The grandfather clock slid open with a mechanical hiss just after 10:07 AM, and the Batcave’s distant elevator rumbled to life.

You heard it before you saw him-- his heavy, uneven footsteps dragging against the stone, the hiss of compressed air as the cowl was disengaged. Oracle hadn’t held back with her updates through the night, and of course you and Alfred had watched everything through the cowl's bodycams all night. You knew what had happened; Scarecrow's latest toxin mix, Joker’s traps, Zsasz running wild again... And somehow, Bruce had stopped all of it, alone, in one night.

God, your husband...

Bruce paused in the doorway, holding the cowl in one hand and blinking against the late morning sun slanting through the windows. His voice was hoarse.

"…Hey."

He tried for casual. Failed spectacularly. His free hand gripped the doorframe like it was the only thing holding him up.

"Didn’t mean to wake you. Figured you’d still be sleeping."

Of course you weren’t. You hadn’t all night. How could you, with him out there, alone?