Disclaimer: I don't own Batman.

To those who liked my previous chapter, please read the latest chapter of bovineorbitor1's Bridges of Moonshine, 'JUST US'.


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Chocolate Chips

"Milk and cookies at this time of the night, sir?"

The shadows scamper away from the light to hide behind Bruce, in the folds of his dressing gown and the bags under his eyes and in the milk carton.

Alfred frowns at his ward's lacking etiquette and hygiene and takes out two glasses before bullying the younger man into getting up from the cold tile floor to sit at the table like a decent human being.

Bruce munches and drowns his cookies in milk. Alfred nibbles in between sips. The shadows stare hungrily at the night from where they are speckled in the cookie ridges, under the chocolate chips. Under the table legs they stretch out to join the ones creeping up from the cave. The ones perched on Bruce tug at his hair to no avail.

The topic drifts from last night's narrow escape ("Bats don't have nine lives, sir.") to friends ("Gordon's under a lot of pressure to take me down.") to Lucius' latest toy ("If you think I'll be resting easier, sir, you're wrong.") to the latest ditz Bruce is dating ("Alfred, she's a dyed blonde, I swear.").

Conversation trickles into a silence which they wrap around themselves, at ease and content with the company they give each other. The shadows become emboldened enough to creep out and settle under their chairs and crawl up their legs.

Bruce begins to nod off and shadows anxiously crawl over his face from under his hair, trying to remind of his obligation to the city, then glare at Alfred who looks out of the window, remembering old friends and happier, simpler days. Yet tonight, with his ward safe at home, is as good as it gets and he is grateful for that.

The clock chimes and Bruce blinks blearily as Alfred rises and helps him to his feet.

"I do think it is high time you went to bed, Master Bruce."

They navigate their way through the half-dark. The moon shines through the tall windows and the shadows hurriedly skip away, alighting on their master, and trailing behind at his heels, asking him why he isn't joining them tonight.

"You haven't tucked me in since I was eleven," Bruce mumbles as Alfred draws the blankets over him and the shadows slink back under the furniture and behind the picture frames sulking, disappointed.

"Hmm, yes, those were the days, weren't they, Master Bruce? Shall I look under the bed for bogeymen while I'm at it? Or how about the monster in the wardrobe?"

"Father beat up the monster with a poker." Bruce mumbles, smiling faintly. "And Rachel and I smoked out the bogeyman."

"I remember the bed ended up on fire."

"Mmm-hmm." Bruce sighs and rolls over onto his side and the weariness, pain and pressure of several days settle into the bed along with him. The shadows hesitate, then join in. Fine, they seem to say, as they spoon up along the curve of his back, just this night.

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