Sorry!
Chapter Four
Clara heard the chirp of her alarm and rolled over in bed. Her father was coming back to Wayne Manor. She crawled out of bed and pulled on some sweat pants and a tank top before heading down to the sitting room. She played three keys on the piano. The bookcase in front of the piano swung open to reveal an elevator shaft. She stepped in and pushed the down button.
She arrived down in the caves under the manor as her father's Tumbler rolled in. She watched him step out of the vehicle and saw the limp in his leg. She went over to the medical table that she demanded he put into the "Bat Cave". She had been tiered of stitching her father up after three weeks of his escapades and demanded it or else he was going to have to find someone else to butcher his skin in the dark.
He wandered over to her, a limp in his step. He had pulled off half of his body armour but couldn't seem to struggle against the lower part of it. He hoisted himself into the medical table and laid down. Clara switched on the large lamp and a bright light shone down on his leg.
"I see we got stabbed tonight," she commented, as she pulled the body armour off his legs.
The cut was deep and it oozed blood from her vigorous work. Her father winched in pain but remained silent. She snapped her fingers in his face and his eyes snapped open.
"You got stabbed?" she asked again.
"Yeah, it was a luck shot," he grumbled.
She cleaned the wound and then pointed to the bottle of pain killers. "Take two."
"I'm fine," he replied. Clara glared at him and stabbed a gloved finger into his wound. He clenched and slammed his fist into the table.
"Yeah, you're totally fine. Take the damn meds and stop arguing with me."
Bruce growled at her, feeling his vision return to normal. He took the meds she offered and tried not to think about how much his leg hurt. Clara, pleased that her father was being agreeable started stitching up the wound. She worked quickly and quietly, her work rivalling that of an excellent surgeon. Her scissor's snipped the excess rubber schouchers and smiled at her father. She could tell that the medication, a powerful pain medication was taking effect. His pupils were dilated and his body was almost completely relaxed.
"Time for bed," she said helping him off the table.
Bruce mumbled something about how beautiful his daughter was and how lucky he was to have her in her life. He let most of his weight fall onto her shoulders and she braced herself. She brought him up stairs, just as Alfred appeared. He looked from Clara to Bruce, and realised that he was nearly unconscious, just barely able to put one foot in front of the other. She was struggling under the weight, and he went to help her.
"Alfred," mumbled Bruce, a spark of recognition passing across his face.
Alfred looked past him to Clara, "What did you give him?"
She shrugged and they made it to his bedroom. She left the older man to hold her father while she pulled down the bed. They dumped him into bed, and she covered him up and then kissed his forehead. They left the room quietly, not that it would have matter. Bruce was passed out, they could have hosted a marching band practice and he wouldn't have heard a thing.
"Morphine," she replied. "He got stabbed in the leg."
"He's going to be in a foul mood tomorrow morning," remarked Alfred as they made their way back to the stairs. Clara took a few steps up the stairs, while Alfred descended a few steps.
"He got stabbed. You know how he is, he would be up the rest of the night looking over all the surveillance footage that he can, trying to figure out what happened and identifying people. He needs to rest."
Alfred chuckled, "I'm telling him that it's your fault."
Clara laughed, "That's brave of you, tossing me up to the beast."
"You are cute, you will survive."
"Whatever, I'll remember this treachery!" she mocked, feigning upset.
"Good night Miss Wayne."
"Good night Alfred."