"…I always feel so lazy when I watch you work," Dick commented one afternoon as Alfred poured their tea.
The pale stream cascading from pot to cup twitched slightly, causing a momentary discord in the otherwise melodious transfer. "What on earth do you mean, young sir?" the butler inquired. "You've hardly a spare moment in your own life; surely you don't think yourself idle?"
"I don't know," the twelve-year-old shrugged. "It's just this feeling I get, like I should be doing more."
"Nonsense," the Englishman chastised gently, sliding a cup towards his charge. "You do more than most adults. There's no cause whatsoever for you to feel inadequate."
"Yeah, but…that's still how I feel. I can't help it. I've tried," the boy disclosed before sipping. "Mmm…this is a really good one. What's it called?"
"King of Silver Needles," Alfred answered, taking a small drink of his own and letting it settle in his mouth. It suffused his palate with its delicate flavor, teasing him with a hint of almost-citrus at the back of his tongue before leaving a mildly grassy aftertaste.
"…It tastes like a summer afternoon," Dick opined, "but it smells kind of funny. Like something you'd clean with."
The butler chuckled. "You've hit it on the nose, I believe, young sir. You're getting rather good at this."
"Well I am learning from the best," he grinned back.
"Your enthusiasm is flattering, but hardly accurate. Much like your belief that I am somehow busier than you are on an average day," he led back into the remark the child had opened the afternoon with. "I'd be interested to hear your theory on why you feel as such."
"Well…for one thing, you're always moving. You're up before I am, and before Bruce is, and you don't go to bed until we're home from patrol. I'll bet you stay up until Batman gets back on weeknights, too, don't you?"
"I do indeed." Heaven forbid he should need me for some emergency, he held back a shudder.
"So you get less sleep than we do, but then you're working all day long. You clean, and you make all of our food, and you manage our schedules, and you drive me back and forth to school five days a week. Sometimes you drive Bruce to work, too. Plus you do the shopping, and you make sure the cave is clean and our costumes are always ready and…and it just goes on and on! I don't even know how you do it, unless there are like fifteen clones of you running around, all sharing a hive mind, and you're just so awesome at stealth that we never see two of you in the same place." He paused. "…There is just one of you, right?"
"I assure you, young sir, that I am the original work, and that to the best of my knowledge no copies have been made," he smiled.
"…Okay. Well, I see all that, and it's like you never stop. You're always doing something. Even when we're having tea, you prepare it, you pour it, and you clean up after it. And then I think about me, and…all I do all day is sit in class, bored out of my skull because most of the time we're talking about stuff that I know already. Then I do my homework in the car, because it's so easy it takes, like, no time at all, and then after tea I usually just go read or play around on the bars downstairs. Maybe I'll work on a case, or some training stuff that Bruce assigned me, but…none of that's immediately useful, except when we're chasing something big. A lot of what I do is stuff I want to do, except for school. Even that wouldn't be bad if it wasn't so boring, though. But there's no way you want to spend all afternoon vacuuming, or all day Saturday making tiny little canapés for some party where everyone's going to be too drunk to even taste them." His shoulders slumped. "It just makes me feel like I should be doing more with my time."
Alfred took a deep breath. "Master Dick," he began slowly, "there are two things that you must understand about the differences between what you and I do with our hours. First – and don't take this as an offense, as it is certainly not intended as such – you are still a child. No matter how much you may wish to be an adult, you are not there yet. Part of the way that children grow into adults is by playing, by testing their minds and their bodies to determine their limits and learn who they are. You play by reading things that you want to read, by practicing your acrobatics and other physical skills, and by spending the time that you do with Master Wayne.
"You see these things as leisure, because as you stated they are things that you enjoy, and that you wish to do. I would argue, however, that they still constitute work, and hard work at that. The books you read are challenging, stretching your mind and making it better able to consider situations from many angles; the moves you rehearse downstairs are not idle stretching of your muscles, but rather a honing of them, and that is work in the most basic of senses. Both of those things feed into your night work, which I would point out is literally labeled as labor. No matter how much you enjoy swinging about Gotham as Robin and delivering criminals to the authorities, no one in their right mind would argue that those weekend forays are not work, nor that they are always – perhaps even usually – wholly pleasant. In that instance, you are doing work not only physically, but again mentally, both by solving the cases and by dealing with their aftermath within yourself. Despite how hard of work it really is, you persist, because you are dedicated to a cause.
"Now, as to the second point; I, too, am dedicated to a cause, and the pursuit of that cause makes all of the little tasks that lie along the way vastly more enjoyable than they would be otherwise. Yes, I spend my days cooking and cleaning up after you and Master Wayne, keeping your calendars in order and pitching in where I can on your mutual evening hobby. But I do so, and I do so happily, because I long ago took up the task of ensuring that the people who are attached to this house need not concern themselves with the daily minutiae of living that keep so many others from pursuing their true desires. I embraced my cause, and continue to hold it dear to this day, because I found people here whom I not only liked a great deal but who also seemed to be pursuing goals that had the ability to change far more lives than I was ever capable of doing on my own.
"I serve, now, yourself and Master Wayne. By taking care of the little things here at the house, I aim to ensure that the two of you are able to pursue your cause, justice, at a higher level. Because I help the two of you, you can help dozens, every night. Now, cooking three meals a day and, yes, the occasional batch of canapés may not seem to have anything to do with putting dangerous people behind bars, but I assure you that it does. It's merely an indirect factor in your performance on the streets."
"…Huh," Dick frowned when he'd finished. "I guess I never thought of taking care of us as being your mission the way taking out baddies is ours. That makes sense, but…I still never see you actually having fun, Alfred. Like, really enjoying yourself."
"Pray tell, young sir, what you think my feelings are towards our little afternoon ritual?" the butler asked, one eyebrow uplifted.
"Um…well, you're still technically serving me, so…I don't really see how it isn't just more work for you."
"Ah, but don't forget, we've already determined that work – even hard work – can be very enjoyable," he reminded, raising a finger to make his point. "Our daily teas are a fine example, in my case. The making and pouring of the tea is a ritual in and of itself that I find soothing, and have never considered to be laborious. As for actual pleasure, well…" He trailed off, then lifted his cup in a modest salute. "Pleasure is all in the company, young sir. Between yourself and Master Wayne, I find I live a life quite full of pleasure, regardless of the task at hand."
Dick blushed, then smiled radiantly. "…Thanks, Alfred." He was silent for a moment. "If that's true – what you just said – then that explains something this girl in my class said today."
"A girl, Master Dick?" the butler inquired, intrigued.
"Yeah. She said I was such a happy person it made her sick."
"…Ah." So not a pleasant girl, then. That's unfortunate; I was hoping that you had some young lady swooning. It was bound to start happening sooner rather than later, he knew, given that the boy's classmates were all two years older than him. Well, perhaps that's the problem, he reflected. You're small for your age, and younger than them on top of it; they may be ahead of you hormonally, but that won't matter if they still see you as a child. A few more years, then, perhaps. The delay will make Master Wayne happy, if nothing else, although I fear it may be frustrating for you. "Has her rather rude comment been troubling you?"
"Meh. I've had plenty worse. Besides, I don't really mind the idea of making her sick. She's not a very nice person."
"So I gathered," Alfred bit back a smirk.
"Anyway, I was thinking maybe I'm so happy because I never do any work, which I guess is why I said what I did about feeling lazy. Now, though, I know I'm just happy because I'm surrounded by awesome people. You know, when I'm not at school."
It was the butler's turn to feel humbled. "…You have been a naturally happy person as long as I've known you, young sir," he told him quietly. "And while I am infinitely glad that you are so pleased with the life that Master Wayne and myself have tried to provide for you, I must insist that we are only able to be as 'awesome' as you say we are because of the intense joy you bring into our days." They stared at each other for a long moment, the boy's lower lip trembling, the man's upper kept stiff through sheer force of will.
It was the younger of the pair who finally broke the silence. "…If we're done complimenting each other into tears, can I have another cup?" he whispered.
"Of course you may," Alfred conceded, picking up the pot. "…You won't feel idle if I pour, will you?" he asked with a tiny smile.
Dick laughed. "Nope," he beamed. "Not anymore. Besides, I wouldn't want to keep you from your pursuit of happiness," he joked.
"Quoting the Declaration of Independence to an Englishman?" he put on a false air of disdain. "Quite cheeky of you, I must say."
"Sorry, the Magna Carta just isn't as mellifluous."
"Lovely word usage. And you are correct, besides."
"Thanks."
"Not at all."
They sipped quietly. "Hey, Alfred."
"Hmm?"
"…I think I finally caught you having fun just now."
"You may have, young sir. Forgive my impropriety," he jested slightly.
"…Nah, it was for a good cause. I can't hold that against you," was grinned back.
His eyes sparkled as they shot the boy a pleased look. A very good cause. Certainly the most worthy that I've ever undertaken. With that in mind, he lifted his cup. "Here's to serving one's causes, then."
The boy tilted his head slightly, considering him, and then raised his drink as well. "And to appreciating what – and sometimes who – makes that possible," he added. "Cheers, Alfred."
"…Cheers indeed, Master Dick."