Disclaimer: I don't own anything in the Batman universe.

A/N - I just had to get this out for all you who want a Thanksgiving gift that tastes better in the mind than a turkey ^^ Egotistic? Me? Never :) Anyway, this'll be it until ... probably next weekend or beyond. But props to me for getting it out so fast. I think I broke a personal record :P Enjoy.

"I fear we will be feeling the reverberations of this in years to come," Alfred confides to me, as he drives me back to the city. Bruce remains at the mansion, for what reason I know not, but probably so he won't have to endure being within ten feet of me.

"You will be feeling them," I emphasize.

"You are really going to leave us then?" Alfred frowns.

"Yeah."

"May I ask why? Have we treated you badly, given you reason to leave?"

I wince, "Of course not, Al. You two mean a ton to me and you know it. It's just that … I don't know."

"Then, may I stress, why exactly are you leaving?"

"Because I have to!" Doesn't a soul understand? "I hate the city, I hate the lack of freedom, I hate staying in one spot, I hate being in the way, I hate Bruce for having to feel like he needs to protect me."

"Ah," Alfred nods.

"What?" I challenge, in a bad mood already.

"I understand now," Alfred replies confidently. I doubt he does. "You dislike the way that love chains you to one person, you fear it, and so, you push him away."

"No, that's completely selfish," I exasperate, "If you really must know, I just … can't stand being his weakness."

"That's what you tell yourself, at least," Alfred reprimands, "But we both know the truth of the matter, even if Master Bruce believes your lie."

"It's not a lie!" I shriek defensively.

"Maybe not, but it's not the whole truth."

"What is the whole truth, Alfred? Really? The truth is nothing, only what you choose to believe. Is it the truth that Bruce is out-of-his-mind, straight-jacket crazy? Or is it that he believes in a higher purpose and uses any means necessary to achieve it? Is it a little of both, maybe? But which do people choose to see, Alfred? That is the only truth that matters. Their truth. So, maybe I am afraid, maybe I am running away like the coward I know I am, but as long as Bruce doesn't believe that, the truth is that I won't sit around and be a thorn in his side!"

Alfred is silent after my outburst for the rest of the ride back. As we get out of the car though, he says, quietly, "Isn't love worth it?"

"Love? Love, Alfred? Love is as non-existent as truth. It is only something people choose to believe in. I am not one of those people."

"Ms. Breezy, up until this time, I have considered you to be a decent person, well-rounded, thoughtful, considerate, maybe a tad non-committal, but surely I saw you not as a cynical fool. I suppose next you'll tell me that you don't hold any stock in hope, either."

"Well, actually …" But Alfred storms away before he can hear it, before I can break his heart some more too. I have never really seen him angry like this before. Maybe disappointed is a better word. For a swift moment of vulnerability, I collapse against the side of the car, my body overly tired by the physical and emotional work-out of the day. But the mood scabs over, and I'm angry and upset and confused again.

I avoid Alfred as best as possible. I make my own dinner, and seclude myself in my room, for we all know that's what I'm best at, seclusion. This feels like a broken record. I have fought with Alfred over this subject before, when departure wasn't on the horizon and Wayne Manor wasn't a pile of dust. He knows who I am, or rather what I am, and he knew from the beginning that this would happen. Why is he still upset? Did he expect me to change, just like that? I scoff at the picture of his saddened face that will probably eternally remain stored in my memory. When Bruce finally arrives home, I don't have the guts to face him either.

Panic seizes me wholly, from cerebrum to heart. Like a whirlwind, I bounce around the room, packing my belongings. Some money would be nice for the trip, but I can't bring myself to steal from Bruce, even though he wouldn't mind, or wouldn't notice. I can't stay here, I can't I can't I can't. I feel like a child, stomping my foot stubbornly on the ground. There is no argument with those children.

My only hope is that one of them doesn't catch me, because then I will surely chicken out, and if I chicken out I might never leave. The lack of closure? No biggie, I'm still gone like the wind … no pun intended. Never seeing them again? I'll cope. My - gulp - love for Bruce? Again, I'll get over it. But physically saying goodbye? Unbearable.

As I pause at the door, I allow myself to consider staying one last time.