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Drawing Passion with Blood

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He looked over the papers before him, another four missing persons added to the roster of the Lost Ones just last night. He sighed and massaged his eyes. “Really, Master Bruce. You must get yourself some sleep.” Alfred came up to him with a tray of eggs, beacon,_ coffee_

“Bruh!” Slapping a hand over his mouth, he rushes over to the nearest bathroom and empties his insides.

He's been throwing up all day; the smells have intensified to unbearable measures, making his stomach curl. Almost making him wish the symptoms would just kill him already. “Sir, I must insist you try to eat something.” Alfred says, a glass of water stretched out and kneeling beside the young man hugging the toilet bowl.

“I know, I kn-hargh!” Hacking spit and possibly his body’s acids into the throne before sending it to the sewers. Really thinking about performing self surgery to remove his intestines. “I'm just c-hur!”

“Sick, sir?”

Bruce glared at this father figure, “...yes.” Admitting begrudgingly. “Must be food poisoning or-hmm- something.”

The old man stared at him, then slowly, his eyes furrowed, “It's possibly nothing sir, but weren't you with that gentleman, Dr. Rominoff, nearly two weeks ago?”

His body froze, eyes widening to enlarged platters, his stomach settling as it's message has been sent, “No, I- I've been taking the pills-”

“Did you take them when you were with him?”

Oh crap, “Schedule an appointment with Leslie, NOW!” Quickly running for his suits, dressing into whatever he snatched. He has Alfred race him to the hospital where the only doctor he trusts works at, and rushes through the doors where the old woman with grey hair tied up in a bun waves Bruce to follower her down the hall. She took her samples and did the tests. It took an hour for her to come back in with a neutral face.

“Well Bruce, I don't know if it's good or bad, but it's news. You're pregnant.”

He shook his head, “I don't…” damn it. “What am I am going to do?” Feeding his face to his hands.

“Knowing you, there's only one thing to do.”

Nodding, pushing his hair away, Bruce got up from the examination table, making an effort to shake the messenger's hand, “Can I… count on you to do my check ups?”

A reassuring smile answered his nervousness, “You don't even have to ask. And I'll be all too happy to help you deliver as well when the time comes.”

Nodding, “Thank you, Leslie. I'll call you, then.” Bruce walked out of the room with his coat draped over his arm. He was out of the building and going down the sidewalk, it was dark out already. Bruce took note but was mostly in his head, using his inner compass to wander over to Alfred. ‘What the Hell is wrong with me. I'm more disciplined than this. I should have been more careful! How could I forget something so important? Oh, God. I'm bringing a baby into my life. How I am supposed to be Bruce Wayne, Batman, and a father all at once?’ The thoughts took Bruce a little ways from the hospital, only street lights illuminated through the darkness. The shiny black car waited at the end of the block, he was the only one roaming around Gotham’s streets tonight.
No matter his circumstances, he was still fully aware of his surroundings, which was why he was generally startled when a hand nested itself on his shoulder. Stopping himself from grabbing the hand and flipping the stranger over himself. He simply jumps from his shadow, “Jesus!... Dr. Rominoff.”

“Forgive me, I just saw you walking from across the street and couldn't help but come say hello.”

Breathing a half sigh, “It's alright. I, uh, was actually just thinking of you in fact.”

“Oh?” Rominoff questions with leer, an eyebrow cocking up.

“Are you free for, say, the next thirty minutes?”