Muted gunfire sounded from beyond his watery grave. Sucking down a deep breath of sea water startled Bruce up right. A weight no longer pinning him down. Sputtering and coughing the gunfire was now fully audible, shots booming out in the open space making his ears ring.
"Get up!"
Choking on the river in his lungs, Bruce looked back to find Gordon taking cover behind a pillar, he was waist deep in the same dark water, gun peeking out to provide suppression fire. In the brief second available to understand the situation, Bruce quickly gathered that most of his attackers had been gunned down by the lieutenant, a handful having dived for cover behind the lower walkways support beams. Those that returned fire were the figures above, some having pushed up in position to try get a better shot.
Bruce couldn't move, he couldn't breathe. He had surfaced but it didn't feel that way. Continuing to cough and choke on the water that refused to leave his lungs, that same darkness still swirling at the edges of his vision. A grinding sensation in his chest almost sending him back beneath.
"Move your ass!" Gordon was reloading his clip, those above taking advantage, peppering his cover with bullets.
Bruce dragged himself from the open, finding shelter behind a fallen piece of catwalk. Though limited it gave him the brief reprieve he needed to reach into his belt. The vials were intact, green liquid still within their glass cages. With what little strength he had. Bruce stabbed the needle end into the opening in his suit.
Like a shot of adrenaline his eyes widened with a sudden and violent surge of power. Breathing heavy he peered out from behind cover, eyes spotting an opportunity. Taking the bladed symbol from his chest, he propelled it at the wires holding up a heavy lighting rig on the ceiling.
The blade sliced through a handful of wires on one side, making the whole structure swing to the left. The rest of the wires snapped from the momentum, crashing down onto the walkway, sending those upon it diving out the way. In the final act of his plan Bruce charged a support beam on the opposite side, the water no longer a barrier he crashed shoulder first into the metal with a wild animalistic cry.
There was the snapping of more wires above, the tearing of metal, additional lights falling from the ceiling, and the catwalks on either side suddenly came crashing down. Bruce leapt out the way of a falling beam, but it wasn't enough, he found himself pinned. Water lapped at his chin; Bruce trapped on his side. He cried out from the effort of trying to heave the mangled metal off him.
Pops of gunfire sounded. Bruce attempting to arch his head to see the shooter only made the pain in his chest worse.
Gordon was rushing towards him, taking out those who emerged unscathed from the carnage. He was soon at his side, helping Bruce heave the heavy metal off him. Shakey hands pulled him up, both wading through the deep waves, Gordon doing his best to support some of his weight.
It was all a blur at this point. The pain in his chest coming and going with the slow comedown from the drug that had been coursing through his veins. The next thing he knew he was shoving his shoulder into a door with the lieutenant, slowly easing their exit open.
Hands ushered him through the gap in the door, out into the street in front of the Iceberg Lounge.
"Stay with me man." The worried tone broke through the haze of pain. He was stumbling along through knee high water, the splashing drowning out the heavy breathing and hammering rain.
He felt his shoulder press against something hard, hands keeping him there.
"Hey!" The shout got him to open his eyes. Panic ensued from the agony irradiating from his chest. He couldn't breathe, not a deep breath anyway. Each time he did it felt like a knife stabbed him in the ribs.
"Hey, calm down, its me." Gordon clutched his wrist.
Barely on his feet, shoulder resting against a brick wall, water cascading down, Bruce's hands fumbled for the same pouch of vials as before. Leaving Gordon to watch as he injected another dose.
He pushed off the wall, standing on his own two feet, panting like a wild animal.
"Easy, easy." Gordon raised his hands in front of him as a calming gesture. "We need to get out of here." The man's gaze evaluating both ends of the alley, his paranoia warranted with the Penguin's thugs on their tail.
"How did you-?"
"You're a hard son of a bitch to get a hold of. You know that?" Gordon steadied Bruce with one hand, pulling a phone from his pocket with the other. "Last number in Kenzie's phone, traced it here." It was Kenzie's phone, cracked waterlogged screen barely working. But he could make out the number of the last caller. It was the same number Bruce had deciphered from the penmanship on the dead man's right hand.
Pushing away from Gordon with water sloshing at his knees, Bruce used the wall to carry him. Its support getting him to the closest opening in the backstreet.
"Who can we trust?" Bruce rasped while looking left and right down the road. His eyes fell on the street sign allowing him to gather his bearings.
"No one." Gordon shoved the phone back into his pocket, Bruce looking back at him over his shoulder, heavy rain dripping down his face. "This was a setup man. I tried to get a hold of you, tried to warn you."
"What?"
"Kenzie was right-handed." Bruce turned to face the lieutenant. "Why would he write a number down on his right hand."
Even with the sate he was in, the final pieces fell together. It was no coincidence that the warehouse was discovered. That Kenzie's body had been found so quickly. In his efforts to not leave anything out, to not leave any avenue unexplored, Bruce had missed the bigger picture all over again. His life had almost been the price for that blindness.
Bruce pressed his shoulder back to the wall, graffiti and sodden posters peeling on the surface. It wasn't enough to keep him standing. He started to slide down the old brickwork, Gordon there to stop him meeting the river at his knees.
"You got somewhere we can go?" The lieutenant's voice was strained under the effort of keeping Bruce upright.
He was a mess. Pain had crippled him, the feeling of blood in his throat. Each breath a challenging nightmare.
Bruce scrunched his eyes closed, a decision having to be made.
"Yeah." He managed to wheeze.
Alfred waited patiently for the elevator to descend to the bottom level, the rattling of the old lift not unsettling to him. He had used it enough times to put his faith in it.
As usual he found it hard to sleep, not knowing where Bruce was, all while knowing the trouble he got himself. It ate away at Alfred. Each evening he watched and waited for the motion sensor to trip in the underbelly of the tower, the signal that allowed for the shutters to raise on Bruce's return to his bat infested underground.
The elevator came to a stop, Alfred sliding back the doors proceeded into the abandoned subway system. Stepping out with the help of his cane he could hear the recognizable growling of a motorcycle.
"Second time this night you've returned before the crack of dawn, maybe you'll…" He watched as Bruce tumbled from his motorcycle, a stranger getting off the back, trying to help him up.
The cane was soon forgotten, limping over he found himself kneeling at the slumped form, a now familiar face identifiable beside him.
"What happened?" Panicked eyes looked to the lieutenant; an equally concerned look offered back.
"It was an ambush; Penguin's thugs were waiting for him."
"Help me with him." Alfred hooked an arm under one of Bruce's shoulders, Gordon following his lead. With their combined efforts they dragged Bruce towards the workspace, his head hanging in front of him, no effort made to assist himself as blood trickled from his mouth.
Alfred cleared a counter with one swipe of his hand, tools clanking against the floor unsettling the bats above. Together they lifted him up, Alfred making sure his head was supported, hand movements planned.
There was no hesitation in removing the mask.
Beneath all that fabric there was no chance of finding a pulse.
Alfred's main concern was Bruce right now. Everything else would have to wait.
Upon the reveal of the young billionaire the lieutenant adjusted himself, a deep breath audible.
The usual black makeup smeared around Bruce's closed eyes stood out against his pale skin, hair a damp mess on his forehead. Alfred tilted Bruce's head to the side, his fingers pressed to his now exposed neck. Each time the young man tried to breathe blood slipped from his lips with a wheeze.
Alfred closed his eyes, feeling the rapid thumping of the artery in Bruce's neck in conjunction with his own panicked heartrate. This wasn't the first time Bruce had returned battered and bruised. But it had never been this bad. To bring Gordon back with him meant he had no other choice.
"He can barely breathe." Alfred pulled his hand away, hobbling towards some shelfing behind him.
"What do you want me to do?" Gordon had composed himself, face a picture of professionalism. The lieutenant had seen his fair share of blood and injury. Alfred knowing that not being what had him stiffened moments ago.
"Help me get the suit off." Alfred heaved a duffle bag from storage, slapping it down on the counter beside Bruce. The process of removing the suit was easy enough, the cape being slid out from under the unconscious man, shoulder pads unbuckled. Soon enough his chest was bare.
"Jesus." Gordon hissed at the sight of the large vicious looking black and purple bruise stretching across Bruce's chest. The discolouration hid older scars, though they were very much still there, just below the surface of the freshly traumatised skin.
Alfred ran a hand over Bruce's ribs, where some of the bruising was at its worse. It garnered an instant reaction, Bruce coughing up more blood as his body tried to recoil in on itself, a hand attempting to push Alfred away.
"Bruce? Bruce, can you hear me?" Alfred leaned closer, hand on the side of Bruce's face, watching the young man's eyes try and fail to open.
With no response Alfred returned to the duffle bag, ripping it open the zip cried out from the violent act. Digging through the medical supplies he came across what he was looking for. Alfred peeled the long needle from the sterile packaging, haphazardly cleaning an area on the upper side of Bruce's chest before plunging it in deep. Bruce's head arched back, face scrunching in agony as blood briefly spewed from the small tube attached.
Reaching back over towards the medical supplies Alfred snatched up a syringe. Inserting it into the tubing he pulled back on the plunger.
Blood filled the syringe quickly.
Seconds later Bruce's face became less pained. Shallow, stuttered breathing easing up slightly.
"What did you do?" Gordon stood on the other side of Bruce, eyeline switching between the two men.
Alfred laid the blood-filled syringe aside.
He took the moment of reprieve to catch his own breath. Head hanging slack for a second before running a hand down his face.
"Broken rib. Punctured his lung." Alfred gestured towards the horrific bruising on one side of Bruce's ribs. He placed both hands on the counter, leaning forward in an attempt to settle his own frantic heart.
Pulling himself back together his gaze rested on Bruce's face. He couldn't help brushing aside wild strands of slick dark hair from his blackened eyes, blood having pooled on the counter from where it trickled from his mouth.
Authors Notes
Hope everyone is enjoying the story so far! See you tomorrow for the next chapter.
