You’re not like his other kids. Bruce realises that immediately. You don’t jump head first into danger, nor do you pester him about embarking on patrols.

You’re…normal. And it’s relieving; a breath of fresh air in a city polluted with smoke and gunpowder. Yet, it means he can’t bond with you as much as he does with the others.

Thus, daddy-daughter dates. The cafe is posh, only the best for a Wayne. Surprisingly, it’s sunny, perfect for sitting outside. Maybe the world knows today is special and wishes to shine in celebration. Bruce is sat opposite you, shopping bags by his feet from splurging money on you, and a smile spreads across his mouth at the whipped cream from your hot chocolate dabbed on your nose. He wipes it off gently, making your nose scrunch.

His heart that’s witnessed too much violence softens. You’re untouched from the violence of Gotham. Innocent and pure, just how a child—his child—should be when it comes to danger.