Work Text:
Alfred had thought that raising Bruce Wayne would be the biggest challenge of his life. Children had always been a far-off concept for him. He’d thought that eventually he’d have them. It had seemed the way of things, and he’d assumed that tradition would catch up to him eventually.
Then, Martha and Thomas Wayne had been shot and killed, and Alfred had found himself essentially raising their son.
He had loved Bruce for a very long time. Stepping forward to make sure the boy was protected had seemed like the only path. But Bruce had been more traumatized than one untrained, childless butler could accommodate for. Some days, Alfred felt as though he was smothering the boy in his attempts to make sure he was on the right path. Other days—most days—Alfred felt that he wasn’t able to do enough. He wasn’t his father. He was an employee. The only authority he had over Bruce came from the boy’s regard for him, and that seemed to dwindle into almost nothing during his late teens. For a stretch, Alfred was sure he’d see another Wayne in the ground.
Even when Bruce had returned from his years abroad as a stronger, more focused man, the old fears about his role in Bruce’s life had come back. Could he stop him from taking on his vigilante mantle? Was it his responsibility to step in? Did he have the right to try to do anything but to mitigate the fallout?
When they’d finally fallen into an uneasy rhythm of Bruce’s continued crime fighting and Alfred’s quiet attempts at censure and support, the pattern had been disrupted by the arrival of Dick.
Dick, like Bruce, had been recently traumatized by the violent deaths of his parents, and, like Bruce, had no interest in an old man’s attempt to stand in as a surrogate. He had, however, quickly grown to love both Alfred and Bruce. Dick, though he was reckless and had given Alfred half of his gray hairs, was a kind and friendly spirit. He had soaked in Alfred’s company, seeing him as some combination of principal and grandfather.
With Dick, it was always easy to see where one stood. The boy had his moments. As the years went on, he chafed against Bruce’s control, and occasionally took that out on Alfred. In the end, though, he’d be back. It seemed that no matter how strained his relationship with Bruce became, he always saw Alfred as a stable figure to lean on.
Alfred, who had loved the boy since the beginning, was determined not to ever let Dick down.
Then, Jason had appeared on the scene.
After an explosive beginning involving an attempt to steal tires directly off the Batmobile, Jason had joined the household. Immediately, it was clear that he was a very different ward than Bruce or Dick had been.
Jason alternated between jitteriness and crass brashness with a speed Alfred couldn’t hope to keep up with. The moment Alfred would think he understood the boy, he would do something entirely unexpected.
Though they didn’t talk about it, Alfred knew Bruce was having a similar problem. After Dick, Alfred’s first charge had seemed to think he understood everything there was to know about parenting. Jason had quickly and violently proven him wrong.
“Alfred, can you take Jason to get new clothes?” Bruce asked one afternoon, running a tired hand over his face. Batman and Robin had been out late the night before, and their argument had rung through the Cave after their patrol. Alfred suspected that half the reason Bruce wanted them to go shopping was to get Jason out of the manor—and out of his hair—for a while.
“He does need new clothes,” Alfred agreed, glancing at the boy who was sitting at the kitchen table, eating a bowl of cereal with his shoulders hunched to his ears. His expression didn’t change, but he would likely be able to overhear them.
Since Bruce had brought him in, he’d been rotating through a handful of hand-me-down shirts from Dick, along with some generic clothing Alfred had picked up during the first week. At that point, they had thought his place in the house was temporary. Now, as it looked more likely that the new Robin would be staying permanently, it was time to get Jason a wardrobe that was truly his.
Jason stayed silent in the car, arms crossed tightly over his chest. Alfred let him have his quiet. He’d learned from years with Bruce that attempting to push stubborn boys into talking was useless.
Alfred drove him to his favorite tailor, the one he used to fill the other wardrobes in the manor. It was a quiet, private shop near the business district of Gotham. The area, once unsafe at night, had long since been cleaned up by Batman’s attentions. In Bruce’s youth, the buildings along the street were in a constant flux of different gang tags, but in today’s afternoon sun lit upon clean, clear walls.
A bell rang when they stepped inside, and Paolo bustled forward. Alfred dedicated a large portion of the household budget to his charges’ clothes, and most of that money went directly into Paolo’s pockets. The tailor was therefore, of course, always delighted when Alfred stopped by. “Mister Pennyworth,” he greeted, and then his eyes landed on Jason. “And who is this young man?”
“Bruce Wayne’s new ward, Jason Todd,” Alfred said. “We’re here for a wardrobe.”
Paolo beamed. “Right this way, young man.”
Alfred walked beside them while Paolo showed Jason some of the staples of the shop. Jason followed, looking at the slacks and shirts with a barely hidden sneer. Alfred had seen Jason eat brussel sprouts with less distaste.
“I think you’ll look good in blues,” Paolo was saying, examining a button-down. He glanced at the boy. “Do you have a favorite color?”
“Red,” Jason said.
“Hm, with your complexion?” Paolo hummed. “I suppose…”
Jason shrugged and looked away.
“Paolo has dressed both Masters Bruce and Dick for years. He has strong opinions about fashion, but he won’t lead you astray,” Alfred reassured him.
Once Paolo had an armful of clothes, he ushered Jason into the changing rooms, and instructed him which outfit to try first. Jason looked at Alfred beseechingly, so he gave him a reassuring nod.
When Jason reappeared, he looked…like a Wayne. The khakis were too large and brushed the floor, and the light blue button-up was tight around his biceps, but otherwise, he could have been Dick in another life. The illusion was shattered when he adjusted himself and scoffed. “I feel like a freaking prep.”
“You look handsome,” Paolo corrected. He guided Jason in front of the mirror, tugging at the sleeves as he did. “I’ll have to let out the arms un po’. Then the pants will need hemming.” He leaned down to bunch the fabric at the back of Jason’s thighs.
The boy went entirely still. He met Alfred’s eyes in the mirror, but Alfred couldn’t read his expression. Likely embarrassed and confused. Alfred spent so much time with the upper echelon that he had to remind himself that Jason had likely never even heard of tailoring before today, much less been fitted for a wardrobe.
Alfred cleared his throat. “Paolo will tailor the pants to fit your shape. Clothes are not made to fit off the rack. There’s no reason for you to be tripping over your hems. Stay still while he works.”
Jason looked away from him. As Paolo worked, a muscle in Jason’s jaw twitched. He moved only when verbally instructed. By the end of the fitting session, he was down to monosyllabic responses.
In the car, back in his old clothes and hoodie, Jason crossed his arms and stared out the window. In the back seat was one bag of clothes that had been ready to take today. Next week, Alfred would have to come back to pick up the rest. Paolo had practically drooled when he’d handed Alfred the day’s receipt.
Jason had not smiled once as they’d said goodbye.
“If there are any other clothes you would like, we can go to another store as well,” Alfred said when the silence remained unbroken. “I know you enjoy your hoodies.”
“It’s fine,” Jason said gruffly.
“There are several stores in this area that would have casual clothing for when you’re looking to relax a bit more. They’re not quite as high end, but perhaps you’d be more comfortable in them,” Alfred added. “You could get some new ‘kicks.’”
Dick would have laughed at the attempt at modern phrasing. Jason scowled. “Just take me back to the manor.”
“Of course, Master Jason,” Alfred said quietly.
#
A few weeks later, Alfred was cleaning the third floor when he found Jason in the library.
With a manor this size, he cleaned on rotation. By the end of each week, each room would have been personally attended to. For the most part, it was clear Jason had figured out Alfred’s cleaning rotation. When Alfred was about, the boy was always elsewhere. He might have thought that Jason was staying in his room if Bruce hadn’t mentioned some of the boy’s activities around the house. It seemed Jason wasn’t hiding himself away—simply hiding from Alfred.
Today, though, Jason was curled up in one of the plush leather armchairs when Alfred walked in. His knees were tucked tight against his chest, letting him fit his entire body between the chair’s arms. At some point, he had gone to a big box store and had purchased several packs—packs—of new shirts. They were all identical tees in different generic colors, mostly hidden under his ubiquitous hoodie. The only time Alfred had seen him in the clothes they’d purchased from Paolo had been for formal events, and only after Bruce had rejected another outfit.
Jason was so focused on the book on his lap that he didn’t notice Alfred until he was nearly on top of the armchair. Dusting was a mostly silent affair, when he wasn’t vacuuming. Unlike some, Alfred had never needed music or conversation to keep him company while he worked. Some other sense warned Jason someone was nearby, and his head snapped up almost violently.
Alfred held up the cloth in his hand as both a greeting and explanation. “Don’t mind me, Master Jason,” he said. “Just cleaning.”
Jason hummed and went back to reading. There was a new tension in his body, though, and his eyes stayed in one place on the page.
Alfred swiped the cloth over the table by the armchair, and then asked, “I’m glad to see someone using the library for something other than research. What are you reading?”
Jason hefted the tome so Alfred could read the title. “Treasure Island,” Jason said. “It’s, uh, about pirates.”
“A classic,” Alfred agreed. “I haven’t read it since university, though I must admit I never made it to the end. You know, I believe that edition was purchased by Master Bruce’s father when he was younger. It’s an early printing, but is in great condition.”
“I was even planning on taking it out of the library. I won’t fuck it up,” Jason said, a tad spiteful.
“I never suggested you would,” Alfred said. “I believe Master Bruce has spoken to you about the language we use in this household…?”
“Yeah, probably. One of the million rules,” Jason muttered.
“The rules Master Bruce sets are not arbitrary,” Alfred reminded him. “Language is one of the first ways the outside world judges one. It’s best to have your best foot forward.”
Jason pulled on an atrocious British accent. “Should I pretend not to be from the inner city?”
“Was that supposed to sound posh?” Alfred asked, torn between scandalized and amused.
From the sneer Jason gave him, he didn’t think amusement was the appropriate response. “I’m never going to sound like you—or Bruce. Don’t see how a few cuss words will change that.”
“And you won’t, until you try,” Alfred pointed out.
“Sure,” Jason said, and looked back at his book.
Alfred opened his mouth to apologize, but held his tongue. Though Jason’s eyes weren’t moving, it was clear he wanted Alfred to think he’d gone back to reading. Had Dick ever resented parenting quite this much? Bruce had, at various points, though he’d never seemed quite so…bitter.
Instead, Alfred just finished dusting the library, and left quietly. The entire time he was in the room, Jason only turned the page twice.
#
Alfred’s job was multi-faceted, and not simply because his charges were vigilantes after dark. Excluding his occasional forays into information gathering, monitor watching, and emergency medical work, Alfred’s job as a butler tended to mean anything and everything that needed done. Some days, that meant getting up early to get fresh fish from the market so he could make Bruce’s favorite red snapper dish. Some days, that meant selecting a new piece for the manor’s unofficial art gallery.
Some days, that meant acting as Jason’s chauffeur. The Wayne family employed a driver who had been thoroughly vetted and was highly trained to prevent both traffic accidents and kidnappings. However, because of those high standards, when he was out for a day, it was up to Bruce or Alfred to man the wheel. As Bruce was in one of his rare mandatory Wayne Enterprise meetings, Alfred was on duty the day their usual driver called in with the flu.
He pulled up the private school’s pick up line, idling the Bentley behind a white Range Rover.
When Jason came out of the grand front steps, framed by the marble pillars, he was alone in the crowd of students. While the others jostled each other and chatted, Jason had his head down. Though he was wearing the same uniform as the rest, his tie was so loose it was nearly dangling, and his hair was deliberately disheveled.
Alfred flashed the lights, but Jason had already spotted him—his training with Bruce had clearly paid off. He slouched to the car and slid into the back seat.
“Where’s Charlie?” Jason asked as soon as the door was shut.
“He’s come down with the flu. Hopefully you will not meet the same fate after sharing the car this morning,” Alfred said, putting on his blinker and leaving the line.
Jason hissed in sympathy. “Poor C.”
Alfred glanced in the rearview mirror. He hadn’t realized that Jason had bonded so much with the driver. He’d seen a similar relationship starting to form with Dick and Bruce as well, though more tentatively. Jason, occasionally, had a casual ease during meals, laughing with the others. Like with Charles, he’d given them both a full array of nicknames, and seemed to revel in teasing them. It was always a joy to witness Jason’s smiles. They were rare, but they were raucous when they happened. He was starting to trust Dick and Bruce with something beyond caustic, crass sarcasm and stony silence.
That casualness was still nowhere to be seen when he was alone with Alfred.
Perhaps Alfred needed to make more overt gestures to reassure the boy that he was there for him as well. With Alfred’s ill-defined role in the family, Jason may have just been uncomfortable initiating a conversation.
From talking to Bruce, it seemed that he hadn’t encountered any unsurmountable silences from the boy. Considering Bruce was the master of silence, Jason must have had some conversational prowess to keep things going. He certainly never seemed quiet or shy over meals.
“How was your day?” Alfred asked. “How are you liking Gotham Academy?”
“Fine.”
Alfred hummed. “And your peers? Have you made any friends?”
“Like I need friends in a school full of rich brats,” Jason sneered.
“Ah. Well, perhaps they would not be so terrible if you gave them a chance? They can’t control where they were born—and your own finances are no longer exactly dire.”
Jason snorted, but didn’t answer.
“Do you have a favorite class?” Alfred asked. If Bruce could hold a conversation with Jason, certainly Alfred could manage one car ride.
“Lit.”
“Ah, yes,” Alfred said. He knew that Treasure Island wasn’t the only book Jason had borrowed from the manor’s library since he’d been taken in. Alfred wasn’t well-versed in literature beyond the main playwrights. Perhaps Jason read Shakespeare for class or for fun. Alfred had been Laertes in a production on Hamlet in London once. “Well, I’m sure you’re keeping your grades up in that subject.”
“You know that Bruce is the one who has to pretend to care, right?” Jason snapped. “You’re just the butler. You don’t have to ask me questions about my classes.”
Alfred felt as though he’d been slapped. He resolutely did not look into the rearview mirror. He bit down on his initial instinct, which was to give the boy a firm dressing down for the disrespect. The boy was wrong. Any child of Bruce’s was someone Alfred had to care about—not just because of his position, but because of his relationship with Bruce. The idea of Bruce parenting someone and Alfred not taking an interest was absurd. Undoubtedly, Jason already knew that. Over the years, Alfred had experienced boys lashing out over other issues plenty of times, and he knew better than to take it personally. Still, his voice was icy in its calmness when he finally said, “Master Bruce does not ‘pretend’ to care. You would not be under his protection if he did not care.”
Jason just hummed and didn’t answer.
Alfred shook his head and fell into silence.
That night, when he was talking to Bruce before patrol, he nearly mentioned the incident. For some reason, though, he held back. He told himself that he was worried that reporting it would betray Jason’s trust and put them at worse odds, but the truth was… The truth was that Alfred’s rarely seen pride was stung, and he couldn’t quite bring himself to tell his first ward that his feelings had been lashed by a high schooler.
The next morning, Charles was back from his brief sick leave, and Alfred was able to leave the driving to someone Jason preferred.
#
Batman and Robin were well-trained. Bruce worked Jason night and day to be sure that he was in the best position possible to take on the crime of Gotham. Jason, already street-smart and athletic from life on the streets, had taken to the training with ease. They were as safe as a billionaire and a child could be while fighting criminals.
Alfred still worried every night.
And some nights, his worry was validated.
He got the call from Bruce while he was making a cup of tea in the kitchen. “A,” said the deep voice through comms. “Be in the Cave in ten minutes. We’re on our way home. Robin needs medical attention.”
“Of what sort?” Alfred asked, already turning off the stove and moving with haste toward the grandfather clock.
“A slice to the leg. Hopefully surface, but it’s hard to tell. Fear toxin as well. I got him the antidote, but Scarecrow has changed up the formula. He’s stabilizing, but the effects are lingering. He’s too erratic for a hospital. I wouldn’t even trust the doctor with him right now. We need to patch him here, if we can.”
When the Batmobile tore into the Cave and slid to a stop, Alfred was waiting in the Cave’s single brightly lit corner beside antiseptic, surgical thread, and a row of shiny tools. Jason looked small in his Robin costume in Bruce’s arms. One of his black tights was split open to reveal a streak of bright red. He was holding himself stiff in Bruce’s embrace, and his gaze was darting around the Cave as though still looking for enemies.
Bruce set him on the stainless steel table and stepped back to let Alfred take his place. “Good evening, Master Bruce, Master Jason,” he greeted. “Let’s see what we’re dealing with.”
Alfred slid a set of sharp scissors against the rip in the tights, placing one hand on the edge of Jason’s thigh to hold him in place. He needed to cut them off so he could access the wound without the fabric in the way. Instead, he found his wrist trapped in a vice, and then twisted viciously.
“Don’t. Touch. Me.”
Though Alfred did not have the training of his charges, Bruce had taught him just enough for him to know to go with the twist rather than straining against it and breaking his own arm. As it was, the pain was sharp and intense. After just a moment, though, Bruce’s broad hand moved to break the grip on Alfred’s wrist.
As Alfred stumbled back, Bruce moved in to restrain Jason. “I didn’t realize he was still so paranoid. He had settled down with me.”
“Perhaps,” Alfred said tiredly, rubbing his wrist, “he does not trust me as he trusts you.”
It said a lot about Bruce’s activities that the medical bed had restraints built into the sides. He bound Jason’s arms, and then did the same to his ankles. The boy lashed against the bindings, eyes wide. “It’s okay, Jay-lad,” Bruce said quietly, keeping a hand on Jason’s shoulder. With the other, he applied a bundle of gauze to the wound. “It’s okay.” He looked up. “Alfred.”
Alfred looked at the stitching equipment and back at the restrained child. “Master Bruce…”
“If we don’t stop the bleeding, we’re going to need to take him to a hospital, and I guarantee he’ll prefer to have had it done here,” Bruce said. He kept his voice low and soothing. “We can’t knock him out, not when there’s still toxin in his blood. Scarecrow’s drugs never interact well. You’ll need to work fast.”
“We can’t wait until the toxin has worn off more?”
Bruce looked pointedly at Jason’s injury, which was already bleeding through the gauze.
Alfred steeled himself. “Sir, Master Jason does not like being touched. Manhandling him in this state…”
“Just do it, Alfred.”
Alfred did it.
“Don’t touch me. Leave me alone,” Jason babbled as Alfred cut away his tights.
“Hush, Jay,” Bruce said.
When Alfred cleaned the cut, Jason screamed. Alfred’s hands started to shake. He took a beat to take a deep breath. This was to save Jason, no matter how much it sounded as though Alfred were torturing the boy. When he placed the first stitch, his hands were as deft and steady as ever.
Eventually, Jason stopped screaming. His expression was no more lucid—it seemed as though he’d simply realized that there was no escaping, and was settled to endure. The blank expression was worse for Alfred to deal with than when the boy had tried to break his arm.
Bruce kept up a comforting litany, though Jason seemed more aware of the heavy hands on his shoulders than the reassuring words.
It wasn’t until Alfred was placing the final stitch that Jason’s hold on consciousness finally slipped. The boy slumped, pale and still, against the table.
Once the thread was tied and the wound was cleaned one more time, Bruce unstrapped Jason’s thin limbs and bundled him into his arms. He carried him as easily as he would have carried a pile of blankets.
“Look after him,” Alfred requested quietly.
Bruce nodded, and then carried Jason from the Cave.
Silently, Alfred cleaned the blood-stained table and instruments. In the end, he washed his hands for a very long time.
#
After that incident, Jason turned the act of avoiding Alfred into an art.
Alfred let him. He knew that he had done the right thing. If Jason’s wound hadn’t been treated then, they would have needed to take him either to Dr. Thompson, who Alfred thought Jason hated even more than he hated Alfred, or a hospital. It hadn’t been Alfred’s fault that the boy had been high on fear toxin. He had worked as quickly as he had been able.
Still, Alfred hated himself for violating Jason’s fragile trust. The boy had been vulnerable and scared, and Alfred had hurt him.
Bruce seemed to realize that there was tension between Jason and Alfred, but—as ever—he was ill equipped to solve it. Alfred caught him looking between them curiously during meals, but as Alfred never sat and ate with the rest of them, he didn’t have the chance to force any answers from them. Even if he’d had the opportunity, interpersonal relations were never Bruce’s strongpoint. Likely, he was relying on Alfred to solve it on his own.
When Jason didn’t realize Alfred was in hearing, though, he seemed to be flourishing. Where the night he had been injured had been a breaking point between him and Alfred, it had only deepened his bond with Bruce. Privately, Alfred had wondered if Bruce would be able to connect as deeply to Jason as he had with the cheerful Dick, but there was a softness in Bruce’s eyes when he looked at Jason that was unmistakable. Bruce loved him, and it was clear Jason felt the same way. They still bickered, especially over Jason’s crass language, but it was with an understanding that they valued each other.
Dick had taken to having a little brother quickly, and had only grown more attached over the last two months. Though their personalities were night and day, they had undeniably become brothers. Most of the time, that meant teasing and laughing, but Alfred had once walked in on them having a quiet meeting in the library, talking quietly.
Alfred didn’t clean Jason’s room. It had been Bruce’s idea to give Jason a piece of territory in the manor that was just his. From the beginning, it had been obvious that Jason didn’t quite trust that his room was truly his. He’d kept his belongings in bags, and had used the lock on the door was religious dedication. Though it occasionally drove Alfred crazy that there was a room in the manor festering under the care of a teenage boy, he acknowledged that it was important to Jason to have that security. The room, trash and all, was his domain. His laundry was set outside his door once a week, where Alfred returned it after it was washed. Otherwise, he stayed clear.
That was why it took him so long to discover Jason’s secret.
One late afternoon, Alfred deviated from his usual cleaning schedule. He’d been up late the night before, relaying blueprints over the comm system to Batman and Robin in the field. The older he grew, the more the night shifts wore on him. Today, he was experiencing a rare but dedicated headache. It pounded behind his eyes like a recent religious convert with a pamphlet, unwavering no matter how much he tried to distract himself with the scheduled cleaning.
Finally, he gave up. The silverware would wait until tomorrow. He had an hour until he needed to start making dinner, and there was a box of PG Tips in the kitchen calling his name.
Leaving the overhead light off in deference to the headache, Alfred put the kettle on. Once the water was hot, he settled at the kitchen table with the pot, a cup, and a pitcher of cream. He drank one cup in complete silence, letting the familiar flavors start to sooth his mind.
The second cup was the pat on the back at the end of a hug—not necessary, but a reassurance and a finale. The headache, thankfully, was quieting, though that may have had as much to do with the quiet, dark room as it did the tea.
Not that Alfred would ever admit that. Though an expat, he did have some British loyalty.
Jason opened the kitchen door and slipped in silently, his backpack held loose in one hand. Alfred blinked, ready to say hello, but Jason looked uncomfortable already. From his solemn expression, it didn’t seem as though he was looking for company.
Alfred sat and watched as Jason moved purposefully across the room, not turning on the light, and opened the pantry door. He grabbed the closest open box, which held Dick’s favorite protein bars, and took one. He dropped it into his backpack, returned the box, and reached for another.
Carefully, methodically, he skimmed at least one thing from each already opened box in the pantry, and did the same with the loaf of bread Alfred had purchased that morning. The mix was eclectic: a granola bar, a stick of spiced beef jerky, a container of apple sauce, and several loose crackers and slices of bread that he combined in a paper towel. Finally, when he turned to the fruit bowl sitting by the window, Alfred felt he had seen enough.
“Hungry?” he asked mildly.
Jason jolted back from the apple he’d been reaching for and turned to Alfred, clutching the backpack to his chest. “Why the hell are you sitting in the dark?” he demanded. He shook his head and laughed, an unexpectedly light sound, like he was already trying to brush off his alarm. “I thought that was Bruce’s gig.”
“I had a headache,” Alfred said, holding up the tea cup.
Jason looked toward the door.
“Master Jason,” he continued, feeling exhausted, “you realize that all this food is, in fact, for you and the others, correct? There’s no need to skulk around with the lights off, unless you’re pretending to be in a heist movie.”
Jason crossed his arms.
“Any time you’re hungry, the kitchen is here for you. You surely also realize that you could just ask me for food if you’re planning a picnic.” Not that Alfred for an instant thought that Jason was taking the food for a jaunt outside. Headache or not, Alfred wasn’t blind to the fact that something more was going on here. Clearly, Jason needed reassurance that the food available was all his for the taking. Alfred tried a reassuring smile. "You don't have to steal anything here."
Jason bristled so much as Alfred's phrasing that he confirmed the butler's worst fear. Did Jason believe he needed to steal? Did he not see that everything that was Bruce's was Jason's as well? What made a boy see himself as a thief in his own house? "Well, excuse me from trying to spare you the extra effort!" Jason snarled. "Next time, I'll wake you up at three in the morning next time I want a fucking snack!"
Alfred sighed. He didn't raise Bruce only to not be able to identify when someone was trying to redirect the conversation. Jason would probably pick a fight with a lion to avoid the 'stealing' subject. "I only meant--"
"Don't pretend like you want me bothering you for every little thing.”
“This is my job. I’m sure I could find you something better than protein bars and beef jerky.”
The boy snorted. “Your job is to make fancy dinners for Bruce and Dick, not to babysit the pity project. I know you have real work to do. I don’t need you to open boxes for me.”
Alfred blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“Look, I get it. You’re a classically trained butler who has been working for billionaire Bruce Wayne for the last fifty years. You have to hate being ordered to look after street trash. So let me just get my food myself and we won’t have to talk to each other. I don’t need my shit plated with fucking parsley origami, okay?”
"Master Jason," Alfred said slowly, "If I've ever done or said anything to make you think that I dislike you in some way..."
"It's just the two of us in here, Alfie." Dick's affectionate nickname was vicious on Jason's tongue. "I've met plenty of fancy people like you, and they've all hated me. And what have I done to earn anything else? My grades are mediocre at best, because I'm behind in every subject at this ridiculous private school. I can't appreciate your expensive clothes because I'd rather wear something from Target than Brooks Brothers. I nearly broke your fucking arm when you were trying to help me. If I was you, I'd be praying for the day the newest Robin gets the boot."
Slowly, Alfred shook his head. The tea in his stomach felt like lead. "The last two months, you've been so sure that I was your enemy," he said quietly. "What life have you lived, Jason? To think someone charged with your care hated you so much, and to do nothing about it?"
Whatever reaction Jason had thought they were building toward, that wasn't it. Despite Alfred's words, Jason's jaw stayed clenched as he looked for his fight. "I've stayed out of your way. I wasn't going to give this up until Bruce physically tossed me out on my ear. I don't need everyone to like me."
"I should hope not. If I was the pompous bastard you imagined, you should not have given me a second glance." Alfred didn't give him the chance to interrupt. "You belong here. Master Bruce did not bring you here for your accent or your upbringing. He saw that you were smart, strong, and kind, and that’s what makes a Robin.”
“You cussed,” Jason said.
“I’ll do worse than that if I must,” Alfred said. “My boy, I don’t hate you. I’ve never hated you. I’ve given you your distance because, to be quite frank, I thought perhaps you hated me.” He laughed at himself. “You would think an old man like me would be immune to self-consciousness, but there you have it.”
Jason frowned, skeptical. “You don’t have to lie.”
“As you said—it’s just you and I here, Master Jason. I’m not lying.” Alfred shook his head. “It’s been a long time since I’ve messed something up this thoroughly. Master Bruce will be amused, if he doesn’t give me a well-deserved smack upside the head.” Alfred pinned Jason with a serious look. “You should have told him.”
“Told him what? I wasn’t going to make him pick between me and you. I know what he’d choose.”
“If you hesitated to tell him, then I think you don’t know him as well as you think you do. He would choose you.”
Jason scoffed. “You’re like his dad, or something.”
“If you think Master Bruce would ever pick a bully over a child, you haven’t met him.”
The boy fell silent.
“And if I had judged you as harshly as you believed I did, I would deserve to lose this family,” Alfred continued. “You are Master Bruce’s ward. You have gone through terrible things, and you’ve come through the other side a vibrant young man. I could be nothing but impressed with you. I haven’t had the chance to get to know you as well as the others have, but I’ve seen enough to know that I’d like to.”
“I… Really?”
“I know that I am simply Master Bruce’s butler,” Alfred said, making Jason wince slightly, “but I care deeply about this family. I would like the chance to repair what I have broken between us.”
Jason nodded jerkily.
“I am very sorry,” Alfred continued.
“It’s not your fault,” Jason muttered. “I, uh, might have jumped to some conclusions.”
“From what you’ve said, your distrust does not come from nowhere. I should have seen that and made sure you knew your welcome.”
“Look, don’t worry about it,” Jason said. He looked overwhelmed, and it seemed he was finally giving in to the urge to run from the uncomfortable situation. From the sheen in his eyes, Alfred thought that he was internalizing the message. “I should, uh, go do my homework.” He picked up his backpack, and then cast an anxious look between it and Alfred.
Alfred just nodded, not mentioning the reason Jason had been in the kitchen in the first place. “I’ll see you at dinner,” he told him.
After Jason left, Alfred sat in the kitchen until his tea was long cold.
#
The next time Alfred was alone with Jason, the very next day right after school, he set a plate of sliced mozzarella and fresh carrots in front of the boy. When he’d heard the car pull up, Alfred had called Jason into the kitchen.
After Alfred had spent the night dwelling on the misunderstandings between them, he’d come to one disturbing answer to Jason’s afternoon kitchen raid the day before. Jason was a boy who knew hunger and, in this case, he did not trust the person in charge of feeding him. Was it any wonder that he had found a way around going through Alfred directly? If Alfred had been invited through the threshold of Jason’s room, he was sure that he would find a hoard of nonperishables tucked in some drawer or other.
Jason could keep that stash. Alfred would install a mini-fridge in the bedroom if that was what it took for Jason to feel secure. However, since he cringed at the idea of a growing boy forced to eat Master Bruce’s disgusting protein bars after school, he had taken it upon himself to prepare an alternate snack.
Jason looked at the plate and then up at Alfred cautiously. Instead of voicing any of his thoughts, Alfred said, “How was school today?”
“Fine,” Jason said. He picked up a fork and cut off a bite of mozzarella.
Alfred raised an eyebrow. “You know,” he said, “Master Bruce went to the same school you’re currently attending. Teenagers do not have a monopoly on cruelty, but it does seem to be exacerbated when they’re all stuck in a building together. It didn’t help that Master Bruce often lashed out at other boys, but he did not have the easiest time there. They saw an opportunity for easy teasing with Gotham’s most famous orphan.”
“Really?” Jason asked. “I doubt Bruce put up with that shit for long. I mean, that crap.”
Appreciating the effort, Alfred didn’t correct his language. “You’d be surprised. This was before Master Bruce had trained with ninjas on a snowy mountain for years. He picked a few physical fights over the years, but it’s hard to quash bullying completely once it’s started. Even then, Master Bruce fought to win. His punishments for standing up for himself were always worse than those the bullies received.”
From Jason’s snort, he was unsurprised.
“At that point, Master Bruce saw himself as a bit of a lone wolf. I was simply a stand-in authority figure. He rarely confided the details in me.” Alfred shook his head. “I regret not pushing him more. I always thought that sharing a burden could help ease it.”
“Maybe he just wanted you to think that he could stand up for himself.”
Alfred hummed and busied himself cleaning the knife he’d used to prepare Jason’s snack. “Maybe. Still, I would have been there to listen.” And since subtlety was what had gotten them into this position in the first place, he added, “As I am for you now.”
Jason breathed a laugh, but then said, “It’s not so bad. A bunch of trust fund brats aren’t excited that a street kid wormed his way into the school. They won’t do anything about it. I think they all know I could kick their asses if it came down to it.”
“And that’s reassuring?”
“Well,” Jason hedged. Then, he sighed. “If I ever did, it would prove everything they say right about me. They think I'm going to snap and prove I’m the thug they think I am. I think they’re waiting for it.”
“If it helps, I believe it’s the right choice to save beating up bullies as part of your extracurricular life,” Alfred said.
The boy shrugged. “Right. They’re not supervillains—just assholes. If they think their little comments are the worst thing I’ve ever dealt with, they’re idiots, too.”
Alfred turned back to look at him. “There are other options beyond calling for a fight in the schoolyard, Master Jason. Gotham Academy has a zero-tolerance policy around bullying. I know teenagers—especially those related to the Waynes—prefer to settle these things on their own, but if you ever needed a parent to come in and force your teachers to step in, both Master Bruce and I would be there in a heartbeat.”
If Alfred hadn’t been sure it would shatter whatever gossamer threads of trust they were building now, he would have gone in with or without Jason’s approval. How much was the boy determined to handle alone? And to think he had believed Alfred was just another in the line of rich swine eager to bully him.
“I can handle it,” Jason said, winking. He took another bite of the makeshift caprese salad. “I’m Robin, after all. Some kids don’t scare me.”
“As long as you’re sure,” Alfred said.
Jason laughed. “Though I do love the idea of shoving Bruce into a people suit and making him come down for a parent-teacher conference. I don’t know how he handles the spotlight when he’s so used to having a cowl on.”
“Master Bruce isn’t afraid to use the Wayne version of intimidation—namely, money and influence. It’s frankly how he managed to get approved for custody in the first place. He would be happy to use it on a teacher or headmaster, especially one who was overlooking a bully problem in their domain.”
With a snort, Jason said, “I’d love to see that. Plus, the media always gets a kick out of Brucie Wayne doing the good parent thing. If he stormed down to the school to raise a fuss, it’d probably be on the front page.”
“Likely.”
“Well, I don’t need Bruce to fight my battles for me,” Jason said. “He can handle Wayne Enterprises, I’ll handle school, and we’ll handle the rest of Gotham together.”
Alfred didn’t like it, but he wasn’t going to betray Jason’s confidence and send Bruce raring down to cause trouble at the academy. Perhaps he could find another way to help Jason strike back against his bullies. “If you ever need backup of the non-caped variety, I am always willing to offer my assistance,” Alfred said. “I’ve been told my disappointed stares can make a grown man weep. I doubt your peers in the classroom would fare much better.”
“Then you’ll be my secret weapon, if I need it,” Jason said.
After he finished his snack, Alfred slipped him a cookie. He expected the boy to retreat—after all, the last hour was the most time they’d ever spent together—but Jason just put a hand on his backpack. “Do you mind if I do my homework in here while you cook dinner? I used to back with my mom.”
“Of course, Master Jason,” Alfred said, smiling warmly.
As he prepared the chicken for dinner, Jason pulled out a textbook and notebook and began scribbling. Alfred could not recall the last time he’d had company while cooking. Perhaps back in Dick’s early days, when he had been soaking in as much human company as he could? As much as Alfred liked to work in silence, he found the scratch of pencil on paper soothing.
A few times, Jason spoke up, asking whether Alfred had insight on a certain homework problem or requesting another anecdote about Bruce’s time at the academy. Each time, Alfred answered promptly, and the boy would go back to his work with a thankful hum.
With a pang, Alfred realized that he could have been nourishing this relationship for the last two months, instead of allowing their misunderstandings to fester. Jason, for his defensive shell, was eager for companionship. Alfred, it seemed, was as well.
For all of the years and people who had attempted to beat Jason down, the new Robin had an astounding capacity to forgive quickly. Alfred was unsure whether he deserved the second chance.
Perhaps he didn’t. But Alfred was not as selfless as he sometimes let his charges believe. Whether he deserved the change of not, he refused to waste it.
#
After that week, with Alfred’s steady encouragement, Jason began to seek him out. Despite their differences, Alfred quickly found that he loved the boy. Jason, though he’d been attacked from all sides from a young age, was kind, clever, and vivacious. Alfred felt lucky to be included in the small circle Jason was beginning to trust.
Some days, Alfred felt as though he had acquired a duckling. When Jason was free from his school or vigilante responsibilities, he would shadow Alfred from room to room. Like a cat, he never quite confessed that was what he was doing. If Alfred was in the kitchen, Jason would happen to choose that for his homework spot. If he was cleaning the library, Jason would end up in one of the armchairs. The result was that Alfred’s previously quiet days were filled with Jason’s quick comments and raucous laughter.
“Hey, hey, Alfred,” he said, coming into the kitchen after school.
Alfred turned from the oven, a plate in his hands. “Just in time, Master Jason,” he said, setting the pile of chocolate chip cookies on the table. “As a congratulations for completing your physics test.”
Jason laughed and sat down at the table. “This almost makes all the studying worth it. Thanks, A.”
Unfortunately, as he bonded more closely with Alfred, he began to clash more heavily with Bruce. Perhaps it was because he was finally comfortable enough with his place in the manor that he felt comfortable truly pushing back against Bruce’s rules. Or perhaps he was lashing out as a reaction to his newfound stability, testing its limits. Either way, Jason had anger issues, and Bruce didn’t have the patience to deal with them.
They had explosive fights that echoed through the house. Afterward, when Jason slunk into the kitchen or whichever room Alfred was cleaning, Alfred wouldn’t press him to continue the argument. (To be honest, half the time he sided with the boy over Bruce anyway.) Instead, he made sure that Jason knew that no matter what arguments he had with the man of the house, he was still a welcome member of the family.
When he wasn’t lashing out, though, Jason was a slyly clever boy, and enjoyed making Alfred crack and laugh. Alfred introduced him to some of the British classics—Monty Python and Blackadder, to start—and Jason quoted them around the house.
When Jason found out about Alfred’s history on the stage, he convinced him to help him study by reading scenes from Hamlet together. Jason seemed to get a kick out of Alfred’s rendition of Polonius.
“You know, Master Jason, most people don’t portray Hamlet as quite so whiny,” Alfred commented after a particularly dramatic performance.
Jason rolled his eyes. “He is whiny. His dad asked for revenge, and he fucks around for so many pages that he ends up getting everyone around him killed, too. He should have sucked it up and shoved Claudius off a cliff in Act One.”
Alfred just shook his head and read Ophelia’s next line.
It wasn’t all laughter between them, though. Some days, Jason would get into dark, contemplative moods that rivaled the worst of Bruce’s brooding. Alfred, as ever, simply made sure he was there to listen when the dam finally broke.
One night, while Alfred was cleaning the kitchen with Jason watching from his usual seat at the kitchen table, Jason broke an hours’ long silence with a tentative, “Hey, Alfred? Can we talk?”
Quietly, unsteadily, Jason told Alfred why he was so skittish with physical contact. The boy’s voice broke as he talked. Alfred listened attentively, keeping his expression neutral and comforting. Inside, he was wondering if it was too late for him to take up his own cowl.
When Jason finished and looked at Alfred for comfort, for validation, Alfred decided the cowl was unnecessary. Let Bruce take care of the streets. Alfred had his own fight to win within the walls of the manor.
Despite their arguments, Bruce formalized his adoption of Jason within the first year.
Alfred had cried when Bruce told him his plan, and again when Jason came to him afterward.
“Alfred,” Jason said, his eyes rimmed in red. “He wants me to be part of the family.”
“You already are,” Alfred told him, and let Jason pull him in for a hug.
Jason stayed tentative with touch, especially when he wasn’t the one to initiate it, but he was learning to accept physical affection. Alfred, who once had a very British hesitance around hugs, had been broken of his reluctance by Dick, and was therefore an easy target for Jason’s cautious outreach.
After the first year, Alfred could no longer imagine his life at the manor without Jason. Bruce was always busy or distracted. Dick was building a new life in Bludhaven. But Jason was always there, and Alfred delighted in his company.
#
And then, Jason died.
#
The manor was silent. Over the years, the manor had been quiet more than it had ever been loud. But the silence after Jason was the worst Alfred had endured.
Bruce retracted so far in on himself that Alfred wondered if he'd ever be lured out again. Dick couldn't cope with being in the house at all. Alfred continued his daily routine, but without Jason as his shadow, it was like maintaining a cemetery.
When Tim Drake arrived, determined to save Batman, Alfred stood aside and let him.
Over the years, further children came into their lives: Stephanie, then Cass, then Damian. They all brought their own brand of light to the manor, filling the empty spaces. For the most part, they were focused on Batman. Bruce became a combination of a project for them to repair, and a father to guide them. Bruce was unpredictable, a gamble with high stakes and high rewards. To them, Alfred was stable, a given. They loved him, but they trusted in his presence without dedicating extra effort to understand him.
Alfred was almost relieved that he was able to step back and resume his role as the dry, quiet butler. He was a listening ear, a shoulder to lean on, a good-matured reprimand when needed, and a silent stabilizer. That was what he wanted to be.
If none of them latched onto him the way Jason had near the end, Alfred would never have to feel like he was betraying the boy's memory.
Alfred loved the newcomers in their own ways.
Jason's raucous laughter still haunted his dreams.
#
Then, Jason came back. And they started from scratch.
Worse than scratch. Jason came back broken. The boy from the streets who had been betrayed by every comer in his youth had died betrayed by Bruce and Dick and Alfred. After all the work Alfred had done to protect Jason and make sure he'd known he was loved, he had died alone at the hands of an enemy.
Though it tore Alfred's heart to pieces, it was no true surprise that Jason hadn't crawled back to the manor eager to rejoin the family. Alfred had spent the last four years thinking of all the ways he could have saved Jason. Undoubtedly, Jason had indulged the same thoughts.
Jason came for blood, and Alfred was sure it was only a matter of time before he turned from Batman and the new Robin to Alfred. Instead, Jason avoided the manor like it was a plague house.
Batman and his Robins fought Jason. Then, they fought with Jason. Slowly, Red Hood became an ally instead of an enemy, and still he refused to come home.
He had forgiven Batman and Nightwing enough to work with him, but he hadn't forgiven Bruce and Dick. Since Alfred had no alter-ego to bridge the gap, he didn't get to see Jason at all.
One afternoon, after dwelling on his early months with Jason, Alfred looked through Batman's files and found an address. He brought a tin of chocolate chip cookies and waited outside the door to a loft near Crime Alley for more than two hours.
If Jason was home, he was not answering the door.
Alfred left the cookies behind, though he knew they had an equal chance of being stolen by a neighbor or thrown out by Jason as they had of being eaten by their intended recipient.
If Jason was anything like Master Bruce—or, frankly, like the paranoid boy Alfred had once known—he would have a way to know that Alfred had been there anyway.
#
A few months into Red Hood’s tentative alliance with Batman’s team, the PA in the dining room crackled with Bruce’s voice. “Alfred, we’re about to have a visitor. He’s in civilian clothes, so he’ll be coming through the front door. Let him in, will you? I’m expecting him.”
Bruce ended the communication without a farewell.
When Alfred went to the front door to wait, his spine felt coiled tight. He didn’t know for sure, but something in the air told him who was going to be coming up the front steps.
The rumble of a motorcycle grew louder before cutting off abruptly in front of the manor. Alfred resisted the urge to peer through the curtains like a child.
A firm hand knocked twice on the door.
Alfred took a deep breath and opened it. “Master Jason,” he greeted, hoping his voice sounded calm.
Though Alfred had seen dossiers and video footage, the experience of being in front of this new, grown version of Jason Todd was overwhelming. He had grown several inches from his spindly teenage height, and had bulked out nearly as much as Bruce. His hair was longer, with a bright white streak swept away from his forehead. Even his eyes were different—once blue, they now reflected a tinge of Lazarus Pit green.
He nodded to Alfred, expressionless. He held up a folder. “Bruce asked me to drop this off.”
Alfred couldn’t stop staring. Jason was here, he was back. Surely he could have found a way to get the file to Bruce without coming through the front gate. He’d managed to avoid the manor for more than a year since he’d come back to Gotham. If he’d wanted to slip around Alfred, he could have. That meant something. Or did it? How much did Alfred know about this man?
Putting his shoulders back and lifting his chin, Alfred asked, “Would you like to come in?”
“I figured B would want to talk about what I’ve found,” Jason said, but he didn’t move.
“Is it very urgent?”
Jason shrugged. “Most things we do are.”
That wasn’t a yes. Alfred assumed that meant that no lives were immediately on the line. In this house, that was never a guarantee. “Come to the kitchen for tea. Master Bruce can wait a few more minutes.”
Folding his arms, Jason said, “You think he’ll like that?”
Alfred smiled. Despite Jason’s lack of expression, Alfred knew when he was winning an argument. “Now you’re so worried about what he likes?”
Jason snorted and finally followed Alfred inside.
When Jason took his old spot at the kitchen table, Alfred’s heart skipped a beat. He busied himself putting the kettle on. “Did you get the cookies?” he asked. Like he had the first night he’d truly spoken with Jason, he kept his back to the boy, hoping it would be less pressure.
“You’re lucky I have a camera watching my apartment door. I wouldn’t eat mysterious cookies left by just anybody,” Jason said.
He’d seen the hours Alfred had waited for him. Had he been inside the whole time, or had he discovered the footage later? “Good,” was all he said. Finally, he turned around, leaning against the counter to look at the man at the kitchen table. Jason dwarfed his old chair. “I’m very happy to see you, Master Jason. I… can’t express how sorry I am for what happened.”
“It’s not like you were the one with the crow bar.”
Alfred flinched. He waited for Jason to continue, to blame him for not forcing Bruce to kill the Joker, or finding some revenge on his own. Instead, Jason stayed quiet.
Somehow, that was worse. Was, perhaps, the reason Jason had left him out of his revenge machinations because he simple didn’t care about Alfred?
The thought hurt, but Alfred wasn’t prepared to give up now, not after waiting so long to have Jason in front of him again. “No, I wasn’t,” Alfred said. “Though I wish I had been there. I’ve thought many times that perhaps I could some way…”
Jason laughed, but it was a harsh sound. “Don’t flatter yourself. I was better trained than you as a teenager than you were in your prime. You couldn’t have done anything.”
“Still.”
“I didn’t come here to talk about my tragic demise,” Jason said. “Why is that all everyone ever talks about? I’ve been back longer than I was ever gone.”
“Have you?” Alfred asked quietly.
Jason folded his arms. “What, you wanted me to visit, while I was a fugitive from the law? Batman would have turned me over himself if I’d shown up at your door.”
“I wouldn’t have let him,” Alfred snapped. “You’ve never given me nearly enough credit.”
Jason blinked at him. Still not expecting Alfred to stand up for him.
There was a crash from one of the other floors, snapping him out of his bristling fury. This wasn’t helping. The fact that Jason hadn’t already provoked an argument meant that he wasn’t there to fight, and Alfred was likely not aiding the conversation. He sighed, and turned to pull a box of tea bags from a cabinet. “That will be Master Damian, undoubtedly. Or one of his many pets. You’d be amazed how crowded the manor can feel.”
“Right. Bruce’s real kid,” Jason said dryly. “He’s a brat, isn’t he? He’s got to be a fucking handful for you. Thank god I wasn’t still around when he popped up, right? Can you imagine having to juggle that little assassin with your favorite problem street urchin?” The way he said ‘favorite’ implied that he thought of himself as anything but.
Deliberately, Alfred put the box of tea down on the kitchen counter before turning around. Jason’s shoulders were hunched slightly, and he was watching Alfred carefully. As carefully as he had been all night, as though Alfred’s reactions mattered to him.
“Master Jason,” Alfred said crisply, “I believe we’ve had variations on this conversation before, but you clearly need a reminder. Damian may be Master Bruce’s biological child, but you were his son. And though I do love them both, my loyalties are not earned by the Wayne genes. None of you are my blood, but you are all my family. Especially you.” Alfred held up a scolding finger. “I don’t care what sort of antihero you’ve become. I will not stand for you insulting either of us by intimating that I ever did anything less than adore you.”
Jason stared at him, and then coughed. “Adore seems like a strong word.”
“It isn’t,” Alfred told him.
“Alfred, I’ve done a lot of shit since you knew me,” Jason said, a strange note of yearning in his voice. “I’m not the kid you knew.”
“I don’t care. You’re my Jason. I lost you, but now you’re back,” Alfred said. “You avoided me for so long. I thought you must have been furious with me.”
“What? No, no.” Jason ran a hand through his chiaroscuro hair. “At first, I was afraid to see you. I thought if I saw you, I’d lose my determination. I wanted revenge, but I couldn’t look at you and remember how betrayed I’d been. Then, when I realized that I was wrong, it was too late. I nearly killed my replacement. You were a good man. You deserved better than me coming back, begging for you to bake me cookies again.”
“Your replacement,” Alfred repeated.
“He took my costume. He took my name.”
“Which name? There was only ever one Jason Todd. That was the part of you I cared about.” When Jason didn’t seem able to answer, Alfred pressed on more gently, “I love all of Bruce’s children, but Jason, you were always special. I messed up with you so badly at first. I never stopped regretting that. Then when you died, I let you down again.”
“I was special? Alfred, you have a whole flock of black-haired boys desperate for your attention.”
“You may be confusing me with Master Bruce,” Alfred said. “They love me. To them, I’m solid. They’ve never doubted me. You did.”
“Yeah, I’m a paranoid motherfucker.”
“You saw me as more than your reliable British butler,” Alfred corrected. “At first, that didn’t work out well for either of us. But it made us both reassess the other.” He glanced at the door. “I love every child Bruce has brought home. I never thought I’d have a family, but I ended up in one anyway. The only relationship I earned was with you.”
“I don’t like hearing you talk shit about yourself,” Jason grumbled.
“Now perhaps you’ll understand my pain,” Alfred said. “You and I have suffered from serious miscommunications in the past, so let me make this clear; I don’t care what you’ve done. You will be back here for dinner on Sunday, you will eat the cookies I make you, and you will tell me whenever you need help—whether it involves the mask or not.” He held up a hand to stop any argument Jason might have brought up. “If you’re not ready for the rest of your siblings, that’s fine. You’ll come to my kitchen and drink tea with me. I’m sure you can avoid anyone you wish.”
“Of course,” Jason scoffed, but his voice was unsteady.
Alfred frowned at him. “You’re not allowed to avoid me any longer.”
“Sure, Alfie.”
“I mean it. I do know where you live.”
Jason flexed his hands on the kitchen table. There were new scars marring the skin. “If you’re serious, if you want me around… I’ll be here.”
“That’s all I ask. Now, I’d keep you here all night if I could, but I believe Master Bruce will be searching for you soon,” Alfred said reluctantly. He glanced at the PA. Bruce had been silent since he’d sent Alfred to get the door. Had Bruce orchestrated this meeting? As sharp as Bruce was, he tended to miss things under his nose when it came to the people closest to him. Then again, he could have come to collect Jason if he’d wanted as soon as he’d walked through the door.
“Let him,” Jason said, leaning back. He flashed Alfred a bright grin, reminding him of afternoons spent over homework. “We have a lot to catch up on.”