The following morning, a new rhythm settled over Wayne Manor. Richie, still bubbling with enthusiasm, bounded down for breakfast, regaling Alfred with exaggerated tales of his “run” to Australia and Germany with the Flash.

Hailey, though maintaining a polite distance from Bruce, was as warm and attentive as ever with the boy, guiding him through his morning routine.

Bruce, for his part, buried himself deeper in his work, both at Wayne Enterprises and in the Batcave. His formal interactions with Hailey continued, courteous but clipped, a wall he seemed unable or unwilling to dismantle.

Hailey observed this shift with a quiet ache. The man who had shown her such unexpected compassion, who had offered her a path back to humanity, now kept her at a distance. She found herself replaying their past conversations, searching for a clue, a reason for his withdrawal, but found nothing concrete. The overheard fragment of Alfred’s words echoed in her mind: “…in love with her.”

Was this distance a struggle with those feelings? Or a rejection of them? She tried to appear unaffected, maintaining her professional demeanor at the shelter and her calm presence within the manor, but the unanswered questions gnawed at her.

***

One afternoon, a few weeks after the party, Richie was in the midst of building an elaborate blanket fort in the living room, enlisting Alfred as his chief architect. Bruce was in his study, attempting to focus on a new corporate acquisition, but his mind kept wandering. Hailey was at the shelter, finishing up a session with a young girl.

The silence of the manor, usually a comfort, now felt heavy to Bruce. He closed his laptop, running a hand over his face.

The logical part of his brain screamed that he was doing the right thing, maintaining boundaries, keeping her safe, keeping himself safe from a complicated emotional entanglement.

But another part, a deeply unfamiliar part, felt a profound emptiness. He walked aimlessly through the vast, quiet halls, finding himself, almost unconsciously, drawn towards the door of Hailey’s room. He stopped short, however, remembering Hailey wouldn’t be there. She was always at the shelter this time of day.

He found Alfred and Richie laughing amidst a pile of cushions and blankets.

“Having fun?” Bruce asked, a small smile touching his lips at Richie’s joyful face.

“We’re building the biggest, bestest castle ever!” Richie declared, popping his head out from under a duvet. “You wanna help, Bruce?”

Bruce hesitated for only a second.

“Absolutely,” he said, and for the first time in weeks, a genuine lightness entered his voice as he joined them, pushing aside his perplexing thoughts, if only for a little while.

The blanket castle was complete, a magnificent, sprawling fortress of cushions, sheets, and imagination. It had everything: towering walls of draped fabric, secret passages known only to its builders, and even a moat—a dry one, made of carefully placed bathmats, but a moat nonetheless.

Inside their cozy, improvised stronghold, the troubles of the world were forgotten. The three of them, Bruce, Alfred, and Richie, fought off hordes of imaginary Mongols and roared back at equally imaginary dragons, their laughter echoing through the otherwise quiet manor halls. For a precious few hours, there was only the pure, unadulterated joy of shared make-believe.

Afterwards, Alfred clapped his hands together, a gentle suggestion in his tone. “Right then, gentlemen. Perhaps we should commence with tidying things up a bit before Miss Hailey comes home?”

Richie, still flushed with play, eagerly agreed, and Bruce, with a lightness he hadn’t felt in weeks, joined them. Together, they dismantled the grand fortress, folding blankets and stacking cushions, restoring order to the living room just as the afternoon light began to fade. With the living room returned to its usual stately calm, Bruce headed down to the Batcave, the familiar hum of computers a stark contrast to the innocent chaos he’d just enjoyed upstairs.

***

Hailey finally arrived home, the familiar quiet of the manor greeting her as she stepped inside. But the quiet didn’t last long. Richie, bursting with suppressed energy, immediately ambushed her.

“Dr. Hailey, Dr. Hailey!” he exclaimed, practically dancing with excitement. “You’ll never guess what happened! We built a castle! A giant one, with walls and everything!”

Hailey knelt, her smile warm. “Oh, really? A castle? Was it a very brave castle?”

“The bravest!” Richie nodded vigorously. “And we had to fight! There were so many Mongols, and big, scary dragons!” He puffed out his chest, demonstrating a mighty swing. “But we slayed them all! Bruce helped, and Alfred too!”

Alfred, emerging from the direction of the kitchen, offered a theatrical sigh.

“Indeed, Miss Hailey. A most perilous engagement. The young master, with Master Bruce’s tactical genius, and my humble assistance, did indeed dispatch a great many fearsome dragons and, I believe, several hundred, rather dusty, Mongol invaders.” He winked at Richie, who giggled.

Hailey laughed, genuinely delighted by his earnestness.

“Mongols and dragons, you say?” she asked, a playful glint in her eye. “Goodness! So, is it safe for me to be home now? Are all the monsters gone?”

Richie nodded, very serious again.

“Yep! We checked everywhere. They’re all gone now. You’re safe, Dr. Hailey!” He beamed, clearly proud of their heroic defense.

“Well, thank you, brave knights,” Hailey said, standing up and placing a gentle hand on Richie’s head. “I feel much safer knowing I have such valiant protectors.”

Hailey tussled Richie’s hair, a soft smile on her face, before leaning in and planting a light kiss on Alfred’s cheek, making the butler’s own smile widen.

“Thank you, both of you,” she said, her voice warm, and then headed upstairs to her room.

She closed the door behind her and walked over to her bed, sinking down onto the edge of the mattress. Her gaze fell on her nightstand, and she noticed a picture frame that wasn’t there this morning.

It was a candid shot from the day of the hearing, right after they had left the courthouse. In the photo, she, Richie, and Bruce were walking together, all holding hands, a rare moment captured where all three of them looked genuinely unburdened. Bruce had a soft, proud look on his face as he glanced at Richie, who was beaming, and she herself was smiling, a lightness in her eyes that had been absent for far too long.

Tucked discreetly into the bottom corner of the frame was a small, folded note, its edges perfectly creased. She pulled it out and immediately recognized Alfred’s familiar, precise script:

Dear Miss Hailey,

I placed this picture here so you would not forget what is real.

Master Bruce is a man accustomed to silence, but in this house, you have taught him to listen for a different echo. His shadows are vast, but the light you and Master Richard bring has never been brighter.

Do not let the difficulties of the present convince you to doubt the truth in his eyes in this moment.

You are his anchor.

Hailey slowly re-folded the note, her chest tightening with gratitude. Alfred understood. He had always understood Bruce’s complexity and his tendency to withdraw when most afraid. She looked back at the photograph, the weight of her longing now tempered by the powerful truth in Alfred’s words. She was his anchor. She just had to hold steady.

But the relief was momentary. Her body still ached at the sight, an ache of longing for the spontaneous, unburdened happiness captured in the photo—a happiness that felt so close, yet now, with Bruce’s newfound distance, seemed painfully out of reach.

A soft knock sounded at her door. She quickly wiped at her eyes, trying to compose herself, before opening it. Alfred stood there, a concerned kindness in his gaze. He didn’t need her to feign composure; he knew.

“Master Bruce is downstairs,” Alfred said, his eyes subtly flicking towards the floor, a clear implication of the Batcave. With that, he turned and headed back down to the main floor.

Alfred, ever present and perceptive, didn’t tell her Bruce’s whereabouts for nothing, she thought. A new feeling, a spark of defiance, ignited within her. Her resolve hardened. This cold shoulder business was going to stop today.

***

She made her way down the hidden stairway, her steps light and deliberate. The familiar whir of machinery and the cool, sterile air of the Batcave grew stronger as she descended. She found him at the main terminal, his back to her, a silhouette against the glowing screens. He was scrolling through files, endless files of unsolved crimes, each one a testament to the darkness he constantly fought. He was so absorbed, so focused, that she remained utterly undetected.

Suddenly, a particular file popped up on the screen, its details displayed prominently.

“I know about that one!” Hailey interjected, her voice cutting through the hum of the computers.

Bruce visibly started, his shoulders tensing, and he spun around, his eyes wide with surprise.

“Harley,” he said, the name a raw whisper then quickly corrected. “Hailey. How did you…?”

“The old Ajax Chemical Plant,” she stated, stepping further into the light, her gaze steady on his surprised face. “The one you’ve had flagged as a cold case for illegal weapons manufacturing.”

She paused, letting the information sink in.

“It’s not just a front for chemical waste. There’s a hidden gun manufacturing operation underneath it. Like, deep underneath. Not just small arms, either. They’re building high-caliber rifles and even some prototypes for military-grade explosives.”

She walked closer to the terminal, pointing to a schematic on the screen.

“See this old ventilation shaft here?” Her finger traced a line on the display. “It’s been repurposed. It leads down to a series of abandoned sub-basements, a whole network. They’ve got sophisticated machinery down there, imported from eastern Europe, mostly, smuggled in pieces and assembled on site. There’s a particular kind of steel alloy they’re using, almost undetectable by standard metal detectors, and a unique tracer compound in the gunpowder that leaves a faint, sweet smell after discharge. The intel I picked up, it was from a couple of low-level goons bragging. They called it ‘The Foundry.’”

Hailey met his gaze, her expression serious.

“It’s run by a syndicate, not just a one-off operation. They’re selling to anyone with cash, no questions asked. The weapons are moving through Gotham’s docks, hidden in shipments of legitimate goods. I even heard they have a few of your… ‘regulars’ as clients.”

Bruce sat there, stunned into silence. Before he could process the influx of information or formulate a single question, Hailey reached out and, with surprising force, gently pushed him out of his chair. She took his place at the terminal, her fingers flying across the keyboard.

Blueprints of the old Ajax Chemical Plant flashed onto the main screen, then zoomed in to reveal intricate details of its believed-to-be-flooded sub-basements.

“Everyone thought these levels were completely submerged and structurally unsound,” she explained, her voice quick and precise as she highlighted various sections. “But there’s a cleverly disguised pump system, installed in the nineties, that diverts the groundwater to an old, unused sewage line. It’s almost impossible to detect from the surface without specialized sonar, which is why your initial scans likely missed it.”

Her finger moved across the digital map, pointing out every minor detail.

“Here,” she indicated a reinforced wall, “there’s a hidden blast door, disguised as part of the old foundation. And this section,” she zoomed in on a series of pipes, “is where they vent the fumes from the metalwork and chemical processes. It’s connected to the abandoned sewer system, dissipating the scent. It’s brilliant, really, in its depravity.”

Hailey glanced at him, a flicker of her old, analytical brilliance in her eyes. “They’ve thought of everything.”

Hailey pulled up ledgers from the docks by the bay, her eyes scanning lines of data, numbers and dates blurring until a pattern emerged. Her fingers flew across the screen, filtering, cross-referencing, her analytical mind working at lightning speed.

“There,” she said, her voice sharp with discovery, as she highlighted a specific entry. “This boat, the Sea Serpent, it’s one of their ‘regulars’ picking up guns. It’s scheduled to leave at 11:15 tonight.”

She stood up, a quiet triumph in her posture. Leaning in, she placed a light kiss on Bruce’s cheek—a soft brush that lingered just long enough to register. Then, with a knowing smile, she whispered, “You’re welcome.”

Without another word, she turned and walked toward the hidden stairs. At the first step, she paused, one hand resting lightly on the railing. She glanced back at him, her eyes glinting with mischief and something deeper.

“Don’t forget the ice cream while you’re out, Bats.” She said with a wink. And then she was gone, disappearing silently into the shadows, leaving Bruce still trying to process what the hell just happened.

© Copyright 2026 J.R. Geiger. All rights reserved.