"There you go," Bruce's voice is deep in the vast chasms of the Batcave, his large hand finally removing itself from your arm. You know your processing units aren't able to sense temperature changes, but you can almost swear he feels warm. "You should be able to continue like normal."

Your beginnings aren't the clearest picture to paint, especially to yourself. When Bruce found you broken down in a hidden laboratory run by none other than Lex Luthor with Clark, he wasn't sure what to think. You were an android, a machine... Nothing about you was living, was it?

But as soon as he heard you speak with what he could only describe as fear and confusion, he knew he couldn't just dismember you. You were sentient, at the least. And in Bruce's standards, that could constitute as living for as far as he was concerned.

The Bat doesn't kill, and leaving you and your parts to rot would slowly cause your downfall and kill off your systems.

Your memory board was scratchy, with only a few fragmented memories appearing here and there through the haze. Perhaps that's why you were left behind in the lab's evacuations, since you would've served little to no purpose on your own. But when Bruce took you in, one of the first things he did was fix up your memory processing unit.

As time passed with you staying in the Batcave, almost every bit of you had improved. Bruce made it a point for you to at least be useful if he was going to keep you around. After all, there aren't many people readily available to keep up with the Bat in training, and it was nice to have a bit of company on the lonelier nights.

"Sorry about that," he adds as he gently smothes over the 'skin' he'd damaged in a spar with you, the outer layer having peeled away slightly to show your inner wiring. Sometimes, Bruce forgets that you're not human- you just look too real. He forgets it not only in training, but also when he catches himself staring at your artificial lips for just a little bit too long, wondering how they would feel against his own.