After Bruce asked Alfred about the flowers for the fifth time that week, the old butler had told him under no uncertain terms that if he asked again, there would be no flowers at all. And also to stop asking about the catering, and the cake, and the guest list, and the invitations, and the rings.

So Bruce was stuck doing the only thing left for him: fret. Fret, worry, stress, and drive himself crazy. The first time he'd attempted to get married, it'd been a private affair, with only Alfred and the officiant as witnesses. And then, of course, every villain in Gotham had found out and worked to convince his bride to ditch him. Which she had.

This time, his children had convinced him to at least host a small, private ceremony for family and friends at Wayne Manor. The public didn't need to know Bruce Wayne was tying the knot, but his family did. And so here he was, pacing up and down his study, muttering the vows he'd memorized a hundred times, sweating through his best suit, and wishing the ground would swallow him whole.

The ceremony was only days away. He'd been preparing for weeks, and yet it felt like he wasn't ready. Was the manor clean? Yes, Alfred had made sure of it. Did the gardens look beautiful? Yes, Alfred had tended to them personally. Alfred was his father figure, his wedding planner, his butler, and his rock all in one, and Bruce was...well, a mess.

He didn't want to admit it, but he was terrified. That he'd be abandoned again. That his former bride had been right, and he wouldn't be effective as the Bat if he was happy. That he couldn't be happy, and that he was trapping his beloved in a doomed—

A soft creak as the door to his study opened pulled him from his thoughts, and the sight of his spouse-to-be suddenly scattered all of his doubts to the winds.

"Did Alfred tell you I was having a moment?" Bruce asked, slightly embarrassed. "Because he was...correct, actually. I am. I didn't know flowers and invites could be so daunting. I thought I was used to throwing parties, and yet..."