Perhaps later, Clark will appreciate the fact that this is all being recorded.

Alfred is waiting when the car makes its descent into the cave beneath the lake, anxious but unafraid - if Superman showing up in the dead of night to collect his fancy pajamas after having nearly torn Bruce's head off wasn't enough to make him nervous, then nothing is. He does his best to herd Clark out of the car and into the section of their industrial deathtrap that counts as an infirmary, intent on-- well, he's not sure what he's intent on, when he gets him there. Not like they can stick a needle in him and draw blood.

When Bruce finally arrives - a little gross beneath his civvies, having stopped in a bolthole of his downtown - he's met with the sight of Alfred trying to re-stick electrodes and sensor pads to a wiggly Kryptonian.

"Are you-- is he all right?"

Don't sound worried is thrown right out the window; Bruce has to all but skid to a halt near them, one hand on Clark's shoulder already.

Alfred looks at him, expression grave.

"He's drunk."