(Bruce Wayne POV)

There are more than sixteen emotions in the human emotional spectrum described by the Ophelia Foundation, but not one of them can describe this palpable feeling of regret coursing through my veins as I handle the outburst of my mentees.

I find it hard to believe that I could have done such a thing as letting them know of the Agamemnon Vault. Even Alfred knows only of it but not its content yet, in my haste to overcorrect, I have led children to one of my most important projects.

"Maybe Alfred's right. Maybe… I am getting more emotional." I think aloud, not expecting someone to be listening.

"You speak as if having emotions are but hindrances, Master Bruce." Alfred shows himself, hiding away the smirk in his face as he brings me a tray of tea. "Good morning, Master Bruce. Working late?"

"Worrying late, more like it." I huff, basking in the sweet aroma of the chamomile beverage. "And I'm not implying it to be detrimental, Alfred. My duty to this city is sacrosanct and I'm just afraid of slipping during these chaotic times."

"Well, it's a good thing that you are fear incarnate, are you not, Master Bruce?" Alfred smirks as he leaves me be, but not before giving me another advice. "Perhaps sleep upon it. Otherwise I would have to remove your stitches… without anesthesia."

A snort escapes me as I contemplate my next actions. I have already contacted Cobblepot after the hubbub with Black Mask, berating him–and the whole of the underworld in turn–for allowing such a brazen display of our connection. It had been our understanding from day one that the deal was one I would not enact if it were not for the importance of the mission.

The plan is set for the night after tomorrow; only two criminal groups are allowed to be open and operating with four operational bases within three miles of each other. With the Batmobile's top speed and the pre-programmed code from NEMA that will be injected into a backdoor passage into Gotham's traffic control system, I can arrive at any of the four operational bases within three minutes; two minutes if The Reaper chooses the northern subway station near Chinatown.

I have already upgraded my suit to counteract his blades and guns, albeit at the cost of degrading the effectiveness of my movements. I have my doubts whether it is enough, but I'm not the only one who will be there.

"Let's hope they don't employ someone worrisome. After that… The deal is over." I sigh, thinking about how I have yet to tell anything about this to Jim.

I check up on the status of his temporary demotion, having been thrown under the bus by the previous commissioner during the Greatest Riddle Incident.

[Gordon Back On The Job!]

[A True Look At The Greatest Riddle Ever Made: Batman's Greatest Mistake]

[Meet Captain James Gordon, a survivor of the Serana Terrorist Attack]

It looks like he's back on the job, albeit with a scratch on his shield. One that I will go away so long as he keeps being pulled into the Serana Manor attack.

Like the kids, Gordon will most likely disapprove of my methods, more so than usual.

While I can argue my decision to exclude the heroes of the other cities is incomprehensible to those who have yet to understand the dangers of my villains, Edmund is right in saying that my actions that day are tainted by the fire of vengeance in my heart.

They could have died that day and in the hands of white-collar steel workers who, by my investigations, used the chaos of The Reaper to try to kidnap a Gotham elite for ransom.

My hands clenched involuntarily. Breathing hardens at the knowledge of any civilian ousting their normal life due to the call of poverty and injustice.

I have calculated all of that, as well as the risks of The Reaper versus the collective weight of Gotham's criminal empire having a favor from me. Richard is right in saying that my near-death with The Reaper played a large part in that decision, but so are the ongoing crimes committed in The Reaper's name.

I would have argued that were it not for The Reaper, The League of Assassins would not have attempted such an indiscriminate and prominent display of their prowess. It was by pure luck that J'onn had been there to assume control of the situation.

If it were not for him, then Olgar and I would have been sidelined with Chesire and her poisons that Edmund, Richard, and Peng Delian would have been kidnapped, or worse.

Thankfully, Edmund and his mother had been safe, and so was Rachel. Sweet, innocent Rachel. Just the mere thought of her name brings a smile to my face, images of our time together resurfacing in my mind with such clarity that I stop my work.

Although it had only been a month since we started… Well, it's not exactly a relationship. We haven't given each other labels, nor did we have a talk about it, merely enjoying each other's company in social functions and otherwise.

'Not that I need labels, but it is nice to know whether she likes me enough to have the talk–What am I doing?'

Nevertheless, I came to truly know her and her rather comparable background. The urge to bring kindness and peace into this world is one that I am greatly attuned to, albeit in a different way.

Her dream is to be a nun, one that she is so close to achieving. Truthfully, I've been neglecting our relationship ever since the League of Assassins accident a few days ago.

'In fact, why don't I invite her into the den? Alfred would love some company other than my own and Richard. And the kids are not here. That is a good idea, Bruce.'

With but one press on his Batcomputer, the screen shows an image of Rachel in a flowery sundress being carried by me with a looming sunset as a background. I didn't expect her to answer; it being early in the morning, but she does.

"Good~Hwua~morning, Bruce." Her sweet voice tingles my ears as she yawns. "Video call or no?"

"Not at the moment." I reply as I'm in the Batcave, although I do have a program that can implant a fake background whenever. "How are you, Rachel? It has been some time since we talked."

"Uh-huh," the tone in her voice suggests something to me and my mind tries to find what it is. "I think you left me a voicemail after the explosion. Telling me about, uh, going to the hospital."

'I see. She's frustrated that I haven't talked to her since. It makes sense.'

"I know, and I apologize for that. It has been… quite a few troubling days." I lighten my tone, hoping that my next few words lighten her mood. "You know what, why don't we go somewhere later this noon? I heard they're trying to build a Flash Museum in Central City. Perhaps that would soothe your mood."

She scoffs, "My mood?"

My eyes narrow as I answer quickly, "The incident at the Serana Manor. It must have, you must have been scared, and I wasn't there for you when you needed me the most. Rachel, I apologize for that."

"Apology accepted," she giggles, voice chipper than before. "Although I didn't need you to apologize, Bruce. I'm sure it wasn't just me that it was hard on. I was actually quite busy too, what with helping the family who lost people pray."

A hum escapes me, eliciting a chuckle from Rachel. "I'm sorry. It's just… It was nice getting to know you, Rachel. I know our time together is–"

"Bruce." She interjects before I can get my feelings out. "How about I meet you at your home? Say, an hour before lunch?"

I go silent for a moment, contemplating her words and the suggestiveness of her tone. There is an inkling at the back of my head that she's hinting at something important, but I tune it out. Edmund is right. Not everything needs to be deducted before it happens; sometimes the best surprises are just that–a surprise.

"Of course." I assent. "Is there anything I should ask Alfred to cook for lunch?"

"Yes. Tell him that you will cook me lunch." She says playfully as a smile paints my face.

"Your wish is my command."

----------------------------------------

(Edmund Serana POV)

"I'm sorry, what?" I clean my ear with my pinky as I lean in for Bruce to confirm his words.

Rachel giggles as she daintily raises her finger, showing off the brilliant pink diamond inside of a platinum ring. "We're engaged!"

Dick claps his hands on instinct, dazed and confused about the sudden announcement. "W-wow."

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

"I know." I blink–Hard–before I look at Alfred for confirmation. "Really?"

"Indeed, Young Master Edmund. It seems that Master Bruce is… quite attached to Mistress Rachel." Alfred gives me a knowing smile, as if saying he, too, didn't believe this shit just happened.

Bruce hums smugly, having surprised his father figure for once. "I didn't realize it at first, but I find myself thinking about her every day. Her every smile brightens the room, my focus slips at imagining our conversations. As if I've been stricken from my lonely tower and forced to mud through the mire of socialization… and I love it. I absolutely love it."

For once Bruce's deep cover of a playboy billionaire cracks and he shows his true feelings as he tucks in a loose blonde hair into Rachel's ear. His gaze holds her in a deep embrace, a picture perfect couple sitting in front of me.

'Boy, I hope this goes well. As far as I know, he doesn't have an excellent track record with this sort of thing. Oh, my god. I hope she doesn't die. Wait, what am I saying? Maybe I can change the trajectory of this relationship. You know, let Bruce be happy. Shit. Am I projecting my parent's problem onto them? No, fuck. This is just me being a good mentee.'

"What about your, uh, other projects, Bruce?" I ask, seeing as it had only been a day after he introduced the Agamemnon Vault to Dick and I. "I thought it was urgent and stuff."

"I know. I've pushed it back a day so that I can spend the rest of this day with my," He hesitates as a ghost of a blush emerges in his cheeks, "My fiance."

Rachel bites her lips, struggling to resist the giggle bubbling in her mouth. "I can't. Sorry, I can't!" She bursts out laughing with Bruce joining in soon after with a light laugh.

I look at Dick, who shares the same look as I do. It really feels like Bruce has entered his romantic phase and is out of his emo phase, which, in some part, feels great to see. Yet knowing that his life is going to take a turn for the worse because that's how it always was in the comics and shows–it makes me feel things that he will not like.

'But this isn't a comic book, Edmund. This is real life. I get hurt in real life. I save people in real life. I… make friends in real life. Maybe Bruce can be happy in this life, marry Rachel, have kids–which would mean Damian wouldn't be born–and leave his life of violence and justice. If that can happen, no matter how improbable on its own, then having a good life in this world is not impossible.'

A smile spreads across my face. "I'm happy for you two. I really am."

Bruce caresses Rachel's hands as he nods at me. "Thank you. I'm happy, too."

"Now, is it, like, are you pregnant?" Dick interrupts the moment by speaking directly to Rachel.

She flushes in embarrassment, 'Wha–? No. I'm not pregnant!"

"Oh," Dick nods like an all knowing sage. "I see. Denial."

"Richard." Bruce grunts before leaning towards Rachel, "You're… not pregnant, are you?"

Her blush becomes more pronounced as she shakes her head vehemently, "What? No. We always have–"

Alfred clears his throat, saving us from hearing about their nightly proclivities. "How about we celebrate this engagement with a homemade cheesecake?"

The whole afternoon had been a surprise to me–a welcome one, to be sure. It might have been too hasty in our mind, but I'm sure Bruce has a reason as to why he agreed to an impromptu engagement. His smile matches hers, the way their movements feel free like the air of joy dancing around their frames.

Rachel had told us that the engagement was going to be a long one, maybe a year or two since there's still some unfinished business to be done on both ends.

And, damn it, it makes me really nervous. Especially when I checked the local news portals and the sudden decrease in crime during the last few days. It might have been just me being doubly nervous and paranoid because we're now patrolling through Gotham every other night and have now first-hand experience of its criminals' depravity.

Still, it's better to trust my gut on this thing. Once we finish Alfred's superb dessert, I excuse myself and enter the bathroom before taking out my secret phone.

To: Russia W/ Love

How's the soul-searching going?

I get an immediate reply back from Olgar.

From: Russia W/ Love Be in awe kid From: Russia W/ Love Wait video didn't send

To: Russia W/ Love

Can't send or receive video on my phone.

From: Russia W/ Love It wont send Sending picture From: Russia W/ Love [Image Sent] Be in awe kid

The image he sends is a close-up of his new metal arms, a striking silver chrome with curved ridges that look like aluminum tubes in exhaust fans. He then sends another half-body image of him flexing his metal arm. The material compresses to form a facade of muscles that perfectly resembles that of Olgar's real ones.

From: Russia W/ Love Apology gift from Kord and his blond friend, I can scissor people now. Blondie wants to know your number

A brow hooks up in intrigue. I may not be familiar with the entirety of this universe, but I am familiar with the time traveling hero, Booster Gold. I hold off on answering, questioning why Booster would want my number.

I'm sure that while I tout my intelligence in creating that new breed of humanoid creatures, it doesn't actually hold any value in the real world. Unless, of course, that my achievement during my stay in Happy Harbor is world-changing and can otherwise only be created with future technology.

My eyes widen as the keypads light up in my typing.

To: Russia W/ Love

Do it. Also, where are you? Need a favor.

Almost immediately, the phone buzzes twice.

From: Unknown Number Hey-o! Your friendly neighborhood hero, Booster Gold, texting this fine and mighty vigilante. How are you, pal?

From: Russia W/ Love Kord can teleport me to Gotham, What tdo you ned?

Before I can reply to both messages, the unknown number begins calling me, which sparks a specific fear of mine. For a moment, I halt my actions and merely look on as it rings, completely unmoved by the urgency of its blaring rings.

I calm myself and answer the call, putting the phone into my ears with a, "Hello?"

A static zing comes out of the other line followed by cloth ruffling before an energetic voice greets me. "Howdy, stranger! I hope I didn't startle you. I know you hate–I mean, kids your age… you know, they hate it, calls and everything. Any-hoo! How are you?"

I hesitate to answer his inane question after that greeting, finding myself deeply confused as to how he knows me. He catches himself quickly, but my ears still pick up his original words.

'Fuck. Does he know me from the future? Am I famous in the future? Wait. Oh, my god. I can't believe I really created a new breed of humanoid creatures. I am a genius.'

Feeling better about myself, I answer back. "Good enough. Forgive me, but you seem to have me at a disadvantage… You seem to know me, but I don't know you."

He forcefully chuckles, "C'mon. Don't tell me you haven't seen me in the news? I recently had an interview with Clark Kent from the Daily Planet? No?"

"Nope."

"Really?" His voice cracks as he tries one more time, "Maybe you've heard of my catchphrase? 'I'm…"

"Static Shock?" I shake my head, as if he'll know that I'm doing it.

His frustration leaks through the phone call, enjoying pissing off a man who knows what will happen in the future. "Come on, man! What? No, I'm not arguing with a kid. Shut up, Skeetz."

"Alright, I have a cheesecake to finish and I'm afraid someone won't share." I put an end to my charade as I change my tone. "What is it you want, Booster Gold? Why ask for my number?"

He clears his throat, "Alright. Well, I just wanted to meet you and hear your voice."

"What?" My honest reaction comes through, causing him to chuckle. "Just… wanted to hear my voice?"

"Yeah, basically. Look, I hear you're being trained by Batman and that honestly sounds like it sucks, so maybe you need encouragement from a well-beloved, not well-known yet, global superstar of a hero. Whadd'ya say?" A well-meaning yet undoubtedly smug grin image of Booster Gold comes through the audio call.

'Does he not hear how creepy that sounds? No, Edmund. Be chill. He probably wants to give me 32st tech schematics to help me improve the genetics of the human race since that would be my forte. Wait. My genetics are fucked up because of the ten different metagenes, if his gadget can help me synthesize my blood… the results can fundamentally change the structure of human genes. I can create metahumans on a whim, genetically engineering my offsprings to be on par with Superman. If I do that, then I need to train and supervise their growth. I need to remove the Yes-men in their lives, make sure they get proper obstacles in life, and develop them to be compassionate and morally-strong metahumans. On the other hand, if I can inject them at a young age… within five or seven years, I can have a squadron of superhumans that can subjugate the entire planet in months. The world is at my fingertips. I can command them to commit the genocide of the entire homosapiens. Jesus, am I going to be a dictator? Well, I can be a good dictator–not that there's kind ones. But I can be a Black Swan event. No. That's not what Black Swan events are–'

"How about it?" Booster interrupts my grim thoughts.

I breathe in and ask, "What kind of encouragement?"