A/N: Hey guys! We're back! Thanks for checking out the story, and we hope you enjoy! Feel free to check out our other fic "The Almost Mistletoe," where you'll sure be entertained! We wanted to take a more serious note on this one, and it showcases more of an Alfred story, so we hope you like it! This one was also written by my friend instead of me, so give him some love! Feel free to review, favorite, or PM us! Thanks!
We do not own any of the characters used in this story unless specifically stated otherwise. All credit goes to the Gotham writers, directors, and cast.
It was a calm night in Wayne Manor, the fire burning low and the smell of pine incense in the air. The butler, who was relatively new, as he had been only working at the manor for about three months now, was mulling over some business letters he was addressing for his charge when Thomas and Martha Wayne came into the study, with their newborn in tow.
Alfred looked up from his paperwork and smiled at the sight. He loved that child; he loved that child more than anyone would ever know. The little boy had brought so much into his life, without him even knowing it. He gave him a purpose, a reason to carry on, since his discharge of Her Majesty's service. The child he held so dear, a mere babe who could not even talk, had already changed his life in a great way. He would never forget that.
"Ahh yes, Master Wayne, Mrs. Wayne, how can I be of assistance," the butler cooed as he looked at the child. Martha Wayne smiled.
"That's actually the exact reason we wanted to talk to you," she cast a hesitant glance at her husband before continuing. "You see, Alfred. Bruce... He loves you very much, and it's obvious how much you love him. Seeing as how much of a part you will be of his raising, we figured-"
"We hoped, Martha means," her husband cut in, "that you would consider this offer."
"Why certainly sir, but, uh," the butler scratched the back of his neck, "what exactly is this offer that you speak of?"
"Oh! Right," Thomas chuckled lightly, "we wanted to ask you, if you would sign to become Bruce's legal guardian if something ever.. happened to us."
The butler stood there in front of the blazing fire, mouth agape. "Why.. Yes sir, that is quite a privilege, sir, but.. Why me? It's not that I do not want it, but isn't there someone who is more qualified for this. A nanny of some sorts, or a-"
"Alfred," Martha looked at the butler directly, "you are the only one who Bruce will even let get close to him other than Thomas or myself. We can both see the way you look at him. There's no other person we would rather have taking care of him."
"It is quite an honor to have been chosen. I only ask, may I have a day to sleep on it? I would like to consider this decision."
"Oh why yes, of course!" Thomas replied. "We understand how big of a decision this is."
"Thank you sir, madam."
"No. Thank, you, Alfred," Martha acknowledged. "We, are going to head off to bed. I think, however, we will let you put Bruce down tonight," Martha nodded, walking towards Alfred, handing him the waking child.
"It would be my pleasure," the butler said, taking the child into his arms.
.
.
.
After the work was done and the desk clean, Alfred sat in the rocking chair in front of the fire with the sleeping newborn in his arms. He looked down and the child in his arms and smiled a genuine smile, one reaching fully to his eyes.
He sighed.
What was he going to do? A child? He can't raise a child can he? That is, if something were to happen to Mr. and Mrs. Wayne, Queen forbid. How can he know? How can they know that he is the right one for the job? He's an old drunk, a bar fighter, a ruffian from the olden days. He has no business raising a child, let alone a Wayne. He has no right to even behold a child so heavenly, and he definitely cannot raise one.
The butler knew exactly what he had to do. He could not sign those papers tomorrow. The Waynes would just have to find someone more qualified for the position. He could never do that to the child he held so dear.
.
.
.
He saw it. Alfred saw the flashing lights before he even got out of the drivers cab of the limousine. He got out and wished he could have immediately gotten back in and drove as far away from the scene as he possibly could have.
Yellow tape blurred with black uniforms, and red blurred with familiar faces. Alfred looked a couple of yards in front of him to see the dead bodies of Thomas and Martha Wayne, lying on the ground, but there was no Bruce.
"Bruce! Bruce!" Alfred yelled, not receiving an answer.
"Bruce, come boy!" Alfred was terrified now, his throat clenching and his heart wrenching. The child he loved so much, so desperately was gone.
"BRUCE!" Alfred blatantly screamed, falling to his knees, tears blurring his vision. The child. His child. He was gone. The tears crashed down like the pour of a London rain. Not just any child. His child. Bruce. Bruce was gone.
What was he to do? There was no Thomas, no Martha, but especially no Bruce. The last thought hurt worse than the countless bullets he had taken. There was no Alfred without Bruce. Though he would never admit it to the boy, he could not live without him. The boy was a part of him, for good. How will he go on with a piece missing? How will he move from this low place on the ground he is rooted to? He can't breathe, he can't see. He can't even gather his thoughts. There is just numb, darkness all around. No escape from the-
"Alfred! Alfred! Please Alfred!" a small, disheveled voice cries out. Alfred looks up to finally see a small figure run out of the darkness and barrel into him.
Bruce.
And the world is lifted from the shoulders of one British man, his vision gaining light. His life becoming manageable again. He wraps his arms around the frail frame and does not let go. Not for anyone, or anything. Nothing can separate him from this life line, the one thing connecting him to this earth.
"Bruce.. I.. I thought.. I didn't see you and.." Alfred managed to stutter out.
"I was with that detective over there. I don't remember his name," Bruce stutters, his voice weak and frightful. Alfred looks up to see a man, but his face blurred. He nods his thanks to him and the strange man nods back and heads back into the darkness.
"Let's go, Bruce," Alfred stands, but does not let go of the boy. He grabs his hand, a thing he has not done to the boy in six years, but the boy does not complain.
"Alfred.."
"Yes, Master Bruce?"
"Please.. Please don't leave me too.."
"Never. I will never leave you Bruce," the butler replies, tears forming again. He ferociously wipes them away. Now is not the time. He can mourn later. All that matters now is the boy; his own grievances can be forgotten temporarily. "Alright. Now, dry your tears, Master Bruce. We must carry on. We have a time for this, but it is most certainly not now."
The boys just nods and the butler moves through the crowd of flashing cameras and greedy pens. The boy dries his tears, but no matter how many cameras flash, the butler does not let go of his hand, nor does the boy want him to.
The butler does something strange when they get to the car. He opens up the cab, and the boy does something even stranger- he climbs in the passenger seat. The butler climbs in the front and begins driving towards the manor, sneaking glances at the boy on the way home. Halfway through the drive, he feels a weight upon his arm and looks down to see a mass of dark hair against his side. He feels a single tear fall down the side of the boys face and onto his arm, and then it comes flooding down.
How could he have made this different? He should have protected the boy. The darkness and anger he feels, and the sadness and bitter taste left upon his tongue make him sick. The boy is his. The boy is his now. And the butler, though mortified, could not be more glad that he signed those papers twelve years ago, because he could not bear the thought of losing his boy again.
.
.
.
The butler woke with a start, the fireplace still burning, the boy still in his arms. Alfred looked down and the child. He loved this child so much, so desperately, that he could not even fathom what would happen if he ever lost him. In this moment, he knew exactly what he had to do. Tomorrow, he had to sign those papers. For Bruce's sake, and his, he would bear the responsibility of guardianship. He did not know if he would ever need to own up to this responsibility, but he would be damned if he let someone else take his boy away from him.
So the next morning, pen in hand and breakfast on the table, Alfred Thaddeus Crane Pennyworth signed his full name there, initial there, and printed here, all for his boy.
He did not know that his boy would end up needing him.
He did not know that his boy would become the son of Gotham.
He did not know that his boy would become the masked vigilante of Gotham City.
He did not know that his boy would fall in love with a strange little girl.
But he did know, that if his boy needed him, he would be there. No matter what the cost.