Work Text:
It’s a cold Saturday evening in Gotham, cold enough for people to turn up the thermostat a notch, a cold mist hanging over the city. Knowing you had no responsibilities today you decided to spend your time at Bruce’s, considering you hadn’t seen the man all week. To the public he’s well known for being reclusive, and with your busy work schedule as a nurse it’s hard to seek him out on weekdays, leaving only the weekend to spend time with him.
Usually you spend the day watching movies inside or cooking up a nice meal together (note: you cook while he watches and sneaks a bite in between). Though sometimes, in the middle of the day when both of you have no work, he rushes out as if he has a train to catch. It’s always quite hasty and his excuses always remain half-assed. If you’re lucky enough to still be there when he gets back he usually dismisses the event and acts as if nothing happened, as if you can’t see the fresh bruises on his knuckles. Sometimes when the bruises get really bad you help him treat them, allowing him care without needing an explanation.
Today is another one of those days. You wait endlessly for the man to return, his cup of tea cold on the table as you nurse your own between your chilly hands. Even with the thermostat up the Wayne manor remains chilly, the rooms being too big to evenly heat. You’ve been zoning out for so long you almost miss Alfred coming in, the rhythmic tap of his cane snapping you out of your haze.
“[Y/n], I thought you had already left?” He smiles at you, hand in his pocket as he leans on his cane.
“It’s hardly fair to leave without saying goodbye, is it?” You smile back, setting your empty cup on the table.
“Well if you need anything you’ll know where to find me, I’ll notify you when master Bruce returns,” He gives you another warm smile before retreating to the dining room, picking up whatever newspaper he had been reading.
You turn back to the black tv-screen, letting your thoughts dance along. Somewhere you wonder why you’re still there, he might not even return before nightfall. You sigh, picking up the china to take it to the kitchen before you take your leave.
As you pass through the dining room you notice the seat Alfred had been in seconds ago was empty. It isn’t until you’re setting down the porcelain cups in the sink when Alfred comes struggling into the kitchen, walking as quickly as he possibly can with his cane. His face is painted in distress as he struggles to gather his bearings.
“What’s happened?” You ask as you round the kitchen island to make your way to the older man. He heaves a few deep breaths before pointing at the elevator.
“It’s- It’s master Bruce. He’s-” He takes a deep breath “He’s been shot, he needs your help-” Before he can finish his sentence you’ve already grabbed your bag, rushing for the elevator. Truth be told you’ve never actually used it, but wherever it leads you’ll deal with later because Bruce might be bleeding to death while the elevator slowly makes its way down.
The elevator lets out a small ‘ding’ when it hits the bottom, opening the fence and letting you out. The elevator leads to what looks like an abandoned basement of the manor, though only parts of it are clearly in use. The first thing your eyes fall on is a sleek black car, illuminated by bright white light. A car you’ve definitely seen before, just not with Bruce.
As your eyes travel further you see a group of desks, and a figure slumped on one of the chairs. When you notice Bruce it’s like your heart skips a beat. His face is contorted in pain as he’s slumped against the metal surface, blood oozing out of a wound somewhere on his arm. You don’t let yourself hesitate any longer as you rush over to the man. Something reminiscent of a black cloak is thrown over the desk, but you don’t have time to inspect it.
When you reach the man he flinches, not having heard the elevator stop. There’s a glint of recognition in his eyes, which are lined with black kohl. He’s wearing a grey shirt, but the left shoulder has completely gone crimson. You know what the man in front of you is like, but to treat him properly the shirt would have to go.
“Bruce.” He grunts, head lolled to the side as it leans against his shoulder. “Bruce, I need to see to your wound, you need to get the shirt off.” He groans in protest, leaning away, but with a little more persuading he leans away from the desk, allowing you room to take off the shirt. It goes with some difficulty, as the man is unable to move his wounded aem, but with a little struggle the shirt is discarded, leaving only his bare chest.
Your face heats up slightly as you let your eyes quickly glide over his defined torso, before focussing back on the task at hand. You examine the wound carefully, noting that the wound is on his shoulder and that, to your dismay, it doesn’t have an exit wound.
“Bruce?” There’s a beat of silence before the man groans in response. “I’m going to have to pry out the bullet,” He winces at the idea, and you relate to that reaction wholeheartedly. You rummage around in your bag hastily for a pair of tweezers and a cloth.
You offer the cloth to him, which earns you a questioning look. “Bite down on it, you’ll need it,” After thinking on it Bruce nods, accepting the cloth with a trembling hand. By the time he has the cloth in his mouth you’ve put on some sanitary gloves, tweezers ready in hand. In the light you can see the glint of the bullet, lodged deep into his shoulder.
“Ready?” You wait for a small confirmation, a hum of agreement, before you take his shoulder in your hand carefully, going in with the tweezers to get to the bullet. Under your touch you can feel the muscles in his shoulder contract, his face scrunching up along in pain.
Bruce winces when your tweezers make contact with the bullet, no bigger than a pea, and you clamp it in the tweezers tightly. When you’re set you check the man's face once more before slowly pulling the bullet out. The man groans loudly during the process, and if it weren’t such a painful situation you’d surely be blushing all over.
After what felt like ages you finally get the tiny silver bullet out, putting it down on a towel before rummaging through your bag once more. With skilled hands you prepare a needle to sew the wound shut, covering it with a sterile gauze after to seal the deal.
“It’s all done now,” You smile slightly at him as you take off your gloves, discarding them in his trash can. It doesn’t look like he’s doing any better than before but at least it’ll heal more cleanly. The man gets up to stand at one of his desks, looking over his computer as he starts filling in some files.
It is only now, as you’re cleaning your supplies, that you can take a proper look at the room. It seems relatively empty considering its size. You take a closer look at the black cloth on the desk, which now appears to be leather. Besides it is a small mop of fabric. You take it in your hand, checking briefly if Bruce notices your snooping, but the man is busy with something on one of his computers. You turn the cloth over in your hand and notice it has two holes- It’s a mask.
A sudden realisation comes to you as you drop the mask, alerting Bruce as it lands on the desk with a dull smack. His face seems to be in the same state as yours; eyes wide and mouth agape.
“I- You-” He struggles, hands twitching as he searches for the right thing to do. He’s never had someone find out his identity before. He’d planned on telling you at some point but he didn’t expect it to go like this.
“I won’t tell! If… that’s what you’re worried about…” You clench your hands around the hem of your shirt, fidgeting anxiously as you await his reaction. You consider for a second that staying silent might’ve been a smarter option, but the thought leaves quickly when Bruce sits down in his chair again.
“I just…” He runs a hand through his sweaty hair, messing it up in the process. It falls over his eyes uncharacteristically as he looks at you through his lashes. “I just wished I could've told you myself,” Your heart warms at that, it takes you aback. He’d planned on telling you?
You had become friends with Bruce by chance, both of different social classes and from completely opposite worlds. Yet somehow he’d seen something in you. A friend, you’d thought, or maybe more than that. When you found out he had been repeatedly getting injured without searching proper care it was only natural for you to come to his rescue, but you never would’ve thought that the reason for these injuries was because he was the Batman, the man that had saved you and your family on numerous occasions.
Letting your impulsiveness win you over, you step towards the man, grabbing one of his hands with both of your own. “I won’t view you any differently, if that’s what you’re worried about,” You try to assure him. It seems to work, because Bruce responds with a small smile, sitting up a bit more. His smile fell as quickly as it appeared, but you’d never forget the quirk of his lips in the dim light of the basement- batcave.
“I’m- Are you sure?” He looks around nervously, trying to gather his thoughts “You don’t have to keep hanging out with me i mea-” Gathering all of your courage you had leaned up to kiss him, effectively shutting him up. His eyes widened for a second, and in that moment you regretted your decision until he melted into the kiss, relaxing visibly.
Behind you you suddenly hear the slow rhythm of clapping. The two of you break apart to face Alfred, who had clearly been there long enough. You hadn’t noticed him following you down in your blind panic, you had almost forgotten the man was present at all.
“I thought you guys would never make your move,” He chuckles lightly, leaning on his cane. You couldn’t see Bruce from your position but you were willing to bet he looked just as flabbergasted as you.
“Alfred i- How long have you been standing there?” You mutter, scooting away from Bruce slightly. “I took the elevator straight down after you,” He has a knowing smile, making your face heat up once again. You were so going to chew the old man out later, but for now you’d stay to figure out your situation with the man beside you. Bruce Wayne, the Bruce Wayne, the Batman, in love with you . You almost wanted to ask him to pinch you in the arm.
“I’ll leave you two to it, dinner will be ready. Unless, ofcourse, you two aren’t hungry anymore by the time you’re finished here,” He smirks as Bruce chokes on his own spit. “Just go!” Bruce yells after him as he steps in the elevator. Yeah, you could definitely get used to this.