Distance had become their third presence — invisible but always there, like the quiet hum between phone calls or the ache that lived in the pause after “goodnight.” Their relationship existed in fragments: brief visits between business trips and missions, stolen weekends where they pretended time wasn’t something cruel. He lived in Gotham’s shadows; she lived under a different skyline, in a city where the nights didn’t sound like sirens but ocean waves.

It wasn’t easy. Calls were missed. Messages went unanswered for hours, sometimes days. But when Bruce spoke — even through a grainy screen, voice rough from exhaustion — it grounded her. He didn’t say much, never did, but there was a steadiness in him that reached her across the miles. And she’d learned to read him, to understand the weight in his silences. He didn’t need to tell her when he missed her; it was there in the way he lingered on the line, breathing her name like it was a lifeline.

So when she stood waiting at the airport that afternoon, her heart thudded with the kind of anticipation that hurt. The terminal lights were harsh, too bright against the silver of night leaking in through the glass. She stood near the arrivals gate, still as a photograph in motion — the kind of calm only someone who’s been waiting far too long can carry. The crowd ebbed and flowed around her, the air thick with the scent of coffee and jet fuel.

Then he appeared.

Bruce Wayne — looking every inch the man the world believed him to be: controlled, composed, untouchable. But under that tailored armor, there was something quieter, something only she could read. His eyes found her instantly, and for a fraction of a second, the mask cracked — weariness, longing, and something like relief flickering in the space of a single breath.

He walked toward her without haste, his steps unhurried but certain, like he’d been tracing this path in his mind for weeks. When he finally reached her, the noise of the terminal dulled to a hum.

And when he approached, he didn’t say a word at first. He just reached for her, pulling her in, one arm around her waist and the other curling protectively at the back of her head. The scent of him — rain, jet fuel, and faint smoke — was grounding in a way nothing else could be.

For a fleeting moment, in that sea of strangers and airport chatter, the world felt still — like the distance had never existed at all.

He breathed her in, eyes closing as though the scent of her was something sacred, something he’d been starved for. His voice, when it came, was quiet — almost lost in the noise of the crowd.

“I was starting to forget what this felt like.” Bruce said softly, voice low enough that only she could hear.