Chapter Text
“Damn. You clean up nice.”
“You’re not funny.”
You lean against the door frame, “I’m hilarious. What’s not funny is nearly getting killed by aliens.”
“I didn’t nearly get killed.”
You push off the door frame and go to sit on the edge of Bruce Wayne’s sick bed, “It sure didn’t help.”
“That I will agree to. What are you doing here?”
“Checking in on my best friend.”
“What are you doing here in Gotham? You know you’re not supposed to be here.”
You pull your legs up onto the bed and cross them, before being overly dramatic, “Ohhh Nooo. You don’t want me here.”
Bruce scoffs, “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re my best friend.”
That was the truth. You’d been best friends since childhood. You’d both been part of the society set, and had been raised going to the same galas, schools, and other events. When Bruce had left to “find himself” you’d also left. You’d become a chef, and stepped out of your parents’ world, much to their disappointment.
“You never let me visit. I was really missing Alfred and so I decided to come visit.”
“Y/N, you work at a five star restaurant. You work six days a week, sometimes more. It’s not that I don’t let you visit. You just don’t have time to visit.”
“I have vacation days saved up, so what do you want for dinner?”
“Y/N.” He draws out your name, and you scoot off the bed, with your mischievous smile in place.
“Don’t worry about a tux for dinner. A nice suit will do.”
“Y/N.”
You start backing out of the room, “I’m thinking of just a nice, small dinner party . . .”
You’re out the door before the pillow Bruce throws can hit you. You make your way downstairs, and back to the kitchen. You tie your apron around your waist and start making dinner. You set out small snacks as you go and soon enough Jason saunters in. He starts popping food into his mouth and soon enough the rest of his brothers come in, and the kitchen is full of conversation. You pipe in every once and awhile before there’s a clearing of a throat..
You turn around to see a very tall, broad shouldered man standing uncomfortably in the doorway. “Sorry to barge in.”
Dick smiles at the man, “It’s no problem Clark. We were just goofing around while Aunt Y/N makes dinner.”
“Aunt Y/N?”
You smile, “No blood relation, I’ve just been there for every stupid moment of Bruce’s life.”
“She has the best blackmail photos.” Jason pipes in.
“It’s how we get Bruce to stay in bed when he’s hurt.” Tim adds.
“Our secret weapon,” Damian declares.
The man smiles, “Nice to meet you. I’m Clark Kent.”
You nod in acknowledgement, your hands are too busy with the task at hand. Five minutes later you hear a mysterious crash, but none of the boys move. “Really? We’re just going to let that slide?”
Dick shrugs, “Clark won’t hurt him, and Bruce is incapable of hurting Clark.”
You catch on. Clark must be in the league. You stop the thought process there, because it is none of your business. Bruce, however, is your business, so you put dinner in Jason’s hands, because despite his complaints he’s a damn good cook.
You walk up the stairs to Bruce’s room and find him attempting to get out of bed while Clark just watches him struggle. You charge past the man and gently push your best friend back onto the bed. You plop down next to him, “Now Bruce, I know dinner smells good, but you’re on bed rest. That means you have to stay in bed and rest. Stop being impatient.”
“You’re not funny.”
“I’m hilarious.”
You pat the top of his head and spring back up, “Now, I’m sorry, but Clark is going to have to leave. Only good boys who follow the rules are allowed to have their friends visit.”
“I’m not a child Y/N.”
“Then stop acting like one.” And without another word you push Clark out of the room.
“You really know him.”
The two of you start walking, “Literally since we were a month old. I was the first person he told his Batman scheme to. I walk into my kitchen after eight years of him being gone, with only
sporadic calls, and there he is, eating my Lucky Charms.”
“You didn’t stop him?”
“He hid all of my cooking equipment before I woke up and if I wanted it back I had to promise to try to not talk him out of it.”
“And that stopped you?”
You pause, as his name finally sinks in, “You’re a reporter, with the Daily Planet.”
“Yep.”
“This off the record?”
“Everything with Bruce is off the record unless he states differently.”
“I knew there was no talking him out of it. I’ve never been able to talk Bruce out of anything. I’m just there when things go to shit and he needs actual sense talked into him.”
“And Batman didn’t require actual sense?”
You shake your head, “No. Because I knew he could do it. And the thing with Bruce is your word means everything to him. I made a promise. I’ve stuck to it. I’ll continue to stick to it.”
“No regrets?”
“None.”
Three hours later dinner has been served, the boys are out on patrol, and Clark has gone home. Once the kitchen is in order you head back upstairs one more time. Bruce is awake, with various papers spread out around him. You watch him for a minute, before he looks up at you, “Come to scold me some more?”
You shake your head, “No.”
He stares at you for a moment before collecting the papers and putting them back into their folder. You walk over to the bed, and collapse next to him. You snuggle into his side and his arms wrap around you. “I love you Bruce.”
“I love you too.” He kisses the top of your head, before he pulls out a well worn copy of Pride and Prejudice and starts reading.
Alfred finds the two of you both asleep, a worn copy of Pride and Prejudice laid out on Bruce’s chest. He knows the copy well, it’s the copy his mother had read to the two of you, the one you had read to him through a door when he refused to leave it after his parents' death, it was the same copy Bruce had read through the door to you after you’d thrown him out after telling you his Batman plan, and the one you read to him the first time he’d gotten hurt. He places it on the nightstand and leaves you two to your sleep.