#pi riddler

This man takes better care of his belongings than I do.

Also, muscles.

"I might be getting sick. I don't feel good."

Alarmed, Bruce touched the back of his hand to Edward's forehead. "Headaches again? Are you running a fever?"

For a moment, Edward leaned into the hand, humming softly, before jerking away and swatting at him. "Quit it! You're only making it worse! Your hands are so warm, they make me feel woozy."

"Hmm, you do seem flushed," Bruce granted, taking his hands back, but didn't comment on the fact that Edward hadn't felt unusually warm or that he only looked flushed after Bruce had touched him. "Any other symptoms?"

"Look at you, Mr. Wayne, playing nurse," Edward cooed.

"My father was a doctor," he reminded him. "I know some things. I'm not a complete idiot."

"No, you're not," Edward mumbled, and sounded far too affectionate.

"So?" Bruce pressed his fingers beneath Edward's jaw, then to either side of his neck, watching the flush follow his fingers and Edward's body give a harsh shudder. "Headache, check. Fever, check. Does anything else hurt? Body aches, joint pain, that kind of thing?"

"Chest pain," Edward reported firmly.

"Elevated heart rate?"

"Definitely."

"Hmm, that's not good…" Bruce took one of Edward's wrists in his hand, feeling the rapid pulse beneath the skin. "Any dizziness? Lightheadedness, maybe, or brain fog? Have you been more forgetful lately?"

"You mean besides the massive and all-encompassing amnesia?"

Bruce gave him an unimpressed look. "Yes. Besides that."

"In that case, no to the brain fog, yes to the dizziness."

"Alright, then…"

At the touch to his sides, Edward jolted, making a strangled noise. "What are you-?!"

"Does it hurt anywhere when I touch here?" Bruce asked, searching for where Edward's appendix might be.

"No! I told you- No, it doesn't hurt. Do you have to-"

"Just making sure," Bruce assured him. Despite his own sneaking suspicions about Edward's mysterious 'ailment', the man himself seemed to be taking it seriously enough. "Any nausea? Loss of appetite?"

"Before or after you started squeezing my stomach?"

"Edward," Bruce reprimanded. "I'm trying to help."

"I… appreciate that," Edward murmured. His fingers tapped nervously where they still gripped Bruce's forearms. "I… Yes, I haven't been eating much lately. I've been feeling very listless, in general, even when I should be excited about a case."

"Mmhmm… I can get you set up with a doctor, if you'd like. I know health insurance can be a trouble for someone working freelance."

Edward shook his head. "No, I wouldn't want to trouble you. You're busy enough as it is."

"It's just a phone call, Edward. It's no trouble at all."

"I mean the visit itself," he clarified.

Bruce frowned, confused. "Do you… need me there?"

"Well, the symptoms are much worse when you're around, so it only seems fitting," Edward explained, tone matter-of-fact as it always was, despite the inanity of the content.

"Are they, now?" Bruce used the grip he still had on Edward's waist to tug him closer, much to Edward's distress. "And if you were to get even closer to me…?"

Edward flushed a deep crimson, averting his gaze. "M-much worse. I feel like I'm dying, actually. M-my heart's pounding in my ears, I'm dizzier than ever, I feel very, very sick-"

"You know, I think I have your diagnosis."

"And what's that?" Edward grumbled.

I’ve wanted to do this edit for years