Work Text:
Alfred Pennyworth was not often a man of inaction. He couldn’t be, not with his family, but he couldn’t help pausing in the doorway of their primary kitchen as he returned with more candy for construction, every single Wayne child was there, watching their father, with great interest or feigned disinterest, construct a simple gingerbread house. He had a look of intense concentration on his face, and Alfred couldn’t help looking on fondly. He had such steady hands, a testament to patience he had worked hard to learn, and yet this was clearly difficult.
There was evidence to the creative destruction of the children, his grandchildren really, paused in progress, but Bruce’s workspace seemed more frosting covered than the rest, evidence of several attempts and after a moment he set his bags down, and, remembering scenes from Bruce’s childhood, in which he introduced some of his own traditions by the request of Thomas and Martha, placed his hands over Bruce’s, helping him align the roof piece just right. Bruce looked up with a startled smile. There was a moment of peace, Alfred’s heart overflowing with love for this man, both his son and not, before the children erupted into heckling.