Bruce and Alfred were having their mandatory Sunday morning chat at the dining room table as Tim looked on behind the slightly ajar closet door. He couldn't make out what they were discussing. His crime-fighting super hearing was failing him.

Alfred glanced in the closet's direction once. Sometimes Tim found Alfred to have better senses than Bruce himself. Alfred turned away as quickly as he looked. Clearly, Tim's shadow wasn't visible to the two of them.

Suddenly, Tim's nose started to itch.

Then he had to sneeze.

He knew that such an action would blow his cover.

He had to make a run for it.

Tim waited for Alfred to become deep in conversation with Bruce again before attempting to come out from behind the door. Before he could round the handle, he felt himself begin to fall. It was now Tim's job to make the fall as dramatic as possible.

As he crashed to the floor, Bruce and Alfred whipped around to face him.

"Tim, what was that?" Bruce asked.

"Uh, my shirt fell," he said, not wanting to look or feel any more ridiculous to his father and his father's father figure.

"Huh, sounded a bit louder than a shirt."

"I was still in it."