DISCLAIMER: The Justice League of America
characters are the property of DC Comics. The story contents are the creation
and property of Djinn and are copyright (c) 2008 by Djinn. This story is Rated
R.
Trinity: Favorite Things
Part 3:
Bright Copper Kettles and Warm Woolen Mittens
by Djinn
Alfred made his way down the
hall more by memory than sight. The
mansion was dark, all except for the dim nightlights that ran the length of the
hall and a gentle light that spilled out from under the door of the room he'd
made up for Clark and Justin. He saw
something cross the light, then the door opened and Clark stood silhouetted.
"Alfred?"
"Just
finishing up, sir." He moved closer, so he could see Clark's
face.
"You don't have to call
me 'sir.' You know that."
"It's what I'm used
to. It's how things are."
"Don't you ever get
tired of how things are?"
Alfred wondered just how deep
that question went. What was Clark tired
of? "I've found that it's rarely
worthwhile to rail against fate."
"Fate." Clark's smile
carried a note of bitterness. "Is
it fate if you bring it on yourself?"
"No,
sir. Then it's just life." With a smile, he put a hand on Clark's
shoulder. "And I don't presume to
judge, as you well know. Now, if you
want to go talk to Master Bruce, I'd be happy to watch Justin."
"Talk. Right." Clark
seemed embarrassed.
"Go on, then. He'll be waiting." Alfred peeked in, saw that Justin was asleep,
hoped the longing he felt for the boy--his grandson--didn't show. "I'll just sit with him for a while, if
that's all right."
"No one I'd trust more
with him." Clark turned to look at
Justin, then glanced across the hall to Bruce's room.
"Go, sir. He's waiting."
"Good night, then."
"Good night, lad." Alfred closed the door gently, then sat in the rocking chair he'd brought down from the
attic. He leaned back, watched the
grandchild he never thought he'd live to see sleeping peacefully.
He'd lied to Clark. He wasn't planning on just staying awhile. He'd stay all night if he could.
He found himself breathing in
rhythm with Justin's gentle inhale and exhale.
He remembered when Bruce was this age, how he'd sneak into the nursery
once Thomas and Martha had gone to sleep, watching his son--the son he could
never acknowledge--sleep.
Bruce had been the most beautiful child he'd ever seen. But the memories of his boy were tinged with
the unreality of those first days--the realization that they'd all made this child. That something he'd never been sure was right
had brought about this wonderful little boy.
A boy who'd been hurt beyond all measure, who now had
to watch his own son grow up with a man who wasn't his father.
Was it true? The sins of the father...? Only how could a child as sweet as Justin be
a sin?
Alfred heard the baby fussing. He was awake now and making the noise that
was a prelude to crying. Alfred stood,
picked Justin up, holding him the way he'd held Bruce all those nights, cooing
the same sounds.
Justin quieted immediately.
"That's my
boy." The words seemed to hang in
the room, and Alfred took a deep breath as emotion choked him, made his throat
full and his eyes suddenly wet.
"I'm your grandfather," he whispered to the boy. Just this once he'd indulge himself. "I'm your paternal grandfather and
you'll never know that--or probably not while I'm still alive."
That too needed to be
said. He knew Bruce and Clark would wait
until Justin was much older to even think of telling him the truth. And Alfred wasn't getting any younger. He had aches and pains, and someday he might
have something worse. He'd already
passed the ages his father and grandfather had died at. Pennyworth men weren't generally long lived.
Maybe they'd not had as much
to live for, though?
He held Justin close, rocking
slowly, smiling as the child gurgled happily, then fell asleep. Alfred sang little nonsense songs to him, the
kind he'd made up when Bruce had been a child, only these were about his
parents and his uncle and aunt--superheroes all. Also very silly people who loved each other
in ways the world might not always approve of.
He grinned at how well it all
rhymed, even if it was getting a bit bawdy.
Justin smiled in his sleep, and in the distance Alfred could hear the
mantle clock striking the half hours until it was well into the wee hours.
The door opened nearly
soundlessly. A gentle voice, one he'd
heard for so many years said, "You're going to spoil him. Holding him all night."
"I used to hold you this
way, Master Bruce. It never did you any
harm." He turned to look at
Bruce. "Do you want to hold
him?"
"No. You two look right together. Besides, I'd wake him up and there'd be
burping or diaper changing or something."
A gentle grin, one that seemed both for Justin and for
Alfred. Then the grin faded, and
Bruce met Alfred's eyes. "Have I
ever said thank you?"
"For
what?"
"For
everything. For living this life? I mean, I understand now. How hard this must have been for you. And you were always there for me. You must have wanted to tell me so many
times."
Alfred looked down. "You never have to thank me, my dear
boy. I was blessed to be a part of your
life while your parents were alive. I
thank God I was still there when they were killed. Everything I've done since you were born...it
was never an obligation. You're..."
"Your
son. I'm your son." Bruce sat down on the bed. "But..."
Alfred waited.
"But didn't it
hurt?"
"Yes." He swallowed, watched as Bruce looked
away. "And it was a joy. And you made me angry at times. And I have been and still am ever so proud of
you. Isn't that what loving someone is
all about?"
Bruce took a deep breath,
finally nodded slowly. "Why did you
want me with Clark tonight?" He ran
his hand through hair that was already tousled.
"Why did Diana seem to want that too?"
Alfred shifted a bit, trying
to ease stiff muscles without disturbing Justin. "You care for him."
"Does that mean he
should be sleeping in my bed?"
"Well, one could argue
that as you're not currently in it, it's not much of a problem." Alfred grinned at Bruce's glare. "Sir, to be perfectly blunt, you've made
an incredible mess of this. All of you. That
said, there's this little bundle of love and innocence that stands as an
example of something you all did very right."
Bruce nodded,
his smile gentle as he looked at his son.
"So it's all right, then? He
makes it all right?"
"No,
sir. He just makes it real. And, I'd say, imperative that the four of you
find a way to make this work. In
whatever combinations you need to."
He took a deep breath. "It's
not what I would have wished for you, but I'm afraid this is your life
now."
"This is my
life." Bruce stood slowly. "When Diana and Lois get back, it will
get strange again."
"No, it's strange
now."
Bruce started to laugh, the
sound starting low then growing, but not so loud it would wake the boy. "It is, isn't it? Man, could we have fucked this up any
worse?"
"Language,
sir."
"He's too young to take
that in." But Bruce looked
contrite. "So, you think Lois and
Diana are sharing a bed?"
"Do they have beds on
Themyscira? I rather pictured a war
cot. Or maybe a
hammock of some sort."
"But you pictured them in
it...being ummm friendly?"
"Oh
most assuredly, sir." Alfred smiled as he imagined just how
friendly Diana and Lois might get.
Bruce was wearing a slightly
dreamy look himself. "I think I'll
go see if I can wake up Clark." He
glanced at Justin. "Unless
you need a break?"
"A
break? Oh, no, sir.
I'm fine just where I am."
He took a deep breath as Bruce left the room. Justin cooed in his sleep, and Alfred bent
down and kissed him gently on the forehead.
"Perfectly fine."
To be continued...