Chapter Text
Gotham is cold and rainy today, nothing new. You begin closing your umbrella when you reach the pavilion covering the entrance to Gotham General Hospital- lightly shaking it before grabbing one of the plastic umbrella bags by the door.
You keep a neutral face until you reach the reception desk where you flash a smile at one of your coworkers before calling the next elevator.
Luckily, you secure an empty cabin and sigh as you settle in for the decently long ride up to your office. It was only Wednesday but the week had already felt like an eternity. There had been a major explosion on the upper east side (extreme enough to involve the Bat, himself) earlier in the week which brought in a flood of patients- so much so that you were called into the ER for back up after you were finished with your last operation of the day.
All things considered, today should be relatively tame; it was a consultation day which meant your time would just be occupied meeting with patients to check up and get their surgeries scheduled.
You had been in the health care field as long as you could remember and had tried your hand in many departments. You graduated high school two years early at the top of your class, continued to undergrad, and swiftly began medical school, quickly gaining a reputation as you did so.
During your time as a college student you interned with Gotham General and even earned your EMT license. Back then you wanted to try everything you could because you wanted to be able to help anyone in any circumstance, however unrealistic that might have been.
Things changed after you worked a summer in the ER, for whatever reason that time seemed to align with one of the Joker’s worst crime sprees to date. Everyday you were met with suffering and patients you weren’t able to save. You realized that no matter how much passion you had, you couldn’t just will someone to stay alive and as much as that work mattered, you wanted to do something that would have more permanent effects.
You moved to general surgery with a specialization in orthopedics where you would at least be able to improve some lives and not have to worry about the patients coming in already half dead and begging for the end. It just wasn’t a field you could personally continue in.
The elevator dings as you reach your floor; adjusting your posture, you walk down the familiar hall. You were about to turn a corner into your office as your assistant, Olivia, stopped you, barely containing a wide smile.
“Good Morning Liv” you say, a smile of your own creeping onto your face, “you seem awfully happy about something”.
You take your keys- an assortment of random keychains and expired coupon cards- and unlock your office as the younger woman follows in closely behind you, gripping onto the manilla patient folder in her hands.
“Good morning and maybe just a little… Oh! And here’s your first consultation for today, he’s already in room 5” she hurriedly says with a small giggle before handing you the file.
You arch your brow curiously at her blushing face before opening the (rather thick) file.
‘Bruce Thomas Wayne’
Aha.
You look up from the folder with a knowing smirk as Liv giggled more, “Now I see what you’re all excited about”.
Liv had the biggest crush on Gotham’s own, Bruce Wayne; once she started working under you and realized he was one of your patient’s, she about had an aneurysm on your office floor.
“Okok! Ugh I know he’s a flirt with everyone, but c’monnnn, you can’t tell me you don’t get a little excited when he comes in?”.
Smiling, you shake your head and sigh; unfortunately you did get a few stray butterflies when you read his name.
“The only reason I get excited to see Bruce Wayne is because I know I’ll be snacking on fancy chocolates for a week after his appointment”.
You had met Bruce Wayne for the first time years ago when you were still in residency and was pulled to run a nurse shift one month. Ever since then you have run into the famed “Prince of Gotham” a handful of times when he’s had minor surgeries. You had learned that he was quite the fighter and had a particular interest in mixed martial arts, though he had some very odd injuries for that type of sport.
After the second surgery you performed on the man, he began sending delicious chocolates from all over the world to your office after the operations. He had never been in your office of course, but you had the intricate boxes displayed on the tops of your cabinets; London, Paris, Istanbul, Tokyo, Brussels, etc. Though, you hadn’t seen him in quite some time.
“I just don’t get you, if Bruce Wayne got me chocolates I think I’d die on the spot!”
“It’s just a thank you for not screwing up his body even more” you joke.
Liv shook her head before bouncing out of your office to (unnecessarily) inform him you would be with him shortly.
You’d be lying if you said he didn’t make you blush too, how could he not? He has the mystery but also the charm; a perfect gentleman, a generous philanthropist, a flirt, and insanely handsome.
But he’s your patient- also there’s always news of some new supermodel or actress clinging onto his arm at galas or charity events.
‘No use in fantasizing’ you think to yourself as you open his new file report.
Having trouble with the left knee, below average articular cartilage reserves, slight swelling.
You sigh as you close the folder, this man just can’t keep himself out of trouble.
__________________________________________
(~7 years ago)
Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you checked the chart of the next room you have to go into. was your first day assigned to this particular floor and you were already not very fond of the work; the whole checking vitals and constantly having good bedside manner and all was never your thing.
Bruce Wayne
Holy shit, the billionaire playboy himself; how the hell did no one tell you he was up here?
Your eye twitched as you read over the name once more as nerves began to pool in your stomach. You could care less about the Wayne’s, the tragedies had been plastered all over Gotham since you were a child and other than crime, Bruce’s lavish lifestyle was all the news ever talked about.
Though, as much as you were tired of the constant articles and tabloids about Gotham’s Prince, you had never met a celebrity before. As much as you hated to admit it, there was no doubt that Bruce Wayne was one fine motherfucker.
No, you were nervous about offending him or messing up; he had the money, power, and influence to get you fired if he didn’t particularly like how you acted. It didn’t happen often, but you knew the stories of Mr. Wayne firing people, seemingly on whims, in his company or even at restaurants he had purchased.
Broken ribs, punctured left lung, mild lacerations on back
The patient is stubborn, but generally cooperates- though not happily.
The comment on his chart made you laugh a little. You shrugged off some of the anxiety when you took a minute to actually weigh the likelihood of that happening, though it wasn’t completely gone.
The room’s temperature was kept low and you shivered as you enter the dim space; the curtains drawn and television off. Once your eyes adjust, you see him; his eyes are shut, breathing a bit ragged, and his face is slightly twisted into a scowl.
The bed was tilted up, somewhere between lying down and a sitting position, the blankets ended right above his hips and his exposed torso was wrapped in bandages. Bruce’s chest was massive and you couldn't help but look at it in awe. Soon your eyes trailed back to his face only to see a pair of bright blue eyes staring back at you.
A warm blush crept up your neck as you blink away for a moment before addressing him, “Hello, Mr. Wayne, I hope you’re feeling well. I’m here to check your vitals and check your pain levels”.
The muscles in his jaw clench before he nods. You make your way closer to his bedside, all the way, his sharp gaze following you. Once you’re closer the scars on his skin become all the more noticeable, it looks like a battlefield.
“They look worse than they are”.
You meet his eyes again, he spoke in such a way that made you feel as if he were examining your every move.
Ignoring his statement you kindly ask for his arm to get his blood pressure; he obliges but as he attempts to raise it, he winces in pain, letting it fall to the bed.
“I can get it for you, if that would be easier” you offered, feeling bad for the guy.
He said nothing as he attempted to raise it once again, slower, more careful. His arm trembled as you wrapped the cuff around his large bicep, before gently placing his arm back by his side.
The rest of the check up was mostly silent, save for a few grunts or groans from the man. You noticed his right fist clenching tighter and tighter every time he was pained.
“Alright Mr. Wayne, before I leave, I just want to ask about your pain levels; on a scale from 1-10 what would you rate your pain?” you asked, standing near the foot of the bed.
“Four.” he says shortly, his jaw fixed and tight.
Your eyes travel down from his face to his right hand, its back in a fist and shaking. Of course he’s lying; most of the staff were too nervous to challenge or call him out and to be honest you were still weary of acting out of line too, but it was so painfully obvious that he was in pain.
With a sigh, you placed a manicured hand on the end of the bed, “You know, you don’t have to be tough with me Mr. Wayne. You’ll exhaust your body even more and delay your recovery if you’re unnecessarily straining”
His eyes narrowed as you walked towards the rod holding the morphine bag connected to his IV.
“I’m fine.”
“It will make you feel better and then maybe you won't give yourself a tension headache… because based on the way your jaw is clenched, one’s not too far away”.
You watched with soft eyes as his, much more skeptical ones bore into yours as he calculated something in his head. Suddenly he drops his eyelids and turns his head to face the ceiling.
“Mr. Wayne?” you asked quietly.
“Go ahead.”
No time is wasted between his command and your action, soon the dosage is coursing through his veins and he immediately relaxes with a sigh.
“Better?”
His blue eyes are already closed as he gives an exhausted nod.
____________________________________
You give three quick knocks to the door before turning the knob and entering the exam room where you immediately make eye contact with the impossibly handsome man. Your breath slightly catches in your throat under the intense gaze of his bright blue eyes (some things never change). A small smile maneuvers itself onto his face.
Quickly, your eyes flicker down to the polished black cane he is holding between his strong hands, the handle has a fancily embellished silver handle.
“Good Morning Mr. Wayne, I see you didn’t take my advice for too long” you say as you pull over a stool to sit on.
His eyes look up to the right as he recalls your last words to him.
“As much as I appreciate the chocolates, I really don’t like having to fix you up just to get them. Now, why can’t you just take it easy and stay out of trouble”.
He huffs out a small laugh as the corners of his mouth point in a downturned smirk, as if he got caught doing something he shouldn’t have.
“Well you know Doc, what if I just wanted an excuse to see you again?”
There it was. That stupid playboy attitude.
“Well I would say that’s a faulty claim, because your new little accessory tells me that you have an issue you need fixed” you say back to him notioning to his cane.
His smile fades just as quickly as it appeared and he adjusts himself on the exam table, “Yea, I guess so, it is pretty bothersome”.
You click your pen and ask him some general questions before asking him to walk the perimeter of the room to observe his gait.
As soon as his polished shoes hit the ground you can see him slightly wince and grip the handle of his cane. Bad sign.
He slowly begins to walk as if he needed time to warm up; once he sets a pace you can see he’s heavily favoring his left leg and leaning most of his weight on his cane. His lips are pressed into a straight line and his brow is furrowed as you watch him intently. Yea, bad sign.
You see, Bruce Wayne had an incredibly high pain tolerance, so if he was struggling this much, you knew it was pretty severe. And no matter what he said, after years of treating him on and off, you could see his tells quite clearly.
You begin jotting down some notes of your clipboard before humming, “you can sit back down now”.
He complies and takes a seat, but you don’t miss the sigh of relief he lets out as he does.
“Alright, now would you roll your pant leg up for me?” you say as you bring your stool closer to his legs.
Surprisingly he does so without making a quip and you soon see how bad it is. His kneecap is badly swollen and red, you frown at the sight before asking permission to touch. He nods and you gently place your hands on both sides of his knee and slowly begin to massage around the area to feel for any indents.
Bruce’s jaw tightens and his eyes clench shut for a brief second as you find the side lacking the cartilage. You gently apply pressure on his knee cap and he sucks in a sharp breath before saying, “You having fun down there?” with a pained half-laugh, half-exhale.
You sit back and grab his file once more, “Not particularly. Well Mr. Wayne you are definitely going to need surgery if you want that to get better”.
He sighs as he swipes away the beads of sweat forming on his forehead, “I figured as much”.
“I’m going to schedule you for an osteochondral autograft, basically I’m just going to take some of your healthy cartilage and transplant it into the damaged area. Shouldn’t be anything too crazy”.
You watch him closely as he seems to be pondering something before nodding, “I need this done as soon as possible, do you have time later this week?”.
Of course he wants to streamline this, the sooner he’s healed, the sooner he can go back to his eccentric and active lifestyle. Luckily for him, you did have a pretty open day on Friday and wouldn’t be opposed to squeezing a few more operating hours in.
“I’ve got a slot open on Friday around 9:30 am, does that work with you?”.
“Perfect, I’ll have my people get in contact with your people” he says out of habit.
“Well by my people you mean either me or my assistant, Olivia”.
“Who?”
You tilt your head and give him a dissatisfied look before he feigns an epiphany.
“Ohh yes, shorter girl, sandy blonde hair, has a massive thing for me?”.
You roll your eyes, “yea, that one”.
He flashes you that billionaire smile and confirms that he’ll be in.
“I’ll go get your pre-op instructions, just sit tight”.
You return and hand him the papers, his larger hands brushing yours as you pass them. As normal, he listens as you explain some rules for him to follow and what to expect in regards to recovery after the operation.
“Well if you don’t have any more questions, then you’re free to go Mr. Wayne”
He slides off the exam table and rises to his full height, making your heart rate increase; he was so close to you. He took a moment to adjust his tie before looking down at you, “The only question I would have would be for your number, but you never give it to me. So, no further questions, Doctor” he smirked at you.
You scoff with a small smile and turn to head out of the room, “as charming as ever Mr. Wayne, but you’re correct about that”.
Once you reach the handle, you turn briefly and unconsciously give his tall figure a once over; peering through your lashes you wish him a good day and promptly leave.
Behind the door, he huffs out a laugh as he leans on his cane; you were disciplined, he’d give you that.