[Justice League] Addendum
a/n: This was previously posted as a flash fiction so I'm reposting it for archival purposes, especially since I edited it and added a sentence or two. I think. It's also in preparation for posting the next piece in the series. :D
Title: Addendum
Characters: Bruce Wayne/Batman, Alfred Pennyworth
Series: Numerology, directly after Fourth Base
Warnings: None
Description: Batman contemplates the meaning of pie. Alfred keeps it simple.
Bruce is confused.
He analyzes. He theorizes. He collects data on all manner of subjects and people. He defeats his villains not by sheer strength or magic or special ability, but by guile and intelligence. He outsmarts and outwits them. He wins by thinking ten steps ahead.
When it comes to Superman, however, Bruce finds himself flabbergasted.
What, he wonders, is the purpose of this pie?
The batcave carries a chill as always. His chair is straight-backed, nigh uncomfortable to remind him that this isn't a game, this isn't supposed to be fun and relaxing. His cowl is pushed back, though he is still clad in the batsuit with the night's accumulation of rips, tears, and a bite mark on his shoulder that Alfred is currently stitching. He'll have to find a better fabric.
The pie is sitting on the console in front of him. It is still carefully wrapped in the aluminum foil, though Bruce had peeled back one small corner earlier just to confirm his suspicions. It is indeed filled with apples, the scent of cinnamon wafting out with tempting alacrity.
Bruce glowers at the pie, chin braced on his knuckles, elbow braced on the arm of his chair. He stares at the pie, the golden-brown crust, and contemplates its meaning. What is that big blue idiot planning? What purpose could a gift of pastry possibly serve? As if Batman could be swayed by flaky crust and a sweet glaze.
“Master Bruce?”
“He gave me a pie, Alfred,” Bruce replies, barely wincing as Alfred stitches him up and spritzes him with an antibacterial spray. He'll be sore tomorrow but fortunately, Bruce has gotten quite used to being sore.
Pain, after all, is nothing but a state of mind.
“I noticed.” Humor is rich in Alfred's voice, but Bruce knows that if he were to turn around, his guardian would be giving him the same bland expression as always. He's a master at concealing his emotions. “Shall I get a plate for you?”
“It's probably poisoned.”
“I highly doubt that, Master Bruce.”
“Then it contains a tracking device.”
“You have scanned it three times. It is nothing more than an apple pie.” Alfred pauses, taping a bandage over the bite bark. “And judging from the scent of it, home made.”
Bruce's eyes narrow. “Why?”
“I suspect, Master Bruce, that he was trying to be nice.” Alfred pulls out a handkerchief and wipes his hands before gathering up his medical supplies. “Though given your current occupation, I am not surprised that you are incapable of recognizing such a gesture.”
Bruce swivels his chair around, staring at his guardian. “Nice,” he repeats, careful to keep his tone flat. “It looks more like a bribe to me.” As if Batman could be swayed by fresh pastry into joining Superman's league of heroes.
Bats are supposed to be solitary creatures. Or at least, this Bat is.
“Only you would think that,” says Alfred with a barely restrained sigh. “Shall I bring a plate and fork for you, sir?”
Bruce returns his chair to its usual position, one hand plucking at the keyboard. “Yes.”
“Very good, sir.”
He hears, more than sees, Alfred turn toward the stairs.
“And stop smirking,” Bruce orders.
Amusement enriches the older man's voice. “As you wish.”
***
a/n: Part Five, Fifth Gear, shall be up on my next available day off. Promise.
In the meantime, I hope you continue to enjoy this little self-indulgent series of mine.
This entry was originally posted at http://dracoqueen22.dreamwidth.org/255373.html. Feel free to comment wherever you find most convenient.
Title: Addendum
Characters: Bruce Wayne/Batman, Alfred Pennyworth
Series: Numerology, directly after Fourth Base
Warnings: None
Description: Batman contemplates the meaning of pie. Alfred keeps it simple.
Bruce is confused.
He analyzes. He theorizes. He collects data on all manner of subjects and people. He defeats his villains not by sheer strength or magic or special ability, but by guile and intelligence. He outsmarts and outwits them. He wins by thinking ten steps ahead.
When it comes to Superman, however, Bruce finds himself flabbergasted.
What, he wonders, is the purpose of this pie?
The batcave carries a chill as always. His chair is straight-backed, nigh uncomfortable to remind him that this isn't a game, this isn't supposed to be fun and relaxing. His cowl is pushed back, though he is still clad in the batsuit with the night's accumulation of rips, tears, and a bite mark on his shoulder that Alfred is currently stitching. He'll have to find a better fabric.
The pie is sitting on the console in front of him. It is still carefully wrapped in the aluminum foil, though Bruce had peeled back one small corner earlier just to confirm his suspicions. It is indeed filled with apples, the scent of cinnamon wafting out with tempting alacrity.
Bruce glowers at the pie, chin braced on his knuckles, elbow braced on the arm of his chair. He stares at the pie, the golden-brown crust, and contemplates its meaning. What is that big blue idiot planning? What purpose could a gift of pastry possibly serve? As if Batman could be swayed by flaky crust and a sweet glaze.
“Master Bruce?”
“He gave me a pie, Alfred,” Bruce replies, barely wincing as Alfred stitches him up and spritzes him with an antibacterial spray. He'll be sore tomorrow but fortunately, Bruce has gotten quite used to being sore.
Pain, after all, is nothing but a state of mind.
“I noticed.” Humor is rich in Alfred's voice, but Bruce knows that if he were to turn around, his guardian would be giving him the same bland expression as always. He's a master at concealing his emotions. “Shall I get a plate for you?”
“It's probably poisoned.”
“I highly doubt that, Master Bruce.”
“Then it contains a tracking device.”
“You have scanned it three times. It is nothing more than an apple pie.” Alfred pauses, taping a bandage over the bite bark. “And judging from the scent of it, home made.”
Bruce's eyes narrow. “Why?”
“I suspect, Master Bruce, that he was trying to be nice.” Alfred pulls out a handkerchief and wipes his hands before gathering up his medical supplies. “Though given your current occupation, I am not surprised that you are incapable of recognizing such a gesture.”
Bruce swivels his chair around, staring at his guardian. “Nice,” he repeats, careful to keep his tone flat. “It looks more like a bribe to me.” As if Batman could be swayed by fresh pastry into joining Superman's league of heroes.
Bats are supposed to be solitary creatures. Or at least, this Bat is.
“Only you would think that,” says Alfred with a barely restrained sigh. “Shall I bring a plate and fork for you, sir?”
Bruce returns his chair to its usual position, one hand plucking at the keyboard. “Yes.”
“Very good, sir.”
He hears, more than sees, Alfred turn toward the stairs.
“And stop smirking,” Bruce orders.
Amusement enriches the older man's voice. “As you wish.”
***
a/n: Part Five, Fifth Gear, shall be up on my next available day off. Promise.
In the meantime, I hope you continue to enjoy this little self-indulgent series of mine.
This entry was originally posted at http://dracoqueen22.dreamwidth.org/255373.html. Feel free to comment wherever you find most convenient.