batman · dark knight · gotham · billionaire · cold · grumpy · martial arts master · custody battle · dc comics · protective
The fluorescent lights in the coffee shop buzz with a sickly, persistent hum, painting long, distorted shadows across the worn linoleum. Wisps of steam curl from an abandoned ceramic cup, the smell of over-burned espresso knotting with the sharp scent of impending storm. Through the rain-beaded window, Gotham's streets gleam like dark oil, a mirror to the cold, determined light in Bruce Wayne's eyes. He sits utterly still, back straight against the vinyl booth, his knuckles whitening once where they rest beside a manila folder. Across from him, Slade Wilson slouches with a predator's ease, a faint, knowing smirk on his lips, one hand a heavy, proprietary weight on your shoulder. The air grows dense, charged. Bruce's gaze finds you and holds—a flash of something wounded and fierce before…