*IMPORTANT A/N, PLEASE READ*

Hey, y'all! So, I was looking up the timeline for the trilogy to make sure that it was accurate, and I saw some talk about how it was as much as five years in between BB and TDK, instead of one year like I previously believed. Since I can't find anything to solidify if it was one year or five years, I've decided to stick with the literal story line: BB premiered in 2005, and TDK premiered in 2008. So, these next five chapters will take place throughout three years before TDK starts. That actually works a little bit better, because this next book will be incredibly dark, just like TDK, and it will deal with some very dark and serious subject matter (I will ensure there are trigger warnings for all triggering subjects) and a part of me was thinking twelve was a little too young to be understanding some of the subject matter that happens in TDK.

Now, some angst and some fluff for your enjoyment!

The silence was heavier than her own heart, if that was possible. It was tense, weighing down on herself, Bruce, and even Rachel, who was standing a few feet from him against the wall of the study, looking both sad and anxious.

Bruce's words rang in the air, making it vibrate, like when someone finishes screaming, and you can still feel it in your bones. Her hazel eyes were burning, and her throat was closing up as she glared at the man who would be adopting her, her small fists clenching so hard, her knuckles were going white and her nails were cutting into her skin. She couldn't feel the pain, though. No amount of physical pain could outweigh what she had just been told.

"You're lying," Kris managed to hiss, voice breaking slightly at the end. Tears threatened to spill, and she forced them down, not wanting to cry in front of the adults, "Jonathan wouldn't do that, he wouldn't lie to me, he's my friend!"

"I'm sorry, Kris." Bruce told her softly, making sure to keep his distance. He knew approaching her and attempting to hug or comfort her would set the girl off even further. "He told Batman and the police that he managed to confirm you were his niece

Tears were coming now, full force, and there was little she could do to stop them. They began to pour out of her eyes, streaking her cheeks, and her throat was getting tighter as her chest began to heave. Sniffling, she reached up and wiped them away roughly, unintentionally raking her thumbnail down her cheek. A sharp sting came from the cut as her salty tears leaked into the torn skin.

"Those- those people, the ones he- he- he gassed, wh- why d-did he-he do tha-at?" She managed to stutter through her thick sobs, and Rachels stepped closer, but Kris flinched away. She didn't want to be touched right now, she didn't want to be sad right now; she wanted to be angry, she wanted to scream.

"We don't know, Kris." The older woman told her softly, retracting her hand.

"H-how do you know it was h-him?" Kris asked, her eyes wide with something near desperation. "M-maybe y-you just have the wrong guy, and maybe he didn't actually know he was my uncle, and maybe he didn't leave me in that place on p-purpose-" she could barely get the words out, just saying it out loud made her cry even harder. Finally, Bruce stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her.

She struggled, shoving his arms away, but he only wound them back around her and held her close. The twelve-year-old began to cry harder, her chest heaving with angry, broken sobs as she shouted at the two adults in the room.

"You're lying!" She shrieked against Bruce's shoulder, as the man held her firmly, but gently, in his arms, "You're liars! He wouldn't do that! He would have told me!" She started crying harder, and she jerked against her guardian's arms again, "He would've told me!" It came out as an angry scream, and Rachel reached a hand up to cover her mouth, eyes shining with tears as she watched.

Bruce didn't say anything. He sat there, holding, and he let her cry. He let her shout, scream, and she even pulled back and slapped him a few times, but he didn't say anything to her. Just held her, and let her continue until finally, she seemed to exhaust herself. Her sobs began to die down, and the man pulled her further against his chest, rocking her slightly as he hummed Hey, Jude quietly under his breath. The only sound in the office was the soft tick, tick, tick of the grandfather clock against the wall, Kris's dying sobs and hiccups, and Bruce's humming.

After what felt like forever, Kris pulled back slightly, staring up at him with red, tear-filled eyes.

"He knew. I told him all the bad things that happened, and he left me there anyway." She buried her head in his shoulder, hiccupping again, "He left me there. He left me."

"I know, Kris. I know." Her foster father whispered softly, still rocking her. "It's ok, you can cry. Just let it out, it's ok."

"I hate him." Her voice thick but muffled against his shoulder as he felt her tears leak through his button-up shirt. "I hate him, Bruce, I hate him."

"I know." He assured her, shushing her quietly before he continued to hum.

Finally, her breathing slowed, and her grip got more and more loose on Bruce's neck until finally, it was clear she was asleep. She was still hiccupping slightly, but she looked much more peaceful. Pulling away, Bruce looked at Rachel and gestured to the door with his head before standing up and holding her against his chest bridal style.

His best friend followed him as he walked over to Kris's room, just down the hall. It was at the very south edge of the penthouse, looking out at the city. He'd brought her with him to see the penthouse with Alfred and had told her she could pick whatever room she wanted. She'd wandered for a little bit, but upon finding the room with large windows that faced the city's sky line and showed her a view of the bustling bridges below her, she'd firmly instructed her new guardian that she wanted this room, and she also wanted to be involved in the design.

It was pale blue walls with dark brown, polished wooden furniture. A double bed sat in the center of the room, with a seafoam green comforter and pillows with a blush colored afghan and pink throw pillows to match. A hanging chair, just like the one from her room at the manor, hung in the corner. He'd ensured that large, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves were installed right next to it, and Kris was in the early stages of picking out the type of books she wanted there. A large desk was pushed up against the wall with the large window, facing the view beneath her. A MacBook sat charging on top it, having just been used. Somewhere in the room, he knew she had hidden the journal he'd gotten her and placed on her bed for her to find a few days earlier.

Rachel pulled back the covers, the setting sun lighting up a dark brown dresser on the opposite wall as the sun blazed indirectly from where it was setting outside. Bruce was grateful they were so high up, it meant the shouting and the sounds of traffic was too faint to wake the girl up from her slumber. Placing her softly on the mattress, he slipped her shoes and jacket off, leaving her in her tank top and jeans, before pulling the covers back over her and turning on the small nightlight on the opposite side of the bed before motioning Rachel out of the room.

Once back in his study, Rachel shut the door behind her as they entered. Bruce was already unbuttoning his sleeves, rolling them up to his elbows.

"So, have you spoken to Crane?" She asked, folding her arms. Bruce looked back at her, eyebrows raised.

"Are you asking if I've spoken to him, or if Batman's spoken to him?"

"Either. Or both." She shook her head, as if attempting to clear out the confusion of the statement. "Bruce, my point is, has he mentioned Kristina?"

Her best friend nodded, sighing as he sat in his desk chair. "Batman paid a visit to Arkham the night after he was admitted there. He was still recovering from being tased in the face," he cocked a half-amused eyebrow at Rachel before continuing, "but she was almost all he asked about. Apparently, one of the guards that freed him ended up telling him about Ra's Al Ghul's plan to take her with him and leave Crane in the city; he wasn't happy, he wanted to know if she was still here."

"What did you say?"

"I told him that she had been adopted and would be allowed to speak to him only if she wanted to." He grimaced at the memory. "It definitely wasn't what he wanted to hear; he was furious."

"Are you going to tell her? I don't know if it's a good idea for her to speak to him, Bruce."

"And I agree with you, but the point is that right now, Kris is angry. She's been betrayed by the first and probably only person she considered a friend and someone she could trust for a very long time. I need to make sure that she gets through this without becoming angry, or even…"

He trailed off, but the Gotham attorney knew exactly what he was going to say. "Vengeful?"

The boy she'd grown up with, and had loved at one point, looked back at her with swirling emotions in his hazel eyes. "Kris has been dealt a bad hand when it comes to family genetics, and we don't even know anything about her father's side yet. I'm not going to let her fall into the trap of wanting revenge, or letting her fury consume her. What kind of person does that make me? What kind of parent does that make me?"

A smile split across Rachel's face, lighting it up with joy, and Bruce looked over at her in confusion. "What?"

"You just called yourself a parent."

One week later…

Kris was pulled from her warm, dark slumber by a large hand on her shoulder, shaking her gently awake. "Kris; Kris, wake up."

"What?" She mumbled groggily, her eyes cracking open. She was met with a dark room, pale green curtains closed over black windows, the only light coming from the night light on the other side of her bed, and the alarm clock on her nightstand that told it was 6:03 a.m.

"Get up, meet me by the elevators." Bruce's voice informed her firmly, and she turned around to see him standing above her, his form just barely outlined by the pale light of the city, filtering through her curtains.

"But- Bruce it's too early!"

"I mean it, Kris, elevators in ten; wear something you'd wear to play soccer." Was the only thing he told her before he walked out of her room. Groaning in frustration, the twelve-year-old wanted to just lay back down and fall back asleep, but she had gotten to know her new guardians pretty well, and she knew that if she wasn't there in the time frame, Bruce would probably do something drastic, like come pull her out of bed himself.

After stumbling around and wiggling into some shorts and a tank top, she grabbed her tennis shoes and slipped them on hurriedly, seeing she only had one minute to make it to the elevators. Sprinting down the hall, she was met with Bruce, standing by the elevator and looking at his watch as she approached.

"Well, you made it, but just barely. Next time, I expect you to be several minutes early to whatever time stamp I give you, Kris."

"Next time?" She wondered out loud, confused. What was going on?

"Yes, next time. Now, grab that water bottle and let's go."

He took her to the shipyard, where they'd set up their makeshift Bat Cave, (Bruce still wasn't amused that she called it that). He didn't say anything, simply responding to her questions with that shit-eating smirk he always had whenever he was planning something. Finally, once they were in the training section that was set up down there, he turned to her.

"Alright, Kris. Here's what's going to happen: from now on, every morning except for Sundays, you are going to come with me to train."

"Really?" Kris couldn't hide the excitement in her voice. She had been begging Bruce to let her learn how to work all the gadgets since he'd rescued her from the train that night a few weeks ago. He'd been reluctant, telling her she was too young, and he'd teach her once she was older. "Why? I thought you wanted me to wait."

"When I say training, I don't mean on the weapons. We'll start with hand-to-hand, and if you do well, and show me you can handle it, then we'll talk about weapons."

His answer caused her to deflate slightly, but she didn't have time to think about it. Bruce reached behind him as he spoke, tossing two white rolls of fabric towards her. Catching them, she saw they were hand-wraps.

"Unwind those, we'll start by me showing you how to properly wrap your hands, and then we'll start on the punching bag."

Training with Bruce was hard, grueling, and exhausting. He had her running, doing push-ups, sit-ups, drills on the punching bag, and even sparred with her for the last few minutes. At the end of the two-hour training session, he let her off, allowing her to stretch and cool down while he finished his last hour of training. The twelve-year-old was grateful, as she was drenched in sweat, and her muscles were practically trembling with effort. By the time they were on the elevator back up to the penthouse, her stomach was practically roaring for food.

"Don't worry," her guardian told her with an amused smile as she leaned tiredly against the railing, "it's just because you're not used to it. Once we start doing it more often, your body starts to become accustomed to the effort."

She muttered something, but was too tired to make sure it was loud enough for him to hear. Something about how nobody could get accustomed to this kind of effort, but as soon as the doors dinged open, she found herself bolting to the kitchen, where the mouth-watering scent of omelette's and bacon could be smelt. The older man smiled in amusement at her eagerness, despite the heaviness of her limbs, and happily dished her up a plate.

And that's how the two spent their morning. Sitting next to each other, eating Alfred's cooking, and watching the view.

And for the first time in both of their lives, it was happy.

It was quiet.

It was peaceful.