What Makes a Man?
Chapter 20
"Why didn't you tell me?" Demanded Bruce as he stalked over to Alfred and grabbed him by the collar, giving him a firm shake.
"Did you know I wasn't a male?"
Alfred found his mouth had gone completely dry, and could only manage a small, mangled sound that came from somewhere in the back of his throat. Bruce dropped him and turned away, fists clenched tightly, obviously trying to control his gut-twisting rage.
Alfred picked himself up from the floor and took a step back. He observed Bruce for a few moments more before clearing his throat.
"I...I found out when you were fourteen. At the time, I thought it would be best or your well-being to hide it from you-Heavens!"
Alfred flinched at the sound of his antique table being flung across the room. Bruce turned back to him, the expression on his face drawing a shocked gasp from the older man. Tears piereced the corners of Bruce's eyes as his teeth clenched tightly. His face was flushed red with the un-expressed anger and pain. He rubbed his eyes with his sleeve before grabbing the sides of his face with both hands. Throwing his head back, his throat gave way to a loud, blood-curdling howl. Alfred could feel the utter anguish in his voice. He tentatively reached an arm out towards Bruce, who lashed back with a fist. Alfred stepped back.
"You thought it was for the best?" Cried Bruce "You slipped me testosterone!" He laughed cynically. "You slipped me testosterone knowing full well what sort of risks it could have- and you NEVER told me?"
He kicked at the broken shards of the vase on the floor.
"I THOUGHT YOU CARED!" He cried. He bent over, eyes burried in his hands as he began shaking, wracked with sobs.
"Bruce..." Alfred stepped closer- slowly. "Please understand...it was a different time back then-"
He placed his hand gently on Bruce's shaking back, who raised his head, staring straight ahead- eyes unfocused. Fear began to grip Alfred's chest. Bruce was a depressed man most of the time, but this- this was a new level.
"Please understand-" Bruce said. His voice dark, mocking the words Alfred had uttered moments before. He shook his head. "Then understand this, Alfred." He looked up at the other man.
"Thanks to body parts I never knew about, I'm-I-" He couldn't form the words. His mouth refused to. His mind refused to. "I'm..." He sighed angrily at himself for his lack of courage.
"Is this about...what happened, sir?"
"God damn it, Alfred!" Bruce yelled. "Do you always have to tip-toe around every god-damn thing? Just say it. Just say it!"
Alfred sighed, pain constricting his chest as he felt his eyes begin to prick. He looked away, hands shaking.
"Very well, Bruce. This is about the..." He pushed himself to say it. "Rape?" His voice was pained.
Bruce sniffed sourly.
"Then you figured that out too. Good for you." He retorted bitterly.
"I raised you, Bruce. I know when you're hurting-"
"Ha!" Snorted Bruce sarcastically. "Hurt. Hurt is nothing on what I am feeling right now!" He stood to his full height and once again broke into an angered rage. It was painful for Alfred to observe- he could see that Bruce was desperately trying to control his anger, yet accomodate it at the same time. A thought struck him.
"Break something else, sir!"
Bruce turned back, his eyes registering surprise.
"Yes," Alfred continued, reaching up to pull a three-thousand dollar painting from off the wall. "Break something your brokenness with more brokenness." He held the painting out towards the younger man, who stared at it with shock and surprise. He shook his head, pushing it away.
"Broken." He said as he wiped away yet more tears. "This is more than just broken Alfred!" His voice rose, anguish dripping off every syllable. "I have been emasculated!" His voice broke in the middle of the last word. Alfred realised that Bruce's throat must have been killing him. He could imagine how red, and raw and painful it must have been at that moment. He walked over to a table-stand where a pitcher of water sat next to two glasses. He poured one and handed it to the other man, speaking to him as the other drank.
"That is utter nonsense! You have always been a fine, upstanding man! You will always be that man, Bruce-"
Bruce handed him back the glass, gazing directly into Alfred's eyes with self-deprecating contempt.
"Even if I'm Pregnant!"
Alfred's eyes widened in shock. He dropped the glass, grabbing onto the younger man's shoulders.
"Is that true?" He asked, shaking his head in disbelief.
Bruce nodded.
"Well- I!- When? ... How long have you known?" Alfred spluttered.
Bruce closed his eyes.
"I found out about ten minutes ago."
He let go of Bruce's shoulders with a defeated sigh. "I had had my suspicions- but- I hoped against hope-" He gazed off sadly, shaking his head slowly. "Oh this is all my fault."
Bruce walked over to the armchair, sitting down in it, head folded into his hands. Alfred moved to stand before him. Bruce was silent for several long moments.
At last, he spoke.
"I forgive..." He was forced to pause to allow a shuddered breath. He continued "I forgive you Alfred" He sighed "I just wish that you had told me." He looked up with sadness at the man who had raised him. Alfred stood, the stiff and stoic facade beginning to shift. His eyes were red and wet, but there were no tears. He spoke.
"I meant only to do what was best for you by your parents."
"They're dead, Alfred." Said Bruce plainly. "They're dead. The decisions were not their's to make. They were yours." He looked up at his childhood guardian with a burning gaze. His voice rose.
"All my life, their deaths have hung over this house like ghosts, if not through grief, then through our futile attempts to do things the way they would have wanted. I never questioned it because I LOVE them. I always will." He lowered his gaze, voice dropping "But they're gone. They've been gone for twenty-five years. Twenty-five years, Alfred- that it has been US without them. Thats practically my entire life."
"Ever since I was eight, YOU were the one I went to. I cried to. I may have always tried to eminate my parents and avenge their memory, but at the end of the day- you tucked me into bed. You chased the dark thoughts away."
"Anyone could have asked me who my parents were, and I would have said "Thomas and Martha Wayne"...but if anyone had asked me who I missed most when I was at school? Who I waited for in anticipation when it was open-day? ...who I wanted more than anyone else in the world to be proud of me!" He paused. "...Who I loved?"
He looked up at Alfred, who had moved over to his bed. He sat down on it, staring down at his trembling hands. A single, wet, silver streak down his cheek was the only indicator of how he felt at that moment.
Bruce continued.
"You broke my trust. Anyone in this universe, ANYONE else...and I could have said "maybe". But you?"
"I never intended for it to cause you pain." Replied Alfred in earnest. "Thats why I did it! You weren't as strong then as you are now- I feared for you. I know you wanted to kill yourself"
Bruce looked up quickly, shock in his eyes, but he immediately dropped his gaze.
Alfred continued, a hitch in his breath "...but I- I-" He paused to regain control of the tears that were threatening to turn into sobs. He took in a brief, shuddering breath that Bruce could barely hear. He looked away, blushing in shame. The two men had never been so raw with each other. It was confronting.
Alfred pushed on.
"I realise...it was probably not the right decision...but everything I ever did for you-" He paused "To you," He added. "Was for your protection."
Bruce scoffed. "Of course! I'm the last remaining Wayne, it was your duty to-"
"No!" Cried Alfred, his voice rising quickly. In the distance, a rolling peal of thunder echoed. "Not "The last remaining Wayne." -that had absolutely nothing to do with it at all! - and you know it, Bruce. I know you do." He stood, turning towards the window, so as not to let Bruce see the tears that were falling freely down his cheeks. Outside dark, angry clouds hung over the horizon.
"I never wanted to be a butler..."He said defeatedly.
"I know." Bruce replied simply. "Like myself, you have your own family obligations to live up to-"
Alfred shook his head.
"At first, Bruce, that is exactly what it was- and I can not lie, the salary has always been very generous...But no." He raised a hand to place it on the glass. Still cold. Hot summer rain began pelting against the window.
"No. Even if I had been offered the most prestigious role on the West End, I would not have left you, Bruce- for no reason other than that one day, so long ago now." He bowed his head. "When you slipped your tiny, freezing hand into mine-" He folded his hand into a fist, as if trying to remember the sensation. He lifted it,placing it at his heart. " I knew I never could."
Alfred closed his eyes, one hand resting on the cold glass, the fist unclenched, dropping limply at his side. He could hear movement from behind him and he assumed Bruce was getting up to leave. His heart dropped into his stomach. He had never felt more lonely. He was about to turn, to clean up the remnants of broken antiques throughout the room when he felt the warmth of another hand slip into his own. His heart jolted with surprise. He turned to see that Bruce stood, face painted a mixture of emotions, his own hand- now much larger than Alfred's, encompassing the other-like that day decades earlier. His eyes were deep with the expression of regret.
"Alfred- I'm sorry." He apologised.
"Oh Master Bruce, please don't be sorry-"
But Bruce collapsed to the floor, wrapping his arms around Alfred's legs. He burried his face into the side of Alfred's thigh as he began to sob.
"I'm so sorry-" He cried, his voice muffled in the cloth. Alfred cradled his head, as he whispered.
"I am too-" and he lowered himself to his knees, still higher than Bruce, holding the younger man to his chest. It was a moment of familiarity. Two men giving comfort to each other, as only a father and son could.
In the distance, the thunder and lighting still pealed, and the clouds still hung thick with greyness, but it was beginning to move off.