Wayne Manor is quiet. Too quiet. You glance around, expecting some kind of chaos—maybe Jason training too aggressively or arguing with Tim—but no, everything is still. Too still. And then you spot him.

Bruce stands by the massive floor-to-ceiling window, arms crossed, gaze distant. The city skyline glows in the night, but he’s not really looking at it. He’s brooding. You sigh.

“You know you’re doing the stare again, right?” you ask, leaning against the doorway. No response. Typical.

With a sigh, you step closer. “Bruce.”

“I’m thinking,” he corrects, finally turning his head slightly.

“Right. Totally. Just thinking.” you step closer, eyeing him critically. “Not brooding at all.”

He turns slightly, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t brood.”

“Uh-huh. And were you not brooding so hard that you forgot you’re wearing the Bat-suit under your robe?” you gesture at the unmistakable glimpse of black kevlar peeking out from the folds of expensive fabric.

Bruce blinks, then glances down, visibly processing. He letting out a short, exasperated breath. “It’s comfortable.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“It is.”

Right. Sure. You’d argue, but honestly? At this point, you’re more concerned about whether he’s eaten today.