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“Is Mr. Wayne in here?”
Lucius looked up from his monitor, schooling his expression. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust from the brightness of his screen, focusing on the figure standing in the doorway.
Amanda -- on the younger side, dark hair, always in Prada. The BOD admin. She always looked harried, and today was no exception.
“Should he be?” Lucius asked, pushing back from his desk. An exaggerated, if still relatively subtle, stretch turned her eyes away from him and back to the doorway.
Amanda never bothered to look into the darkened northwest corner of the room. This was by design; every light in that part of the room had been strategically dimmed seventeen minutes ago. The shades were down over the floor-to-ceiling windows. The soft hum of jazz music from his desk speakers drowned out any sounds of movement from the long, leather couch in the corner.
The only light in the room, save for the soft orange glow of the gallery lights above his office artwork, came from the monitor on his desk.
“We’re trying to track him down so we can jump back into executive session,” Amanda said, more of an accusation than a comment. “Lisa says we’ll need both of you for the next two items. It’s going to run long. I hope you’ve had lunch.”
With that, she turned on her Prada heel and marched back down the hallway, back on the hunt. Lucius waited a few beats before turning to the darkened corner, eyebrows raised.
The shadow on his couch shifted into what looked like an upright position. Lucius flicked a hand across his keypad, dimming his monitor. Wayne’s face came into focus, half-shadowed by the gallery lights above his head.
“Do you lie that well to me?”
Lucius remained blank-faced. It was much harder to lie to Wayne than it was to Amanda, or some other employee. There was something about his voice -- a soft, restrained baritone -- that itched at a certain part of Lucius’ brain. Familiar and not familiar. Imploring, beseeching, for all that it was held back and moderated. It didn't edge into something deeper. But it could.
“Mr. Wayne,” Lucius said, with mock-surprise. He turned his chair around to face Wayne, eyebrows raised even further. “I hadn’t realized you were in here.”
Wayne’s teeth flashed in the near-darkness. A smile. His condition was more dire than Lucius had realized, then. Lucius could count on one hand the number of times he’d pulled a genuine, heartfelt smile out of the man.
“I couldn’t pass up an opportunity to commandeer your couch,” Wayne explained, taking what sounded like a pained inhale. “Really does wonders for the back. And you know how I need all that extra back support these days.”
Lucius didn’t wince, but it was a close thing. “Can I get you something to drink? If you’re staying, that is.”
He watched as Wayne carefully positioned himself back on the couch, lying down again. It was a slow, awkward shifting of various limbs and body parts until he seemed settled. Or as settled as one could be, when faced with such discomfort.
“Water, please,” Wayne’s voice came a moment later, slightly hoarse. “Thank you, Lucius.”
Lucius stood up from his chair with more ease than Wayne, heading for the small minibar on the opposite side of the room. It was nearly 11 AM, so he skipped the whiskey for now, pouring them both a healthy serving of spring water from a bottle in the fridge.
He deposited both crystal glasses on the coffee table next to Wayne’s head. At Lucius’ prodding, Wayne held out a hand, accepting the four round pills Lucius deposited into it.
“For your,” Lucius reconsidered, "hangover, Mr. Wayne. I apologize, but I don’t have something stronger.”
Wayne dry swallowed the pills, earning himself a wince from Lucius. Lucius nudged the glass of water toward him, worrying over the state of the man’s esophagus.
He waited until Wayne had downed half the glass, satisfied with the end result. It took a moment for his brain to realize that the clear spring water had come away from Wayne’s mouth with red spiderwebbing through it, blood sinking to the bottom of the glass and expanding in the remaining water.
Internal bleeding? Lucius wondered. Or just a bad cut on the lip? Leslie wouldn’t let him out if it was the former. Not even for a vote like this.
“Much appreciated,” Wayne said, still holding the glass. He either hadn’t noticed the bloody water, or simply didn’t care. “You didn’t answer my question.”
Lucius took a seat across from him in the matching leather chair. He sipped his water, stalling for time as the Bat’s eyes scanned his face, missing very little. “I rarely lie to you, Mr. Wayne. But I do lie for you, on occasion. Perhaps more than I’d like to, some days.”
If that made Wayne feel guilty, he certainly didn’t show it. Even up-close, his face was still a veritable mask. Lucius had never known him to break, even in the most dire of situations.
It was one of the most impressive things he had ever seen. To crack, but not to break, under the worst of what humanity had to offer. To have bones broken and blood spilled, only to turn up to an 8 AM board meeting in a three-piece Kiton.
Lucius had a feeling Wayne’s tight vest and still-button coat were doing a lot of heavy lifting this morning. If he were a betting man, that would have been his guess -- some assortment of broken ribs, wrapped and braced under thick Neapolitan wool. The concussion was self-evident, obvious in Wayne’s narrowed eyes and sudden predilection for Lucius’ shadowy office.
“Well,” Wayne said, acknowledging Lucius’ answer a beat too late to be polite. “I might need you to continue. Because I don’t think I’m making it back up to the 112th floor anytime soon.”
“You’re not intrigued by the thrill of executive session?” Lucius asked, viciously dry.
“No,” Wayne moaned, reclining back onto the couch. He put an arm over his eyes, blocking them from the dim light. “I’m more thrilled by the lumbar support of this couch. Where the hell did you even get it?”
Lucius smiled, mercifully out of Wayne’s line of sight. The words came before he could fully process them, drawn to the surface by the insistent pull of memory.
“You sound just like him.”
Wayne’s arm lifted. Piercing blue eyes drilled into Lucius’ face, trying to parse this new conversational direction. “Like who?”
“Your father,” Lucius said. He continued even as Wayne’s eyes averted down to the plush carpet, lips pursed in obvious disagreement. “He used to sleep off his hangovers in this office, but I’m sure Pennyworth told you about that. What he didn’t tell you, of course, was that that hangover was often a result of drinking with me in this very room the night before.”
Lucius had cherished those moments when they had come, riding high on another board victory or new budget approval. Thomas had been his brother-in-arms back then, always pushing him forward in his own place. Always advocating for better.
He’d also had a predilection for Japanese whiskey that Lucius, once indoctrinated, hadn’t ever been able to fully kick. There was still a bottle of Yamazaki in one of the cabinets above the wet bar, waiting for its moment.
“So it’s a Wayne tradition,” Wayne replied, with an odd tone. He clearly hadn’t enjoyed the comparison, for some reason. The arm returned to his eyes, shielding his face. “Though my current… condition isn’t your fault.”
The rare times Wayne had accepted a drink with him, he’d never finished his glass. Lucius didn’t get the impression, outside of the public eye, that Wayne drank much at all.
“No,” Lucius said, pressing his lips together. “It's not.”
He took the time to replace Wayne’s glass of water, dumping the red-tinged glass in the wet bar sink. The fresh glass was set down on the coffee table for whenever the man could stomach it.
Lucius checked his watch and decided to make coffee. If Amanda couldn’t track down Wayne, they were short of a quorum and couldn’t continue into executive session. He gave her an optimistic thirty minutes before she was back up here demanding to know if he’d seen Wayne.
By the time his coffee was steaming in the mug, Wayne was asleep on the couch. His arm had fallen away from his eyes, revealing a face slack with sleep.
Lucius stood by his desk, using the opportunity to examine Wayne without reproach. His eyes were better adjusted to the darkness, now that he’d been away from his computer for more than a few moments.
There were dark circles under Wayne’s eyes, lending a gaunt appearance to the rest of his face. His left arm cradled his chest on one side, protecting the ribs there from any sudden movement. Even in outright sleep, he seemed tense, ready to spring up at a moment’s notice.
Soldiers slept like that. Exhausted, injured, but wary. Even while unconscious.
Lucius turned up his speakers slightly, letting the stanzas of soft jazz spill further into the room. He returned to his desk, powering up the monitor with a wince at the screen brightness.
There was a polite knock on the door. Lucius looked up, spotting Director Kaln’s executive assistant. Brian -- glasses, always wore thick boots with his dress pants. Nice enough.
“Mr. Fox,” Brian said, taking a half-step over the threshold. “Have you seen Mr. Wayne? It sounds like they need you both upstairs to restart the executive session.”
Lucius could feel Wayne’s eyes on him in the darkness, though he couldn’t exactly say how. He knew, however, that Wayne had been awake a half-second before Brian’s hand had even made contact with his doorframe.
“I’ll be sure to pass along the message,” Lucius said, giving Brian a curt smile. “Busy day, isn’t it? Tracking down wayward CEOs is exhausting work.”
Predictably, the soft deflection distracted Brian instantly. “I just don’t know where he could have gone. The doormen swear they didn’t see him leave, so he’s in the building somewhere.”
“Hmm,” Lucius said, noncommittal. “It’s a large building.”
112 floors, to be precise. Full to the brim with employees, equipment, and random small crawl spaces for enterprising hideaways.
“That’s the problem,” Brian said, agonized. He backed out of Lucius’ office, giving him a wave. “I’ll be back as soon as we find him. You’ll be up there soon, right? I can’t track down the entire C-suite today. I just can’t.”
“You won’t need to track me down,” Lucius reassured. “I promise I’ll stay right here until I’m needed. Right in this exact chair, even.”
“Thank you,” Brian said from the hallway, far louder than he should have. “You’re the best, Mr. Fox!”
Lucius glanced over at Wayne, who was still laid-out on the couch. He was pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes screwed shut like the noise had pained him.
Definitely a concussion.
“Well,” Lucius said, pitching his voice to a soothing level. “I think that’ll buy us some time. Hopefully they’ll run into each other and realize that checking back here again would be a waste.”
There was a soft grunt from the shadows, which Lucius took as agreement. He sat back down at his desk, checking the side of his mug to see if his coffee was still hot.
It wasn’t, but he wasn’t in the mood to get up and make a fresh cup. Especially since that would make more noise.
After a few minutes of scrolling through his email, Lucius gave in and pulled up the pdf of the line items for the executive session. He opened the third one, scrolling through the contract and ignoring the existing edits.
“Is that 3B?”
Lucius looked up from the monitor, startled. Wayne was sitting up slightly on the couch, head braced by two pillows he’d stolen from the other chairs at some point between Lucius setting down the fresh water and opening the contract.
It occurred to him, belatedly, that this was the most unfettered access he’d had to his CEO in several months. Surely the most continuous. Wayne didn’t tend to linger in his presence if he wasn’t after something from R&D, since he usually assumed -- correctly -- that Lucius would subject him to questions. Wayne Enterprises-related questions, of course.
Lucius sat back in his seat, crossing his legs. “Did you have thoughts on Connie’s edits to the seventh part?”
“You mean, did Connie go through the General Provisions with a red pen and scribble on everything until it was illegible?” Wayne said, with some snark. “I wouldn’t call those edits so much as abstract art. I mean, she printed out the PDF to write on it and then re-uploaded it to the BOD server. Who does that?”
The sudden barrage of words seemed to tire Wayne, who rubbed at a spot between his eyebrows. After a moment, he seemed to remember he had a glass of water and reached for it, taking a long drink.
“Those were my thoughts as well,” Lucius said, quietly amused. “We’re well past red pen now. She’ll have words for you in the executive session, though. Half of those line items had your initials next to them.”
“Great,” Wayne groaned, shifting into a more comfortable position on the couch. “Read it to me?”
Lucius blinked. “What?”
“I suddenly decided to stop reading,” Wayne said. “Terrible habit. Never should have started. But since you’re here, would you do me a favor and read out the worst of it before we get caught?”
“You want me to read half of this entire contract,” Lucius glanced back at his screen, “Out loud, to myself, in my own office?”
“Yes. If that wasn’t clear.”
“It’s crystal clear, Mr. Wayne,” Lucius said, shaking his head. “Just a little strange.”
Wayne didn’t have a response to that. Which suited Lucius just fine. The only reason he’d had an upper hand in this conversation was because Wayne was under the weather. Normally, he held his own, and barely that.
“Provisions,” Lucius cleared his throat. “This--”
“Start on page 769,” Wayne interrupted. “I already skimmed this part.”
Lucius stared down at his monitor, impressed. After a moment, he paged over to 769, and, in a fit of mischief, began reading off of 770 instead.
“The provision of--”
“Now you’re messing with me,” Wayne said. He sounded amused. He might have even been smiling. “I said 769, didn’t I?”
“Maybe we have different PDF versions, Mr. Wayne,” Lucius said, trying not to smile. “I could start a few sentences back?”
There was a beat of silence. “Twelve lines back. That was 769 in my version.”
Lucius counted twelve lines back. He’d ended up right at the top of page 769, because of course Wayne had committed even that to memory. “You have an excellent memory, Mr. Wayne.”
“I don’t think that’s what the first line says, Mr. Fox.”
Now Lucius smiled, shaking his head again. “My mistake, sir.”
He hovered his cursor over the first line of page 769, taking a breath. As he did so, he swore he could feel Wayne relax just a tiny bit more, slumping back against the pillows in the shadowy corner he’d created for himself.
“General provisions,” Lucius began, keeping his voice low. “Executive acknowledges and agrees that, for purposes of Sections 5, 6, 7, 8, and 9 of this Agreement, the term 'Company' shall include the Company's direct and indirect controlled subsidiaries and affiliates. Executive acknowledges and agrees that the type and period…”
“Periods,” Wayne corrected softly. “Not period.”
Lucius marked it on the document. “Connie missed that one.”
“Maybe because she didn’t read it out loud.”
Lucius took the point, resuming his earlier place. “Executive acknowledges and agrees that the type and periods 13 of restrictions imposed in Sections 5, 6, 7, 8, and 9 of this Agreement are fair, reasonable and no greater than necessary to protect the Company's legitimate business interests, and that such restrictions are intended solely to protect the legitimate interests of the Company, including its Confidential Information, goodwill, and business interests.”
He looked up from his monitor, but there was no movement from Wayne’s corner. He couldn’t even hear the man breathing, but that was normal. If he hadn’t known there was someone asleep on his couch, he would’ve never spotted Wayne’s shadowy form curled up on the leather.
That was one difference between him and Thomas. The odd nights Thomas had spent on his couch involved the younger man sprawled out across the full length of the furniture, limbs thrown haphazardly in all directions. Thomas snored like a firetruck on a good night, which meant no one had ever missed his presence in Lucius’ office.
Bruce Wayne slept silently, curled up around his most vulnerable points. Like sleep was a temporary respite, and nothing more. A moment stolen out of time, protection made real in the shadows that clung to this corner of the room. Like the call for action could come at any moment.
Lucius risked a glance out of his covered window. Through the mesh of the screen, he could see the hazy Gotham sky begin to darken. There was rain on the way. And a high-rise building always felt storms more intensely than others.
Amanda rushed back into his office a few minutes later, flushed on either cheek. She stared at him, eyes narrowed.
“Still haven’t found him?” Lucius asked, effortlessly blank. It was easier, when it wasn’t Wayne staring back at him.
“Not yet,” Amanda said, lips pressed together in a thin line. “Are you sure you haven’t seen him? Lisa at the front desk swore she saw him come this way an hour ago."
Lucius was too good at this game to give away Wayne’s position with a brief glance. He was also too good to answer a question with anything resembling a coherent answer. “Maybe he jumped out of a window.”
“Ha. You’re funny.” Amanda didn't laugh. “Twenty minutes, and then we’re calling in DePaul to make a quorum. You’d better be up there.”
Lucius very much doubted they’d be up and rolling in twenty minutes, but that didn’t bear verbal acknowledgement. Especially to a Board-wrangler. “Yes ma’am.”
He returned to his monitor, a quiet dismissal Amanda eventually picked up on with a huff. When she was gone, Lucius saw -- from the corner of his eye -- a flash of Wayne’s teeth as he settled back down on the couch, no longer on alert.
After a moment, Lucius cleared his throat, picking up where he’d left off.
“Executive agrees to be subject to the jurisdiction of such court and hereby waives any objection to the jurisdiction or venue thereof…”