Bruce glances at Tim. It's not a momentary glance, either. "Enough," he commanded. He didn't look at Tim. He wasn't breaking his gaze on Marissa. It looked cold and hard, completely misleading to the fact that he was checking to see if she had visible injuries.

"You harbored my runaway daughter for months while the media ran rampant. They didn't seem to know who she was sleeping with--you and Keith Queen (and he didn't consider either one a good choice)--until I stepped in and handled it (in one out of two possible ways). And then we have this:"

Bruce grabbed the remote next to his chair and turned on the television. It was playing a recording of Robin and Red Robin teaming up during the nanotech fiasco. He didn't comment on it, but instead just paused it. He was glad to have upgraded Terry's suit with the camera to record live feeds.

"Then you," he said, addressing Marissa. He never stopped looking at her. "Did you even consider the consequences of running away? For a girl who hates the paparazzi, you seem to know just how to attract their attention." It couldn't have been a cry for Bruce's attention. She'd always had it.