"Will you be going out tonight, Master Wayne? Shall I prepare the medical kit again, or will it be a coffin this time?"
Batman turned to see Alfred descending the stairs, a platter of food held in his hands and a look of disapproval on his old face.
"My city needs me, Alfred. I can't just stand by and do nothing."
"I'm afraid that's exactly what you must do, sir. Until your wounds heal, you're in no fit state to be fighting. The city will struggle on for a few more weeks without you, just as it did before Batman. You need to rest, eat, perhaps a few of those playboy antics you secretly enjoy."
He set the tray of food on the Batcomputer, and Bruce had to admit that it did smell delicious. He turned away, reaching for his mask.
"If I may, Master Bruce, the "death" of Batman is an opportunity, not just for crime but for you too," Alfred spoke up quickly. "The criminals think you're dead. They're operating freely in the open, their defenses lowered, but as soon as Batman rears his head they will go to ground. Why not take advantage of that while you can. Perhaps a little reconnaissance work - enter their organizations, learn their plans, and then, once you know how they operate, Batman can return."
Bruce hesitated. It was true that, as well as being the world's greatest crime fighter, he was also the world's greatest detective and a master of disguise. If he couldn't fight, there could be no harm in focusing on the latter for a few days. His attention moved from the glass case containing his cape and cowl, to the extensive disguise kit he kept, containing every piece of clothing, wig, and make-up he had ever needed, not to mention a few gadgets from the Wayne Enterprises R&D department that he had yet to try.
"Very well, Alfred. A little cloak and dagger never hurt anybody."
"Except the criminals, sir," Alfred said with a rare smile, as Bruce began to delve into the disguises. He flourished a cloth, and set to work polishing the Batwing, watching a master at work, as Bruce selected his attire for the night.