He had told her he was okay with her painting the nursery; no, that he wanted her to. But just as she'd begun the project and Bruce saw the room of his childhood changed for the first time in over a century, he had felt an unexpected twinge of nostalgia. Not regret, he was adamant that this was their home, hers as well as his, and whatever ghosts of Wayne Past lingering here were not important in the face of the future they were building.
Besides, it was a lovely idea, thoughtful, attractive, and appropriate. He didn't smile, but he felt the urge to every time he came in to see the progress, or just stand in the middle of what would be his son's room, had been his, and his father's, grandfather's, and great-grandfather's before him.
It seemed only right that he pick up a pencil first to begin a sketch, turning in place to survey the room before choosing a spot on the wall near where the crib would be. Sam's vision wouldn't extend very far at first, but as it grew, Bruce selfishly wanted to be close. He rolled up his shirtsleeves, not having taken the time to change, and winked at Dinah before beginning. Taking his time, he outlined what he would paint afterward, slowly losing all awareness of the others in the room.