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"You still here?"
Bruce startled at the familiar voice directly over his head. He didn't realise he had nodded off, but as he looked up, he barely managed to prevent a gasp escaping his lips. His neck had gone stiff and the moment he shifted, his back reminded him why sudden movements were a poor idea - a testimony to a really rough night Batman had had, followed by a shitty day Bruce Wayne was having.
He wasn't even supposed to be here anymore, in the soulless waiting room. Alfred was out of surgery and safe in the hands of Gotham's best doctors. They had told Bruce they were going to keep the butler sedated till the next morning, but they assured him they had removed the bullet and that Alfred was expected to make a full recovery. There was little for Bruce to do at the hospital and he had meant to leave, just needed to sit for a moment... And apparently take an unplanned nap.
The waiting room was empty now, save for Bruce himself and for Jim Gordon standing over him. He was surprised to see the commissioner still at the hospital, but perhaps the investigation took this long, or perhaps he had been waiting to be able to talk to the witnesses of the robbery. While Alfred was still out of it, most of the people caught in the shooting had come relatively unscratched.
"I was about to leave." Bruce ran his hand down his face in a vain attempt to push the sleepiness away, then rose carefully. "Alfred's safe and I need to..." he made a vague gesture, knowing Jim would understand. The day was slowly ending. It was time for Batman to deal with some unfinished business from the previous night. If he was lucky, he would do that quickly and then perhaps catch a few hours of sleep before the next morning.
The commissioner must have picked all of that. "Have you seen yourself in a mirror? Don't go after them like this.” He grabbed him by the shoulder and Bruce almost screamed. What in the name…?
White, hot pain flared the left side of his back and for a moment Bruce saw nothing. Now that he thought of it, he doubted he had a single spot of untouched skin from his collarbone, down his back and left shoulder blade - an unlucky result of an unlucky motor chase Batman had had in the morning, which at some point had him dragged behind a vehicle he had been trying to get on.
“Hey, I mean it.” Jim didn’t take his hand off his shoulder and Bruce was hard pressed to stay still as not to aggravate whatever was wrong there. “Go home, get some sleep, or dammit, go back there and sit with him if you need to. Just don't do anything stupid."
"I don't do stupid," Bruce hissed when he was more confident he wouldn’t just yelp.
"Usually," Jim agreed. Whatever showed on Bruce's face, it made the commissioner soften. "You know, I promised Mr Pennyworth to keep an eye on you if something like this ever happened."
"I don't need minding." With one swift movement, Bruce escaped the hand abusing his back, but the comment let a bit of warmth in for the first time this long day. Of course Alfred would have thought of making sure Bruce was safe and not alone when the butler himself would be unable to see to that. With Jim knowing the truth now, it was possible.
"No, but you look like you could use a friendly face and a lift."
"I have a car here."
"You might want to verify that," Gordon snorted. "Next time you don't want your car towed, don't leave it parked at the entrance." There was more amusement than reproach in Jim's voice, though Bruce was aware he would not have been this easily excused under any other circumstances. "I can give you a lift to the police parking, if you promise to go home later."
"Thanks." Bruce simply nodded and followed his older friend. Perhaps he should indeed go to the penthouse first and at least take a shower. Now that he started moving again, he could feel that his t-shirt – his black Batman t-shirt he hadn’t had time to take off – was glued to his back. Perhaps he should also grasp something decent to eat, something that wasn’t a snack from a vending machine or yet another horrible coffee.
Once they reached Jim’s car, Bruce sank on the passenger seat and leaned forwards, dreading to put any pressure on his back. He had been pushing the pain and discomfort aside for most of the day, his mind too occupied with Alfred having been shot and undergoing a surgery, but now that he knew the butler was not in danger, the past thirty hours were finally catching up on him.
"Alright." Jim shut the doors and turned the engine on. Bruce glanced to the left and saw that the commissioner looking at him with visible concern, now that they were alone. "What's wrong?"
"I don't know," Bruce shrugged and winced. "Didn't have time to check, but I don't think it's anything serious. Just... Long day," he tried his usual easy smile, but the way Jim just glared at him told him it didn't really work. "Really, it's fine. Just drop me off and I will go home." He would be alright. Had anything been broken, he would have known by now. There was something definitely wrong with his left shoulder, likely a torn muscle or rotator from when he was dragged before he managed to pull himself on the motor. This, he could live with. Taping the abused muscles was probably going to be a challenge without Alfred’s help, but that was something Bruce preferred to deal once he was back in the penthouse.
"And see to whatever's on your back on your own? I don't think so." Jim commented when Bruce couldn't completely hide a pained hiss as he carefully leaned back to fasten the seatbelt. “We’ll go my place first and get you sorted.”
“Alright.”
They couldn’t risk talking freely in a police car, so the ride was filled first with awkward silence, then with Jim making vague comments about his day’s work – something a police commissioner could share with the local billionaire that was becoming his friend. Bruce didn’t really mind. They could probably talk about the details later, preferably with a strong coffee at hand.
The flat was empty. As Jim explained when they went in, his wife and daughter were visiting Barbara’s parents and Jimmy was still with his friend a few blocks away. Bruce took off his jacket and dark blue jumper in the cramped hallway, but when he tried to tug at his t-shirt, he couldn’t help but hiss.
"It's stuck," Bruce muttered at Jim's inquiring glance. He hated the idea of ripping open whatever abrasions he had there. "I should probably wet it first." He probed the fabric and winced. Something was definitely bleeding or oozing.
"The bathroom's down the hall, to the left," Jim offered and before Bruce could really object, he was given a dark grey towel. "I will try to find you something to wear. I'm afraid most of my clothes won't fit you, but I should have a loose t-shirt somewhere."
This wasn't like most of the situations when he had to interact with the Commissioner, either as Batman or as Bruce Wayne in public. They were usually business partners one way or the other, and rarely just friends.
"Jim." Bruce paused with a towel hanging awkwardly in his hands. Alfred was the only person who cared for him like that. "You don't need to do this."
"Yes, I do." Came the obvious reply. "Feel free to take a shower and let me know when you need help. I bet you want some coffee, God knows I do."
On rare occasions, usually when Bruce was dead on his feet, Alfred could make him feel like a boy. Somehow Gordon managed the same. Tired as he was, Bruce decided there was little point in arguing against what was a sound suggestion. He went to the bathroom like he was told, trying not to feel like he was invading someone's privacy.
Even under a steady stream of water, taking off his t-shirt proved to be an unpleasant process of tearing half dried abrasions open again. It didn't help that he couldn’t lift his left elbow above the shoulder level and that the black shirt he normally wore under Batman suit was a fitting one. Gritting his teeth, Bruce pulled the shirt over his head. He kept the showering short, aware that had he allowed himself to sit down there, he would have likely fallen asleep and probably caused alarm.
Once he got out and dried himself, grateful that the towel was dark, one look in the mirror made him abandon any hopes for taping his abused muscles. His shoulder blade and his back below was an angry mess of widespread oozing abrasions and bruises that were already turning dark purple, leaving hardly any space for tapes. Jim was right. There was no way he could dress it on his own.
"You alright there?" As if called, Jim tapped from the other side.
"Yeah." Bruce opened the door.
Gordon came in with a wooden kitchen stool and motioned his guest to sit. Bruce obeyed, glad that he wasn’t forced to do any twisting acrobatics in order to reach the wounds. He stayed still as Jim cleaned his back, trying not to hiss and flinch at the pressure.
“Almost done,” Gordon promised and Bruce didn’t miss the parental tone in his voice. “Can you hold the gauze? I’m out of plaster.”
“Sure.”
"Daddy? Is Batman here?"
Bruce froze at the question asked in a childish voice, his right hand pressing awkwardly the gauze over his left shoulder. He turned and saw Gordon's son standing in the hall, in a dark green hoodie still on and with a backpack on one shoulder.
Jim recovered first. "No, Jimmy. It's just Mr Wayne."
"Oh." The boy looked perplexed for a moment, as if seeing Batman in his bathroom would have been less surprising. “Good evening.”
“Hello.” Bruce relaxed and decided some explanation was in order. "I… Well, I had a motor accident this morning, but then I was told my... Someone very close to me was taken to hospital, so I didn't get this cleaned. Your dad was kind to help me out,” he said, glad that he didn't exactly have to lie to the boy.
"Falling from a bike sucks," the boy nodded in understanding, then glanced at what he could still see of Bruce's back and winced. "Did you wear a helmet?" The stern look he gave him made Bruce chuckle.
"Yes, I did.”
“Ah, blast it,” Gordon shut the cupboard under the sink. “Jimmy, do you know where mum put band aids? I need more.”
“I have some!” The boy dropped his backpack and retrieved a Halloween themed package from a side pocket.
"Thanks, but these are too small. I need a roll."
"Not for this one," Jimmy pointed at a wound over Bruce’s elbow and handed him the biggest band aid with a toothy pumpkin and a grinning bat.
In the end Gordon secured the last gauze with a mix of regular and Halloween band aids, since the roll was nowhere to be found. Bruce struggled to put on a loose t-shirt Jim offered him and glanced in the mirror. He ended up having not one, but two bat band aids visible, one on his elbow and the other a little above it, because Jimmy claimed they were the best and the whole situation was too absurd for Bruce to argue.
“Dad, can we make supper now? I’m hungry.” Jimmy slipped back to the bathroom to wash his hands.
“Sure.”
“I have a restaurant nearby,” Bruce joined in. Now that the boy mentioned food, his own stomach reminded him he hadn’t had a normal meal since last evening. “If I order, they should deliver in about 25 minutes. They make the best pasta.”
Jimmy stared at him again. “So you can be like, erm, a normal guy,” the boy deadpanned and Bruce couldn’t help but laugh both at the comment and at Gordon’s exasperated expression.
“Sometimes, but that’s a secret.”
***
Much to his embarrassment, Bruce had fallen asleep on Gordon's sofa after they had eaten and he got some painkillers. Jimmy had been determined to show him something and Bruce complied. He had meant to call a taxi and go home, but somehow ended up dropping dead to the living world. He woke up around seven when Jimmy was already preparing for school and Jim renewed his offer to drop Bruce to the police parking.
Bruce didn't argue. A night's sleep improved his comprehension, but sleeping on a coach did nothing good to his injuries. He had gone overnight from stiff and sore to barely able to move and his left shoulder was basically out of any use, as he learned the hard way when he put on his jumper and jacket.
Once he paid the fine and got his car back, Bruce went to the penthouse to at least attempt to make himself presentable, then packed a bag for Alfred and headed to the hospital. He was told the butler had woken up in the early morning, that he had been lucid and aware of his current condition and that he was now simply resting. Since no one forbade him to sit in Alfred's room, Bruce moved a plastic chair to the wall where he could sit and lean a bit on his good side.
Bruce rarely saw it, or rarely allowed himself to acknowledge it, but lying like this in a hospital bed, with monitoring machines still attached to him, Alfred looked fragile and old. In a way, this was a fear Bruce had yet to face and now that he was, he found himself struggling. Only now did he realise how much he had needed a friendly face and a hilarious at times distraction the previous evening. He would have to thank Jim again later.
Re-watching his parents die in a dream was a regular recurrence, but it was something that had already happened, a childhood wound that kept reminding of itself, but one that was like an old familiar ache. There was nothing Bruce could do about it except trying to improve the situation in Gotham, something he was still trying as Batman. However, the possibility of Alfred ever sharing the fate of Bruce's parents was another matter entirely. It could happen, considering the place they lived in. It almost did happen and for all his trying, Bruce – Batman – had not been able to prevent the attack. Alfred just happened to be in a wrong place at a wrong time, he was a random victim to yet another group of criminals trying to get some easy money from robbery.
Bruce drew a longer breath, trying to steady his racing heart. He thought he had his fears controlled, and yet, this time he seemed as lost as he had been in his worst years. He focused on the steady beeping of the machines. Alfred was right there, on his way to recovery. He wasn't-
"I don't usually see you awake at this hour, sir."
The comment came out soft and raspy, but as Bruce looked up, he saw the butler watching him fully awake.
"Morning, Alfred." He found himself grinning and breathing become a little easier. "Barely awake," he muttered with exasperation, unconsciously slipping right into their usual pattern.
"I recon."
"Wait, take it easy, please." Bruce moved to adjust Alfred's bed to a more sitting position since the butler was trying to sit up. "How do you feel?"
The butler paused for a moment. "Alright, considering." He didn’t try to move again. "But I think I missed something, master Wayne." There was some mirth in Alfred's voice and a hint of smile, but his eyes were clearly scanning Bruce for what he could not see under the clothing.
Bruce glanced down and realised Alfred was looking at the band aids with bats he still had on his arm. The hospital room was warm and he had taken off his jumper.
"Ah." he chuckled. "That. A little motor accident last morning. Don't worry, Jim Gordon helped me sort it out." He didn't intend to mention how poorly he was feeling at the moment. He was only functioning, if barely, thanks to the strongest painkillers he found at the penthouse, ones that still allowed him to drive a car afterwards. But Alfred had been shot, so Bruce wasn’t going to let him worry right now. “His son helped.”
"Very accurate. I think you should buy more of these while there’s still season, sir,” Alfred suggested lightly, but he didn’t look entirely convinced by Bruce’s dismissal. "I'm afraid you will have to manage the house and the rest without me for a bit. I doubt they will just let me go home today.”
“Not in a week at least, I asked,” Bruce replied. He didn’t want Alfred out of full hospital care until they were sure it was safe for him to leave.
“Then you will have to deal with the window cleaning service, master Wayne.” Alfred looked mildly terrified, as if the idea was offensive. “They’re scheduled for Friday, you’ll find the details in my planer.”
“I’ll tell Ann to reschedule that. I'm sure we can survive without window cleaning for the next month,” Bruce shrugged him off. That wasn’t something he wished to deal with now.
Alfred didn’t seem at all amused. “I’m sure we can’t, sir”.
“Alright, alright.”
Their conversation was interrupted by a nurse. She was about to help Alfred with hygiene, so Bruce was asked to leave. Since the butler was likely to go back to sleep soon anyway, Bruce decided to check on the Wayne Enterprises and come back during meal time, in case Alfred needed some assistance. He was also going to see his physiotherapist and sell her the same motor accident excuse to have her help him with redressing his wounds for the next few days.
Perhaps he was even going to deal with that window cleaning service.