Author's Note: This is a fun little romp with Dick and Alfred that popped into my head over the weekend. I hope you find it as amusing to read as I did to write. Happy reading!

"Holy shit, is that a Bentley?"

Dick looked up from the bucket he was filling. Seeing the car his fellow officers were gaping at, he almost choked. Aaaaalfred, he groaned to himself, both delighted and horrified. As nice as it was that the butler had remembered about the BPD's Annual Widows and Orphans Fund Car Wash, he couldn't help but wish he'd brought one of the less blatantly expensive vehicles. "Looks like a classic one, too," he commented, trying to distance himself from the sleek machine that had pulled to a stop a few feet away.

"Mid-fifties," his sergeant nodded. "You don't lay eyes on something like that very often, boys and girls. Take it in while you can."

"...Can we even wash that?" someone in the back asked. "What if we break something?"

"There goes a year's salary," a nervous laugh answered.

"Hey, Grayson, you're from the fancy-schmancy side of the river," Emerson punched his shoulder playfully. "Go talk to this rich guy so that rest of us don't embarrass ourselves, huh?"

"Yeah, yeah," he waved good-naturedly. Handing off the hose, he moved around to the driver's side and bent down. "...Hey, Alfred," he greeted, trying not to blush.

"Good morning, young sir," the man behind the wheel replied in a suitably low-pitched voice. "I hope your fundraiser is off to a good start?"

"It looks that way," he nodded. "We just got started a few minutes ago, but it's been great so far." There were four other washing stations set up in the precinct parking lot, and all of them were in use. "At ten bucks a pop, we should pull in some solid money if we get steady traffic."

"Very good. Now, then," he passed over a folded bill, "I'd like to have my conveyance cleaned by the fine young men and women of the 43rd Precinct, please."

"...You realize you just paid for ten washes, right?" Dick arched an eyebrow.

"Ah, well, I thought your uncertain-looking friends might resent the extra time they'll no doubt take to avoid damaging this rare automobile. I believe you mentioned that the team with the most money at the end of the day wins some sort of prize, am I correct?"

"A paid day off."

"Yes, I recall now. And everyone in the winner's circle will spend their extra hours of freedom at home with their adoring families, I've no doubt."

He couldn't hold his grin back any longer. "Naturally."

"Well, consider this my first contribution to that cause, then. And to the widows and orphans as well, of course."

"Wait...your first contribution? Alfred, what...?" He peered at him, confused. It made sense for the Englishman to have come by today, and to have done so in the '56 Continental – it was his favorite car out of all of those in the manor's cavernous garage, Dick was well aware – but he seemed to be implying that he'd be making further trips from Gotham to Bludhaven that afternoon.

"There are plenty of other cars that could use a good scrubbing," the butler winked, "and I'm far too old to give them the elbow grease they deserve. Now, then," he began to roll the window up, "I believe you have some work to do, do you not?"

"Right," Dick laughed, straightening. "All right, people," he called over the roof. "Let's get scrubbing. For a donation this generous, we can get the chrome nice and shiny. He's particular about that."

"Is that a hundred?!"

"Yup," he smirked, dropping it into the lock box and picking up a sponge. "First car of the day, and we've already made ten times what the others have."

A general cheer went up, and everyone fell in. The hose was brandished, bubbles sloshed, and towels whisked away droplets before they could leave water marks. Dick soaped and shammied alongside his co-workers, smiling all the while. Good old Alfred, he mused, wondering if Bruce knew what the butler was up to today. The longer he thought about it, the more he leaned towards 'no.' The billionaire's style was to cut the Fund a check and take it as a tax write-off at the end of the year; only Alfred would drive back and forth all day in order to subtly influence the outcome of an intra-office competition.

"...Hey, Grayson?"

"What's up, Emerson?"

"D'you know this guy or something?"

His brain froze for a second, but his hands didn't miss a swipe. "Gotham's not exactly a small place, Mikey," he joked. "Believe it or not, I don't know everyone who's from there."

"Yeah, but...you knew about the chrome thing."

"What did you think we were talking about the whole time I was leaning in his window? The World Series? He was giving me directions, man, that's all. The guy wants to get his money's worth."

"He thinks a bunch of off-duty cops can give him a hundred-dollar car wash?"

"Well, he said that if he likes how it turns out he might come back later with another ride and another hundred dollar bill, so...I guess so," he shrugged.

A blast of water suddenly soaked Emerson's hip. "Hey!" he exclaimed, leaping up. "Rinse the car, not me, Pierson! Jeez..."

"Quit hassling Dick," she flicked the stream towards him again with a dangerous grin. "If he can get this guy to keep bringing his cars through our line, then who cares if he knows him?"

"Yeah!" a couple other cries rang out.

"Heh," Dick laughed. "Thanks for the support, Becca."

"Hey, I'm all about a paid day off. And the widows and orphans," she added as if that were obvious. "Now get out of the way, silver tongue, so we can get this beauty cleaned off and on her way."

A minute later he was leaning in the window again. "All bright and shiny," he announced.

"I've no doubt about that, Master Dick. Now...any preference on what I bring next?"

"Small is good. We like small cars."

"Hmm," the butler's lips twitched upwards. "That's understandable. I'll just surprise you, shall I?"

"Sounds good."

"I'll see you in an hour or so, then."

"Have fun driving home," he teased.

"Oh, I shall, young sir. I shall indeed."

Ninety minutes passed. Autos of all shapes, sizes, and degrees of dirtiness rolled in and out of their cleaning lane, some drawing sighs of relief, others groans of pain. Dick had been made the unofficial schmoozer, assigned to talk to each driver and collect the fee. A few were assholes, the sort of people who liked to wait in line to complain that ten bucks was barely cheaper than going to the actual drive-in wash, but he charmed where he could and got a few extra dollars for his trouble. It all went into the kitty, and before long everyone had lost count of their take. Things were just beginning to slacken off mid-lunch-hour when a low whistle was heard from Sergeant Petersen.

"Classic Jag. Nice."

"Hey, Grayson, your buddy's back," Emerson elbowed him.

"Sweet. I'll take another hundred in the pot." It was a hell of a lot better deal than when he'd had to help clean the cars for free as a kid, he kept to himself. To be fair, he'd never really minded – it was hard to resent getting to touch machines like the ones that made up the Wayne Manor menagerie – but this was still the most fun he'd ever had doing it. If only he could cut out the beat-up pick-ups and multicolored sedans he'd washed since the Bentley had pulled away and focus specifically on Bruce's imports...

"Hello again, young sir," Alfred nodded when he approached. "...You're looking a bit peaky. Haven't you eaten yet?"

"Nah, it's been non-stop. I'm okay," he assured as an eyebrow traveled swiftly north. "They just threw some buck apiece hot dogs on the barbeque to sell to people whose cars we're washing. I'll go chip in for one of those in a little bit."

"Mm...well, you know how I feel about ersatz comestibles such...hot dogs," the butler shuddered, "but I suppose it would look a bit strange to your friends if I were to hand you a bag lunch through the door."

"Yeah, that would probably give me away," Dick chuckled.

"Yes...in that case," Alfred sighed, palming not one bill this time but two, "take the standard charge and an extra ten so that your crew can all have one of those...meat-like items. You all need to keep your strength up if you're to win, after all."

"You're the best, you know that?" he beamed.

"Oh...for heaven's sake, you pitiful, dripping child, take another tenner for drinks. I suppose it's all carbonated offerings?"

"...Will it make you feel better if I promise to get a water instead of soda?"

"Immensely."

"Then I promise."

"Very good. Well, scrub the dust off of this one for me, and then do try and give yourself a moment in the shade, would you?"

"If I can find some," Dick nodded, backing away. "Thanks again!" he added loudly, trying to throw off his watching compatriots. "Check it out, guys; another hundred, and he said we did such a good job on the last car that he pitched in for hot dogs and drinks for all of us."

"Holy..."

"I think I love this guy."

"...Are you sure you don't know him?"

"Mikey, I'm not the only nice person to ever come out of Gotham," he slapped the suspicious cop on the shoulder as everyone slogged forward with their buckets. "This gentleman happens to be proof of that. Do you want a hot dog and a soda, or what?"

"Well yeah, it's like a hundred degrees out here. I'm dying."

"Then quit looking for clues where there aren't any, would you?"

"All right, all right, you win..."

The Jaguar rolled away finally, and the action slowed for a little while. People broke off in ones and twos at twenty minute intervals to get their food and drink and rest their muscles for a spell, coming back refreshed and ready for the next job. Dick went last, and as a result he was swigging the dregs of his bottle of water when a sky-blue Aston Martin stopped by with a familiar profile behind the wheel.

"Grayson!" Becca hollered and waved at him. "You're on!"

Grinning, he jogged to the driver's side. "Howdy."

"There, you do look a bit better now that you've had a rest," Alfred noted, sounding pleased. "You're growing a bit red, though. Did you bring sunblock?"

"I put some on this morning."

"And you've no doubt sweated through it or had it rinsed off several times over already."

"Probably, but if you hand me a tube of lotion through the window people are going to think something extremely awkward is going on between us."

The Englishman's eyes sparkled above his amused mouth. "Indeed they might. Still, you might ask around. One of the others may have some you can borrow."

"I'll check."

"Be sure you do," he pretended to withhold his payment until he got the proper answer.

"I swear, I will."

"Very well. The usual, then."

"Uh...you sure you don't want twice the usual?" Dick asked, staring at the two bills he'd been handed this time around. "Because I don't think we can eat a hundred hot dogs."

"I'm afraid I have to double up on this one and the next. I'd planned to bring six cars total by, but they've shut down the Justice Marshall Bridge for construction and I'm having to go round the long way. I'll only have time to get here with four now, but I'd like to give the same amount anyway."

"Alfred..." Glancing around to make sure no one was watching, he bit his lip. "C'mon, this is too much."

"For the widows and orphans of police officers? Perish the thought of any amount being too much, young sir."

"Yeah, but...that's not the only reason you're doing it." You're doing it so I can come home an extra day soon, and as much as I love that...it's too much money, Alfred. They were already likely to win, but the butler seemed determined to make sure of it.

"No, you're quite on the mark about that," he admitted now. "If it helps, you can always volunteer to wash the other two yourself on your paid vacation."

"You know I would."

"I do know. That's why I'll be running them both through the car wash directly before you arrive. It's the only way I can guarantee that you'll take the time to relax instead of trying to pay back some perceived debt. But we ought to end now, I think, lest your nosy cohort become convinced of our relationship again."

"Right. Okay. Just...thanks, Alfred."

"Not at all, Master Dick. Not at all."

Another two hours passed, and with it another fifteen cars. Anyone casting an eye over the several teams still holding up under the heavy mid-summer sun would have remarked on the complete one-eighty that had occurred since the fundraiser's start. There were few smiles to be seen, and those that were present seemed to be on their wearer's faces from sheer habit rather than any real goodwill. Even Dick's expression was flagging as he glanced at his cell phone and marked that they had only ten minutes left. Where, he wondered, was Alfred with the final wash?

It came into view just as he was about to give up on that last two hundred dollars. He stared for a moment, then began to laugh. Leave it to Alfred...

"Oh, no!" someone moaned.

"I thought I loved that guy, but now...I dunno..."

"Is that worth it? My arms are gonna fall off!"

"Come on, guys," Dick sighed. "You're not going to make me wash this behemoth by myself, are you?"

"...Ah, shit, Grayson..." several groaned.

"I didn't think so," he smiled, then made his way to the waiting man. "You saved the biggest for last."

"The biggest? Perhaps. More importantly, I saved what many would consider the best for last."

"You didn't even bring the best!"

"I didn't even bring the-! Oh, you and your bloody Porsches," Alfred said lovingly.

"Gonna wash your own mouth out with soap when you get home?"

"Hardly. And you didn't hear me curse just now; it must be the heat getting to you."

"Must be," he gave a weary nod. "So what, you decided to introduce central Bludhaven to British automotive engineering today, or...?"

"Suffice it to say that it was a wonderful excuse to take a few lovely ladies who are far from home out for a drive and a day at the spa."

"Don't you think Bruce is going to know something's going on when you pick him up in a fifty-year-old Rolls-Royce limo? He's not meeting the Queen tonight or something, is he?"

"No, Master Dick, not to my knowledge. He does have a business dinner to attend, however, which is why he drove himself to work this morning."

"Ah, so that's what it is. He won't be home to see you park it back in the garage."

"Quite. I'm certain he wouldn't mind in any case, especially given the very worthy work to which my selections were put today. Speaking of," two final hundreds appeared between his fingers, "I believe I opened the day for your team; I'd like to close it out as well, if you don't mind."

Dick took the money and smirked. "At your service, Sir Alfred."

"Watch your tongue, my boy," the butler warned with an imperative smile. "Some facts aren't meant to see the light of day, as I think you know."

"Nobody heard me. Relax. Your secrets are as safe as mine."

Fifteen groan-filled minutes later, he tapped on the window. "All done, then?" Alfred asked.

"Yup. Washed, dried, and spit-shined."

"I sincerely hope you excluded the last step."

"...Uh-oh. We thought that was what you paid all the extra for."

"Highly amusing, Master Dick, I'm sure."

"Sorry. I'm not up to par right now. Too tired." A yawn split his face just then, making him scramble to cover his mouth.

"So I see. Are you working tomorrow?"

"Mid-shift. I have to be back at two."

"Hmm...so you've nearly twenty-four hours, then?"

"Yeeeeah. Why?"

"Oh, no particular reason. Merely curious, is all. In any case, I shall see you very soon, I'm sure. Let me know if your team was victorious, would you please? I'd like to know that my contributions went to two good causes."

"I'll let you know. See you later Alfred," Dick smiled sincerely. "And thanks, even if we don't win."

"Of course, young sir. Drive safely, if you please."

"I will. You, too." Stepping back, he watched the Rolls pull away. A few yards over his cohorts were busily dumping their buckets and wringing out sponges, all eager to get home and pass out after six hours of hard labor. Stretching, he turned to join them, but found Emerson in the way. "...Mikey?"

"You're sure you don't know him?"

"Dude...why do you care? Seriously?"

"Call it police instinct."

"Do you see anyone else's 'police instinct' going off?"

"...No."

"Then what's the deal?" You're a good guy, Mike, but you're kind of pissing me off right now, he thought, exasperated.

"Nothing, I guess," Emerson shook his head. "I'm just...I dunno. Whatever. It doesn't matter."

A glimmer of an idea occurred. Maybe it was just the long day and the hot sun, but Dick leaped on it. "What, do you think I'm on the take with him or something?"

"...Whoa. Grayson...no, man, I don't think that." Emerson held up his hands apologetically. "No. I just...I just jumped to conclusions, okay? I don't think that, I know better. You're a straight arrow, no question about it. I don't know, maybe that guy just likes you or something. Like you said, who cares? I'm just...you know...being snoopy. Ignore me."

"Okay," he agreed. "Okay. I'm, ah...I'm pretty tired. You?"

"Yeah, definitely."

"Cool. Cool. Maybe we both kind of...you know. Overreacted."

"Yeah. That's it."

"We're cool?"

"We're good, Dick. We're good. Just a misunderstanding."

"...Okay. Good." He took a deep breath. "Let's get these last buckets emptied, huh?"

"Okay, yeah. I'll help you."

"Cool."