Fic: Chicken Noodle Soup (1/1)
Title: Chicken Noodle Soup (1/1)
Author: BradyGirl_12
Pairings/Characters: Bruce/Jim
Continuity: Batman Begins/The Dark Knight/The Dark Knight Rises
Genres: Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Slice-Of-Life
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Spoilers: None
Summary: When Jim is sick, Bruce insists upon taking care of him.
Date Of Completion: March 18, 2013
Date Of Posting: April 9, 2013
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, DC and Warner Brothers do, more’s the pity.
Word Count: 1138
Feedback welcome and appreciated.
When I’m feeling blue,
All I need is you,
Whether rain or shine,
You’re always mine.
Ada Powell
"Love Poems For Young Ladies
And Gentlemen"
1896 C.E.
Jim coughed violently, his chest already sore. He collapsed back against the pillows, glad for the double set. One pillow was just too thin. He pulled the quilt closer.
Rain sluiced down the windows as a gust of wind rattled the panes. The creak of the back door opening alerted him to a visitor downstairs. Despite his stuffed-up head he could hear things so clearly.
“Jim?”
“I’m up here!”
Quick footsteps headed up the stairs and Bruce Wayne appeared in the doorway of Jim’s bedroom, looking like a sweet dream with gleaming wet skin and hair plastered to his head. He wore a light-gray raincoat and carried an umbrella.
“You’re sick!”
“That’s right.” Jim sneezed and knocked his glasses askew.
“You need looking after.”
“And who’s going to do that?”
“Me.”
Jim laughed, ending in a racking cough. “Alfred takes care…of you. You don’t know…how to take care…of anybody.”
Bruce was unruffled. “Let me go down and fix some chicken soup.” He vanished downstairs while Jim blew his nose. His foggy head reeled as he sneezed again. Suddenly his eyes widened and he stumbled out of bed and down the stairs, holding tightly to the stair railing.
Bruce was in the kitchen, filling a pot with chicken soup from a can. “Jim, why are you out of bed?”
“Alfred says…{cough, cough}…you should never…{cough, cough}…be allowed…in a kitchen…{cough, cough}…by yourself.”
Bruce smirked. “Did he now?”
“Yes.” The room began to spin.
“Here now, you should be in bed. Don’t worry, I won’t burn the kitchen down.”
Jim looked dubious but allowed Bruce to help him back up the stairs.
“Get in.” Bruce gently caressed Jim’s back as helped the older man into bed. “I can cook chicken soup.”
“Without…burning it?” Jim wheezed.
“Ha, ha, you’re pretty funny for a sick man.” Bruce tucked the blankets and quilt around Jim, who sank into the pillows. “Now just rest. If I need the fire extinguisher, I know where it is.” He laughed at Jim’s heartfelt groan and returned downstairs.
Jim remained in a haze, his cold medicine fogging his senses. Despite his fuzzy brain he was amused and touched by his young lover’s devotion.
You sure lucked out a second time in the romance department, Gordon: first Barbara who was a great wife all those years and now a boyfriend who’s not just rich, handsome and charming, but genuine.
He was anxious about his kitchen but was too tired to do anything about it. His eyes closed as he listened to the rain hitting the windows.
& & & & & &
“I’m sorry, Jim, I didn’t mean to wake you.”
Jim’s eyes fluttered open to the tantalizing sight of Bruce clad in jeans and a soft black shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His hair was still damp from the rain and his smile was warm and charming.
“What’s that?” Jim croaked.
“This?” Bruce held out the tray he’d carried upstairs. “Your chicken noodle soup with a cup of tea.”
Jim sat up while Bruce set the tray over his lap. The billionaire fluffed Jim’s pillows and picked up the water pitcher from the nightstand.
“I’ll freshen this up for you.”
Bruce’s smile warmed Jim’s heart as he turned and exited the bedroom. Jim inhaled the scent of the soup, barely able to smell it but his stomach was ready for some food. Still, he was sick, not crazy. He’d better test it first before going all in.
Cautiously he took a small taste. He could barely register the flavor but what was there was fine. He took a bigger bite.
By the time Bruce returned, Jim had eaten half of the soup. “Well, looks like I’m not a total failure as a cook.”
Jim sniffled. “Maybe so.”
Bruce laughed as he put the water pitcher on the nightstand. “Would you like some water?”
“The tea is fine.”
“I had a fine teacher when it comes to brewing tea.”
“Ah, yes, the best.”
Bruce had brought up a glass and poured water into it from the pitcher. He pulled the rocking chair from the corner and sat down by the bed. “Would you like some bread to go with that?”
“No,” Jim rasped. “Fine just as is.”
Bruce looked pleased as he sipped his water. “They predict rain for the next few days.”
Jim grunted. “Why am I not surprised?”
“Ah, yes, springtime in Gotham. Nothing quite like it.”
Jim finished his soup and the spoon clattered in the bowl. “Why do we…{cough, cough}…love this awful city…so much?”
Bruce’s smile was affectionate. “Because we’re as curmudgeonly as it is.”
“Good enough…reason.”
“Here, let me take this.”
Bruce took away the tray and went down to the kitchen. Jim stumbled out of bed and to the bathroom. He did his business and brushed his teeth, rinsing his mouth as a knock on the door startled him.
“You all right, Jim?”
“Fine.” He put the toothbrush back in its holder. “Would you get out a new set of pajamas for me, please?”
“Okay.”
Jim came out of the bathroom and Bruce helped him change into fresh pajamas. All this activity left the sick man close to exhausted. Bruce’s touch was tender and solicitous as he took care of his lover.
“You’re awfully good to me.”
Bruce’s smile was amused. “And why wouldn’t I be? I take care of the ones I love.”
“Mmph.” Jim settled into bed, fighting to keep his eyes open. “You do a good job, Mr. Wayne.”
“Why, thank you, Commissioner Gordon.”
The phone on the nightstand rang, startling them both. Jim reached for it but Bruce beat him to it. He picked up the receiver and said, “Gordon residence. Oh, hello, Detective Montoya. I’m sorry, the Commissioner is too sick to deal with Mayor Garcia right now. Sorry ‘bout that.” He ignored Jim’s frown. “Of course I will. Thank you.” He hung up. “How quaint. You still have a landline.”
“What did Montoya want?”
“The mayor has a little problem but forget it. You are on sick leave and Montoya’s sharp. She can handle things.”
“You do…{cough, cough}…know that people will talk?”
“About what?”
“You…{cough, cough}…answering my bedroom phone.”
“Oh, that.” Bruce waved his hand airily. “Don’t people already know?”
“Not everyone.” Jim glared in exasperation.
Bruce leaned forward with a mischievous look. “Cool.”
Jim couldn’t help it. He laughed. Bruce was absolutely delighted. Jim wished that he could take that delight into his bed but there would be time enough for that once he was well again. And now?
Jim grasped Bruce’s hand. The younger man suddenly looked shy and squeezed his lover’s hand. Jim allowed himself to fall asleep with a smile on his face.
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Author: BradyGirl_12
Pairings/Characters: Bruce/Jim
Continuity: Batman Begins/The Dark Knight/The Dark Knight Rises
Genres: Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Slice-Of-Life
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Spoilers: None
Summary: When Jim is sick, Bruce insists upon taking care of him.
Date Of Completion: March 18, 2013
Date Of Posting: April 9, 2013
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, DC and Warner Brothers do, more’s the pity.
Word Count: 1138
Feedback welcome and appreciated.
When I’m feeling blue,
All I need is you,
Whether rain or shine,
You’re always mine.
Ada Powell
"Love Poems For Young Ladies
And Gentlemen"
1896 C.E.
Jim coughed violently, his chest already sore. He collapsed back against the pillows, glad for the double set. One pillow was just too thin. He pulled the quilt closer.
Rain sluiced down the windows as a gust of wind rattled the panes. The creak of the back door opening alerted him to a visitor downstairs. Despite his stuffed-up head he could hear things so clearly.
“Jim?”
“I’m up here!”
Quick footsteps headed up the stairs and Bruce Wayne appeared in the doorway of Jim’s bedroom, looking like a sweet dream with gleaming wet skin and hair plastered to his head. He wore a light-gray raincoat and carried an umbrella.
“You’re sick!”
“That’s right.” Jim sneezed and knocked his glasses askew.
“You need looking after.”
“And who’s going to do that?”
“Me.”
Jim laughed, ending in a racking cough. “Alfred takes care…of you. You don’t know…how to take care…of anybody.”
Bruce was unruffled. “Let me go down and fix some chicken soup.” He vanished downstairs while Jim blew his nose. His foggy head reeled as he sneezed again. Suddenly his eyes widened and he stumbled out of bed and down the stairs, holding tightly to the stair railing.
Bruce was in the kitchen, filling a pot with chicken soup from a can. “Jim, why are you out of bed?”
“Alfred says…{cough, cough}…you should never…{cough, cough}…be allowed…in a kitchen…{cough, cough}…by yourself.”
Bruce smirked. “Did he now?”
“Yes.” The room began to spin.
“Here now, you should be in bed. Don’t worry, I won’t burn the kitchen down.”
Jim looked dubious but allowed Bruce to help him back up the stairs.
“Get in.” Bruce gently caressed Jim’s back as helped the older man into bed. “I can cook chicken soup.”
“Without…burning it?” Jim wheezed.
“Ha, ha, you’re pretty funny for a sick man.” Bruce tucked the blankets and quilt around Jim, who sank into the pillows. “Now just rest. If I need the fire extinguisher, I know where it is.” He laughed at Jim’s heartfelt groan and returned downstairs.
Jim remained in a haze, his cold medicine fogging his senses. Despite his fuzzy brain he was amused and touched by his young lover’s devotion.
You sure lucked out a second time in the romance department, Gordon: first Barbara who was a great wife all those years and now a boyfriend who’s not just rich, handsome and charming, but genuine.
He was anxious about his kitchen but was too tired to do anything about it. His eyes closed as he listened to the rain hitting the windows.
& & & & & &
“I’m sorry, Jim, I didn’t mean to wake you.”
Jim’s eyes fluttered open to the tantalizing sight of Bruce clad in jeans and a soft black shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His hair was still damp from the rain and his smile was warm and charming.
“What’s that?” Jim croaked.
“This?” Bruce held out the tray he’d carried upstairs. “Your chicken noodle soup with a cup of tea.”
Jim sat up while Bruce set the tray over his lap. The billionaire fluffed Jim’s pillows and picked up the water pitcher from the nightstand.
“I’ll freshen this up for you.”
Bruce’s smile warmed Jim’s heart as he turned and exited the bedroom. Jim inhaled the scent of the soup, barely able to smell it but his stomach was ready for some food. Still, he was sick, not crazy. He’d better test it first before going all in.
Cautiously he took a small taste. He could barely register the flavor but what was there was fine. He took a bigger bite.
By the time Bruce returned, Jim had eaten half of the soup. “Well, looks like I’m not a total failure as a cook.”
Jim sniffled. “Maybe so.”
Bruce laughed as he put the water pitcher on the nightstand. “Would you like some water?”
“The tea is fine.”
“I had a fine teacher when it comes to brewing tea.”
“Ah, yes, the best.”
Bruce had brought up a glass and poured water into it from the pitcher. He pulled the rocking chair from the corner and sat down by the bed. “Would you like some bread to go with that?”
“No,” Jim rasped. “Fine just as is.”
Bruce looked pleased as he sipped his water. “They predict rain for the next few days.”
Jim grunted. “Why am I not surprised?”
“Ah, yes, springtime in Gotham. Nothing quite like it.”
Jim finished his soup and the spoon clattered in the bowl. “Why do we…{cough, cough}…love this awful city…so much?”
Bruce’s smile was affectionate. “Because we’re as curmudgeonly as it is.”
“Good enough…reason.”
“Here, let me take this.”
Bruce took away the tray and went down to the kitchen. Jim stumbled out of bed and to the bathroom. He did his business and brushed his teeth, rinsing his mouth as a knock on the door startled him.
“You all right, Jim?”
“Fine.” He put the toothbrush back in its holder. “Would you get out a new set of pajamas for me, please?”
“Okay.”
Jim came out of the bathroom and Bruce helped him change into fresh pajamas. All this activity left the sick man close to exhausted. Bruce’s touch was tender and solicitous as he took care of his lover.
“You’re awfully good to me.”
Bruce’s smile was amused. “And why wouldn’t I be? I take care of the ones I love.”
“Mmph.” Jim settled into bed, fighting to keep his eyes open. “You do a good job, Mr. Wayne.”
“Why, thank you, Commissioner Gordon.”
The phone on the nightstand rang, startling them both. Jim reached for it but Bruce beat him to it. He picked up the receiver and said, “Gordon residence. Oh, hello, Detective Montoya. I’m sorry, the Commissioner is too sick to deal with Mayor Garcia right now. Sorry ‘bout that.” He ignored Jim’s frown. “Of course I will. Thank you.” He hung up. “How quaint. You still have a landline.”
“What did Montoya want?”
“The mayor has a little problem but forget it. You are on sick leave and Montoya’s sharp. She can handle things.”
“You do…{cough, cough}…know that people will talk?”
“About what?”
“You…{cough, cough}…answering my bedroom phone.”
“Oh, that.” Bruce waved his hand airily. “Don’t people already know?”
“Not everyone.” Jim glared in exasperation.
Bruce leaned forward with a mischievous look. “Cool.”
Jim couldn’t help it. He laughed. Bruce was absolutely delighted. Jim wished that he could take that delight into his bed but there would be time enough for that once he was well again. And now?
Jim grasped Bruce’s hand. The younger man suddenly looked shy and squeezed his lover’s hand. Jim allowed himself to fall asleep with a smile on his face.
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