Alfred was genuinely surprised when the little pickpocket finally arrived at the precinct. Selina’s tardiness only renewed his suspicions about her reliability and intentions, making him increasingly certain as the minutes ticked by that his trust had been misplaced. When the girl at last made her grand entrance, her feigned nonchalance only tried his patience further, her perceived rudeness in keeping him waiting triggering Alfred’s temper. He did despise such a show of blatant disrespect for his time.

“Ah! So kind of you to join us, Miss Kyle. I trust it wasn’t too great of an inconvenience for you to keep us all waiting here today?” Dripping with bitter sarcasm, Alfred’s words might as well have been spoken to the wall for all the consideration they received. Detectives Gordon and Bullock were focused on Selina, the leather-clad thief herself barely registering a visible reaction to Alfred’s reprimand.

Being ignored afforded the butler a moment longer to better scrutinize the girl’s appearance. While Selina and Jim Gordon traded quips before settling into a more productive dialogue to explain her latest appearance at the GCPD, Alfred studied Selina’s features and posture with the cool detachment of an investigator summing up a potential interrogation subject. She looked decidedly haggard despite what he detected was an attempt to force her usual blustering swagger. Her characteristically sharp gaze lacked its customary sting, the patches of dark skin under her eyes speaking volumes about the quality of what little rest she was able to earn during the night. She looked unwell, and clearly endured a far less relaxing night than Alfred, who slept soundly beneath Egyptian linen sheets in the cushy sanctuary that was Wayne Manor.

The angry streak of red splashed along Selina’s jaw particularly concerned him. But why should he care at all? She was trouble because of the life she lived, the world she knew, the morally questionable acts she committed without apology or expressed remorse. She was a threat, a bad influence. Alfred wanted to feel nothing about the trauma mapped in the young girl’s features other than his usual harsh, superior judgment, yet the worry nagging at him was genuine. Paternal distress was damned inconvenient when it was the last thing Alfred Pennyworth wished to experience, particularly for Selina Kyle. But even he could no longer disregard its existence.

She needs a good meal, even a safe place to rest a bit.
Just for a little while. She’s only a child, no matter what she’s done.
And she’s making sense. Even Gordon sees it. She’s doing this for Bruce.
We’re all doing this for Bruce.

Exceedingly grateful for Gordon’s willingness to shoulder the burden of the investigation, Alfred sighed with some relief once the folder was in the detective’s hands. Being in possession of the proper authorities meant Alfred himself would not be tempted to review its contents or hunt down the culprits on his own. He knew how blurry the line could be between justice and vengeance. Better still, he understood how easily he might cross that line if left in the presence of those responsible for murdering Thomas and Martha Wayne. Such unspeakable horrors could be wrought by his own hands that he didn’t care to even think about.

You didn’t think I was gonna show, did ya? Started to worry a little bit? Selina’s wisecrack was actually more welcome than it normally might have been. Well-timed, well played, well done, Selina.

“Never doubted you for a moment, Miss Kyle!” Alfred puffed out his chest and straightened his shoulders in the manner of a proud father who’d been right about his misunderstood charge all along. “I knew if given the chance to prove yourself, you’d come along and do the right thing eventually.” His eyes conveyed something altogether, likely noticed by the eagle-eyed lawmen. You know bloody well I expected you to let me down, and damn you for proving me wrong right when it mattered. But thank you, too, all the same.

Turning to Gordon with a nod, Alfred absently straightened his cuffs and eyed the younger man in earnest. “Right. Well, thank you again, Detective. I trust you’ll do everything in your power to follow up on this lead and keep your promise to Master Bruce about finding those responsible. If he gets wind of this, he’ll try beatin’ the granny out of me, but I’ll deal with that later. You lads,” Alfred nodded pointedly to Bullock before returning his attention to Jim. “I expect you’ll both do what needs to be done, to the full extent of the law.”

Jim bristled slightly at the butler’s stern reminder of the passing of time since the first promise made in a dark Gotham alley still stained with the blood of Bruce’s slain parents. Alfred’s desire to see justice served was understandable, as was his desire to protect the boy, but something in the Butler’s tongue was more accusatory than grateful at times. The future police commissioner supposed that came hand-in-hand with the privilege of wealth. He’d certainly seen his share of that brand of entitlement over the years, and Alfred Pennyworth could certainly throw his weight around when Bruce’s welfare was at stake.

“Hopefully this is something we can move on. I’ll keep you posted, and report back as soon as we have any news.” Gordon regarded the pair with an air of authority that Harvey almost scoffed at. No one at the GCPD truly believed the Wayne killer would ever actually be identified, let alone brought to justice. Some things were just better left alone, but do-gooder Jim Gordon simply wouldn’t stop overpromising and under-delivering on the matter.

“You did the right thing, both of you. It’s too dangerous for Bruce to get involved in this. Best left to the law to handle.”

Shaking the detectives’ hands in farewell, Alfred turned to Selina. “Right, best we shove off then. Let these men do what they do best, while we stay out of their way.” It was an ironic turn of phrase for a man who had been, and would be, a frequent visitor to the GCPD with demands to get Bruce Wayne out of one sticky situation after another whenever the boy got himself into trouble.

Once they were out of earshot on their way out of the precinct, Alfred didn’t bother calling back the first thought on his mind. It seemed like the right thing to suggest. It seemed natural, even if he suspected he’d regret such kindness for the lairy little pickpocket. Or maybe he could live with it.

“What you need, Miss Kyle, is a decent meal and a safe place to rest for a spell. At least until it’s time for me to fetch Master Bruce from school and you to make yourself scarce again, ey?” His fingers were fussing with his cuffs yet again, tugging at his waistcoat, settling at his back. There was no hint of jest in his eyes or the firm set of his mouth.

“That is, of course, unless you’re going to try, and ultimately fail, to convince me that you didn’t have a bloody rotter of a night because of something - or someone - beyond the inconveniences of an unpaid power bill?” Lifting a brow, he kept his steely gaze upon her, openly daring her to mouth off. “Perhaps you would rather sell a kidney on the black market for a meal than suffer another plate in my kitchen, Miss Kyle, but nevertheless I’m offering.” A shadow of a smile touched the corner of Alfred’s mouth.

“Besides, it might be a good opportunity for us to get our stories straight, in the event Master B discovers our treachery today.”