You may remember me complaining that I had to rewrite half of chapter 3 to "Gallows Humor". The piece was beautiful and heartwrenching, but Alfred was just too full of good sense. Robin had to avoid him at all costs, and it was just as well he did as Robin's assistance had been desperately needed for the rest of the story to progress. But I loved this scene, and am VERY happy to share it with you now. You might need a tissue or two with this . . .

SPOILER ALERT! Don't read unless you've already read Gallows Humor!

Gallows Humor - "Breakdown"

Warning: Some Language and Angst . . . Rating "T"


Robin stumbled through the light and into the comforting shadows of the Batcave. He leapt from the platform and ran towards the stairs that led to the manor.

"Alfred! ALFRED!" His voice cracked as he screamed. This was not the sound of a mere emergency, but one of fear and despair.

"Master Robin!" Alfred stepped out from the changing room; the stack of clean towels in his hands tumbling to the floor in his concern. Something terrible has happened, and he had hoped never to hear his name being called in that particular tone of voice; the advent of so many possibilities that he had prayed to somehow be able to avoid.

"Good heavens, child, what has happened?"

Robin veered from his course and ran to him. The butler was startled when the boy didn't stop a respectful distance away to explain, but barreled into him; wrapping his arms around the older man.

"Do you know?! Did you hear?" Robin cried against his shirt.

Alfred had been aware that Robin had been with his team of young heroes on an important mission this evening. Sorrow welled in his heart for the boy as Alfred concluded something must have gone horribly wrong. Had one of his teammates been hurt?

But no, he decided at once. While Master Dick had been known to give way to tears occasionally; not so Master Robin. The boy's mask seemed to provide a necessary barrier between him and the world that enabled him to keep his head about him, even in the most extreme of circumstances.

No, this was something more, he feared. Something dreadful.

Death? Say it isn't so . . . His friends, Alfred understood, were very young; only a few short years beyond Master Robin's own age of thirteen.

"I fear not, young sir," Alfred told him; kneeling in order to better comfort the boy. "I have been quite busy this evening, and have not monitored the computer as closely as I might normally."

The way that Robin sobbed against the elder man's jacket was altogether heartbreaking. Alfred pulled his handkerchief out from his pocket and attempted to hand it to him. How would he ever get the story from him at this rate? Why, he had never seen such a reaction since the first few months that Master Dick had come to live here at the manor, but even then, Alfred couldn't remember his fits being this inconsolable. It was, all told, utterly distressing.

"Come now, sir," Alfred attempted to peel the boy off of him. "Let us repair over to the computer, and we'll see if we can contact Master Batman. I'm certain he would cut short his patrol for this."

Robin slid down to his knees; hanging his head as he attempted to catch his breath enough to explain.

"He's not coming," Robin whispered.

"What was that?" Certainly he didn't hear the boy correctly.

"Batman . . . B-Bruce . . . H-He's not coming," Robin said a little louder.

"But, of course, he will," Alfred was quick to dismiss that idea. "He is in charge of your team, and you know he would drop most anything at all if ever you needed him."

"He's not coming," Robin yelled. "He's not because he can't, Alfred! J-Joker . . . Joker killed . . . him . . ." his voice tapered off to next to nothing.

Alfred hesitated; unable to believe his ears. He wanted to declare the child mistaken! It was simply inconceivable . . . but . . . no, he corrected himself. No, it was entirely conceivable.

Dear God!

It was a very good thing he was already kneeling, for a wave of weakness crashed over him. Master Dick was a good boy. He would never be so inconsiderate as to come home bearing erroneous tidings such as these! No, no . . . Master Dick would have to be convinced of its validity first.

The boy knew that Alfred was an old man. There were only so many shocks someone his age could take, after all.

He shook his head suddenly. Come now, man, he told himself harshly. Buck up! The child just lost his father for the second time in his short life. He needs your strength, now, more than ever! There, there! You can do this . . . He stiffened his spine. You will have time later to . . . to grieve your own loss.

"Master Robin . . ." Alfred couldn't talk to Robin. He began again. "Master Dick," he said, softly; reaching up to remove the sodden mask. "I must ask you where you heard such a terrible tale. I am well aware that you were on a mission with your friends, while Master Batman was patrolling the city this evening alone. How ever did you come to such a conclusion? Is there any chance that perhaps your information was inaccurate?

"Think about it. How many times has Batman defied every expectation to return from the purported grave, as it were?"

"It was on the news," Dick answered him. "They had video . . ."

"And that is your proof? This video?"

"No," he admitted. "I mean, I saw him . . . Joker hurt him, I think. And then Batman f-fell through the roof of a burning building. And then an explosion followed. I was looking, Alfred! Don't you think I was searching for him everywhere; in the shadows . . . But he never came out!"

"He might have found some other way out; away from the view of the cameras," Alfred suggested.

"I-I thought of that," Dick told him. "I did. I didn't give up hope until . . ."

"Until? Go on, then. Let's hear what it was that convinced you?" The butler asked.

"The reporter; the newscaster," he clarified, "was interrupted and given a message in the middle of his report. He ask if it had been confirmed, and was told it came straight from the coroner's office."

"Indeed." Alfred frowned; his heart beating fast. "And yet there have been no phone calls to the manor; nor has the front gate been swarmed by reporters."

He could see that the young master was desperate for hope, even as he explained more.

"You didn't see the fire, Alfred," Dick whispered. "It was terrible. By the time the flames were doused and the b-body retrieved, I doubt there would have been much left to identify through normal means."

"You are saying there hasn't been enough time to retrieve dental records or run DNA samples," Alfred nodded. For a badly burned body, yes, that would be the only way to accurately identify the remains. "But if that is the case, would there be enough left to identify that body as the Batman?"

"Are you s-saying that the coroner just assumed that the body was B-Batman's because no one saw him exit the building and it was the only body retrieved?" Tears hovered in those deep blue eyes; threatening to spill over at the least provocation. "B-But why would Batman let people assume the worst about him? He had to have known they were being recorded! Every news station in Gotham was there!"

"You know as well as I that when he is pursuing a criminal; particularly Joker, he does not consider much past the hunt. I suspect that the reporters were the last thing on his mind."

Dick leaned his forehead against Alfred chest.

"Yes," he shuddered. "Yes, that makes sense!"

"But whatever we might postulate, this will require some bit of detective work on our part to determine the truth," Alfred surmised.

"You're not suggesting, then, that we just sit here and wait to see if he comes back tonight?" Dick asked.

"This is the Joker we are talking about. That mad clown is not to be underestimated."

Dick sat up straight. "I could go after him!"

"Dear me, I should say not!" Alfred looked alarmed. "I would not have you going up against the demented jester alone, young man!"

"But Batman . . ."

"And what if, by some chance, you arrived there first?"

"I could . . ."

"My boy, it would not do for me to lose you both if indeed the worst has happened," Alfred squeezed the boy's shoulders gently, if also firmly. "You will go nowhere tonight."

Dick looked up with fresh tears in his eyes. "I can't lose him, Alfred! I can't lose him, too . . ."


Alas, such wonderful heartbreak . . . such beautiful angst! So completely opposite of what the plot demanded. sigh