Bruce rose slowly, only a sliver of sunlight outlining the black-out curtains of his bedroom. Ran a hand slowly through his hair. It was a mess. So was Clark's, the hint of it that was peeking out from where he had otherwise thoroughly ensconced himself in the sheets.

He did not look for his clock, and he did not get up. He simply listened to and monitored his breathing. Inhales and exhales. Getting a sense of his body and how it had fared after last night's exertion.

Then listened to and monitored Clark's breathing. Still deep at rest. Inhales and exhales spaced far apart.

Then, a knock at the door.

He left the blinds drawn, navigating by memory and that sliver of sunlight. Pulled on a robe, retrieving it from where he left it last. Made sure it was fastened securely shut then opened the door to the hall and slipped through, closing it behind him and greeting the man on the other side.

"Alfred." Bruce tried to gauge his mood, but Alfred's poker face was immaculate. The only tell being that he was here at all.

"Master Bruce. Always a joy to see you greet the light of day. Would you and your companion care for breakfast?" Bruce could not ascertain whether Alfred had known he had a companion, or if this had been a series of informed guesses. That Alfred suspected he was seeing someone, and judging from the fact that Bruce had not arisen earlier, suspected that someone might still be here. Either way, he was accurate, and Bruce was willing to gamble Alfred had even more information in his pocket.

"You already know who it is, don't you."

"I would never be so bold, sir." That was low, even for Alfred. Bruce had revealed something, he expected Alfred to do the same. Alfred got the message, as he hastened to add.

"I hope it's who I think it is. Regardless, you know I will always be discrete." Bruce's brow furrowed. It was a risk for Alfred to reveal that there was someone he preferred this to be.

Bruce knew in general how Alfred felt about previous partners. He had been fond of Vicky Vale, not so fond of Talia, and understanding about Selina. He wasn't sure Clark was even in the running. Nevertheless…

"Discrete enough to come knock on my door? Discrete enough to want my companion to join us for breakfast?"

Now Alfred's brow furrowed. And not in defeat. "I think I gave you ample time to get up on your own. Also, my calling it breakfast is actually most generous on my part. Brunch would be more accurate."

Alfred was disappointed. Not only that Bruce had failed to wake, but that he had failed to tell Alfred about this sooner, and Bruce could admit there was validity to that. Meeting someone at the penthouse was one thing; bringing someone back to the Manor another.

"Breakfast would be nice." Bruce acquiesced, on both counts, and Alfred was satisfied, enough to allow for delays.

"Will the two of you be coming down in a timely manner, or should I wait another half hour or so to begin serving?"

Bruce smiled. "…Wait a half hour."

"Very well, sir."

Clark took the news remarkably well, that Bruce's butler had demanded his presence at breakfast, though he quickly set himself in motion, rifling through his overnight bag, quickly showering, and then going through the final stages of making himself presentable, double and triple checking that his clothes – more of the cheap ones, that had irritated Bruce before, but now he was beginning to despise – were crease free and laying flat.

He understood as well as Bruce did this was a test. Clark had trusted Alfred with his secret identity, but now was having to trust him with his personal life, and was he willing to do that, to curry Alfred's good graces.

And despite Alfred's non-threatening appearance, underneath his immaculate butler's garb and features that were well versed in hiding his true thoughts, Alfred was a bayonet, a hidden weapon, a sharp knife.

His past had many secrets, some blood-curdling, and he was, not as well trained as Bruce, but no stranger to a blade, in or outside the kitchen, he was just as adept at using a needle and thread on clothes as he was on skin, and his hands danced easily across the cold metal components of a gun: its muzzle, its bullets and most importantly, its trigger.

In fact, Alfred was so sufficient and so in control with a fire-arm, he was one of the only people Bruce trusted with one – the only other exception being Jim Gordon – and why he allowed any to reside in the Manor at all.

They were quiet, as Bruce also readied himself – though without the same fervor as Clark did – and they were quiet as they walked out into the hall, Clark not focusing on any of the marvels this section of the Manor had to offer, marvels few people had ever seen, instead focusing only on the task at hand. The only exception being the attention he paid to a portrait of Bruce's parents at the top of the winding staircase.

Clark rested his hand on the rail and looked up at them, but other than that did not linger, instead continuing their silent march to the kitchen, and after Bruce pushed in the swinging doors, the test began.

"Good morning, Alfred!" If Clark's greeting was a little too happy, if his smile was slightly strained, if he betrayed his nervousness more than he would have liked, Alfred did not fault him for it.

"Good morning, Mister Clark. Or should I say, good afternoon. But please, the two of you, take a seat."

In some ways, as Bruce watched this unfold, this meal, and this conversation were no different than the last time Clark had dined with them. Clark shared what he was working on at the Daily Planet, some highlights of his activities as Superman, and Alfred updated him on Dick's latest scuffles and Bruce's latest cases, his ribbing of them tempered by obvious affection.

In fact, there was no explicit discussion he and Clark were seeing each other at all. The only difference was Clark jumping up at the end of the meal and insisting on doing the dishes, and before Alfred could protest, they were already done, gleaming clean and dry on the counter.

Bruce continued to observe, as Alfred and Clark exchanged goodbyes along with well wishes and the hopes they would see each other again soon. Then it was done, and he and Clark were walking out of the kitchen and back up to his bedroom.

They stood on the balcony under the noonday sun, and Superman took off, gone in an instant.

After that, following a brief visit with the bats in the basement, he found his trusty butler and gestured for him to take a walk with him, out in the courtyards Bruce rarely had time to appreciate, in the broad daylight he was no longer accustomed to, and began his interrogation.

"Did you know it was him?"

"I did." Alfred answered cleanly.

"How?"

"Little things. Your unusually foul mood, in the days following Master Clark's departure. The fact that with his impeccable manners, he did not bid me farewell when he left. Your sudden, unusually pleasant moods as of late. Though the overnight stay in the Arctic was I dare say the clincher."

"And how did you know I was there?"

"Old habits die hard, I'm afraid. After you fell down the well, I do like to know where you are. But please, tell me you are unaware of where Master Dick is at this very moment, and I will try to believe you." Disconcerting. That he had not realized he was being tracked. No doubt Dick would say the same thing, though, if he heard Bruce's reply.

"After he was kidnapped, it seemed prudent I keep better tabs on him."

"I concur. Full-heartedly, in fact."

"Where is he?" Bruce asked, checking Alfred's intel with his own.

"Master Dick? In his apartment in Bludhaven of course, sleeping after a long night out. But surely you already knew that?"

"He had a productive night." Bruce confirmed.

"That he did, sir. That he did. He took well after his teacher." Alfred's compliments and approval, both of Dick's skills and Bruce's surveillance, combined in one reply.

Despite Bruce's skewed judgement on the matter, he agreed. Dick was excellent at what he did. And the surveillance was necessary, doing what they did. Though he had been given a taste of his own medicine by Alfred's hand. Both unsettling, and reassuring. At least where Dick was concerned.

"Well, I'll know who to check with first if he goes missing again."

"And I would be most eager to help, sir."

Despite his lingering questions, about how Alfred was acquiring his information, Bruce returned to the matter at hand.

"How did he do."

"Excuse me?"

"Your little test. How did Clark do?"

"Are you asking me if I approve? If so, that's something you've never done before."

"Well?"

"I just never thought I'd live to see the day..."

"Oh?" Bruce questioned, after Alfred trailed off and failed to continue his thoughts.

"That Superman would be trying his damndest to impress me… And that someone has once again been able to see past your rather brusque exterior."

"Can't help teasing me, even now?"

"I am merely trying to lessen the awkwardness of what I am about to say next: that I am extraordinarily happy for you, and am filled with a personal pride that perhaps I don't deserve, but I possess nevertheless: that someone I deeply respect sees my boy for the extraordinary man he is."

"So that's a yes, then?" Bruce asked flatly, and Alfred almost, but didn't quite smile, and simply made his rejoinder.

"Do tell Master Clark to come by again sooner rather than later."

Bruce, unlike Alfred however, didn't bother to hide his own smirk. "Don't think that's escaped my notice; that's twice now. 'Master Clark.' He's going to have a heart attack when you call him that."

Alfred was not easily ruffled though, simply making another, quick rejoinder. "I should hope not. That would be most unfortunate. And that being the case, you really didn't need to ask me if I approved then, did you?"

Bruce slightly bowed his head in concession. "No, I suppose I didn't…"

"I assume you would be interested to know your unusually pleasant moods as of late have not gone unnoticed by others. The last time the two of you conversed had Master Dick duly concerned. He also mentioned that Mister West had noted your manner to be less, and I quote, 'demonic' than usual."

Bruce made a quick determination to be more "demonic" the next time he visited the Tower. Dick knew him too well for him any sort of act to trick him, but nevertheless he retorted."You'll just have to cook us all brunch again and I'll deliver the news to him."

"When and if you are ready, sir, it would be my pleasure. And you are correct. If it's the same time as it was today, it would be brunch."

That was something Bruce was wondering about: "Why did you push it?"

"With the breakfast?"

"I do believe it's called brunch, at this time of day."

Alfred did not rise to the bait. "You… and Master Clark. You hide so much of yourselves and your lives. I was not sure when or if you would tell me this, and I do mean it, I will keep this a secret even from Master Dick if that is what you chose, but here in your own home? I did not want you to have to hide. The least I can do for the two of you is to make sure you both get a fine meal. I am your butler, after all. It is one of my duties to attend to you and your guests."

"I think we've established that you see Clark as a bit more than a guest."

"That I do, sir. That I do."

"I'll see if I can get him back here tonight."

"That would be for the best. I do say, it would help him get over his nerves. Not that I did not appreciate his gesture, but I was very much afraid he would break the dishes when he washed them, he was so out of sorts. Yet somehow he managed."

"He usually does… And Alfred?"

"Yes?"

"I appreciate it. All of it."

"You are most welcome."

"It's... complicated. With Clark."

"Isn't it always? But truly, I believe this is one of your better decisions. Master Clark brings a light with him that you, I am sure you will take this as a compliment, but a light you rather severely lack, and a light that Master Dick rather ungraciously took with him when he left."

"You think the Kents would have felt the same?"

Alfred paused before answering this perhaps unexpected question, though it was another Bruce had wondered about. "I… cannot truly say. They came from a different place, a different time. All I know for sure is, they trusted their heart over their mind once before. Not everyone would be willing to take the chance, after finding an alien in the cradle."

That was about what Bruce had concluded as well. It was difficult to imagine them disowning Clark after everything else, but he also could not truly say. Still, he confessed.

"I would like to have met them, at least once. I… at times I don't understand him."

"Just at times, sir?" Now it was Alfred who did not bother hiding his smile.

"Very funny."

Still, Alfred humored him. "You believe they could have answered some of your questions?"

"I'd like to think so… though it's a waste of time to think like that."

"You could try." Alfred proposed, but Bruce couldn't quite believe he was doing so.

"Excuse me?"

"You could try. Speaking with them."

"Didn't realize you believed in that sort of thing."

Alfred was unfazed by his doubts. "I speak with your parents quite often, Master Bruce. It's given me great comfort over the years. Frankly, I don't think I could have managed without it."

Now it was Bruce's turn to humor Alfred. "You believe they're listening?"

"I do."

Then, Bruce belatedly realized, he wasn't entirely in a position to look down on this subject. "I talk to Dick's parents."

"I have had many a conversation with them as well." Alfred revealed, and since he was so secretly up till now keen on the subject, Bruce thought he would leave the matter in his capable hands.

"Well, since you've had so much practice, perhaps you could try talking with the Kents, and let me know what you hear from them."

"Of course, sir. While I'm at it, let me check in with the El's." Alfred replied, as casually as though he were about to go ring them up on the telephone this very day.

"You do that." Bruce continued the charade, and Alfred sighed.

"I know you are skeptical, Master Bruce. I do not pretend to have all the answers, nor am I attempting to explain away any of the truly terrible things you deal with on a nightly basis. All I can tell you is there were many, far too many times pacing these halls, when I was scared out of my wits about you, or Master Dick, waiting for you to come home, and in my desperation I asked for a sign, and I felt I got one.

"It was never the solution I wanted. You never did hang up the cowl for good, and Master Dick never retired his mask. Sometimes you came home by way of your own two feet, black and blue and worse for wear. Other times, the ones that still give me nightmares, were when you were delivered back home by someone else, mangled beyond my comprehension, and I felt in my soul I had utterly failed my promise to your parents. The one I hoped I would never have to uphold, that if anything should happen to them, I would step in: that I would watch over you, guide you, keep you safe. But it was enough. I felt I wasn't alone, that they were there with me."

"So you're saying they talked back?" Bruce felt the need to clarify, and Alfred shook his head.

"Not exactly. Not in the way you're thinking. Only to convey that I was not responsible for your actions. That I couldn't nor shouldn't expect to stop you. That it was enough, to keep doing what I've done this whole time. To make sure you have a warm meal, and to remove as much errant metal and glass from your body as my abilities allow."

And now it was Bruce's turn to sigh, and to clarify. "It isn't your fault, Alfred. What I do. It's my decision. Whatever happens to me. I hope you know that."

"Regretfully, I do sir. Though know, if I ever thought you were being truly reckless, that you had lost your guiding principals, that you were no longer skirting danger, but truly had a death wish, I would intervene. You have powerful allies whose help I could enlist, after all, and a student who is more than capable of stopping you."

"If that day ever comes, I would want you to."

Alfred nodded, only to then elaborate. "I know none of this comes as news to you. And I do not want it to be lost in my concern for you, that I am astonishingly proud of what you have accomplished. You have saved so many lives, Master Bruce. And saved so many would be survivors from heartbreak. It is more that, in my own selfishness, I wish you were not the one, putting yourself at risk.

"I also do not truly have any moral issue with how you operate. Some may call you a vigilante, or even a menace, that one shouldn't fight fire with fire, or in this case, fear with fear. However, though I often kid you about your cynicism, you are a child of this city just as much as the criminals you fight. Maybe, as nature has a way of tending to do, you are the evolution, the predator who culls the wilderness, that is necessary for balance."

That was a rather poetic way of looking at it. Instead of a darkness birthing a greater, albeit smarter, darkness. Still, he needed to give credit where credit was due.

"You saved them too, Alfred. I could never have done this without you. So tell that to Saint Peter at the Pearly Gates. If you believe in that sort of thing."

Alfred looked briefly puzzled, before replying. "So you were paying attention in Sunday School, Master Bruce?"

"I deal with plenty of religious fanatics. They are not complicated, but when they want to play games with me, it helps to have some reference to what they think the God they are fighting for is. I'm no believer, but I do know that whatever they think God is, isn't."

"You believe in good. Perhaps that is enough."

"You'd like it, wouldn't you. If I believed."

Alfred was visibly pained, pursing his lips and furrowing his brow at that statement, deliberating internally for the right words and phrasing, before settling. "That is a complicated question, Master Bruce. I will only say that I think it could help. If you had faith. Paradoxically, your lack of faith is what makes you so good at what you do."

Bruce was satisfied. With that answer. There was someone else he thought would agree with Alfred, actually. "He hasn't said it to me, but I think Clark feels similarly."

"Oh? Is Master Clark a church-going man?" Alfred inquired, curiosity piqued.

After his stay in the Arctic, the one that had entirely given him and their current relationship away, Bruce knew Clark obtained some faith from his home-planet's beliefs, as improbable or as downright impossible that seemed to him, as well as almost unbearably tragic, to not only speak a dead language, but to be the last one keeping that faith.

That was not the church Alfred was asking about, however.

"I've never asked him. I'm sure he did with the Kents."

"Hard to imagine where he'd find the time."

"I think he's more like you. He has his own private rituals."

"I have to say, when you and Superman made each other's acquaintance, I was greatly assured of the rightness of your mission."

"In what way?" Bruce asked, not following Alfred's line of reasoning.

"That you were not going to be lost to the darkness. After all, if the cheery fellow upholding liberty, truth, and justice wanted to work with you, judged you to be sound, then who was I to say otherwise."

As laughable as it may seem to others – Bruce was aware of reputation as Batman – he actually did take pains to contain that ever-present darkness of his, to keep it locked and confined within himself, where it could not contaminate anyone else. It seemed his efforts had been in vain. But here was a speck of light, for Alfred, and he could admit privately, for himself, that he had not seen coming.

"So, Superman's having faith in me gave you faith too?"

"I wouldn't have worded it that way, but yes, indeed it did." Alfred's poignant delivery, as well as the poignant look in his eyes after he said this, propelled Bruce to say just a little bit more. To give out a few more specks of light amidst the dark.

"My faith may be small, but it has grown over the years. Overall, I have faith in the Justice League. I am extremely proud of Dick's work leading the Teen Titans, and his current role in Bludhaven.

"But before all that, and even on my darkest night, I've had odd moments of grace. The theater patrons who called 9-1-1. The officer on the scene who draped her coat over me and put me in a patrol car. The officer at the station who got me a hot chocolate. Leslie, sitting with me. And you, coming to get me."

Alfred's eyes and tone turned bittersweet, and his head bowed at the memory. "I'm most glad to hear that, sir. Most glad."