Jason screamed at the top of his lungs, berating Damian for being Damian, and the brawl that ensued didn't go unnoticed by Bruce. But he was too defeated to really do anything about it. Bruce just called Alfred to break them apart, before he went to his leather chair and tried to dissolve into it.

His mood had been off for the past few weeks, and not even he knew how to raise up his spirits again. Bruce stared at the grandfather's clock and watched the pendulum swing back and forth, sipping absentmindedly at a cup of tea. Alfred soon returned to the living room, where Bruce was still sitting, staring at the clock.

"Waiting for something to happen, Master Bruce?" 

Bruce jolted out of his daze. "Are the boys okay?"

"Yes. I've sent them all to sleep."

"You know, Alfred, when she was around,the boys never fought. Never." Bruce said, tracing circles on his hand as he set the teacup aside. His lips perked up in a hint of a smile as he stared at the clock once again. 

Alfred was taken aback. Usually, Bruce refused to talk about her. But Alfred quickly got over his shock and sat down next to him.

Bruce spoke again. "Today. Today was her favorite day. She'd always get so excited and bubbly and would go crazy with the desserts and decorations."

"That is true, Master Bruce. She really enjoyed her anniversaries with you. Today would be your 12th anniversary with her."

"If only she was here." Bruce immediately broke the soft mood. "She hasn't been able to come to her own anniversary party for 4 years." His voice went down, lips frowning as he stared down at his hands. "I haven't been able to bring her home for four years."

"Master Bruce, there is no possible way she's still out there. She's moved on from this world, and she's watching over us right now."

"I know, I know. But if I had tried harder, she'd have come home."

"Master Bruce, do not give yourself the blame-"

"If I had tried harder, she'd have come home. And nowadays, I don't try at all."

"Bruce-"

" There's this big part of me that's telling me to move on from her. That she's dead. That I'll never get her back. But then there's this tiny part of me, that whispers in my head all day, that scolds me for not looking, that constantly puts an image of her in my mind. That tells me I never told her how much I loved her. That little part of me won't ever shut up. All it does is tell me she's out there somewhere, that all's not lost-"

"Hope." Alfred interrupted Bruce's ramble. "You still hope for her to be alive. But, you cannot change the wills of fate, Master Bruce. What was happened has happened. What will be, that is the only  thing you can subtly change. But even if you go off on some wildtangent,  fate will always bring you one step closer to joining her in the afterworld."

Bruce abruptly got up. "That's not the problem, Alf. The problem is, I can't get this little voice in my head to shut up. I-I can't let go of her. No matter how hard I try."

"How about you let her go for the sake of Miss Kyle?"

Bruce stared blankly at the wall. "I appreciate all she's done for me. For the boys. But if I let her go and turn to Selina, I'd be replacing her. And she wouldn't have wanted that."

"I'm pretty sure she wanted you to be happy." Alfred gave Bruce a soft smile as he collected his empty teacup. "That is all your lady ever wanted for you."

"I can't be happy without her." Bruce stated briefly, before swiftly leaving the room and heading down to the Batcave. Alfred just stared on after him, eyes full of sympathy.

**************************************************

Damian held the picture in his bandaged hands, staring intently at it.

A picture of his mother. Not his biological one, oh no. Damian would gladly shred her to pieces without even shedding a tear.  But it was his stepmother.  His 'Umi.

In all the stories Damian had read, the stepmother was evil. Always cunning, always jealous of the children, always plotting against them. In all the bedtime stories Talia would tell him, the stepmother always ended up as collateral damage in the assassin's mission. 

When he was shipped off to his father, Damian was told about his stepmother. He thought she'd have to be collateral damage. He thought she'd be evil. Jealous that Bruce had hit it off with another woman. He thought she'd hate him. 

When Damian had first seen her, he thought she was going to despise him at first sight. But when she'd turned around to face the boy, all she did was give him a genuine, kind smile. Damian had told himself it was fake. She was lying. But the depths of kindness and love in her eyes definitely wasn't fake. Her voice was soft, and she'd held out a hand for Damian. That wasn't fake.

All Damian had ever wanted was to have someone that loved him. And this stepmother looked like she was up to the task. Months later, he'd finally fully opened up to her. Even though Damian had secretly liked her from the start, he finally thrown away all distrust and resorted to fully accepting her as his 'Umi seven months later.

The picture was of his 'Umi at the park, smiling as she cuddled an eight-year old Damian, arms wrapped tightly around him, a look of love all over her prim face. Her hazel eyes caught the sunlight and became pools of gold, her dark hair tumbling down his shoulders. This picture was one that Damian was actually smiling in, nuzzling her shoulder, eyes closed with contentedness. He felt his face heat up and his eyes feel strangely wet, before he shoved away the picture into his dresser drawer.

I miss her.

Damian grabbed his blanket and curled up in his bed.

I will NOT cry. I will not cry. Damian repeated in his head over and over, trying to get rid of the horrible sensation behind his eyes. The only time he had cried was when 'Umi had presumably died, but he did it in the middle of the night, when nobody else was there to see him. 

He gasped, clutching the blanket closer as he tried to pull himself together. He stared at the wooden stool that was tucked into a corner and remembered how his 'Umi had silently pulled that stool up by his bed in the middle of the night whenever he was having nightmares. He felt something choking him, and he felt tears spill over the brim. 

At night, his 'Umi would wrap her arms around him, holding him as he shook from nightmares. She'd sing him to sleep. She'd spend the rest of the night sitting on the stool, occasionally dozing off, making sure he saw only sweet dreams the remainder of the night.

Sometimes, Damian woke up in the middle of the night and heard her voice, and he'd snap his head over to the stool, but it'd always be empty. Always. For the last four years.

Damian gasped again, his tears choking him harder, as he remembered his favorite melody.

"Dearest one, when the sun shall rise,

I'll gather hope and let it fly

Dearest child, now fall asleep,

I'll gather stars and count your sheep.

Sweetest boy, now hush and rest,

I'll gather fruits from east and west

Darling boy, when you need me,

I'll hold you close and warm your feet.

Dear little boy, one day you'll see,

I'll love you for eternity."

He was full on crying now, replaying the song in his head over and over, struggling to keep his sobs silent.

How he'd give anything to bring 'Umi back.

***************************************************************

Isla and Bruce. Bruce and Isla. Oh, how the pairing was a match made in heaven.

Bruce loved his wife from the bottoms of his heart.

She'd been there for him, thick and thin.

Alfred had seen Bruce's infatuation with the woman. She wasn't a supermodel, oh no she was far from that. She wasn't a flawless-faced woman that stayed by Bruce's side for the money. 

She was simple, with normal hazel eyes, black hair that was down to her waist, a slightly crooked nose from a run-in with a criminal. Her lips were average, her height was average, but boy, what was inside her was far from ordinary. 

Whenever she'd hit the dance floor or whenever she'd teach the arts, oh, she was beautiful.

Bruce wasn't wrong to marry her. 

With a little bit of cleaning up and touches of makeup, oh by God, Isla was easily one of the prettiest women Bruce had laid eyes on, but if she were up against the other supermodels Bruce had seen, oh, she'd come last. Isla was mildly attractive, but not superhumanly pretty. It was her aura that captivated Bruce and many other men, an aura of joy and warmth and something Bruce wasn't able to put his finger on.

But the fact that Isla chose him over the other men drooling at her feet? Oh, Bruce was the luckiest man alive.

Isla Chanceux had stolen Bruce's last name, and his heart.

They were all over magazine covers and the E-Talk news. Isla and Bruce. Bruce and Isla.

There were always someone out there that got a photo of them together, and it was usually in the newspaper, sometimes as the headline article. BRUCE WAYNE SEEN ONCE AGAIN WITH NEW GIRLFRIEND!

And there they were, cover picture, Bruce staring lovingly into Isla's sunlight-catching hazel eyes, hands intertwined as they walked down the park trail, looking extremely happy.

Alfred remembered her moving into the Manor, all full of uncontained excitement. He remembered how she'd gave Bruce a peck on the lips out of nowhere, making Bruce's face heat up in such an adorable way. She'd laughed, a joyous sound that Alfred still couldn't shake out of his ears, before snatching Bruce's cookie from his hands, ruffling his hair and heading off to unpack. Alfred remembered how Bruce had stared on after mesmerizingly, a stupid smirk on his face. 

Everyone in the Wayne family wanted her back. Alfred more than anyone.