Disclaimer: I do not own Batman.
A Far Better Rest
It's been months since Bruce became Batman again. It's been months since Alfred left him to fend for himself. And now, Alfred regrets it. He regrets every single word he said to his ward––his son––that day.
"You are as precious to me as you were to your own mother and father. I swore to them that I would protect you, and I haven't."
"This city needs Bruce Wayne, your resources, your knowledge. It doesn't need your body, or your life. That time has passed."
"You see only one end to your journey. Leaving is all I have to make you understand, you're not Batman anymore. You have to find another way. You used to talk about finishing a life beyond that awful cape."
"Remember when you left Gotham? Before all this, before Batman? You were gone seven years. Seven years I waited, hoping that you wouldn't come back. Every year, I took a holiday. I went to Florence, there's this café, on the banks of the Arno. Every fine evening, I'd sit there and order a Fernet Branca. I had this fantasy, that I would look across the tables and I'd see you there, with a wife and maybe a couple of kids. You wouldn't say anything to me, nor me to you. But we'd both know that you'd made it, that you were happy. I never wanted you to come back to Gotham. I always knew there was nothing here for you, except pain and tragedy. And I wanted something more for you than that. I still do."
"I won't bury you. I've buried enough members of the Wayne family."
But Alfred did. He had to. And now the former butler of the Wayne family stands above the grave of the man he considered to be his own son.
"One day, you'd get in trouble for being Batman and I swore I'd say 'I told you so' and I did," he whispers, "But not this time, Master Wayne. Not this time." And then the Alfred walks away, regretting the fact that he never saw Bruce after that day.
–––:–––
It's been four months now since the funeral. Now, Alfred sits in that Florentine café he told Bruce about, the one on the Arno's banks. He signals to a waiter.
"Sì, signore?"the waiter asks.
"A Fernet Branca, please," he replies. The waiter jots it down before looking back at him again.
"Anything else, signore?" The Englishman shakes his head. "No, thank you." The waiter nods and leaves. Alfred looks across his table, waiting for his coffee, and he sees someone familiar: Selina Kyle.
And then he sees a familiar man sit with her. Alfred stares at him, his eyes shocked, remembering the smooth black hair that was always styled with grace, the blue eyes that enchanted countless women. He sees the rings on their fingers and he smiles inwardly. They couldn't be anyone else.
"Your Fernet Branca, signore."
"Thank you." Alfred sips his coffee, watching the couple serenely. Bruce catches his eye and then he smiles at him. It gives the old butler some relief that Bruce's smile is genuine, not the playboy smirk he used in parties all the time.
Then it's time for Alfred to go and so he gives the couple one last look and remembers the last words he said over Bruce's grave. The old man smiles to himself, relieved. At long last, he could be at peace.
At long last, Bruce Wayne was at peace.
"It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done;
it is a far, far better rest that I go to, than I have ever known."
~Sydney Corson, A Tale of Two Cities (1859)
