The noir hero is a knight in blood caked armor. He's dirty and he does his best to deny the fact that he's a hero the whole time.

−Frank Miller

The city is like a woman. Cool and inviting, with the grace and charm that could lure any man into her cold embrace. But once she had her way with him, she tosses him a side for the next young buck that has the misfortune to cross her path. Alone and forgotten, but you can't bear to leave.

I had been one of those wide eye young bucks, how long ago that was. I can't remember. There are some days were I regret falling for the siren song of the city. Falling prey to the flashing lights, fast cars, and easy money. But after the shine's worn off and you see The City for what she truly is, a hellhole of Mafia wars and sin. It's almost like waking up from a dream to find the nightmare is just beginning. You've been tossed into the shark tank, and she's laughing at you all the while, as you're being dragged down to the bottom.

Maybe's that's why I can't stand women anymore, or at least the kind of dames you find in this city. All dolled up and waiting for a Mr. Right with a fat wallet, or some hero on a white horse.

Hero, now that's a word that can kill a man if he's not careful. Back when I first came here to this city of back allies and sleepless nights. I had every intention on saving this city from herself. Of being the kind of man that would swoop in and rid The City of her problems and just like that. I'd be the hero that I always wanted to be. But thing's I have found ain't ever that simple. And you can't really save something that doesn't want to be saved in the first place.

This city ain't no damsel, no she's the Mob Boss, she's The Don, The Vor v zakone, she's the one who decides whether you live or die.

So I gave up on my naive dream of being The City's hero, her golden boy. And soon found myself protecting the little good lift in The City. Those hard working people caught in the cross hairs, just try'n to scrape together enough to get by. Wishing they could live somewhere their children are safe and night aren't filled with the sounds Tommy Guns going off.

It's those are the people I protect, and it's those people who call me a hero.

But I ain't no hero, no caped crusader, no I'm just one guy in a trench coat, with a ramshackle office space, a door that never closes, and a couple of Colt-45's as back up.

I may save people, I may solve their problems, but I ain't no hero. I never was.

The night was thick with smog, and there was drizzle falling from the cloud's over head. Not quite dry but not quite wet. It was The City in one of her moods, the kind where she could make up her mind whither she wanted to wash the blood away, or leave it for the neighbors find the next morning.

But I had long scent gotten used to this dame and her mood swings.

I trudged down a side ally leaned against the brick work trying my hardest to stay upright, until I reached my destination. To collapse in these streets was just asking for trouble. The ally spun, the colors and shapes blending and melding into one entity before separating back into it original part. I put a hand to my head to stop the onslaught of vertigo, and pulled it to find my palm painted with red.

The cynical smirk that found its way to my face was no surprise by now. I could now add a head wound to the list of other injuries that I had acquired this evening. All courtesy of Ivan Braginsk and his gang of cut throats, commie bastard.

I couldn't tell if I was bleeding elsewhere, blood caked as I was. I'd liked to pretend that it was mostly other people's blood that was currently staining one of my last suits, and coat. But with the way my side was twinging, I highly doubted that.

I pushed off the wall, staggering into the night and the open street at the other end of the ally. I was almost there, just around one more corner and down a side street then I'd be there.

It was then The City made up her mind, the light drops that were falling increased in frequency until they became a down pour. She wanted to be clean or as clean as she could get.

Soaked through and bloody was how I arrived, at the small back door to the tailor's shop. Tucked away in another back ally that only a few know about, it was this door I knocked on with as much force as I could muster.

I was grateful when the door opened without preamble, almost as if it had been excepting me. I didn't say anything, I didn't need to. I couldn't see the person who had open the door but I knew they were there, like they always were. I managed to tip my hat to them as my vision closed in, my body finally cashing in all the night's nicks and dings. The floor met me same rough comfort it always held.

I lay there face first on the floor half in the build half in the ally headed steadily towards unconsciousness. I heard the long drawn out sigh of the man who owned the place, for this was not the first time I had passed out, bloody on his door step, nor will it be the last.

Just before I was completely lost to the world I felt a warm hand on my cheek and another sigh.

"Really Alfred, what am I to do with you?"

I awoke sometime later. How much time later I couldn't tell, but what I did know was that I was still alive, very stiff, and in a bed that was not mine, but that I knew all too well.

The room was dim, day time with the shutters drawn, and lightly furnished.

"W-what time is it?" The question felt dry and heavy in my mouth.

"Four-thirty in the afternoon if you must know, but I don't see why I bother. You're just going to bugger off back to fairy land soon, and leave me to clean up the mess you made." Came the sharp accented reply that was meant to be a reprimand, but I heard so many times that really was useless by this point.

I turned my head to the side, wincing at the pain in my neck as I did so. A slim man sat a chair put up close to the bed side, a needle in one hand and a bundle of clothes in the other. He had wild blond hair and striking green eyes, his face was set in a frown that made his thick brow stand out. The sight as hole made me smile, though I'm sure it came out as grimmest.

"Mor'n Arthur"

I watch almost gleefully as the expression Arthur's face soften as his resolve to stay angry with me, crumbled. He stuck the needle into the project he was working on and ran a hand through my hair, "Really why do I keep helping you?"

"B-because you can't say no to these baby blues," I chuckle, though action caused my side to ache.

Arthur leveled me with a skeptical look, "I highly doubt it's you oh so charming looks, that make clean up after your heroics."

I looked away, at one time I would have love for my actions to called heroic, but now they were merely just a part of the job. Not heroics, not even good deeds, they were just actions that were so small when faced with the might of The City's dark side.

Arthur sighed and I heard the rustle of cloth than meant he had set aside his sewing for the moment.

"So who was it this time?"

"B-braginsk." I coughed out.

"Ah that would explain the broken ribs and the concussion, wrong of that pipe he's so fond of wheedling. Is it safe to assume that his little sister was there as well?"

I nodded, crazy knife happy bitch that she was.

"Ah, then that would explain the multiple lacerations, you acquired this time as well." Arthur exhaled and continued in the voice of one suffering through some minor annoyance, "Honestly I don't know what required more stitching you or clothing?"

Our eyes met and I saw more worry there that the doctor turned tailor wanted to let on about.

"So what do Braginsk this time, threaten someone's granny, kidnap someone's family member, or did you just happen to run into him and his gang while out for a late night stroll."

"Yeah something like that…" I said taking sudden interest in the water stains on the ceiling. I couldn't tell him the real reason I had confronted Braginsk last night was because the bastard had ordered a hit on him. That Braginsk wanted to kill the one thing I felt made living in this city worthwhile. No, if told Arthur that he'd only excuse me of being the hero I wasn't.

Arthur huffed and I could almost hear his eyes roll, "Fine be that way, you git."

I couldn't help smile at this, he was safe for now and that's all that really mattered. His hand was running through my hair again, and there was a small resigned smile on his face.

"Go back to sleep Alfred, you're going to need if you're going to help clean up the mess you made on my door step."

I nodded feeling the darkness of sleep creeping up on me once more. Though as I was lost to the world once more I felt lips press a kiss to my forehead and a warm voice whisper, "Sleep well you damn hero."

AN: More writing form the USUK Summer Camp, this one is not so fluffy, but it lacks any real plot at the moment... so it counts as fluff. Reviews are 3!