"You really should be of to bed, Master Bruce" Alfred said in a strict voice. The thick British accent, his many years in the butlering business and his polite manners never stopped him in talking to Bruce as if he was speaking to a naughty child. The boys had always loved that. Nobody dared to speak to Bruce, and NOBODY dared to speak to Batman, as Alfred did.

When the boys were still growing into their big-boy tights, Bruce would often yell at them for not taking their training seriously or for taking "unnecessary risks in the field". Alfred would always calm him down by reminding him of his own escapades as a young man in that particular tone.

"You haven't even closed the wound yet" Bruce said in a sore throat, mildly surprised. Alfred would always make sure everybody was as stitched up as needed to be before sending them all to bed.

"Oh pish posh. It's just three more stitches" the butler said, while pushing the surgical needle through Bruce's right bicep. Poison Ivy had been in good shape. Luckily, only Bruce came home with any larger injuries. Tim had been distracted, probably by the villains "charm", and was almost hit straight on by a thorn the size of a coffee table. Hadn't Bruce pushed him out of the way, the poison and the open wound that thing would have inflicted on him... All the men in the cave were thinking the same thing, but only Tim was beating himself up about it. He was just easily distracted these days.

"You're not your usual smothering self, Alfred. Are you alright?" Dick finished his third home-made biscuit with a huge grin. He and Tim had lots of smaller wounds, but they had been able to tend for them themselves after all three had been given a dosage of anti-toxins. They had thrown themselves over Alfred's tray of tea and biscuits, while waiting for Bruce to get stitched-up.

"Wouldn't you agree Tim?" he added and pushed Tim with his elbow hard enough to make Tim spill a couple of drops of his tea. He had been awfully quiet after the fight.

"I guess" Tim said in a low voice while looking intensely into his teacup. Alfred and Dick begged Bruce with a look to say something to the poor boy. One little "Hey, don't think about it" from Bruce would return him to his normal witty self.

"Maybe all the years of pampering you boys have made me harsh." Alfred chuckled, while closing another stitch. Bruce closed his eyes slowly. They all knew that this meant he was in extreme pain, but he had denied any form of anesthetics, as always.

"Are you alright, Bruce?" Dick asked with a great deal of concern, knowing the answer as he formed the words.

"I'm fine." Bruce didn't even open his eyes as he answered. This was bad. Alfred and Dick exchanged looks.

"The antitoxins should do their job soon, sir." Alfred said, working on another one of the nine stitches.

"I know" Bruce answered, still without opening his eyes.

Tim looked into his half empty cup of tea like his life depended on it. He couldn't take it. "I better go to bed" he said without changing his posture.

"Despite the charming conversation, I guess I will too. Is it okay if I borrow my old room?" Dick asked smiling. He always tried to cheer them up when the air got too thick with guilty consciousness or open flesh wounds. Sometimes he would even try to get Bruce to smile – a battle he seldom won.

"Of course, Master Richard. I've already made both of your beds." Alfred cut the last piece of thread and put away his medical kit. "The same goes for you, Master Bruce."

Bruce didn't answer, but opened his eyes slowly and blinked a couple of times. He had tried to meditate, but with no luck. Too much pain and too much talking.

"Maybe the young men of the house should introduce you to the piece of furniture we refer to as "bed"? I know it might look foreign to you, but it is really a quite pleasant-"

"That will be all, Alfred. Thank you." Bruce cut off the butler in a tired fashion, but no anger was to be detected in his voice. Had the sarcastic remark been made by any other man than his trusted Alfred, he would have sent the speaker the famous "bat glare" or perhaps even his left hook.

"Very well, sir". Alfred rolled his eyes and shook his head in a manner that made even Tim crack a smile.

The four men went up the stairs together, saying their goodnights in the hall way. Bruce had only one thing in mind: Rest. The wound and Ivy's plant toxins was raging through his system, and the only thing that would heal his injury and numb the pain was time. Before he went for his bed, he took his time to turn around and say: "Tim…"

Tim almost rushed over to him. Ollie had once called Bruce's boys "a bunch of starving love-sick puppies". Bruce saw where he got the idea from.

He placed a hand on Tim's shoulder, looking him straight in the eye.

"We have all been charmed by Ivy's power before. Remember what tonight taught you and use it instead of beating yourself up about it."

"Yes sir". Tim was almost 17, had experienced more than most 80 year olds, and often fought to protect not just the city, but also his country and home planet. But when Bruce talked to him like that, he felt reduced to a normal 16 year old in trouble with his dad.

"Trust me: stay away from female villains." He said while padding the boy on the shoulder, mustering what looked like a smile, then send the boy off to bed. Alfred would have been proud of him.

He then walked over to the nearest bedroom, but while he pushed down the door handle, he was suddenly stopped by Alfred, who ran towards him.

"Sir? Excuse me, sir? I have prepared the master bedroom for you."

"Well the man who does my laundry told me to not get blood over the silk sheets, so I went for the-"

"I would really prefer you slept in the master bedroom tonight… sir!" Alfred sent him the same look he usually made when the batsignal was on while Bruce Wayne was at some great ball or dinner party. But the sun had been up for almost an hour. And there were hardly any villains to stop in the master bedroom.

Bruce scrutinized Alfred's face, but could only detect a light hint of a smile. He did as his old friend advised him to, carefully scanning for clues, as he opened the door to his bedroom. The precautions he usually took in the field had become a reflex. It didn't take him long to figure out why the butler had been so insistent in his advice. He could hear the shower running and spotted a pair of black leather high heels that had been carelessly kicked off by someone sitting on the bed. A thong lying on the floor with a cheetah print closed the deal.

"Selina?" he said, closing the door behind him. Suddenly he wasn't so tired.