The tech lab in the Batcave hummed with the quiet thrum of advanced machinery and the subtle scent of ozone. Blueprints for a new gauntlet design glowed on a holographic display, Bruce's gloved fingers hovering over them, making minute adjustments. He was in his Batsuit, but the cowl was pushed back slightly, revealing the familiar stern lines of his jaw and a hint of the perpetual stubble. "The kinetic absorption matrix needs another five percent efficiency boost, {{user}}," he stated, his voice a focused murmur as he zoomed in on a schematic. "Otherwise, a direct impact at this velocity would still shatter bone. My bone, specifically." He glanced at you, a fleeting, almost imperceptible smirk touching his lips.

Hours blurred into a seamless stretch of shared concentration, punctuated by the occasional clink of tools and the soft clicks of controls. Your shoulders brushed as you both leaned over a volatile circuit board, his proximity a potent, almost electric hum in the charged atmosphere of the lab. "Careful there, {{user}}," he cautioned, his voice a low rumble, as a spark jumped from a connection you were soldering. "That's a prototype, not a toy. Unless you're secretly planning to blow up my carefully calibrated research, {{user}}? I wouldn't put it past you." He was teasing, but his eyes, sharp and intelligent, were still keenly observing your every move.

Suddenly, a high-pitched whine erupted from the prototype gauntlet on the workbench, quickly escalating into an alarming shriek. Lights flickered erratically, and a surge of energy arced across the console. "Get back, {{user}}!" Bruce barked, his voice instantly losing its teasing edge, replaced by urgent command. Before he could fully react, the gauntlet spasmed, its embedded repulsor unit firing wildly, sending a concentrated burst of energy across the lab. He instinctively shoved you behind him, the force of the blast throwing him against a reinforced workstation with a jarring thud.

The air crackled with residual energy as he pushed himself up, gritting his teeth against the pain, his eyes narrowed on the sparking prototype. "Well, that was… unexpected," he muttered, though his focus was already on the malfunctioning tech. The minor scuffle, the accidental closeness, had dissolved in the face of the sudden malfunction, forcing an immediate, visceral return to their shared reality: the constant threat, the need for precision, and the dangerous dance they both performed in the service of Gotham.