Disclaimer: Batman belongs to those people at DC Comics, and Christopher Nolan. But my characters belong to only me and no one else.
To any casual observer it would seem as if it was simply a meeting between the owner of the company and the CEO to start the day with. In actuality, they were both filling very different roles behind closed doors.
"I've traced the name of a few prominent Gotham businessmen to these companies." Bruce glanced at a condensed list of the names he'd given to Lucius a week ago and saw that the names had been traced to various foreign companies. "The rest I'll leave it to you."
A brisk knock sounded on the door before the gesture admitted Jessica Stone, Gotham City's highest paid executive assistant. In the aftermath of Earle's fall and subsequent departure, Bruce and Lucius had taken a look at her resume, cover letter, performance reviews, work history, and references. That, had convinced them that she was to stay on should she choose to remain. From that point on, she had gone on to become a critical employee of Wayne Enterprises.
"Mr Wayne. Mr Fox." Jessica greeted both men. As she did so, Bruce let his gaze linger on his executive assistant who also assisted both Lucius and Camilla in the day- to- day operations of the company. He'd known for a fact that her day started with a quick run on the treadmill and her figure certainly showed it. He followed the pair of legs until it came to a purposeful stop beside Lucius. "Miss Haynes just called to say that she'd be unable to come in today. She specifically told me to tell you, Mr Wayne, that Miss Chloe Greenwell was involved in an auto accident and that it's currently on the morning news."
It was only then that Bruce realized she hadn't came in with a mug of coffee and a stack of mail as she did every morning. Jessica already had a remote control for the television in her hand but Bruce's reflexes rendered it moot, him wasting no time in reaching for an identical one on his desk. The first thing Bruce saw was a shot of Chloe as it came up on the screen, followed by the photograph of the scene of accident. A mangled heap attested to what that were previously a white Maserati and what looked like a silver Mazda. Looking at her car which was now destroyed, it was eerily symbolic of their relationship which had taken a turn for the worst just this morning.
It was a little more than he bargained for. He hadn't set out to make her cry nor had he expected for his face to bear the slight bruises that were left behind by her rings when she slapped him. Bruce winced at the memory of it. If he hadn't been at the receiving end of it, he wouldn't have known how much more he preferred being slapped twice by Rachel. Chloe would have the strength to seriously harm a man if a martial artist of his caliber taught her how—he'd give her that.
"…unable to apprehend the suspect, Mr. Boden, who died at the scene. The other driver, Chloe Greenwell was rushed to the nearest hospital to seek immediate medical attention. A spokesperson for the police department had expressed a deep regret for the turn of events. As of the moment, the police commissioner is currently unavailable for comment."
The news reel scrolling across the television reiterated the accident that had occurred during the morning rush hour. Police car chase leads to crash involving suspected drug distributor and daughter of billionaire Derek Greenwell.
His eyes remain fixed on the screen when his cell went off in his jacket.
"Master Wayne, have you heard?"
"I'm watching it now as we speak." Alfred recognized the briskness with which he said it, one that was reserved for emotional emergencies. The self blame and guilt would come later, Alfred knew. "Alfred, find out which hospital she's admitted to. I need you to visit her on my behalf."
A short video footage in high definition, obviously taken by a motorist, was played on the screen. It began a little before the impact brought the traffic to a screeching halt, and it was clear to all that the collision they just witnessed would at least have one driver dead. Some of the other drivers came out, their cars to one side of the road. Two of Gotham's black and whites came into the picture with the ambulance close behind, its lights and sirens going. Bruce knew that she'd been transported to the hospital by the time the accident made it into the morning news, but he still took what could have been simply them following the police's lead as a good sign. EMTs only do the full cherry when they know there's someone hurt but still alive.
"Am I to assume that you're not paying her a visit at all?" Whoever took the video zoomed in at the car, giving him a glimpse of Chloe as she was being carted away on a stretcher.
"It would be of more good if the paparazzi don't associate her with me anymore. At least for now, I have to keep the press away from her." The silence at the other end of the line bore no trace of disapproval from the butler for his decision to do so. But the condemnatory tone that Alfred had took this morning still stung even if he wasn't about to blame it all on Bruce.
After getting off the line with Alfred, Bruce found himself the recipient of their collective concern and worry. The creases on Lucius' face seems to have multiplied, and Jessica was slowly checking him with her eyes. He winked at her, pushing away the only emotion that he'd seen her display in the years she'd worked for him.
Her stoic professionalism returned. "I'm sorry for what that had happened to her, sir. Now, would you like for Wayne Enterprises to send some flowers to wish her a speedy recovery?" As with the rest of Gotham, Jessica had been kept up- to- date on the relationship between those two over the past month.
Bruce made a mental note to give her another salary increase. "That will be a good idea. You do that, Ms. Stone."
Derek Greenwell wasn't his daughter's emergency contact, who turned out to be the CFO of Wayne Enterprises. In the course of his company's dealings, he had encountered her a few times. Camilla Haynes was a name that had been at the tip of everyone's tongue for the few months after she joined Wayne Enterprises and was one half of the duo that had made the company a formidable force to be reckoned with. Bruce Wayne, of course, hadn't been of much help in that regard. All he knew to do, by being at the helm of the company was to do his best to present an opposite of the corporate image that had been the one thing that had, in the past, drove the family business to even greater heights.
The news of Chloe's accident came to him through a call by an acquaintance who was there when it happened. Derek was himself on the way to the company when he received the call, and had instructed the driver to make a detour around the heavy traffic. An employee of his for close to ten years, Tommy had made good timing. He arrived in time to glimpse his daughter's deathly white face that was tinged with blue before the medical staff and the stretcher bearing her disappeared behind the "Authorized Staff Only" doors.
He had a blind moment of instinct as the swinging doors whispered shut, and it was Camilla's surprisingly firm hand on his forearm that prevented him from moving into the direction of the doors behind which Chloe was even now being treated. "You have to let them do their work," she told him.
Their calendars were cleared. Nobody had any serious obligations pending, not compared to this, nothing that couldn't be delayed or sicked out of or blatantly welched on. So they waited.
And waited.
And waited.
It was three hours after Chloe had gone into the ER when Derek checked his IWC Pilot Spitfire Perpetual Calendar for the fifth time. The 18 carat red gold, self- winding watch had been a Christmas gift from his daughter. Now it seemed only fitting that he wore it while waiting for her to come out of surgery.
They sat silently side by side, their weary bodies folded uncomfortably into hard, plastic chairs. While Derek kept his face studiously calm and unworried, his mind was in free fall and it was Camilla's husband, Clifford, bursting into the Emergency Room that alleviated the tension. He had gotten Camilla's text a while back, but he had been in the middle of negotiating a settlement for a client which had just concluded.
He didn't seem to notice Derek's presence as he rushed directly to Camilla, enveloping her in an enormous hug. "Any word?" He asked, his voice muffled in her hair.
"Nothing so far." Camilla told him as she untangled herself from Clifford's arms. "I think the doctors are still working on her."
A thin man with graying temples, sharply dressed in a tailored suit who sat next to his wife, drew Clifford's attention. The pair of green eyes and sharply defined features sparked a flash of recognition in him as Clifford identified the man to be Chloe's father. He was a parent too, and at that moment he understood how hard it must be for the man to take in the news of what happened to his daughter. When his son had been hospitalized following an asthma attack, the worry he'd felt then couldn't be a million miles away from what he must be through.
Clifford and Derek eyed each other for a moment, before they acknowledged the other with a brief nod.
"You'd think that in a city like Gotham, it'd be crowded around here," Clifford observed to no one in particular. And no one answered him, because at that moment, a man in a green surgeon's gown and cap emerged from the emergency theater. Camilla and Clifford instinctively joined hands, and Derek lifted his head, feeling his body go rigid with the possibility that his daughter didn't made it through.
The doctor didn't look like he had been out of medical school for very long. In Derek's estimation, he probably had only a couple of years' worth of occupational experience. "I'm Dr. Paine." He smiled. "With her strong will to live, I think the worst might be behind us. I'm amazed she was still alive when she arrived here with no measurable blood pressure."
Camilla clasped her hands beneath her chin as if in a prayer. Derek, on the other hand, kept his very palpable relief from showing. Inside, the fear whooshed out of him, and like a deflating balloon, he emptied out the thoughts that had been allowed to fester during the interminable wait.
"Ordinarily, in cases where a punctured lung was the result of a penetrating injury to the chest wall, the procedure would be remarkably straightforward. But the chest trauma she sustained was potentially life- threatening and would have resulted in the complete collapse of the lung. It was fortunate she arrived as soon as she did because she hadn't responded to the EMT's urgent needle decompression. I'm going to assume that most of you don't know much about what it is supposed to do, and I'll explain it as plainly as possible- in simple terms, it is the insertion of a large bore needle into the chest cavity through the ribs to release the trapped air. We had her lung surgically attached to the chest wall which would prevent the lung from collapsing again in the future, and generally diminish their likelihood." He paused, searching their faces for confirmation that they understood him. "That's the extent of her worst injuries. Now, four fractured ribs and a fractured arm should be no cause for alarm."
"So she'll be alright?" Clifford asked.
"If there's no infection, no sudden bleeding, she should be out of the woods in a day or two. She's heavily sedated, and they're moving her up to ICU. I'm afraid I must warn all of you that she isn't out of danger yet. The next forty- eight hours are going to be the most critical."
Camilla buried her head in Clifford's chest and cried. "Thank you, Doctor." Derek heard himself say, taking the surgeon's words as reassurance that his daughter would be fine.
Over the top of his wife's head, Clifford met the doctor's gaze and thanked him too, looking immeasurably relieved.
The relief and joy was indication enough that he had done his job well. Dr. Paine smiled kindly. "All in a day's work. I'll tell the staff you're all here and they'll come and get all of you when they're ready."
The Batman's first stop for that night was Gotham Medical. Behind the cowl, a memory passed in the man's eyes. Something that Alfred had told him about his father surfaced.
Thomas Wayne had been a surgical intern here. For a philandering playboy who coasted through medical school, being around the sick had made him more passionate about his chosen profession than the anatomical charts from the didactic courses had. To quote Alfred on the surgeon that Patrick Wayne's son would later become, Bruce's grandfather had only supported him through the 'medical school nonsense' to indulge his son's daydreaming. In Patrick's view, being a Wayne meant a responsibility to the business and to the name.
He wondered what his grandfather had to say about his grandson assuming responsibility of Gotham, and using the family fortune to fund his activities.
The deft fingers of the breeze ruffled his cape, casting writhing shadows on the windows a floor below but there was no danger of his perch being discovered. Logic dictated that he wouldn't be noticed, not at this hour, when so many lights were off, implying slumber behind curtained windows. Still, habit made him check the street below and only then did he settle himself. The Batman crouched, three points on the ledge with his right elbow draped over his knee.
It was such an easy thing to do, to be outside the window and observe what Bruce Wayne cannot. To allow himself the privilege of becoming just that much more a part of her life when he knew that there was no way he could get back to doing so as Bruce Wayne could. The scene before him was a glance into her world, a moment of intimacy that was beyond anything he'd experienced in more years than he cared to recall.
Her billionaire father was the only other occupant of the room, now dozing off in an armchair right next to the bed. If anything, his presence in the room meant only one thing. Chloe had yet to wake up from the pain meds that had been administered, and hopefully sooner than later. He was close enough to see that the injuries on her face were boldly rendered in angry red cuts and colorful bruises. While he was accustomed to his body boasting a visual array of bruises and what- not, courtesy of his vigilante self's nightly encounters, he suspected that it would be impossible for any female to take their facial injuries lightly. Despite appearances, he could tell that the cuts were superficial, feeling the relief as it flooded him.
That aside, the figure in her morphine- induced coma was frail and her complexion had lost its brilliancy. The pastiness clung to her face with unnatural effect, as if dusted with white talc. His gaze went on to her arm, taking stock of the broken limb before it went on to note the possibility of broken ribs and a punctured lung.
A low growl, building up into a sound of pure animalistic fury escaped him. There was no mistaking the wealth of aggression behind it as the anger surged in him, the rage that had been with him so long that it felt like his body's built on it. The whirlwind fury that had made a home in the bones holding Gotham's knighted avenger against gravity wanted to hurt the man who did this to her.
The Batman's mouth compressed into a bloodless line, his eyes dark.
Chloe gagged reflexively, feeling the breathing tube lodged between her vocal cords for the first time. With her hand, she scrambled to remove source of irritation only to have the motion interrupted by her father's intercepting grip. "It stays in there."
Despite being unable to talk, she cursed nonetheless and succeeded in producing only a choking sound. Derek reached for the call button, and the speaker on the wall squawked to life. "Yes?"
"My daughter's awake. I'd like for the doctor to see her now."
"I'll send in the doctor." The dispassionate voice sounded the farthest thing away from what she'd expect to hear in a hospital setting.
Chloe attempted to push herself up with her right elbow, feeling a jolt of pain up her arm as she did so. Her father came over, taking the pressure off her painful arm as he helped her into an upright position. Now awake, she needed to know what happened while she was out. About to figure out how to talk without the tube getting in her way, she was interrupted by a knock at the door and a nurse appeared.
"Feeling better, dear?" Chloe nodded once, and could finally see the contents of the polystyrene cup the nurse brought in.
"I'll remove the ET tube, and I need you to relax." The nurse hovered around her now, fiddling with the plastic device around her neck that secured the tube. A little later, the tube left her mouth but not without some residual hoarseness in her throat.
"You'd feel a little better with this." The nurse passed her the cup filed with ice chips. With her left hand, Chloe tilted it into her mouth, feeling the soothing effects of the freezing cold on her throat.
The nurse left them then, but not before promising that the doctor would arrive shortly.
"Hey, dad." She managed weakly. "What's the damage list?"
"Don't take your injuries lightly. You have a broken arm, four broken ribs and a punctured lung."
She absorbed that with a slightly amused twist to her mouth. I came out alive, didn't I? "What date is it?"
He glanced at his watch, but it was an empty gesture— when each passing hour was spent with him on the lookout for signs of her being awake, it was impossible to lose track of time. "It's the sixth."
Two days.
For someone who had pulled an all-nighter— make it two— at a hospital, her father looked oddly alert and well-groomed. His Pink shirt was wrinkle- free and the tiredness gathering around his eyes only became apparent when she studied him more closely. As for anyone else, they would have remarked that he was dressed like something off Fifth Avenue.
"Did you manage to set up a room for yourself up here or something?" Chloe asked, mildly suppressing her curiosity.
"I had some of the hospital staff produce an unoccupied room just a few doors down." What his daughter didn't know was that, in addition to snagging a few hours of sleep and a quick shower, he also had his assistant courier over meals prepared by his personal chef, the latest newspapers, and two changes of clothes.
All those donations to the hospital really paid off, Chloe thought to herself. Derek made annual contributions to the hospital, and knew the former president personally. Her memory of the man was somewhat distant, but she knew that he is a national figure in psychiatry and academic medicine. Just recently, she had been flipping through his third book that was about genetics and psychiatry.
There was a knock at the door, and the doctor entered with his nurse. Even in his white coat, there was no mistaking his good looks. The dirty blond hair and striking blue- gray eyes worked in his favor. She caught sight of a gold wedding ring that must have caused some disappointment among the female folks of the hospital. "So good to see you're awake, Miss Greenwell. I'm Dr. Adrian Paine." He glanced at her father. "Mr Greenwell, I'm going to examine her, and once I'm done you could return."
"You've got a minor concussion that isn't worrying but I'll just run through some questions. Bear with me." He flashed a smile. She went through the basic questions with ease as he simultaneously jotted down the relevant remarks.
"The visible injuries you've sustained don't look pretty but believe me, in time it will heal flawlessly." He gestured to her face. "But our concern now is your punctured lung, and we need to monitor it closely for the next few days. As for your cracked ribs, it will take a couple of months. Less so for the broken arm, that would take a couple of weeks, followed by physiotherapy if necessary."
"That bad, huh?"
"It could have been worse." He assured her. "The bone in your arm had a clean break, and the force to your ribs weren't extreme enough to result in an open fracture." Dr. Paine gestured to the nurse by his side. "Eliza here will get you settled down. I'll leave you in her good hands."
"Thanks doc."
You're welcome. I'll see you again tomorrow morning." He crossed the room to the door, leaving her with his nurse.
It was late in the evening when Marc finally made his way through intensive care. He had taken the first flight out of Palermo when the call from her father came through, informing him of Chloe's accident. Then, he hadn't pressed the man for more details as it didn't seem like a good idea. Now, he wished he'd done so. At least he could have utilized his extensive contacts in Gotham to track down the one who had hit her.
Marc felt his anger rising at the sight of Chloe as she lay on the hospital bed with a tangle of tubes attached to her being. In place of the Chloe he had known was a weak, vulnerable and fragile woman with extensive injuries. He balled his fists in the only display of anger that he could manage as he silently closed the door behind him. There would be plenty of time to decide on how best to deal with the possibly deceased person who was the reason she was here.
Despite the jetlag, he had managed a vigilance that surprised even himself. And so, he was awake and waiting when Chloe finally emerged from the effects of the morphine. A glance at the IV drip told her that it was still sluicing the drug into her arm, but she held onto consciousness like a tether. "Ooh. They gave me the good stuff." She mumbled, one that was not lost to Marc's hearing before she became aware that someone was grasping her hand.
"I'd have you know that the 'good stuff' has a high potential for addiction." His shoulders had a tired slump to them, which he consciously straightened when she awoke.
"Marc?" Her voice sounded small.
"Hey," He said softly, leaning against the bedrails. "How are you feeling?"
Marc was seized by a clutch of worry when it looked as though she was struggling to speak. She tried once and a searing pain tore through her chest. She swallowed and after taking a sip off the glass of water that he brought to her lips, tried again, and this time her voice was strong. "Funny you'd ask. I feel as shitty as I look."
He studied her, his eyebrows knitting together in concern. "I think you need more morphine. I'll get the doctor to take a look at you."
From the pinched look around her mouth, he gathered that she was still in some pain. She had to be. But she didn't admit it, at least not outright. "The pain isn't too bad. And the doctor came by this morning."
"You sure the pain's not too much too handle?" He questioned gently, catching her chin to tilt it up. There was an intensity to his gaze, compelling nothing but the truth.
She shook her head. "I've cracked a few ribs, punctured a lung and broke my arm. It's just too much to take in. At least for now focusing only on the pain takes my mind off my condition."
"People break their bones all the time. You will get through this." As he said this, she saw him working his jaw as if to hold himself back from saying anything more.