Author's Note: Another one-shot, by request, because the melodrama is never enough....B-)
"Falter"
*****
Restraint.
Distance.
Propriety.
These are words that define me as a person, as a man dedicated to a life of service to others. I am a living routine, making sure everything is just..."so". From coffee to creases, polished silver to stitches, I do it all, with firm detachment and no nonsense.
My name is Alfred Pennyworth.
I have served the Waynes and their various compatriots for decades. I have seen the grandest extravaganzas, overflowing with affluent luxery all over the world. I have seen other things too, terrible things. In my younger years, when I was an intelligence agent, I saw my fair share of violence and duplicity. No romantic tales of quick-witted heroics could ever have prepared me for the horrors I faced then. The cold panic and fear when a perfect plan turned deadly, and the only choices were to kill or be killed.
Yes, I have seen things.
And it awakened something primal and instictive in me. A savage ruthlessness that comes with a will to survive. No ironed suit and tie can rid me of this latent darkness I carry within me.
I understand Helena's instincts for violence, better than I hope she ever understands herself.
And for all my perceived distance, my charges have become family to me. I am loathe to see the bruises and broken bones that their line of work provides, and, perhaps a little selfishly, I wish I could have prevented them. Every stitch or scrape ignites a little of that darkness within, but stoically, I keep face.
Because I am Alfred.
I have never faltered in my years of service here.
Except once.
I was aware of what she was doing, after she hypnotized me. I saw Master Brixton crumple to the ground-a forgotten plaything. I heard the phone call to Miss Barbara, with her silent steeled heartbreak echoing throughout our seemingly impenatrable fortress. I felt the gun in my hands as I aimed it at Miss Helena.
And I was powerless.
Then, suddenly, there I was, looking down at our intruder, shotgun still in hand, that old familiar instinct beckoning me to pull the trigger. To keep this family of mine away from further harm. To avenge the pain that had already been inflicted. Yes, even as the events of that night unfolded at a relentless pace, I knew things would never be the same.
I am no hero. I am not of their "code".
And they have no idea what I would do for them, my dearest family.
Because I am Alfred Pennyworth.
Quiet.
Dignified.
Discreet.
And they have no idea.