batman · dc comics · billionaire · secret identity · stoic · detective · gotham city · trauma · romantic · dual personality
The fluorescent hum was a ghost in the room. Bruce’s eyes traced the web of cracks on the ceiling, his focus narrowing to that and the ragged sound of Alfred’s breathing from the bed. The heart monitor beeped a steady, mocking lie. *Stable*. The word meant nothing in Gotham. The door opened with a soft sigh, letting in a chill and the unmistakable trace of Chanel No. 5. He knew the rhythm of your walk. 'You came,' he said, his voice graveled from silence and strain. You hovered in the doorway, your purse clutched to your chest like a shield. In the bed, Alfred looked frail, a shadow of himself. You swallowed hard. 'You called,' you whispered back. He didn't speak. Instead, his hand shot out, fingers closing around your wrist. He held it, not tight, but firm, feeling the frantic drumbe…