To some men, Bruce Wayne would never grow up. To them he would forever be the young, bright-eyed boy following his father into Wayne Towers and glancing up at the high ceilings and tall windows in pure awe. He would forever be the freckle-faced youngster running breathlessly through the gardens and trying to look mature at social functions, dressed smartly in little tuxedos, tailor-made to match his father's. Youthful, bright and innocent.
Alfred was one of these men, and possibly best placed to observe the many changes the years had brought. Bruce Wayne was now a young man, tall, handsome, determined, intelligent and responsible, everything his parents could have hoped for, and more, after all, surely they'd never foreseen their son becoming a caped crime-fighter, skipping across the rooftops of Gotham by night and running a multi-billion dollar corporation by day, using the technology department of said company to enable his alter-ego to jet himself up the side of skyscrapers, jump out of planes and other things Alfred tried regularly not to think about.
He was a grown man of course, there was no denying it, as anyone who had the misfortune to cross Batman could have confirmed, but it didn't change things. Not really. Deep down, Bruce Wayne was still the same little lad who had stood sombrely amongst the funeral party, who had buried his head into the older man's chest and sobbed for his parents, the same child he had, for the best part, raised.
Try as he might, Alfred would always be a mother hen.
He opened the door one-handed, the other carefully balancing a loaded tray and trying hard not to tip everything across the polished wooden floor of the penthouse, lamenting the days when such things had seemed easier. Once upon a time a sense of balance had come as standard, nowadays it seemed more like a part-time lodger, he never knew whether it was going to show up or not. Luckily however, he knew who was at the door and so was at least able to defer the usual greeting people expected of the Wayne family butler and return the other hand to help steady the tray instead. The man on the other side of the door stepped in calmly, shutting it behind him and shrugging off his coat.
"Lucius."
"Alfred."
"Is Mr. Wayne here?"
"He's in the media room."
Although Alfred hated calling it that. Essentially the multi-media room was just a lounge with a TV the size of a bus and a sound-system that triggered earthquakes along the San Andreas fault, but since the penthouse already had a designated 'lounge area,' this one with only a small TV, the media room had been born and was in fact one of the few areas Bruce actually used, albeit usually when sent there to 'unwind' by Alfred.
The two men headed off in silence, the three walls of floor-to-ceiling windows bouncing the sound of their footsteps back towards them with rhythmic echoing.
"You know, I'll be glad when the manor's rebuilt," Alfred commented dryly as they went, "It's like living in a squash court here."
Lucius smiled.
"How's that going?"
"Good as far as I know. Master Wayne hopes to be back in by Christmas, but when it comes to builders you never really know what you're getting."
A short silence fell between them as they continued across the cavernous apartment, each unable to voice the depths of the situation that had just befallen them all. Words not enough to convey the magnitude of events. Things would get better again, they neither of them doubted that, but as for Bruce, as for what he had gone through, that would take longer. Lucius had seen him asleep at work, Alfred had seen the still-made bed each morning and both men were quietly worried.
"Will he be ok?"
Lucius was the first to broach the subject, the question one to which he ultimately knew the answer but in that uncertain moment, with half the city baying for Batman's blood, a 'murdered' district attorney not to mention a dead childhood sweetheart, he needed Alfred's assurances on the matter.
The Englishman didn't miss a beat, continuing to stride across the floor, face forward, tone even.
"In time," he stopped suddenly outside one of the doors, pausing with one hand on the handle to flash Lucius an optimistic smile, "If we can get him to sleep that is," and with that, he opened the door and stepped cheerfully into the room, "Mr. Fox to see you sir."
He stopped short on seeing his master, so suddenly that Lucius almost collided into the back of him before following his gaze curiously.
Bruce Wayne was asleep. Spread on his side along one of the sofas, eyes shut, face for once relaxed, the TV remote dangling limply from one hand.
"Well," Alfred whispered softly as the images from the television flickered brightly in the background, "Thank God for that."
Setting the tray down gently to one side, the butler stepped forward to ease the remote from Bruce's hand, switching off the television in the process and instantly plunging the room into blissful silence. He turned to Lucius with a smile,
"Can it wait?"
The other man smiled back, nodding gently as his eyes fell upon his boss, upon Batman, upon young Bruce Wayne.
"It can wait."
Turning towards the door with an expression of sheer relief, Alfred re-collected the tray, offering it in Lucius' direction,
"Cup of tea?"
"I think I've got time for that."
Quietly they both left the room, their heavy hearts having lifted slightly at the sight before them. To some men, Bruce Wayne would never grow up. Alfred was one of these men, Lucius was another. As long as he was sleeping they could relax. True Bruce Wayne didn't need protection, true he could take on a gang of armed men in one-to-one combat and successfully evade the entire resources of Gotham City PD, but at the end of the day he was still only human and even he needed to recharge sometimes. Which was fine as long as he had people reminding him to do so, which they would, always.
As they strolled calmly back across the floor, Lucius smiled, turning his head in Alfred's direction,
"Squash court eh?" he inquired casually, a broad grin spreading across his face as the butler looked round at him, "You know, I've got racquets in my car."
With the silence of the early morning all around them Alfred smiled back at him knowingly, a strange sense of optimism piercing the air. Things would get better. Slowly maybe, but they would.
"Best two out of three perhaps?"