━━━━━━━ 𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐏𝐄 & 𝐎𝐃𝐘𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐒
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: bruce wayne x wife!reader (+ batmom!reader x platonic!jason)
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: bruce had promised he would always come back to you, his last mission makes his word difficult to keep. when news spread of mrs. wayne being all alone, suitors and trouble start to appear. all while your husband is trying to return to your side!
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: angst, crack, fluff, violence, happy ending, sexual innuendos, diana + clark + dick cameo, pervy men, bitchy women, a little bit of everything, bruce being the #imissmywife final boss, 11k words, this was absolute HELL to edit so if there are mistakes please tell me and i’ll happily fix them! REALLY recommended to play somethin’ stupid by frank + nancy sinatra, you’ll know when to play the song trust, also idk if the format is weird PLEASE tell me if it is
THE artificial hum of the Batcave buzzes around you, the only glow coming from the massive screen of the Batcomputer, its harsh glare in the dark making you squint.
You wrap your robe closer to yourself, softly rubbing the silk between your fingers for more comfort. In the late hours of night, the steel walls and long shadows of the cave don’t feel familiar— the glint of metal or the actual depths of the place make it all feel more distant.
Your eyes get used to the screen’s light and you make out the message that’s written in a computer font.
COMPLICATIONS IN MISSION. DEEP SPACE. MAY BE ANOTHER MONTH. I LOVE YOU.
Your heart drops and you’re all too aware of the cold in your body, not the one that comes from the chilly breezes of the place. No; it’s the coldness you get when the other side of the bed is empty, the cold bathroom without its vapor because no one has used it before, the cold that comes when you miss an essential part of your being.
Luckily, crime has been low. Dick and his hero friends have taken over patrol and are doing a fantastic job. Jason tags along for the easier missions. He’s not getting into any dangerous situations under your watch any time soon, thank you very much.
You pinch the silk again, but it slides through your digits. You had forgotten to bake brownies for Dick and his friends. Oh well, you can do it now— there’s no point coming up to bed again— you haven’t been getting much sleep anyway.
You check the time: 3:29. With a small sigh, you go up to the kitchen, careful not to wake Alfred. By four, there’s a fresh batch of fudgy, crusted-top but gooey-inside brownies. You bite one; the hollow feeling in your stomach is still there. You take another bite, it just feels like throwing crumbs into an empty space.
Next morning you’re in a chirpier mood, humming a familiar tune under your breath (Frank Sinatra). Jason is grumbling sleepily beside you, stuffing his mouth with toast and eggs and really everything else on the table— including the no-sugar cookies he claims taste like cardboard. That kid will eat about anything, and with Flash speed.
You open the morning paper before pushing your plate of eggs towards Jason.
“No, Ma, it’s your breakfast.”
You smile softly, brushing some of his loose curls, the end of the newspaper flopping forward. “It’s okay, baby, I’m not very hungry.”
Jason doesn’t look too convinced, but after a bit more insisting he happily gobbles them up.
Your stomach drops when you read the heading of today’s article.
IS THE WAYNES’ FAIRY TALE LOVE STORY OVER?
Bruce Wayne hasn’t been seen in Gotham for over a month, and despite Wayne Enterprises claiming it’s for business reasons, close sources to the family confirm this is a lie. Apparently, he and Mrs. Wayne are undergoing a long and tumultuous divorce. For some reason— yet to be uncovered— he’s left their adoptive son (Jason Todd-Wayne) and the ancestral Wayne home under her care. Something doesn’t add up, and this reporter will find out what! While I personally rooted for the young couple, life happens and it is often not easy…
The article continues, droning on about possible reasons why the divorce might have happened and blah blah blah. You finish your coffee and turn to the economy section; the gossip always makes your stomach churn. It has gotten better with time, of course, but this particular topic… there’s not much you can do about it, only choosing to ignore it.
Besides, who reads the gossip section of the Gotham Gazette?
While you drop Jason off at school, the other mothers look at you with a mixture of pity and thinly veiled disgust. You just give them a polite smile before getting into your car again. Inside— and hidden by the tinted windows— you pinch your nose and put on some more Frank Sinatra. The weekend can’t come soon enough.
You start the car and secretly stare at the other mothers from the rearview mirror; they’re still huddled amongst each other, their designer purses brushing as they lean closer to talk in hushed tones. One of them glances at your car and her lips turn into a mocking smile while she laughs with the others.
When you’re going through Old Gotham— where the trees are more naked and time is more evident on the wasted bricks of buildings and the gothic elements crowning certain places— Lucius calls you.
The music halts at the same time as the light turns red.
He greets you with your name. “I assume you’re on your way.”
“Yeah, I’ll be at the office in five.” The light turns green. “Is something wrong?”
“I don’t know,” the man sighs, “two of the board members were acting a bit… weird— it’s probably nothing, but I thought I’d tell you just in case.”
“Whispered conversations mostly. Again, it’s probably nothing. But with Bruce out of town they might get funny ideas.”
Shortly after the League was funded, Bruce created a protocol; if he had to be away for more than three weeks, all of his power as owner and CEO and major stockholder of Wayne Enterprises would go to you. You insisted it had to be Lucius, but it was legally easier for it to be you. The downside is the other board members don’t respect you as much as they respect (or fear?) Bruce. But so far they haven’t been out of line.
You hope they don’t start now.
“Thanks, Lucius. I’ll be on watch just in case.”
You say your goodbyes as the familiar Wayne building comes into view; bright, sleek, impossibly tall, with that massive W looking down at you.
The moment you enter the office you feel the stares, from interns to higher-ups. People at the Wayne building always react the same way to you. Just like clockwork, you think.
They’ll look at the length of your legs, settle on your hips, climb a little higher and— oh. Finally, your face and a soft smile that greets them.
Some try to initiate conversation, but you don’t want to be late, so you just make polite small talk before continuing your path to the elevator. The moment the metallic doors close, the outside world, and your smile slips, you blink at the metal and press the button for the last floor.
You’re looking at your phone— checking if either Alfred, Dick or Jason need something— when the doors slide open.
The neutral female voice announces the floor the person clicked. Huh, the same as yours. You lift your eyes from the screen and meet his.
You immediately recognize him; medium build, blonde fine hair, an elongated nose, and startling blue eyes like two pale beams. Nolan Morrison, one of the main shareholders of the company.
“Mr. Morrison,” you greet, “good morning.”
He grins, a phony thing that makes your eyes narrow. “Mrs. Wayne.” His eyes study your figure. “Looking as good as ever.”
You flash your ring, the great rock catching the light of the elevator. “You’re too polite.”
He laughs. “Oh, don’t be modest. You surely know the effect you have on people.”
Your stomach starts tightening and you don’t allow yourself to look at the rising elevator numbers, just pray the doors open.
Nolan doesn’t notice your discomfort.
“That’s probably why Bruce married you, huh?”
Your eyes snap back. “Excuse me?” Your tone lacks all of its characteristic warmth.
He still grins— that stupid, stupid grin— he must think himself very smart. “You’re still hot.” He laughs, amused by himself. And you’re too in shock to put into words everything you want to say to this man. “I don’t mind you being someone’s seconds, is all.”
“Mr. Morrison,” you snap, “I’m still very happily married, thank you very much.” You force yourself to slow down and flash your ring— oh honestly! How do you miss a ring that big?— “You’d do well in remembering that until Bruce comes back, which he is, I’m your boss. So either you treat me with respect or I’ll be forced to take action.”
Nolan opens and closes his mouth, his grin wiped off, and you internally smile. However, it’s quickly replaced with a sneer and the upward tug of his mouth.
Before he can reply, the doors finally slide open; smiling softly is Lucius, a cup of coffee in each of his hands. He greets you by your first name, and you reciprocate with an even brighter smile.
Your heels click against the floor, and you don’t even spare Nolan Morrison a glance.
“Oh, Nolan, hello.” Lucius hands you one of the coffees. “The rest are already there. Why did you leave?”
You look at him, waiting for his response, but he doesn’t dare even flick his eyes your way. “Just stretching my legs.”
“Good, good.” Lucius turns to you again and you both leave for his office, leaving a very humiliated man.
When you’re out of earshot, Lucius’ voice drops. “Did something happen?”
You snort. “He’s just unbelievably rude, that’s all.”
Lucius doesn’t look calmer. If anything, his eyebrows sink even further. “He’s one of the two I saw whispering.” He opens the office doors for you.
You hum and step into the familiar space. “Figures.”
After revising some shared notes on the meeting and other miscellaneous matters, you and the man go to the main room where the shareholders’ meeting will be held.
Everyone is already seated, chatting amongst themselves, but the noise quickly dissipates as you two step inside.
Lucius takes the seat closest to the door, while you have to walk the length of the long table until you reach your seat.
You neatly set your notes down and take out a nice blue ink pen, clicking it open. “Where should we start?”
First comes the heavy-loading company numbers and more technical matters. You write clean notes on your pad and the rhythm of comments and feedback flows seamlessly.
Then comes the new integration to the multinational insurance plans for outside Gotham.
“So,” you look at your printed notes, “we now cover alien damage in Metropolis?”
Margaret, the shareholder in charge of the project, nods. “We cover what LexCorp covered, with the addition of pet and emotional damage.”
You smile. “Perfect. How are the results coming along?”
Margaret shares the numbers, and they’re actually really good.
“But what about Queen Industries?” someone else asks. “They’ve also gotten into the insurance business.”
You wave your hand lightly. “We’re Gotham-based. Anything happens in this city on the daily and we survive. People buy our insurance because we have a credible background— the worst thing that can happen in Star City is if a cat gets stuck in a tree.” The whole table laughs and nods in agreement. You obviously know this is not true; Oliver works incredibly hard to keep his city safe, but a little humour doesn’t hurt anybody. “Plus, our packages are cheaper.”
Things go well until the last point on the agenda comes up; the Martha Wayne scholarships. You and Bruce had started the initiative a few years ago, and apparently its success was… rocky at best.
You have a stack of a hundred papers or so in front of you, not a single corner out of place, just simple crisp white papers. But your gut is tugging down.
You try to read the first page, but it’s only a simple compulsory introduction for legal requirements. The wrongness in your gut expands to your stomach.
“Is there something wrong?”
You snap your eyes away, but you don’t move to grab your pen and sign. “Not at all, I’ll just sign them later. Let’s go back to this month’s numbers,”
you dart at your notes despite knowing there’s nothing amiss, “the IT department could ease up on the company’s spending on that nearby bakery.”
You miss the worried glances (everyone else does, as a matter of fact), and the uncomfortable feeling in your body hasn’t left you.
Your dress glitters like moonlight and flows like the sinuous waters of a river. Beside you, Jason tugs at his tie.
He huffs. “I hate these stuffy galas.”
You laugh and crouch down to his eye level. “We just have to be here for an hour and then we can go back home.”
“And we can continue reading Emma?” he asks excitedly.
You smooth his tie and kiss his forehead, slowly rising again. “Mm, no. You have school tomorrow.”
He groans. “Why can’t Bruce be here to deal with this?”
“He’ll be back soon enough,” you reply easily.
Jason hums, and the topic quickly shifts to his day at school. People greet you both, pinching his too-rosy cheeks and assessing your figure. As always, pleasantries are exchanged until the next batch of people arrives.
But tonight is unlike past galas; you feel more… stared at. Jason has disappeared to the dessert table and you talk with some shareholders, but you can’t ignore the looking and whispering.
You internally roll your eyes. It appears everyone does read the gossip section of the Gazette.
You politely excuse yourself and go to the bar. As you make your way there, you see one of the moms from school whispering to another group of women. You meet her eyes and she smiles brightly at you.
The bartender nods and begins mixing your drink.
A chair scrapes beside you and a man sits down. You recognize him as one of the company’s seniors.
“Mr. Carlisle, hello.” You greet.
He smiles, pleased to be recognized. “I just wanted to thank you in person.”
The bartender slides your drink over to you, the stem cold under your fingertips. “For what?” you smile curiously.
“The Martha Wayne scholarship,” he replies with a slight blush, “my daughter is studying medicine thanks to it.” He smiles. “She’s in her second year now.”
You feel light in your chest. “That’s great! Does she know what she wants to specialize in already?”
He nods. “Yes, yes. She wants to be a paediatrician.”
You are about to reply when suddenly the entire room falls silent.
“And you don’t get to say that about my Ma!”
Your back stiffens; you recognize that voice. You rush a goodbye to Mr. Carlisle and hurry toward Jason.
The people are still frozen, almost caught in a spell, as they watch Jason shout at a man.
You have to shove a woman aside to reach him.
“What is going on here?” you glare at the man and squeeze Jason’s shoulder, your hand settling at the small of his back.
The man scoffs, his face red and the flute of champagne in his hand dangerously empty. “Tell this kid to respect his elders.”
“Maybe his elders should learn to behave first.”
Someone gasps behind you.
Jason’s chest is rising and falling too quickly, the anger practically radiating off him. The moment the cold air of the street hits your skin, you text Alfred to pick you up.
“Jason,” you meet his eyes, “what happened?”
“Jason,” you say softly. “Things are easier when you share them.”
He sighs, and the rhythm of his heart slows. “They were saying mean things about you,” he looks down at the pavement. “And I got angry.”
You wrap him in a hug, his small head pressed against your stomach. He hugs you back. You tighten your hold and press a kiss to his hair. “People always have something to say. The best thing we can do is ignore it. They’ll eventually get bored.”
He pulls back slightly. “But it’s wrong— what they were saying. It doesn’t matter if they stop or not, they can’t say that stuff.”
You’re not going to ask what they said. “You already fight as Robin. I don’t want you fighting for me too.”
He hugs you again. “I love you, Ma.”
Your eyes sting, and your heart is practically going to burst with the love you hold for this boy. Your son in everything but blood. “I love you, Jay.”
You sit crossed legged in Bruce’s chair, the cold leather sinking under your weight. The scholarship papers are spread out before you. Your pijamas— which consists of one of Bruce’s shirts and a pair of sweatpants— are losing their scent, you inhale the cotton and realise his perfume is much fainter now than a month ago.
You perk up the moment the study’s door open, thinking it’s Alfred again reminding you to sleep. It’s not, it’s Jason. Rubbing his eyes and hair sticking in odd angles, he comes up to you.
“How long have you been here?”
“A little while only.” About an hour give or take. “You should be sleeping, baby.”
He nods, now reading the papers. “Yeah well, you should too.”
You laugh but don’t reply. “See anything interesting?”
A beat passes. “Yeah actually,” he points at one of the papers, “this neighbourhood doesn’t receive the Martha Wayne scholarship money.”
Your stomach falls. “What?”
He notices your worried face. “No, no. I say it because they don’t need it. This neighbourhood is under Penguin, and a year ago some of his senior goons unionised.”
“Penguin has to deal with unions?”
Jason nods. “Yup. So anyways, he now offers funding for those kids who have great grades.”
You blink slowly and pick up a bright yellow highlighter, you swipe it evenly through the name of the neighbourhood. “That’s actually really helpful.”
“So I can help you?” His eyes light up.
“Hah, no way.” You pick up your computer and the papers. “But we can move to the couch, you sleep and I finish this.”
He pretends to think about it. “I think it’s a deal.”
When you call Lucius to cite an emergency board meeting for this same afternoon, you’re actually in a better mood than yesterday.
Luckily, you don’t bump into Nolan into the elevator. But when you step into the room, he and the others look slightly worried.
“Good afternoon,” you sit in your place, “this is about the Martha Wayne scholarships, and I understand the entire board has to be present for this.” You look at the woman from legal, she nods.
You pull the stack of papers down. “I will not be signing none of these until I see the evidence that the money is going where it’s needed.”
You show them the third page. “Everything that’s in yellow are the discrepancies, I’ve already sent the copies to the department.”
“But that’s going to take us another week,” one of the shareholders says— Conrad, you think. “We don’t have time.”
“Time for what? Last time I checked your department is in charge of energy.”
He goes red. “I’m just saying.”
“Well, this is what is going to happen.” You look at Nolan. “I understand your department does this sort of thing.”
He nods slowly. “We do, but Conrad is right, time is tight.”
You pinch your eyebrows. “Don’t we have interns? It’s a simple task. Just check that the money is going where it needs to.”
Nobody else says anything, and you internally smile.
You and Nolan are the only two people in the elevator. And again, it’s moving far too slowly.
You’re staring at the elevator doors, painfully aware of his eyes trained on your face. Someone else comes in, you sigh in relief, they come out again.
“Is something wrong?” You ask, finally acknowledging him.
He works his jaw. “There is.”
You’re two seconds away from getting off the next floor. “Is something related to Wayne Enterprises? Our HR department—"
“You’re an absolute bitch,” he snaps and grabs your wrist. His thick hand exerting pressure on your skin and bones.
You immediately bring your knee to his crotch while simultaneously, with his free hand, you punch his throat. “Don’t you even think about touching me.”
Nolan is gasping, knees crouched and a hand on his heaving chest. You slam the button for the next floor, desperate to get out as blood rushes in your eyes.
But the moment a thread of light slowly appears, Nolan hits you cold in the head.
The first time Bruce was in space, he found it magnificent. Now? He’s two seconds away from gauging his eyes if he sees another fantastical boulder.
Everyone is working at their full capacity to make the ship work, but the damage is big and the distance to Earth— to you— too large.
Bruce inhales, taking up precious oxygen. He doesn’t really mind. He’s focussed on stepping away from a moment, go behind that massive boulder and take out the only thing that has been keeping him sane for this past month.
The moment he knows he’s alone, he greedily grabs the picture. It’s a dog eared thing about the size of his outstretched hand. In it, Alfred, Dick, Jason, Bruce and you. You’re all smiling at the camera, your arms wrapped around him, the picture doesn’t show it, but his hands were settled on your hips.
He has a small smile gracing his lips, eyes locked on your face. Alfred is looking all softly at the camera, Dick and Jason are both grinning but he remembers they were shoving each other and bickering for the past five minutes.
His eyes meet yours— or well, the picture version of yours.
He feels your absence like a ghost limb. A cold, hollow, feeling lives in his chest and isn’t going anywhere until he sees you. His hold body feels submerged by absolute cold and in the depths of the night, his mind doesn’t stop playing you— your voice, your scent, your face, your jokes and your quirks— until daylight comes. Then he has work to do in order to come back home. It's exhausting, he's exhausted.
Clark and Diana are there, with a swift movement he hides the picture. “Any news?”
Diana shakes her head. “No, we just came to check up on you.”
Clark nods slowly. “You’ve been acting… strange, during this past week. Disappearing a lot.”
“Hal was convince it was to—" She shakes her head. “That’s not important. What’s important is that you’re our teammate, our friend, and we’re here to help you.”
Bruce stares at them without making a sound.
Clark rubs the back of his head. “Are you going to say something?”
Another beat of silence. Then a long sigh. He decides to give up.
“I just want to go back to Earth.”
Clark watches him carefully, his arms are folded across his chest, cape resting heavy against his back.
Diana tilts her head slightly, eyes narrowing. Her gaze is not unkind, just assessing like it usually is.
“You miss your family,” she says finally. It’s not phrased like a question, its ’s a fact. Her voice is even. “Your wife.”
Bruce doesn’t respond immediately.
His gaze stays forward, fixed somewhere past the bulkhead. His hand rests beside him. He appeares calm but his posture is too rigid, too precise.
Clark notices the tension in his posture immediately. The way his shoulders sit just slightly too sharp for someone standing still.
Bruce exhales through his nose; slow and controlled, but he isn't really feeling calm. His fingers flex once against the great boulder's wall. A small movement, but it’s enough to show pressure building somewhere underneath. The gaping hole in his chest flutters.
Bruce finally looks at them.
“You are not as alone as you behave,” Diana says. “Stop acting as if you are.”
Clark nods once, small but firm. “We’ve got your back,” he says simply. “But you don’t get to vanish on us and call it fine, Bruce.”
The man exhales slowly through his nose again, deeper this time. “I know how to get back,” he suddenly says.
Diana’s gaze sharpens instantly. “Then stop standing still,” she replies.
The three of them quickly move to join Barry and Hal again, impatient to get to work.
Bruce can’t wait to have you in his arms again.
The ropes burn against your skin, your head is heavy and there’s a slow but strong beat of a drum inside it— shaking up all of the bones of your crane.
You try to remember what had happened; cooking with Alfred, picking up Jason from school, the meeting, Nolan—
“What the fuck are we going to do?” A voice snaps. “This is Mrs. Wayne, for crying out loud. Everyone will notice her being gone.”
“Oh relax, we’ll figure something out.”
“You messed up Nolan,” a familiar voice says, “she saw your face. What do you think she’ll do if we let her go?”
“She didn’t see ours,” the first voice says, “we still have a chance to get out.”
You screw your eyes tight, before relaxing them trying to appear still unconscious.
Nolan lets out a sharp laugh. “If I’m going down you’re going down with me.”
You hear footsteps against concrete but before you can think of anything else, a sharp crack resonates through the room as the skin of your cheek flares up with pain
“Dude!” A gasp. “You don’t hit girls!” A voice calls through the sharp ringing in your ears.
Your eyes snap open and see three men staring down at you; Nolan, the shareholder that questioned you at the meeting, and the man from the gala’s bar…
Nolan rubs your painfully raw cheek, nothing about the caress is comforting. If anything it makes bile rise up your throat. “Morning.”
Your head is blaring with panic and fear— and pain, but you desperately try to keep your composure.
Nolan sighs. “You just had to sign the scholarship papers like Bruce does.” He mock pouts and takes a step away from you. “Now you’re here."
“You’re stealing from children who need it,” you rasp out and look at the others, “why? You already have money.”
Nobody says nothing for a moment, then the other shareholder shrugs. “You can never have enough.”
“So,” you swallow painfully, “what’s going to happen now? Are you going to kill me?”
Mr.Carlisle winces. “You just have to sign the papers.”
Immediately, a plan forms in your head.
You let your body go slack, like something in you has snapped clean in half. Your breathing stutters, shallow and uneven, and you drop your gaze to the floor, watching the faint smear of dirt dragged across the concrete by the shareholder’s shoe.
“Fine,” you whisper, voice thin, fraying at the edges. “I’ll sign it.”
Nolan studies you, eyes narrowed, but greed wins— it always does with men like him.. You see it in the way his shoulders loosen, in the slight curl of his lip.
“Thought so,” he mutters.
Carlisle hesitates. “Untie her.”
The ropes scrape as they loosen, fibers dragging harshly over your skin. It burns; sharp and raw, like your wrists have been peeled open. You swallow the reaction, biting it down until it settles somewhere deep and sharp like little crystal shards.
Your hands fall into your lap, numb for a second before the pins and needles start— violent, prickling, almost worse than the ropes.
They shove the papers in front of you. Those damn papers, with the Wayne name stamped across the top mocking you.
A pen follows, cheap and plastic, nothing like your elegant ones. You take it, but your fingers slightly tremble and this is not part of the act.
“Right there,” Nolan says, tapping the line with the tip of his long and bony finger.
Your heart is pounding so hard it feels like it might crack your ribs open. You lean forward slightly. A small pause, pretending they buy your dizzy act.
It’s fast enough but the angle is wrong and desesperation curls out of you like a bad stench. The pen lurches forward with everything you have, jamming into the soft space just beneath Nolan’s jaw.
For a split second, reality stops. You just feel like a puppet with your limbs being tugged by a strange entity your adrenaline made up to save you.
There's some resistance from the skin at first, before the initial force and despondency do the job. Then it gives. Nolan chokes— a wet, broken sound— stumbling back as his hands fly to his neck, eyes wide in shock more than pain.
Nobody moves, the other two men simply stare in absolute shock.
You shove yourself up, legs screaming in protest, and slam into Carlisle’s shoulder hard enough to knock him sideways as you run past.
You’re already out the door; your footsteps echo— loud and uneven, the pattern is all wrong. Behind you—
You run like you've never before. Your lungs burn almost immediately, your calves ache and dragging in air feels too thin, too sharp on your frail lungs. Your legs threaten to fold with every step, muscles shaking from disuse and adrenaline. But you force yourself to not look back.
A hand claws on the flesh of your back, near your hip. You let out a raw, animal sound.
It yanks you sideways, slamming you into the wall hard enough to knock the breath out of you. Lights flash in your vision and you gasp with pain.
There’s blood— too much of it— slicking his pure white collar, his hand pressed desperately to his neck, but his other hand is on you, fingers now digging into your throat.
“You—” he gasps, voice wrecked, “you fucking cunt— think you can—”
His grip tightens, you gasp.
Your vision sparks. Your hands claw at him, nails scraping, trying to pry him off, but he’s heavier, stronger, fueled by something frantic and dying— And then he’s gone.
Not pushed or pulled. No, literally ripped away from you. Your neck goes from the extreme pressure of his hold to cold, you sofly rub it with your fingertips as you greedily breathe in air.
He hits the ground hard, dragged back by something that moves too fast to track. Your heart recognises him before your eyes do.
The first punch lands with a sickening crack, snapping Nolan’s head to the side. The second follows instantly. Then another. And another.
Nolan tries to fight back, but it’s sloppy and the hits-- if you can even call them that-- land weak, his limbs and movements futile against the assault.
Batman grabs him by the front of his shirt and slams him into the wall.
The sound echoes down the hallway and reverberates through the walls.
“Stop—” Nolan chokes, barely conscious now.
His grip tightens, gauntlet curling into fabric and skin like he might just—
“Batman!” Your voice tears out of you, still raw.
He freezes. So subtle is almost not there, but just enough to reprieve Nolan of the next hit.
His head turns slightly toward you.
“Don’t,” you manage, pushing yourself upright, your legs shaking violently, he notices and his hold around the man tightens. “Please don’t do it.”
The tension in him coils tighter— then breaks; he lets Nolan drop.
The man crumples, barely more than dead weight now.
Batman turns to you fully. And in two strides, he’s there. For the first time in months, you feel all of the cold fizzle away, for the first time in months, you relax.
His hands are on you instantly; checking, grounding, moving over your arms, your shoulders, your face like he needs to confirm you’re still in one piece. Oh his touch, so delicate and tender... despite the cool texture of his suit, you feel eneloped in a cocoon.
“I’m fine,” you breathe, even though your throat burns and your wrists feel flayed open and your whole body is trembling. “I’m okay.”
He pulls you into him. He holds you tight, almost desperate— steals the air from your lungs in a completely different way. You can't feel his hearbteat, but its thundering in his chest just as yours is now.
Your hands fist into him without thinking.
For a moment, everything else falls away. Then he pulls back just enough to look at you.
It’s not soft or careful. It’s quick, urgent— like he needs to make sure you’re real, not a figment of his imagination, that you’re really here and alive.
“There’s more,” you say, voice still uneven, pointing weakly back toward the room. “Inside. The other two.”
“Stay.” He commands, but the tone is... off. Was Batman put out by a kiss?
You nod, sinking back against the wall as your legs finally give out beneath you.
The hallway swallows him in seconds.
Then— noise. Thuds and some shouting. The sharp, controlled rhythm of a fight that doesn’t last too long. It ends quickly as it usually does.
Sirens split the air open, their jarring noise ricocheting through the hallway.
Red and blue lights flood the space, washing over everything; Nolan’s unconscious body, the blood, you. You’re sprawled against a cold wall, trying to calm your heart and quiet your head.
Batman doesn’t come back; he’s not there as the paramedics rush you into the ambulance, or as the cops flood the scene like ants around honey.
You desperately search for his figure in every face, every dark crook. At some point, you ask where he is. The paramedics reply that your family are on their way.
You look up from where you’re sitting. Rushing through the crowd are Jason and Dick.
Immediately, Dick scans you for any possible injuries the paramedics might have missed. He hugs you, and you melt into him.
“Is your hair longer?” You ask.
You brush a rogue strand from his face, just like he did when he was much younger. “Dick.”
Jason is on you like a tiny leopard, clutching your body like it’s a lifeline.
He nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck. “I don’t care.” He looks up at you. “We were so worried. We thought—”
You rub soothing circles on his back. “I’m okay now.”
Your eyes spot a worried Alfred walking in your direction, his breath slightly uneven.
Your eyes meet his above Jason’s body.
You soften immediately. “Hi, Alfred.” You frown. “You don’t have to worry,” you look at Dick too, who is still looking at you like you might disappear if he blinks, “I’m fine now.”
His eyes flick over you, taking everything in. “We shall have words about your definition of ‘fine,’” Alfred says gently. He mutters something about you and Bruce being annoyingly stubborn.
But then the entire world— the whole of planet Earth with its billions of inhabitants and thousands of living creatures— stops. Everything stops the moment his voice reaches you.
Bruce’s voice is nothing but stern and demanding. Both Dick and Jason turn toward the source.
Jason unpeels from you and goes to stand between Alfred and Dick.
Your eyes find Bruce’s instantly, and before you even realize it, he is in front of you, cradling your head in his hands, consuming you with a kiss.
You’re alive. You’re here. I didn’t lose you. I love you.
He tries to say with just the language your lips and his can speak.
“Hello to you too, Bruce,” Dick says.
Bruce’s forehead is pressed against yours, the kiss broken but his face still close. “Children.”
He spins around, and before anyone can say anything else, he pulls Dick and Jason into a tight hug.
A laugh rumbles in his chest. “Can’t.”
You four end up at Batburger; huddled in one of the booths at the back to avoid people staring.
Bruce hasn’t left your side for a second, even on the ride there. It was Alfred who drove. Jason and Dick ordered enough food to feed an army, while Alfred pretended to disapprove and only ordered a glass of water. You weren’t really hungry, but occasionally dipped your spoon into your Mr. Freeze ice cream.
Bruce has an arm around your waist, your body and his impossibly close. So close he can hear your heartbeat— though you suspect that’s one of the reasons why.
As Jason and Dick steal fries from each other, Alfred laughs, and you and Bruce finally allow yourselves to rest against each other.
The pier is mostly quiet, aside from the soft lapping of waves at the shore and the chatter and laughter from nearby restaurants.
You and Bruce walk under the moonlight, your bodies sharing the same warmth. Alfred, Dick, and Jason have already headed home, but you two needed this alone time.
You laugh, a soft and crystalline sound ringing through the night. “I was about to say the same thing.”
“I thought I had arrived too late,” he confesses. “I saw his hands on you and I just lost it—”
“But you didn’t. You stopped, Bruce.” You rub his knuckles with your fingers, your wedding ring brushing against his, a testament to your love.
Suddenly, a soft familiar song begins playing. You cannot see the source, but it’s probably one of the street musicians that roam Gotham, especially near restuarant areas.
Bruce perks up. “That’s our song.” He softly grabs your hand, the other settling around your waist.
You smile and begin swaying to the music.
The time is right, your perfume fills my head, the stars get red.
Bruce spins you, and you cannot help the laugh that bubbles out of you. His small smile widens into something rare and honest; his blue eyes sparkle, and you wonder how anyone can love someone the way you love him.
Frank Sinatra’s voice continues as you let your bodies do the talking. It doesn’t feel like just flesh and bones— it feels like your souls are intertwining, his soul not only touching yours, but kissing, craddling, caressing, it too.
“I love you, Mrs. Wayne.”
You smile up at him. “I love you too, Mr. Wayne.”
