[ It's not fair to ask this of Alfred, not after he fired him, but at the crossroads of the man he needs to become and the one he's trying to leave behind, it's hard to be alone. Hence the party. Hence Alfred. Bruce breathes easier at the sight of him, even as he pulls up to the curb in something that looks like it could have been abandoned on the side of the road.
The doorman wrinkles his nose at the sight as Bruce steps out into the night air. He doesn't expect Alfred to get out and open the door for him so Bruce helps himself to the passenger seat, gusting out a sigh as he settles into the beatup interior, briefly unable to look at Alfred as the familiar tangle of shame and sentiment knots his stomach. ]
Thank you, Alfred. Were you...Did I interrupt anything?
[The sneer of the doorman is something Alfred is used to, he grew up in East London and as a young man he had constantly been treated like he was trash.]
No, I was just doing some mending.
[He says as he pulls the car out of the drive and back into the road.]
[ It takes longer than Bruce is proud of as he's settling in to notice the derision on the doorman's face and when he catches it, he stares the man down until he's looking away. He's mid-buckling when Alfred steers them from the building. ]
Oh. [ The air hangs heavy with the unspoken desire to ask questions, but he's still learning to navigate this new dynamic of theirs. After a moment, Bruce's gaze flits from his folded hands to Alfred. ]
Are you expecting it to be a late night?
[ There's an offer on the tip of his tongue, habit from dictating their schedule when Alfred had been apart of his life, but he waits instead. ]
[ It takes effort not to let the guilt show across his expression; the way Bruce feels directly responsible for said holes and the fact that Alfred is in a position where mending is preferable to buying new socks. He steels himself with a breath as nerves twist him up. ]
No, I...I was going to ask if maybe you wanted to get tea somewhere. You mentioned the diner, Ruth's, and I thought maybe I could buy you a cup.
[ He doesn't mention that he tried to buy the diner so he could rename it. Maybe it's for the best. Calling it Tiffany's might have been salt in the wound. ]
[ Bruce doesn't just internally squirm, he physically squirms as Alfred lets the offer hang in the air. Maybe he misread Alfred's willingness to be around him. Maybe it only extends just far enough to know he's safe and nothing else. Maybe he should have just asked to be dropped off at the Manor. Maybe— ]
It does? [ He catches himself and inadvertently smiles with the relief. ] It does. I haven't had a good cup in...
[ Bruce falls quiet. They both know when the last time would have been because Alfred would have been the one making it. Instead he clears his throat and looks out the window. ]
[ There's an art to having tea that Bruce knows isn't commonly practiced outside of the manor. There's not likely to be any warming of their tea cups with hot water before it's poured from a teapot. Likely, they're in for expired teabags and water boiled from the same system they use for their coffee.
But that's okay. It's not the tea he's interested in as much as it's the ritual of simply sitting down with Alfred. His brows arch, interest visibly piqued, at the mention of milkshakes however. ]
Do they?
[ He smiles in spite of himself, daring to add: ] Then maybe a milkshake then. What flavors have you tried?
[ Bruce is sure the selection is limited, but he's hungry for any bit of information about Alfred's new life that he can get and this seems a harmless enough place to start. ]
Strawberry sounds nice. Unless that's too exotic for you.
[ The teasing is subtle, harkening to a time when they were still feeling out their dynamic after his parents' passing. Bruce feels like he's been thrown right back to the beginning except this time Alfred isn't obligated to attend him. Or humor him. ]
[ That faint smile is Bruce's whole world for a moment. His own mirrors it unconsciously, delighted to feel some small sense of normalcy, and he finds himself breathing a little easier as they roll to a stop.
The diner is small and unassuming, but Bruce had known that before they'd even arrived. He's seen the photos and knows the square footage, but doesn't trouble himself with the idea that the owner might be in, instead pretending to take it in for the first time as he climbs slowly out of the car. ]
Looks cozy.
[ Cozier than the neighborhood it's in but Bruce knows better than to look down on any corner in Gotham. If there's poverty or crime, then he's partially responsible for not getting the right money in the right people's hands to help. ]
Come here often?
[ From anyone else it might sound like a line, but there's a genuine curiosity in Bruce as he waits for Alfred to walk alongside him. ]
[Which means not as often now that Tiffany is gone, she was the one who was always kind and friendly to Alfred. Their brief friendship meant a lot to him.
He waves hello to the other girls behind the counter and leads Bruce over to a table near the window. One of the other waitresses, Carrie, comes over with menus.]
Here you go, Alfred.
Cheers, Carrie.
[The woman is in her thirties and she gives Bruce a little glance.]
[ 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?
['He's my son.' Those are the words that are so close to coming out but Alfred stops them just in time, allowing Bruce to correct Carrie and label whatever it is they are now.
Friends.
It's better than what Bruce called him when he demanded he leave the manor but it still hurts him a little to be called anything other than the boy's family.]
I'll have a cup of tea, please and thank you.
[He says and Carrie tips him a wink and heads off to get their drinks, once she is gone Alfred clears his throat and adjusts the cutlery on the table. Straightening it out.]
She's exaggerating, by the way. It wasn't just me who went into the building to help.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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I'll be there in 15.
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[ He already knows better than to offer waiting on the street. ]
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The doorman wrinkles his nose at the sight as Bruce steps out into the night air. He doesn't expect Alfred to get out and open the door for him so Bruce helps himself to the passenger seat, gusting out a sigh as he settles into the beatup interior, briefly unable to look at Alfred as the familiar tangle of shame and sentiment knots his stomach. ]
Thank you, Alfred. Were you...Did I interrupt anything?
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No, I was just doing some mending.
[He says as he pulls the car out of the drive and back into the road.]
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Oh. [ The air hangs heavy with the unspoken desire to ask questions, but he's still learning to navigate this new dynamic of theirs. After a moment, Bruce's gaze flits from his folded hands to Alfred. ]
Are you expecting it to be a late night?
[ There's an offer on the tip of his tongue, habit from dictating their schedule when Alfred had been apart of his life, but he waits instead. ]
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[He asks, glancing back at Bruce with a raised eyebrow.]
No.
Are you planning on going out still or shall I drive you home?
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No, I...I was going to ask if maybe you wanted to get tea somewhere. You mentioned the diner, Ruth's, and I thought maybe I could buy you a cup.
[ He doesn't mention that he tried to buy the diner so he could rename it. Maybe it's for the best. Calling it Tiffany's might have been salt in the wound. ]
ooc: awwwwww Bruce 😭 he's so sweet
A cup of tea sounds good right about now, actually.
ooc: he has a lot to make up for 🙈
It does? [ He catches himself and inadvertently smiles with the relief. ] It does. I haven't had a good cup in...
[ Bruce falls quiet. They both know when the last time would have been because Alfred would have been the one making it. Instead he clears his throat and looks out the window. ]
Do they have your favorite?
ooc: true, very true
No but what they have is decent enough.
[His favorite is at home, shipped directly from London. It's the one luxury he still allows himself now that he's living on a budget.]
They have excellent milkshakes though, if you're in the mood for something sweet.
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But that's okay. It's not the tea he's interested in as much as it's the ritual of simply sitting down with Alfred. His brows arch, interest visibly piqued, at the mention of milkshakes however. ]
Do they?
[ He smiles in spite of himself, daring to add: ] Then maybe a milkshake then. What flavors have you tried?
[ Bruce is sure the selection is limited, but he's hungry for any bit of information about Alfred's new life that he can get and this seems a harmless enough place to start. ]
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I've had their vanilla before but I know they also have chocolate, strawberry, peaches n cream, and caramel.
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[ The teasing is subtle, harkening to a time when they were still feeling out their dynamic after his parents' passing. Bruce feels like he's been thrown right back to the beginning except this time Alfred isn't obligated to attend him. Or humor him. ]
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[He says, a faint smile touching the corner of his mouth. Slowly he pulls the car into a spot on the street, nodding towards a cozy looking diner.]
Here it is.
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The diner is small and unassuming, but Bruce had known that before they'd even arrived. He's seen the photos and knows the square footage, but doesn't trouble himself with the idea that the owner might be in, instead pretending to take it in for the first time as he climbs slowly out of the car. ]
Looks cozy.
[ Cozier than the neighborhood it's in but Bruce knows better than to look down on any corner in Gotham. If there's poverty or crime, then he's partially responsible for not getting the right money in the right people's hands to help. ]
Come here often?
[ From anyone else it might sound like a line, but there's a genuine curiosity in Bruce as he waits for Alfred to walk alongside him. ]
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[Which means not as often now that Tiffany is gone, she was the one who was always kind and friendly to Alfred. Their brief friendship meant a lot to him.
He waves hello to the other girls behind the counter and leads Bruce over to a table near the window. One of the other waitresses, Carrie, comes over with menus.]
Here you go, Alfred.
Cheers, Carrie.
[The woman is in her thirties and she gives Bruce a little glance.]
Whose this? A nephew?
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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?
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Those are the words that are so close to coming out but Alfred stops them just in time, allowing Bruce to correct Carrie and label whatever it is they are now.
Friends.
It's better than what Bruce called him when he demanded he leave the manor but it still hurts him a little to be called anything other than the boy's family.]
I'll have a cup of tea, please and thank you.
[He says and Carrie tips him a wink and heads off to get their drinks, once she is gone Alfred clears his throat and adjusts the cutlery on the table. Straightening it out.]
She's exaggerating, by the way. It wasn't just me who went into the building to help.