Hopefully this will tide you over untill i can get something else up.

DISCLAMER: I do not own Batman or anny of it's charicters, if i did it would be filled with smuttyness ^^

Bruce sat staring out of the panoramic windows of his penthouse. Batman's mask in hand, the sound of liquid hitting the floor the only noise.

Harvy was dead, Rachel was gone, and the city hated him, calling for his blood.
yes today was most assuridly a bad day.

Alfred watched his young charge quietly. The sound of blood driping to the floor making him wince.

"Know your limits master Wayne"
His words ecoed thrugh his own mind, yes, he had his limits, and he ignored them, sacrificeing everything to this demon he has created.

He calmly walked up behind his young master and began the tedious task of assessing his wounds.
several bullet wounds and knife wounds litterd his batterd body, and it did not go unoticed to Alfred that Bruce never spoke.

'Mentaly' alfred thought 'the damage is much worse'
He sighed and set about takeing the kevlar off, it was then that Bruce spoke.

"Alfred?" the name was quiet and rough, as if he was forcing himself to speek.
"Yes, master Bruce?"
"I want to kill him, Alfred, I want him dead..."
Alfred knew who Bruce was talking about. "Be strong master Bruce." and he answerd as he finished taking off the armor.
"Alfred..."
"yes?"
"I... I... I dream of him Alfred..."
Some what confused, Alfred sent him a curious look.
"Dream of him sir?"
Bruce broke down into scilent sobs.
"I want him alfred. I need him, and I hate it!!!"
relization dawned, Bruce was in love with the pscopath.
"Master Bruce..."
"I know it's sick alfred... he killed her, and Harvy... but, part of me still wants him! the rest wants him dead..."

There was quiet in the room for awhile as Alfred dressed the wounds.

'Far more mental damage... and less easaly repaired'
he thought as he left Bruce in the room, looking out at the city, listening to the sirens and the driping sound of blood.

i wrote this in like 10 minuts spur of the moment so... please review.

(p.s. i do not have a beata.)