Tuesday bled into Wednesday. Alfred, expecting that the boy would end up in the hallway only to be ignored again, took the extra step of rising twice during the night to check the upstairs corridor, gently guiding him back to bed on each occasion. As a result, Bruce was able to sneak into his room to shower and dress without seeing Dick at all.
…There, you see? he bemoaned silently as he attempted to put together an outfit for the day. He's already stopped waiting for me by the door. You're making him feel rejected. I don't want him to be like me, damn it! I don't want him to think nobody really cares or understands how he feels!
We both know full well that Alfred probably put him back in his own room more than once tonight, Batman replied. …Are you being slow about dressing just for fun, or because you're hoping he'll be outside if you wait long enough to open the door again?
This is not my fault. Alfred…didn't lay out any clothes this morning, he grimaced. His own dress sense, while basically serviceable, lacked even the smallest iota of panache. He was much better off when the butler chose his suitings for him. And I wonder why that could be. Oh, wait, that's right: you pissed him off so bad that he won't even talk to me. Now I remember. Enraged, he pulled his tie too sharply, choking himself for a moment. Christ. I hate this.
You'll get over it. Looking back, you're going to thank me.
Like hell.
His day didn't improve any when he went downstairs for breakfast. Alfred served him, as always, but this morning the butler performed his tasks with an icy aloofness that would have made the food cold had he hung around after setting it in front of his charge. Bruce merely picked, noting as he did that every item on his plate was off the mark just enough to make it unsatisfying. As he prepared to step through the front door a short while later, he paused and glanced over at the man holding the portal open. "…Alfred," he started helplessly. I'm sorry. I don't want to do this. I don't want to hurt him. I'm trying.
"…My apologies, Master Wayne," the Englishman responded crisply. "I assumed you would want one of the Porsches this morning. Is that acceptable?" His eyes never wavered, staring straight ahead as if the air behind the billionaire contained something absolutely riveting. The act was so complete that Bruce himself nearly turned to look.
"I…yes," his shoulders slumped as he began moving again. "One of the Porsches is fine. Thanks."
"Good day, Master Wayne," came a borderline disinterested reply as the door clicked shut behind him.
As soon as he heard the car crunch away down the drive, Alfred leaned his forehead, just for a moment, against the thick wood of the main entry. Why do you persist in being like this? he thought wearily. It wouldn't have taken but a moment for you to go upstairs and at least look in on Master Dick. Even if you hadn't woken him up, or indeed so much as laid a finger on him, at least in that instance I might have told him that you spared a second this morning with him in mind. I might have given him some hope to hold onto. Now, it seems, my own reserves of that emotion are beginning to draw low. I must spare as much of it as I can for the boy, but…the speed with which it is draining away is rather frightening. End this absurd charade and embrace him the way I know you want to, before you cause this house to be populated by only the shadows of our former selves.
As he wrapped up his thought, faint footsteps approached from behind. "…Alfred? Are…are you okay?"
He smiled. Darling child. He's been here five days, and already he's inquiring after my health with all the honesty in the world. "Of course, young sir," he straightened and turned, rushing to husk his words of despair before they left his throat. "A mild headache, is all. I'll take an aspirin and be right back to normal. Now," he bent to tug the blanket Dick had dragged down with him a little tighter across narrow shoulders, "you're up rather early. Is something wrong?"
"Um…" He looked at the door, then back at the butler. "…He already left, didn't he?"
"…Yes, I'm afraid he's gone for the day." The cad.
"Oh," the youth whispered, tilting his face downwards so that the tears threatening to flee down his cheeks weren't visible.
That single syllable carried so much hurt that Alfred's eyes widened. …This is pointless, he thought. He obviously knows that there's more at play in Master Wayne's absence than seasonal workload requirements. And yet, he knew, he would continue to keep up the false front, feeding him lies about the demands of the business and social worlds on the billionaire's time. What else can I do? I can't possibly sit him down and explain that the person he seems to have put all of his trust in is having serious second thoughts. That's…that's simply too cruel, and I'll not do it. "If you'd like, Master Dick," he ventured, "I'd be happy to tuck you back into bed. We could even read a bit more. You can easily get a couple more hours rest without sleeping in to a disreputable hour."
"...That's okay, Alfred. I'll just…I'll just go in the den and read, unless I'll be in your way? I can just go to the bedroom, if that's easier."
"You certainly won't be in my way in the den, not in the least," the butler answered quickly. "Perhaps a bit later you'd like to help me straighten out Master Wayne's study? You did an excellent job in the library yesterday, I'm sure you could lend quite a shine across the hall as well." He'd thought that the offer would be taken up gladly – after all, they'd had a little fun cleaning together the day before, and being that the study was Bruce's private abode in the house it might help the child feel a little closer to him – but the question was met with a shudder.
"Um…if you don't mind, I'd…I'd kinda prefer not to go over there today. To the study, and stuff. Is…is it okay if I just sit with the book? I brought it down with me," he twitched the blanket aside so that it could be seen, cradled in the arm not occupied holding his makeshift cape in place. For all that the study had felt like a warm, safe place when he was first invited into it, he feared that it would be chilly now that he no longer seemed to be welcome by its owner. More importantly, he didn't want to walk down the hallway only to find that the snowy winds had blown across into the library as well. It's better if I just stay on this side. Then I won't be in anyone's way.
…He's distancing himself. 'The bedroom;' 'the book.' He gave no indication of any sort of ownership, even though it's been made clear to him that it is his room and that he is welcome to enjoy the objects in the manor as his own. Although I must admit that I can hardly blame him for dissociating himself from this house; thanks to the recent asininity of its master, I'm rather ashamed of it myself right now. "…Of course, young sir. May I escort you there?" I'm amazed you came downstairs by yourself; I know you're still frightened by the size of this place, and all the more so, I'm sure, given the renewed loneliness you must be feeling.
With that sense of isolation in mind, he checked on his younger charge regularly throughout the morning. The boy maintained that he needed nothing, however, and when his breakfast was served Alfred had to coax him to eat more than a few bites. To his utter lack of surprise, he discovered him passed out in a chair in the corner of the den shortly thereafter, curled up with one arm over his head and with the dark circles that had faded only days before slowly reasserting themselves beneath his eyes. The position was too close to the way they'd found him at the Center for comfort, and the butler gently rearranged his limbs in the vague hope that a less defensive posture might lend him a bit of peace in his slumber.
Believing that the youth was likely to sleep for a while, he let himself fall into his usual cleaning rhythm, and as such did not look in on him again until nearly noon. Hearing a noise as he passed the kitchen on his way to the den, he frowned and looked around the ajar door. "…Master Dick?!" he asked, startled when he spotted socked feet on the counter.
"Eep!" a squeak answered him. A frightened expression peeped around an open cabinet door. "…I wasn't stealing anything," came a desperate protest. "Honest, Alfred, I was just thirsty, and I didn't know where you keep the glasses but I didn't want to bother you…"
Stealing? Good lord, child, why on earth would I think that? "Of course you weren't stealing anything," he shook his head, drawing closer. "The thought never crossed my mind." Retrieving a glass from another shelf, he filled it with water and handed it over. "Here." I ought to tell you to get off of the counter, he mused as Dick sat down beside the stove and accepted his drink, but chastisement is the absolute last thing you need right now. Instead, he waited until the worst of the boy's thirst had been quenched, and then went on with a different, more pressing, subject. "…Why would you think I would accuse you of stealing?" he inquired softly.
Watery blue eyes met his. "I…well…"
"Does this have to do with Master Wayne's absence yesterday and today?" he pressed when the silence drew out.
"He…" A sniffle. "…He must hate me now for some reason, right? I mean…I just can't think of anything else, unless he thinks I'm here to steal from him, like my social worker said I would…why else doesn't he want to be around me anymore? Did something go missing, Alfred, because I promise, I really didn't take anything, I really didn't, you can search the room and everything if you don't believe me-"
"Hush," the Englishman bade, closing the short distance between them and pulling him into a hug. "Hush, child. He thinks no such thing. No such thing," he almost whispered. "Nor do I." Pulling back, he caught Dick's chin between a thumb and forefinger. "Your social worker is – and you'll have to excuse my language – a Gorgonic bint who ought not to be allowed within shouting distance of decent people. Do not believe a single word she told you; anything she said was a lie."
Dick met his gaze. "…What's 'Gorgonic' mean?" he queried quietly, still sniffling.
"It refers to the Gorgons, a group of monstrous women from Greek mythology with snakes for hair who were terrible to behold. They could turn a person to stone with a single look. As you might imagine, those characteristics made them remarkably unpleasant to deal with, much as is the case with your social worker." He paused, and saw another question rising in the boy's eyes. "Don't ask me what a bint is. Suffice it to say that it is a word you should not repeat."
"Okay," his mouth almost twitched into a distant smile. "And…Bruce really, honestly doesn't think that I'd…you know…steal from him?"
"Absolutely not."
"Alfred…"
"Hmm?"
"Then what is it?"
The butler heaved a sigh. I suppose there's really no hope for it. He's just too empathic for that. "Master Wayne is very busy, young sir. What I told you yesterday is the truth; he has a great deal going on, as great men such as he usually do. What I did not tell you," he went on, "is that from time to time even great men can be very foolish. This is one of those times, and I'm afraid you were caught up in the middle of it. But you mustn't feel that you aren't wanted here, Master Dick," he said stolidly. "That is very far from the truth."
"But…if he's having second thoughts about…about me," he murmured, "then…wouldn't it be better if you just took me back to…" he gulped, "to the Center? I…I don't want to cause him any trouble, or you. I can…I could wait there until he…you know…decides whether or not he really does want me." He was shaking, tears running down his cheeks as Margine Randall's voice rang in his head. 'No matter what Mr. Wayne might have led you to believe, and no matter what that devious little brain of yours might think it's cooking up, there is no way that one of the richest men in the country wants anything to do with a thieving Gypsy like you.' Her words had been plaguing him all morning, and the fact that Alfred was now giving him a slightly different story than he had the day before wasn't helping him believe that the CPS agent had been wrong.
"You are never going back there. Master Wayne promised you that, and now I'm promising you that. We will fight to our last breaths to keep you from re-entering that place, do you understand?"
Dick peered up at him. "…Why?" he asked, legitimately puzzled as to why a rich man – albeit one that he'd been so certain understood him, and whom he'd thought would take care of him and maybe, just maybe, even come to love him a little with time – and his butler would go to such lengths for a parentless, penniless circus kid.
"…Oh, child," Alfred broke, tugging him back in for another embrace. What a question for you to ask, his eyes burned. You must have self-confidence in there somewhere, I would think it necessary for the sort of work you did until recently, but he's driving it into hiding. I hope he doesn't intend to go straight out on patrol when he returns home – late again, no doubt – this evening, because I have a few choice words for him. If a cold shoulder won't suffice, perhaps a visit from righteous rage will. In either case, I don't believe I'll be able to restrain myself tonight. Not after an inquiry like that.
"…You give good hugs," a small voice offered up after a minute.
The Englishman nearly laughed at that, biting the sound back only because he knew the boy would misunderstand his wry amusement. If I'd learned to give them a bit earlier, we might have avoided this whole mess, he derided himself. But I suppose that wouldn't have been any bloody fun. "…Thank you, young sir," he released him. "Now…why don't we try a little lunch? I have some chicken noodle soup left; would you like a grilled cheese sandwich? I'll even cut the crusts off and stack them separate again, just how you like."
Dick's head tilted a little to the side. "…You remembered," he commented wonderingly.
"Of course I did."
…I have to try, especially since Alfred was nice enough to remember about the sandwiches special, he thought, determined to be polite even though he had no real interest in eating. "…Okay," he nodded.
"Why don't you sit over at the breakfast bar while I work on that for you? It won't take more than a minute."
The boy obliged, but they seemed to have run out of conversation for the time being. Thinking to fill the silence, the butler turned on the radio, loud enough to be heard but low enough that they could talk easily if the mood struck. As he'd promised, the food took little time to prepare, and he was pleased to see his charge actually ingest his meal rather than merely playing with it. Good. If I can't make you believe that Master Wayne wants you here, perhaps I can keep you going on the fact that I do. I know it isn't what you need, want, or were promised, but it's the very best I can do right now.
Both soup and sandwich were half gone when the station flipped over to an hourly news update. Before Alfred could truly register what he was hearing, let alone dry his hands of dishwater and move to shut the device off, the top story crowned the already miserable morning in exemplary fashion.
"Police report this hour that due to a lack of leads and evidence they are calling off their investigation into the double homicide that took place at the visiting Haly's Circus eleven days ago. This news comes despite its high profile connections, with international financier and local philanthropist Bruce Wayne having taken in the orphaned child of murdered aerialists Mary and John Grayson less than a week after the tragedy. According to Commissioner Gordon, who announced the decision in a press conference just a few minutes ago, the case was-"
Click. Silence. "…Master Dick?" Alfred asked, his kind tone underlined with vague fear as he remembered his elder charge's cold, inconsolable attitude towards the same sort of news two decades before. The police at least gave that case more than a week and a half's worth of work before they shoved it in a box, he fumed. And really, you would think they would have called before they just announced it like that. The current Commissioner has done good things for this city during his tenure, and his cooperation with Batman is essential, I know, but this was an extremely poor decision.
"…I don't think I'm hungry any more, Alfred," Dick answered slowly, pushing his plate away. "It was good, though. Thanks." It had been good, right up until the last bite turned to ash in his mouth at the newscaster's words. …Well, Bruce said they didn't have any leads, he reminded himself, trying to think of anything other than the way his stomach was turning. It…it makes sense that they wouldn't want to…to waste time on it. Not on people like us, at least. I know it shouldn't matter – mom always said it didn't – but clearly it does. He swiped at his eyes. "…I have a question," he voiced timidly.
"I shall be happy to answer it, young sir," the butler immediately stopped clearing the dishes and gave the pointed face across the breakfast bar from him his full attention.
"When…when Bruce's parents died…um…this is really awkward," he confessed.
"You wish to know how long the police searched for their killer?" Alfred guessed easily.
"Weeell…yeah."
"…Forty seven days, young sir. But they didn't find the responsible party."
"…Oh." Still. Four point seven times longer, almost. They gave my parents a quarter of the effort they gave his. "Did…did Batman look for the person when the police gave up?"
"Batman didn't exist at the time. At least," he added quickly, catching himself, "I had never heard of him before. But I understand that he takes special interest in cold cases, so it is possible that he's looked into it." Every night, he didn't tack on out loud. I honestly believe that he is always looking for clues to their deaths. I wonder, will he stop if he ever does manage to find the responsible party?
"So…maybe what Bruce said is right?" the child's face pled. "Maybe…maybe Batman will take over my parents' case, now that the police have…have given up? Do…do you think he'd care?"
Alfred winced slightly at the implication that no one else gave a damn, and then grasped at a last straw of hope and handed it to the boy. "I believe that's very likely, Master Dick. This seems like the kind of thing he's usually announced as having solved, and it's been getting a great deal of publicity, so…yes. I feel confident in stating that if he hasn't taken it on yet, he's very likely to." Don't you dare make me a liar, Master Wayne. If you aren't working on his case because of this damned wobbling you're doing, I may put you over my knee, grown man or no.
The boy's lower lip disappeared between his teeth. "…If I wrote him a letter, would…would you know how to get it to him?" he inquired finally.
"You wish to write Batman a letter?" the butler's eyebrows reached for his hairline.
"I think…I think I might be able to help him. I know some stuff."
Have you told Master Wayne that? he nearly let fall out of his mouth. No, no, why would he have? And even if he didn't, why would that matter? Don't give the thing away, man, no matter how angry you might be right now. There's no call for betraying secrets, and particularly not that one. Instead, he drew himself up and straightened his jacket. If that will make you feel a bit better, young sir, then of course you may write him a letter. "Very well, then. I'll fetch you some paper and a pencil, and-"
"Could you make it a pen?" Dick interrupted. "…Sorry," he flushed a moment later. "I just…I want it to look grown-up, you know? I don't want him to think of me as just another kid."
He doesn't, I assure you. "I will bring you a pen, then, young sir," Alfred promised, "and when you've finished, I will be honored to see to your note's delivery." By hand, a self-pleased little smirk slipped onto his lips as he turned into the hallway and headed for the writing desk in the living room. I want to be there to see his face when he reads what you've written. I daresay I shall enjoy it.