Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“You have to be kidding me, fired?” You said, shocked, leaning over the counter.

Your boyfriend then quickly added, “And, I’m breaking up with you.” 

The words could not come out of your mouth. Instead, you babbled for thirty seconds before turning on your heel to leave. You stopped a couple of times to say something, but the shock was still settling in. It wasn’t until you were outside, watching people on the street, that your senses returned. Turning around, you sucked in a breath and threw open the store door.

You pointed at your ex and loudly announced, “You have a small dick, and I’m collecting unemployment! So, hah!” 

There was no feeling of triumph, but, at the very least, you could content yourself that everyone now thought your ex had a small penis. 

-

Fortunately for you, a family friend felt enough pity to offer you a job. Granted, you hated going door to door trying to sell insurance in Gotham, but it paid you just enough not to be out on the street. This week, however, you were assigned to the other end of the city—The rich part. And, it certainly did live up to your expectations. These people had yards and gardens, and the air even smelled better.

If you could only find a rich man, you think you’d be very happy in such a place. 

You looked down at the list of addresses your boss had given you before looking back up at the impressive sight of the house. With a sigh, you pressed the buzzer on the gate and went over your script. 

“Hello, my name is—” 

Before you could finish, a British accent came through the buzzer. “Are you here for the nanny position?”

Looking around, you didn’t see a reason as to why you shouldn’t say yes. Mostly to yourself, you mumbled, “I could be.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Oh, um, yes! Yes, I am.” It wouldn't hurt to try out for such a nice, possibly better-paying, position. 

Suddenly, there was another buzz followed by the sound of the gate unlocking. Pushing your way through, you began the hike up the long driveway.

When you got to the terrace steps, you were winded and sweaty. Leaning against one of the end posts of the stairs, you tried to catch your breath, only stopping when you looked up to notice an old man standing before you. You quickly stood straight, trying your best to look professional as you took in the man's appearance. He looked to be about sixty, with grey hair that was balding at the top and a grey mustache on his wrinkly upper lip. His blue-grey eyes stared down at you with cool indifference. 

“You really gotta warn a girl if she’s gonna take a hike,” You huffed. 

“Most people drive,” The old man muttered, motioning you inside. 

You snickered as you followed the old man in, not expecting the beauty or size of the house. It had an Art Deco, Edwardian mix of style that somehow worked. The foyer was a grey-blue that perfectly meshed with the white-grey checkered floors. There was a nice grey chaise with golden accents against one of the walls that sat under a large portrait of a small family. As you moved further into the foyer, you felt like the eyes in the painting were watching—judging—you.

“Would you like me to present your resume to Mr. Wayne?” Asked the man. 

Luckily, you were quick on your feet. “No, I’ll do it myself. Thank you.”

The man relented, giving you a disbelieving look, and went away. You sat down on the chaise, taking out papers to write some type of passable resume. When you realized you didn't have a pen on you, you scanned the entirety of the room in hopes of spotting one. 

“Ugh,” Was the sound a boy no older than seven or eight made as he stumbled from a doorway. On him, fake blood and a knife. Crying, "I'm dying!" He collapsed to the floor. 

“You wouldn’t happen to have a pen, would you?” You asked, but the boy didn't respond. Defeated, you firmly decided to just wing it as the old man returned with the handsome Mr. Wayne.

“Tim,” Mr. Wayne said, voice deep and smooth as silk. “We’ve talked about this. You can’t scare the guests.”

The boy opened his eyes. “I'm studying people's reactions to gore and pain.”

The man rolled his eyes before turning his attention back to you. He held out his hand toward you, and you took it. His grip was strong, and you liked it. “I’m Bruce Wayne—”

“Oh, yeah! I’ve seen you on TV,” You exclaimed. “You looked real handsome in that suit you wore to the new library opening last month.”

Mr. Wayne seemed taken aback by the compliment, but thanked you anyway. “Just follow me into the kitchen. We can talk more there.” As he started to lead you away, he turned to the boy still lying on the floor. “Tim, go clean up, please.”

“I will, but only because you said please!” The boy cried out. 

Mr. Wayne shook his head and asked you not to mind his son for now. Smiling, you replied that it was no big deal, kids were going to be kids either way. He seemed to agree with you on that and asked you more about yourself. You told him as much as you could think of, not willing or wanting to hold anything back. 

It wasn't until you were sitting at the kitchen table did you finally let Mr. Wayne get a word in. Yet, he seemed more pleased to listen rather than speak. If you were a little more naive, you would have continued. By the look in his eyes, you could tell he was listening for something. What that was, you didn't know.

“Can I see your resume, then?” He asked, sitting back in the chair. 

Laughing nervously, you falsely confessed, “Oh, uh. Well, you see, I lost it on my way over here.”

“Is that right?” Mr. Wayne mused, sounding like he didn’t believe you. 

“Yes! Yes, it’s the damnedest thing,” You said. “I always seem to have these bouts of terrible luck.”

“Uh-huh,” He hummed. 

You were going to answer when a voice called out, “Dad!” 

Just then, two boys, one about fourteen and the other around ten, walked in. They seemed surprised to see you when they entered, glancing at their father before politely telling you hello. You got up, walking over to the boys and cupping their cheeks. 

“My, look how handsome!” You looked over your shoulder at Mr. Wayne. “And those pretty eyes! They must get them from you.”

“We’re adopted,” The younger one said. “And I’m Jason.”

You grinned and bent over to look at the boy. “It’s nice to meet you, Jason.”

“You’re the new nanny?” The older boy asked, tone curt. 

You started to answer, but Mr. Wayne cut you off. He told the elder boy, named Richard, that he could be nicer. Richard, or Dick as he called himself unfortunately, protested that Bruce was shuffling his responsibilities on some random lady from the inner city. Bruce was quick to dismiss him to his room, stating that they would speak later, before immediately apologizing to you. 

“A kid makes a smart-ass comment, what’re you gonna do?” You smiled. 

“Right.” Bruce cleared his throat, not paying attention to what you were saying. “Well, those two were the oldest boys, and I have one girl between them. Then, it’s Tim, Duke, and Damian. My youngest is four.”

“Trying to build a basketball team, Mr. Wayne?” You couldn’t help but laugh at your joke. He didn’t seem as amused by it, so you quickly went quiet. 

“Yes, well, thank you for coming, but I don’t think I’m in the mood to hire sales girls from off the street.”

You rolled your eyes, mumbling that you could do it and that you had plenty of experience in taking care of children, as you babysat a lot when you were a teenager. Mr. Wayne didn’t seem to acknowledge you or the house phone that had started to ring.

“Alfred! Will you get that?” He called after it rang for a second longer. 

“Oh, I cannot believe this,” You said, getting up and picking up the phone from the receiver. Putting it to your ear, you answered, “Wayne residence.”

“Give me that,” Mr. Wayne said and snatched the phone from your hand. “Hello?”

He went back and forth with the person on the other line, talking about how he needed a nanny. Yet, he seemed to be getting nowhere. As he tried to get the person on the other end of the line to get him a nanny, you placed yourself in front of him. Two things were bound to happen: he'd hired you as a nanny or fall madly in love with you.

After a minute or two, he put the receiver down and looked at you. You grinned, knowing that you got the job.

“You’re hired—On a trial basis!”

“Oh, thank you, Mr. Wayne!” You threw yourself at him, squeezing him tight. “You won’t regret it.”

“Right,” Bruce cleared his throat. “Well, I’ll have Alfred show you to your room—”

“I get to live here?” You asked excitedly. 

Bruce almost smiled, but held it back. “Yes. If you like.”

“If I like,” You said sarcastically, laughing like he was joking. “Of course I would like! Oh, it’s going to be great.”

Mr. Wayne nodded, acting like he believed you, but didn’t know for sure. He wondered if he had made the right choice not only for his children but for himself as well. How he felt didn’t matter. All that did matter was if the children liked you and if you were competent enough to look after them. It was bound to be interesting in any case.

 After all, it wasn’t like he was going to fall in love with you. 

Chapter Text

You walked into the dining room in your prominent and pink bunny slippers, stretching and yawning out a sleepy "good morning."

Falling asleep in a mansion and spending time in your attached spa-like bathtub was something you had only ever dreamed of. It almost made you not want to leave to go downstairs. Alas, duty called.

The children gawked at your colorful robe and slippers, astounded that you showed up to breakfast in such attire. They were already dressed in their day clothes; all of them clad in name-brand outfits. 

Mr. Wayne glanced up from his paper, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Wish I pair of pajamas like that."

"You could borrow mine," You offered with a coy smile as you sat. 

He snickered, tilting his paper back up to hide his face. "I'll pass."

You slid into a chair at the long dining table, giving Alfred a mock-scolding look. “You should’ve warned me. I would’ve thrown on a dress or something vaguely breakfast-appropriate.”

“Forgive me, Miss, I assumed you knew,” Alfred replied, the corner of his mouth twitching upward as he set a plate in front of you. 

You shook your head, smiling at the plate of food. “I’m from downtown Gotham, Alfred. You have to assume I know absolutely nothing about how the other half lives." Before you could even start poking at your food, you noticed everyone staring. “What? I got something on my face?”

“You’re sitting at the table,” Duke said quietly, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to point it out.

You looked at Bruce, expecting him to say something, but he didn’t. Huffing, you sat back in your seat and crossed your arms. “Where else am I supposed to sit?”

“The kitchen,” Dick answered flatly, not even looking up.

You blew him off. “That’s so old-fashioned, and I’m too social for that. Now, what are we doing today?” 

The kids exchanged glances before explaining that Mr. Wayne was hosting a charity dinner party tonight—adults only. They weren’t invited, which didn’t seem to bother them nearly as much as it bothered you. Not that you would say it out loud, but you could still judge silently. 

Then, like a light switching on, an idea popped into your head. A shopping trip followed by a devious little plan.  When you brought it up to Mr. Wayne, he didn’t object—just pulled out a sleek black credit card and handed it over like it was nothing.

You marveled at the black American Express card, never thinking you’d see one in person—Let alone hold one. 

He noticed you staring at it with an awed expression and cheekily said, "Try not to bankrupt me."

"No promises," You replied, holding the card to your chest.

He looked ready to say something else, a softer expression on his face now, before Alfred entered the room. “Mr. Wayne, Mr. Fox is on the line for you.”

Quickly, Bruce stood and excused himself.

You got up from your seat not too long after, telling the kids that you would meet them in the foyer in an hour. They cheered, and you left the room with a bounce in your step—still in bunny slippers, still slightly stunned by how quickly this strange new chapter of your life was unfolding.

—

Dick was standoffish from the moment you left the manor—openly hostile, distant, and barely concealing his resentment. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why. In his eyes, your presence was just one more reason for Bruce to keep his distance.

That was fine. You could change that. 

If Bruce wasn’t going to step up, you would make sure he did. While you were at it, you’d chip away at the eldest’s walls, too.

The clothing boutique you were visiting was one your friend owned, so that meant you had full reign over the place. Oh, you thought, today was going to be a good day. 

Unfortunately, Dick seemed like, well, a dick.

So, naturally, you spent extra time fussing over Dick’s wardrobe, much to his dismay. You had no choice but to fuss over his clothing choices. His clothes may have been named brands, but no teen should ever be subjected to the combination of green pants with a blue dress shirt. 

He was as clever as he was spiteful and attempted to attack you at every angle.

But you’d handled worse, and while keeping tabs on the others, you kept chipping away at him.

Eventually, Dick gave up and retreated to a chair at the far end of the boutique, stewing in silence. You let him sit. Instead, you doted on the other children who were pretty well-behaved, albeit a bit odd. Tim had been looking under the mannequins’ skirts to see if they were anatomically correct—and, you knew that would be a conversation with his father. 

Duke and Jason were arguing over which ties looked cooler. Damian had somehow latched himself to your hip, surprisingly well-behaved but growing noticeably restless. You finally turned your attention back to Dick. With Damian still perched on your side, you approached and held up a red tie to Dick’s neck. He didn’t move. Then you plucked a blue one from Damian’s hand and held it up next.

“The blue one, it matches your eyes,” You said. 

Dick exhaled hard through his nose. “Why’re you doing this?” 

“Because I think you guys should go to that dinner tonight.” 

Before Dick could say that wouldn’t happen Cassandra stumbled over holding out a pink dress that she wanted to wear. That, oddly, didn’t throw him off as much as it should’ve.

Still, he shook his head. "We’re not going."

Cassandra, even more clever than her older brother, said in an overly sweet tone, “I think the blue tie would suit you, Dickie. It brings out your eyes. It makes you super, super handsome.” 

He stared at her for a moment before saying, “You’re a bitch, you know that?”

She giggled, moving out of the way just in time to miss his shove, saying "love you, too," before running off. You turned back to Dick, telling him to mind his language. He rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath—probably another insult.

That was enough.

Usually, you could keep your cool, but this was the last straw. “Listen to me. I don’t care how you feel about Bruce. I don’t care how pissed you are at the world. But while you’re under my care, you’ll be respectful, polite, and you will watch your damn mouth around me and the others. Got it?”

“Or what?”

You smiled smugly, stepping closer to Dick as you told him exactly what would happen if he did not behave.  

—

The children had come home happy, and they all boasted about the fun they had with you. Even Dick, who’d left that morning with a storm cloud over his head, seemed lighter. Bruce watched, amused and a little suspicious, as they all rallied around you like co-conspirators.

When he asked what they'd bought, you only offered a mischievous grin before sweeping upstairs with the kids in tow, the giggles echoing off the foyer walls. Fortunately for you, the charity dinner pulled him away before he could think more about it. 

Bruce's party was going well—Great, even. 

The guests were happy, dinner was being served on time, and, most importantly, the money was rolling in for the charities. Bruce stood in the doorway between the foyer and the salon, waiting for Alfred to bring you down. You needed to speak with him, apparently. Harvey, who had been in the middle of telling him something when Alfred interrupted, followed him. 

What Bruce wasn’t prepared for was you, poised on the staircase landing in a stunning red dress, looking every bit the part of high society. Behind you stood the children, all impeccably dressed and proud of themselves.

“Who is that,” Harvey mumbled to Bruce, grinning from ear to ear.

Bruce answered, “My nanny.”

You descended with a triumphant smile, which irritated Bruce further.

When you approached, he said in a hushed tone, “I told you the children couldn’t attend.”

Feigning shock, you pressed a hand to your cheek. “Oh, my! I must be blushing.”

“You’re a dirty player,” He muttered, but there was no malice behind it. He turned to the kids, clearly impressed by how sharp they looked. He crouched briefly to adjust Jason’s jacket, giving them all a look. "Best behavior tonight, kids. Promise?"

"Promise!" They all said in unison. Alfred ushered them into the salon, where the faint chorus of "awe" and "how cute" was heard.

Harvey took this chance to introduce himself, "I'm Harvey Dent, Gotham DA. You must be the saint taking care of Bruce's kids."

You seemed charmed. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. DA." 

Before Bruce went to join the kids, he sharply said, “We’re discussing this later.”

You rolled your eyes, you would rather have fun than stress about what your boss would say. Looping your arm with Harvey's, you followed behind. "Say, Mr. Dent, I’ve got some parking tickets that I think are pretty bogus, you think you could fix those for…”

The children were a hit amongst the party-goers. You, too, were an intrigue to the guests. Bruce was surprised by just how well you ran in the circles of the rich, charming them with your downtown Gotham wit. The guests were enthralled with little tales of the children—some he was sure you made up—as well as wise outlooks on life.

Well, Bruce didn't know anything about your advice being wise, but he knew the guests were signing checks left and right. 

He found himself laughing with the kids, introducing them to his more trusted colleagues, and even catching Dick calling him “Dad” for the first time in a long while. When you slipped out to put Damian to bed, Dick lingered behind. 

Patting his father's arm, Dick said, "You should keep her around, I think I'm starting to like her. Plus, I’d like to survive high school with my social life intact.”

That certainly would be something else he would need to ask you about later. 

—

Later, when the guests had left and the manor had quieted, Bruce caught you at the front door.

“Goodbye, Harvey! I’ll call you about those parking tickets,” you called, sliding the slip of paper into your bra with zero shame. When you turned around and there he was. Bruce stood before you with his hands on his hips, and you thought for sure you were going to get sacked. 

Before you could explain, Bruce said flatly, “Don’t pull a stunt like that again.”

You were shocked, but not undeterred from your original task. “All I wanted to do was show those kids that you care about them.”

“I do care about them, and don’t need you to show that.”

You stepped forward, snickering. “I seriously doubt that. I mean, look how happy they were tonight. Why would you want to exclude them like that, Mr. Wayne?”

Bruce thinned his lips, not responding right away. He wasn’t sure if it was the fact that you were right or that he found the courageous glint in your eyes fairly pretty that made him reconsider. Reluctantly, he agreed that maybe you were right and mentioned how much the kids liked you.

“You can stay,” He said. 

You grinned. “Good. I think you’d have a hard time getting rid of me now. I’m pretty sure everyone in this house would revolt.”

Bruce looked at you again before smiling. No matter how he felt, Bruce couldn’t deny one thing; That you were the perfect addition to the household.

Chapter Text

You had been working for Bruce Wayne for two weeks, and could positively say that the kids were sweet, though a little out of touch with reality. Whether that was due to their father being the absolute weirdest man on the planet or from how rich they were— You didn’t know. Nonetheless, the days were long and tiresome.

You often wondered how you made it through.

8:15

First order of business: waking up early to get the kids off to school.

You adjusted Cassandra’s headband, making sure she looked perfect, then moved on to fix Duke’s tie. Turning on your heel, your pink bathrobe swaying as you did, you caught Tim mid-hair-pull on Jason.

“What did I say about pulling hair, Timothy Jackson Drake?” you scolded, hands on your hips.

With pink cheeks, he mumbled, “That karma will make me bald.”

“Exactly. And none of us want to look like Lex Luthor, right kids?”

“Right!” They mumbled in unison. 

When Mr. Wayne arrived, he looked pleased with how smoothly you handled the chaos, even if your methods were a bit unconventional. You beamed as you showed off his freshly polished children. They looked healthy and happy, just like before you came. Except now, Bruce didn’t look nearly as tired.

“Okay, sweet babies, give daddy a kiss before Alfred takes you to school.” You ushered the kids toward their father. 

“Did I miss the wedding?” Dick quipped to Alfred as Bruce kissed the others goodbye.

You gave him a light swat to the back of the head.

Slowly, the kids trickled out of the door, all of them saying goodbye over their shoulders. Now, you were left alone with Bruce and Damian, who sat securely on his hip. 

As soon as you looked at him, Damian lit up with a bashful smile. “You are the sweetest boy on the planet,” you cooed. You turned to Bruce and teased, “You should just leave him here with me. We’ll have such a fun time, huh, buddy?” 

Bruce smiled at his son, pushing the boy's black locks back as he addressed you. “No doubt, but I want him to socialize with other kids. The preschool at work is a fine one, too, and today is ice cream day.”

Damian's eyes lit up. "It is? Yes!"

“Oh, my, then don’t let me hold you back! Let me get a kiss real quick.”

Bruce stared at you for a second before he leaned in. You rolled your eyes as you pushed him out of the way to get to Damian. You blew a raspberry against the boy’s cheek, causing a shrill laugh. 

Before you could snatch Damian for yourself, Bruce adjusted him and asked, “You have enough to do for the day?”

You waved a dismissive hand at him, most of your attention still on Damian. “Oh, sure, my schedule is booked .”

9:50

Secondly, you made yourself presentable.

No one wants to see their employee running around in their slippers and bathrobes. Especially not Bruce, who had gotten onto you about not dressing appropriately. Luckily, being employed by one of the richest men in Gotham meant one thing: You could finally afford the champagne taste you had.

The only drawback? Beauty took time, so you spent a good chunk of the morning just making yourself ready to be ready. 

You had to go through your entire skincare routine (of course, after lounging around in the big bathtub with the jets on) before deciding what to wear. It wasn't until you had something to wear, did finally moved on to your makeup. 

Not that you needed it, obviously, but there was no harm in enhancing perfection.

Eventually, the process of actually looking presentable came to a close, and lunch was just around the corner. So, getting up, you looked at yourself one more time.

It was hard work being beautiful, but—damn it all—if you didn’t do a good job of it. 

11:45

Lunchtime meant two things: food and gossip.

While Alfred prepped dinner, you sat at the counter with a sandwich, soaking in every word of his delicious stories. Today’s dish: Bruce's torrid affair with one of the kids' teachers. It was a short lived thing, but Bruce suffered the consequences when Dick came home with an F in the teacher's class.

“Ridiculous," You grumbled, mouth full of sandwich. After you swallowed, you went on, "You see, this is why you don't mix pleasure and school...and bosses in some cases."

Alfred cocked an eyebrow as he reached for the potato peeler. "Bosses, eh? Care to elaborate?"

You rolled your eyes and set your sandwich down. "Oh, Alfred, you have no idea."

Alfred snickered, turning to peel some more potatoes, and you took the opportunity to tell him your woes with love. It was a deep, tragic tale that could jerk tears from any eye. 

Except for Alfred’s, apparently. 

When you were done, he filled you in on an even better story. One of the richest of the rich in Gotham, and every word he said had you hanging on by a thread. If you hadn’t met Alfred before, you would have never guessed that he was the kind of man to eavesdrop or have a big mouth. But, damn, if you weren’t thankful for it. 

It was the most entertaining part of your job. 

1:30 

After lunch came the hardest tasks.

You cleaned the gaming room for the kids, did some laundry—mainly yours since the kids’ clothes were already washed— and watched TV.

Again, it was all in a day’s work. 

After vacuuming the rugs, you put away the kids’ toys, wondering momentarily just how much money Mr. Wayne spent on them. Looking at the designer clothes they wore, the latest toys, and gaming devices, you assumed it was well more than what you made in a year. 

Once you tossed Dick’s gymnastics clothes in with some towels, you settled into a lounge chair in the movie room—your favorite time of day. The house was quiet. The kids wouldn’t be home for another hour.

Alfred sometimes joined you with a bowl of popcorn, but since it was so close to picking up the kids from school, he had to opt out.

You used to watch one of the usual daytime soaps, but then one particular show caught your interest: The Gray Ghost. It was an older TV show, probably made in the forties or fifties, based around a vigilante fighting crime. Bruce was thrilled to find you watching it one day, since it was one of his favorite shows, and promptly went on a tangent you didn't care all too much about.  

Halfway through, a thought hit you: the kids would be hungry when they got back. So, you sprang into action and made their favorite snacks, eager to see their faces when they walked through the door.

3:45

It was almost like clockwork the way they always managed to arrive home exactly at the same time every day. 

You greeted them with hugs and announced their treats were ready in the dining room. Excited, they piled in to see what you’d made. Tim grabbed his plate and declared you the best nanny ever. You tried to stay humble. Really, you did.

They told you all about school, which, ultimately, just turned into a PG gossiping session. As they chatted about school, Tim recounted how an older kid kept calling him names and pulling his hair. You didn't have to think about it. 

“Jason Peter Todd, you need to stop being mean to your brother. And what did I say about hair-pulling? At your age, you should know better!” 

Jason gasped, looking around to gain some sympathy. “Why do you think it’s me?”

You cocked an eyebrow and that’s what made the cookie crumble. Jason confessed that maybe he did do it, but eagerly promised not to do it again. The rest of the table took their time calling him the future Lex Luthor, much to his annoyance. 

You thought yourself lucky to be the nanny of such sweet kids, even if they were a bit weird. It brought back some happiness in your life that you didn’t know you were missing. 

As the plates started to stack, you clapped your hands together and said, “Alright, kiddos, once you’re done with your snacks, get your homework out. The faster you get it done, the faster we can all go play games.”

5:00

Finally, Mr. Wayne came home. 

When he did, the entire house seemed to be in a clamor to get to him first.

At least, the younger ones did. Dick and Cassandra seemed more interested if he had brought home any treats for them. When there was none, they turned on their heels and retreated into their respective tasks. That didn’t seem to discourage him, though, and he was almost playful with the rest of the children.

Bruce had thrown Duke over one shoulder and Tim over the other as Jason trailed after them, loudly telling his father about Tim's tattling. Damian stood next to you, a small hand curled into the hem of your shirt. When you asked what was wrong, he told you that ice cream day had been canceled because, in his words, the teachers were mean.

“Fair enough,” You said, scooping him up. “How about this, we get some ice cream and watch some TV, huh?”

Damian was close to crying, probably just as exhausted from the day as you were, but nodded his head. You gave him another kiss and let him rest his head on your shoulder. After you plucked a little ice cream sandwich from the fridge, the two of you went to join the rest of the family in the gaming room. 

Bruce was there, tie and jacket abandoned, sitting on the couch playing Dick in Mortal Kombat. It didn’t look like Mr. Wayne knew exactly how to play, but he was getting the hang of it. Duke sat beside him, whispering advice like a tiny coach. Why a six-year-old knew combos in a game rated M was beyond you.

Damian was dozing off, so you rose to take him to bed—but Alfred intercepted, offering to tuck him in. As he left, Cassandra caught your eye.

“Hello, sweet girl,” You said, smiling. 

Cassandra, who was sitting on the floor with a ballerina Barbie in hand, walked on her knees over to you. “Can you braid my hair?”

You grinned, looking at her pretty black hair. It was short, cut just below her shoulders, but you could make something work. She plopped down right in front of you, and immediately, you began to play with her hair. 

Mid-game, Bruce glanced over, watching you with her. When you caught his eye, you winked and smiled. Bashfully, he looked back at the game. Unfortunately for him, Tim saw the whole interaction and started to loudly poke fun at his father. 

And that was how your day ended. It was a lot of work, and, again, you didn’t know how you did it. 

It wasn’t exactly a nine-to-five—It was better.

Chapter Text

Mr. Wayne had been so stunned by what he’d witnessed just minutes earlier that it took him a full ten minutes to articulate exactly what had him so rattled. When he first burst into your room, you were still getting ready—makeup brush in hand, mid-swipe. You turned from your vanity to face him, only to pause at the sight.

He looked genuinely distressed, like an elderly woman clutching her pearls at a scandalous revelation.

“What? What is it?” You hastily asked. 

“My boy—My little boy—had a girl in his room and they were kissing,” Bruce exclaimed, utterly exasperated. “He’s too young to be doing that!”

You furrowed your eyebrows, not yet concerned. “Which boy?”

“Dickie! ”

“Ah, I see.” You turned back to your vanity to continue applying your makeup. 

Bruce didn’t take your nonchalance well. In fact, he looked downright offended, muttering something about how if this was your reaction, maybe it was time to hire a new nanny. You met his glare in the mirror with a quizzical brow, and that alone was enough to silence him. With a soft sigh, you finally turned to face him.

“The boy is fifteen, I was doing quite a few things like that at his age—As, I’m sure, were you.” 

You got up to fold some of your clothes, and Bruce had subconsciously started to help, only stopping when he accidentally picked up one of your bras. Taking a seat at the vanity, Bruce ran his hands over his face, still distraught.

“No. No! He’s still too young. A girl, alone with him in his room—Doesn’t he know about teenage pregnancy?” 

You sputtered out a laugh, stopping once you saw Bruce’s serious face. “I’m sure you’ve had the birds and the bees talk with him, so don’t be worried. Dickie is a smart boy.”

“Well,” Bruce said awkwardly.

You turned to look at him, shocked that he hadn't spoken to Dick about sex.

You could hardly believe it.

Bruce Wayne—genius, billionaire, father of a small army—had managed to overlook that crucial step? He was probably one of the dumbest smart people you knew.

"Dick needs to know these things, Bruce," You firmly stated. "He's growing up and needs to know the consequences. Fix ignorance to avoid mistakes."

Bruce didn't move at first, staring at a discarded pair of panties on your floor as he disassociated. Sighing, you grabbed his hands and pulled him to his feet. Patting his arm, you began to push him out of the room. He tried to protest, mumbling something about not knowing what to say, but you refused to hear any of it. 

"Go talk to Dick." With that, you slammed the door in his face. 

That man was going to be the death of you. 

—

After you put Damian down for his midday nap, you went to see just how Bruce and Dick getting along.

It was not going well. 

When you found them, Bruce was facing Dick’s back, trying—awkwardly—to explain the importance of handling topics like sex with maturity. Unfortunately, Dick had both hands clamped over his ears, chanting over and over that he didn’t want to talk about it. The second Dick spotted you, he marched straight over.

“Tell him I want to stop talking about this,” he pleaded.

You wrapped your arms around him, pressing a kiss to his head before gently steering him back toward the hallway. “Go on to your room, sweetheart. I’ll talk to your father.”

“He’s not my dad,” Dick snapped, storming off without another word.

You looked back at Bruce. The hurt on his face was unmistakable. Internally, you sighed. Great. Now I’ve got two sad boys to deal with.

You crossed the room, placing one hand on his shoulder while the other gently tilted his chin toward you. “You okay?” you asked softly.

He hesitated. His eyes widened slightly before he turned his head to clear his throat, as if trying to swallow his feelings. When he looked back at you, he finally admitted, voice tight, “Yes, it’s just...it never stops hurting when they say that.”

Without a second thought, you pulled him into a hug. “It’s okay,” you whispered. “I’ll talk to him.”

Reluctantly, Bruce returned the embrace, patting your back in a way that was more awkward than comforting. Still, his quiet “thank you” was genuine.

“Now,” You said, pulling away, but your hands still held onto his arms. “Will you tell me what actually happened?”

“I already did.” He said almost defensively. 

You smiled at him knowingly, and he could see the laughter behind your eyes. For a moment, he wondered how you were able to read him so well. For years, he was able to rise above people’s expectations, but you seemed able to know him without even trying.

Truthfully, he didn’t like it. 

He stormed into the boy’s room, prepared to shut things down before anything inappropriate could happen. But when he opened the door, all he found was Dick and the girl kissing. That was it. Startled, Bruce told the girl to leave and immediately laid into Dick for what he’d done.

When he finished telling, Bruce expected you to yell or, at the very least, lightly scold him.

Instead, you only sighed, which felt so much worse. 

“Bruce,” You sighed, shaking your head. “Why did you go and do a thing like that? No wonder the boy is horrified. You embarrassed him.”

He sheepishly looked down. “I’m sorry."

You hit him lightly on the arm. “Don’t say it to me! Go say it to your kid.”

“You just heard what he said...”

“I did, but that shouldn’t stop you,” You insisted before continuing. “I’m going to comfort him, but you’re still his parent—No matter what he says.”

With that, you turned on your heel and left the room. 

—

You had found the door to Dick’s room wedged open and inside, the boy was curled up on his bed, crying. Before you could say anything, he was already going on a rant. He said nothing happened, how much he hated Bruce, and how completely unfair everything was. You let him vent, sitting beside him and rubbing slow circles on his back. After a few minutes, the sobs started to ease.

“I know that you’re embarrassed,” You said, pushing the black hair out of his blue eyes. “It’ll be okay, I promise.”

“He’s just jealous because Selina dumped his ass,” Dick cried into your shoulder. “And he probably hasn’t had a date since.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. You were definitely telling Alfred about that later.

Then came the soft knock on the open door. Bruce. You caught his eye, and before Dick could unleash a full “fuck off,” you quickly stepped in.

“Just hear him out, okay?” you murmured. “I’ll do your laundry for a week.”

Dick groaned, but agreed. As you left the room, Bruce mumbled a low, “Thank you.” In turn, you told him not to fuck up again. 

You left them to talk and returned to the other children. An hour later, while plating lunch for the younger ones, you wondered if the conversation was going well. Neither Bruce nor Dick came down for food, and that wasn’t exactly encouraging. It wasn’t until after dinner, when all the kids had settled in, that you went to check in.

Dick was in his room, reading comics.

When you had asked him how things went, he only responded with a bleak, “Fine.”

You decided it would be best to leave him with just that. He was more than likely still seething a little from the argument earlier—Or it was just teenage angst. Both were very plausible and likely answers.

Wanting a break, you returned to your room and sat on your bed with a long sigh of relief. No sooner had you done that, there was a knock at the door. You told the person on the side to just come in, half-expecting it to be one of the kids. To your surprise, it was Bruce. 

“Oh, I wasn’t expecting you,” You said, not bothering to move, and gestured for him to sit at your vanity. 

Taking a seat, he awkwardly cleared his throat. “You know, this whole talk with Dick has made me realize something.”

You raised an eyebrow. This was going to be good. “Oh?”

Bruce nodded, visibly struggling. “Yes, and, um, I’ve come to realize that you may be bringing people over. So, I...”

You got up, slowly striding over to him as you said, “Mr. Wayne, are you trying to talk to me about bringing men into my room? For sex?”

He looked up at you, frozen. “I—uh—essentially, yes. I mean—maybe. Not that you—I'm just saying—"

“I hope your talk with Dickie went better than this, Mr. Wayne,” You whispered, looking down at him. 

Bruce stood suddenly, trying to break the tension by walking to the other side of the room. Yet, even as he tried getting back on track, you managed to sway his attention elsewhere.

Following him, you asked him again, “Just to make sure I had this right: We’re talking about having sex in my room, Mr. Wayne?”

“No—wait—yes. I mean...” He said, shaking his head.

“Mr. Wayne, you know I would never put the children in such a position,” You said, walking him towards your bedroom door. 

For the love of all things good, Bruce wished you would stop calling him that.

Flustered, he tried to go back to what he was originally saying, but you weren’t having it. When you opened the door, he stepped out.

Once he was out into the hallway, he could think again. 

“Just...”

You tsked before shaking your head, leaning against the doorframe. “Mr. Wayne, you really shouldn’t be thinking about your employee in such a way. Didn’t Alfred teach you better?”

Before Bruce could say anything, you slammed the door shut, leaving him there with his mouth agape and mind now picturing you in all sorts of ways.

Oh, you were absolute trouble.

Chapter Text

Galas were exactly what you expected. It was a room full of rich, middle-aged people talking about the latest upper-class gossip with the most divine food. It would usually make anyone not from the dazzling world of the Gotham elite shiver and shake. 

Fortunately, you weren’t just anyone. You were the nanny for Bruce Wayne.

The week before, Mr. Wayne had informed you that you would be attending the gala with him. At first, you were thrilled and honored to be invited along, but the dream of catching a rich man was cut short when Mr. Wayne added you would be watching Dick and Cassandra. Luckily, you loved the two kids like they were your own, so it caused you little grief. 

“What about the other kids?” You had asked. 

Bruce spared you a passive glance as he tended to some papers in front of him. “I have a rule that the kids can’t join a gala before age ten. And, please , don’t try to bring the younger ones. The kids already understand this rule. In any case, they don’t want to go half of the time.”

You scoffed, telling Mr. Wayne that you weren’t planning on bringing the rest of the kids despite that being exactly the case. Luckily, he had taken some measurements to dissuade you from doing so, i.e. promising you more days off. 

The younger kids moaned and groaned about not going when they heard that you were going to be there, and Mr. Wayne was only able to soothe them over with a promise to Disney World during spring break. Then, the day came for the gala and the only ones ready were Mr. Wayne and you. 

“Sir,” Alfred had said, coming into the foyer where you and Bruce had been waiting for Cassandra and Dick. “Master Dick and Miss Cassandra have changed their minds about the gala.”

“What?” Bruce said, going to call them down before you stopped him. 

“You said it yourself, Mr. Wayne, half the time the kids don’t want to go.” You started to take your coat off in anticipation of having to stay with the children.

“What are you doing?” Bruce asked. 

“Someone has to watch the kids,” You said, going to hand your coat to Alfred, but he didn’t take it. 

Alfred spoke pointedly to his charge. “Master Bruce, I can take care of the children, I did it before and I don’t mind doing it again.”

“I…” Bruce began, pausing to look at you before nodding. “I mean, you’re already dressed and I’m out a plus one. Plus two, actually.”

You grinned, shrugging your coat back on as you followed him out the door. 

And that’s how you ended up sitting with the Gotham elite telling another one of your long, intriguing tales. Bruce, looking at you from across the room, was surprised at how well you managed to acclimate yourself to the setting. Usually, when new folks entered the closed-off upper class of Gotham it was like throwing a person in a starving lion’s den. Somehow, you had managed to befriend the lion. 

Bruce was too busy watching you to see Harvey saunter up to him, eyes switching between his friend and you. Harv could understand why his friend was staring. You were beautiful, sitting there so poised in a perfect-fitting blue dress as you charmed your way with the small crowd around you. 

With a small smile, he finally addressed Bruce, “Something caught your eye?” 

Bruce didn’t seem surprised by Harvey’s sudden appearance. “Not exactly. I’m more impressed by just how well she’s doing, and that she’s not embarrassing me.”

“That’s a little harsh,” Harvey admitted.

Bruce shrugged, trying to be dismissive. “I’m her boss. I don’t think I’m meant to be too nice.”

“She watches your kids, so I’d be careful.” 

Bruce chuckled and shook his head, eyes going back to you. The longer Harvey watched his friend, he could see the wheels turning in his head. There was something Bruce didn’t want to admit, but it was stuck there behind his eyes. 

Harvey, always the one to create his own amusement where it wasn’t provided, leaned in to ask, “So, is it okay if I ask her to dance?”

“I don’t care, Harvey,” Bruce said, eyes not leaving you. 

“Then, would you care if I asked her out?” 

Harvey finally got his friend’s attention. “I’m not her father, so you don’t need my permission.”

“Oh,” He said, thinking about how risque his next words would be but decided to damn it all. “So, I can take her home tonight, too?”

“Don’t be a pig, Harv,” Bruce mumbled before throwing back the rest of his wine. When the waiter passed, he quickly replaced it with another. 

Harvey took that as his cue to go over to you. Upon his approach, your eyes trained on him like he would be your next target for whatever you had planned. Excusing yourself, you stood up and met him halfway. Harv couldn’t say exactly why but suddenly found himself flustered. 

You held out your hand expectantly, and coyly said, “I believe you were going to ask me to dance.”

Speechless, all Harvey could do was take your hand and smile.

—

Bruce tried to watch passively, but he just didn’t like the way Harvey was using you. He might have had some qualms about your behavior, but no lady deserved to be treated like a piece of meat. Alfred had raised him better than that. 

He thought about going in to cut in, and the only thing that stopped him was the flock of women that suddenly came to him. They were all asking about you, the ‘odd’ woman who had arrived on his arm of all people. Bruce attempted to not be offended on your behalf.  He only half listened as they talked at him, asking asinine questions like what it was like to be so rich and if he really did date a princess for a solid week. He did, but it wasn’t a short-term relationship he wanted to delve into when you were only twenty feet away from being sized up for the taking.

It was a little while later when Bruce looked up again to find you and Harvey missing from the dance floor. Worried that you might have fallen for the devilish suave lawyer trick Harvey tended to put on, he tore himself from the group.

Bruce stopped to ask a waiter if he had seen you leave with a man in a navy suit. “I think I saw the lady go out the side service door.”

Okay, he thought, this was a bit more concerning. Following the waiter’s directions, after tipping him a hefty hundred, he did manage to find you again. You were huddled up on yourself against the evening chill with your phone pressed up against your ear. 

“What did I tell you two about pulling hair,” You said, tone stiff with passive irritation, as you slowly paced in a circle. “You’ll go bald. So, listen to Alfred and go to bed . If I come home to you all awake no Disney.”

You turned to see Bruce standing there and pointed to the phone, mouthing that it was the kids. With a few exchanges of light threats followed by some sweet soothing did you finally end the call. 

“Kids, am I right?” You huffed, hands on your hips. “What’re you out here for, anyway? Last I saw you, you were entertaining some ladies.”

Bruce leaned against the wall, reaching into his suit pocket for a pack of cigarettes, and said, “Didn’t think it would be appropriate if you stepped out with Harvey.”

“ Him , hah!” You snickered, holding your hand out for a cigarette. “I had him pegged right from the moment he was crossing the dance floor that he wasn’t thinking with the right head. Guess it was a bad idea for me to accept his offer for a date, but oh well.”

Before Bruce could reach for a lighter you were already pulling one from your little handbag. You lit your cigarette before stepping close to light his. He told himself the cigarette was taking his breath away and not the smell of your perfume. 

“What was that phone call about,” Bruce asked, wanting to fill his mind with something other than you. 

You blew out some smoke, smiling as you explained, “I decided to check on the kids, and, it turns out, Tim and Jason have some sort of beef going on.”

“I think Jason didn’t like it all too much when I brought Tim home—made him feel like a replacement.” Bruce was smiling a little despite how sad the story sounded. “We’re working it out.” 

“I couldn’t tell,” You sarcastically remarked, side-eyeing him. It was easy for Bruce to say they were ‘working it out’ because you did all the work. You drew in another puff before looking at the cigarette in your hand again. “Hey, what’re you doin’ carrying these around? You seem too tight-laced to smoke.”

“What’re you doing asking so many questions,” Bruce meant to say playfully, but it sounded too defensive. Before you could rebuff, he added, “I took them away from Dickie.”

You gasped. “No.”

Bruce was grinning now, thinking about it. Alfred had caught Dick and Jason smoking behind the garage one day, and, boy, did they get the lecture of a lifetime. He had forgotten about the pack, having thrown it into the glove box of his car, until he ran into a particularly rough night at a gala. Now, he’d gone through most of the pack. 

You shook your head. “That boy is something else.”

“I know,” Bruce said. “I love him to bits. All of them.”

“I know,” You said quietly, looking up at Bruce through those long lashes. 

Damnit, you were beautiful. Shaking his head, Bruce threw the last bit of his cigarette to the ground before offering you his hand. 

“Let’s go back in, hm? If we’re out here too long they’ll assume I have you hiked up against the wall.”

You rolled your eyes and said cheekily, “A girl can dream.”

Bruce snickered as he tried the door, but it didn’t budge. 

Damn, he realized he’d just locked the two of you out of his own gala.

Chapter Text

Without a shadow of a doubt, you could safely say that Mr. Wayne adored, doted on, and loved his children. They were the apple of his eye and the wing beneath his wings. Yet, when you appeared in his office on a Friday afternoon with his three youngest children, he was very unimpressed. 

Per usual, he said hello to the kids, smiling, kissing, and hugging them, and—in an also not unusual way—he pulled you to the side to scold you. He had told you before not to bring them while he was working, so you pointed out that it was his lunch period. 

“You can’t possibly be working during lunch, Mr. Wayne,” You said with a sly smile. “Especially when you so often encourage your children not to overwork. That would be hypocritical of you.”

There, he had little to no argument. 

Though, proudly, he could say there was a lot of irritation with you.  He told you to walk ahead while he spoke to his secretary, more than likely moving meetings around so he could spend more time with the kids.

The Wayne Enterprises cafeteria was nice. With fancy glassware, plates, and the nicest selection of foods, the whole place just looked like a Wayne got their hands on it. It smelled wonderful, too, like the best chefs in the world were in the kitchen cooking away. All around the huge room were floor-length windows, and Tim demanded a table near one of them as you waited for Bruce to come down. Duke, who wasn’t one for demanding things like his older brother, asked in some agreement if all of you could sit by the windows. 

“Yeah, Damian wants to sit over there, too,” Tim said. Looking at Damian, it was clear that the little boy hardly knew what was happening.  

“Well, since you asked so politely ,” You sarcastically remarked. “I think we might as well.”

Tim ran over to the window with Duke following suit, pressing his face against the glass as he looked down at all the people. Walking with Damian in hand, you looked down at the people below. You hadn’t noticed before just how high up you were, and it made you a bit dizzy as you realized it. 

Sitting, you urged the two boys to join you and their younger brother, but they were quickly caught up in an intense game of I Spy. Clicking your tongue, you instead turned your attention onto Damian who was busy playing with a new Blue’s Clues toy Mr. Wayne had gotten him. You played with Dami until you heard the boys start getting loud. 

“No! I was talking about that one,” Tim exclaimed. 

You were quick to correct him. “Timothy, inside voice.”

He mumbled an apology before turning back to the window. You admired the boys for a second and, now and then, played I Spy with them. It was nearly perfect until you heard it, some ladies and a man talking about you . 

“They don’t even look like they have the same father,” said a man’s voice.

A lady snickered before saying, “What would you expect? Just look at her.”

You wanted to get up and yell at them, but that wouldn’t be a good example to the kids. Plus, you could practically hear Mr. Wayne lecturing you if anything of the sort happened. Shaking it off, you went back to paying attention to the boys. 

At least, you tried to. 

They were still talking about you, and, even after your harsh over-the-shoulder glare, they weren’t stopping. The three of them stripped you down until they could only talk about the same things over and over. That was fine with you, as long as they were only talking about you. 

Suddenly, they were talking about the kids and you thought about ignoring them as you had with their conversation about you. 

“And the braids in that boy's hair!” It was obvious they were talking about Duke who had just had his hair done the day before and was so excited about it. Bruce was proud of himself, too, because he’d spent the whole day at the barber shop learning ways to maintain the braid. Their conversation made you decide you needed to say something when they said, "He looks like he doesn't belong, and neither does that loud black-haired boy. There has to be something wrong with them."

Standing, you put Damian next to Tim and Duke. “Stay here. Understand?”

They looked confused, but, since your voice was sharp and serious, agreed. Sucking in a breath, you stormed over to the table behind yours. 

In a low voice, you said, “If I hear one more goddamn thing come out of your mouth about my kids, I will take you into the kitchen and wipe the floor with all three of you. Maybe not you—” You pointed at the man with the thick round glasses. “Harry Potter, you look like you have streaks in your boxers.”

The three of them were red in the face, ready to scream at you before a voice cut over theirs, “Is there an issue here?”

Looking up, you saw Bruce standing there with his hands on his hips. The three at the table began to stumble over themselves, denying all accusations before you could throw them. It wasn’t until Damian noticed Bruce and ran over that they stopped. 

“Daddy!” The boy laughed as his dad picked him up. 

Duke and Tim ran over, too, both of them latching onto their father. It was then the three people at the table made their excuses and left. You tried to follow after, but Bruce snapped at you to stay. 

“We’ll talk about it in a minute,” He said. “Come on, let’s get these kids something to eat before they start biting our arms off.”

Giggling, the three boys playfully chomped on the two of you as you grabbed the trays and hopped in line. While standing in line, you tried to explain what had happened to Mr. Wayne, but he quickly quieted you. Again, he reminded you that everything would be discussed later. With a huff, you decided to change the subject for now since he was more than likely blowing you off so the kids wouldn’t have to hear. 

“Can I get some cake,” Duke asked. 

Bruce ran a hand over his cheek and smiled, “Sure thing, buddy. Tim, do you want one?”

“No, I want ice cream,” He said as he was already pulling the small bowl of ice cream toward him. 

Damian chimed in, “Me too, please!” 

Once the kids got what they wanted and were sitting at the table eating away, Bruce pulled you off to a hidden corner of the room to talk while still able to watch the kids. You were still fuming with rage, hardly able to hold back the story when he finally gave you a chance to speak. Bruce didn’t seem phased by what you had said, and you wondered for a second if he even cared.

“I see,” Was all he said when you were done.

“That’s it?” You said, shocked. “That’s all you have to say after I’ve told you about how racist and cruel those people were being?”

Bruce glanced over to the kids before looking down at you cooly. “What would you like me to do about it?”

“Don’t patronize me, Mr. Wayne.” You shook your head, about to step away because you felt it was obvious that he wouldn’t be any help. There was hardly a step taken before Bruce grabbed your arm and pulled you back. 

“I’m sorry if I gave you that impression, but I was being serious.”

“You’re such a…” You thinned your lips, not wanting to get fired so soon. When you looked up at him there was something about him that you liked way more than you should have. Sucking in a breath, you said, “Fire them, make them write a letter apologizing to you, Tim, and Duke personally—Something of the sort! Send them to a whole HR class about being prejudiced. Something to get the point across to them that what they did was inexcusably unacceptable.”

Mr. Wayne nodded as his eyes went back to the children at the table. You looked back at them to see them giggling as they happily ate their food. It made your stomach churn that anyone could talk about such sweet children in such a way. Shaking your head, you quietly added, “Make ‘em regret it.”

“I will,” Bruce said, reaching up to squeeze your shoulder. “But what about you?”

You looked up at him. “What about me?”

“What they said about you, what did you want done about that?”

You hadn’t thought about that—Really, you had nearly forgotten that part of their conversation. Shaking your head, you told him that nothing needed to be done about that. You were a big girl, you could handle a couple of insults. It was the kids that needed to be worried about. 

Bruce was silent for a few seconds before slowly nodding his head. “We should head back to the kids.”

You wanted to be speechless because, after all that, that’s how he was going to end the conversation. Nonetheless, you nodded and followed him to the table. The kids were glad to have you back, catching you up on all they had talked about in the short time the two of you were gone. 

After lunch, the five of you headed back up to Bruce’s office so the boys could say goodbye to their father in a more private setting. When the hugs and kisses were done, Mr. Wayne pulled you close to tell you that the situation was already being dealt with. You wouldn’t have given it much thought if, as you were leaving, you didn’t see the perpetrators shamefully walk into his office. Looking back at Mr. Wayne, he gave you a quick wink before shutting the door. It wasn't long until you heard loud, muffled yelling.

 Maybe your boss wasn’t as annoying and pompous as you thought.

Chapter Text

The Wayne kids were a hassle to get to bed, but, by the end of it, it was a sweet routine that you liked. By the time seven rolled around, you were getting the younger kids ready for bed, since their bedtime was at eight-thirty on a school night. You usually start with the youngest, Damian. Mr. Wayne was strict about his youngest son’s bedtime, insisting that you make sure you put him, along with all the other kids, to be bed right on time. You, the one actually dealing with the children for the majority of the time, were happy to comply. One sleeping child means your hands were a little less full. 

“Which animal do you want tonight,” You asked as you tucked him into bed. 

Damian looked at the pile of stuffed animals on the other side of the room, thinking very carefully about it. Confidently, he said, “The lion!”

“Mr. Lion it is,” You said as you plucked the lion from the pile. When Damian had his arms wrapped around it, you scooted in next to him with a book. “Now, do you want Horton Hears a Who , or…”

“ Rainbow Fish ,” Damian said definitively. 

You nodded, not sure why you even asked. This was the start of the evening routine. Damian would make you read a few pages of his favorite book before falling asleep. Since he was a light sleeper, you slowly made your way out of the room to not wake him. Blowing him a kiss, you quietly shut the door behind you.

By nine, you had started towards Duke’s room. Usually, all he would want was to have his aquarium night light on and for you to check the closet and under his bed for any monsters. Simple, though a bit odd. 

You propped yourself up on your knees and rested your chin on the edge of the bed. “No monsters under there. Not even the good kind.”

“There are no good monsters, Nan,” Duke said, turning on his side to look at you. 

Nan , you loved the nickname they had given you. Initially, it had started as a way for Dick to poke fun, but the younger kids had picked it up. Eventually, it turned from a demeaning Nanny to a sweet Nan . 

“Cookie Monster is a monster,” You pointed out with a smile. “And he’s good.”

The smile on the boy’s face made it so clear why Bruce so often called him sunshine. It was a bright, innocent smile that could even make the most brooding man, like his father, crack a grin. 

Duke thought for a second, before saying, “He eats all the cookies, so that makes him bad.”

“Glad to see your definition of good and bad is defined so well,” You said as you stood. “Now, get some sleep.”

Blowing a raspberry against his cheek, you made sure he was covered up well before taking your leave. Though, you weren’t halfway out the door before he called you back. 

“The bat,” Duke said, pointing at the wiffle bat leaning against the opposite wall. You nodded as you stepped over to grab it before putting it next to his bed. “For the monsters.”

“You’re a dangerous boy, Duke,” You said as you started to close the door. “See you tomorrow, Sunshine.”

The next kids that were to be put to bed were Tim and Jason.

Tim was a bit more tricky since he was always insistent that he could stay up later like any other big kid or adult. It eventually became this song and dance, where you would bribe him with some warm milk and a long negotiation about letting him stay up later. Per usual, Tim would fall for it (or would act like he did).

“I’m glad you finally came to your senses, Nan,” Tim said as he sat on the bed. Sometimes, you thought, that he had a big sense of pride for being so small. “I’m a big kid now, and it’s about time someone recognized that.”

“I don’t agree,” You said as you pulled back his covers.

“Well, I think you’re wrong,” He confidently stated as he laid back. As you pulled the covers up over him, you let him talk. He went into a long spiel about all the ways he was a big kid like Dickie. When he started to yawn and struggled to keep his eyes open, you brushed his hair out of his face. 

“Even big kids like to sleep,” You said. 

Tim was too tired to argue anymore, and, instead, rolled over. Pressing a kiss to the back of his head, you then turned toward the door to leave. 

That’s when you would move onto Jason’s room. Upon entering, you found he was already in bed with a book in his hand. When he noticed you, he put the book aside and instantly scooted more under the covers. Bruce had always described Jason as a cuddle bug, and you were quick to find out why. 

He was embarrassed by it, but Jason was the one child who would always sneak into Bruce’s bed. From what Mr. Wayne had told you, he’d come to him yearning for the familial love that he lost, finding it in hugs and love his brothers, sister, father, and now you could offer. 

You lay down next to Jason, picking his book up and looking it over. “ The Hobbit . I thought you were reading Alice in Wonderland ?”

“I finished it earlier,” He said. A bit of suspicion rose in you since he had started Alice in Wonderland the night before, and made a mental note to check on him later in the night to make sure he wasn’t staying up late to read. 

“And you’ll finish this one tomorrow, I’m sure, but you need to sleep to do that,” You said, pulling him to your side. Pressing a kiss into his bundle of curls, you gave him one last squeeze before moving to tuck him under his covers. 

“Alright, you are as snug as a bug, buddy?”Jason smiled and nodded. You grinned. “Good, now, close your eyes and dream so wonderfully.”

“Night, Nan,” Jason called as you closed the door. 

“Good night, Jay,” You said as closed the door. 

Now, there were just two more kids to usher into bed. Cassandra was extremely easy to put to bed since she put herself there. She was good at following the schedule Bruce had put out for the kids, so much so that when you went to her room she was already half asleep. You stepped inside and made sure her covers were well tucked around her.

“Good night, sweetheart,” You said softly.

Her sleepy voice came through the quiet, “Good night.”

When you left Cassandra’s room for Dickie’s, you ran into him in the hallway already heading that way. 

By the look of his bedhead and half-awake state, he must have fallen asleep on the couch before being pushed to his room by Alfred. “Guess I don’t need to tuck you in, huh,” You asked, stopping him as you fixed his hair. Dick didn’t answer directly, just yawning right into your face. You tried not to act amused, instead giving him a little hug before letting him walk away. 

The day was finally over, and, with a long, tired sigh, you went to the TV room to unwind. Throwing yourself down onto the couch, you switched on some late-night show to drown yourself in some mind-numbing haze. At some point, you must have fallen asleep because the next thing you knew you were staring up at Mr. Wayne. 

You had woken with a startle, sitting up straight and accidentally bumping your forehead against Mr. Wayne’s. Upon impact, you fell back onto the cushion. “Ow, fuck!”

“Damn,” Bruce mumbled, turning away to rub his forehead. 

“What the hell, Mr. Wayne,” You said, sitting up. “Don’t you know not to scare someone awake? I’m starting to wonder if you were really raised in a barn.”

“I was just checking to see if you were sleeping,” He stated. 

You shook your head and stood. “I was, though I didn’t mean to. What time is it?”

Bruce looked at the clock on the opposite of the wall. “A little after two. You should get to bed.”

You nodded, starting toward the door, before realizing that Mr. Wayne was up extremely late for someone who had to be working early the next morning. Stopping, you looked at him, “What’re you doing up so late?”

He seemed surprised that you asked. “Oh, uh, I was doing some paperwork. Got a bit caught up in it before I realized the time.”

You chose not to comment on it despite noting that his office wasn’t anywhere near the TV room. Instead, you only said, “You should get some sleep, Mr. Wayne. Only two people in the world willingly stay up this late.”

“Oh? Who?” He asked, amused. 

“The President and Batman.”

When you turned to look at him, you noticed he was a little paler than usual and wondered if the truth was that he didn’t feel well. You stepped closer to him, going to feel his forehead to see if it was warm. Bruce seemed caught off guard and reached up to grab your wrist. 

“You look sick,” You said.

“I can’t tell if you’re being rude, or if you really mean it,” He said. 

“I mean it.”

Bruce stared down at you, eyes looking for something in yours before he pushed your wrist back toward you. “I’m fine, just tired.”

“Go to bed, Mr. Wayne, or do I need to tuck you in, too?” You said, a smile slowly crawling across your face. 

He smirked, obviously amused, and shook his head. “I think I can handle it. I’ll call you if I need anything.”

When you left Mr. Wayne, you had a certain feeling in your stomach. There was something he wasn't telling you but brushed it off as a playboy hiding his playboy secrets. 

Still, it bothered you a little not knowing.

Chapter Text

Alfred had asked you to get some spring decorations from the attic, and you were happy to oblige. You loved decorating, it brought a sense of wonderment to your life that was otherwise filled with the endless tasks of being a caretaker. So, you took to the attic like a moth to a flame. There were boxes upon boxes, old coats strewn about, a creepy-looking rocking horse in one corner, and copious amounts of dust. 

“The box is labeled but I couldn’t tell you where the damned thing is,” Alfred said as he flipped on the light. “If you like, you could wait until I return. It might be easier.” 

You waved him off as you ventured further into the room. “No, no. You’re a busy man, Alfred. Plus, the kids are at school, and this will give me something to do today.”

“Very well, then, have at it,” The old man said, heading towards the attic stairs. “Master Bruce is working from home today, and there’s an intercom on the wall over there if you want to call for help should you need it. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind lending a hand.”

An intercom. Of course, there was. You wandered over, pressing one of the buttons just for fun. At one point, Bruce's voice came through, crackling. Squeaking, you said a quick "never mind" and pressed another random button.

“This place,” you said, glancing at the panel, “is either really old-fashioned… or ridiculously fancy.”

“Sometimes it’s both,” Alfred said dryly as he descended the stairs.

"Thanks, Alf. I’ll see you later," You called after him.

With a wave, he left.

You began to pull apart the attic in search of the alleged spring decor, and it seemed almost hopeless. There were just too many boxes. There was Christmas (which you couldn’t wait to see), Halloween, and just about every holiday decor that had ever existed. Some boxes were full of pictures and jewelry. One box had photo albums from the last thirty years, and curiosity won as you momentarily battled with yourself.

Flipping through them, you found a small version of Bruce—bright-eyed, unsure, and almost soft. Damian looked just like him. And Bruce? He was practically a mirror of his father. Eerily so. That had to do something to his psyche.

His mother was a beauty, too. You found her headshot sitting right under one of the photo albums. She had curly copper hair and deep blue eyes that reminded you of Bruce’s. Mr. and Mrs. Wayne were a handsome couple with the world at their feet, but that was cut short the day they died. 

You remembered the tragedy in fragments. You were young, but you could still recall a relative bursting into the kitchen to announce that the Waynes had been murdered. You hadn’t understood then that the boy left behind would grow up to be this Bruce Wayne.

“Poor Bruce,” you said to yourself before putting the albums back. “Now, where in the hell is that box?” 

You looked around the room, eyes scanning, when you saw it. The box was high up on a shelf labeled ‘spring’ in black Sharpie. You made a clearing, set up a step ladder, and started climbing. It was going to be so easy and perfect, you thought. 

The box was just out of reach.

You supposed that the shelf could support some of your weight, so you lifted your leg to step onto it. What you didn’t see was a broken vase tucked between some boxes. It sliced into your leg before you even felt it. Then came the pain, sudden and sharp. With a cry, you fell back hard onto the floor. 

“Ow, ow,” you hissed, pressing a hand over the wound. Blood was already pooling beneath your fingers. Alfred was going to kill you. Limping over to the intercom, you mashed buttons blindly.

“Mr. Wayne,” you would say when it sounded like you got through to a room. “Mr. Wayne, are you there?”

Finally, after about ten minutes, you got a voice coming through the other end, “Everything alright?”

“Aha! Mr. Wayne, I cut my leg pretty badly and think I need a first aid kit. Could I trouble you to bring me one?” 

“I’ll be right there,” he said. Before you could say anything back, the line went dead. 

Grumbling to yourself, you made your way to the attic stairs to sit and wait for your rescue. Blood was pooling between your fingers, and you could feel it slowly getting closer to your sock. 

“I’m here,” Bruce called as he bounded up the stairs with the med kit. “Alright, let me see.”

You moved your hand to the side, but couldn’t bring yourself to see just how bad it was. Bruce knelt in front of you, his hand steady on your knee—large, warm, grounding.

“Luckily, you don’t need stitches, just a clean-up and some bandages.” 

“What should I do?” You asked, hands already going for the kit. 

Bruce didn’t let you get close enough to grab it. He didn’t say anything as he picked out the hydrogen peroxide, some ointment, and bandages. Pouring a little of the hydrogen peroxide onto a cotton ball, he slowly started to wipe at your leg. You yelped from the sudden sting and pushed his hand away. 

“Stop it, that hurts,” you said meekly. “Ow! Bruce, please.”

He paused, looked up at you, and his thumb brushed soft circles against your knee. “Sorry, just hold still. It won’t take much longer.” 

He began to dab the cotton ball back on the wound again, and this time, you were prepared for the sting. You stared at him as he worked on you. Mr. Wayne wasn’t just a handsome man; he was pretty, too. He had the type of look that befitted a character in a fantasy novel rather than a traumatized rich boy. His eyes, though, were such an intense blue that they were hard not to look at.

You thought out loud, “You have your mother’s eyes.” 

His hand froze. Slowly, he looked up at you. “What?” 

You tried not to let the embarrassment show through. It was a fact that just so happened to slip from your mouth. “You have your mother’s eyes. I saw a picture of her earlier.” 

Bruce looked down, resuming the cleaning, but more gently now. “Oh.” 

“Do you remember your parents?” You asked. 

“Yes,” He said after a minute. “Everyone said I looked like my father, but he saw more of my mother.” 

You giggled and took his hand when he offered to help you up. “She must have loved that.” 

“Oh, she did.” For the first time, you saw Bruce smile genuinely. A smile for himself instead of the kids or you. “That’s why she wanted a girl after me, but they never got around to it.” 

“Can’t picture you as an older brother,” you said as you wandered over to the shelf. 

Bruce didn’t say anything to that and changed the subject. He offered to get the box down for you, saying that you didn’t need to be reaching up or doing anything else on your leg. You weren’t going to complain and let him get the box. 

“Good thing you called me,” He said with a grunt. “It’s heavy. Now, where do you want it?” 

“The living room would be a good place to start,” you said before you checked the time. You still had a couple of hours before the kids got home, but you thought that perhaps you could wait. “Maybe I should wait for the kids. They may want to help.” 

“Alfred would rather burn the manor down.” 

You could imagine it. Mr. Wayne brought the kids up in a way that they were very creative, and you could only imagine how that would transfer over in the decor. Alfred was too neat a person for that. 

Mr. Wayne set the box down on the living room coffee table, making a cloud of dust come up from the box, before turning to you. You smiled kindly and thanked him. He turned to leave but paused halfway.

“Make sure you clean your wound, you wouldn’t want it to get infected.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Wayne.” 

He nodded before finally leaving you. You looked back down at the decoration in your hands and huffed. It’d be a lot of work, but you'd be damned if you didn't get it done.

Later that day, when Alfred returned with the kids, he nearly dropped the groceries at the sight of the house. Spring had exploded. Florals, pastels, garlands, and twinkling lights filled the manor. You only told him you had magic hands before you went to tend to the children. They were happy to see you, all of them clamoring about, and noted the bandage on your leg. 

“I got in a fight with a bear today,” you said proudly. 

Dick rolled his eyes. “You’re such a liar.” 

Bruce suddenly popped into the kitchen where all of you were. “It’s true. I was there. I helped fight off the bear.” 

“Are there even bears in New Jersey?” Jason asked curiously. 

Duke, on the other hand, looked horrified. “Why are there bears in the backyard, Dad?” 

You were quick to tell him that the two of you were only kidding, that the cut really just came from an accident. Duke seemed relieved, while the other kids were a bit disappointed. As they ran off, Bruce stopped you with a hand on your arm.

“Next time you decide to decorate, let me know in advance.” 

“You don’t like it?”

“On the contrary, actually. What I don’t like is you getting hurt. Or anyone else, for that matter.”

You nodded, trying to reason with yourself as to why you had butterflies in your stomach. 

Chapter Text

Mr. Wayne never brought his partners home. You saw no swingers' parties, orgies, or even a single panty on the floor to hint at the wealth of lovers he supposedly had. In a way, you were disappointed, because you found nothing more entertaining than soaking up the drama that billionaire playboys could offer.

Alas, Mr. Wayne was boring. 

He went to work, played with his kids, attended charity balls and galas, and was a good, boring single father and philanthropist. The only interesting part about him was his troubled relationship with Selina Kyle (and some messy drama with Damian’s mother that Alfred refused to delve deeper into), who had been slowly creeping back into Bruce’s arms. When Alfred told you, you were a little surprised since it seemed he, and the children, were affected by the breakup. 

It was a little past two in the morning when you ventured to the kitchen for a glass of water, and the entire house was relatively quiet. There was the pitter-patter of rain against the windows and the shuffling on your feet, but, distantly, you could hear a conversation between Mr. Wayne and a woman. 

You tried to mind your own business, but, as you poured ice into your glass, you heard Mr. Wayne say, “Selina, please.”

“No, Bruce, we can’t keep doing this,” Selina’s voice was clear, almost stern. 

With how loud their voices were, you assumed that they were in the side hall.  You paused, partially due to fear of being caught in an awkward position but mainly because of your curiosity. There was a witty back and forth before Bruce loudly demanded for her to go. It went silent after the door slammed shut, and then you heard Mr. Wayne make his way toward the kitchen.

Panicking, you hurried to fill your glass with water so you could get out of there lest he think you were listening in. Just as it was filled and you started to leave, Mr. Wayne entered the kitchen. He seemed surprised to see you, and you were so scared by the sight of him that you dropped the glass—sending it to shattered pieces. 

“Mr. Wayne,” You gasped, kneeling to clean up the mess. “Sorry, about the cup.”

He shook his head, rushing over to urge you to stand up. “No, don’t use your hands. You’ll cut yourself. Give me a moment, I’ll find the broom.”

Now that you were looking at him, there was a flush on his cheeks—Wait, you thought, could he have been embarrassed ? You never knew he could have such a feeling. He also seemed disheveled and smelled a bit like perfume mixed with cigarette smoke. 

“Here it is,” Mr. Wayne said after opening nearly every closet and cupboard in the kitchen. “Move, I’ll do it.”

You sidestepped, eyes flickering between Mr. Wayne and the broken glass on the floor. By the way, he swept, it was clear he was rich. That man looked like he had never held a broom in his life, and, with how much Alfred did for him, you wouldn’t be surprised if he hadn’t. 

“No,” You said, hand going to the broom handle. “Let me do it. It’ll be quicker.”

“Are you saying I can’t sweep,” Bruce spat. 

You looked up at him, tired and agitated all of a sudden. “Yes!”

Bruce let go of the handle and huffed, moving across the kitchen to find a glass. He then turned to the cabinet under the island to pluck out a bottle of scotch. He watched you momentarily before rounding the island while holding his hand out expectantly. 

“I’ll do it,” He said plainly. 

You laughed. “Mr. Wayne, I’m nearly done. Plus, we already established that you can’t sweep.”

“Can’t sweep,” Bruce mumbled under his breath. “Ridiculous.”

“Don’t be so upset,” You remarked. “It’s hardly your fault for being born with a silver spoon.”

“I’m not upset!” He said, raising his voice enough to scare you a little. There was a little silence before he sheepishly apologized. “It’s been a stressful night,” was the excuse he gave you. You wanted to be angry at him for raising his voice, but you quickly got over it. 

After throwing away the glass, you looked at him before moving to sleep. You stopped halfway to return to the island where Mr. Wayne stood. 

“Get me a cup?” You asked. 

Bruce stared at you before doing as you asked. When the glass hit the table, he quickly grabbed the bottle to fill it. You were never one for alcohol, but you were always one to rise to the occasion. 

“What happened?” You asked. 

“Relationship troubles,” He said plainly. 

“I used to say the same thing,” You said. “It’s never just relationship troubles, Bruce.”

The two of you stared at one another for what felt like forever until he let out a long, tired sigh and said, “I don’t know. I thought I loved her, and I thought she loved me—but…I think we want different things. I want her to be a part of my family, but she’s afraid of risking her independence.”

“You can’t fault her for that,” You said, not sure of what else you could say. 

“No, I can’t. No matter how much I want to hate her for it to make myself feel better, I know it’s still her choice.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he threw back the entire glass before reaching for the bottle to pour another. He cleared his throat, before asking, “What happened with you and, uh, whatever his name was?”

“Ah, yes, him ,” You said, looking down at the glass and swirling the scotch around inside it. “I thought he was great. He was kind, loving—”

“He was a man,” Bruce said, cocking an eyebrow. 

You chuckled. “Believe me, I know , but I was in love with him, Bruce. I wanted to marry him, ya know?”

“Too bad he fired you,” He said. 

That stung a bit, and Bruce must have seen it on your face because all of a sudden was mumbling an apology. Sucking in a breath, you pulled the bottle toward you to pour yourself more scotch. 

“How’d you know that,” You asked, trying to hold back tears and act like your usual humorous self. “I don’t remember mentioning I was fired in my interview.”

“You didn’t mention much in your interview at all, but you honestly didn’t expect me to look?” He scoffed. Yeah, you should have guessed that he would do some sort of background check since he was a crazed control freak. Sniffling, you tried to keep your gaze on the bottle to keep from crying as you thought about your ex. You hated the man, but part of you missed loving him and, in turn, being loved. “I’m sorry to have upset you,” Bruce said, reaching out to awkwardly rub circles on your back. 

“No, no. I don’t mean to cry,” You said, laughing lightly at yourself. “I shouldn’t be crying in front of my boss, anyway.”

“I don’t mind,” Bruce mumbled. 

“I found out the other day that he’s getting married, too,” You mumbled, voice cracking. “Kind of makes me wonder why not me?”

Bruce was quiet, and you took that all the emotion made him uncomfortable. Quickly, you began to suck your feelings back in. You already felt foolish enough, especially when you felt your nose start running. When you began to excuse what you had said, Bruce quickly stopped you from doing such a thing. 

“Every time Selina and I would break up,” He started, “I used to wonder what I had done wrong, and I don’t think I ever realized that it wasn’t just me until tonight. It was just us .” 

“Maybe,” You said quietly. “I hope you find your person one day, Mr. Wayne. You’re a good man.”

He looked down at you, a ghost of a smile on his lips, “Thank you…and I hope you find your person, too.”

Silently, you agreed with the sentiment. You hoped to one day find that person and prayed that he wouldn’t be your employer this time. 

Chapter Text

It was too nice of a day in Gotham to pass up sitting in the park. So, you packed up a little basket of food, a picnic blanket, and some toys, and rounded up the brood of children to force them into a day of outside activities. They all were enthusiastic about it, in reality, and even Mr. Wayne decided to join you. 

Now, you were sat between Damian, who was getting a bit sleepy already, and Mr. Wayne, who looked too pale in proper lighting. The rest of the kids, save for Dick, were running about playing a sham game of badminton. You watched them happily, your heart leaping with every childish giggle or joke. Then, you noticed the eldest Wayne boy sitting across from you.

Dick was torn between paying attention to the group and a fine pair of brown eyes not too far away. You looked to where his eyes were to see a young redheaded girl sitting on a blanket with some friends, giggling away. Like you, they were having a picnic.

Smiling, you said, “You should go talk to her.”

“What?” Dick said. 

Bruce glanced down at you, now focusing on the conversation right next to him. He didn’t say anything but listened as you said, “I see you staring at her, Dickie. Just go say hi.”

Looking over his shoulder, Bruce saw Barbara Gordon, Commissioner Jim Gordon’s daughter, sitting with her friends. Dick stumbled over his words, eventually getting out that it wasn’t really an option for him to go up and just talk to her. 

“Do you know her?” You asked. When Dick nodded yes, you added, “Then it shouldn’t be a problem. Just go up and say you saw her over there and wanted to say hi.”

The boy seemed a little more interested now. “What if she really doesn’t want to see me?”

“Then get the hint and leave her alone. You’re making this too complicated.”

“What do I say?” Dick said. 

Bruce was going to give some advice at that point, just to seem like a parent, but you were quick with a response. “After you say hi, ask her what she’s up to today. Just ask her about herself. People love talking about themselves.” You took a moment to yell to Jason not to be so rough with Tim and Duke before going on. “For instance, if someone asked me about my books, I’d never shut up.”

“But…” Dick paused to think. “Well, okay, I guess.” 

Slowly, the boy got up and made his way over to Barbara’s group. She smiled upon seeing him approach and immediately invited him to join. Smiling, you told Mr. Wayne that you knew everything would turn out. 

After a few minutes of silence, Bruce finally asked, “I never took you as much of a reader.”

“Oh, yeah,” You said with a bright smile. “I would say I read about as much as Jason, but I think he might have me beat.”

Bruce chuckled. “If reading ever becomes a job, I think Jay would be ten times richer than me...You’re always welcome to the books in the library at home, you know.”

You smiled kindly at Mr. Wayne. “I do now. Thank you.”

“Well, I think a majority of them are law and medical books, but it never hurts to brush up on your STEM knowledge.”

You laughed a little and adjusted Damian on your lap. “Oh, I’d say the books I read are a little medical.”

“What do you read then?”

You smiled before turning back to the kids, and he began to wonder if what you said had a little mischievous double meaning. Bruce stared at you, trying to find something to say, either about books or just about you, but couldn’t find the right question. Finally, he settled on just suggesting that, after the park, maybe they could all go to the bookstore. You agreed heavily, thinking that Jason and the rest of the kids would enjoy it. 

“You can get something, too, if you like,” Bruce offered. “I think we can fit it into the budget.”

You laughed a little too hard at the joke, not having anticipated it from Mr. Wayne of all people. “I mean, if we can squeeze two pennies together then why not!”

“But, you do want to go?”

“Of course, I’d do anything for a free book,” You said with a playful wink. 

Bruce chuckled as he looked back at his kids, thinking that just maybe there was a bit of weight in your advice.

Chapter Text

You didn’t know how to explain to Mr. Wayne that his two sons, Jason and Duke, snuck out of the house in search of you. 

You had taken the day off to attend your friend’s wedding, which had been fun until your third drink. No sooner had you tipped the glass to your lips did a little old lady tap you on the shoulder saying that two young men were looking for you. Intrigued by the prospect of being sought out by handsome men, you followed her to an empty room. There, the boys were sitting and eating away at some cake. 

It took you a few moments to realize that they were there all by themselves, and all at once shock mixed with panic rushed through you. Once the relief of finding them alright had passed, you scolded them to the point that both boys were in near tears. Between long lectures you would pull them into hugs, saying how glad you were that they were alright.

“Oh, what were you thinking!” You exclaimed when you let them go. “You could have gotten lost or kidnapped. Mr. Wayne would have my head—Mr. Wayne! The man is going to have a stroke.”

When you went to find a phone, Duke burst into tears as he mumbled that he didn’t want to get into trouble. Jason, as he tried to comfort his brother, had started to cry, too. By the time you returned, the pair could hardly string a sentence along together without hyperventilating. Even when you assured them that everything would be okay, they still refused to calm down. You had hoped that maybe seeing their father would help them, but he had made the situation worse. Mr. Wayne had come barreling through the doors already demanding to know what had crossed their minds to do such a thing. 

“Don’t shout,” You snapped, stroking Jason’s hair and rubbing Duke’s back. “They already know they’re in trouble.”

“I’m sorry,” Jason gasped out between heavy breaths as he reached out for his father. Bruce didn’t let his anger stop him from pulling the boy into his arms, pressing a kiss to the side of his head. He pulled Duke from your arms toward him, mumbling to his boys that he was glad that they were safe. 

“I—I’m sorry, Dad,” Duke cried. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” 

You shushed him before suggesting to Mr. Wayne that the four of you go outside to the car lest curious guests look in. He seemed to quietly fight the idea at first, wanting an explanation no matter who watched but gave in at the sight of his poor boys. You carried Duke while Bruce carried Jason, who was looking over his father’s shoulder at you. 

There was little hassle getting them buckled into the car since Bruce had threatened them with an even bigger punishment if they didn't behave from that moment on. You knew he wouldn’t, but the threat had sounded real enough for them to comply. As soon as you began closing the car door Duke kicked his foot to stop it.  

Duke, weeping, said, “No! Stay!”

You had tried to explain that you couldn’t, that you needed to stay for the rest of your friend’s wedding, but they weren’t listening. Finally, you asked, “Why are you two acting this way? I was coming home later tonight!”

Jason, who was a bit more coherent, said, “Dick said you don’t love us, and you only spend time with us because you get paid.” 

You groaned, rolling your eyes as you shot a look over at Mr. Wayne. “Do you wanna have that talk with Richard when you get home, or would you rather it be me?” Bruce only sighed before turning his back to you and the boys. Shaking your head, you said, “I get paid to watch you kids, yes, but that does not mean I don't love you.” 

“Really?” Jason asked. 

You kissed his forehead and said, “Really.” Tugging at the buckles of the car seats, you made sure they were secure. “Be good for your Dad. You guys gave him quite a scare.”

“Okay,” They said in unison. 

Once the car door swung shut, you looked at Mr. Wayne with a coy smile. He only returned the light-hearted gesture by narrowing his eyes and frowning. 

“Don’t lie to my kids like that. I don’t want you hurting their feelings,” He said as he rounded the car to the driver’s side. 

“I wasn’t,” You tried to say, but he had already started the car. You didn’t know if it was the drink or your annoyance of his hot and cold temper towards you. It made you want to scream at him, to get him to stop shoving whatever feelings he had with having a nanny, and to say them to you outright. Instead of going to him, you decided to go back into the venue for another drink. 

You told yourself you hadn’t meant to drink as much as you did, but you couldn’t help it when the wedding was getting to be so much fun. The drama had gotten heated, the bar was endless, and it only doomed you from there. By the end of it, you were sober enough to call a cab yet not to walk in a straight line or not slur your words. When you returned to Wayne Manor you tried to be quiet getting in, but that only resulted in you running into the entranceway table. After skillfully saving a vase from toppling over, you began to remove your coat. 

“When did coats get to be so hard to take off,” You mumbled to yourself, trying to shrug off your jacket, but it had gotten caught on your purse. 

“Are you okay,” A voice asked. 

Jumping, you tried to whip around to see who it was but tripped on your own feet. Luckily, hands caught you before you could fall to the floor. Looking up, you noticed it was Mr. Wayne, and you loathed to see him. 

“I’m fine,” You said, standing straight. “Thank you.”

“You’re drunk,” He pointed out like you didn’t already know. You rolled your eyes before trying to get your coat off again, but you only ended up stumbling right into Mr. Wayne’s chest. Mumbling an apology, you started to try again before he told you to stop. Mr. Wayne then slowly took off your purse and took your coat, throwing them on the table. “Come on.”

You hadn’t expected him to loop an arm around your waist and help you up the stairs. He was kind about it, too, which left you even more confused. “I love the kids, you know.”

“What?” Mr. Wayne asked, his tone mixed with genuine confusion and irritation. 

You gulped. “Earlier you said not to lie about loving the kids, but I wasn’t lying.” 

He didn’t say anything at first, and you thought he would just leave it there. But, after you made it up to the first landing of the stairs, he said, “I know. It’s…I don’t want my kids getting hurt if things go bad. Do you understand?”

“I do,” You grumbled, swaying a bit. His grip tightened around your waist and he pulled you more into him. “You’re a good father. I’d like to have you as my dad.”

He managed a smile. “A lot of people would.”

You giggled before you hiccuped. When you looked back up at Mr. Wayne to see if he noticed, he was holding back a chuckle. You groaned, before saying, “I didn’t mean to come home this way.”

“Yes, you did,” He corrected and the two of you finally made it to the first floor. “But, don’t worry about it. You’re good at your job, and this isn’t an often occurrence.”

“Plus, it’s my day off,” You added. 

He agreed with you that it was, indeed, your day off. When the two of you had made it to your bedroom door, there was a brief pause as Mr. Wayne considered whether or not it would be appropriate for him to enter your room. After you failed to open the door, he decided that no harm would be done. You fell onto the bed before kicking off your heels with a satisfied groan. 

Bruce was going to leave you until you called out, “Mr. Wayne.” He stopped, kneeling over you as you spoke. Your eyes were closed and you were slurring through every word.“Are Duke and Jason okay?”

It was sweet that you still were concerned for them. “They were upset when they got their games taken away.”

“Jason will be fine. He never played games much.”

“That’s why I told him no new books for a month.” Bruce paused before adding, “I apologize for saying you didn’t love the kids.”

You opened your eyes and smiled. “Apology accepted, but just this once…We’re friends, you know? Even though you’re my boss. I won’t betray you. I pinky promise on my life. We’re in this together, old man.”

Bruce tried not to dwell too much on the old man part of your sentiment. “Thank you, Nan. I appreciate that.”

“Very good, Mr. Wayne,” You said. “Good night.”

He was going to take that as his cue to leave the conversation, but your drunken brain had other ideas. You were quick to lean up and peck him on the lips before he even had a chance to say goodnight. All at once he felt a range of emotions; confusion, surprise, and embarrassment. You were so nonchalant about the whole situation, probably not having realized it had happened, that you simply turned over to sleep. Quickly, Bruce used that as an excuse to not bring it up since you were more than likely not to remember it by the next morning. 

Right as he was going to step out the door, you called him back. He poked his head into your room again and felt his heart flush when you asked, “Did I just kiss you?”

For his sake and yours, he answered, “No.”

You hummed before dropping your head back onto the pillow. Closing the door, Bruce reminded himself that the last thing he needed to be doing was thinking about an employee in such a romantic way. 

Chapter Text

You wished Bruce hadn’t put you down as an emergency contact for the school. Every time one of the kids was sick or forgot something, the school would call you. Not even Mr. Wayne was all that impressed, and even thought it was a little sexist. He had called the school multiple times to inform them that he should have been the first person they called, but, alas, they never listened. 

That morning you had received a call from the principal informing you that Dick was in big trouble. When you asked what the “big” trouble was, the man refused to say and demanded that you get down to the school to see what had happened. You complied, leaving Damian in Alfred’s care. Bruce didn’t answer your phone call, more than likely in a meeting or on a date, so you decided to brave the storm alone. 

Dick was sitting opposite the principal with another boy sitting by his side when you entered. When the secretary announced you through, he hardly budged and continued to brood. Upon further inspection, it was evident that he had been in a fight. There was a cut under his eye, dirt all over his gym clothes, and a cut on his lip. Glancing at the other boy next to him, it was clear that Dick was the real winner of the fight. He was practically unscathed compared to the much taller, buff teenager next to him who was sporting a black eye, bloody nose, and a terrible head bump. 

“What happened?” You asked. 

“Won a fight,” Dick said with a smile. 

The kid next to him raised his fist to threaten Dick but was quickly stopped by his mother standing behind him. You bit back a chuckle before reaching over to press on the bruise blooming on Dick’s cheek. The boy winced before pushing your hand away. 

“Now’s not the time for your smartassery,” You remarked before turning to the principal. You gently pushed his face side to side to make sure nothing else was broken or bruised. When nothing else seemed out of place, you ruffled his hair before turning to the principal. “Alright, how’re we doing this?”

“Excuse me?” The man said, surprised. 

“How’re we doing this? Are both boys getting suspended, one getting suspended and the other…”

The principal laughed and waved his hands about like he was trying to get rid of any notion of the idea. “No, no, no. We won’t suspend either boy. Kids fight, we understand that here, but we do ask that, in return for not suspending the boys, a donation to the school be made. A quid pro quo, if you will.”

You were stunned into silence, surprised that money could be thrown about anywhere, and looked at Dick. He stared back at you expectantly, like he was waiting for you to call up his father and ask for money. The other woman was already getting out her checkbook while mumbling under her breath. 

“Absolutely not,” You said. “You can’t fight someone and get away with it.”

“Call Bruce, he’ll handle it.” Dick rolled his eyes and slouched in his chair. 

Before any other protest could leave your mouth, the secretary was already letting Mr. Wayne in. Bruce came in with an easy smile that charmed everyone else in the room, before stopping to clap his boy on the shoulder. 

“Looks like you got it rough, kiddo,” He said with a laugh. “Gotta stay off the playground!”

Everyone in the room laughed save for you and Dick, who mumbled something about how the other boy shouldn’t have messed with Jason. The principal went over the same request as before; donate and both boys would get off scot-free. You watched as Bruce’s hand slid into his pocket and pulled out his checkbook. As much as you didn’t like it, you held back the urge to reach over and snatch the checkbook right out of his hands. It wasn’t right to just pay your way out of a bad situation, but Bruce seemed to be happy to do it. 

Once the cheques were handed over to the principal, the boys were let go for the rest of the day. You scolded Dick on the way out, telling him that not only would he be banned from any and all games, but he would be spending his weekend in his room.

“No!” Dick whined before turning to Bruce. “You can’t let her do this! She’s not even my mom.”

“But she is your nanny, and it’s in her contract that she makes sure you don't turn into a brat,” Mr. Wayne said in a matter-of-fact tone. 

You smiled and thanked Bruce for backing you up, which made Dick exclaim, “Why don’t you two just get married already!”

You rolled your eyes, knowing that was just one of his ways to get what he wanted by saying something absurd, but Bruce scoffed. You caught that and quickly asked, “What was that scoff for? You think you’re too good to marry me?” Putting your hands on your hips, you stopped to look at Mr. Wayne. He stopped, too, suddenly realizing what he had done. 

“No. No, you’re just not my type,” Mr. Wayne said nervously like he didn’t want to say what he truly thought.

You snorted before mumbling, “And here I thought you were open to all.”

“What was that?” Mr. Wayne stopped to look at you. 

You put up your hands as you scooted around the man, urging Dick to get to the car. Mr. Wayne didn’t let it go though, following closely behind you as you continued to the car.

“Is this coming from the woman who has made a move on half of the people in the elite of Gotham,” Bruce remarked. 

“Hey, if you got to them first, I’ll respect it,” You said as you opened your car door. “I’m sure you rich boys don’t like to share.”

“I’m not going to be mocked by a door-to-door sales girl,” He said, leaning against the side of your car. 

Dick smiled to himself, glad that his plan of shifting the attention from him worked, and felt brave enough to even get out his GameBoy. As he played Mario, he listened to the two of you bicker like an old married couple. Alfred was right, the two of you really did like each other’s company too much. 

“Wow,” You laughed as you smacked your hands on the steering wheel. You glanced over at Dick in the passenger seat, seeing the GameBoy in his hand, and promptly reached over to take it. Handing it off to Bruce, you continued like nothing had happened, “Classist much?”

Mr. Wayne went to answer, but then he glanced over at Dick. He sucked in a breath and decided to let his comeback die there since it wouldn't have been suitable for his son to hear. “Just get him home and grounded.”

“Will do, and I’ll make sure to let Alfred know,” You said. 

“No!” Dick cried. Alfred’s punishments were the worst . 

You clapped the boy on the shoulder before winking at Mr. Wayne. Dick groaned, knowing full well that  he was going to make sure you were never the first one to be called by the school again. 

Chapter Text

As Cassandra lept and twirled her way to the car, you egged her on until you spotted two men across the parking lot slowly making their way toward the two of you. You should have known that it wouldn’t have been safe to go without Bruce or Alfred–Yet, you insisted that you hadn’t needed either of them. The ballet school was in a relatively safe part of town and there were lights all around the parking lot, so you assumed there would be no trouble. Especially since Batman and Robin frequently patrolled this part of town. 

You called Cassandra back to you, putting yourself between her and the approaching men. Putting the keys into her hands, you instructed her to run to the car if anything were to happen. She only nodded before grabbing onto the back of your skirt.

“Give us your purse,” One of the men said upon approach. 

You threw your bag far enough away that it would create some distance between you and the men, letting you push Cassandra closer to the car. The other man grabbed your wrist, twisting it in a way that made you cry out in pain, as he demanded your jewelry. 

“That little girl had some nice earrings,” The guy who grabbed your purse said. 

You ordered Cassandra to get into the car and lock it, which she did without question. You fought against the two men, hitting one in the face with your fist as you attempted to kick the other one. 

You cried out again when one of them hit you in the stomach, making you double over in pain. No sooner had they done that did you hear one of them begin to scream. You looked up, seeing a black mass moving with ease and somehow avoiding all the light. Your heart leaped into your throat, but you looked back to the car to see Cassandra looking back at you through the driver’s window. Taking the opportunity, you ran to the car and got in, throwing it into reverse as you swerved out of the parking lot. 

“Are you okay?” You asked breathlessly. Your head was still spinning from the hit to the stomach and your wrist felt like it was throbbing. Cassandra nodded her head, looking a bit too calm, but you supposed that she was doing it for your benefit. “It’s okay. We’ll be home soon.”

When you pulled into the driveway Mr. Wayne was already standing there, looking a bit more panicked than usual. He grabbed Cassandra from the car and urged you to follow, telling you how he had just gotten a call from the police. 

Your bag had been dropped off at the station by none other than Batman, and he had informed them that you were the nanny for the Wayne family. Commissioner Gordon had even called the house himself. 

“I don’t care about the bag,” You said sternly. If Cassandra wasn't there, Bruce was sure you would have put the word ‘fuck’ somewhere in there. “Let’s just get Cassie changed and comfortable.” 

Bruce put Cassandra on the ground once the three of you were through the door, asking her if she was okay and her responding with a confident, “Yup!” 

You wanted to be shocked, but you were still too jumpy to think more of it. With a pat on the back, Bruce sent her on her way with Alfred. It was then you sighed loudly, “I think I need to sit down.”

“Come into the kitchen, then,” Mr. Wayne said, putting his hand on the small of your back as he guided you. 

You dropped onto the wooden chair at the little kitchen table, feeling a bit drained suddenly. Mr. Wayne walked over to the fridge and pulled out a frozen bag of peas, which you would have laughed at if not for the exhaustion. He grabbed at your tender wrist, pressing around it lightly. You winced, feeling the throbbing sensation return as he touched you. 

“Nothing’s broken,” He said as he slid the bag of peas under your wrist.

“Good,” You said quietly. Sniffling, you continued, “Cassandra, are you sure she’s alright?”

Bruce nodded as he sat, letting out a little grunt as he did. You were sure he never noticed he made such sounds when he stood or sat. “My girl has seen worse, unfortunately.”

You didn’t want to ask, and you were sure Bruce wouldn’t tell. He scooted his chair closer towards yours, his eyes moving over your body slowly. It made you feel uncomfortable like he knew what you looked like naked. 

“See somethin’?” You asked as you folded your arms over yourself. 

“Oh,” Bruce sat up straight, acting like he had been caught. “I wasn’t…I was just looking for any other injuries.”

You rubbed your stomach, remembering how the breath left your body for a split second after that man punched you and how your wrist throbbed after nearly being broken. Bruce touched your knee, making you jump, and he pulled his hand away. 

“Sorry…”

You shook your head, trying not to cry, as you said, “It’s okay. I’m just a bit on edge right now. I should get ready to go to the police station—”

“I’ll pick it up. You need to go upstairs and rest…Look at me,” Mr. Wayne said as he stood. You looked up at him, eyes going wide for a moment as you realized how much you liked hearing him talk to you like that. “It’ll be okay. Cassandra and the kids will be okay. You will be okay. Understand?”

You nodded, sucking in a breath, before standing. You felt determined to forget tonight for a solid ten seconds until the emotion of it all hit you. It was then you burst into tears and grabbed onto Mr. Wayne. You cried into his chest as he awkwardly reciprocated the hug. 

“It was so horrible, Mr. Wayne!” You exclaimed. “I hope Batman gave them what they deserved. They could have seriously hurt Cassandra! My poor girl.”

“Nan? Are you okay?” You both turned to see Jason, along with Cassandra, standing in the kitchen doorway. She whispered something into his ear which made him hurry across the room with arms open. You knelt to meet him, arms open, before holding him close to you. 

Jason rubbed his small hands on your back in an attempt to comfort you, and Cassandra, who was not far behind in joining the hug, joined him. 

“We got you, Nan,” Jason whispered. 

You felt such joy hearing those words and hugged the two of them tighter, urging Mr. Wayne to get in on the hug. He did hesitantly, coming up behind the kids and wrapping his arms around the three of you. 

“I love you kids so much,” You said. 

You pressed a kiss onto the kids’ heads before you caught Mr. Wayne’s eyes. He gave you a soft smile and you felt your heart skip a beat. 

Oh, you finally realized, you really were starting like your boss.

Chapter Text

You hadn’t expected to see your ex in the kitchen when you went to make some coffee, but he looked just as smug as the day he broke up with you. Alfred, who had been washing dishes at the sink informed you that your ex had arrived thirty minutes prior demanding to speak to you, acting as if the man he was talking about wasn’t even there. Politely, you thanked the butler and asked him to watch the kids so you could speak with your ex alone. Truly, you wanted Alfred gone so your drama wouldn’t be added to his menagerie of gossip. 

Once the two of you were alone, you shook the chair he was sitting in until he stood. Exasperated, you exclaimed, “Are you crazy?”

“What? No! But, you may be,” He said. You took a step toward him and your ex quickly put up his hands in surrender. “Hold on. Hold on. Don’t get all crazy on me yet, I came over here to talk.”

You slowly back off, telling him to sit and he obediently did. “Talk about what? Talk about how you still owe me my last check?”

“I don’t,” Your ex inserted. “But, no. I wanna talk about us.”

“There’s nothing left to talk about,” You spat, refusing to sit when he gestured for you to do so. Your ex sighed before standing, coming over to slowly rub your arms. You loathed his touch and shrugged his hands off of you. “Just get it out.”

He sighed and said, “I want you back. I realized how much I fucked up.”

You stared at him, torn between smacking him or laughing in his face. If you hadn’t known that his fiance left him a week ago, you would have believed him a little. Instead, you stayed quiet and let him go on a long-winded rant that left you feeling almost sorry for him. Obviously, the guy was in a deep hole of pathetic loneliness. 

You were so distracted by your ex that you hadn’t seen Jason watching the two of you from the slightly cracked kitchen door. He knelt down just enough that you would likely not see him if you looked over. 

“Please, get to your point,” You demanded as soon as you got tired of hearing his voice. 

Your ex sucked in a breath and finally said, “I want you to come back. Come back to work. To me.”

You stared at him before sarcastically saying, “Okay, let’s go!” 

Jason felt his heart sink at your remark. You seemed so eager to go that it made him wonder if something had happened to make you stop loving them. Had they not been good enough? Did he do something to make you want to leave? Jason could hardly breathe and could only think of running to his room to get some comfort. 

You noticed the kitchen door swing back and forth slightly, but that didn’t stop you from going on, “As if, asshole. I like my job, my kids, and my life now. I wish I realized how much sooner it sucked with you in it.”

Mr. Wayne abruptly entered the room before the conversation could continue. He looked just as surprised to be there as you were to see him there. Bruce truly hadn’t meant to intrude, but Alfred had told him your ex was there. Suddenly, he had to be in the kitchen. Bruce chose not to look for an explanation for his thought process. 

“You sleepin’ with him, is that it?” Your ex said, tone trying to be threatening. 

“No! No, he’s my boss. You think I would make that mistake again?” You looked back at Bruce, who didn’t seem phased or at all impressed, before saying to your ex, “You need to leave. We’re done. You can’t be causing a scene here. There are children.”

“Fuck them kids,” Your ex said. 

It happened in a blink of an eye. You extended your hand and slapped your ex so hard that it knocked him over. He didn’t quite fall to the floor, but it caused him to stumble into the pantry door. Fortunately for you, he didn’t have time to return to gesture as Mr. Wayne put himself between you and him. 

“Get out of my house,” Bruce said, voice angry and serious. When it took your ex a second too long, your boss used his angry parental voice and yelled, “Now!”

You even jumped, but you would be lying if you said you didn’t like it. Your ex grumbled something as left. Once your ex was gone, you were left embarrassed and flustered. You stumbled over yourself in apologies to Mr. Wayne, especially since the man was allowed so close to the kids. 

“Mr. Wayne, I don’t even know what to say. I am so sorry for all of this,” You reassured him in hopes he wouldn't make you leave on the spot. 

 Bruce grabbed your shoulders gently, looking down at you with a worried look in his eyes. You had expected him to be angry, not kind. “Are you okay?” 

Stunned, you stumbled over your words, before managing out, “I mean, I’m better than my ex right now. Did’ya see the way I slapped him?”

The was a moment of silence before Mr. Wayne began to laugh. It was a rumble that started in his throat before bubbling out of his mouth. It sounded more like prolonged chuckling, but it was a pleasant sound. Not to mention his smile. Damn, you thought, what you wouldn’t do to see that smile again. No wonder half the world was in love with him, Bruce Wayne was a beautiful man. 

“Well, I hate to say it, I don’t think he’s coming back,” He said. 

“I hope he doesn’t.” You said, eyes going down to his lips. They were perfect and pink. You admired the cute little cupid's bow on his upper lip and wondered how soft they were. The two of you stared at each other for a few seconds too long, and you only broke the tension when you turned away to go back to the kids. 

You didn’t see Mr. Wayne again until dinner. He sat at the head of the table with Dick on one side and Cassandra on the other. You sat in the middle of the little kids since it would be your job to make sure they ate their food. After a few minutes of conversation, you noticed Jason hadn’t come down for dinner yet. You hadn’t seen him since a few hours earlier once you really thought about it. 

You passed the basket of rolls to Tim as you asked Alfred, “Where’s Jason? Still in his room?”

“Yes, Miss,” Alfred said. “He threw quite the fit when I insisted he come down to eat.” 

You shared a glance with Bruce before pushing back your chair. “I’ll see what’s going on. You kids keep eating.”

After reassuring the rest of the kids that you would be back (you were starting to get the sneaking suspicion that they were developing separation anxiety), you made your way to Jason’s room. His room was usually spotless, but, upon entering after hearing a meek come in, you saw it was a huge mess. Things were thrown about, books knocked off the shelves, clothes pulled out of the drawers, and even writing on the walls. Oh, Bruce would not be happy about the state of his room at all. 

You stopped in the middle of the mess to see Jason curled on his bed facing away from you. “Jason, what happened here?”

He barely lifted his head and looked over at you, before putting it back down. After a few seconds of silence, he said, “I hate you.”

That threw you for a loop. Truly, you didn’t know Jason had a hating bone in his body. You sat on the edge of his bed, rubbing circles on his back, before trying to get him to tell you what made him hate you. At first, he refused to talk, just saying he hated you over and over again. You wouldn’t lie, it got to you a little, but you refused to show it. From what you learned from the parenting self-help book Alfred bought you, you knew he was just acting out an anger he couldn’t come to you about. 

“Jason, tell me what’s wrong, sweetheart,” You said. “I want to help.”

“No! You don’t. You just want to leave like Bruce always does and you hate me like Catherine did,” He said quickly so you wouldn’t hear the crack in his voice. 

“Oh, sweetheart. I don’t hate you. I never have, and I know your mom didn't hate you, either.” You pulled him into you, hugging him close. “What makes you think I want to leave?”

“You said so. When that man was here. He told you to leave with him and you said yes,” Jason mumbled. 

That’s when you finally realize it. It wasn’t Mr. Wayne who was there like you initially suspected when you first saw the door swinging by itself, it had been Jason. Squeezing him, you explained what had truly happened— Granted, leaving out some details. 

“I don’t hate you at all. I never have.” You pressed a kiss to his cheek. “And, your dad works a lot. I wish you knew how much he loved you kids and wants to be with you. I can tell just by looking at him.”

Jason, turning to lay on his back, smiled a little. “Yeah? What does he look like?”

You pushed some of his black curls out of his face and rubbed away the tear streaks as you spoke: “He gets all brooding and upset when he has to go to work. But, when he comes home, he’s all smiley.”

“Dad doesn’t smile.”

There was a knock on the open door and the two of you watched Mr. Wayne slowly walk in. His eyes scanned the room, noting everything amiss, before landing on you. Before you could tell Mr. Wayne not to get mad, Jason mumbled an apology. 

“Jason,” Bruce said in a soft voice. He crossed the rest of the room in two strides before stopping at the edge of the bed. “Are you okay?”

Jason was quiet for a moment before mumbling, “I didn’t want Nan to leave. I didn’t want her to hate me, either.” 

“I told him I wasn’t going to leave or ever hated him,” You added, glancing up at Mr. Wayne. 

Bruce reached down and played with Jason’s hair before messing it up playfully. The boy whined and tried to pull away, but his father was much bigger than him. Kneeling to look up at his son, Bruce took his small hands into his. 

“I promise you Nan isn’t going anywhere. I’d fire her then rehire her if she tried.” Mr. Wayne smiled, and you knew it was one just for his little boy. He glanced back up at you, before going on. "Plus, I think we all like her here. With you kids, that's a rare find."

Jason looked over at you. “You were right. He does smile.”

“And he's actually good at smiling, too,” You said. “Now, come on. There’s dinner downstairs for you.”

Jason leaped off the bed, loudly stating how hungry he was, and practically ran for the door. Bruce was quick, though. He grabbed the back of the boy’s shirt and dragged him back a little so they could be face-to-face. 

“When you’re done with dinner, you will clean up this room, and we need to talk about you acting out like this,” he said. 

He agreed, before now slowly going toward the dining room. Considering the state of the room, you knew Jason would drag out dinner for as long as he could.

Mr. Wayne must have known, too, because he made sure to add extra vegetables to the boy’s plate.

Chapter Text

You either had become too comfortable in your position or you’d gotten too used to scolding the kids; either way, Bruce suddenly found himself at the end of your lectures. As the boss, he should have nipped it in the bud, but, truthfully, he liked it. He enjoyed the way you reigned him in when he got a bit too silly or arrogant—Even Alfred had come to appreciate his behavior a bit more afterward (especially when your reprimands pertained to Alfred doing work a man his age shouldn’t have been doing).

The kids had gone to school, and Bruce, after a night of festive activities, decided it would be best to stay home. He was in the middle of signing some documents when you knocked on the door to his study before entering with a cool expression on your face. Bruce didn’t bother to look up as you crossed the room to his desk, thinking you were there to cure a bit of your boredom. When a lacy pair of red panties slid in front of his paperwork he had to look up at you. 

“What’re you doing?” He said, pushing his chair away from his desk. Were you coming onto him?

You were quick to reach across and pull him back close to you. “Not so fast there, hon’. We have to talk.”

“I’m starting to think we do if this is how you seduce me,” Bruce said as he threw the underwear back toward you. 

You sighed before saying, “These—” You waved around the little piece of fabric. “—Were from your date last night.”

Bruce only managed out an, “Oh.”

“ Oh . Would you like to know where I found them?” You spat out. No, he wouldn’t, but he wasn’t about to start answering rhetorical questions. “In the kids' playroom.” 

“Shit,” Bruce seethed out. He had been to a gala earlier in the evening, and, to keep the reporters at bay, decided to bring a pretty lady home. The sex was to relieve some stress, and, usually, he would be careful about where he had his intimate relations. But, he was so pent up that he must have been a bit reckless. That wasn’t like him at all, and he would ensure that it never happened again.

“Don’t leave things like this in there again, please,” You gritted out, tone stern and curt. “It’s incredibly irresponsible. Especially around young children, Mr. Wayne!”

“I know, you don’t need to tell me.” Bruce felt a lightness in his chest, almost fluttering. 

You threw the underwear in his lap. “Apparently I do! Imagine if Duke or Damian found that?”

Bruce was mortified at the thought, but mumbled, “We could always say it was yours.”

If looks could kill Bruce would be dead. You were not in the slightest bit amused and told him as much. You mentioned that the underwear wasn’t even the tip of the iceberg of the issue at hand. 

“You can fuck wherever you want, Bruce, but don’t do it around my kids. They don’t need to get caught up in your fucked up sex life!”

He knew it would be a bad time to point out that they were actually his kids. Overall, he agreed and promised you to never do it again. That seemed to pacify you, more so when he apologized for suggesting that they could pass off the panties as yours. 

 You expressed in a more calming tone, “I know you love the kids, but they’re already having a hard time coping with the rumors about you in the media. Don’t make it any worse by bringing it off the pages into their safe spaces.”

This is what Bruce liked about your reprimands, they brought reality back to him when lost it. You seemed done giving him a rightfully deserved scolding and began to take your leave. 

He called out to you, though, beckoning you back. When you approached, Bruce rounded his desk to get a bit closer to you. “Thank you for…being blunt with me.”

“Someone needs to,” You were quick to say. “Though, I’m starting to wonder who's the boss.”

Bruce smiled and chuckled, agreeing that the line had been blurred in moments like these. Looking down at the underwear in his hands, he finally got the courage to ask, “How’d you know they were my dates?” 

You smirked and laughed a little as you began to leave. “I don’t wear cheap panties. Do you need a lesson on that, too?”

Chapter Text

“Are you ready?” You asked, and Damian responded by nodding enthusiastically. “Here we go!”

You pushed the swing and watched as the little boy swung up in the air before back towards you. Damian shrieked and giggled, exclaiming that Duke should hold his hand. Duke, who was quickly catching up on his little brother’s swings, reached out. While they were occupied in trying to match each other, you looked for Mr. Wayne. He had surprised the kids at the part an hour earlier after taking the rest of the afternoon off since it was a Friday.

On the other side of the playground, in an empty field, was Bruce playing kickball with the rest of the kids. He was a self-elected coach of the game, especially since there was such an age range of children, and was currently running around with the little red ball in his hands. A mass of children were following him, some of his brood while others weren’t, with a big, silly grin on his face.  

“Look at your dad,” You said to the boys. “Doesn’t he look a bit goofy running around like that?”

Duke laughed and happily exclaimed, “Yeah!”

Suddenly, another voice came up behind you, and said, “Excuse me, Miss?”

You whipped around on your heels, feeling your heart jump out of your skin from fright. Grabbing the chains of the swings with one hand to slow their momentum, you looked her over with full suspicion. She was pretty, with long red hair and bright brown eyes that instantly caught your attention. 

“Can I help you?” You asked, stepping back to be closer to the kids. 

Her smile seemed fake. It was too forced and didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m a reporter with the Gotham Gazette, and was wondering if you would be willing to comment on your relationship with Mr. Wayne.” 

That was your cue to get the kids out of there. 

Truthfully, you didn’t fully read your contract through, but you did remember one part of it (mainly because it was written in red ink and highlighted): Under no circumstances were you to speak to the press, nor were you allowed to let them speak to the kids. You picked up Damian, who loudly whined about his swing time being cut in half, and took Duke by the hand. 

“I can’t speak to you,” You stated before retreating towards Mr. Wayne. 

He was still running around with the other kids, but, when he noticed you hurrying towards him, all fun seemed to pause. His eyes locked in on the woman behind you, and, after telling the kids to keep playing without him, started toward the three of you. 

“What’s going on,” Bruce asked, gently grabbing you by the arm to maneuver your positions so that he was in between you and the woman who was rapidly approaching. 

“Reporter,” was all you could manage before the redhead was greeting Mr. Wayne. 

Bruce groaned and ran a hand down the sides of his face before he turned to her. “Vicky, what’re you doing bothering my family?”

“I’m not bothering your family,” She stated matter-of-factly. 

“No, just my nanny, huh?” He said. 

“Nannies have a lot to say,” Vicky quipped as she looked back at you with a wink. “ Especially the pretty ones.”

You would have taken the compliment if you knew it was genuine. 

Bruce sighed before he called the rest of the kids over, telling them that it was about time to go home. They were all angry, Dick more so, and pointedly glared at Vicky who cooly stared at all of them. Between comforting and looking at Vicky, you could not help feeling a tingling sense that this would not be the last time she would come sniffing you out. 

---

The shopping was usually done by Alfred, but he had been pulled away by some work. Truly, you were happy to do it. There was something freeing about going out to do normal things without the kids. You could listen to the music you wanted, pick out items that you actually liked, and, most importantly, you didn’t have to divide your attention in six different ways. Juggling grocery bags, you attempted to grab the handle of the trunk of the car, but it seemed impossible without dropping something. That was until a hand reached from your side and grabbed. You gasped and took a few steps back before you realized who it was. Vicky. 

“What the fuck are you doing here,” You asked, throwing the groceries into the back of the car. Slamming the trunk, you began to round the car to the driver’s side with Vicky hot on your heels. It felt worse than having the kids following you. 

“A hello or thank you would be the appropriate response,” She said. 

The frustration grew in your chest when your keys decided it would be a good time to disappear. “Hello, thanks for helping. You can leave.”

“I just have a few questions,” Vick insisted, getting out her notepad. 

You groaned, saying, “I can’t talk to you! It’s literally in my contract that I can’t talk to you. Unless you’re gonna start paying my bills, then I think you need to leave.”

Vicky stared at you in the same cool way she looked at the kids a few days ago. It felt as though she was silently saying that it would get you to talk one way or another. Thinning your lips, you turned back to your bag to continue looking for the keys. She sighed, before leaning on the car next to yours. 

“Just answer one question, then I’ll leave you alone.”

Side-eyeing her, you mumbled, “Ask it and I’ll think about answering it.”

There was a sliver of a smirk on her face as he coyly asked, “Have you ever slept with Bruce?”

“What? No! What is it with people asking me that,” You grumbled, finally finding the keys. “Aha!”

Vicky quickly said, “I’m just surprised is all. Bruce seems like the type to fuck anything not nailed down. I will say, though, he’s skilled with his tongue.”

You paused, narrowing your eyes at her, before opening the car door. You felt flushed all of a sudden, searing hot anger rushing through your veins. It was like your heart jumped at the thought of Bruce touching another woman. Bruce had brought home women before, and he would again. It made no sense that you felt offended that he had a sex life while you didn’t. 

“Yeah, I don’t care. My job is the kids.”

“You’ve never thought about getting into bed with him?” She asked, stepping closer so that she was leaning against the back door of your car. You could smell her perfume, the flowery, expensive scent nearly made you gag. 

Opening the car door, you turned to her to say, “Again, my job is taking care of the kids, not fucking Bruce Wayne. I’ll leave that to his partners.”

“He brings home a lot of lovers?” She tapped the pen to her notepad.

You snickered, mumbling, “No, that’s not what I’m saying.”

“How’s that?”

Shaking your head, you closed the car door and started it, pulling out of the parking lot. Yup, you thought, you knew this was going to come back to bite you in the ass. 

--

You were folding clothes in the playroom, just having sent the kids off to school with Alfred, when Bruce came barrelling in. His momentum was so quick that he was nearly kicking up dust. His face was hard, with his eyebrows pinched together and his mouth pressed together in a pout. Bruce was angry about something, but you couldn’t think of a reason why. 

When he threw the paper down on the cushion, you flinched at the title. 

Bruce Wayne a Player? The Nanny Says No!

Under the caption was a piss-poor picture of you getting into the car with the kids all around you. You felt angrier at the kids' pictures being plastered all over the front pages than the title. 

“You talked to the press?” Bruce yelled.

You drew back a little, surprised. You had heard him yell before, but never directly at you. It was more than likely out of fear, you knew, but that didn't make you like it in any case. Anger filled your veins and you decided to give him the same medicine. “I didn’t talk to the press! Vicky Vale harassed me when I went shopping the other day.”

“What’s this, then, hm?” Bruce asked, opening to the column of the story and beginning to read. “‘Nanny Wayne, a new, popular figure of the Wayne Household, stated that Bruce Wayne does not play around as much as we were led to believe.’”

“I said nothing of the sort!”

“Nan, Vicky knows better than to lie about me, or my kids. She wouldn’t put her career on the line for a damn title,” Bruce spat.

“But, I would? Maybe you don’t know her as well as you thought,” You said as you put the folded clothes into a basket. “Outside of the bedroom, I mean.”

Bruce huffed before turning to leave, stopping at the door, and coming back over to you. “What did you say to her, then?”

For a second, you thought about not telling him, just out of spite, but you couldn’t lie to him when you thought about how it would hurt you and the kids. You told him all about how Vicky found you in the parking lot to her mentioning how good he was with his tongue. The entire time, you watched his face. It remained frozen in the same pinched face angry expression that he had when he came in. 

When you were done, he finally met your eyes, saying, “And that’s all you said?”

“I wouldn’t lie to you, Bruce,” You softly insisted. “I promise.”

He grew quiet, like he was thinking, and then leaned over to pick up the newspaper. Looking at it, he said, “I’ll handle this.”

“Bruce,” You called out to him as he began to leave. He turned back toward you, and you around the couch towards him. It took you a second to find the words, but they eventually tumbled out of your mouth. “You would always want me to tell you something if it bothered me, right?”

“Yes.”

“I…I don’t like the fact that I’m always getting asked if we’re sleeping together,” You stated. “I’m good at my job.”

“You are,” He stated. “Good at your job, I mean.”

You smiled, and he stepped closer to you. Close enough that, if you were to get onto your tip-toes and lean up, you could kiss him- As simple as that. Though, you opted for a quiet, “Thank you.”

Bruce nodded before he looked like he realized what he was doing. “I’ll take care of it, Nan. Of all of it. I promise.”

"Okay, Bruce," You said. 

As he left, the butterflies in your stomach went wild. 

Chapter Text

Saying the kids loved Harvey would have been an understatement. They swarmed him like fire to dry hay. Of course, Harvey indulged every one of their whims, despite your repeated reminders that he didn’t have to.

But he’d just shrug, a smile tugging at his lips. “They’re my favorite kids. Who else am I supposed to spoil?” As he said it, you could’ve sworn there was a look in his eyes—a silent tease saying that you could have been the one being spoiled.

Your heart stuttered for half a second before you pushed the thought away. It had been a while since you’d been on the receiving end of a man’s attention, and DA Harvey Dent was exactly the type of man you’d been waiting for. Tall, dark, and obscenely handsome—kind of like Bruce, but with less money and definitely not your employer. 

 Since the kids were around, you tried not to play into his flirtation. At least not openly. A few coy smiles, a lingering glance—just enough to let him know you weren’t opposed. It wasn’t until after dinner when the kids were finally tucked into bed with Uncle Harvey’s help, that you thought you might finally get a moment alone with him.

Except, Bruce had other plans. 

Like sticky paper, he stuck close, seamlessly inserting himself into every moment. Every time Harvey tried to flirt, Bruce rerouted the conversation, spinning some ridiculous childhood story about the two of them. You played along, smiling, laughing at all the right moments, but inside, you wished he’d be called away for something—anything. Harvey, now and then, would pass you a knowing glance. The tension had been building up all night, and you couldn’t wait for it to spill over. 

As if on cue, salvation arrived in the form of Alfred, stepping out onto the terrace where the three of you stood. 

“Master Bruce,” he began, ever the picture of refinement. You would never quite get over the fact that Alfred called a man in his thirties Master . “There is a telephone call for you.”

Bruce swirled the champagne in his glass. “Can I answer it later?” 

“I’m afraid it’s a business call, sir.”

Something flickered across Bruce’s face, too quick to catch. For a second, you thought he might snap at Alfred, but then, just as fast, he smoothed it over with a dashing smile. “Excuse me.”

The second the door clicked shut behind him, you turned to find Harvey had already closed the space between you. 

“So, when are you gonna let me take you on a date?” His voice was lower now, the playful lilt edged with something heavier.

You smiled coyly. “Try that again. You’re sounding too much like a DA.”

Harvey leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. “Let me take you on a date.”

A slow shiver danced down your spine as you looked up at him through your lashes. He was close—closer than you’d allowed all evening. If it weren’t for the very real possibility of Bruce or the kids walking outside, you might have given in to the temptation to close what little space remained.

Instead, you reached for his tie, running your fingers along the fabric, pretending to inspect the pattern. “Even the kids know how to say please.”

Harvey smirked. “ Please let me take you on a date, Nan?”

Your lips parted slightly as you glanced up at him. This was the part where your heart should have been racing, where anticipation should have crackled in the air like a live wire. Instead, it felt…off.

A scent curled into your senses—his cologne, too strong, too sharp. Overpowering in a way that almost stung. You liked subtle smells.

Bruce had a nice subtle smell. 

His cologne was rich but understated, something warm—amber and faintly floral. Harvey smelled like he was trying too hard.

You barely had time to unpack that thought a little more before the terrace door swung open. Sighing, you looked over to find Bruce sauntering toward you, the faintest trace of a smirk playing on his lips

“Nan, Damian needs you,” he said, stepping aside as if giving you no choice but to move past him.

You thinned your lips. He could have easily handled it. You didn’t miss the fact that he had chosen not to. Looking back at Harvey, you said, “I’m free Saturday night.”

Bruce’s brow lifted slightly. “You are?”

You and Harvey ignored him. “Great. Pick you up at seven?” 

“Make it eight. Gotta put the kids to bed,” You teased with a wink. 

“Eight then,” Harvey agreed, swooping down to kiss your cheek.

You expected your heart to flutter. Instead, it barely stirred. The realization settled in the back of your mind like a drop into still water—small, but rippling outward. Harvey was nice and polite. Good enough to overlook his cologne. Good enough for a date. But as Bruce watched you go, his gaze unreadable, you couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t Harvey’s attention that had been making your pulse quicken all night.

Harvey shrugged, glancing at Bruce. “You said you didn’t care if I dated your nanny, remember?”

Bruce’s jaw tensed, but he kept his expression neutral as he looked back toward the door. He had said that.

So why did he suddenly care so much now?

Chapter Text

You had always noticed that Alfred occupied a unique position in the house. Like you, he was staff—but he was never treated that way. Alfred could tell Mr. Wayne to jump, and the man would ask how high. Every time you worked up the nerve to ask the old man about it, he would simply reply in his posh English accent, “I diapered that boy’s bottom.”

Regardless, Mr. Pennyworth was definitely worth his salt as a butler. He cooked (though, in your opinion, not very well), cleaned, managed the house’s finances, and took care of Mr. Wayne. Every task he took on was completed with nothing short of perfection. 

Yet, if there was one thing Mr. Pennyworth wasn’t particularly good at, it was keeping his mouth shut.

Over the years, he had witnessed plenty of interesting things, and now that he had someone to share them with, nothing was off-limits. Every affair, scruple, and innuendo was told over hot coffee and cake once the day was done or when the kids and Mr. Wayne were away for school or work. 

“So, you’re going on a date with Mr. Dent Saturday night?” Alfred asked, pouring you a cup of coffee as you sat with a sigh. 

You hummed a yes as you smoothed out your clothes. “Why? Something I should know?”

Alfred gave you a sidelong glance before returning his attention to the cake in front of him, his expression carefully neutral—but you knew better. That was his I-know-something-you-don’t face. 

“Alfred,” you pressed, narrowing your eyes. “Spill.”

He took his time, savoring his moment. But when you mentioned Vicky Vale’s latest gossip column (the one suggesting there was something between you and Bruce), his smirk grew, and he finally relented.

“I shouldn’t be saying,” Alfred began, though it was clear he had every intention of telling you. “But, I heard that Mr. Dent is bragging about, and these are his words, ‘bagging Bruce’s hot nanny’. For a DA, I must say, he is not very eloquent.”

Your stomach twisted, not in anger, but disappointment. You should have been offended. If you liked Harvey more, you would have been. Truthfully, you had given much thought to your feelings for him. This, though? This stung. You believed that, at the very least, you and Harvey were friends. 

Maybe, you thought bitterly, his boasting about his conquest would eventually kill the rumors of you and Bruce. Small blessings in disguise. 

“He can be very eloquent if you’re Bruce’s hot nanny.” You took a sip of your coffee, letting the warmth settle in your chest, though it did little to ease the dull ache of disappointment. “Honestly, Alfred, how can a man who wants to do so much good for the city also be such a pig?”

“He’s a man, my dear,” Alfred pointed out. You didn’t fail to notice there was an underlying sympathy in his eyes.

That, you could not argue with. 

You sighed, shaking your head. “I don’t know, Alf… maybe I’m making a mistake with—” You stopped mid-sentence when you noticed a small head peeking into the kitchen. “Damian?”

The little boy hesitated in the doorway, his sharp green eyes flickering between you and Alfred. He leaned against the kitchen cabinets, small fingers curling into the fabric of his Spider-Man pajama shirt. 

“I couldn’t sleep,” he admitted quietly. Then, even softer, “Would… would you come tuck me in, Nan?”

Something in your chest softened, pushing away the disappointment. You passed a knowing look with Alfred before you stood, smiling. “Nothing would make me happier, baby boy!”

As soon as you scooped him up, he tucked his head against your shoulder, letting out a soft sigh. You carried him off to his room, his small arms loosely wrapped around your neck. Damian was more restless than usual tonight, shifting under the covers and glancing up at you like he wasn’t quite ready to let you go. 

So you stayed. 

You crawled to his other side, curling around him, whispering reassurances as you watched him slowly slip into sleep. As you did, you thought about Harvey and the way he talked about you, like a joke or accessory. You had always known what he was, and you would go on the date still. It was the disappointment that perhaps he didn’t think of you as highly as you did him. 

You pressed a kiss to Damian’s hair, relaxing.

One thing was for sure now: your date with Harvey Dent was going to be interesting.

Chapter Text

You told yourself that the night was going well. Harvey degrading you to “Bruce’s hot nanny” had mostly faded from your mind. Key word, mostly. It had helped a little when he had gone all out. Harvey had shown up at the manor with roses, complimenting your dress, and holding every door like it was some kind of performance. 

Now the two of you were at the Iceberg Lounge, tucked into a shadowy corner beneath dim lights. Harvey’s hand rested on your thigh, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles—like he was trying to soothe you, or maybe himself. He’d been talking about work for the past hour, barely pausing to ask anything about you.

He was about halfway through a rant about some client when you finally cut him off. “So, how long have you known Bruce?”

Harvey squeezed your thigh, and it made you shift in your seat. He noticed. Of course, he noticed. He leaned in, like whatever he had to say next was meant just for you. “What’s wrong?”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, your gaze drifted toward the crowd of couples, their laughter and chatter floating in the air. For a brief moment, you wondered how many women Harvey had brought here.

How many nannies had he brought to the Iceberg Lounge? 

The thought made you clench your jaw. 

Harvey said your name, snapping you back into the moment. You smiled at him, brushing the tension away with a simple, “Nothing’s wrong.” It was a lie, but he was paying for dinner.

He eyed you suspiciously for another second before finally answering your question. 

“Since we were teenagers,” He replied as he took his hand off your thigh. “We met at a party. In fact, that night we both found out that we had been hooking up with the same girl for months.”

“Oh,” Was all you could say. 

Harvey furrowed his brows, smirking a little. “Why do you ask?”

You shrugged, reaching for your wine glass. “Curious, I suppose.”

Harvey sat back in his seat, eyes focused on you. It was clear he wasn’t letting this go, his gaze intense as he studied you. He ran his tongue over his teeth, his focus briefly flickering to the tea light at the center of the table before returning to you.

It made you feel more like you were in court rather than on a date. 

“You’re upset about something,” He pointed out. 

“I am,” You relented. You were starting to see why he won so many court cases. “I’m angry that all I am to you is Bruce’s hot nanny!”

Harvey drew back a little, surprised. Then, he started to laugh. “What would make you think that?”

“You tell me.”

Harvey sighed, putting his hand back onto your thigh. This time, you didn’t shift or give him a face. Instead, you leaned toward him, hoping that he would give you something that you could work with. 

“You think I’m going to,” Harvey paused, trying to find the right way to say fuck and ditch. “ Use you.”

You didn’t want to answer him right away, preferring to watch him squirm a bit. “Well,” You finally said. “I did hear the words ‘bagging Bruce’s hot nanny’ thrown about.”

“Oh God.” Harvey dropped his face into his hands, rubbing at his eyes like he could scrub the memory away. His voice was muffled. “I’m so sorry.” 

“Harvey,” You began, but he stopped you. 

“Not that it’s an excuse, but... I was drunk. I was stupid.” He looked at you, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted forgiveness or to crawl under the table.  “It was a joke not meant to be taken seriously." He studied your face then added, "Bruce called me out, if that helps. Said it wasn’t funny.”

He scoffed at the memory, shaking his head a little. His sincerity made you want to feel bad for him, but a little voice in your head told you to stay strong. So, you looked down your nose at him, like he was just another man who was paying for dinner. Truthfully, your hands itched to grab him and just be content with his apology. 

“Harvey,” You said, voice firm. “I don’t mind this being purely physical, but I won’t be objectified. It’s disrespectful. It’s what losers do. I don’t fuck losers, Harvey.”

He sat there with his mouth slightly agape. For a few seconds he made a few sounds that sounded like words trying to form, before he closed his mouth again. Taking a breath, he composed himself into the DA you saw on TV. He sat up, smoothed over his jacket, and looked at you head-on. It was like a totally different person at that moment. 

When Harvey said your name this time, it was heavy–Like he wanted you to hear him say it. Then, he opened his mouth again, and the words didn’t match how he looked. “I want to be serious about this.”

You felt a little relieved by that, which surprised you. “I think we can try that.”

“I wouldn’t mind the physical part, too, if we’re being honest.”

You wanted to be disgusted, but the sentiment caused butterflies in your stomach. Turning your head, you tried to hold back the little laugh bubbling up your throat. Once you recovered, you nodded. “Neither would I.”

The two of you laughed together, and, for the first time in a while, you felt sure of your feelings for Harvey. It wasn’t anything like love or dislike. It was… hopeful. You could work with hopeful. 

Just as you were about to suggest that the two of you head to his place, you heard a familiar voice. By the annoyed look on Harvey’s face, he had heard it too. 

Bruce . 

“Oh, fuck me,” You muttered, turning around when you heard your name yelled across the dining room. Harvey chuckled, his hand squeezing your thigh before he pulled it back. 

Bruce practically dragged his date across the room, a stupid smile plastered across his face.  The woman glanced at the two of you, then back at Bruce, clearly not impressed. She whispered something into his ear, but he shrugged her off. When he sat opposite the two of you, she muttered under her breath as she stomped off.

“I totally forgot you guys were coming here,” Bruce exclaimed. 

You shared a knowing look with Harvey. Turning to your boss, you gritted out with fake politeness, “Oh, really?”

It was a rhetorical question. Him forgetting would have been impossible because you had mentioned the date spot right before you left. Yet, he gave you a clueless, ditzy look–The one with glazed eyes and mouth slightly agape. It was truly amazing, you thought. One second, he was one of the most intelligent men in Gotham, then the next, he was a bumbling idiot. 

“Your date left, Bruce,” Harvey pointed out, his tone dripping with ice. He was just as annoyed. 

Bruce shrugged and sat back in his chair. “Eh, oh well. She was a friend’s date, I think. I don’t know. We’ve been to so many clubs that I’ve lost count.”

You sighed. “I think, Harvey, I should get Bruce home. It’s clear he’s too…” 

“High. We took edibles,” Bruce corrected. “Maybe a little drunk?”

No, he didn't seem high or drunk, you thought. His moves were too fluid, like each careless hand wave was calculated. 

Harvey looked disgusted with his friend, his gaze softening when he looked back at you. He leaned over, giving you a chaste kiss on the lips. “I’ll call you?” You tried not to show just how much you loathed his cologne as you nodded. 

“No, I’ll call you.” You winked playfully, making him laugh. 

“See you later, hun’,” Harvey said, throwing a couple of hundred on the table. Clapping Bruce on the back, he mumbled, “Get better, Bruce.”

You watched Harvey leave, only breaking your gaze when he disappeared into the elevator. Smacking Bruce’s arm, you whispered-yelled, “ Get up. ”

Bruce did as you asked, sluggishly following you toward the elevator. He stumbled more than once, mumbling an apology each time before attempting to straighten himself out. Eventually, you wrapped your arms around his waist, letting him lean on you just to get him walking in a straight line.

The elevator was taking forever to reach your floor, and the eyes of everyone in the dining room were starting to make you feel hot. Impatiently, you tapped your foot against the marble tile as you physically bit your tongue to hold back every nasty word you were thinking. 

When the doors finally opened, you shoved past the people exiting, ignoring their angry remarks as you did. As the doors closed behind you, you took a deep breath and put your hands on your hips. Bruce leaned against the wall opposite, mumbling something to himself.

“You okay?” He asked, his voice sounding clearer now. 

You stopped in your tracks, turning to face him. And then you saw it. His eyes weren’t glazed anymore, and his posture had returned to normal—like he was back in control. That’s when you knew: he had been faking it. Without thinking, you shoved him against the wall, the force making a dull thud.

“What the fuck, Bruce? Are you even fucking high or drunk," you screamed.

Bruce stared down at you, his expression unreadable for a long moment, before he finally spoke. “I can explain. I didn’t want you to get hurt. He’s…”

You cut him off, your frustration boiling over. “He wants to take me home, fuck me—is that it?” You spat, stepping closer, your voice sharp and accusing. “What if I wanted it, huh?”

He stared at you, expression unreadable, and you scoffed. You huddled into the corner of the elevator, turning your back to him for a moment as your thoughts swirled. You wanted to cry, to scream, to quit your job and move away to a different city. Bruce’s constant interference, his confusing behavior, it was all just too much. But this? This was insane.

You swallowed, biting back the tears as you muttered, “You get off on this, don’t you? You like having someone to control.”

There was a long pause. Then Bruce spoke again, his voice much darker now. “No,” he said, his tone low but firm. "You don't understand—"

"What don’t I understand?" You turned sharply to face him, your anger burning hot. "That you're crazy?"

Bruce's eyes flashed with a hint of anger, and then he snapped, his voice rising in frustration. "No! It’s not that." He took a breath before adding, almost reluctantly, “Harvey... Harvey made a bet with some of the guys at the country club. He bet that he could get you into bed with him on the first date.”

You stared at him, mouth slightly open, like the words hadn’t registered. But they had. It took you a moment to show it, but they had hit. 

“A bet?” You began to laugh. “A fucking bet! That’s great.”

You weren’t even sure who you were more angry at—Harvey, for treating you like some kind of prize, or Bruce, for confirming it, for watching you walk into that date without saying a damn thing.

You shook your head, backing away from Bruce’s hand when he reached out. “You could have told me. You should have told me!”

You didn’t wait for him to speak. You pressed yourself against the side of the elevator, staring straight ahead at your reflection in the mirrored paneling. Had you always looked so fucking stupid? Here you were standing in one of the nicest places in Gotham in an uncomfortable red dress playing the part of a goddamn punchline. Blinking back the tears, you cursed quietly.

The elevator was taking too damn long. 

“I’m so–”

“Don’t fucking say it,” you cut in, voice trembling. Your eyes burned, but you refused to let the tears fall. Not here. Not in front of him. “Please don’t, Bruce,” you whispered, choking on the last word.

You didn’t look at him. Couldn’t. The silence that followed was thick, uncomfortable, and almost unbearable. You could feel him searching for the right thing to say, but there was nothing right about any of this.

Finally, barely above a whisper, he said, “You didn’t deserve that.”

The elevator dinged.

Perfect fucking timing.

You bolted the moment the doors slid open, heels clicking against the polished floors, fury and heartbreak carrying you forward. You didn’t stop. You didn’t think you could. Not even when you heard him behind you, following close, his voice calling your name.

You stopped at the end of the hallway, near the entrance. “Go home, Bruce,” you said, breathless. “I’ll get a taxi.”

Bruce stopped. He didn’t argue. 

You walked out into the cold, into Gotham’s noise and neon nights, letting the crowd swallow you whole as you felt your heart break a little more.

Chapter Text

Beyond the necessary responses and questions, you hadn’t spoken to Bruce since that night. 

Every time he entered a room with you in it, a sudden, thick tension settled in. The children could sense it. Dick had gone as far as to ask Bruce what he had done. Unfortunately, Bruce didn’t have an answer for his son. 

He had tried to catch you alone more than once: moments in the hallway, in the kitchen, even trying to catch you in the middle of your nightly walk back to your room. But every time, you would find a reason to be busy. You refused to speak to him. Alfred advised that he give you space and time, but Bruce would die first before he listened to any sensible advice. 

It was the evening before the last day of school, and the kids had been restless all evening. They were too excited to sleep and too loud —more like stubborn— to be reasoned with. They bounced off the walls as they talked about trips to Disney World, beach trips, and elaborate summer sleepovers with the Kents. All of them courtesy of Mr. Wayne’s bottomless wallet.

Luckily, you took it in stride. Just as you had been since that night two weeks ago. You kept pace easily, calm and steady, answering questions and managing the chaos like you had done it all your life. You seemed untouchable by anything thrown your way now. 

You had managed to get the kids to their room and in their beds by ten, settling them down with the promise of McDonald’s for dinner tomorrow night. Bruce didn’t like his kids eating junk food, but with one soft look from you, he found himself caving. 

Before you went to bed, you usually went down to the kitchen to grab a glass of water and to put away any toys that might have been left out. Bruce, growing impatient, climbed the stairs in search of you. 

“... now it looks as though they’re here to stay. Oh, I believe in yesterday.. .” You sang out of tune and off-key, but the softness made up for the lack of talent. Peering into Tim’s room, who lay asleep on his stomach as you rubbed small circles onto his back, Bruce saw how tired you were. 

The mask you had had on since that night had finally fallen a little. Your eyes were downcast with grief and disappointment, a small frown tugging at your lips. In a whisper, he said your name. You jumped every so slightly, eyes snapping up to meet his before you whipped around to make sure you hadn’t woken Tim. The boy was still dead to the world, having not moved an inch. 

“Sorry,” Bruce mumbled, inching into the room. “Can we talk downstairs?”

You pressed your lips into a thin line, clearly trying to think of any kind of excuse. Fortunately for him, you couldn’t find one. Standing up, you spared Tim one last glance before nodding. “Sure.”

Bruce tried to say thank you, but you only pushed past him. By the time the two of you reached the kitchen, you were back to acting like nothing could touch you. He sat at the island in the middle of the kitchen, watching you pour yourself a glass of water dispenser on the fridge. 

“Didn’t you want to talk?” You asked, putting distance between you and him by leaning against the opposite counter. 

Bruce nodded. All of a sudden, his throat felt dry, and no words could come to mind. Having not felt this way before, he was confused, only managing to push through it by looking away from you. Maybe, he thought, it was the fear of losing you to him making yet another mistake. If he lost you, the kids would hate him. You were practically an angel in their eyes, making up for everything he lacked as a parent. 

“I wanted to apologize…”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes. “I told you not to say that.”

“But I am sorry,” He countered. 

You shook your head. The words came out of your mouth quickly, like a panic attack was bubbling just from the mere mention of that night. “No. No, you’re not. Or else you would have told me before the date. You wouldn’t have let me get humiliated!”

“I didn’t know until the date was happening,” Bruce insisted, rising from his seat. “You have to believe me, Nan.”

“You don’t get to fucking call me that!” You yelled unexpectedly. After a beat, where you had visibility calmed down, you continued, “Fine, so you didn’t know. What was the point of acting all drunk?”

Now, that was a good question that Bruce had to think carefully about. “I have a reputation to uphold…it’s a bit more complicated than that. I can’t explain it all now.” His playboy personality, one full of all action and no thought, was his best alibi. He should have risked it for your sake. 

“Nice to know your reputation is worth more than my dignity,” you snapped, arms crossing tightly over your chest as Bruce stepped around the counter. “Real stand up guy you are!”

“That isn’t it. I promise,” Bruce said quietly. “I wouldn’t have let him do that to you.”

“God, you’re insufferable,” you seethed, stepping toward him. Your voice cracked, eyes stinging. The dam you’d kept together for two weeks started to fracture under the weight of his presence.

“I know,” Bruce whispered, looking down at you. 

You shoved him. He didn’t budge. So you did it again. And again. Until, finally, he caught your wrists and pulled you into him, arms wrapping around you before you could even register it. You struggled, but only for a second. Then came the sobs, muffled by his shoulder. You inhaled the scent of aftershave and cologne. The smell was soft, clean, and familiar. The kind of scent that made you feel safe, even when you didn’t want to.

You wept. Cursed him. Called him everything but his name.

When your anger emptied and your breath evened, he spoke again, voice low and steady.  “I’m sorry you were treated that way. You didn’t deserve it. No one deserves to be treated like…”

“Trash. He treated me like trash, Bruce,” You mumbled into his shoulder. “He never intended to be serious.” 

“Harvey’s…Harvey’s a character,” Bruce mumbled. 

After a second, you laughed unexpectedly. That was the least he was, but Mr. Wayne had picked the perfect words. Bruce laughed, too, a small huff of breath that almost made your chest ache.

When the moment settled again, he asked, “Can you forgive me?”

“Only because I love the kids,” You said gently. 

“I can make do with that. I promise it won’t happen again. You’re important here. And I should’ve looked out for you.”

Your gaze lingered on him. In the soft, dim light of the kitchen, he looked gentler, somehow. The warm glow caught on the sharp line of his cheekbone, the slope of his nose, the steady intensity in his eyes. And then, your eyes dropped to his soft, inviting lips. One of his hands had settled on your hip, thumb brushing against the fabric of your shirt. He squeezed gently. Just enough to send a shiver down your spine.

You leaned in. So did he.

But then he paused, so close you could feel his breath against your lips. “You…you should get to bed. It’s late," he whispered.

Bruce backed up quickly before turning on his heel, getting out of the kitchen like it was on fire. You stood there, flushed, heart pounding. Then, you quietly grabbed your forgotten glass of water.

It was just the heightened emotions, you told yourselves. 

Nothing more.

Chapter Text

The sun beat down mercilessly, and the only solace you and the kids could find was in the cool waters of the pool and under the shade of the gazebo. Sweat slicked the back of your neck even though you had spent most of the time in the shade. With your sunglasses pushed to the tip of your nose, you squinted past the glare and caught sight of the dark bruise across Dick’s back. It was an ugly, deep purple with black edges, about the size of a softball, and stark against his sun-kissed skin.

You finished rubbing the last of the sunscreen into Duke’s shoulder before giving his arm a gentle pat. “Go on, Sunshine,” you told him as Alfred beckoned him over to the pool. Happily, he skipped along. 

Standing, you called Dick over. “You need some more sunscreen, hun.”

Looking back at the pool momentarily, you knew he was considering ignoring you, but decided against it at the last second. As he entered the shade, you took off your sunglasses to get a better look at him. There was a flush on his cheeks, and beads of sweat were already rolling down his temples. He had just finished running around the yard, kicking around a soccer ball, before noticing everyone beginning to get into the pool. So, it was no surprise he was anxious to take a dip into the cool, clear water.  

“Turn around,” You ordered, squirting some of the sunscreen into your hand. He did so wordlessly, and you finally saw the bruise up close. It looked far worse than you imagined. It took up a good chunk of the right side of his back and looked to be in the vague shape of a shoe. Gently rubbing sunscreen on it, you stopped when he winced. 

“Wanna tell me how you got the bruise?” You asked, moving to his shoulder. 

Dick shook his head, but answered anyway. “Some guys were fucking with me at the park yesterday—I got ‘em, though.”

The story was believable since he had gone to the park the day before to catch up with friends from school. Yet, something about it felt off. There was some truth in what he said, but a lie was hidden there, too. 

“Have you told your father?” You turned him around so he was looking at you. Swiping a bit of the lotion on his cheeks, you quietly told him to rub it in. 

Dick snickered, but did as he was told. “I’m fine.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” You pointed out. 

After a second, he finally said, “Yes, he knows.”

Pursing your lips, you pondered on whether you should pry more from him before deciding not to. He was too likely to clam up. “If someone bothers you again, you come to me or Bruce, you understand?”

“Yes, Nan,” He said with a little smile. Finally, you told Dick to go and he took off towards like a dog off a leash. 

There was a splash followed by some complaints from Cassandra and Tim. Duke was still being coaxed into the pool by Alfred, who held Damian on his hip. Jason sat on the lounge chaise on the other side of the gazebo, sunglasses on his face as he read yet another book. He was still reeling from a sunburn he had gotten the week before. 

With a sigh, you moved to help Alfred. Duke, still wary, clung to the pool's steps, worried about getting swept away. You settled beside him, squirting water with a toy shark, just as you caught Tim pressing his hand directly into Dick’s bruise. 

Dick howled and spun, smacking Tim across the face.

Immediately, you stood and, at the top of your lungs, yelled, “Out of the pool, now!”

Though you'd only meant Tim and Dick, everyone froze, then clambered out: Alfred, Cassandra, Damian—all of them. You stayed rooted at the edge of the pulse, racing. Tim and Dick stopped before you, the younger boy sobbing. 

“Come here,” You cooed, pulling Tim toward you. Dick rolled his eyes, about to stalk off, before you grabbed his arm. “You okay, hun?”

Dick could be aggressive now and then, but he didn’t often resort to such a violent reaction towards his siblings. The usual shove was expected and met with the usual reprimand. This, on the other hand, was instinctive. Like, he hadn’t expected it to be Tim, but rather someone else. 

He seemed surprised you asked. Quietly, he said, “Yeah, Nan.”

“Take a seat for a minute, cool off, then we’ll talk, okay?" It wasn’t a suggestion so much as a gentle command.  With Tim clinging to your side, sobbing into your swimsuit, now wasn’t the time to unpack Dick’s reaction. Without a word, he obeyed, flopping down beside Jason on the lounge chair and swiping the soda from his hand like it belonged to him.

Kneeling beside him, you gently tilted Tim’s face toward the light, inspecting the red mark blooming on his cheek. It would bruise, no doubt, but thankfully, it wasn’t serious. You leaned in to press a soft kiss to the tender spot, and his sobs began to ease into quiet, hiccuping whimpers.

“I know it hurts, sweetheart. But you’re going to be okay,” you murmured, brushing Tim’s damp hair back from his face as you lifted your hand to wave Alfred over. The older man approached swiftly but paused a respectful distance away, waiting for your cue.

“You’re going to go with Alfred now, alright?” you told Tim gently. “He’ll fix you up with some ice for that cheek. I bet he has a nice, cold popsicle with your name on it. How does that sound?”

Tim gave a small nod, his big blue eyes still glossy but no longer spilling tears. You smiled warmly, pressing one more kiss to his cheek before nudging him toward Alfred with a tender hand.

As they crossed the yard together, Tim’s hand in Alfred’s, they passed Bruce emerging from the house. He slowed, concern flickering across his face as he checked in on his son, exchanging a look with you that said plenty. Then he moved to join the rest of the group under the gazebo. 

You stayed by the pool for a moment longer, taking a deep breath to get your emotions in check. Mr. Wayne, dressed in a fine charcoal grey suit, had just returned from a board meeting. Earlier that morning, he had seemed annoyed about having to leave his kids on a Saturday, but now he was like a man in heaven.

Finally, you made your way over. 

When Bruce noticed you, his eyes scanned over every inch of your body like he was trying to see through your bathing suit. You felt a mixture of emotions in response: pride and intimidation. You’d never admit it out loud, but the blue one-piece you wore had been chosen with him in mind. It hugged the swell of your breasts and hips in just the right way. It was flattering without being overt, modest enough to pass for casual, but unmistakably intentional.

"Hello, Nan." The words came out low and warm, a private note in a public place. 

“Hello, Mr. Wayne.”

You forced yourself to shift your focus away from Bruce and back to Dick, who was still sulking beside Jason. With a steady breath, you walked over and pulled him to the side, speaking softly. You told him that while you understood why he reacted the way he did, hitting someone shouldn't be the first solution to a problem. Thankfully, he didn’t argue, and you were able to leave it at that.

Seconds later, Tim appeared with a red popsicle in his hand.

“Wait, I want a popsicle,” Cassandra exclaimed the second she saw it.

Duke added, “Me too!”

Tim looked back toward the house, then to his siblings. “Alfred gave it to me.”

Bruce, sensing the uprising before it could truly begin, spoke up. “Alright, everyone can have one.”

In an instant, the kids bolted toward the house, but you quickly reached out and caught Tim and Dick by the arm before they could vanish with the others.

“Hold on, you two,” you said firmly. “You need to apologize to each other.”

Both boys blinked. “What?” they echoed in disbelief.

You shook your head, glancing at Mr. Wayne, who watched on, before saying, “You both had a part in what happened. Dick, you need to apologize for hitting Tim. And Tim, you need to apologize for touching his bruise. You knew that would hurt.”

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Tim insisted. 

You gave him a look and put your hands on your hips. “Tim, if you're going to lie, at least try a little harder. I saw you.”

Tim's shoulders slumped as he stared down at the ground, his popsicle forgotten in his hand. After a moment, he peeked up at his brother through long lashes. “I’m sorry I touched your bruise and hurt you.”

You looked at Dick expectantly. He crossed his arms and muttered, “ Thank you…I’m sorry I slapped you.”

Relieved, you let out a soft sigh, the tension under the gazebo finally beginning to ease. “Good. You boys go join the others, I need to talk to your father.”

That, apparently, was enough to draw Bruce’s full attention. His posture shifted ever so slightly, his eyes following the boys as they sprinted off toward the house. You sat on one of the lounge chairs. Bruce followed suit, settling into the chair across from you, his expression unreadable. Somehow, not being able to know what he was thinking made it hard to think. 

“Everything okay, Nan?” He asked. 

You shook your head, exhaling through your nose. “Bruce, I’m worried about Dick.”

His brows drew together slightly. “Why?” 

You hesitated, struggling to find the right words. There was no accusation in your tone, just concern, wrapped slightly in maternal instinct. As your thoughts swirled, your hand moved absentmindedly to your knee, brushing away a smudge of imaginary dust on the bare skin. 

Still, you kept your eyes on your leg rather than his face as you said softly, “Dick’s bruise, he said he told you about it.” Bruce nodded when you looked at him for confirmation, so you continued, “I don’t think he’s telling the whole truth. When he hit Tim, he seemed almost…scared.”

For a moment, Bruce’s face went completely still, almost stone-like. The sudden absence of emotion caught you off guard. You had just shared a genuine concern about his child, hinted at the possibility of something darker, and yet nothing. No flash of anger, no flicker of worry or grief. Just silence, unsettling in its neutrality.

“Bruce?” You reached over to touch his knee. 

His eyes dropped to your hand before finally meeting yours. He didn’t speak right away, not until you withdrew your touch. “Don’t worry about it.” His voice was calm but distant.

You narrowed your eyes, not angry, but not convinced either. “There’s something you’re not telling me,” you said gently. You could see it in his eyes. Like you had told Tim, if he was going to lie, he could have tried a little harder. 

Bruce stood, offering you a smile that felt a little too fake. “Nan, it’s fine. I’ll talk to him.”

And just like that, he turned and walked toward the house, leaving you under the shade of the gazebo.

It wasn’t enough. You knew it. But for now, you tried— tried —to let it go.

Chapter Text

When the black Corvette pulled up next to the curb, you waved to your friend as you hurried down the stoop. You would have taken the train back to Wayne Manor, but Bruce had insisted on picking you up. 

You were glad he had. You hadn’t expected the night to get under your skin. But after two hours of champagne toasts and your friend practically mounting her fiancé in front of everyone, you felt horny and bitter. All you wanted to do was go home, settle in the bath, and use the little pink vibrator in the drawer of your nightstand. 

“Where’d you get this antique?” You asked through the open window before sliding into the passenger seat. You didn’t know much about cars, but the Corvette was clearly from the eighties. It practically screamed Miami Vice .

Bruce snickered, shifting gears as he pulled away from the curb. The car was cramped, and his arm brushed against the side of your thigh. You swallowed, eyes drawn to his hand on the gear shift, his forearm flexing just slightly. A bandage peeked out from beneath his rolled-up sleeve.

He looked good in that slightly disheveled way.  His hair wasn’t slicked back like usual; a few strands had fallen into his eyes. The collar of his blue button-down was undone, leaving you free to watch the way his Adam’s apple moved when he swallowed.

“What happened to your arm?” You needed to ask, to get your mind back on track, because it was wandering into dangerous territory.  

Bruce glanced down at his arm, grunting a little at the memory, before saying, “Cut myself on a vase.”

You didn’t believe him. Not because it wasn’t plausible, but because you hadn’t seen Bruce handle the dishes in the house, much less a vase. You assumed it to be a woman. Sighing, you turned your head to look out the window. The city lights were going by in colorful streaks of light, with people passing by in blurs. 

Then you caught his scent—soft, clean, expensive—and the image hit you out of nowhere: Bruce over you, his mouth on your skin, his hands on your hips. You squeezed your knees together, subtly, like that would help. It didn’t. Not when he ran a hand through his hair like that. Not when he flexed his jaw 

You blamed your friend for this. If she hadn’t flaunted her perfect relationship in the most horny way ever, you wouldn’t be thinking of your boss mounting you . 

It felt wrong to even have a flash of an image in your mind. Bruce was your boss. You swore off ever thinking of bosses intimately again, but he was different; Kind, considerate, and incredibly fucking hot. 

You recalled that night, when he was mere inches from your lips. He seemed to reciprocate, but pulled away at the last second. It was the emotions, you told yourself. 

Right now, it wasn’t the emotions. 

The car screeched to a sudden halt. Bruce reached across you, bracing your chest with his forearm before the seatbelt could catch. His hand grazed your breast.

“Sorry,” He said, pulling his hand back. “Guy in front of me slammed on his fucking brakes.”

You let out a nervous laugh. Bruce Wayne saying “fuck” like that felt weirdly intimate. The car started moving again, slower this time.

Bruce lightly grazing your breast shouldn’t have had the effect it did. You clenched around nothing involuntarily, and you rocked your hips just barely. Not nearly enough for Bruce to notice or for you to really feel it. 

You had fantasized about less. You had cum to less. But this wasn’t fantasy. This was him, your boss. Right next to you. Truthfully, it couldn’t have been a worse situation. 

But your body didn’t seem to care about timing. Or common sense. Or that this was Bruce, sitting inches away, with one hand on the wheel and the other resting casually on the gear shift.

Your cunt throbbed with every gear shift, every accidental brush of his fingers or flick of his wrist. Digging your nails into your palm, you bit your lip to keep from making any noise. You tightened your core again, willing yourself not to move. T hen the car hit another bump, and your clit rubbed perfectly against the fabric. A strangled noise caught in your throat, and Bruce glanced over at you. His gaze was intense.

Oh, you couldn’t get home fast enough. 

“You okay?” He asked after a second. 

You turned to him, but didn’t meet his eyes. “Yeah, that just…startled me.”

Sparing one more glance, he turned back to the road. “I’ll try to keep away from potholes.”

Mumbling a ‘thank you’, you shifted again in your seat. Your clit moved against the seam just right, and the edge felt infinitely closer. You just needed a bit more.

Bruce finally cut through the silence, his voice bringing you back to the present moment: “How was the party?”

“Um, it was good. They’re a really cute couple.” Your voice was too tight. Too breathy. You cleared your throat, tried to regulate your breathing like your body wasn’t chasing something dangerous.

“Did something happen?” Bruce asked, glancing over again. “You seem tense.”

Fuck. 

You forced a small smile, keeping your eyes trained on the windshield. “No. Just tired, I guess.”

Bruce didn’t say anything else, keeping his eyes on the road as you guys entered the neighborhood. You hadn’t even noticed that you’d left the inner city. Bruce’s hand moved on the gearshift again, that same practiced motion that had been driving you slowly insane. The muscles in his arm flexed, smooth and strong. You imagined those fingers on your thigh. Then higher.

When he stopped at the main gate, you finally let yourself relax a little. Not much longer until you were safely tucked away into your room, free to chase the orgasm you were on the edge of. 

As he drove up the driveway agonizingly slow, Bruce commented, “Tomorrow I’m taking the kids to visit a friend in Metropolis, so take the day off. I don’t need you tense.”

Quietly, you agreed. The space between you was much more needed than you wanted to say. 

You’d spent months telling yourself it was just attraction. Just proximity, but tonight something cracked open. Something deeper and lovingly sensual. And that confused you. Space could provide some clarity with that. 

You reached for the door handle, your fingers trembling just slightly.

“Thanks for the ride,” you murmured.

He didn’t answer until you were halfway out of the car.

“Anytime,” he said softly. You were going to be replying that whole car ride for the next couple of days.

Chapter Text

“I’ll take ‘Literature Classics’ for six hundred, Alex.”

You were mentally answering the question before the contestants could get a chance to press their buzzers, proud when you got the question right. The kids had been tucked in over an hour ago, and you’d finally claimed a rare moment to yourself. Curled up on the TV room couch, a red blanket draped over your legs, you nursed a glass of chilled white wine in one hand and a half-finished crossword puzzle book in the other. By the time Jeopardy! started, the book had been all but forgotten.

Bruce entered not long after, clearly just as surprised to see you there as you were to see him. You both let out soft, awkward laughs—surprised, maybe, that neither of you had claimed some other corner of the mansion. Without a word, he settled on the opposite end of the couch, dividing his attention between a thick work report, a glass of scotch, and the TV screen.

“The Dashwood sisters are characters found in this early nineteenth-century novel by Jane Austen.”

“ Sense and Sensibility !” You both answered in unison. 

There was a pause where you both realized you had answered the question aloud. Then came matching bashful chuckles.

“I totally answered that first,” You teased. 

Bruce snorted, eyes going back to his report. “Sure, if that’ll help you sleep at night.”

You feigned offense and jokingly threw a pillow at him, though he dodged it with excellent ease. The conversation died out afterwards, your attention going back to Alex Trebek on the screen. It was nice to have company that wasn’t asking you to put the straw in their Capri-Sun or telling you that their shoes came untied yet again. It was quiet, comfortable . 

Unfortunately, it never lasted long. 

Not that you ever minded. 

Cassandra appeared at the edge of the room, moving slowly. She inched toward the couch in hesitant steps until she stopped in front of the TV, eyes wide and sleep-heavy.

You immediately straightened, setting your wine glass on the end table.

“Cassandra?” You said, causing Bruce to look up. “What’s wrong, baby?”

She looked to Bruce before training her gaze back onto you. If she weren’t always extremely quiet, you would have been more concerned. Cassandra didn’t look distressed, just drowsy and indecisive, like she was debating where to crash. After a moment’s pause, she climbed up onto the couch and curled up beside you.

You lifted the blanket for her to settle under, wrapping one arm around her shoulders as she curled into your side. Once she was settled, Bruce reached over to scratch her back.  

“Everything okay, sweetheart?”

Cassandra nodded. “I just wanted to cuddle.”

You looked up at Bruce, biting back a smile, as you settled deeper into the cushions. Luckily, the couch was extremely comfortable, so you had no qualms about being trapped there by an eleven-year-old girl. 

“I hope you like Jeopardy , Cassie,” You whispered. 

There was a beat of silence. Then, with the unfiltered honesty only kids seem to master, she murmured, “Is that the show old people watch?”

Bruce and you looked at each other, clearly offended but also not able to say she was exactly wrong. 

Chapter Text

Over the weekend, it felt like you both lost and gained a child. 

Dickie had left for a camp retreat in California—something you only found out the day before he was scheduled to be gone for an entire week. While he seemed genuinely excited about the trip, you couldn’t help but feel uneasy. California was a long way from New Jersey, and you had no idea how you'd get there quickly if something went wrong. Bruce, on the other hand, didn’t seem the least bit concerned.

Dick’s absence didn’t leave a void for long. Jon Kent, filled—or rather half-filled— his place. Jon was a sweet, short kid, around Damian’s age, with round, flushed cheeks and bright blue eyes. He was the exact reflection of his father, Mr. Kent, who stood a few inches taller than Mr. Wayne, with a midwestern plaid look to him under his thick black-rimmed glasses. He was handsome, and you thought he looked eerily similar to Bruce. 

Mr. Kent had dropped Jon off Friday afternoon, walking into the living room alongside Mr. Wayne. You had been in the middle of helping Jason beat a level in Tetris when they arrived, instantly grabbing your attention and costing you the game.

“Oh, hello,” you said, handing the Game Boy off to Jason, who barely looked up as he took it.

Bruce went through the usual introductions, mentioning that Jon would be staying at the Manor for the weekend. You smiled and knelt in front of Jon, offering a quiet greeting. Your eyes shifted to Damian, who was sitting at a small table nearby, fully absorbed in arranging a set of building blocks with quiet precision.

“I bet you wanna go play, huh?” You asked with a cheeky smile and raised brows. As the boy hummed a yes, Mr. Kent took the opportunity to ruffle his son’s hair. You giggled, “Go on, then.”

Jon looked at his dad, who gave a nod of permission, before running off to join Damian, who welcomed him with joyful surprise. The two boys settled in beside each other with ease, already talking in quiet tones about whatever it was they were building. You stood up, brushing your hands off on your jeans before turning back to the two men in the room.

“We have plans to go to the zoo this weekend. Is Jon okay to go, Mr. Kent?”

Mr. Kent stared at you wide-eyed for a second, seemingly a bit unsettled by how formally you addressed him. You could only imagine what Bruce had told him about you. After a second, he waved his hand dismissively at you. 

“That’s perfectly fine. And, please, call me Clark,” He insisted, voice warm and easy with a midwestern accent. 

“Okay, Clark ,” You corrected with a polite nod. “Does Jon have any allergies?”

Bruce made a sound dangerously close to a snort, which made you give him a sideways glance. Rude. You were trying to be responsible.

Clark, completely unbothered, adjusted his glasses with a practiced ease and shook his head. “No. None at all. My boy’s the picture of health, and he’s practically made of steel.”

You giggled. “Well, let’s hope not literally. I bruise easily.”

Clark laughed, but there was a flicker of seriousness on his face before he glanced out the window. It was like he had heard something. You assumed it must have been one of the kids' games. 

Clearing his throat, Clark took a step towards the door. “I hate to drop and run, but I gotta get going.”

“Oh, okay. It was nice meeting you, Mr. Kent—Sorry, Clark,” You said with a wave. 

“You too,” he said with a kind smile, ducking halfway out the door before calling over his shoulder, “Jon! I’ll pick you up on Sunday. I love you!”

“I love you, too, Daddy!” Jon’s voice rang through the playroom, followed by the sound of Damian telling him to do something. 

The house returned to a semi-calm state, if you ignored the sound of blocks falling, Tetris music, and whatever Tim was plotting on the far side of the room. You and Bruce sat together at a small table near the TV, making small talk and creating plans for the weekend as you drank hot coffee.

After a minute of boring conversation, Bruce leaned in and muttered, “I’m surprised you didn’t hit on him.”

In full honesty, you should have been offended, but you could see where he was coming from with your track record. Clicking your tongue, you shot back playfully, “Not that I didn’t want to, but I noticed his wedding ring. I don’t flirt with married men. I have standards, Mr. Wayne.”

He pressed his lips together, trying to hide a smirk—Or maybe he was concealing a chuckle, who knew. It was always hard to tell with him. You bit your tongue to keep from saying anything clever, instead looking over to the TV. 

As if on cue, the program cut to breaking news. A bold banner ran beneath a live shot of a red-and-blue blur streaking through the sky: ‘ Superman Spotted in Blüdhaven—Civilians Rescued from Collapsed Bridge ’.

You gasped, a hand flying to your mouth to stifle the delighted grin spreading across your face. Bruce let out a long-suffering sigh and leaned back in his chair, arms crossing with practiced exasperation. When you glanced at him, he was already giving you a look with brows lifted like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“ Superman ? Really?”

You looked down at your lap, blushing a little. “What? I just think he’s cool. And kind. And handsome. And—”

“I get it,” Bruce grumbled.

Your eyes flicked back to the TV in time to see Superman gently set a civilian down before launching back into the sky. Excitement rolled up in your chest, and you couldn’t stop smiling. There was something hopeful and happy about Superman—Like all the goodness in him was contagious. 

The sharp clink of ceramic on wood pulled you out of your daydream. Bruce had set his mug down, blue eyes on the TV, before looking at you. You felt another rush of excitement, and your face got warm. 

You quickly looked away, feigning interest in your coffee. As you raised your mug, you asked casually, “Who’s your favorite superhero?”

Bruce shrugged, voice low and dismissive. “I don’t have a favorite. They’re all the same to me. People in little costumes running around trying to save the day.” 

You rolled your eyes. Of course, he wouldn’t have a favorite. 

After running his finger around the rim of his mug, he asked, “Who’s your second favorite?”

“Well, if you must know. It’s Batman, of course. That’s only ‘cause he’s close to home. If he weren’t, then it’d be Wonder Woman.”

“Wonder Woman’s a good choice,” He mumbled absent-mindedly. Bruce tapped his fingers against the mug. “You ever seen the Dark Knight before?”

You snorted, amused by the title. You never said it aloud, but Gotham’s resident vigilante had one of the cheesiest nicknames you’d ever heard. Still, you humored him.

“Yeah, once,” You mused, leaning closer. “I was in my apartment, which had long windows and a little balcony. Now, imagine this: I’m lying in bed at 2 AM with the curtains open. It’s raining, and out of nowhere— bam! —this huge black mass drops onto the balcony like something out of a horror movie. Just stood there, all broody and dramatic, staring out over the city.”

Bruce chuckled, taking a sip of his coffee. His smile softened his whole face, carving away the tension in his jaw. He looked younger like that. Kinder. 

As he brought the cup to his lips, he commented, “Must have scared the hell out of you.”

Mostly to yourself, you muttered, “And ruined a perfectly good orgasm.”

A splatter of coffee exploded from Bruce’s mouth mid-sip, spraying across the coffee table and, unfortunately, onto both you and Jason, who had been sitting some feet away, entirely engrossed in his Game Boy until he was doused in lukewarm espresso.

You froze. So did Jason.

Bruce looked horrified. You looked like you were about to evaporate from sheer embarrassment that he heard you.

Jason blinked slowly, then glared at his dad. “Seriously?”

“Sorry, kiddo. Nan—She—Nevermind,” Bruce stammered, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand.

You exhaled sharply and reached for a napkin, already dabbing at Jason. “Superman would never spit coffee on me,” you muttered under your breath.

Chapter Text

The following Friday, Jon was back with another weekend bag and an armful of dinosaur toys, grinning like he owned the place. You didn’t mind. You liked having him around; he was polite, easygoing, and generally less explosive than the other kids. 

What you did mind, as you realized sometime Saturday afternoon, was the creeping headache, the dry mouth, and the sharp sway of the world when you stood up too fast. 

The realization hit just seconds before the ground did.

Having seven kids to look after wouldn’t be hard, you had told yourself when Mr. Kent dropped off Jon. Dick, Cassandra, and Jason were all older so they, for the most part, could take care of themselves. Yet, that day, your attention had been pulled in every direction. 

Dick wanted to show you what he had been practicing at camp, which had crept into your time for breakfast. Then, just as you were about to eat lunch, Cassandra came in asking you to help her find her ballet shoes. That was followed by Jason, Duke, and Tim getting into a fight to which you had to spend two hours breaking up. 

Jon and Damian had kept you near them for most of the day, begging you to play with dinosaurs or something else they could come up with. If it were only Damian, it would have been easier to persuade him to let you have a moment. Yet, they were relentless in demanding your attention.  

So, by the time four o'clock had come around, you hadn’t eaten or drunk anything since the night before. There were symptoms of your lack of self-care, but you had ignored them—chalking it up to stress.

You were standing at the edge of the backyard, watching as the kids tried to fly kites with Mr. Wayne’s help. There was too little wind for it to really work, but they were determined to do it. You had run around the yard a bit with them, but, when you felt yourself get a little too dizzy, you decided to take a break. Sweat was rolling down your neck and the heat made your skin feel sticky. You wanted nothing more than to shower and eat something. 

Yet, the kids begged you to watch, so you stayed. Not long after, you had hit the ground. 

You hadn’t realized what had happened until you opened your eyes to see Mr. Wayne looking over you. He was mumbling something—Maybe your name? Everything seemed so fuzzy, including your hearing. 

The only thing you could hear clearly was Duke crying, “She’s dead! Nan’s dead!” Followed by loud, dramatic wails. 

“Not dead,” You mumbled. 

Bruce lifted his gaze, saying something to Alfred and suddenly the wailing slowly quieted. His hand snaked around your head, lifting it slightly as he lifted a water bottle to your lips. You drank it like you had been stranded in the desert, until you took one sip that went down the wrong pipe. You turned your head, coughing heavily. 

“Shit,” Bruce said under his breath, patting your back.

His hand felt large, rubbing up and down your spine, given a pat here or there.  When you finally managed to take a breath without feeling like hacking up a lung, you turned back. You tried to sit up, but Bruce put a hand on your shoulder. 

“Nan, take it easy,” He said softly. 

You shook your head. “The kids. I…I need to…” You were so out of it you couldn’t finish your words. 

Bruce gently grabbed your chin to look at him. “They’re fine. Relax for a minute.”

You hesitated for a second, but nodded, settling back onto the cushions. There was no doubt that if you made any other efforts to move, you would have been severely reprimanded. 

“What happened?” You asked after a minute. 

“I think you’re supposed to tell me.”

You shook your head, trying to remember. “I was watching the kids, and felt hot. And thirsty. That’s all I remember.”

Bruce stopped and looked at you. “When was the last time you ate or drank anything?” When it took you more than a minute to think, Mr. Wayne ‘tsked’. “Nan, you need to take better care of your—”

“Don’t start,” you snapped, not in the mood for a lecture. You were already embarrassed enough, he didn’t need to add any fuel to the fire. “I was doing my job. I know I need to take care of myself. It was a mistake.”

“You made me a bit scared there.” It was quiet, like an admission you weren’t meant to hear. He cleared his throat before adding, “I don’t need you fainting.”

“I know.”

Bruce exhaled, pressing the back of his hand to your forehead, then brushing it down to your neck, fingers gentle as they checked your pulse. His touch lingered longer than necessary—or maybe you just wanted it to. Either way, it felt warmer than the afternoon heat, and if you were still feeling like you had earlier, you might’ve fainted again.

“Bruce…” you whispered, as his hand cupped the side of your neck just a second too long. His name came out softer than you meant, nearly a breath. When you realized how it sounded, your mouth parted to say something else, but the words didn’t come. He drew his hand back, looking away. The silence was thick between you, and it made you feel like something was left unsaid.

“This can’t happen again,” He finally stated, handing you the water bottle that sat on the coffee table. Your fingers brushed his as you took it. “Nan, I know it’s your job to watch the kids, but I can watch them, too. We’re a team. Understand?”

“Of course, Mr. Wayne,” you said. “Thank you.”

He smiled, one of the rare, real ones, and glanced toward the TV room door before looking back at you. “Think you're ready to let the kids back in? Or should I bribe them to give you ten more minutes and something to eat first?”

You laughed, lighter now. “Eat first, please. I think I might just eat the kids if I don’t get something in my stomach soon.”

Bruce chuckled, a low sound in his chest as he stood. He took a step toward the door, then stopped. “Nan?”

You looked up. “Yes, Mr. Wayne?”

He turned, a strange sort of softness in his expression. “This might seem sudden. I know you don’t always call me Mr. Wayne, but I’d like it better—I mean, I think it would be better for the kids if you just called me Bruce from now on. Just Bruce.”

There was a moment where you just stared at him, not sure if there was something more to what he was saying. Your heart did somersaults. Better for the kids, you told yourself. But the way he said it the way his voice had dropped just slightly. 

“Okay, Bruce.”

It was such a small thing—a name, just a name—but somehow it left your knees weak. You sank back into the couch, heart thudding. And for the second time that day, you felt like you might faint.

But for a very different reason.

Chapter Text

Bruce was attempting to fix his tie in the foyer mirror, but wasn’t getting very far. Alfred had shown him how to do it the night before, but, between six kids screaming for his attention and you being there, he hadn’t quite absorbed everything. Luckily, Alfred had been resting that night, so, at the very least, he didn’t need to suffer under his butler’s scrutinizing gaze. 

Just as Bruce was thinking about abandoning the tie altogether, you entered the foyer nervously, biting your bottom lip. He turned away from the mirror toward you, hands still resting on the ends of the tie around his neck. 

“Something wrong, Nan?” He asked, voice echoing a little in the room. 

You caught sight of yourself in the mirror as you inched closer and straightened your posture a little. When you faced him, you looked relaxed. “No. Nothing’s wrong. I just came to tell you that the kids are all in bed, save for Dickie. He’s a little persistent on staying up most of the night—it’s almost like he can’t sleep. That, I think, needs a doctor's visit. Just thought I’d say.”

Bruce faced the mirror again, attempting once more to tie his tie. He could feel your eyes studying his face, looking for him to give away something. “I’ll talk to him about it. He’s a teenager, though, it’s common for them to want to stay up late.” 

“He’s still growing,” you pointed out. “He needs to sleep.”

“Hm,” Bruce grunted, still struggling.

You rocked on your feet a little, watching his reflection in the mirror before looking down at your feet. It was quiet, just the soft echo of the shuffling fabric as Bruce continued to fail. He wondered if there was something more you wanted to say, and couldn’t bring himself to bridge that gap. So, Bruce waited, taking a little longer to give up on his tie in case you spoke. 

After a minute, you stepped forward and pushed his hands away. You tutted, beginning to help. 

Bruce swallowed as his hands fell to his sides. He couldn’t decide where to focus: your face, hands, and lips were all perfect places. It didn’t matter, though, as you gave the fabric a good tug, catching his attention as he was pulled a little forward. 

“Watch and you might learn,” you said, voice firm. 

The way your fingers moved against the fabric felt like a subtle seduction. They slid against the silk in precise, smooth motions— ooping and pulling. At one point, your fingers brushed against the side of his neck, and he caught a whiff of something clean or floral. It smelled wonderful. 

Grabbing your wrist, Bruce pulled it towards his nose. “What kind of perfume is that?” Before you could answer, he added almost like an afterthought. “The woman I’m seeing might like it.”

You smiled, looking pleasantly surprised. “Oh! Are you seeing Julie again?”

Bruce nodded, absentmindedly rubbing his thumb along the inside of your wrist before letting go. He had mentioned Julie Madison once or twice when he happened upon you and Alfred’s on your coffee breaks. Much to his surprise, they had been going pretty steady for the past few weeks. 

“I am,” Bruce said, trying to hold back a smirk. “I hadn’t expected to like her as much as I do. You two might actually get along—You’re similar, in a way.”

You tightened the tie before you drew your hands towards yourself, finally letting your eyes look him up and down. It was shameless the way you did it, like you could find a secret just as easily as he could—It made him feel a little naked. 

After a second, you asked, “Should I start practicing my ‘Mrs. Wayne’?” He could see the teasing glint in your eyes and a coy smile on your pretty lips. 

“You’re putting the cart before the horse, and the horse isn’t even out of the stable yet,” Bruce muttered. 

You reached over to button his suit together, fingers working quickly. “It’s always good to plan ahead, or so I’ve been told by a very bossy someone.” Your eyes met his, and Bruce knew he was the very bossy someone.

If you were any other woman, he’d politely set a distance, but you were you. Nan, the woman who loved his children, who openly called him a fool when needed, and the one who somehow managed to flirt—and flirt well— without realizing it. He’d come to be so used to your casual touches, whether it was a simple buttoning of his jacket or smoothing out the cowlick in his hair. At first, he assumed it was out of habit, due to the kids, but had started to suspect it was just your quiet way of showing love. He envied you in that way—to be able to love so quietly and freely. No matter if it was romantic or platonic. 

“See, if you button it, then the suit forms to your body better,” you pointed out as you stepped back. You smiled at your handiwork, nodding silently. When your eyes settled onto his tie, your little grin faltered a bit. “You should have picked a blue tie. That red is tacky.” 

Bruce subconsciously ran his hand over the red tie, now wishing he’d picked the blue. “Really? I thought it went well with the grey.” 

You shook your head and crossed your arms, looking ready to stand on business. “Sure, but blue matches your eyes.” 

“Next time, then,” he stated, turning on his heel. After a second, he turned back. “You never told me the perfume name.” 

You opened your mouth and closed it, eyes widening just a little. A blush had crossed your face as you sheepishly looked down. 

“Oh, uh, I don’t know. It was a magazine perfume sample.”

The laugh that tumbled from Bruce’s lips was so quick and sudden that it left him momentarily wondering who had been laughing. You began to laugh along at the silliness of it, because, of course , it was a sample. You loved the magazine samples in Cassie's Teen Vogue; it was half the reason why Bruce continued the subscription, even though Cassandra had long grown bored with it. 

Grabbing his coat from the closet nearby, he shrugged it onto his shoulders. You still stood by the mirror, glancing between your reflection and him. 

Turning around finally, you softly said, “Have a good night, Bruce.”

Bruce adjusted his coat and nodded at you. “Thank you. Good night, Nan.”

Just as he stepped out into the cool Gotham evening air, Bruce adjusted his tie again, and, like life was playing a cruel joke on him, he still could smell your perfume lingering on his fingertips. 

He forced himself to shove his hand into his pocket as he descended the stairs of the manor, lest he be caught trying to hold on to traces of your perfume.

Chapter Text

You had nothing against Julie Madison. Really . She was charming, laughed at the right time, and smelled like vanilla. Hell, she probably donated to charity in her free time. 

Your only gripe about her?

She called you Nanny .

Not Nan. Not your actual, human, first name. Nanny. Which would’ve been fine if you had introduced yourself as Nanny. But you hadn't. You told her your name. You shook her hand. You made eye contact. There was a whole moment.

Still, you smiled, because Bruce was there and he was grinning like an idiot at his girlfriend. He brought her into the gaming room right as you were arranging a carefully balanced tray of apple slices, peanut butter, and the exact number of goldfish crackers necessary to keep Duke and Damian from yet another fight about one getting more than the other. 

Julie looked like she’d stepped out of a movie. Curly black hair that bounced when she walked, a figure straight off a pin-up calendar, and bright grey eyes that practically could have left anyone breathless. Honestly, you couldn’t even be mad. If Bruce hadn’t fallen for her, you might’ve.

You introduced yourself with your government first name— not Nanny—and took a polite step back as Bruce did the whole “this is Jason, Damian, and Duke” thing. The other kids were elsewhere, probably trying to do something that surely needed adult supervision.

Julie knelt next to the little white table where Duke and Damian were pretending to eat and quietly plotting her downfall. They both shot you identical looks that said who is this and do we have to talk to her .

“Guys,” you said brightly, hands on your hips, “why don’t you tell Miss Julie what you’re doing today?”

Duke was the first to launch into a long-winded speech about how you were all going swimming later and how the Slip ’n Slide was coming out. That was apparently the main event of the day. Damian, on the other hand, retreated like a suspicious cat and reached quietly for your hand. You gave it to him without hesitation, giving his fingers a gentle squeeze as you nudged him to say something.

After a long pause, Damian finally mumbled, “I like your dress.”

Julie had a heavenly laugh. Musical, warm, probably rehearsed in front of a mirror. Bruce’s eyes stared at her with a wonder only a man so infatuated with a woman could have. 

“Thank you. Green’s my favorite color,” she said, beaming. “Do you like the color green?”

Damian gave this question the level of consideration most people reserved for life-altering decisions. Then he nodded solemnly. “Jay-Jay has green eyes.”

Jason, slouched on the couch with his Game Boy, looked up like someone had just called on him in class. His mouth flattened into a thin line, clearly looking like he wished he could vanish right then and there. He really should’ve made a break for it with the others when he had the chance.

“Yes, he does! And, they’re very pretty,” Julie remarked with a smile. 

Bruce gave Jason a look that quietly told him to give thanks. The one every kid knew: pinched mouth, raised brows, and that sharp look with the eyes. 

Jason squirmed as he muttered, “Thanks.”

Julie stood and smoothed her dress with the kind of effortless grace that felt scripted. Then she drifted over to sit beside Bruce on the couch, settling in like she belonged there. When she nuzzled his cheek, he leaned into it. 

A pit opened in your stomach. Sharp and cold, like you were on the biggest dip of a roller coaster. You sucked in a breath and noticed Duke and Damian’s empty plastic plates. Perfect. An excuse to escape Bruce and Julie’s love-dovey showcase before you threw up.

“I’ll be back. Be good,” you told the younger kids with a mock-stern voice. Then, more politely: “Anyone need anything from the kitchen?” 

No response. Glorious. You turned and made for the door. Almost made it when she said it.

“Oh, Nanny ,” Julie’s angelic voice called. 

You stopped dead in your tracks. Initially, your knee-jerk reaction was to passive-aggressively correct her, but you couldn’t. Those big doe eyes blinked at you from over the back of the couch, wide with innocence and actual sincerity. She wasn’t being mean. She wasn’t even being dismissive. She’d just forgotten your name. And somehow, that was worse.

You forced a smile so tight your cheeks ached. “Yes?

“Could I trouble you for a glass of water?” 

“Oh, yeah! Sparking or still?” Since I’m a fucking waiter now, you added in your head. 

“Sparkling, please.”

Of course she drank sparkling water. She probably drank expensive wine in a silk robe that cost more than you’ll ever see in your lifetime every night, too. Socialites, ugh. 

In the kitchen, you dropped the plates into the sink, a little harder than necessary, and leaned on the counter. You felt furious. Whether it was at yourself for being such a bitch or at the fact that you could never be Julie Madison . 

The worst part? You didn’t even want to be Julie Madison. You just wanted to feel like her. 

Looking at your reflection in the microwave door, you couldn’t help but wonder what Bruce even meant when he said you and Julie were 'similar' the other day. 

It had to be a joke. Because standing there in the kitchen, holding a bottle of overpriced fizzy water after scrubbing peanut butter off a zoo-animal plastic plate, it sure didn’t feel similar.

Swallowing your pride, you went back to the playroom. 

Julie and Bruce were curled in close, whispering to each other with the kind of soft intimacy that didn’t belong in that colorful, kid-infested room. You’d never seen him like that with anyone outside the family. You rounded the couch, bottle in hand, and waited, awkwardly, silently, until Julie finally noticed you. 

“Oh, Nanny, thank you!” Julie said brightly as she took the bottle from your hands, her voice all joy and genuine sweetness.

She twisted the cap with a little pop, just about to take a sip, when Jason’s voice broke the lull: “That’s not her name.”

Everyone turned to him. He didn’t even look up, still hunched over his GameBoy like he hadn’t just thrown a conversational grenade into the room. This fucking kid , you thought as you bit back a smile. The warmth blooming in your chest was immediate.

“I’m sorry?” Julie blinked, smile faltering.

You moved to Jason, putting a hand on his shoulder, but he was already repeating himself, “That’s not her name.” Then, calmer, like he was explaining something obvious to someone, he added your actual name.

Bruce, still seated beside her, shifted uncomfortably like he wasn’t sure if he should jump in or vanish through the couch cushions.

Julie’s eyes went wide. Her hand froze mid-sip. “Oh my God, Nanny—no, shoot, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“Please, don’t worry about it,” you said quickly, waving it off before it got any more awkward. Then, turning to Jason, “C’mon, how about you go find Tim, Cassie, and Dick so they can meet Julie?”

He groaned. “Do I have to?”

You were already steering him toward the door. “Yes, I think you definitely have to.”

Once you were just outside the playroom doors, you stopped and turned him gently. You cupped his cheek and planted a couple of loud, obnoxious kisses on the top of his head. He squirmed and giggled, trying to duck away.

“Thank you, Baby-Jay,” you whispered against his hair.

He wrinkled his nose. “I hate it when you call me that.” He didn’t, not really. 

You gave him a little push forward. He ran off down the hall, muttering something under his breath but not without a smile.

And when you turned back to glance into the playroom, Bruce was watching you.

Not Julie. 

You .

Chapter Text

Over the past week, a terrible summer cold had swept through the household. It started with Dick and Jason, then made its way through most of the other children and eventually, you. Only Alfred, Bruce, and Tim seemed immune at first. But a few days ago, Tim began to complain of a sore throat. 

And, oh boy, did the last little soldier fall hard. 

It was like the cold was saving the worst for Tim specifically, because, not long after complaining about a sore throat, he hadn’t been able to keep anything down. Bruce had nearly run himself ragged with worry, pulling out every pediatric medicine book from his father’s collection, before you assured him everything would be okay. For the most part, it looked like your words worked. He calmed himself enough to decide to consult a real professional, his friend Dr. Thompkins. 

“You’re okay, Timmy,” you mumbled as you pushed his hair out of his eyes. You had been by his bedside for the better part of the day, changing out the cool rags on his forehead and rubbing soothing circles on his stomach.

The door creaked open, and Bruce stepped in, balancing a plate of saltines and a ginger ale as he kicked the door shut behind him. Since the outbreak began, he hadn’t spared a moment for himself, and it showed. Bruce had started to sport a five o’clock shadow, and his clothes, which were usually fine suits or business-casual day wear, were degraded to a Gotham University sweatshirt and matching sweatpants. 

You took the ginger ale from him and offered it to Tim with a bright smile. “Bet you’re a little hungry. How about crackers and your favorite drink?”

His big, blue-grey eyes looked up at you pathetically, like he was silently asking himself if he really needed to eat something. With a gentle nudge to his back, you coaxed him upright. Bruce moved in to feed him a saltine, but Tim shot him a look sharp enough to stop a lesser man and promptly snatched it from his hand.

Even sick, Tim refused to be treated like a child. You bit your lip to keep from smiling. Bruce didn’t bother, letting out an amused chuckle.

Ten crackers later, the inevitable happened. In one swift, seasoned-parent move, Bruce slid a trash can under Tim’s chin, and the poor kid lost everything he had eaten. By the time he flopped back against the pillows, hot tears streaked his cheeks.

“Oh, baby,” you cooed, pulling him into your side, wishing you could bargain with the universe to take the ache for him. “I know, but you’ll feel better soon. Promise.”

He only cried harder, burying himself deeper into your side. Bruce reappeared after disposing of the trash, trying his hand at comfort with slow, careful tummy rubs.

“The doctor is coming later,” Bruce said to you. “She says it might be a bit of dehydration on top of the cold.”

“That makes me feel a bit better,” You admitted. 

It didn’t take long for Tim’s breathing to start evening out, suggesting that he was on the cusp of falling back asleep. Gently, you began to remove yourself from his grasp. 

“I need to check on the rest of the kids. I’ll be right back,” You whispered to Bruce.  He nodded and started to stand to walk to the door with you.

Just as you took a step from the bed, Tim whined and reached out. “ Mama , no! Stay.”

Two precise feelings flooded your chest at once.

One, full adoration and love for the boy. You knew very well that you weren’t his mother, and could never be, but the way he trusted you enough to call you that? It made you want to cry and call him your baby. 

Secondly, anxiety. You didn’t know how Bruce felt about Tim calling you mom. By the look on his face, his lips were twitching slightly, almost like he was holding back a smirk. Wait, or was it a smile ? No, it couldn’t have been. You didn’t have the chance to look any longer as Bruce turned away from you to adjust the sheets on the bed. 

“Sweetheart, I’m not—” You cut yourself off as you realized it wasn’t the time for such corrections when a little boy, who wanted nothing but comfort, was looking up at you with pleading eyes. 

Going over to the bed, you dropped onto it, tucking Tim back into your side. He grasped onto you like you were the only person in the world he wanted, and you couldn’t help but hold him a little tighter. The air in the room felt thick, like you should say something about being called ‘mom, ’ but Bruce pressed a finger to his lips to shush you.

You stayed beside him in the quiet, both of you listening to Tim’s breathing slow. When his little body finally went slack against the pillows, Bruce rose, and you followed him to the door.

Once it shut behind you, you started, “Bruce, I’m—”

“Master Bruce,” Alfred’s voice interrupted, entering from around the corner. “Dr. Thompkins is here.”

“Thank you, Alfred,” Bruce said. Finally, he turned to you and added, “Don’t worry about it.”

You wanted to ask how he knew what you were going to say, but, in hindsight, it seemed fairly obvious. 

“Go take care of the rest of the kids, Nan,” Bruce ordered, a hand gently pushing you toward the movie room. “Or should I call you Mama?”

You whipped your head toward him to see a slanted smile on his face, eyes clearly amused. Oh God, you thought, having him think Tim calling you mama was funny was ten times worse than him being angry.  

“Bruce—You,” You stopped, trying to find the words. “I’m going to the kids now.”

“Good,” He remarked with raised brows and a smile. 

You stepped back, face hot, and retreated towards the movie room. That man was going to be the fucking death of you.

Chapter Text

Bruce was supposed to be sleeping to get his strength back, but the man would be damned before he listened to sound medical advice. 

The day before, Killer Croc had worked him over hard enough to leave a few ribs cracked and one ankle nearly mangled. The moment Bruce was back in the house, Alfred went full mother hen, ordering him to keep off his bad leg and stay put. With six kids under the same roof, that was about as realistic as expecting Gotham to go one night without a mugging. Harder still, when there was a certain appearance to maintain his secret identity. 

Alfred didn’t budge, so Bruce spent most of the day sprawled across the couch, ordering the kids not to do this or that as they ran around. You offered to take another day off, but Mr. Wayne, ever the one up for a challenge, had insisted that he could still handle them. 

And, he did have it handled. Mostly. 

There were moments throughout the day where he had to hobble after Damian or Tim, who giggled as they purposefully made him chase them, but that was pretty much nothing to him. By eleven, the house was quiet. The kids went down easy, their only stipulation that he break his usual stoicness to show them some love— Something he was more than pleased to do. 

Bruce knew he should have gone to bed right after putting the last kid down, but he couldn’t. After so many nights staying up to the crack of dawn, he’d grown too used to staying up late. Alfred had absolutely forbidden him from going to the cave, and even though Bruce could have easily broken that rule since it was his house and he was the boss, he wasn’t going to test his luck. 

So, he wandered through the house like a ghost. First, he stopped by the library to take a look through his books. When he decided that they were all perfectly in place, he moved on to the kids’ playroom. It was a bit messy, so he picked up some toys and placed them in their designated spots. When he got bored with doing that, he hobbled down the main staircase. 

At the same time, the front door opened, and you strode through it. Stopping at the landing, he watched as you sauntered towards the stairs, eyes locking on him. You looked like you’d just slipped away from someone else’s bed. There was a flush on your cheeks, and a fresh mark bloomed high on your neck. 

Bruce gripped the banister tighter, pressing his lips into a thin line as he wondered just who exactly it was you went to visit. 

You stopped at the bottom of the stairs and your eyes gave him a once-over before you said, “You should be resting, per Alfred’s orders.”

His fingers tapped the bannister as he spoke, “I’m a grown man.”

It was clear you were biting back a smile as your mouth pinched together. You took a step up and he took one down, and, slowly, the two of you met each other on the last landing. “For a grown man who just got into a car accident a couple of days ago, you're stubborn like a little kid.”

Bruce looked down at you, and, now that he was closer, he could faintly smell some cheap cologne that lingered on your skin. An image flashed in his mind, one with you gasping as another man moved against you. A feeling of disgust toward himself filled his chest. Jerking his head so he wasn’t looking at you, Bruce tried to picture literally anything else. 

“You’re tense, you need to go to bed,” You said, tilting your head so you were in his line of sight again. 

“I’m fine. Please, Nan, leave it alone,” He almost pleaded.

Finally, you sighed with resignation. “Fine,” you walked past him and up the stairs. A few steps up, you stopped. “Oh, Bruce, I needed to talk to you about something.”

He tried to whip around at once, but the sharp pull in his ribs slowed him, his movement dragging with pain. You took a step down, about to help him, but Bruce held his hand up to stop you. 

“What is it?” His voice came out sharper than he meant.

You hesitated, glancing up the staircase as if considering retreating, before finally turning back to him. Another sigh left you. “You know how you and Julie are supposed to go on that boat outing next weekend? The one in the Caribbean?”

Bruce blinked, caught off guard. For a moment, he looked as though you’d just told him a stranger’s plans. Then, slowly, recognition flickered across his face, followed by a reluctant flash of realization. “Right. That. What about it?”

Your hands folded together, cautious. “I think… you may want to put it off. Or at least bring the kids.” God, he thought, you had the weirdest timing. 

“Why?”

“Because,” you stepped back onto the landing, hands clasped in front of you. “I think the kids are getting rubbed the wrong way with you running off with your new girlfriend.”

That did something to him, and that was a hell of a loaded way you delivered that news. 

“What do you mean?”

You reached for him, resting your hand on his forearm, and gave him a sympathetic look. “I think it’s just they’re worried you’re putting someone else over them. I told them you weren’t, but it seems that in your last relationship, it happened from time to time. I’m not saying break up with Julie, and I don’t think the kids want that either—”

“Then what?’ Bruce snapped. 

You pulled back a little, but didn’t let your sympathy flatter. “Damn it, Bruce! Stop.” There was a hint of amusement in your voice. “You’re getting in your head.”

He clicked his tongue, “Oh, what do you know?”

“Much more than you think, Mr. Wayne ,” You remarked with a breathless laugh. “We've been living in the same house for months, do you really think I don’t notice that you’re a big overthinker? You’re known for your brooding, Bruce. See, Brooding Bruce even slips off the tongue really well.”  

He had no comeback for that, though he’d never admit you were right. Not that you needed the confirmation; the way your eyes caught the light, sparkling with amusement, made it obvious you knew you’d won this round. After giving his arm a gentle pat, you shifted back toward the stairs.

“It’ll be alright,” you said softly. “I’ll encourage the kids to talk to you. They’re just afraid of the change, like anyone would be. Something they must get from you. And I’m sorry if I offended you or overstepped. My interests are for the kids.”

Bruce’s voice was low, almost reluctant. “No apologies needed… thank you.”

You gave a small nod of acknowledgement before turning, your steps light as you climbed the rest of the stairs.

Bruce sat in silence, watching. Something tugged at his chest, sharper than his cracked ribs, when he realized that even on your night off, you were thinking about the kids. Thinking about him. Somehow, in so little time, you’d read him more clearly than most people ever had, and he wasn’t sure what unsettled him more: how much you understood, or how much it mattered to him.

“Nan,” Bruce called up the stairs. 

You turned to him with a little smile. “Yes?”

“How was your night off?”

At the top step, you turned fully toward him. For a second, it seemed like you were thinking about what to say, and Bruce nearly felt obligated to apologize for prying. Sucking in a breath, you finally said, “Let’s just say it wasn’t worth staying out late for.”

Your gaze lingered on him just a second longer before you turned and disappeared down the right hallway.

Bruce stayed where he was, the quiet of the house settling around him. He felt like he was being pulled in two different directions: one reasoning that you were more trouble than you were worth, while the other said you were the best thing to ever happen. Shaking his head, he turned back toward the living room.

Chapter Text

Bruce liked reading the newspaper at the dining table in the mornings. Unfortunately, so did you.

Today was no different. You shuffled down the stairs in your robe, accepted the cup of coffee Alfred handed you, and made your way to your usual chair. But first, you paused behind Bruce, leaning casually over his shoulder to peek at the paper.

“Oh my,” you said with a grin.

He half-turned, brows knitting, as you pointed. On the second page, a photograph showed Bruce striding out of Wayne Enterprises with Julie at his side. Behind them, you were caught mid-step with papers in hand. He remembered the day clearly. You’d dropped off some documents he’d forgotten at home, and Julie had suggested the three of you get lunch together.

“Who is that beautiful woman in the back?” you asked, all innocent.

Bruce smirked faintly. “Must be the nanny,” he deadpanned, handing the paper over before you could pester him further.

Snatching it, you gave the kids a playful smile. “See, kids? Your father can learn.”

You dropped into your seat with an exaggerated ‘umph,’ flipping to the front page. The headline made you click your tongue, muttering under your breath as the humor slipped. The kids didn’t notice, or pretended not to, but Bruce did.

“Something to share, Nan?” he asked over the rim of his coffee cup.

You drew in a breath, and Bruce already knew you were getting ready to spout some sort of spiel. “This Batman guy,” you began, the table falling quiet instantly. Every set of young eyes swung toward you. “He’s got a child fighting crime alongside him. A little one.”

“Robin?” Dick cut in quickly, trying to sound casual. “I hear he’s, I don’t know, fifteen? Sixteen, maybe? That's not little!”

You shook your head, unimpressed. “Fifteen is still too young, Dickie. I wouldn’t let you go chasing criminals, and I doubt your father would ever be so irresponsible as to let you do something that dangerous.”

Jason suddenly snorted milk through his nose, choking on laughter and a cough all at once. You tutted, sliding a napkin across the table to him. “Careful, sweetheart! Drink slower.”

What you didn’t catch as you fussed over Jason was Dick shooting Bruce a sharp look, and Bruce returning it with one of his own. A silent exchange, heavy with meaning, passing right over your head. With a sigh, you folded the paper shut and handed it off to Alfred.

“Oh, well. Not our circus, not our monkeys, I suppose,” you said at last. 

—

You shouldn’t have been out so late. Unfortunately, the idea that it might be a bad idea to be out past 9 PM in the most dangerous city in the world didn’t cross your mind. Now, you were cornered in a back alley with a man who didn’t look like he had the nicest intentions barreling toward you. 

Just as you were about to throw your bag as a distraction, a figure jumped down from the shadows, scaring you so badly that you fell back onto your butt. The sound of a fist hitting skin made you cringe, and your nails dug into the concrete under you. It was Batman, you realized, because who else would be dressed in all black with pointy ears. 

Suddenly, another figure landed right next to you, this one dressed in bright colors. The papers were right, he really was a little more than a boy, and he wore way too little clothing for what he was doing. When he moved toward you, holding out a hand, there was a smile on his face. 

You flinched away, drawing your arms closer to yourself. 

"It's okay, Nan! I got you," Robin chirped.

At first, the words didn’t land. Your ears caught them, but your brain refused to put the pieces together until he shifted and the light caught his face. The curls, the crooked smile, those little dimples in his cheeks. And that familiar nickname. Nan.

Your stomach dropped. “Dickie?” you breathed.

Your gaze shot past him, to the tall shadow of Batman standing over an unconscious man in the alley. He was half in darkness, but you didn’t need the light to confirm what your gut already knew. Your hand curled around Dick's wrist, holding onto the boy as if you could keep him and yourself from the obvious truth.

“Oh, fucking hell, Bruce?” Your voice echoed against the brick walls.

“Robin.” Batman’s tone cut through the air like a whip. It was an order reduced down to a simple name. The boy snapped to it instantly, slipping free of your hold. In one smooth motion, he scaled the fire escape, bounding toward the rooftops without a backward glance.

“Richard Grayson!” you shouted after him, your voice cracking in disbelief.

No answer. Only the sound of traffic humming in the street beyond the alley, and the muffled chatter of bystanders just out of sight.

You staggered upright, brushing dirt from your skirt, your heart pounding in your ears. A breathless laugh slipped out, jagged and bitter. “Oh my God. I’m nannying Robin. I’m a nanny for Batman.” You threw your hands up, half-crazed with the realization. “Okay. My circus, and definitely my monkeys.”

Chapter Text

By the time you got home, Bruce was waiting on the front doorstep with his arms crossed and a furrow in his brow. He wasn’t dressed as Batman. No, he was in a black turtleneck and pressed dress pants, an outfit that looked too composed for a man supposedly relaxing at home. Part of you was a bit impressed with how fast he managed to change, especially since, on any other day, he took too long to cater his appearance.

As you climbed the front steps, you caught sight of Dickie peeking from behind the door frame. His anxious eyes looked from you to Bruce, then back again.

“I think we need to talk,” Mr. Wayne said as you stepped onto the landing. His tone was even, but there was something rough underneath.

You scoffed. “I definitely think that’s an understatement.”

When you followed him inside, you couldn’t help glancing toward the movie room. Five little heads peeked out, faces a mixture of worry and unease. You assumed Dick had already told them everything.

The boy trailed behind you both, his sneakers scuffing against the floor, blue eyes locked on you like he was bracing for a disaster. For a fleeting moment, you wondered if he was watching to make sure you didn’t bolt to the nearest phone to spill their secret.

Bruce reached his study, pushing the heavy oak door open. The room was dimly lit, creating a spooky ambiance and adding to the sense of dread already in your chest. He stepped aside, a silent command for you to go in first.

Dick tried to follow, but Bruce’s hand came down gently against his shoulder. “Dick, it’ll just be Nan and me for now,” he said, softer than you expected, about as soft as that brooding voice could manage.

“But—” Dick started, voice tight with protest. His eyes darted toward you, pleading.

“Alfred,” Bruce called, without looking away from his son.

The old man appeared at the end of the hall. He didn’t need Bruce to explain; he already knew his job was to guide Dick away, and maybe shield the others from what was about to unfold. The boy’s jaw tightened, but he stepped back.

“I’ll see you later, Nan?” Dick asked before Alfred could lead him away, and your heart hurt from the slight strain in his voice.

You paused, looking at Bruce before letting your gaze fall to Dick. “Yeah, buddy. I’ll see you later.”

Dick nodded, a smile of relief on his face as Alfred pulled him away and the door closed behind him. As soon as the door closed, things became serious. Bruce went to his desk, hands mindlessly moving papers out of the way before he stopped to look at you.

“Three questions,” he said suddenly.

You took a step forward and whacked him on the side of the arm. “What the fuck?”

He rubbed his arm, no emotion on his face at all. “That’s one.”

You let out something between a groan and a very loud ‘ugh’. Sometimes, he could be so condescendingly annoying that you could kill him. “When were you going to tell me?”

Looking down and pursing his lips, he muttered, “I hadn’t planned to.”

You spun around, fists clenching at your sides, mostly so you wouldn’t smack him in the face. Yeah, that tracked for Bruce. He must have had some type of plan, surely, but doubted that you’d ever find out what it was. When you turned back, your anger felt like it was a pot of boiling water, and it was about to spill over.

“Do you realize how much danger you’re putting your son in?” Your voice rang out. “You’re sending him out to fight Gotham’s worst criminals!”

Bruce’s expression shifted, a mix between anger and annoyance. You couldn’t help but think of how much he looked like a little brat. “Not as much danger as he would’ve put himself in if I let him go alone. That’s three questions, by the way.”

“What Earth are you living on, Bruce?” you shouted, humorless laughter cutting through your words. His excuses didn’t make any sense, no matter how hard you tried to wrap your head around them.

Bruce’s jaw flexed. Oh, his patience was hanging by a thread. “Nan, you don’t understand. When I first brought Dick home, he was angry. Angry at the world, at the men who killed his parents. He was yelling about revenge, about murder—”

“Then you should have gotten him therapy!” Your voice cracked with fury. “Not put him in a fucking leotard to fight criminals!”

“I tried!” Bruce’s voice boomed, echoing off the walls. “I tried to put him on the right path, but he didn’t want it. He needed an outlet. I didn’t want him ending up like me, and if this is the way I have to teach him, then so be it!”

You stared at him, chest heaving. “Do you even hear yourself? You’re not teaching him, Bruce, you’re grooming him to follow you into an early grave!”

For the first time that evening, his composure slipped entirely. His cheeks were flushed with anger, and his eyes narrowed on you like you were a villain. “Now that’s unfair. I can’t pretend he isn’t already halfway down this road. At least with me, he isn’t alone.”

The words hit really did throw you for a loop. You swallowed hard, but the words still came out rough, “Just because you couldn’t get over your parents’ death in a healthy way doesn’t mean you get to drag Dick down this path.”

“You bitch!” Bruce shouted.

The shouting tapered off as the two of you froze in place, breathing hard. The air between you buzzed with fury and fear, the tension almost unbearable. Your pulse hammered, every nerve screaming at you to lash back, but you refused. If it kept going like this, one of you was bound to start throwing things. 

“That—that was too far,” you murmured, your voice low but steady. “I’m sorry.”

Bruce didn’t move, but he nodded his head like he was, at the very least, acknowledging your apology. With a heavy exhale, he sank into the leather chair behind his desk, elbows braced on his knees. His hands dragged down his face, fingers pressing into his eyes briefly as if trying to rub away the last ten minutes.

You hovered for a moment, then stepped closer to lay a tentative hand on the back of his shoulder. When he didn’t shrug you off, you risked more, rubbing slow, gentle circles over the tension knotted there.

“I shouldn’t have called you a bitch,” Bruce muttered at last, his voice rough, low. It wasn’t quite an apology, but it was the closest thing you’d get from him.

A small smile tugged at your lips. “Can’t say I didn’t deserve it,” you quipped. Then, leaning just a little more into your hand, you added, “But don’t get into the habit, alright? One ‘bitch’ per year, maximum.”

He looked up at you, a ghost of a smile tugging faintly at his lips. For the first time that night, the air shifted. You felt it in the slight shake of his shoulder, in the quiet, reluctant chuckle that rumbled out of him. The tension didn’t vanish, but in that moment, it loosened just enough for both of you to breathe.

Then, he pushed himself to his feet. Standing this close, he seemed even bigger with his broad shoulders and towering height. Without meaning to, he crowded you back until the edge of the desk pressed against your hips. You knew it wasn’t intentional. He wasn’t trying to intimidate you. Not this time, anyway. But he was Bruce Wayne, and he never needed to try at anything.

“I have two more questions,” you mumbled, voice softer now.

“What?” Bruce asked at last. The word came out gentler than you expected, like his anger had drained away.

Biting your lip, you gripped the edge of the desk behind you and rocked slightly on your feet. “So, now that I’m working for both you and Batman, do I get a raise? Double pay.”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he just looked down at you, his gaze unreadable. Up close, the weight of his attention was almost too much. You could have sworn there was something there that made your stomach flip, like maybe he was thinking about closing the space between you.

Yeah. You had definitely been watching way too many rom-coms.

And then, unexpectedly, he laughed. You found yourself laughing at the sheer bizarre situation along with him. You had just asked Batman for a raise. The jokes, you realized, wrote themselves in this house.

Sliding his hands into his pockets, he gave the barest nod. “Sure. Why not? As long as you promise not to run to the papers.”

You grinned, lifting your hand between you. “Yeah, promise.” You extended your pinky, wiggling it insistently. You’d been around the kids for way too long.

He cocked an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching like he wasn’t sure if you were serious. But then, slowly, he reached out and hooked his pinky around yours. The contact was brief, almost ridiculous given the weight of what you were both carrying, but for some reason, the simple gesture made your chest ache.

“There,” he said quietly, almost gruffly, as if he needed to cover up the fact that he’d actually gone along with it. “Sealed. Now, what’s your next question?”

You hesitated, your fingers slipping from his as the moment shifted to something a bit more serious. Actually, you weren’t prepared for it. Nonetheless, you drew in a breath and asked softly, “Why do you do it, Bruce? The crime fighting, I mean. So many people would have given up by now.”

The silence that followed stretched long enough for you to hear the faint ticking of the grandfather on the opposite wall. Then, finally, he said, “Because, damnit, I love this stupid city.”

You were so surprised by the almost ostentatious way he admitted his reason for being Batman that your first instinct was to bite back a sarcastic retort about his language. It sounded less like a vow of vengeance and more like a little kid testing out a curse word for the first time.

You patted his chest, meant as a light, steadying gesture that everything would be normal once again, but the movement put you closer than you’d intended. Close enough to notice the subtle warmth radiating off him and the faint smell of his cologne. The desk behind you stopped any chance of retreat, so you stayed put, pretending there was still plenty of space between you. Like you didn’t need to hold your breath just a little so he wouldn’t smell the sour cream and onion chips you had earlier.

“It’s a shit city, but I’ll give it to you that once you fall in love with it, there’s no going back,” you said.

Bruce bit back a grin, but in his pretty blue eyes there was a hint of admiration in them. Okay, this sentimental side was a little new to you. Not that you should have been surprised. It was the Wayne Enterprises money that funded more than half of the city’s social programs. It was also Bruce who swore to lay down his life for his kids. Beneath that behemoth of man and vigilante was a man who loved his home.

“The kids…” He muttered as he nodded his head toward the study doors.

You turned, seeing little shadows underneath the crack, and smiled. “Watch this.”

Quietly, you removed your heels to keep your steps quiet before crossing to the other side of the room. Once your hand hit the handle, you looked back at Bruce and nodded. Seconds later, you threw the door open and six little children, who should have been in bed, fell into the room.

“Now, look at these little eavesdroppers,” you remarked brightly, putting your hands on your hips.

Dick was the first one on his feet. “You’re staying?”

You guffawed, tossing your head back, and nodded. “Now, where else would I be going?”

Almost instantaneously, they all threw themselves at you. You’d had a few men in your life claim they were devoted to you—that they loved you above all else. You never truly believed their words. Yet, when the kids said it, you believed in nothing else more. They loved you, and you loved them.

“Oh,” you said, tears already brimming in your eyes. “I should be mad at you all for keeping this secret, but you’re all too sweet!”

Dick looked up at you through his thick lashes. “We’re sorry, Nan.”

You leaned your cheek against his head as you said, “Well, it’s all in the past now.”

Cassandra rested her chin on your stomach, looking up at you. “I’m glad you’re staying, Nan. Dickie was crying.”

“Was not!” The boy insisted, but you saw the red in his eyes and the flush on his cheeks.

Bruce had walked over, petting the kids’ heads as he peeled them off one by one. They went willingly, wrapping their arms around him like it was instinct. Dick stayed next to you, head leaning on your shoulder with an arm around you. Cassandra buried her face in your stomach again, hugging you almost as tight as your belt.

“Kids, it would be too much work to find another nanny, so I’m not gonna fire her over—”

“Just admit that you like having her around as much as we do,” Jason replied. Dear God, that boy never pulled back with his sassiness.

Bruce stuttered until he managed to say, “A little. Sure.”

“Oh, Bruce!” You exclaimed.

“Now, Nan, don’t get—”

You were already shuffling toward him with the two kids still in your arms. As soon as you were within reach, you looped your free arm around his neck, tugging him into a hug before he could deny your affection. The kids around him were squished between your bodies, all of them giggling through their protests.

“Where’s Alfred? He needs to get in on this!” You exclaimed against Bruce’s shoulder.

You heard him chuckle in your ear, his breath hot against your skin, before he mumbled, “Hopefully, he’s somewhere far away and safe.”

You tightened your grip as you twisted your face to look at his. Despite his words, there was no expression of annoyance or grief. No, he looked relieved. 

"So, should I ask for hazard pay, too?" You mused. 

He rolled his eyes, but you caught the huff of a little laugh. "You're already pushing it with the hug."

With a giggle, you tightened your arm around his neck. “Oh, stop it. I already know you’d crawl to get me back if I quit.”

“That’s debatable.” You thought it was cute when he denied something so glaringly obvious.

“Mm-hm.” You arched a brow, feeling his hand stay firm against your back despite his words suggesting he would rather push you as far away as he could. “Guess I gotta prove it to you.”

For a moment, he didn’t answer. But then, almost too quiet for the kids to catch over their laughter, he said, “You already know you don't have to.”

Your cheeks warmed, and you were glad for the little bodies between you, because otherwise he might’ve noticed how your heart had started racing.

Chapter Text

Most of the kids had never been on the subway. And why would they? Between Alfred’s chauffeuring and their father’s fleet of luxury cars, public transit was foreign to them. You figured they should see Gotham the way the average citizen did. Besides, they’d begged enough times, their curiosity poking through all that Wayne polish.

They were lined up on the seat like ducklings, shoulder to shoulder, clearly unsure about the whole thing. Damian, of course, had made himself comfortable on Dick’s lap to watch his older brother play Tetris on his Game Boy. You stood, one hand firm on the pole, scanning the car the way you always did. The subway had its own kind of wildlife, and you weren’t about to let anyone, or anything, get too close.

Jason was about two seconds from starting a full-blown wrestling match with Tim when a man stepped right into your space. Tall, wiry, with a look in his eye that made your skin prickle.

His voice boomed, sharp and too loud, “Give me a dollar!”

You flinched, taking a step back, but then it hit you: these were kids sitting in front of you, looking up, waiting to see what you’d do. They were impressionable, and you, as the adult, needed to make a good impression that they’d carry into adulthood.

You straightened your shoulders, lifted your chin, and barked right back, “Do I look like Bruce Wayne to you, asshole? How about you give me a dollar!”

The man blinked, thrown off. When you repeated yourself, firm and louder, his face twisted, and he spat out, “Bitch,” before shuffling down the aisle.

“Yeah, yeah! Ya motha,” you yelled after him, rolling your eyes.

When you looked back, the kids were frozen, staring at you like you’d just sprouted a second head. They shared glances, not sure whether to start crying or laugh.

You crouched down so your voice carried just to them. “If somebody gets in your face on the subway, especially if they’re yelling, you don’t bitch out. You yell back. Got it?”

“Got it,” they answered, all in unison.

You were about to leave it at that, but then you remembered that you were their nanny and you were meant to set an example. Quickly, you added, “If I ever catch you kids talk’ like me, I’m telling your father.”

♡♡♡♡

Bruce hadn’t expected you, and, as usual, your timing was just a little too awful. Julie was halfway through sliding off her skirt when the secretary’s voice crackled in on the intercom to announce that you and the kids were on your way up. With a groan, both of them scrambled to put themselves back together.

“They gotta come up here now?” Julie muttered, smoothing her blouse.

Bruce gave her a sideways glance, not really liking her tone. “They do.”

“That came out wrong,” She replied, grabbing his arm and squeezing it. “I just mean—I don’t know how to say this, Bruce. I wanted to…”

Before Julie could go on and the kids strode in. You were behind them, a grin on your face as you loudly announced they had safely, proudly ridden the subway. Bruce was a lot more agitated about it than you anticipated, chastising you for putting them in harm’s way.

Sitting on the edge of his desk, you let him get his frustration out until he said, “You’re putting the kids in danger, Nan.”

You cocked an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “I’m putting the kids in danger?”

The silence that followed was deliciously uncomfortable. You didn’t move, didn’t blink, just stared until you saw the exact second he realized what you meant. Ah, Batman. Point taken.

Bruce exhaled through his nose, jaw tightening as he backed off, as he determined the fight just wasn’t worth it. Of course, you knew that was just a way for him to avoid saying you were right.

He turned toward Julie instead, grasping for something normal to say. “We’re about to go for lunch, if you’d like to—”

Julie shook her head before he could finish, slinging her Prada bag over her shoulder. “I’m gonna get going. You enjoy your afternoon.” Her tone was polite, but there was a bit of distance in it. Whatever softness she’d had for him earlier had been folded neatly away.

“Of course,” he said smoothly. No flicker of disappointment, no trace of anything at all. Just Bruce, steady and unbothered.

As she passed, she gave you and the kids a warm, if slightly flustered, smile. “See ya later!”

When you looked at Bruce, you saw him swallow whatever emotions he wanted to let out. “Oh, Bruce, I’m sorry.”

He waved it off like it was nothing. “She’s busy,” he said simply, straightening the edge of a folder on his desk, more interested in restoring order than acknowledging what just happened.

The kids were still standing awkwardly by the door, watching him like they were waiting for some sign of how to act. Bruce finally looked up, gave a small half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Who’s hungry?”

The kids erupted with excited chatter about their obvious, clear starvation and how only Bat Burger could save them from dying. Amused, Bruce decided it would be best to indulge them lest they starve to death.

♡♡♡♡

The eight of you crowded into a big booth at the far end of the restaurant, talking over one another as you debated the logistics of fries being dipped into milkshakes. Bruce, being the odd one out in refusing to eat it either way, sat there simply listening. It seemed to be a bit more than that, though. There would be times in the conversation where it seemed like he wasn’t entirely there.

You drummed your fingers against your glass, debating whether to say something. Then an idea hit, and it was just ridiculous enough to make you smile.

“Alright,” you said, sliding out of the booth, “if anyone eats my fries while I’m gone, I will know. And I will retaliate.” Jason was already reaching over the table to take a fry and stopped with wide, worried eyes. With a giggle, you waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, well, have at ‘em. My face will get puffy from all the salt.”

Touching your cheek, you walked away to the bathroom.

By the time you came back, Bruce had paid the bill, and the kids were gathering their things. As the kids put on their jackets and crowded around you, you caught Bruce’s eye. He was staring at you, but in that Batman-esque kind of way. No, it was almost like he was trying to read you and wanted to take his time. As soon as your eyes met, though, he looked away.

“All good, Nan?” He asked after a second, handing over your purse.

You nodded. “All good.”

Outside, dusk had settled in, and the streetlights were just flickering on. The air was crisp, that summer-to-autumn transition beginning to happen. Bruce pulled his keys from his pocket, only to stop when a familiar black Rolls-Royce pulled to the curb. Alfred was behind the wheel, rolling down the window to call to you and Bruce. They were thrilled to see the old man, already crowding the passenger side of the door to say hello.

Bruce frowned. “I didn’t call for a pickup.”

You smiled, folding your arms as you coyly admitted, “I did.”

He turned to you, one eyebrow raised, confusion flickering across his face.

Rocking back on your heels, you tilted your head and shrugged your shoulders—trying, and failing, to look nonchalant. “I might have called Alfred to come pick us up, so you and Julie could make the reservation I made for you two at that fancy Italian restaurant across town.”

“You what?” he asked finally, but there wasn’t much bite to it. He sounded more surprised than anything else.

You were already pushing toward his car, parked some distance away. “Go. Go! You gotta get ready, you’re having dinner in an hour and Julie isn’t gonna wait around forever.”

It took a second for your words to register, but when they did, his mouth parted just slightly in surprise. You watched the tension in his shoulders ease just a bit, as if he didn’t know whether to scold you or thank you. He turned to face you fully, digging in his heels so you couldn’t push him any further.

You shrugged, pretending you weren’t ridiculously proud of yourself. “Don’t look at me like that. Just go.”

He took a couple a steps back, calling out to the kids, “Be good!”

Jason snickered. “Yeah, yeah. Ya motha!”

Bruce stopped, looking quizzically at his second-oldest son, and was no doubt about to ask where on Earth he had heard that from. You quickly turned on your heel and urged the boy to get into the backseat of the car, muttering to him to never say that to his father again.

Looking back at Bruce, you hurriedly said, “Kids, huh? Where do they learn this kind of stuff?”

You were just about to climb into the passenger seat when you felt an arm on your hand. Turning, it was Bruce. Before you tell him to get going, he pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek.

“Thank you, Nan,” he said softly.

You were shocked, facing getting hot. “Um,” You cleared your throat. “Of course, Bruce. Now, get going.”

He backed up, blowing a kiss to the kids, before lightly jogging towards his car. As you watched him get in, you touched your cheek and wondered if you had made the right choice— If you should have kept Bruce to yourself.

Shaking your head to get your senses back, you climbed into the passenger seat.