The toothbrush moved steadily back and forth, foam gathering at the corners of Nolan's mouth as he stared into the bathroom mirror.
It had been four weeks since Quentin dropped Beth into Batman's hands, and the changes since then were undeniable.
The man in the reflection looked… sharper.
The bruises were long gone, the cuts that had marred his face and ribs were little more than faint, barely-there scars now.
Muscle definition was beginning to show along his arms, his shoulders, his jawline more distinct.
Nothing dramatic yet but enough that even Nolan had to blink and acknowledge it.
He spit into the sink, rinsed his mouth, and leaned in closer to inspect an old cut under his left eye.
Gone.
A ghost now.
He ran a towel over his face, smoothing down his hair, and for the briefest moment, thought about how different he is now.
By the time he slipped on a plain black suit, the hotel was already humming with life downstairs.
He took the elevator down from the penthouse to the 14th floor, stepping out into fresh air thick with the scent of new carpet and fresh paint.
The walls gleamed, the crown molding along the ceiling was sharp and unblemished, and the hallway lights gave off a clean, warm glow.
Quietly, he moved from door to door, checking locks, tapping the hidden latches that led to the secret rooms built behind the official ones.
Everything was perfect.
Marnie had done good work and the few trusted contractors he'd handpicked from the network had followed through exactly.
The 15th floor was the same: pristine, finished, waiting.
He continued down into the lobby, where the noise of renovation was louder drills buzzing, hammers knocking rhythmically against walls as workers finished tearing up the old carpet and preparing the dining area for its facelift.
The restaurant space, the front desk, even the crumbling crown molding all being steadily brought back to life.
It would be a few more weeks before the ground floor matched the luxury of the upper ones, but Nolan wasn't in a rush.
Not anymore.
He stepped behind the temporary wall they'd set up to shield the construction from view, found the small office he'd set up temporarily, and sank into the creaky leather chair.
The burner phone on the desk was already buzzing.
He picked it up without thinking, thumb flicking the screen open.
"Yeah," he answered.
A familiar voice crackled through the line — one of the newer logistics runners he'd brought in through Sylvia's contacts.
Package delivered. No trouble. Payment received. Small notes about local eyes keeping watch.
Nolan listened, gave a brief word of thanks, and hung up.
Another call came in almost immediately after.
Someone needed a supply drop shifted from the east side to the Narrows.
Another minor coordination.
Another reminder.
As he leaned back in the chair, staring up at the unfinished ceiling above, he found himself smirking faintly.
There was a time not long ago when he'd have been answering every call, handling every drop-off, scrambling to manage the smallest details just to keep his little web from falling apart.
Now?
Most of the time he barely needed to lift a finger.
The system he'd built piece by careful piece was now breathing on its own.
The thought was comforting… and somewhat worrying but, he still regularly made drops and everyone still knew who it was to make it all possible.
Nolan set the phone down, the faint buzz of another incoming message lighting up the screen, but he didn't answer right away.
Instead, he allowed himself one moment of stillness, one breath drawn deep and slow.
The hotel was standing.
The floors were finished.
And the real work the part that mattered was just beginning.
***
The burner finished buzzing just as his main phone lit up.
Nolan glanced at the caller ID, recognized the number, and picked up.
"Hello?" he said.
A crisp, professional voice answered. "Good afternoon. Just calling to confirm our appointment for Damon Restaurant at two o'clock."
Nolan leaned back in the chair, brushing a hand over his mouth. "Yeah. I'll be there. Don't be late."
The man on the other end chuckled politely. "Wouldn't dream of it."
The line clicked off.
Nolan slid the phone into his jacket pocket, mind already shifting gears.
He hadn't found this doctor by accident.
About two weeks ago, one of his newer information runners a woman named Carla had flagged something during her regular hospital sweep.
A physician, Dr. Calvin Marron, had quietly resigned from Gotham General after nearly a decade of spotless work.
No news stories. No lawsuits. No scandals.
Just… gone.
At first, Nolan assumed drugs or gambling, maybe even ties to the mob.
But a deeper look showed something else entirely a handful of hush-hush clients moving between the Narrows, the East End, and the Bowery.
Rumors of patchwork surgeries, quiet house calls, no paperwork, no questions asked.
Expensive, yes, but reliable.
Exactly the kind of man Nolan needed.
He made his way out of the construction zone and onto the street, pulling his hoodie up against the stiff spring wind.
Damon Restaurant wasn't far one of the newer fusion joints on the edge of downtown, just respectable enough that a doctor could meet someone there without raising eyebrows, but not so upscale that the staff would remember every face that walked in.
When he arrived, he spotted Dr. Marron immediately.
The man was sitting at a corner table, a thick coat draped over the back of his chair, a neat drink resting untouched at his right hand.
Marron looked every inch the part — mid-forties, hair starting to thin at the crown, clean-shaven, with sharp, assessing eyes behind simple wireframe glasses.
Nolan approached without hesitation.
The doctor stood, offered a polite, firm handshake.
"Kieran," Marron said with a nod. "Good to finally meet you in person."
"You too," Nolan said, sliding into the seat opposite him.
They exchanged small talk for a minute drinks, the weather, the construction noise outside before Nolan leaned in slightly and lowered his voice.
"I need to ask you a few things. No offense meant."
Marron smiled thinly. "If I were you, I'd do the same."
Nolan nodded once. "How do you handle discretion?"
"Like my license depends on it," Marron replied smoothly. "Which, unofficially, it does."
"And if someone came looking?"
The doctor shrugged. "I'm a private citizen. No records, no referrals, no official clients. No one's business but my own."
Nolan studied him carefully.
The man didn't flinch, didn't fidget.
Either he was lying very, very well or he genuinely understood the stakes.
"And the kind of work you've done?" Nolan pressed.
Marron lifted his glass, finally taking a slow sip.
"Gunshot wounds, knife injuries, internal bleeding. Minor surgeries. Stabilization work. Things that need attention but don't belong in an emergency room."
No bravado. No boasting. Just facts.
Nolan sat back, drumming his fingers lightly against the edge of the table.
It was always a gamble, trusting someone new.
But his gut the same gut that had kept him alive this long was calm.
He shook his head slightly, letting a small smile slip out.
"I think you're a good choice."
Marron inclined his head. "Good to hear."
"I'll be in contact with you soon," Nolan added, rising to his feet.
The doctor stood as well, offering another firm handshake.
They soon began their meals and ate in peace as they talked about all kinds of random things. Kieran was giving him pointers in the background and Nolan was glad for it.
After all this was a big step for the man.
They parted without another word soon after the meal was finished.
Out on the sidewalk, Nolan straightened out his tie and walked back toward the Arden, the weight of the coming days heavy but familiar on his shoulders.
Pieces were falling into place.
And soon, the real work could begin.
***
A/N: a lot of action is coming soon dw
Question, I've been trying to find a source of information to where Batman would take Beth to keep her safe / have a normal life. I could go the classic adoption route but I'm not overly fond of that idea to be honest.