[ There's a gentle nod of understanding at that. Bruce doesn't press for more than what's already been shared about Alfred's late friend and the tragedy of her death. He knows firsthand how hard familiar spaces can be when the people you shared them with are gone.

There's a reason Bruce isn't in the manor, after all.

The suit jacket he's in makes him standout as an easy mark but there's something in the small scattering of patrons that tells Bruce he'll be fine. It's the way they regard Alfred. Respect and something akin to admiration in their eyes. Even Carrie, with all her familiarity, treats Alfred like he's more than just a regular. ]

Oh. No, I'm his—

[ Bruce starts then stops, momentarily unsure what to say. He's Alfred's. Full stop. Always has been because the lines were always blurry until Bruce drew them in the sand in an effort to excise the man from his life to better isolate himself in his misery and grief. Now... ]

His friend.

[ Carrie looks at him dubiously but Bruce smiles in an attempt to disarm her and whatever skepticism she might be working through. ]

Seems he has a lot of them here.

[ That does the trick and Carrie brightens, all too happy to tell the tale of their local hero. ]

That's because your friend ran into a burning building just next door. Helped get everyone out. We're proud to have him.

I get that. I feel the same.

[ The ache of not having Alfred anymore forces Bruce to keep the conversation moving. Mostly because he doesn't want to run the risk of hearing Alfred correct him in front of an audience. ]

He says you have excellent milkshakes. Could we trouble you for a strawberry one?

Of course, doll. Alfred? Anything else while I give you two a second to look over the menu?