A/N. Hello my fellow readers! Welcome to my new story, Knightfall. This story is a background story to my one-shot I Find Peace. Don't worry, it's not necessary to read I Find Peace first, although if you want to then that's perfectly fine with me ;) Please review if you do. This will be a multi-chapter story! Now enough of me, enjoy the story!
Disclaimer: I do not own Batman Begins/ Dark Knight or anything of the Batman characters.
You either die a hero, or you live long enough to see yourself become the villain.
Those words kept bouncing around the walls of my mind as I raced away on my newly formed "Batpod" as Alfred had called it. I could hear the shrill sound of sirens far behind me; it was almost as if they were headed in the opposite direction of me. The sound of barking dogs had long since faded.
As had my adrenaline rush.
The pain that it had been masking began to creep its way back into my senses with full force. The bullet that had pierced my armor had also pierced my skin, bringing with it a sharp sting of lingering pain. Joker's dogs had found purchase to my skin through the cracks of my suit with their razor-like teeth. I've had enough broken bones in my life to know that my fall with Harvey had broken my ribs and something in my arm. Then, of course, there were the injuries that the Joker had inflicted with his lead pipe. I also had a pounding headache, which strangely annoyed me the most out of all of my injuries.
I squinted my eyes against the glaring lights of Gotham in an attempt to force my headache to go away. My broken arm hung limp at my side, making controlling the batpod difficult. How am I going to explain this to Alfred?
The ear of my cowl buzzed. Speak of the devil… With much effort on my part, I raised my broken arm to press the button that would accept the transmission. My good arm instinctively locked up when pain shot through my left arm, making the front tire wobble. No, I must keep focus! Using my many years of training with Ra's al Ghul, I focused my mind elsewhere. Oh look, a bird…
"Alfred," I grunted in greeting. For some reason I had a feeling that this conversation would end in an argument; I know I'll lose.
"Good evening Master Bruce," Alfred's crisp British accent ran through my cowl. I smiled slightly through the pain. It seems that he will never call me anything but "Master Bruce". "Sir," he continued on, "I've picked up some rather… disturbing reports from the police scanner," he paused, "The police are saying that the Batman has killed five men including Mr. Dent. Commissioner Gordon has ordered you to be brought into custody. Care to explain?"
I sighed. Of course Alfred has already heard about my "killing spree". How should I explain this to him? Usually I just tell him the basics so he doesn't worry. He may pretend that he can handle my "night-life" with ease, but he can't fool me. I know that he forces himself to stay awake at all hours of the night just to be sure that I arrive home safely. I think of Alfred as a father, and I know that he sees me as the son that he never had.
"Sir?" he asked again, concerned. Oh, I must have lost my train of thought.
"Alfred…they're right," I replied, "Well, they're partially right. I didn't kill anyone but Dent. He was holding Gordon's family hostage though. I couldn't just watch as he shot Gordon's son! I had to do something!" I stopped ranting and took a breath to calm myself. "Gordon and I came up with the cover story that I killed those men so that Gordon's name wouldn't be tainted. I didn't want to kill him… Heck I didn't want to even take the blame! But…but the citizens of Gotham need a White Knight, so I'll have to live with it."
The silence after my mini-speech was deafening. The only sound came from the growl of the batpod's engine. I think that the realness of this situation was finally starting to dawn on me. I had killed a man. Oh my…
"Sir…" Alfred began hesitantly, "if I may say so, you did the right thing."
"No Alfred! I shouldn't have killed him!" I growled, "There's always another way! If only I wouldn't have played opossum-" I was cut off by a mildly angry Alfred.
"What do you mean you 'played opossum'?" he asked in a low voice.
"Joker… he got to Dent," I replied in a pained voice, "He played with his mind and made him believe that by killing the loved ones of those who hadn't saved Rachel, he would have his justice. Gordon and I tried to convince him that he shouldn't take his revenge out on the innocent, but on those responsible. At first, it seemed to be working, but then he pointed his gun to his head and pulled out a coin. After he flipped, he pointed the gun away from himself and directed it towards me. When he flipped the coin this time though, it must have landed on the 'wrong' side," I said darkly, "because he shot me."
I listened to Alfred take a deep breath on the other end. "Did the bullet pierce your armor, Sir?" he asked calmly.
"Not exactly," I replied, "It slipped through one of the cracks in my suit. I guess this is what Lucius meant about being more careful." My attempted humor did nothing to stop Alfred's questioning.
"What are your other injuries?" he demanded.
Sighing again, I replied, "I have a broken arm, a few broken ribs, bite marks from Joker's dogs, and one heck of a headache." There was no need to tell him about the lead pipe.
"Master Bruce, I know that you won't agree to this, but I must insist that you receive medical treatment from the hospital," Alfred said sternly after a few moments of silence.
This seems to be what my instincts were telling me when Alfred called. (You know, my instincts that we our conversation would end in an argument that I would inevitably lose.) It was a sort of unspoken rule that I was to not go to the hospital for any injuries in order to protect my identity. Besides, Alfred was a medic in the military for some time; his skills were enough to fit my needs of being 'patched up'.
"Alfred, you know that I can't go to a hospital. Too many questions would be asked! What would we tell the press when they ask how Bruce Wayne received his gunshot wound, or his pipe-shaped bruises? Do we tell them that I had another polo accident with an old western show down theme?" I asked in disgust. I. Hate. Polo.
"Pipe-shaped bruises, Master Bruce?" an angry Alfred asked. Dang it! How did he get me to tell him about that?
"It's nothing, Alfred. I –" Everything stopped just then as the world around me began to look fuzzy. I groaned and parked my batpod into a nearby alley. I clenched my eyes shut and sank down against the alley's wall. My gunshot wound must be causing me to lose an excessive amount of blood loss. Hopefully, I'll be able to make it back to the cave before I pass out.
"Master Bruce!" Alfred's alarmed voice once again rang through the ear of my cowl. In those few seconds of weakness, I had forgotten that he was listening in. My chances of winning this argument just went from thirty percent to two percent.
"It's just a bit of blood loss, Alfred. I can handle it until I get back to the cave," I assured him.
"Once you get to the cave I am taking you to a hospital. You need professional medical treatment! You may be bleeding internally, or perhaps when you were shot the bullet severed an artery. That would explain your rapid blood loss. Please, Master Bruce, don't make me have to deal with losing you, too." Alfred's normally smooth voice cracked at the end of his mini-speech. That was the deciding factor for me.
"Fine," I grumbled, "I'll go to the hospital."
"Thank you, Master Bruce," Alfred sighed in relief.
With a grunt, I used my good arm to push myself up from the garbage laden ground of the alley. "But," I said as I mounted myself back on the Batpod, "I'm going to need a change of clothes, and you need to remove the bullet so that fewer questions are asked." Hopefully I'll be unconscious by then, I thought with a grimace, Bullet removals always hurt like heck.
"Of course, Sir," Alfred replied, "I'll also create a cover story for your misfortune. Your line snapped while you were spelunking, perhaps?"
My lips curved up just slightly. "It could happen, Alfred. Besides, Bruce Wayne is a clumsy guy."
"That you are, Sir," Alfred chuckled. "Oh, and Master Bruce?" he asked.
"Yes, Alfred?"
"Please try to stay conscious until you at least get to the cave. You're heavier than you look," he deadpanned.
"I'll try to, Alfred. Wait, are you calling me fat?" I teased while revving the Batpod.
"Of course not, Sir… although you could lay off on the doughnuts," he said, "They aren't very healthy you know."
A./N. Love it? Hate it? Too short? Review and let me know! Please don't flame me though :( I'm not very fond of fire. By the way, I'm a very unpredictable updater. My next update could be in a week or in a month so either add this story to your story alert or check in regularly. Review!
~batfangirl