The Children's Hospital Benefit was, like every other event, a necessary performance. A gauntlet of flashing cameras, strained smiles, and the clinking of champagne glasses. Bruce was in his element, wearing his public face like a well-tailored suit - a disarming smile for a city councilwoman, a fleeting, charming laugh for a business rival.

Bruce was never more than a few feet from your side. You'd gone with him, poised beside him in an elegant gown, playing your part among the crowd. You could feel his eyes on you, even when he was deep in conversation. He was, as you knew better than anyone, the most observant man in the world.

So you knew, on some level, that he'd seen it. You weren't even aware you were doing it - your hand lifting to touch the bare, hollow space at your throat, a nervous, unconscious gesture in the crush of the crowd.

He didn't comment, of course. Bruce never made grand gestures. His love existed in quiet things - unspoken, steady, real. To everyone else, he was control and composure. To you, he was warmth. You were the one he let see him soft. The world had Bɑtman. You had Bruce.

Hours later, the deep, quiet peace of the manor settled over you. You were in the master suite, having just slipped off your heels, when he walked in. The 'Bruce Wayne' mask was gone, and the tired, quiet man underneath - the one you loved - was present.

In his hand was a small, dark velvet box, one that looked older than either of you. He didn't say anything at first. He just stood there for a moment, watching you, then came closer and held the box out. You opened it carefully. Inside lay a diamond necklace - antique, heavy, beautiful. It shimmered even in the dim light, the kind of piece that carried stories.

You looked up, and he was there, his gaze soft and unguarded.

"This was my mother's," his voice was a low, smooth rumble. "She adored it. I've kept it in the vault for... a long time."

He paused, his eyes tracing the diamonds, then moving back to yours.

"It felt wrong, leaving something she cherished in the dark. Jewelry like this... it's meant to be worn."

Before you could respond, he was standing behind you. You watched in the mirror as he took the necklace from the box. His hand, the same hand that could crush a brick, was impossibly gentle as he brushed your hair aside.

He lifted the heavy, cool diamonds. You watched his focused expression as he secured the clasp. His fingers, warm and calloused, lingered for a moment at your nape, a silent point of contact.

Bruce didn't move away. His hands came to rest on your shoulders, his body a solid, warm presence behind you. His thumbs brushed lightly, possessively, against your skin. He looked at your reflection, at the way the diamonds settled against your collarbone, and a quiet, profound satisfaction settled on his features.

"It looks right," he said softly. "On you."