Work Text:
A welcome distraction
Long shifts usually happened in the least appropriate moments, and if he were completely honest, Jim wouldn't have picked a party as his preferable way to spend the rest of the evening. Sadly, he had been invited as the Commissioner and the host was Bruce Wayne, so he needed to show up if for a short time. Wayne Manor had been rebuilt just before the end of the year, so the billionaire threw a house-warning party a week before Christmas. Jim knew Bruce loathed the idea as much as he did, but complied to Alfred's suggestion as a celebration like this was expected of him.
As it turned out, Jim wasn't the only one being late. Bruce Wayne was nowhere to be found, not that his guests seemed to mind. Jim wasn't really surprised. He had a strong suspicion Batman had been supporting the police operation without being seen. That terrorist group trying to take hostage people doing pre-Christmas shopping really had had the worst timing.
Jim spotted Lucius Fox among the guests, one of the very few people he could actually talk to and soon they got engaged in a conversation about the latest order the police placed in Wayne Enterprises. They almost missed Bruce's arrival, but raised their glasses in a toast as the host welcomed them all, before his apparent date for the evening swept him away. Jim saw the billionaire mutter something to her and kiss her cheek before he literally left her to greet other socialites. Something was off. Bruce Wayne usually liked to show off his beautiful companions. He also seemed pale and a bit out of breath, which also confirmed Jim's suspicions about the nature of his lateness.
The party went on, hopefully uneventful. After the long day at work Jim wouldn't really mind if all the excitement of the evening was provided by excellent food and drink, with no drama or scandals. Lucius Fox had been a good company, but at some point he too left to join a few people Jim vaguely recognised as Wayne Enterprises board members. Since he himself wasn't exactly in the mood to discuss anything with any of them or any city officials he was doing his best to avoid, he found himself wandering aimlessly with a drink. He hoped for a normal conversation with Bruce, so when he finally spotted him relatively unoccupied, sipping at his champagne, Jim moved to join him.
Before he got there, someone bumped into the billionaire from behind, causing him to spill the rest of his drink.
Bruce yelped. He was quick to cover it with a smile and reassurance that everything was perfectly fine, but Jim was already making his way towards him. Something was most definitely not alright - neither in the strain in his smile, nor in the pain in his voice. Bruce called after the nearest waitress and asked her to wipe the floor, but as he turned to leave, he stumbled and reached for the wall to steady himself. Then Jim saw a wet stain on the black suit, a stain that certainly did not come from the champagne, and decided to intervene.
"I think you've had enough, Mr Wayne." He grabbed Bruce by the elbow, carefully avoiding stains above. "How about getting some air?"
"What are you doing?" Bruce stumbled and his words sounded a bit slurred, but his eyes darted around. He clearly picked Gordon’s intentions and played along, but the commissioner wasn’t sure how much of his behaviour was an act.
"Saving you some embarrassment," Jim said loudly, his voice full of mild disappointment as he steered the younger man towards the exit. "And a lot of explaining," he hissed once they were alone at the corridor and Bruce suddenly swayed more. Not an act, then. "Unless you have a good reason to be bleeding through your tux."
The billionaire looked at his left sleeve a little above the elbow. The word that left his mouth was very clearly a swearword, though Jim couldn't even begin to guess the language. It didn't matter. What they needed now was some private place and Jim realised he had no idea where to go.
Bruce seemed to pick his hesitation. "In here." He fished out a simple key and opened second door to the left.
It was a small storage room. Once Jim closed the doors behind them, Bruce leaned against the nearest cupboard and quietly slid down to sit on the floor.
"Thanks," he muttered and shifted to support his clearly injured arm. "Damn. Lock the door, please," he passed Jim the key and worked on taking off his jacket.
Jim complied without questioning, since there were too many eyes that should not see the host of the party bleeding like this. When he turned, he saw Bruce leaning forwards, head between his knees, swaying dangerously as he panted. His jacket hang awkwardly on his left wrist and he was pressing his good hand to the bloodied sleeve of his shirt. He swayed more and jerked, reaching out blindly trying to catch himself from falling.
"Hey, easy!" Jim knelt beside the younger man and held him steady. Bruce was blinking and taking quick, deep breaths, but all the colour seemed to have drained from his face. "Easy, son. Lie down, okay?"
Bruce didn't really object as Jim steered him and made sure he wouldn't hit his head. The commissioner really wished they had gone anywhere else. It was absurd, making the wounded lie on a cold floor when there were beds, couches and armchairs in the surrounding rooms. Sadly, so was a hundred guests or so.
"Hey, no, none of that. Don't close your eyes," Jim patted his cheek lightly as he lifted Bruce’s wounded arm to put it on his chest. "I need you with me, ok? How bad is it?"
"Stab wound," Bruce hissed as he reached to put pressure on his arm. "Deep. And damn fresh." He was still taking deliberately deep breaths and blinking. "No need for alarm." His voice was steady, though a bit strained.
"Mhm, sure," Jim snorted, but got what the younger man was trying to say. I’m not dying here. "Hey! Stay down for a bit." He objected when Bruce already tried to push himself back to a sitting position.
"It's better now."
"Yes, because you are lying down. Give it a few minutes, then we'll get you up."
"Alfred's gonna kill me," Bruce grunted, but complied. He stared awkwardly at the ceiling for a moment, then fished out his phone and hit a speed dial. "Yeah, a bit of a situation here," he admitted to what Jim assumed was Alfred's greeting. "I need a fresh shirt and jacket... Yeah, that too... In the pantry, with Jim. It's all under control."
Jim wasn't sure now convincing Bruce thought he sounded, but from what he had managed to observe about Alfred Pennyworth, he doubted the butler was in any way reassured.
"Any chance I can find you something to drink here?" he asked, feeling a bit awkward crouching like this. He looked around, but most of the cupboards were closed.
"Probably," Bruce muttered. "Just wait for Alfred."
When Jim inquired about the locks in the doors, just to keep the wounded focused on something, Bruce explained that the pantry led to the kitchen Alfred used on daily basis. It was a private part of the manor and they didn't want guests or catering staff invading that space, so they installed a simple universal lock in several doors. This way Alfred could easily close areas they didn't wish strangers in, and in emergencies like this one, Bruce had a possibility for quick escape and a place to retreat to. Besides, Alfred absolutely loathed the idea of catering staff - or anyone else, Bruce included - messing with his kitchen.
They didn't wait long.
"Oh dear." Alfred rushed in the moment he saw Bruce on the floor. "That bad?"
"It's okay now, Alfred," Bruce reassured him immediately and pushed himself to sit. Jim didn't stop him this time. "Just needed a moment, it's fine. Besides," he forced a grin, "you did tell me to lie down before."
The butler didn't seem amused. "Yes, and by that I meant in your bed, not dusting cobwebs in the pantry."
"You don't have cobwebs here," Bruce retorted and accepted Jim's help to get back on his feet. He leaned against a cupboard for a moment, but seemed steady. "See? All fine. Just need a clean shirt."
"You put it on that, you're just going to ruin it, sir," Alfred quipped and pointed at the bloodied bandages Bruce was still pressing on. "Let's get you sorted first, sir. Did you at least manage to drink or eat something?"
"Half a toast I couldn't skip," Bruce winced. "Half too much."
“Not what I meant, sir.”
They moved to the kitchen through the second door and Jim was struck by the difference. Unlike all the freshly rebuilt rooms he had a chance to see, this place actually looked like someone was using it. Jim understood what Bruce meant about keeping private parts private and he felt like an intruder, especially since the other two seemed to ignore his presence. Bruce sank heavily on a chair and accepted a rehydration drink Alfred passed him before removing the shirt to change the dressings. He tried to stay still, sipping at the drink, but when the butler got to the last layers of soaked bandages, he flinched and covered his mouth with his hand.
"Wait," he hissed, clearly fighting nausea.
"I'm sorry, master Wayne," Alfred stopped, until Bruce nodded for him to continue. "I can't just let you go back there like this."
"I know."
"Then perhaps next time try not to get butchered right before hosting a party," Alfred tutted and uncovered the wounded arm.
Jim winced in sympathy. Bruce said he had been stabbed, but whatever weapon caused it, it must have sliced his muscles open on the way back. Fresh sutures were barely holding swollen skin together and the deep stab wound was still oozing slightly. It must have bled heavily before, no wonder Bruce was dizzy after the initial adrenaline rush was over.
“I am trying.” Bruce leaned on the table as Alfred worked on redressing the wound and took another sip. "Sorry," he said to the commissioner. "That's not the kind of entertainment I promised. At least I hope the catering is good, I couldn't try it." He didn’t bother to hide his weariness from his voice.
"Never mind that," Jim shrugged him off. "The food is excellent and trust me, I really don't want to do any more business tonight."
"No?" Bruce looked up and offered a pained smile. "And here I was hoping talking business to you would be a good excuse for our absence now."
"If anyone cares to ask, sure."
“I would appreciate it if you could stick to just talking, master Wayne,” Alfred commented as he helped his employer with the fresh shirt and then the jacket. “I don’t think you need any more excitement today.
“Yeah.” Bruce ran his good hand through his hair, slipped the wounded one in the pocket of his trousers and Jim watched in amazement as he transformed back into the billionaire with an easy smile plastered to his face. “Well, Commissioner, I’m sure we can find some dreadfully boring topic to talk about.”