Three: Caged

The last bit of rare Gotham sunshine was just fading from the sky when Alfred finished putting away the dinner dishes and did one last sweep of the kitchen to be sure that everything was back in proper order. No stray flatware or pot had escaped his notice. The counters and kitchen table were freshly scrubbed as were the floors. The sink was cleaned. The chairs and stools were safely tucked away so no one would accidentally bump into them. Everything, in short, was prefect. All before Master Bruce had left for the evening.

How odd.

Six months ago it would not have been so. Alfred rather prided himself on running a tight ship, and a clean kitchen was obviously something of importance to that. However, since rather auspicious and memorable arrival of the four young masters into the Wayne home, the need for flexibility on his part had become paramount; and while it had not been completely done away, his routine had changed rather significantly. The kitchen was cleaned after every meal, but it just usually was not completed so soon and without interruptions.

That was life with four young children, particularly when three of them were under the age of ten: interruptions, arguing, fights, and games. With the case of these young boys, broken antique chandeliers and thousands of dollars worth of damages to the foyer should also be expected.

As he retrieved a serving and the milk from the refrigerator, Alfred wondered if the others had gone through the same thing or if the children were this destructively simply because they were all together. He also wondered about what the future held for the furniture and all around structure of the Manor if this was the type of destruction that was to become commonplace in their lives. Perhaps they should move some of the more valuable pieces to the attic until the boys are older. Or point them in the direction of things that they wouldn't mind being rid of. There was a particularly Bureau du Roi in one of the upstairs drawing rooms he wouldn't mind never having to dust again.

The fantasy of the destruction of a Louis XV roll-top secretary still playing in his mind, Alfred made his way to one of the downstairs studies with the serving set. He slipped into the room silently enough to make Batman jealous to not disturbed its single occupant. Like most rooms in the Manor there were no overhead lights, so a few lamps had been turned at some point in the past hour. The low wattage, however, didn't provide the best lighting, so Alfred was glad that Master Dick had chosen to sit at the desk and turn on the old fashion desktop lamp.

He was rapidly tapping his pencil against the top of a book as a frustrated frown pulled at the edges of his lips. For the amount of time it took Alfred to set the serving tray down and pick up the glass of milk and plate of cookies he had brought for him, the boy had not come close to writing a single word on the sheet of paper before him. Alfred wasn't sure if he was just deep in thought or hoping that perhaps the words would magically appear on the paper if he just stared at it long enough, but the half-written was remaining unfinished all the same.

If Master Dick was surprised by Alfred's sudden presences, he didn't show. He just looked up at him with what Leslie use to call a "hound dog expression" as Alfred replaced the old glass of milk with the fresh one and laid the plate of cookies next to it.

"I'm never going to finish this, Alf," he said.

"Yes, Master Dick, you will," Alfred replied.

"No, I won't," he said as he flopped back in his chair. "I'm going to be thirty and still sitting in here, trying to get this stupid thing right because Bruce wants it to be 'perfect.'"

The tips of Alfred's lips twitched, but he managed to keep the smile from blooming on his face.

"I'm sure your are exaggerating, sir," he said.

"Really?"

With a small pout Dick vaguely waved at the two other versions that Master Bruce had rejected earlier. The first was covered with grammatical corrections and notes in the margins about the content. The second was less so but with still enough that it was obvious that it needed to be redone. From what little Alfred had read of what was written, the third version wasn't going to be up to snuff either.

With a groan, Master Dick muttered to the ceiling, "This is awful."

"I'm afraid that is quite the point, Master Dick," Alfred said.

The boy groaned again and covered his face with this hands only to drag them down slowly. While he wasn't looking, Alfred smiled and then patted him on the shoulder. Dick returned a weak, lopsided grin and turned back to his essay on why using a chandelier as a trapeze is a dangerous and foolish thing to do.

Just as Alfred began to leave, he paused at the door and said, "If I might make some suggestions, Master Dick. Never begin a sentence with an "and", "or", or "but". Don't use a comma in front of a "because". Also, Master Bruce will never accept "it was a bet" as an acceptable argument for what you did."

The boy's eyes widen as he took in Alfred's advice. He then grabbed a fresh piece of paper and began to write.

"Thanks, Alfie."

Though he wasn't looking at him any longer, Alfred gave a nod and headed back to the kitchen with the serving tray and dirty glass. After cleaning and putting them away, he then headed up to check on the other two jailbirds. He barely stepped into the hall that housed all the boys' rooms when he heard frustrated growl that could only belong to Master Jason.

"Hurry up, Tim!"

By passing Master Jason's room, Alfred opened the door to Master Timothy's instead. Master Jason was standing just inside the doorway to the room's en suite with his arms crossed and practically baring his teeth. Master Timothy was in the tub sitting in the middle of mountain of bubbled and frowning back at Jason.

"'Cleanliness is next to godliness,'" the young boy quoted primly. It was something that Alfred had often said to him when it came to the child's bath time and, Alfred suspected, something Timothy's mother often said to him as well. However, the fact that Tim was not actually making any attempt at bathing so much as just sitting there was not helping his case.

"You're going to be next to god soon if you don't hurry up," Master Jason threatened.

"Master Jason," Alfred said sternly.

The boy had the good grace to at least look sheepish but didn't apologies. Instead, he turned his head towards Alfred and overly exaggerated mouthing the words "help me."

"I'm afraid preparing Master Timothy for bed is your responsibility tonight," Alfred replied.

Jason's head fell back and groaned up to the heavens. It was very similar to Master Dick's own groan.

Master Timothy had gone back to splashing in the water, though the bar of soap was yet to be touched. Judging by Alfred own experience, the boy would not want to emerge from the tub for a minimum of another twenty minutes, even though he would still need a good scrubbing. Luckily for Master Jason, waiting that long would not be possible for tonight.

"I will remind you, Master Timothy, that you are to be in bed an hour earlier tonight."

Desperate hope blossomed on Master Jason's face just as Master Timothy's fell. Had it been one of the other boys, there would have been arguments about how they were not tired or that going to bed an hour early was a stupid punishment, but Master Timothy just sank a little further into the tub.

"Okay, Alfred," he said as he took the washcloth and soap and actually began to clean himself.

"Thank you," Master Jason said.

Alfred raised an eyebrow. "Don't forget he still has to put on his pajamas and brush his teeth."

"And a story," Master Timothy added.

Alfred nodded his head. "And a story."

"Oh, come on," Master Jason groaned again.

As he left the room, Alfred heard Master Timothy going through a list of potential bedtime stories, each longer than the last. Along with the title, he felt the need to remind Master Jason the content of said story and the pros and cons of why choosing that book. Alfred was rather worried that Master Jason was going to strain his vocal cords with how much and how loudly he was groaning.

Alfred found Master Bruce reading over some files in his own personal study. The windows were black now that night had finally settled, and reflected back some of the light from the various lamps.

Young Master Damian dozed on the couch near Master Bruce's chair. He was fighting to keep his eyes opened, but they barely stayed raised for a moment or two before dropping closed once more. Alfred went and picked the child up. He fussed a bit at first before curled into Alfred's warmth and closed his eyes probably for the last time that evening.

"How are the boys?" Master Bruce asked.

"Master Timothy is already scrubbing and should be in bed within the hour, just as you instructed," Alfred reported.

Master Bruce gave a nod of approval.

He continued, "Master Jason is currently trying to convince Master Timothy he is not a fish and is probably going to give himself a bout of laryngitis if he doesn't refrain from groaning so much."

Master Bruce's lips twitched. "At least he's not plotting his revenge just yet."

"No, he'll probably begin doing that come morning," Alfred replied with his own smile. "Master Dick is still working away on his essay, though I would not hold out much hope for this version any more than the others. He seems rather found of commas and the idea that an essay can be one giant sentence. Much like another unruly twelve-year-old I once knew."

"He'll learn," Master Bruce replied. "I did."

"True, but not all in one night," Alfred said.

Master Bruce raised an eyebrow at him, and Alfred could practically hear him remembering the time that he himself had to rewrite his essay on why he should talk to a teach instead of knocking out another boy who was bully another child. It was hardly Alfred's fault that Master Bruce had stubbornly refused to acknowledge any other avenue than the one he had chosen. It most certainly was not his fault that he did so in seven essays no matter what Alfred instructed. On the plus side, though, Master Bruce had become quite apt at essay writing and could so faster than most of his classmates.

Master Dick seemed to be well on his way to that particular talent as well, and Alfred had no doubt that Master Jason would be following in a few years. Actually, knowing Master Jason, he would probably be able to write an entire Master's Thesis in week by the time he reached adulthood.

Still, this was the first time Master Dick had to do such a thing, and Master Bruce nodded in acknowledgment of that.

"I'll keep that in mind when he brings it up," Master Bruce said.

Alfred nodded in response. "All in all, sir, I'd say you have three very unhappy little boys, which I would say is a rousing success in terms of first major punishment."

Standing up from his chair, Master Bruce put the folder he had been reading on top of the pile he left on his desk and said, "We'll see."

With one last nod, Alfred turned to take young Master Damian to bed when Master Bruce asked, "Alfred, do you always feel this...?"

Lousy? Awful? Utter afraid that they'll hate you forever?

Alfred smiled softly.

"I'm afraid so, sir."

AN: Someone asked for one where the boys are punished. After the last chapter, this seemed like a good place to do one. Also, Dick's punishment is based off how a friend of mine use to be punished as a kid.