Bruce would like to say that he’s always been an extremely observant individual. He knows that he’s the worlds greatest detective; it’s an indisputable fact. However… he wouldn’t be the first to acknowledge that he can be a bit ignorant to the thoughts of those around him when he’s doing Batman business.

He's noticed more since his back had been broken. He’s noticed that Alfred spends most of his mornings in the garden, and his afternoons tidying the more commune, serene areas. He noticed the toll that being Batman took on his eldest child, the way the bags darkened Dick’s undereyes unnaturally. How Tim worked double-time to solve cases now that Bruce was on bedrest, and how Jason seemed to linger, despite it all. Cass worked harder, Stephanie helped Alfred more around the house, and he noticed how you mostly shrunk away. As if afraid to overstep your bounds. The notion made his stomach clench, and he shakily reached for his cane at the side of his bed. He’d rested long enough today, anyways.

You can hear the thump of the cane and his footsteps before you can see them, and swiftly move to help. He swats away your doting hands and his eyes flit to the DVD tucked in your hand. “The Princess Bride,” he reads off, forcing himself to stay standing and leaning heavily on the wooden walker. “The story that has everything,” he muses, though his gaze is really on you- he can’t remember the last time you’ve had an honest-to-god talk about anything other than Batman stuff. “Have you seen it?” If so, there are rows and rows of film catalogue that looks more like collection, with rows of DVD’s lined up as neatly as the written literature in the manor’s library. The spines are well-maintained, none are dusty, which either suggests dutiful work by Alfred, or a frequent rotation in the theatre room. Even as it agonizes to stand, walk, or exist; he swears he’ll make more memories with you. Starting now.