Bruce spent most of the next week in bed. When he was awake, he and Jonathan played chess and various card games, watched TV and movies, or simply lay in bed next to one another involved in their own activities. When Bruce slept, Jonathan found various ways to entertain himself.

The first couple days, he obsessively researched Miranda Tate. He wasn't nearly as adept with searching someone's background as, say, the Bat Man, but Jonathan knew research and could follow patterns. He dug into her company's public financial records and any news articles he could find written on it. Read Tate's published studies in research journals and magazines. He was able to trace Tate as far back as her junior year at university, although he couldn't quite get any farther than that.

And, when Bruce was awake, Jonathan asked him.

"Have you met her?" Jonathan looked up from his laptop at Bruce, who lay on the bed, rubbing his eyes.

Bruce glanced at Jonathan, who was sitting in a comfy chair next to the bed. "Who, Miranda? A few times."

"What's she like?"

Bruce frowned. "What do you mean?"

"What's your impression of her?" He closed his laptop and rested his elbow on it, putting his hand on his chin as he gazed at Bruce.

"I don't know. Earnest. Trusting. Maybe a little naive. She believes the best of people and wants to save the world."

"Does she really?" Jonathan sat back in his chair and put his feet on the bed.

"You don't believe me?" He put his hand on Jonathan's socked foot and squeezed.

He pressed into Bruce's hand. "I find it hard to believe a naive do-gooder wouldn't demand you dismantle a nuclear bomb the moment she discovered what her money had built."

"Well, it's not a bomb yet."

"Funny how the song changes when it's me hoarding certain chemicals." Jonathan smiled and batted his eyelashes. "It's a bomb, baby, and she knows it. Why hasn't she demanded you destroy it?"

Bruce looked uncomfortable. He shifted higher against the pillows and coughed into his shoulder. "I'm keeping it around because…"

"Oh, no, Bruce. I get why you keep it around. I've got your psyche mapped out, and that's clear to me. But the information I'm reading about Ms. Tate, what you're telling me about her?" Jonathan shook his head. "It doesn't make any sense. Be careful of her."

"Anyone ever tell you that you're paranoid?" Bruce asked fondly.

Jonathan set his computer aside, slid out of the chair and onto Bruce's lap. "I think," he whispered, threading his fingers into Bruce's hair, "I've heard that once or twice."

After exhausting all avenues of information on Miranda Tate, Jonathan found himself bored and with nothing else to do. There was only so long he could stay in one room, listening to Bruce's congesting wheezing before he started to feel stir crazy. So, Jonathan decided to explore the house. Partly out of boredom and partly because it pissed Alfred off.

And there was nothing Alfred could do about it. Bruce had told both of them that Jonathan was welcome to go wherever he wanted. Jonathan made it his mission to poke his nose into every room at least once, from attic to basement.

It wasn't until one day when Jonathan sat in the study, idly finger-pecking "I Will Survive" on the piano, that Alfred lost it.

"No! Absolutely not! I forbid it." Alfred slammed the piano cover down, narrowly missing Jonathan's fingers.

He blinked up at Alfred, eyebrows drawn together. "Excuse me, I need those…"

"Out." Alfred grabbed Jonathan by the collar of his oversized Dreamgirls tee-shirt and dragged him towards the door. "I do not care what Master Wayne says, you are not allowed in this room. Get out." He shoved Jonathan into the hall and firmly shut the doors. Then, he pulled out a set of keys and locked the doors.

"It's a study, not a laboratory. And I was playing piano, not messing around with chemicals. You are overreacting."

Alfred pressed his lips together and took a deep breath. He closed his eyes for a moment. Color slowly faded from his face, and when he opened his eyes again, he looked almost calm. "May I ask you how much longer you're planning on staying with us, Mr. Crane?"

"Doctor," Jonathan automatically corrected before shaking his head. "Actually, I go by Sean Miller now. It's easier. And I don't know. A few weeks. Which isn't a problem for Bruce."

"Unfortunately, what Master Wayne seems to have forgotten is that at the end of next week, we're hosting the city's celebration in honor of Harvey Dent. Which means, starting on Monday, there will be workers here every day getting set up. Which means you, Mr. Miller, are a problem."

Jonathan rolled his eyes. "I've brought plenty of Sugar's clothes. No one will recognize me."

"Yes, because what we want to get out is that Bruce Wayne is playing host to a blonde floozy named Sugar."

Bored of the conversation, Jonathan turned and started towards the stairs. "I go by Seana when I need to appear somewhat respectable. Don't worry so much, Alfred. It's bad for your blood pressure." He swayed his hips as he walked up the stairs, knowing it'd annoy the other man and taking pleasure from imagining the look on his face.

Bruce was awake, reading, but heavy lidded when Jonathan entered the room. He looked up and closed his book. "Where you been?"

"Exploring. Any reason Alfred almost had a heart attack over me playing the piano?"

A smile teased Bruce's lips. "The one in the study?"

"Oh, God, you have more than one?" Jonathan draped himself on the end of the bed dramatically.

"There's one in the ballroom, too."

"The one in the study," he confirmed.

"Ah." Bruce cleared his throat, looked down at his book, then up again. "The entrance to the cave is in the study. I use the piano to open it."

Huh. "Interesting. Well, you may inform Alfred I have no interest in entering the Bat Man's cave."

"I'll be sure to let him know." Bruce set his book aside. "I didn't know you played piano."

"I don't. Not really. I was just messing around." Jonathan crawled up the bed so he was closer to Bruce. "Alfred said you're having a big party here next week."

"Ah, crap." Bruce's head smacked against the headboard. "I forgot." He sighed and reached out, carding his fingers through Jonathan's hair. "Think I can get out of it by saying I'm too sick?"

Jonathan smiled, knocking his feet together. "I think you can say anything you want." He poked Bruce in the side. "Want me to clear out, head back to Chicago? Can't imagine you want the Scarecrow in your house at the same time as a bunch of police officers."

Bruce's fingers tightened in Jonathan's hair. He scratched his nails against Jonathan's scalp; if Jonathan could, he'd purr. "I don't see the Scarecrow anywhere. Just you."

Something warm and gooey filled Jonathan's stomach. Bruce was full of crap, but he still deserved a kiss for that, so Jonathan climbed on top of him and kissed him tenderly. "You sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure." Bruce wrapped his arms around Jonathan's back. Held him close, nuzzling under his jaw. "No one will recognize you, especially if you're in drag."

"Mm," Jonathan sighed, tilting his head to give Bruce better access. "No reason anyone should see me. I don't want to go to the party."

Warm lips pressed against his neck. Teeth lightly nipped his jugular. "Miranda Tate will be there."

Jonathan's eyes flew open. Reluctantly, he pulled away from Bruce, settling. "I want to go to the party."

Bruce smirked. "I thought you might."

"And you're okay with that?"

He tugged a lock of Jonathan's hair. "I trust you. Both not to cause trouble and not to get caught."

"What if the press sees us together?"

"I think Sugar should go by herself and satisfy her own curiosity. And then, you'll see that your suspicions are ridiculous."

Jonathan caught Bruce's hand and threaded their fingers together. "And if I don't think that?"

He shrugged. "Then I'll take another look."

"Okay." Jonathan nodded and took a deep breath. Squeezed Bruce's hand before giving him a lopsided smile. "I didn't bring anything to wear. Not to a fancy party."

Bruce's eyes twinkled. "Then open up your computer. We've got some shopping to do."