Wayne Manor was being decorated with its first glimpse of sunrise when I pulled up, pulled my purse from the passenger seat and knocked on the door, tapping my foot to a favorite song. A minute later Alfred opened the door.

'Dr Pendragon.'

'Alfred, it's Evelyn.'

'I don't even call Master Wayne "Bruce,"' replied the butler as we walked up the stairs.

'You don't get paid be me, nor do you live in my house.'

'I'll reply to that later,' he said and we entered Bruce's room. He was still unconscious, flitting in and out of dream state. I and opened my purse, pulling out a needle.

I injected the antidote into his vein and sat down on a chair at the back of the room.

A little while later his eyes opened, he saw Alfred and me and immediately his brain fired, listening to Alfred stirring a drink.

'How long was I out?'

'Only about ten hours. Dr Pendragon made a cure.'

'Mm,' he said, sitting up. He nodded at me. 'Thank you.'

I inclined my head and shrugged.

'That poison… from what I remember, it was white?' He looked to me for confirmation before continuing. 'I've felt these effects before, but this was so much more potent. It was some kind of hallucinogen, weaponized, in aerosol form.'

'Mm,' I said, crossing my legs and joining the conversation, 'I daresay you felt those hallucinogenic effects at the League of Shadows?'

'…' Bruce's eyes widened. He nodded, not finding words and ran a hand through his hair, thinking as hard as his state would let him. When no one spoke for a moment he suddenly frowned and looked at the two of us again, glancing at Alfred beside him and me on the chair; 'How did you get the antidote?'

Alfred turned to listen to me as I began to explain. 'I took blood, sorry if you had a weird dream at the time. In the end I isolated the receptor compounds and the catalyst that's protein-based. So, yes, before you ask, it's not blood specific. One antidote fits all.'

'Could you make more?'

I blinked for a moment. 'Oh of course, sorry for not making a tank of the stuff(!); I was a little busy saving your ass.'

'Well,' said Bruce, taking the drink from Alfred with a wry smile, 'this ass is very grateful.'

'Mm,' I hummed, deadpan, 'you're welcome. Maybe next time move out of the way of the weird gas instead of trying to beat it away.'

'He aimed right for my face,' Bruce grumbled, tilting his head to stretch his neck, 'what was I supposed to do?'

'Aim for Crane, not the gas.'

Bruce chuckled, glancing at Alfred and then out of the window at the morning light. 'I'll try.'

After Alfred had seen Bruce out of bed he set about demanding I ate food, and looked as though he'd force feed me if he could. Since I'd only drunk coffee and hadn't eaten in hours, I accepted at Alfred's second offer, finding myself in the same dining room I'd sat with Bruce in a few nights before, with a ginormous glass of orange juice and a plate of bacon and eggs in front of me.

I admired that the butler was not only a good cook, but a quick one. After nearly inhaling the plate, I downed the juice and sighed, leaning back. Then I heard Bruce (Alfred's steps were far less casual) walk into the room a moment later. He leant on the doorframe.

'Thank you,' he said, meeting my eyes, now looking completely sincere. He'd woken up and let the memories and events sink in.

I nodded. 'You did well. From what I learnt about the poison, it could have been a different story.'

'Well at least we know for next time.'

'You're not thinking of testing it again, are you?' I said, joking.

'No, I'm not.' He chuckled, 'not a bad idea, though.'

I looked up and let my fatigue show on my face as a warning to him and groaned in a low, threatening tone. 'Don't you dare.'

He looked down for a moment with a smile, and straightened his position from his lean on the doorframe to walk over to the table and sit opposite me. 'Were you injured?'

'No, surprisingly,' I said.

Bruce's eyebrows rose. 'Impressive.' He stretched in the chair. 'What are you going to do today?'

'Make more of the antidote. I'll see if I can get it into a pill form; that might come in handy.'

'That's a good idea, I'll help you out.'

'Oh, good, you can help with the compounds. Just let me finish this juice first.'

'I was going to say you should have a sleep first.' He studied my face, his mind still seeing the fatigue I'd revealed a moment before. 'Alfred made a spare room up for you he was so grateful and concerned.'

'Probably a good plan,' I nodded, reaching for the jug.

At about two in the afternoon we were in the Batcave and I was drawing up some further designs when Bruce came down to the lower level, carrying a file and a mobile he was hanging up on.

'I need a date,' he yawned conversationally, rubbing the back of his neck, tilting it side to side. He looked like he'd fallen asleep in an office chair again, though it'd probably been the way he was tossing his head around the night before when drugged.

'Hire one,' I suggested, pouring over blueprints and dividing my attention.

He pinched the back of his neck, wincing at the muscle and stopped just before he entered the open space. 'It's not really a party event.'

'Neither is any other dinner you've brought them to.' I frowned at the whiteboard and rubbed something off with three fingers, thinking of the last week. 'What about that one last night at the dinner that wore the pink dress?'

'I thought they were both wearing pink…' he frowned.

I looked up to scoff at him pointedly.

'Anyway,' he said hurriedly, keen to move on, 'yes, that's true but this is a serious one.'

'Even for billionaire playboys?'

He nodded, stretching a shoulder.

'Hey,' I said, eyes lighting up with excitement, 'ring Rachel, ask her!'

Bruce Wayne shuffled his feet.

I read his body language and couldn't hold my laugh. 'The great Bruce Wayne, reduced to a nervous, shy dork by a crush.'

'Anyway,' he insisted, ploughing through my teasing as usual without a trace of denial, 'I can't bring party girls-,'

'-Or Rachel-,'

He ignored me. '-to this event, so I'm dragging you, because this calls for a guest that's going to blow everyone away with their-,'

My amusement shattered and I looked up again. 'I'm not going to a stupid men's "who's got the best hips and bumps on their arm" competition.'

'-intelligence,' Bruce finished.

'Like hell that's all they care about. There's always the ooh-look-at-the-curves-on-mine-but-well-played-with-the-bumps-on-yours thing going on.'

Bruce chuckled, folding his arms and leaning on the wall. 'You know I don't approve of that.'

'That's not the point,' I said, returning to conversational tone, rubbing something else out, 'the point is unlike you I don't have to pretend to be a cliché and get dragged through people like that.'

'While I'd love to feel smug at the jealous eyes I'd get if I had you "on my arm,"' he said, voice dripping with satire and mocking, 'this is more a meeting, only at a dinner dance. They're bringing their wives, you may have noticed I don't have one. They're also bringing their scientists of all genders. It's like networking.'

I looked up again, letting the pencil lift from the paper. 'So you want to torture me?' I said flatly and bluntly.

'Yep,' he nodded, before wincing slightly and taking one arm out of the fold to press further on his neck.

I blinked at him in deadpan. 'Take Lucius.'

'He's busy,' Bruce blinked back.

'Not for much longer. When is this stupid thing?'

'Tonight.'

I narrowed my eyes.

He winced again, stretching his neck, otherwise relaxed and unbothered by my expression.

If it was nearly any other request or favour I wouldn't have a problem, my friends had seen me go from pencil museums to fight clubs if they asked, but there was a special place in my punching bag reserved for events like the one I was being nagged to. 'Apart from your everlasting gratitude, what's in it for me?'

'Uhh...' his free arm lifted away from its fold and out into the air, giving up. 'I don't know.' He read my still deadpan face. Unless he was going to get me the Large Hadron Collider, I wasn't going. Seemingly not inconvenienced, he pressed down on a muscle.

My eyes remained narrowed and without a word I pointedly looked down again.

Bruce dropped his hand from his neck, walked into the space and sat down. 'How're the alterations coming along?'

'Fine, I've been looking at the joins here on the ankle on yours, they don't seem to be as flexible as mine.'

Bruce looked at the two sketches I'd pinned to the board behind me. The sketch of his suit was wider with broader shoulders. Mine had a different shaped chest piece.

'Does your chest ever hurt?' he asked, frowning at the sketches.

'Only if it's hit,' I replied nonchalantly, as if it wasn't painful at all, 'then it hurts like being hit by a mace or something.'

'…ow,' he decided, wincing at the thought before moving onto study the ankles on his suit.

'Uh huh.'

When I got to the garage I blinked. My Mercedes was gone, parked away in the corner, and in its place was an Aston Martin DB9.

Bruce or Alfred or, god help me, both, had remembered me mentioning it. Dammit. I narrowed my eyes at it in annoyance. The ultimate bribe... I scowled.

Fine.

I'll go to the stupid thing.

I opened the car, dropped my bag on the passenger seat and found the keys. I turned the car on and grinned.