FIC: White Knight

[mithen]

Title: White Knight
Pairing/Characters: Alfred Pennyworth, Bruce Wayne, Martha Wayne, Thomas Wayne
Notes:  A slightly belated birthday gift for icarus_chained , who inspires my Alfred!muse!
Rating: G
Word Count: 3500
Summary: Alfred Pennyworth takes a temporary break from his job in the British Secret Service to fulfill his father's contract.

The streets of London were foggy, which was of course a cliche, but one of which Alfred Pennyworth was unaccountably fond.  He found his footsteps leading him back toward the office as he rambled, and sternly forced himself to turn his steps homeward instead.  The last time he had wandered in "just to check how things were going" he had been sent away with a stern reprimand.  He missed work, he admitted it, and that he was recovering from a slight case of...enhanced interrogation and a bullet-wound to the shoulder weren't good enough reasons to stay away.

That his cover had been blown was a rather good reason.  And so he found himself on involuntary leave to give him time to recover and the Service to establish a new cover for him.

He found the telegram on the door of his flat as he let himself in.  Somehow he knew what it was going to say, and he poured himself a glass of scotch before opening it. 

His father was dead.  Alfred took a long sip of scotch.  Well, this was no surprise.  He had received a letter from Jarvis Pennyworth a few months ago that alluded, in his father's usual stilted and elliptical way, to the possibility.  The letter had asked--in the usual stilted and elliptical way--Alfred to come to America and see him one last time.

There had been work to do, a major debriefing to manage at headquarters.  And then the Kiev mission.  No time.

And now his father was dead.  Alfred took another sip, feeling the burn in his throat, behind his eyes, warm and reassuring.  There would be loose ends to tie up, arrangements to be made.  And then his life would go on as it had before.

: : :

"What?" Alfred knew his voice was raised above what it should be, but he couldn't help it.  "That's preposterous.  My father did no such thing."

"I'm afraid so, Mr. Pennyworth."  The solicitor's voice on the other end of the line was tinny but firm.  "Your father felt deep regret that he would not be able to finish his contract with the Waynes.  His will stipulates, in the most definite of terms, that if you wish to see a penny of his estate, you must complete the contract, of which three months remain."

Alfred opened his mouth to argue, to protest.  There was no way this could be legal--

"He said to tell you that it was his last duty, and it falls to you to fulfill it in his stead."

Alfred stiffened, winced.  That word again.  Duty.  Ever since he was a child it had been the circumference of his father's life, the lash with which he had driven himself and his children.

Driven them away and driven himself to America.  And now his father was dead.

Alfred opened his mouth to say No, by no means, I have no need at all for my father's legacy.

"Give me a day to make arrangements, I shall be there soon," he heard himself say.

He put down the receiver with a clang that sounded like prison doors shutting.

: : :

Martha Wayne's eyes were red as she put out a gloved hand for Alfred to shake.  "I'm so sorry," she murmured.

Alfred suppressed an undignified urge to shrug.  "Thank you," he said instead.

"My husband is at work, but I can show you around the place," Martha said.  "Your father was such a godsend," she continued as she ushered him through the opulent dining room and toward the kitchen.  "I don't know what we would have done without him.  He kept everything running so well..."

It probably wasn't meant as a rebuke or condemnation, but Alfred felt his jaw set.  "I assure you, madam, that I have been well-trained in how to run a household.  You will see no decrease in quality in the remaining three months."

"Oh dear."  Martha looked appalled, and Alfred immediately felt a pang of guilt.  "I have no doubts about that.  Jarvis always used to say that Pennyworth was the most reliable name in the world, and I never had any reason to doubt it."

They were at the kitchen doors before Alfred could respond;  Martha swung them open and stepped inside, where a tall woman in an apron was washing dishes. 

"Antonia, this is Alfred, Jervis's son.  He'll be with us for the next three months while we look for a new butler.  Alfred, this is Antonia Goodman, our head cook."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Goodman," said Alfred with a slight bow, and the woman put a hand to her mouth in something close to a simper.

"Oh my, call me Antonia.  We'll be working together a lot, after all."  Antonia eyed his face, tilting her head to the side.  "Yes, you do look a lot like your father," she said.

"Thank you," Alfred said, quelling a stab of irritation.

The doors behind them swung open.  "'Tonia, may I have some milk, please?" said a small voice with a hint of a lisp.

Antonia's face went just a bit stiff.  "Of course, Master Bruce," she said.

"And this is my little Bee!" said Martha Wayne.  "Bruce, this is Jarvis's son, Alfred.  He's going to be with us for a little while."

The little boy, no more than four at the most, looked up at Alfred from under unruly black bangs.  His eyes were a strikingly dark blue, his eyebrows steady dark lines that made him look more solemn than such a young child should.

"Bruce, where are your manners?" asked Martha.  "Say hello to Alfred."

"Hello, Alfred," said Bruce.  The slight lisp made his name sound slightly like "Owfed."  He extended his hand gravely and Alfred stared at it for a moment before he realized he was expected to shake it.  He bent down to take it.

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Master Bruce," said Alfred.

The boy considered the statement for a while, then nodded.  Turning to his mother, he asked, "Will you read me another chapter of Robin Hood tonight?"

Martha bent down and kissed his cheek.  "Of course, Bee.  Run along and finish your milk, then brush your teeth and get in your jammies."

Antonia handed him a glass of milk and the boy left the kitchen, cradling it cautiously.

: : :

"That boy's a strange one," Antonia announced later, after the tour of the Manor was done and Martha had gone upstairs to read to Bruce.  "He gives me the creeps, actually."  She placed a cup of tea in front of Alfred.  Alfred had watched her tea-making process with some horror, but swallowed his pride and her tea with equal difficulty.

"Does he make a lot of trouble?"  Alfred cringed inwardly at the idea of three months having to deal with some hellion placing booby traps and throwing temper tantrums.

"Trouble?  Naw," Antonia waved her hand dismissively.  "I might like him better if he did.  Be a more normal little kid, then."  She took a long, slurping sip of tea.  "No, he's just an eerie little thing.  Plays by himself for hours on end, asks the oddest questions.  Sits and watches people."  She shuddered, then caught Alfred's small smile.  "You'll see," she said, pointing at him, "He's a spooky child."

Far off the front door slammed.  "That'll be Mister Wayne coming home," said Antonia.  "He's back early tonight."

Alfred looked at the clock:  nine o'clock.  "A workaholic?"

"That's an understatement."

"I suffer from that a bit myself.  I was told I had to take some time off, rest up a little."  He stood;  Mrs. Wayne would certainly be calling him to meet Mister Wayne soon.

Antonia laughed, a loud, horsey sound.  "Butlering's no rest!  What'd you do, crack up at work?"

"Actually, I got shot in the shoulder in Kiev and ended up being nursed back to health by a beautiful and mysterious lady with hair like flame," he said over his shoulder as he left, just to make her laugh again.

: : :

As it turned out, butlering was challenging work;  less dangerous than being in Her Majesty's Secret Service, but nearly as busy.  Alfred found himself surprisingly proud that he kept the household running as smoothly as ever his father did;  after three weeks Martha declared herself "much, much more than satisfied." 

"It's a shame we'll have to replace you when your time is up," she said, with a slightly imploring tone in her voice which Alfred ignored. 

As Antonia had predicted, young Master Bruce was no trouble at all;  Alfred rarely even saw the boy.  He was given free run of the household, but seemed to spend most of his time out in the gardens, studying ants and butterflies with a gravely intent face as his mother sat nearby, embroidering.  When he was indoors, he could usually be found with a picture book about Robin Hood or King Arthur, staring at the illustrations and tracing them with his fingers.

After a month came Alfred's first test by fire:  the first party thrown at the Waynes under his tenure.  He straightened his bow tie in the hallway mirror.  Everything was in place, the glass and crystal were immaculate, and he had personally overseen the wine selection and the preparation of the hors d'oevres.  He was nervous, he had to admit to himself.  Nervous and excited.  He couldn't help but scoff at the idea;  he had infiltrated a nuclear power facility in Siberia, surely overseeing a party was no comparison!

The doorbell rang and Alfred nearly jumped.  After looking around to make sure no one caught him in the embarrassing slip, he went to the door--dignified and unruffled.  He smiled at the first guests, their faces well-known to him through studying photographs.  "Mr. and Mrs. Kane, good evening," he said as he ushered them into the ballroom to be announced.

The party was going well, he noted later as he made a pass through the room, checking on the state of the guests.  The plates of food were refreshed, there were no spills, no one seemed unpleasantly inebriated--

"Isn't he just the cutest little tyke?"

Alfred turned to see young Master Bruce caught between two Gotham matrons who were cooing over him.  He was smiling politely, but his eyes looked a bit frantic.  One of the women pinched his cheek.  "What do you want to be when you grow up, cutie?"

"I--"  Bruce seemed to be seriously considering the question, but before he could answer the other woman broke in.

"It must be fun, living in this big, beautiful house," she announced with a sweep of her arm.

"It's...it's quiet," Bruce said.

"Awww, the poor widdle boy!  He must be so lonely!"  The first patron clasped her hands together dramatically, then called to a friend with a voice that could cut glass.  "Agnes, come over here and meet the little prince, he's just to die for!"

As Agnes came over, Bruce suddenly shot Alfred an unmistakably imploring look.  The smile was back on his face as he said "Hello, Mrs. Patterson," but Alfred found himself stepping forward.

"May I inquire if all is going well, ladies?"  The women squinted at him as if the furniture had started talking.  "Would you like some more escargots?  Perhaps a little more wine?  And is the fois gras to your taste?"

By the time he had finished being solicitous, Bruce was nowhere to be found.

"Ah, Alfred," said Thomas Wayne about an hour later, waving him over from the corner.  "I'd like to show Mr. Page that Egyptian paperweight I got in Cairo;  it's on my desk in the library.  Would you get it for me?"

Alfred climbed the thickly-carpeted stairs to the second floor and pushed open the door to the library.  As it swung open, he heard a small voice whispering to itself.  "Galahad to the left, Percival to the right," it said.  "Robin and Little John forward two, next to Ace."
 
After a moment's survey of the room, Alfred located Bruce under the mahogany desk, sitting with a chess board in front of him.  Alfred felt a brief shock--the child was precocious, but surely not able to play chess--until he realized the pieces weren't arranged in anything like a normal game.  They were scattered in patterns about the board, idiosyncratic groupings and lines.

Bruce was blinking up from the dimness beneath the desk with owlish eyes.  "I'm sorry to interrupt you, Master Bruce," said Alfred.

"It's okay," Bruce said.  "I was just playing.  Father lets me play with this one sometimes."  He looked down at the chessboard and moved one of the black bishops--a man in robes--one space to the right.  "Edward one space more," he whispered.

"His name is Edward?" Alfred asked.

Bruce bit his lip, looking down at the board.  "Yes," he said after a minute.  "This one is Edward, he's a prince.  His brother is John," he said, touching the other black bishop.  "This one is Mordred," he said, touching the black king.  "He can go anywhere on the board unless one of the white princes is next to him, then he's trapped."

"I see."

"This is Percival," he said, indicating a white knight, a man on horseback.  "Percival protects the little boys.  Like this one," he said, holding up a white pawn.  "This one is Scar."

Alfred frowned.  "You can't give the pawns names;  they're all the same."  He wanted to kick himself once he'd said it:  contradicting the employer's son, that was brilliant.  He wouldn't even last the three months. 

Bruce's eyes blazed with sudden intensity.  "That's not true," he said.  He held the little wooden pawn up.  "See, Scar has a cut on his neck," he said, pointing to the little page's carved neck.  Indeed, there was a small scratch there.  "And Robin has a stripey patch on his shield, and Ace has this little knot on his back," he said.  "They're all different.  See?"

And Alfred did see.  "You're absolutely right, Master Bruce," he said.

Bruce cast him a sidelong glance.  He touched the white king.  "This one is Father," he said softly.  He put the white queen two spaces over from the king, leaving an empty space between them.  "This is Mother."  A pawn in between them.  "This one is Bruce."  Carefully, he put the knight he called Percival in front of the little pawn.  "To keep him safe," he said.  He moved a couple of other pieces around the board in patterns that didn't seem random.  "Thank you for earlier," he said.

"Oh dear," Alfred said suddenly, standing up.  "I need to get something to your father."  He picked up the paperweight and headed for the door. 

"Are you going to tell them that I'm here?"

Alfred turned at the door and bowed slightly.  "Your secret is safe with me, Master Bruce."

The boy smiled, a slow, deep smile that transformed all the solemnity of his expression into light.  "Thank you, Alfred."

: : :

After that night, Bruce took to following Alfred around sometimes, watching him work, sometimes scribbling on spare pieces of paper.  "Doesn't it creep you out, having him around?" Antonia asked, but Alfred found his presence no bother at all.  The silence between them was profound and polite, the respectful distance of two people who knew how to give each other space.

"I like to be here when my head is all buzzy," Bruce said without preamble one day, sitting on the floor while Alfred calculated the household expenses. 

"Buzzy?"

"Mother calls me her Little Bee, but sometimes the inside of my head gets all buzzy and I can't think.  Like there's lots of bees in there, and I have to go somewhere quiet so they'll go back to sleep a little."  Bruce drew thick blue lines on a piece of paper, his tongue sticking out just a bit.  "Then the bees feel better and I feel better too."  Bruce looked up at Alfred.  "Do you ever get things like bees in your head, Alfred?"

Alfred rested his chin on his hand for a second.  "I suppose you could say that."

"I don't feel buzzy when I'm here," Bruce said, and went back to work.

So did Alfred.

: : :

The solicitor handed Alfred a small envelope and slid a larger box across the desk.  "Your father's contract isn't officially up until Monday, at which point we will deposit his assets in your bank account, but I see no reason not to give you his personal effects."

Alfred opened the envelope.  A scattering of photographs:  Alfred and his brother in ridiculous bathing suits, Alfred's mother serene and smiling with a baby in her arms.  He tilted the envelope further and a wedding ring fell out, one side of it thinned nearly to breaking by years on his father's finger.  Alfred turned the gold band around in his fingers, watching it catch the light.

"You were a pretty baby," the solicitor said jocularly, indicating the photo of his mother.

"That isn't me, it's my brother Wilfred.  Mother died soon after he was born.  I was seven."

"I'm sorry to hear that," said the solicitor in evident discomfort.

Alfred forced himself to smile through the flood of memories:  sitting at his mother's bedside, holding her hand, waiting for his father to come.  His father who was always too busy.  Too busy serving another family, fetching another family's cleaning, organizing another family's household.  "It was a long time ago," he said.

"I'm sorry you didn't make it here in time to see your Dad before he passed," said the other man.

He had sworn he would be no one's menial, serve no spoiled and wealthy family.  He had thrown himself into service to his country instead.  Bullets instead of butlering.  He had said it was because his life would be as exciting as his fathers' life was tedious.

Yet in the mundane details of running Wayne Manor, after months of keeping it humming and active, he felt more satisfaction than in all the spy games he had played for the last decade.

In the end, it was all duty.  Duty to country, to family, to a boy with thoughts buzzing in his head. 

Duty--impossible thought!--to himself.

"I'm sorry too," he said, and realized for the first time that he meant it.

"Well," said the solicitor, "At least you're finally done and completed your duty.  You're free."

Alfred held the worn band of gold and stared at him.

: : :

Martha Wayne was writing thank-you cards at her little desk in the study, Bruce on the floor nearby, playing with his chess set.  "What is it, Alfred?" she asked without looking up.

"Well, madam, the fact of the matter is..."  Alfred clasped his hands behind his back.  "The fact of the matter is that my father's contract expires Monday."

Martha sighed.  "Yes, Thomas and I still have to decide between Mr. Chester and Mr. Sherwin.  I lean toward Mr. Sherwin, but Thomas--"

"Madam," said Alfred.  He took a deep breath.  "Madam, I was wondering if you would be interested in having me take the job on a permanent basis."

Martha dropped her pen.  On the floor, Bruce had gone very still, holding one of his knights.  "Oh Alfred," Martha cried, leaping to her feet.  "Would you--I mean, can you--"

Alfred bowed slightly, in part to forestall the alarming possibility that she might hug him.  "I believe my leave from work in England can be continued indefinitely."  He had told them he needed another year, but he already knew he wouldn't be back.

Martha just shook her head, beaming.  "That's such wonderful news!  Isn't that wonderful news, Bruce?"

Bruce looked up from his chess piece.  He didn't smile, but his eyes were shining.  "Yes," he said simply, then dropped his gaze back to the chess board.

"Oh dear, don't mind Bruce, he's such a little sourpuss sometimes," said Martha, laughing.  "I love him dearly, but he's my odd Little Bee, aren't you, Bruce?"

"I don't mind him," said Alfred.  "I'll just be getting back to work then, madam."

: : :

Later that night, Alfred found Bruce in front of the fireplace, staring at the patterns of the pieces, moving them and whispering to himself, making up stories about Robin Hood and Arthur and little Bruce, fighting Mordred's army.  He looked up as Alfred entered the room, gave him a brief smile, and went back to playing.

There was a piece missing;  Alfred located it by Bruce's elbow:  the white knight.  "You've left Percival off," said Alfred, handing the knight to the boy.

"Not Percival," said Bruce.

"Oh, I'm sorry.  Is that Galahad?"

"No, I mean I changed his name."  Bruce took the little knight away from Alfred and put it on the board, between one of the pawns and the massed army of dark pieces, his sword brandished high.

"What's his new name?"

Bruce moved the pawn to stand beside the knight.  "Alfred," he said quietly.

He looked up then, unsmiling, oddly vulnerable.  "Is that okay?" he asked.

Alfred reached down and rested his hand on the dark head for a brief moment. 

"Just fine," he said.

---

Afternotes:  Alfred's adventure in Kiev is a reference to icarus_chained 's "True Deceptions" series.  Martha's nickname for Bruce is from arch_schatten 's story "Little Bee's Adventures in Outer Space."  Both are highly recommended!

Comments

[seiberwing.livejournal.com]

*melts into a pile of awwww* You write Alfred so well, I love him.

[mithen.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much! Alfred rarely speaks to me as a POV-character, but in this case he grabbed me and wanted to talk! :D

[dariclone.livejournal.com]

I *love* your Alfred! And little Bruce naming one of the chess peices? Just too sweet!

[mithen.livejournal.com]

Alfred is so awesome he's very daunting to write! I'm glad I might have channeled a little of him here. :) Thanks so much for reading and commenting!

[fictionalknight.livejournal.com]

ah...man... *sniffles soundly* (this should have a warning about making readers tear up. lol!)

This was just perfect. :)

/heads off in search of some tissues...

[mithen.livejournal.com]

*grin* I might have to start using a warning for "teary sappiness" soon! Alfred was very amenable to being written, which made me happy...I wrote the whole thing nearly in one go, very usual for me! I'm so glad you liked it!

[icarus-chained.livejournal.com]

Oh! Oh, oh. I think I love you. Oh, thank you! *hugs you, and Alfred, and baby Bruce* Beautiful. Thank you so, soooo much! *prints story*

I love Martha in this. And the chess set. And little Bruce, so creepy and odd and vulnerable, and so very himself. And Alfred! *hugs him* He couldn't leave. He couldn't. And Bruce naming the knight after him ... *is in tears*

Thank you so much for this!

[mithen.livejournal.com]

I'm so glad you liked it! *hugs* Happy belated birthday! I racked my brains but all my J'onn/Bruce muses were depressed, for obvious reasons, so Alfred stepped up to the plate and wanted to talk a little. :)

Bruce is kind of a mix of myself and my niece, lol. We aren't as precocious, of course, but odd and quiet in a house of busy extraverts... :D

[seriousfic.livejournal.com]

Bruce cast him a sidelong glance. He touched the white king. "This one is Father," he said softly. He put the white queen two spaces over from the king, leaving an empty space between them. "This is Mother." A pawn in between them. "This one is Bruce." Carefully, he put the knight he called Percival in front of the little pawn. "To keep him safe," he said.

Awww. I'm melting into a diabetic puddle.

[mithen.livejournal.com]

Awww. I'm melting into a diabetic puddle.

*hands over insulin...and a large sugary cake*

[liarashadowsong.livejournal.com]

Awwwww! So cute! *melts* I love seeing the interaction of Alfred and teeny!Bruce. ^_^

[mithen.livejournal.com]

icarus_chained writes some of the best Alfred with young Bruce scenes around! She inspires me greatly...I'm glad you liked the result!

[ibis-thoth.livejournal.com]

That was a lovely piece of work, and I do love the use of other works...it's nice to see fanfiction writers willing to build their own joint canon in some stories.

[mithen.livejournal.com]

That's one of my favorite things about fandom, watching people build on each other and making their own personal fanon that makes sense! It's kind of irresistable when people write such very good takes on the characters...

[sara-lakali.livejournal.com]

You're going to owe me a box of tissues soon.

They really did fall in love with each other, didn't they? Like a parent and child imprinting on one another.

[mithen.livejournal.com]

I hate to portray Thomas as a less than perfect father, but there's no way he could have been there for Bruce as much as Alfred, so...I can't help but like seeing them bond. :)

[bradygirl_12]

Adorable! The bonding, Bruce's names for the chess pieces (Robin! Ace!) and Bruce re-naming his protector Alfred. Aww! :)

[mithen.livejournal.com]

*grin* Thank you! Alfred grabbed me and insisted I write it, and young Bruce didn't mind, so it was written. :) Glad you liked it!

[tygati.livejournal.com]

*puddle of happy contented goo*

[mithen.livejournal.com]

Yay! Success! *grins* Thank you!

[cmer.livejournal.com]

Aww, this was cute! I love reading about Little Bruce, he is uber adorable. And the way they bonded so well was an interesting thing to watch unfold too.

[mithen.livejournal.com]

It was fun to write! I meant it to be a lot shorter, and then both Bruce and Alfred insisted they weren't going to hit it off at first sight so I had to settle in for the long haul... :) Glad you liked it!

[crimsonquills.livejournal.com]

Oh, this was wonderful! Alfred is a character I don't see examined in fic much, although maybe that's because I normally focus so tightly on the slash. :-) But he has such potential and such a unique relationship with Bruce, I always find stories about him to be these wonderful little revelations. I particularly liked seeing him find that sense of real satisfaction with the Waynes here, and find a little understanding of his father through that. <3

[mithen.livejournal.com]

Alfred is a character I don't see examined in fic much, although maybe that's because I normally focus so tightly on the slash. :-)

He rarely gets a lot of attention in fic just because he's terribly daunting to write! Maybe not hard, but...intimidating. He's usually the Greek Chorus that tells people if Bruce is in the wrong or the right this time around. :) I've seen some really wonderful stories focused on him, though, and they're really satisfying.

[anthraciteowl.livejournal.com]

He was recovering from a slight case of...enhanced interrogation and a bullet-wound to the shoulder weren't good enough reasons to stay away.
This captures Alfred's tendencies toward over-work and delicate understatement perfectly.

"Actually, I got shot in the shoulder in Kiev and ended up being nursed back to health by a beautiful and mysterious lady with hair like flame,"
J'onn made it into the story! I'm thrilled.

"Alfred," he said quietly.
He looked up then, unsmiling, oddly vulnerable.
I love your little Bruce. He's so grave and serious. Also, this scene nearly made me cry. Alfred has found a place in Bruce's mythology.

I really liked this story. Alfred's patience and delicacy especially impressed me.

[mithen.livejournal.com]

This captures Alfred's tendencies toward over-work and delicate understatement perfectly.

I really wish I knew more about the Secret Service so I could write more Alfred there! Maybe I should read some Bond books...

J'onn made it into the story! I'm thrilled.

*grin* I couldn't resist!

I really enjoyed writing young Bruce--I always feel he was already an unusual child, if not driven in the way he would be later. It was fun to watch he and Alfred negotiate their relationship at the beginning! Glad you enjoyed it...

[dizmo]

I have officially died of adorable. I leave my personal effects to fandom.

... Or something. Just... Gaaaah.

Seriously, I clicked on the fic just by virtue of looking at the summary, and read it having no idea of the author. Once I checked it, I was like... Yeah, should have figured. I liked it so much, it had to be. XD

*snuggles ickleBruce*

[mithen.livejournal.com]

I have officially died of adorable. I leave my personal effects to fandom.

Another victim of the cute overload! :D I'm flattered...

I liked it so much, it had to be. XD

Aw... *blushes* I'm really flattered! I was so happy to have Alfred step up and want to be the main character of a story, he does it so rarely!

[hitokaji.livejournal.com]

HA! I finally have my Alfred icon, simply because of this story of yours. Your Alfred is awesome and so generous. ;__;
*sniffs and gives him a big hug*

And Bruce among those party ladies is hilarious. He must hate it when his dad throws parties.

I love this story very much. Thank you for sharing this. :)

[mithen.livejournal.com]

I don't have an Alfred icon! T_T

And Bruce among those party ladies is hilarious. He must hate it when his dad throws parties.

I imagine him in a little suit with a bow tie, just dying, lol...poor kid!

I'm so glad you liked it! It's one of those stories that grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and shook, so I had to go with it!

[ladymirth.livejournal.com]

You have captured the awesomeness that is Alfred so wonderfully well.

[mithen.livejournal.com]

Alfred's awesomeness defies capture! But I'm glad you think I might have managed it a little. :D

[(Anonymous)]

Another awesome story. People don't do enough of tiny Bruce and younger Alfred. This quiet, reserved, introverted Bruce fits. I know trama changes people, but I've always felt that your basic "true" self never changes. Bruce had to have always been a bit of an introvert. Thank you for your fic.

J.C.

[mithen.livejournal.com]

This quiet, reserved, introverted Bruce fits. I know trama changes people, but I've always felt that your basic "true" self never changes. Bruce had to have always been a bit of an introvert.

I've always felt Bruce's basic character--the drive and the reserve both--has to have been there, it just got...sharpened and focused beyond belief by his parents' deaths. I can't help but imagine him as a touch spooky even at a young age (my niece has a Bruce-like intensity and shyness that I based him on!)

I'm so glad you liked it! I was really happy to find Alfred speaking to me. :)

[genclay.livejournal.com]

awwwwwww!

Awesome Alfred and adorable Bruce. what a cute combination :)

[mithen.livejournal.com]

*hugs* I'm glad you liked it! It was fun to write. :D

[22by7.livejournal.com]

I haven't been reading your fiction for a very long time, but I feel this is your very best work. Certainly it's the fact that you chose to write about two things there really is not enough serious exploration of either in canon or in fanfic - Alfred Pennyworth in his own right, and Bruce as a child. But it's what you do with these subjects, and the way you show us this subtle, immediate (and happily, as we know, enduring) connection between the two that really makes it.

Poor Bee, you've bats in your belfry, not bees. :giggles at cheap joke: Ahem... I just read your note explaining Bruce's nickname, I can't believe something like that could be not-canon (well, I can, that is), it's so perfect. Bruce really must have been a very remarkable person even as a little boy - his parents' murder could not have triggered what it did if something remarkable wasn't already there, yknow? Maybe that explains why canon stays away from it, and why canon may as well continue to: writing a precocious, and, yes, slightly creepy child would be difficult to pull off without lurching into awkward cutesiness.

Bruce's little game (and I just knew the Percival figure would turn out to be Alfred :) was great, in fact it made me as proud and worried as if I'd been his mother myself. Of course they're not indistinguishable pawns to him, of course he notes the details, the individuality. I don't know, it's at once heart-warming and terrifying.

I especially love that Alfred is allowed to be human. Again it's the little touches, like his moments of (suppressed/unexpressed) irritation. And how, in reading, one's heart breaks for him, precisely because he's so... controlled, measured, dignified. (Do you like that book by Ishiguro?)

"Actually, I got shot in the shoulder in Kiev and ended up being nursed back to health by a beautiful and mysterious lady with hair like flame."
James Bond has nothing on you, Pennyworth...

[mithen.livejournal.com]

There is amazingly little canon work on a young Bruce, beyond That Scene being reworked infinite times. I agree with you that the problem must be in showing someone unusual and intense but neither deeply creepy nor cutely precocious.

Bruce really must have been a very remarkable person even as a little boy - his parents' murder could not have triggered what it did if something remarkable wasn't already there, yknow?

Yeah, exactly--I don't see him written as a "normal kid" much, and I don't think it would ring true. Eight years old is well beyond developing an individual personality, although the channeling and focusing are a matter of will.

Bruce's little game (and I just knew the Percival figure would turn out to be Alfred :) was great, in fact it made me as proud and worried as if I'd been his mother myself.

I'm always fascinated by the games little kids come up with, with the shifting rules and complication. I remember playing a game that involved naming all my marbles after friends and family members and rolling them in random patterns--touching marbles were kissing. Which meant I was composing real-person slash before anything else! :)

*ahem* Bruce's noting the individual quirks of each pawn reveals more heroic things about him than my games, lol.

Again it's the little touches, like his moments of (suppressed/unexpressed) irritation. And how, in reading, one's heart breaks for him, precisely because he's so... controlled, measured, dignified. (Do you like that book by Ishiguro?)

I never read the book, but I did see the movie. :) And yes, I was surprised at how often Alfred was always thinking about what he should or should not be doing/feeling...especially feeling. I guess I shouldn't have been, based on what his life has turned out to be...

Thank you so much for the wonderful feedback! I'm always very happy when a character I don't often write insists on being the main character and breaks me out of old patterns a bit. :)

[aileencross.livejournal.com]

Aw, this is so sweet! :-)

[mithen.livejournal.com]

Thanks so much! I'm glad you liked it. :)

[zenithjolt.livejournal.com]

XD

This was wonderful! Alfred is fantastic here, a little Bruce is just the cutest thing! It's destiny, of course :) Again, wonderful!

[mithen.livejournal.com]

Thank you! I love writing Alfred, although he doesn't insist on taking center stage often--rather like canon, I suppose. :)

[batfan-sarah.livejournal.com]

i love love love this story so freaking much.

*bwee*

[mithen.livejournal.com]

Thank you! The story jumped me and I wrote it all in one day--very unusual for me! Alfred was rather insistent...

[northernwalker]

It's good to see Alfred as a whole person- he gets so subsumed by Batman sometimes it's hard to see him.

Lovely piece.

[mithen.livejournal.com]

Canon doesn't do much to help with Alfred, he does mostly fade into the background to make useful pronouncements and bring sandwiches. One of the more interesting thing about the movies was that he seems much more a full character in his own right (I'm thinking of your background story on movie-Alfred here!)

[starsandsea.livejournal.com]

Eeee, Alfred fic! :D

... You know, I've been reading, and trying to pick out bits to comment on, but... my normal comments of *pets* or *hugs* just... don't work with Alfred!

Alfred suppressed an undignified urge to shrug. "Thank you," he said instead.

Hee!

"'Tonia, may I have some milk, please?" said a small voice with a hint of a lisp.

Awww, little!Bruce! *glomps him*

Alfred had watched her tea-making process with some horror, but swallowed his pride and her tea with equal difficulty.

Hee! *hearts Alfred*

"No, he's just an eerie little thing. Plays by himself for hours on end, asks the oddest questions. Sits and watches people." She shuddered, then caught Alfred's small smile. "You'll see," she said, pointing at him, "He's a spooky child."

*huggles little!Bruce*

"It's a shame we'll have to replace you when your time is up," she said, with a slightly imploring tone in her voice which Alfred ignored.

Hee.

He was given free run of the household, but seemed to spend most of his time out in the gardens, studying ants and butterflies with a gravely intent face as his mother sat nearby, embroidering. When he was indoors, he could usually be found with a picture book about Robin Hood or King Arthur, staring at the illustrations and tracing them with his fingers.

*hearts little!Bruce*

He couldn't help but scoff at the idea; he had infiltrated a nuclear power facility in Siberia, surely overseeing a party was no comparison!

*giggles*

By the time he had finished being solicitous, Bruce was nowhere to be found.

Eee! Disappearing!Little!Bruce!

As it swung open, he heard a small voice whispering to itself. "Galahad to the left, Percival to the right," it said. "Robin and Little John forward two, next to Ace."

*wibbles a bit*

"This is Percival," he said, indicating a white knight, a man on horseback. "Percival protects the little boys. Like this one," he said, holding up a white pawn. "This one is Scar."

*wibbles again*

Bruce cast him a sidelong glance. He touched the white king. "This one is Father," he said softly. He put the white queen two spaces over from the king, leaving an empty space between them. "This is Mother." A pawn in between them. "This one is Bruce." Carefully, he put the knight he called Percival in front of the little pawn. "To keep him safe," he said.

*sniffles*

Alfred found his presence no bother at all. The silence between them was profound and polite, the respectful distance of two people who knew how to give each other space.

*hearts them*

Yet in the mundane details of running Wayne Manor, after months of keeping it humming and active, he felt more satisfaction than in all the spy games he had played for the last decade.

In the end, it was all duty. Duty to country, to family, to a boy with thoughts buzzing in his head.

Duty--impossible thought!--to himself.

*hearts Alfred*

Alfred bowed slightly, in part to forestall the alarming possibility that she might hug him.

Hee!

Bruce looked up from his chess piece. He didn't smile, but his eyes were shining. "Yes," he said simply, then dropped his gaze back to the chess board.

Oh, little!Bruce... *pets him*

Bruce moved the pawn to stand beside the knight. "Alfred," he said quietly.

*wibbles* *hearts little!Bruce*

Oh, this was so awesome, Jen! Eeee, Alfred fic! :D *glomps you*

[mithen.livejournal.com]

my normal comments of *pets* or *hugs* just... don't work with Alfred!

They don't, do they? Alfred is just not a hugging and petting man! :)

Eee! Disappearing!Little!Bruce!

You know, I didn't even really make that connections, lol! *facepalm* But it's funny to imagine it as a sort of early Batman move, vanishing at a moment's notice. I'd never thought of the disappearing as an introvert move, lol! But it works so well!

I had so much fun writing Bruce here! He's a lot like my niece, with fewer temper tantrums, lol (she's no angel, but she's fascinating and interesting!) And I was so glad Alfred was willing to talk to me!

[snake-easing.livejournal.com]

Wee!Bruce is so lovely. Seems a little disturbed already, yeah? Too bad Alfred wasn't there in Crime Alley to put his military training to use.

[mithen.livejournal.com]

Too bad Alfred wasn't there in Crime Alley to put his military training to use.

That would be a bizarrely cool AU, with Alfred going all kung-fu on the gunman. :D Well, an AU scene, since after that things would probably settle into non-Batmanny tedium, lol...