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{Enter Bruce Wayne (Batman) and Alfred from Gotham}

Bruce sat in the waiting room outside the ER. It was quiet-- a muffled, heavy, quietly fearful sort of quiet that was only broken by the sound of a woman sobbing softly. Probably into someone's shoulder by the sound of it. Early twenties to late thirties. Probably overweight. ... And, judging from the slight whistling on the inhalations, she had asthma.

Without really wanting to, he turned around to check his work. She was crying into somebody's shoulder (Boyfriend or brother?... Brother. They looked too much alike), was in her mid to late thirties, was about 15 pounds overweight, and an inhaler was within easy reach, half sticking out of the stylish white and silver purse on the chair beside her.

At the rate he was going, he was going to drive himself completely insane within the next 20 minutes.

His jaw tightening, he looked back at the clock. An hour. Shouldn't they have some sort of update by now? He thought so. Maybe not, though. Maybe something had gone wrong, and...

He had to find something to keep himself calm. FAST. The Joker had never managed to drive him crazy, but this too-clean room and its smothering, tension filled quiet... With a quick, irritable motion, he reached out and grabbed a magazine. Starz Magazine, specifically. ... He was on the cover. ... Bruce Wayne's Secret WHAT?! He stared at the magazine for another second or two, then put it back down with a satisfying slapping sound. The woman behind him let out a small, surprised squeak.

Okay; the magazines were out.

Suddenly he frowned, and pulled Alfred's cell phone out of his pocket. Searching outgoing calls, he found the most recent one. The time matched with the call he'd received, and he'd been the one who'd disconnected that. So... If Alfred had fallen unconscious AT the time of the call, why hadn't it been in his hand? Someone else had called, then. Most likely after Alfred had fallen unconscious.

The same person who had left their Batsuit on his work table.

But why would he have left Alfred there after calling? And his suit?... And why had he left Alfred's cell phone ringing in his pocket? Trying to imagine what would cause him to behave in a similar manner, he tapped his index finger against the imitation-wood armrest.

... Because someone was there. RIGHT there. With some kind of trump card that had prevented him from even fighting back. Probably interrupting him in the middle of trying to help Alfred, he thought, remembering the way Alfred's bowtie had been loosened and his jacket and shirt pulled back.

He couldn't be sure if this mystery person was responsible for Alfred's condition, but he could be sure that they had made off with the young Bat; otherwise, he would have done more than secretly placing a phone call. They had taken him, and left Bruce's friend and confidant to die alone in a cave.

"Mr. Wayne?" He looked up automatically, and the small, grey-haired doctor blanched at whatever he saw in his face. "A-are you alright?" he added, stumbling slightly over the first word.

Bruce blinked, then smiled sheepishly. The expression was tired and worried, nothing more. "Just terrified out of my mind," he replied, running a hand through his dark hair and getting to his feet, "How is he, Doctor?"

The doctor, obviously relieved and willing to chalk whatever he'd first seen in the billionaire's face up to exhaustion and nerves, smiled. "He's going to be alright. Luckily, there is very little damage to the heart. Actually, it's a bit strange," he added, his expression and tone growing puzzled, "If I didn't know better, I'd say that it just stopped briefly for no reason at all. Someone must have gotten it started again. In any case, he should be alright in a day or two."

Relief hit Bruce like a tidal wave, briefly washing away the cold rage that he was hiding. "That's great," he told the little man, "Can I see him, or...?"

"To be honest, it would be better for him to rest. Go home, Mr. Wayne. You look like you could use some rest yourself."

Bruce smiled tiredly. "What else am I going to do with everything the way it is?"

"Head to the country," the doctor said with perfect seriousness. "I have to stay, but I'm sending my wife and daughter off tonight, and as soon as Mr. Pennyworth is capable, I'd advice both of you to get out, too."

"I'll take that under advisement. Thank you again," he added, shaking the proffered hand.

"You're very welcome."

Turning, Bruce walked out of the ER, absently dialing Lucius as he did. He was going to go home, after he popped in at Wayne Enterprises. He just didn't plan on getting any rest.

{Exit Bruce Wayne (Batman) to Gotham City}

((Erm... Did Goss actually cause damage, or was it just making his pain receptors go haywire? Have to know before I can post.))

A few minutes after that, someone came out, specifically an older woman, maybe in her early to mid fifties, dressed in a long white doctor's coat and holding a clipboard. She looked around the waiting room for a moment, and then her eyes settled on Alex. "Are you the one who came in with the boy from the warehouse?" she asked, her words clipped. She looked tired, with dark brown-purple circles under her eyes and iron grey hair that was falling out of its clip.

The woman smiled a little, which made her look less exhausted. "He's going to be just fine. It seems like whatever happened in the warehouse just sort of... made him shut down. More like the last straw than anything. He has a concussion, several broken ribs, a fractured forearm and a rather serious puncture wound just below his collar bone; more to the point, all of those things are several hours to several days old. The human body can only take so much." She paused. "There is one thing... We couldn't find any I.D. on him; do you know who he is? He could be a minor, in which case we'd be legally obligated to contact his guardians."

The doctor brushed a loose strand of hair out of her face and sighed. "Worth a try, I guess. We can ask him when he wakes up. You can go home, now," she added, "You've done more than enough, especially considering he's a stranger." The smile briefly reasserted itself. "From what I understand, you were very brave. Oh, and you should leave contact information at the front desk; the police will want a statement, I suspect."

The doctor, who had been turning to walk back into the ER, blinked and looked around again. "Oh?" Her expression became a bit harder, and not a little suspicious. She was a doctor in GOTHAM, after all. "Why is that?"

The doctor stared at her for several seconds, studying her expression. Then, finally, she relaxed and nodded. "Just leave your statement at the desk, then, or as much of one as you can. They can't bring disciplinary action against someone who isn't in the system."