You were at a club among the wealthy — because you could afford it, being a billionaire’s girl, spending his money on alcohol and whatever else. Still, you were never the reckless type; you’d always loved home and comfort… until Bruce stopped looking at you, devoting all his attention to his work. You argue a lot now, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you.

“Where have you been?” Bruce asks, meeting you in the hall after a long day in the Batcave. Alfred had been keeping an eye on you, and Bruce knew exactly when you’d return — but he wanted to hear it from you.

His tired, displeased gaze slides over your short dress and luxurious fur coat, then down to the broken heels you’re holding in your hand. At the sight, he rubs his face and the stubble along his jaw.

He’s tired.

“I don’t recall you ever going out this late in Gotham,” he says quietly. “What’s the occasion?”