like him.

I shook my head.

I reached for his small, calloused hands. What's important now was that I keep Jason happy.

"How about we go there next year? I have many things planned for you but if we go there tonight, we can't do those other things," 

His eyes narrowed. “What plans?”

I leaned in, lowering my voice like it was a secret. “Christmas shopping. Maybe get you something you really want. Like… a new bicyc—”

“A bike?!” His pupils blew wide, like Mort from Madagascar.

“—cle,” I finished, laughing.

“We can go now, right? Let’s go now!” He was already shrugging on his old jacket, tugging me toward the door.

And just like that, we were in a cab bound for the shopping alleys, the Wayne invitation left open on my kitchen table.

First thing I bought was a new winter outfit for Jason. Hats, sweaters, jackets, socks and boots. By the fourth shopping bag, he was physically steering me away from racks of scarves.

Then came the bike. He picked the first red one he saw in the shop window. No hesitation.

His eyes were so wide, I didn’t even check the price tag. For the first time in my life, I swiped my card without flinching. It felt… liberating. Like one of those spoiled princesses in manhwa who could point and say “I want this,” and someone else handled the bill. Except here, it was me — and Jason’s joy was worth every digit on that receipt.

For lunch, I dragged him into a cozy café. Jason tried to order the cheapest kids’ menu, like a tiny accountant being “responsible.” I ordered half the menu instead.

Disclaimer: I do not have the stomach of a bottomless pit. But I was raising one. Thankfully, when the food arrived, he was so tempted with the extra food that completely disregarded his kiddy meal: bacon asparagus, candied salmon, pasta... he stuffed them all until he could barely move. 

We hailed a cab home and he slumped against my shoulder, slept all the way back. It was barely past 1pm.

Waking him was another story. He was half my height but solid, and between the five bags of new clothes and his brand-new bike, I almost wished I’d bought myself a second spine instead.

Jason was wide awake again by the time we got everything upstairs and dumped the bags in the corner. I showed him my Pinterest board, and without another word, he darted under my bed to drag out the box of decorations.

Meanwhile, I tied my back back and moved to the kitchen. I slipped into my apron and turned the stove on medium heat. Within minutes, the savory smell of onions, bell peppers, celery, and garlic overpowered the scented candles in the apartment. Jason wrinkled his nose dramatically, then cracked the window just enough to let the smell out while keeping the warmth in.

On the second stove, a pan of ratatouille simmered low — my own winter twist on the recipe I found online. The original called for zucchini and tomatoes, but I swapped in root vegetables: carrots, parsnips, potatoes, turnips. Very safe collection of vegetables that you can rarely go wrong with, right?

On the floor, the rice cooker steamed gently, the lid puffing in tiny bursts like it was keeping time to Jason’s off-key whistling behind me.

It wasn't much compared to whatever they'd be serving at the Wayne ball, but it's where we belonged.

After stirring everything and lowering the heat, I wiped my hands and wandered to where Jason sat-- crouched in front of our miniature Christmas tree on top of the table in the middle of the room-- carefully hanging a crooked paper star he must've saved from last year. His face was glowing with concentration and frustration in making sure their tips were sharp and neat.

"You're almost done without me," I teased, kneeling beside him to untangle a garland.

You were busy making dinner,” he shot back, chin tilting up with mock indignation. Then he softened. “Besides, there’s not much left anyway.”

I looked around. Fairy lights looped across the walls, a wreath on the door, garlands over the couch and bedframe, flickering electric candles lined along the windowpanes. And in the farthest corner, taped almost at eye-level, a lone mistletoe.

I snorted. “And who exactly do you think is going to fall for that trick?”

Jason grinned, all mischief and missing teeth. “You never know.”

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t stop the little laugh that escaped. The apartment felt brighter than it had in weeks.

"Now then," I pulled up one of our shopping bags. "Time to wrap the presents!"

It took us a while to get it done. 

It made me realize maybe Jason needed to do more arts and crafts activities in the future. He's already sprawled across the floor, drowning in a pile of wrapping paper, tape and glitter pens. His fingers were decorated with mixtures of glue, glitter inks and stickers.

"This one's for Dick," he announced proudly, sliding over a lopsided parcel that looked more like a pillow than a skateboard. Half the wrapping was bunched up at one end, the tape stretched like battle scars.

I bit back a laugh. "It's... cute!"

Jason smirked, grabbing another glitter pen and an empty card.

At  the table, I carefully tucked tissue into a gift bag, lowering a black ceramic mug inside that had a big yellow Bat-Signal on one side, with a gold trim around the rim. Something I thought reflected his stoicism I saw during the meeting at the bank.

Jason crawled up beside me and peered over my shoulder. "He's gonna like that. He drinks coffee like it's water,"

I chuckled. "Exactly,"

Next, Alfred's gift: a sleek, boxy shape wrapped in silver paper. Jason tilted his head at the electric back massager inside. "Whose that for?" Jason asked. "It's for Alfred,"

"Who's Alfred?" he tilted his head. "He's their butler,"

"They have a butler?!" he gasped. "They have everything,"

“Are you sure he won’t think that’s… I dunno… old man-ish?”

I smiled. “Sometimes being practical is the most thoughtful thing. He works harder than anyone in that manor, Jason. He deserves comfort.”

Jason nodded, then went back to his arsenal of glitter pens. His Christmas card for Alfred only had a doodle of Santa Batman riding a sleigh.

Mine were simpler: just neat handwriting, quiet gratitude for the whole 4 months of his taking care of me almost 6 months ago.

By the time we finished, the floor was a mess of paper shreds, tape clumps, and stray marker lids. Jason sat cross-legged among it all, beaming at the pile of imperfectly wrapped gifts like he’d just conquered Gotham himself.

My stomach growled, and he heard it. “Is dinner ready?”

“Almost,” I said, checking the stove.

The gumbo had thickened into a rich, spicy stew. The ratatouille was soft and fragrant, the rice perfectly steamed. I scooped generous portions into bowls, and Jason was already at the table before I could call him over. The Christmas tree that was there placed on the other corner of the apartment.

We ate with the little tree glowing in the corner, fairy lights reflecting off the windows. Jason hummed through every bite, slurping gumbo, piling rice high. His cheeks flushed from the heat of the stew, eyes sparkling with that particular happiness only food can give.

I was glad we didn't go to the ball. Sure it would've been a unforgettable experience but this was my first Christmas with Jason and I wasn't going to let anything ruin it, and seeing him grinning with his spoon in his mouth... I wouldn't have traded it with anything.

By the time he had thrown himself on the couch, it was already 9pm. His hands patting his stomach with both hands. "Best Christmas dinner ever," he declared, rice still clinging to his cheek.

This boy...

I made my way to him, a napkin in hand. "Messiest Christmas dinner ever," laughing while I wiped his face down.

Right when he was about to swat my hand, a knock sounded at the door.

Both of us froze. "Are we expecting anyone?" I asked.

He shook his head.

The neighbors usually just shouted through the wall when they needed something, and deliveries didn’t come this late.

Cautiously, I got up and crossed the small apartment, Jason close at my heels. When I opened the door, the cold draft swept in first-- then Alfred, holding a neatly wrapped basket of dishes with a small bow on top. 

"Alfred!"

"Alfred?" Jason peeked.

“Merry Christmas,” he said warmly, stepping aside to reveal Bruce and Richard, each balancing presents in their arms-- one for each.

Jason’s jaw dropped. “You-- you guys came here?”

Richard grinned. “What, you thought you were gonna have all the fun without us?”

Bruce’s eyes flicked past Jason, finding mine. “You didn’t think you had to celebrate alone, did you?”

"What about the ball?" I asked, taking the food basket from Alfred. "Let's just say some things are more important than social events," Bruce said. "He does this every year," Alfred whispered.

"Well, can we come in or not?" Richard asked. I quickly stepped aside, letting them in.

For a moment, the room felt fuller, brighter-- like the glow from the tiny Christmas tree had doubled.

Jason and Richard immediately start conspiring about what movie to watch next. Alfred slipped off his coat, went to sit in between the kids before they chose something gnarly.

Bruce lingered last at the door, snow melting off his shoulders. 

I reached in to swipe them away. "You don't need to come here. It's so far away from your manor,"

"It's just a 40 minute drive," he took off his hat.

"Yeah. On a normal day. It's Christmas eve. Be honest, how long did it take?" I glared at him.

"I'm Bruce Wayne. I don't deal with traffic," he smiled, standing upright to make sure I get every piece of snow. "Yeah right," I rolled my eyes.

Alfred set helped reset the table on the side with new dishes that they brought: Christmas Turkey, mash potatoes, Yorkshire puddings, gravy and a bottle of wine for the adults. 

Jason and Richard did one round of rock-papers-scissors to decide on the movie. Since Jason won, they agreed to watch 'How The Grinch Stole Christmas'.

Bruce helped me tidy up my bed so that we could use the mattress during the movie.

Richard had claimed the middle first, dragging Jason down beside him. Jason didn’t complain—he was too busy cradling his new mug of hot cocoa like it was liquid gold. That left me and Bruce on opposite sides of the mattress, a kid-shaped buffer keeping us apart.

Alfred, true to form, had found the most dignified perch: leaning against the couch just behind us, a plate of Yorkshire pudding balanced neatly in one hand, gravy dripping lazily over the edge.

“Now this,” Alfred muttered, taking a satisfied bite, “is proper holiday tradition.”

“Pretty sure the Grinch wasn’t in the original carols, Alfred,” Richard teased, stuffing popcorn into his mouth.

Jason giggled so hard he almost spilled cocoa on the blanket. “The Grinch is better than carols! Look at his face!” He pointed as the Grinch appeared on screen, scowling at Whoville with all his green, furry menace.

Bruce didn’t comment. He sat quietly, his posture unusually relaxed as the boys dissolved into laughter over every exaggerated grimace Jim Carrey pulled. His gaze kept drifting—not at the TV, but at them.

At us.

At one point, Jason leaned sideways without looking, his head plopping squarely onto Richard’s shoulder. Richard groaned but didn’t move him.

“You’re heavy,” he muttered. Jason just grinned, eyes still glued to the screen.

The warmth from the radiator, the soft hum of Alfred’s content chewing, the boys’ laughter—it all wrapped around me until I found myself smiling without even realizing it.

Halfway through the movie, Jason’s mug slipped from his fingers, narrowly missing the blanket before I caught it. His head lolled against Richard’s arm, soft snores escaping him.

“Out like a light,” I whispered, setting the mug aside.

Richard smirked, whispering back, “Bet he snores louder than Alfred.”

“Excuse me?” Alfred said, not even glancing away from his pudding.

I stifled a laugh, shaking my head.

Richard made it through another twenty minutes before his eyes drooped too, sliding sideways until he nearly toppled against Jason.

Bruce leaned forward then, easing both boys down so they were sprawled comfortably against the cushions, Jason’s hand still clutching the edge of Richard’s sweater.

“Should we put on another one?” Richard mumbled, half-asleep.

“No,” Bruce said firmly. “Santa won’t come if you’re awake.”

Richard groaned but didn’t argue, slipping under.

When I glanced over, Bruce was still upright, watching the boys. His expression was unreadable, but his hand lingered for a moment on Richard’s shoulder, a faint squeeze before he pulled back.

By the time the credits rolled, both boys were completely out-- Jason curled into a ball, Richard sprawled across him at an awkward angle that somehow worked.

I moved to adjust the blanket over them, but Bruce had already done it.

He tucked it carefully under Jason’s chin, then shifted Richard just enough so he wouldn’t wake up sore.

His movements were steady, practiced, like he’d done this many times before.

Behind us, Alfred set his empty plate down on the counter with a quiet clink. “Well,” he said, brushing his hands together, “I suppose that’s my cue.”

“You’re leaving?” I whispered, surprised.

Alfred smiled, his voice gentle. “The manor won’t ready itself for tomorrow, and I need to make sure the guests don't forget to leave,” he glanced meaningfully at the two boys on the mattress. “Besides, it looks as though you’ll have enough company here tonight.”

Jason snored softly in response.

I tried to insist-- “At least let me call you a cab”-- but Alfred was already slipping into his coat, shaking his head with quiet amusement.

“No need. I'll come back to pick them up in the morning,” he gave a small tilt of his hat, ever the gentleman, then added with a faint twinkle in his eyes, “Merry Christmas, miss.”

Then he turned to Bruce. For a heartbeat, their gazes held—something unspoken passing between them. Bruce gave the smallest of nods. Alfred returned it, and then he was gone, the door clicking shut softly behind him.

The apartment felt instantly quieter, like the snow outside had thickened.

Bruce stayed where he was, seated at the edge of the mattress, watching the rise and fall of the boys’ breathing. I stood near the door a moment longer, holding Alfred’s absence in the air, before I finally crossed back to join him.

I lowered myself onto the edge of the mattress, careful not to wake Richard or Jason. The room was quiet except for the hum of the radiator and the faint snores of the boys.

I blew a few candles on my side, Bruce blew the ones on his side--letting the darkness crept in.

Bruce didn’t look at me right away. His gaze stayed on Richard’s face, then drifted briefly to Jason’s, softening almost imperceptibly.

I went to my bedframe for more blankets until I sensed someone standing near me.

Finally, he said, his voice pitched low so it wouldn’t carry: “Why didn’t you come?”

I blinked at him. “Come where?”

He turned his head then, those sharp blue eyes finding mine. “The ball.”

Ah.

I placed another layer blanket over the boys, stalling. "I didn't think we'd be able to find suitable tuxedos and gowns on short notice," pushing the edges of it. "And I didn't think we'd last five minutes before someone pointing our how we don't belong," my laugh was light, but it didn't reach my chest.

Bruce didn't argue. He just waited quietly, in a way that he's trying to say something but wouldn't. Couldn't. Like he had himself shackled against arguments.

"You could've told me," he said, finally.

I glanced at him. "I didn't think it mattered. We're just two different people, that's all,"

He paused longer than before.

Then, to my surprise, his shoulder shifted, his head rose to the ceiling. "It did,"

That pulled me up short.

His hand lifted between us, palm open.

"You owe me a dance," he said softly.

I stared at his hand, at the steadiness of it. “Here? Now?”

A faint curve tugged at his mouth. “Why not?”

I huffed out a laugh, shaking my head. But instead of refusing, I dug my phone from my pocket and pulled out my tangled earphones. His brow arched slightly when I offered him one.

"We need music," I whispered--gesturing to the sleeping kids behind us.

He nodded, slipped the bud into his left ear while I took the right.

The song played only for the two of us to hear.

His hand slowly reached around my waist and settled on my back. Mine over his chest. Our other hand clasped between each other.

We swayed in the narrow strip of floor between the mattress and the kitchen, nearly knocking into the table once.

I muttered an apology, and he just shook his head, his grip steadying me. Pulling me closer by the waist. 

My back straightened, my head perked, shortening the gap between his lips and my forehead.

I could feel his breaths on my face. A faint smell of champagne and turkey-- masked by a mint. 

I rested my head on his chest, feeling his heartbeat underneath his tuxedo, listening to his breathings. Calm and clear.

Then he stopped moving.

I raised my head to find him staring at the ceiling.

I let my gaze drift upward for just a second—only to catch sight of a crooked paper mistletoe taped to the ceiling corner. Jason’s handiwork.

My pulse jumped.

His eyes flicked down to me. Blue and clear like the ocean. 

His brows softened. Like the sand we stood on a few days ago. 

The music felt so far now that I picked up the sounds of his breaths. Deep but slightly jagged.

The distance between us seemed to shrink.

The warmth of his torso brushing mine through our clothes.

I pressed a hand gently to his chest and stepped back.

“Jason really went overboard with those decorations,” I muttered, my voice thinner than I wanted. 

I felt his gaze lingered on me a moment longer, searching, but he didn’t push.

Instead, he leaned down just far enough that his breath brushed the crown of my head before he pulled back and turned toward the boys.

He lowered himself onto the mattress, careful not to wake Jason, and stretched his coat over both kids like a second blanket. Richard stirred, mumbling something in half-dream, and Jason shifted closer in his sleep. For the first time since I’d known him, Bruce Wayne looked… at peace.

I laid on the couch, watching the three of them framed in golden hues of candle and fairy lights. 

My apartment felt so full, so alive-- but somehow there's something missing.

Chapter Text

Richard was wheezing when Bruce opened the gift we got for him; the Batman mug.

"Is it not a good gift?" I asked. "It's the perfect gift," Alfred hummed. "Curious on what your thought process was," Bruce chuckled dryly. 

"Kinda easy actually. You're addicted to coffee and wears black everyday," Jason said, obviously oblivious to Bruce's public personality.

"You got that right," Richard still tried to muffle his giggles.

"Let's see Alfred's gift," Bruce changed the topic.

On cue, Alfred reached for the neat little box at his feet and placed it in my lap. "I chose yours first," he said with that ever-gentle fatherly smile.

Inside was a set of winter gloves, thick but elegant, the kind of thing I'd never buy for myself.

"I noticed yours are full of holes," he added matter-of-factly. 

It's simple but it was thoughtful. "Thank you Alfred," I held it close to my heart. Almost felt like he just sewed a cut that I never thought was there.

"Practical as always," Bruce complimented proudly. "Prevention is better than curing from frostbites," Alfred replied smoothly. 

The gloves fit perfectly, of course. They would match with most of my outfits too.

Then Richard and Jason went to tearing wrapping paper and showing off their gifts-- Richard's new skateboard from me, Jason's new sketchpad from Alfred, and their new electric scooters from Bruce. 

If a stranger peeked through my window, they'd think we're just a happy family. A grandfather, two children and a happy couple...

Eventually, the time had come for them to go back to their manor. Bruce got a call about giving Christmas bonuses to his employees and Jason was reminded by Alfred to finish his Winter Break assignment.

Bruce stood first, pulling on his coat. Richard gathered his things. Jason stretched his limbs while Alfred started clearing away the mess. In the middle of all that motion, something slipped from Bruce's pocket and landed quietly by my feet.

I bent to pick it up: a plain white card. Dr. Leslie Thompkins, M.D.

Bruce's gaze flicked to mine, sharp for a heartbeat before smoothing again. "A psychiatrist,"

"Psychiatrist?" I repeated, turning the card over. Even a rich guy like would need therapy apparently. I thought money would solve everything--- well, I should know that it's the source of all problems.

"She's helped me a lot in dealing with stuff. I'll recommend you to her, if you ever decide to... talk to someone,"

"I think I'm good... thanks though," I handed him back the card which he placed into his coat pocket. "Okay," he said, gladly. 

By the time they left, Jason was waving at them through the window until their car turned the corner and disappeared from view. 

Then Jason went home after mentioning he needed to show his face to him mom today so that she didn't realize he left her alone on Christmas Eve. He gave me a tight hug before his silhouette disappeared down the stairs.

I slumped on my bed, the mattress was returned to the bedframe.

Phew.

I never thought Christmas at home would be so tiring and I didn't even have to do all the chores because everyone did their part.

The Christmas tree by the corner faint glowed. There were extra ornaments left by Richard. Alfred must've missed that when they're packing their things. 

I took a deep breath, my eyes slowly wandering over the ceiling. I didn't notice it before but someone had placed glow-in-the-dark stars in the shape of a... I think it's a star.

It looked nice. I never thought I'd have my ceiling decorated but now that it was, I didn't think I want to take it off.

The paper mistletoe was still there too. The memory of last night had made a mark in my head.

His hand on my back, the other holding my hand and eyes in a darker blue than I remembered--- like a storm brewing behind his thoughts.

I turned to my sides and felt something poking my hips. I reached into my pocket and found the card that should've been in Bruce's coat pocket.

"Oh Bruce...," 

The four edged card swiftly changed into a nail sized brick after 4 simple folds and tossed into the trash.

I may not know what to do with my life now but I did not want anyone to make the decision for me.

A few hours went by and Jason still hadn't come back yet. His old jacket laid on the sides of the couch.

The shopping bag stayed untouched except for one. I gave a peek and his new red winter jacket was gone. 

He wouldn't wear an expensive jacket bought by someone else back home to his sick mother with an addiction who might've been violent to him... would he?

Who was I kidding...

I swiped my phone for a cab and grabbed my keys from the desk.

When I became a teacher, I made an oath to myself to protect the children who needed me. I thought Richard needed me but Bruce seemed perfect enough on his own, though I did think I played a part in it too. Now, Jason needed me more than anyone.

I knocked gently on their door. For the first 5 seconds, there were no answer. Then I heard it--- bottles clicking.

"Jason?" I called out.

"Stay away from him. He's not your kid!"  a woman shouted from inside.

"Mrs. Todd, I care for him as much as you do," I tried keeping my voice steady but only I knew how cold my fingers felt at that time. "But let's talk it out,"

"No. You don't understand--," her voice was cut short as the door opened.

A man stood behind it, his face slightly bruised, his shoulder slumped. Without the middle part on the front side of his head, I wouldn't have guessed he's Willis Todd, Jason's dad.

"Good afternoon sir, I am--," "I know who you are," his voice shook my soul. His gaze raked me like I was prey. 

Far inside the house, Catherine stirred on the mattress, crawling upright like the effort alone drained her. The only light came from the dirty window.

“Hey.” Willis snapped my attention back. “Eyes on me.”

His lips were dry and cut. Jason looked almost like a copy of him—only without the scars, without the stitches.

“What exactly is your relationship with my kid?” his hand planted against the doorframe, a wall of flesh and anger. “You think you can just stroll in here and take him away from us? That you’re better than us?” his mouth was venomous, but the bitterness underneath was louder than the rage.

“Mr. Todd, I care about your son as much as you,” my hands stayed buried in my pockets, slick with sweat like a sinner begging mercy.

“Jason is mine. You got that?” his voice cracked with something rawer than anger. “I come home on Christmas and I expect him to be here with his mother—but no. Turns out you’ve been filling him with what? Puddings? Books? Promises you can’t keep?”

If I’d met him six months ago, I would’ve shrunk mouse-sized and bid adieu. But not anymore. Not with Jason in the balance.

I cleared my throat, steadying it like it belonged to someone braver. “Mr. Todd—”

“What?!” the veins on his neck stood out, throbbing with fury.

Behind him, Catherine froze, watching me with wide, agonized eyes. She had no bruises but her bones pressed against paper-thin skin, the red winter jacket dwarfing her frame. Her eyes avoiding my gaze as if she's pleading guilty.

“Mr. Todd,” I swallowed hard, “I’m not here to take Jason away. I’m here to make sure he survives long enough to decide what kind of man he wants to be. Isn’t that what you want too?”

"A better man that I am you mean,"

I opened my mouth, then closed it again. Because what answer could I give? That Jason deserved better? He did. That Willis wasn’t enough? He already knew.

The silence stretched until Willis dragged a hand over his face, muttering something too low to catch. He shifted his weight off the doorframe and stepped back, shoulders slumped like the fight had drained out of him.

"Jason. Come out," Willis called, his voice heavy with a warning I couldn’t place.

For a long moment, nothing.

Then I heard the faint shuffle of feet on worn linoleum. Jason emerged from the shadows of the narrow hallway, head ducked, shoulders curled like he was trying to make himself invisible.

He seemed smaller in that house. Like the walls pressed in on him, leeching away the spark he carried so easily everywhere else.

The boy who cracked jokes over Yorkshire pudding, who cackled at Richard’s Lego disasters, who sprawled across my couch like he owned it—here, he looked like a child who’d been told too many times to stay quiet.

His eyes flicked to me, then to Willis, then back down to the floor.

"Go with Miss Goody-Two-Shoes. See if she can do better," he shot warning glances at me from the corner of his eyes as Jason made his steps as quiet as he could past the door to me. 

I placed a hand behind his small back. "Let's go," I whispered and nudged him down the stairs. Willis's eyes stayed glued on the back of my neck as if I suddenly had a bounty over my head.

Jason slumped next to me in the backseat, silent. His cheek pressed to the window, just staring at the passing buildings as we make our way to Wayne Manor. 

At least I knew then that neither Jason nor his mom had been abused by Willis. That meant the bruises he got was from street fights. And all those times when he would pack extra food when he went back home, it wasn't just for him. 

It was for her.

Catherine, starving and sick, covering her bones with whatever fabric she could find. Relying on her son to feed her when she should’ve been the one feeding him.

I felt terrible.

I thought I’d been doing right by Jason, letting him stay with me, filling his plate, giving him warmth. But in doing so, I’d left Catherine to rot alone. I’d stolen her son without even realizing it.

If I was going to care for Jason, then I had to care for her too.

Not because she was perfect, not because she deserved sainthood, but because she was his mother.

Because Jason deserved not to feel torn in two every time he walked through a door.

The thought made my throat tighten.

Two fragile lives I couldn’t let slip. Jason with his bruised knuckles and restless energy. Catherine with her hollow eyes and quiet shame.

The thought settled in my chest like iron. If I wanted to keep them safe, if I wanted Jason to grow up without carrying the weight of two parents on his small shoulders, then I had to be stronger.

Better.

Perfect.

For Jason.

The cab rolled up the long drive, headlights cutting through the mist. Wayne Manor loomed against the gray sky, its windows lit like watchful eyes.

Jason perked up when he saw Richard darting down the steps to meet him. He all but leapt from the cab, my too-big coat still swallowing his frame.

The sight should’ve made me laugh, but I only felt the chill seep deeper into my bones as he ran ahead without looking back.

Bruce’s gaze met mine as I climbed out. His eyes flicked to Jason in my coat, then back to me, and I knew I looked the part—pale, trembling, empty-handed.

“Come with me,” he said quietly, a palm behind my back, steering me through the great hall toward the kitchen.

The warmth hit immediately. Alfred had left a pot simmering on the stove, and the air was thick with herbs and steam. I held my hands out toward the heat, trying not to let them shake.

Bruce stood across from me, still wearing his coat, arms folded. “What happened?”

I shook my head. “Just... stuff,”

He didn’t press. He never did when it came to Jason. But his silence was its own weight, waiting for me to fill it.

So I did.

“I want to go to therapy,” my voice surprised me-- too steady for the chaos still buzzing in my veins.

His brows furrowed. “Why now?”

I forced myself to meet his eyes. “Because I can’t afford to keep breaking. If I’m going forward, I need to be perfect,”

For a long moment, the only sound was the simmering pot. Bruce’s jaw flexed, like he was biting back a dozen arguments, but he only asked, “Leslie?”

“Yes.”

He didn’t hesitate. He pulled out his phone, thumb moving fast. “I’ll get you an appointment.”

I exhaled, heat from the stove warming my face, but the cold inside me stayed. Still, for the first time, I felt like I’d made the right choice.

Chapter Text

Dr. Leslie's clinic was different than I expected.

Since Bruce was her regular client, I thought she'd be someone who only cater to the rich and had glistening marble tiles with exotic custom-made rugs, but I was proven to be a bad judge of character again.

Her clinic was exactly one would picture an old family-owned clinic with the non-updated bulletin board, the smell of medicine and full seats of people waiting to be called. Her customers weren't total nobodies either. They're everybody regardless of status or crime history.

Bruce and I used the back door. "It's more private," he said.

Through the back door, we went upstairs waited for her in one of the rooms. It didn't take long before she came in, her shoulder-length brown hair gave a clear view of her hoop earrings. The corner of her lips showed signs of aging.

Bruce was first to stand up and shake her hands until she leaned in for a kiss on his cheeks. "It's been a while since you visited me. How's Dick?" she asked. "He's been good," Bruce replied and flicked his eyes to me. "This is my friend," 

Dr. Thompkins glanced with a smile. The crow's feet and the gentle shine in her eyes told me she's more than just a family friend. "Friend---I see," her voice hinted she could be stricter than she was but had a soft spot for Bruce.

We sat across from each other while Bruce sat on the sofa at the edge of the room. She took one glance at me and started typing something on her computer. "How are you, my dear?"

My eyes flickered to Bruce, who gestured me to answer. "Good. I've been good,"

Dr. Thompkins nodded. "I see. Bruce told me you've been a great help in raising Dick,"

My eyes flickered to Bruce again, who nodded. "Bruce turned out to be a better parent than I thought so I didn't need to do anything except making sure Richard was fine at school," I said.

Dr. Thompkins nodded. Only the sounds of her typing filled the silence of the room.

"Alright. Now, Bruce-- can you take my bottle in my office? I'm feeling parched," a gentle way of telling him to leave us alone.

He nodded and then it was just us two.

Dr. Thompkins looked up from her computer, her fingers now rested on the cheap wooden table. "Tell me, why are you here? You seem like a very healthy young lady,"

I swallowed. "Recently, I inherited something. From my family and I don't want it," my eyes glued to the floor.

"Why not? Most people would be thrilled," she raised a brow. "I don't know what to do with it. This is my family's money and too many people have died for it... almost like it's cursed,"

Dr. Thompkins leaned back. "Did anyone you know die for it?" her voice softened.

My lips suddenly felt dry. "...yes," my palms suddenly felt sweaty. Had winter always been this hot?

"How did you know that?" she asked. 

My face suddenly felt uncomfortable. My brows felt to rigid and I felt like something was in my eyes that no matter how much I blinked, it won't come out.

"My caretaker told me. She was my grandmother's maid who took me in when everyone else mysteriously died--- at least that's what she said," my voice trailing at the end.

"I see...," she quietened. "So right now, what are you doing with the inheritance? Are you planning to let go of it?"

I shook my head. "Not right now. I'm still unsure yet what to do with it but for now, I'm spending what's in the bank to this kid," talking about Jason made my heart lighter. "He has a very sick mother and he's only 10 so I wanted to give him a chance to live normally,"

"That's good. You're channeling it into this boy," 

"I thought so too but if the money is cursed--- I might end up...," the sentence hung. "If something happens to me, the boy will be left with no one again which is why I want to fix the past," I felt like I was pleading. 

"You can't change the past," she reminded. "But you can learn from it,"

And she's right.

I can't go back and change what had happened.

History was learnt so that we can avoid from making the same mistakes and to improve ourselves to be better than we were. 

"You've already made a difficult choice--- choosing to face this. We're not going to dissect everything in one day so for now, go home and breathe. If you feel suffocated with it...," she reached out and brought my hands to cross over my torso to embrace myself. "This is called the butterfly hug. Tap one hand or both slowly while taking slow deep breaths," her hands guiding mine to tap my chest. 

"I'll set you up for another appointment next week. Try this technique and tell me how it worked for you next week, is that okay?" 

"Yes. Thank you Dr,"

When I stepped out, Bruce was waiting for me in the hall. It felt calming knowing he's there for me. 

He took his place right next to me and said "Let's go home,"

As if we shared the same address.

I spent the rest of the day at Wayne Manor, mostly assisting Alfred with chores just to keep my mind off of my past. Making sure Richard and Jason didn't break anything there was a harder task than I expected. Since there's so much space, the manor basically became an indoor playground for them: Richard taught him aerobatics and trick shots, while Jason kept insisting him to teach how to aim for a bullseye in dart after losing thrice in a row.

Before sundown, Alfred sent both of us home. Once we got to our apartment, I packed Jason some food to share with him mom. He was hesitant at first and I had to force it into his hands. "Don't worry. Your mom will be alright," I said.

He didn't come to me that night. I did hope his mom could treat him better and protect him from his dad. Although I was gravely worried, I couldn't just barge in there without any protection. 

I couldn't fall asleep either. My heart was pounding. My head kept thinking of what might happen to me and what it could end up for Jason. 

I'd thought about writing a will but if his dad found out, he might steal it from him or not let him gain his freedom.

I'd also thought about trying to adopt him but that's not my choice to make. Jason needed to decide for himself if he wanted to be adopted by me too. His mom was weak but she must've loved him. I didn't want to be that person who steal a sick person's child.

So I did the one thing I could think of.

I climbed the emergency fire stairs on the side of the building and went up to the rooftop instead.

With Christmas lights still decorating the lamp posts, Gotham didn't look too haunting. It would've looked welcoming if it weren't for the usual bandits lurking the alleys.

I leaned against the railing, arms tight around myself, watching the blur of headlights on the street far below.

I closed my eyes. The wind whistling, a cape billowing.

"Batman," his name slipped from my lips.

His replied by calling my name--which I never told him.

"Aren't you supposed to be crime fighting?" I murmured, not opening my eyes.

Heavy footsteps crunched the snow in steady rhythms, shortening the distance between us until it stopped right next to me. 

"Even bandits need to take a day off," he spoke quietly and sat there.

My laugh came out brittle. "Are you more like a hero like Superman or a detective like Gordon?"

Because it seemed to me like he had done some digging on me to find out my name.

"Depends on the case," he said. "So you're flexible," I finally opened my eyes. His legs folded neatly while mine stayed close to my chest.

"Do you do advice?" I blurted. "Depends," he said.

I stared out at the quiet city. The stars above too dim to be seen in from where we were.

"I had a caretaker once. She took care of me when I was two until seventeen. She took me in after my family was gone," 

He didn't say anything but the words sat in my throat like ash.

"Then... she tried to poison me," his head turned at that sentence, just slightly.

"I didn't understand why so I ran. Somehow the house caught fire and she couldn't make it out,"

I pressed my hands flat against my knees. "I still don't understand why. I thought she loved me,"

Only the wind lingered in the deafening silence. 

"I want to know if I should find out about it or should I let it go...,"

"What is your goal?" he voice was steady.

"I want to be a better person,"

Batman didn't move, didn't soften either. "The past can haunt you," his words echoed in my ears. "But if you decide to investigate... you might something worse,"

"Well...," I sighed. "I can't afford to let the past catch up to me now. I have responsibilities now," I chuckled dryly. 

He was silent for a long moment. Then his lips parted. "If you want to dig into it...," his jaw tightened, like he wanted to say more. "...be careful,"

I looked down over the city. Strings of Christmas lights still glowed along the streets, blurred together with the steady beams of headlights. Little sparks of color in a city that thrived on shadows.

The sight made my chest ache-- light fighting to exist in the dark.

“Thanks,” I whispered, more to myself than to him. My breath curled white in the cold night, dissolving as quickly as it came.

When I turned, he was gone. Only the faint sway of the Christmas lights below reminded me he was there.

Chapter Text

After 10 years, the frame of the old cottage deep in the woods between Gotham and Bludhaven still held its ground. Vines and moss had eaten most of the structure but the rubbles remained untouched. The geometric floor tiles had dimmed over the years and the chimney was now a house of refuge rodents over the winter. 

The last time I was here, the house was licked clean by the fire. Hence, there were barely anything left.

At least in winter, the cold kept me far from the heat of the past.

The specks of wood crumbled under my boots. My skirt barely sweeping the moss growing underneath the snow. My finger ran through anything that could be salvaged--framed pictures, jewelry, anything. 

But there were nothing left for me. Almost like the place was cleaned right after the fire cleared.

Not that it mattered to me.

I kept scouring for any remnants until my hears picked up a hollow area under the floor boards. I kept tapping a few times to make sure my ears weren't playing tricks on me and they weren't.

I knelt and swept the rubbles off until the outline of something square revealed itself. A seam cut into the old wood.

My breath fogged the air as I traced the edges with my fingers.

A panel.

Wedged in the corner was a rusted iron ring, half-buried under the soot. I curled my fingers around it and pulled.

The boards resisted at first, groaning under the weight of being untouched for a decade, before giving way with a sharp crack.

Beneath was a narrow stairwell, descending into black. The air that rushed up was stale, colder than the winter wind, carrying a faint metallic tang.

I angle the battery torch into the dark. The taser in my pocket assured me it'll be okay.

The staircase spiral down, stone steps slick with damp of the melting snow and old silvery webs.

The deeper I went, the colder it grew.

My breath misted in front of me, and the walls wept with moisture. Droplets pattered against stone, echoing too loud in the silence.

My torch beam skimmed over rusted sconces and decaying metal gates, their torches long dead, and arches carved in an old Victorian style, skeletal ribs curving overhead. 

It felt like I'd stepped into a crypt.

Something skittered in the dark far behind me. My pulse jumped.

“Just rats,” I whispered, even though it sounded like a prayer more than certainty. "This is just an empty tunnel which leads to who knows where---it's not like it's the catacombs or something," but my back was already beaded with cold sweat. The hair on my arms were standing straighter than a ruler. 

Then a slow thunking footstep echoing from the back of my head.

I turned around only to see the murky shadow swallowing the path I just passed. A somber presence that seemed to be latching onto my bones for some warmth in this god-forsaken darkness.

The beam of my torch trembled in my hand but I kept walking.

The silence was joined by another: a high-pitched wail reverberating through the stone until I felt it in my ribs.

I sprinted in the other direction.

Being the dark, alone with nothing but a torch and a taser going against something that was most likely horrific to describe if I had the chance to see it up-close--- only a fool would stay to see what it was. I'd watched too many horror movies to know that if I can't survive a serial killing doll, I can't survive anything else that can make that sound.

My boots slapped the wet floor, breath tearing from my lungs.

The tunnel seemed endless, twisting on itself.

I caught sight of a boulder-like mound of collapsed stone and pressed myself behind it, killing the light and grip the taser instead. My heart hammered so loudly I was sure whatever it was would hear.

I took a long deep breath and held it in.

The footsteps drew closer. Its' thudding echoing with its bone-shaking wails. Until it stopped right behind me.

I knew it knew I was there.

I couldn't stay without doing anything.

If I die now, at least I'd die trying to defend myself.

I gripped the taser tightly and lunged out of my hiding spot to the monstrous being.

Something shot out, faster than I could dodge, seizing my wrist. The crackle of electricity fizzled useless against the armored plating. 

A set of white eyes met mine.

"It's me," Batman's voice cut through the dark. His grip on my wrist tightened just enough to loosen my grip on the taser. 

It dropped on the floor and his grip finally loosened-- shifting its place into my palms.

"Are you insane?!" my heart was still beating so fast that the words tumbled out. Shoving at his chest with my free hand but he stayed still like a wall. "You nearly gave me a heart attack!" 

"It's not safe here," he said. 

"Oh, thank you, detective Batman. I felt safer with a 6-feet tall bat chasing after me in the dark 5 seconds ago!" my voice echoed sharp off the stone. "Next time maybe be more obvious that it's you instead of jumping on me like some lunatic!"

"I called your name. You ran,"

Heat rushed to my face. "Well-- duh! You think I could hear you with all these echoes?!"

"It'll be worrying if you can't," which was kinda obvious.

"Even if I could hear you, I'd still just run away because with all that shadowy mysteriousness you got there--," gesturing to all of him. "I can't tell if I was in Scream the movie,"

His hand gently holding my hand. "You're shaking," he said quietly.

I jerked my arm back like it burned. "Because you scared the hell out of me," I snapped back.

He just stood there, towering over me. He didn't say anything but I already felt guilty for yelling at him.

Ugh, I was such a people pleaser.

I sighed. "I'm sorry--,"

"BOO!"

My heart caught in my throat while my scream shook the stones.

Robin doubled over laughing, clutching his stomach.

"Man-- I should've caught that on tape!" he wheezed between cackles.

My heart was still hammering from adrenaline. Batman had caught me when I jumped, his hands steadying me by clutching my arms tightly.

And I finally made the connection.

"That was you?!" my head snapped back. "The howling---the wailing--- was you?!" if looks could burn, I would've made a hole in his cape.

Robin straightened, trying and failing to smother his grin. "Tunnels are boring unless you make 'em spooky! Kinda like the Batcave but that one is too bright to be scary,"

Batman’s head turned slowly, silently.

Robin shrank a little, cape bunching around his shoulders but the grin remained. “…Worth it, though,” he muttered.

I jerked my arms free from Batman’s grip and stumbled back, desperate to reclaim some space. "Don't do that again," I warned him in my teacher voice. "Yes ma'am," he rolled his eyes.

The moment my boot hit the stone behind me, I heard it.

Click.

My stomach dropped.

In less than a second, Batman grabbed Robin by the arm.

The ground vibrated, groaning like an old beast, and then the ceiling shuddered. Chunks of rock cracked loose, raining down.

“Down!” Batman barked, shoving us flat to the ground.

His body covered us, armor taking the brunt as debris smashed around us. Dust choked the air, stinging my eyes.

When the rumble finally died, silence pressed heavy.

I coughed, blinking grit from my lashes—-- to find him still braced over me, his elbows planted by my head, the weight of his chest above mine.

Robin had curled tight against my side, arms over his neck in a neat defensive ball. But I couldn’t focus on him.

All I could see was Batman.

The dim glow of my dropped torch lit just enough of his faceplate, the shadows slicing sharp against his jaw. His breath ghosted warm against my cheek. My pulse pounded so hard I was sure he could feel it through the armor.

Too close.

Dangerously close.

I could almost count the stubble on his chin. His thin lips with a charm of its own.

Our eyes met. White lenses reflecting the torchlight, unblinking, unyielding. He didn’t move. Neither did I.

Dust hung in the air, the smell of smoke and stone, his weight holding me steady against the ruins.

Then, slowly, he pushed himself up, breaking the fragile closeness. His hand lingered against the floor by my shoulder longer than I hoped before he stood.

I sucked in a shaky breath, suddenly aware of Robin uncurling beside me, brushing dust off his cape.

Batman didn’t say a word. So I didn't.

But he somehow felt so familiar.

Chapter Text

After checking the perimeters, we found that there was no other way to go except forward. Batman took the lead while Robin and I stayed right behind him.

After walking for about half an hour, the smell started to become unbearable.

Robin wrinkled his nose. “Smells like something died in here. Bet it’s a trap.”

“Nothing dangerous,” Batman held up one of his devices, its screen glowing faintly green. A low buzz hummed as he scanned the air. “The rock’s rich in sulfide minerals. Humidity breaks it down, releases hydrogen sulfide.”

“No wonder it smells like rotten eggs” I croaked, already gagging back my breakfast.

The air pressed heavy against my chest. Each breath left an unpleasant taste at the back of my throat, a sour taste on my tongue. 

Even the torchlight seemed dimmer, swallowed faster by the haze the deeper we went.

We kept walking for another thirty minutes, and the humidity made it colder than it should. Good thing all of us were wrapped in winter layers; otherwise, we would’ve frozen to death. Even so, my fingers had started to stiffen, joints locking like rusted hinges.

The tunnel bent sharply, and the air changed. Colder still, but cleaner. My breath came easier, but the hairs on my arms stood on end.

The walls here were smooth, not carved by collapse, and the floor tiles gleamed faintly as if polished by unseen hands.

Robin’s torchlight caught on glass ahead. At first, I thought it was a puddle. Then another flicker revealed it wasn’t water at all-- mirrors.

Dozens of them, arranged along the walls in crooked rows, from the ceiling to the floor-- like a kaleidoscope.

"Woah," I edged closer, the crunch of glass under my boots echoing strangely. For a split second, I thought I saw myself reflected-- older, sharper, draped in jewelry I never owned. Then it shifted, and the face in the glass wasn’t mine anymore.

Robin slowed, peering past Batman’s shoulder. “That looks… wrong.”

The air was different here-- warm, sweet, as if the tunnel itself was breathing.

Batman raised a hand, signaling us to stop. His cape swept the floor as he stepped just close enough to study the edges. The devices didn't show any warning or vital signs inside the tunnel. Technically, it should be safe but none of us felt so.

“It’s the only way forward,” he said. His gaze swept the walls, the floor, the unseen corners. “Stay alert. Don’t trust what you see.”

Robin made a face. “Well, that’s not ominous at all.”

Batman moved first, boots silent against the polished stone. Robin and I followed close behind.

We walked for what felt like minutes, though time stretched thin in the silence. The floor was too clean, unnatural for somewhere inside an a decade old abandoned tunnel, each step echoing like a hammer against glass.

I kept my torch low, watching the way the light bent in strange angles. Then-

Something glinted. Shifted. A dazzling flicker in the corner of my vision.

And it wasn't me.

I froze, turning sharply toward the left wall. It wasn’t just reflecting my torch.

For a second, I could’ve sworn it shone back at me on its own, like a star caught behind the glass.

“Do you… hear that?” Robin’s voice cracked across the stillness.

Batman slowed but didn’t turn. “Hear what?”

Robin tilted his head, straining toward the right wall. His face lit with awe. “Voices. Like… whispers. They're laughing,”

I whipped my head toward him, heart hammering “I don’t hear anything.”

The glint in the mirror pulsed again. My stomach turned cold.

Robin suddenly stopped. His torchlight swung wildly as he pressed closer to the right wall, his breath catching in his throat.

“No way,” he whispered.

“Mom? Dad?”

I nearly tripped trying to see what he saw. My chest hollowed out when I realized-- he wasn’t imagining it.

In my eyes, they were just two silhouettes of a man and a woman, dangled gracefully in the glass, laughter spilling from them as they swung on a trapeze strung high in some invisible big top.

The woman's hand stretched down, beckoning, her lips calling out to him in voices I couldn't hear.

But for Robin, his eyes saw the people I didn't.

My heart lurched. “Robin—”

Before I could move, something flickered to my left. My own torchlight fractured, and suddenly they were there-- my family. My parents, smiling and waving. Waiting for me.

They looked just like the picture I had. 

My breath hitched. They didn’t say anything but the sight alone rooted me in place, my fingers twitching to reach out. 

“Don’t.” Bruce’s voice cut sharp through the chamber. “Neither of you. It isn’t real.”

But then he froze.

Ahead of us, at the far end of the tunnel, stood another two silhouettes. Their outlines were soft, glowing and though only Batman could hear them, whoever they were, it's enough to make the blood drained from his face.

Robin was already moving, one foot sliding forward, his arm outstretched toward the glass. “I can hear them! They’re right there—”

My own steps faltered. My family’s hands were raised toward me, smiles warm and whole, as if nothing had ever gone wrong. My eyes blurred, my hand trembling toward them.

Batman’s batarang cut through the air, striking the glasses dead-on.

The mirror shattered with a deafening crack. For a heartbeat, I thought it worked-- Robin’s voice cut off, my family’s faces flickered-- frowning, beady eyed.

Then the fragments splintered into a thousand more reflections. Everywhere I looked, they multiplied, crowding the walls, the floor, the ceiling. A hall of endless ghosts. Their hands, their smiles, their voices pulling tighter around us, echoing like sirens luring us to stop and stay.

Batman moved like a shadow. He caught the boy by the shoulders, dragging him back. One hand clamped over Robin’s eyes, the other cupping the back of his head, forcing it against his chest. “Don’t listen,” he ordered, voice like steel. “Don’t look.”

Robin struggled once, then sagged against him, trembling.

I wasn’t so lucky. My family’s faces crowded the glass, too close, too real. My knees buckled as I reached for them, my breath hitching.

A warm hand slid across my face, covering my eyes. The sudden darkness shocked me still.

I froze as Batman leaned down, his mouth close enough that his words brushed my ear.

“It’s not real,” he whispered. Low. Certain. Like an oath. "They're not your parents,"

My pulse thundered under his palm. His chest pressed firm against my back, his presence a wall between me and the ghosts clawing for me.

“It’s not real,” he said again, and this time I believed him.

The whispers didn’t stop, but they faltered-- sharpened into hisses like snakes and crackling fire when I didn’t look. My pulse still raced under his palm, but his presence anchored me, his words cutting through the haze stronger than any reflection.

Then his hand slipped away but I kept my eyes closed. Before I could find my balance, his fingers caught mine--firm, unyielding. “Let's go,” he ordered.

Robin was already tucked under his cape, small fists knotted in the armor as Batman half-carried him forward. The boy’s face was hidden, his ears pressed against the Kevlar to block out the voices.

And me—my hand was trapped in his. His grip wasn’t crushing, but tight and cautious, threaded through my fingers like chains that refused to break.

He didn’t look back at me, didn’t say a word, but he didn’t let go either.

The mirrors shrieked as we passed, faces getting distorted at every reflection we passed, their fingers turning into claws. But step by step, the sound thinned, until stone replaced reflection and silence swallowed the last of it.

Only then did he release Robin. Only then did he release me.

But the heat of his palm lingered, every bit as loud as the voices we’d escaped.

The tunnel stretched empty again, the last echo of the mirrors fading into silence. My legs still felt weak, like the floor might dissolve under me.

I exhaled, shaky. “...Thank you.”

Batman didn’t answer right away. He crouched, letting Robin rest from beneath his cape. I only caught a glimpse of the boy’s face which was pale, lips pressed thin, eyes fixed on the ground.

Batman studied him for a beat longer than usual, then glanced at me. “We’ll stop here. It’s safe enough.” his tone was clipped, but I caught the worry in his eyes toward Robin even with the cowl covering half of his face.

Robin leaned by Batman, arms wrapped tight around his knees. His torch lay forgotten by his boots. The way his head dipped, the way his shoulders shook just faintly, made my chest twist.

“I thought it was real,” he muttered. “For a second… I really thought…”

He trailed off, knuckles white where he clutched his legs.

Batman rested a gloved hand on his shoulder. “That’s what it wanted. To keep you here,”

I didn't know who Batman and Robin's real identity were but I understood what we all had in common then. The mirror brought back the grieving we wanted to move on from. If we stayed, we would've stuck in an endless illusion until we die. That's why we need let go.

Robin didn’t look up, but he leaned just slightly into the weight of that hand.

For once, I didn't know what to do. Nothing I'd experienced prepared me to comfort someone who's grieving.

Robin stayed hidden under Batman's cape.

Batman’s gaze met mine over the boy’s head but his hand didn’t leave Robin’s shoulder.

After a few minutes, Robin rubbed at his face roughly, like he could scrub the sadness away, and muttered something about being fine. Both of us he wasn’t.

Batman didn’t press him, just let his hand linger on the boy’s shoulder until Robin stilled.

I watched him curl tighter into himself, knees to his chest, small and quiet against the cavern wall. For all his clever quips and daredevil stunts, right now he wasn’t a partner or a soldier or “Robin.”

He was just a kid.

A kid who missed his parents so badly it nearly broke him in two.

My throat tightened. I wanted to reach out, to promise I’d keep him safe from every shadow in these tunnels, but I knew I couldn’t promise that. Not here. Not anywhere.

All I could do was be here. Make sure he knew he wasn’t alone.

When Batman finally said, “We move when you’re ready,” it wasn’t an order but Robin, wiping his eyes with the back of his glove, nodded.

He slithered out from the cape and suddenly, springing to his feet with too much energy to be real. “Alright. Break’s over. Let’s keep moving before I turn into a fossil down here.”

Batman’s gaze lingered on him, but he didn’t argue.

I rose more slowly, brushing the dust from my skirt. “It’s been almost four hours since we got trapped in here,” I murmured. “We don’t even know how much farther it goes.”

“I can't wait to go out!” Robin cut in, forcing a grin.

He didn’t look back as he bounded ahead, but his shoulders were still tight, his laugh too brittle.

The tunnel bent sharply and opened onto a cavern. My breath hitched at the sight.

A narrow wooden bridge stretched across the span, suspended by ropes so frayed they looked ready to snap. Below, far below, a river churned-- black water frothing white around jagged spikes of stone. If we fall, it'll be the end of us.

This tunnel was really built to delete anyone going through.

The bridge itself groaned, a few planks already missing, ropes creaking under their own weight.

Robin whistled low. 

I gripped the railing instinctively, my knuckles whitening. “You don't think your grappling hooks could be of use?"

"There's no spots for it to hook," Batman said, already done scanning the area.

He stepped forward first “Stay close. Don’t stop. And whatever happens-- don’t look down.”

The bridge grated under our weight, old ropes straining, planks snapping beneath our boots. The river below roared, the jagged stone teeth glistening like a monster waiting for its meal.

We moved in single file—Batman leading, Robin next, and me behind him.

My fingers dug into the rope railing, slick with damp, every breath sharp in my chest as if it's my lifeline.

Halfway across, strong winds passed through, making it seemed like the walls came alive.

The bridge swayed furiously.

Robin yelped, ducking instinctively as one of the planks flew away.

He staggered with the swing. The plank under his broke.

For one horrifying instant, his body just dropped from view.

I didn’t think. I lunged. “Robin!”

My knees slammed the wood, splinters biting my skin as I caught his wrists just as he dropped past the railing. His terrified gasp tore through me, his weight nearly yanking me clean off the bridge.

“Hang on!” I gritted, fingers burning against his gloves. My body tipped forward, gravity pulling us both toward the abyss. His voice cracked as he screamed in fear.

Then an iron grip seized me.

One arm wrapped firm around my waist, anchoring me against me with his own weight. His body pressed close, immovable as stone, holding me against the trembling bridge while I dangled halfway over the edge.

“Don’t let go,” he ordered, voice raw in my ear.

Robin’s wide eyes locked on mine. “Save me!” he pleaded.

My arms shook, but I held tighter, burning, refusing to let the river take him. “I’ve got you, Robin! Keep your eyes on us. I’m not letting go!”

Another gust of wind blew somewhere behind us, the force rattling the bridge. But I didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe.

Robin’s trembling grip tightened, desperate.

Batman’s hand pressed harder at my waist, keeping me steady as he leaned back with all his strength. Slowly, inch by inch, I pulled Robin up until his body collapsed against the bridge beside me.

I sagged forward, gasping. Batman didn’t let go. His arm still braced me, heat radiating through armor and winter layers, his breath sharp at the side of my face.

Robin panted between us, clinging to my sleeve like a lifeline.

“...You okay?” I whispered.

He nodded though he's pale as a ghost.

Robin staggered upright and the bridge gave a sickening lurch under us. One of the ropes snapped at the far end. The whole span shuddered, tilting toward the river below.

Batman didn’t hesitate.

He seized Robin by the collar, hauling him up against his chest. His other arm swept around my waist, pulling me tight against his side before I could protest.

“Hold on.”

And then he ran.

The bridge howled in protest, planks splintering under his boots, ropes snapping like gunfire. My stomach lurched with every leap, my arms wrapped around his neck as if it were the only solid thing left in the world.

Robin buried his face in Batman’s cape, muffling a yell as we hurtled forward.

Another jaw swung down, smashing behind us, the shockwave throwing sparks into the air. The bridge crumbled piece by piece, the abyss gnashing hungrily below.

But Batman didn’t slow. He drove through the last stretch with raw, unstoppable momentum, every muscle straining until we broke onto solid ground.

The bridge collapsed into the river in a roar of shattered wood and tangled rope.

For a long, ringing moment, none of us moved. My chest heaved against his arm, his grip still tight around my waist. Robin clung to his chest like a child refusing to let go.

He held us both. Anchored us both.

And though the danger was past, he held us both within his arms.

The cavern thundered with the sound of the bridge collapsing into the river below, until only the echoes remained.

Batman’s chest rose and fell sharply against my side, the heat of him burning through layers of winter fabric and armor. His arm still locked firm around my waist, as if the fall hadn’t stopped yet.

Robin stirred first, peeling his face from the cape. His hair stuck up in wild tufts, his cheeks red, but he forced a grin that was all teeth. “Well. That was fun. Let’s never do it again.”

His laugh cracked. 

He had such an addicting laugh that I found myself laughing with him.

Probably out of relief that we survived that.

Batman eased him down carefully, setting him on solid stone. Robin shook his limbs like nothing had happened, bouncing on his toes with a little too much energy. “See? Totally fine.”

He's already making calisthenics poses without trembling. But I didn't buy it.

Not because I think the kid was lying.

But because Batman’s arm hadn’t moved.

It still cinched my waist, holding me close. His breath ghosted against my temple, steadying now but rough, like he hadn’t realized how hard he’d pushed himself.

I tilted my head slightly, meaning to thank him again, but the words caught.

His hand loosened at last--slow, deliberate. He let me go like he was lowering something fragile, his fingers brushing the back of my coat before they fell away.

The cold air rushed back in where he’d been. My skin prickled with it, my pulse refusing to slow.

Robin was already marching toward the next tunnel, torch swinging high. “C’mon! We’ve got this. Third time’s the charm.”

Batman watched him for a beat, then gesturing me to go before him.

Robin had already darted a few steps ahead, humming under his breath like nothing had happened. Batman lingered close behind me, silent as ever.

I tugged at the side of my coat, frowning when my fingers slipped into a jagged rip in the seam. The cold leaked in immediately, stinging against my skin.

“Great,” I muttered under my breath. “Just what I need…”

A shadow shifted beside me. “What’s wrong?”

I startled at the sound of his voice so close. So sudden.

When I looked up, he was already leaning slightly toward me, the silhouette of the slight bump on his nose could be seen poking from his cowl. Our faces were barely inches apart, his gaze sharp but steady, the weight of it impossible to ignore even underneath white lenses.

A gaze that felt all too familiar.

The words caught in my throat. It wasn’t just the ruined coat anymore. My pulse fluttered, my breath stilled, like my body was betraying a truth I wasn’t ready to face. 

I knew what it was as I had felt it before.

I tore my eyes away first. “Nothing,” I said softly, but it's never nothing.

My lips parted but no words came out.

His eyes flicked up from the rip to my face. For a while, he didn’t move. The silence between us was louder than the dripping walls.

Then his hand lifted, gloved fingers hovering near the ruined fabric as though he meant to smooth it down, maybe even brush against me.

He stopped short, pulling back like he’d caught himself mid-thought. I grieved silently at the sight of it. 

“It’s mendable,” he said finally, his voice rougher than usual. But his gaze lingered, trailing from the tear up to my neck and back to my face as though the damage mattered far less than the person wearing it.

I forced myself to take a step back, heart racing. His shoulders shifted, as if he almost reached for me again but locked himself down.

“Yeah,” I muttered under my breath, though the heat crawling up my ears betrayed me.

We walked on in silence.

But my heart already knew better.

Chapter Text

After the mirrors and the bridge, walking for another hour would've been easy except the tunnels had a way of gnawing at us, feeding on every ounce of stamina we had left.

By the time we stopped again, my legs felt like stone.

Robin slumped to the floor with a hand on his stomach, groaning about how hungry he was. Batman produced nothing more than a packet of biscuits, and the kid took them without complaint—though he did manage to request a stop at his favorite restaurant once we got out.

Watching them like that-- Robin whining and Batman listening-- I couldn't help but made the connection that the two weren't just co-vigilantes but probably a father-son duo.

It reminded me of a particular father-son duo I knew.

I chewed one of the biscuits Batman had offered. Dry, chalky and sticking to the of my mouth. Didn't look like much but one small bite could fill a grown man. Something I'd imagine the fellowship of the ring would bring. 

Robin didn’t mind. He devoured it with more enthusiasm than I felt, crumbs dusting his lap, grin tugging wider with each bite.

It reminded me of Richard.

And suddenly, I missed them.

Richard with his boundless warmth that could brighten a cloudy day. Bruce with his clipped remarks that always sounded like he was judging me. An odd pair, the two of them. For half a year, they’d been my strange little constants.

“What are you smiling about?” Robin asked, brushing crumbs from his shirt. “Don’t tell me you left the stove on.”

I pushed my hair back. “No. Just… remembered this guy who tricked me into a date once. Took me to an observatory, emptied the whole thing just to prove a point,” my laugh was more of a scoff than giggle.

I wasn't bitter about it, I liked that he did that just hoped he'd be more honest with me.

“Still debating whether he owes me a second round or if I should sue him for false advertising.”

From the corner of my eye, I saw Batman looking far into the distance.

Robin smirked. “Wow. Sounds like quite a man," almost mumbling at the end.

Batman didn’t flinch, but the silence that followed was loud.

Robin’s smirk hadn’t even faded when a new sound slipped into the silence.

Not footsteps. Not echoes.

A low rush. The kind that prickled the back of your neck because your brain already knew what it was.

“Do you hear that?” I perked up trying to find the source.

Batman was already moving. “Water.”

The tunnel sloped ahead. The walls felt like the back of a frog and each step had to really be planted deep before taking another step.

We followed until it opened into a chamber of plain stone, nothing ornate. The kind of room you’d pass without thinking twice, if not for the way it made your chest tighten.

At the far side, carved into the wall, was a recess. Small. Too small. A person would have to crawl to fit, maybe a child. Inside, faint glittering button made of gold but had dimmed with age.

“That’s not ominous at all,” I muttered, hugging myself tighter.

Robin tilted his head. “You think it opens a door?”

“No,” Batman said, low and certain. “It’s a trap.”

The moment he spoke, water began to seep in through the floor. Thin trickles at first. Then faster. Rising.

We turned around but the entrance was gone as if it was never there in the first place.

At first, it only brushed over our boots.

Then it climbed to our shins.

Our waists.

"At least we all know how to swim," Robin commented but being the shortest, the water was reaching his shoulders.

He had to swim by the time it reached my neck.

“What's the plan?” he sputtered, kicking to keep afloat.

Batman swept the walls, searching for seams or triggers, gadgets in his hands faster than I could follow.

Nothing gave.

Nothing even moved.

The water rose higher, reaching the base of my neck.

My breaths grew shallow, shaky.

This wasn't the way I imagined how I'd die.

At the very least, I'd like to get beautifully wrinkly like a raisin but I was realizing that it might be a future to big to dream.

“Stay calm,” Batman's hand clamped over my shoulder, anchoring me against the current. “Breathe slowly,”

Easy for him to say.

My chest felt like a drum, pounding harder with every inch the water crept.

I didn't want to die-- especially die and not being found!

I was already breathing manually to keep myself sane and he asked me to breathe slowly!

READ THE ROOM!

THE AUDACITY OF THIS MAN!!

“There’s no way out,” I gasped. “We’re—we’re going to drown!!!”

“It’s the button,” Robin’s voice cut through, higher but steadier than mine.

We both turned. He was treading water, pointing toward the recess. “That’s the only thing in here. It has to be.”

Batman’s jaw tightened. “It’s too small,”

“Yeah and I'm perfect for it,”

Was he sane?!

“WHAT?”

Robin’s grin was humorless, teeth flashing as he kicked against the rising water. “Relax. I’m quicker than I look. You’ve both saved me enough for one day. It’s my turn.”

Batman’s eyes locked on him. Then slowly, he nodded. “Be careful.”

Robin saluted with two fingers, then took a deep breath and dove under.

The water climbed faster once Robin disappeared beneath the surface. Up my chin, over my lips. I gasped and spluttered, kicking wildly to keep my head above.

My chest burned. My thoughts splintered into a single, frantic chant: We’re going to drown. We’re going to drown.

A hand seized me by the waist, pulling me against unyielding armor. His breath was hot against my ear, steady where mine faltered.

“Trust him,” Batman said, low, commanding. “Trust me.”

My arms latched around his neck again, pulling myself as close as I could.

I'd prefer to tie my legs around his waist too just to feel more grounded but I didn't want to pull him down with me.

His grip tightened. “Listen to me. Deep breaths. Now.”

The tone cut straight through the chaos in my chest.

I dragged in a desperate breath, his hand guiding mine against the rise and fall of my ribs like he was holding me together.

Then our last space in the air pocket closed off.

I couldn't see anything in the dark but I knew he's still there with me.

But in less than a second, the floor opened.

We plunged into a roaring current, swept headlong through a tunnel that spun and twisted, the force tearing me from every thought except Batman wrapping tightly around me like a burrito.

The current spat us out into open air.

I broke the surface with a gasp, coughing and clawing for anything solid. I felt some water down my nose but that didn't matter anymore. 

I was alive.

"We're alive," light flooded my sight.

"We're alive!" I felt like I was reborn. That life had meaning and that I was given a second chance at life.

Robin surfaced next, sputtering water and shaking his hair like a wet puppy. Then he grinned, wide and shameless. “Told you I could do it.”

Batman emerged last, climbing out with calm precision, water streaming off his armor like he’d been forged to withstand this very test. His cape clung heavy and dark against him, but his gaze went straight to Robin with a faint smile tugging on his eyes.

Then it shifted to me.

I realized only then that my arms were still around his neck. His hands was still at my waist, guiding me to shallow areas even though I was already safe.

We're finally out of the water now.

I hugged my knees to my chest, shivering. Around us, the cavern stretched wide, ceilings lost in shadow. Faint cracks above spilled slivers of daylight into the dark—our first glimpse of the surface in hours.

Hope.

We weren’t free yet. We didn't even know where we were but we saw the sky and the sun for the first time since we got trapped.

Stars were already peeking and the orange clouds were blending with its purple shadows.

The cold hit harder than the current. I forgot that it's still winter.

My clothes clung heavy to my skin, each breath fogging white in the air. My teeth wouldn’t stop chattering no matter how tightly I hugged myself.

Robin was shivering too, muttering about frostbite between clenched teeth.

I tried to force my body still, to stop the trembling, but it was useless. My knees hitting against each other like a dropped marble.

Something heavy shifted over my shoulders.

I looked up. Batman had unclasped one side of his cape and pulled it around me. The fabric was soaked at the hem but still radiated the faint, stubborn heat of his body trapped inside.

“Keep moving,” he said. “It’ll help.”

If nonchalance was a competition, he'd win first prize.

It's so annoying that he somehow was able to remind me so much of Bruce when they're the total opposite of each other.

I mean--- hello? Billionaire extrovert playboy vs vigilante introvert batman?

I wanted to argue. To make a joke. To do anything but feel the weight of his cape against my skin, or notice how his arm brushed mine every time I stumbled closer beneath it.

Or the way his muscles shifted underneath all that armor...

He'd be a full snack if he'd just throw away that nonchalant behavior.

It was too familiar. The kind of gentleness I’d only seen once before—under a gazebo, by a man I swore I couldn’t stand (and now we're friends).

Now it was the Bat. And it terrified me how much safer I felt.

Because I knew how I feel... but how did he feel? 

“Careful,” Robin piped up, grinning despite his shivers. “Don’t get too comfortable. He’s too popular for his own good.”

Batman shot him a look sharp enough to cut, but Robin just smirked, enjoying himself.

I ducked my head under the cape, heat rushing to my face in spite of the cold.

Robin’s grin lingered, even as he hugged his arms tighter against the cold. Batman didn’t answer him, didn’t rise to the bait. He only adjusted the cape around my shoulders, keeping words to himself, as if the gesture itself wasn't a confession.

Or it's just me overthinking it.

The cavern stretched ahead, echoing with the steady drip of water. My legs still shook from cold, but his warmth pressed close kept me steady.

We walked on like that until the tunnel narrowed again.

The path ended in a carved archway. Weathering letters etched into the stone, worn by time but still legible:

“Resiste, et transibis”

"What's that supposed to mean?" I wondered. "Resist, and you shall pass," Batman replied. Robin groaned "Resist? Resist what?"

Batman placed a hand under the arch and gave it a light tap.

The wall opened to another chamber that's 10 times bigger than the previous ones. "Whatever it is, it's in there," Batman said.

"I'm tired. It's been--what? 7 hours?" Robin complained.

I was tired of it too. Almost regretting being curious of my family history.

Emphasis on almost.

Batman’s gaze swept the inscription but the back of his hand brushed mine, brief but burning, before leading us into the dark.

Chapter Text

Unlike the other chambers, this one didn't feel as cold. There weren't any water drippings and no signs of weird mirrors either---which was a relief. But the more we walked, the stronger I felt something was going to appear and it wasn't going to be something neither of those two could handle.

Finally, we reached a large double-sided mahogany door. It took the three of us to force it open but the moment we did, the room illuminated itself.

At the center of the vast chamber stood a parquet floor, glossy and black, stretching wall to wall. Suspended above it, a broken chandelier dangled like a carcass, its shards glimmering faintly in our torchlight.

Long rows of porcelain figures stood at attention along the edges. Tall, broad-shouldered statues with faceless glossy heads in male-tuxedoes. They didn’t move nor breathe but their stillness sent shivers up my spine.

“Creepy ballroom,” Robin muttered under his breath. “Ten bucks says something jumps out.”

I didn't know why but my feet braced itself. "Let's get out of here... quickly," 

Something in the distance chattered and music echoed from the walls. Horns blaring, flutes whistling-- it was obviously scratchy and squeaky like an old vinyl over an ancient gramophone. The instruments were all packed together in a single out-of-tempo wall scratching piece.

Batman squinted. Robin noticed it. "What's wrong?"

"It's Swan Lake but the one where the prince danced with the wrong Odette,"

"Let's find an exit, quick," I requested but as if on cue, the statues moved. Their heads turned and knees bent as they made their way towards us.

Batman took out a batarang, Robin with his pole while I took a step back.

This wasn't a fight I could handle.

But they stopped a few feet from us. Then, one of the porcelain-faced men stepped forward. He bowed stiffly, a hinged hand extended toward me, palm up.

I froze.

Why me? Was it because I was the only girl? Was it because I was the weakest out of them that I was chosen? 

"It wants to dance?" Robin's confused. I was too.

The music swelled, richer, heavier, like the chamber itself was urging me forward.

“Stay alert,” Batman moved between the statue and I.

It didn't have a face but I could sense it's disapproval of his actions. It didn't budge but the others behind it did-- their shoulders tensed.

I swallowed. 

"I think...,"

I really didn't want to do it.

'Resist, and you shall pass,' was what Batman said. But resist what? The urge to run away? To be scared? To fight?

I forced myself to lift my hand and the instant my fingers touched its cold porcelain palm, the statue straightened, drawing me forward. Its hand curled around mine. Its grip was like iron.

It pulled me away from Batman and Robin, straight to the center of the ballroom. The waltz changed its tune, and the others began to stir.

One by one, the statues in tuxedos stepped from the walls, circling me. This time, the song started low and slow, then it racked up in volume and weight--as if I was being chased in a dark forest.

The porcelain hand pinched tighter, pulling me flush into the dance. The steps were to swift for me to follow and too sharp for me to copy but the hands around me made me feel like a puppet tied to a string and the other statues felt like an audience.

My feet stumbled. The suitor didn’t slow, only pulled me up without acknowledging my groans. His grip only tightened, fingers biting into my wrist until I winced.

The circle of tuxedos pressed closer, a ring of faceless smiles. Their shoes clicked in unison across the marble, moving like one body.

The waltz climbed higher, harsher, echoing off the walls until it rattled in my bones.

Being tied up like this only made me feel more helpless than I was. My eyes ended up looking for the only two humans in my vicinity.

“Hey!” Robin barked, but his voice cracked, too small against the music. He tugged at Batman’s arm. “I think you should do something,”

"I know," Batman was already moving. His cape swept like shadow across the floor, cutting into the circle. He stopped just before us, a hand holding the statue's shoulder, gaze fixed it.

“May I cut in?” his voice stayed calm as usual but the command in it sank deeper than steel.

The suitor stilled. Its' faceless head stared at it from the corner of what should've been its' eye sockets. But, almost politely, it released me and stepped back into the crowd.

I staggered, breath catching, and found myself steadied by a gloved hand. His hand.

Batman pulled me against him, his arm firm at my back, his other hand clasping mine. His chest was solid beneath my cheek as he set the pace. He didn't follow the music, but only what I could keep up.

It was a waltz—but slower, steadier. Steps I could actually follow.

The circle of suitors didn’t retreat. They tilted their heads in eerily like zombies, eyeless stares fixed on us. And then, all at once, they began to close in.

Robin drew his staff, pressing his back to Batman’s side. “Uh… I don’t think they’re letting you two just walk out.”

The music warped, discordant-- like the gramophone itself refused us. The statues reached for us.

The circle tightened. Cold porcelain hands reached out, tugging at my sleeves, clamping around my hair. I clung tighter to Batman’s hand, my chest heaving.

I didn't want him to let go.

I didn't want to let go.

"Don't let me go," I pleaded.

And then the grip was gone.

The robots lunged, pulling him back, tearing his hold from mine. His fingers slipped from the tips of my fingers, leaving nothing but the memory of his warmth.

“No—!” the cry ripped out of me.

I stumbled back into the cold arms jerking as the statues seized me again, trying to draw me back into the dance. Their grips on my limbs were unyielding, iron beneath porcelain skin. 

Batman fought like a storm--cape lashing, fists breaking joints, hurling bodies across the marble, dropping a few bombs as he did but the numbers didn't decrease at all. Robin darted in and out, his staff striking knees and ribs, breaking rhythm, creating cracks but that's all the damages he could do.

The circle never thinned.

“Hands off her!” Robin snarled, smashing one mask into shards. But the tuxedoed body only straightened again, face reforming like porcelain re-molded.

Batman’s blows dented steel, sparks snapping in the dark, but they never faltered. They didn’t fall. They didn’t stop.

And all the while, they pulled me tighter into the circle.

I felt suffocated.

 

The music soared, distorted, relentless.

My chest felt like it would cave under the pressure.

Robin’s voice echoed distantly, Batman’s growl cut short as another wave dragged him down.

It was frustrating.

I couldn’t see Batman anymore. Just the flash of his cape as the suitors dragged him down, hundreds of porcelain hands gripping his shoulders, his arms, his throat. Robin thrashed somewhere beyond them, his voice hoarse as he shouted and swung.

But I was trapped in the center.

Every tuxedo pressed closer, cold hands brushing my skin, tugging me upright, forcing my feet into stilted steps. Their strength never wavered.

The music roared. My breath broke.

Tears spilled hot down my face before I could stop them. My chest tightened so painfully it felt like my ribs were splintering.

I hated it.

Hated how small I felt, how useless. Hated that the people who had saved me were going to die because of me.

If only I hadn't come here... if only I just stayed home and pretended like none of this mattered...

A porcelain fingers brushed a tear from my cheek.

“What is wrong, my lady?” the voice was warped, metallic, yet gentle in its cadence. “Stay. Dance with us, and they will go free.”

I swallowed a sob. My hands trembled at my sides.

“I don’t want to stay,” I whispered. My throat burned. “I want to go home.”

It tilted its head. “But you are home.” Its hand extended again, palm open in invitation--another dance. The circle pulsed. The music surged, strings pulling me toward it.

My pulse thundered in my ears. My body shook.

“No.”

My voice cracked, raw. The statue paused, hand still hovering.

“I don’t want to,” I said louder, forcing the words past my shaking breath. “I’ll decide when I want to dance,”

The circle froze. The music snapped silent.

Every porcelain mask turned toward me. For one awful second, the silence was worse than the waltz had been like a nail scratching against a metal bar.

Then, all at once, the suitors bowed in unison, stiff and sharp. Their heads lowered. Their hands fell away.

The circle broke.

At the far end of the hall, a different heavy mahogany doors groaned open, spilling a draft of cold, fresh air into the chamber.

I staggered back, gasping, and into the warmth of Batman's arms as he caught me. He had managed to push through the gap, bruised and panting. Robin stumbled free after him, pale but grinning with shaky bravado.

The statues stepped back into their rows, lifeless once more.

“I don't know how you did it,” Robin muttered, wiping sweat from his brow. “But I guess we're free,”

I swiped at my wet cheeks, my throat aching. Batman’s hand came to rest firm and steady on my shoulder. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to.

We kept going after that-- climbed up the stairs until we came upon an exit which led to another room above us.

The beam of Robin’s torch caught on something pale in the gloom. Not stone—fabric.

We stepped further in, the echo of our boots muffled now by carpets thick with dust. My stomach sank as I turned in a slow circle.

It wasn’t a cave. It was a room.

The outlines came clearer in the dim light—tall-backed chairs shrouded in yellowed sheets, a grand piano beneath a heavy cloth, the sag of a velvet curtain collapsed to the floor. Even the smell was different: stale air and rotting wood, not the mineral damp of tunnels.

I brushed my hand across one of the covered shapes, leaving streaks in the dust. “This is… a drawing room,” my voice wavered. “Like at the manor.”

The torchlight swept upward, catching on a massive gilt frame above the fireplace. A painting, draped in fabric so sheer the figures underneath bled through. Faces blurred but watching.

It's nothing like I'd ever seen before but something about felt familiar.

Batman said nothing, only stood in the center of the room, cape trailing over the thick carpet, silent as the graves.

Robin coughed into his elbow. “This is giving me way too much Scooby-Doo,” he lifted the edge of a sheet, dust billowing. 

I pressed forward and tugged another cover free. An armchair sat underneath, velvet eaten thin by moths, wood carved in intricate detail.

We followed Batman into the hall beyond, where old chandeliers dangled from the ceiling and staircases curved upward in twin spirals. The smell of salt drifted through the cracks in the boarded windows.

When Robin tugged one loose, cold air gusted in—and beyond the glass, waves crashed against the cliffs below.

“This isn’t Gotham,” Robin muttered, awe breaking through the dust. Stars flooded the dusty windows.

“No,” I whispered, staring at the endless black sea beyond. “This is Blüdhaven.”

Batman crouched low over a splintered side table, adjusting something on his gauntlet. A faint green glow traced across his cowl.

"Are you trying to pinpoint our location?" I asked. "We need to make sure our position isn't in a danger zone," he said.

I stepped closer, careful not to trip over the dust-laden cloths still draped across the furniture. "Can you give me the location of this place?"

His head turned slightly.

"This place is connected to my old cottage so it should have something to do with my past,"

He didn't say anything but Robin already seemed uncomfortable by our discourse as if it's not something I should ask to THE Gotham Knight.

Batman finally straightened, folding his gauntlet back into place. No agreement. No refusal. Just silence that said he’d heard me, but wasn’t willing to promise.

“I hate to break this very mysterious moment,” Robin cut in, stomach growling loudly enough to echo, “but can we please go home now? I’m starving,"

"We've been out for almost 7 hours," he tapped something on his gauntlet again, this time murmuring something I couldn't catch.

My request ignored and rejected as if it never happened.

In less than an hour, the sound of an engine cut through the still night air. Headlights swept across the cracked gravel drive outside the mansion.

Robin slumped into the backseat with a sigh of pure relief. “Finally.”

Batman gave me a steady look as I slid into the passenger side. No words. Just that unreadable silence again.

The drive back was quiet, only the hum of the engine and the rhythm of the road.

They dropped me at my apartment first.

“Thank you,” I said softly as I stepped out. I was frustrated I didn't know the location of that place but at least I was home.

The apartment was cold when I stepped in. I kicked off my boots, peeled away my coat, and let myself collapse onto the couch.

The silence pressed in-- no Robin’s chatter, no Batman’s heavy presence filling the space. Just me, finally alone with the images replaying in my mind of everything we’d gone through.

The mirrors. The bridge. The water. The ballroom.

Everything in there was man-made. It had a purpose. Nothing in there was a coincidence. 

The question was-- what's their purpose?

I curled into the blanket, pulling it tight around me-- too exhausted to think about it.

I'll do it tomorrow.

I was just about to drift off when a soft knock rattled the windowpane.

My heart leapt. I sat up, staring at the glass. The city lights blurred outside, snow drifting past the lamplight. Carefully, I pushed the curtain back.

On the sill sat a small takeout box, steam still curling through its vents. Beside it, a folded napkin. No words—only a sketchy little doodle scrawled in pen: a bat with stubby wings perched next to a round bird with stick-legs.

I pressed my lips together, a laugh bubbling despite myself.

Shaking my head, I brought the box inside. The smell was warm, rich, comforting.

I set the napkin on my nightstand and whispered to the empty room..

“Cute.”

Chapter Text

I couldn't sleep at all. I tried taking a warm shower, I tried a warm cup of milk, I tried counting sheep-- nothing worked. The note they left stayed open on my coffee table and every time I glanced at it, I couldn't help but felt giddy and kicking my feet.

I was too old to be acting that way.

I was 27. I should be an expert in being swayed by people I barely know.

But...

Out of all the men I'd met, he's the only one who'd put himself between me and danger. He prioritized me than anything else and made sure I was safe and was very gentle while he did it.

Cutting through the dance with the statue just to try to take me away from it... sounded like something out of a romance east asian comic. 

Maintaining eye contact every time we held a conversation and listened to what I said properly... 

Or is my standard is on the floor?

Nah.

My standard was perfectly reasonable.

After all, the chances of finding a man who could listen without interrupting, protecting without asking for anything in return, and being gentle without forcing me to do what he wanted was closer to zero.

He's also dominant, considerate, reliable, courageous, resilient and romantic!

I mean-- compared to other men, he's practically perfect!

Though thinking about him until dawn was not really a good idea. The exhaustion was visible with single glance my face. My undereye had never been so dark and lips so drained of color. If anyone saw me, they would think I was auditioning for a new zombie movie. 

I threw myself on the bed for another attempt at sleep.

Maybe I need a different method...

I pulled my blanket to my neck. Curtains closed, a few candles burning quietly for some ambience and scent.

I tried to empty my mind. Think of nothing. Let the dark embrace my thoughts. Resist all temptations to think about anything else.

When I woke up again, I felt more tired than I was. I checked the clock and it's way past 2pm. The candles had finished burning and cars outside were honking in the streets, probably rushing back to work since lunch hour just ended.

Ugh... I lost a whole night's worth of sleep mooning over a man in cape whom I didn't even know his real name was.

Maybe I needed some fresh air. After all, too much happened yesterday so I should take my mind off of it just for today. Maybe the cold air could freeze the delusions out of my system.

So I dressed myself warmly and head out once I had some sustenance-- leftovers from the fridge.

I didn't think much on where to go so I just let the wind take me whenever it felt like it. Down the wet side walk, past the dark alleys... until I reached Gotham Park in the middle of the small island.

Surprisingly, there weren't much people there. Usually this place would be bustling with people of all ages, but maybe because it's winter and it's a weekday.

I took a seat at one of the wooden bench and leaned back.

As usual, the sky was cloudy and grey with no hints of sunbeams peeking through.

No wonder some people needed vitamin D supplements here. Except for those who have a stable income, most people in Gotham had the same eyes-- too tired to care, too busy to rest. Unless they work in showbiz, no one would have the time to really take care of themselves.

I rubbed my hands over my face. Even though the air was cold, it's really refreshing especially in the middle of the park surrounded by these frozen trees. It's quieter and calmer too.

Just me, the benches, and the sound of the wind pushing through the bare branches.

"I'm telling you...," a familiar voice carried across the track behind me.

"Alfred practically kicked us out! It's not our fault that we ended up in that tunnel!" 

My head snapped toward the sound.

Sure enough, coming down the path was Richard, arms flailing in animated complaint while Bruce walked beside him with his usual calm smile, hands in his coat pockets.

"So unfair," Richard went on, kicking at the slush. "We're just doing our duties. There shouldn't be a limit to how we do our job!" 

Bruce only murmured something low in reply, but he's obviously enjoying the conversation.

Richard spotted me first. His eyes lit up and he waved so enthusiastically I thought his arm might fly off.

“Hey! Fancy seeing you here!” he called, already jogging ahead of Bruce.

I straightened automatically, tugging my coat tighter. “Hi, Richard. Bruce.”

Bruce’s gaze followed, steady and unreadable as always, though I caught the small curve of his mouth when he saw me.

“What are you doing here?” Richard asked, skidding to a stop in front of me, the tip of his nose red from the cold like one of Santa's reindeers.

“Just getting some fresh air.” I gestured around us. “Trying to convince myself Gotham has oxygen and not just smog.”

"Did you sleep well?" Bruce asked and the thought of Batman filled my head again. "OH-- I did very much! Last night was so cold I just find it very hard to get out of bed," my mouth just blabbered anything I could think of just to not make it seem suspicious.

I couldn't tell him I spent the day with THE Gotham's vigilantes--- they'd think I was crazy! Not on par with Joker though but still, I'd be a laughing stock of the town.

"That's good," he smiled ever so gently.

"What are you two doing here?" I flipped the table.

Richard groaned. "Alfred got angry because we didn't come home yesterday," "Oh? I thought he usually knows your schedules," 

"He does but yesterday--," Richard bit back. "-- there were some complications,"

"So he sent us out to do the things we were supposed to do yesterday," Bruce chimed in.

"Oh, I see. Like a father-son bonding moment?" I speculated. "Nah. We have enough bonding moment. We practically spend time together every night,"

"Every night?" that's an impressive feat for the head of the biggest corporate company in Gotham. "What do you usually do every night?"

Richard glanced at Bruce. "Baking," Bruce said.

"Baking?" 

"Yes. Baking," his voice flattened.

"Oh! Look. At. That. A. Cocoa. Truck," Richard, like a robot, pointed to a truck far off in the distance. "Can I?" and Bruce just gave him a card without taking a glance what color it was (it was black).

"Um... would you like a seat?" I slid over the bench. "Sure," he sat down a few inches away from me.

I was used to being awkward around him. We've gone through quite a number of awkward moments up until now so this time shouldn't be any different, only I wasn't prepared for the question he'd give me.

"Are you thinking about someone?"

"Wha-WHAT? What make you think that?" I tilted my head. "Just now, you had a certain look in your eyes," his own eyes gazing in the distance to where Richard stood. "What kind of look?" I asked.

"The kind where you have feelings for someone,"

"What kind of feeling?" at this point, I was just trying to play dumb to avoid the question I was dreading.

"Like love," he finally spoke.

I pursed my lips. " 'Like love'?"

He chuckled. "You have a crush on someone?" 

There. He said it. The one question I hoped he'd never ask. Even if I lie, he might find out about it. He's Bruce Wayne for gods sake. He knew everything that's happening in Gotham.

"Pfft. I don't know what you're talking about," I looked away.

"Okay okay. It's a secret, I get it," he leaned back. "Is it someone from your old job?" 

"NO! And we're not going to do a guessing game," I crossed my arms. "Alright I won't pry... but whoever he is, he's lucky," he commented.

"He's lucky alright. I don't even know if I'd get another chance to meet him," 

He turned his head to me. "Why not? Surely the guy you're crushing on is someone within your reach,"

I bit my bottom lips and smiled sheepishly. 

He frowned.

"You're unbelievable," he scoffed. "Hey! Excuse me--- love isn't something that can be answered reasonably. It just---happened," 

"Pfft. Yeah. Sounds to me like you don't have standards," 

"Ugh-- why are you getting so worked up about it? It's my emotions, I decide who I'll love,"

"Yeah, and what if this oh-so mysterious guy ends up to be the Joker?" 

"Well, I can assure you he's not the Joker," emphasizing the T sound on the 'not'.

He rolled his eyes.

"What then? You're going to tell me that he's Batman? Because the closest real life adaptation you can get to a human vampire--,"

Ah... 

At times like these, I had hoped I had better control of my expressions.

When his looked at me again, he just froze mid-sentence.

"No. It's not Batman," I lied but he's already chuckling. "You're blushing," he muttered. "It's not Batman!" but it only made him laugh even harder.

It felt so childish. So frustrating.

I stood up and stomped away. I wasn't going to let myself be disrespecting by someone I called a friend any longer.

I could hear him calling my name but I had no intention of stopping.

"Wait," his hand caught my wrist, strong enough to stop me but weak enough to not strain me.

I froze in my tracks.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have laughed," he said softly. 

I bit my lip, turning half to him. "You think it's childish,"

"No. Not at all," there was a hint of amusement in his tone. "I was relieved,"

I frowned. "Relief?" and turned to him.

The faintest smile touched his lips, a glimmer of life in his eyes. "...he's a... decent guy,"

I rolled my eyes. "What-- like you know him or something?" 

He nodded. "You can say that,"

Before I could think of a reply, Richard came jogging back with three steaming cups of cocoa, oblivious to the tension. "I got extra marshmallows on mine so make sure none of you take that one,"

Bruce let go of my wrist, stepping back with his usual composure, leaving me with a wrist that still burned from his touch.

Chapter Text

It's been a few weeks since Bruce found out about it and his commentaries had been growing every single day. At this rate, Jason and Richard were going to find out about it and my image as a respectable adult would be ruined.

Not only he's a vigilante, but he also had crimes against taxpayers which was destroying public properties every time he battled against bad people. I mean, it wasn't entirely his fault but still... he's in the picture. 

For three years, every time Batman appeared, Bruce had been paying everything he did to Gotham. He must've hated the guy for making a dent in his bank account.

It's so embarrassing...

But, it's spring now.

Snow had melted and flowers were budding everywhere. Paired with the depressing atmosphere Gotham had, spring in Gotham was always a sight to behold. It's not as shiny and sparkling like Metropolis but it had its own charm.

Just now, Jason went to school and came back on his own. I found out he'd been considering of dropping out to take care of his sick mother more since his dad had barely come home recently. Of course I strongly told him to not do it. In return, I used the inheritance money to buy more medicine and take her to clinic more often. 

He asked me once where I got the money and initially I didn't want to keep secretive with him but I was worried if anyone in this apartment find out, I'd be robbed. This apartment was already in a sketchy area and with my newly acquired richness, the only safe haven for me was the Wayne Manor.

Since his dad wasn't home, Jason couldn't leave her alone either so I just needed to make sure both of them had enough food for the week.

Seemed easy at first, but I couldn't order food for them 3 times per day. I needed to cook for them every time. At least Jason helped me with dinner and breakfast so it's not much of a one-woman show.

I threw myself onto bed once everything had settled. It wasn't so hard to cook 3 times per day when you're unemployed and unmarried.

Maybe I should finally try one of Susan's candles--

*knock knock

The window?

At midnight?

Who in their right mind would--, I turned.

Something big and black filled all the edges of my window with its pair of beady white eyes looking straight into my apartment like the beldam watching her prey.

M-maybe it's one of those creatures who won't do anything to you if you don't acknowledge its' presence...

"Open up," it said.

I would've cried right there and then. To think that one of the villains lurking in Gotham would target me as their prey.

"It's me," he called again in a muffled but very amicable tone that I knew one person always use that. "Batman?" I whispered. "Is that you?"

The yellow bat symbol on his chest peeked between his cape when he took out his hand as he told me to unlock my window. "Oh--sorry," I quickly unlocked it and he carefully climbed in while barely making any sounds.

"What brings you here?" I asked.

"Nice home," he ignored my question, just towering in one corner of the apartment like a ghost. "Thanks... I guess," I replied, awkwardly making my way to the other end of the room just trying to make enough gap between us in this tiny space which reminded me that he had never stepped foot in here before.

It felt so awkward.

A guy and a girl.

Alone.

In a small studio apartment.

If our circumstances were different, this would've gone differently.

He finally spoke again. "I traced something connected to the fire... the property outside Bludhaven,"

Oh--so that's why he came.

"Do you recognize it?" he asked.

I shook my head.

"I was raised in the burnt cottage. I never knew of that place's existence-- nor do I want to know,"

He didn’t move, but his gaze followed me like a current. Then he stepped closer, silent as smoke, and placed an envelope on the table.
The paper was scarred with soot — no stamp, no address, just an ugly remnant of something that should’ve burned with the rest of it.

But diamonds were difficult to burn.

"You know what's in there," he said.

"I do," there's no point lying to him.

I sighed, rubbing my arms for warmth.
It was moments like this I wished I wasn’t sober-- but to ensure a safe space for children, I couldn't purchase and store liquor myself.

"Would you like a seat?" I gestured to the couch.

It all happened in a single day one evening. I came home from school as usual but everything was unusual that day. When I saw a black car with white wall tires parked outside my home, I should've taken that as a sign to run away but I was too dumb to notice its hood ornament.

There were 3 men in the living room with Mother (the maid who raised me). They all wore suits. One of them had a cane and a shaky handshake. They told me I was beautiful and gave me small box--a gift, they said. Told me to open it when they leave. 

Mother never looked more confusing to me than that day.

So that night, I opened it and there was the ugliest diamond ring I'd ever seen.

I found out I was engaged to a croaky crumbling creep on the day I turned 17. I wanted to send it back-- I even wrote a letter and put it in an envelope-- but Mother stopped me. She said that's the only thing I could do to repay her all of the years she spent raising me.

So, I got MAD mad.

She wasn't even my biological mother. She's just a maid who happened to take me in.

We argued and I forgot that she's also a frail old woman. 

I pushed her. She fell.

Her hand caught the curtain to break her fall.

There was a candle nearby.

And then... everything burned.

Batman sat straight as he heard it. The burnt cottage was a mystery no more but the guilt had plagued me ever since.

If I hadn't pushed her...

If I hadn't rejected the engagement...

...she would've been alive.

I gazed to the soft carpet between my toes, rubbing my arms. "But that's all in the past," I murmured. "You can take it by the way. I have cut all connections to that life,"

He kept his silence while the clock ticked for his next move.

"You didn't kill her," he said.

As much as I'd like to believe that, it didn't sink with me.

I brushed my hair away from my face.

"You don't know that,"

Deep inside, I knew I caused it. Though I couldn't let it consume my whole body and soul.

He didn't answer-- just watched me trying to find somewhere else for me to go in this godforsaken sardine-can-sized apartment.

His hand came up and I didn't expect the warmth he gave me.

His arms wrapped around me, the faint smell of smoke and oil from his cape and his heartbeat under his chest plate.

I closed my eyes, just let myself marinate in his warmth.

And then, gloved fingers brushed my shoulders so gently before settling fully, firm and warm.

He drew me closer, deeper.

My forehead met his chest, right against the bat emblem.

For someone who chased crimes daily, I never thought he could feel so... human.

I found my own hands itching to wrap around his torso but he cut it short and stepped back, leaving me with only a wish to return his embrace.

He looked at me for a long time in a silence so different that what I'd experience with him before.

"What?" I asked.

He hesitated. "There's something else you need to know," he took out a photograph from a secret compartment-- an old man with a cane.

My ex-fiance.

“Ten years ago,” he began, voice even, professional, “the Vanderbilts declared bankruptcy after being exposed for tax evasion, business fraud, and employee mistreatment. They sought a merger through marriage—to save what remained of their fortune. But the pact was nullified when the bride-to-be vanished. Days later, the patriarch succumbed to his illness," he reported.

"Aristocratic--huh?" I scoffed. "Money, money, money," the photograph slid off the table with a flick of my finger. "Even at death's door, they're still thinking about money. It's the kind of greed they usually mention in religious scriptures, you know,"

He called out my name-- sternly. A tone that made my throat close.

"The Vanderbilts are out to get you again. This time as payback to what you did," he warned.

My eyes shot up.

"What I did? What about what they did?" my voice cracked. "They're going to scam me out of my money, my life, my freedom-- and everyone just lets them!"

I hadn't meant to shout, but it was too painful to be kept longer than intended.

Mother sold me to them as if I was nothing more than a bargaining chip.

The silence that followed pressed hard against my chest. The longer Batman stayed silent, the louder my pulse grew in my ears.

"This is why I hate rich people. They're always after the money. They're all the same," I breathed.

"Not all of them," he said, like a reminder.

His hand twitched--barely, like an impulse caught too late. The leather of his gloves creaked, and I thought he'd reach for me.

But he didn't.

He just held my gaze, and that was somehow worse.

"You don't have to comfort me," I murmured, more to convince myself than him.

He didn't look away.

"I'm not," he said, but his voice betrayed him--too soft, too friendly.

"You don't have to feel sorry for me either,"

His gaze didn't move.

"I don't," he replied quietly.

"But you have someone who can comfort you out there," 

That made me laugh. "Like who?"

One edge of his lips lifted, just barely. The kind of smile that could mean anything... or everything.

It seemed like he knew him too.

"He's just a friend," I said. "There might be more than meets the eye," he said.

In a split second, the smile vanished and he fixed his posture as if nothing happened. "The Vanderbilts might come back-- Monica did,"

It was such a sudden shift in atmosphere. "What do you mean?"

"She's vindictive. Blaming you for her family's downfall,"

"But she said she's aiming to marry rich,"

"She's thrown away that plan after she lost Wayne to you,"

It all sounded so ridiculous.

Chapter Text

I sometimes wondered if Jason ever questioned how I’d been unemployed for months, or where I’d been pulling money from.

Every time I took him grocery shopping, he hesitated to ask for anything unless I offered first — and if I picked something expensive, he’d get skittish, like he didn’t want me to waste money on him. Maybe he was starting to worry. Maybe he felt guilty that I’d taken responsibility for him and his mother.

That last night, I caught him fresh out of a fistfight with some street kids.

I couldn’t understand why he went out of his way to fight — not until I saw the torn plastic bag at his side, filled with food from a nearby diner.

I’d hoped that after months of keeping him close, he’d be more comfortable relying on me. He’s about to turn fourteen, and I’ve been trying so hard not to let him grow up too fast. But it’s hard to protect someone who’s determined to be the protector.

He’s even gotten better at hiding it from me.

Mrs. Todd told me she’s worried, too. We both know Jason doesn’t look for fights — they just seem to find him, like he’s some kind of magnet for trouble.

Neither of us can stop him, either. Mrs. Todd’s too weak to get out of bed most days, and I never get there in time. I tend to get too focused on dealing with my inheritance that I sometimes forget to check on him.

At one point I even thought he wanted to grow up too fast.

I didn't want him to regret it but I didn't want to control him.

His mom and I agreed for a curfew, he didn't like that-- told us we were treating him like a child before running off to the streets again.

I gave up and slumped on the couch. The apartment always felt smaller when he was mad.

My phone buzzed just as I was about to turn off the lights.

It was from Bruce. A simple message:

Dinner at the manor tomorrow? Bring Jason.

Truthfully, I still didn't feel safe to go. I still remember how I had to lock myself in when news break about Bruce possibly going out with his son's teacher.

But then again... he might know what I could do with Jason. After all, he'd been raising Richard for a year now.

He'd always been careful with words, even sarcastically-- he could give good advices and knew what measures that needed to be taken. He might actually know a thing or two on how to control a son.

I sent a message to Mrs Todd, asking for her approval and she agreed.

Now I just needed a suitable dress.

"Jason, a curfew isn't a punishment. It's discipline," I said, watching him stare out the taxi window like the cityscape was personally insulting him.

"It's not like I'm sneaking into clubs or something," he muttered.

"I know but that's not the point," I exhaled. "Point is-- your mother and I are worried. You're fourteen and it's dangerous for you to be coming home so late at night,"

"You don't have proofs of that,"

"Jason," I emphasized. "I hear the window squeak when you climb in,"

He smirked, like that was an accomplishment. "I'll make sure to oil your window next time,"

"Jason,"

He looked away again, jaws tightening under his hoodie. "You just don't get it,"

He's not going to listen to me anymore. Anything I say after that would just bounce off the armor he built.

The taxi slowed to a stop, the tall iron gates of Wayne Manor coming into view through the drizzle. The lights in the upper windows glowed warm against the grey.

When we stepped out, Jason stuffed his hands into his pockets and mumbled. "You didn't tell we were eating with the Waynes. I could've, I dunno, not worn this," 

I rolled my eyes. "You look fine," fixing his hair with my fingers. "Besides, Richard is the only one who's on par with you-- but don't pick a fight with him,"

Jason rolled his eyes. "Like I'd do that,"

The front door opened and Alfred appeared, impeccable as ever in his black suit and a calm smile.

He greeted us warmly but dignified.

"Evening, Alfred," I smiled. "Hope we're not too early,"

"Not at all. Dinner is nearly ready. Master Wayne and Master Richard are in the sitting room. Please, come in,"

The moment Jason stepped in, he was already caught by Richard and the two vanished deeper into the manor, laughter echoing off the marble.

I blinked after them, half amused, half tired. “There they go,” I muttered. “Like a pack of wolves,”

Alfred’s mouth curved faintly. “I'd say a pack of little wolves. Most unpredictable,”

I took off my coat, smoothing my sleeves. “Where should I—?”

“Master Wayne is expecting you in the sitting room,” Alfred said and went off back to the kitchen.

I had hoped to chat with him a little longer but he'd always so professional.

I followed the familiar path down the hallway. The manor never failed to feel different at night—quieter, softer but at the same time, like there's something else within these walls-- another presence unseen by the naked eye.

The faint crackle of the fireplace reached before I saw him.

Bruce sat by the fire, one arm resting casually along the back of the couch, the amber glow catching on the edge of his jaw. He didn’t move when I entered, but his eyes lifted from the flames to meet mine, steady and unreadable.

“Evening,” he said, voice smooth as always, but gentler somehow.

“Fire in spring?” I replied, stepping closer. “You didn’t have to invite us, you know.”

“I didn’t,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Alfred did.”

I huffed out a small laugh, because of course he did.

"Well, I hope you at least help him with cooking. You're benefitting from his invitation,"

"Benefitting of what?" 

"My presence," 

His pale skin almost glimmered when he chuckled which reminded me of the vampires in a certain romance novel. "That's not funny at all," he laughed.

"Look who's laughing,"

"You can't expect your Dark Knight to laugh at your jokes, can you?" he raised a brow.

I froze mid-step. “…What?”

His smirk deepened, the firelight cutting sharp across his chin. “Just a metaphor.”

“Right.” I crossed my arms, pretending that my heart wasn’t currently pounding out Morse code. “Metaphor.”

“Mm.” he casually strolled around me. "Are you thinking about... him?"

"... who's him?"

"Oh you know--," he leaned into my ears. "-- Batman," his breath tickled my ear.

"Pfft no!" I quickly moved to the other end of the room.

He leaned back against the couch, looking far too comfortable. “You’re awfully defensive for someone who claims not to be thinking about him.” his arms sprawled over the backrest.

I narrowed my eyes. “I am not defensive.”

“Of course not,” his tone was dry, but there was a ghost of laughter beneath it.

I plopped onto the opposite end of the couch, crossing my legs. “I really don't understand how people can fall for you,"

"What can I say? I'm naturally charming,"

"As charming as a pea,"

"That's why it's called 'The Princess and The Pea'," he said smoothly over the cup of whiskey in his palms. "Irresistible even through layer,"

I groaned. "Save that for one of your flings,"

"I never reuse my lines," he purred-- sent shivers up my spine.

"You're impossible," I muttered, leaning forward to grab a throw pillow to swat him with-- but he caught it midair.

In a single motion, he stole it from my grip, set it down between us and leaned in, bracing a hand on the backrest and another by my side.

He was so close that the light from the wall sconces traced along his features, the shadow of his lashes flickering against his cheek. His gaze was like a flame tucked behind closed doors.

I could see the faint rise and fall of his chest, slow and steady unlike mine.

"Impossible," he echoed softly, eyes holding mine. "Or just misunderstood?" he whispered.

I swallowed hard and licked my dried lips, trying to pretend my pulse wasn't thundering in my ears. "You're really good at making normal conversations sound like they have hidden meanings,"

"Maybe they do," his eyes narrowed, and for a moment, neither of us moved.

His face drew closer to mine.

My breath hitched. The space between us evaporated.

I closed my eyes, steadying my trembling hands—

—and heard a quiet click.

When I opened my eyes again, he was standing tall once more, the warmth of him already gone. In his hand was a pen, freshly capped.

He set it neatly on the side table, his expression unreadable. “You dropped this,” he said simply.

He set the pen on the table with deliberate care, then glanced down at me, that half-smile tugging at his lips.

“Were you expecting something else?”

My breath caught again. “What? N-no!” I sputtered, sitting up straighter than necessary. “Obviously not. Why would I— you were just—”

“Reaching for the pen?” he finished for me, the amusement in his voice infuriatingly mild.

Heat flooded my cheeks. “Exactly. The pen. I knew that.”

He hummed, the sound low in his throat. “Of course you did.”

The silence that followed was heavy with unspoken things, the fire crackling like it knew a secret neither of us wanted to name.

Then—

A polite knock. “Dinner is served,” Alfred’s voice came through the door, smooth as ever.

I exhaled a shaky laugh, grateful for the rescue.

Bruce only straightened his cuffs, composure perfectly intact. “Shall we?” he asked, as though he hadn’t just turned my pulse into static.

The long oak table gleamed, candles soft against the high ceiling. Alfred was no where to be seen while Jason was laughing at something Richard said-- something about some friends in Gotham Academy-- and Bruce, of all people, actually looked amused entertaining them. His shoulders were relaxed, his expression open in a way I rarely saw.

So, I just watched them.

The way Jason leaning in when Bruce spoke, the way both teens looked at him in admiration. It seemed so natural for him.

Something on your mind?” Bruce asked suddenly, catching my gaze.

I blinked. “Ah—nothing. Just… you’re good at this.”

“At what?”

I hesitated, then shook my head lightly. “Never mind. It’s nothing.”

His eyes lingered like he’d already pieced it together-- my exhaustion, my helplessness, the silent question behind my tone.

He didn’t press, though. Just gave a faint, knowing nod before turning back to Jason and Richard, answering some quip about city curfews with that same effortless composure.

I looked down at my plate, tracing the rim with my thumb.

Maybe it wasn’t Jason who was hard to reach.

Maybe it was me who didn’t know how to.

The night ended too soon.

By the time Alfred brought out dessert, Jason and Richard were already planning their next weekend meet-up, and I could practically see the sparkle in their eyes. 

Outside, the air was cool and damp. A taxi waited by the gate, headlights cutting through the thin fog that rolled over the driveway. Jason climbed in first, yawning into his sleeve, the day’s excitement finally catching up to him.

I turned to thank Bruce for dinner, but he stepped closer before I could speak-- close enough that I had to tilt my chin up to meet his gaze.

“About Jason,” he said quietly, his voice low enough that only I could hear. “You’re doing fine.”

I frowned, a little defensive. “Doesn’t feel like it.”

“It rarely does,” he replied. “You can teach him, guide him… but you can’t live his choices for him. Let him find his way-- as long as he knows you’re there when he needs you.”

He's right.

Why didn't I think of that?

Before I could find a response, he stepped back, hands in his pockets again, like nothing ever happened.

“Goodnight,” he said.

I swallowed and nodded, climbing into the taxi. Through the window, he stood watching until the car turned past the gates and the manor disappeared behind the trees.

Chapter Text

Bruce said to let Jason do his thing while making sure he knew I would be there to support and protect him.

With that logic, should I go for: option A, tell him to make sure I'm present during his fights or option B, limit his fighting activities to a few times per week?

I wasn't sure if I could control myself when he fights, but maybe if I knew the pattern of his fighting schedules and could reduce it, it'll be safer for him?

But what if those street kids figure out this pattern and schedule, and decided to abuse it?

That's... troubling.

Maybe I should make all of us move to somewhere safer. Build a home for the three of us (including Mrs. Todd). However, Mr. Todd was still in the picture.

But fate had other plans.

A few weeks later, we woke to the news of Willis Todd’s death—murdered and dumped in the gutters before sunrise.

I heard the police officer breaking the news to Mrs. Todd downstairs. Even though he was a terrible husband, she still loved him for the man he used to be.

Stupid, I thought.

She should’ve left when she still could. She could’ve found someone who’d treat her better, someone who wouldn’t turn her body and heart into collateral damage.

She always spoke kindly of him, though. So seeing her break down at the funeral wasn’t a surprise.

I couldn’t shed a single tear.
Hate was too heavy a word, but it was close. I only hoped he’d at least tried to be a father to Jason before the end. But now… there was no chance for redemption.

After the funeral, I asked Bruce to recommend a good real estate agent. I figured once Mrs. Todd and Jason finished mourning, we could move out of Crime Alley for good. Somewhere smoke and gunfire couldn’t reach us. Somewhere with better air, better schools, and a real doctor for her chemo.

But her health worsened faster than any of us expected.

In just a few days, she became a ghost of herself. Jason stopped going out, staying by her side every hour.

I cooked, cleaned, and did what I could. When she finally let me call a doctor, it was too late. The next time I entered their home, she was gone.

The funeral was held privately with less than a handful of people-- Jason, Richard, Bruce, Alfred, a pastor and I.

Bruce offered us to stay the night at the manor but Jason didn't want to and I couldn't possibly leave him alone. 

Losing both of his parents at his age wasn't something I could relate to but I had no intention of letting him on his own.

For a few days, Jason only ate once a day, refused other food, zoned out and only sat by his mother's empty bed. Her old medicine packs stayed untouched next to his legs. 

Bruce would check in every night, asking if Jason was okay, but both of us knew he's not going to move on so easily.

The only thing I regret was not being closer to her. She could've had someone to confide in but she only had Jason, and for a long time, Jason only had her.

I believed that life was all about timing and there's a reason for everything. Perhaps, me moving into this apartment last year was for me to be more active in Jason's life-- as a preparation for when his mother leaves.

She's been suffering for almost a year so even if I did manage to get her a proper doctor, it won't be enough for her to fully recover. Her death was bound to happen and Jason knew that.

Sometimes I thought, maybe he had already accepted it long before she gave her last breath. He only cried at the reception but never afterwards.

I thought, this couldn't go on. I needed to do something.

Next morning, a social worker came by. Told us the school informed them of Jason's current situation. Jason himself had escaped the moment they parked outside the apartment. 

They told me they'd come by tomorrow to retrieve him again and that they couldn't let him live alone on his own because he's still underage. So I asked them the procedures of adoption. 

I needed to have a job, they said. Proof of income.

I didn't have either of those but I did have a fat bank account.

When the social worker left, I asked Bruce, through text, how he adopted Richard. What other documents did he need to fill?

He told me I needed a safe address, a comfortable living area, proof of income and medical records to show that I was sane.

"What should I do... I can't leave him alone but I can't adopt him either...,"

I complained.

"No other school here is going to accept me either after my stunt last year,"

"What about Gotham Academy?"

He asked.

 

"I've tried that. They said they needed someone trustworthy and can keep things NDA,"

"Hm. Do you think it's time for them to change board of directors?"

"You can't just tell them to do that,"

"I can just buy them and do it,"

Rich people jokes.

 

"I'm kidding. I won't do that,"

He retracted.

"I'm serious here Bruce. I need to do something to protect Jason,"

"How about start with finding a new home first? Or if he doesn't want to yet, take him out for a breathe of fresh air. Just to clear his mind,"

"Hm... okay,"

"Don't push yourself too hard,"

He always knew just what to say.

That evening, I went out to buy a new thermos. I figured maybe we should make an overnight trip camping somewhere, like we did when we went to Smallville. I'd need to invite Bruce, Alfred and Richard too. The more the merrier and Jason always loved spending time with them.

While walking through the mall, I texted Bruce if his family had time for a camping trip this weekend. He told me Richard had just gone back to Gotham Academy and won't be coming home until he finished his exams.

From the corner of my eyes, I recognized a pair of men just staring at through their frowns under their dark coats.

I asked Bruce if he could join, at least. He said he had a business trip out of town during that time while a news notification popped in my phone of Justice League's latest update with another alien invasion in Metropolis.

I guess it's just gonna be me and Jason then.

I kept my pace and noticed the same men trailing behind me. I thought, it must be a coincidence. So, I turned the corner and into a lingerie shop. I peeked outside through their windows and the men were waiting right outside the door.

I couldn't understand what they wanted from me now. 

Were they tracking my spending? I wasn't a big spender. I made sure to purchase new stuff once every week to avoid raising suspicion. Or maybe someone sent them. But who would do that?

I was unemployed, unmarried, had zero prospects-- no one except Bruce knew of my passive income (the inheritance and estates etc.). Bruce would never do such thing as to send stalkers unless he told me he's sending me bodyguards, but that would still be unlikely because even he knew that I should be out of danger by now.

I changed my whole outfit and stuffed all my hair under a scarf and a cap. I casually walked out the shop, making sure they won't notice me while I made my way out of the building.

But it only worked for a few minutes before they realized it and started chasing me.

The sun was already down and the streets were starting to get packed with other crime associates. I won't risk walking into another dark alley, nothing good comes in walking into them.

I couldn't run home yet, otherwise they'd know where I live.

But if they were paid by someone, they'd know beforehand. Not only that's dangerous for me, but also for Jason.

He couldn't possibly live in peace if I keep bringing danger to my doorstep.

But I learnt from my past. 

With a taser in hand, I kept walking where the crowd was tight but eventually, the crowd thinned.

"There!" they found me again.

My legs sprinted as fast as I could. The cold air burned my lungs but I didn't care. All I wanted was to get back home safely to Jason. So I needed to lose them somehow.

I kept turning corners until I ran into a diner and hid under one of their tables.

I heard them complaining right outside the window but they didn't figure out I was right behind them.

Then, I heard a fight broke out outside. The waiter stared outside wide-eyed and hid under the counter.

Curious, I took a peek.

It's been a while since I last saw him and his uniform had changed but I could never forget those moves and the 'R' gleaming on his chest. His moves were also more polished and graceful than last time.

He wasn't same kid who fought with Batman last year. This teen looked like he'd be determined to make his own name.

Once he was done, the men dragged their feet into their car which popped up from the other side of the street, taking them away.

Robin turned to the diner and made eye contact. He smiled and shot a grappling hook to a different building before flying away.

If I were as strong as him, I'd no doubt be able to confidently say I could take care of Jason even with the danger I bring, but muscles and combat skills couldn't be learnt overnight. It's going to take months or even years of learning before I could throw hands to protect both of us. Until then, I didn't think I was capable of being full responsible for him.

I just hoped I wouldn't regret it.

I managed to assure the social workers that I'd be a temporary caregiver until there's a suitable home for him. Jason didn't know about this yet but I just wanted for him to stay here as much as he could before he was taken away.

I hoped he'd be able to understand in the future.

Weekend passed by in a blink. Jason sat on the couch with a sandwich in eyes and the TV running in the background of Justice League saving Earth again while Teen Titans managed to subdue Mr Freeze's latest attack at LexCorp but Mr Freeze himself was still on the run.

Batman in Justice League and Robin in Teen Titans. An astounding pair.

Jason then told me he met Batman that night. He said something like making him his new sidekick. I found it amusing since he already had a sidekick--Robin. I asked him how he met him, but he didn't want to tell me.

On Monday the next morning, surprisingly, Bruce asked me to meet him at a diner near my apartment. I thought he'd have another corporate stuff to do but maybe working weekends meant off-day on Monday.

In the diner, a plate of morning platter had been waiting for me with a fresh cup of coffee. "It's rare to find you out first thing in the morning," I commented, taking the seat across him.

"I simply missed your presence," he joked. "Ugh stop. You're gonna make me blush," I groaned.

Then he slid a brown A4 envelope to my side.

I checked its' contents and realized it's adoption papers.

"I want to adopt Jason," he said. "I understand your situation and I'd like to help," 

"Oh Bruce. You don't have to- this is--," "Both of us know Jason needs to be somewhere he's safe and comfortable in, and letting the government take care of him isn't what he needs,"

I sighed.

"You're right...,"

Bruce was undeniably a better option for him. He's a present father, rich, mature, responsible-- Richard was a great example of his parenting. He's also responsible, mature, empathic-- a great person overall.

Jason took the news well the same afternoon. He did question why I didn't adopt him instead.

I didn't want to hide anything from him so I chose to be transparent of my situation and why I couldn't.

It took him a few minutes to digest but he accepted it.

It wasn't a goodbye but it was a new beginning for him and I. 

But a part of me felt nervous for the future that awaits us.

Chapter Text

Within less than a week under Bruce's wing, Jason was already making positive changes.

He ate well, played well, and never went out for street fights anymore.

It made me more confident to say that I was incompetent to be a caregiver because I couldn't properly provide his needs. Somehow, Bruce was doing everything right.

All of my trips to Wayne Manor was greeted by their smiles and Jason would always show me his latest school project like fixing up a toy car or performing a quick first aid to someone who's badly injured.

I didn't know Gotham Academy would have an entirely different curriculum that Gotham Public School but I wasn't complaining because he'd always share with enthusiasm. He'd become as bright and shining as the morning sun.

And I was happy.

Bruce gave me a real estate agent business card, someone he knew and trust before I left. Since Jason had moved in with Bruce, I didn't think I have any solid reason to move except for maybe consider having a bodyguard instead. 

The men who chased me the other day were also never to be seen again but it's better to be safe than sorry.

As soon as I got home, the first thing I did was to take a shower but when I got out, I found a pale blue envelope slipped through the gap of my front door.

It was cold to touch but there were no one when I looked through the peephole.

It didn't look important since it didn't have any name or address. So maybe it was a love letter to my neighbours but the sender got the apartment number wrong. I just threw it into my side table for temporary safe keeping.

But right when I was about to lie down for the day, I saw someone staring in my direction from across the street. I wasn't sure if it was a man or a woman, but whoever they were, they're dangerous.

I jumped when my phone buzzed-- a new message.

Lady Gotham. Midnight.

It came from an unknown number so I figured it must've been a scammer or one of the villains mistook my number for someone else.

But what if it wasn't...

The clock on my wall showed it's almost 11 pm.

It's not like I could just take out a boat from my pocket to go there. Lady Gotham herself was her own miniature island like Lady Liberty. How in the world do this person assume I'd just be able to go there without a care in the world?

But by 11:43 pm, I stood by the pier looking for an empty boat for me to get there. I reached into my bag for the letter, just to check if I was right, but the letter itself was gone. I must've dropped it while I was rushing to get here.

Well, there's no turning back now.

I kept walking for what it felt like a full half an hour until I spot a boat in the distance, perfectly readied with a paddle as if it had been waiting for me.

Suspicious.

Maybe I should contact someone and tell them where I was, in case something bad happened to me.

Let me see... I scrolled through my contact-- Bruce, Alfred, Susan and the apartment night security.

I'd never see him patrolling or be in his post. Was he even actively working or was the monthly security we needed to pay was his passive income?

I quickly deleted his number from my phone but that left me with only three options and one of them was in Smallville.

Was I so unlikeable to not have a bigger contact list?

Come to think of it, I didn't have an emergency contact either.

What a great way to remind myself how grateful I was for never get myself caught into crossfires between any superheroes and their villains because no one would even notice I was gone.

Almost made me felt like my life's a joke but no. I had people who care about me now and I wasn't alone now.

...but it's not like I could tell them I was on a boat, paddling myself to Lady Gotham in the middle of the night now could I?

This was crazy!

I was basically putting myself up for an auction. Was my life so trivial for me to put myself in dangerous a few times in a span of less than a year?

No.

But will it be worth it once I get these issues settled with?

Yes.

Will it be better if I didn't include anyone else in it since it's my problems so I didn't need to inform them of whatever's happening in my life?

Yes, yes it will.

I'd become too dependent on both Bruce during the day and Batman at night. They've both helped me too much for me to just call them and help me again.

Bruce had his own responsibilities as a multimillion company's CEO and a single father of two, while Batman had his own day-to-day schedule while managing his night activities dealing with Gotham and Justice League activities.

I couldn't bring myself to disturb their schedule again just so I could entertain my own.

It's too selfish of me.

This time, I made sure to pack generously-- a taser, a cast iron, air freshener and a lighter. Hopefully, I won't need to use them but, it's Gotham.

There's such thing as not bring weapons or safety items with you wherever you go because shooting was a daily occurrence.

Once I reach land, I tied the boat down. I looked around and found another empty boat nearby. It was empty as expected but there was a faint scent of very expensive tangy perfume floating around it.

I stooped low and carefully crept closer to the heels of Lady Gotham, intending to see who was it that called me here without notifying them that I'd arrived.

In the distance, not too far from me, I saw two figures. This time it was almost clearer since the other person was faintly glowing with a clear glassy helmet around his head as if he was wearing a diving suit. For some reason, it felt colder too.

I couldn't figure out who the other person was but I could definitely tell it was a woman because of her trench coat design-- a popular Burberry trench coat. I usually saw politicians wear it during winter but the only person near me who would wear that would be none other than Monica.

But it couldn't be.

She should be in prison.

When the woman turned around, I felt my blood turned cold as if life had breathed itself out of my lungs.

She's back.

In a blink, my vision clouded as I was snatched up from my spot and into the air.

The black cape encapsulating my vision assured me who my 'kidnapper' was.

"What are you doing?" I shouted while the wind cut the wind through my lungs.

"This isn't a school meeting where you can just walk in with no plans," he shouted. 

"But I do have a plan and that's to end Monica once and for all!"

He scoffed. "You only thought of that a minute ago," 

"It's called quick thinking. I can't possibly wait before taking a shot every time,"

"Monica isn't just a hallway fight you just jump in. You've never even had a fist fight!" the wind whistling through his cape.

"You don't know that!"

"Oh, I know," his right arm held tight around my waist while the other gripped his grappling hook as it flew us to a proper landing place.

"I don't fist fight because it's setting a bad example for the kids,"

"A bad example for kids--," he chuckled dryly. "That didn't stop you from going to night club in a cunty skirt while you still had that title around your neck,"

"That was necessary for me. I needed to investigate,"

"That was a stupid way of investigating. This time too. You could've gotten yourself killed,"

"But I didn't!"

“Not this time.” his voice cracked-- barely, but enough. “What if I’m not there next time?”

The moment our feet touched down, I shoved him off me. His boots barely scraped before he caught my wrist again, his grip unyielding.

"Hold on, I'm not done with you," he placed his grappling gun back onto his belt.

"Well I am," I didn't know how to get down but I did know I was to get away from him.

"Come back here," he pulled me back closer to him "Listen to me,"

He pushed up my chin but I kept my sight away from his gaze. "Do you wanna know the real reason I came here tonight?" he spoke softly through gritted teeth.

“To drag me back?” I bit out.

“To stop you from dying,” he said, voice low.

If I was in a better state of mind, I would've been honored and head over heels but I felt as if I was losing control over my own life.

I wanted him to rest.

I wanted Jason to be safe.

I wanted Bruce to be able to focus on his life.

I wanted to be someone all of them could be proud of.

I needed to do this on my own.

"Stop choosing death," he warned.

The way I interpret it-- everything I do moving forward will always be the wrong choice. I just needed to wait and let them do this for me.

Why can’t he, of all people, understand why I was doing this?

During his first year as Batman, when the city called him a menace, I was one of the few who believed he could change Gotham. That one day, there would be a future worth saving — and he’d be the reason it happened. Even when he fell through rooftops mid-chase, or crashed into government buildings.

Heck, he once threw my pink scooter at Penguin during a thunderstorm in his second year— and did I doubt him then? Not once.

He did all of that alone.

Without Robin.

Without the League.

All on his own.

But he couldn’t trust me with this?

Bruce once told me that parents shouldn’t restrict their kids — that they should be there to guide and support, not to control.

My professors said the same about teaching: that authority should be a tool, not a cage.

I was never raised in a strict home, so I never understood why people rebelled against control. But now I do.

It only makes us desperate to break free.

And I wasn’t going to let that happen again.

Chapter Text

For weeks, I couldn't go outside without being watched—without risking my safety—and staying home during those days had never felt any more dangerous either.

It wasn’t Batman who was watching me. If it was, I’d have marched outside just to give him a piece of my mind.

He treated me like a child so I'll reply him by acting like one.

So, no, it wasn't him. It was those people whom Robin beat up in front of the diner.

On top of that, every week, a new envelope would arrive, asking me to come again. It's a different place every time but all of them were out of the main city.

There were two things all those letters had something in common, and they're were very cold and went missing after a few hours, leaving only a small puddle in its place.

Then my phone stopped working. Every number blocked. No reception. No texts. No calls. Like someone had hacked into it just to cut me off from the world.

So I did the only thing I could: I emailed Dr. Leslie and requested for an online session. Thankfully, she agreed.

During the session, I told her about vaguely what happened between me and Batman-- "He's a friend and I get that he's worried but I felt suffocated when he told me to just fully depend on him. It felt like an order instead of a request. I can't do that to him. I don't want to---enslave him to my needs," I complained. I made sure to leave his name out of the picture.

I didn't understand how he found me at the right moment, at the right time either.

He somehow knew where and when to find me and it giving me the idea that he put a tracker on me-- won't that be an intrusion of privacy?

If that's true, kinda feeling violated now.

Like before, Dr. Leslie let me do all the talking with minimal questions. 

“Do you feel powerless?”

I hesitated. “I wouldn’t say powerless. Just—helpless, maybe. Like my choices don’t matter once he’s decided what’s best for me.”

She nodded slowly, jotting something down. "Let's go back to your relationship with this boy you cared for a while," he meant Jason. "You mentioned how he had a tendency to participate in street fights. What did you do when you found out?" she asked.

"I did like any parent would do. I gave him curfew,"

"How was his reactions?"

"Oh he didn't like that," I laughed dryly.

"Do you know why he felt that way?"

I shook my head. "I thought I was doing the right thing but it only made him avoid me even more. I only did that because I cared for him. Every day I stayed up as long as I could until he came home just in case something went wrong,"

"Did you tell him this?"

The question was most unexpected.

"No,"

"Do you think he knows this?"

"...no,"

My throat tightened.

“That’s different,” I said quickly. “He’s still a kid. I’m trying to protect him.”

“From himself?”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

I rubbed my palms together. “He keeps fighting, getting into trouble. I just want him to stop before he ends up like his father. Is that so wrong?”

“It’s not wrong,” she said softly. “It’s human. But when we try to protect people from pain, sometimes we take away their right to grow through it.”

Her words stung more than I wanted to admit.

“So you’re saying I should just… let him fight?”

“I’m saying maybe you’re not angry at your friend for not trusting you,” she said. “Maybe you’re angry because you wanted to grow, just as Jason did, and his actions felt limiting to you,”

I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.

Dr. Leslie leaned back in her chair. “You both want control—for love, for safety—but control is just fear wearing better clothes.”

I stared at the faint reflection of myself on the screen—tired eyes, pressed lips, the faint outline of someone trying too hard to keep everything together.

“That wasn't my intention,” I whispered.

She was silent for a moment but then she said "Do you believe it?"

She stared at into my eyes as if looking into my soul.

"That you could go through it without him?" 

I couldn't bring myself to answer her at the time. I wanted to say I could, but I hesitated-- as if I'd betrayed myself.

I learnt it's best not to do dangerous things alone and the next day, Bruce waited in front of my apartment with his car.

I told Bruce of going to my old family estate. Of course I explained everything to him including Batman and Robin's presence, and how much they'd helped me throughout our time in the underground tunnels. Surprisingly, he took it well and didn't question why a vigilante would spend so much time and energy to a civilian and not channeling it to his enemies.

He told me Jason had been doing well with school and training. 

"Training? I hope you're not talking about training rich people etiquette," I laughed.

He laughed along but didn't deny nor agree to it.

I sighed. "I miss him so much... Richard too," I couldn't remember when's the last time I saw Richard.

"Why do you call him 'Richard'? Everyone calls him 'Dick'," he said.

I chuckled. "Because it means 'brave' and 'strong ruler'. I'm hoping he'd become what his parents name him one day,"

"Isn't 'Dick' a shorter version of 'Richard'? So by default, it should have the same meaning,"

"Yes but it's better than calling him by a male genitalia, don't you think?" 

His laugher came deep from the bottom of his throat. "Someone's rather poised today,"

"Shut up," I lightly punched his arm and turned my eyes out the window.

The moment we arrived, we noticed it was colder than Gotham which was weird. It's worse as we stepped inside because it felt like everything was frozen in time.

The heavy crystal chandelier still hung heavy on the ceiling, dust sheets over decades old furniture while only the wallpaper had begun to peel like old dry skin.

Together, we went upstairs to the study room where there should be important documents but there were nothing important to us.

We went to the Master bedroom next. I didn't remember if I'd went there the first time I discovered this place but it's worth to check again.

I stooped under the coffee table, checking to see if something was there. "Be careful," he reminded me, a hand between my head and the table.

I checked the walls next, thinking maybe they had a secret entrance somewhere. Old aristocrats usually have that sort of thing. Bruce checked near the bed at the same time. But something caught his attention and he called upon me.

As I came by his side, his eyes stayed plastered on the floor. I followed his gaze and found a large stain of dried up blood.

My heart rate jumped when I saw it. I realized I'd been breathing manually as I kept my eyes on it.

Bruce knelt down and reached under the bed. He brought out an old leatherbound journal. It was still opened as he pulled it out.

The writings were clear until the final line where the handwriting started to get shaky.

Suddenly, a warm hand embraced my own.

"You're freezing," he said softly. "Let's go back to the car,"

The journal’s pages crackled like old bones when I turned them.

A faint scent of dust and perfume clung to the paper—something floral, faded by time.

Most of it was domestic chatter—holidays, anniversaries, recipes.

But then the tone changed.

Bruce sat beside me, one hand braced on his lap as I read each line aloud, my voice thinning with every entry.

Entry 451, February14th XXXX.

We celebrated our wedding anniversary at the beach. It was difficult to leave the children with their grandmother but thankfully, they seemed to love their grandmother's cookies more than us.

Entry 583, June 26th XXXX

My mother-in-law died today. All of us are devastated especially my husband. She was his only parent when his father died during the war. I hope I'm enough to console him.

 

Entry 594, July 7th XXXX

We were visited by the Vanderbilts this afternoon. They spoke such nonsense sometimes so I tend to not mind whatever ignorance that spouted out of their horrid mouths but today was, by far, the worse thing they'd uttered. Marriage proposal to one of our daughters, fools. 

I know they're only doing this because they're going bankrupt and want our money. Well, I don't care. They can rot in hell for all that matter. My daughters' lives are none for theirs to take.

 

Entry 597, July 10th XXXX

Someone planned to assassinate my husband. I know it's them. They're pissed because we rejected their proposal and it won't change my mind.

 

Entry 600, July 13th XXXX

We made a secret joint account at a Swiss bank in case something goes horribly wrong. If we die, the bank is supposed to give it to the sole survivor once they can continue our legacy. Even if they don't, it'll be given when the time is right. I'm still hoping there's another way for this to go but right now, even law can't help us.

 

Entry 601, July 14th XXXX

They took my husband and daughter from me... and now they're coming for the rest of us...

 

I couldn't get to the tunnel in time and now I'm stuck on second floor.

 

I hear shootings... there are too many footsteps to count how many people are outside...

 

They found us and now they're going to kill us too.

The ink bled in places, as if she’d written it while shaking.

I could almost hear her voice whispering through the words.

A silence settled between us, heavy as the air before a storm.

I gasped "Do you think--,"

Did she knew about this?

"I'm not sure," he said. "But we should be more wary from now on," 

I remembered seeing her silhouette more often recently and those men waiting for me outside, it mustn't be a coincidence. She knew and she intended to do something about it. This game about Bruce as a prize as a scam. It was never about winning Bruce's attention.

"Can you hold my hand for a moment?"

He blinked but carefully wrapped his hand around the back of mine. It felt steady and rough like the surface of a rock.

I didn't know how to process this.

I barely know these people but my heart was aching. I was aware they're my biological parents, and what happened to us but I was too young to remember anything that happened. I didn't remember what it's like to be fed by them.

Or brought to bed.

Or scolded whenever I did something wrong.

Or being in the same space as them.

My eyes burnt at the thought of it.

The same people who took them away from me had been so close to me all this time. Yet I never knew.

"Do you think..," I swallowed. "...my family would be proud of me?" 

He stared at me in silence. His other hand reached out and brushed the tear that streaked without me noticing. "I think they would,"

Chapter Text

Bruce invited me to stay at his manor that night. I accepted it because I didn't feel like being alone.

By the time we got back, Alfred had already tidied up the guestroom I stayed in before. It had a cute little potpourri this time by the night stand. 

In my few days staying there, I noticed a few ginger hair strands lying randomly around the house especially in the music room near the piano. Sometimes I'd hear it being played faintly and briefly a few times a day but every time I checked, there was no one there.

When I told Bruce about it, he joked how the manor was very old so it's unsurprising that there's ghosts around. Logical.

After that, I couldn't hear it anymore but I wasn't allowed near the drawing room either. I remembered it had an old grandfather clock there. It had the best view of the city too. So, I was slightly disappointed. 

After a week of staying there, assisting Alfred with chores and basically took a pause on my reality, I figured I couldn't take a break forever. I had made the decision to end this once and for all, so I needed a plan.

Aristotle believed revenge was justified but killing was never the answer. 

Stoicism promoted on understanding and accepting the world as it is. 

In most religious scriptures, people were taught to basically be lenient, focus on our own healing and let God take the reins.

For those who didn't experience it, it'll be easy for them to advocate such leniency but for those who knew how unjust the human system was, they'll understand that revenge should have no bounds.

I spent most of my time in Bruce's library. He had a lot of books about moral psychology, normative ethics, existentialism and stoicism. Perhaps that's why he could give good advice. It taught me more about him as a person than finding answers to my problems-- like how he could be so calm with hateful comments, fake news and accusations. 

Remembering how badly I treated him made me chuckle. He really wasn't like other rich people I imagined. 

I guess I owed him a big apology.

I went down the stairs to find Bruce, I thought maybe consulting him was better than blindly making a decision. At least the next time I see Batman, I'd have strong reasoning I do what I do-- if I get to see him again.

But then I heard voices near the music room-- a woman and... Richard?

I peeked from the door and saw the girl sitting on a wheelchair and Richard walking next to her. They discussing something about doing nightly paroles and fixing their communication system. 

The girl looked oddly familiar-- like I had seen her before...

Maybe Gotham Academy had them doing night paroles in their dorms. He's a great kid so he must be one of the head students. As for the girl, she looked smart and poised, but probably a few years younger than me-- she must be his tutor.

Alfred called out to me from the end of the hallway. "Are you looking for someone?" he asked.

"I'm looking for Bruce. I wanted to discuss something with him,"

"Master Wayne is resting right now. He broke arm last night at the bar," Alfred said.

Richard and the girl appeared from behind the door-- both of them looked as if they'd seen a ghost. "How long have you been standing here?" he asked. "Not long. I thought Bruce was inside so I took a peek. Hi--," I reached out a hand to the girl. "I was Richard's old teacher when he was in Gotham Public School,"

The girl took it with a firm handshake and a smile. "I'm Barbara Gordon. I help Bruce with some of the Wayne Foundation's communication systems," she said. "Mostly the tech and outreach side of the work,"

"Oh," astounding. "That sounds... useful," it's out of my scope but if she's working from his manor, she must be a genius.

"You'd be surprised," she said with a hint of amuse.

Gordon...

As in Commissioner Gordon's daughter? No wonder she had that sort of presence that made me feel both seen and assessed-- felt like I was in the interrogation room.

Before I could ask more, Richard's phone buzzed loudly in his jeans. He assured it wasn't important but the third time it buzzed, none of us could ignore it.

He frowned and finally pulled it out. "What's up, Jay?" his tone as bubbly as a bubble.

Whatever Jason said on the other end wiped the humor clean off his face.

"What do you mean it's on the news?" he glanced at Barbara then pulled me out of the drawing room. His grip clawed into my arm as he basically dragged me down the stairs. "Richard, what's going on?" 

"Stay where you are and don't do anything stupid. That's an order," he ended the call. 

I'd never seen him act this way before. What happened to the sweet and gentle Richard?

He brought me to the drawing room, the only room with a TV. It flickered as he turned it on.

The anchor's voice was shaky. "--police are currently negotiating with a group of armed men who've taken several civilians hostage in Gotham Park. Among the demands---,"

Her voice wavered.

"-- a woman identified as--," my full government name was called out.

My head started spinning.

Onscreen, the camera panned over flashing red and blue lights, the trembling crowd, and the small form of a child in one of the men's arms. The man-- woman's voice cut through the noise, hoarse but clear as she yelled into the megaphone:

"Either you give her to us, or we'll blow this place up!"

The moment I fully processed the source of that voice, I knew who I was dealing with.

The crowd behind the barricade shouted, overlapping  cries and whispers. Then-- someone in the crowd screamed my name.

Like a match lighting up the fire, my name echoed through the crowd.

Calling me to come out and surrendering myself in exchange for their lives.

One life for all other.

It's so stupid how she planned her fight. If she's so much better than me, why not just confront me and not play this foolish child games?

I couldn't possibly win against this.

"Don't go," Bruce was already standing by the door. His arm was in a cast, his blouse draped loosely on his torso and his pants were a mess. 

"Bruce--,"

"Don't even think about it," he repeated, the command cutting through the noise of the broadcast. Richard looked away, his hands balled by his sides.

"Let me deal with this," he said.

But all I could see was the hostages on-screen, the fear in their eyes and the crowd shouting me to come out over and over.

The women gave out a time limit-- a life every 30 minutes.

The grandfather clock ticked too loud for us to think.

Thirty minutes.

"I can save them," I said.

"No," Bruce's answer came instantly, cold and final. "You're not going anywhere,"

"I can't just sit here--,"

"You can and you will. Dick, gear up," he ordered.

"What can he do? He's 16. They want me so I'll go,"

He clenched his jaw, his eyes burnt furiously. His feet stomped my way and stopped inches away from me.

"This is exactly what they want," he continued, quieter now. "You go to them, and they'll kill you,"

"So?" my voice cracked. "Do I jus sit here and wait while those innocent people gets killed? Doing nothing makes me guilty as the ones who kill them!"

"That's not the same thing,"

"It is to me!"

My voice came out bitter.

"I can't... I can't, for the life of me, let other people die or get hurt for my sake," I said, my voice trembling now. "Please, Bruce...," I gently touched his hands.

"...let me go,"

He looked away with a heavy sigh. "I can't," he said quietly. "I promise I'll come back in one piece," I spoke.

He looked at me then--really looked at me-- the woman who had somehow tangled herself into both part of his life without meaning to, without realizing it. It's one of those rare moments where both his ego and id agreed to do something but the only thing stopping it was me.

He slipped his hands out of my and turned his heels away, stepping out of the room. Alfred stayed silent while Richard tried to talk some senses into me but I'd made up my mind.

When I got there, I was 5 minutes early from the first victim being sent to Death. 

Batman's warning echoed in my ears: "Stop choosing death,"

The police separated the crowd for a clear trip for me to go straight to the woman who called for me.

This wasn't about choosing death-- it's about life. My life and everyone else's.

She pointed a gun over my head, smiling under her mask. "It's been a while," she spat. "Indeed it has, Monica,"

Her men rushed behind me and put a handcuff around my wrists. "We're going to on a trip to the old GCPD building if you don't mind. Think of it as one of our school trips,"

"How exciting," 

The men dragged me by my handcuffs and shoved me into a white van. The crowd broke out in screams of joy when the hostages were released.

I wonder if Batman knew about this.

I wonder how he'd react.

I wonder if he's still angry at me for defying him last time.

I didn't mean to make him mad at me.

I hoped I get to apologize to him.

And I hoped he'd be able to be more empathetic.

Last thing I need was another fight with him.

Chapter Text

My subconscious shook me awake to realize, I was already stripped off my clothes to my undergarments covering my honors, tied to a metal pole with a rope and locked in a cryogenic room made of metal and glass. White smoke filled the space and ice formed on the edges of the glass walls.

My body hairs were frozen still as my bones shivered in the deadly temperature.

Monica stood outside with a grin similar to a goat.

The van I sat it was filled with sleep gas and within minutes, I lost consciousness.

"You look good in white," she referred to my undergarments. "It's a shame we're gonna color it red," she slid in new magazine into the base of her gun. "Poison doesn't cut out for you anymore?" I asked.

"Nah," she smiled, sweetly. "It's too messy. Plus, I don't like people vomiting breakfast at my carpet. Last time we did that, the old lady was dumb enough to blame this certain girl for that. You should know, she was your maid," she leaned on the glass.

"Why are you doing this? Bruce and I have nothing between us," I said.

"It's not about Bruce, dumbass," her tone dropped. "It's never about him,"

I tried reaching behind me in an attempt to touch the rope around my arms but it only made it dig into my skin.

"You spoiled my business,"

"What you did is a crime,"

"What I did was to restore my family's wealth!" she punched the glass. "I was doing so well too for 4 years,"

"I trusted you," the frost was biting through my skin. My limbs were all numbed.

"That's why you're here,"

"What?" I shot back.

"Why would you trust me? Because I was your first friend since forever? Because you think we, women, should stick together? You don't know me," she groaned.

"But you can trust me anyway,"

"I'm supposed to, aren't I? Because we happen to be the only two unmarried female teachers in the pit of Gotham's worst school, so naturally, we should be connected by hip,"

She laughed.

"When my family fell into bankruptcy, my engagement to Bruce was annulled and both my parents took their own lives, unable to bear being publicly shamed,"

"That's doesn't have anything to do with me--,"

"It has everything to do with you!" her voice reverberated against the webbed walls.

"Your family didn't want to help us even though they're so-called business partners. Seizing all of their clients and leaving my family for dead. My sweet parents were fools to trust yours!"

It didn't match the ledgers and documents. I was wondering if she knew what her family really did that costed her their lives.

"Are you going to kill me too?" I couldn't control my teeth chattering.

"Not yet. My partner here have something he needs from Bruce so until he gets here, I can't put a bullet into your head yet,"

Heavy footsteps clang on the metal floorings. Mr. Freeze emerged through the fog, an exact copy of his pictures in the news for the last few weeks.

"When is Bruce Wayne coming? We can't delay our progress much longer," he ordered.

"I told you, he's coming!" she snapped. "She's one of Bruce's people. He won't let anyone touch her," she assured.

"If Batman comes here before Bruce, consider our deal over,"

Monica rolled her eyes. "I told you he's coming! So, get. Off. My. Back!" she shouted.

The hiss of his coolant line punctuated the silence.

"You should get your emotions in check," he commented and disappeared into the fog again.

My eyes wandered around the old building, counting webs, walls, doors--anything to keep my eyes open. If I close them now, I might not be able to open them again.

My lungs felt so dry, it burnt. Even the slightest movement made the cracks on my lips bleed. 

Feeling ashamed of being stripped and tied were none of my concern if I couldn't get out of her alive.

Mr. Freeze went to another cryogenic chamber. It was thinner than mine but there's a woman sleeping inside it. He looked at her so sadly, everyone would know she must've been his lover at some point in his life. Every time he touched the glass over her face, he'd curl up his hand over his chest and went back to work with more devotion in his face.

Meanwhile, Monica, was stabbing nails into straw dolls on the other side of the room.

Then, we all heard it. 

Footsteps and a voice from downstairs.

Monica jumped to her heels, fixed her hair and makeup before rushing out of the room.

She came back locking arms with Bruce dressed in a neat black suit and a suitcase on the other hand which was supposed to be in a cast.

"Here's the DNA-edit technology from LexCorp," he raised the case. "Now let her go,"

"Miss Vanderbilt, would you please?" Mr. Freeze requested by the control panel. Oddly enough, Monica bubbly took it from Bruce and handed it over without complaints. Mr. Freeze resumed to his work while Monica took the reins.

She ushered Bruce to my side while still pinned on him.

Bruce steps slowed the moment his gaze met mine. For a brief, gut-turning heartbeat, the mask of composure slipped for both of us.

He took in everything-- my half-bare skin gone pale and blotched, the rope biting red around my arms, the trembling that rattled through my shoulder.

I told him I could protect myself but I felt humiliated to admit it at this state that I was wrong.

"You didn't have to do this," he said to Monica, his voice cracking same as his eyes flared.

She slid her arm tighter around his, pushing her chest against him, purring. "You said you wanted her alive. There she is, still adorable as you see her,"

There was a slight confusion in his eyes but he swallowed once then regained his composure.

He glanced away from me, jaw tightening. "You said she'd be unharmed,"

"Still is," she said lightly.

He straightened, drawing a steady breath through his nose-- because he'd never strike a woman. Not in private. Not in public.

But his hand twitched once at his side, fingers curling as if the impulse had belonged to someone else entirely.

"I got you what you wanted. Now let her go," he requested. "Mm," she hummed. 

Behind them, Mr. Freeze opened the suitcase, revealing a small chip inside. He inserted it into his control panel and gleefully typed away.

"You know, Bruce," she said sweetly. "I almost forgot how tall you were in person," she slinked closer, one hand dragging down the lapel of his jacket, the other pressing the cold metal of her gun against his chest.

Bruce stiffened but didn't flinch.

"Do you know what's the difference between a man like you and a woman like me?" she tongue rolled with her sultry gaze.

"You do homicides for a living?"

Her smile dropped. She shoved him down on the floor and aimed the gun towards me.

And she pulled the trigger.

A black shape dropped through the mist above-- fast, silent, crushing the light fixtures as it fell.

His hand snapped the gun out of her grip mid-fire; the bullet ricocheted off the floor, spinning across the tiles.

Monica staggered back, her shriek swallowed by the hiss of coolant. Freeze groaned behind the panel, reaching for his own gun.

He moved like smoke through light-- cape flaring, frost scattering from his armor as if the darkness itself had broken loose.
The gun hit the floor. Monica followed, slammed into the glass by the force of his entry.

“Freeze!” Mr. Freeze bellowed, spinning toward the commotion.

"Oracle, now," he spoke to himself and the lock on the door to my chamber clicked open.

Air whooshed into the chamber, a sudden rise in temperature making the chilling fog swept outside.

Batman turned in time to block Freeze’s blast-- blue light flooding the room as ice splintered across his cape. He lunged forward, grabbed Freeze by the arm, and slammed him into the control panel.

Sparks and frost erupted.

Meanwhile, Bruce rushed over to me. Covering my body with his jacket. "You okay?" he whispered, awkward and gentle.

"Yeah," I leaned into his warmth-- his cologne smelt different.

"Come on. Let's get you out of here," he tried pulling me up to my feet but I couldn't feel them. The cold had taken the strength in them.

A crash behind us — Batman’s gauntlet against Freeze’s helmet, a geyser of freezing mist filling the space.

Then—

A second gunshot.

Bruce fell to his knees.

Monica’s voice again, ragged but furious. "You'd think I'd let you win again?"

She was on her feet, hair wild, frost clinging to her lashes, fingers wrapped tightly around her gun.

I dragged myself to Bruce and rested his head on my lap.

His warmth seeping into my skin.

She limped towards us, blood seeped from her her lips when she crashed on the floor, breath turning to ice between her words. 

As she got nearer, the gun wavered, her finger whitening around the trigger.

Time thinned.

Bruce was shot right in front of me.

Batman was battling Freeze.

My limbs were stone cold, I could barely move.

But in that moment, sun peeked through the window and I felt it.

I lunged forward and in one single motion, right before she pulled the trigger, a sharp hiss lit up the space between us.

Monica convulsed, a flash of blue tearing through the white fog. I only thought to tase her but I forgot to save energy to pull back.

For a whole minute, her scream teared our ears until her body crumpled against the frost-slick floor, the gun spinning away with a hollow clang.

For a second, the world went very still.

"Well..," Bruce grimaced on my lap. "...that's one way to do it,"

My heart skipped as his smile flickered alive. His weight sank against me, heavy and real.

“Bruce-," the name cracked out of me before I could stop it.

"I'm fine," a small, stubborn groan that sounded too alive to be dying.

I pressed my forehead against his shoulder, tears stinging before I could even think of stopping them. My body shook, not from cold anymore, but from everything I’d been holding back since the van, since the gas, since the fear started.

"Don't-," my voice cracked. "Don't ever do that again," I burrowed my face against his chest, wanting to feel his warmth deeper, to hear his heart beat louder.

"Getting shot?" he rasped.

"Pretending you're fine,"

He gave a small, crooked smile and glanced at Batman in the distance. "I'll work on that,"

The light outside had changed. The thin winter sun slipped through the shattered glass, gold against the white smoke.

Batman turned at the sound of approaching sirens echoing from the streets below.

He looked at the two of us—me shaking, Bruce in pain against my lap.

A long breath left him, something between relief and exhaustion. Then, without a word, he stepped backward into the haze.

The shadows swallowed him whole.

When I blinked, he was gone.

Bruce stirred, grimacing as he pushed himself upright.

"Where are you going?" I asked. "I need to... do something," he said, voice softer than before. Then he walked to the far dark hallway where Batman disappeared, fading into the fog.

The room went quiet except for the slow dripping of melting ice.

Freeze, disappointed, was handcuffed to the panel. The woman in the cryogenic chamber stayed asleep.

I sat there, still half-numb, staring at the frost blooming around Monica’s body, the faint hum of ruined machinery, the faint warmth of sunlight creeping across the floor.

My arms felt too heavy to lift.

Then-- footsteps again.

Different ones. Slower. Familiar.

I looked up and Bruce was back again. "Where did you go?" I asked.

He crossed the room without saying a word and crouched beside me. His hands hovered in the air for a second, unsure where to start-- my face, my shoulders-- then finally settled over my trembling fingers.

"You're safe now," he pulled me in, slow but certain, until my forehead pressed against the nape of his neck. His heartbeat was pounding beneath the layers of fabric, but it was there with me.

For a long time, as the police were reaching to us, neither of us spoke.

The only sound left was water dripping from the pipes and our breathing trying to find the same rhythm.

His hand was still around mine, thumb brushing the bruised skin where the rope had bitten. Every time he traced the line, the warmth from his skin sank deeper, chasing away the ache that had lived there for hours.

Once the police barged in, her closed off any views to my body with his coat, wrapping it tightly. His good arm spread  behind me. "May I?"

Something in me gave way at that.

My body moved before my mind decided, shoulders folding toward him, the last bit of tension uncoiling until I was leaning against his chest as he wrapped one arm around my waist and carried me past the police, Freeze, and straight to his car.

"Can we stay like this for a while?" I requested. 

He nodded and unlocked the doors.

He shut the door closed as he leaned in the back seat with me in his arms.

His heart pounded softer now. The adrenalin probably starting to fade.

"Your heart sounds so nice," I whispered, my eyelids growing heavier.

He gave a quiet hum in reply, a sound that rumbled more in his chest than in his throat.

For a long moment neither of us moved. The sirens outside faded into something distant, almost unreal.

His coat still smelled faintly of smoke and rain. Each breath I took drew a little more of it in until the world felt less like metal and frost.

My fingers curled in the fabric at his shoulder, the simple weight of him the only thing anchoring me to the present.

He shifted slightly, tightening his hold so my head rested against his collarbone.

The warmth between us stretched and steadied until my breathing fell in time with his.

I was reminded when we were at the gazebo, the observatory, during Christmas... that night we shared one cup of noodles at midnight... when he tested the food to show me that it's safe for me to eat...

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

He glanced down at me.

"For being so mean. I judged you wrongly just because you're rich and I'm sorry for what I did,"

He chuckled and brushed the strands of hair from my face.

"Get some rest and we'll talk about how you can repay me,"

Chapter Text

Afternoon

Warmth was the first thing I noticed.

Not the kind that came from sunlight, but from the weight of heavy blankets and the faint heat of the fireplace breathing somewhere across the room.

From the comfort of the hand gripping my fingers.

The air smelled clean-- wood, linen and something faintly smoke, like cedar left too long near a flame.

A vague hint of soap nipping on the tip of my nose.

The sheets were crips against my skin, warm where the fabric brushed the bandages on my arms. I felt every thread, every pulse beneath the gauze.

The messy hair of someone brushing against my left cheek.

Somewhere beyond the quiet, the world existed: a clock ticking, distant rain against the windowpanes, the hush of winter still pressing at the glass. 

Through my closed lids, I saw the faint spill of daylight-- pale, filtered through tall curtains. And there, breaking the light, was a shadow moving from my side. 

Broad shoulder, careful movements.

Watching.

Waiting.

His chair creaked softly when he shifted his weight. I didn't need to open my eyes to know it was him.

His breathing, steady and low, filled the space between heartbeats.

"Oh-- a robber," I croaked.

"I wouldn't call someone tending to your needs a robber," Bruce replied.

I turned my hand around and carefully rubbed my thumb over his knuckles. "Thank you," I said.

I heard his tongue smacked against the roof. "Sorry for waking you up," his hand drifted away, leaving mine empty while his footsteps slowly started to fade.

"I dreamt of you," I spoke out.

He halted. "How was it?"

"Well...," I didn't dream of him actually. I just wanted him to stay longer. "I forgot,"

"Hm," he sat back down beside me.

"Were you lying?" I could hear him smiling through his teeth.

I lowered myself deeper into the blanket.

He chuckled.

"I didn't want to you leave yet," I confessed.

"Are you scared?" he asked.

"No,"

I felt the bedding shift, him propping his head onto the sheets.

Neither of us spoke.

Only the fire crackled in the digital heath, slow and rhythmic, as if it too had grown tired of noise.

I imagine we were breathing in sync.

His exhale, my inhale.

His heartbeat matching with mine.

Until I couldn't feel them anymore.

His warmth, his breaths... his presence.

I frowned.

My hands reached out while my eyelids forcefully fluttered.

A larger hand unexpectedly caught mine.

When our eyes met, the world felt like it stopped pretending to exist beyond the two of us.

His hair was mussed, the circles under his eyes darker than I remembered, but his gaze was bright and blue like the untouched space in the middle of the sea.

"I thought you left," I muttered.

"Why would I?"

He tucked my hand under the blanket and gently pulled it over my chin. The tips of his finger barely scraping against my skin but it was hotter than anything I'd felt.

"I'm going to tell Alfred to prepare your meal," he blurted, swiftly escaping to wherever Alfred was.

The door clicked softly behind him.

And just like that, the room changed.

The air cooled. The stillness stretched. The faint trace of his warmth began to fade from the blanket and from my skin.

I hadn’t realized how much space his presence filled until it was gone.

The heated blanket was still warm but I could barely feel it.

Even the ticking clock sounded sharper, lonelier.

I pressed my palm over my chest, where my heartbeat had matched his only moments ago.

Evening

The second time I awoken, the world outside my window had turned gold to grey. The soft orange of afternoon sun had drained into the dull, colorless blue of early night.

The heater hummed quietly in the corner, filling the room with artificial warmth.

I blinked toward the faint shapes in the dark-- the chair where he'd sat before was placed back in the corner.

Empty now.

Strange.

The room was warm enough, but I felt cold again.

Somewhere beyond the door, voices broke through the quiet-- muffled at first, then sharper.

An argument rose and fell like waves against the walls.

I couldn't make out all the words, only the rhythm of anger and care knotted together.

I turned to my side, eyes tracing the shadows along the empty chair-- all it did was remind me of the person who sat there and how different the air had been when he was here.

The door opened with a soft click.

Light from the hallway spilled across the floor, outlining him in gold. He stepped inside carefully, as if not to wake-- though I was already watching.

The smell reached me first.

Warm broth, herbs, something familiar that made my stomach twist and growl before my mind caught up.

"I thought you could use some food but when I came back, you went back to bed," he said, referring to this afternoon. 

He set the bowl on the nightstand, the porcelain clinking softly against the wood.

"I didn't expect to sleep that long," I murmured, pushing myself up against the headboard.

He handed me the bowl, careful not to let our fingers brush.

Like deja vu.

He sat down the same place he did before, elbows on his knees, eyes flicking to the blanket as if unsure whether to stay.

Meanwhile, I took a sip and the heat spread through my chest.

As I ate, he told me how Jason and Dick were enthusiastic to visit me but he had to forbid them. His reasoning was to let me recover as much as I could first. He also informed me how Monica was charged for human-trafficking, attempted murder and first-degree murder. Her sentence hadn't been decided yet but she'll never be free again.

I was relieved but I felt like she needed to know what her family actually did. Based on how she told me, it's as if she thought her family was in the right but compared to my family's documents, they're never right.

While the thought lingered in my mind, I couldn't help but realize how tired he looked-- his dark under-eyes and slightly sunken cheeks. It made him look 5 years older.

"You look tired," I commented.

He gave a quiet huff of amusement "You're not wrong,"

I watched the way his shoulders eased, the light catching the tired lines around his eyes.

It reminded me of someone I owe an apology to.

"I hope... I can see Batman soon," I said without thinking.

His gaze lifted. "What for?"

"I need to apologize to him... for not trusting him when he told me to depend on him," 

"He sounds like me," he teased.

I chuckled.

"He is very strict compared to you. He yelled at me so I yelled back," I pouted.

He laughed but didn't reply back.

He leaned back slightly. "Do you still love him?"

I played with the stew with the spoon in my hand. "Hm...," I pursed my lips.

"I think I mistook adoration to love," I said.

He frowned. "What's the difference?"

I looked to the ceiling. The heater’s low hum filled the pause between us.

"I'm not sure either," I murmured as my thoughts unfold on its own.

The light from the window had turned grey to faint yellow, someone turned on the lights outside, drifting through the curtains like the color of morning.

"Maybe it was never love... maybe I admired him too much...,"

The way you look at a storm from far away, or thunder bolts, it's beautiful but it's dangerous if you get too close.

It's not that he's dangerous--he's unobtainable. Like a myth. Distant and impossible to hold.

Bruce, still in his rumpled shirt, hands rough from work he never talked about, eyes locked into mine, listening carefully through every breath whispered from my lips.

He didn't shield me from the world, but he stood beside me in it.

He didn't tell me what to fell, but he stayed until I do.

A warmth bloomed in my chest, small and steady-- like a flower opening its bud on the first day of Spring.

I turned my head toward him. "Maybe love isn't about who saves you," I said softly. "Maybe it's about who stays after everything,"

His eyes found mine--blue and steady, like the quiet between winter and spring.

He smiled faintly. "Maybe,"

I looked down at the bowl, the last trace of steam fading into the air.

"Bruce?"

“Hm?”

“What do you think love is?”

The question hung there like a fog.

"I think...," he stopped, searching for it.

"...I think love's what makes you stay when everything else tells you to run,"

He said it quietly, eyes fixed on some point past his fingers-- maybe at the floor, maybe at something further.

Midnight

When I woke for the third time today, the lights outside were dimmed to a faint amber glow.

It didn't give light to anything in the room except for the figure sitting where Bruce should've sat beside me-- elbows on his knees, white eyes glued onto me, waiting for something to happen.

"This is a surprise...," my voice was hoarse from the midnight chill.

"You should be asleep," he said, voice rougher than I remembered.

"I've slept for too long," I murmured, pushing the strands from my face. "I thought you wouldn't want to see me again," I said.

"I owed you an apology," he confessed.

"For what?"

"For crossing a line. For forcing you to depend on me,"

It was, indeed, a surprise.

I smiled faintly, exhaustion curling through my voice.

"I yelled at you too," 

"You were scared," he concurred.

"I was stubborn," I corrected. He didn't deny it.

The amber light from the window spilled faintly behind him, tracing the edge of his cape in gold. For an instant, the glow softened the black of his silhouette-- not a shadow anymore.

It reminded me of this afternoon, when Bruce stood in the doorway. His slightly sunken cheeks looked to similar, I thought I was hallucinating.

I drew the blanket closer, eyes fixed on the faint shimmer of light across his shoulder. "You reminded me of someone," I spoke.

He sat straight as a ruler. "Do I?" 

I nodded, voice barely above a whisper. "Someone who... warms the room with his presence,"

"He must be important to you,"

I smiled. "He is,"

I looked down at my hand — the same one Bruce had held earlier. I could still feel the ghost of his touch there, the warmth that had seeped into my skin and refused to fade.

He finally stood from his seat. 

"Thank you... for everything," I close my eyes.

"Rest well,"

I heard the window clicked shut. I wondered how he got in the manor but thought, maybe Bruce and Batman knew each other.

The Prince and the Knight.

Chapter Text

By next morning, Bruce was finally confident to let me move on my own.

First thing I did was to go meet the others downstairs in the kitchen where everyone would be having their breakfast. Bruce was the first to notice me. He smiled into his cup while Jason and Dick still had their backs to the door, unbeknownst to them that I'd been standing for almost a minute.

"Good morning," I greeted.

Jason instantly spun around at the drop of his fork. "You're up!" the 14-year-old boy threw himself in my arms, the top of his head almost reached my chin now-- a major growth spurt compared to a month ago. 

Dick turned, eyes wide. "Bruce said you're still resting today,"

"I am resting," I said, taking a seat beside them. "Just... staying here until Bruce says it's okay,"

Bruce set his cup down, amusement flickering across his face.

Alfred appeared beside the stove, ever composed. "I'll remind you that 'on your feet' does not equal 'overexerting yourself'. I won't allow you to assist me in any duties," he said sternly.

It felt so nice to be a part of them again.

Breakfast carried on with easy chatter-- Jason complaining about homework, Dick double-checking his packing list for Jump City, Bruce skimming through the newspaper. 

I was just finishing my meal when Bruce set his spoon down and said "Could you do me a favor? I left my pen upstairs, on my desk. The silver one,"

I blinked. "You want to go all the way up there for a pen?" Alfred just told us he forbade me to move around so much.

He raised an eyebrow. "You said you're feeling better,"

"What about--," I looked at Dick. He grinned. "Nope. I'm required to sort my own mess-- Alfred said so,"

"Same," Jason chimed in. "Bu~sy,"

Even Alfred avoided my gaze, suspiciously as he refilled Bruce's coffee.

I narrowed my eyes. "This is a trick,"

Bruce shrugged innocently. "Just a pen. Or if you're too weak then maybe I'll have to put you down again,"

What am I, a dog?

I sighed. "Fine. But if if I find out this is some sort of a prank, I'm gonna--,"

He stared at me, mischievously with a slight smirk.

Something fluttered inside me. I bit down on my lips.

"--I'm gonna jump out the window," I muttered.

"Duly noted," he cooed. 

I grumbled the whole way up the stairs, dragging my hand along the banister like it might anchor me to common sense.

"All that just for a pen," I muttered under my breath. "Wayne money and not  a single spare pen in the house. Unbelievable!"

The hallway stretched longer than I thought-- quiet, carpeted, echoing faintly with my footsteps. I'd never been this far before.

I passed by the guestrooms, my room, Jason's and Dick's-- another long hallways until I finally reached his at the end.

Every few feet, another portrait lined the wall: Bruce as a boy, all sharp suits and proud eyes; a woman with pearls and kind features that looked so much like his; a man beside her, prideful but gentle.

I stopped for a while, studying it.

Everyone knew what happened to them but it's like a dark history that Gotham wanted to bury and ignore. Since he's the face of children who became a victim of Gotham's failed system.

Let the past be the past, they always said. But those who don't learn from history are condemned to repeat it.

And that's what happened to both Dick and Jason.

But I was hopeful that by being together, they could make Gotham a better place for other families.

When I reached the last door, I hesitated. It wasn't locked-- just slightly ajar, as if it's expecting me... but that's a reach.

Inside, the air smelled faintly of his cologne. Warm and inviting. I could stay here all day and hopefully no one would notice.

The curtains were half-drawn, letting sunlight spill across the desk, over piles of papers and notebooks arranged with near-obsessive precision. A crystal bottle of whiskey hidden amongst it.

And there, draped across the chaise by the window, was a gown.

Sparkling. Flowing.

A constellation of silver and glass stitched into a fabric that looked alive as the night sky. Every step I took closer to it, only made the details stood out. 

The fabric shimmered when I barely touched it, light sliding across the crystals like waves rippling the ocean.

While I admired the design, my eyes caught a card tucked into the bodice--an invitation, a heavy paper embossed with silver script of my name. The date written on it was tonight and it'll be a private ball.

A private ball?

Me?

The thought of it made me laugh.

"You're not interested?" Bruce was leaning by the door, sleeves rolled to his forearms, his collar unbuttoned for a glimpse his collarbone. 

"Balls are for rich people. Someone like me isn't suitable for those kind of stuff," I joked "I'd probably judge your guests and give you a bad rep,"

"Hm," he stepped inside and stood beside me. "I was looking forward for you to wear it," he confessed quietly.

"...you did?"

He nodded. "Why wouldn't I?"

He was close enough that I could see the faint crease of tiredness around his eyes, the soft shadow of stubble along his jaw. The light from the window struck the silver threads in the gown, then his shirt, then back again--as if the room itself couldn't decide which of us it wanted to illuminate.

"I won't fit it," I said quietly. "I'm not like those rich people,"

"They're just people," he replied. "Friends. Nothing more,"

"Friends? Don't tell me they're your business partners,"

He chuckled. "Trust me," his eyes met mine, impossible to look away from.

I'd lost count the amount of times he took my breaths away.

If I’d reached out just an inch more, our fingers might have touched. But then he turned toward the door.

"I'll send Barbara to help you if you decide to come,"

He paused, one hand on the frame, the light from the hallway haloing him in gold.

"What is it?" I asked.

He cleared his throat and

He cleared his throat but said nothing, disappearing into the bright corridor.

I looked back at the gown. It was flawless—sparkling, meticulous, the kind of craftsmanship that took years to learn and months to make.

"He's such a womanizer," I sighed, half-smiling.

The guestroom smelled faintly of pressed linen and perfume. The gown hung by the mirror now, shimmering under the soft lights.

Barbara stood behind me, a comb and a dozen pins between her fingers. "So... he picked this himself?" she asked, raising a brow.

"Apparently," I guessed.

Her dress was a soft violet that fell perfectly over her legs, though her wheelchair looked too formal beside it-- metallic, angular, out of place against the silk.

“Have you ever thought about decorating it?” I asked before I could stop myself.

Barbara blinked. “The chair?”

“Yeah. Maybe some flowers around the rims? Something that matches your dress.”

A real smile appeared on her face. "I never thought of that,"

"Do I take that as a yes?" I asked and she nodded.

She let me work in silence for a moment as I weaved a few small blossoms into the frame.

"You really trust him, don't you?" she asked. Her tone wasn't suspicious, just curious-- like she was trying to understand.

I looked up. "Bruce?"

She nodded. "He's... complicated. Most people don't stick around long enough to see past that,"

I smiled faintly, weaving in the final flower. "Everyone has secrets. I just don't think it's my place to pry,"

She hummed, adjusting a fresh curl that had escaped my braid.

By the time she fastened the last pin on the back of my dress, I realized how much the woman staring back from the mirror barely looked like me.

I wear makeup often—work, meetings, the occasional solo date—but whatever Barbara had done, she made me look alive. My best features felt sharper, warmer, like she’d painted me back into myself.

Barbara wheeled back, giving me a satisfied once-over. “I did great,” she said, patting her own shoulder.

“Thank you,” I laughed softly.

Somewhere down the hall, music began to drift through the air—low, elegant, and slow. A quiet announcement that it was time.

My chest tightened. It felt like the bridge before a song’s final chorus: the breath before something beautiful or something that might break me. Both felt too much like a dream that could end if I blinked.

“Ready?” Barbara asked.

I swallowed. "As I'll ever be,"

The music grew clearer as we neared the ballroom-- strings and piano weaving together, soft as the first fall of snow, loud as the birds on first break of dawn.

The ballroom itself had no words to describe it.

Crystal chandeliers hung low, each candle’s flame mirrored in the hundreds of glass facets above. Chatter and laughter rippled through the air. Fewer than twenty guests filled the vast room, but with the light spilling from the balconies, it felt as though the walls themselves were made of gold.

Extravagant for such a small gathering.

But this was Bruce Wayne-- this was his version of humble.

When we reached the middle ground, it all blurred together as I saw him.

Bruce was standing near the grand staircase, mid-conversation with someone I didn't recognize. He looked calm, composed-- until his eyes found mine.

It felt like everything stopped for us.

The musicians, the guests, even time--everything folded into that one suspended moment.

"Go on," Barbara nudged.

It took all of my strength to remember how to move. Each step I took towards him felt like a dream. 

But it felt natural as if gravity itself was pulling us together.

He didn't wait for me to reach the final step--he climbed up with a smile so bright and eyes sparkling like the stars above us.

When he finally reached me, he spoke in a whisper "You came,"

"You called," I whispered back.

He bit his lower lip, possibly suppressing a grin. He drew a breath. "If I may, that is...," he swallowed, eyes fixed on mine. "...it would give me the greatest pleasure if you give me the honor of letting you through this first...," he paused, the rarest flicker of nerves behind the calm. The faintest glimpse of tremor of vulnerability he so rarely showed.

"--dance?" I raised a brow.

He laughed softly at himself, offering his arm. "Yes,"

When I took it, his warmth instantly seeped through the fabric of his coat like the first touch of spring.

The orchestra shifted into a slower rhythm once he pulled me to the dance floor.

He placed one hand at my waist, the other guiding mine to his shoulder, and the world shrank to the hush between our breaths.

The distance between us couldn’t be smaller; still, it wasn’t close enough.

Every turn pulled me nearer until the scent of him was all I could breathe.

He led me in the center of everything, the crowd parting like water.

Every step, every second, every brush of his fingers against mine felt like a secret we shouldn’t be keeping, yet neither of us wanted to let go.

The air between us grew heavier with each movement. His thumb grazed the inside of my palm, an accident that felt anything but accidental.

I looked up, and the moment I did, his gaze caught mine-- gleefully so.

It was different this time.

Whether it's because of the lighting or simply the way he looked at me... but it felt burning in a way that made the floor disappear beneath my feet.

I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

“I hope my skills don't annoy you so much,” I murmured, my voice barely carrying over the strings.

His mouth curved-- just a flicker, small but devastating. “You don’t annoy me,” he said, gaze steady, unguarded. “You make me nervous.”

The words sank between us, quiet and impossibly undeniable.

I laughed under my breath, but it came out shakier than I meant.

"You have an interesting way with words, Mr Wayne,"

He huffed, shyly even. Very out-of-character of him.

"What can I say...," his head hung low, close enough for me to reach him if I simply stand a little taller. "...I'm simply a-,"

When I leaned in, it wasn't deliberate, it was gravity. A light brush on his nose against mine, light as a feather. 

Nothing to read into.

"--natural," he froze in a heartbeat, his breaths catching against my skin, and I felt his pulse stumble through his chest when my hand rested.

Then, with the gentlest motion, he lowered his head until our foreheads touched. 

The orchestra faded into a distant memory, the murmur of the small crowd dissolving into nothing but the sound of us beathing in time.

There was only mint and perfume mixing together in a moment we call a kiss.

And in that stillness, I realized-- 

...it was never choice that pulled us together,

...only gravity.

Chapter Text

The moment we came to realize what happened, the orchestra resumed.

Bruce pulled away first. His face as straight as the back of a knife. "My apologies," he let go of my hand and the space between us expanded. "I'll be sure to ask for your permission the next time I do that," his voice oddly flat.

Thinking about 'next time' made me anticipate the possibility of our future together.

But he stood there, close enough for me to feel the heat radiating from him but something in the way he said it made me feel like there's an invisible wall between us.

Did I misunderstood it? 

"You say the strangest things," I forced a laugh, soft enough for only him to hear.

His lips twitched, not quite a smile. "Come with the territory,"

It's like the kiss changed him... or it was a mistake.

"Right," I murmured. "Wouldn't want you making a habit out of it," I joked, still trying to salvage whatever's left but nothing fazed him.

He blink and stepped back. "Enjoy the evening," he said, polite, distant, the way I never thought he'd be especially to me.

I watched him walk away into the crowd. His broad shoulders swallowed by the light of the chandeliers and something inside me sank lower than I expected.

The pit in my chest grew.

It wasn't heartbreak but I wasn't sure where the pain was coming from.

The happy tune in the violin felt like a mockery to how I was feeling.

But a voice calling out my name quickly brought the joy back into my heart.

Jason grinned up at me, one hand extended, the other shoved carelessly into his pocket. He was in a black and red suit Alfred probably forced him into. His bangs made his face looked more like a heart especially with such a wide smile.

"Aren't you supposed to ask first?" I said, catching his palm. "Permission's overrated," his smile was still as snobby as when I first met him.

The orchestra had shifted to something livelier now, brighter, as if it, too, was telling me the night's to young to frown. 

His steps were a little messy, off-tempo. His grip a little too loose but he was trying and that's better than being perfect.

When the song slowed, he leaned in a little. That's when I noticed he's already the same height as me. I wasn't sure what Alfred had been feeding him or what training had Bruce been putting him in but it didn't feel good to see him growing up so fast.

"You're overthinking aren't you?" he frowned. His voice was still light and bubbly.

"Can you guess what I'm thinking?" I smiled sheepishly. He pursed his lips. "Bruce,"

"Why would I think about him?" I sighed. "You did just kissed him," "Correction! He. Kissed. Me," emphasised on HE. "The man's almost 2 meter tall. He's basically a walking traffic light,"

That made the boy wheeze so much, people were looking to know what's so funny. 

"He's so tall, he'd get a neck cramp from saying hello," he cackled. "I bet he has a neck cramp right now," I muttered, my eyes wandering to see if he's looking at us and he was. He looked like he heard us too. 

I bit my tongue and pat Jason to tell to compose himself, whispering how Bruce was watching us but the boy didn't care. He swooshed and spun us throughout the dancefloor without a care in the world until someone else had to stop us.

"Mind if I cut in?"

I turned to find Richard-- tall, sharp, just starting to outgrow his boyishness but not yet grown enough to hide the warmth in his eyes. Jason gladly retreated like the little prince he was  to the desserts table once Richard took my hand.

“Jason didn’t even give me a chance to breathe,” I teased.

He grinned, slipping into the rhythm with effortless grace. “It's his first ball,” his steps were lighter than Bruce's, smoother than Jason's. He led me gently through the dancefloor while carefully maneuvering us past other pairings. "I'll be going to Jump City tomorrow," he said.

I gasped. "That soon?"

He nodded, smiling faintly. "I'll be with my friends, setting up the new place,"

My chest tightened. "Will you be okay alone?" I asked. "I won't be alone," he tilted his chin toward the small group of teens his age on the far side of the room-- loud, laughing and alive compared to other guests. "They're my new beginning,"

"Still...," I said softly. "Jump City is so far away," "I'll make sure to come back and visit,"

He said it so lightly as if Gotham and Jump City were neighboring states when in fact, Gotham was in the East Coast while Jump City was in the West.

His footsteps tapped to the beat and a gentle perceptiveness in his gaze that always reminded me he's the same boy I saw daily in my class. "You care too much," he said. "That's a good thing but be careful where you place it,"

I frowned, unsure. "What do you mean?"

He chuckled quietly, spinning me once more. "I know who you got your eyes on and trust me, he's a good man. He's great in most things but not everything,"

"So what do you suggest I do?" I asked, trying to sound lighter than I felt. He shrugged. "Probably best to ignore him and focus on yourself. He'll come around eventually,"

He's right.

And if it's meant to be, it's bound to be.

"You've grown," I murmured. He's much more matured than the boy who'd crash out at every inconvenience in the classroom.

He snorted. When the song ended, he gave a short, half-bow. He smiled as he walked to his group and for a fleeting second, I could see the man he'd become.

And maybe that was why my throat felt tight when he walked away... because even if I wasn't his mother, I knew I was going to miss him as if I were.

The event stretched into the night but I didn't feel like dancing anymore so I brought myself out where the air could touch my skin. The last of winter wind threated through the open balcony doors, carrying the faint scent of flowers from the lower courtyard. The music still spilled faintly from inside, but the laughter was muted now, like a distant memory already fading.

"Beautiful night, isn't it?" the voice was low, smooth and unmistakably poised.

When I turned, the woman beside the marble balustrade made the whole world shrink a little. Every inch of her six feet height felt like a force not meant for this world to be reckoned with, yet her expression was disarmingly kind.

She was the only woman who didn't wear a dress but the cape behind her back which matched her jumpsuit was like a waterfall that became a statement too loud to ignore.

"It is," I took in a sharp breath at her presence. "'Tis hard to believe that it's Gotham we're looking at,"

She smiled. "That's exactly what I thought,"

We stood in silence for a while, the kind that didn’t ask to be filled. I could feel her eyes on me, weighing and wondering. When she finally extended her hand, her grip was firm — deliberate.

“Diana Prince.”

I introduced myself, suddenly aware of how small my voice sounded compared to hers.

“You’re close to Bruce, aren’t you?” I asked before I could stop myself. The words slipped out awkwardly, but she didn’t seem offended.

“I know him,” she said simply. The way she spoke — measured, unhurried — carried history in it, but not intimacy. “Better than most, perhaps. But Bruce is… difficult to know.”

"I suppose that’s true for anyone,” I murmured. “Not like him,” she replied. Her gaze moved back to the skyline. “He lives between two worlds-- the one people see, and the one he never leaves.”

I frowned slightly, unsure what she meant, but too polite to pry.

After a pause, she glanced at me again. “You’ve crossed into both, it seems.”

"I'm not sure I follow,"

She laughed at my reaction. "You're cute," she pushed back the heavenly lock of hairs from her shoulders back. "You'll know," her tone was neither warning nor encouragement, but a fact. 

Her words lingered like perfume in the air as she excused herself back toward the ballroom, stopping at Bruce standing in the doorway.

His gaze swept over me-- the thin fabric of the gown, the faint flush on my cheeks-- before returning to Diana. “It’s cold out here.”

She lifted a brow, clearly amused. “Your concern is touching, Bruce. But I think she can decide for herself when she’s cold.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, somewhere between irritation and restraint. “She’s still recovering.”

Diana looked at me again, her tone light, almost teasing. “Recovering, and yet she looks radiant.”

I laughed nervously, unsure whether to thank her or shrink into the stone.

Bruce stepped forward then and extended a hand over the back of my shoulders, claiming in a way that made my pulse trip over itself.

“I’ll take her back,” he said. “She’s had enough excitement for one night.”

She inclined her head. “Of course.” Then she turned to me, smiling. “It was lovely meeting you. I hope we can speak again.” “I’d like that,” I said honestly.

As Diana glided back into the golden light of the ballroom, I felt Bruce’s presence anchor beside me, like the night had grown smaller around us.

I wanted to stay with him longer but as Richard said, it's best to ignore him. I didn’t understand why he’d pulled away, but I wanted to believe half a year of friendship wasn’t just an illusion.

But I felt hurt.

"You look pale. Let me walk you back," he extended a hand to me. "I'll go on my own. You should entertain your guests more," I avoided his gaze and tried going back into the hall but he stood in, cutting my entrance.

The firelight from the ballroom caught the edge of his jaw, the faint hollow under his eyes, the tiny muscle ticking in his throat. "Bruce, please...," I sighed.

Both of us were nearing our 30s. I wasn't planning to waste any more time in playing with emotions or let my emotions being played and be led with miscommunications and being stone-walled. If he didn't like me, he needed to be honest with me.

"... is there anything you're not telling me?" I asked. I knew he's a player, everyone knew. If it's a secret wife or girlfriend at another country, he should tell me now because I never plan to be the other woman.

But he didn't say anything except his coat was already around my shoulders. It's so painfully warm, faintly smelling of him and his hand hovered at the small of my back, guiding me toward the door.

The ballroom swallowed us again, bright and endless, but I couldn’t stop thinking about how he's hiding something from me and how it's burning between us.

The walk back to my room was short, but it felt longer under the weight of everything unspoken.

Bruce’s hand stayed just behind my back—never quite touching, but close enough to feel. His coat hung heavy around me, the scent of sandalwood and leather curling under my breath. Every step echoed between us, a rhythm that threatened to mean too much.

By the time we reached my room, he opened the door for me. “You should rest,” he said. “I’ll have Alfred send something warm.” his cologne lingered after he stepped back. For a second, I hated how comforting it was.

"That's not necessary," I snapped. 

I really didn't want to play this game. It's so petty. But if he thought I didn't deserve any explanation, then he didn't deserve any from me either.

Ignore him till he caves.

So I smiled instead but my heart was raking. “Goodnight, Mr. Wayne.”

His eyes flickered, as if he hadn’t expected that distance. “Goodnight,” he said, quietly.

And that was it.

I closed the door before I could take it back.

Leaning against the wood, I exhaled. My pulse still raced, but the air felt lighter—like claiming even a small bit of control had steadied me.

Maybe this was what Richard meant. Not punishment. Not a game.

Just proof that I could stand on my own two feet, even when my heart was still reaching for him.

Chapter Text

Last night was barely a disaster. Bruce's behavior was unexpected for sure but other than that, there's more good things that happened. I get to dance with both Richard and Jason, I get to meet such an amazing woman by the balcony-- a kiss from him would make the list but we're not going to think about that anymore.

After breakfast, all of us stood by the front door with a set of luggage by the taxi for Richard. Bruce and Alfred stuffed it in the boot while Jason and I waited for Richard with his final goodbyes to the his old room.

"One day, I'm gonna leave Gotham too," Jason muttered. "When that day comes, I'll cry so hard, you'll have no choice but to come back," I replied.

Richard then came down the stairs. He was beaming with excitement but for me, it's like watching a chick finally leaving its' nest. Alfred was the first to say goodbye. He reminded Richard of his recipe book he put in one his suitcases in case he'll have the time to cook on his own. Then, he ruffled Jason's hair. Jason punched his solar plexus in retaliation. It must've hurt because he was left breathless. Finally, it was my turn.

I didn't know what to say but the tears were clouding my sight. "I didn't expect you'd cry for me," he laughed. "I'm not crying for you. It's allergies," I sniffled, suppressing myself from wailing. 

Richard chuckled under his breath, then sighed that carried both pride and regret. "You care too much," he said, smiling but his eyes were growing red by the second. He threw his arms around me tightly, pressing his ribs on mine, whispering his promise to me last night.

"When I come back, I expect you to still be here," he said into my shoulder. "So don't you disappear on us, okay?"

My arms wrapped around him just as fiercely, like I could keep him a little longer if I held on tight enough. "Deal," I laughed through my blocked nose. "But only if you remember to call sometimes," I choked. "Every week," he promised, finally pulling back, wiping away his final tears.

He only shook hands with Bruce and said nothing more before climbing into the back seat of the cab. "Don't drive her insane while I'm gone," he reminded Jason. "Can't promise that," Jason rolled his eyes.

The taxi rolled down the long driveway, sunlight cutting across the manor's gravel path. I waved until it turned the corner and vanished beyond the gates. 

It's silent then, as if he took the final beam of sunlight with him.

But we still have a star right here-- as bright as the red sun.

"Jason," Bruce broke the silence first. "You still have your assignments to finish. Don't think I've forgotten," his voice softer to him compared to me from last night. Jason groaned. "You always remember," he muttered, earning a soft smirk from Bruce before he disappeared into the manor.

"Homework?" I raised a brow. "Yeah...," he sighed. "You'd think saving Gotham buys you a free pass, but nooo-," 

"Saving Gotham?" I blinked.

He froze, realizing what he just said, then stammered. "I mean saving Gotham from my fists!"

I laughed, shaking my head. "Yeah, moving in with Bruce sure saves those bullies from being your punching bags,"

While he flopped onto the couch, I checked my planner and nearly jolted. "Oh no!" 

Jason instantly bounced to his legs. "What?"

"I forgot-- I'm supposed to seal a deal today," "With who?" he asked.

I glanced around, making sure Bruce wasn't there to listen. "I bought a property at the coast. An old mansion," "You're moving away from us?" he shot me with his puppy eyes. "No," I laughed. "It's barely an hour away from here. I chose it specifically because I can't bear to be far away from you," I pinched his stuffy cheeks lightly.

"It's a bit run-down, but I think I can restore it. Maybe turn it into something useful,"

His eyes lit up instantly. "Like a haunted house?"

"An orphanage," I corrected.

He tilted his head. "That's... actually really cool," then, as if realizing something, he added "You're not going there alone, are you?" "I was planning to,"

"No way," he said. "You'll need backup! Someone's gotta make sure you don't fall through a broken floorboard, or get kidnapped by spooky ghosts or killer clowns!"

"Jason," I rolled my eyes. "You just don't want to do your assignments,"

"Exactly!" he beamed, entirely unashamed. "If I take you with me, I'll have to tell Bruce first. He's your dad, now, remember?"

Jason scrunched his face until I lightly smacked it out. "I'll tell Alfred then," I said. "Yes!"

"Going somewhere?" Bruce emerged from the hallway. He wasn't in his sweater anymore, just a dark shirt with his sleeves rolled as usual. His gaze flicked from Jason to me, then to the phone in my hand. "Just a quick property check," I said, keeping my gaze on his collar. "Jason's tagging along,"

"Hm...," he looked as though he wanted to argue but instead, his tone softened. "You can stay here until that house is ready,"

"You don't have to--," "I know," he cut me off. "But I'd rather you did,"

For what? To embarrass me even more? To keep me somewhere you can reach me but I couldn't?

Jason smirked, glancing between us. "Guess that's settled then,"

Bruce lingered for a moment before turning back into the hallway, disappearing in the dark.

Within two months, the mansion had come alive from its old days.

Where there used to be cracked marble and dust-caked windows, light now spilled through glass that glowed clean and warm. The walls smelled faintly of new paint and lavender polish, a scent that still clung to my hands from weeks of supervision.

It had taken every ounce of my focus, a scratch of what I could free from my accounts, to bring this place back from its ruin. When I wasn't signing checks or hiring contractors, I was packing boxes, sorting donations, writing letters. The busier I kept myself, the less room I had to think about him.

Wayne Manor was behind me now--literally and emotionally-- but some habits had yet to fade.

For two months, I’d become an expert at avoidance, specifically from him.

If I heard his footsteps in the hall, I waited until they faded before leaving my room. If I caught his reflection in the glass corridor, I turned the other way. I’d learned which rooms he frequented, which corridors he preferred, and I mapped my days around the silence between us.

Even dinner, which used to be something close to family, became an exercise in restraint.

Jason would fill the table with chatter-- stories from school, mischief from town-- while Alfred pretended not to notice the unspoken tension between Bruce and I. We never argued, not really. But our words had an edge.

He’d mention funding. I’d retaliate with independence.
He’d say safety net. I’d say trust me.

And we’d stop there—because Jason was there. Because neither of us wanted to bruise the other in front of him.

So we smiled through it. Bit down on whatever we wanted to say.

And continued pretending that nothing between us had changed.

Within another 3 months of waiting, the orphanage was finally open for business.

The rooms no longer echoed with emptiness. Children’s laughter bounced off the walls like sunlight, and the air smelled faintly of freshly baked bread from the kitchen below. Beds were neatly made, books lined the shelves, and the courtyard was alive with the sound of a hundred small lives learning how to be safe again.

I walked through the halls with a clipboard in hand, checking schedules, signing forms. Morning shifts, evening duties, school hours—it was a rhythm that filled the hollow parts of my day.

For the first time in years, I felt like I found my life's purpose.

Every time I watched the children run down the stairs or chase each other across the yard, I caught glimpses of Jason and Richard-- their energy, their laughter. We still kept in contact. Both of them managed to get my phone number from Bruce's phone.

Meanwhile, Bruce had offered to fund the place, of course. Twice.

The first time, over dinner as if discussing my life plan was the most common topic. The second time, through Alfred, who quietly slipped me a check I never cashed. I slipped it under Bruce's bedroom door that same night.

I didn’t want his money. I wanted to know that I could stand on my own, even if part of me still ached for his shadow nearby.

So I built everything from the ground up.

The staff, the curriculum, the donations. I even placed an ad in the paper for investors to help keep the orphanage sustainable.

Two weeks later, one of them replied.

An anonymous shareholder, promising consistent support and complete discretion. It wasn’t unusual for Gotham’s wealthy to hide behind middlemen when it came to charity.

Still, a part of me was curious.

Who would be interested (and rich) enough to invest but quiet (and humble) enough not to take credit?

It didn’t matter, I told myself. Whoever they were, they were helping. 

So when a letter arrived the next morning—handwritten, sealed with wax, accepting my invitation to meet—I was thrilled to meet them.

By the time evening came, I’d triple-checked every document, set out the tea, even arranged the unopened boxes in my office to look somewhat organized. The desk lamp threw a soft amber glow across the room, catching the dust motes in its light.

i checked myself in the mirror a few times, making sure every strand of hair was in its place and I didn't magically stain myself with anything while I was busy working.

I didn't know why I was nervous. Maybe because this orphanage was mine, therefore it's a reflection of my ethics, my morals, and myself.

The clock struck seven and an expensive car parked near the front door. I only took a peek by the window and rushed out down the stairs to greet them myself.

"Good evening," the man greeted, his voice smooth and silky like butter on a sunny day.

My legs slowed into a halt as everything inside me froze.

Bruce stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets, the faintest smile ghosting on his lips.

He stepped inside. "What a beautiful home," he said. The children and staffs around us were silenced by his presence like a painting in the Louvre. "So you're the anonymous shareholder," I managed.

"How about we take this to your office?" he suggested.

I wanted to refuse but the crowd was packing in mere seconds so I led him down the hall. The sound of our footsteps echoing in a rhythm I wished I'd forgotten.

Bruce looked around as I shut the door behind us. "You've done well," he said, tracing a glance across the room. "I didn't do it alone," I replied, taking my seat. "Though I didn't expect you'd be this interested,"

"I'm invested," he said, resting his hands on the edge of his knees.

"Financially, or personally? Because we don't do personal business inside the building,"

The corner of his mouth twitched, but he didn't answer. He walked in slow circle around the room instead, examining every shelf, every stack of unopened boxes like he's scanning for remnants of me that he knew.

"You're avoiding me," he said after a while. "And?"

He didn't reply.

"I'm tired Bruce," I confessed.

The air felt thick, heavy with all the words we hadn't said since that kiss.

I stood, and went to the nearest box. "I still have half of these to sort out. I'm sorry but you have to leave,"

He stepped forward. "..please," my name came out breathless on his lips.

"Don't--," I stepped back. "--say my name like that,"

Then the lamp flickered.

Once.

Twice.

Then--black.

The faint smell of ozone smoke filled the air. A fuse must've blown by the switch. "Stay still," he said, moving past the boxes to the door. "No, this is my orphanage so I'll deal with it," my legs rushed in, trying to reach the knob before him. But right before I could touch it, my foot caught the corner of a box.

The world tilted, and I stumbled.

My back hit the floor, the breath knocked out of me—but something caught the back of my head before it could meet the ground.

He’d dropped to one knee, the other braced beside me, holding most of his weight up so I wasn’t crushed beneath him. His face hovered inches from mine—close enough that I could see the faint scar along his jawline, the rise and fall of his chest, the sharp inhale he was trying to disguise as composure.

“Are you hurt?” his voice was a rasp, half-breath, half-worry.

“I...,” my reply tangled in my throat. His forearm pressed against the floor beside my ribs, his warmth seeping through my clothes, his scent enveloping me. Clean soap. Leather. Smoke.

He adjusted slightly, trying to help me sit up, but the movement only brought us closer. Our noses nearly brushed.

“Bruce,” I whispered, not sure if I meant it as a protest or a plea.

He froze at the sound of his name, his breath grazing my cheek. “You should really learn to listen when I tell you to stay still,” he murmured, voice rougher now.

“I should’ve known better than to expect you’d let me handle my own mess,” I shot back, though my voice shook.

“Maybe,” he said. “But I’ve never been good at watching you fall.”

I hated how he's always so... him. So warm, so caring, so comfortable.

My fingers gripped his sleeve, just barely. “You make it very hard to move on, you know that?” my voice cracked.

He swallowed hard, gaze flicking from my eyes to my lips and back. “That’s not what I want.”

“Then what do you want?”

He didn’t answer—not with words. His hand slid from the floor to my shoulder, trembling just slightly.

“Tell me to stop,” he said.

I didn’t want to.

But I had to.

"You should get off," I whispered. "No," he shot back.

If looks could kill, he would've died by now. "Get off of me," I tried pushing him but it's like trying to push a wall. "If I let you go now, I'm afraid I'm going to lose you,"

"You already did when you vanished after kissing me in front of everyone,"

"That was--,"

"That was what? Exactly? No one just kisses anyone in front of their friends and families in the middle of a dance and blew them off a second later,"

"That's not what I intended,"

"But that's how I felt. You made me feel like that kiss was a mistake. That I was a mistake,"

He stilled above me, his blue eyes looked like broken pieces of the ocean. "You were never a mistake,"

"Then what was it?" my voice cracked. "Because I can't keep doing this. I'm not some... girl who you can pick up when it's convenient for you. I'm not a pet,"

His jaw flexed. "It wasn't supposed to happen like that. I wasn't supposed to--," "Want me?" I bit out.

He dropped his head, forehead nearly brushing mine. “You think I don’t want you?” he murmured. “You think I haven’t thought about you every damn day since that night?”

“Then why did you shut me out?”

“Because I had to,” he said, the words tumbling out now, desperate. “Because wanting you means putting you in danger.”

I laughed, brittle and wet. “You sound ridiculous.”

“It's the truth,” he said quietly.

I shoved at his shoulder again, more from anger than strength. “You don’t get to decide what’s too dangerous for me. You don’t get to choose how I feel.”

“I’m trying to protect you.”

“Stop trying! I need you to be honest with me,”

That made him go still. The room was silent except for our breathing.

When he finally spoke again, it was almost a confession to himself. “I can't,”

My throat tightened. “Then at least, stop pretending,”

His gaze met mine, searching for something-- permission, forgiveness, a reason not to hold back. Whatever he found, it broke through whatever was left of his restraint.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice trembling. “I can’t lose you.”

“Then don’t.”

For a heartbeat, everything stopped-- the storm outside, the hum of the broken lights, even time itself.

"Can I?" he asked.

"What?'

"Kiss you?"

His eyes begged.

"Your secret... is it another woman?" I asked, for clarification. He frowned, confused and then denied.

"Are you being honest?" I asked. "Like a saint," he replied.

Without wasting another breath, I cupped his cheeks and pulled him down.

His breath caught just before our lips met, like he wanted to say something but forgot how to speak.

Then the space between us disappeared.

It wasn’t gentle, not at first. Months of restraint collapsed into that single, aching moment.

His hand slid to the back of my neck, holding me like he couldn’t trust the world not to take me away.

I tasted warmth and rain and something heartbreakingly familiar, like coming home to a place I’d never lived.

When he finally slowed, his forehead rested against mine, his breathing uneven.

“This is going to ruin me,” he whispered, voice hoarse.

I smiled through the tears stinging my lashes. “Maybe we deserve to be ruined a little.”

He exhaled, half a laugh, half surrender, and pulled me into his chest.
The thunder outside rolled like a drumbeat, and for once, neither of us moved to fill the silence.

We stayed like that-- two people who didn’t know where this would end, but relieved of loneliness to care.