A/N: OK, so I don't have much to say here. I don't own Batman. There are no spoilers. And if the characters are slightly OOC, I apologize. Well then, onto the story!
Alfred comes, he will always come. No matter what time, day or night, rain or shine, if his ward needed him, he would be there. That didn't mean he'd have to like it.
After a particularly gruesome battle and multiple life-threatening injuries [OK, there might have only been two, moderately serious injuries, but the Butler could exaggerate if he wished to!] and three days in and out of consciousness, Bruce was finally awake enough to hold a conversation that made sense to the rest of the world.
He stood and stretched, groaning when he realized moving a whole lot with cracked ribs was not a good idea.
The door burst open, causing Bruce to jump, which was a hard thing to do, and Alfred stalked in.
"What the hell were you thinking?!"
This took Bruce by surprise. The elderly man normally treated this house with the utmost respect, he didn't go banging doors open. And he most certainly did not swear. The man was angry, no, he was livid.
"What?" Bruce questioned, his voice hoarse.
"What? You almost get yourself killed and all you have to say is what!" Bruce flinched, obviously not the best phrase to use.
"You weren't even wearing your suit! You could have died! And then what would I have done? You can't put Batman's duties above your own life!" Alfred shouted.
"People were dying." Bruce stated, getting a tad bit defensive.
"People will always be dying, and you won't always be able to save them."
Now Bruce was angry. This topic brought up some old memories, memories of his parents lying dead in the street, memories he didn't care to remember.
"Batman is my life." Bruce stood, probably too fast for someone with cracked ribs, but he didn't care. "And I will do everything to protect these people until I am physically incapable of doing so. Bruce Wayne's life doesn't matter, not to me, not to anyone!" He spat, then stormed out of the room.
Tears sprang to Alfred's eyes, "It matters to me." He whispered to the retreating figure of his surrogate grandson.
The figure halted, seeming to contemplate the words he had spoken. Bruce turned his head slightly, but Alfred couldn't see his face. "I know." Then, so softly, the Butler could barely hear it, "Thank you Alfred."
Then Bruce was gone. But a warm feeling was left in Alfred's stomach. He and Bruce had an odd relationship, but it worked.
Bruce would go out and risk his life to save the people he didn't know in a town he both loved and hated. And Alfred would patch him up, heal his wounds, physical and otherwise. They would work together till everything was over. Whether it was he or Bruce that broke first, well, only time would tell. But until then Alfred would come, he would always come.