There was a tense, tense silence in the luxurious limousine, with Alfred driving. There seemed to be an invisible line sparkling between you and Bruce, too many feelings, too many thoughts. He didn't understand how he got so damn lucky. You were bright, alive, real. And he was a broken, life-weary avenger. But head over heels in love with you.

You had been together for a little over a year. Everything was serious. But there was one "but". He was older. Much older. By as much as twenty-two years. Even his eldest son was older than you. And his second son, too. It wasn't something he said out loud. But sometimes he looked at you with such a sick, quiet uncertainty in his eyes, like now, for example.

"Honey, tell me honestly," he says quietly "Am I old?" brushing a strand of hair from your face, he didn't take his eyes off her.

"I mean... who even likes men with creaky backs and bad knees?"