Chapter Text
Bruce had always known this day would come. It had to. It was the way of things. But it seemed so impossible to be saying goodbye to Alfred.
He swallowed, and pushed open the car door, mask already in place. Sombre, calm, but in control. No need for Brucie today, there was no-one here to perform for, but he was performing all the same. Pretending the centre of his chest wasn’t a black hole.
There had been a subtle distance between them in the last decade or so of Alfred’s life. Bruce’s fault, of course – it was always Bruce’s fault. He was just so terminally bad with people. And the biggest, the ugliest, the worst mistake of his life had also cost Alfred dearly. That Bruce had never made things right with Jason had driven a wedge between Bruce and the father who had shepherded him through almost the entirety of his life.
At least, as Alfred had aged and his duties had gotten lighter, Bruce was fairly sure he had been taking trips to see Jason. Bruce would likely never get his reconciliation, but he was confident that Jason and Alfred had spent chunks of time together in the past six years or so. For each of the past six years Alfred had taken at least four months off, scattered throughout the year, and Bruce had held his peace and never enquired, only sincerely wishing, heart full, for the older man to have a wonderful trip, and waving him goodbye at the airport.
So, so many times he had wanted to push. To ask Alfred to deliver a letter, perhaps, or to ask Jason if they could meet, somewhere neutral, so Bruce could begin to apologise.
But every time he would look at Alfred’s face, the polite mask he wore only for very specific occasions, and Bruce would swallow back the words. If this was his penance, he would bear it in silence, and not force Alfred to become a part of it. Jason’s letter had, after all, been perfectly clear.
Bruce sighed softly as he started the long walk to the graveside.
Damien fell in at his side, Dick a step behind them
Tim was here somewhere, but he would likely arrive with Stephanie and Kon, and leave the same way. There, too, was a relationship which hadn’t ever returned to normal once Tim knew what Bruce had done on that rooftop.
It wasn’t a huge gathering at the graveside – the wake back at the house would be larger, less need to hide their secrets there. But for the funeral of Bruce Wayne’s longtime butler, only a handful of close family, and no press.
Bruce took his appointed place, beside Cass and across from Babs, Tim and Kon, and tried not to think about the gap in the group that would never be mended. Tried not to think about how Jason had never got to say goodbye to his Alfie.
And then, just as silence fell over the group, the muted sound of several car doors closing had heads turning. Bruce looked up, wary of any possible intrusion on this private moment, and his whole body went rigid.
Jason. Jason, in sombre black, including a hat which Bruce somehow just knew was homage to Alfred, approached the grave at a measured pace. His face gave away nothing. At his side walked a woman, young, beautiful, in knee-high black boots, a short black dress and a classic felt cloche hat. They could have walked out of any film noir. And between them. Between them…
She must have been about five or six years old. Her dress was navy, rather than black. Her long, silky hair was pulled back in a neat braid, and though her eyes were brown, the shape of them were unmistakably Jason’s.
Bruce sucked in a sharp breath and Dick muffled an exclamation of some sort.
As they neared the graveside, Tim strode easily toward them. Bruce watched, bewildered, as Jason and Tim embraced, something short and soft said before Tim stepped past Jason to embrace the woman – Jason’s wife? – and then crouched to greet the little girl. She was smiling at him, small and a bit shy, and allowed Tim to gravely shake her hand before he straightened again and walked the rest of the distance to the graveside, this time on Jason’s left.
Dick, had, by now, circled around to Jason’s side and claimed his own hug, murmuring to Jason whose mouth flattened out into a shaky line before Dick nodded and pulled back, retracing his steps to stand by Barbara’s chair once more. Then Jason raised his head and looked directly across Alfred’s grave to meet Bruce’s eyes.
Bruce dragged in a shaky breath and felt his hand move in a useless, confused gesture, half-wave, half-plea.
Jason watched him warily for a long moment, then gave a quick nod of acknowledgement before turning his attention back to the priest.
Bruce forced his eyes forward, and didn’t try to fight back the tears.