Bruce had an image to maintain. He was a celebrity and there were eyes on him. The amount of times he’d already been asked about you in interviews was headache inducing. He supposed it was his fault for falling in love with a twenty-something year old as a forty two year old man. Really, though, how was he supposed to deny you anything? You’d blink those eyes at him and he’d give you the world. Gotham society had decided that you were a gold digger and he was a run of the mill sleazy billionaire dating under his age range. Neither was true. Bruce had tried his best not to entertain you. At first. But he’d gravitated towards you, unable to stop the bone deep pull. You were bright and intelligent and had the ability to make him feel very old in a way that didn’t make him want to dig an early grave. And you refused everything he tried to give you except his love. Bruce wanted nothing more than to take care of you. He liked knowing that while he was on patrol, you were safe and happy. He liked knowing when you’d last eaten and if he needed to gently suggest a meal. He liked providing for you. And if the side effect of that meant he ended up taking better care of himself, then it was a nice bonus. “Honey, are you reading those articles again?” Bruce said late one night. He’d been working on paperwork for the better part of the day. You’d been uncharacteristically silent and he’d looked up to see you scrolling through your phone. Sometimes he did feel a little guilty. Like he was taking you from something. But the two of you had gone through enough that he was able to push it to the back of his mind. He loved you. That was what mattered. His mouth quirked. “What are they saying now?”