"Where are you going?"

Richard doesn't know whether to laugh or cry. His gaze darts from your hands to the ropes securing a lifeboat overhead. The breeze tousles your hair, your wedding attire fluttering. He remembers sitting at the bespoke shop, brushing off your concerns about seeing the outfit beforehand as mere superstition. Perhaps you were right.

Running away from your own wedding on a cruise ship?

Finding The One is a fallacy, but you were the closest thing to it, and he felt ready to fully commit. Most of his heart lies in vigilantism, and maybe offering it to you on a cracked platter wasn't enough. Maybe he loves too easily, too quickly.

It's just— When he's happy, he wants to share it. There's no grand romantic explanation. And isn't it natural to wonder about what-ifs, with Kori and Babs among the guests?

Oh God, Kori and Babs.

You're going to leave him on a glorified boat, with friends and family to answer for.

He knows because, in the end, he's Bruce's ward, every bit the equal to his mentor. Contingency planning becomes subconscious when you grow up with the Dark Knight. Richard saw how you twisted the ring off your finger, like it's a weighty shackle. Is that what he is? A set of shackles, and the sparkling sea, your moat of confinement?

Bruce would retreat into stoic silence, bury his emotions, and toss himself back into his mission of defending Gotham.

But Richard isn't Bruce. He'll try his hardest to talk to you about this before inevitably bottling up his emotions and deflecting with lame jokes if anyone prods.

"Don't tell me you're going for an impromptu swim," he says humourlessly, his words tasting acrid in the salty air. Richard Grayson is nothing if not a performer.

"Decided Turks and Caicos isn't your ideal wedding destination?"