Chapter Text
His necktie is too tight.
It’s a dull, pervasive thought in the back of Bruce’s mind that he can’t get rid of. It’s always too tight. He tugs at the fabric as he reaches to adjust the thermostat in the back of the company limousine. It’s always too hot.
A quick stop causes his folders to slide off the seat onto the floor of the vehicle. Through the speaker he hears the driver, Adam, apologize for the terrible drivers that surround them on the road and promises to be more careful. Poor Adam—he’s still new to the job. Bruce shakes his head and gathers a few of the notecards Alfred stowed away that went flying. After quite a lot of convincing Bruce agreed to meet some potential investors for the company, or rather, his father’s company. It still feels like his father’s company. Alfred put together some pointers for Bruce to review before leaving the penthouse; all he really has to do is put a smile on his face and shake a few hands. Hell, making a public appearance for the first time this year should be enough.
He shuffles through more of the cards and pulls at his tie again. He dreads these meetings. They’re nothing but formalities to let old men stroke their egos. It’s a miracle Alfred managed to persuade Bruce to go, especially amid his Riddler investigation. It’s very difficult to say no to Alfred.
The limousine starts to move again—the light must have turned green. Bruce leans towards the window to see what intersection they’ve reached, when a black van runs its red in front of them. Adam slams on the breaks but it’s too late—Bruce lurches forward with the sudden momentum of the car catching up to him.
He’s on the floor. Everything is blurry, his head is pounding, and is that blood on his hands? He winces as he touches the head wound again, it’s definitely blood, he feels it dripping down onto his face. Bruce begins to sit up, and he notices Adam slumped over in the front. Bruce thinks he calls out for him, but all he can hear is that damn pounding in his ears. Oh god, there’s so much blood on the shattered windshield. Too much. Bruce slowly starts his crawl to Adam across the cab of the limousine, but then the back door opens to reveal a figure. He squints at the sudden brightness and shields his eyes, feeling a sense of hope at the sight of a savior.
“I’m fine, go help the–” but he’s cut off when the individual tosses something into the vehicle and slams the door shut. Bruce only has a moment to react before the cab begins to fill with an aerosol. He tries to fan away the smoke and cover his mouth but the attempt is futile. His tie is too tight. The pain changes from a throb to lightheadedness as he keeps coughing, making an effort to reach a door handle.
The only thought racing through his mind is to stay awake. Right now, he’s Bruce, not Batman. He’s a human with human vulnerabilities. What feels like an injured knee isn’t helping his endeavors. The overwhelming sense of weakness begins to overtake him, and he collapses to the floor. Bruce turns to the window, only to see a pair of glasses over a dark mask before his eyes close.
Alfred bites the end of his pencil while working on his crossword puzzle. It’s a method of distraction to keep himself from worrying about Bruce. It’s not incredibly effective, but it’s something. Did he accidentally forget an important piece of information in his folder? Should he have provided company records going back ten years instead of seven? Alfred pencils in the answer to a clue and shakes his head. He has to start trusting Bruce with these kinds of things. It’s time for Bruce to shoulder the responsibilities of a normal, regular person.
He checks his watch–Bruce should be walking into the conference room any minute now. Alfred prays that the boy’s smile won’t look too forced or the small talk be too awkward. He could tell Bruce was silently pleading for a last minute cancellation or some disaster to strike that could be used as an excuse to not attend; alas, he got into the car without complaint.
Maybe twenty minutes pass before the penthouse’s phone starts to ring. Alfred answers, and it’s one of the investors, confused and irate.
“Where is Mr. Wayne? He’s late and his cell phone goes straight to voicemail. We’re getting impatient. You tell him his tardiness will damage any future consideration–”
Alfred reassures him that this is not Bruce’s typical behavior (a blatant lie) and tells the man he will reach out to Bruce himself and resolve the issue.
Alfred hangs up and calls Bruce's number, a bit concerned. This isn’t like him at all. He would have informed Alfred if he opted to turn around and come home. Three years ago, Bruce called Alfred when he impulsively decided to leave his cousin’s wedding (or was it a first cousin once removed?), asking Alfred to arrange a note of congratulations and apologies for missing the event. He may ditch events without warning, leaving others hurt and confused, but Bruce would never leave Alfred in the dark.
Alfred is met with a message that the number he is calling is currently unavailable. Shit.
The phone rings for a second time and he picks it up immediately. He’s greeted with Dory on the other end.
“Alfred! Have you seen the news? There was a terrible crash downtown and it appears to be one of Mr. Wayne’s vehicles. Is he alright?” While she’s talking, Alfred walks into the living room and turns on the news, showing a report about a large car crash that will worsen traffic for people heading west.
“Dory, darling, I am going to have to call you back.”
~
Standing in the middle of the waiting area of the Gotham Hospital, Alfred finds himself having to accept that this wasn’t a routine car accident. None of the hospitals have record of a Bruce Wayne being delivered to them following the crash. There was one casualty, not Bruce. The police say he wasn’t at the scene when they arrived. He paced like the guests in the room, all of them awaiting news with sad eyes and holding onto cups of watery coffee.
He sits down in a chair with a faded cushion and puts his head in his hands, exhaling a long sigh. Unfortunately, Alfred now knows what this means. He pulls out his pocket journal and starts jotting down a few thoughts:
Bruce is missing.
Bruce went missing as Bruce Wayne.
The crash was done with malicious intent.
Is this related to Wayne Enterprises, the Wayne family, or Batman?
There are too many people that want Bruce Wayne dead for any of those reasons with a concerning amount of overlap. Should he go to the police? Or would that be a hasty decision before finding out why Bruce is missing?
No, he must do some of his own investigation first. There are too many secrets that risk exposure.