It had been Alfred's habit for many years past to do the grocery shopping on Wednesday mornings. He had found through trial and error that that was the time when his preferred market was the least crowded and the produce the freshest, and as such he marked those hours out on his calendar each week.
Now, though, he sighed as he studied the half-empty refrigerator, that simply wouldn't do. He had hoped that he might be able to keep to his old schedule despite the introduction of the boy into the household, but it was proving impossible. As it was he had already had to postpone his replenishing of the larders once in order to take the child to a court-mandated appointment, and this was only the second week of his residence. He didn't mind, per se – he liked the youth, and he certainly had no reason to complain about the changes his presence had already caused in Bruce – but it was going to take some getting used to.
As he fretted over the lack of broccoli for dinner it occurred to him that Sunday morning might prove an adequate substitute to his usual mid-week trip. The market opened early enough, and he should manage to avoid the weekend crowds so long as he completed his tasks before eleven or so. He generally strove to ensure that he was home and available to his charge on non-business days, but the cabinets were embarrasingly bare and he couldn't stand it. If he left soon there was even a good chance that he would be back before either of them got up. He would go now, he nodded to himself, and fix them the freshest eggs Gotham had to offer when he returned.
His hand was on the front door's latch a few minutes later. Pausing, he ran back over his preparations. A list of needed goods crackled in his pocket; his wallet with the credit cards linked to the Manor's household accounts was tucked neatly in his free palm; he'd left a note on the kitchen counter on the off chance that one of the pair sleeping upstairs awoke during his absence. Everything was correct and in place.
"...Alfred?"
The small voice stopped him in his tracks. Releasing the knob and turning around, he found the child standing three risers from the bottom of the steps. He had dressed for the day, he noted, but was still swiping sleep from his eyes. "Good morning, Master Dick. You're up rather early." He paused. "Is everything all right?"
"Um...yeah. I guess so." His tone was unconvincing, and after a moment he gave up the truth. "I had a nightmare."
"I see." A vague hesitation caused him to hold his tongue beyond that acknowledgement. While he had plenty of experience in calming the bad dreams of children wounded by fate, Bruce had evinced an obsession with handling those that visited the youth, and he didn't want to step on the man's toes. At the same time, he could hardly leave the poor thing to suffer on his own in a still-strange house. "I take it that Master Wayne is still abed?"
"Uh-huh. I tried to wake him up, but he must be really tired, 'cause he just rolled over. Then I tried to go back to bed, but...I can't sleep anymore right now. So I thought I'd come find you. I got dressed, though," he pointed out. "Bruce said you don't like it when we come down all rumply in the morning."
"Did he? Well, then..." He was at an impasse. The young master wasn't quite old enough to be left home alone, and even if he had been such an abandonment would be cruel in light of his bad dream. On the other hand, he simply had to get to the market, and before much longer too. Part of the brilliance of making the trip this morning had been that Bruce was home to tend to the boy. That advantage seemed to have fled along with the child's ability to sleep, however, so he resigned himself to the inevitable. "I was just on my way out to do the shopping," he informed the pointed face whose attention hadn't wandered while he'd wrestled with his options. "Would you care to accompany me?"
The bright blue eyes that reminded him so distinctly of the shade Bruce's had been before tragedy darkened them opened wide. "Can I?! That would be so neat!" Jumping the last three steps, he scampered to the butler's side. "I've never been to a rich-people grocery store. Are you sure it's okay?"
"It's perfectly fine, young sir," he assured, moved once again by the strange combination of eagerness and uncertainty that Dick had displayed on several previous occasions. "Come along, and we'll add your name to the note I left on the counter for Master Wayne. We don't want him to wake up and think you've vanished."
"No, that would be bad."
Well, then, they would go together after all, he chuckled as they headed for the kitchen. It wouldn't be the fastest grocery shopping he'd ever undertaken, not with an eight-year-old in tow, but perhaps he might learn a little something about his new charge in those extra minutes. That, at least, would make the delay worth it.
"Woooow..."
Alfred glanced down at his shopping companion. The boy's amazement at the size of the store they had entered was enchanting, and his lips twitched into a near-grin as he took in his expression. "Shall we begin, young sir?"
"Yeah! I'll get a cart!"
"Very well." He watched as the youth skipped over to the corral and chose a basket. "Is that the one?"
"Yup! Where do we start?"
"Hmm...I'll tell you what," he proposed, pulling out the list and a pen. "Why don't you be in charge of directions? Everything is grouped into its department, so you needn't worry if you don't know what something is. All you have to do is read off what we need and then cross it out once we've put it in the basket."
Dick hesitated. "Um..."
"...Something the matter, young sir?"
"No...it's just...well..." He glanced around, seeming to check that they were still alone in the vestibule. "Mom used to let me do that," he whispered finally. "She said it was good reading practice."
"Ah." It wasn't a propitious start to their trip, and Alfred knew he needed to reverse the mood before it settled in and ruined the entire experience. "If you'd prefer not to be in charge of the list, Master Dick, it's quite understandable," he excused him gently. "Would you rather act as runner and fetch the things I ask you to?"
"Could I instead? Please?"
"Of course."
They made their way to produce first. The stacks of colorful fruits and vegetables never failed to take Alfred back to the foreign open-air markets he had known many years before, and he had a tendency to linger over his choices. Dick, it seemed, was just as pleased with their first stop. The tears that had been perched on the edges of his eyelids a moment before dried up without falling, and before long he had disentangled his fingers from the cart in order to venture a short distance ahead.
Relieved, the butler began meting out assignments. Lettuce, cabbage, artichoke, and kale all went into the basket without any questions or difficulty. He sent the boy to fetch a bag of potatoes, then became so caught up in an examination of the broccoli that he didn't hear him return.
"...I can't get them in the basket," an apologetic pant finally drew his attention.
He turned to find him laboring under a package that weighed a fifth of what he did. He'd wrapped both of his arms around the slippery plastic, hugging it to his chest in order to waddle back with it. "I'm sorry, young sir," Alfred said, bending to take the load. "It should have occured to me that you might have trouble with such a large delivery."
"It's okay," Dick answered, frowning down at the front of his sweater and brushing away a little loose dirt. "I got them, I just couldn't lift them over my head, that's all."
"Well, you did an admirable job. No one can accuse you of shirking your task, that's for certain."
"That's good. I don't want people to think I'm lazy."
"I don't think you need worry about that. But tell me, do you like broccoli? No, I thought probably not," he nodded when the child wrinkled his nose. "That's fine; today's selection is sub-par in any case. This small amount will have to suffice." Bruce would be happy to see fewer greens than usual on his plate this evening, anyway.
They worked their way into fruit, and suddenly Alfred didn't have to ask questions in order to learn about his new charge. Dick had never had pineapple that didn't come from a can, it was revealed, so they selected a fresh one as a treat. He all but licked his lips as they stood in front of the strawberries, so an extra container was purchased and a promise of shortcake made. Red apples were boring, came a childish report, so a few green ones had to come along for afternoon snacks. Limes were yummy, lemons gross, and tropical fruits, many of which had not yet crossed the young palate, were fascinating.
The youth professed a great knowledge of oranges from several winters spent in Florida and southern Spain, so he was sent off to fetch a few for the fridge. Busy weeding out grapes – the selection really was abysmal in comparison to Wednesdays, he sighed – Alfred didn't ken to how many minutes had elapsed until a giggle reached his ears. Frowning, he looked up. There was no one nearby save a solitary woman looking over the olive bar, leaving only one possible source of the sound. Just as he was about to call out, a bright sphere sailed in an arc above a pile of peaches. It was as good as a flare, and he chased it with one eyebrow raised. "Master Dick!" he exclaimed as he rounded the corner.
Two of the three clementines that had been airborne plopped into waiting palms. The third hit the floor with an odd splat that made both man and boy wince. "Oh...'m sorry, Alfred," Dick murmured as he stared at the fallen fruit. "I didn't mean to be bad."
"...Were you just juggling with those, young sir?" He knew he should be upset with him for ruining a perfectly good piece of citrus, but he couldn't manage the feat. The laugh he had overheard had been the happiest to leave the child's throat since he'd come to the manor, and if he dampened it with a lecture on propriety he feared he might quash it permanently. Besides that, juggling was a trick which he had secretly tried to learn on more than one occasion, but to no avail. To know an eight-year-old who had mastered it was mind-blowing.
"I, um...yes. I'm sorry. I won't do it again." As if to seal his promise, Dick put the two clementines he had caught back in the stack and bent to pick up the third. "...I don't know what we should do with this one. It's kind of squishy now."
"Give it here, and we'll turn it in when we see an employee. As for your actions, don't apologize for having juggled, only for what you chose to do so with." Reading confusion on his face, he clarified. "Try to refrain from using foodstuffs to practice your circus tricks. We'll speak to Master Wayne about procuring you the proper equipment."
"Really?! That would be so neat! I only used these because they were the right size, you know? They were kind of off, though, since they're not perfectly round." Grinning now that he could be certain he wasn't in trouble, he handed over the third fruit. "Here's the broken one."
Their expedition continued in high spirits through the rest of their produce shopping. The only sober moment came when Dick was made to apologize to one of the stockers for the ruined clementine. He was perfectly serious in his regret, especially when Alfred offered to pay for the mishap. The aproned woman they were speaking with waved them away, however, wearing an indulgent smile and commenting that 'boys will be boys.' It wasn't quite the reaction that the butler had expected, but he let it go. His charge seemed to understand why what he'd done was wrong, and that was enough for now.
They moved through the meats next, where he had to smile at the child's giddy reaction to the neat trays of seafood. A few minutes later he hummed in amusement as Dick pressed his finger against a plastic-wrapped piece of beef tongue and made an awful face. His delight waned somewhat in the dairy department, where the youth could hardly stand to be parted from the massive selection of fine cheeses before he'd had a chance to sound out all of the tongue-twisting names. "Come along, young sir," he requested for the third time, drawing him away from the glass. "We have yet to visit the dry goods and the bakery, and we need to hurry."
"Aw, why do we need to hurry? There's so much to see..."
"I understand, dear boy, but you'll notice that the crowds are beginning to catch us up." Indeed, they no longer had whole sections to themselves as they had at the start, but instead found themselves making way for other customers and even, from time to time, having to wait to access a product. "We need to finish our chore here and get home so that I can fix you...breakfast..."
"Alfred? What's wrong?"
Had he really been in such a rush that he'd taken the child straight from his bed and out to the store without so much as a crumb of food? Giving a mental tsk at his own short-sightedness, he shook his head. "My apologies, young sir, but I failed to feed you this morning, didn't I?"
Dick just shrugged. "You were almost out the door when I stopped you. It's okay."
"It is no such thing. One of my primary tasks is to ensure that you and Master Wayne are well fed, and I very much dropped the ball-"
"The clementine?"
"-on that count this morning. Good heavens, I don't know what came over me..." A hundred excuses ran through his head, chief among them the disruption of his schedule that the boy's arrival had caused. None of them felt sufficient, however, and he persisted in blaming himself. No wonder the child had grown a bit whiny back at the cheese counter; he must be half-starved, and here they were still an hour and some minutes from home...it simply wouldn't do.
Fortunately there was little that they needed in dry goods, and the bakery was giving out free samples of a new cherry-rye concoction whose aroma caused Dick to bite his lip in anticipation. They both took a half-slice, but as soon as they were out of sight of the stand's attendant Alfred pressed his serving into his charge's hand. "Here, young sir, have mine as well. I've eaten, and can wait for lunch."
"You're sure?"
"Quite sure. Go on." It was paltry compensation for neglect in the butler's book, but the boy just gave him a happy smile and accepted.
They were halfway through checking out when Dick let out a low, interested coo. "They have a restaurant in here?" he asked, pointing.
"Let's keep our fingers contained, please. As for a restaurant..." He turned, frowning, to see what he was talking about. "Ah, the yogurt stand," he caught on. "Yes, that is a part of the store."
"Is it good?"
"I'm afraid I don't know. I've never tried it. Thank you," he said to the cashier before turning to push the loaded cart towards the door.
"...I'll bet it's good," Dick remarked as they passed the entrance to the side attraction.
Alfred stopped, suddenly understanding that this was the boy's way of asking for some of what the yogurt bar was selling. His manner of doing so was so unlike that of Bruce at the same age that he'd nearly missed it altogether. His elder charge would have said flatly that he wanted yogurt, and yogurt he would have gotten; Dick, on the other hand, was giving him every opportunity to say no, or even to walk past without acknowledging the subtle request. Whether that tactic was the result of a childhood spent thus far in something approaching poverty or simply a side effect of his more genial nature, he didn't know. He supposed that it didn't really matter. What did matter, however, was that this was a chance for him to fix his oversight of breakfast. "Would you like to try it, young sir?"
"Could I? Please? I've never gotten yogurt in a cup like that before, with stuff mixed in it."
"Of course."
Five minutes later they finally exited the market. Alfred hustled the boy into the car before he unloaded, then handed the empty cart off to a parking lot jockey. Taking up his position behind the wheel, he glanced into the back seat and found Dick beaming around the plastic spoon in his mouth. "Is it as good as you'd hoped?" he inquired.
"It's delicious! Do you want to try?"
"No, no, you eat it. You need something to hold you until I can put everything away and cook breakfast. Although at this point in the day," he considered as the dash clock lit up, "I might as well make it lunch."
"Okay. But you should try it sometime. It's good."
"I shall bear that in mind, Master Dick."
Neither spoke again for some time, Dick busy with his yogurt, Alfred dwelling on the two and a half hours that had just passed. It was only as they were rising into the hills that the silence was broken. "...Alfred?"
"Yes, young sir?"
"Do you go shopping there every Sunday morning?"
"I usually go on Wednesdays, as a matter of fact. This week was unusual."
"Oh. Well...do you think I can come with you again next time? I mean...I had fun. I promise I won't juggle anything next time if you let me go back."
"...You enjoyed this outing, then?" Alfred asked, shocked. What child enjoyed a trip to the grocery store, particularly when sugary cereals and candy weren't on the shopping list?
"Yeah. Didn't you?"
"I...do you know, Master Dick, I rather did enjoy it," he replied, realizing as he spoke that it was the truth. "I must say that it was the most interesting trip to the grocer's that I've had in some time." He paused, considering the first question that had been broached. "I wouldn't mind your company in the future in the least, if you're truly interested."
"And maybe next time we could sit down in the store and both have yogurt? Like, together? That would be fun, don't you think?"
He raised his eyes from the road for a moment to glance at the hopeful face behind him. What had he been thinking this morning when he'd wanted to go shopping alone? In retrospect, he would have missed out on a great deal. "...I don't see how it could be anything but fun, young sir," he answered firmly. "We shall have to try it."
"Hooray!"