Chapter 4: Bulletproof

I extracted the bullet and dropped it into the metal pan by my side with a loud clang that reverberated around the entire cavern then I began to clean the wound in readiness for suturing. As I flexed my stiffening fingers, I marveled at how differently my life had turned out. Nobody could have told me when I joined the Wayne's household that I would have to learn how to perform minor surgeries. I knew how to operate machinery NASA had never even heard about. I couldn't have imagined that I would be making excuses for my master's absences at board meetings, not because he was inebriated somewhere with some tart, but because he was trying to stop a four-hundred pound talking gorilla from launching nuclear warheads.

At times I found it absolutely surreal that this was my life. Me – a failed actor from Surrey – doing a job that better suited a retired MI6 agent. Maybe I was not so failed an actor, because every day of my life I played a role no-one would have suspected this sixty-something, balding Englishman of playing. There were times I became absolutely giddy with the knowledge I possessed. That my ward, a person I had raised from boyhood, was now this near-mythical figure. It made my head spin.

But then there were days like this, when the comedy of my life threatened to turn into a tragedy. And suddenly it was oh so real. I picked up the needle but as Bruce sat stoically waiting for me to begin, my eyes were drawn to the galaxy of scars on his back. I could remember a time when that back had scarcely a blemish. Before Bruce ever donned the costume, when life seemed safe and certain. Those scars were a contradiction: on one hand they were trophies, representing his triumphs despite unspeakable odds. On the other, they were a violent reminder that Batman was only still a man, with all the frailties that implied.

There was something about that black Kevlar suit that changed not only Bruce's appearance, but his very personality. It was like every time he pulled the cowl over his face, he transformed into something terrifying and fascinating in equal measure. He became this inhuman thing, this spectre that could face anyone and anything if it meant defending an innocent. I was well aware that underneath it all, the Batman was Bruce's brilliance, his athleticism, his amazing gadgets and his indefatigable heart for justice. That didn't stop me from standing in dumb awe of him. And I'd changed his diapers!

He seemed untouchable but the blood that stained my latex gloves spoke otherwise. What if the bullet had been just inches to the right? I had the morbid vision of Bruce lying paralyzed in some dank alley somewhere, drowning in a pool of his own blood, cold and alone… It wasn't inconceivable that a simple bullet would be the one to end Batman. His parents had each been killed by a single shot. It hit me with the force of a tidal wave just how close I'd come to losing the only family I had left…

"Alfred?" Bruce turned his head gingerly. He tightened his jaw at the surge of pain caused by that simple action.

I had been standing motionless for I don't know how long, my focus occupied with morose thoughts of what might have been. I still clutched the suturing needle in quaking hands.

I meant to speak, to reassure him I was all right but speech failed me. Bruce, perspicacious as ever, placed a hand on my own quivering ones.

"It's all right," he told me, meeting my troubled gaze. He stood up. "Just call Leslie. She'll do the rest."

I nodded and managed to squeeze out, "Right away, sir."

With a nod, he stood and headed up the staircase into the main house. I swallowed, cursing myself for my cowardice and snapped off my gloves, dropping them onto the metal tray.

I was about to leave when something grabbed my attention. Batman's cowl lay discarded on the keyboard of the computer console. I stared at it. I've always believed in Bruce's mission. I believe that the Dark Knight stands as a symbol of hope for the downtrodden of Gotham and beyond. I know that as this angel from the shadows, he has saved more lives than will ever give him credit for it. I stand by him a hundred per cent. I would readily defend his cause in any court in the land.

However there was a nagging little voice in the back of mind that challenged: Why does it have to be him? Why not leave that madness to the invulnerable, like Superman? Does he really have to risk his life to make a change? Mostly I was able to keep that voice in check, except for days like today when it overwhelmed rational thought. It was the voice of my worst fear, that one day this job would claim Bruce as a victim.

I picked up the mask and glared into its blank unseeing eyes. It matched my gaze steadily and defiantly until I tossed it down in disgust. I loved Bruce.

But sometimes, I really hated the Batman.

A/N: This was meant to be chapter four with Bruce as a young adult but I was totally blocked so I skipped it and went straight to this. Also I wrote this before watching an episode of B:TAS where it turns out Alfred was actually a retired government agent. But since I'd started with the idea of an actor, I decided to continue with it. Hope you liked it. As always, R&R.