Chapter 4

He hadn't spoken to Alfred in a week. Not since he had screamed at Diana. Dick had come over cajoling, pleading, even yelling in an effort to get Bruce to talk. Tim had tried after Dick. None of them met with success. He wasn't sure anymore when he last slept. He had passed out a few days after his trip with Clark, and it had been three, no four days since then. Maybe. None of that mattered. What mattered was he thought he had an idea.

Standing up from the chair he felt his legs cramp. How long had he been sitting there. He felt something from his stomach, hunger maybe? He would eat soon. How long had it been since he last had something? He took one step and his leg tightened beneath him. He croaked a surprise as he collapsed. Before he passed out completely he spared a curse for no superpowers. His damn mortality was betraying him. Again.

He came to in his bedroom with an IV in his arm. Alfred, Tim, and Dick stood around him sprawled across chairs and the floor. It was Tim that noticed he was awake first. Tim said nothing, only leaped for the bed as Bruce went to dislodge the needle.

"Leave it!" Tim shouted as he got a grip on both of Bruce's hands. Alfred and Dick immediately woke up, looking around confusedly before their eyes locked on him.

"You pull that IV out, and I kill you myself," Dick said simply. It took Bruce a moment to realize there was no humor in his voice.

"I don't have time for that," he tried to reply. His voice sounded funny, even more gravel in it than usual as if he hadn't talked in days. "What day is it?"

"This is Thursday," Alfred told him. "You passed out Wednesday morning. You have slept for at least twenty-seven hours at last count."

Trying to shake Tim's grip, Bruce sat up but had to sit back when vertigo overtook him.

"You're no good to anyone dead," Dick stated.

"Stop being hyperbolic," Bruce ordered

Dick ignored him. "You hadn't eaten in three days. You hadn't slept in four. Your body was shutting down Bruce, doing it's best to keep you alive. We've been pumping you full of fluids and nutrients, but you need to eat some solid food and sleep another few hours before you'll be any good to anyone."

"I've figured out how to fix Barb," he finally admitted. He realized he wasn't going to get out of this bed by himself, but surely once they realized what he was doing they would help him.

"Bruce," Dick sighed, "her spinal cord was completely severed by the bullet."

"You don't think I knew that?" Bruce growled.

"Well you better tell one of us what you've figured out," Tim cut in, "and we'll relay the good news."

"I'll tell her myself once you all stop mothering me and let me out of bed," Bruce replied.

"Miss Gordon has expressed, strongly I might add, that we do our level best to keep you from visiting her," Alfred told him.

Bruce sat there poleaxed. Surely he hadn't heard Alfred correctly. He stared blankly up at the three of them and met only disapproval in each of their gazes.

"I don't," he stopped, licking his lips and trying for some moisture in his mouth, "I don't understand."

"It's almost been two full weeks, and you haven't been to see her once," Dick informed him. "You didn't even have the decency to relay a message through Alfred or one of us." There wasn't only disapproval in Dick's eyes, but barely contained rage-killing rage.

"I've been working on an experimental surgery that-"

"Fuck your surgery Bruce!" Dick shouted. "You should have been there! You should have been with her!"

Bruce shifted his gaze and stared silently at the wall.

"Dick let's go for a walk," Tim urged him. Dick shook him off and got in Bruce's face.

"You," he snarled, "how could you do this to her? How could you…use her like that? What was she, the playmate of the month?"

Nobody had time to react. Nearly dead or not, Bruce was still ten times faster than all of them. Combined.

Without saying a word he wrapped his hand around Dick's neck and swung the slimmer man over him and onto the bed. Reaching back with his other hand he got in four good punches before Tim wrapped himself around his arm, and Alfred shoved himself between them. Bruce wasn't even breathing heavy.

"Master Tim," Alfred said across the silence, "would you please escort Master Dick to the infirmary and tend to his nose, cheek, and lip?"

"Of course Alfred," Tim answered quietly. He held onto Bruce's arm, though, until Alfred had fully extracted Dick from Bruce's range. As the door closed quietly behind the boys Bruce transferred his gaze to the window.

"You're out of control sir," Alfred finally told him. "I can only imagine how Master Dick's words must have angered you, but that was unacceptable. "

"I know Alfred," Bruce answered him. "He was out of line. And so was I."

"I've seen you do many things Master Bruce," Alfred continued quietly, "but I never thought attacking Master Dick would be one of them. I will tell the young masters to avoid your presence for the time being, but I'm afraid Miss Gordon was adamant in her wishes that you be kept from her presence. Do I need to call someone?"

"To control me you mean?" Bruce asked sardonically. "No. No that will not happen again."

"Very good Sir," Alfred said. "What message would you like me to relay to Miss Gordon?"

There was silence as Bruce mulled over his thoughts. Would this work? Could he be sure? Was it right to ask her, if there was a good chance it would fail? She already hated him; what more damage could he do.

"Tell her I think I can fix her back."