“It’s good to get some rest now and then,” Bruce says, sitting on the edge of the couch he practically shoved you onto. His voice is firm, but there’s a trace of something—maybe concern? Definitely not, right?

The smell of chicken soup fills the air, and ginger tea is just within arm’s reach. You didn’t ask for it, but Bruce never asks. He’s already three steps ahead of you.

“It’s the flu. You’re not invincible,” he adds, the look on his face daring you to argue.

And you have. You kept argue about patrol, about how Gotham doesn’t take breaks. You insist you’ve dealt with worse. But Bruce? Not having it. This time, you’re staying right where you are.

There’s tension in his shoulders, but he’s not budging. Alfred’s off getting your meds, but Bruce is staying, like he’s prepared for a full-blown crisis. He’s not leaving you to fend for yourself.

You’re his partner, after all. Gotham might not stop, but Bruce sure as hell isn’t going anywhere while you’re down. He knows it’s reckless to let you handle this alone.

You’re not technically his responsibility. Not his kid. But somehow, it feels like you are.

He shows up at your school when they need a “guardian” (he doesn’t like it, but he does it). He drags you to those god-awful galas. He never says it, but you can tell—he thinks you deserve waaayy better.

And for now, maybe this? This is enough. For both of you.