DISCLAIMER: Some dialogue is straight from Batman Begins. I take no ownership of that dialogue; all rights go to Batman and associated parties.
Alfred began his morning the same way he had for years. He woke around dawn and made no delay in starting the day. After getting washed up and making his bed, he went first to the kitchen, placing a kettle on the stove. The house was quiet, but cozy. Everything was at peace at this hour; it was his few moments to gather himself and prepare a list of everything that needed to be done.
"Let's see..." he muttered to himself, "Master Wayne's birthday is coming up, must get some more done with the party plans…"
The kettle began to squeal, Alfred rose from his seat and quickly prepared a cup of tea and grabbed a jar of biscuits from the cupboard. So many years of this work, everything he did was muscle memory. There was comfort in that for him, knowing everything in the home better than he knew himself; he knew every nook and cranny and what was in it.
He sat back down to continue his list, "I wonder how late Master Bruce will sleep today, can't imagine how late he was out."
Alfred finished his tea and went about his day, roaming the halls and ensuring everything was clean and in its place. Most areas of the house were only used when he did his morning walks, so nothing was really out of place or in need of cleaning. Dusting as he went, the sun soon broke on the horizon, illuminating the halls with a beautiful peach color.
He returned to the foyer and opened the door, like clockwork the paper was at the door. The front-page story showed a picture of the crime boss, Falcone, strung up on the fog light, his coat torn and looking very bat-like.
"The work of Master Bruce, how fitting," Alfred thought to himself. He continued to leaf through the paper, looking for the continuation of the front article. He stopped searching when he noticed another picture, this time it was of a nameless criminal displayed in a glass case at the subway station. This article was separate from the main headline, but still to do with Bruce's adventures from the night before.
Work of the Bat? by Jennifer Young
As Gotham slept, a new visitor in town lit up the sky. It seems Gotham has its very own vigilante, in the most theatrical of ways. Though there were no eyewitness reports, the view of a well-known crime boss strung up on a fog light is enough evidence to suggest a citizen has decided enough is enough, daring to stand up and reclaim Gotham. Aside from stringing up the big fish, our vigilante has struck down a low level pawn in the crime game being played in this city. Our hero seems to already be very busy; taking on such feats will create fear in the hearts of the corrupt, thus making their behavior more erratic and desperate. One must wonder if our hero is prepared to take on such a task…
The bustle of the city below woke her, not that she could really sleep anyway. Adrenaline was still pumping through her veins; it had been quite some time since she had put on the suit and went out in to the night. Bruce brought back the spark that she had been missing for so long. Years of running and hiding had kept her from truly living, out of fear that it would draw too much attention to her.
She tried to always stay at least two steps ahead of them, but the League of Shadows was relentless. But she wasn't alone anymore. Now that she had Bruce, she could finally be safe; that is if he would be willing to open up and work with her. The problem was that first she had to open up and let him in.
She rose from her makeshift bed and went to her closet, moving aside the clothes and revealing the secret compartment. There in a case stood her suit; it was her original League uniform, with a few minor modifications. She had thrown out the mask and replaced it with a long, hooded cloak. She put a hand on the chest piece, running her hand along the textured surface, relishing in the familiarity. Though she hasn't had a true home in many years, this suit was home. The cape's material was soft and smooth, she wrapped it around her hand and contemplated what material Bruce's must be, and how she could get ahold of some. Maybe if she could glide the way he could, it wouldn't be so hard to keep up.
She wanted desperately to visit Wayne Manor, wanting Bruce to confront her about the note. She wanted him to make her open up, then she could finally have a confidant. Then she could finally stop feeling so alone. She checked the clock, it was barely after noon; there was no way Bruce was already up since they were out so late. Needing to kill time, she decided a hot bath would be the best way to clear her mind.
She submerged herself in the steaming water, her muscles relaxing almost immediately. She sank down in to it as low as she could and shut her eyes, letting the quiet of the room surround her; not that it was truly quiet with the bustle outside. She leaned her head on the side of the tub, slowly opening her eyes. The fluorescent lights were already rough on her; she made a mental note to invest in some lamps, maybe a candle or two. She wasn't sure how long she'd be in Gotham, but she figured it'd be long enough to make the place feel a little more like a home. She rose up slightly, noticing the black fabric strewn across the countertop, her mask. In her haste this morning she had forgotten to put her mask back with the rest of the suit. It was an odd sensation, staring into the eyes of the mask, the one she'd donned on so many missions.
She shut her eyes and leaned back in the tub. She felt around the floor for her washcloth, finally grasping it she wet it before placing the cloth over her face, hiding her eyes from the light. Not too long after she drifted off to sleep.
Sunlight flooded the bedroom, immediately waking Bruce from his sleep, "Bats are nocturnal," he groaned and slowly sat up.
"Bats, maybe, but even for you three o'clock is pushing it! The price of leading a double life, I fear."
Alfred sat the tray of Bruce's breakfast down on the side-table, handing him the newspaper.
"Your theatrics made an impression."
"Theatricality and deception are powerful weapons, Alfred; it's a start." Bruce rose from bed, revealing the many bruises on his bare chest, and opened the paper to view the full front-page article.
"If those are to be the first of many injuries, it would be wise to find a suitable excuse." Alfred considered for a moment, "Polo, for instance."
Bruce scowled, "I'm not learning polo, Alfred."
"Strange injuries, a nonexistent social life, these things beg the question of what exactly Bruce Wayne does with his time, and his money."
Bruce finished his smoothie in one big gulp. He rose from his position and stood next to Alfred, "What does someone like me do?" He fell forward into push-ups, going painfully fast.
Alfred watched on, "Drive sports cars, date movie stars, buy things that are not for sale. Who knows, Master Wayne, if you start pretending to have some fun, you might even have a little by accident."
Alfred rose from his chair while Bruce continued, he made his way to the door before turning back, "By the way, there's a second article in the paper. It's of the other display you made last night, quite a good read I must say."
Bruce paused; he only displayed Falcone, nothing else. He stopped the push-ups and stood, reaching for the paper. He read through the front article before leafing through the rest of the paper, stopping when he found the image of the thug that had trailed Rachel displayed at the subway station. He paced the room as he read the article. This wasn't his work, so who was it? He never noticed anyone else. But this journalist, Jennifer Young, perhaps she could answer his question.
He laid the paper down on the bed and shuffled around the room to start getting ready. His attention was drawn to the mirror, where a small piece of paper was folded and tucked in to the corner. When he reached for it, a blue petal fell from the inside. His heart skipped a beat at the sight of the flower. Opening the paper, he noticed it was written on his personal stationary.
Bruce, last night was fun. By now you should have noticed my work from last night. You're very well trained, and you seem to have the hang of this at this point. But it will get more difficult, and you will need me. We will make a great team when the time comes. I'll see you soon; we have work to do.
She was with him, all night. She was in his room. How was it that Bruce hadn't once noticed her? The League of Shadows had trained them both, yet somehow she had bested him. Bruce wanted answers, and he was going to get them tonight.