CHAPTER 11

I hear a knock on my door, and I go to open it. Alfred is standing there with a small briefcase and a bottle of red wine, looking happy to see me. I wish I could express my relief to see him.

"Hello, Bruce," he cheerily says.

"Hello," I awkwardly say.

I welcome him in, and lead him into my kitchen. It's small, but suitable for two people.

"Nice house you have," he says.

"Yeah." I take note of the wine. "What's the wine for?"

"I thought we'd have a drink. I always wanted to, but you were too young."

Timidly, I say "I don't drink. Sorry."

He smiles, disappointed. "Prude."

I am pretty certain that was a joke, as I am anything but a "prude." But I am quite surprised that he wants to have a drink with me, because in all my years living with him, I never saw him drinking at all.

We take a moment to get situated in our seats, and for some reason I find myself avoiding eye contact with him. It's strange.

"So, how have you been?" he asks. Normally, I would complain that this question is generic. But it feels different this time.

"Mediocre," I answer.

"Mediocre?"

"That's not bad, is it?"

"I suppose not," he answers. I can see that he notices me in distress. He doesn't pressure me, though. "So, was there a reason you wanted to see me in person after months of silence?"

I think for a moment. Yeah, there was a reason. But I can't get myself to express this. I don't understand what's so hard about it, but I finally manage to say "I missed you."

He chuckles. "Obviously. But I was wondering if there was something else?"

I try to think, and I suppose I might as well ask this now. "I wanted to know how you were doing without me."

"It's been pretty boring. Watching British soap operas constantly gets old pretty easily."

I cock an eyebrow at this. "Since when do you watch British soap operas?"

"There are many things you don't know about me, Bruce," he says. "Having an interest in British soap operas is one of them."

I pause for a moment, taking this new information in. "Alfred, I wanted to know if you've moved on."

"From what?"

"Me. My parents. Gotham. Everything."

He sighs. "If you count living separately from you 'moving on,' then yes. But I think of you more than you probably want me to."

I avoid eye contact with him. I don't know if I feel better or worse after that statement.

"I was hoping you'd have moved away by now. Maybe find love. Maybe get a group of friends. But I see you're still stuck here as well," I say.

"I have everything I need, Bruce," Alfred says. "I don't want anything else." He stays quiet for a moment. "I don't assume you get out of the house much?"

"No," I say. "I'm trying to keep my life simple."

Alfred looks conflicted about something, like he's trying to get something out.

"What is it?" I ask him.

"Bruce, I need you to be honest with me: what have you been doing in your spare time?"

"Nothing," I answer.

"Please don't lie to me. I'm only asking because I care about you, and don't want you doing anything crazy."

Silence.

"Bruce, don't think I don't check the local news. Reports of a hooded man assaulting criminals in their homes spreads quicker than you think." Alfred sits up firmly, and I would be lying if I said I wasn't slightly intimidated.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're trying to ask," I say.

"I'm not an idiot, Bruce," Alfred says. "Do you know that what you're doing isn't exactly legal?"

I remain firm. "A lot of things aren't legal, Alfred. I know what I'm doing. And while I am not asking forgiveness for what I'm doing, I do wish that you at least understand that I'm doing this for the greater good."

"Is it really for the greater good, though?" Alfred asks.

"I beg your pardon?" My blood starts to heat up.

"While I do not deny that you do care for the well being of this city, I can tell you right now that that is not your main motivation. And whether you acknowledge that or not is your choice. But for now, I advise you: please stop." Alfred takes a sip of wine.

I feel the fire start to grow within me. "I'm just trying to make this city a better place."

"But you're not. You're finding people, who admittedly may have done wrong, to take your anger out on. I recognize that you are angry and overwhelmed. But this is not the way. And this is not who you're meant to be, either."

"Really? Then who am I meant to be?" I ask, raising my voice. "For my entire life, I wasn't even sure who the real 'me' even was. Now I finally find something that actually gives me a purpose to live, and I don't feel meaningless anymore." Alfred doesn't respond. "Answer me!" Still nothing. "I said answer me!"

"Bruce, think about this logically: what will this eventually result in? A few scarred criminals? Crime will always exist. And beating some thugs up won't help anything. What you're doing won't matter in the end."

We stare each other down for a few moments.

"It matters to me. For the first time in my life, I actually know who I am," I say firmly.

"Do you really?"

I stand there for a moment, contemplating this. No, I don't know who I am. I never have. But I don't say this.

"So what are you going to do? Turn me in to the police?" I say.

"I will do whatever it takes to ensure that you're safe. But for now, I just advise you stop doing what you're doing. If they catch you, then you will be locked up for the rest of your life, and I cannot bare to live for that. So take me advice: stop this whole act right now."

"And what happens if I don't?"

"Then I will turn you in. You've been warned."

Sitting there for what seems like hours without speaking, I stare at Alfred with a hatred I've never felt toward him.

"Alfred, please leave," I say.

"Are you asking me to leave because you're bored of me, or do you want me to leave because you know what I'm saying is true?"

My blood starts boiling.

"Alfred, leave. Now."

"I need to know you'll do what I say."

"Leave."

"No. Tell me you'll do what I-"

"I said LEAVE!"

For a brief moment, I go into a deep trance, and loose control over myself. I feel my body get up and raise my fist, about to strike Alfred.

But something stops me. I snap out of my trance, and realize that I was about to physically attack Alfred. The memories of me as a nine year-old screaming at Alfred come back. All the thrashing and kicking as he tries to restain me come back. All the threats I made about killing him or myself come back.

Perhaps that disturbed, violent child isn't as dead as I thought.

I look at Alfred, expecting him to be terrified, or furious, or both. But he isn't. He is unphased, as he always is. I sit back down, and avoid eye contact.

"Don't worry, Bruce. I don't take it personally," he says calmly, as if this is a normal occurrence.

I stay silent.

"Well, I suppose I should get going. Think about what we talked about." He starts to get up, but leaves his briefcase. "Those are just old family memories that I thought you'd like to have."

He hastily walks out of the kitchen, and I hear the door close in the distance. And I am again alone.

That was two months ago. I would like to say that something fantastic or something devastating happened, but it didn't. I chose not to talk with Caroline about what happened, as I try to keep my discussions with her fairly light. (Not to mention it would out me as a hooded vigilante, and that would not be good for me or Alfred.) I've been thinking about that day for two months.

That is, until I heard a knock on my door today.

I open the door, expecting to see some salesperson. But I don't. Instead I see Mayor Oswald Cobblepot.

"Long time no see, Bruce," he says. "What's it been, fifteen or so years?"

"Yeah, something like that," I say.