Chapter Text
It was Alfred’s job to know about the going-ons within the Wayne Manor, which included both the cave under the manor, and the stretches of land that reached around it. This was an aspect of his job that became easier with the introduction of modern technology, as all it took was a few keystrokes on the computer to pull up the camera feed that looked down the long driveway to the manor.
This meant that when the newest visitor came up to the front door, Alfred was already aware of the situation. He had watched the young boy walk up the driveway, with a baseball mitt in one hand. The poor boy seemed anxious, and had tried to turn around to leave no less than three times before seemingly talking himself back into his task. Alfred had overseen the raising of three boys (Bruce, and then his wards), and knew what it looked like when someone had lost a baseball.
He sent Jason out to the perimeters of the estate to look for the ball, while he went to the front door.
The boy looked familiar, and was wearing the finer clothes that was considered casual wear for Bristol residents, and if he had managed to not only get a ball onto the Wayne estate, but also walk on foot to the front door, he had to be from the neighboring area.
Alfred waited at the front door for nearly a minute, before there was a soft knock. He waited a few seconds before opening the door, so he wouldn’t startle the poor boy.
At first glance, without the grainy screen of the camera, Alfred was surprised by how similar the boy looked to Bruce, at a young age. But this boy was smaller, more pallid and drawn. He shifted anxiously from foot to foot before meeting Alfred’s gaze.
“Hi. My name is Tim- Timothy Drake, I live next door? Or like- on the other side of you guys,” he pointed, with his hand that was not in the mitt, off in the distance. The pieces clicked together in Alfred’s mind- Timothy Drake, the only child of Janet and Jack Drake. Timothy was correct- the Drake estate wasn’t exactly neighbors with the Waynes, due to the amount of land in between the homes, but they were the closest thing. “I was playing catch with my dad-” Timothy’s face went through an array of emotions, easily cluing Alfred in to the lies that Tim was telling, “and the ball went over the wall, where the big trees are? And my dad told me to come over here and get it.”
Jack Drake, Alfred happened to know, was not in Bristol at the moment. In fact, he was not even in the country- at the last gala that had been hosted in the Wayne Manor, Jason had done a remarkably accurate intimidation of Jack Drake, parroting his boasting about an upcoming trip to Paraguay, one that would cover at least the entirety of June. Though he did not want to encourage Jason’s taunting of Bristol elites, it was useful information to have. While Bruce watched over Gotham, Alfred took it upon himself to keep an eye on Bristol, and their neighbors. There was no such thing as too much intel.
Of course, the trip could have been canceled. Jack Drake could be in the Drake yard right now, and just could have decided to not accompany his young son the nearly two mile walk from one house to another, or not send a car. Timothy could be lying about something else entirely, or could simply suffer from an expression that implied he was lying.
Alfred, who had the afternoon open, decided to investigate.
“Of course, young sir,” Alfred held the door open wider. “Come inside. We can help you find the ball.”
“Oh!” Timothy squeaked, his face turning red. “I really don’t mean to be a bother! I can just go around the back, and try to find it.”
“Nonsense,” Alfred clucked, ushering the boy in. “I know Master Jason is around, he can help you locate it easily.”
Timothy made another squeaking noise. He went to cover his face with his hands, but ended up hitting himself in the head with his own mitt. “That’s okay! You don’t need to do that!”
But still, he followed Alfred deeper into the house, until they reached the kitchen. He watched silently as Alfred poured him a glass of water, and took it when it was offered to him.
“It’s not an easy walk, from your house to ours,” Alfred explained. “Would you like me to hold onto the mitt for you?”
“O-oh, thank you,” Timothy said. “I have sneakers, so it wasn’t that bad.” When he stuck out his foot to show, Alfred admiringly looked at his Batman-decorated Skechers. “And it’s not that bad of a walk! I run a lot-”
Timothy, strangely enough, cut himself off to chug half of the glass in one breath. Alfred couldn’t help but notice the small patches of pink remaining on his skin. Bruce, at the same age, used to burn just by looking at the sun through a window. Did the Drakes not have sunscreen?
Alfred turned around to avoid offering the boy the bottle of Coppertone that was kept in one of the pantries nearby.
“Do you do sports at school? Are you in Gotham Elementary?”
“Gotham Prep, actually,”
Alfred turned back around, working to keep the shock off of his face.
“Ah, if you do not mind me asking, Master Timothy, how old are you?”
Timothy shrugged. He finally put his mitt on the table, and was continuing to gulp down the water, now holding the glass with both hands. Alfred had previously estimated the boy at nine years old, but Gotham Prep only started schooling at sixth grade.
“You can just call me Tim,” Tim said, once he had finished the glass. Alfred took it and refilled it without a word. “I’m almost ten, my birthday is next month. My parents wanted me to skip a grade to stay ahead, so I skipped kindergarten and third grade.”
“Hm,” Alfred chose to respond with.
It was at that point that Jason came running into the room at full speed. Alfred gracefully stepped out of the way to avoid the boy’s path, and set out a second glass.
“I got the ball, Alfie! Where did you want-” Jason said through pants, though he cut himself off when he noticed their guest. “Oh, hey, this must be yours,”
Tim’s eyes had gone wide when Jason stepped in, and they grew even wider as the other boy put the baseball in front of him. When he opened his mouth to speak, only a squeak came out.
“That’s quite the arm you must have,” Jason continued. If he was phased by the young boy in the kitchen, or by the young boy’s reaction to Jason, he didn’t show it. “I had to look pretty hard. Drake, right?”
“Sorry!” Tim grabbed the ball and his mitt, holding them both close to his chest. “I didn’t mean to make you look for it, I could have-”
“No worries,” Jason brushed off. “Alfred was getting on me to get some fresh air for once today. Do you play baseball?”
“No,” Tim said. He looked from Alfred to Jason before continuing. “But my dad got a new pitching machine, and he wanted to try it out, but it went a lot further than we thought it would.”
Tim slid off of the barstool he was perched on, and Alfred found himself immensely charmed by the height difference between Jason and Tim.
“Oh, that sounds fun. I thought about playing baseball, but I don’t really know yet. I’ll have to see who’s on the team, some of the guys at Gotham Prep can be huge ass-” Jason cut himself off when Alfred cleared his throat- “huge jerks. Maybe sometime we could try hitting some balls, if your dad is okay with it.”
Tim seemed bowled over by the suggestion.
“Uhm, yeah-” Tim cleared his throat. “Yes. Sure. That would be fun.”
Jason beamed, and clapped a hand on Tim’s shoulder, before taking back off, shouting behind him about the treehouse he was going to try to build in the backyard.
Both Alfred and Tim watched him go. It wasn’t until the back door slammed behind Jason that Tim spoke up again.
“Thank you very much for getting this for me. And for the water.” Tim said seriously. Alfred smiled.
“Of course, young sir. I am sure that Jason would love the company, if you have the spare time this summer.”
Tim smiled hesitantly, before slightly bowing his head at Alfred. The move was so overly formal, especially on such a young boy that Alfred couldn’t help but be charmed by it. He showed Tim back to the door.
“Are you sure you would not like a ride back to your home? It may be a long walk.” Alfred offered as Tim passed over the threshold.
“No, no, that’s okay!”
Though Tim continued to shower Alfred with assurances his entire way down the front steps, Alfred took to the security monitor next to the door after he shut it, so he could watch the boy all the way down the driveway.
-
Alfred took a moment to survey the platters of food in front of him. It wasn’t an oddity for galas to be held in the Wayne Manor, as they certainly had the ballrooms for it, Bruce could use the occasional social boosting, and Alfred always enjoyed overseeing the caterers as they worked. But now, as the night was in full swing, the majority of his work was done. Soon, the remaining plates of food would be taken out and served while the first rounds of desserts were perfected. Once the night was over, the caterers would clean, and Alfred would put everything back into place the next day.
It wasn’t Alfred’s place to step into the ballroom where the gala was being held, and even if it was, he was grateful for the excuse to stay in his kitchen. Here, at least, was controlled chaos.
Alfred had just pulled out one of the last platters of cut up vegetables when he saw a small head of black hair bobbing on the other side of the kitchen island. He stopped, watching as the head continued around, before it stopped right in front of him.
“Oh!” If the face had been unfamiliar, Alfred would have recognized the boy on squeak alone. “I’m sorry!”
It had been a few weeks since the baseball incident.
“Mister Tim,” Alfred greeted. His years of raising Bruce, and then helping to raise Dick and Jason instructed him to lower the tray of vegetables to Tim’s eye-level. “May I interest you in some carrot sticks?”
Tim shook his head, face burning. He was dressed excellently, in a suit that appeared to be tailored, and a small bowtie.
“I wasn’t sneaking around, I promise!” Tim immediately cried. The thought hadn’t crossed Alfred’s mind, but it certainly did after he said that. “I was just… Looking for the bathroom!”
“Ah,”
Alfred wasn’t about to call the young boy a liar, for finding the bathroom was likely a viable excuse. But Alfred recognized the way that Tim was wringing his fingers together anxiously.
“Were you, perhaps, looking for a break from the party?” Alfred placed the tray on the counter beside him, so he could give more of his attention to the boy.
Tim’s shoulders slumped as he nodded.
“My dad told me I could come back once I was going to behave properly. But I wasn’t misbehaving on purpose! I just really don’t like shrimp, so I was trying to hide it in my napkin so I could throw it out later, but he caught me, and-” Tim’s face was steadily growing red, so Alfred crouched down, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder.
“Mister Tim,”
“But I can still eat it!” Tim interjected. “I know you probably worked really hard on making it, my mom always gets mad when I don’t eat what she’s cooked me, and-”
“Mister Tim,” Alfred said a bit louder, this time succeeding in getting the boy to quiet. “Would you like me to make you a sandwich?”
“No, that’s okay!” Tim insisted. “Just… Do you have a trash can?”
Alfred nodded, and opened up the cabinet under the sink, revealing the garbage bin. Tim looked around the kitchen before reaching into his pocket, pulling out a bulging napkin.
Alfred had to fight to keep his composure as Tim swiftly disposed of the handful of shrimp he had been keeping in his pocket for who knows how long.
“Sorry,” Tim said again, once he had shut the cabinet door.
“Nothing to apologize for, young sir,” Alfred reassured. “May I offer you something to drink? We have water, or perhaps apple juice?”
“Water is fine, thank you.”
Alfred nodded, before getting to work. Tim slid onto a barstool at the kitchen island, watching as Alfred filled a glass of water for him. Even though Tim had not said he wanted a sandwich, Alfred knew what a hungry child looked like when he saw one.
“Do you prefer lunch meats, or peanut butter?”
Tim’s mouth gaped open and closed a few times, the glass halfway up to his mouth.
“Peanut butter. Please. Thank you.” He finally got out, before gulping down half of the cup.
The servers from the catering service strode in and out of the room, discarding empty platters for filled ones. If any of them were surprised by the presence of the young Timothy, none of them showed it. Though Alfred suspected that any and all gossip around the children present at the gala would center around Jason, as he hated galas more than anything else, and made sure that everyone around him knew it.
“We do not have strawberry jelly at the moment, but may I interest you in grape?”
Tim was already shaking his head, eyeing the semi-assembled sandwich in Alfred’s hands hungrily.
“Just peanut butter is fine.” Alfred finished the sandwich, taking the time to cut it into triangle halves, and trim off the crusts before sliding the plate over to Tim. “Thank you!”
In a manner that was nearly a stark black-and-white change from his previous persona, Tim tore into the sandwich ferociously. Alfred, who was just beginning to put away the loaf of bread, chose to keep it out. Alfred’s experience with children was not limited to only well fed ones, such as Bruce or Dick.
Tim was staring mournfully at his plate by the time that Alfred leaned over the island and took it back. “Thank you for the—” Tim started, but his mouth fell open when Alfred returned the plate with another peanut butter sandwich. “ Oh my gosh.”
Alfred couldn’t help but chuckle.
“There is more where that came from, I assure you. But may I interest you in an apple, or some grapes, if you are still hungry after this?”
There were, at the very least, apple slices available out on the gala floor, mixed in with cheese boards and other finger foods. But Alfred made what he considered to be the better option, and did not point that out.
“Make sure to breathe, young sir,” Alfred couldn’t help but chide, as Tim eagerly shoved one entire half of the sandwich into one mouth. “A fan of peanut butter, I assume?”
“Mmf,” Tim agreed, nodding vigorously. “My mom—” he paused to swallow the mouthful of peanut butter and bread that he had. “— doesn’t like to have peanut butter in the house, because it’s full of preservatives and chemicals and other stuff.”
“Hm.”
By the time that Tim had finished the other half of his second sandwich, he had slowed his rapid pace, but Alfred still pulled out the small bowl of grapes he tried to keep on hand.
“There was fruit and stuff out there,” Tim continued, plucking a grape out of the bunch. “But they were touching all of the gross cheese and stuff.”
At that moment, a server entered the kitchen with an empty cheese platter. Tim immediately turned red once again.
“Not that the cheese is gross! I just—”
By that point, the server had already deposited the tray and was moving back out to the party, without any indication of having listened to Tim’s words. Tim was still stammering, but he picked up where he had left off. “I just don’t like it when things are touching each other. I know I’m not supposed to pick at my food, especially at a formal event like this—”
“Tim,” Alfred gently cut in. “It is alright. There is no need to explain yourself to me. When he was about your age, Master Bruce would try to spread peanut butter on his eggs.”
Tim’s eyebrows shot up to the ceiling, and he immediately went to hide his laughter behind his hands.
“I know,” Alfred mused, looking off into the distance. “It took many conversations to end that particular taste of his. In good faith, I could not serve that to him. So,” he brought himself back to the present moment, looking at Tim. Tim was still laughing, shaking his head in what Alfred assumed (hoped) was disgust. “There is not a singular preference when it comes to food that could shock me.”
“Thank you, Mister Pennyworth,” Tim got out once his laughter had died down.
“Alfred, please,”
“Thank you, Alfred.” Tim corrected. On his next reach for the grapes, his suit sleeve drew back slightly, revealing a tiny Blue Beetle themed watch. His eyes widened as he caught a glimpse of it. “Oh no! I have to go back, I didn’t mean to be gone for so long!”
He quickly drained the rest of the cup, before scooting off of the barstool with such ferocity that he nearly toppled it.
“Thank you Mister Pen- Alfred! I’m sorry to inconvenience you!”
“Nonsense, child,” Alfred replied warmly. He pulled a few extra grapes out of the bunch, and wrapped them up in a napkin. “Take these, in case you get hungry later.”
Tim took the napkin-wrapped grapes, and looked at him with wide eyes. His shock was nearly palpable, and Alfred couldn’t help but wonder what part of the interaction was so shocking. Alfred was simply doing what anyone else in his position would do, after all.
“Thank you very very very much!” Tim chirped, popping one grape into his mouth before shoving the rest into his pockets. Alfred winced internally, hoping that the boy remembered to eat, or at least take out the grapes before putting the pants in the laundry.
Right as Tim turned to leave, he squeaked. Alfred followed his gaze to see Bruce, who was staring back down at Tim with surprise.
“Mister Wayne!” Tim stuttered, his mouth still full of grapes. Bruce looked surprised for only a moment before sliding his Brucie mask back on.
“Hello,” To give Bruce credit, he hesitated for less than a second before, “Timothy Drake, right? I just finished speaking with your father. He didn’t mention that you were here.” Bruce briefly looked at Alfred behind him, but Tim made only another weak squeaking sound. Alfred decided to step in, lest the child choke on a grape.
“Tim was just looking for the bathroom, and got a tad turned around.” Alfred laid a gentle hand on Tim’s back, urging him along. Tim moved after dragging a few steps out, before speed walking past Bruce. The boy took just enough time to turn around and wave at Alfred as he turned down the next hallway in the direction of the gala.
When he was gone, Bruce turned to Alfred, silently raising a singular eyebrow. Alfred resisted to roll his eyes (a nasty habit that Bruce had been rid of as a young adult, only for it to be reintroduced to the household by Dick, and then Jason). He had played a major role in Bruce’s upbringing, meaning that most of Bruce’s looks failed to work on Alfred.
“Did his trip to the bathroom require grapes?” Bruce asked after Alfred turned back into the kitchen. When he reached out to snag a grape himself, Alfred smacked his hand away. “Ow!”
“You need to wash your hands after schmoozing for the past two hours,” Alfred replied, grabbing the bowl and putting it back in the fridge. “How is Jason doing?”
“Fine. I promised to let him drive the car if he didn’t start any fights tonight. If he’s going to cause a scene, I’d prefer it to be at someone else’s house.”
“There are more ways than a fight to cause a scene,” Alfred commented. Bruce shrugged, a smile beginning to curl his lips that Alfred recognized well enough as smugness.
“Of course, Alfred. Did you really think that I was going to let him drive my car?”
“He’s going to need to learn how to drive at some point,” Alfred replied idly, cleaning up the rest of the sandwich supplies.
“Of course, but he’s not going to drive my car. Especially not the one that he wants to drive.”
Alfred had a brief, but vivid vision of Jason behind the wheel of the Batmobile. It was terrifying, but Alfred would never say that.
“Hm.”
“I came in here looking for something,” Bruce said, patting down his clothes. “What am I forgetting…”
“Perhaps that?” Alfred tilted his head to the side, towards the giant foam cheque that was propped against the wall. On it, a large amount of money was promised to one of Bruce’s non-profits, targeted towards fixing the Gotham foster service system.
“Ah!” Bruce exclaimed, going to grab it. “Thank you, Alfred. I think Mrs. Lucas only comes to these things to see a big cheque. She keeps asking me how I make them, and then forgetting about it by the next gala.”
“Clearly only the most thrilling conversations happen here,” Alfred said dryly. He watched as Bruce tucked the check under his arm, smiling at him.
“I’ll send Jason around next time I see him, he’s probably getting antsy.” Bruce continued. “Ask him to leave some grapes for me.”
This time, Alfred couldn’t resist rolling his eyes as Bruce left the kitchen, large cheque in hand.
-
This time, when the doorbell rang, Alfred had been in the middle of a particularly dull chapter of a spy novel. Alfred placed a bookmark between the pages, secretly pleased by the excuse to put the book down for the time being.
He sent a quick glance to the security monitor before he opened the door, and was only slightly surprised to see the small face of Timothy Drake scowling up into the peephole.
“Ah, Tim,” Alfred said, once he had opened the door. Tim had an impressively large backpack hanging off of his shoulders. He was also holding an empty mug.
“Do you have a coffee press? Or a machine?” Tim asked bluntly. “The one at my house broke, and the internet didn’t help me in fixing it and—”
“We have a French press in the kitchen.” Alfred automatically, before the words caught up. “You… Drink coffee?”
Alfred didn’t think it was possible, but Tim’s scowl deepened.
“Harvard University released a statement saying that there is no scientifically valid evidence to suggest that coffee can stunt a person’s growth.” Tim rattled off, making Alfred suspect this was not the first time someone had questioned his coffee intake.
“Still, at your age—” Alfred forced himself to pause, and step out of the doorway. “Please, come this way.” He was not Tim’s parent, or guardian. It was not his place to judge, or to try and police the boy.
Tim’s scowl faded as they entered the manor, and he rubbed at his eyes, granting Alfred the sight of the bags under them.
“The stupid coffee machine broke, and I have so much stupid homework, and stupid Youtube said that I should just get a new one, and I couldn’t find the stupid warranty, and—” Tim stopped short as they reached the kitchen. “Sorry, Alfred.”
Alfred looked at the boy, surprised. “What for?”
“For complaining. And for saying stupid a lot.” Tim said to the ground, in a dejected voice. Alfred placed a hand on his shoulder, waiting until Tim met his gaze to speak.
“You do not need to apologize to me, young sir. Setbacks such as that can be frustrating, especially if you are experiencing caffeine withdrawal.”
The remnants of Tim’s scowl turned into a pout. Alfred tried to not find it adorable.
“Caffeine withdrawal is stupid.”
“It was recognized as a disorder by John Hopkins medicine in 2004,” Alfred replied. With his hand still on Tim’s shoulder, he led the boy deeper into the kitchen.
“Now, I am not sure if I can provide you with coffee in good conscience,” Alfred continued. He stepped to a nearby pantry, reaching up and pulling out a little box. “But I can offer you what I hope is an acceptable substitute.”
There was a thunk as Tim dropped his backpack onto the floor. He slipped onto the barstool which was now becoming his regular seat.
Alfred felt the boy’s gaze on him while he pulled out the tools he needed, placing the kettle on the stove while he opened the box of black tea leaves.
“Have you ever had tea before?” Alfred asked. Tim shook his head. “This is black tea. A simple English Breakfast tea blend. I believe it would be a good introductory drink.”
Tim watched intently as Alfred poured some boiling water into the mug, and dropped the metal infuser full of the tea leaves into Tim’s mug. Once it was done seeping, he let it cool for a moment before pushing it over to Tim.
“Take a small sip,” Alfred instructed. Tim cautiously brought the mug to his mouth. The moment the liquid touched his lips, his entire face screwed up. “Here.”
Alfred took the mug back. He quickly filled the cup to the brim with milk, before drizzling a spoonful of honey.
Tim eyed him dubiously, but accepted the mug when it was handed back to him. He took another sip, and while he still clearly didn’t like it, it wasn’t as severe a reaction as before.
“There is still caffeine, but not enough to maintain such a dependency.” Alfred pulled his infuser out of his own mug. He liked his tea seeped a bit more, but he didn’t want to scare the boy away completely on the first try.
He sat at the seat across the table from Tim.
“Now, what’s all this about homework? As far as I was aware, school had not yet started.”
“Summer school. My parents want me to go up another grade as soon as possible, so they signed me up for advanced classes over the summer.” Tim grumbled. He unzipped his backpack and pulled out an impressively large binder, stuffed with papers. “So I’m taking macroeconomics at the same time as microeconomics. The computer science classes are fine, because those actually make sense, but it’s everything else. And I missed the Bristol bus to the Gotham library, and the last time I tried to call a taxi they said they needed my parent’s permission to take me, so I tried to work at home but the stupid coffee machine broke and,” Tim huffed. “And now I’m here.”
“Hm.” Alfred said, taking another sip of his tea. “Now, it’s been many years since I was in school, but I am willing to assist with homework, if you are so inclined.”
Tim looked at Alfred, suspicion written all over his face. But instead of declining the offer, he flipped open his binder. Once he found the specific page, he slid it over to Alfred, and then went to take another sip of his tea.
“There’s really caffeine in this?” Tim asked, looking into the mug at the milky tea.
“There is.” Alfred assured. He inspected the paper that Tim had given him. It had been many years since he was in school, but he refused to let himself feel overwhelmed. There was a child in need, and he would do everything in his power to help. Even if that required doing economics homework.
By the time that the two of them had muddled through the worksheet, an hour had passed. Both of their tea mugs had been drained, and then refilled, with Tim’s mug this time being filled with more milk than black tea, not that he complained.
No, the boy had been so focused on the homework, that he had hardly reacted when Jason came barreling into the kitchen. If Jason was phased by the newcomer, he hadn’t shown it, and instead asked Alfred if they had any water balloons. Alfred got up to show him, only after making Jason swear to not throw any water balloons inside, in his garden, or anywhere that water could cause damage. Jason promised, and swore he would take on double the chores load if he broke that oath. The older boy did pause to ask if Tim wanted to come have a water balloon fight, but Tim declined, respectfully but in a distracted tone, with his eyes still trained on the homework in front of him.
Once Tim and Alfred had finished the homework, Tim had collapsed on the table, heaving a great sigh.
“You did a good job, Tim,” Alfred praised. Tim shifted his head enough so he could give a small smile to the butler.
“Thank you for your help, Alfred.”
“Of course.” Alfred reached for their once again empty mugs. “Thank you for the tea company for tea. Had you not arrived, I would have been forced to have tea alone, which is never as pleasant as with friends.”
“Friends?” Tim squeaked. A light flush appeared on his cheeks. “You want to be friends?”
Alfred couldn’t help but sit back in his chair, surprised.
“I more than want to be friends, young sir. I already considered us to be friends. After all, you’ve kept me company on multiple occasions already. You are a bright young man. I would be honored to be your friend.”
Tim made another squeaking noise, this time burying his rapidly reddening face in his hands. Alfred smiled at the boy. “And now that you’ve begun your journey as a tea drinker, I believe it is my duty to foster this new taste.”
“You are just saying that because you want me to stop drinking coffee,” Tim accused. Alfred smiled again, before taking the mugs to the sink.
“Perhaps. But if you have the time, you are more than welcome to return, for more tea, or homework assistance. I cannot claim to know everything that you are studying, but sometimes a second opinion on work helps.”
When Tim was silent, Alfred turned to him. He had sat back upright, and was staring at Alfred with surprise once again on his face.
“You really mean it?” Tim asked in a hushed voice. Alfred quickly left the mugs in the sink, and came back over to Tim’s side. Instead of sitting down, he knelt beside the boy so he could meet him at eye-level.
“I do, Tim. I quite enjoy your company, and I hope, if you are amendable, that you would come back again.”
“Okay,” Tim said quietly. “I’ll come back. When?”
“How about next week? We can pick one day for our tea time, and stick to that for as long as it works.” Something occurred belatedly to Alfred. “Would you like it if I spoke to your parents? Just so they know where you are going, and that you are safe.”
“No!” Tim replied, shaking his head. “They aren’t home, so they won’t care.” Tim hesitated for a moment. “Or, I mean, they work a lot, so they know that I will be safe no matter what.”
“Hm.” Alfred said, reminding himself mentally that it was not his place to judge the Drake’s parenting style. “Well, I will give you the house phone number, just in case.”
Once he had written the phone number on a piece of scrap paper, and watched Tim put it carefully into his binder, he stood up again.
“I’ll see you next week then, Tim,” Tim nodded seriously at him, slipping his backpack back on.
“Thank you, Alfred. I’ll see you next week!” He smiled brightly at Alfred, showing all of his teeth. This time, Alfred could not repress how hopelessly endeared he was to this child. He smiled back just as exuberantly, and showed him back to the door. Just like last time, he watched as Tim got all the way down the driveway before stepping away.
-
Neither Jack or Janet Drake called the Wayne household. Alfred considered calling them, just to make sure that they were okay with their only child coming next door, but Tim had been so insistent that it was fine, so Alfred held back.