ALERT! TDKR SPOILERS! DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVE NOT SEEN THE MOVIE!

This story is just my take on what might have happened in TDKR if Alfred had been able to nurse Bruce Wayne back to health when he was in prison, rather than a strange doctor doing it. I kind of wish Alfred had a larger part in the last movie, because I love his character.

Everything I know about Batman comes from the most recent three movies, and this is the first Dark Knight fic I've ever written, so please be patient with any inaccuracies.

Disclaimer: I in no way own Batman or any associated characters.

Alfred sat as straight as he could amidst the nearly constant bumping up and down of the vehicle in which he was sitting. A person had to maintain his dignity as best he could, after all, even in the midst of the most trying circumstances. And these circumstances were trying to say the least. After all, he was sitting with a burlap sack pulled over his head and his hands had been lashed behind his back. Exactly how long it had been was difficult to estimate, and how far they had traveled was impossible to guess. What he knew was that he was on an uncomfortable journey with unpleasant company.

About a day ago, by his reckoning, Alfred had been sitting in his small rented cottage drinking a cup of Darjeeling tea. Or, rather, he was sitting there, lost in thought and regret while his cup of tea sat rapidly cooling. It had been days since he had seen his former ward, and he was tormented by the thought that he had been wrong to leave Bruce alone, in his empty mansion with the weight of Gotham City sitting on his shoulders.

The butler's heart had been in the right place. He had been desperate to try and save Bruce from the path he had chosen, and in his desperation had given his master an ultimatum. He should have known it wouldn't work. And now he was wondering if, when Bruce had made the choice they both knew he would make, Alfred should have backed down on his threat to quit. Or at least come back after a day or two and asked to be re-employed.

After all, leaving Bruce to fend for himself would hardly help to ensure his safety. On the contrary, it could quite possibly mean his undoing. When Batman inevitably suffered injuries in the course of protecting the city, no one would be there to stitch him up or provide an antidote, or god forbid, make the difficult decision to take Bruce Wayne to the emergency room when he sustained damage beyond what his butler was able to repair.

And no one would be there to make sure that Bruce ate properly or that he would even have food in the house. And Alfred always inspected the Batsuit after Bruce came back from fighting crime, to make sure any damages were noted and repaired. What if he went up against an adversary on an empty stomach with a compromised suit and…

Alfred's unhappy reverie had been interrupted by the sound of someone crashing through the front door. He flew to his feet, inadvertently knocking his cup of cold tea over in the process. A second later, a group of men burst into the room, followed by the man with the black face mask, the man known as Bane.

Some sort of conversation had preceded Alfred being knocked unconscious by a blow to the head, but the details were fuzzy. From what little he could remember, Bane had made it clear that he knew the Batman's true identity, and he was interested in Alfred because of their connection. The older man had come to a quick conclusion that Bane wanted to hold him hostage, to use him as bait in order to trap Bruce.

He had then come to an equally fast decision, that he could not let that happen. He would willingly die before he would let Bruce come to harm trying to protect him. He had said as much, and the next thing he knew he awoke in his current predicament. Actually, he was pretty sure he had been on a plane when he first regained consciousness, and now his was definitely in some sort of land vehicle, but other than that, not much about his situation had changed.

His attempts at getting any response from his captors were completely wasted effort. Despite his questions and threats, he received not so much as a grunt in reply. So he finally gave up, and spent the long, uncomfortable hours trying to puzzle out his situation, mostly just coming up with unanswered questions. Were they planning to use him as bait as he suspected? He could come to no other conclusion. But if they were, why were they taking him so far away? They had traveled for hours by air and had now been journeying by land for at least two more. Were they trying to lure Bruce away from Gotham so they could wreak whatever havoc they had planned without his interference? None of it made sense. He could only hope that his former master would not fall into whatever trap they had planned. He could simply not bear it if Bruce came to harm because of him.

The vehicle that was transporting Alfred and his captors came to an abrupt stop, and he could hear doors slamming and voices. As frightened as he was about what was to come, he was hopeful that they had finally reached their destination. Anything would be better than all of this sitting and waiting and driving himself mad with worry.

Though he still had the bag over his head, Alfred was suddenly aware of light filtering in through the loose weave of the fabric. He was suddenly grasped under the arms and pulled roughly from the vehicle that had been his prison for the last several hours. His captors half dragged, half led him a few hundred feet over what felt like sandy ground, and then unceremoniously dropped him into the dirt. He felt a hand at the back of his head and then suddenly the sack was pulled away and his eyes immediately closed to block out the harsh light that came from a mid-day sun.

When he was able to open them again, he realized he was sitting in what appeared to be a desert, surrounded by Bane and 3 of his men. They seemed to be waiting for him to speak. When he did, he was proud of how confident his voice sounded, though it was hoarse and cracked from going hours without water. "Whatever trap you think you are going to use me to lure Master Wayne into, I assure you he is much too intelligent to fall for it."

Bane looked closely at him for a moment, and then burst out laughing. "So that is what you think is going on here? That we plan to use you as bait to capture the Batman?" His digitized but unexpectedly smooth and cultured voice was mocking. "I am sorry to say that your faith in him is sadly misguided. We don't need to use you as bait. We already captured the Bat several days ago."

Alfred stared at this psychopath, wishing he could see his whole face. Maybe then he could better determine if he was telling the truth. When he spoke, he voice sounded less confident than before. "You're lying."

The huge masked man chuckled again. "I'm not going to waste time trying to convince you. You will see for yourself soon enough. But I am going to tell you why you are here." He paused for a moment to bark an order to one of his men, who quickly responded by providing a bottle of water to the weary butler. Another of Bane's thugs untied Alfred's wrists.

Alfred looked at the water with disdain. His throat burned, and he longed to take a drink, but he was loathe to accept anything from his kidnappers.

Seeing his reticence, Bane spoke again, "Perhaps when I tell you why you are here, you will be more willing to take care of yourself. If not for your own sake, then for your master's." Getting no response from Alfred, the sophisticated digitized voice continued. "As I said before, I captured the Batman several days ago. He was injured quite severely during our altercation, more severely than I had intended, in fact." Bane shook his head. "He would not give up, even after he could clearly see he was outmatched."

"Where is Master Wayne?" Alfred demanded. He tried to get to his feet, but was held down by the man behind him.

Bane's voice was cold. "I suggest you let me finish without further interruption."

The butler held his tongue, his mind reeling. Where was Bruce? What had they done to him?

"I am holding him prisoner," the masked giant continued, "and I have plans for him. I need him to stay alive long enough to see the destruction that will be brought down upon Gotham City. I cannot have him die, but I am concerned that is exactly what will happen given the severity of his injuries." Bane stooped slightly and looked directly into the older man's eyes to be sure he had his full attention. "Your job is to keep him alive. The prisoner I put in charge of caring for him is a doctor, but he is not confident he will be able to do so. You, on the other hand have a personal reason to keep him alive. I have no doubt you will do everything in your power to ensure that he does not die."

Alfred nodded numbly. His head was reeling with the information he had just received. He was silent and still for a moment, as he tried to push down his churning emotions. He picked up the bottle of water and slowly drank its contents, more to gain time to compose himself than anything else. When he was done, he neatly put the lid back on the bottle and handed it to one of the men. Then he stood up carefully and looked Bane straight in the eye. "Take me to him."

There will be more to follow shortly, as the second chapter is almost finished. BUT, I'm hoping someone can confirm for me that name of the doctor that took care (if you can call it that) of Bruce in the prison is Dr. Patel. I looked it up on IMDb, but I'm not totally sure he was the right guy. Thanks for anyone who can help with this, and reviews are greatly appreciated!