Title:A Difference of Opinion
Author: Arlene
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Not mine. Never will be. *sniff*
Summary: Alfred plays peacemaker.
Inspired by recent events. Dedicated to Kat for willingly putting up
with all us nutcases.=)
A Difference of Opinion
As Alfred entered the Manor with the last bag of groceries, something
about the atmosphere of the old house seemed disturbing, tense.
SLAM!
Oh dear. He recognized the sound. Master Dick's bedroom. How many
times must he tell that boy . . .
SLAM!
Ah, the study door. They had yet another fight. He directed his
thoughts towards his "eldest." How many times must he tell that
boy . . .
As he transported the groceries to the kitchen, he shook his head
sadly. They were so close when they were younger. Both so trusting,
so open. He sighed. As charming as they used to be together, the
fighting was inevitable, really. Cut from the same cloth, they were.
He was reminded of the old song: "When an irresistible force meets an
unmovable object . . ."
Alfred mentally shook himself. Young Master Dick was his own man now,
with his own home, his own life. His visits had become so infrequent
that Alfred needed to at least attempt to solve this new problem, so
that the visit would last longer and end better than the previous one
had.
Finished with his unpacking and organizing, he checked his watch to
make sure enough time had elapsed before approaching the irresistible
force's bedroom.
After knocking, a muffled "Come in," greeted him. He opened the door
and directed his gaze towards the bed. Although he knew what he would
see, the sight still filled him with a bit of nostalgia. Master Dick
lay on his back upon his bed, pillow over his face, limbs spread out.
Just as he had when he was an adolescent.
The elderly man sat on the edge of the bed, carefully so as not to
jostle the younger man.
"Master Dick?" he inquired softly.
The pillow replied something unintelligible.
"Master Dick," he chided gently, "You know full well I cannot speak
the language of Pillows. I believe I have made the point before."
Mercifully, the offending piece of bedding was removed to reveal a
smiling face. "I'm sorry, Alfred. I keep forgetting to hire a
translator for you."
Alfred returned the smile. "Quite alright, young sir. I shall
endeavor to learn the foreign tongue when I retire." Back to
business. "Now, about the door . . . ?" A raised eyebrow prompted
Dick to speak.
"Uh, well, it's stupid, really. I rented a movie, y'know, two guys
trying to bond. I mean, we were both free, no cases going on and
we're family an' all, so I thought this'd be kinda fun. Well, Bruce
turns it into a character study --it was supposed to be fun fer
cryin' out loud!-- then compares it to the original written version,
which he likes better. Now, I actually read the original version
before, so I knew what he was talking about, but that ending was just
so depressing. I mean, c'mon, she dies at the end! So I tell him my
opinion, and, if you can believe it, things actually get *worse* from
there. Ugh! I'm an adult now and he still makes me so mad!" The
pillow returned to cover the face, which had lost the smile during
the ramble.
Alfred had tried hard not to roll his eyes during the discourse.
Aside from being quite ungentlemanly, it achieved nothing. Instead,
he stood up. "Dinner in fifty-five minutes, young sir. Do not forget
to wash under the nails," he inform the young man crisply." He gently
closed the door on the muffled "Yes, Alfred" on his way out.
Making his way to the study, and subsequently down to the Master's
favorite sulking place, he pondered upon resolving the seemingly
small conflict.
He allowed the soles of his shoes to tap lightly on the stone steps
leading to the lowest level of the Manor. He knew his presence would
be noted as soon as he opened the clock, but he wanted Master Bruce
to know that he meant business this time.
A few steps away from the chair facing the vast computer display, he
cleared his throat. "Sir?" he addressed to the back of the chair.
The Batman grunted.
"Master Dick seemed rather upset when I talked to him."
The Batman grunted yet again.
Like squeezing water from a stone. Unmovable object, indeed. He
straightened his posture.
"Dinner in fifty minutes, young sir. Do not forget to wash under the
nails."
"Yes, Alfred," Bruce mumbled.
Satisfied, Alfred made a smart about-face and left to prepare the
meal.
At a few minutes before the appointed time, both Bruce and Dick
entered the dining room, both still peeved with one another. As they
silently sat down at their place settings, Alfred emerged from the
kitchen.
"Sirs, dinner shall be slightly delayed."
Both men gaped. This was an extremely rare occurrence. Either the
meal was still not ready (unheard of!) or something was up.
"It has come to my attention that there has been a difference of
opinion which has resulted in mounting tensions and the . .
slamming . . of . . doors." He was careful to enunciate the last
part, reminding them of the house rules during their upbringing and
hoping to shame them a bit. Then he pulled out his trump card. "Sirs,
I realize that I am only a humble servant," he noted with
satisfaction that they guiltily looked down at the tablecloth, "and
that it is not my place to say, but I feel compelled to state that I
care about your mental as well as your physical well-beings. Now, it
would do this old heart some good if the meal I have so pain-
stakingly prepared can be fully enjoyed as intended. Sirs, for my
sake, would you please resolve your differences?" Careful with the
guilt, old man, he reminded himself, too much would be overdoing it.
Irresistible force met unmovable object. Something's got to give.
"He's right, Dick," Bruce sighed. "I liked the original story better,
and I was a little disappointed that you didn't." Alfred noted that
he did not actually say "I'm sorry." Well, at least he made the first
move.
The fact was not lost on Dick. "Yeah, I'm sorry too, Bruce. I just
wanted to relax with you and do something fun. I shouldn't have
bitten your head off like I did."
"Okay, I admit it was a fun movie. And thanks for bringing it." As
the conversation continued, Alfred quietly left to begin the first
course. When he returned with the salad, he was glad to hear their
playful banter.
Bruce was sitting back in his chair, slightly slouching, wearing his
half smile. "She's an airhead!"
"Yeah, like your dates!" Dick's elbows were on the table, body
leaning forward, giving as good as he got.
"At least they know what a *fork's* for!"
"Low blow, Bruce," he grinned. "Don't you dare compare her naïveté to
your dates' low IQ's."
"Ahem." Both younger men immediately straightened their postures and
sat up properly.
Seeing that it was safe now, Alfred served his boys and attempted to
satisfy his piqued curiosity. "May one inquire as to the program
which was viewed?"
Dick answered. "The Little Mermaid."
"Ah." All this ill will begun over a cartoon? Although he loathed the
violence his boys faced every night, he had the urge to smack them
upside the head with one of his crepe pans.
Bruce spoke up. "Alfred? What are we having for dinner?"
"Fish, Master Bruce." As the old gentleman made his way back to the
kitchen, he failed to understand what could have prompted the
laughing at the dining table.
End
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