A/N: THIS IS SUPER FLUFFY AND I REGRET NOTHING. :)
Mama, ooh, Didn't mean to make you cry
"Ok, Mom."
A flabbergasted Bruce was met with a double-gun salute before a slammed bedroom door ended the exchange.
Seeing a very careful non-smile from the very carefully non-eavesdropping Alfred (like that bust of William Shakespeare needed to be dusted for 10 minutes straight), Bruce merely quirked an eyebrow.
"It appears your insistence upon a clean room and a made bed has been equated with maternal instincts, Master Bruce," came the dry observation.
"If I'm the mom, what does that make you? And won't he be old enough for a certain Talk in a few years?" Bruce pointed out.
English butlers and stiff upper lips, my ass.
Bruce had the distinct pleasure of turning his back on a very-carefully-not-horrified manservant who was now polishing The Bard for a fourth time in despair.