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Alfred hadn’t expected the house to be in order when he arrived back from the hospital but the spray paint on the floor was a nice touch. He needed his cane now more than ever so he wouldn’t be able to move the dining room table back where it belonged. Bruce was likely still asleep; he would get him to move it later.
Leaving that mess behind, he went to the kitchen and placed his pills down on the counter. He intended to grab a glass of water but found the sink so full of dirty dishes he doubted there was a clean cup left in the house. He didn’t bother checking but instead started walking around the house, a mental to-do list starting in his mind.
The spray paint would need to be removed or covered. It was a little too incriminating. The dishes would be after the laundry since the whole floor was starting to smell like a locker room. The rest of the place looked relatively untouched. Alfred was pleased but dreaded seeing what Bruce’s workspace looked like.
Then he came to his office and was so shocked he didn’t believe what he was seeing. The whole room was put back together like it hadn’t been blown up less than a week ago. The wall was replaced, paint and all as if it was original to the tower and not patched up from an explosion. The desk was different, didn’t have the scratches and dents, but it looked nearly identical. His chair had to be different but just looking at it he had a hard time seeing where it had been replaced. The bookcases were the only real giveaway as they were empty. Alfred had collected a mass of Wayne Enterprise papers, mail, and documents that he had stuffed in between his books over the years and now all of that was gone. There were a couple of books, burned and scarred, but intact enough to have been put back on the shelves. A pitiful amount compared to what he had before.
He clicked his jaw shut after realizing it was open and straightened up. He strolled into the room taking his time to look around. It wasn’t like Bruce to have done this and that worried Alfred. In some things Bruce was unpredictable but for the most part, he was terribly predictable. His single-mindedness about his mission to stop Gotham’s criminals made him take the most direct route to dealing with problems. There was never any variation in what he did. It was always, see a problem, find the nearest thing to shake, and see what falls out. Alfred worried about the learning process Bruce would have to go through because eventually he will shake some big-time criminals and they won’t run. They will study the batman and figure out his moves. Bruce would need to learn to adapt his methods to a criminal that fought back. But Alfred could see that was already happening. Though he didn’t know much, it seemed that Falcone had made waves in the young man’s life, and it had taught him something. Maybe it was wrong of him, but Alfred was glad those waves hit Bruce and not the batman. Bruce was mostly harmless to Falcone, therefore, no reason to kill him, this was not so with the batman. After all, it was because of the batman that Alfred had nearly been killed. But that thought must never escape his head. He didn’t like what Bruce was doing but he couldn’t deny understanding it.
SLAM!
Alfred spun around, his cane saving him from hitting the floor. A grate of metal bars had dropped from somewhere, Alfred assumed it must have been hidden in the wall, over the doorway. He held still, not certain what to make of this. The sprinklers overhead suddenly turned on. Foam fire suppressant rained down coating him in the slimy substance.
Hobbling to the doorway as fast as possible, he inhaled foam and spit it out viciously before calling, “Bruce!”
There was no other explanation. Bruce had fixed his office and then taken the liberty of adding some new security measures.
“Bruce!” he called again. The boy’s room was close to the office, had to be when Bruce was growing up and Alfred needed to hear when he started to have a nightmare, as he got older Bruce hadn’t shown the least bit of interest in changing rooms.
The grate of metal bars sprung back up into the ceiling. Alfred quickly escaped the room. Swiping his hand over his face, he swiped the foam off onto the floor in disgust. He wiped off his chest and shoulders in an attempt to not look like a child coming out of a bubble bath. Looking back into the office, he realized there were cameras suddenly hanging from the ceiling. Those had not been there when he walked in. Also, his bookcase was swung aside revealing a small room much like a panic room.
Alfred went to Bruce’s room, shaking off as foam as he went, but found it was empty. No thought was necessary as to where Bruce was. He went through to the back room and got in the elevator.
When it reached the subway station, he saw Bruce waiting. Evidently, he had gotten to the elevator just before him.
“Interesting new additions to my office,” Alfred said.
Bruce dipped his head, face hidden behind a wall of matted black hair. “Sorry. I didn’t realize you were home.”
“I can see that.” Alfred gazed around at the workspace. It was worse than usual because the projects Bruce was working on didn’t look like any addition to his crime-fighting gallery. The mess next to the car was where the metal grate was likely constructed, and the countertops were flooded with different camera builds. The monitors were still showing Alfred’s office.
He went around Bruce to study them.
“Little bit of a delay,” he said. “I am quite soaked from standing in there.”
“I’ll fix it,” Bruce said.
Alfred looked back at him. His voice had wavered and was quiet. Bruce was always quiet, but it sounded different. He shifted under Alfred’s stare, uncomfortable but that didn’t make Alfred let up any. His young charge looked awful. That was so normal though that Alfred hardly noticed anymore. But this time it was too pronounced to ignore. His clothes were covered in sawdust, wood chips, paint, plaster, and who knows what else. His hunched-over posture made the baggy shirt hang off his shoulders. There was paint in his hair and it was causing huge mats to form. Underneath his eyes looked as dark as when he used the makeup to help disguise himself as the batman. His expression was slack, but his body was tense. Alfred wondered if he had slept at all while he was in the hospital.
Bruce hadn’t moved. It seemed like he was waiting for Alfred to leave so he could get back to what he was doing. He used to do that a lot when he first started being the batman. Before he grew to be comfortable with Alfred watching him work. It caused Alfred to take a step back from the younger man and evaluate what he should do now. He could clearly see that Bruce needed to sleep but he could also see that he was uncertain of how Alfred was taking being soaked in fire suppressant. Or maybe, Bruce wasn’t certain how Alfred felt about any of it. His office being put back together, the cameras being added, the metal grate that could seal him in there. Alfred really wasn’t thrilled about the cameras but held back any comment. All that could wait, right now he needed an olive branch. Something to hold out to the kid to let him know everything was alright.
“I need a shower,” Alfred said. “But it’s a brilliant piece of work, the fire suppressant.”
Bruce nodded and then went to the elevator. He held it open, and Alfred registered that was for him. It made him a little uneasy thinking Bruce might be trying to get rid of him but then Bruce joined him for the trip up and Alfred hoped that was him deciding to take a break. He held back a scoff at the thought.
Taking a shower was difficult and Alfred grumbled more curses than he had since his time in the SAS. When he finally stepped into clean clothes though it was worth it. Although he still felt the drain on his body, the hot water had put a bit of energy back into him.
Unfortunately, he had a bad feeling he was going to spend all that energy on not attempting to slap some sense into Bruce.
A quick look told him that Bruce was not in the kitchen or the living room, but he shouldn’t have expected him to be. He approached his office and, sure enough, Bruce was inside. He had already laid towels down over the desk and floor, soaking up the fire suppressant, and was now attempting to save the bookcases. Alfred saw that the pitiful number of books that had been there weren’t there anymore.
“Amazing those few books survived the blast, I assume they are off drying,” Alfred said.
Bruce jumped and looked at him like he was an intruder. Then recognition came over his face and he calmed down. He went back to mopping up the foam off the shelves.
“Sorry about the others,” he said.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Alfred said and immediately saw that Bruce didn’t believe him. He also saw that Bruce hadn’t moved his drying rag from the same spot this whole time. His mind was elsewhere, and his body was left on autopilot.
“Bruce,” Alfred walked forward and startled Bruce with his speed. He snatched one of his wrists before he could pull away, keeping him close. “The Riddler did all this. He wanted you dead because you are a Wayne, rather unfair really, but his plan failed, and given the elaborateness of his other murders it's surprising that he took such an impersonal approach with you. Do you know why?”
Bruce was looking at the ground, hiding and Alfred twitched with the effort to not reach out and try to comb some of the paint out of his hair.
“I thought he knew who I was,” Bruce said.
The statement was so quiet Alfred almost missed it. Bruce shifted his weight just barely leaning towards him. He probably didn’t realize he did it, but Alfred noticed and released his wrist.
“At his apartment, there was this wall of pictures of the batman and of me. Written on the wall was “I know the real you” so when he hurt—when the bomb went off and I was at the orphanage, where he had wanted me to be. I thought…”
Alfred stayed quiet, letting Bruce figure out how to speak.
Bruce heaved a breath like he was drowning and slowly lifted his head to meet Alfred’s eyes. “I thought he had done it on purpose.”
“But he hadn’t?”
Bruce shook his head. “No, Edward was… a fan of the Batman.”
A very dark shadow came over Bruce’s face and Alfred hated it instantly.
“It is my fault,” Bruce said.
“No—”
“It is!” Bruce pulled back from him, but Alfred grabbed a fistful of his shirt and harshly pulled him back. Desperate to convince him like he hadn’t been thinking that thought himself.
“He made his own choice.”
“I inspired him.”
“Inspired means you gave him the idea. I’m sure I gave the nurse the idea to play nightingale with me, but I really wasn’t interested just drugged. Her actions were her own and the Riddler is responsible for his own actions. You aren’t to blame when someone else does something.”
Bruce was pulling back against Alfred but only weakly. This close Alfred could see how deep the lines on his face had become, the shadows were deeper than ever. He sighed and Bruce did not respond. He wasn’t looking at Alfred anymore, just staring at the floor. What could Alfred say? He wasn’t wrong, the Riddler had made his own choices but that didn’t resolve Bruce of the responsibility that he started this madness. But that thought would never make it to Alfred’s lips. He didn’t care if he had to lie to Bruce or not. It had the potential to destroy him, and Alfred couldn’t handle that. He had so recently begun to put together what he really needed to be for the city so whatever truth there was in the Batman being the one to blame would be buried by Alfred.
“Get some sleep. This won’t be so bleak in a few hours.”
But Bruce was already shaking his head. “No, I need to fix this.”
“This will dry without your help.”
“I need to fix the facial recognition.” He sounded ashamed and Alfred understood why. The system should have recognized Alfred and not reacted to his presence.
“I’m sure that will be an easy fix and I won’t be in this room. You can do it later.”
“Alfred, I’m doing it now.” Bruce marched past him, heading back to his workspace.
He let him go past him without comment, he knew a battle not worth fighting when he saw it, but he did follow him back down.
He watched him fix the code so the system would behave next time and the moment he was done, Alfred stepped into his personal space. “All done?”
Bruce didn’t look at him and started messing with something else on his computers, Alfred didn’t bother looking at what it was.
“Bruce.” The younger man didn’t react at all. Alfred may as well have been talking to a wall. “Bruce!”
He stiffened at Alfred’s tone; his head turned slightly towards him.
“It can wait,” Alfred said, holding up a hand and cutting off any argument. “And you know that. The Riddler is locked up and no one else is out there killing the elite.”
He had hoped that Bruce would just listen for once, but he was too stubborn for that. He went back to looking at his computers like Alfred wasn’t there.
So, Alfred punched him. So much for not slapping sense into him.
It wasn’t a hard punch, just enough force to push him back but little else. Still, Bruce lost his balance and went down to his knees.
“You’re too tired,” Alfred said. “You should have seen that coming. You should have thought to have your new system recognize the person it was installed to protect.” That hurt and he saw it, but he pressed on. “You’re making stupid mistakes because you are overworked.”
Alfred stood up straight, forcing himself to face the pain he saw in Bruce’s glare. He didn’t waver, but he did soften a little bit. He went over and offered his hand to help Bruce up. The hand was glared at through his matted hair but finally, Bruce accepted the help. He swayed on his feet, and Alfred steadied him. He didn’t pull away, whatever fight he had been holding on to in order to keep himself going had slipped out of his grasp. His shoulders were slumped and his eyes half-lidded.
“You know why I survived the blast?” Alfred asked.
Bruce turned angry eyes on him, but Alfred didn’t give him time to respond.
“Because I was alert. I saw the fireproof packaging and the ‘to the Batman’ and knew. I threw the package away from me and now with fire suppressant and a panic room I won’t even have to go to the hospital. You’ve done well. Now, recognize the fact that you are too tired to protect yourself and do something about it.”
Bruce’s black hair fell over his face as he looked down, almost in defeat. Alfred felt bad for a moment but pushed it away. Everything he said was true.
“I’m going to take you to shower and then bed, alright?”
Bruce didn’t respond so Alfred slowly reached a hand up to cup his cheek and Bruce allowed it. He even allowed Alfred to turn his head to face him. Though his eyes were still downcast.
Alfred rubbed his thumb over the cheek he had punched, soothing a bruise that was sure to form there. Bruce dipped his head to put more pressure on Alfred’s hand and just stood there.
After a long moment, Alfred finally moved his hand. “Time to go.”
Bruce nodded, looking dazed, anger forgotten.
The trip back upstairs seemed to take forever with Bruce barely on his feet. All the exhaustion he had been ignoring was hitting him now and Alfred debated if a shower was worth the trouble.
Back upstairs Bruce didn’t hesitate to follow Alfred to the shower, his docile state was enough to convince Alfred he needed something to revive him.
He started the shower then turned to see Bruce just standing, quietly watching him.
“Shirt,” Alfred held out his hand.
He was obeyed as Bruce raised his arms to slide the damp shirt over his head and handed it Alfred who folded it over his arm.
“I’ll be outside,” Alfred said, waited for Bruce to nod, discreetly looked over Bruce’s torse for injuries, he saw plenty but none that needed immediate attention, then he left.
He put the shirt in the laundry and since he was there and he had a feeling Bruce would be a while, he started a load of laundry. Then he wandered into the kitchen and did the dishes. By then his leg was killing him and he admitted that he needed to sit down.
He scanned the living room and decided to avoid the spray-painted room, but then he saw a stack of papers on a desk. They were the day's mail after the explosion. It was only that day’s though which was unsurprising given that the city flooded the next day. Still, they got an extraordinary amount of mail in one day and Alfred was about to sit down to sort it when he heard movement behind him.
Bruce looked better than before. His hair was still matted and there was still paint in it but not as much. He was dressed in an oversized shirt and sweatpants. He looked comfortable and less like a corpse.
“Feel better?” Alfred asked.
“Yeah.”
“Go get some sleep,” Alfred said, but he saw the worry on Bruce’s face, he shifted his feet not leaving. “When is the last time you slept?”
Bruce shrugged. “Are you going through the mail?”
“I was going to, yes.”
Bruce swallowed. “Don’t. At least not until you can do it in your office.”
Alfred felt that the likelihood of there being another bomb was pretty low, but he didn’t say that. Bruce was looking at him and Alfred could see the fear in his eyes. “Alright. I’ll wait.”
Bruce still didn’t move like he was afraid if he turned around Alfred would go back on his word. Trying to convince him otherwise seemed much harder than just walking away from the stack. So, he limped over to Bruce and pushed him backward.
“Off to bed,” he said.
Bruce smiled faintly and retreated back to his room, Alfred following.
Bruce’s room didn’t look lived in and Alfred wasn’t surprised. Bruce nearly always spent his time in the cave. He watched him slip under the covers and then went over to pull the blankets down to make sure that when he tossed and turned in his sleep, they wouldn’t come off his feet.
Just as he was turning to leave, he saw Bruce give a small start like he had been jolted out of a pleasant dream.
“Alfred,” Bruce said. His voice gave away his fear.
“I’m going to bed as well, don’t worry.”
His words were not immediately accepted but eventually, Bruce nodded and lay back down.
Alfred turned out the light as he left. His own room clearly hadn’t been touched in all the time he was away. He changed his clothes, removed the book off his bed, turned out the light, and got under the covers. It was darker than expected and Alfred thought that was because he had been sleeping in a hospital where it is never dark. But his eyes adjusted though as, try as he might, he couldn’t seem to close them.
The shadowy figure that pushed open his door was easy to recognize.
“Can’t sleep?” Alfred asked.
“Yeah, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to wake you. I just wanted…”
Alfred sat up. “It’s alright. I can’t sleep either.”
Reaching over, he turned on the light and grabbed his cane. Bruce watched him get out of bed with a guilty look on his face but didn’t hesitate to follow Alfred out of the room.
Alfred went straight to his office. It was mostly dry with a lingering feeling of dampness. “Go get the mail.”
Bruce frowned but did as he was told. Alfred settled in his chair, ignoring the unpleasantly wet squish of the cushion and when Bruce returned, he settled the mail in front of him.
Licking a finger, he started in on separating the pile into important and unimportant. This went on for a few minutes before Alfred looked up. “I’m going to start opening these. Will your little panic room open automatically?”
“Push up on the second shelf.”
“Ah, very good.” Alfred grabbed the first piece of mail and opened it. Nothing exploded. It was just an ordinary piece of paper, a request to fund a charity. Putting the request in its appropriate place Alfred grabbed the second piece and so on he went. Bruce crept closer and closer to him as he went until Alfred got tired of feeling him hover.
“Here,” Alfred waved him forward. “Sit down.”
Surprisingly, Bruce did. He settled on the floor, knees up to his chest, and Alfred returned to the mail. Eventually, Bruce moved close enough for Alfred to reach out a hand and place it on his head. He kept the hand still, just kneading his scalp, until Bruce relaxed then he gently tug out the flecks of paint that survived the shower. Moving the hand between opening the mail and detangling Bruce’s hair, he finally managed to bring some order to the dark locks. There were still a lot of mats made from the cowl that were going to need something besides Alfred’s fingers but for now, he worked out what he could.
In time, Bruce’s head fell completely against his thigh. If he was asleep or just content enough to rest, Alfred didn’t know but that was alright. Either way, Bruce was calm and not working himself to death. That had to be the point of adding the security to Alfred’s office, for Bruce to know that Alfred was safe. He hadn’t said that and probably never would and Alfred didn’t really want him to. Despite what was said in the hospital, Alfred still harbored the feeling that Bruce didn’t care about him at all. Like he was only kidding himself that Bruce had put in the new security to protect him. He didn’t want him to speak and confirm that Alfred was being a sentimental fool. Bruce had spent so long focused on his mission that being forced to realize there were other things he cared about had been hard on him. The fact that it took Alfred nearly dying to make him realize this had only made it harder. Hard on them both, really. He wanted to be this boy’s father, but he never could get there. Knowing that Bruce cared about him didn’t take away that failure, but it did mean that Alfred had done something right. They would just have to figure out how to care for each other better now.