“Oh no, you don’t. I’ll mind that, Master B. You just see to the chessboard, I’ll tidy up.”

Alfred slowly began to pull himself upright from his seat, motioning to the table where he and his young charge had just finished their late morning tea. Skillfully masking his discomfort, or so he thought, from the subtle twisting of his chest, he attempted to stop Bruce from clearing the table. The hint of a wince on the butler’s face as his torso shifted, however, did not go unnoticed by the youngster.

“Alfred, it’s fine. The doctor said no lifting, remember?” Stacking the teapot, empty cups and saucers onto the tray, Bruce cocked his head, eyeing the stubborn Englishman with affection. He remembered only too well the nightmare of nearly losing Alfred to Reggie Payne’s knife days earlier. “Especially since you haven’t been resting as much as you’re supposed to.”

“Right, well, that was days ago,” Alfred protested. He wasn’t one to idle, even if the effects of thoracic trauma required more healing than he wished to make proper time for. He’d survived far worse, after all - but all in his younger days, when he could bounce back from illness or injury more quickly.

“I think I can manage the bloody tea tray well enough, can’t I? I’m feeling much better, Sir. Back to me old self, in fact.”

Observing his friend’s struggle with adherence to duty and refusal to admit Reggie’s attack had slowed Alfred down, Bruce shook his head with an admiring grin. Pennyworth had guided the boy through tragic loss and its aftermath, only to suffer a near-fatal blow from an old war buddy hired by forces Bruce was committed to identifying and exposing. The very least Bruce could do was temporarily shoulder a few of the household burdens that normally fell within Alfred’s jurisdiction as Wayne Manor’s primary caretaker.

“I’ve got it, Alfred. Enjoy the garden a little bit longer, you’ve been inside a lot more than you’re used to. I’ll get the chessboard ready.”

There’s a big heart. What a fine young man you’re turning out to be, despite everything. This time, Alfred was the one left smiling in the wake of Bruce’s departure from the garden. He marveled at the boy’s capacity for compassion even after so much of the world’s ugliness had already touched the privileged existence of the surviving Wayne heir. Alfred could only hope that sort of empathy would remain a vital part of Bruce’s character. Life itself had a special knack for kicking down the kindest of souls, making them suffer the most for the sins of those less deserving of grace. That truth was just one of many reasons why Alfred was so protective of his late friend’s only son. Recent events had only hardened his resolve.

I swear on your graves, Thomas and Martha, I will do whatever I can to ensure Bruce becomes the man he was meant to be. Or I’ll die trying, if needs be. My life for his. Always.

Closing his eyes and lifting his chin to the sunlight, Alfred inhaled slowly, as deeply as he dared, testing the limits of his impaired chest wall. He did love the gardens at Wayne Manor especially, taking great pride in tending the topiary and his beloved roses when not experimenting with growing vegetables or micromanaging the remaining groundskeepers. Skulking about the mansion like some crippled invalid had not suited the industrious, self-sufficient Alfred Pennyworth in the slightest. Still, he willingly took Bruce’s advice and enjoyed the peace and tranquility of his surroundings a moment longer.

That tranquility was effectively shattered by the sudden sound of movement behind him. Opening his eyes, Alfred whirled around to find himself staring into the face of that thieving little street urchin, Selina Kyle. Already well-acquainted with her penchant for scaling walls and breaching windows over the proper use of doors and phone calls for visitations, Alfred was not entirely surprised she had interrupted his reverie by literally dropping in unannounced. He was also, as she would easily see by the cloud darkening his features, displeased by the mere sight of her.

“Keeping your distance from Master Bruce would have been the wisest decision you could’ve made, if you’d stuck to it,” Alfred hissed, slowly stepping toward Selina before halting within two feet from where she stood. Her presence offended and infuriated him, a reminder of how her influence threatened Bruce’s own safety. She had crossed the line with Reggie, putting Bruce in further danger and violating a strict, unwritten code between soldiers. Between mates.

Glancing down at the manila envelope in Selina’s hand, Alfred’s immediate reaction was to refuse it. He’d resisted Bruce’s obsession with investigating the dark underbelly of Wayne Enterprises and Thomas Wayne’s mysterious activities, a personal refusal that conflicted with Alfred’s professional training. Grieving his best friend’s murder in private in order to prioritize Bruce’s well-being, Alfred wanted nothing to do with dangerous conspiracies or anything else that might jeopardize the boy’s life. Selina Kyle, in Alfred’s view, represented too many of those dangers and more.

And now she wanted to provide intel she and Bruce obtained from Reggie? The fury was visible in Alfred’s crystal blue eyes. The vision of Reggie’s broken body at the morgue, skull busted open like a watermelon and his dead eyes staring accusingly up at Alfred for daring to diminish the importance of their service together, would likely add to Pennyworth’s recurring nightmares of conflicts they’d known.

“Oh, I see. Wasn’t enough you had to encourage these mad capers. Now you’ve come with more trouble, have you?”

Alfred wasn’t consciously aware of the squaring back of his shoulders as his throwing arm, powered by the quick rotation of his hips, swung out at Selina. Landing a hard slap to her jaw that nearly spun the leatherbound girl off her feet, he stared her down as she recovered, registering any shock or confusion her features reflected.

“That’s for Reggie,” Alfred stated flatly. It didn’t matter to him that her chronological age, so close to Bruce’s own, was that of a child, someone to be protected and not battered by a man of Alfred’s age. The violent streets of Gotham had parented and created Selina, forcing her to grow up faster than should be expected of any child. Alfred viewed her in that moment not as a little girl worthy of the same protection he offered Bruce Wayne, but as an unworthy adversary, a cold-blooded killer who assumed the role of Reggie Payne’s executioner without Alfred’s knowledge or consent.

“Sorting him out was up to me, Selina. Not you. That wasn’t your place, you had no right or authority, not that you understand anything beyond your own agenda at any given moment, do you?”

Alfred had done far worse in his time than Selina had up to that point in her life, but he recognized the road she was traveling. Perhaps they were more alike than either cared to consciously admit, albeit at very different times in their lives. Once upon a time, he himself had demanded punishment from the world, repenting for his sins through raging self-destruction and recklessness to tempt the fates into slapping him down. Fate had intervened for Alfred Pennyworth, in the form of Thomas WayneSelina Kyle had no such divine intervention, but they were seasoned adults by then.

Was that why Alfred had no qualms about lashing out at her, a child? Selina wasn’t innocent in his eyes. She was trouble, an unhealthy distraction, a threat to the future of Bruce Wayne, son of Thomas and Martha. And Alfred Pennyworth would not tolerate it.

“Now, I don’t know what you want with Master Bruce going further, but I’m certain that his life’s gonna be a damn sight better without you in it.”

Alfred glanced back down at the folder, making up his mind on the spot not to accept it. If he did so, it would either be necessary to lock the folder away, unseen and unacknowledged with the threat of discovery, or watch Bruce obsess further over something that would invite still more trouble into their lives. The boy was too young to have a heart for such vengeance, let alone a burning desire to see it through. They didn’t know it yet, but both Selina and Alfred shared that much in common - a need to protect Bruce Wayne’s soul from the filth and regret they understood firsthand.

“So you do yourself a favor, Treacle,” Alfred concluded, his eyes blazing, daring her to sass him. “And jog on.”