Work Text:
Winston Wells, 26 years old, first day on the job as assistant director of Homeland Security.
And he certainly wasn't expecting such a big mess within three hours of the beginning of his first day.
At that very moment, as he stood behind the mirrored glass, he watched in amazement a man his new boss was questioning firmly and, if he could venture to say so, rather rudely as well.
How could that man, so frail and elderly, be behind all that?
They had taken him there practically dragging him, handcuffed like some kind of criminal, and they hadn't even bothered to bring him a bottle of water.
Sure, maybe he was a terrorist sought by law enforcement all over the world, maybe he was a dangerous leader of some underworld family, but he was still an old man and Winston wasn't comfortable with such an attitude.
From behind the glass, he saw his boss banging his fist on the table: but the man didn't seem to be too upset, his expression had remained the same since he sat down.
The director turned his back on the old man - Winston still didn't understand what he was charged with - and walked out the door: he didn't even glance at his assistant before disappearing into the hallway.
Without thinking too much about it, Winston grabbed a bottle of water from the cabinet at his feet and a plastic cup before slipping into the room.
"Excuse me, I brought you some water," he said once he was inside.
His companion turned around and smiled.
"Someone with some manners. My boy, you're a sight for sore eyes."
Winston felt his cheeks flush and hurried to set the bottle down on the table.
"It's sealed, it hasn't been touched by anyone."
"I had no fear of that, my boy. May I know what your name is?"
"Winston Wells, sir. Though I don't know if I should tell you..."
"Wells? British father?"
He nodded, realizing only then how difficult it was to not answer any of his questions.
"I knew a Wells, excellent fencer but terrible drinker. By the end of every meeting with a glass of Bombay Sapphire he became incredibly annoying." the man opened the bottle and filled the glass half way, "My name is Alfred Pennyworth, my boy. I should have introduced myself earlier but this untoward situation must have made me forget my manners. I ask you to forgive me."
Winston shook his head.
"Don't apologize. What are you accused of?"
Again, Winston bit his tongue: why did the man's presence make him so submissive?
"Nonsense, it seems my name has come up often in some papers found at the residence of a kind lady who lives in the same neighborhood where I have resided for years. I am quite certain it is Mrs. Hallaway, and that the papers in question are nothing more than the recipes for the scones she so insistently requested from me. But the son is that lovely man who just left, he must have drawn the wrong conclusions. Heavens, it's late. Master Dick must be back by now, and his room is still to be arranged."
Winston's eyes widened.
"Master?"
"Yes, he must already be back at the mansion, and they took me away just when I was supposed to go out to pick up Master Damian from school."
"But who is-"
At that moment, a series of hurried footsteps and voices talking over each other were heard in the hallway; Winston got up and went to the door that remained open; when he peered out, he saw a compact group of people advancing down the hallway and a man having a heated discussion with his boss.
A tall, square-jawed, black-haired man, followed by a child and three other boys who looked like spitting copies of him.
All visibly pissed off.
Director Hallaway looked like he was about to explode from anger.
"I'm telling you again, Mr. Wayne, that Mr. Pennyworth is a person who puts national security at risk."
"How obtuse can you be, Hallaway? Does you really believe that the man who raised me could be a dangerous terrorist?"
"Or were you more likely jealous that your mother gave more attention to someone else than to you?"
"What do you mean by that, brat?"
"Don't talk to my son Damian like that, Hallaway!"
Behind Winston's back, Alfred appeared.
"I think it's time for me to go, lad," he said as he adjusted his wrinkled jacket, "They've come to get me."
Winston was about to nod when the door jerked open and the young man stood before the director.
"Wells, what are you doing here?" Hallaway looked at him in amazement.
"Master Wells was kind enough to offer me some water." Alfred turned to the director's four guests and smiled fondly, "You are a relief to these tired eyes.""When Richard came to get me from school I was afraid something had happened to you." the boy Winston had seen before threw himself upon the old man and hugged him tightly, imitated at once by the other boys.
"Mr. Wayne wants to take you home, Mr. Pennyworth, but that's not possible," the director interjected; however, next to the one whom Hallaway had called "Mr. Wayne," another man appeared, holding a clipboard in his hand.
"Director Hallaway, Lord Stevenson, British Crown Ambassador to Washington. Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth II, has expressed...concern over the charges you have brought against your old friend, Sir Pennyworth, and your concerns are shared by the President himself. You can find the official statement of immediate release in here, along with instructions for a new assignment for you." the man handed him the folder with obvious satisfaction and then turned to Alfred, still a prisoner of his protégés.
The two exchanged a glance; it was enough.
"Let's go home, Master Dick's room needs tidying up," Alfred said.
"I can take care of that, Alfie, don't worry about it." stepped in the oldest of the boys, he had to be Dick.
It didn't take Wells long to recognize him. And to connect the dots.
He remembered his mother's stories when, before he was ten, they had moved to Metropolis.
He remembered the Wayne murder, the adoption of that child....
If he hadn't been at work, Winston would have burst out laughing.
As the latter walked out of the interview room cursing, the now former assistant turned to the family and smiled.
"Mr. Pennyworth, you still haven't answered me, though," he interjected, "Who are you, exactly?"
The man looked at him for a few moments then sighed.
"Me? Dear God, lad. I'm simply a butler."