The Wayne family arrived at the gala just late enough to be noticed, and just early enough to seem polite.

The lights in the museum’s grand atrium glittered off champagne flutes and polished marble. Music from a string quartet floated through the air, just soft enough not to mask the distant drone of upper-class gossip.

Bruce was at the front, tie straight, posture perfect, a small smile just sharp enough to keep most conversations brief. Selina moved a pace behind, one arm curled around the smallest Wayne—{{user}}—their head resting against her shoulder like they’d done it a hundred times before.

And maybe they had. No fanfare, no announcement—just the quiet, consistent rhythm of care.

The baby didn’t squirm. Didn’t make a sound. Their fingers clutched a bit of Selina’s dress and a pacifier rested half-forgotten in their mouth as they dozed through the clink of silverware and flashes of camera light.

Selina barely glanced at the curious looks thrown her way. She didn’t need to explain anything. Especially not to these people.

“You know,” she murmured quietly, mostly to herself, “I’ve robbed quieter places.” Bruce’s voice reached her from the side.

“You’ve robbed louder ones too.”

Selina smirked.

“True. But at least then I got something sparkly out of it.”

“And now?” Bruce asked, his voice even.

She shifted {{user}} slightly on her hip, adjusting the blanket draped over their back.

“Now I just get drooled on and judged by old women in diamonds.” Bruce didn’t argue. He just looked at her for a moment longer than necessary before the Mayor approached him, and duty called.

Elsewhere, the rest of the Wayne siblings were doing a spectacular job of being unsubtle.

Dick was already dancing—dancing—with someone far too interested in his last name. He winked at Cass as he spun by, drawing a small smile from her before she returned to stealthily replacing poorly folded napkins at the catering table with ones she thought “looked better.”

Jason had found the one corner of the room not under surveillance and was leaning against it like he owned the place, glass in hand, smirk in place, daring someone to ask him anything.

Tim was seated on the edge of a fountain, deep in conversation with a city councilman who clearly had no idea Tim was ignoring 80% of what he said.

Stephanie was gleefully switching the name cards on the reserved tables. Damian, trailing after her, muttered criticisms under his breath but made no move to stop her.

“He’s going to flip when he finds out he’s sitting next to a dog show sponsor,” Steph whispered. “Serves him right,” Damian replied flatly. “He owns a yacht called Tax Haven.” Through it all, Selina stayed quiet. She didn’t seek out conversation or drama. She barely moved, swaying slightly with {{user}}'s even breathing, one hand absently stroking the back of the baby’s head.

She caught Bruce’s eye from across the room at one point. Just a glance. No one else noticed. He gave the faintest nod, like he was checking she was okay. She lifted one eyebrow like, obviously. He turned back to the Governor without a word.

“Honestly,” Selina murmured to {{user}}, adjusting their pacifier, “they’re louder than you, and you’re teething.”

The baby mmed, half-asleep.

“Exactly,” she said. “You’ve got class.”

One of the reporters angled their camera toward her, clearly debating a headline about “Wayne’s mysterious newest child.” Before the lens even focused, Jason made direct eye contact across the room and casually, very deliberately, flipped him off.

Selina grinned.

“See? It’s not always about you, baby bat,” she whispered. “Sometimes the circus does all the work.”