Chapter 10
In hindsight, Jim wished he had asked Batman to let him know once he was safe and taken care of. The idea of leaving the wounded vigilante alone in the middle of nowhere didn't sit well with him, but he could understand Batman's reluctance to accept any more help that was strictly necessary. When Jim asked him where to drive him and asked if he had a hideout where he could change into civilian clothing before getting medical attention, Batman's reaction was... Violent. Had they not already been driving, Jim would have expected his partner to try and get out of his car.
Once they got to the parking outside Gotham, Batman refused to contact his confidante in Gordon's presence. Jim didn't insist. He wished for his partner to get help as soon as possible and he could see the whole predicament had already pushed the vigilante to his limits in many ways. Part of him wanted to wait somewhere nearby just to see if someone would really come and pick Batman, but knowing how absurdly well-equipped he was, Jim couldn't be sure he hadn't left some GPS transmitter in his car just to be sure Jim was really away before calling for help. Jim didn't want to betray his trust, so he went home and spent a restless night.
What he did do was drive back to the parking first thing in the morning before work just to make sure he hadn't made a terrible mistake there. He found no sign of Batman, not a single piece of his suit, which allowed him to relax a bit. Still, he wished he had got some message from a blocked number like he sometimes did.
Driven by curiosity, Jim checked patients with broken legs admitted to Gotham hospitals that night and found no one fitting Batman even by far stretch. There was a five feet tall young woman and a seventy year old, overweight man aside from a twelve year old kid. Besides, that would have been too easy. No, Batman and his companion were smarter than that and must have driven outside the city to get proper medical treatment. Since the commissioner could not ask for any farther digging without arising too many questions, and since he didn't exactly need to know that, he dropped the matter in favour of more pressing problems and promptly forgot about it. One thing he knew for sure, and that was that he wasn't going to see his masked partner and get any hints from him for the next few weeks.
Jim was reminded of the situation a week later at the fundraising for rebuilding Gotham's Central. He was invited as the Commissioner and left with no way to decline. It was the major event crowning all the smaller fundraising initiatives that had already proved to be quite fruitful.
"Good Lord, Bruce, what happened?" an elderly lady next to Jim exclaimed as he tried to make his way into the other, smaller hall. He didn't recognise her, but by way she looked and acted, she was probably an old acquaintance of Thomas and Martha Wayne.
Jim glanced back, trying to by more subtle than many others around him, and saw Bruce Wayne leaning on crutches as he entered the hall, surprisingly alone. He was wearing a suit, but it was obvious it wasn't just his left ankle in the cast.
"Ah, sports are not always safe, Mrs Delane,' Wayne laughed, though he looked somewhat embarrassed. "I'm alright, don't worry."
Despite his contusion, Bruce Wayne was all easy smiles and played the host of the event as easily as any other time. Actually, the commissioner realised at some point, Wayne seemed to be using his accident to highlight the necessity of rebuilding the hospital. Though Jim missed the beginning of the welcoming speech, not that he really minded, he slipped back inside in time to hear the billionaire summarising actions already taken due to accumulated funds and then presenting plans Wayne Enterprises had for the nearest future regarding their involvement in the process.
"We need to rebuild the hospital as soon as possible. And as I had the misfortune of finding out myself last week, you never know when you're going to need help," he chuckled humourlessly and waved at the crutches he leaned against the rostrum. Watching him from his spot well to the side from the centre, Gordon realised Wayne was balancing effortlessly on his good leg without leaning for support.
Jim couldn't help but keep his eyes open for possible threats as he watched the party enfold. He had several cops incognito blended with the staff as well, but officially he was not their boss on this operation, but one of the guests. The city might have been cleaner than it had been in the past decade, but with all the city officials and the most prominent citizens gathered in one place, one should always look out for trouble. And since he felt more at ease working than pretending to blend in with the posh guests, he settled for watching.
There wasn't much going on, except for the usual spectacle of minor, harmless dramas and so Jim found himself wandering aimlessly, doing his best trying not to look bored. As he did so, he couldn't not notice Bruce Wayne limping around, slipping neatly between the guests despite his crutches. He was up and moving whenever Jim spotted him and the commissioner had to acknowledge his dedication. He himself had once had a dubious pleasure of using crutches and remembered them as exhausting, and yet Wayne seemed not to notice the inconvenience. When Gordon came closer, he heard him complaining about the injury ruining his planned trip in two weeks, but he did so while standing, then moved to talk to someone else before anyone offered him a chair.
It was much later as Jim sneaked out for a cigarette that he saw Wayne finally sitting down on a bench at the terrace, his leg awkwardly propped up on the stone railing. He must have slipped from the party unnoticed as well, considering he was alone and no one brought him something more comfortable. Jim was ready to find another secluded place to smoke, but the younger man spotted him and smiled.
"I hope you're enjoying yourself, Commissioner." The billionaire gestured invitingly at the bench, but Jim fished out a cigarette and kept his distance as he lit it.
"Well, I'm glad to see this bringing tangible results," he replied diplomatically after a long draw. He wasn't about to admit to one of the hosts that he was hoping to slip away as soon as possible. "Can't say you're having fun, though."
"Ah. This kind of events seem to be less fun when you're completely sober and without some pretty companion," Wayne commented dryly. "Can't afford to trip."He weaved at the crutches and Jim saw bright blue tape binding two of his fingers together.
"Once was enough for a while, I bet," Jim nodded. He wasn't about to ask what exactly happened, since that was probably a question Bruce Wayne had already answered a couple dozen of times this evening. "Are you grounded for long?"
"About six more weeks, that's for sure," Wayne winced and suddenly for the first time he seemed to look tired. "Right when I got a new car. At least Alfred enjoyed himself when we went out to test it," he smirked and the feeling was gone.
"Then I guess I'll be meeting with your CEO next Friday," Jim mused.
"We have a meeting? Sorry, must have slipped my mind." The younger man creased his eyebrows, then fished out his phone and scrolled down what looked like a surprisingly busy schedule. "Oh, right. I'll be there."
"There's no need to trouble yourself, Mr Wayne. I'm sure Mr Fox will be able to handle the contract details we discussed last time."
"Of course he will," Bruce Wayne nodded and glanced down at the screen as his phone buzzed. "Ah, Alfred's brought the car already, time to go. Have a nice evening, Commissioner."
"Mr Wayne," Jim smiled politely. As he watched the billionaire limp to the exit with the same easiness he had witnessed the whole evening, his thoughts turned towards Batman. Somewhere there his masked partner was probably having shitty time as well.
xxx
As much as Bruce might have loathed the fundraising event, at least the preparations kept him occupied since he decided to get personally involved. Once it was over, he became subdued. Alfred hated seeing that haunted look that resurfaced again the moment he had nothing substantial to do.
Bruce wanted to improve the autopilot system for the tumbler, since he didn't want to risk involving Alfred again in case he got hurt and an autonomous vehicle could allow him a safe exit in an emergency situation, provided that it could get to a pointed location and cover larger distances with a potentially incapacitated driver. Sadly, that had to wait. The new tumbler Fox had been working on was far from ready and for Bruce any manual work with his equipment was still out of reach with two immobilised fingers. Besides, there was only so much he could do with the software without being able to actually test the results.
When planning ahead didn't work for long, Bruceasked Alfred to take him to the bunker. They couldn't risk driving there regularly in the middle of the day, so Bruce decided to bring some of his equipment home. This was perhaps a bit risky, but the computer they dragged back to the penthouse didn't look much different from any normal device and the data could be accessed by Bruce alone.
What was meant to be a distraction, instead turned into the main source of Bruce's frustration. He spent the next few days eavesdropping police canals and cross checking what he could, but the data he collected in such a limited way was too scarce to deduce anything specific and the inability to act was even worse than being kept in the dark as to what was going on in the city. But it was the news on Wednesday afternoon that became a final nail to the coffin.
Alfred started listening to the TV as he was preparing tea the moment Bruce turned up the volume. A recreational night in one of Gotham's clubs resulted in a tragedy. Three people were dead due to an overdose of what turned out to be a contaminated drug, five more were rushed to the hospital in dire condition. The reporter claimed the original drug came from the same transport as the drugs found by the police in the last big drug bust, but it must have been mixed with other substances that turned to be fatal for some of the users.
"Good Lord," Alfred sighed as he placed the tray on the coffee table.
"I told you it wasn't over," Bruce growled in frustration, his eyes still fixed on the screen. "The dealers went underground, they probably panicked and tried to make the most profit of what wasn't confiscated and I don't even know how many of them are still out there."
"I'm afraid you need to leave it to the police this time, master Wayne."
"I tried contacting Gordon, but they did nothing! I warned him there was probably another group they didn't get last time." Bruce pushed himself up. "Three people are dead, five more in hospital, who knows how many more that were not reported. And because of that blasted leg I can't do a damn!" The crutch he was holding went flying straight on the coffee table. Delicate porcelain cup was sent a few meters away, but the full tea pot broke right there, splashing the tea around.
"You cannot save everyone, master Wayne." Alfred said firmly. "You're just one man."
Bruce stood, heaving, shaking with anger and essentially trapped among broken porcelain and tea dripping from the coffee table. Alfred was tempted to leave him like this until he cooled down, but Bruce was barefoot and he was already trying to figure out how to reach the crutch lying on the other side. The butler passed it on to him and Bruce accepted without looking Alfred in the eye or acknowledging the assistance, then stormed off as quickly as he could.
Alfred cleaned the broken glass and spilled tea, then went about the rest of the day. He had no intention of going after his employer. He had witnessed enough angry outbursts during Bruce's teenage years, though they mostly ended before his ward left for college. Back then, Alfred only removed locks in the inner doors for safety measure, in case there was ever an emergency, but a door closed - a door shut to his face - was as good as locked. He usually let the boy be. Bruce would emerge eventually, sulking, exhausted, and most often hungry. Sometimes, he would talk. He usually apologised.
It was late evening when Alfred heard Bruce limp down the stairs. He had already retired for the night, deciding to giveBruce as much space and time as he needed, and knowing the younger man would call for him if he actually needed assistance in something.
"Alfred?" Bruce tapped his fingers against the door frame. "I wanted to apologise for earlier. That was..." he shook his head, cheeks flushed in embarrassment. "I'm sorry. That was uncalled for. And I'm sorry for that tea set."
"An outburst like that could easily cost you much more than a broken tea set, if you explode like this in public, master Wayne," Alfred set aside his newspaper and motioned for Bruce to come in. That hadn't changed either. It didn't matter that they were not living in the manor. Alfred's room had always been his and Bruce had been taught to respect his privacy. That of course changed after Alfred was left in charge of a grieving child. Bruce would sometimes come to him at night when he got scared or when he was feeling unwell, but he always knocked and usually it was enough to wake Alfred.
There was still some hesitation on Bruce's part as he leaned on the crutches.
Alfred sighed. "You're no longer fifteen, master Bruce. I'm not going to lecture you on your manners." He let a small smile on his lips. "Apology accepted. But I stand by what I said. You cannot risk losing control like that."
"I know." Bruce winced. He finally came in and sat on the other chair. "You're right. Perhaps I do need a break from here."
Alfred barely managed to hide his surprise. He had been meaning to bring the holiday idea again, but he didn't expect Bruce to actually admit it first.
"Do you have somewhere specific in mind, sir?"
"Where would you like to go, Alfred?" Bruce asked back, a playful smile breaking his sombre expression. "You wanted to go on holiday, you pick a place. Just please spare me too many stairs," he chuckled.
"And too much heat, I presume," Alfred mused. "How about Norway and a nice cruise along the fiords?" He suggested. It was one of the places he had been meaning to take Bruce to during his teenage years, but somehow it never worked out.
"Sounds fine," Bruce nodded and shrugged. "If that's what you would like to see, it's good."
"Very well. I shall arrange a flight for the day after tomorrow, if you need to settle some matters with Mr Fox before we go."
Soooo, getting closer to Jim connecting all the dots :D I can't wait! The bits of dialogue between Jim and Bruce in this chapter were written when I first started outlining this story and they waited a really long time to be finally published.