Chapter Thirty Two: Rule #30 – Love. Unconditionally.

It was a year after the loss of Thomas and Martha Wayne, a year that young Master Bruce had spent trying to solve their murders and not spent trying to heal, that he first said something to Alfred out of misplaced pain and anguish that was genuinely hurtful.

To this day, it was still the worst thing he had ever said.

'You're not Family, Alfred,' he'd shouted, 'You can't understand.'

And Alfred, grappling with his own feelings of grief and with his fear for his young ward – for the lonely little boy he knew now that he would raise in the stead of Thomas and Martha, who had always been shier and sweeter and far more fragile than the boy Thomas had been while he'd been just a youngling – had let his hurt get the better of him.

'I have known your parents, I have loved your parents, for three times the number of years that you have even been alive, Master Bruce. I can understand your loss far better than you seem to know; it is you that cannot understand mine,' he had retorted – he'd snapped, with an intended meanness, and the utmost unprofessionalism.

He'd cooled quickly; enough to promise Bruce that no matter how bratty he got or how testy Alfred became, he would always love him – to say reassuringly, 'I well near raised your father, and I shall now raise you as well. No matter what your thoughts on the matter may be, you and I are Family, Master Bruce, and we shall bear the burden of this trial together.'

They'd fought again, after that, fought more seriously, even – when Bruce had announced his intentions to go abroad, when he'd returned with a notion to become a vigilante, when he'd first taken in a child who was hurting as he had once been hurting (and arguably still is hurting, even now) and had taught him how to overcome those aches with his own brand of public service… but never had their fights made Alfred worry that Bruce didn't know – in every fiber of his being – that Alfred loved him, without requisite or expectation or qualifiers.

Alfred knew with utter certainty that Bruce understood that while earning the old butler's approval was often beyond him, and that while Alfred strongly disagreed with many of Bruce's choices, Alfred's unconditional love was never something that Bruce had to earn.

Master Richard had immediately understood that much instinctively as well, bearing his own brand of warmth and love and Family that meant he never even considered the possibility that he didn't belong – that he could ever not deserve to belong.

He had doubts, obviously, regarding himself as a good person and his ability to actually do any good in the world – doubts regarding his crime fighting skills and his place in Bruce's esteem and his role in the Crusade – but he never had any doubt that he belonged to the Family.

He knew what love felt like, and even though Bruce was terrible with showing it, and even though Alfred's own affections were quiet and cool compared to the overwhelming warmth of Richard's circus family – and to the child's own outpouring of love – Master Dick understood that he would always have a place within the Family.

Even if that place was not static or simple.

Master Dick was hurt by Jason's arrival, by the surprise of it and by the choices Bruce made in passing on the Robin name – by making Robin into a mantle that could just be shunted off from one person to another without the originator's consent or consideration.

But even with how vicious he got in attacking Bruce's choices, he loved his father figure and knew that he was loved in return – and he knew that Alfred would support the both of them in trying to work this out, in healing as best they could, and in moving forward as a Family.

Jason was different.

The only love Jason had ever felt before joining the Waynes was fleeting – and conditional on the limited lucidity of his unfortunate mother. And after she had passed, the concept of love had been as thoroughly lost to Jason as if it had been a physical object.

By the time he'd come to the Manor, he'd been lost in the darkness for so long that Alfred feared he may never come to fully inhabit the belief that his place in the Manor – his place in the Family whose House it was – could never be questioned.

Two years into the arduous endeavor of raising him, and Jason was still ready to hit the streets again on a moments notice – he still believed that his ability to perform as Robin to Batman's standards was the factor upon which his permission to be comfortable was contingent.

He believed that Alfred cared for him, but he was as of yet unconvinced that Alfred cared enough to love him even if he was angry with him. Disapproval was a far riskier card to play with him than it had been with Bruce or with Dick…

Disapproval sent Jason into self deprecating spirals that made him question his own worth as a human being – made him question his right to be alive at all, let alone to live in such splendor as the Manor (fortunately, as of yet, Jason seemed too stubbornly resilient and determined to live, even if just for the spite of it, to make Alfred truly worry for his immediate safety when he got wrapped up in his own thoughts).

But even so, they were making progress.

He was more comfortable in the Manor, staking out places to call his own usual spot in rooms other than the bedroom assigned to him – started leaving his personal belongings in places that weren't specifically labeled with his name being attached as explicit permission.

And he was slowly coming to accept Dick's brotherly overtures.

There was less animosity in his rejections now, more curmudgeonly affection – and Alfred knew that Dick could feel the difference. Both boys were smiling more, both more often and with more genuine happiness behind the gesture.

Part of it was time, the simple truth of everyone growing more comfortable together as a Family – of growing past old spats and sore spots.

And part of it was Tim.

Timothy Drake was a wondrous little boy, a child that loved every member of the Wayne Family as thoroughly and utterly and unconditionally as Alfred himself. Timothy could see the Family's cracks, could analyze each individual's personal failures and shortcomings, and he could see how they hurt each other without any intent to do so – he could see the exact barbs that rubbed each one wrong, and could effectively force himself in to alleviate the pressure.

Alfred was grateful for his existence long before he realized that Tim was to become part of the Family as well. For a moment, it seemed as though Tim was destined to simply be a neighbor, someone influential and impactful, but still… distant, attached more to their own family than to the Waynes'.

The butler noticed it before Miss Barbara Gordon did, but only just.

He noticed it when Jason was beginning to fray again, when he'd internalized a series of mistakes as Robin as a black mark on his being as a person.

Alfred had tested the hypothesis of Timothy's import when he'd caught Jason readying to leave – readying to bolt into the twisting labyrinth of Gotham's underbelly where he had a reasonable chance to hide from even Batman's near all-seeing eyes.

The mere hint of a suggestion that Timothy might not be fairing well while his parents were away was enough to coax Jason into waiting out the weekend, which in turn was more than enough to convince him to stay altogether – to calm the storm well enough to let a certain kind of peace reign until the next inevitable blow up.

It was an altogether revolutionary observation, and a startlingly refreshing few days of true comfort among the children under his care within the Manor.

Peace like that had never settled on them before while Jason had been present.

It was a sign of good things yet to come, even if the intervening periods had a few rocky patches with a brutal roughness – patches that needed to be coped with and merely survived in the given moment before they could eventually be resolved.

Timothy was part of the Family in Alfred's eyes long before most of the other members even considered him a relevant factor.

He was far easier to work with than Jason, but like Barbara, he had his own family to consider outside of the Waynes.

Barbara was her own story, a girl who'd chosen of her own accord to become Family, whether the Family liked it or not. Alfred approved of her tremendously.

She'd even, very carefully, arranged for her father, Commissioner Gordon, to be considered as a part of the Waynes' extended clan.

Alfred did not worry about her half so much as he fretted for the others – a pursuit Barbara had been quick to join him in, especially after she'd noticed the true attachment and undeniable importance of Master Tim.

Together, Barbara and Alfred fussed over young Master Tim – who was not only lost when it came to an understanding of truly unconditional love, but was also outrightly convinced and frustratingly stubborn regarding the ridiculous belief that he did not deserve it (assuming, in fact, that he could ever be convinced it existed at all).

Lucius Fox was serving well to help them both with that.

Eventually, Alfred knew they would win Tim over. His calm confidence in that irrefutable fact was enough to allow Barbara to find her unfailing reserves of sweetness and patience.

It may take them a while, but Alfred knows Tim will come into the Family eventually – in his own time, when he is well and truly ready to accept the love they wish to give him.

It's been five months since the last time Jason even considered leaving the Manor, and Alfred knows that their current peace won't hold forever – he can feel another blow up of tensions beginning to brew beneath bitter comments and self doubt and fearful concern, feelings mingled evenly between Bruce, Dick, and Jason, all.

Even Tim may not be able to assuage whatever fight is brewing, but Alfred has no doubt what so ever that Tim will be a crucial element in how the conflict resolves.

Alfred loves his Family, loves them all; unreservedly, categorically, and more completely than they could ever come to understand – no matter how their choices and failings and personal idiocies hurt him, and hurt each other, in the short term.

From the very beginning, the most important rule Alfred has followed in terms of teaching his Family how to bea Family is the simplest one of all: Love. Unconditionally.

Always.