Alfred J. Pennyworth liked to be prepared. He liked to blame it on his military training, but the truth was he had always been that way. So, when he came to work at Wayne Manor, he did his best to prepare for any and all situations; robberies, kidnappings, ransom demands. He considered it his job to protect the Wayne family, especially young Master Bruce.

The boy had been all of two years old when Alfred had come to the Manor, and despite his usual dislike for children, he had rather quickly found that Bruce Wayne was different. He was a quiet child. He smiled, and he laughed, but he was so different from others his age. He was content to be by himself, or with his parents, or even with Alfred himself. More than once the child had sat on the counter and tried to steal licks of cookie dough while Alfred baked.

The one thing Alfred had not prepared for was death. Death happened on the battlefield, in wars. It was not supposed to happen in a city, behind a theatre. Alfred knew that it wasn't all bad, Master Bruce was so much more fortunate than others in his situation, but Alfred didn't know how to deal with a mourning child.

He had seen the hints of obsession early on. The drive to find his parents' killer, to fulfill his parents' dream for Gotham. Personally, Alfred had wanted to take the boy and run as far from the god-forsaken city as possible. At the very least he wanted the boy to talk to someone. Bruce wouldn't hear of either.

Then one day, several years later, he was simply gone. Alfred had manned the empty manor for years, waiting for his charge to come home. Occasionally, he received a letter, weeks after it had been written. Then, his boy had come home. He was harder than when he left. There was glint of steel in his gaze now, and a determined set to his jaw. And then he told Alfred his plan, and the older man was certain he had not only failed in his parenting, but failed miserably.

It took him all of six seconds to decide to go along with it. At the very least, he might be able to contain some of the damage, or even talk his boy out of it. Neither of those worked out as he had hoped, and Alfred allowed himself to fall into the madness.

And then Bruce had done something he had never imagined, he brought home a little boy. More than once over the years Alfred had dreamed of Bruce getting married, and having little children. He had dreamed of the manor coming alive with a family again. He'd given up those dreams when the Batman had emerged. Any person who would be willing to put up with that madness would have to be certifiable after all.

Still, young Master Richard restored a small glimmer of hope in Alfred's heart. The boy was more receptive than Bruce had been, a bit more cheerful. Alfred swore that he wouldn't let this child go down the same path. Then the boy had become Robin, and Alfred knew he had to act. Richard Grayson was going to grief counseling if it killed him.

So, Alfred began the search, despite the protests of both his charges. Dick had visited five different therapists, rejecting each one. As Alfred walked the boy into the office of number six, he prayed this one would work out. As it was, it had only been the threat of forcing Bruce into therapy and forbidding any Robin activities that had gotten his charges' compliance. He was getting much too old for this.

Removing his coat, Alfred signed Richard in and they began the wait. It was only a matter of minutes before the door opened, and pretty young woman stepped out. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail, and her glasses sat slightly askew on her face, but her smile was sincere.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the woman capture Richard's attention. He watched the boy relax as she smiled at him, and came to greet him. Bending down to his level, she stuck out her hand and said, "You must be Richard, I'm Dr. Quinzel, but you can call me Harleen, if you'd like."

Alfred watched as the boy studied her for a minute before taking her hand and smiling, "Hi Harleen, I'm Dick, and that's Alfred."

Alfred nearly sagged with relief at the introduction. Instead, he stood and shook the woman's hand, "It is a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Quinzel."