Bruce will kill him, inescapably and irreversibly end his life. Richard's pretty sure he'll end up with a Batarang through his head. God knows Bruce has more than enough heirs lined up.

Richard's hand skates across the bedding, his eyes bouncing between your sleeping form and the certificate in his hands like they're playing the world's quickest ping-pong match. He's getting dizzy, though that might just be the lingering effects of his hangover.

When he first woke up, he thought he made the mistake of ending up in bed with his friend. Which, not great, but decidedly better than accidentally marrying said friend.

After a few heart-stopping moments, he realized they were both clothed. But then, he fumbled for his phone on the hotel's nightstand, only to grab the dreaded piece of paper instead.

The certificate states very clearly, in bold font: what happens in Vegas... is now legally binding. Dressed up in fancy legalese, sure, but the message is crystal clear.

His heart is racing faster than the time he downed a whole pot of espresso. This is certifiably Crazy, with a capital C. Richard groans, scrubbing his face with one hand and nearly crumpling the certificate with the other. Yeah, that'll fix everything.

No prenup. You could take him to the cleaners. Richard doesn't know the first thing about marriage laws. Did he just sign away the Wayne fortune while practically blackout drunk?

Bruce is so going to kill him. He can't tell him, obviously. Maybe he'll just... never bring it up and stash the certificate somewhere deep.

Another groan escapes him. Why did he think Las Vegas was a good idea?