Ficlet: I Believe
Title: I Believe
Pairing/Characters: Alfred Pennyworth from Music of the Spheres
Rating: PG
Warnings: None needed.
Summary: Alfred's life is a mystery to most people.
Word Count: 346
Notes: Based on Sarah McLachlan's "Elsewhere."
I believe
This is heaven to no one else but me.
William Fitzgerald has the blunt way of speaking that marks him as a former soldier. "I don't get it," he's saying now, looking around the elegant sitting room. "You're better than this, Alf."
"Better than what, exactly, Bill?" Alfred asks blandly. He hasn't seen his friend in almost thirty years. Fifty years ago he saved Bill's life in Burma; the scar still aches sometimes in the damp of the cave. Bill Fitzgerald is now the CEO of a prestigious private contractor that provides military support to the English army.
"All...this." Bill waves a hand, disgust painted on his face. "Cleaning up after some American pansy and his boyfriend...it's beneath you. You should quit. Come back to England, be a man again."
Alfred merely smiles. It's a pitying smile, but Bill Fitzgerald is unlikely to see that. Last night, Alfred helped his "American pansy" employer perform an autopsy on the body of a baby, no more than three weeks old. This morning, he put fifteen stitches in Bruce's side. Bruce merely sat, tired and satisfied, unflinching as the needle tugged through his flesh. "The bastard's in custody," he said before struggling upstairs to catch two hours of sleep. Tonight, his employer's boyfriend is coming back from three days spent cleaning up from an earthquake. He'll be filthy, exhausted, and heartbroken. They will sleep in each others' arms, sometimes crying out softly in nightmares. Alfred will hear them as he finishes dusting at midnight, and will plan to make Clark's favorite waffles in the morning.
"Bill," Alfred says softly, "Some people can't live lives of suffering and sacrifice forever. For most people, there are limits to what can be borne, to what can be endured. Some people can't give up everything."
"But I never thought you'd be one of them," Bill says. "I never thought you'd be willing to live a soft life like this."
"Well." There's a dangerous edge to Alfred's voice that very few would recognize. William Fitzgerald is not one of them. "Perhaps you don't know me as well as you thought, Bill."
Pairing/Characters: Alfred Pennyworth from Music of the Spheres
Rating: PG
Warnings: None needed.
Summary: Alfred's life is a mystery to most people.
Word Count: 346
Notes: Based on Sarah McLachlan's "Elsewhere."
I believe
This is heaven to no one else but me.
William Fitzgerald has the blunt way of speaking that marks him as a former soldier. "I don't get it," he's saying now, looking around the elegant sitting room. "You're better than this, Alf."
"Better than what, exactly, Bill?" Alfred asks blandly. He hasn't seen his friend in almost thirty years. Fifty years ago he saved Bill's life in Burma; the scar still aches sometimes in the damp of the cave. Bill Fitzgerald is now the CEO of a prestigious private contractor that provides military support to the English army.
"All...this." Bill waves a hand, disgust painted on his face. "Cleaning up after some American pansy and his boyfriend...it's beneath you. You should quit. Come back to England, be a man again."
Alfred merely smiles. It's a pitying smile, but Bill Fitzgerald is unlikely to see that. Last night, Alfred helped his "American pansy" employer perform an autopsy on the body of a baby, no more than three weeks old. This morning, he put fifteen stitches in Bruce's side. Bruce merely sat, tired and satisfied, unflinching as the needle tugged through his flesh. "The bastard's in custody," he said before struggling upstairs to catch two hours of sleep. Tonight, his employer's boyfriend is coming back from three days spent cleaning up from an earthquake. He'll be filthy, exhausted, and heartbroken. They will sleep in each others' arms, sometimes crying out softly in nightmares. Alfred will hear them as he finishes dusting at midnight, and will plan to make Clark's favorite waffles in the morning.
"Bill," Alfred says softly, "Some people can't live lives of suffering and sacrifice forever. For most people, there are limits to what can be borne, to what can be endured. Some people can't give up everything."
"But I never thought you'd be one of them," Bill says. "I never thought you'd be willing to live a soft life like this."
"Well." There's a dangerous edge to Alfred's voice that very few would recognize. William Fitzgerald is not one of them. "Perhaps you don't know me as well as you thought, Bill."