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Chapter 9

"Hi, Alfred. You asleep?"

"Not anymore, sir." Alfred was up and alert when the first tone rang. It wasn't a call from Bruce. It was from Batman.

"Great. I need a lift."

"What happened this time? Did you get a flat tire?" The butler asked lightly, buttoning up his shirt as he glanced at the clock on his nightstand. A quarter to one.

"Ah, no. I might have broken my leg."

That changed a lot. "Tell me you're kidding, sir." Alfred muttered with exasperation, but he already knew Bruce would not try his patience like this. "Is it safe for you to talk? Are you safe?"

"I'm outside Gotham, so yes." Bruce seemed collected and lucid, which was a promising sign. Alfred still dreaded the moment he would get a call like he had over a year ago, with Bruce barely conscious and on the verge of panic as the hallucinogens took the better of him. "Gordon dropped me at that side parking on the way to the mansion."

That was good, meaning Bruce was not in an immediate danger of being discovered by a random person while compromised. Still, Alfred ran a quick inquiry as he dressed just to make sure he wasn't missing something vital. Bruce claimed he wasn't bleeding and didn't have any life threatening injuries, he also denied having hit his head or losing consciousness. His main concern was his left leg, which would not bear his weight, rendering him almost completely helpless.

"If you can, sir, try to take off your suit before the swelling grows."

"Yeah." There was a moment of pause. "Just... Come, please." Maybe Alfred imagined it, but Bruce sounded almost embarrassed. And miserable.

"Of course, sir, I'm on my way," the butler promised. "I will call you back from the car. Don't go anywhere."

"I'm not planning to."

Alfred wasted no time. He grabbed an emergency bag for Bruce he had prepared a while ago for situations like this, along with a pair of crutches he had ordered after the whole ordeal with Joker. He also took a thermos with tea he had left for Bruce before retiring for the night, since it was all probably going to take some time.

As soon as he was in the car, Alfred called Batman's phone. Bruce picked up immediately and though he wasn't very talkative, the butler felt a little more at ease getting a response now and then as he drove. He learned that Batman had had to disappear before the police arrived and that he probably chose the wrong place to hook his grapple, or maybe it had slipped from the wet railing. Bruce wasn't really sure as it had happened too quickly, but in result he half fell and landed badly. He had to stay hidden during the drug bust, then Jim Gordon found him and helped him get away. At first Bruce sounded irritated, but it had been over two hours since the injury already and Alfred could hear how exhausted he really was, even though he was clearly making an effort to keep the conversation light.

The parking was blessedly empty, not that Alfred expected to see anyone there at half past one. Bruce had given him detailed instructions as to where he was, so he drove right to the end of the parking place, behind wooden tables.

"You're quick," Bruce commented once Alfred got out of the car. He was sitting on the ground between bushes, his black costume making him a darker spot in already fairly dark forest. That is, until Alfred lit a torch to actually see what he would have to deal with.

Bruce winced when the light went right into his eyes. He had managed to take off his boot and must have cut off the tight trouser leg of his suit, leaving just black leggings underneath. Overall, with the cape wrapped around his shoulders like a blanket to protect him from mist, Batman didn't exactly pose a threat at the moment, so Alfred was glad he had managed to get out of Gotham safely.

"Are you injured elsewhere too, sir?"

"No, nothing worse than usual," Bruce shrugged him off. "But that damn leg is unfortunate."

"Then what's wrong with your fingers?" Alfred pointed out when he saw the way Bruce struggled to grab the cowl with his right hand. "Broken as well?"

"Dislocated," Bruce replied once the cowl was off. "I've set it back, but it's swelling badly. The other is fine, I think. Just bruised." He tried to shift and his breath hitched. "Oh, damn."

"I brought you some normal clothes, but you should start with this, master Wayne." Alfred passed him painkillers he knew Bruce responded well to. God knew they had tested that recently.

"Thanks." The wounded gulped down half a bottle of water that came with the pills. "I might need a hand here," he admitted sheepishly.
Taking off the suit required quite a bit of coordination to minimize moving the injured leg. Once Bruce was stripped down to a black t-shirt, Alfred retrieved a clean polo shirt from the bag, then gave him an outdoor jacket when he saw the way he was shivering. For the same reason he decided to leave the leggings Bruce wore under the suit, deeming them stretchy enough, and knelt on the moss to secure the broken limb for the time being. He had no intention of trying to set the bone, least of all in such conditions, but he needed to prevent any further damage.

By the time he was done, Bruce was panting and still shaking occasionally, but he also looked a bit perplexed. When Alfred handed him a pair of crutches from the trunk, he almost gawked.

"Is something wrong, sir?"

"You've come prepared."

"Of course." Alfred just gave him a pointed look. "I can't exactly pick and carry you, master Wayne. You're way too heavy."

That earned him a tired snort from Bruce as he dragged himself up and hobbled unsteadily to the car with Alfred lighting the way. Once he was settled at the backseat, Alfred packed Batman's suit into the trunk, double checking if they didn't leave anything.

"Let's go home." Bruce muttered when the butler finally sat behind the wheel.

"I'm afraid not, master Wayne," Alfred saw the way Bruce snapped his head up, but didn't let him interrupt. "With all respect, sir, I can tape you strain muscles, bind your wounds, maybe splint a finger if needed. But I will not risk potentially maiming you by ignoring a break."

"I can't go to hospital in Gotham, not when Gordon knows," Bruce groaned. "And we would need a good explanation for this."

"It's either St. Mitchell's or Nicholas Fowler Hospital, but I would suggest Mitchell's, sir. It's closer to where you went on a weekend hiking trip with climbing that ended badly." Both hospitals were about an hour drive away, but Alfred had looked them up exactly for situations like this one, when Gotham's hospitals would be out of question.

There was a moment of stunned silence. "You really planned that ahead, didn't you."

"Of course." Alfred glanced at his employer via the rear mirror. "If there is ever an emergency and you are out cold, master Wayne, making up a coherent cover story should be the last of my worries."

"Alright, fill me in." Bruce cracked a weary smile. "Just stop by the mansion first. We can't risk dragging the suit around and it's much closer than going back to the city. Assuming you have the keys?"

"Of course." Alfred nodded and turned on the engine. As much as he loathed additional delay, Bruce had a point there. A routine police control could easily end up badly if Batman's equipment was to be found in their trunk.

xxx

Alfred was running late and there wasn't really much he could do about it. He was stuck in a traffic jam and without knowing much about the town and the construction works on the main crossing, he couldn't have really predicted such obstruction at still relatively early hour. It didn't help that Bruce hadn't called ahead that he was about to be released from the hospital, just once he was ready to go, despite their earlier agreement.

Bruce's leg was indeed broken. It was a simple break, but they were told the wounded had to stay till morning anyway, since not everything could be done with limited night shift and since the fall Bruce had supposedly taken could have resulted in other injuries as well. Once it became apparent Bruce would not be able to talk himself out of it, he told Alfred to get himself a room in the nearest hotel, as there was no point in both of them spending a sleepless night. The butler opposed at first, reluctant to leave his employer alone, but Bruce insisted. Besides, they were going to need a well-rested driver the next day and the hospital staff assured him Bruce would get any help he might require. There was not much Alfred could do there at four in the morning anyway.

And so here he was, not exactly well-rested, trying to make his way back. When he finally arrived at the hospital after almost forty minutes, he found Bruce sitting outside on a bench.

"I'm sorry it took so long, master Wayne."

"Hi, Alfred," Bruce greeted him with a tired smile and reached for his crutches to push himself up. Alfred eyed him warily, since he had both index and middle finger outstretched in a cast, which made his grip on the crutch seem unstable. The cast on his leg ended a little above his knee and Bruce must have cut off the trouser leg from his sweatpants to put them on.

"Do we need to stop at pharmacy, sir?"

"No need, Alfred, there was one here and I bought painkillers while waiting for you," Bruce said as he tried to make himself comfortable with his leg stretched on the backseat. "I asked for prescription for two different ones, since I couldn't remember which was the one that made me so sleepy."

"I don't think it was the drug, sir," Alfred pointed out. The last time he had to keep his employer on heavy painkillers, Bruce had probably slept because he had desperately needed it. "Anyway, that's good, we can save some for later."

"I know," Bruce hummed in agreement. "But it got me thinking."

The shift in his tone made the butler glance up and he saw Bruce staring at him intently through the rear view mirror.

"The painkillers I got today are the same you fed me with last time. How did you get them?"

"It's not hard to get a prescription when you know where to look," Alfred explained, his tone neutral. "Not in your real name, of course, nor in mine. No one would link the prescriptions to any of us, but it's not exactly hard to get them, especially in Gotham."

"I thought we were trying to stop bribery and corruption, not partake in them," Bruce groaned. "Please don't do that next time."

"With all respect, master Wayne, I have to decline." Alfred said firmly. "I don't want to dig a bullet out of you ever again. But if I ever have to, I want to at least have anaesthetics and antibiotics at hand. So unless you find yourself a doctor you can trust, I will keep my fake prescriptions."

Bruce didn't really have a retort to that. "Alright," he muttered under his breath, clearly displeased with the whole idea. "But I am actively working on not getting shot again."

"A broken limb is an improvement," Alfred agreed easily. "For that I can at least get you a cover story."

"You certainly know how to cheer, Alfred."

xxx

It wasn't really surprising that Bruce soon fell asleep and slept through most of the ride. Once they got back home, Alfred expected him to get some decent rest, but Bruce insisted on taking a shower first, since he didn't get a chance to wash himself properly. It took a while before they figured out the logistics and Bruce agreed to take it easy and lie down after that, but flat refused to move temporarily downstairs again. Alfred could see he already loathed the prospect of very limited mobility and he wasn't really looking forward to the upcoming weeks.

"So, what now, master Wayne? I think the press has not sniffed your little accident yet, but it's only the matter of time."

"We've met Jenkins down in the garage, I bet here goes your gossip," Bruce rolled his eyes. "I spoke with Lucius this morning, asked to keep things to himself for now. It's not like he feelsobliged to inform anyone why I didn't show up at a meeting."

"This is not an injury you can walk off in a week, sir." The butler set the tray with coffee he brought on the nightstand and sat on a chair. "Leaving unexpectedly for this long would surely arise questions, though it wouldn't be your first time."

"You'd want me grounded for the next seven years?" Bruce smirked. "Thanks."

"God no, for both our sakes, sir." Alfred shuddered at the idea.

"It's too late to just leave anyway."

"Commissioner Gordon knows."

Bruce winced. "I know, it's a risk, but I can't disappear." He took another sip of his coffee and sobered. "Sadly, we have this big fundraising event this Saturday and as much as I loathe it, Bruce Wayne is expected to be the host."

"This time you could use the accident as an excuse, but that would be bad for your image." Alfred agreed. "In fact, you could probably use it to your advantage at a fundraising for hospital."

"Good idea. I'll talk it through later with our PR management."

xxx

It wasn't hard to predict that once Bruce had slept off the accident and the hospital trip, he would soon become restless. Two days of complete bed rest was all Alfred managed to push, and that was only because Bruce had some reports from Wayne Enterprises to catch up with and kept himself occupied with some frankly boring documents. He was sore and restless, which made him short-tempered, but the physiotherapist he called told him to refrain from any exercises at least for the first few days. Bruce begrudgingly obliged and booked appointments with her to ensure he would be able to start rehabilitation as soon as possible and in the range that was advisable.

On third day, however, Alfred found him by the desk, with his leg propped up on another chair, fumbling with his injured fingers.

"What are you doing, sir?"

"That damn splint is useless," replied Bruce without bothering to look up as he continued trying to tape his index finger with kinesiology tape. "I can't do a single thing with it and my grip on the crutch is off."

"Perhaps for once you could leave those fingers alone and let them actually heal. It's not like they will take longer than your leg."

"Spare me, Alfred, I know what I'm doing," Bruce snapped and tried to close the grip of his right hand. "I'm not even talking about doing anything taxing, I'm talking about signing those papers," he waved at the pile of documents by the printer. "Ann sent them over an hour ago, so I assume she needs them yesterday. It's for the fundraising. She's going to come and collect them after work."

"You said they told you to leave that cast for about a week, sir," Alfred pointed out, ignoring Bruce's remarks about his secretary. "Perhaps you could listen that one time someone actually got to look at your injuries."

"It'll be fine."

"Very well," Alfred sighed. "Though I think I might actually take that long overdue holiday," he muttered half to himself, but loud enough to be sure Bruce heard him.

That finally got him Bruce's full attention. He jerked his head and looked at the butler with such a mixture of bewilderment and horror that Alfred forced down a chuckle.

"What? You'd leave me alone with that mess?" he gawked.

Alfred raised his eyebrow. "Of course not, master Wayne. I fully expect you to accompany me. I recall you threatening to follow me if I ever take a day off."

Bruce blinked, then offered Alfred his best boyish smile that usually charmed the tabloids. Alfred himself, not so much.

"Am I truly being this insufferable?"

"I'm afraid so, master Wayne."

Now it was Bruce who gave Alfred a pointed look. "And yet you'd like to suffer my company on holiday?"

The butler held his gaze. "Perhaps it's not me who needs some time away from here, sir."

"I can't leave now, there's too much going on," Bruce objected and let out a frustrated sigh when the tape he was trying to put on his fingers just got stuck to itself.

Alfred just quirked an eyebrow again.

"Alright, we'll talk about it after the fundraising," his employer relented. "Give me a hand here, would you? I promise I won't overdo it."

Some parts of this chapter waited A YEAR to be published, meaning there were bits I wrote when I started this story and I was slowly making my way towards them. I know, this chapter was mostly a mix of whump and banter, but no regrets from my part here. I hope you find this enjoyable as well. Please let me know :)