[ The entirety of Gotham PD is caught in a bureaucratic clusterfuck, and Jim Gordon bears the brunt of the publicity-and-paperwork-related nightmare. A martyr for the cause, an example of what happens when a man and his heart takes one too many midnight calls too seriously. He runs the usual gauntlet, is dressed down in the same utilitarian police patois that boils down to "when are you going to get your head out of your ass" (Gordon, wisely, parrots the same question in his mind, and keeps the reciprocal derision in his pocket); the tabloids will have a field day with this one, he thinks, but whether they'll run with the incompetency of an already fragmented system or go with "visiting socialite may be caught up in more hidden agendas unearthed in Gotham" is for them to find out in the span of a very short time.
Bruce listens to the hubbub through an earpiece, awake from his 2-hour morning sleep cycle. (What, you think he doesn't have at least half of the precinct wired?) Barely had to ask Alfred to call Ms. Wynne-York to come to the conclusion that she really isn't dead.
Which is bizarre.
He scratches MEDICAL CONDITION on a piece of paper, and tucks it into his quickly-expanding dossier full of clippings, printouts, photographs. In all his research, he doesn't find a single thing about mysterious drownings in Gwen's periphery, or, in fact, much in the way of the family's medical histories at all. Bruce does not have to consult with WebMD about conditions which inspire people to sleep in water without breathing for prolonged periods of time; no quick Google search will give him anything meaningful about that particular abnormality.
(Maybe he should read a book. Indulge in literature. Think outside of the strict confines of logic and reason.
He isn't quite there, yet.)
Bruce receives Gwen's message, but he leaves her, impossibly, on read. As if the entire city isn't humming with news of her, and as if his attention shouldn't, very rightly, be on her safety or on concepts adjacent. First red flag: is he just ignorant, or does he not give a fuck?
It's long after the sun's begun to set and Bruce has started to prune his insane conspiracy board that he finally sends a message back. ]
Long day for you.
[ Yeah, Captain Fucking Obvious. He is sitting, cross-legged, on the floor of his study, with MEDICAL CONDITION circled 5 times on the crumpled paper next to his knee.
no subject
Bruce listens to the hubbub through an earpiece, awake from his 2-hour morning sleep cycle. (What, you think he doesn't have at least half of the precinct wired?) Barely had to ask Alfred to call Ms. Wynne-York to come to the conclusion that she really isn't dead.
Which is bizarre.
He scratches MEDICAL CONDITION on a piece of paper, and tucks it into his quickly-expanding dossier full of clippings, printouts, photographs. In all his research, he doesn't find a single thing about mysterious drownings in Gwen's periphery, or, in fact, much in the way of the family's medical histories at all. Bruce does not have to consult with WebMD about conditions which inspire people to sleep in water without breathing for prolonged periods of time; no quick Google search will give him anything meaningful about that particular abnormality.
(Maybe he should read a book. Indulge in literature. Think outside of the strict confines of logic and reason.
He isn't quite there, yet.)
Bruce receives Gwen's message, but he leaves her, impossibly, on read. As if the entire city isn't humming with news of her, and as if his attention shouldn't, very rightly, be on her safety or on concepts adjacent. First red flag: is he just ignorant, or does he not give a fuck?
It's long after the sun's begun to set and Bruce has started to prune his insane conspiracy board that he finally sends a message back. ]
Long day for you.
[ Yeah, Captain Fucking Obvious. He is sitting, cross-legged, on the floor of his study, with MEDICAL CONDITION circled 5 times on the crumpled paper next to his knee.
Seriously, what the hell. ]