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“What the hell is this!” Jim demanded as he walked into the briefing room early on a Friday morning. It’d been a typical morning so far, too early alarm, one perfunctory hit of the snooze, one cup of coffee at home, and then a quick glance at his watch to show he was running behind. He’d skipped a second cup and any breakfast to jump into the morning traffic fray. Said traffic had been typical, and while the office had seemed a bit busier than normal, nothing could have prepared him for this. This sight was NOT normal.
The bland briefing room usually contained a few rows of folding chairs for the officers and detectives, a podium for the presenter, a rolling white board, and a screen.
Now all the chairs had been arranged around folding tables with trays and platters of fruit and breakfast items including several chafing dishes filled with scrambled eggs, bacon, and oatmeal. There was a coffee station, along with juice and tea, set on the side and a full stream of people waiting for their turn at food.
Near the podium there was a tower of pastries and all the notes from the white board had been erased for the message: “Thanks Commiss!”
At his exclamation, several people turned and looked, but then those that didn’t have their mouths stuffed with food all started cheering. “Thanks Gordon!” and “Great breakfast Commissioner!” and “This is so nice!”
Jim felt a slight wave of panic. “I didn’t do this!”
Montoya walked up with a knowing smirk, passing him a note. “You basically did.”
The card was on thick paper, obviously previously opened and scanned by at least Montoya.
“Don’t fret too much,” she added before he could open it. “I didn’t tell people what it said. I just confirmed the spread was approved by you. Get ‘em tiger.” She gave a wink before joining back into the fray.
Jim flipped open the letter, panic not abating at all.
Dear Jim,
I missed you this week and I am sorry I wasn’t able to join you for breakfast after our night together. Hopefully this small token of my affection for you and your friends can make some amends.
Yours,
Bruce Wayne
Jim choked. The absolute bastard had signed it. He’d signed it. He might as well have signed Jim’s execution warrant. What would people think after reading that? He hoped it was true that only Montoya saw. At least she wouldn’t gossip. But how was this playing it close to the chest? How was this flying under the radar?
Hell, Jim had assumed it had been a one night of lost inhibitions thing. He’d thought maybe Bruce had gotten something slipped in his drink or dosed with a pollen, anything but the truth that Bruce Wayne had actually wanted to date Jim.
Jim wasn’t completely blind. He knew the kid had been interested, his nightlife aside, Bruce seemed lonely at times in a way Jim completely understood. And of course Bruce Wayne was handsome and two adult men could have a little fun together.
They’d cuddled after, in a move Jim never thought possible, and maybe he’d mumbled something about pancakes for breakfast into Bruce’s hair before dozing to sleep. He’d of course, though, woken to an empty bed and a note from Bruce that something had come up.
That’d been the end of it. That’d been four days ago, and Jim had all but slipped back into a normal routine and certainly not been thinking of Bruce since.
He resisted scrunching the paper in his fist and folded it closed again. He’d burn it in his office, after running it through a shredder. He turned on his heel and stalked to his office, needing a moment to compose himself.
In the quiet of his office, he could now feel the pounding of his heart. The enormous bouquet of red roses on his desk was not helping matters at all. There was also a covered tray on the desk that Jim was almost afraid to open. He did anyway.
Pancakes. Piled high with strawberries and powdered sugar. There was syrup over to the side and a small plate of fried eggs, hash browns and bacon. Something twinged in his chest. Of course Bruce would know the way Jim preferred his eggs.
There was also another note.
Dear Jim,
Hopefully one breakfast or the other reaches you. I know you would not be satisfied by just feeding yourself, so I thought it better to offer to feed the office. I am sorry for leaving the other morning, but hope to pick up where we left off. Meet me for dinner?
Yours,
Bruce
Jim sat down hard in his chair. He was not flustered. He was too old to be twitterpated. Why the hell was it so hot in his office?
“You alright there Commissioner?"
Jim stared, almost dreadfully, at the spread of sandwiches and closed chafing dishes filling the briefing room. “Again?” he asked, unable to repress the mournful tone.
“Again,” Montoya grinned. “Gotta say, you having a sugar daddy suits my stomach.”
Jim palmed his face, ignoring the heat of his cheeks. He was a professional. He was an adult. Dammit it he was too old for this!
“I’m just not sure,” she continued, ignoring his crisis. “Does this happen when he screws up or is this just a random thing? Can we just have him cater once a week to show he loves you?”
Jim groaned at the word, then straightened up and pulled himself together. “This is the fourth time right?”
She nodded. “The breakfast spreads are my favorite. There was a pastry in the last one that–”
“Judging by the pattern, it’s happening whenever he thinks he missed a meal with me. If he had to skip a breakfast or lunch for his work, then he sends food to the station to apologize. I am the one that usually gets caught working late for dinners–”
The noise Montoya failed to repress was so uncharacteristic that Jim abruptly stopped his explanation to look at her. “Rene?”
She choked, eyes wide as she stared at him. Worry filled him as he tugged her over to the side of the room to assess. She took a breath, coughed, and turned red.
“Are you–” he began, but she waved him quiet. She then took his arm and tugged him from the room, taking him all the way to his office. She pushed him inside the room and shut the door.
He studied her for a moment, trying to determine what the concern was, and she studied him right back.
She broke first. “Are you actually hooking up with Bruce Wayne?”
Jim stared in shock. “I would not call it–”
“Jim, I’m serious. Are you actually in a relationship with Wayne? For how long?”
How did he answer that? How should he count their relationship? From the first meeting of Jim and Bruce? From Commissioner and Batman? Jim hadn’t even realized how it’d grown into looking out for moments to share meals and cuddle beneath blankets.
Her mouth hung open and finally Jim came to his senses. It didn’t matter and he certainly didn’t need to explain himself to any subordinates. “Close your mouth Montoya before you catch flies. Yes I have a relationship with Bruce Wayne and no I will not be answering questions or explaining. As you said, it gets you occasional meals. Keep this away from the gossip mongers and I’ll take requests for your favorite restaurants to pass along.”
“Benny’s,” she responded immediately. “Benny’s bakery over on 5th. Tell him to order us the bagels. I never get the apple cinnamon before it’s sold out in the mornings.”
Jim studied her another moment before nodding. He stepped past her, opened the door and ushered her back into the bullpen.
He sighed, shutting the door and making his way back to his desk to slump down in his chair. A very comfortable, ergonomic creation with heating and massage capabilities that had shown up in his office a few weeks ago. He’d also received an updated laptop, full security and already perfectly aligned to the systems he needed for work, a special computer mouse that eased the strain on his wrist, an espresso machine, a new tablet and an encrypted phone.
No one had noticed. Not one officer, detective, or secretary had seemingly noticed the upgrades slipping in almost daily. Jim wanted to feel some way about their observation skills, however he had to admit he was dating Batman. Whatever Bruce wanted to accomplish he would.
At least the rest of Bruce’s near constant stream of gifts were a bit quieter than catering for the whole station.