Alfred Pennyworth: Michael Caine (I was SO excited when they made him Al, he is my favorite!)

The curtains were pulled aside, spreading light onto Bruce's eyelids and he grumbled sleepily, wincing as he attempted to move his extremities. The two ribs on his right were definitely broken, and he only hoped that the ankle was just badly sprained.

"Morning, Masta' Wayne, I trust you slept as well as can be expected?" Alfred's voice chimed as he bustled about the room.

Bruce squinted at him through one eye, still trying to adjust to the obnoxious light that was bombarding his vision. His head was still pounding slightly, and he was desperately attempting to stifle the cough which he knew would send agonizing pain shooting through his ribcage. His attempts were unsuccessful, however, and he rolled to his side sputtering loudly and clutching his side. He had inhaled too much of the black gas and bits of it still mingled in his sputum.

"How's Tim?" he enquired hoarsely.

"A sight betta' off than you, Suh, I must say. His leg and back are badly bruised, but young men always have a way of bouncing back, if you don't mind my pun", the butler answered with a grin.

The explosion set off by Harley the night before had sent Robin's motorcycle careening through the air, tossing him off and onto the overflowing contents of a dumpster which, by luck, belonged to the nearby bakery. The trash bags full of unused dough and unsold pastries broke his fall before bouncing him lightly out and onto the concrete surface of the street. Batman, however, had not been so lucky; his bike had managed to stay on the ground as he attempted to swerve around the obstacles of patrol cars debris that were now flying in his direction. If he had only taken his eyes off of the back of the black van he was pursuing, he would have noticed the tire that flew in his direction, giving him time to react. As it was, he was knocked from his bike and slammed into a streetlight, but he couldn't remember much after that.

"Are you calling me old, Alfred?" he asked through sharp breaths of air as he tried to sit up in bed.

"No, Suh, I was merely pointing out the circumstantial evidence that separates his current condition from your own", he answered slyly, handing him a cup of hot tea and two pain pills.

Bruce tossed the pills into his mouth and swallowed them with a mouthful of the hot lemon tea. It felt good as it hit his stomach, and the moist fumes aided his breathing. He closed his eyes and rested his head back onto the headboard of the bed, "I shouldn't have let him come, it's still too soon for him."

Alfred spread a dollop of antibiotic cream onto his fingers and rubbed it against the gash in Bruce's chin, "If my memory serves me well, I seem to rememba' anotha' young lad whom you tried to prevent following you out of one of your many adventures; Masta' Grayson remains just as willful to this day, as I unda'stand it."

"Yeah, and all the protection in the world couldn't stop what happened to Jason or Barbra", Bruce muttered.

His butler straightened up and stared down at him, "What happened to Masta' Todd and Ms. Gordon was no fault of yours, Suh, an' you must come to terms with that."

Bruce sighed, eyes still closed, and decided it best to change the subject, "That girlfriend of his has become much more than a nuisance over the years."

"Suh?"

"Harley Quinn; she's become a dangerous ally. Frankly, I'm surprise he's kept her around for so long", he lifted his head and opened his eyes, "Ya know, Alfred, the only thing he even bothered to take last night was that bejeweled rose."

"Worth more than a few million dollars I imagine."

"Yeah, but it isn't like him; he doesn't care about monetary possessions. He didn't even bother to smash or blow anything up, at least not in the museum, and part of me says it was actually Harley who set the explosion; it looked more like one of hers. He normally picks places to attack that he knows will be crawling with innocent bystanders; make a scene, ensue chaos, but he's been straying from his M.O. lately. It's strange", Bruce squinted as he pondered over his rival's unusual behavioral change.

Alfred grabbed the empty tea cup from his hand and laid his robe on the edge of the bed, "I have learned to expect nothing less than the unexpected from a man such as him, and one would indeed not expect for him to have a genuine emotional attachment to anyone otha' than himself."

"Attachment", Bruce muttered under his breath as he thought, "Hm."

He inhaled a sharp breath as he sat up to pull his robe on over his arms. The pain was less intense with the medication, but it would still be difficult to move until the ribs had healed some. He looked down at his swollen ankle and attempted to rotated it, grimacing at the soreness and crunching sensation from within. Laying it carefully onto the rug, he pushed into the bed with his fists, causing the pain to stab at his ribcage, and stood slowly. He could walk on it with a limp, but the stairs might be an interesting task. Hobbling to the bedroom door, he caught sight of Tim emerging from his own bedroom down the hall.

They exchanged a glance and he walked over to him, "How's your ribs?"

"I've had worse, you?"

Tim rubbed his lower back with a hand, "Pretty bruised and there's a lump in the muscle, but should be fine. Can you make it down the stairs on that ankle?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine. Listen, I don't want you going back out for a while. You got really lucky last night, but things could have been much worse."

His sidekick shot him an angry look, "That's bullshit! I've trained for almost two years now!"

Bruce didn't feel like arguing. He grunted as he limped past his angry partner and started down the hallway for the stairs.

"You can't stop me, you know", he heard him challenge behind him, but he ignored it and kept walking, "Hey, what's The Joker's deal lately, anyway?"

He stopped.

"I mean", Tim continued, "when we were leaving the museum, I saw him waiting for Harley who had fallen behind with some other guy. He never waits for anyone, does he? I've never seen him give a rats about one of his thugs before."

Bruce hobbled around to face him, "You noticed that, too, huh?"

"It's strange."

"Yeah, I know", he chewed the inside of his mouth as he stared at the rug in the hallway.

"You don't think he could actually care about her, do you?"

Bruce looked up at him, "Seven years ago, I would have told you The Joker was incapable of human emotion, but now…now I just don't know."