"It's a funny world we live in."
Those Who Know
Alfred
The ER nurses don't ask questions when Bruce is dragged in unconscious. (Why is a billionaire coming to a public hospital when he can afford a private surgeon? Why does a billionaire have a bullet in his gut? Why is his butler so calm? Is this normal?) Instead she instructs him to fill out the appropriate documents before skittering off to another patient. A group of high security prisoners came in hours before wearing scrubs. If she held her tongue then, she could hold it now. So, she leaves the smiling butler to wade his way through technical jargon.
Alfred knows, for a moment, everything was right. He wasn't personally taking care of his charge, but as long as it wasn't Master Wayne suturing together more scars, he found he didn't quite mind. Even after waiting hours for his charge to be out of the surgery room, he's paging through week old magazines as if he's contemplating what will be served for supper. Even when he sees Master Wayne in all his heart monitoring-IV tube glory, Alfred Pennyworth chokes. His charge is finally getting the proper care. The bruises look dastardly, but the lighting makes them looked less permanent, as if this time, maybe they'll actually fade away. The electrolytes of his tears are charged with joy.
The doctor visited at the end of his shift. Alfred wishes he didn't. He looks like Master Wayne does when returning after a fruitless night.
"Give it a few weeks to heal, but the damage was minimal. The bullet didn't go passed the muscle tissue," the man grumbles, as if he really doesn't want to be here.
Alfred gives it a few moments before asking, "Is there something else I can help you with, doctor?"
"Yeah…" He licks his lips. "In two weeks I want you to schedule an appointment with me. He needs a general physical and...maybe a few other things." He proffers a business card.
"Very well, sir." Alfred continues reading the decent paperback he scrounged up in the hospital's gift shop.
The doctor lingers a while longer before leaving, grumbling something about needing a better way to spend money.
"Alfred," Master Wayne croaks when the sedatives wear off.
"Yes, sir?" He's at the bed side now. His slacks are wrinkled, but it's okay.
"You drugged me," his ward rasps.
"How else did you expect me to get you to the hospital?" They're both smiling now, weary, tired, happy smiles.
They leave after the twenty four hour mark and a light dose of painkillers. No one persists for Master Wayne to stay longer. He might be a billionaire, but they need the room he took up more. The halls, lounges, elevators burst with hundreds of patients too many. Master Wayne sags in a wheel chair because a gurney couldn't be spared. He cradles his head, propped up in a hand. He's not faking as he begins to nod off again. Getting down from the fifth floor of the hospital takes a ridiculous amount of time. Alfred understands part of his annoyance comes from the privileges of Wayne's family fortune he is used to. However, these people. How ungrateful they are! They should respect Master Wayne. Should nod their heads in thanks. Should acknowledge how much he's done for this city, for these people who shove by like animals.
Then, Alfred recalls their ignorance.
Author: I love Alfred and how Caine portrays him. It's a magnificent blend of professional and fatherly love. Next is Reese. Thank you, my single reviewer! This is for you.