Chapter Text
Bruce is already a light sleeper, and paired with the unfamiliar surroundings, Bruce's slumber is restless and has him tossing and turning. The foreign uncanniness of white constricts his worried mind. He stares blearily at the pale expanse of the ceiling, passes out, and gets awakened by baby Maria's weak movements. There's so little space left in his stomach for her, it must be really constraining…
Bruce breathes out a sigh into the alien emptiness of the maternity ward room, the escaping air palpably disturbing the stillness of the night. His skin prickles with goosebumps, though it wasn't cold. Bruce smoothes over the standing hair on his arms, grounding himself.
It's still all so confusing and immobilizing. Less studied locale always made him less efficient, and his hindbrain still does what feels like a tenth once-over of the room.
Cold air hits his chest, making Bruce peer down at the nipple trying its best to slip from under the teal gown. The faint outline of the piercing wound is still there, though Bruce took out the titanium barbells in the beginning of his pregnancy. It would be best, he's read, not to irritate the sensitive tissue of the nipple, and now he knows why. They're sore as hell . The barest breath of wind sends shivers.
The piercings are… sort of a reminder of his past days, encompassing both the good and the bad. He'd gotten them on a whim, that's what Bruce tells himself, to pretend it was his choice and he was in control. But in reality, he was really, really intoxicated, those men at the bar pawed at his shirt-covered chest, and he just couldn't tell them no. He thrived on their boundary-breaching affections.
It wasn't healthy. It wasn't the best idea. Bruce knew that.
And yet, he's returned to the bars where men gave him pointed looks, to pubs where everyone didn't see anything wrong to sit close to him and call him 'babygirl', to the clubs where he was outright groped.
After nights spent in such seedy establishments, Alfred had looked at him with deep sadness. Silent, but dreading the self-destructive choices his ward made.
It hurts to have Alfred worry like this. But Bruce couldn't stop the spiraling he was in, couldn't stop the addiction to being used. He couldn't tell Alfred what was going on in fear of being reprimanded, and Alfred couldn't console him, worried that it would only worsen the distance between them.
And then came Edward.
Snarking through any barriers he'd put up, Edward was relentless. Through blood, sweat, tears and their bodies, they bonded their life together.
It was then that Bruce understood – what he was seeking was love , not just one-night stands. And the longer he knew Edward, the more he'd seen the man behind the mask, and found comfort in his peculiarity. There was something between the two of them, and they knew it.
If someone had told him that, nine months later, he would be in a pregnancy ward , a few days short of having a baby, Bruce wouldn't believe them. But here he is now. Bruce smiles sleepily to himself.
When Bruce finally wakes back up, eyelids heavy and body bloated, to his surprise, he realizes Edward is there, bundled up on the sofa across the bed. He'd bundled himself up on it so well, Bruce wasn't able to see him in the dim light of the moon. The visiting hours hadn't even begun, and yet… It looks like he's been here since yesterday.
Bruce can't even begin to imagine how Edward managed to stay with him throughout the night, in spite of the hospital's policy. He's just that persistent, Bruce has come to learn.
Ignoring the pain in his lower back, Bruce carefully rolls out of bed and waddles up to Edward, snoring away. The machine Bruce is hooked up to luckily has cords long enough for him to move around a bit.
"Ed," he tried, quietly. Zero reaction, save for a tiny stuffy-nosed sniff.
Anchoring himself with his knees, Bruce heaves himself up, and drops his weight on Ed's thighs. That does it. Edward wheezes awake, blinking like an owl and rapidly taking in his surroundings.
"It's okay, sorry, it's just me," Bruce shushes, taking Edward's face in his palms. Edward stills, but he's still wincing.
"Damn, you're heavy," he heaves out. "I love you, but please , you're crushing me."
Bruce tips himself back, ridding Edward of his weight. "Sorry," he murmurs again. "I couldn't help myself, you were sleeping so sweetly–"
"'n’ you thought waking me up is the best course of action?" Edward teases. And, well… he has a point, so Bruce awkwardly shrugs.
Edward rummaged between the couch's bottomless crevices, searching. Bruce helps him fish his glasses out of the leathery confines.
"It's fine, it's fine. And it wasn't really a good night's sleep anyway, this couch is awful," Edward complains. "I mean, you see how it swallowed my glasses? Awful. "
They lay in silence for a moment, just looking at each other and studying each other's tired face. Edward noted the sunken lines around Bruce's eyes, while Bruce brushed away the messy, nightmare-sweaty hair from Edward's face. It felt unbearably sweet .
As the silence stretched on, Bruce continued to pepper him with attention. He traced the light rise of Edward's nose bridge, brushed away the tears that were lured out by the wide yawns, thumbed at his chapped lips. It was really flustering to have this much focus on his face, on his features.
Diverting Bruce's attention, Edward puts a palm on the round stomach, and smiles in its direction. Bruce still keeps petting his cheeks with his thumbs, but the distraction works.
"How are you doing, Maria?" Edward asks the stomach mirthfully.
Bruce tilts his head with a smile, amused. His tired, baggy eyes adorably crease.
"Having fun in there, you little menace?" Edward continues to ask, and he barely finishes his question before he gets a light nudge into his palm.
Bruce winces. "Ow, ow. The kick would have been more powerful if it wasn't so cramped for Maria."
"Sorry," Edward murmurs to the two of them. He slides lower, putting an ear to Bruce's stomach, and speaks again. "Will you take long? C'mon, don't stew in there for much longer." His voice gets softer, more tender as he fixes his glasses. "We're waiting for you, little one."
Bruce's heart pricks with love.
"The nurses said she's due any day now," he shares. Edward beams, nodding.
Memories of nurses cooing over him and complimenting his skin come to mind as well. "They say pregnant women glow. Would you say the same happened to me?" he asks, knowing how silly he sounds.
That attracts a more critical look at his body as Edward helps him sit upright.
"Mmmyeah, I'd say you look pretty lustrous," Edward admits thoughtfully. "Might be my bad eyesight and the morning sun playing tricks on me, though. Can't blame the sun for bending the laws of physics a bit for Your Beautiness."
"Prick," Bruce chuckles. It felt good to make him laugh, no matter how short the moment.
They scavenge the snacks from the vending machine afterwards, and Bruce was content with the sugary treats entering his system once more. The carbohydrates also helped numb the pain in his hips, as Bruce told him. Well, anything that could help Bruce was a net positive in Edward's book.
Goofing around together soothes the prickles of anxiety as well. Throughout the day, Edward sees Bruce's frown loosen, his shoulders didn't flinch as much, and his smile appears more often. It seemed like the imminent birth was weighing on his mind less.
Once the night blankets Gotham, Bruce settles into the hospital bed, staring into a book he's brought but not flipping the page for at least five minutes. He's blinking owlishly, and soon the book falls out of his hands as he falls asleep.
Edward hasn't noticed he himself succumbed to sleep soon after.
He wakes up from stifled whines, growing in pitch.
It's Bruce's; he is holding back screams by the sound of it, like he did when his stomach was sliced nearly open that one dangerous night.
It stills the blood in his veins, and Edward is wide awake in a flash and on his feet.
"Bruce? Bruce ?!"
Bruce pants something out, hurting and sweating bullets, and Edward feels those words more than he hears them. He doesn't need to hear, the pulse in his ears is temporarily deafening.
He kisses Bruce's forehead like it's the last time, and rushes out of the room.
He must have screeched his lungs out, Edward isn't sure. The nurses are rushing to Bruce's room, however, and Edward's throat is scratching itself apart.
As he's clutching Bruce's hand like a lifeline, refusing to be batted away by the nurses, he punches in the number left to him and shakily makes the call.
Slurred posh-accented speech soothes Edward, and he manages to describe the situation without mincing and scrambling his words.
"I'll be right there," comes a reassuring reply. Edward breathes easier. Alfred's steady presence is exactly what he and Bruce need right now.
"Alfred's gonna be here soon," he babbles to Bruce. "I'm with you, hold on to my hand, please, just hold on …"
The words come out so pathetic, so whiny, and Bruce tightens his grip and does not let go even when the nurses began detaching his IV. As he's wheeled to the labor and delivery room, he clenches his jaw shut to hold in the pained sounds increasing in frequency. The cold fluorescent lights of the hospital seared Edward's eyes, but even through it, he saw Bruce's twisted lips.
Edward couldn't stop his feverish whispers, hoping to sap away some of the pain Bruce was going through. "You're doing so good, Bruce, she's going to be with us soon, just a lil' bit more…"
Bruce licks his puffy lips, sweat rolling down his cheeks. "It's so much– Please …"
Edward holds Bruce's trembling hand closer, helping the nurses guide the gurney to the backdrop of their murmurs. Even with their presence all around them, his world tapers to Bruce and only Bruce – panicked, clutching his stomach and paler than death.
He's never seen Bruce this scared.
The seconds ooze by with every forceful pump of blood Edward feels in Bruce's hands.
Edward doesn't even notice when they enter the labor and delivery room. The nurses push a face mask towards Bruce, their words of 'pain medication' and 'self-administration' vaguely ringing around the two of them.
Edward helps Bruce guide it to his mouth and make the first inhale.
Lidded eyes suddenly flash open at him, and Bruce gasps in the analgesic gas.
Bruce slowly regains his speech with every tiny lungful. " Fuck ," Bruce wheezes. "'S better."
"How are you feeling?" Edward asks him with worry, still keeping the mask close to his face. "The nurses said this gas has a short duration of action and a short onset, so it kicks in seconds after you inhale."
Bruce sighs, nods, and takes a quick breath. "Feeling awful, but I expected as much." His voice is clipped, and the pain isn't entirely gone judging by the way he shuts his eyes for a second longer during blinks. But at least he is able to communicate now, and the contractions seem to be ebbing away. "It's like dull, expanding pressure in the abdomen, even worse than indigestion," Bruce adds. He takes a breath of the gas. "Fucking awful."
"That's a lot of swearing, I hope Maria can't hear you yet," Edward jokes, carefully massaging Bruce's belly. The nurses said it should help with the muscle tension during birth, and Bruce indeed relaxes more, chuckling at Edward's joke.
The next contraction comes, harsher than its predecessors. The interval between them has shortened to just a couple of minutes.
Gritting his teeth, Bruce braces himself on Edward's arm. Dry wheezes, ones he gave up on holding back, chapped his lips even more.
After a few agonizing minutes of tense muscles, Edward hears nurses forbid someone from entering the delivery room.
That must be Alfred! Just in time.
"I think Alfred's here, hold on," Edward murmurs. "I'll be back before you know it."
Bruce squeezes his hand a few times before he lets him go.
"–I'm his legal guardian, for Gods' sake," comes an angry phrase, and yep, it is definitely Alfred.
"Mr Pennyworth!" Edward exclaims, and the argument stops in a heartbeat.
Immediately, Alfred rushes over to him. "How is he?" he asks, hands on Edward's shoulders and worriedly glancing into his eyes.
"In pain, but he's managing it with some analgesic gas. He's doing well," Edward reassures him in response, and Alfred breathes easier, slumping his shoulders. He looks… really tired. Tired beyond being woken up in the middle of the night.
"That's good– that's good," he murmurs, and promises to the nurses he'll be in and out. Begrudgingly, with Edward's reassurance, they let him in.
Alfred immediately calls out to Bruce the second his foot crosses the doorstep. His voice booms in the room filled with beeping of machinery, making Bruce perk up.
He is enveloped in a tight hug, held close to Alfred's chest for a few soft moments.
When they depart, Alfred looks at him with sadness. "I'll have to leave you in Mr Nashton's care, as I cannot be here for too long, I'm afraid. But know that I am proud of you."
Grimacing from pain and mouth open in confusion, Bruce asks, "But why–?"
"You're going to be alright on your own, Bruce. Carry on, son," Alfred cuts him off, giving him a tender, wet-eyed look. He isn't one to enjoy wearing his heart on his sleeve, proud to a fault.
Bruce's heart prickles – he's never been called that by Alfred. He hides his face in the gas mask as Alfred exits the room and settles somewhere in the corridor.
It's difficult to stop himself from calling Alfred, asking him to stay a little longer.
Alfred knows he will persevere, and believes in him.
That realization fills Bruce with determination and willpower.
He gives it his all to constricting his abdominal muscles, for Alfred and for Edward.
Too soon, there's a shift in the pressure in his stomach cavity, pushing the air out of his lungs, and Bruce gasps. "There's– I feel her," he tells both the nurses and Edward, and they reassure him and reward him with the strength to keep going.
One of the nurses joyfully peers in his eyes, and gives him a thumbs up, caringly adjusting the pulse meter on his arm. Having been woken up from his night's sleep, Edward owlishly blinks, not stopping rubbing Bruce's stomach to help with the process.
And then it hurt like hell .
He can feel her pushing out of him, and it's a terrifying feeling. She is finally leaving his body, and his pregnant mind is screeching at him that this is wrong, she is always supposed to be there with him. But Bruce looks around, finds Edward's attentive, tired eyes, and grounds his stuttering psyche.
The pain sears his insides, making it torture to live through every next second.
So Bruce reminds himself of why he needs to go through this pain.
Baby Maria will be here with them soon thanks to it. She will blab her first word, take her first step, scrunching her round face. Her hair might begin to curl, just like Edward's, and her face will be so adorably plump. Oh, how rambunctious she will be, a little flurry of joy and energy. Would she be a picky eater, or would she love her vegetables?
Probably. Alfred's cooking is always to die for.
Bruce lives through his stomach turning inside out, through his hips breaking apart, through bones snapping and recalcifying into jagged demineralized chunks. All for baby Maria.
In his periphery, Edward phases in and out of existence. There's a scent of rubbing alcohol and sweetly bitter coffee, Edward quietly divulging that drinking it wasn't good on an empty stomach, but great for bowel movement.
Bruce feels like his insides are pulsing out of the confines of his skin from all the muscle pressure, like fizz from a bottle with over fermented moonshine.
It's all so fuzzed from pain. The ward is white all around him.
White noise.
White walls.
White hospital gown.
And red around his thighs.
The pain starts to ebb away when, still being connected to him with a bit of flesh, a small swaddle takes her first inhale.
In that instant, all of Bruce's senses are honed in on her.
On baby Maria, shuddering and spreading her lungs, coughing out fluid and finally, finally yelping .
So loud. A fighter, just like her father.
Bruce smiles, and his brain is flooded with happiness . A pure, pearlescent shiny feeling he's never felt before. The pain seems so nebulous and non-existent now, almost fading with the influx of hormones.
A snip of surgical scissors, a swipe of an alcohol-soaked swab, and the tiny, quivering bundle is placed on his chest like the precious miracle of life that she is.
The second she is laid on top, baby Maria opens her bright blue eyes, and looks at Bruce, stare heavy with perceptiveness.
She's still a bit blue in the face that is otherwise so red from exertion and pressure.
Bruce hugs her to his chest, and the world is closed off from the two of them for a few seconds. There is only warmth, care, and her tiny greedily inhaling body, finally with him.
When he opened his eyes, and his unfocused gaze stilled somewhere around Edward's vicinity, Bruce noticed Edward's hands shook as much as his own.
Edward is still and quiet as a statue in a contrastingly bustling room, full of the nurses' commotion and preparation for measurements. He observes the intimate scene before him, plump hands pressed to his mouth, silently crying.
Bruce has expected him to be expressive, explosive in his reaction once baby Maria would be born, but he never expected Edward to quietly bawl his eyes out. The fact made the clench of Bruce's heart that much stronger. He weakly grabbed Edward by the elbow and tugged him in for a hug, baby Maria nestled close to them with a scrunched face.
Into the tight confines of space between them, Bruce hoarsely asks Edward to find Alfred. He really needs Alfred right now, too, as does baby Maria.
Giving a soft look to baby Maria, Edward rushes out into the corridor.
Alfred peers in not too long after, skittish and ready to retract back into the semi-darkness. Bruce isn't sure what's gotten into him, is he… purposefully keeping himself back?
Why?
Might he feel out of place in a maternity ward, a setting for partners and family? Alfred has always denied his role in Bruce's upbringing, whether from humbleness or being too hard on himself, Bruce doesn't know. After all he has done for Bruce, he's still shutting himself out of this weird perfectionism, where anything he does won't ever be as good as a blood relative's care?
All of these rushing thoughts clot into a tired, pleading look he gives Alfred. Hoping Alfred would understand.
Please .
And thankfully, Alfred does walk closer.
"Master Bruce, I hope you understand," he starts, and oh, there's the alienating honorific again, Bruce has really hoped Alfred has excluded it for good. "I do not think it's wise for me to be here. Only family and partners are allowed here, and seeing as how I'm neither…" He wrings his hands worriedly, looking dejected. "What good would an old man's presence do–"
"Alfred, come say hi to your granddaughter," is all Bruce has to say to stop Alfred dead in his tracks. There's confusion and surprise in Alfred's eyes, disbelief and . But when Bruce extends his arms with baby Maria held tight in a sign of acceptance , Alfred melts, giving in.
"Hello, little one," he softly murmurs, voice quivering with feelings and barely held back tears, offering her his hand. She gurgles and instinctually grabs Alfred's thumb. Bruce could see Alfred's upper lip twitch under his fine beard.
"Her grip's so tight and lively," Alfred comments, sounding dreamy and distant, both so focused on Maria and seemingly thinking back to times long past. "She has Mr Nashton's eyes," he adds. His knobbly fingers hesitantly touch baby Maria's chubby cheeks, as if she would fade like a mirage of his imagination.
Bruce smiles. "I think she likes your beard, Alfred," he chuckles as baby Maria reaches out her stubby hand further, to Alfred's face. But she pricks her fingers on Alfred's freshly-shorn gray hair, and her eyes open in an emotion she doesn't understand yet.
She squeaks, scared. There's tears gathering in the corners of her eyes, from not understanding this prickly feeling.
Alfred gasps and frets over her. "Oh, I'm so sorry, little one… here, here, it's all going to be just fine," he jabbers, caressing her small head to soothe her. She is so fragile, like the most translucent porcelain, lip trembling, and Bruce holds her close as she relaxes under Alfred's care. Edward returns, sneaking close to them, comforting baby Maria as well and cooing at how soft her cheeks are.
And, little by little, Maria calms down. Soon, she's sniffing in her sleep, surrounded by people that love her.
She's with them. Baby Maria is finally with them.
The rest of the night blended into early morning without anyone noticing.
For some time, baby Maria is taken away from Bruce to be measured, her healthiness inspected, and for all that information to be written. She is restless when she's moved from Bruce's hands and into the nurses' hold, whimpering and whining. Alfred manages to soothe her yet again with his miracle voice, god knows how he keeps managing to do that.
"Right, I'll take it from there, Bruce," Alfred tells him. "You've had a month's share of stress today. What you and Mr Nashton need now is rest." He nods at Edward, whose jaw is wrenched open from the power of his yawns despite all the coffee he downed down.
Bruce can't help but yawn himself too.
"See, exactly," Alfred chuckles. "I'll make sure Maria feels safe, and knows the nurses aren't there to hurt her."
Bruce silently drops his head into Alfred's shoulder tiredly. The man's wiry hands come around him in a protective hug. "Stellar work, Bruce. I'm so, so proud of you," Alfred adds, quieter, and Bruce swears this is the third or fourth time tears welled up in his eyes.
After a quick cleanup, Alfred tucks his thin hospital blanket a bit snugglier.
Bruce dozes off to the sound of Edward's nasal snoring and the calming beeping of machinery, reassuring him that it's all going to be fine.
Maria turns out to be just about the healthiest newborn there is. Sure, it took her a bit to get the hang of putting Bruce's nipple in her mouth, keeping it there and sucking, and sometimes she makes worrying sneezes, but the nurses reassure Bruce that is normal after he puts a tiny hat on Maria's head to keep her warm.
Bruce pats Maria on the back and patiently helps her latch onto a nipple, adjusting her hat along the way. Her clumsy helplessness is really endearing, and Bruce is happy to teach her the nuances of the world.
Alfred and Edward are absolutely smitten with baby Maria. Often, Bruce catches Edward staring dreamily at Maria, a silly lopsided smile smushed by the cheek he rests on his palm. Whenever Bruce stares for too long, Edward sputters, blushes and puffs up, pretending he wasn't just lovingly looking at their daughter and lost in thought.
He always is the first to be on his feet when baby Maria starts fussing at night, cradling and rocking her in his soft arms. Bruce couldn't be more thankful, as his body is still recovering after birth and a good night's sleep did wonders for him.
Meanwhile, Alfred along with the nurses has put Bruce through the basics of newborn care, patiently teaching him the signs indicating that Maria needs to be rediapered or fed.
"You know, you needed your bottom diapered just as much as sweet little Maria," Alfred conspiratorially shares once the nurses are out of the earshot, and Bruce can't help but be embarrassed for his infant self.
"Was I more of a crybaby than Maria?" he asks Alfred just as quietly.
"Oh, yes. You were easily spooked, and I feared making even the slightest noise, lest you'll be awake and crying your poor eyes out."
Bruce adjusted his half-sitting position, keeping Maria close to his chest. "How'd you manage the crying part?"
Alfred sat next to him on the hospital bed, lost in reminiscence. "Your rocking bed did the job just fine, though you also liked when I read you bedtime stories or sang lullabies, if your parents were busy."
Very fuzzily, Bruce remembered Alfred doing something of that sort. He doesn't sing much these days, however…
"Can you teach me to sing?" he hopefully asks.
Alfred coughs from surprise, his tired throat giving soft wheezes of protest. "Not with these lungs of mine, I think," he solemnly declined. "I'm afraid they aren't what they used to be."
Later, Bruce brings that up to Edward when he brings over some freshly cut apples and berries.
"Someday. Maybe. Don't count on it," comes Edward's curt embarrassed reply as he shuts Bruce up by shoving apple slice after apple slice in his mouth.
"We could do warm-ups for our vocal cords together, but I'm so-o-o rusty," Edward adds, a bit whiny, fishing for compliments, and Bruce gives in after he crunches through the apple.
"I'm sure we'll make for a wonderful duet to dazzle baby Maria with our dulcet tones, Ed," he says warmly. Edward twiddles his large thumbs, pleased.
That night, baby Maria starts whimpering, needing to be soothed. Edward is usually the one to rise first, but he just rolls over onto his other side, deep in slumber on the couch he's called his home the past few days. He has been on Maria's beck and call these past days, always on his feet every night, so he probably is in need of a good night's sleep.
Woozy from sleep, Bruce scrambles to Maria's little bed, shushing her as he picks her into a gentle hold, supporting her tiny head with his palm, so wide in comparison. Doesn't seem like she needs her nappies changed, and Bruce exhales from relief.
She's just arrived in this world, so of course she would be scared so often. With it being so dark and no one seemingly around, it makes sense she would cry out for help and protection.
"Sh-h-h, I'm here, I'm here, no one is going to hurt you," he softly tells her, rocking her in his arms. "I know, it's scary, I know. I'll protect you, my little robin."
Tears slowly dry in her eyes as she is being calmed by Bruce's presence. After what feels like five minutes or so, she yawns with her toothless tiny mouth, smacking her lips.
"You're sleepy too, huh," Bruce says.
He walks over to the window, staring outside. He cradles baby Maria closer to his sore chest, patting her back.
The window holds the view of the graying Gotham skyline, usually so smoggy and blurry. It is rarely a reassuring view, acting as a better backdrop for illegal casinos and drug cartels than for an exercise in mindfulness. Something is… different about it tonight, though. The crowded buildings piercing the night sky look clear, soft in the slowly approaching pink hue of dawn. Like the city itself sheathed its cement claws for the night, did not bare its plexiglass teeth in order to give itself a better night's rest.
The first ray of pink bounces off the reflective hide of a skyscraper and settles on Bruce's skin. Bruce looks at Maria, fast asleep in his hold, and there is a pink glow on her chubby cheeks, too.
"Feels nice, right, pumpkin pie?" he rhetorically asks a snoozing Maria. She scrunches up her nose in her sleep.
Standing like this, with his babygirl safe and sound, makes something flutter in his chest. Bruce has never pegged himself as sentimental, and yet, he feels tears pricking his eyes from the hopefulness of it all.
These past days still feel unreal. She arrived into the world like the brightest ray of sunshine in this godforsaken city. So peppy, healthy, Bruce still cannot believe it.
His mind was full of thoughts in the days before birth, one worse than the other. The entire spectrum of what could go wrong and how it will, laid out in great detail and with heartbreaking alternate realities. What if she is stillborn, what if she gets tangled in the umbilical cord, what if too much liquid gets into her lungs, what if she doesn't make it during birth –
Bruce wheezes and glances past the wall of tears, onto Maria's innocent face, full of life, present, here with him .
She's fine.
Bruce inhales, exhales, and grounds himself in reality.
There are Edward's snores and huffs behind him, and Maria is radiating warmth like the tiniest red dwarf star in existence. The blankets are all around her, like nebulae and dust all around a firstborn celestial body.
His tiny little sunshine.
Oh, how much the gravity of her small presence changed their lives.
He'd have to be so, so careful with her. No vigilante justice, and sticking to homemaking and charity work while Maria is at her most vulnerable. And staying strong for her, protecting her not as Batman, but as Bruce .
Resorting to the Batman cape for so long has become his usual means of dealing with problems. Not a sheltered prince, but a feared shadow. But after laying the mantle off, Bruce realized he was… lost. There was nothing he could do as the only heir: not the apprehension, nor the intimidation, certainly not letting his built-up frustration out on those who deserved it. The only methods of holding the fragile balance in his hands.
What was he, if not Batman?
Then, he didn't have any idea.
Now, though, Bruce would like to think he does .
He tucks Maria in tighter and promises her to do his best as he lays her into her bed and settles into his own.
In a few days, after the last thorough checkup, Bruce is discharged from the hospital, along with baby Maria.
She's really quiet and serious during the process of Bruce and Edward packing up, eyeing everything around her after leaving the maternity ward. There's tiny creases around her brows while she looks at all the unfamiliar people and objects and surroundings. Bruce is worried that she could be scared, even if he's carrying her and holding her close and safe. However, Edward is a step ahead, noticing baby Maria's apprehension and filling the silence by softly naming all the stuff they pass by to her.
Slowly, her skittishness becomes shiny-eyed interest as she drools on Bruce's hand and studies everything Edward points at with interest.
Edward's gentleness eases Bruce's worries of leaving the maternity ward as well.
The nurse that has been taking care of him and Maria waves as she sees them to the registration counter , and Bruce timidly waves back, hoping the action conveys just how much he appreciated her care.
Along with Alfred, they had arranged for him to pick the three of them up after being discharged. Alfred should be here any minute now, Bruce thinks as he signs off on the papers with one hand and cradling Maria in the other. But where is he? Could there be traffic? An accident? Please don't let it be an accident…
Moreover, there's people . More than there should be, around a dozen or so, all simply… standing there. Milling about. As if waiting for something.
Edward looks in the same direction as Bruce, and immediately frowns.
Had those people kept watch on the hospital all these days, lying in an ambush to get a glimpse?
"Oh golly," Edward mumbles under his nose, surveying the smattering of concerned citizens, busybodies and journalists . His face brightens when he sees Alfred pull up and stand guard outside the imposing bulk of the car, stern and impenetrable. "There he is, there he is! Ah, but how do we get out safely, that is the question."
His eyes worriedly darted to Maria. "We'll have to be quick, she's falling asleep… Oh, but isn't she so adorable when she is sleepy?"
Edward takes a second, mulling it over as he lovingly stares at their daughter.
Then, he blurts out, "What do you say if we run on the count of three? Hopefully our sweetheart will think we're just cradling her extra hard."
Bruce doubtfully sucks in air through his teeth. Is it… really gonna work?
He has no time to properly consider it before Edward grabs their bags in one arm and Bruce's hand in the other, and barrels out of the hospital on top speed with a wild screech.
Edward has become much more confident, hasn't he?
And he just tugs Bruce by the arm, and running along with him comes so naturally. Bruce can't help but gleefully run along, hold tight on the swaddle with Maria. It's hard not to shriek like a madman himself as they rush past the onlookers, with the onlookers barely managing to yelp at their backs quickly disappearing in the car.
Bruce guesses his confidence has grown as well.
"There's my little girl," Alfred laughs, immediately losing all his performative cool demeanor. Maria sleepily gurgles at him. "And my wayward lads, back from their trip. Quick, settle in, and we'll take off."
"Glad to see you're safe from the mob too, Mr Pennyworth," Edward responds breathlessly.
"There is coffee in the cupholder for you, Mr Nashton. None for you, sorry to say, Bruce."
Bruce frowns. His body positively craves a cup or two.
"Baby Maria doesn't need a shot of caffeine along with her milk," Alfred chides him, foreseeing his reaction long before he'd even thought of making a face.
Edward smugly sways the beige cup with the drink and takes a hearty swig just to spite Bruce.
Predictably, Bruce scoffs and rolls his eyes. "Just for that, I'll be the one to hold Maria for the entirety of this car ride."
The roar of the car engine muffles the ensuing squabble. Alfred watches them in the rearview mirror as they settle just as quickly to adjust the seatbelts and comfort baby Maria, scared by the loud noise. Her tiny nose is wrinkled and her face becomes red, and Alfred feels guilty for revving the engine so suddenly.
It's been so long since he's been in the presence of a newborn…
Alfred offers Maria a ‘pardon me, my lady’ and tries his best to cut around the traffic jams, take shortcuts through the narrower streets, and drive as smoothly as possible. Those three have had enough worries these days already.
There's hints of bickering still, threats of emptying the snack cupboard at the Manor, replacing all of Edward's sugar with salt, putting sticky tape into house slippers, replacing the breakfast cereal with the flavorless whole-wheat kind. Alfred allows himself a chuckle as he absentmindedly listens in to the exchange of hopefully empty threats.
He is all for the whole-wheat replacement, but hopefully he and his slippers won't be caught into the crossfire of domestic terrorism and sticky tape.
All because of a cup of joe, huh.
It's a cold, winter day, full of budding celebration, and the streets are buzzing with anticipation and crowds, but the city is merciful. Green lights turn on as soon as Alfred stops by a crossroads, as if Gotham herself is looking out for Maria.
Though his lips are dry from the cold, they won't stop stretching in a smile.
In no time, they are exiting the garage, the utmost care being put into making as little noise as possible – Maria was yawning and growing drowsy, now in Edward's hands, and they wouldn't dream of disturbing her rest.
As they enter the Manor, Bruce breathes a little easier.
Home. Still as polished as ever thanks to Alfred's tireless upkeeping.
The Christmas tree is still proudly upright and in all its glory, and Maria perks up, staring at it owlishly. So, of course they make a detour to the living room, bringing Maria closer to the tree.
Edward doesn't miss his chance to explain to Maria the meaning of Christmas, and most importantly, why her name is so intertwined with the holiday. She cannot comprehend the information, and yet it doesn't matter to Edward, who is delightfully going into the nuances of the Bible, happy to unload the knowledge.
When he gets to the crucifixion and the torture that comes with it, Alfred politely stops Edward's rant . "Perhaps it is too early for her to hear such things, Mr Nashton. How about you sing for her instead, something from your past repertoire?"
Edward easily agrees, and the echo of in hora mortis nostrae carries across the halls with them, playfully bouncing all around until they reach their last stop.
Baby Maria's room.
The lightest curtains of woven lace, the softest bedding, even an attempt at a handcrafted mobile above her crib , with a mischief of baby mice traveling in a spiral line after their mother by holding onto the tail of the mouse in the front – Bruce wanted nothing but the best for their little sweetheart.
This room's decor is a total surprise to Alfred. He's never been to it before, trusting Bruce and Edward to deck it out as they see fit. Alfred's not quite in his prime anymore, and with a hearty truckload of experience behind his shoulders, nothing ever really catches him off guard anymore.
This time, the boys have done the unthinkable. Alfred gazes in wonder all around him, at the tiny haven that has blossomed right under his nose, and he was none the wiser. They had managed to procure and hang the most delightful wallpaper with clouds the shade of sunset, giving a soothing feeling to the room. There's a shelf with children's books, a table for changing Maria's nappies, and the cozy atmosphere is sure to ease baby Maria's– oh, look, she's yawning again. Worked like a charm.
The three of them lower their talking voices.
The only thing looking out of place is the empty windowsill, no plant or vegetation of any sort. "I do hope you'll allow me to put some finishing touches on this nursery room by bringing in an African violet sapling that has recently sprouted from the main bush. I'm sure Maria will appreciate the burst of color, and the violet will get to grow along with her. How's that sound?" Alfred says, still proudly looking all over the room.
There's a glimmer of recognition on Edward's face. "Violets? Those're the ones with fuzzy leaves, right? Like, really soft, almost cotton?"
"Correct, yes, Mr Nashton. And I believe a little violet sprout will feel at home here."
"Yeah, that sounds great," Bruce says. "What do you think of the nursery? Do you like how we decorated it? Took a bit of effort, planning, and Ed's impulsive last-minute purchases that we had to fit in this room somehow–"
"My boy, it is absolutely wonderful ," Alfred interrupts his rant, quite unexpectedly, and dives in to crush Bruce with a hug. Odd. He's rarely this hasty. Unless– oh. Bruce could've sworn there was a tremble in Alfred's voice, masterfully concealed. But Bruce has known Alfred for years, and his tricks rarely fool Bruce anymore.
So Bruce hugs Alfred back tightly, helping him conceal tears of happiness.
Edward awkwardly joins in the hug with one hand, his other hand wholly supporting baby Maria against his chest.
"Um, so," Bruce awkwardly breaks the silence some time after. "Will you help care for Maria, Alfred?" The way he asks this of Alfred is measured, careful. They have had this conversation before, but it seems Bruce just needs a tad more reassurance.
"Way back when, after Thomas and Martha first arrived after birth, in their hands sat a tiny, defenseless little swaddle. They handed it to me and asked me to look after it, to look after you . And the sentimental fool that I was, still am, I agreed. I swore to do anything for you the moment you first looked at me with your baby blue eyes from that swaddle, Bruce." Alfred's eyes grew misty again. "So you needn't even ask."
Alfred has such a way with words and dredging up old memories to make every word hit thue. Bruce crumbles with wordless, overwhelming gratitude back into Alfred's embrace. Edward lingers close, head pressed into Bruce's shoulder, just as silently thankful.
A peaceful, sleepy sniffle from baby Maria thaws the three of them. Her plump little hands were clenched on her chest.
"I think we should get her in bed," Edward murmurs.
Together, they bundle her up in her crib , wrapping the 'wings' of the swaddle bat blanket around her body. She's so blissfully deep in Morpheus' embrace, it's hard not to have one's heart throb at that.
Bruce's and Edward's shared bedroom was situated right next to the nursery, so they may rest a little easier knowing that every little whimper is well-heard.
Alfred gives Maria a forehead kiss, sending her the most pleasant dreams.
When both Bruce and Edward have exited the nursery so as to not disturb Maria's sleep and beckoned Alfred as well, Alfred lingered for a moment around her crib.
"Thomas, Martha, I hope you are just as in love with your granddaughter as I am," Alfred murmurs, lingering his gaze on Maria's sleeping form.
Ah. All's well that ends well.