Arthur stumbled drunkenly out of the building, the well-lit party creating a halo around his lonesome form. The whole night had sunk away into a faint memory, dulled by alcoholic pleasure. He swerved about and tired to find his way home.
New York was a dark maze at night, especially to the British man who'd lived there for only a short period of time. Still, drunk and confused he seemed to gravitate in the right direction. He was only a few blocks away when the two men approached him from either side.
"Hey, buddy." One of them growled coarsely, both of them grabbing Arthur by the arms and directing him towards a nearby alley. "We wanna talk to you..."
"I'm sorry gentleman, I'm not that kind of man." Arthur slurred with a smirk. "You'll have to find another way to relieve your sexual frustrations."
"Yeah, real funny." The second man said gruffly. Then he pulled out a cold shining knife from his pocket. "Your wallet. Now."
"I must have left it in my other pants. How careless of me." Arthur chuckled, but his humor and wit only earned him the knife against his throat.
"We're not looking for a funny man, we're looking for your wallet." The mugger hissed, spit flying from his mouth. Arthur felt his snark drain away as the knife bit into his skin, and he was just about to give in.
"Hey, boys." A third voice cut through the darkness and Arthur turned his head to see a massively tall shadow standing at the mouth of the alley. "A little late to be out, isn't it?"
"Keep walking, mind your own business." The man removed the knife from Arthur's throat and waved it at Arthur's would be savior.
"Nu uh, that's just not how heroes work!" The shadowy figure argued.
Heroes...? What is this nonsense? Somebody find me a more rational savior. Arthur thought dryly.
"You stupid or something?" The mugger growled and his buddy clenched his fists.
"I'm not stupid." The voice laughed a loud and ridiculous laugh. "I'm Superman."
Then the stranger grabbed the first mugger by his shirt collar and lifted him off the ground with a show of surprising show of strength. Then he tossed him aside as easily as he might toss a used tissue into the trash can. The mugger with the knife yelled, and he charged the self-proclaimed Superman. The stranger just gave him a well-aimed punch to the noise that sent the man to the ground where his head cracked against the pavement. The stranger laughed again and then turned to Arthur.
"You okay, dude?" He asked, real concern in his voice. Arthur just collapsed to his knees and shook his head.
"Oi, mate. I don't think I can stand..."
Arthur woke up in his bed wearing his pajamas and a bathrobe, unsure of how he'd gotten there. He lay there for a moment, just letting the hangover seep into his body. Then he got up and went to the bathroom to brush his teeth and get the taste of booze out of his mouth. He looked in the mirror and winced at his bloodshot eyes and bedhead, he really looked like hell. He walked into the kitchen, planning on mulling over the events of the previous night over a cup of tea. That was when he saw the huge man sleeping on the couch.
"What the bloody hell...?" He groaned. It wasn't the first time he'd taken someone home, but surely it was the first time they'd ended up on the couch. Besides those days were behind him, he was a much more dignified drunk now.
The man on the couch stirred at his words, and blinked upon impossibly blue eyes. He stretched and grabbed a pair of glasses off the coffee table, sliding them up the bridge of his nose.
"Mornin'." He smiled. His dirty blonde hair was sticking out every which way, one piece in the front a little more determinedly than all the others.
"Who are you?" Arthur asked, crossing his arms and cutting right to the chase.
"I'm hurt, you leaned on me all the way home and I helped you when you puked, you can't even remember my name?" The man laughed, clearly not as offended as his words implied.
Puked? God...
"Sorry, I was a tad inebriated. Name?" Arthur sighed, wanting nothing more than his tea and some quiet.
"Alfred. Alfred F. Jones, at your service." The man sat up straight and for the first time Arthur noticed the camouflage jacket slung over the back of the couch which matched the man's camouflage pants. That, paired with the dogtags around the man's neck, led Arthur to the man's occupation. A soldier then, and his voice was so familiar...
"Wait a minute...Superman?" Arthur realized, pointing at the solider.
"The one and only." Alfred winked. "Well not exactly. I'm no Clark Kent, but that's what my friends call me."
"Oh god." Alfred rubbed at his temples. "I really puked?"
"Oh yes." Alfred stood up. "Got any coffee? I don't feel right until after my third cup."
"Coffee?" Arthur said the word with disgust, watching the blonde youth begin to search the kitchen pantries.
"Whoa, three bottles of vodka but no Reese's Puffs." Alfred whistled. "Well...that's a lifestyle."
"You get out of there!" Arthur snarled. "I don't see why I'm obligated to feed you!"
"Well I did save your ass last night." Alfred shrugged. "I think that's worth a bowl of cereal."
"Fine." Arthur snapped. "You have a point. There's no coffee...absolutely no coffee, but there's food in the fridge so knock yourself out."
Alfred smiled and gave that loud charismatic laugh of his and Arthur made himself busy fetching tea. All he could think about was getting rid of that pesky man. That pesky Superman.