Fic: Perseverance (6/7) - Final Version
Title: Perseverance
Author: immertreu
Word count: ~26000 in total
Summary: When Alfred Pennyworth returns home after Bane's occupation of Gotham, his surrogate son is gone and his life in ruins. But Batman's friends remain - and therefore hope. - The story is finished. I will post one chapter out of seven every day.
List of chapters:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Eight months after what Bruce had thought to be his final goodbye to his old friend and mentor, Bruce stood in front of Alfred Pennyworth’s apartment door. He had thought about entering through the window but then decided against it. Alfred surely wouldn’t appreciate him falling into old habits so quickly after returning to Gotham.
Bruce still wasn’t entirely sure that coming back had been such a good idea anyway, but he knew there were some things he had to do before he could make peace with his past.
He raised his hand to knock - and then let it drop down again. He didn’t know what to say! What if Alfred never wanted to see him again? That the old butler had come to Florence spoke of the opposite, of course, but for the third time in his life, Bruce was really afraid. After all the heartbreak, the loss of his parents, Rachel’s death, the waste of his family’s legacy and name, he wouldn’t be able to bear another fallout with Alfred.
He could just return to Florence and join Selina who had developed a not quite unexpected interest in the arts and taken up university classes to become a painter, or maybe even a sculptor. Privately, Bruce thought she would become a collector rather sooner than later.
First Selina had argued against Bruce returning to the city that had almost destroyed him. Then she had clouded herself in silence. And finally, when it became obvious that Bruce wouldn’t be stopped, she had told him to go, in true Catwoman fashion, lashing out at him and asking him for forgiveness a few minutes later, dragging him down into a desperate embrace.
Selina hadn’t promised to wait for him - but she had kept his mother’s pearls. And their new name. Bruce took that as the promise it was.
He lifted his hand again and was about to rap his knuckles against the door when it suddenly opened. He froze. Alfred, who had been about to go out, did as well.
They stared, motionless; two men who were once as close as father and son now regarded each other as strangers. And it was true, in a sense. Their last meeting had been two lifetimes ago. Bruce knew it had been his fault alone.
He finally let his hand drop to his side, and the movement seemed to shake Alfred out of his reverie as well. Bruce was dismayed to see the new lines in his mentor’s face, the tired eyes, the shaking that had started as a slight tremor in Alfred’s left hand - still holding an umbrella - and now grew stronger by the second. The old butler looked as if he’d seen a ghost. He had, for the second time in his life.
Anxious, Bruce stepped forward and grabbed Alfred by the shoulders. The shaking stopped immediately, and the old man took a shuddering breath. “Master Bruce!” he finally exclaimed, dropping the umbrella to the floor and raising his own hands to let them come to rest on Bruce’s forearms. “You are real, then.”
Bruce couldn’t help himself, he barked a short laugh. “Yes, I am. And I’m sorry I startled you, old friend. May I come in?”
The whole situation was bizarre, some part of Bruce’s angst-ridden brain noted, but Alfred nodded and stepped aside, always the perfect host who would never turn anyone away.
“Of course.” Alfred pushed the door wide open, and Bruce had no choice but to let go of his friend’s shoulders and step through into the hallway beyond, stooping and picking up the discarded umbrella when he stepped over it.
Alfred took the proffered utensil and waved him on. “The living room is straight through. Go on. I just need to put away my…things.”
Bruce chose not to comment on the uncharacteristic hitch in Alfred’s normally precise speech pattern, and continued down the hall.
Familiar smells and sights assaulted him. Alfred’s usual mix of herbs filled the windowsill in the homely kitchen he passed on the left. The ancient photograph of Bruce and his parents that had stood on Alfred’s bedside table for as long as he could remember adorned the mantel in the living room, slightly scorched from the fire that had claimed Wayne Manor nearly a decade before. What must be a replica of Alfred’s favorite armchair dominated the room decorated in comfortable shades of green and brown. Even the rugs in front of the hearth seemed familiar and welcoming to Bruce’s searching eyes.
He had been a fool. A heartless courtier of darkness, chasing shadows and evil and therefore hurting a man he now loved even more than his own father, reducing him to someone who tried to relive the past, keeping it alive by surrounding himself with memories he couldn’t let go. Bruce had never been this ashamed in his life. What had he done?
A noise made him turn around.
Alfred stood in the doorway, having gotten rid of his jacket and gloves. Without preamble, he burst out, “Why didn’t you come to me sooner? Why did you let me bury you?” The hurt showed clearly in his expressive pale gaze. The pain and many tears he’d cried. The awful, lonely, conscience-stricken days and nights. Even their short meeting in Italy hadn’t been able to rid him of all the unanswered questions and doubts that had haunted his uneasy sleep ever since.
Bruce swallowed and answered honestly. “I didn’t know how, Alfred! I hurt you. I rejected you. But I could never hate you.” Bruce’s much darker eyes suddenly brimmed with unshed tears, but he refused to let them fall.
Alfred wanted to say something. Bruce cut him off before he lost his nerve to utter what needed to be said. “You were right, you know. I was ready to die. You did what you thought was right, and so did I. I was wrong.” He swallowed painfully around the lump in his throat and finally found his voice again. “I’m sorry. I am so very sorry.” He glanced away, not used to openly talking about his feelings or apologizing in this manner.
Alfred smiled at this wonderful young man he’d raised and loved like a son ever since he was born. “So am I.”
They looked at each other, still slightly insecure but happy to be alive. Bruce couldn’t let it go so easily, though. “Can you forgive me?” he asked, suddenly feeling as if he were ten again and had been caught while reaching for the condensed milk on the top shelf.
Alfred’s reply wasn’t what he wanted to hear. “Can you forgive me?” the old butler asked in return.
Bruce sputtered. “Forgive you? There is nothing to forgive!” His reply was a little more forceful than he had intended, but Alfred only smiled.
“See?” the older man said. “We both made mistakes, we both thought what we did was right. I, for one, don’t have anything to excuse. You saved so many lives, who would I be to diminish that by asking for you to acknowledge any wrongdoing?”
Bruce shook his head in lieu of a reply. He wasn’t up to a philosophical debate right now. He had come here to apologize, but not to be forgiven so easily. And definitely not in order to dig up so many bad memories for his friend. Groping for words, he finally settled for an inadequate, “I guess.”
Alfred’s grin widened despite the lingering darkness in his gaze. Bruce was relieved to see some of the familiar twinkle make an appearance. How he had missed this father figure in his life without even realizing it.
“Master Wayne?” Alfred couldn’t restrain himself.
“Yes, Alfred…?” Bruce tried very hard not to grin at their familiar banter.
“This is the last time you’re playing dead...right?”
Bruce was tempted to bait his old butler just a little longer, but he didn’t have the heart for it. Not tonight. Instead, he nodded. “Yes, Alfred. I promise.”
They both stepped forward simultaneously. And for the first time in years, the two men embraced each other. Finally, they were at peace.
Bruce never wanted to let go again. He, who had refused simple physical contact unless absolutely necessary, strengthened his grip when Alfred seemed prepared to let go. He could feel Alfred’s ribs even through the heavy sweater the other man was wearing, and frowned. Things really needed to change around here.
When they had both calmed down enough to talk again, they drew back.
Alfred asked the inevitable question. “So…how does it work? This is the second time you have come back from the dead. The second time I have inherited all your wealth.” His eyes crinkled at the corners when he added, “Although it wasn’t such a big sum this time.” Forestalling Bruce’s protest, he continued, “But it was enough. So what do we do to resurrect you once more? We buried you. The commissioner lied - again - to protect your secrets.”
Bruce shrugged uncomfortably. “I don’t know.”
Alfred sighed. “Haven’t thought this through, have you?” he asked fondly, suddenly back in his role of guardian to a confused and angry boy. “Well, you are Bruce Wayne…”
“Am I?” Bruce interrupted, his eyes suddenly hard and cold.
Alfred sighed and finally sat down in his armchair. “What are you saying?”
Bruce flopped down on the sofa opposite him. “Technically, I’m not. I gave up my family name when I ‘died.’” Much softer he added, “I never deserved it anyway.”
Alfred sat up straight and glared at him. “That’s nonsense, and you know it!”
Bruce stared back, unintimidated. “Is it, Alfred?” Then he dropped his gaze and added, “I never did anything in their name. With their name.” Sensing Alfred’s objection, he continued, “Nothing that counts as being worthwhile or even honorable, I mean. I only dragged my family’s name down into the mud and destroyed everything my parents and their ancestors had worked for. I even lost their house.”
He jumped when Alfred’s hand slapped down on the leather armrest, but he didn’t look up. The older man was getting truly angry now.
“I have told you this before, and I will continue to do so until you believe me: Your parents would be proud of you.” His voice softened when he pressed on, “You made a choice once which set you on a path that led through darkness and misery, and I would be lying if I said I was happy about it. But it was the only way for you. I know that now. So do not second-guess your decision now, not after all you - we - have accomplished. You know as well as I do that Gotham would have been annihilated if it weren’t for Batman and his friends. The people of this city may not know their savior’s true name” - Bruce squirmed uncomfortably at that - “But the few that do understand your actions. And do not fear the Wayne name might be forgotten. It never will be. Wayne Manor has once again become a safe haven for those in need. You gave it to them. So even if they regarded Bruce Wayne, the billionaire playboy you pretended to be, with distaste, even pity, they know better now because his last action was one of kindness, from the heart.” He paused for breath and added, “Do I need to continue?”
Bruce finally raised his gaze but didn’t speak. This had to be the longest and most passionate speech Alfred had ever given him. And it had cost him.
Alfred’s hands were shaking again, even in the death-grip the older man had on the arm of his plushy chair. His eyes were blazing, though, and he had that look on his face that told Bruce more than words ever could that his friend meant everything he had said. It scared him for no reason he could discern. What had he done to deserve this kind of loyalty, this love? Nothing. And everything.
They had been friends - no, family - for so long that Bruce understood what the other man was saying. Accepting it for the truth was hard nonetheless. He had always done what he thought was necessary. Had sacrificed his own happiness and his old butler’s, too, to give the city he had sworn to protect a fighting chance. And he had succeeded. Not without losses, but they had persevered.
Suddenly, finally, Bruce understood something else Alfred had been trying to say without having to speak the actual words. He gazed at him in astonishment and saw the small smile on his mentor’s face. The message there was clear: I am proud of you.
Bruce smiled in return and nodded once. Satisfied, Alfred answered with a dip of his head and then got up. He announced, “I am going to prepare us some supper. I think we will manage even without me going out for additional ingredients tonight.” He started towards the door but suddenly stopped and turned back to Bruce. “You are staying, are you not?” he asked.
Bruce was dismayed to detect the uncharacteristic note of pleading in his old friend's voice. The butler was afraid Bruce might vanish again! So he stood as well and followed Alfred to the door, smiling gently and even a little mischievously. “Of course I will. And I'll probably make a mess of your clean kitchen, but I've been trying to learn a little more about cooking lately. I would be honored if you allowed me to help.”
Alfred agreed, and Bruce followed him silently into the kitchen where they set out to create the perfect meal for two. Bruce wisely decided not to comment on the fact that a lot of his favorite snacks were hidden on the lowest shelf in the pantry or that Alfred was adding a little extra flair to his setting of the table. Some habits were hard to break indeed.
Bruce was just glad that he had been able to discourage Alfred of the notion that the butler shouldn't eat with his employer - who was basically his son and only family member - years ago. Some traditions were meant to be forgotten.
So when they finally seated themselves at the simple but beautiful kitchen table - and after Alfred had overcome his shock of finding that Bruce had learned to cut up carrots and tomatoes without chopping off his fingers indeed - they ate in companionable, easy silence. Afterwards, Bruce took the dishes to the sink and helped his old friend get rid of the evidence of their impromptu meal.
Eventually, they retired to the living room, Alfred taking his customary place in the armchair, Bruce sitting opposite him on the sofa again. They talked of non essential things, passing the time by just being together. Naturally, the old hurts were still there, but they were healing slowly. In time, the lesson the horrifying events had taught them would make them stronger. Together.
It was long past midnight when they finally turned towards the topic they had both skirted around until now. Batman's legacy.
Bruce took a deep breath. “I asked Blake to take up the mantle, you know. Later on, after I'd seen you in Florence, I realized that you had returned after all and blocked the cave from usage. We need to help him.”
Alfred’s answer was imminent and firm. “No.”
“But Alfred…”
“I said no!” The old man was adamant. “I have met him. He is persistent, I’ll give you that, but I will not help him kill himself.”
Bruce started to interrupt. Alfred cut him off. “You know as well as I do that being Batman is no life to wish on anyone, least of all your friends. You had no right to ask this of him. Look at him! He is only a child. Not much older than you were when you came home from Princeton for the last time. He cannot pick up where you left off.”
Bruce paled at the mentioning of his disastrous homecoming that had ended with him faking his own death for the first time, but his voice was steady when he replied, “Have you seen him recently?”
Alfred sighed and sat back. “What do you mean?”
Bruce leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, his eyes never leaving Alfred’s steady gaze. “He needs to do something, or his anger will consume him. You know as well as I do that it’s not a good idea to bury your feelings, especially your anger, so deep inside of you that you can’t feel it anymore. Can’t feel anything, really.”
“Speaking from experience, are we?” Alfred asked, but there was no real heat in his tone, merely a world of weariness. They both had been through so much that the old butler knew full well what his surrogate son was trying to say. Yet knowing about your charge's previous pain and hearing him say it out loud were two very different things after all.
They regarded each other silently for a moment, neither one really knowing how to continue.
Bruce knew that Alfred was partially right. Being Batman wasn't an easy life. Dangerous, too. It also had its rewards. Not just because you could channel your hurt and energy into something much darker to forget your own past, but because you had the ability to make a difference, to help people. And Bruce simply knew that Blake had what it took. He lacked the physical training Bruce had endured in Tibet and other parts of the world, but he was quick on his feet, not afraid to step up for what he believed was right and - despite his boyish looks and often easy-going manner - would never discard his obligation to make this world a better place. The news about the (now former) cop who had stepped onto the Gotham bridge, trying to lead a group of young orphans to safety before the city blew up, had reached him and Selina even in Italy.
Blake had courage. He would desperately need it if he really wanted to step into Batman's shoes.
“Why did you come back?” Alfred asked, totally out of the blue. “Please don't tell me you have returned to Gotham just to start this madness again!”
“No,” Bruce answered calmly. “I did not come here to be Batman again. But if there is one thing I have learned from all these years of darkness and despair is that, while I no longer may be needing Batman, this city needs him. And there will always be someone to step up and continue the legacy for no other reason than that he must. It is my duty to help him.”
Alfred stared at him in astonishment. “Waxing poetry now, Master Wayne?” he asked in jest.
Bruce snorted at the comment and shook his head. “Don't fear, old friend, I'll leave the long speeches and artful lectures to you. The way I see it, though, is that Blake won't give up. Batman was his hero, yes, but now that he knows who the man behind the myth really was, he will try to fulfill his...my last wish.”
Agitated, he got to his feet and started pacing around the room. “Damn!” he swore. “I thought I had finally gotten rid of the habit of talking about myself in the third person.” He risked a glance at his faithful friend and was relieved to see the amusement in Alfred's knowledgeable eyes. “Guess I'm not ready to let go just yet.”
Alfred sat back to think.
Bruce knew the intent expression on his friend's face all too well. The old butler had worn it whenever he didn't know how to deal with one of young Bruce's more...unusual exploits. Or when Batman and his friends had been confronted with a seemingly unsolvable case. And he had worn it on the day Alfred Pennyworth left his posting as trusted servant to the last of the Waynes for good.
Not wanting to dwell on that particular memory, Bruce continued his pacing around the room. Eventually, Alfred's voice stopped him dead in his tracks.
“Will you do this, no matter the cost?”
Bruce swiveled to look at him, a cold feeling settling in his stomach. “What do you mean?”
Alfred clarified. “Will you help Detective Blake become Batman even if I say no?”
Shocked, Bruce crossed the room and knelt down in front of his most trusted friend to show how serious he was: “No, I will not.” It was a spontaneous promise he swore to keep. He would not lose Alfred over this. Never again. And besides... “I can't do this without you,” he implored, suddenly knowing it to be true.
Batman may have had the gadgets and the technical knowledge, but the human element needed for his task often eluded him. It was a sad fact, born out of a life that had never been really happy ever since his parents' deaths. Any new Batman would need this balance to make him safe and sane. There was only so much darkness one could court. It had taken Bruce far too long to realize that.
“Please.”
Bruce Wayne had never begged for anything in his life. Even when his parents had perished he didn't ask for forgiveness because he knew he didn't deserve it. He had been afraid of the bats and asked his parents to leave the opera early. Their violent deaths were his fault, no matter how many times Alfred had tried to convince him otherwise.
He hadn't prayed to anyone who would listen to bring back his family, either, because he understood it was a useless request. Besides, he had lost his faith in any kind of deity the moment the killer pulled the trigger. There was no benevolent God looking out for the humans on Earth. There was far too much death and suffering in this world for it to be otherwise.
Bruce's plea proved far more effective than any long-winded argument he might have tried to deliver. Alfred's answer was simple and spoken from the heart: “Yes.”
Bruce couldn't believe his ears. “Yes?” Just like that?
Alfred smiled grimly and repeated his affirmative. “Yes, Master Bruce, I will help you.”
“But why?” He still couldn't believe it had been this simple to sway his friend.
“Why?” The old butler chuckled. “I agreed because I would be a fool to repeat the mistakes of the past. This is important to you, I can see that. Yet you promised not to do it if I said no - and I know you would have kept that vow no matter the consequences to your heart. What more proof would I need to see what kind of man you have become? I always knew you were destined for bigger things. First, I tried to steer you in the right direction. Eventually, I tried to stop you from doing something I deemed unwise. Both attempts failed spectacularly, wouldn't you agree?”
They shared an understanding smile.
“So now I will help you this last time. You need to pass on your legacy. Young Blake needs someone to show him the path or he will become a danger to himself and others. As for me...” Alfred paused for a moment. “I think I need to see you fulfill your destiny. You have now learned to let go of the past and make your own future. By teaching John Blake, you will finally have taken the last step. And then, when you are free, you can go back to your friend Selina. Or decide to make a new life for you somewhere else. Or you can travel to Florence with me and finally enjoy the sights as they should be seen.” He winked at his son still kneeling by his feet.
Lost for elaborate words, Bruce grabbed one of Alfred's hands lying on the old man's knee and simply held on. “Thank you.”
Their bargain was sealed, for better or for worse.
Author: immertreu
Word count: ~26000 in total
Summary: When Alfred Pennyworth returns home after Bane's occupation of Gotham, his surrogate son is gone and his life in ruins. But Batman's friends remain - and therefore hope. - The story is finished. I will post one chapter out of seven every day.
List of chapters:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Eight months after what Bruce had thought to be his final goodbye to his old friend and mentor, Bruce stood in front of Alfred Pennyworth’s apartment door. He had thought about entering through the window but then decided against it. Alfred surely wouldn’t appreciate him falling into old habits so quickly after returning to Gotham.
Bruce still wasn’t entirely sure that coming back had been such a good idea anyway, but he knew there were some things he had to do before he could make peace with his past.
He raised his hand to knock - and then let it drop down again. He didn’t know what to say! What if Alfred never wanted to see him again? That the old butler had come to Florence spoke of the opposite, of course, but for the third time in his life, Bruce was really afraid. After all the heartbreak, the loss of his parents, Rachel’s death, the waste of his family’s legacy and name, he wouldn’t be able to bear another fallout with Alfred.
He could just return to Florence and join Selina who had developed a not quite unexpected interest in the arts and taken up university classes to become a painter, or maybe even a sculptor. Privately, Bruce thought she would become a collector rather sooner than later.
First Selina had argued against Bruce returning to the city that had almost destroyed him. Then she had clouded herself in silence. And finally, when it became obvious that Bruce wouldn’t be stopped, she had told him to go, in true Catwoman fashion, lashing out at him and asking him for forgiveness a few minutes later, dragging him down into a desperate embrace.
Selina hadn’t promised to wait for him - but she had kept his mother’s pearls. And their new name. Bruce took that as the promise it was.
He lifted his hand again and was about to rap his knuckles against the door when it suddenly opened. He froze. Alfred, who had been about to go out, did as well.
They stared, motionless; two men who were once as close as father and son now regarded each other as strangers. And it was true, in a sense. Their last meeting had been two lifetimes ago. Bruce knew it had been his fault alone.
He finally let his hand drop to his side, and the movement seemed to shake Alfred out of his reverie as well. Bruce was dismayed to see the new lines in his mentor’s face, the tired eyes, the shaking that had started as a slight tremor in Alfred’s left hand - still holding an umbrella - and now grew stronger by the second. The old butler looked as if he’d seen a ghost. He had, for the second time in his life.
Anxious, Bruce stepped forward and grabbed Alfred by the shoulders. The shaking stopped immediately, and the old man took a shuddering breath. “Master Bruce!” he finally exclaimed, dropping the umbrella to the floor and raising his own hands to let them come to rest on Bruce’s forearms. “You are real, then.”
Bruce couldn’t help himself, he barked a short laugh. “Yes, I am. And I’m sorry I startled you, old friend. May I come in?”
The whole situation was bizarre, some part of Bruce’s angst-ridden brain noted, but Alfred nodded and stepped aside, always the perfect host who would never turn anyone away.
“Of course.” Alfred pushed the door wide open, and Bruce had no choice but to let go of his friend’s shoulders and step through into the hallway beyond, stooping and picking up the discarded umbrella when he stepped over it.
Alfred took the proffered utensil and waved him on. “The living room is straight through. Go on. I just need to put away my…things.”
Bruce chose not to comment on the uncharacteristic hitch in Alfred’s normally precise speech pattern, and continued down the hall.
Familiar smells and sights assaulted him. Alfred’s usual mix of herbs filled the windowsill in the homely kitchen he passed on the left. The ancient photograph of Bruce and his parents that had stood on Alfred’s bedside table for as long as he could remember adorned the mantel in the living room, slightly scorched from the fire that had claimed Wayne Manor nearly a decade before. What must be a replica of Alfred’s favorite armchair dominated the room decorated in comfortable shades of green and brown. Even the rugs in front of the hearth seemed familiar and welcoming to Bruce’s searching eyes.
He had been a fool. A heartless courtier of darkness, chasing shadows and evil and therefore hurting a man he now loved even more than his own father, reducing him to someone who tried to relive the past, keeping it alive by surrounding himself with memories he couldn’t let go. Bruce had never been this ashamed in his life. What had he done?
A noise made him turn around.
Alfred stood in the doorway, having gotten rid of his jacket and gloves. Without preamble, he burst out, “Why didn’t you come to me sooner? Why did you let me bury you?” The hurt showed clearly in his expressive pale gaze. The pain and many tears he’d cried. The awful, lonely, conscience-stricken days and nights. Even their short meeting in Italy hadn’t been able to rid him of all the unanswered questions and doubts that had haunted his uneasy sleep ever since.
Bruce swallowed and answered honestly. “I didn’t know how, Alfred! I hurt you. I rejected you. But I could never hate you.” Bruce’s much darker eyes suddenly brimmed with unshed tears, but he refused to let them fall.
Alfred wanted to say something. Bruce cut him off before he lost his nerve to utter what needed to be said. “You were right, you know. I was ready to die. You did what you thought was right, and so did I. I was wrong.” He swallowed painfully around the lump in his throat and finally found his voice again. “I’m sorry. I am so very sorry.” He glanced away, not used to openly talking about his feelings or apologizing in this manner.
Alfred smiled at this wonderful young man he’d raised and loved like a son ever since he was born. “So am I.”
They looked at each other, still slightly insecure but happy to be alive. Bruce couldn’t let it go so easily, though. “Can you forgive me?” he asked, suddenly feeling as if he were ten again and had been caught while reaching for the condensed milk on the top shelf.
Alfred’s reply wasn’t what he wanted to hear. “Can you forgive me?” the old butler asked in return.
Bruce sputtered. “Forgive you? There is nothing to forgive!” His reply was a little more forceful than he had intended, but Alfred only smiled.
“See?” the older man said. “We both made mistakes, we both thought what we did was right. I, for one, don’t have anything to excuse. You saved so many lives, who would I be to diminish that by asking for you to acknowledge any wrongdoing?”
Bruce shook his head in lieu of a reply. He wasn’t up to a philosophical debate right now. He had come here to apologize, but not to be forgiven so easily. And definitely not in order to dig up so many bad memories for his friend. Groping for words, he finally settled for an inadequate, “I guess.”
Alfred’s grin widened despite the lingering darkness in his gaze. Bruce was relieved to see some of the familiar twinkle make an appearance. How he had missed this father figure in his life without even realizing it.
“Master Wayne?” Alfred couldn’t restrain himself.
“Yes, Alfred…?” Bruce tried very hard not to grin at their familiar banter.
“This is the last time you’re playing dead...right?”
Bruce was tempted to bait his old butler just a little longer, but he didn’t have the heart for it. Not tonight. Instead, he nodded. “Yes, Alfred. I promise.”
They both stepped forward simultaneously. And for the first time in years, the two men embraced each other. Finally, they were at peace.
Bruce never wanted to let go again. He, who had refused simple physical contact unless absolutely necessary, strengthened his grip when Alfred seemed prepared to let go. He could feel Alfred’s ribs even through the heavy sweater the other man was wearing, and frowned. Things really needed to change around here.
When they had both calmed down enough to talk again, they drew back.
Alfred asked the inevitable question. “So…how does it work? This is the second time you have come back from the dead. The second time I have inherited all your wealth.” His eyes crinkled at the corners when he added, “Although it wasn’t such a big sum this time.” Forestalling Bruce’s protest, he continued, “But it was enough. So what do we do to resurrect you once more? We buried you. The commissioner lied - again - to protect your secrets.”
Bruce shrugged uncomfortably. “I don’t know.”
Alfred sighed. “Haven’t thought this through, have you?” he asked fondly, suddenly back in his role of guardian to a confused and angry boy. “Well, you are Bruce Wayne…”
“Am I?” Bruce interrupted, his eyes suddenly hard and cold.
Alfred sighed and finally sat down in his armchair. “What are you saying?”
Bruce flopped down on the sofa opposite him. “Technically, I’m not. I gave up my family name when I ‘died.’” Much softer he added, “I never deserved it anyway.”
Alfred sat up straight and glared at him. “That’s nonsense, and you know it!”
Bruce stared back, unintimidated. “Is it, Alfred?” Then he dropped his gaze and added, “I never did anything in their name. With their name.” Sensing Alfred’s objection, he continued, “Nothing that counts as being worthwhile or even honorable, I mean. I only dragged my family’s name down into the mud and destroyed everything my parents and their ancestors had worked for. I even lost their house.”
He jumped when Alfred’s hand slapped down on the leather armrest, but he didn’t look up. The older man was getting truly angry now.
“I have told you this before, and I will continue to do so until you believe me: Your parents would be proud of you.” His voice softened when he pressed on, “You made a choice once which set you on a path that led through darkness and misery, and I would be lying if I said I was happy about it. But it was the only way for you. I know that now. So do not second-guess your decision now, not after all you - we - have accomplished. You know as well as I do that Gotham would have been annihilated if it weren’t for Batman and his friends. The people of this city may not know their savior’s true name” - Bruce squirmed uncomfortably at that - “But the few that do understand your actions. And do not fear the Wayne name might be forgotten. It never will be. Wayne Manor has once again become a safe haven for those in need. You gave it to them. So even if they regarded Bruce Wayne, the billionaire playboy you pretended to be, with distaste, even pity, they know better now because his last action was one of kindness, from the heart.” He paused for breath and added, “Do I need to continue?”
Bruce finally raised his gaze but didn’t speak. This had to be the longest and most passionate speech Alfred had ever given him. And it had cost him.
Alfred’s hands were shaking again, even in the death-grip the older man had on the arm of his plushy chair. His eyes were blazing, though, and he had that look on his face that told Bruce more than words ever could that his friend meant everything he had said. It scared him for no reason he could discern. What had he done to deserve this kind of loyalty, this love? Nothing. And everything.
They had been friends - no, family - for so long that Bruce understood what the other man was saying. Accepting it for the truth was hard nonetheless. He had always done what he thought was necessary. Had sacrificed his own happiness and his old butler’s, too, to give the city he had sworn to protect a fighting chance. And he had succeeded. Not without losses, but they had persevered.
Suddenly, finally, Bruce understood something else Alfred had been trying to say without having to speak the actual words. He gazed at him in astonishment and saw the small smile on his mentor’s face. The message there was clear: I am proud of you.
Bruce smiled in return and nodded once. Satisfied, Alfred answered with a dip of his head and then got up. He announced, “I am going to prepare us some supper. I think we will manage even without me going out for additional ingredients tonight.” He started towards the door but suddenly stopped and turned back to Bruce. “You are staying, are you not?” he asked.
Bruce was dismayed to detect the uncharacteristic note of pleading in his old friend's voice. The butler was afraid Bruce might vanish again! So he stood as well and followed Alfred to the door, smiling gently and even a little mischievously. “Of course I will. And I'll probably make a mess of your clean kitchen, but I've been trying to learn a little more about cooking lately. I would be honored if you allowed me to help.”
Alfred agreed, and Bruce followed him silently into the kitchen where they set out to create the perfect meal for two. Bruce wisely decided not to comment on the fact that a lot of his favorite snacks were hidden on the lowest shelf in the pantry or that Alfred was adding a little extra flair to his setting of the table. Some habits were hard to break indeed.
Bruce was just glad that he had been able to discourage Alfred of the notion that the butler shouldn't eat with his employer - who was basically his son and only family member - years ago. Some traditions were meant to be forgotten.
So when they finally seated themselves at the simple but beautiful kitchen table - and after Alfred had overcome his shock of finding that Bruce had learned to cut up carrots and tomatoes without chopping off his fingers indeed - they ate in companionable, easy silence. Afterwards, Bruce took the dishes to the sink and helped his old friend get rid of the evidence of their impromptu meal.
Eventually, they retired to the living room, Alfred taking his customary place in the armchair, Bruce sitting opposite him on the sofa again. They talked of non essential things, passing the time by just being together. Naturally, the old hurts were still there, but they were healing slowly. In time, the lesson the horrifying events had taught them would make them stronger. Together.
It was long past midnight when they finally turned towards the topic they had both skirted around until now. Batman's legacy.
Bruce took a deep breath. “I asked Blake to take up the mantle, you know. Later on, after I'd seen you in Florence, I realized that you had returned after all and blocked the cave from usage. We need to help him.”
Alfred’s answer was imminent and firm. “No.”
“But Alfred…”
“I said no!” The old man was adamant. “I have met him. He is persistent, I’ll give you that, but I will not help him kill himself.”
Bruce started to interrupt. Alfred cut him off. “You know as well as I do that being Batman is no life to wish on anyone, least of all your friends. You had no right to ask this of him. Look at him! He is only a child. Not much older than you were when you came home from Princeton for the last time. He cannot pick up where you left off.”
Bruce paled at the mentioning of his disastrous homecoming that had ended with him faking his own death for the first time, but his voice was steady when he replied, “Have you seen him recently?”
Alfred sighed and sat back. “What do you mean?”
Bruce leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, his eyes never leaving Alfred’s steady gaze. “He needs to do something, or his anger will consume him. You know as well as I do that it’s not a good idea to bury your feelings, especially your anger, so deep inside of you that you can’t feel it anymore. Can’t feel anything, really.”
“Speaking from experience, are we?” Alfred asked, but there was no real heat in his tone, merely a world of weariness. They both had been through so much that the old butler knew full well what his surrogate son was trying to say. Yet knowing about your charge's previous pain and hearing him say it out loud were two very different things after all.
They regarded each other silently for a moment, neither one really knowing how to continue.
Bruce knew that Alfred was partially right. Being Batman wasn't an easy life. Dangerous, too. It also had its rewards. Not just because you could channel your hurt and energy into something much darker to forget your own past, but because you had the ability to make a difference, to help people. And Bruce simply knew that Blake had what it took. He lacked the physical training Bruce had endured in Tibet and other parts of the world, but he was quick on his feet, not afraid to step up for what he believed was right and - despite his boyish looks and often easy-going manner - would never discard his obligation to make this world a better place. The news about the (now former) cop who had stepped onto the Gotham bridge, trying to lead a group of young orphans to safety before the city blew up, had reached him and Selina even in Italy.
Blake had courage. He would desperately need it if he really wanted to step into Batman's shoes.
“Why did you come back?” Alfred asked, totally out of the blue. “Please don't tell me you have returned to Gotham just to start this madness again!”
“No,” Bruce answered calmly. “I did not come here to be Batman again. But if there is one thing I have learned from all these years of darkness and despair is that, while I no longer may be needing Batman, this city needs him. And there will always be someone to step up and continue the legacy for no other reason than that he must. It is my duty to help him.”
Alfred stared at him in astonishment. “Waxing poetry now, Master Wayne?” he asked in jest.
Bruce snorted at the comment and shook his head. “Don't fear, old friend, I'll leave the long speeches and artful lectures to you. The way I see it, though, is that Blake won't give up. Batman was his hero, yes, but now that he knows who the man behind the myth really was, he will try to fulfill his...my last wish.”
Agitated, he got to his feet and started pacing around the room. “Damn!” he swore. “I thought I had finally gotten rid of the habit of talking about myself in the third person.” He risked a glance at his faithful friend and was relieved to see the amusement in Alfred's knowledgeable eyes. “Guess I'm not ready to let go just yet.”
Alfred sat back to think.
Bruce knew the intent expression on his friend's face all too well. The old butler had worn it whenever he didn't know how to deal with one of young Bruce's more...unusual exploits. Or when Batman and his friends had been confronted with a seemingly unsolvable case. And he had worn it on the day Alfred Pennyworth left his posting as trusted servant to the last of the Waynes for good.
Not wanting to dwell on that particular memory, Bruce continued his pacing around the room. Eventually, Alfred's voice stopped him dead in his tracks.
“Will you do this, no matter the cost?”
Bruce swiveled to look at him, a cold feeling settling in his stomach. “What do you mean?”
Alfred clarified. “Will you help Detective Blake become Batman even if I say no?”
Shocked, Bruce crossed the room and knelt down in front of his most trusted friend to show how serious he was: “No, I will not.” It was a spontaneous promise he swore to keep. He would not lose Alfred over this. Never again. And besides... “I can't do this without you,” he implored, suddenly knowing it to be true.
Batman may have had the gadgets and the technical knowledge, but the human element needed for his task often eluded him. It was a sad fact, born out of a life that had never been really happy ever since his parents' deaths. Any new Batman would need this balance to make him safe and sane. There was only so much darkness one could court. It had taken Bruce far too long to realize that.
“Please.”
Bruce Wayne had never begged for anything in his life. Even when his parents had perished he didn't ask for forgiveness because he knew he didn't deserve it. He had been afraid of the bats and asked his parents to leave the opera early. Their violent deaths were his fault, no matter how many times Alfred had tried to convince him otherwise.
He hadn't prayed to anyone who would listen to bring back his family, either, because he understood it was a useless request. Besides, he had lost his faith in any kind of deity the moment the killer pulled the trigger. There was no benevolent God looking out for the humans on Earth. There was far too much death and suffering in this world for it to be otherwise.
Bruce's plea proved far more effective than any long-winded argument he might have tried to deliver. Alfred's answer was simple and spoken from the heart: “Yes.”
Bruce couldn't believe his ears. “Yes?” Just like that?
Alfred smiled grimly and repeated his affirmative. “Yes, Master Bruce, I will help you.”
“But why?” He still couldn't believe it had been this simple to sway his friend.
“Why?” The old butler chuckled. “I agreed because I would be a fool to repeat the mistakes of the past. This is important to you, I can see that. Yet you promised not to do it if I said no - and I know you would have kept that vow no matter the consequences to your heart. What more proof would I need to see what kind of man you have become? I always knew you were destined for bigger things. First, I tried to steer you in the right direction. Eventually, I tried to stop you from doing something I deemed unwise. Both attempts failed spectacularly, wouldn't you agree?”
They shared an understanding smile.
“So now I will help you this last time. You need to pass on your legacy. Young Blake needs someone to show him the path or he will become a danger to himself and others. As for me...” Alfred paused for a moment. “I think I need to see you fulfill your destiny. You have now learned to let go of the past and make your own future. By teaching John Blake, you will finally have taken the last step. And then, when you are free, you can go back to your friend Selina. Or decide to make a new life for you somewhere else. Or you can travel to Florence with me and finally enjoy the sights as they should be seen.” He winked at his son still kneeling by his feet.
Lost for elaborate words, Bruce grabbed one of Alfred's hands lying on the old man's knee and simply held on. “Thank you.”
Their bargain was sealed, for better or for worse.