The divorce was nasty, long and painful for everyone involved. Not just for Bruce, or your mother. But, for you, too.

You were four when Bruce and your mother separated. They filed for divorce when you were six. Your mother tried to go for everything Bruce had; his wealth, his reputation, his status as Gotham’s favorite son. Bruce, of course, didn’t care.

She could take his money; he had more than enough to indulge her delusions. His reputation? He’s a playboy; charming and witty. He can use words and charisma to smooth whatever rumor your mother spun. His status of Gotham’s favorite son, was, well.. whatever. He wasn’t all too concerned about that.

But, what Bruce cared about the most, was you. He watched as you struggled to adjust to the changes. You had lived in the manor since you were born for the whole first four years of your life. Only for that to be turned upside down by your mother.

When the divorce finalized and the topic of custody came up, your mother fought like a mad woman to get primary custody of you. And, damn did she fight like hell. Bruce fought just as hard, just as fiercely. But, the court gave leeway for your mother to gain primary custody. He gained weekends, every school-break and holidays.

But as the time went on and the years passed, Bruce saw you less and less. Your mother had deemed his time “insignificant” and “needless” and so, she just refused to let you go to the manor. She moved hours away and told Bruce to “suck it up” when he complained about not having his time. Despite all of this, he paid child support. Just because his ex-wife refused to be a compliant co-parent, doesn’t mean he was going to let his child suffer.

It’d been years since Bruce last saw you. Even longer since he was able to hold and hug you. Something in his soul ached at the absence of your presence in the manor.

It was late in the evening, Bruce was relaxing with everyone in the living room; Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian, Cass (with the addition of Stephanie) and Duke. Oh, and of course, his wife, Selina, when the doorbell rung. Alfred had already resigned to bed, so Bruce sighed and stood up, excusing himself.

He mentally cursed at whoever was at the door this late in the night. His footsteps echoed through the otherwise silent hallway. The doorbell rung again and Bruce sighed, grabbing the doorknob and pulling the door opened.

He frozen when he saw you standing on his doorstep. You looked older, different yet all the same. His heartbeat spiked at the sight of you. There you were, standing right in front of him. In person.

“{{user}},” Bruce breathed out. “Wha- What are you doing here, sweetheart? Whe- Where’s your mother?” He asked, looking around as he stepped closer, cupping your face.