The days passed slowly for me after that night. I was pretty much on house arrest. I wasn't allowed to go out and explore- yet again I was protecting aliases. Maybe no one in Gotham would ever make the connection between Bruce, Clark and I. But there was always an off chance that someone would put all the pieces together and figure out who we really were. And Bruce said he wasn't going to take me out on any crime watch until I had at least a week of training under my belt. So I was stuck.

I called Clark maybe two times. I got a hold of him one of those times, but he could only talk for so long. And I had so much to tell him I completely blanked on my mystery package. So that mystery kept picking at me long after I put the phone down. It was really the only thing I had to keep from completely loosing my mind with boredom. That, and Bruce's training sessions. I was sore all week. Pathetic, right?

But there was good news. Bruce and I were getting closer. I don't mean in a romantic way, or even in a friendly way. We weren't hugging each other, joking much, or even really speaking a lot outside of the tiny gym.

But there was no longer a wall between us, no awkward glances, no uncomfortable small talk if we had any. The wall was down, I guessed by the "bulldozer" act when I helped him when he came home hurt that one night (he never did tell me how he got hurt). So with the wall down, we were both free to do what we wanted. Either one could cross over into the other's territory to converse and grow closer, but we both hung back to our own lines, gazing at each other with respect. Maybe that was it, respect.

Not friends, just two people who respected each other? I found it hard to believe someone like Bruce would have any reason to respect me, but I held to my theory since I could think of no other answer to our amiable attitude to one another.

I was much closer to Alfred than I was Bruce, but that wasn't hard to explain. Alfred just had a magnetic personality, the grandfather I always wanted, and the father figure I never got(with the exception of those few times when Clark had his tights on too tight and he decided he was going to try to be a parent to me). Needless to say those few times weren't successful. He was always best as the protective older brother, not a Dad.

So Alfred filled my little void. He was fun and energetic despite his age, and after just a week I was already confiding in him when I was thinking about something, whether it be serious or not. Thursday morning, it was something not so serious.

"Alfred?"

I had pulled him aside when I started to leave after breakfast. Bruce and I were going to train but something had been bugging me the entire night before.

"How can I help you, Ms. Sweet?" he said with his characteristic smile. Although I'd told him time and time again to call me Bella, he still remained defiant.

"I have a favor to ask," I said, probably looking more mischievous than he was comfortable with.

He raised an eyebrow at me while fixing the cuff of his suit, a twitch of a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. His eyes slowly drifted to mine.

"Oh? And what kind of favor would that be?"

I paused, looking to the floor. Then with a huge intake of breath, "Will you let me make dessert tonight?" I blurted out.

I think he was a bit taken aback by my request. He had probably been expecting something more…sinister. He threw back his head and laughed.

"What's so funny?" I asked, laughing a bit myself and placing my hands on my hips.

"You just look so…frightened, for my answer!" he exclaimed, "Of course you may!"

I bounced up and down on my toes excitedly.

"All right! Well I need you to pick up some stuff. I looked through the kitchen already and there isn't much of what I need," I said, still bouncing.

I placed a list in his hand and he chuckled at me, nodding.

"Whatever you wish, Ms. Sweet."

"Bella?" Bruce poked his head in through the threshold from out in the hallway. He looked at me curiously.

"Thanks Alfred!" I said, leaning forward and giving him a quick squeeze before darting after Bruce.

So that night after dinner I ran into the kitchen. Alfred was waiting for me, all the things I had asked for laid out on the expensive stone countertop. Marshmallows, chocolate, butter, sugar, powdered sugar- the works.

"What ever you are preparing does not look like health food," Alfred joked.

"Is there such thing as healthy desert?" I asked him, whisking over to the counter and counting off the ingredients.

"Well, there is…"

"That tastes good?" I interrupted him.

He just chuckled at me again and leaned back against the counter, abandoning the dishes from dinner that he was cleaning. I wiped my hands on the baggy grey sweat pants I wore –they were actually Clark's, and they only stayed up on me because I bunched the excess fabric at my butt and tied it with a hair tie- and heaved a sigh.

"Hey Alfred?"

He looked at me, the smile still present on his lips. I darted back and forth inside my mind, wondering if I even dare ask the sudden question that had rolled from my head and on top the tip of my tongue.

"Do…do you think…he would want to help?" I laughed at myself. How stupid did I sound?

Bruce had escaped to the living room. He was slowly healing, but I could tell it was hard for him to move around and do the things he was accustomed to doing. The training the last few days had been him watching me beat the shit out of a punching bag and then critiquing me. It was probably killing him to just sit around and do nothing productive for more than an hour. I figured maybe it could be another step closer to us being friendlier to each other, and maybe it would brighten his mood.

I don't know why I thought he'd even go for it, but it was just a spur of the moment idea. To my surprise, instead of laughing at me, Alfred popped his shoulders in a shrug.

"Master Bruce? I'm sure it would not hurt to ask him."

That was all the encouragement I needed. With a big stupid grin plastered across my face, and for some reason not very nervous about confronting the devilishly handsome figure on the couch, I ran out of the kitchen, into the living room and approached Bruce.

"Hey," I said, trying not to look directly at him because his eyes had funny ways of messing with my ability to speak without a stutter.

He looked up from the TV. He was not pleased to see me, but he wasn't unhappy to see me either. His face was merely on the verge of being pleasant.

"Hey," he said, his deep voice rumbled in his strong chest.

"Um…"I said, already loosing my footing on the confidence I'd come riding in on, "I have a question."

He nodded at me, his eyes waiting for me to continue.

I shifted my weight and focused on not wringing my hair that was twisted over to one shoulder. I took a deep breath trying not to act like I was about to pee my pants.

"Alfred and I are going to make desert, and I remember you told me you can't cook to save your life or something…so….I wondered if you maybe, possibly wanted to come and join us?"

My try to remain cool and collected failed. Crashed and burned, is more like it. The entire sentence came out in like one breath and I tripped over a few words here and there. I knew my cheeks were probably dark red. It wasn't just talking to him that made me nervous. It was the weird request I was presenting to him. Why in a million years would he ever want to come cook brownies? I'm not sure if it's just me, but I just don't picture the man who dons the Batman costume would ever be caught making brownies.

But, suddenly…he smiled. It was a teeny as hell smile, but it was most definitely one. And then as if that wasn't surprise enough, the next words that came out of his mouth where not ones of teasing or ice.

"In a minute."

It took everything in me not to skip merrily back to the kitchen with my victory. I just smiled sweetly at him, resisting another urge to tackle him in a bear hug for being so nice, and made my way back into the kitchen. I gave Alfred the thumbs up when I returned. His eyes sparkled.

"Success?" he asked

"He said he'll come in a minute."

"Wonderful," he said, seeming genuinely happy. Maybe he wanted to see Bruce in a better mood as well, "Now, can you tell me what you're going to make?"

I grinned, setting out the ingredients as Alfred finished drying the few dishes he had done while I was out talking to Bruce. He grabbed a few mixing bowls from an ancient and beautiful mahogany cupboard above the elaborate sink, setting them down at my right.

"Special brownies," I said, but then shook the bag of marshmallows at him, "But I like to call it Heart Attack in a Pan. All in all, four sticks of butter and four cups of sugar."

"My goodness," Alfred said, glancing at the ingredients.

While I was getting the ingredients opened and measured, I asked Alfred if we could have music. I had spotted a little boom box on the windowsill right when I came in. I'm a teenager… and not able to withstand the pull that the promise of music has on my generation. When in doubt, play music.

Alfred complied kindly to my request while helping out by compiling all the things I needed. I reached over in excitement -thankful my hands weren't messy yet- and switched to a station. The thrum of a bass suddenly shook the speakers. I recognized the song immediately and turned around to Alfred, my mouth wide open.

I wasn't entirely sure why I felt so comfortable with him already. It hadn't been that long, to be so goofy and…teenager-y around him. But he never looked at me strangely, maybe that's why. He seemed to accept me, which was something I loved with every fiber of my being.

I wasn't afraid of being weird around him.

So, I'm not a fan of Miley Cyrus. Really, I'm not. I'm more of a Beatles girl myself, and I enjoy metal from time to time. Which is almost a polar opposite to the young pop star whose voice was now streaming through the kitchen. Her voice drifted over my bones and made them twitch a bit.

No, I really don't like her. But I knew all the words to that one particular song.

I mouthed along, taking the bag of marshmallows and holding it to my face like a microphone.

I got my sight set on you, and I'm ready to wait. I have a heart that will never be tamed. Hmm, sound like the story of my life at the moment? Slightly. Now that is really, really pathetic.

Nonetheless, my butt started to shake a bit to the beat. Then my arms started. I tossed the bag of marshmallows back to the counter, my head starting to swing side to side with the heavy beat that I could feel thumping in my chest.

Then the legs came in. And that's when it gets dangerous. I really can't dance. I have like four thousand left feet and they trip me every change they get. I have no rhythm whatsoever, I sort of just flail around and hope no one will call an ambulance.

I didn't stop. Bobbing lightly to the beat and rolling my limbs to the slow tempo. Then the chorus gave a lead in note.

"Here it comes!" I cried, laughing over the music, "C'mon Alfred!"

I jumped in the air and then started wriggling around, trying to keep to some kind of tempo. I shook my head when I finally found a way to follow the pulsing beat, my long hair spinning out from my head and tangling in front of my face. All I saw for the entire chorus as I screamed the words, uncaring of my current love interest in the room just a few feet away, was thick, blackberry hair.

"THE LAST TIME I FREAKED OUT, I JUST KEPT LOOKIN' DOWN, I STU-STU-STUTTERED WHEN YOU ASKED ME WHAT I'M THINKIN' 'BOUT!"

Even above the pounding music, and my off-tune screaming lyrics, I could hear Alfred laughing. When I raised my head as the slowed down verse started, the room spun for a minute –the crime of me pretty much headbanging for the entire chorus- and then I saw Alfred.

He was dancing.

Reserved dancing, mind you. But he was moving his hips with the beat and popping his shoulders along with Miley's voice. I collapsed to the side of the counter in my laughter. I really couldn't stop for the life of me, and even when I retreated from the stone support to dance again I could barely hold myself up, I was still doubled over.

But the chorus came back on and I was back in it, shaking my head like a maniac –and a complete moron- and screaming the words again. I took air guitar strums as I danced around, my chest heaving with more laughter as I kept seeing out of the corner of my eye Alfred wagging his arms around in his own dance.

The song ended much too quickly. When it was over I collapsed onto the floor, laughter taking hold of me. I hadn't laughed so hard in forever; I couldn't remember the last time something had been so funny. I felt tears of my hysteria trailing down my hot cheeks, and I flopped backwards, holding my sides that were splitting at their usually tight seams. I felt like a little kid, but for once wasn't ashamed by it. The laughing fit felt good, especially with someone else joining in on it with me.

"I didn't know you had it in you, Alfred." Bruce's voice pierced through my happy laughter like a bullet.

I bolted up so fast I got dizzy, my eyes bolting to the threshold of the kitchen where Bruce's muscular figure leaned against the wide frame of the opening. Another smile was upon his thin mouth, a smug one.

"How much of that d-did you see, Master Bruce?" Alfred said, pushing himself off the counter where he had been supporting himself, and wiping at his eyes.

"Enough to be afraid," Bruce said, his tone slightly lighter as he crossed his way over to the tiny table near the other window. He sat himself down, trying to hide a wince by turning his face away. Once he was okay again to put on his smooth, controlled face, he turned back to us, shaking his head. It was amazing –his smile was still present. It had to be a record for him.

"I'm sorry you had to see that, Sir," Alfred choked, still trying to control his laughter.

That comment just sent me into another fit and I rocked back onto the floor, kicking my feet against the old tile so there was a drum roll to go along with my happy, giggling cadence. I heard Alfred start laughing again, but I couldn't hear Bruce. Did he laugh? Was it physically possible? Chickens couldn't burp…maybe Bruce couldn't laugh.

I didn't care to raise myself and look. My sides hurt too bad and I was still busy writhing around on the floor in my laughing fit.

After a minute I managed controlled myself, gasping for air and with my back still pressed to the floor. I raised myself slowly with a minor, happy, groan of pain for my aching stomach. Bruce was smirking over at Alfred who was wiping at his eyes again, his shoulders still shuddering with the last flutters of his laughter.

"Your dinner theater for tonight, Sir," Alfred said breathlessly, taking a bow.

I bowed with him from my sitting position, biting my tongue to keep the next laughing fit from escaping.

"Better than what I was watching in there," Bruce said, gesturing with his thumb towards the living room. He winked at the two of us.

I caught his eyes and gave him a smile. He smiled back, gently and habitually guarded. Then I looked over to Alfred, my eyebrow raising.

"Wait, how did you know the words?" I asked, trying to control the shake of laughter in my voice.

I heard Bruce's closed-lipped, deep chuckle come from the table.

Alfred went dark red and turned away with a shrug, "I like to…well, I like to 'keep up with the times', I suppose."

He coughed and then went to the radio, looking back at me as the announcer spoke about some up and coming concert in Gotham Park. Alfred let his hand rest on the little contraption.

"Perhaps we should turn this off, Ms. Sweet, heaven forbid something else comes up?"

But right as he went to hit the switch, another song came on. I told him to back away from the radio, and once he realized what song it was he laughed and stepped obediently back. Paralyzer, by Finger Eleven. Yet another song with lyrics that hit close to home. Alfred said he didn't know the song that well, but he danced along with me anyway.

Well I'm not paralyzed, but I seem to be struck by you. I want to make you move, because you're standing still.

When I had a pause during my crazy dancing, I stole a look at Bruce, the lyrics buzzing through my head. He had his head down, hand cupped over his forehead and his shoulder shook slightly with what I assumed to be laughter. Or maybe he was crying –I wouldn't be surprised with the way I was dancing.

He looked embarrassed to even be in our presence. He looked up, and we met smiling eyes again. I spun as quickly as it happened, continuing to dance alongside Alfred to the heavy music that was shaking the inside of the old kitchen. But I couldn't wipe the smile off my face.

I was having fun. Something I thought I'd never in a million years do in Wayne Manor. I was laughing, singing, dancing –dear god, what was happening to me?- and all the while having Bruce Wayne watch me. I didn't care. I was so euphoric with the sudden happiness that I was able to find and nourish. And I felt another shift in the ladder between Bruce and me. I had taken one step closer to the thin line between us. I think he did too.

I was happier than I'd been in months and having more fun than I ever dared to. But that was only because the worst was coming. It prowled the darkened halls of the manor, breathing heavy and layering the walls in darkness to accommodate the agony that was scheduled to arrive in just seven days.

Everything was going so good that night. Little did I know, it was only the calm before the storm.