Alfred came two days after Tim's visit, armed with some mail for Dick that had been delivered to Gotham, and food . Tim had clearly been through the fridge during his visit.

"I hope you brought cookies," he said smiling, as he helped him unpack the food, only too glad that he'd cleared the fridge of the mouldy food since a certain sneak's visit.

"Of course, Master Dick."

It was when he turned around to stack the containers of frozen lasagna inside the fridge, that he realised Tim might have sneaked on more than just the state of his fridge. He couldn't see the expression on Alfred's face, but he could certainly feel it. Disapproval was evident. For a fleeting second he hoped Alfred hadn't noticed anything but then the older man coughed.

Dick sighed silently and straightened and turned around slowly, wondering if Bruce would have been told too.

"Uh…" he said, and shrugged.

Alfred said nothing. And so Dick found himself speaking instead.

"I suppose Tim told you about this," he tried, gesturing towards the back of his neck, "I – well… I was going to have it seen to… but then -"

"You thought you take care of it yourself," Alfred supplied, blandly.

"Well – uh, yes. Wasn't very difficult…"

Alfred clearly didn't agree. He grasped Dick by his arm and turned him.

"Hmm…," he murmured disapprovingly.

"I tried see… but I'd have to reach back and…"

"Then it must have been a little difficult. I suppose I'd better take care of it for you. We can't really have you going out like this, can we?"

"But I think it looks okay, honestly…"

"I'm sure you do. Now, those towels there should do just fine. If you could provide me some warm water. And a pair of scissors would help too."

Resistance, Dick could tell, would prove futile.

"I did mean to go see someone about it…" he said as he pulled the small pair of scissors out of his Swiss army knife.

"Of course," Alfred said, placing the bowl of water on the table.

"What? Don't you trust me?" Try for the injured tone, he decided, not that it would work, but a guy could try, couldn't he?

"I'm sure I do, Master Richard. You should probably sit down. This
may take a while."

"But really, you don't have to," Dick tried again, but sat obediently anyway.

"And you should really sit still," Alfred said, as he began to work.

"May one asked how this happened," he said a after a while.

He'd wondered when that all important question would come.

"Well, there were these guys in masks, and one of them… he had a knife see…"

Alfred's hands stilled, very, very briefly.

"That explains the untidiness of the cut," he finally replied, drily.

"He had on a fox mask," Dick added helpfully, as he realised the direction Alfred's thoughts may have taken. Aim to distract, always aim to distract. It probably wouldn't work, but he had to try,
didn't he?

"Oh!"

"Like Reynard."

"Ah, I see. There, that should do it."

Dick twisted his head a little. It did feel better.

"It looks much neater now, if I may say so."

"I'll bet you've wanted to do this for ages, Alfie," Dick said, grinning.

"The thought had occurred to me once or twice, Master Richard. May I suggest though, the next time, if there is to be a next time, a good hairdresser might perhaps be more adept at removing a ponytail that a man who likes to playact at being a barnyard predator?"

Dick simply grinned and ran his fingers through his newly trimmed hair. He'd been a little sick of the ponytail, but he wasn't going to admit that. Especially since Bruce had never cared for it. Perhaps he ought to thank Reynard for providing an easy way out.

A/N - I quite liked the sequence Dick lost his ponytail in. It seemed very Nightwing:)