Chapter Four

As soon as I flew into the manor Alfred appeared with a tray of bandages and antiseptics.

Something about it seemed routine.

I looked down at the older man from my hover position.

"Alfred," I said. "Where would y—"

"You may take Master Bruce upstairs and lay him on his bed."

"OK, would you like me to help y—"

"Superman, I need no assistance with his bandages."

One part butler, one part nurse, one part telepath…

Alfred worked with a stunning precision. I was amazed, but not surprised.

I guess you'd have to be a regular renaissance man to work for Batman.

It took Alfred about twenty minutes to dress and bandage Bruce's wounds.

I offered to get Alfred a cup of tea, and in the amount of time it took for me to fix a cup of Chamomile Tea with a lump of sugar, he had Bruce tucked into bed and wearing pajamas.

I didn't even know Armani made pajamas.

Alfred, visibly exhausted, retired for the evening.

Bruce regained consciousness about five minutes later. Dazed, he slowly ran his fingers through his hair and shook the cobwebs from his head.

"Clark?"

I grabbed a chair from his desk and sat down next to his bed.

"Good morning Mr. Wayne," I said, applying the greatest amount of sarcasm possible. "Do you mind telling me what ever possessed you to start taking steroids?"

"How could you possibly understand?"

I hate it when people answer a question with a question.

"Seriously, Bruce. Why?"

"Have you ever tried to save someone's life and fail, Clark?" He began. "I honestly don't think you have. I have strived for over twenty years to hone my body to perfection and I still failed. A little girl is dead because I wasn't strong enough."

"That doesn't sound like an excuse to start shooting up with experimental steroids."

"I knew you wouldn't understand."

He glared at me with his patented "strike-fear-into-the-hearts-of-evil" dirty look.

"You have power."

Damn, I was afraid he'd do this…

"Even I have limitations, Bruce. I have failed before and that's part of the job. We are to learn from our mistakes."

"I don't like mistakes."

"Heroes are supposed to set an example. We are role models."

"I became a hero to avenge my parents, not to have people look up to me."

In retrospect, I should have known better than to try and debate with Batman.

"Heroes don't use drugs."

Now it was his turn to be sarcastic.

"Really, Clark," he said. "I wonder what Hourman would have to say about that?"

For those of you who don't know, Rex Tyler became a superhero because a pill called Miraclo gave him superpowers for one hour. Addicted to Miraclo for many years, Rex ruined his family life and neglected his company. Miraclo even indirectly caused the death of his son.

So there's no way in hell I'm going to let him get by with an Hourman defense.

"Rex was never able to fully shake his addiction to Miraclo. Is that what you want to be like? Assuming Venom won't kill you in the next year, do you want to live the rest of your life addicted to it?"

"This is helping my war on crime."

"No it isn't," I replied. "You are far more valuable to the superhero community as a detective, not as a brainless muscleman."

"I need strength to—"

At this point I started to lose my patience.

"Damn it, Bruce, this drug has changed you! I didn't find Batman in the alley; I found a deranged freak in a trench coat. You're not even a detective anymore."

I couldn't even tell if he was paying attention anymore. His eyes seemed to wander to the window.

"It's still night outside, Clark," he said. "I should be working."

"You won't be going back out tonight, Bruce," I retorted. "I'm not going to allow you to go back to 'work' until you kick this addiction"

Bruce visibly became angered. He rarely allows anything to get in the way of his work.

"Get out of my house, Clark," he said, staring into me. "Don't make me go get the Kryptonite."

I stood up and met his gaze.

"You've become too violent and I'm afraid I can't let you back out there."

He shot another "I-am-vengeance" dirty look.

"The Cave, twenty minutes."

He sat up and began getting dressed. I sat in the chair, perplexed, and trying to figure out what he meant by his last statement.

Then it hit me like a ton of kryptonite.

"You can't be serious," I chortled. "I don't want to—"

"Nothing gets in the way of my work, Clark. If that means I have to take you out, so be it."

Oh my God. He's serious.

"You're insane!" I told him.

"Cave…Twenty!"

I left the room and walked over to Alfred's room.

As much as I hated to wake him, I opened the door and peered inside.

"Alfred!" I said quietly.

He sat up in bed and reached for the light.

"Any luck, Mr. Kent?" he asked.

For some reason, I couldn't find the words explain what happened.

Luckily, I didn't have to.

He looked at me and rolled his eyes.

Seriously, the man is telepathic.

Alfred got out of bed and sighed.

"I'd better get more bandages."