It's Not Just The Waiting That Kills Him

[bought_the_bank]

He broke every speed limit between Gotham and Bludhaven that evening.  Then there was nothing to do but wait.  

The reader board in the surgical center had changed formats.  It no longer listed names, just patient numbers and their current stage.  The number was the first piece of information they'd received beyond the initial phone call and Bruce had memorized it instantly.  As he paced the waiting room with his arms crossed tightly against his chest, his eyes traveled to the status board regularly.  Sometimes the information would rotate through to a second screen and the information he was seeking wouldn't be there when he glanced up.  For that brief second, he fought back panic.  

Alfred had glued himself to the nurse's station, bypassing the information desk.  If anyone could coax extra information out of the staff, it was the eloquently spoken and insistant gentleman.  Bruce glanced in his direction regularly as well drawing strength from afar.  

An hour after arriving, there was still no word.  

He finally took a seat.  And dropped his head into his hands.   

Comments

[fille_fatale]

It feels wrong to call when she wants to. Too soon: he's probably with his son, still. His son; Selina tries not to think too hard about that fact, and fails every time. There's no way to treat the night the same, but she makes a good show of it. She makes note of who makes an appearance, overhears a few choice bits of information. Holly will fill her in on the rest later, which is why she lets herself take a few minutes at the end of the night.

He probably won't answer, she figures, and she probably won't leave a message. Probably.