CRACKED
*CHAPTER 3*
ALFRED'S POV
As Alfred entered the kitchen, he noted the sun peering in through the curtains, the morning dew glittering across the expansive lawns of Wayne Manor. How ironic, Alfred mused, that such a beautiful day can be tainted by so much suffering.
Burying such saddening thoughts, he began to prepare some light breakfast for Master Bruce-just some toast and scrambled eggs, something light for an uneasy stomach. The boy had finally fallen back to sleep, albeit a fitful one, and had remained so for about an hour. Not enough, but most definitely a start. Bruce had woken up only moments before and had headed to the bathroom, unintentionally waking Alfred with his movement. Alfred had slipped out of the room before Bruce returned. While he waited for the toast to pop, he heard slow, limping footsteps enter the room. He heard Bruce sit down, but did not turn immediately to face him; instead, he waited until he had loaded up the young man's plate and poured him a tall glass of juice.
Alfred closed his eyes, preparing himself for the sight behind him. He inhaled deeply, reminded himself to smile, and turned.
"Good morning, Master Wayne," he beamed.
"Morning, Alfred." Still little more than a whisper. The face was deathly pale, gaunt as any he had ever seen. Dark circles cast a shadow over haunted eyes.
"I've prepared a little breakfast."
Bruce looked up, his lips ghosting a smile. "Not so hungry this morning, Alfred."
Alfred sighed. He had expected as much. Removing the plate from the table, he replied. "Very well, then, sir. But I must insist you drink your juice."
This seemed good enough for Bruce, who downed the glass in a gulp and began to rise.
Alfred raised a hand. "If you would wait just one moment, Master Bruce."
When Bruce sat back down, Alfred began, "Sir, Miss Dawes's funeral service is to take place tomorrow morning," he hesitated, watching as Bruce visibly shrank, seeming to collapse in on himself, "And Mrs. Dawes was hoping that you attend."
"Send her my regards, Alfred," the odd cracking had returned to the voice, but Bruce quickly worked to correct it, replacing it with a much more guarded tone. "I won't be attending."
"Master Bruce, if I may say so, it would likely do your heart good to go...we both know how much Miss Dawes meant to you. What she meant to both of us, ever since the two of you were children running up and down these halls," Alfred spoke cautiously, waiting for the time bomb to go off.
And it did.
Bruce shot him a glare. "DON'T you assume that you know anything about this, Alfred. I can't go."
"And why not, sir?"
"I just can't. You know why." Bruce reddened with anger.
"I do, sir, and I can only imagine how hard it will be for you," he broke off, waiting, "but you must go."
"No." No anger now, just a cold, emotionless resolution. A wall, as if that simple word could block out everything.
Alfred made it a point to catch the young man's gaze. He swallowed, knowing what could result from his next remark. "I do know, sir, if nothing else, the Dawes family served your parents at this very manor for years. You owe them your presence at the least."
SLAM.
"How dare you," Bruce hissed. For a moment, Alfred honestly believed that Bruce would hit him. "HOW. DARE. YOU." He pounded his fist down on the table, rose from his seat as quickly as his injuries would allow, and ascended the stairs.
Alfred turned on his heel and headed after him, unabashed. He was well acquainted with Master Wayne's sometimes volatile temper. In fact, it was interactions like this that characterized much of Bruce's adolescent years. Leaving the room was Bruce's equivalent of restraint, escape, even, before he said anything or did anything he would regret. It could get tense between the two of them, certainly, but he also knew that sometimes, it was the only way to get through the Wayne stubbornness.
He knocked twice on the bedroom door, then pushed it gently open. Bruce sat at the edge of the bed, hand clutching his abdomen. He showed no awareness of Alfred's presence. Alfred leaned heavily against the doorframe, watching the broad shoulders as they faced away from him.
"Are you very sore today, Master Bruce?"
"I can't do it, Alfred. I just can't."
"I think you doubt your own strength, sir."
"I can't do it alone."
"And what if you didn't have to?"
Bruce turned, staring at Alfred as if frozen. His face flickered with several emotions, morphing too quickly for Alfred to identify. "Thank you, Alfred."
A/N: Sorry this is isn't very long, nor very good, but I should have the next chapter ready in a day or two…Up next: Rachel's funeral/aftermath.
