Chapter 3

Tim was surprised to see when he woke up that he was still wearing an oxygen mask, and that he was still down in the cave. When Bruce broke a rib or had a concussion, he usually spent about 15 minutes being fussed over by Alfred then went on with life. Apparently, when it came to Robins, Alfred could keep them in medical confinement as long as he wanted. It hardly seemed fair. He wasn't injured all that bad, this was probably overkill. True, he still felt sore, even with the painkillers which were making him feel a bit out of it and keeping his memory slightly hazy. Breathing was still uncomfortable. The sensation reminded him of when he had bronchitis a few years back- it felt like his lungs wanted to be full, but could never quite fill up.

He squirmed around slightly, restless and not sure what to do next except lay back, look at the ceiling, and count the bats. He wasn't sure he was capable of getting out of bed, but he was dead certain he would be in serious trouble if he tried without permission; it was probably best to wait.

Thankfully, Alfred must have noticed his movements and came from whatever corner of the cave the English butler always vanished into just to appear again the moment Tim needed him. "Good morning, Master Timothy. How are you feeling today?" Alfred nodded at Tim, setting down a cup he had been carrying and gathering up a stethoscope and blood pressure cuff.

"Ok. Much better than last night." Tim said, croaking a bit. Wearing the oxygen mask had not been kind on his voice.

Alfred helped Tim to a sitting position, supporting him with lots of pillows. He removed the mask and pressed the cup into Tim's hands. "Ice chips, sir."

Tim was beginning to realize the source of Batman's philosophy of always being prepared. "Thanks." he whispered, and was silent as Alfred examined him, letting the ice melt slowly in his mouth.

Alfred seemed to take quite a long time with his stethoscope this time, longer than yesterday. He also made Tim blow into some instrument as hard as he could; he remembered this test from his bout with bronchitis. He was pretty sure he was failing it today.

Alfred put his tools away and said. "Despite your positive self-assessment, young sir, I believe your condition warrants a second opinion. Dr. Thompkins shall be coming shortly. I tried to get in contact with her last night, but she was in the middle of a trauma case of her own at the clinic. By the time she was done, you seemed stable, but I thought it prudent to have her examine you in the morning. She will be arriving shortly."

Tim looked at Alfred, frowning. "I don't think you need to bother Leslie. It didn't sound bad when you explained it to me last night. Has something gotten worse?" he hoped that sounded matter of fact, not scared or pitiful.

Alfred stiffened slightly. "Young man, Dr. Leslie would never consider your heath a bother, and she assured me the trip would not cause her any inconvenience. As for your condition, I am concerned at your continued breathing difficulties. Though not too pronounced, they necessitate further investigation." Tim couldn't help looking a little concerned at this. Alfred must have noticed, because he made a show of arranging Tim's pillows again, clasping Tim's shoulder briefly in the process, and said, "We could speed Dr. Leslie's investigations along by drawing some blood and taking additional chest x-rays to have ready when she arrives. I will summon Master Bruce to assist in moving you."

Bruce came down shortly after Alfred finished drawing Tim's blood, looking like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders, but then again, Tim thought he always kind of looked like that. "How are you feeling?" Bruce asked right away. The tone wasn't unkind, but it did make the question more a demand for information than an opportunity for commiseration.

"Ok." Tim stuck by his earlier assessment, despite Alfred's worrying. Bruce stared at him a moment, then looked at Alfred, apparently wanting more than a one word response, which seemed slightly hypocritical to Tim.

"I still have concerns about his lungs, sir." said Alfred. "I would appreciate it if you would wheel him over to the x-rays."

Bruce grunted an acknowledgement of the request and started to move the gurney. Tim once again felt awkward at being the center of everyone's attention. This feeling only increased when Leslie showed up and immediately came over to start her own examination.

"Ok Tim, let's see what the damage is this time, sweetheart. So far, I think I've seen you the least out of all the Robins in their first year. I hope that means you've been careful, not that you've been trying to deal with injuries on your own."

"I've been careful, Dr. Leslie." Tim left the last part of her statement alone. He only hid injuries and dealt with them on his own when his mentor was incapacitated or unavailable. Admittedly, his mentor had been out with a broken back for months within the last year, but he had coped.

Leslie nodded, her expression still a bit skeptical, and she went over to Alfred to take a look at his x-rays and lab findings. Bruce and Tim both sat silently waiting, each absorbed in thought, or, truth be told, brooding.

After a few minutes, Tim broke the silence with a question that had been bothering him since he woke up. "Did you talk to my dad yet?"

"No." said Bruce. "He would expect to be called shortly after you were injured, and calling him at two AM would have led to questions we couldn't answer. Since your condition was stable, I though it better to wait for a time during the day when it would be more plausible for you to be hurt. It's now two PM; your dad can be called as soon as Leslie gives us her report."

Tim nodded, slowly and with as little movement as possible so as not to make the vague headache he felt worse. He was disappointed in himself for not coming to the same conclusion Bruce had. His brain must be fuzzy still; he also hadn't known or cared about the time until Bruce had mentioned it.

Tim tried to recover by adding at least one helpful suggestion to show he still had his wits about him. "Let me talk to my dad. He'll deal with it better if I talk to him—someone else talking to him will just make him freak out about how bad it is."

Tim didn't say it, but he also knew that Bruce calling would put his dad immediately on edge. His dad had been touchy about the subject of Bruce for quite a while, ever since Tim had left Bruce to go live with his dad again. It was only by catching his dad in a good mood and having his girlfriend Dana in the room to discourage old arguments that Tim had managed to get permission to visit with Bruce and Dick for a long weekend.

Bruce nodded his agreement with Tim before getting up to make room for Alfred and Leslie. Leslie performed some standard concussion checks on Tim, checked his sutures, and did a lengthy examination with the stethoscope similar to Alfred's earlier.

"Let me see that spot on your chest, honey." she said. She unbuttoned the pajama top and very lightly probed at the mark on his chest, which was looking ugly. Even the pain medication he was on couldn't keep Tim from flinching during the probing.

Leslie re-buttoned his shirt. "Well, Tim, you should be very grateful right now for Kevlar. You should make a full recovery, but only if you follow my instructions carefully." She fixed Tim with a serious expression "Alfred and I believe we've detected a bruise on your lung behind the cracked rib. It's small, and since we caught it early and you were in good health before the accident, it should clear up in three to five days. But you will need to stay in bed, stay on oxygen, and have Alfred monitor your fluid intake carefully. I know you don't like pain medication, and Alfred will be weaning your off it slowly, but if that affects your breathing you'll have to stay at a higher dose."

"But it's only two more days till my Dad comes back!" Tim protested. He'd been coming up with a number of excuses to tell his dad, but none of them would explain an oxygen mask and complete bed rest.

Leslie pursed her lips. In the past, she had let Tim know that she didn't approve of him keeping his double life from his father; thankfully, however, she seemed to be deciding it was not the time to have that argument again. "If you are breathing well, with minimal painkillers, by Monday, it would be acceptable, though not ideal, for you to rest at home. You would have to keep up with your medication, including the antibiotic I'm putting you on to prevent pneumonia, and you will have to update Alfred regularly, and honestly, about your condition. However, if you are not at that point by the end of three days, you will be staying here or at a hospital. Those are the facts, honey. Adjust your story to your dad accordingly."

As a compromise, it was fair enough. Leslie probably knew asking for too much would just make him uncooperative. "Understood." he said, looking her straight in the eyes and hoping she could see he was taking her seriously.

Leslie held his gaze for a moment; her expression softened, and she smiled. "I'll see you again on Sunday night. Feel better, Tim."

"Thanks, Dr. Leslie." He said. She nodded and was soon on her way out, Alfred walking beside her.

After they left, Bruce handed Tim his phone. Tim took a deep breath and put in a call to his dad. Jack answered on the second ring, not giving Tim much time to compose himself. "Hello, son. What's up?"

His dad still sounded like he was in a good mood making Tim feel a little extra guilty that he was giving him bad news.

"Hi, Dad." Tim paused and took as deep a breath as he could. "Hey, I'm calling because, um, I sort of had an accident today at the pool…" He trailed off, waiting for his dad's reaction.

"What did you do? Are you hurt? Where's Bruce?" Tim could hear annoyance, anger, and worry in his dad's voice. He would have to speak carefully if he wanted his dad to calm down.

"Someone ran into me, accidentally, and I fell on the cement. The doctors think I have a concussion and I had to get stiches on my elbow and the back of my head. Bruce is right beside me. He got me to the hospital as quick as possible." Tim tried to sound like it wasn't a big deal. The story would be consistent with the idea of hanging out with friends on a summer weekend, and would cover his more noticeable injuries. Confessing to having a concussion would give him an excuse to stay in bed.

"Are you at the hospital now?" Tim's dad still didn't sound much calmer, but he also didn't seem to be getting more worked up about the situation either. Tim figured he was doing okay.

"Yeah, they're just discharging me. I'll be fine; I just need to rest for a week."

"You should have called me right away, son. I have a right to know when you're injured." His dad's slightly hurt tone made Tim wince slightly.

"There wasn't anything you could have done but worry. I didn't want to call you till I had all the information."

"Are you still staying with Bruce? Can I talk with him?" Tim had been hoping to avoid having the two of them talk, but his dad's request was well within reason, so it seemed unavoidable now.

"Yeah, I'll be staying with him and Alfred and Dick. They all said they'd be happy to look after me. Here's Bruce." He handed over the phone.

Bruce's conversation with his dad was short but from Tim's perspective it went as well as could be expected. Bruce talked in calm, even tones with just the right amount of sympathy. Tim's dad had been rescued by Bruce Wayne (as himself) in the past, and Tim had spent quite a while under his guardianship, so Bruce didn't have to act like an air-headed socialite—it would be counterproductive.

From the part of the conversation Tim could hear, it sounded like his dad just wanted confirmation of Tim's story and that Tim was being properly looked after. He probably wasn't saying anything too accusatory to Bruce.

After a few minutes Bruce handed the phone back to Tim.

"Are you sure you'll be alright there for a few days? Maybe I could try to come home sooner?" his dad sounded a bit anxious, like he always did if he felt he might be accused of blowing off Tim, but really wanted to continue with what he was doing.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Tim assured him. "Dick and Bruce will keep me amused, and Bruce says Alfred's a great nurse when you need him to be. Go ahead and enjoy your vacation. I'll see you on Monday."

"Okay." His dad was relatively calm now. "Be careful and do what the doctors say. I'll see you in a few days. Bye, son."

"Bye, Dad." Tim hung up and sighted inwardly. Lying to his dad always left him feeling a bit drained. He had probably also been up long enough now to reach to limit of his diminished energy. Bruce must have noticed the slump of his shoulders and his drooping eyes; he moved the pillows that were propping Tim up and guided him back down.

"Get some more sleep, Tim." he said. He got up and went over to one of the cave's computers, close enough for Tim to call if he had any problems. Tim closed his eyes to Bruce in his computer chair and was asleep almost instantly.

He woke up to the sound of someone grunting as if they were lifting a heavy object. He opened his eyes to see Dick carrying a large TV set to a stand placed at the foot of his bed. Tim noticed that a comfy-looking chair had been moved to the side of his bed while he slept.

"Hey Timmy." Dick greeted him cheerfully. "How are you feeling?"

"Better." Tim said. Nothing hurt worse than it had before, and breathing seemed to be slightly less difficult.

"Alfred's fixing dinner upstairs, I'll tell him you're up and he'll bring it right down. In the meantime, behold." Dick pointed to the TV set-up, then to a stack of DVD's next to the chair. "I've been waiting forever to have a movie marathon with you. I brought you choices: Horror, Action, Disney, Sci-Fi, Fantasy. What's your pleasure?"

"Fantasy." Tim said decidedly.

"Thought so. You're in luck, I have six films meant to amaze and astonish, and we have all weekend to work on them. Let's get started!"

Tim smiled at Dick's as he watched him pop in the first DVD. He felt slightly bad that Dick had to spend all weekend babysitting him; he must have better uses for his time, but at least he acted like he was thoroughly enjoying himself. Maybe this weekend wouldn't be a total waste; after all, didn't Dick deserve a little downtime as well? And if Dick had to use the excuse of amusing an injured Robin to make time to goof off, Tim was glad to play along. Dick readjusted Tim's bedding so he could get a better view of the TV and they both settled in for their weekend marathon.

"Don't forget your medication and recommended fluid intake schedule. Dr. Thompkins and I worked quite hard to make it as simple as possible. You may be stable enough to convalesce in your father's care, but that does not mean you should stop taking steps to prevent pneumonia." Alfred lectured from the front seat.

"I'll remember." Tim promised. He was sitting in the back seat next to Bruce. It was Monday morning, and he was feeling much improved. He was still sore and it hurt when he took a deep breath but he could walk around the cave without tiring himself out and Alfred and Leslie had both pronounced him well enough to go home.

"Most importantly, young sir, please remember to check in every four hours over the prearranged computer link. Master Bruce will be most agitated and impossible to deal with if you miss a call."

Tim glanced sideways at Bruce, expecting him to scowl or make some protest to Alfred's teasing. Instead, he found that the corner of Bruce's lip quirked upward just slightly, as if in knowing agreement.

"Here we are, Master Timothy." said Alfred. Tim's house was just next door to the manor, the drive had taken only a few minutes over the extensive Wayne property. Tim usually took this trip underground. The top view was nice.

Alfred got out and opened the door for Bruce, who went around and opened the door for Tim. He placed a hand lightly on Tim's shoulder blade as Tim got out, and he left it there as they approached Tim's house, ready to pass Tim's care over to his father. Tim was sure his dad would be relieved to see him, and Dana would be at her sweetest trying to take care of him, but he still couldn't quite get rid of a feeling of regret as he gave Alfred and Bruce a quick wave goodbye from his doorstep.

Thanks for reading! I had fun writing this; I have some more ideas for Tim and hope to write more stories for him in the future. Since I'm finishing this on July 19th, happy Tim's birthday!

(Updated July 26; I noticed some typos and formatting errors). Please review.