Title: Gone Wrong

Author: Simon

Characters: Bruce/ Alfred

Rating: PG, I guess. Some language, and some implication of sexual situations, but hardly any, really.

Summary: My take on Bruce's take to Dick's one night stand in NW #118

Warnings: none

Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.

Archive: Fine, but if you want it, please ask first.

Feedback: Hell, yes.

Gone Wrong

Bruce was looking through some eight by ten black and white photos when Alfred brought in his evening cup of tea. Lost in thought, he was most likely going over some kind of evidence concerning a current case. Of course he was, nothing else would catch his attention like this; the man was staring, shuffling from one picture to another, going through the stack of a dozen or so then pulling one or another out to look more closely at some particular item of interest. He was shaking his head as he studied the grainy photos, as if repelled by what was there.

"Might I be of any assistance, sir?"

Bruce hesitated, an unusual thing in and of itself. "…When did we last hear from Dick?"

That was unexpected. "Is he all right?" It was said before Alfred caught himself. "Forgive me, Master Bruce. I spoke to the young master about two weeks ago, I believe. Is something wrong?"

He handed the pile of pictures to the old man, picked up his teacup and watched as Alfred went through them, one by one.

"It appears to me that the young master is getting out a bit, I would think."

Bruce almost breathed out a laugh, but it didn't quite make it. "It appears to me that he picked up some bimbo for a one night stand."

"Yes, so it does appear, but though I can't say it's behavior I would approve of, he is a young man now and making his own decisions." Alfred looked at the third picture again for a long moment, a particularly graphic one. "And, if I may, it's hardly something which isn't done every night of the week, after all."

"…Somehow I thought he was—better than that."

Alfred regarded Bruce for a moment. "He's a young man and young men have, shall we say—needs? I might be so bold as to suggest that older men might know something about that as well." That got the smallest of smiles from Bruce. "In addition, I suspect he is in need of some kind of basic comfort. Consider what has happened to him recently, if you would. He lost his position with the Bludhaven police force. His apartment was destroyed along with a number of his friends and neighbors. Haley's Circus was burned to the ground, causing the loss of yet more friends. Miss Barbara has ended their relationship and several of his old Titan friends to whom he might have unburdened himself have either been killed or are amongst the missing. In addition, if I may say so, you have turned your back on him." Alfred ignored the glare Bruce turned his way. "I see nothing untoward about his availing himself of a brief—ahem, release from his cares."

He returned Bruce's now empty teacup to the tray, and then paused. He knew the Master well enough to know when he was about to say something.

"…I keep thinking how he was when he was younger, Alfred. Remember? He was always so happy, laughing, telling all those bad jokes. He always had so much fun being Robin, leading the Titans, patrolling with me. I just never really though he'd turn out like this."

"Like 'this'? What on earth might you mean by that, sir?"

"This—it's so sleazy. He isn't perfect by a long shot, but he was never—sordid like this. He's degrading himself, that's what I mean." He shook his head a little trying to get the images out of his mind.

Alfred put the tray down hard enough to make the cup dance in its saucer. "That's quite enough of that; you've overstepped the bounds and make no mistake about it, do you understand me, young man?"

Alfred hadn't spoken to him like that in at least two decades and immediately Bruce was an adolescent again, caught doing something he knew better about.

"Master Richard is exactly as we brought him up to be, and as his parents before us, as well. He's intelligent, dedicated, resourceful, idealistic and wants nothing more than to leave a mark for good in the world." Alfred paused, took a few controlled breaths and continued in a calmer voice, the tea tray again in his hands. "He is a good person, in every sense of the word and it would behoove you—and him—to recognize that fact." He started for the door. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have more chores."

Damn, that wasn't what he'd meant. Bruce just meant that he'd never have thought that Dick would be in the position he was in now—ah hell, that third picture was a position he never though he'd see outside of Cirque du Soleil, when you came down to it. But Dick out of work, looking to start over in a new city, without friends and not even letting people know where he was?

Hell, maybe this was what he needed right now. Maybe this was some kind of corner he was turning; it could be right? Maybe he should call, or drop in to that cheap loft he knew Dick had signed a year's lease on. He could swing by; offer help…which would be rejected.

Maybe he could send Alfred. Dick liked Alfred, Dick loved the old man—and would know Bruce had sent him. Someone should be able to lend a hand or a shoulder, right? The Titans? No, Dick had quit that group a while ago. The Outsiders? Did he still deal with them or had he checked out of there as well? Which way was the wind blowing?

Of course.

He picked up the phone. "Hello, Clark? Bruce Wayne here. I have a favor to ask, it's about my son..."

Alfred sat at the kitchen table, the tea tray left on the counter by the sink. The room was dimly lit, not the way it usually was, but tonight there were just a couple of the under counter work lights on.

The Master was right, as far as he went. This last tawdry episode was sordid and beneath the young man they'd raised for ten years, or so they had hoped. It seemed to be the final nail in the coffin of Dick's innocence and the thought made Alfred sad and disappointed for the young man.

He'd known for years that Dick had actually begun to loose his innocence the night he watched his parents die when he was a small child—how could he not? But... Perhaps if he'd been raised in a more normal home after that horror things might have been different for the boy, but training at the right hand of a man obsessed with the darker parts of society guaranteed that he'd be forced to grow up faster than one could have hoped.

It was probably inevitable, when one thought about it. Whether the road to becoming jaded was paved with crime or drugs or sex, they all had the same result.

Dick had seemed so happy years ago, once he'd settled in here. He'd found a new home where he was loved; he had a mission, a goal. He had all the advantages.

But, it would seem, something had been missing and that 'something' was making the difference between happiness and despair for the young man.

He finished his now cold Earl Grey and took the dirty cup over to the sink, loading the dishwasher, the situation still playing through his mind. Loss of innocence, yes, but on the other hand, maybe Dick was just doing what any red blooded young man would do, given the chance.

The idea hit Alfred hard enough to stop him for a second.

Obviously. That was it. Consider the constant stream of 'dates' Bruce had paraded through the house when Dick was growing up, the number of women he'd encountered at breakfast without warning.

He smiled slightly without humor as he wiped down the counter.

Apple. Tree.

3/20/06

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