Bunny Book

Alfred liked to busy himself late into the night. Well, he didn't really like it, but he preferred it to the alternative. He knows if he doesn't futz with something he'd be down in the cave all night, listlessly pacing, endlessly worrying. One would think he'd get used to it after so many years, that he'd grow comfortable with his son's nightly activities. They would be wrong.

So Alfred dusted the curtains. They tended to accumulate dust, given they're rarely moved from their closed position. If it weren't for his own fussing Alfred doubted anything in the manor proper would be moved. He knew his son, and he knew that the niceties of his public persona were lost on Bruce if not explained. He knew Bruce saw his life as another job. The day shift before the night shift. 

Always on the clock, Alfred mused. He shook his head - pot and kettle and all that rot. More like apple and tree if he thought about it. 

Son, son, son - he tossed the term around compulsively tonight. In the privacy of his own mind he allowed himself the kindness, but wished it were applied in lighter circumstances. They had reached the magic hour that seemed to add weight to Alfred's already heavy heart - it had been too long. Bruce should definitely have been back already. The case tonight was a gruesome one, and late hours on such an assignment was never a good sign.

Alfred stopped dusting. It had barely helped anyway, the mindless movement of his wrist not really achieving anything in the end, he was too lost in thought to put any weight behind it. He let out a deep sigh, listening to the creaks and groans of the old manor, trying to find comfort in it's heartbeat. 

The steady thrum was interrupted. He wouldn't have noticed if he had been doing anything else, but the distant squeak of old wood caught his attention. Alfred carefully padded down the hallway, a fire pick in his hand just in case. The squeaking continued, and Alfred found that he recognized it. With more purpose now, he headed toward a particular room down the hall.

If the night had continued as it was, he would've gotten to the room at some point. Around 5 am Alfred's nerves would reach a peak, and he'd always find himself in the nursery. He rarely bothered to clean. He'd be far too worn, far too worried. He'd gently sit on the bed as if young Bruce were still tucked into it. He'd feel the faded velvet of Bruce's old toys, and they'd keep him company.

Tonight, it seemed someone beat him to it. 

The source of the squeaking was an old rocking chair. A sturdy creation, but age had worn it down. The painted flowers and the white undercoat faded into the grain, a memory of how it once was. Alfred watched as it swayed back and forth, pushed by an idle hand on it's base.

Bruce had come back, at some point. Alfred couldn't find the energy to chide himself about missing his entrance, but it didn't look like he'd entered through the traditional means. The window to the nursery was open. A good portion of the suit was discarded - cape, cowl, top, belt. They were ripped and tattered, dirty red stains patterning each tear. The Batman had been discarded for the night.

Bruce was sitting in front of his shelf. It was brimming with books, but not the kind Bruce busied himself with nowadays. Fairy tales and Nursery Rhymes, the Hardy Boys, picture books. Stories he hadn't looked at in years. One was distinctly missing from the shelf. One of Bruce's hands idly gripped the rocking chair, pulling it back and forth, matching it's motion with his own body. His other hand fiddled with a page of Peter Rabbit. Alfred could hear his quiet mumbles, familiar words that fell out of his mouth without trying.

Alfred tried his best to stay in the doorway. It was rare, to say the least, to see Bruce self soothing in any capacity. He would barely take care of his most basic physical needs, let alone abstract emotional ones like comfort. But tonight he had taken a step. A detour from the batcave into a place he felt safe. It meant a lot. Alfred didn't want to ruin it.

But then another sound broke through the hum, a growl from Bruce's undoubtedly neglected stomach. Bruce had no will left to keep a strong face, a whine escaping him as he curled into himself further. Alfred simply couldn't help himself.

"Some late night reading, little one?" Try as he might he couldn't greet his son without a bit of a jeer. It was a love language. Bruce looked startled by Alfred's arrival, yet another sign to his off kilter state. Alfred was quick to soothe him, gently sitting next to his boy as he rubbed circles on his back. 

"Shhh, shh, it's okay. I'm here." He couldn't help but coo. 

"It sounds like you could use a proper meal after tonight. How about we head to the kitchen so I can fix something up for you. Then when you're all doneI'd love to finish up Peter Rabbit for you, if you'd let me. How does that sound?"

Bruce didn't respond. He looked around, seemingly for an answer, but met Alfred's gaze with nothing. He adjusted his approach. 

"Supper, then I'll read your bunny book. Hm?" He spoke slowly and deliberately, presenting the book as an aid. It seemed to get through to Bruce, who nodded and let his head fall to his father's shoulder. "buby book…"

They stayed in the nursery for a few minutes, holding each other close and rocking gently back and forth. Alfred wanted to get his boy some food as soon as possible, but he knew he needed a minute to settle. So he let Bruce nestle into his shoulder, and rubbed his back until he was ready to stir. 

"Alright little one," Alfred got to his feet, "let's get you some supper, shall we?"

Bruce was instantly aware of his father's absence from his arms, and didn't like it one bit. He needed to be held again. He grabbed at the air - up, up. Alfred's heart dropped.

"Oh pup," he crouched to meet Bruce's eye again, holding his chin gently, "I wish I could carry you, but I can't. Here," Alfred grabbed Bruce under his arms, "let's walk together."

It took a moment for Bruce to regain his balance, his legs having turned to jelly from sitting so long. Alfred was patient, hooking an arm around his hip to steady him.

"There's a big boy," he gave Bruce an encouraging pat and they started walking.

Before long they were in Alfred's personal kitchen. He had his own flat in the manor, with a living room, few bedrooms, an office, and Bruce's old nursery. It was cozy, neat and utterly Alfred, which instantly put Bruce at ease. Bruce idly swung his legs in his seat, mouthing at his thumb while he listened to the clank of utensils and Alfred's soft humming. The radio quietly crackled on the counter, tuned to their shared favorite radio station. Bruce lost himself in thought, finally calm enough to feel the music.

He was brought back to reality by a soft fabric being secured around his neck - his favorite bib. He babbled happily at the sight, pointing out the "boo" color while Alfred fastened it. That earned him a little kiss on the forehead, for being so smart. He bobbed in place, smelling the delicious aroma of chicken soup as Alfred brought the spoon to his mouth.

Bruce hadn't even realized he was hungry, but now he was ravenous. He nodded his head in agreement with every bite, which put a smile on Alfred's face. After a few minutes, the bowl was empty.

"Excellent job, my boy," Alfred rubbed a little excess soup off Bruce's cheek, so proud that he'd finished his dinner. Bruce was excited but he didn't know why. His brow furrowed in thought as Alfred relieved him of his bib and plates.

"Buby book!"

He remembered what he was looking forward to, his favorite book! Now that he was all done this baba was gonna read it. He babbled and hummed, unable to contain himself as he thought about the book.

Alfred chuckled from the kitchen, checking a warm bottle against his hand.

"That's right, sweetheart. Now we can read your book,"

Alfred drooped a little, he really wanted to carry his little one. He made a mental note - someone at the Justice League should have a solution. Zatana must owe him a favor or something. Instead, he let Bruce to the recliner, their designated reading spot in front of the fireplace. It was a very roomy recliner, allowing both of them to sit for a story.

"Buby buby buby…"

Alfred's heart swelled at the sweet little babbles. He gave the bottle one last shake before offering it to Bruce, who immediately took to the warm snack. They nestled in, finally comfortable, finally home.