ɞ After a long and exhausting night at the hospital, the only things Damian longs for are the warmth of home and the arms of the woman he loves. Sometimes, a person’s greatest source of peace is the one waiting for them when they return home.

ɞ Warnings: Damian is a doctor, husband and wife mentions, fluff and fluff

The apartment was quiet. It was wrapped in that peaceful stillness that only arrived after midnight, when the city finally seemed willing to breathe.

There was something almost sacred about the hour. The world outside had grown distant, reduced to the occasional whisper of tires against wet pavement and the muted glow of windows belonging to people who, like them, had not yet surrendered completely to sleep.

The lights in the living room were low.

Rain tapped softly against the windows, blurring the lights of the city beyond into streaks of gold and silver. You were sitting in front of the television, counting the minutes to yourself. A movie was playing on the screen, but you had already lost the plot.

You had stopped following it somewhere around the hour mark. Perhaps even earlier. Every few moments, your eyes drifted toward the clock. Your gaze would drift from there to the door, then back to the clock. You couldn't help yourself.

It was well past midnight, yet you didn't want to sleep alone.

You knew this was ridiculous. You were both adults. You knew Damian was safe. You knew the hospital had its own protocols, its own security, its own people watching over him. You knew he had promised he would come home. And yet promises did not make waiting easier.

Whenever Damian worked late, there was always a strange little emptiness in the apartment. It wasn't frightening. It wasn't even particularly lonely. It was simply the absence of him. And you had discovered, over the years, that you had become extraordinarily sensitive to that absence.

Even though Damian had promised otherwise, he never woke you up when he came home late. Whenever you complained to him about this, he would launch into a long lecture on the importance of getting a good night's sleep.

You smiled to yourself. You could almost hear him now.

You have work tomorrow.

It is irresponsible to compromise your sleep schedule.

There is no practical reason for you to remain awake.

He always said these things as though they were objective medical facts rather than the transparent concern of a husband who couldn't bear the thought of his wife being exhausted because she had waited for him.

You had missed him so much; yes, perhaps you had seen him in the morning, but that wasn't enough. It never seemed to be enough.

There was a peculiar intimacy in loving someone deeply enough that an entire day could feel too long simply because you hadn't properly spoken to them.

You knew Damian had told you not to wait up. You also knew he would walk through that door exhausted enough to insist he was "perfectly functional," despite having spent thirteen hours in the emergency department making impossible decisions, comforting frightened families, and refusing to take enough breaks.

Doctor.

The title suited him far better than Damian would ever admit. It is because he enjoyed the lofty praise attached to it, and certainly not because he cared about the prestige. It suited him because beneath all the sharpness, discipline, pride, and intimidating competence, saving people had always been the truest part of him.

Damian had been raised to fight. He had learned how to dismantle an opponent before most children learned how to tie their shoes. He had been taught to recognize weaknesses, anticipate danger, and never hesitate when someone else's life depended upon him. Medicine had simply given that instinct a different language.

Instead of a sword, he held a scalpel. Instead of defeating enemies, he stood beside frightened families and told them, with as much certainty as he could honestly offer, that they were going to get through the night.

He was still saving people. Only now, he came home carrying their stories in the quiet spaces behind his eyes.

You were lost in thought when you were startled by the sound of the door lock opening. Your head lifted immediately. The sound was soft and almost cautious.

Then the door silently opened. Damian stepped inside, closing it quietly behind him.

For a moment he simply stood there. The apartment was warm, familiar and safe.

And after thirteen hours beneath fluorescent hospital lights, surrounded by monitors, alarms, hurried footsteps, and the constant tension of people waiting for news they were terrified to hear, the quietness almost seemed unreal.

His dark hair was slightly disheveled from repeatedly running a hand through it during the shift. His white coat had been folded neatly over one arm, and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled to his forearms.

There were faint shadows beneath his eyes. He looked so tired. But the moment he looked up and saw you, something in his face softened. It wasn't done dramatically; on the contrary, it was almost imperceptible. Just enough that the weight of the day seemed to loosen from his shoulders.

That was what you had always loved about his affection. Damian was not a man of grand gestures. He didn't need to be. His love lived in small things. In the way he remembered exactly how you liked your coffee, which books you had already read, which songs made you emotional, the way his eyes searched for you whenever he entered a room and which stories you pretended not to like even though he knew you secretly did.

He loved you in details. And sometimes those details were more devastatingly romantic than anything he could have said. "I told you to sleep, beloved."

"I know."

"You ignored me, again."

"I did, again." He sighed, though there wasn't the slightest annoyance in it. There never really was when it came to you. His sigh carried the faintest trace of resignation, the particular kind belonging to a man who had long ago realized that certain battles were not worth fighting because he had no intention of winning them.

"You have work in the morning."

"So do you."

"I've just finished."

"And now you're home." You turned off the television and stood up. "Which means I've won."

He raised an eyebrow. "Won?"

"I get my husband back."

The corners of Damian's mouth lifted. "I was unaware I had been taken."

"For approximately thirteen hours."

"I see."

You walked toward him. He watched you come closer without moving. There was something almost boyishly tender in the way his attention remained fixed on you. The exhaustion hadn't disappeared, but it had become secondary now. You had replaced it.

You walked toward him and you stood right in front of him. You didn't move, even though you knew Damian was dying to touch you. You also knew he was waiting for you to make the first move. That was another thing about him. For all his confidence, all his certainty, all the force with which he moved through the world, there were moments when he became almost strangely careful with you.

As though loving you had taught him that strength did not always mean reaching first.

Sometimes it meant waiting.

"So," you said with exaggerated seriousness, "I'd like to file a formal complaint against the hospital."

"For employing me?"

"For stealing you." You said it as if explaining something simple.

"I believe that is considered employment."

"I dislike it."

"I had gathered as much." There was the faintest amusement in his voice.

You smiled. And for a moment you simply stood there looking at one another. It was strange how much could be said without either of you speaking. As you stood before one another, let your eyes, too, satisfy their longing. Like your hearts, they too had remained far apart throughout the day. Your eyes traveled over his face, memorizing him again despite having seen him that very morning. His gaze lingered on yours with the same quiet intensity.

And perhaps that was why the first sight of each other always felt like returning home.

Damian thought, perhaps for the thousandth time, that there was no sight in the world more capable of quieting him than you waiting at the end of a long day.

He had seen joy in patients discharged after terrible illnesses. He had seen children laugh despite broken bones. He had witnessed sunrises from hospital windows after impossible nights.

None of it compared. And they couldn't have, either. Seeing you safe and sound in your warm home was beyond compare.

"You've been worrying." It wasn't a question.

You smiled sheepishly. "Maybe a little. You always know."

"I always know." He set his coat over the chair by the entrance. The white fabric landed neatly, because of course Damian had even learned how to be exhausted without becoming careless.

Then he turned back toward you. The next moment, you wrapped your arms around him.

Even though you had been there for hours, even though you had technically been home long before he arrived, right now you felt like you were home for the first time that evening. In his arms. Your face buried against his chest. Your fingers curled gently into the fabric of his shirt. That was what home felt like. It was like Damian.

He let out a slow breath he hadn't realized he had been holding all evening. His arms circled you almost instinctively. There was no hesitation in the movement. No thought. His body simply knew where it belonged when you were close.

Damian rested his cheek lightly against your hair. For several seconds, neither of you spoke. The rain continued against the windows. The city continued moving beyond them. But inside that embrace, none of it seemed important.

"You smell like a peony."

You laughed softly. "And you smell like antiseptic."

"My apologies."

"I didn't say I minded."

He smiled against your hair. They stayed there for a long time. Neither counting the minutes. Neither feeling the need to fill the silence.

Damian didn't dare interrupt this moment. He had been thinking about this ever since he left the house and went to the hospital. How could he possibly dare, when he lived every morning, upon waking, with the quiet hope of returning to you?

Every shift had an ending because there was somewhere to return to. And that somewhere was not merely the apartment. It was you.

Eventually you tilted your head back. "You've really missed me."

"I have, Umri."

"I thought perhaps you'd deny it."

"I see no advantage in dishonesty when it concerns you." His answer came so naturally that he didn't seem to realize how deeply affectionate it sounded.

Your expression melted. "You never stop saying things that make me fall in love with you all over again."

Damian looked genuinely puzzled. "I merely answered your observation."

"I know."

"Was it... overly sentimental?"

You laughed. "You don't even realize when you're being romantic."

"I rarely understand what qualifies."

"That's because it comes naturally." You reached up and cupped his face. "I love that about you."

He leaned into your hand without thinking. It was a tiny movement. Almost imperceptible. But you noticed.

You always noticed the things Damian believed no one saw. The slight relaxation of his shoulders. The way his eyes softened when you touched him. The way his head instinctively tilted toward your palm.

You smiled with quiet satisfaction. "There you are."

"Where?"

"My Damian."

He blinked. "I have been here the entire time."

"No." You gently brushed a thumb across his cheek."The doctor who has been carrying everyone else's worries is finally gone."

Your voice became softer. "Now it's just you."

His eyes closed briefly. "Yes. It's just me." His voice was quieter when he opened his eyes again. "Your Damian."

You could hear the fatigue in those words. Not physical exhaustion alone, but the emotional weight of caring too. Staying composed for strangers who needed certainty, and bbeing the person everyone turned toward when they were frightened...

Damian was very good at being strong. Perhaps too good. Sometimes he forgot that strength was not the same thing as never needing to be held.

"You gave everything today, didn't you?" He nodded once.

"There was a child." His voice was quiet. "She reminded me of someone I once treated during residency."

You listened without interrupting. "Did she recover?"

"Yes." Relief flickered across your face.

"I keep thinking about how frightened her parents were." He exhaled. "They trusted us completely."

"You carried that with you all the way home."

"I did." There was no shame in his admission. That was one of the things that had changed in him over the years. He had once believed that carrying pain silently was a form of strength. You had taught him otherwise.

You took both of his hands. Fingers fit together naturally, as though they had been learning the shape of each other for years. "You don't have to carry it by yourself anymore."

He looked at you. There it was again. That astonishing ability you possessed to see straight through him. Not past him. Through him. You never demanded that he become someone else. You simply saw him. And somehow, that was enough to make the parts of himself he usually kept hidden feel less frightening.

"I know, beloved."

"And tonight I am under strict instructions from myself to take care of my favorite doctor."

"I was unaware such instructions existed."

"They've been issued."

"By whom?"

"Chief of Household Affairs."

"I see."

"They're non-negotiable."

He inclined his head with mock solemnity. "Very well."

You took his hand. "Come with me."

He followed without question. That simple obedience still amused you sometimes. He could stand before powerful enemies without blinking. Yet when you held out your hand and said come with me, he followed.

The shared bedroom was illuminated only by a small desk lamp. Soft golden light pooled across the room, turning everything gentle; the rumpled sheets, the books on the nightstand, the rain-streaked glass.

You smiled over your shoulder. "You've been on your feet all day."

"That is accurate."

"Your shoulders are probably impossible." You said that while gently pushing him toward the bed.

"They are somewhat... tense."

"Somewhat?"

"I am attempting optimism."

You laughed and gestured for Damian to take off his shirt. Even though he furrowed his brows, the amused look on his face prompted you to toss a cushion from the couch at him.

"Pervert."

"Not a word came out of my mouth, beloved." He calmly removed his shirt and set it aside.

You gave him a knowing look but didn't say anything. "Lie down with your face down."

Without a single complaint, Damian obeyed. You couldn't help smiling. "The legendary Damian Wayne."

"Hm?"

"The man who questions everyone."

"Generally."

"But never me."

He turned his head just enough to look at you. "I trust you." Then, with the same quiet certainty with which he had said everything that mattered most to him:

"What kind of man am I if I can't trust my own wife?"

The simplicity of those words settled warmly in your heart. This is not because of the possessiveness of my own wife. It is because of the trust contained within them. For Damian, trust had never been a casual thing. It was earned and guarded. Sometimes withheld even from the people he loved. And yet with you, he gave it freely.

He stretched out across the bed. A moment later you settled over him carefully, positioning yourself so you could comfortably reach his shoulders and upper back.

"You tell me immediately if anything hurts."

"I believe the purpose is to reduce discomfort Hayati."

"Exactly, baby." Your hands rested gently against his shoulders.

The muscles beneath your fingertips were far tighter than he'd admitted. You frowned. "Oh, Damian..."

"I did mention they were somewhat tense."

"This is your definition of 'somewhat'?"

"I was attempting to avoid worrying you."

"It had the opposite effect."

He gave the faintest chuckle. "I suspected it might."

You began slowly, your movements gentle and unhurried, easing the stiffness from his shoulders with practiced care.

At first, Damian remained almost unnaturally still. Then his shoulders gradually began to loosen beneath your hands. A slow breath escaped him. Then another. The tension he had carried for twelve hours began to leave his body in tiny increments.

It feels better, much better. Damian's eyes closed. The mattress beneath him was warm. The rain was soft. Your hands were steady. There were no monitors or alarms. No voices calling his name decisions waiting for him.

Only you.

Damian’s unconscious little sighs made you smile. "What?"

"Those little sighs."

"I sighed?"

"You did."

"I was unaware."

"It means you're finally relaxing."

"I suppose..." Another slow breath escaped him. "you may be correct."

"I usually am."

"I shall refrain from commenting."

You laughed, continuing the massage. Minutes passed. The room remained peaceful. There was something almost miraculous about ordinary intimacy. Not the kind written about in grand stories. Not declarations beneath stars or impossible promises made in the middle of battles.

This.

A tired man lying quietly beneath the hands of the woman he loved. Her laughter and his breathing. The sound of rain. A room that belonged to neither duty nor responsibility. Just them.

After a while, Damian spoke without opening his eyes. "Do you know what I thought about during my drive home?"

"What?"

"This."

You paused. "A massage?"

"Walking through the door and hearing your voice." He smiled faintly into the pillow. "I knew you would be awake despite my instructions."

"I was."

"And I knew you would pretend you hadn't been waiting."

"I absolutely intended to."

"You were never convincing."

"I'll have to improve."

"I hope you never do, beloved." There was the faintest smile at the corner of his mouth. "I like knowing someone is happy I'm home."

Your expression softened so completely that for a moment you couldn't speak. There were people who loved Damian because of what he could do. Because he was brilliant and capable. But you loved him for something much simpler. You loved the man who came home tired and loosened his tie at the door. The man who fell silent after difficult days and still looked for you first.

You leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss to the back of his shoulder. "Always."

Another kiss. "I'm always happy you're home, my love."

You rested your forehead lightly against him. "And no matter how many people you help..." Your voice became quiet. "don't ever forget that someone is waiting to take care of you, too."

Damian reached back without looking, finding your hand with effortless certainty. Your fingers intertwined. "I could never forget." His thumb moved once across your knuckles. A tiny gesture. An answer of its own.

Outside, the rain continued to fall over the sleeping city. Inside, the world had become wonderfully small. A tired doctor and the woman he loved beyond words. And the quiet certainty that, after giving so much of themselves to everyone else, they had finally found a place where they could simply rest in each other's company.

I LOOOOVE DAMIAN 😩 Writing is no longer enough!!

If you have any requests, feel free to write to me. If I like the idea or think I can pull it off, I’ll definitely do it!

Now I'm imagining Oppenheimer, but it's Christian Bale Batman getting sad about the precedent he set for superhero mass surveillance technology.