Chapter Text
Dr Kathryn Jenna sat in her dimly lit office, a steaming cup of coffee in hand. The clock on the wall ticked past midnight, but she remained unbothered. A lifetime in the Navy and years in Gotham had trained her to expect the unexpected, and tonight was no different. She had been warned, after all. Leslie had given her the rundown.
He’ll come. And when he does, he’ll test you.
So she waited, unfazed, sipping her coffee as a cool draft slipped into the room. She didn’t even flinch when the shadow moved against the window, then seemed to materialize into a solid figure. The window was locked, but she knew it wouldn’t matter.
Then, in a whisper of fabric and a silent unlocking of her window, he was there.
Batman .
Perched on her window sill, shrouded in darkness, the city’s infamous protector loomed as if he were part of the very night itself. His cape billowed slightly from the incoming breeze, and his cowl obscured his face in shadows. But his voice—low, edged with irritation—cut through the silence with absolute clarity.
“This is a waste of time.”
Dr Jenna didn’t react, merely took another sip of coffee before setting the mug down with a quiet clink. Then, calmly, she met his eyes—or rather, the white lenses where his eyes should be.
“And yet, you’re still here.”
A beat of silence. He did not move, but she could feel the weight of his presence, the intensity with which he scrutinized her. Analyzing. Calculating. Deciding whether or not she was worth his time. Worth his trust .
Dr Jenna let him look. Let him decide.
After a moment, he shifted, stepping fully inside the office. His boots made no sound as he landed on the floor, his presence more of an imposing force than a physical one. He remained standing, back straight, the cowl and cape covering everything except his mouth. A silent statement that this was on his terms. That he was still in control.
She simply gestured to the chair in front of her desk. “You can sit if you’d like.”
Nothing . He didn’t budge. But that was fine. She had patience. Years of it.
Instead, she leaned back in her chair, regarding him with the same quiet ease she had when speaking to soldiers twice her size. “Leslie informed me that you agreed to this because your children made you?”
His jaw tightened, barely perceptible beneath the shadows of his cowl. He didn’t answer, but he didn’t need to.
She exhaled lightly, nodding to herself. “They clearly worry about you. I assume it was an ultimatum? They’ll go if you do?”
Again, silence. But this time, the weight of it felt different. Less like resistance, more like reluctant acknowledgment.
Dr Jenna’s voice remained steady, unintrusive. “It’s a fair trade. Your well-being for theirs.”
He let out a quiet exhale—almost a scoff. “I don’t need therapy.”
“Of course not,” she said easily. “You’re just here because you have nothing better to do at midnight.”
He didn’t rise to the bait, but his stance shifted just slightly. He was growing impatient. Good . That meant he was engaged, whether he realized it or not.
“I’m not here to waste your time,” she continued. “Or mine. So let’s get something straight. I already know who you are. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t trust Leslie, and Leslie wouldn’t have sent you to me if she didn’t trust me. And I don’t break my patients’ confidentiality. Ever .”
He stared at her, unblinking. She held his gaze.
Then, finally, he spoke. “You expect me to just start talking?”
She raised a brow. “You came all this way. May as well get your money’s worth.”
He almost scoffed again. Almost.
Dr Jenna leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on her desk. “Tell me something, Bruce.”
He went absolutely still at the name drop. Not in surprise, not in panic—but in an eerie, predatory kind of stillness. The kind that suggested she had his full, undivided attention now.
Good .
“If you don’t need therapy, then why are you here?” she asked.
For the first time since he arrived, he hesitated. It was minute, a fraction of a second, but she caught it.
Then, at last, he answered. “Because they do.”
His kids . Leslie had told her that Bruce thought the world of his children.
She nodded, unsurprised. “And you want them to have a safe place. Someone they can talk to.”
His silence was agreement enough.
Dr Jenna leaned back again, considering him. “That’s admirable. But it’s also avoidance .”
His shoulders tensed, just slightly.
She continued, tone even, matter-of-fact. “You think this is for them. And it is. But it’s also for you . That’s what they’re trying to tell you. That’s why they insisted on this deal. Because they want you to have that safe space, too.”
Another stretch of silence. He didn’t argue, but he also didn’t agree.
She let the words settle, let him process. Then, after a moment, she gestured to the chair once more.
“You don’t have to talk. Not yet. But at least sit down.”
He stared at her, then at the chair. The tension in the room stretched tight.
Then, finally, with measured, deliberate movements, he stepped forward and lowered himself into the seat.
He didn’t relax. Didn’t remove the cowl. But he was here. He had stayed .
Dr Jenna gave him a small, approving nod before picking up her coffee again. “Good. Now, let’s begin.”
Dr Jenna leaned back in her chair, observing the man in front of her. He still hadn’t relaxed, but that was to be expected. She could tell trust wasn’t something that came easily to Bruce Wayne—especially when it came to himself.
She let a beat of silence stretch between them before speaking.
“What do you want out of this?”
Bruce’s response was immediate. “My kids need—”
She held up a hand, cutting him off gently. “Not them. You. What do you want out of this, Bruce?”
Silence. His expression, what little she could see of it beneath the cowl, remained unreadable. But his body language spoke volumes. The tension in his shoulders, the way his gloved fingers flexed slightly where they rested on his knees. She had asked a question he wasn’t prepared for.
He didn’t like that.
Dr Jenna gave him space to answer, but when the silence stretched too long, she tilted her head slightly, considering another approach.
“Alright,” she said, her tone even. “Let’s try something else. What does Bruce Wayne want?”
His jaw twitched. “Bruce Wayne is a mask.”
Oh boy.
But she didn’t outwardly show that pang of concern. Her lips quirked. “That’s interesting.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “Why?”
“Because most people would say Batman is the mask.”
A beat. Then, in that gravel-edged voice, he said, “Most people are wrong.”
Dr Jenna nodded, unsurprised. “So if Bruce Wayne is a mask, who’s the person sitting in front of me?”
His silence was telling.
She let a small, knowing smile touch her lips. “It’s a funny thing, isn’t it? You’re so certain of your identities, of the masks you wear. But the moment I ask about you , you don’t have an answer.”
His gloved hands curled into loose fists. Not in anger—no, this was something else. Discomfort. A reaction to being seen in a way he hadn’t expected.
She softened her tone. “You spend so much time taking care of Gotham. Of your family. But no one takes care of you, do they?”
His gaze flickered, just for a second. It was quick—so quick that most people wouldn’t have caught it. But Dr Jenna wasn’t most people.
She leaned forward slightly. “So I’ll ask again. What do you want, Bruce?”
A long silence. Then, finally, he exhaled through his nose. “This isn’t about me.”
“It should be.”
He tensed. “I don’t have time for that.”
Dr Jenna held his gaze steadily. “Then why are you here?”
Something flickered in his expression. A shadow of something old, buried deep. But just as quickly, it was gone.
When he spoke again, his voice was controlled. Measured. “Because they need this.”
She studied him for a moment, then nodded slightly. “Alright. Let’s talk about them, then. You want them to have a space where they can talk. Where they can be safe.”
His jaw tightened, but he gave a short nod.
She continued, her voice even. “Then why are you testing me?”
His eyes narrowed. “I need to be sure.”
“Of what?”
“That they’re safe with you.”
Her lips twitched slightly in a small, reassuring smile. “Or that you’re safe with me?”
His silence was answer enough.
Dr Jenna leaned back again, considering him. “Confidentiality is a vital part of therapy, Bruce. You know that. Everything you say here stays here.”
His voice was flat. “Unless I’m a threat to myself or others.”
Her expression didn’t waver. “That’s the law, yes.”
His eyes darkened beneath the cowl. “I’m always a threat to others.”
She smiled wryly. “You know what I meant.”
His gaze was unreadable, but he didn’t argue.
She exhaled lightly. “I’m not here to judge you. I’m not here to expose you. I’m here because Leslie trusts me, and because your family needs this. You need this, whether you’ll admit it or not.”
His gloved hands flexed again, but he remained silent.
Dr Jenna let the quiet settle before speaking again. “You can keep interrogating me if you want. But I’m not your enemy, Bruce. I’m not someone you need to outthink or outmaneuver. I’m just here to help.”
Another long silence. Then, finally, his posture shifted—just slightly. The tension in his shoulders lessened, barely perceptible, but there.
Dr Jenna smiled. “Okay. Now, let’s try this again.”
She watched him carefully. He was still rigid, still alert, still not fully convinced that sitting here and talking to her wasn’t a monumental mistake. That was fine. Trust wasn’t something he would give freely. She hadn’t expected it to be easy.
She tapped a pen lightly against the arm of her chair, considering her words. Then, she said, “I know you’re still uneasy about me knowing your identity.”
Bruce’s expression didn’t change, but she could practically feel his wariness sharpening.
She continued, unfazed. “I get it. Secrets keep you alive. But knowing all parts of your life will help me help you . And your family.”
Silence. His jaw remained set, unreadable.
She tilted her head slightly. “But you’re not obligated to tell me anything. You’re not even obligated to show up . Though, for the record, I’d prefer it if you did.”
His mouth pressed into a thin line. “If I don’t show up, the kids won’t either.”
She gave a small, knowing nod. “So you do have a choice. You just don’t like it.”
His silence was answer enough.
She smiled lightly. “You can choose not to talk. You can sit there for the entire session in silence if that’s what you want. But that won’t make this go away.”
His gaze flickered slightly. “This?”
“The reason you’re here in the first place.”
His hands flexed slightly where they rested on his knees, tension rolling off of him in waves. But she didn’t push. Not yet.
Instead, she leaned back, watching him. “So. What led to this arrangement? Why now?”
Silence. A long, heavy pause stretched between them.
Dr Jenna remained patient. She had a lifetime of it. And eventually, it paid off.
Bruce exhaled slowly, the sound barely audible. “Fear toxin.”
She didn’t react, merely nodded, waiting for him to continue.
“My son. Jason was exposed to fear toxin,” he said finally, his voice low, rough around the edges. “A new strain. It took us time to synthesize an antidote. He’s had nightmares before, but this…” He trailed off, his fingers curling into fists before he forced them to relax.
Dr Jenna’s tone remained even. “And sitting through those nightmares with him made you push the others to get therapy.”
A slight nod. “They refused. Said they’d only do it if I did.”
“I can tell you love your children very much,” Dr Jenna said softly.
Bruce’s gaze flickered away for just a moment.
She studied him, absorbing not just his words but everything unsaid. Finally, she said, “And they care about you, too.”
He let out a quiet, humorless breath. “I know.”
“They don’t want you to suffer alone.”
“I don’t—” He stopped himself, as if realizing that denying it would be pointless.
She gave him a small, knowing smile. “You do. You’ve been doing it for years.”
Another pause. Then, gruffly, “I manage.”
Dr Jenna shook her head. “Managing isn’t the same as healing, Bruce.”
He huffed, looking away. She could almost see the stubbornness setting in again, the walls reinforcing themselves.
So she softened her tone. “You’re doing the right thing.”
He didn’t look at her, but his shoulders stiffened slightly, like he was bracing for something.
She continued, gently, “I know you don’t believe it yet. But you are.”
Bruce exhaled sharply, irritation flickering across his face.
Progress is going to be slow , she could tell.
Bruce exhaled slowly, tired of being the one under scrutiny. He shifted slightly in his chair, eyes narrowing beneath the cowl as he studied her. "Why did you leave the Navy?"
Dr Jenna didn’t blink. She had no doubt Batman had run thorough background checks on her. “You already know the official answer.”
“I want to hear it from you.” His voice was low, unyielding.
She tilted her head slightly, considering him. Then, with an almost amused glint in her eye, she said, “I was given an honorable discharge.”
“You could’ve stayed.”
“I could have.”
“So why didn’t you?”
There was no hesitation when she answered. “Because I wanted to help people.”
“You were already helping people.”
“Yes, but from a distance.” She leaned forward slightly, resting her hands lightly on the arms of her chair. “The work I did in the Navy was important. But it was also... detached . You don’t get to know the people you’re helping. People don’t even know they were saved. You don’t get to see them heal, to see the actual impact of what you do. I wanted that.”
Bruce studied her, trying to pick apart her words, to find any hint of deception or weakness. There was none. Just a steady, unshaken conviction.
Dr Jenna met his gaze evenly. “So, what about you?”
He tensed. “What?”
“You asked me why I chose to do this. Now I’m asking you—why are you Batman?”
Bruce exhaled sharply, leaning back slightly. “I swore my life to a war on crime.”
“Why?”
His voice was firm. “So others wouldn’t have to suffer like I did.”
Dr Jenna was silent for a moment, studying him with quiet intensity. Then, her voice softer, she said, “An oath taken by a child .”
A flicker of something passed through his expression before he locked it down. “Yes.”
“A child who had just watched his parents get shot .”
His fingers curled slightly, but he said nothing.
Dr Jenna didn’t press. Instead, she leaned back in her chair, letting the weight of his own words settle in the space between them. “That’s a heavy burden for a little boy to carry.”
Bruce’s jaw clenched. “I made it work.”
She nodded slightly. “You did. But at what cost?”
He exhaled sharply.
For a moment, something unreadable crossed his face. Then, just as quickly, he shut it down.
She knew better than to push.
The silence stretched between them, neither moving nor speaking.
Bruce sat perfectly still, eyes narrowed beneath the cowl, assessing something unseen. Dr Jenna remained equally composed, observing him with quiet patience, letting the weight of the session settle.
Minutes passed. The air between them thickened, not with discomfort, but with something unspoken.
Then, abruptly, Bruce shifted. He rose from the chair in one fluid motion, his cape billowing slightly before settling behind him. The movement spoke volumes—he was done.
Dr Jenna didn’t protest. She simply watched as he turned toward the window, making no effort to stop him.
“You know,” she said, her voice even, measured, “just coming here was a huge step.”
Bruce halted, only for a second. Then, he grunted—a noncommittal sound, neither agreement nor disagreement.
But he didn’t leave. Not yet.
Dr Jenna tilted her head. “Will I see you again?”
A beat of hesitation. Then, finally, a reluctant, “Maybe.”
And before she could say anything else, he was gone—vanishing into the night as if he had never been there at all.
Dr Jenna took a slow sip of her now-lukewarm coffee, letting the quiet of her office settle around her. The room still carried the faint tension from her earlier session, but now, in the stillness, she could finally process it.
She exhaled through her nose, then tapped her pen lightly against the surface of her desk. A habit she’d picked up over years of note-taking. Eventually, she flipped open her notebook—a plain, unmarked leather journal—and turned to a fresh page.
She never wrote names. Not for patients like these. Too much risk. Instead, she assigned codenames, a system she had devised to ensure absolute confidentiality. A safeguard.
At the top of the page, she wrote simply, Patient: B
Below that, she began taking concise notes:
- Initial session. Patient arrived in full gear. Did not remove cowl. Hid beneath cape.
- Highly guarded, expected and unsurprising.
- Entered session as B, left as B
- Clearly distrustful but willing to test boundaries. Deep need for control evident in his questioning.
- Motivation for therapy: His children. Explicitly stated that he agreed to attend because they would not unless he did.
- Defensive about personal wants/needs. Redirects conversation when topic shifts toward his wellbeing.
- Perceives his civilian identity as a mask; primary identity is B.
- Sworn "war on crime" originates from childhood trauma. An oath made as a child still dictates his present.
- Hyper-focused on mission to prevent others from suffering what he did.
- Knows he has trauma. Not ready to acknowledge it beyond its effects on others.
- End of session: Left window open—intended or not, an invitation for return? (or maybe I’m reading too much into this. But consider that B rarely makes mistakes—unless emotionally vulnerable?)
- Said he might return.
She tapped her pen against the paper again, rereading the last note. He hadn’t said yes . But he also hadn’t said no .
With a small, satisfied nod, she closed the journal and set it aside. Then, reaching for her phone, she typed a quick message to her close friend, Leslie Thompkins.
“Went well.”
She set the phone down and exhaled. One session down. Many more to go.