I feel like only now I should point out I haven't stuck so faithfully to the plot in Batman Begins but I find the notion Batman can change things in weeks a little odd. So I guess I tweaked it to suit slightly and some events will be the same, I just extended the duration of Batman's presence before BB and added psychopathy into Gotham before psychopathy really played its part in the films.

/-^l^-\ Weekend. Saturday. /-^l^-\

"Wow, this place is ... well, too hard to describe in one word," she said, glancing around, "and I'd like to spare you a speech you've probably already heard from a few people," she smiled.

Bruce liked Alison. She was quirky without being overboard odd. He could tell she was a little awestruck.

"I feel kinda like a teenager. Weekend meet ups and little outings," she grinned.

"I sort of guess I feel that way too. I certainly feel happy," he smiled.

"All because of me?" she laughed.

"It's fair to say I don't attract many friends."

"Awh, poor Bruce," she teased, grinning.

"Would you like a coffee, Dr. MacLeod?" asked the butler, who Bruce referred to as Alfred. "Or perhaps a cup of tea, considering you are British?"

"And so are you..." she said, raising a brow. Alfred nodded with a pleasant smile. "I wouldn't mind. One sugar no milk."

"Right away. Master Bruce?"

"Nothing for me thank you Alfred!"

"Don't trouble yourself for-" began Alison

"It is my job, and life's work, to serve Dr. MacLeod," said Alfred, giving a little bow.

"Thank you. It's Alison," she mumbled. She felt kind of bad.

"Alfred loves his job," winked Bruce, "what did you do to your wrist?"

"I lost my footing on the stairs. It was the shoes I was wearing. Rubbed in all day, so I was walking a little stiff and tripped," she lied, "I've fractured my wrist but they're not putting it in plaster."

"Does it hurt?"

"No," she smiled. Not when you're on VICODIN! Well, it wasn't that drastic in effect, but maybe when you exceeded the recommended dose just a little?She was pretty thankful she only had one bottle. The chances of it being in a store cupboard hardly used but still in date were SLIM in England. So slim she'd never actually encountered it.

"Don't do anything to crazy then," smirked Bruce, glancing at the TV.

"Is he real?" asked Alison. She was referring to the Batman. Bruce shifted uncomfortably in his seat but Alison was fixated on the screen.

"I have no idea. I'm a little blissful bubble out here in the manor."

"I'd love to meet him," she whispered, "I'm just curious."

/-^l^-\ Next week. Monday. /-^l^-\

"Ha-ha-ha! Oh, Brucey," mocked Jonathan as Alison smiled at the bunch of flowers. It was a small bunch, but it had its meaning. When Alison opened the card, it was only confirmed for her.

"What?" she asked, stepping into her office.

"Well, I assume that's who they're from. And you're smiling pretty psychotically. Therefore, I assume they're from Bruce Wayne and for this, I mock you."

She turned around and pressed one finger to his shoulder, tilting the flowers to him.

"Do you have any idea what the meanings of flowers are?" she asked curiously.

"You're starting to sound like Poison Ivy, get away from me," he said, stepping back. She stepped closer, resuming the position she had before.

"You don't. Tell me, what two colours stand out most to you, Jonathan."

"Err... green and yellow," he said, glancing down at the flowers. He grimaced at the them.

"Yeah. That's saying be healthy, friend."

"What?" scoffed Jonathan, "that's ridiculous."

"It is?" she asked, opening the card out. It said 'Get better soon, my friend'. Jonathan raised a brow and pouted with consideration.

"You still sound like Ivy."

"Just like-"

"You act like the Riddler having all those Rubik's cubes. I'm still not sure why you have 8."

"I may have had a lot of time on my hands in college... and university."

"You still giggled when you saw who they were from."

"Jealous?"

"Me? Jealous? Jealous of you playing fairy tales in a mock castle with trim, buff and handsome? The billionaire playboy? Have fun playing games there, you'll get plenty!" Yes, I'm deliriously jealous, damn it.

"Is that what you think it is? Did I not tell you the implications of the flowers? My friend? Not sinking into your skull?"

"Every woman in Gotham fancies him!"

"In or from?"

"Both!" he exclaimed, looking dumbfound, "don't pretend you don't."

"Ah, Jonathan - here is the thing. I went to dinner with the guy, and I told him at the end of the evening that I didn't want it to be considered a date. And he told me that he didn't want to pursue me romantically. I could have thrown a party."

He grasped her shoulders and narrowed his eyes, keeping them pinned onto hers for a frighteningly long time. He leaned just a little closer, raising one brow as she looked slightly afraid of his silence and actions.

"Maybe you are insane," Jonathan mused quietly. She stood straight, glowering at him as he almost-silently laughed.

He seemed unable to put the distance he'd wanted to between them. It was fun pestering her though. He just wasn't as successful at winding her up as she was with him.

"Of course I'm insane. That's technically why I had to come here. Just to stand a chance of being professional. By-the-way," she said, prodding him with each pause. He rubbed his shoulder and glared narrowly at her. "I still hate you but the err... favour did wonders. Just so happens it's fractured."

"You don't hate me," pointed out Jonathan, "You said you disliked me."

"Why do I have a Freudian couch in here?" she asked distractedly, "I demoted you a little over the weekend. You've all week to pull it up."

"I don't want to. And I don't know, how did you not notice that?" he frowned. The couch was stupidly large.

She laid down on it and glanced up, smirking. Jonathan loitered by the doorway, prepared to run in anticipation of another bout of craziness from her.

"This could not have been relaxing. Especially when you had some weird, bearded Austrian fellow, who has ideas about sexual development beginning from birth and will shape you as an adult, and men sexually loving their mothers, telling you that you weren't getting jiggy enough."

Jonathan choked back a laugh, but Alison figured out what it was. She bolted up and glared over, looking haywire.

"Just coughed," he said, waving his hand and rubbing his throat.

"No, that was a laugh."

"Are you licensed to practice?" he questioned, "legally?"

"Surprisingly, yes. I just did everything as quick as I could so nobody was aware I was mental."

"Stop playing along. What if it's a serious question?"

"I know it's not," she smirked, "oh, lighten up Jonathan. You are allowed to smile. You were given the muscles to do so."

"No, I'm missing the smallest one by freak accident but it really throws a spanner in the works."

The door was pushed open and a very flustered Dr. Penrose flew in, his hair on end as it often was. The door whacked Jonathan and the force of it sent him staggering to the side clumsily. Alison snorted with laughter. Dr. Penrose glanced around curiously, looking for what had the door had hit.

"Oh, Dr. Crane, boy! I've been looking for you. Err... what's going on?"

"Jon is giving me a really bad talk therapy session," sniggered Alison. Jonathan shot her a look from behind the door.

"Ah, hope you're having fun. Dr. Crane, it's your rounds."

"It is? Oh yes!" he gasped, holding his hand up to Alison to excuse himself and following Dr. Penrose out of the room. Alison let out an exasperated sigh and sat back on the couch.

Isn't psychopathy a cool word? :)
Joke! Two pieces of grey tarmac are in a pub when a red one walks in. One grey piece says to the other, "don't talk to him, he's a cycle path".
Not sure that is a funny joke everywhere in the world, and it is bad but whilst I'm on about psychopaths :')