Bruce Reflects
Sitting by his comatose butler was not what Bruce had planned for the night. That’s a lie, Alfred wasn't comatose, but he was sleeping soundly in the hospital bed. He had a minor concussion and was a bit disoriented when he woke up. The doctors assured Bruce he would be fine, but that didn’t stop Bruce from twitching his fingers and casting worried glances at his guardian.
Alfred had to stay overnight, just in case something else was wrong. Bruce had been given the option to go back to the manor, Bullock himself offered to give him a ride after he finished questioning the young billionaire. Bullock hadn’t questioned him for long, his face weary from a long day of work. Bruce had rejected the Detectives offer politely, not really in the mood to return to the manor. He patted Bruce on the back before he left, his eyes full of pity as he regarded him.
Bruce liked Bullock, but he wasn’t like Gordon. He knew the Detective had been going through personal troubles lately, but Gotham needed him. Not as the dark bounty-hunter, he had come to be, but the good-natured detective he used to be. Gordon always knew what to say in these situations, he had a reassuring and calming presence. Bruce missed Gordon but knew that whatever he was going through, he had to go through alone.
Bruce leaned back and grimaced, the wooden chair he had been sitting in was sturdy, but not comfortable. He was offered a bed to sleep in, the hospital eager to accommodate him in the hopes of getting a generous donation, but he had declined the offer. He didn't want to take a bed when it could go to someone else who truly needed it, plus it's not like he could sleep, Bruce’s mind was alert and running rampant with thoughts and what had just transpired.
He’d lied to the GCPD. He told them a burglar must have gotten in. Bruce didn't see his face, but had noticed things were missing after he checked on Alfred.
The ‘burglar’ was tied up in his father's secret cave, Either still asleep or now awake, Bruce hadn’t been gone long, but the sun was rising, which meant it must be around six am. Bruce didn’t know how long it took for chloroform to wear off, but he imagined that he wouldn’t have the option of staying with Alfred the whole time he was in the hospital.
And there was what to do with Jerome Valeska.
He’d convinced him to stay in the cave with their prisoner, telling him the GCPD would search the house, and the cave was the only place they didn’t know about. Jerome had given Wayne a tight smile, but nonetheless agreed and went into the cave. Jerome couldn’t be trusted. Bruce knew this. Jerome was a murderous psychopath, He took pleasure in killing, and had no remorse for it. He’d also threatened Bruce’s life once. Bruce rubbed his neck at the thought, shuddering as he remembered Jerome laughing as he cut into the soft skin of his neck.
But Jerome also saved his life.
Bruce didn't think he was in danger with the owls, but sending their henchmen to abduct him wasn’t something a person or a group of people with good intentions would do. They wanted to intimidate him, perhaps even negotiate. Oh well. It didn’t matter now, They’d played their hand, and it turned out to be the wrong move. They hadn’t anticipated the infamous Jerome Valeska. Who could?
Bruce Wayne hadn’t ever anticipated seeing his dead captor again. He also didn't expect to react to him in the way that he had. They were so close in the dark. Bruce never realized how green Jerome’s eyes were, how they sparkled in the moonlight. Or the light freckles dusting across his face, or the curve of his lips . . . No, Bruce wouldn’t think of that. He must of reacted that way because he was in shock. Or maybe he had too much adrenaline running through him. Bruce liked Selina. He knew that. He also knew that he certainly felt nothing but disgust toward the red-haired maniac.
He suddenly wondered what Jerome was doing at the moment. Was he bored? Sighing, trying to open the padlocked boxes in the cave, or trying to login to the password protected computer?
Or had he decided to ‘get his kicks’ by hurting or killing the prisoner?
Bruce felt a slight panic, his eyes then darted to the clock that was silently ticking. 6:42.
“Damn it.” Bruce murmured, he stepped up, and try to smooth his shirt and wrinkled pants. Alfred would never approve of him walking around Gotham with his clothes in its current state. Bruce turned and smiled fondly at the sleeping butler. Bruce bit his lip, indecision clear on his face. Bruce quickly walked over to the butler, giving him a light hug, mindful not to wake him. Feeling a pang of regret, Bruce silently said sorry to his guardian. He would do better by him. He would. But he also made a vow to do better by Gotham.
He wondered if he would ever have to choose between Gotham or someone he cared about.
Bruce hired a private driver to take him home. He would have called an uber, or even lyft, like Selina had suggested, but Bruce knew better than to trust the people of Gotham. One look at him and they would rob the billionaire. The drive was short, the city relatively quiet, it was still early so he doubted it had fully awoken yet. The driver was polite and didn’t pry. He smiled and asked about his day, then let the conversation die off once Bruce made it clear by his short answers he wasn't in the mood for talking. The driver turned up a popular radio station in an effort to please Bruce. He barely paid attention to the music but made sure to smile and tip the driver generously when he dropped him off.
The billionaire quietly made his way up the to the door of the manor. He felt a tension in the air and swallowed, hoping he wasn't walking into a ambush.
He quickened his pace, his hands twitching as he opened the cave, wondering what was waiting for him in the dark. “Jerome?” Bruce called out, his voice echoing down the cavern.
Nothing.
“Jerome?” Bruce said tentatively, his voice shaking.
Suddenly the cave was filled with the sound of slow footsteps, coming closer to the entrance of the cave.
Bruce took a step back horrified, seeing a bruised and bloody Jerome make his way out of the cave. The redhead had a wicked grin on his face, his eye was black and swelling, his lips that were curved into that wicked grin were red with blood. He stretched and yawned, cracking his knuckles as he regarded Bruce with a content expression.
“Okay, so I got some bad news and good news. Which ya want first Brucie?” Jerome said with a smirk. It alarmed Bruce how happy the maniac looked, but he tried to suppress it, knowing that whatever the psychopath did was now done.
Jerome held out both of his hands in front of him as if his hands had contained the news, one hand holding the bad and the other the good. He was eager for the boy to choose.
Bruce swallowed, trying to find the words to speak.
“Bad news?” he said slowly.
Jerome dropped his left hand, and brought his right hand in front of him, he held his hand in a fist, he stood straight and cleared his throat, trying to look fancy and posh like the kid's butler.
“Your buddy bled like a pig from a slaughterhouse. It’s a mess down there.” Jerome said seriously. His face bare of an expression and eyes serious. He then laughed, dropping the act. "Its like, really bad down there, the guy sprayed like a fountain. See?" Jerome dragging his thumb across his lower lip, and showing the now blood covered thumb to Bruce.
The billionaire just looked back at him in shock, saying nothing.
Jerome frowned, but clapped his hands together, a smirk once again taking over his face.
“Good news,” he said with a cheery grin. “He screamed like one too. Wanna know what the court of owls got planned for ya?” He said with a wink. Bruce felt his face harden in anger. The psychopath had no respect for human life. He enjoyed taking that mans life. He looked over Jerome again, seeing that his clothes were stained with blood, as red as Jerome's hair.
Bruce’s stomach turned, not only at the thought of whatever horrors Jerome had happily inflicted on the man, and wondered if he was close to being next.
Bruce was disgusted by Jerome. He knew that. But was it wrong that Bruce had wanted to breathe a sigh of relief, knowing that the man who had hurt Alfred was now dead? Bruce didn't believe in killing and was ashamed that the man's death had brought him any comfort.
He was also ashamed that just a casual swipe of the maniacs lower lip had Bruce feeling what he had felt last night when he'd been staring into his eyes and felt as if he was lost in them.
Those weren’t butterflies in his stomach. No way.
Must be all the adrenaline.
Yeah. That was it.