Prompts used:
- No. 15 I'm fine
- No. 19 Floral bouquet

Chapter 3

By the time Tuesday came, Alfred almost saw the funeral as a welcome change.

A week of confinement in the penthouse made them both realise just how busy Bruce really kept himself. He might not have had the best opinion as a regular worker in Wayne Enterprises, but he made sure to participate in every important board meeting and he actually spent quite a lot of time in the building, though often his work was more off-record or his projects were later passed on by Lucius Fox.

If he wasn't maintaining his public image of a careless billionaire or being otherwise engaged in social events his status required, Bruce could often be found in his hidden bunker, collecting data, keeping a close eye on the city events or tinkering with his equipment, working on new designs for Lucius to make or incorporating his own improvements.

And of course, when he wasn't partying, he went out as Batman at nights, then slept till some very improper hours.

None of the options was currently available, apart from the sleeping, and Bruce was fed up with that on third day of this forced idleness. The combined result of blood loss, external and internal bruising and slightly festering bites and shot wound had left him with a lingering fever, blessedly not high enough to render him senseless and become a cause for immediate alarm, but enough to make him perpetually exhausted and cranky. It didn't help that the penthouse was a very elegant and neat, but also a completely soulless place. Most of their possessions had been burned down with the mansion and while Alfred made sure they had everything they could need on daily basis, all of excellent quality of course, the whole place lacked personal touch. Since Bruce kept most of his tools and his best computers in the bunker, his bedroom was hardly different from a hotel room. So far he had been using the penthouse mostly as a temporary sleeping place, sometimes throwing a party or some fundraising. He had hardly actually lived there.

Now, standing in the cemetery chapel next to Bruce during the memorial service for Rachel Dawes, Alfred kept a watchful eye on him. Despite his rather poor state, Bruce was determined to attend the funeral and the butler was far from trying to convince him otherwise. He needed the closure, so Alfred wrapped his wounds with extra layers of bandages to prevent any potential soaking and fed him with a generous dose of painkillers before they left.

Bruce seemed completely shut off, his blank gaze locked somewhere above Rachel's picture placed before the altar and Alfred was reminded of the boy he had once tried to protect during his parents' funeral. He remembered how Bruce had refused to cry during the service, how he remained a shell-shocked child almost clinging to him the whole time and barely nodding at the words thrown at him. Now Alfred could see similar traits in the grown up man.

Bruce still kept the bouquet of white roses he brought despite having enough free space on the bench beside him, fingers clenched as if it was the only thing holding him upright. The flowers had been cut the previous afternoon in the garden surrounding the Wayne Manor, currently still a building site. It was an odd request from Bruce, going all the way just to cut particular ones, but perhaps he had some memory of Rachel and these roses, one Alfred was not aware of. He didn't ask since Bruce clearly didn't intend to share, just made sure the flowers were placed in water for the night. It still struck Alfred how simple they looked, especially compared with the bouquet Wayne Enterprises officially sent for the memorial service of Harvey Dent. The roses looked private if not intimate.

Alfred was about to subtly suggest putting the bouquet down, but as everybody moved to sit again, he had to abandon the idea. Bruce was using the flowers to conceal the fact that he kept his other hand pressed to his abdomen in what seemed to be a vain attempt of keeping the muscles around the wound from twitching whenever he moved. His breathing was carefully controlled, but there was no way to hide the sheen of sweat on his forehead and the sickly paleness. With his hair not gelled back as usual, Bruce really looked like someone who crawled out of his bed just for the service and despite his earlier claims that he was up to the task, Alfred was beginning to think otherwise.

The service ended and people started leaving, but Bruce made no indication of moving. He remained sitting with his eyes closed, head slightly bowed as if in a prayer. Alfred stood up to shield him a bit from the view as people passed them on their way out, nodding polite greetings to some. Soon it was almost just the two of them in the chapel.

"Master Wayne," Alfred leaned and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "It's time to go," he said softly.

Bruce snapped his eyes open and looked around. He brushed his hair from his eyes and winced.

"Shall we go right to the car, sir?" Alfred suggested without really hoping to convince him to leave before the end. "If you-"

"I'm fine." Bruce cut him off and stood up seemingly with little effort, though after a few steps he slowed down and looked back at Alfred, realising he had snapped. "Sorry."

"It's alright, sir."

Bruce just nodded slightly and waited for Alfred to join him, so they could leave the chapel together. They didn't hurry to catch up with the rest of the mourners heading for the grave. Despite their earlier concern, there was no press outside; Mrs Dawes wished for the ceremony to be private and it seemed her decision was respected.

Still, for a private ceremony there were many attendees and a small crowd gathered by the simple grave stone. Alfred didn't know most of them, except Lucy, Rachel's mother, and her sister, who used to visit the manor occasionally. He could easily spot people who probably worked with Rachel and a few cops in civilian clothes, including Commissioner Gordon.

Alfred stayed behind and watched as Bruce crouched stiffly to place the bouquet by Rachel's picture leaned against the tombstone. He had waited until almost everybody was done before stepping forward. His movements were slow and careful, but not suspiciously so. The brace they used to support his sore knee seemed to be doing its job.

But Bruce Wayne wasn't the only one who waited. James Gordon approached the grave as well to pay his respects, stiff and awkward and clearly feeling out of place. He didn't have flowers, so he just hovered nearby. He didn't mean to interrupt anybody, that much was clear, but still Bruce tensed at his presence and wanted to retreat.

He tripped.

Commissioner Gordon reacted fast, like a cop. Alfred saw all colour drain from his young employer's face as the officer grabbed him by the arm where a particularly nasty bite was, part of it still festering and refusing to close. Bruce jerked, startled.

"You alright, son?" Gordon asked gently as he placed his other hand on Bruce's shoulder to steady him.

Just as he was ready to flee a second ago, Bruce froze at Commissioner's words and his eyes went wide. He turned and only now seemed to realise who caught him; a testimony how dazed he really was. Gordon too must have only then realised who he was talking to in such a way, because he removed his hand and took a step back, clearing his throat.

Before Alfred could react and intervene in any way, Lucy Dawes noticed young Wayne and stepped in.

"Bruce." She welcomed him with a sad smile. "I'm glad you managed to make it after all."

"Of course." Clearly unable to force a smile back, Bruce leaned and offered her a careful hug instead. "I'm sorry," he said so softly Alfred barely caught it.

They stood together for a moment in an awkward silence, before Bruce muttered something and excused himself. Watching him stroll down the alley, Alfred let him be for the time being; it was pointless to impose on him too much when the younger man clearly needed to regain his composure. Instead, he turned his gaze to Rachel's picture.

Having been so wrapped up with Batman's fall and Bruce's well-being, both physical and mental, Alfred hardly had the time to stop for a moment and really think what had happened. Now that he did, deep sorrow clenched his heart. He had known Rachel all her life, from a nosy kid teaming up with Bruce for some mischief, through a rebellious teenager who quickly became disillusioned with the reality of Gotham city, to a fierce young woman with strict morals, trying for years to do her best in what looked like a lost cause. It was unreal to think that a little over a week ago, he had offered her breakfast in the penthouse like he had used to offer snacks to her and Bruce back in the manor. He had let her leave the apartment soon after, the letter she left for Bruce weighting his pocket. He never thought it would be their final goodbye.

Sighing, Alfred blew his nose and neatly folded his cotton handkerchief in four before slipping it back to his pocket and looking around to find Bruce. He spotted him waiting a few meters away, still pale, but definitely more collected. And, it seemed, ready to go home.

As it turned out, they couldn't leave just yet. James Gordon stopped them before they reached the car.

"Mr Wayne?"

"Yes? Commissioner Gordon, right? What can I do for you?" Bruce made a show of staring at the officer, then obvious recognition dawned on him. "Oh. You were in the van with Reese, right?" He seemed to be purposely ignoring the earlier incident.

"Yes." Gordon look scrutinising at him and obviously didn't like what he could see. "Did you get checked after that crash, Mr Wayne? There was chaos with the hospital evacuation and I had a different task at hand, but I should have made sure you were alright too before we let you go."

"It's alright, Commissioner." Bruce tried his usual lighter tone he often used in public, but it didn't exactly work with his clammy face and slightly feverish look, at least for Alfred. "I saw what was going on in the city with that madman. You were right, it was best to just leave. And I felt fine then."

"I know it's not the right time to talk about it, but there are some matters to clear," Gordon went straight to the point. "I'd like to talk to you later, Mr Wayne."

Bruce sighed a bit dramatically. "Is it about speed ticket?" He glanced sideways at Alfred, who gave him a pointed look.

Gordon must have seen that exchange and allowed himself a small smile. "I don't think we need to dig too deeply in that case, considering you probably stopped a murderer, but there is some paperwork we missed too. No one has noticed yet, but I'm sure sooner or later some intern is going to dig it up. I need your signature under police note, so if you could come over to the station..."

"Of course." Bruce nodded and offered a polite smile that didn't reach his eyes. Then he must have realised he wasn't exactly convincing, for he changed his tactics. "Can it wait till tomorrow, though? I don't exactly feel great today."

"Whenever suits you."

As soon as the Rolls offered him the privacy of tinted windows, Bruce curled in on himself on the backseat, looking utterly spent. Alfred passed him a bottle of water and a box with pills without a word before starting the engine.

"Let's stop for dinner."

"Anything particular, sir?" Alfred glanced at his employer through the mirror. Over the past week, the younger man showed very little interest in eating, picking at whatever Alfred prepared for him, so it was an unexpected change.

"Somewhere private." Bruce rolled his eyes. "How about that Italian you sometimes order from? Should be on the way."

"As you wish, sir."

The place Bruce mentioned was a small family business, way below the status of the restaurants Wayne tended to take his dates to, but it offered wonderful cuisine and first of all – privacy. No one disturbed them as they ate in silence and Alfred was pleased to see Bruce actually finish his meal for once. He clearly made an effort and by the time he paid, the butler had a very strong suspicion where this was leading to.

He was proven right the moment they were back in the car and Bruce said exactly what Alfred didn't want to hear.

"Drop me on the way home. I'll take the motor back later."

"Master Wayne, I don't think this is a good idea." Well fed or not, Bruce looked like he could use some rest.

"I'll be fine, Alfred," Bruce sighed. "Take an evening off, at least. I'm not going anywhere else and I'll be back for the night."

After this many years of service, Alfred could recognise a dismissal when he was given one, even though he wouldn't need two hands to count the times Bruce acted like that towards him.

"Very well, sir," he nodded. "But please do call me if you need a pick-up after all."

Alfred left his employer by the container hiding the lift and waited until the younger man disappeared. He knew Bruce needed some space to sort things out on his own; perhaps they both did. As he drove away, Alfred just wished it wasn't today of all days that Bruce decided to shy away even from him. Not this soon after the funeral.

Back in the penthouse, in the sterile kitchen that would never be his, he burned down Rachel's letter. Then he made some tea as usual, picked a book he started reading two days ago and settled to wait for Bruce.

Thank you for reading. I accept and appreciate all kinds of reviews, critics too.

This story is finished, but it's going to have a sequel.