Well, obviously quite a long break happened between chapters two and three. And I do apologize to those of you that have really wanted another update. It was always coming, but there's this thing called life and it happened.

So sorry for the delay, but here it is, and I hope it doesn't disappoint. When will there be another update? No clue. Will there be one? Yes, there will.

I love reviews and constructive criticism so please please, feel free to leave something!

-k

When Alfred got the call, he'd been sitting in the study wringing his hands and alternating between sitting rigidly, and pacing in front of the piano. When the buzzer on his phone went off, he was up much faster than a man of his age should be and he answered the phone with no greeting. At first he just heard a heavy, labored breathing that mixed with the static coming through on the line. Then, he heard a gruff but distinct voice.

"Alfred! Help me!" He kept the phone near his ear but he was already running from the study, going far faster than he'd ever thought he could. He took the first car he saw, black and nondescript.

"Blood. Take. Take poison. Blood poison. Poison. Poisonous." It was hard to make out Bruce's next line, but he managed. Alfred started the car up and drove off with a purpose. No one would be up and driving around the Palisades at this hour anyway, so he decided that he could break the speed limit just this once. The car was mostly quiet as he drove, save for the rain, the thrumming engine, and the gasping and mumbling Bruce, who hadn't disconnected the call. Alfred tried to stay composed, but this was something he'd be dreading ever since Bruce had donned the costume. Cuts he could stitch and bruises he could soothe, but poison? He wasn't a bloody chemist. Alfred's hands were white as he clenched the steering wheel, the GPS system locking onto Bruce's position in the Narrows.

The longer he drove, the worse Bruce began to sound. It pained Alfred to hear the frightened muttering about Bruce's parents and the bats that he hadn't heard since he was a child. Every minute that passed the speedometer inched up higher and higher.

"Bruce if you can hear me I'm near your position," he said wearily. Tall, dingy apartment complexes shot up on either side of the now-parked car. If his assumptions were correct and Bruce took shelter on a rooftop, then there was no way Alfred would be able to get him down to the ground.

"If you can you need to get yourself to the ground." He mumbled after a minute of silence. A pained grunt responded him after a short pause. Alfred exited the car, the rain automatically soaking through his blazer. He lifted his head towards the smoky, omnipresent gloom that always hung over the Narrows, looking for a dark shadow to emerge.

"Bruce?" He whispered to the night. A series of metallic clangs and grunts responded to his call, and then there was Bruce, falling down the nearest fire escape. Alfred rushed to his side, his leather shoes sliding on the sludge that lived on the alley floor.

"Al…fred." A strangled word was all that he could discern from Bruce's incoherent mumbling. Alfred grabbed under both of Bruce's arms, attempting to drag him from his landing spot near a dumpster, to the backseat of the car.

"Bloody hell Bruce must you weigh this much?" He muttered to himself, trying to ease the tension in his mind, and body. After ungracefully dumping, shoving, and tucking Bruce into the back as best he could, Alfred took a glance around and then reentered the car.

The moment he did, the overwhelming smell of burnt rubber and fabric invaded his nose. He hadn't noticed the stench before, but now that he was in an enclosed space with Bruce, it came to his attention. As he drove, his eyes kept glancing in the mirror, surveying the damage to the suit and to Bruce. What he saw, and most importantly what he didn't see, worried him greatly. On the outside, he detected scorch marks and tears, which led him to believe much worse damage would lie underneath the suit.

"Just hold on Bruce." He whispered.

Alfred didn't remember much of the journey from the car to the bedroom, and he was glad of it. Bruce never awoke during the arduous process of lugging him up the grand staircase and dragging him down the carpeted halls, and for that Alfred was grateful. Once he managed to get him to his room, Alfred went about methodically removing each piece of the suit, tossing it unceremoniously into a heap in the corner. He resented the suit, and he feared it too. He feared what it might mean for the only person he had left, and what it might mean for his own future.

The feelings Alfred harbored only grew as he saw what plagued Bruce's body. Deep bruises and burns littered the exposed skin, and Alfred set about cleansing and wrapping them to the best of his ability. He did so quietly, yet occasionally he would lightly scold Bruce for his carelessness, hoping that somehow it would ease the violent nightmares he feared his ward was having.

He eventually managed to get Bruce settled into the bed, the grandiosity of it dwarfing the tossing and shaking form. Alfred sat down in an old oak chair, wrapping his old wool cardigan on for some much needed warmth. The ball was in his court now, and he wasn't sure which move to take. Bruce had said something about poison in his blood, but how was he supposed to know what that meant for sure? The only person who'd know was unconscious, and that was a bloody big help for sure.

"The trouble you cause me Master Wayne."

And so his silent vigil began.

The first twenty four hours saw Alfred in a tizzy. Bruce's condition changed rapidly, from cold sweats, to raging fever, to Bruce nearing consciousness in a dazed frenzy. All the while he sat, trying to do whatever he could to calm and soothe him. But once the cycle had repeated twice, Bruce stopped moving all together. And that's when Alfred made the call.

Lucius Fox had always been a reliable man, back to the heyday of Thomas and Martha. At this point, he was the only person Alfred could think of that had the knowledge, and resources, to save Bruce. His friend arrived promptly, Bruce's situation seeming dire enough.

"I'll have to take his blood sample back to R&D, work on synthesizing an antidote to whatever he's gotten into his system." Lucius filled a small vile with Bruce's blood, and sealed it inside a biohazard envelope.

"Will you have enough time?" Alfred asked, his eyes straying back to Bruce's still form.

"He'll be fine Alfred. You have my word." Knowing Lucius didn't say things lightly, Alfred clapped him on the back and shook his hand.

"Thank you Lucius."

Mr. Fox left Wayne Manor, promising he'd be back in a few hours.

Alfred thought those few hours would be the longest he'd ever experience.

He was wrong.

After Lucius injected Bruce with the antidote, time seemed to stand still. Neither of the men knew what to expect, so when nothing happened they were mildly surprised.

"It might take a while to work through his system. He got quite a concentrated dose of an aerosol hallucinogen; I'm surprised it hasn't left permanent damage."

"Then I'll wait."

The next twenty-four hours went down as the longest in Alfred's life. The years that went by when Bruce was missing were nothing compared to the feelings that he was experiencing. Because now Bruce's life was in Alfred's court, and he'd be damned if he was going to let Bruce die on his watch.

So when Bruce groggily awoke after the forty-eight hour mark, it took all of Alfred's willpower not to grab him in a vicious hug. Instead, he calmly mixed the rest of the antidote Lucius had brought into a glass of water, knowing it would still taste dreadful.

"How long was I out?"

"Two days." More like twenty years. "It's your birthday." And as an unspoken present, Alfred vowed to see to it that Bruce saw his next.