"What?"
Bruce got up, wondering who in the world they would let in this wing to visit him. Certainly not a reporter, if he really was considered nuts then he could do whatever he wanted to said reporter if they so tried anything, he thought amusedly.
"Yeah. Make that two visitors. Jeeves and a kid. Here they come."
Gordon must've pulled some strings or something. Someone with power, that was for sure. Or perhaps another sick joke from whoever was playing this little game. Rubbing it in.
There was practically a military-like contingent around Alfred and Tim as they walked down the hallway, guards shielding them from view against the inmates lest they become future targets. They all stopped in front of Bruce's cell, though the three knew the glass door wouldn't be opened, even for something like this. They were wearing casual clothes, though Alfred had opted for a more formal polo shirt ensemble. Tim was wearing a thick red jacket, meaning it must be cold already outside.
"Oh, Master Bruce, I'm so sorry," the older man's kind face fell when he got a good look at the state of Bruce. He never wanted to see that sort of look on Alfred's face again. Tim had his mouth open, either in shock or in sympathy.
"I'm so sorry this happened."
Bruce pressed his forehead against the glass, realizing his memory wasn't coming back at all despite the familiar faces. He rested his arm above his head against the glass, his hand balled into a fist.
"Me too."
"You okay…in there?" Tim ventured cautiously, as if he wasn't sure how to talk to Bruce.
"Food's as bad as they complain it is," he muttered wryly, a bit of humor to make Tim feel better. It worked, the horrified mask fell away from the kid's face and he smirked a bit.
"We've brought you a few things," Alfred said in his business voice.
"They have got it in their little 'containment' area until they deem it free from sharp objects and creative ways for you to use it to escape."
"Thank you."
"Alfred…" Bruce's voice cracked. Ugh. How he hated emotion coming through when he least expected it.
"Alfred, I'm not crazy."
"Of course you aren't, Master Bruce." Something in Alfred's eyes gave the lie away. That put a chill down his spine.
"No, really, Alfred. It's…" Bruce knew that if could confide in anyone, it was Alfred. The guards were so close, though. They could hear.
"Can we talk in private?"
"Afraid that's out of the question, unless the doctors sign a waiver," one of the SWAT helmets replied.
"Forget it," Bruce muttered. Ah well, this place never really would allow any kind of privacy anyway. So strange to find oneself on the other side of the equation.
"Alfred, I need your help. I can't remember anything except waking up this morning in this cell. I don't remember what happened last, or how I got here, how I got captured, or anything. Why am I in Arkham?"
"Oh, Master Bruce," the look on Alfred's face was positively heartbreaking. "I shall write you a letter of all of it. Perhaps we can jog your memory. I'm so terribly sorry for all of this. You just concentrate on…getting well."
"Yeah," Tim looked a bit haunted under his short, dark hair.
"It'll be…it'll be alright."
He suppressed another involuntary shiver at the tone of their voices. Like they didn't expect him to be well. "I can't get any answers in here," Bruce placed his hands on the glass window, and Tim absentmindedly placed his hand over Bruce's right. "For once…I don't know what to do."
"Don't give up, Master Bruce," Alfred said sternly.
"There's no need to think that way, young man. No need at all."
Bruce gave a rare half-smile, and for the first time that day, felt a little bit better at this semblance of normalcy. Bruce feeling bad, Alfred propping him back up.
"Well, I'll try."
"That's the spirit."
"So how are you all getting along? Everyone knows about…it."
"We just dealt with it, really. I mean we've had a few break-ins at the mansion and the first week was just insane, we had three arsonists and finally Dick had to just come back and protect the mansion for a few days instead of patrolling, they finally got the message…" Tim muttered weakly with a sad grin. "A couple of…friends have come around to keep the really dangerous ones away, I think I saw Flash once but he bolted… Canary comes over every other night with Huntress and they all really don't mind…Oracle called in every favor she had, Dick got the other Titans to keep a constant watch over us just in case and…it's not bad right now, all things considered that could have happened."
Bruce looked down. The elder kid's presence was sorely missing from this meeting.
"So…where is Dick?"
Alfred and Tim exchanged looks. The younger ventured a response.
"He…uh, he didn't…I mean he couldn't come, Bruce."
It didn't take a Batman to know that the kid was lying.
"He doesn't want to come," Bruce figured it out easily, his mind still sharp despite the situation. He was a detective, through and through, and that was half of why he felt so helpless here. He couldn't figure anything out. It was all just a big jumble of random facts and he wanted answers, now.
Alfred's mouth dropped open, as if he wanted to explain but protocol didn't call for it, or he didn't want to cause an adverse reaction in the already distraught man.
"Master Dick could not find the time, today, to come. I shall certainly make sure he finds the time, in near future."
"I don't believe this," Bruce muttered darkly, feeling just a tad betrayed. Dick was his son, and he didn't want to come. Because if a family member was in trouble, one would certainly find the time to come. Had he taught him nothing?
Or was he…ashamed? Couldn't bear to see his mentor—his father—in a mental institution? In the very place they put the ones they constantly battle against? Like a common—well, uncommon—criminal?
"Yeah, we'll drag him here. He's been busy, now that you're not out ther—" Tim slammed a hand over his mouth, realizing what he was just saying.
"I mean…I didn't mean…it's, well, um…just a…uh, little rough out there right now and…and…yeah." The kid finished feebly and looked a bit embarrassed.
"And?" Bruce pressed.
"And so…well he's out there as Nightwing, anyway. It's been so obvious of who Batman is that the whole…mythos, urban legend and whatnot has kinda just went…" his thumb pointed down and he made a "Pppbbhhttt…" sound.
"But that doesn't take away from the fact that he's taking care of business so…" he shrugged weakly. "Me and Cass have been working double time ourselves so you really don't have to worry about it all…"
"It's been a month, right? I mean the way Harley was talking it was like yesterday…seemed like yesterday," there was still a suspicion in his heart that someone was behind all of this and was manipulating this whole thing.
"Well, you know her, she's a bit odd," Tim rolled his eyes.
"Just a bit, huh?"
"Yeah, we…Barbara, Cass, and us, we visited you a couple times before but you were unconscious," Tim replied nervously. "You were in a different wing, the medical place. They just called us today to say that you were well enough to…um…talk…to us. Babs couldn't come and neither could…well, I guess you're well enough. I mean you could use a shave, and all."
"Master Timothy, really."
Tim's words just poured out of him quickly and Alfred simply looked aghast at the crude way it was being broken to Bruce, like the guy had to be handled delicately from now on, lest he snap. Alfred was visibly uncomfortable and Tim was just itching to get out of there, Bruce could just see it.
The familiar eye glare.
"Stop talking to me like this, both of you. I'm still me. Whatever happened back then, maybe…maybe I'm glad I don't remember it. But this is me, the same me that you saw the night before whatever happened, happened."
"You're absolutely right, Master Bruce, I'm terribly sorry and so is Master Timothy."
There was a withering glance from the elder man and a sheepish smile from the younger.
"Perhaps it is wise that we go now, allow you to get some rest. Whatever they allow you in this ghastly place. I shan't aggravate you with details of the legality to follow and whatnot, but…" Alfred looked down.
"But it's a hopeless case, is what you're saying."
"Can we never keep anything from you?" The old spark appeared like a candle coming to life in the old man's eye.
"Good day, Master Bruce, really do try and get better. We'll sort this mess out, you'll see. I know you may not be a practicing optimist, sir, but in times like these, hope is all we have."
Bruce's real smile appeared faintly, and he felt just a bit better from their visit.
"Take care," Tim pressed his hand up against the glass where his was. The kid had already lost a father, and was afraid he would lose another one, it was evident in his eyes.
"Hey, Tim. Listen to Alfred's optimism for me, will you?" He smirked up at the older man.
"One of us ought to."
"Yeah," Tim smiled.
"Yeah, I will."
The two looked at their fallen friend one last time before being whisked off by the guards, only the few smudgy fingerprints of Tim's was the only evidence that they had ever been there.