Chapter Text
The butler of a maisonette in a modest neighborhood in London steps out to sweep the entrance and wipe down the handrails. He squeezes water out of the rag in his hands, the expression on his face too serious for the mundanity of the action. There's no indication that the man has been doing chores even earlier in the morning except for the sweat on his brow; his uniform remains uncreased and posture remains straight.
As soon as the front door steps are cleaned to his satisfaction, he washes his hands and face in the kitchen and puts on his coat. He grabs a silver tray while he waits for the kettle and makes sure to take it off the stove just as the water comes to a boil.
As he has done every morning for almost fifteen years, he prepares two cups of black tea, one with a splash of milk, and on a plate, two slices of toast with jam. He brings the tray up to the second floor and raps on the bedroom door exactly twice. He waits for the occupant to reply with a soft "Enter" before he goes inside. Master Alfred is awake.
***
If they were witness to the daily goings inside the household, the most idle of their neighbors will probably never stop gossiping about the fact that Bruce does all the chores. How can a butler call himself a butler if he does all the housework? He might as well stop bothering wearing a uniform. How pretentious, they'll whisper among themselves. Why not marry nice girls to take care of them?
Fortunately for them, the two men could not care less about anyone's opinion.
***
"How's your morning so far, Bruce?"
"It's as usual, sir." He pauses. "Ms. Stowner sent a letter reminding you of her dinner party tomorrow."
"Ah. I knew there was an errand I forgot yesterday. I need to get her a present."
"If I remember correctly, it's her 60th birthday."
"Yes, and if I arrive without a present I'm sure I won't make it to my own."
Bruce smiles. He sips his tea, and Alfred does the same. Unlike other butlers that stand while the master eats, Alfred has always insisted that Bruce sit and eat with him during mealtime. Which is moot, since Bruce consumes only tea during mornings.
I was a butler once and it feels unusual to be waited on, he said once, long ago.
When they were done Bruce cleans up and Alfred slowly dresses himself and makes his way down the stairs. Despite his leg and the constant need for his cane, he still insists on going about his day without Bruce "hovering around like a fly, I am not an invalid".
Bruce washes their breakfast things and goes into the parlor, only to see Alfred bent over his bad leg. He rushes over. "Is it worse than usual? Should I get the laudanum?"
A few long inhales and exhales. Then, "No, I should use that for special times. The spasms have passed."
"If it's alright, I could massage the leg for you."
"That would be lovely."
Bruce has read a few anatomy books and at least knows what muscle to massage to ease the knotting. That Bruce was ever able to read at all was thanks to this man, and he would gladly stay here all day and night to provide him any kind of reprieve from the pain.
"I'd be happy to buy the present for Ms. Stowner. It might be difficult for you to walk." He asks in vain.
"No, I've known her far longer than you do and that woman has very specific tastes. It's better if I buy the gift."
He gives a single nod then massages the leg until his master falls asleep in his chair.