Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Timestamp- August 17th, 12:45 PM, 1979

"Alf- Allllfff," Two brilliantly blue eyes , a narrow bridge of a nose, and a mustache filled the camera’s screen. The blue eyes blinked and the man they belonged to let out a huff, causing the sound to turn to static. "Alf, is it recording?”

A hand came from nowhere and swatted him with an open palm.

"Back off now, Tommy,”  A heavy British accent muttered as the other man whined of betrayal. “We just got this fucking camera, I’m not having you get the lens filthy, damn it,”

"Alfred! These are the documentations of my child’s pure and beautiful childhood that will be absolutely perfect in every way!” Tommy said, scandalized. He’d backed up now, taking his friend’s advice while rubbing at his nose in feign hurt. "Don’t go cursing now. What does it say, that the first thing you’re doing to this child is vulgarism  against their esteemed father?”

"That his father is an arse that deserves it,"

The camera spun in a quick motion, the focus now on the filmer.

"Hello there,” Alfred- a thinner man with a untamed brown hair in contrast to his friend’s sleeked black- spoke with a raised eyebrow and voice too prim. "I am the overpaid butler your parents imported from Britain. It’s a sham- I plan to rob them blind of the money and run off to the Caribbean where I no longer am forced to laugh at my employer’s shite jokes,"

"Bullshit! You never laugh at my jokes!”

“And who’s ruining their child’s innocence and loveliness now?” Alfred looked up at his friend and laughed, his face free and crinkling in mirth. "Oh never mind him- I must say," He addressed the camera now. “Tommy is a good man. A foolish one. But good. Take advantage of that,”

"Don’t teach him your ways, now. You’re on thin ice with godfather status,”

“You don’t have any other friends,” Alfred deadpanned, looking out of frame at Tommy again. "You flew me out of my homeland for that exact reason. I’d rather like to go back please,"

"You’re wanted for murder in several European countries ,” was the faux-admonishing response, followed by a shrill "I most certainly am not!”

A tussle began for the camera, the static almost filtering out the fusion of English and American curses. After ten seconds of this, Tommy’s voice screamed  a karate chop "Hee-Yaa!" And the person in possession of the camera - Alfred, assumedly- let out a grunt of pain before dropping it.

The video footage fell for a good two seconds, before a hand caught the camera by the lens in mid air. The blue eyes and mustache were once again filling the screen, this time serious in its examination.

"Hey, guess what! Alf! We didn’t break the thing!”

"Oh. Bloody brilliant,”

Tommy, now the cameraman, zoomed into where Alfred lay in defeat upon the floor. His suit was crumpled and he breathed hard, all the while glaring at his attacker.

“Ooh, anyway. Baby!” The camera panned to the large unfurnished room they’d been bickering and battling in. "So this is Daddy speaking. I just found out about you this morning and we’ve cleared out the nursery. We really do have to start painting," He whirled around to a blank wall. "What do you think should go here? Ducks or giraffes?”

"Thomas, the lad’s not going to be here for another seven months. I’ve fought in wars shorter than that,”

“Hence all the murder charges," Tommy retorted. Alfred huffed in disagreement. "You see where Alfred’s body is?” The camera once again moved to focus on the downed man, still straight as a log on the floor. "That’s where your crib is going to be. I’ve got to start building it,"

He placed the camera on a window sill and looked directly at it. “Chum, I’m so excited. Martha thinks you’re going to be a girl. Alf says boy, but he’s never right and your mother always is. I say you’re a beautiful little child who is going to be so perfect-"

"Tom?” Alfred called from the floor.

“Yes?"

"You have ten seconds to run before I come after you,”

"Fair enough,” Tommy beamed and looked back. "If you never meet me because of my murder, know that I am very, very-

"Seven seconds-“

“Very happy to be your dad,”

"Five seconds- "

"Bye now!” Tommy smiled and hit the off switch. The screen turned to black.

Chapter Text

Timestamp - September 4th, 8:24 AM , 1979

"There’s my beautiful orchids,” Alfred crooned from behind the camera. They were a vivacious purple, and he traced his finger around the petals of one as if it was a precious pet. "I’ve kept them alive for around a year now. There’s a certain someone who always kills their flowers off-“

"I don’t mean to!" A woman, not far off, protested. Alfred seemed to ignore her as he moved on to a tea set.

"Here’s some of the ceramic collection I had imported. Not with my own money of course. Who does that when you know a billionaire?" He picked up the tea pot and showed off its spout to nonexistent viewers. It had orchids painted on, not unlike the flowers recently bragged of. "Fortnum & Mason do have lovely sets,” He panned over the rest of his collection, stopping the camera to admire the details of his teacups. "Oh I do love them,”

"Yet,” his tone suddenly shifted to scorn.  "A certain someone did not take that adoration into account when she broke a handle-“

"Alf, I already said sorr-“

“Broke it, I tell you. Day after I unpacked it and all. No regard,” He held up that broken teacup in reverence, from where it sat healing on the counter. The glue was evident in the crack, and he sighed, as if reinvigorated in his frustration. He placed the cup back down on the counter and gave it a gentle pat, before spinning around to the rest of the kitchen.

"There’s the beautiful embroidered table cloth," He zoomed in on the table’s decor. "Came from my mother. Absolutely spectacular and amazing. Oh,” His voice turned flat in a way that could only come from teasing. “And there’s Marty,”

The camera briefly focused on the woman sitting at said table, hair in curlers and making a face. Then, it went out to the direction of the window. "And here are my silk curtains-“

"Alfred, no one wants a house tour,"

"I beg your pardon,” The camera turned back towards ‘Marty’, as Alfred sounded scandalized. "We had the BBC over recently for a house tour. Now I know you Americans don’t know this, but they’re very important-“

“Correction,” Marty cocked her head with a sly grin. She had acne along her forehead, and bags under her eyes. She was stunning, even as she reached into a bowl and took a mouthful of cheerios. "People want a house tour of the glorious Wayne Manor. Sure. But no one wants a niche Pennyworth rant about the drapes"

She swallowed and reached in for another mouthful.

Alfred scoffed something under his breath, something the camera wasn’t able to pick up. But Martha had. She stopped chewing, glared at her friend, picked up the magazine next to her and threw.

The impact of bound paper against skin was the next thing heard.

"Martha!”

"Nuh-uh,” She shook her index finger tantalizingly. "Don’t hit a pregnant woman,”

“You do make that a challenge,” He muttered, before sitting down in the chair across from her. The camera angle lowered with the squeak of the chair against the floor. "So. Speaking of. How’s that going for?”

"What? Not getting hit?”

"Being a pregnant woman.”

"You know, I reproduced. Hoorah for me.” Marty said sagely as she reached into the bowl for more dry cereal. Upon realizing it’s empty status, she frowned and reached for its box next to her. Eating directly from that, she scrunched her face. “I don’t love it. But I don’t hate it. It’s -fine I guess? It feels real and it doesn’t,”

"Tommy’s been obsessed,” Alfred remarked. At that, they both sighed.

"I cut him off from finances,” Martha admitted to the camera, starting to undo the curlers of her auburn hair. "He spent five thousand dollars on a stroller. What the hell am I supposed to do with a five thousand dollar stroller?”

"Burn it,” Alfred recommended, half serious. Martha hummed, considering.

"I’m excited for a baby, don’t get me wrong. But I don’t like waiting. I’m ready for Martha Junior-"

"I think you mean Thaddeus-"

"M.J - isn’t that an adorable nickname?- to come now and start screaming her head off at us. Not sitting here, patting my stomach, when all I look like is one bloated meal after MacDonalds. All the same, I’m nervous,”

"Mart, I think you’ll be a fine mum. I do,” Alfred’s voice turned unusually serious. She looked at him from across the table, working out the mess of her hair through thin fingers. “Tommy too, though don’t tell him I said that,”

"What, you think Tommy will be a fine mum?” Martha’s eyes flicked in amusement, working out her last tangle. "Yeah, I can see how he’d find an issue with that,”

With that awful joke, she snorted and slapped her knee. Alfred sighed in reprimand, which only made her cackle  harder.

"Look at that, little Thaddeus," he sighed, filming the famed Martha Wayne choke on cheerios. "Your absolutely perfect and adoring mother,"