Author's Note: Hello, this piece is the first fanfiction I've ever attempted and I was very surprised to have such instant feedback. I appreciate UnknownRyder, Waterdragon1123, and for following this story. It made the writing process of this new chapter fly by. Also thanks to Inthenightguest who left such a kind review! I'm not sure exactly where I'm going next with this story. I think I would like to see something Barbara's perspective, but I'm open to suggestions.
Alfred heard the raised voices, but had no energy to even sight at the conflict taking place. Damian was just like his father in far too many ways and when the boy had first come to the manor, Alfred had hoped to avoid some of the mistakes he had made with Bruce. However, with all children, one made mistakes and Damian came with more harshness and ferocity than Bruce had. Of course, as with all the young men and women who had come through the house, Alfred had the benefit of being a grandfather rather than the father and could smooth things over between the children and Bruce. Alfred passed the entryway of the living room and whether either of the Waynes within noticed him, he went by unaddressed. He came into the kitchen and set the picked over platter on the counter. Dr. Thompkins had left less than half an hour ago and Alfred guessed this was the source of the latest argument between Damian and Bruce. There were numerous issues between the pair since Damian's restructure of the Teen Titans team and the shift in his ideology, but Dick's injury had been enough to bring Damian home so he'd hoped for some peace between the two. Alfred heard storming feet on the stairs then a distant door slam. He was used to this sound since each child had some occasion for this reaction. Bruce trailed into the kitchen shortly afterwards.
"Anything I can do for you, Master Bruce?"
"No. Not unless you've got some secret for headstrong teenagers that you've kept secret all these years."
"I'm afraid not, sir." Alfred started putting away the leftovers from the platter. More to keep his hands busy and his eyes averted while his eldest charge began the always difficult process of speaking about his emotions.
Bruce leaned against a counter and pinched the bridge of his nose, "It's tough on everyone. I wish I could convince Damian of that. That he's not suffering alone."
Alfred was glad Bruce had shut his eyes as he could not help his surprised expression at this empathetic approach.
Alfred tried to offer genuine advice though, "Perhaps it feels tougher for Damian as he had no friends other than Dick for a long time and he has been a guide for Damian in some of the difficult times. Now Dick . . . doesn't remember any of that so even if Damian can rationalize that this is abandonment is unintentional, it doesn't lessen his feelings."
"I know. I know. It's . . . like I said it's hard on everyone."
Alfred found energy for that sigh now, "Master Dick has long being our bright spot. Even in his darker moments, he could still rally us." Alfred knew that capability had served this family with more than its share of brooders very well. Honestly, it was a wonder that the boy hadd maintained any sense of levity when his father figure was so prone to such dark introspection and paranoia.
"He's still . . . He's so damned optimistic about this! Even when we told him about so much of his life just being forgotten. He didn't even seem worried when Leslie told him there was a chance that part of his brain would not recover. His memory capabilities could be permanently affected and he could . . ." Bruce trailed off, realizing he was repeating the bleak news that Alfred had already heard.
"I know, sir. I take some comfort in it though. Even with such awful news, Dick is still himself: optimistic and determined. He's still himself in so many ways."
Bruce nodded, but swallowed back emotions, "Damian said something earlier that . . . it resonated. He told me that maybe it was better this way since if Dick didn't remember us, he wouldn't sacrifice so much trying to keep us safe."
"Master Bruce, this isn't your fault." Alfred stopped in his work now and looked directly at Bruce.
"He wouldn't have been there if he hadn't been trying to cheer me up. Trying to make a dent in all my self-absorption!"
"You've told me yourself that you think they were targeting him. He would've been in danger even if he had not been present in Gotham."
"He was still being targeted because of his connection to me. Damian is right that Dick has sacrificed so much of himself not just for this cause, but for this family. I almost don't want to tell him about being Nightwing. If I close that part from him then-."
"Then he will inevitably find out and resent your attempts to shield him." Alfred interrupted. This was not the first time Bruce would've attempted such a foolish approach and there was no already established trust to fall back on if Dick perceived this as a betrayal.
Bruce sighed again, "I'd best keep working on trying to figure out who did this. Barbara is still with him. Damian . . . says he's leaving. Said he already told Dick goodbye."
Alfred shook his head, "I see, sir."
"I won't stop him." Bruce said as if convincing himself.
"Would you like your coffee downstairs or will you be working on the case elsewhere?"
"Downstairs." Bruce said.
"Very good, sir." Bruce left him and Alfred starting preparing coffee. No matter how much practice he had at maintaining his British stiff upper lip, it never became easier to watch those charged to his care struggle so much. He opened a cabinet to retrieve a coffee mug and on a glimmer of memory, took more than a few out to access the back. A plain white mug with a bat symbol painted on it and Dick's tidy handwriting (steady even at eleven when he'd made this) claiming, "World's Best Batman". It had been made for the cave as having such blatantly bat related paraphernalia upstairs would have aggravated Bruce's paranoia. However, as the years had passed and Batman's presence had become more mainstream to the point where such a thing might have been sold and in the steady traffic of coffee cups to and from the cave, the cup had made its way upstairs. Alfred smiled at the memory of the young boy, painting the cup in the secrecy of the cave for Father's Day. He always did some handmade gift for Bruce, no matter what else he might've bought. Alfred replaced the cup since he could not subject Bruce to the reminder. Alfred poured a different cup full and place that and the carafe on a tray. He comforted himself with the knowledge that if anyone could overcome such odds, it would be Dick.
After delivering coffee, he went to the downstairs guest room where Dick was (and fleetingly wondered if moving him to his old room might trigger something) to check in. Barbara was leaving and offered him a weak smile.
"Is everything alright, Miss Gordon?" It was a question with an obvious answer, but he asked it anyway.
"As good as I can be, I guess."
"I can make you tea or coffee if you think it would help."
"I appreciate it, Alfred, but I think I'm going to head back into the city. I'll be back this evening for a while."
"Of course, Miss Gordon. Drive safely."
"Will do." Barbara's exhaustion was evident, but she offered another smile. Alfred stepped into the room. Dick offered him a reflexive smile and cheerful greeting, "Hello, Mr. Pennyworth." Dick had not addressed him so formally since he'd first come to the manor and been more than a little shocked by his new surroundings.
"Just Alfred, if you please, sir."
"Sure thing, Alfred."
"I only wanted to assure you did not need anything." Alfred asked.
"No. I'm good right now. You've definitely kept me more than well fed."
"It is my duty, sir. You're recovering and need your nourishment."
"Yeah. Maybe not all in one meal though."
Alfred smiled at this typical statement.
"If not food, is there anything else you'd like? A book? Newspaper? I think there are more than a few of those gaming systems around."
"Nothing right now."
"If you think of anything, you need only let me know. You were shown how to operate the intercom system?"
"Uh, yeah. I guess this place is pretty huge?"
Alfred's smile faltered now as any sense of familiarity faded, "Yes, sir. When you are a little stronger, perhaps tomorrow, we can have a brief tour. Just so you can be acquainted with the layout."
"Yeah. That'd be good. Maybe it'll help me remember."
"I hope so, sir. But let's worry about your physical recovery before that of memory."
Dick nodded. Some of that cheerfulness had faded and Alfred faulted himself for this as Dick had always been perceptive of the emotions of those around him.
"Thanks, Mr. - Alfred. I appreciate everything you've done. It must be kind of weird for everybody. Me not remembering. I know Bruce seems pretty tightly wound right now."
"Master Bruce is usually tightly wound, sir."
Dick laughed at this, "Maybe so. I know he's struggling with it. And Damian, he seemed upset over it. Really upset, but I just . . . I'm not sure what to say to him."
"I . . . You have long had the misfortune of being one of the few in this family who is comfortable with expressing emotions besides anger. It is little comfort to you, but that is not directed at you. It is not your responsibility to wade through their troubles. It is your responsibility to focus on recovery."
"Right."
"Call me if you have need of anything, Master Dick."
"Sure thing. Thanks, Alfred." Alfred left the room and tried to think of some chore to soothe his mind. Of course, there was nothing to put this problem away, but he knew even in the awful eventuality that Dick did not remember, he had a duty to care for this boy who had reached Bruce even through that obsession with his personal crusade. The boy who had always been a light and had reached his brothers with that same consistent love. Because even if Dick did not remember, Alfred did.