Alfred stood in front of the door and took a deep breath. Over the past two days since contacting this Mr. Cobb, he'd done his absolute best to manage all expectations. In all likelihood this was just another snake-oil salesman looking to access Mr. Wayne's bank account, with a generous cut given to Dr. Crane. But on the off-chance that this 'miracle cure' was what they promised, Alfred couldn't miss this opportunity. He knocked on the apartment door.

A handsome young man in a fine suit opened the door. He looked more like a savvy businessman than some kind of doctor, which only fed Alfred's skepticism. "You must be Mr. Pennyworth." The man ushered him into the apartment and offered up a handshake. "I'm Cobb." He gestured to the back of the room, where a man with charcoal eyes and wavy black hair waited at a desk. "This is my associate, Arthur."

Alfred shook Cobb's hand and gave a nod to Arthur. "Pleasure," he said. Looking around the apartment, his fears about this scheme were all but confirmed. It was a fairly simple loft with exposed brick walls and some sparse furniture; looked more like an abandoned warehouse than an office or home. No medical equipment in sight; there wasn't even a book in the entire place. Doctors need books; con men don't.

"Can I offer you something to drink?" Cobb said. He gestured across the apartment to a small kitchen.

"Tea would be nice," Alfred answered as he took a seat on the couch.

"Tea, good." Cobb went into the kitchen and began filling the kettle. The other man, Arthur, hadn't moved from the desk. In front of him was an open metal briefcase, though Alfred couldn't see what was inside of it.

"So, tell me about this miracle drug of yours," Alfred said. "Dr. Crane made some lofty promises about how it could help my... err... son." He hadn't exactly been one hundred percent straightforward with Mr. Cobb on the phone, so as to prevent him from guessing the true identity of the patient. As much as he preferred to avoid the limelight, Alfred was not completely unknown to the press and the world at large. He'd only tell them that the patient was Bruce Wayne if that ever became absolutely necessary.

"And he told you it was a drug?" Arthur spoke from the desk. He continued fussing with whatever was in the briefcase, not even bothering to look up at Alfred.

"Well..." Alfred tried to recall the conversation and realized that Crane had never said it was a drug. "No, I suppose not. But what else would it be?"

Cobb returned from the kitchen. "Do you dream, Mr. Pennyworth?"

"Do I dream?" Alfred repeated. "What an odd question." He expected Cobb to continue with the punchline of the joke, but Cobb simply stared and waited for an answer. "Well, yes, I have dreams in my sleep, just like any other person..."

"Good, good. See, dreams are a manifestation of your subconscious. What we do is we design a dream and insert the subject into that dream to get something out of their subconscious. Then we go into the dream ourselves. Now normally, we're after..."

"Information," Arthur supplied.

"Right. Information that the subject doesn't necessarily want to give. And going after a character embedded in the subconcious is just the same as going after information."

"Right. So you'd go into Mast... err.. my son's dream?" Alfred said, suppressing an eye roll. With that, he decided he'd had enough. He stood from the couch. "Well, I appreciate your time, Gentlemen. I'm afraid that this... procedure... is not really what I'm looking for."

"Please," Cobb interrupted. At that moment, the kettle began whistling. "Perhaps I'm not explaining it well enough. I can guarantee you that this process will help your son. Let me get you your tea, and I'll start again, OK?"

Alfred remained standing, looking into Cobb's eyes. The man seemed honest enough, though most slimy salesmen spent years cultivating that same look. But there was something else there that Alfred couldn't quite place. And, of course, he thought of Bruce back in the Asylum, slumped in that corner of his cell. He owed it to Bruce to hear this man Cobb out.

Cobb returned with a china saucer full of tea along with a bowl of sugar cubes, and Alfred returned to his spot on the couch. He sipped at his tea and then looked at Cobb expectantly. "All right then."

"How about a demonstration?" Cobb asked. "That's probably the easiest way to explain how this all works.

"All right," Alfred answered. That should clear things up once and for all, if everything was above board."

Cobb grinned. "Good. Should begin in about..." he checked his watch. "About twenty seconds or so. As soon as the sedative kicks in."

Alfred's head began to spin, and he wasn't able to quite process what Cobb said. He gripped the couch's arm as he tried to steady himself. "I... I'm afraid I'm not feeling well," he told Cobb, blinking his eyes to get rid of the sudden onset of double vision. "I don't...."

"It was the tea," Cobb explained. "I drugged you."

"Drugged me?" Alfred burst out. "You..." Then everything faded to black.

--------------------------

When he awoke, both Cobb and Arthur were standing over the couch. The metal briefcase that had so preoccupied Arthur was now resting on the nearby coffee table next to Alfred's half-empty saucer of tea. Wires coming out of it were linked to pads on Alfred's head and chest.

"Wow," Cobb announced as soon as he realized Alfred's eyes were open. "Bruce is in pretty bad shape, huh?" He grinned and offered Alfred a hand to help him sit up. "You're lucky that we can help."