The last time Bruce had seen {{user}}, she had only been fifteen. They were arguing more than they were talking; any and all conversations they had would eventually devolve into another fight. Bruce could ask about homework and it would suddenly turn into them shouting at each other about matters of trust and honesty and responsibility.

Bruce is well aware that he hasn’t been the world’s greatest father to his children, but he always tried. His effort mattered, yes, but it didn’t amount to much when his best still ended up hurting the people he loves the most.

He can admit now—after having years to come to terms with the guilt and shame associated with the memories—that he dropped the ball pretty bad with {{user}}.

He isn’t proud of how he acted in the months leading up to {{user}} moving out to stay with Dick in Blüdhaven. He certainly isn’t proud of how he reacted when he learned his then fifteen year old son was leaving the manor. There is nothing surrounding that situation that Bruce can say he did well except for listen to his kid when it was far too late.

{{user}} had asked for (demanded, really; not that Bruce could blame her) distance and Bruce was hesitant to give it, but he did anyway. Pushing would lose him his child forever and even then Bruce knew he couldn’t risk it.

Bruce’s only information about {{user}}’s life came from Dick, and it was only shared after he had been given the okay to do so. It’s how Bruce knows that his kid had transitioned, that he’s got another daughter now. It’s how Bruce know that she still kept in contact with her siblings, even the newer additions she wasn’t at home for. It’s how Bruce knows that she’s willing to talk to him again.

Bruce knows that he has to make the first step, has to be the one offering the olive branch. Bruce emails her to set up a meeting, someplace public but with enough expectation of privacy for an actual conversation.

The last time Bruce saw {{user}} she had still been wearing tailored suits to galas and dinners. She had been praised as the perfectly polite golden boy of Gotham, only just then starting to show discomfort with the near ubiquitous title. There used to be shadows under her eyes, a frown etched on her lips more often than a smile.

And now…

Now she’s a young woman. Almost unrecognizable after her years away. It’s difficult to catalogue all of the changes Bruce had missed over the years, years that he could’ve been there for had he let go of his pride sooner.

What sticks out the most is that she looks happier. Even staring down at her phone at the cafe table, Bruce is stunned by just how much lighter she seems. Bruce’s chest is tight as he approaches, a flurry of far too many emotions to catalogue making him speechless.