Shadowed Secrets
١٢. "The Falcone's."
❧pairing: bruce wayne x fem!reader ❧summary: After recovering at your family estate, you are promoted and unfortunately, sent on your first case without Gordon... masterlist - ao3 previous // next ❧content warnings: depictions and detailed description of a dead body, taking care of wounds ❧words: 6.9k ❧notes: heyyy anotha one guys, hope u like it!!! beware that the next chap might take a while bc i start school but ima try updating soon! <33 also imma say it again but should i make a taglist? lmmk!
A few days have passed, and it is now Sunday. Emergency services, military, and government have gotten involved with the Gotham City flooding. The tragedy, though depicted as a mere flood in richer areas of the city, caused absolute catastrophe in impoverished areas of Gotham. Multiple casualties, injured people, an overflowing hospital, and people unable to enter their homes due to the water. Generally, it was horrific for everyone involved. Gordon hadn’t called you for help during these days, so you took it upon yourself to text him and let him know that you’re available should he need help with something. Watching the news and sulking felt pointless unless you could do something about it. Eventually, he budged and let you work on reports, something that would usually have you groaning in irritation but at this point you’d take anything he’d give you. At least, this way you’re informed about what’s going on.
You hadn’t talked to Bruce since he went back to your home with you. Your only connection to him has been through Gordon, who has been handing you information for reports. The sudden disaster caused a large increase in crime rate, both low-level and large-scale incidents that you’re currently making logs of. You’ve gotten used to the routine. Get information from Gordon or Bruce, write incident reports, place them in folders, rinse and repeat. Simeultenously, you took up training again after the injuries properly healed and you got the go-ahead after a checkup. Your aunt had a whole gym setup in one of the previously unused rooms that she showed you when you told her about wanting to get your physical health back up.
A day after you had been back to the apartment to retrieve what you could, you went through with the burial of Buttercup’s collar. Underneath the willow tree, you dug a small hole where you meticulously placed the small band wrapped in a handkerchief, staring at it with a clenched jaw and wide eyes as if trying to remember the exact texture of the dirt around the cloth, before covering it up. In your home, you recovered a small, homemade clay keepsake of Buttercup’s tiny paw from when you first found her, name carved above. Once fully coated with dirt, you placed the stone on top. Aunt Cecilia had picked some buttercups for you from her greenhouse, that you positioned last of all.
Since then, you buried yourself in paperwork and filled any spare time with sleep or mundane activities like household chores, laundry, and gardening. You also pick up cooking and baking and start making things out of your comfort zone. Cecilia in particular is very grateful of your new habit, specifically your baking rushes. Currently, you’re working on chocolate soufflés with your aunt sitting opposite you at the counter. You’ve just finished placing the dishes two into the oven, lowering the temperature and setting an alarm when a phone call goes rattles through your phone. You ask your aunt to keep an eye on the soufflés while you take the call from Gordon.
“Hey Jim, what’s up?” You ask, stepping out in the living room
“Hello, I just wanted to call and inform you about a few things. Firstly, based off what you're telling me and the doctor’s notice, you’ll be allowed to return to work. But I’m warning you, it’s a whole fuckin’ mess in here. Second, since there’s no one available to act as police commissioner... I’ve been appointed that role,” he informs with a rise in his tone.
“That’s great, Gordon! Or would you like me to start calling you commissioner now?” You joked until a realization hits you. “This mean you’re not working hands on anymore?”
“Paperwork will start to take more of my time, but I won’t let that get in the way of me being able to actively fight crime. We’ll still be partners, but that brings me to my third point. Since I won’t be lieutenant anymore, we have to find someone new. And I have someone in mind, but I wanted to check with you first,” Gordon elaborated, and a part of you wonders who he’s talking about. However, you’ve got a sneaking feeling you know who it is.
“Okay... go ahead then, who are you considering?” You questioned, curious as to who the personally handpicked person is.
“This person has shown incredible courage during cases, that they handle their responsibilites as a detective well by showing genuine care for those in need. They’re smart and have a knack with figuring out things quickly. Despite going through hell and back, this person has persevered. Many at the station that I have already asked agree that this person is the best choice to take over after me,” he discloses, and you still don’t understand if he’s hinting at you or not.
“This person must be pretty special for you to praise them like this. Usually, you’re pretty hard to impress,” you say with a small smile, knowing how much you struggled with showing Gordon what you were truly capable of as a rookie.
“That’s true, but this person is one of a kind,” he chuckles over the phone, and the line goes quiet for a moment, the buzz of white noise engulfing you. “What do you say? Want to take my position, detective?”
“Damn, were you talking about me the whole time?” You decide to mess with him, even if there was a hint of doubt in your mind that he was talking about you, an inner feeling knew who he was talking about.
“What- of course I was!” He sounds genuinely confused as you belt out a laugh that you feel in your stomach. “Are you messin’ with me?”
“Fuck yeah, I was messing with you. I accept- on two conditions. I get your old office, and you continue singing my praises once a week,” you joke, a large smile on your face.
“You were already getting my office, that’s designated for the lieutenant. As for your second condition, that’s a fuck no for poking fun of the bear,” he chuckles back. “They’re going to announce it by the end of the week; it requires that you wear your uniform and that’s it. I’ll let you know the time and date. For now, come in tomorrow and we’ll start the transition of your position. You’ll also receive a raise. Congratulations, Lieutenant.”
“Thank you, and congratulations to you too, Commissioner Gordon,” you tease him with his new title, and he sighs loudly on the other end.
“That still sounds so fuckin’ weird... all right, I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N. Rest up on your last day,” he says, before you both say your goodbyes and hang up. Walking back into the kitchen, you’re just in time for the alarm to go off for the soufflés, to which you take them out and dust a thin layer of icing sugar on top, placing raspberries prettily and finally adding a dollop of whipped cream.
“Who called you, sweetheart?” Cecilia asks, not looking up from her magazine and thanking you quietly as you slide her dessert over to her seat, taking your place next to her, and digging into your dessert.
“Jus’ Gordon, told me I’m fine to get back to work. Which also means I should probably start getting out of your hair. I really appreciate what you’ve done for me, but I’ve really overstayed my visit,” you share, scrolling mindlessly on the latest news and Aunt Cee looks at you for the first time since picking up her magazine.
“You’re not bothering me, sweets. You’ve only just recovered from a terrifying injury. Not to mention, I've quite enjoyed having you here, but if that’s what you would like then I won’t keep you here longer than you feel comfortable. I can have a few people investigate places for you,” she advises, to which you only shake your head.
“Nah, I’m good, thank you though. Found a place like my old one but downtown, probably gonna sign a lease tomorrow afternoon if it looks good. Got everything sorted, and with the savings I have I’ll be able to afford what I want,” you say and put down your phone, finishing up the soufflé.
“Do you need help with moving, or furniture?” She asks kindly, folding her paper neatly before placing it down on the counter.
“No, I’m alright. Got a friend who’ll help me out with shopping and stuff. I’ll probably be here for like two more nights if the place works out,” you mumble, placing your cheek over the counter. Cecilia looks sternly at you for your terrible posture which you completely ignore.
“What if it doesn’t work out, what will you do then?” She questions, taking off her reading glasses and placing them down neatly. You only furrow your brows in confusion.
“Well, I- I was hoping to stay here. But if you want me to leave then-”
“Oh no! I did not mean it that way... I- have I not told you yet?” Her own brows close together, lines apparent in her face.
“Told me what...?” You ask slowly, feeling a bit nervous now.
“I- Your mother and father are coming to stay here in a few days, I thought I had told you. Called me because you haven’t been answering your phone after- you know. She’s staying here to sort some things with the company, meetings and such, because I can’t be bothered,” she looks guilty for being late in telling you, to which you can only cry out into the counter. “Based on that, I assume you’re not speaking...”
“No, we are not- well we talked once but, fuck. It’s complicated, hence why I called you to pick me up from the hospital and removed them from my emergency contacts. I don’t know if I can talk to her yet,” you speak the words into your hands, that come out muffled. You register footsteps coming towards you, and Cecilia’s hands start to rub over your shoulders.
“I can get you a place temporarily if the lease doesn’t work out, I don’t want you to feel pressured into signing anything yet because my unreasonable sister is coming. Call me tomorrow after you go to the apartment, and let me know if it works out,” she assured calmly, and you turn your head to face her, whispering a quiet but sincere ‘thank you’.
I’ll talk to her when I’m ready.
The next day, you get up earlier than usual to get ready for the meeting with Gordon. Your outfit consists of the least low-rise jeans you could find, a leopard tie back halter top and a pair of black heeled boots along with the leather coat Bruce had gifted. You would sooner die than admit it, but it was really nice garment and clearly high quality, so much so you wonder if he selected it himself. Picking out a bag, you stuff your wallet, gun, a taser and other knickknacks that had been sitting there from before. Stuffing your car keys and phone into your pocket, you start making your way out. A retrieval of the vehicle had been made earlier that week so you could start taking yourself around without relying on the private driver.
Not that you had really gone out, anyway. But that didn’t really matter now, since you had been cleared to start working. On your way to the G.C.P.D, you have to take a different route than usual due to wreckage on the way, causing you to pass by Wayne Tower. It has you wondered where Bruce is and what he’s doing. Last time you spoke, it was still awkward between you, but since you’ll have to start working with him again, you’re hoping to at least keep it okay enough to hold a conversation without cringing.
When you park the car, you see a big crowd forming at the entrance, screaming and shouting nonsense you can’t hear. You take your bag and place it over your head to protect yourself from the sudden onslaught of rain pouring down. As you get closer, you realize its people shouting, big signs with unintelligible writing being waved, and some poor cop is trying to ease the crowd in attempt to move them away.
You move toward the doors with fast feet, pushing yourself between the angry civilians. It’s hard to know what they’re saying, and it all sounds like a jumble of sentences choked and barked with different tones. Catching the sight of a picture of a woman, you think you recognize her until it turns away from your sight, so you continue pushing forwards, occasionally muttering an ‘excuse me’ here and there. Eventually, you make it through and find yourself looking down at the people, finally getting a good look at the signs.
‘BACK TO ARKHAM’
‘Stop her RELEASE!’
‘HANG THE HANGMAN’
That’s when you catch a glimpse of that same picture of the woman from earlier. The woman in the picture, is Sofia Falcone, better known in Gotham as ‘The Hangman’. You feel dread and confusion wash over you, until someone tugs on your arm to get inside from behind, and when you look back, you find Gordon looking at you with a look likely mirroring your own. When the doors shut, it all goes quiet again, leaving you with your thoughts.
Sofia Falcone is out of Arkham?
“What the fuck was that, Gordon? The hell are they shouting about?” You manage to shudder out, putting two and two together yourself, but needing desperately to hear it from Gordon first. He escorts you to your new office without speaking, or his previous one, before shutting the door.
“They’re letting Sofia Falcone out of Arkham; news came out a few minutes ago and they’ve already gathered outside protesting. I mean, shit, she’s killed all these people, and their families are outside protesting the whole thing-”
“You ever think it was weird she was accused of that, after all she did for the Isabella Falcone Foundation? After all that’s come out on Falcone, after everything that came out, is there not a doubt in your mind?” You interrogate, and although scared at the notion, you push.
“I doubted it from the moment it happened, never trusted anything that bastard Carmine said, but we’ve got a whole city over our asses because they think a killer is going loose. We can’t do anything about it other than attempt to settle the city. The case has been closed for over ten years, they won’t reopen an investigation and we both know that,” Gordon declared, and you only move to throw yourself onto the small couch next to you and placing your head inside your hands.
“Yeah I-I know, sorry. Just can’t help but think about her after all these years,” you mutter, and feel the area next you to dip as Gordon sits down with a heavy sigh. “She used to keep me entertained as a kid at those boring fucking events my family dragged me to, adored me. Keep me away from her father. But fuck.... nothin’ we can do about it now but move on and make sure it doesn’t happen again.” Gordon nods at your words, and you gesture for him to start his own conversation to move on from the topic when it goes quiet.
“The crowd is being taken care of, so they’ll leave soon, give us some peace and quiet. You want to start looking at your new responsibilities?” He asks, and you only give a dry laugh.
“What’s that, more paperwork? Finally getting to call the shots on cases?” You ask with a smirk, lightening the air with the jokes.
“Among other things, yes. It also means you get authorization to more classified information, you can give commands, you’ll get a good raise- you know, you’re probably the youngest person to achieve this. After your father, of course,” he laughs out before his eyes light in memory. “Right, you’re also getting a rookie to-”
“What! You have got to be kidding me, Gordon!-” You gasp out in surprise, practically wailing out the words. The idea of having to take care of a nervous rookie, who’s never seen real action and doesn’t handle themselves properly makes you shiver. For you, it was different: Gordon had way more patience than you, and you had been at the top of every test, class, practical; you name it. Not to mention, your father had been in the same line of work just a few years prior, which gave you an advantage. But having to supervise and lead an unpredictable rookie? That just wasn’t for you. He only shakes his head at you, indicating that there’s no room for discussion and taking out a folder on the new guy.
“His name is Matthew Gardner, graduated at the top of his class just like you, and has an impressive record. I think he’ll be the perfect person for you to coach,” Gordon says, opening his file to reveal a photo of a young man, not possibly older than you, with short dirty blond hair and striking blue eyes. You scan over his notes and pause at a section written by a supervisor and point it out to Gordon.
“’Can have a short temper when placed under pressure’, seriously Jim? This the best they got?” You scoff, taking the folder from him and crossing your arms. If there’s one characteristic you shouldn’t have as a detective, it’s a short temper. Being patient and able to correctly assess a situation based on multiple factors is important, and misjudgment could lead to wrongful conviction, or worst-case scenario, death.
“I need you to be patient with him in the same way you handle your cases, detective. As much as I would like it, I don’t decide who to hire and who to not, so it’s out of my hands. If you, after a thorough and genuine evaluation find him unfit, we can discuss it,” he decides finally, lines in his face making him look older than he is and you only sigh out a ‘fine’ before you move on to the next topic.
Eventually, you both finish going over important paperwork, moving into your new office, signing promotional papers, discussing events and landing on how to move forward as the city’s crime rate increases by the millisecond. He mentions meeting up with Batman at some point to discuss further plans, and you try your best not to physically cringe at his name. However, Gordon doesn’t notice anything and after that you’re allowed to leave, taking your detective formal wear out of your rusty locker when you go. Driving to the apartment viewing, you feel slightly nervous and almost as if you were being watched, causing you to look around a lot.
Finally, you park the car and get out, looking around you before you enter the lobby of the rather fancy building. Meeting the real estate agent there, she takes you up the floors as she explains the many benefits of living there. Parking, a safer area than most, cameras, 24/7 lobby reception and security, on paper it was all good. The apartment looked good, open flooring with a big balcony, windows overlooking the city, and a master bedroom larger than the other decently sized rooms. Then she got to the papers, and scanning over them slightly, you feel suspicion build up. Some of the points in it were vague, oddly worded to trick the buyer and when you ask about them, the woman stumbles over her words and hesitates to speak, as if she might say the wrong thing. That’s when you kindly decline the offer, leave and call Elenor in the elevator. She answers immediately and her chirpy voice comes through.
“Hey babe! What’s up? Did the apartment go well?” Elenor asks, shuffling around what you assume to be her bed based on the shuffling noise of sheets.
“Nah, contract was worded weird as fuck, so I rejected the offer. Was actually gonna ask you if you’d let me crash at your place ‘til I find something new, if you’re available?” You proposed with uncertainty, and you already know you’re fucked when the line goes quiet.
“I... I’m really sorry, but my boyfriend’s family are coming here for the weekend and they’re staying with us. You got no other place to go?” The unfortunate news hits you like a truck when you step outside and lean desperately on your car.
“Not really, but I’ll have to figure something out cause I’m moving my shit out from my aunt’s place this week,” you sigh out the words, looking up at the grey sky as if to stare down whatever almighty power that’s up there and asking why your luck is dogged by misfortune. You don’t continue the conversation for long before swiftly ending it and driving back home to start packing things you might need. On the way, an idea strikes your mind, but you quickly shut it down.
I refuse to ask Bruce for help. Not in a hundred years.
It seems that until you find a place, the stiff couch inside your ‘new’ office will do, and since you’ll bury yourself in work, it’ll be the perfect spot. Something tells you your working hours will suddenly spike due to a number and being available will become more important than ever. As you round the corner and drive through the gates of the estate, where you find a very familiar car parked hastily, the entrance door slightly ajar.
“Fuck, not now...” you sigh, banging your head into the headrest behind you and gripping the steering wheel like your life depended on it. However, the ajar door sets off alarms in your head, so you pick up your gun and tread silently toward it. Two arguing voices sound angrily through the door, where you stand, looking in the gap to catch who it is. There, you find your aunt Cecilia facing in your direction, with the back of a woman you would recognize blind. Your mother. Another silent curse slips you, and unfortunately for you, the time to escape isn’t enough because next thing you know, the door springs open and there she stands in front of you, eyes wide.
“Y/N..? Sweetheart, why haven’t you been returning- Has she been hiding you-” An accusatory finger is pointed to Cee. She’s quickly cut off by your aunt who has clearly had enough of your mother and her arguing.
“Oh, for crying out loud, stop acting like this! I already told you she needs time to process things on her own! Would you rather she stays with me, or with some uptown punk on drops, huh?” Cecilia’s condescending tone seems to deeply affect your mother, who points a finger back at her in an attempt to say something, but is denied the right. “Even so, you said you wouldn’t be here until the end of the week! Your daughter would have been out by then!”
“So you are trying to hide her! Are you in on this?” She looks back at you, fumes practically erupting from her nostrils. Throughout all of this you’re stood, stunned, gun still in your hand and listening to their screaming match. Suddenly, boiling and ballistic anger erupts in your own body, from within the depths of your soul.
“You have no right to think you can speak to me like this. You went against a clear boundary, and just because we talked, and you told me you’d take dad out of that terrible place, doesn’t undo the damage you did to me, and dad. There’s some serious reflection needed on your part, and I will not speak to you until you come to me with a clear mind and a sincere apology. The last one was anything but that,” you cursed out, stare icy and eyes practically bulging from their sockets. You feel your heart beating at a million miles per hour. “I’ll be out of here in 15 minutes, just gonna grab some things,” you direct at your aunt, no longer looking at your mom, instead walking away to gather your things.
Although you had spoken to your mom weeks prior to this, you had time to reflect on the whole situation. Then, you were able to accept her apology, but after time and consideration, the situation as a whole made you feel ill. Placing your dear, sweet father in the hands of a place like Arkham, a place notorious for changing people in unimaginable ways, still hurt you terribly. Yes, he may not have been placed in the highest security wards, but that does not change the fact as it is.
You weren’t one to take shit from others, but going against your mother made you feel terrible, even if she was in the wrong. That will change now. Boundaries are boundaries, and taking hits from certain people makes you vulnerable to take them from others. These thoughts spiral in your mind as you pack a handful of old clothing, things you came with here, and after pondering, you decide to take the old weed with you. Although its effect has worsened due to its age, it does its job good enough.
Eventually walking out after packing the necessities, you catch a glance of your mother standing at the end of one of the hallways, staring at one of the many paintings that adorn this house. But this painting in particular was special. It’s the one your father gifted as a present to your mother, one of all you sat in a garden outside the city. You remember that day clearly, from the cool summer breeze to the way the sun shone down on you all, enhancing the colors of the flowers around you. She looks tired standing there, unlike the canvas in so many ways. Your eyes catch the greying hairs on her head, lines in her face caused by stress. Subtly, your jaw clenches as your brows draw together in quiet uneasiness. The gaze you hold only breaks from your mother’s phone ringing in her purse, which she soon picks up. Quickly, you start sneaking away until you’re finally out of the house and making your way to the car, before driving off to the office. On the way, you receive a call from Gordon.
“Hey, Jim, what’s up?” You answer calmly, putting the phone on speaker and placing it down as you make a turn.
“I need you at the Falcone house, ASAP. Alberto Falcone was just found dead in the trunk of a car that crashed onto their lawn. I can’t be there right now, but a few others are joining you in the investigation. You’re leading it, can you make it?” Gordon rambles on tiredly, scribbling purposefully in the background.
“I- yeah, I can be there, do we have any information on Alberto?” You ask breathily, letting out a shaky exhale at the likely mess you’re about to stumble into, hands clenching the steering wheel harder than necessary until your skin stretches and pales slightly.
“No, nothing. You’ll have to find it out,” he answered with a strained tone, pausing before talking again. “Be careful there, we both know your family histories with each other, detective. Let me know when you finish up.”
“I will, I’m coming by the office later, but I’ll talk to you when it’s done,” you respond, heart beating slightly faster than usual. Gordon says his goodbye, and you hang up, driving slightly in a hurry to the scene of the crime. When you get there, the driveway is already being secured by cops who have surrounded the area, and you enter the scene when you notice Martinez standing off to the side, so you walk up to him.
“Officer Martinez, what’s it looking like?” You ask, walking with him toward the crashed car. It’s clearly old, paint chipping at the edges and exposing it to moisture where rust has been forming for a seemingly long time. The trunk is closed, but as you near the car the stench of death gets stronger.
“According to a few witness statements, the car just flew in from nowhere with no driver. Miss Sofia Falcone opened the trunk to find her brother dead in the trunk, but no one else has seen him yet. We were all waiting on you and the forensic team,” he babbles on as you tread to the driver's seat, where you find a brick placed onto the gas pedal with wires running over it. One glance shows you that the perpetrator cut the ignition wires and locked the steering wheel to drive straight. Staring off in the direction of where the car came from, you order someone to go there and investigate.
“Have you talked to the whole family?” You ask, looking back at him and pulling out a pair of gloves to put on.
“No- not yet, Miss Falcone refuses to talk to us-”
“We need a statement from her, send someone in to talk to her immediately. We need to talk to all witnesses no matter how much they would like to or not,” you say sternly walking back to the trunk, where a few forensics are waiting for you. Two of them move forward to where you were standing to look for prints or DNA. Martinez is still sort of shifting awkwardly beside you. “Now, Officer.”
He finally scurries off and you open the trunk, where the putrid smell of a body decomposing hits you like a bullet and you almost gag before covering your mouth and asking for a mask, which you receive swiftly. There, slightly bunched up, is the body of Alberto Falcone, lifeless and pale. Though his body is obvious in the trunk, the first thing you notice is the word scribbled onto the latch; ‘PAYBACK’. Through his suit, you catch around 4 holes where bullets penetrated his body, and as you’re glancing down, you notice his pinky finger missing. Dried blood runs down his face, but when you look for any wounds, you don’t find anything. No visual restraint marked his body from what you could tell, and you determine that the gunshot had to happen from a small distance due to the blood splatter pattern. Photos are being taken all around you, the flash acting as a small anchor for you. You turn to one of the forensics next to you.
“No visual restraint shown, but we can’t know for sure yet. His pinky finger on his right hand is missing. It could be in the car, or someone took it as a trophy. Look for prints on him, and on anything the perpetrator may have touched. We don’t know how good this killer is, so assume he’s sloppy,” you order sternly, and the forensics only nod and get to work. Sighing loudly, you crouch down while pulling out a cigarette and watching everyone work absentmindedly when you feel eyes on you.
Eventually, you find the eyes of a crying but stone-faced Sofia Falcone looking at you from one of the windows. You hesitate for a second, but after blowing out smoke you give a small wave in greeting that she only returns with a nod. As you finish up the cigarette, Martinez goes back to your side.
“Miss Falcone gave her statement, so we’ve got everyone, detective,” he shares, shifting next to you.
“That’s good, we’re done here, it seems. Forensics are doing their work, so they’ll finish whenever and take his body in for further inspection. Can’t do a lot now, since we’ve no clue where he died and stuff,” you comment languidly standing up fully. “Everyone who no longer has work to do here is dismissed,” you say to him, and Martinez starts informing everybody of the fact. As you get in the car and back out, you see her still looking at you, only turning away when someone comes up from behind her. You push the thought out of your mind and finally drive back to the office. But first you were getting Chinese, a good old lo mein from your favorite place.
When you arrive, you pick up all your takeout and baggage to place in the office temporarily until you find a place to live. The car is parked messily but you’re too tired to go back and fix it. For once, and maybe it’s because it’s starting to become a bit late, the department is eerily quiet, which leaves you to your own devices. Entering your office and throwing yourself into the couch after tossing off your shoes and shedding your coat, you start chowing down on your food which you finish in no time. You hadn’t realized it, but you had gotten really hungry since the last time you ate. Your stomach is finally full and after this exhausting day, you pass out on the slightly uncomfortable couch.
A crash from your window startles you to death and you pick up your gun that was placed on the coffee table next to you, before jumping up and pointing it at the source. The window is open, but not broken, and small groans can be heard from behind the desk. Slowly, you make your way behind it and place your finger on the trigger. Turning the last corner, you scream at the burglar.
“Put your hands up!” You shout with a higher pitch than usual from the adrenaline coursing your veins. However, what awaits you is unexpected. There, you find a barely moving Batman, bleeding out onto the floor of the office. “Oh my God!” Crouching down next to him, you turn him over gracelessly and check the source. It’s a knife wound that you cannot yet estimate the damage of, right in his shoulder, with no knife in sight.
“Batman, you have to sit up for me, please,” you beg slightly, trying to help him sit up with no luck.
“Where...’s Gordon-” He cuts himself off by coughing, thankfully with no blood which hopefully means the only wound he has is the one in his shoulder.
“This isn’t his office, Batman, but I need you to sit up right now,” you ramble frantically, running to your things where you have a med kit lying somewhere. Finding it rather fast, you go back to find him resting against the desk, legs spread out in front of him. Rushing to his side, you start taking off the heavy armor plates, his gloves followed by the long sleeve undershirt. You keep the mask on in case someone is working late and decides to enter your office unannounced.
“I’m gonna clean the wound now, okay?” you whisper, in hopes of not startling him. He hisses at the pain and says your name, but you can only continue. Your heartbeat is going a million miles an hour. When the wound is revealed, you sigh in relief when you see that it’s not particularly deep. Putting pressure on it, you grab gloves to put on. “Hey, m’gonna need to stitch you up now.”
The words are spoken softly, and you thread the needle after disinfecting everything, and start on the first stitch, and so on. Throughout it all, Bruce is taking it all, until a particularly painful stitch leads him to grabbing your waist and squeezing in pain. It’s not painful, just a little uncomfortable, so you simply take it until it’s over. You wrap the whole thing over and when you’re done, you fish up the pain killers from the small red bag and hand him two pills to swallow, which he does rapidly.
“Let's get you up, yeah?” You mutter, moving over to his good side and helping him up from the ground. After a lot of stumbling, you manage to move him onto the couch where you were just sleeping on and bring him there, where he slumps against it, careful not to disturb the wound. You curl up into one of the armchairs next to him when he starts talking.
“Where is Gordon?” The three words are asked straight on and you almost roll your eyes.
“I told you, he’s not here. This isn’t his office anymore, y’know,” you heave out, and you see the confusing crossing in his gaze. “He hasn’t told you?”
“No, he hasn’t. What’re you doing here then?” Bruce asks, finally relaxing his posture slightly from his usual rigid one. You can’t help but glance over his many scars under the light, getting distracted from answering his question. He calls your name once, and you snap out of your stupor.
“I.. I was on a case today and came back here to sleep,” you say with minimal eye contact, choosing to start picking at your fingernails instead.
“Why not go back to your family estate? It’s much closer to the Falcone’s than here,” he exhales with an almost accusatory tone, and your brows draw together in confusion.
“First of all, how do you know where I was-”
“Gordon.”
“Okay fine, then what business is it for you to know why I chose to sleep here and not at the family estate? Oh wait, it isn’t,” you reply with a hostile tone, not caring enough to watch your manners. You’re tired, newly woken up to a mess on your office floor, and this is how he chooses to talk to you? “Not that it has anything to do with you, but I’m arguing with my mom who’s staying there, and since I’ve yet to acquire an apartment or someone to stay with, I’m stuck here.”
Silence engulfs you both, and the new information appears to have either stunned him or made him fall asleep; either option seems plausible at this point. Hesitantly, he opens his mouth before sputtering out a few words.
“Why didn’t you.. ask me...?” He falters when saying the words, and now it’s your turn to be stunned. Your nose scrunches up and you squint at him in the dim lighting to catch a glimse of what he might be thinking.
“I didn’t- we didn’t... why would you ask me that? We’re not close enough for you to assume I’d ask something like that of you. I- are you like, offering?” You blurt out with a strained voice.
“I.. wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t. I need to get back anyway, and I don’t-” He cuts himself off before continuing. “I’m sure Alfred won’t mind having a guest over, especially you.”
I have a sneaking feeling about what he was going to say just now.
You drop your thoughts immediately and think for a moment. A nice, warm bed would be nice. But you would be sharing a home with Bruce Freaking Batman Wayne until you find your own home. How hard is it truly to avoid him though?
It can’t be thaaaaat hard, right?
“Fine, but I’m driving alone on the way there. Not leaving my car here,” you stand, crossing your arms, and Batman only nods and does the same, turning away from you to start getting dressed. You watch as the muscles in his back ripple and move when he bends down to pick up his suit, the way his bicep flexes in the light and your heartbeat speeds up and-
Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. I’m just tired, and I just need to sleep it off.
Packing your things for what feels like the hundredth time today, you get back to your car closely followed by Bruce who gets into his own hybrid looking vehicle, and you follow him closely till you reach a tunnel that goes for long, until it opens up into the Batcave. You briefly catch sight of him removing the suit.
You exit your car and go over to the elevator where Bruce is heading. He helps carry one of your bags by taking it from your grip and slinging it over his good shoulder. The ride up is silent, and you appreciate it. Finally, the doors open and you go out of the elevator, waiting for Bruce to lead you to your room. Your steps are quiet, the only thing filling the night being the heavy breathing from the man in front of you. He stops at a door and opens it, so you tread in lightly and look around. It’s similar to your bedroom at home, but with darker architecture and furniture, as well as being simpler; probably because it’s a guest room. You stand in the doorway and look back at Bruce, who’s gaze looks stuck on you.
“Thank you... for letting me stay here,” you breathe out softly, rubbing your hands softly. The moonlight from the window behind you accentuates his face, eyes looking sharper, eye black hiding what you suspect to be very dark bags. “You should get some rest and avoid moving too much.”
“I will, you too. And... you don’t have to thank me for letting you stay here,” he shrugged shyly, glancing away from you and biting his lips.
“Okay... goodnight, Bruce.”
“Goodnight, Y/N.”
Closing the door, you stand in the same place until you hear his footsteps fade away. He had stood there a moment before walking away, but you’re too tired to overthink it right now. Stripping down to your underwear on the way to the bed, you throw everything around haphazardly until you get under the cool sheets. Your eyes close in exhaustion and eventually darkness pulls you into the calm lull of sleep.
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