Bruce continued to fight his heart, the cold logic of his lifelong fear a constant war against the warmth he felt for Hailey. Pulling out his cell phone, he made a quick call, refusing to give in.

“I need to talk to you,” he said, his voice raw with a pain he couldn’t hide.

“I’ll be home all night,” a familiar voice on the other end responded.

Later, Bruce found himself standing on a doorstep, knocking as if watching himself in a movie. The door opened, and Barbara Gordon wheeled out to meet him, her chair a silent testament to a tragedy he still carried.

“Come in, Bruce,” she said, her expression softening as she saw the bandage covering the right side of his face. “Looks like you’ve been hit by a truck.”

“A truck named Bane,” He said. “I need you to listen and not interrupt.”

“Okay, Bruce. I’m all ears,” she nodded.

Bruce went on to tell Barbara everything that had happened over the past eighteen months. He started with Harley Quinn’s desperate plea to him, not to Batman, and how he had crafted her a new life under the name Hailey, her position at the shelter, and all the good she was doing to make amends. He told her about taking in young Richard Grayson, and the new family he was trying to build. He spoke of the information Hailey had given him about the Ajax Chemical Plant, of his brutal fight with Bane, and the crushing defeat that had left him broken. He told her how Hailey, in her panic and grief, had suited up in her old Batgirl suit and had gone after Bane. She had subdued him, not killed him, even though she had the chance. He ended with the feelings he had developed for Hailey, the love he was so desperate to deny.

Barbara absorbed everything, her mind working furiously, piecing together the details of a life Bruce hadn’t shared with her in years. She thought long and hard before answering, her face a thoughtful mask.

“Well, Bruce, you’ve certainly had a busy year and a half,” she began, a hint of her old wry humor in her voice. “Hailey sounds like a remarkable woman. You know, I don’t hold any ill will towards her. It was the Joker who put me in this chair, not her. She had nothing to do with it, and it sounds like she’s doing everything she can to atone for her past.”

She paused, her gaze steady.

“But there is something I have to ask you. Does she want to be the new Batgirl? Or was this just a knee-jerk reaction to protect you and Richie?”

Bruce just looked at her, his eyes full of uncertainty. He didn’t know. He hadn’t asked.

“I need to talk to her,” Barbara continued, a new resolve in her voice. “This isn’t a role to be taken lightly, and she deserves to know what she’s getting into. She’s going to need a mentor, and I’m the only one who can truly understand what she’s facing.”

Bruce agreed and told her to come by Wayne Manor the following evening. With that, he left.

***

He found Hailey in the sitting room, reading. Standing in the doorway for a long moment, he felt the distance between them as a chasm he had created.

“Barbara Gordon wants to speak with you,” he finally said, his voice flat. Hailey looked up, her expression guarded. “I don’t know about what,” he continued, “but she knows who you really were, and who you are now. She can be trusted.”

Hailey’s heart pounded in her chest. She knew all about what had happened to Barbara Gordon. The Joker had bragged about it often, a sick, twisted trophy of his victory over the city, even though it had happened long before she had come to Gotham. The thought of facing the woman who was a victim of her past life, even indirectly, filled her with a new kind of dread.

The book in Hailey’s hands, forgotten and unread, slipped from her grasp and fell to the floor, the soft thud swallowed by the manor’s cavernous quiet.

Her past life, the one she had tried so hard to bury, felt like it was catching up to her. The thought of Barbara Gordon, of the Joker’s twisted victory, was a bitter pill to swallow. Will Barbara turn me in to her father, Commissioner Gordon? A thousand frantic questions raced through her mind, a maelstrom of fear and guilt.

Sensing her unease, Bruce approached her, his movements slow and pained but his intent clear.

“Hailey,” he said softly, and she looked up at him, her eyes wide with fear. “Barbara is impressed, even proud, of the way you’ve turned your life around.” He took another step closer. “She won’t say anything. She knows how important you are to…” He cut himself off again, the words he truly wanted to say still trapped behind his fear. “How important you are to Richie.”

“Dammit, Bruce!” she exploded, the fear giving way to a sudden, furious rage. She approached him with fire in her eyes, her small hands balled into fists. “You self-centered, egotistical, stuffed shirt, hard-hearted, pig-headed, ignoramus! Why won’t you say it?!”

He tried to retreat, to put distance between them and the emotions he couldn’t face, but she was too quick. She blocked the door, her body a small, defiant barrier.

“Oh no you don’t! You’re not running away this time,” she insisted, her voice trembling with the force of her anger and poking him in the chest. “Say it, Bruce!”

He shook his head, looking away, his jaw clenched. “I can’t.”

“WHY THE HELL NOT?!” she screamed, punctuating each word with a shove. They were shoves of pure frustration and hurt, a desperate attempt to break through the wall he had built around himself.

The pain on his face was replaced by a look of sheer, gut-wrenching anguish. He turned and faced her again, the words bursting from him like a dam breaking. “BECAUSE EVERYONE I LOVE DIES! OKAY?!”

And there it was. The truth was finally out.

It wasn’t that he was afraid of his feelings for her. He was terrified of what those feelings meant. He wasn’t afraid of being hurt; he was afraid of her being hurt. Because everyone he loved, their importance to him, automatically made them a target.

It was a simple, brutal logic that had defined his entire life as Batman, and now, he was forcing it on her, on them. The silence that followed was heavy and final, filled with the devastating, raw truth of his confession.

“My parents died. Jason died.” Bruce looked defeated. “I don’t want that to happen to you.”

Hailey stared at him, the anger and hurt fading, replaced by a deep and profound understanding. He wasn’t rejecting her; he was terrified of losing her. She took a step toward him, her hand reaching for his, her voice gentle and steady.

“Bruce,” she said, “I’m not a victim. I’m a survivor. You didn’t kill your family. You didn’t do anything to them. And you didn’t do this to me. I made my own choices. I love you too, you big jerk.”

Bruce tried to speak, to protest, to find some last, desperate logical argument to keep her safe, but before he could, she leaned in and kissed him. His words were forgotten, his mind silenced by the soft, warm press of her lips. He returned the kiss, his arms wrapping around her as his body finally, completely, gave in.

Everything from the past twenty-five years—from the gut-wrenching moment of his parents’ murder, to Jason’s death, Barbara’s injury, and every lonely night in between—came crashing down around him. The emotional wall he had so carefully built crumbled like the walls of Jericho, leaving him completely and utterly exposed. He stopped fighting his heart.

A small voice from the doorway giggled, “Are you two getting married?”

It was an innocent question from Richie, who was rubbing the sleep from his eyes, a small, curious figure standing in the doorway.

Bruce didn’t push Hailey away. Instead, he held his hand out to Richie, who scampered across the room and joined the hug, a tiny figure sandwiched between them.

“I think you two should get married,” Richie said matter-of-factly, his head resting against Hailey’s shoulder.

Bruce looked terrified, a panicked look flashing in his eyes. Hailey, seeing it, gently squeezed him.

“We’ll see what the future holds, okay?” she told Richie, her voice soft and reassuring.

“Okay,” Richie answered, the prospect of a wedding already forgotten. “Can we have ice cream now?”

Of course they had ice cream.

Alfred came into the kitchen, his quiet footsteps a stark contrast to the small chaos of the moment. He didn’t even have to ask what all the fuss was about.

He could see it in Bruce’s face—a look of peace he hadn’t seen in years. The subtle, quiet joy was now a permanent fixture in his eyes. Alfred gave Bruce a simple, knowing nod and turned, walking back to bed.

© Copyright 2025 J.R. Geiger. All rights reserved.