A/N: For those who aren't familiar with Smallville, the "Red-Blue Blur" (or, later, just the "Blur") is how they referred to Not-Superman on the show, once he came out "publicly" in Metropolis and Lois "discovered" him. She named him that since all anyone ever saw was - you guessed it - just a blur of red and blue streaking past. They didn't allow him to be called "Superman" until the series finale. (And, boy, did they blow that moment. Do NOT get me started on how they screwed up the finale to the entire freaking series by making it more important to give Chloe her freaking 'special moment' instead of caring first and foremost about paying off 10 YEARS of Clark becoming Superman. Seriously. Don't go there. It will end badly.) Anyway, that's what the reference in this chapter is to.

Chapter 6

It's Not Easy Being Alfred

"Master Wayne, I had hoped, when you went out in a suit of actual cloth last night, you might have decided to take the night off and spend the evening in a real bed," Alfred Pennyworth said mildly as he placed the breakfast tray next to Bruce's elbow. Bruce responded with a noncommittal hum, which apparently prompted Alfred to add in a deceptively mild tone, "I don't know why we bothered to rebuild the Manor after the fire, given that you never step foot inside of it. If you insist upon spending so much time in these caves, perhaps we should move your furniture down here?"

Bruce barely glanced in the other man's direction as he stared at the computer screen displaying a list of Arkham's maximum security inmates. "I'm all for it," he agreed absently. "And we rebuilt because you insist I keep up appearances. Don't tell me you've changed your mind." His attention still on the computer, he reached for a piece of toast on the tray and bit into it, grimacing slightly when he realized it was stone cold.

"It was warm when I took it up to your bedroom. You do remember that you have one?" Alfred chided him, before Bruce could say anything. "And I haven't changed my mind. I had hoped that, if you pretended to have a life outside of Batman for a while, you might accidentally find yourself with one. It's all well and good for the Bat to spend his every waking moment in pursuit of justice, but you are also a man, and that means you need the occasional good night's sleep. At least once a month or so." He paused and then added significantly, "And a social life."

Bruce had been about to switch screens to the other subject of his current investigation, but his finger paused over the keyboard as he glanced over at Alfred. He masked his amusement as he pulled his hand away, leaving the image of the Joker on the screen. Alfred was clearly gearing up for a full-scale lecture. Knowing how much his beleaguered butler enjoyed his speeches about the importance of maintaining at least the appearance of a normal life, Bruce told himself it would almost be a shame to deny the older man the opportunity to do something he so loved. "I have a social life," he pointed out, watching his butler out of the corner of his eye. "I have you."

Alfred's long-suffering sigh spoke volumes about the inadequacy of this response as he placed a stack of morning newspapers on the desk, next to the breakfast tray. "I'm gratified to be of such service, sir," he replied with dry sarcasm. "But I was thinking more along the lines of female companionship. Miss Parker expressed her deepest regrets that you cancelled your date to the museum exhibit last night."

"I hadn't planned on going, but I changed my mind at the last minute," the younger man admitted, picking up the top newspaper and flipping through the pages. He would read the entire paper in-depth later, but he knew his actions would project an air of casual disregard that would drive his oldest (and, according to many, only) friend insane. "Mostly to try to avoid a lecture about my social life. Clearly, my plan is working."

The butler ignored this comment. "She has already called this morning to reschedule your date. For the fifth time. She seemed quite upset, as a matter of fact. Shall I make arrangements for you, or –?"

"Send her my regrets," Bruce interjected, the corners of his mouth twisting into an expression that – with a bit of imagination and after a good deal more practice – could eventually be akin to a smile's weaker, puny little ghost of a brother. He had turned to another section of the newspaper and saw the large black-and-white photo dominating an entire page of the Gazette. He'd had a rough night but his morning was already looking up. He wondered what the foolish, reckless, tenacious, stunning, and altogether lovely Lois Lane would think of this. "Something's come up."

Alfred sighed again. It was strange how the older man could convey so much with just an exhalation of breath. "Something usually does," he admonished.

For the first time, Bruce turned fully to face his butler. In mild exasperation, he asked, "Are you a butler, Alfred, or a mother hen?"

"With you, Master Wayne, I am both," Alfred offered with a slight nod in his direction.

Bruce bowed his head so the butler couldn't see his expression. Somehow, Alfred always knew when his charge was in a good mood, even when Bruce thought he had masked his thoughts. "Well, you can stop worrying," he said, deciding it was finally time to cut the older man a little slack. He tossed down the paper, still displaying the black and white photo of Lois and Bruce in front of the museum. It landed on the desk, directly in front of his companion. "As it happens, I met someone last night."

There was a long pause as Alfred looked at the paper. "I see." For a man who liked to nag, he could express himself with an economy of words when he so chose.

"That's it?" Bruce asked, eyebrows arched. He had turned back to his computer to pull up the file he'd been examining before his butler came down, but this underwhelming response got his attention. "That's all I get? You've been nagging me for ages about my need for a social life, and all you have to say now is 'I see'?"

"I would be happy to order a new set of monogrammed towels, but I need to know the lady's name first. I would settle for her initials," the older man replied.

Bruce had opened his mouth to respond to the quip when it hit him that his companion might not be joking. For the sake of any hope of future peace of mind, he decided to let that one go and turned to his computer again. A few keystrokes brought up "the lady's" bio once more.

"Lois Lane, reporter for the Daily Planet," he explained. He scanned – not for the first time – her photos, her list of articles, and all the other information he'd been able to uncover about her. She had a serious problem with the concept of "trespassing" (which he'd already discovered for himself) and didn't seem to be good at accepting the word "no" (which he'd already guessed). "She's only been at the paper a couple of years, but she's had quite a few headlines in that time. She's even the reporter who first broke the story on Metropolis's superheroes – the Green Arrow and the Red-Blue Blur."

"The Red-Blue Blur?" Alfred repeated, sounding a little skeptical of the name.

"I know. It lacks the panache of the Batman, don't you think?" Bruce replied, and if his voice was a little bit smug, he figured it was only warranted. "Anyway, I ran into her a couple of times last night – first at the museum and then when she snuck into Arkham Asylum during the breakout."

A myriad of expressions crossed his old friend's face before Alfred said in a droll fashion, "She snuck into the Asylum during a prison escape? I don't know whether I should give my heart time to recover or tell you to marry her immediately. And how did Miss Lane respond to meeting the Batman? I assume he did make an appearance?"

"She told me to watch my hands and demanded an interview," Bruce replied, his voice dry. "Bear in mind, I was trying to save her life at the time. She still only agreed to let me do it on the condition that I grant her an interview." The two men exchanged looks – Bruce's was mildly beleaguered, while Alfred's was a combination of utterly delighted and amused. "I will give her this, though. I saw her two times last night, and both times, she was definitely…unique. Unexpected."

That was putting it mildly. He remembered his surprise when she'd raced up to him, thrown her arms around his shoulders, and kissed him on the cheek. His shock had only grown when she'd offered him fifty dollars to help her out. Of course, neither reaction compared to his utter amazement to see her sneaking down the corridors of Arkham, as if a full-scale riot wasn't about to erupt. Three surprises in one night, for a man who wasn't used to being taken by surprise at all, was definitely memorable. He hadn't been able to stop thinking about her since, even when he knew he should have been entirely focused on other things. Such as performing his duties as Batman while still staying out of the way of the police.

Alfred made a soft sound of gratification. "I shall order the new towels immediately." Bruce was now reasonably certain that his butler wasn't joking; he could only hope Alfred waited to meet Lois first. At the very least, he hoped to have a chance to call in his marker for a date before Alfred ordered any engraved wedding invitations. "Which reminds me, shall I go prepare your shower, sir, or should I see if I can install some sort of hose down here, to spray you off every once in a while?"

"What?" Bruce asked, thrown by the question.

Alfred gave him a significant look and then turned to go. "You may live down here like a bat, but there's no reason you have to smell like one."

Bruce sighed and leaned back in his chair, staring up at the cave roof in exasperation. "I was trying to track down escaped maximum security prisoners, Alfred."

"And I'm sure Mister Fox will appreciate sharing the smell of that experience with you when you meet him this afternoon. However, as 'unexpected' as Miss Lane may be, I'm certain that even the most unique of women would prefer not to do the same." The observation was dry but incredibly pointed. The younger man would have argued the matter, but when he shifted in his seat, he realized that his butler had a point. If he planned to see Lois Lane again, he probably should at least wash off the stench he'd picked up during his trip through some of Gotham's finer sewers.

And he definitely planned to see Lois Lane again. He couldn't wait to see the look on her face when he tracked her down and told her he planned to call in her IOU. He honestly couldn't decide if he really hoped she'd concede the battle gracefully. He was actually eagerly anticipating her next move, what she would pull out of her sleeve if she decided to duck out of her promise again.

As he headed to the elevator leading up to the ground floor of the Manor, he hummed softly to himself. You must remember this, a kiss is just a kiss…