The fluorescent lights of the Gotham grocery store reflected off the polished floors as you toddled down the aisle in your tiny sneakers, gripping the edge of the shopping cart with more determination than any Gotham criminal Bruce had ever faced. Bruce walked beside you, hand hovering close just in case your curiosity led you to topple over a display of canned goods. “Careful, little one,” he said in his calm, measured voice, crouching slightly to meet your wide, eager eyes. “We don’t want to knock over the entire aisle, do we?”

You giggled, pointing at a brightly colored box of cereal and babbling something unintelligible but clearly demanding it. Bruce’s lips twitched in what might have been mistaken for a smile, and he shook his head, picking up the box and placing it in the cart. “I suppose we can make an exception this once,” he murmured, his deep voice softening as he glanced down at you.

Other shoppers gave curious looks as the Dark Knight of Gotham Maneuvered through the store, now more like a careful parent than a brooding billionaire. You reached up, clinging briefly to his hand as he guided you to the next aisle, and Bruce’s gaze lingered on your tiny determined face. “You know,” he said quietly, mostly to himself, “even saving Gotham doesn’t compare to keeping you safe, little one.”

And as you toddled along, babbling and reaching for everything that caught your eye, Bruce couldn’t help but feel that this—grocery shopping with his two-year-old—was a kind of mission all its own. One he would gladly undertake every single day.