"Ugh..." The pang of a migraine is the first thing he notices once he's awake. It's all a blur, scents and lights coming together as some sort of Frankenstein of the night before. A puzzling nightmare filled with excesses and bad choices — even though he doesn't recall being completely aware of them.

"Goddamn it." Groaning, feeling like he's aged at least a decade, he gets on his feet and squints his eyes to get the first glimpse of hell. Destruction, the suite Bruce rented for both him and you now a picture of insanity. His eyes almost escape their sockets at shredded curtains, the dark smoke coming from the kitchen, the discarded clothes on the floor and... The calm, quiet dog sleeping on the corner. A stray he's certain he's never seen before.

This is not how it was supposed to go. It was an in and out mission, gathering information on the Penguin's latest schemes in Las Vegas, of all places. But it's been so long since Richard left Gotham, always trapped between Blüdhaven and his hometown, that he got... Distracted. He let his guard down.

"Wake up." His voice comes out dry as a desert, and he pinches his nose bridge when he finds your silhouette all curled up on the floor. He's thankful a blanket covers your body as not to see the horrors the night might've casted upon you. Softly, the tip of his foot touches your side, checking you're still breathing. Thank God. "We're screwed."