Tits. Yes. Bruce Wayne sure is interested in those. Really, it's a lucky save - otherwise he might have actually started to go on about the Foundation and that is too close to having actual substance for tonight. Or ever, for him. This, just this, is what he's supposed to be. A borderline-alcoholic manic-depressive asshole grown up out of the shell of a spoiled, socially inept, inherently lackluster nerd. All his brief sparks of hope, from public school to Princeton, snuffed out in disappointment (but not surprise) in the face of a mystery set up as a smoke screen for what was, in all likelihood, rehab.

He watches Stark collide with the horizontal world and imagines enjoying himself (maybe by accident).

It's stupid. He spent nearly a decade as a ghost, isolated and anonymous, and he never left lonely then.

Bruce's head appears at the edge of Tony's field of vision.

"How'd you get on the traffic island?"