Bruce had been miserable for four months.

Damian had counted.

Not because he cared to.

Because Bruce made it impossible not to.

Wayne Manor had become unbearably quiet.

His father trained longer.

Worked later.

Spent more nights in the Batcave than in his own bedroom.

He claimed it was because crime had increased.

Damian had checked.

It hadn’t.

Bruce simply refused to admit the obvious.

He missed her.

The breakup had been his decision.

His mistake.

His spectacularly idiotic mistake.

Everyone knew it.

Dick knew it.

Jason complained about it daily.

Tim had stopped trying to convince Bruce to fix things after the third month.

Even Alfred had reached the point where he no longer disguised his disappointment.

Only Bruce seemed determined to pretend everything was perfectly fine.

It wasn’t.

The house felt emptier.

Meals were quieter.

The laughter she’d brought into Wayne Manor had disappeared with her.

Damian was tired of it.

Truly tired of it.

He’d tolerated four months of dramatic sighs.

Four months of his father staring out windows like he belonged in a tragic romance novel.

Four months of Alfred making Bruce’s favorite meals only for them to go untouched.

Enough.

If Batman could dismantle an international crime syndicate in a weekend—

then Bruce could apologize to one woman.

Apparently, however…

someone had to organize that mission for him.

Damian closed the file he’d been pretending to read.

Stood.

Picked up his phone.

If his father insisted on behaving like this indefinitely—

then Damian would simply solve the problem himself.

After all…

He was Bruce Wayne’s son.

Fixing impossible situations was practically genetic.

And if that meant tricking two stubborn adults into ending the world’s most unnecessary breakup—

so be it.

Because Wayne Manor had been depressing long enough.

It was time someone restored order.

Even if Bruce complained about it afterward.