When Bruce awoke, it felt like a herd of wild elephants had stampeded over his head, reducing his head to a bloody stain of brain and crushed bone. He groaned noisily, reaching up to place a hand on his forehead, as he did so, he opened his eyes slowly. He recognised the room as his own, despite the slight double-vision he was experiencing. "What?" He murmured, rolling onto his back, pushing himself up so that he could sit up. "Alfred!" He called, his throat sore and scratchy, his voice cracking slightly - just as shattered and broken as his head felt.
Seconds later, in walked Alfred, looking eternally impeccable in his tuxedo, a smug smile on his face, "Did you have fun, Bruce?"
"Fun? I can't even remember what happened," He responded sourly, his vision returning to normal, two swaying Alfreds reduced to one singular intrigued butler.
Alfred raised one greying eyebrow at him, and handed him a glass of water, "I thought you'd need this," He started, "Last night, you attended one of Mr. Stark's parties-"
"Why would you let me do that?" Bruce asked, wide-eyed and nearly choking on his water, coughing a small bit out.
"You needed to spend some time outside of the manor, and no, galavanting around Gotham helping those in distress does not count. As I was saying, last night you attended one of Mr. Stark's parties. You got yourself quite drunk in a room full of America's richest people. While you were drunk, you revealed some interesting things about your friend Miss Prince to the guests." Alfred told him, an irritable tone to his British accent. And all of a sudden, Alfred did not look so smug. Instead, he looked rather disapproving, his white eyebrows furrowed and his jaw clenched.
Bruce's eyes widened instantly and he scrambles to sit up, completely and utterly panicked, his heart beginning to race, and despite the copious amounts of water he had just drank, his throat feels as dry as the sahara desert, "I did what?"
"Mr. Stark requests your presence at Stark Towers immediately. I suggest you also warn your friend that they will be after her too." Alfred responded, failing to draw a neutral expression into his face, walking out of the room.
"This is why I hate Stark's parties," Bruce grumbled as the door slammed to a close. Perhaps the tabloids had been right. Night of hell, indeed.