Well it's sure been quite awhile since I've last updated. Thanks to all who've left comments, I really appreciate them all!
As usual, all mistakes are mine and this is an unbeta'd work. Let me know if you see an glaring mistakes!
Thanks and I hope you enjoy!

Alfred paused, hearing the tell-tale crunching noises of car tires treading heavily on the gravel drive that led up to the estate. He had high hopes when Rachel had come to visit, hopes that were immediately squashed upon catching bits of conversation floating through the foyer. Rachel wasn't coming to Bruce's party, and now, hearing Bruce pacing away at a determined rate, Alfred wasn't too sure Bruce was coming either.

"...but Master Wayne the guests will be arriving." Alfred interjected, rounding a corner and catching up with Bruce.

"Keep them happy until I arrive." Alfred sensed the shift in Bruce's voice; gone was the light, carefree tone he used when speaking to Rachel. Another shade of Bruce had been drawn, and now he was tense and unreachable. "Tell them that joke you know." What bloody joke- Alfred's thought was interrupted by the sudden presence of a small white box in his hand, and the sudden emptiness of the corridor he was standing in. He stayed put though, knowing there was nothing he could do now to deter Bruce from his course of action.

The sound of discordant piano keys being played snapped Alfred out of his growing concern for his ward's tunnel-vision and turned his attention to the small box in his palm. Bruce had opened it at least, and as Alfred lifted the lid, a small, albeit sad, smile played on his lips. The treasured arrowhead and handwritten note brought back some of his best memories: memories of the entire Wayne family alive and well- barring broken arms of course. Alfred stroked the rough yet polished surface and gently replaced the lid. Placing the box gingerly in his pocket, Alfred strode off towards the main foyer of the manor, already thinking of where and how to display the keepsake. However, these thoughts disappeared quickly as Alfred realized how much he needed to do for this bloody party that Bruce may or may not be attending. It wasn't often that Alfred found himself sighing, but now was one of those times.

The large banner proclaiming "Happy Birthday Bruce!" would need to be taken down, as well as the large blue and white '30' that was displayed above the mantle. Alfred had put those decorations up early that morning, in an attempt to bring back the tradition that Martha had started thirty years prior. For the night's event however, they were much too personal. Such a shame, Martha would've loved these, Alfred thought wistfully, pulling down the large balloon three. Soon, the room was transformed, large silver and blue balloon structures parked in ever corner and over the fireplace. It was cool and impersonal, and the decor could've passed in any event. Alfred sighed again, taking in the sights. In only a couple hours, the first of the many guests would start trickling in and he'd be left to please and coddle them, filling them with liquor and lies of Bruce's whereabouts.

"But what bloody joke was he talking about?" He said to no one in particular.

The party was in full swing when Alfred took a moment to step out, the caterers and other servants fully capable of keeping the guests sated. Bruce had yet to make an appearance and Alfred was starting to get the feeling that something of a much greater magnitude was happening. The library Alfred's place of retreat, it's paintings and volumes of historical and medical texts keeping him plenty company. The television was on low, a quiet murmur in the background. It was only when he heard "We interrupt this scheduled broadcast for an important news update," did Alfred search fervently for the remote to turn the volume up.

"Bloody hell Bruce!" He exclaimed upon seeing the Tumbler streaking through the night, followed by hordes of police cars. The destruction left in his wake left Alfred sick. Unconsciously he began to pace, his shiny black shoes etching a trail into the plush carpet. Alfred's stomach turned itself into knots, partly due to the anger he felt at Bruce for being so reckless and partly because of how bloody worried he was.
You're going to be the death of me, Bruce. Alfred thought as the news report began to repeat. He knew the chase must have ended, presumably with the Batman disappearing into the night. It was now only a matter of time before Bruce appeared, a fresh tuxedo hiding the marks of his nightly escapades.

Beneath his feet, Alfred swore he could feel the rumble of a particularly powerful engine.

Words were exchanged and Alfred felt like he'd been slapped repeatedly, felt that feeling of disappointment spread through him like a sickness. Bruce's eyes were hard and cold, the way they were when he wasn't really Bruce, when he was just pretending. Alfred tried to bring back the spark of humanity he knew was there, somewhere, tried every way he knew how, but his attempts were fruitless. Bruce was walking away, mask on and back straight, to dismiss the people Alfred had coddle all evening, to destroy the tarnished name that Alfred had sought to protect for so long.

"Those are Bruce Wayne's guests out there, sir. You have a name to maintain!"

"I don't care about my name. " Well that's bloody obvious!

"It's not just your name, sir! It's your father's name! And it's all that's left of him. Don't destroy it." Alfred felt tired, saddened in a way he hadn't felt since Bruce's departure so many years ago. Even then, he didn't feel the way his did now: disappointed. He turned, one last glance at Bruce telling him what he needed to know: the false smile was in place and his Bruce was gone.

The sight of Rachel, unconscious in the Batcave, made Alfred truly regretful. Things had gone too far; Rachel should've never gotten involved. With as much gentleness as he could muster, Alfred carried Rachel out of the cave, having to stop several times to catch his breath. Bruce couldn't have gotten her to a bloody car for me? He thought angrily as he eventually managed to get her outside and to his Rolls. A few of the waitstaff taking a smoke outside eyed him warily, but Alfred just threw them a half-arsed excuse and tried to situate Rachel as well as he could. With one last glance at the Manor, Alfred drove off into the night. His stomach clenched at the thought of what he'd come back to this evening.
Don't do something bloody stupid, Bruce, please.