Author's Note: Okay, so I was re-watching Avatar: The Last Airbender (the show, not Shymalan's...interesting...take on it) last night and was struck once again by how amazing Iroh is. A particular line of his from the episode in which he and Toph share a pot of tea set the muse off, and this is the result. I've been wanting to do something focusing on Dick and Alfred, and this fit the bill beautifully. Right now I'm marking the story as complete because it may just stay a one-shot; however, I may very well come back later on (probably after the holidays) and add other chapters centering around Dick, Alfred, and tea at various points in their lives.

A note on vocabulary: Tata = dad, Tanti = aunt (figurative aunt, in Dick's case).

The quote, for those of you wondering, is "Sharing tea with a fascinating stranger is one of life's true pleasures." Happy reading!

Alfred was just pulling the kettle off of the stove when a voice broke the quiet of the kitchen.

"…Ex-excuse me? Sir?"

He turned, eyebrows raised, to find the newest resident of Wayne Manor watching him nervously from the doorway. "Master Dick," he inclined his head, allowing a small smile to slip onto his normally stoic face. Sir? he thought with mild incredulousness. This child is either incredibly polite or very, very uncertain. "Did you need something, young sir?"

"I…" he bowed his head, blushing as he scuffed the floor with one foot. "I was wondering if I could have something to eat?" he almost whispered. It's so awkward here, he thought. He had been in the house for barely twenty four hours, and already he felt more alone than he had even at that awful orphanage. Sure, they hit me there, but at least…at least there were other people around. Even if they made fun of me, at least they were talking to me. They noticed I was there.

"Of course," the butler nodded. "What would you like? I can prepare you anything, within reason."

"Anything's fine, really. I'm not picky." He already regretted coming downstairs, but he'd only picked at the sumptuous breakfast and lunch he'd been served, and his stomach was not happy about it. Maybe he'll offer something I can take upstairs to the room, he hoped vaguely. Not that he particularly wanted to go back to that place; it was very nice, but nothing in it was his. His few belongings couldn't even cover the bed; he'd laid them all out the night before, taking stock of what was left of his life as he had every evening since his parents' deaths, and then packed them away again in his small suitcase when he saw how poor it all looked surrounded by luxury. I wonder how long it will be before he sends me back, he'd sobbed later, crying himself to sleep under too-soft sheets.

Uncertain, Alfred decided, watching him. And, perhaps, unhappy as well. It was to be expected; the boy had just lost his parents in a tragic manner, after all. He winced internally as he remembered the story Master Wayne had related to him the night of the circus. To have such a thing occur right before his eyes, he rued. I suppose it is fortunate that I am so terribly familiar with what witnessing an event like that can do to a child. Perhaps…perhaps now I have the experience to help keep him from turning inward, from shielding himself as Master Wayne did. Maybe there is a chance to save this child the way I could not do before. "I was just preparing to serve myself a small afternoon tea," he spoke before he realized what he was saying. "Would you care to join me?"

Dick looked up, eyes wide at the suggestion. Tea? There had been no hot beverages at the orphanage, only water and milk, and he had desperately missed it. To drink tea again seemed like a dream, but he didn't want to be rude. "I don't want to intrude on your private time," he demurred. "You're always so busy working, I doubt you get much of it."

"I beg your pardon?" Alfred asked, taken aback. He's been here a single day and he has already noted my position, my duties, in this house, he marveled. What an astonishing little boy, to have been so observant even in the depths of grief. "On the contrary, Master Dick," he quickly amended, seeing him take a tiny step backwards at his surprised exhalation. "I seem to have far too much time to myself. I may be constantly occupied, but it is lonely work." Master Wayne is always at his office, or in the cave, or on patrol, he reflected on the honesty of his words. Far be it from me to mind, per se – he is an important man in more ways than one, and has few moments for repose – but there is a terrible silence haunting this house. He extended his arm to gesture towards the small table in one corner. "I would be very pleased if you would do me the honor of having a cup."

"…All right, sir," he nearly stuttered. "Thank you." Never quite taking his gaze off of the older man, he minced to the table almost noiselessly. "…Which chair should I take?" he asked, swallowing hard as he examined them. They were old, heavy carved seats like he'd seen in the museums and palaces his parents had taken him to tour on their European circuit, upholstered in beautifully embroidered fabric that took his breath away. It looks like the rugs that go under the elephants' saddles, he remembered, stretching out one finger to trace a bird wrought in silver thread.

"Whichever you prefer," the butler told him gently, watching. It must be overwhelming for him, to be in a place like this after living on the road for so long, he decided. Master Wayne had told him about the trailer the boy's family had resided in; very clean and neat, he'd reported, obviously cherished, but clearly full of secondhand or inherited goods. The entirety of the troupe had seemed that way; good, upstanding, happy folk, a tightly knit community, each member more concerned with keeping their show as bright and glittering as possible than with upgrading their personal belongings. No wonder he's being so cautious. He may well fear that touching anything will cause it to break. Keeping a small and, he hoped, comforting smile on his lips, he carried over a gilt tray loaded with the essentials of their repast, wishing now that he had a set of serving ware that wasn't so painfully expensive looking. "Do you like the pattern?" he asked as he took his own seat. "You seemed quite entranced with a bird just a moment ago."

"I like birds," he said slowly, looking down to where his hands, called out for touching, were curling, embarrassed, in his lap. "Mom and I used to mark off the species we saw together. She had a big book full of all different kinds of birds from around the world." He bit his lip. I didn't mean to say that. How much more boring could I be, he doesn't want to hear about bird watching!

"An admirable pastime," the Englishman said, pouring out two steaming cups. "An aunt of mine was an ornithologist. I took several trips to the country with her as a boy to help her find certain specimens. I remember it being a very relaxing hobby."

"…Yes, sir. It is." Oh. He likes birding, too. Huh…

"If you don't mind, Master Dick," Alfred addressed him seriously. "There is no need to refer to me as 'sir.' You may call me by my given name, and I daresay Master Wayne would prefer that you call him by his." He paused. Did we even tell him our names? Everything has been so hectic, with the lawyers and Social Services and the media all hounding to have their moment. This tea was, in fact, practically the first sustenance the butler had had time to take since the boy had arrived. "…Do you recall what they are?"

"Yes. You're Alfred. Mr. Wayne's first name is Bruce."

"Very good, young sir," he breathed, more impressed by the moment. "You must pay very close attention to your surroundings. Do you take sugar?"

"Oh, um…just one?" he answered, sounding as if he couldn't remember. "You have to know what's going on around you when you're on a trapeze," he offered, watching as the perfect square fell from the tongs and dissolved. "Things can change so fast…" He swallowed heavily. "...You have to be able to adapt." It had been one of the first things he could ever remember John Grayson instructing him in, and he had taken it directly to heart. "Thank you, si-Alfred," he said, accepting his cup. Raising it to his lips, he took a tiny sip. "This is good," he blurted, a pleased little grin dancing across his mouth. "Like, really good."

"Why, thank you," the butler replied. "I blend all of the teas served in this house myself. I'm very glad that you like it. I must say, this particular mixture is not one of Master Wayne's favorites."

"He's crazy," Dick said without thinking. As soon as he heard himself, he blanched. "I mean…he's not crazy, just…I'm sorry," he bowed his head. "I didn't mean…"

"Please, young sir," Alfred calmed him, barely containing the laugh that wanted to break out at the child's blatant honesty. "I took no offense to your statement. I'm sure you didn't mean it disdainfully."

"No! No, I…I'm really grateful…"

"I know you are." Feeling that the gesture wouldn't be wholly unappreciated, he reached across the table and gave the boy's hand a kind pat. "No harm done. I think he's a bit crazy to not like it, myself," he added, sending him a wink when he looked up. "I find it offers a nice touch of relaxation while also providing a small burst of energy just in time to start preparing dinner."

"What's the mix? Unless it's a secret. It's okay if it is, you don't have to tell me."

"It's no secret; a simple combination of black Assam and a particularly delicate Chinese green, is all. I find it very refreshing."

"Assam…that's in India, right?"

"It is indeed." What nine year old knows the particulars of Asian geography? he wondered. "Is there a particular reason that you ask?"

"Oh…well, my mom always says…always said," he corrected himself, his lip quivering for a second, "that a long, long time ago our ancestors came from India. And then they moved up into Europe, and eventually to America, although that last part didn't happen until about a hundred years ago. I've never been there, to India, I mean" he shrugged. "But maybe I'll go someday. I'd like to."

Ah-ha. Master Wayne did say that a fair number of the people he saw in the circus seemed to have Gypsy features, and this boy is no exception to that, he thought, casting a meticulous eye over the slightly dusky skin and night-black hair. It is nice to have it confirmed, though. "I believe, young sir, that your forebears may have come from a more southerly part of the Indian subcontinent than this particular tea did," he informed him. "But the two certainly aren't far apart, in the grand scheme of things, are they?"

"No, si-Alfred."

They drank for several moments in silence before the butler spoke again. "Was tea time a regular occurrence in your home, Master Dick?" he asked gently, hoping the question wouldn't be too intrusive but knowing that it was important that he review as many happy memories as possible. Doing so would help him focus on the good times he had with his parents rather than on the mode of their passing.

"Yes," he whispered, putting his cup down and staring into it. "Dad didn't like it much, but mom and I did. Every afternoon, even when we were on the road, she…she'd make a pot of tea, and me and her would sit together and drink it and just talk about…oh, about everything. If we were traveling she would make it when we stopped for lunch, and keep it warm in a thermos until later. If it was a nice day and we were camped, we'd find a field, or a park, and have it there. On wet days we'd stay in the trailer and watch the rain fall. We had tea together under the Eiffel Tower once; everybody looked at her like she was crazy when she pulled our glasses out of her bag and started pouring. It was okay that they stared, though, because I was with her, and I knew she didn't care what they thought of us. Then when we were in Switzerland we climbed this big hill, and we just talked about the mountains and the air and how pretty the snow was the whole time we drank."

A slow, heavy tear ran down his cheek. "She was so excited to come back to America. She couldn't stop talking about all the places we'd have our tea together. She said we'd…we'd have a picnic on the prairie, and then pick flowers, and the mountains would be even bigger than in Switzerland. And when we got to the Pacific, we'd sit on the beach and watch for whales…" He shook his head. "But that will never happen now." Wrapping his arms around his stomach, he shook slightly, trying to hold back the sobs he wanted to release. "…I'm sorry," he gasped, then bolted before Alfred could react.

"Oh, what have I done?" the Englishman bemoaned to the now-empty kitchen as light footsteps faded down the hall. "I should have known better." What was I thinking? he berated himself. The poor child, to have been reminded of such things when he is already under so much stress and dealing with so many changes. Recalling happy memories is one thing, but to start with such a core part of his daily life was foolish. Rising and moving to the pantry, he pulled out a container of chocolate chip cookies he had baked the night before and placed several on a small plate. I'll give him a few minutes to collect himself, then go up and check. I'm sure he's gone to his room, he hasn't had time yet to find any other places to hide.

Dick fled through the huge, empty house, flying up the stairs and down the hall, turning twice before he finally found the space that had been assigned to him. He almost threw himself on the bed, but thought better of it when he remembered how wide and lonesome it had felt the night before. Everything here is so different, he cried to himself, finally perching on the window seat and wrapping one of the heavy damask curtains around himself. He pulled it so that it blocked out the expanse behind him and stared through the window. A few small, bright birds were picking at the ground below him, drawing his attention. Like this, with the drapes reminding him of the tapestries in old Tanti Soraya's fortune-telling tent, he almost felt like he was somewhere familiar, someplace safe.

"Mama," he moaned, burying his face against his knees. "Mama, why? I'm trying to adapt, trying to do what Tata always told me, but it's so hard, mama… Who…who will I drink tea with now? Why did you have to go? Why didn't you see it coming?" She'd been taking lessons from Soraya, he remembered, learning to read palms and bones and tea leaves so that someday, when she could no longer glide through the air effortlessly, she could still serve the circus. It was a natural progression; Soraya had once been a flier, many, many years before. The old woman said once that she believed that women of the trapeze possessed a heightened sense of things to come, honed by years of hovering mere meters from death and worrying as their husbands and children did the same. That daily closeness with mortality entwined with maternal emotions to open a window to the places where lives were woven, she swore, and with proper training a woman of the air could learn to read the future. "You didn't see it, though," he whimpered. "You didn't see it coming. Why, mama? And Tanti…you should have seen it, too. You should have known…You should have stopped it!"

A light knock on the open door startled him. "Master Dick? Are you in here?"

He wiped his eyes and choked back his cries. "I'm here, Alfred," he managed to say without his voice shaking too much. A second later the man was sitting beside him, a plate of cookies in his hand. "I-I'm sorry about downstairs. I didn't mean to ruin your break."

"It is I who should be apologizing to you," the Englishman said steadily, staring into the painfully blue eyes that arrested everyone who caught sight of them. Glistening as they were now with salty water, they made him want to hunt down every person who had ever said so much as a cross word to the boy. No, he thought sharply. A semblance of that task had already been undertaken by Master Wayne. I now understand why he is so very taken with him, but my equal entrancement must be demonstrated in a different manner. "I did not mean to bring up painful memories."

"…It's okay. You didn't know I was going to end up crying."

"We didn't quite make it to our snack, so I thought cookies were rather in order," Alfred changed the subject. "Do you like chocolate chip?" Please, don't let baking have been something else you did with your dear mother, he begged silently.

"Thanks," he murmured, taking one. Biting into it, a tiny smile blossomed. "You're a good baker, too. Is there anything you can't do?"

"The things that are outside of my desires or capabilities are mostly covered by Master Wayne," he confided. "Although there are several niches that haven't been filled yet," he tacked on with a subtle glance. He'd noticed on his way into the room that none of the boy's belongings had been unpacked; the chamber was as sumptuously stark as it had been during all the years since the last gay visitors had come to stay with the long-past Master and Mistress. Putting that fact together with his clear discomfort a while earlier, it hadn't taken much thought to realize that part of the problem was that the child didn't feel welcome. Letting him know that there was a role for him to play in the household beyond that of the charity case the papers were insisting he was seemed as good a place to start as any. "But now that you're here…"

"…Alfred?" Dick spoke slowly, not sure if he dared to ask the question on the end of his tongue. He was beginning to really like the man beside him – especially his tea – but he knew he worked for Bruce, and had for a long time. There was a level of loyalty there, he was certain, that might make his question inappropriate, or at least impossible for the butler to answer honestly.

"Yes, Master Dick?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course, young sir. Anything at all."

"…Why does he want me?"

Alfred shifted, setting the plate aside and turning to face the boy more squarely. There's no helping it, he told himself. If he's going to live here, going to be a part of this household, then he needs to know the truth. "I must tell you, I found myself asking the same question when he first told me about you," he admitted.

"…What do you mean?"

The butler sighed heavily at the look of confusion on his face. "Allow me to back up just a little. I have known Master Wayne since he was born. I was one of the first people to hold him, and I helped his parents raise him right up until they were murdered." He paused. "Did he tell you about that?"

"A little bit. He didn't really want to talk about it." He looked away, back to the birds hopping about below. "I don't blame him."

"Well, after that night, it was just he and I. But he wasn't happy anymore. He forgot how to smile, it seemed. Everything was serious to him. He turned into himself completely. He seemed to come out of it as a teenager, but it was an act, mostly, put on to this very day so that the rest of the world could sit back and feel safe in their belief that one of the richest men living was nothing more than a silly, albeit business-gifted, socialite. At home though, he continued as he had been ever since that fateful evening; dark, brooding, and mostly unreachable."

"Mostly?" he queried. "…You were the only one he talked to?"

"More or less, yes. When he told me, several weeks ago, that he was going to a circus, it was one of the strangest things I had heard him say in some time. It wasn't my place, however, to inquire as to his purpose, so I settled for merely being glad that he would be out amongst other human beings in a setting that didn't involve copious amounts of alcohol. I still have not inquired as to what drove him to attend the show that night, and I may never do so. I'm not sure that even he knows why he went. The point is, though, that when he came back there was something different. It was as if a tiny flame had been lit within him. I had only seen such a thing in him once before, and therefore I knew that he was facing a very important – life altering, I would say – decision.

"We talked as we had not talked in several years, since the last major event in his life. We won't go into that," he said, seeing the question of what that event had been rising in the boy's eyes. "Our conversation went into the wee hours of the morning, and I personally put away more than one pot of the particular blend you and I shared this afternoon. It did little to calm me, but it did give me the energy to raise all the questions and concerns that were whirling in my mind. He had an answer for all of them, of course, and I slowly came to realize that something about you had touched him in a way that no other person had managed for twenty years. I was very, very puzzled by it; he has met people from all over the world, of varying levels of breeding and education, many of them questing to reach him in some special way, but until he met you no one had really succeeded. Oh, he has friends of a sort, people that he isn't averse to spending time with occasionally, but he has never been so intense when discussing them as he was when he told me about you."

"Wait," Dick interrupted. "You mean he came back here the night my parents…the night they died," he choked out, "and spent all that time talking about…me?"

"Yes, young sir. That is exactly what he did. All he could focus on was you."

"…I still don't get it, Alfred. He doesn't know me, he's barely even met me. But I'm here. Why?"

"Again, I wondered the same thing. I believe that I understand now, though. Simply put, Master Dick, you are him all over again, in so many ways beyond just the deaths of your respective parents. You are frighteningly intelligent, somewhat reserved with people you do not know, and a million other things. You are more advanced in some of your characteristics, I believe, than even he was at your age, and I know he noticed that as well. Good lord, you even look somewhat like him. However, there is one very, very important difference between you and Master Wayne." He leaned close. "Despite your tragedy, you haven't forgotten how to smile. What's more, you have a remarkable gift for making others smile, even when they've forgotten how."

"…I made him smile? How? I've barely spent any time with him!"

"You don't have to be present to bring one to his face. That's the miracle of it. The whole time we spoke that night, and during every instance since, he has smiled – truly, honestly smiled – when speaking of you. I've even caught him doing so on several occasions over the past few weeks when no one else was in the room, and the only explanation is that he was thinking about you."

"…I'm glad I made him feel better, but that's a little creepy. He doesn't even know me! I mean, not really."

"Parts of you," the Englishman said. "He doesn't know parts of you. For instance, he doesn't know any of the things you told me about your mother this afternoon. But in the most basic essentials your beings, I believe that you are the same. That is what he sensed that night, young sir. A very complex, unexplainable sameness, a connection that goes much deeper than any of us are really able to understand."

"You mean like…maybe we were fated to end up like this?" For all that he'd been arguing, a tiny inkling of such a possibility had been in the back of his head all along.

"Do you believe in such things?"

"…I dunno. Part of me doesn't think things like that are real, but…I grew up with palm readers and psychics. And there are lots of things that I can't explain." He sighed. "Did he tell you that we talked, the night it happened?"

"Yes, but he didn't share the details of the conversation."

"I didn't say anything right afterwards. Not to the police, not to the other performers, not even to Pop Haly. And he tried really hard to get me to, Pop did." He blinked hard, remembering the circus director's expression as he'd begged him to say something, anything, to cry, or scream, or react in any way that wasn't just standing stock still. "I didn't say a word for three hours after they fell. By then, everyone was tired, or had gotten pulled off into other things. Somehow I ended up alone by one of the back entrances to the big top. But I didn't want to be there anymore. I didn't want to be near anyone, because for all that they kept saying how sorry they were, none of them understood." He gulped. "So I went for a walk. We were in this big field, and I just walked until I got to the end of it. There was a tall tree, and the moon was out…I climbed it. I climbed into that tree, and I just sat and stared up at the sky. I heard later that everyone freaked out when they noticed I'd disappeared; I didn't mean for that to happen, I just needed to get away from it all.

"He was the one who found me, out there in the tree. He didn't tell me to come down, though. He just stood at the bottom and talked to me, even when I didn't say anything back. And it's weird, because I don't remember hardly anything that he said, except about his parents, but…it was comforting. It made me feel better, a little bit, anyway. Eventually I came down on my own, because I could hear his voice getting scratchy and I thought maybe if I was closer he wouldn't have to raise his voice so much and he'd keep talking. And he did. He sat down right there on the grass with me and just…kept talking."

"You almost fell asleep in his arms, he said," Alfred told him.

"Yeah. I probably would have if someone hadn't come up and interrupted us. Social Services," he sneered. "Needs to go to bed, emotionally exhausted, blah blah blah. Like they knew what they were talking about. What I needed was to sit there and keep letting him talk me through it. Anyway, they forced me away from him. But he stopped them. He stopped them, and got down in front of me, and told me that he hoped I had a dreamless sleep. It…it was the nicest thing anyone had said to me since they fell."

"And that's when you smiled," the butler said quietly, "and told him you hoped he had the same. A dreamless sleep."

"…Yeah."

"That was when he knew, Master Dick. He told me that was the moment he truly understood that you belong with us." He paused. "…Do you still wonder why he has brought you here?"

"…No. I think…I think I get it now. I felt it, too, that connection you talked about. Yesterday, though, he was so busy…I thought maybe he'd talk to me again, like he did that night, but he barely looked at me. I know he was busy, but…it still made me feel bad. Everything's changed so fast…it's scary, Alfred. Even knowing that he really does understand, and even with you being so nice…it's really, really scary." The tears began again, glistening on his cheeks in the late afternoon sun.

"Oh, precious child," the butler breathed, pulling him into a gentle embrace. "I have no doubt that it's completely terrifying."

"It is," he sobbed. "I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to apologize for. Your reaction to this situation has been more than just normal, young sir; it has been exemplary." He held him until he quieted, rocking slowly back and forth. "May I make an inquiry, Master Dick?"

"Sure," he sniffled.

"Why have you not unpacked any of your things?"

"I…I thought maybe he'd made a mistake. Maybe…maybe he'd change his mind and send me back. I mean, after yesterday…"

"Do you still feel that way?"

"No. Not after our talk. At least, I don't think I do."

"Would you like to unpack now, perhaps?"

"…I dunno. It's…it's so big in here. This room is larger than my family's whole trailer. It just feels so empty and…and far away. Last night, there was no sound. Nothing. I used to be able to hear mom and dad whispering, and then dad would start snoring…the trailer would creak on its axles when it was windy…in the morning, they would have their coffee, and I could hear them drinking. All I had to do was reach down, and they were right there. Here…there's just too much space. There's no one nearby. It…it makes me sad, to be so far away."

"Hmm. Well, I think we can fix that."

"…We can? How?"

"Master Wayne assumed that this room would be preferable because it is the second largest bedroom we have. However, as you noted, it is some distance from both the main living area and from Master Wayne's own suite. The reason for that is that when this house was built, many decades ago, it was the fashion for children to be kept and cared for in their own section of the house. Among the rich, in particular, parents and their children rarely inhabited the same areas of the residence simultaneously."

"That's awful," Dick shivered.

"I agree. I'm sure Master Wayne chose this room for you not because he wanted to keep you at a distance but because he wanted to give you as much space and privacy as he thought you might need. He probably did not think about the fact that you are used to being around people. There is, however, a smaller bedroom just across the hall from the entrance to the master suite." He paused. "Would you like to see if it is more to your liking?"

"…He won't be mad, will he? I mean, you said he picked this room…"

"I assure you, young sir, he won't be mad, especially once he hears that you wanted to be closer to him."

"…Can we go look?"

"Certainly." He rose and stepped back from the window so that the boy could untangle himself from the curtains. Picking up the small suitcase before they walked down the hall, he was struck by its lightness. We need to take him out shopping. Perhaps I can convince Master Wayne to do the honors… "Here we are," he announced, pushing open the door to a room roughly half the size of the one they had left behind. "Is this more comfortable for you?"

The child went inside and turned slowly around. "This is way better, Alfred," he said slowly. "I don't feel like I'm in an amphitheater anymore. It's still really big, though."

"I assure you, young sir, you'll soon have more than enough things to fill it."

"I don't really need anything more than what I have," he shrugged. "Although my one sock does have a hole in it…"

The butler nearly gaped at the boy's utterly unmaterialistic comment. "Regardless, there are a few items that I'm sure Master Wayne will insist upon you having." He laid the suitcase on the bed. "Shall we unpack?" He wasn't going to force the child, but giving his things places in the room would serve to seal the fact that this was to be his new home, and might relieve some of the uncertainty he still saw in his gaze.

"…Maybe I should wait and see what Bruce says? He might want me to go to a room that's not so close to his. I don't want to invade his privacy."

"I can't imagine him having an objection to your occupancy of this space, Master Dick, but if you would prefer to wait, that is up to you."

The boy ran his hand across the smooth cherry finish of the armoire. "…I guess I could at least hang my clothes up," he mused. "That's pretty fast to undo, if he wants me to go somewhere else."

"Certainly," the butler agreed gravely, moving to assist him. They chatted amiably as they stored the few outfits, and before Dick could realize what had occurred everything had a spot in which to rest. Even his now-empty suitcase had a home, nestled high on a closet shelf.

"Wow. Thanks for helping me, Alfred. It looks a lot different in here now."

"Indeed it does. Are you pleased with it?"

"Yeah." He sat on the bed, bouncing slightly. "It's nice." His face grew pensive. "…Alfred?" he asked bashfully, hoping he wasn't about to be too forward.

"Yes, Master Dick?"

"…Do you have tea every afternoon?"

The corners of his mouth twitched upwards at the shaded but immensely hopeful look in the boy's eyes. "Why yes, young sir, I most certainly do." He paused. "Would you care to make a habit of joining me for it?"

"…Could I?" he asked eagerly. "Could I really?"

"It would make me very happy if you would, young sir. A wise man once said that sharing tea with a fascinating stranger is one of life's true pleasures. I believe that to be true."

The child cocked his head to one side. "Is that what I am?" he wondered aloud. "A 'fascinating stranger?'"

"Well, I don't think I'd call you a stranger any longer," Alfred allowed. "Hopefully you no longer feel like one."

"I don't. At least, not as much as I did before. I…I feel a lot better now," he confessed.

"Very good. I'm glad to hear it. As for the other adjective, I daresay you are one of the most fascinating people I have ever encountered."

As if he'd spoken a magic phrase, a beaming grin suddenly took over the boy's entire visage. Oh, my. If you gave Master Wayne even half as brilliant of a look as the one you're giving me right now, then it's no wonder he was drawn to you so magnetically.

"Thanks, Alfred," he said, a completely unforced and natural cheerfulness entering his voice. "I think you're pretty awesome, too."

"…Come, young sir," he gestured, pleasant warmth filling him as a result of the compliment. "If you would like, I believe we have just enough time to reheat and finish our pot from earlier before Master Wayne returns from work." He smiled as the boy jumped up from the bed with a quick nod and followed him, asking curious questions along the way.

As they passed through the halls, Alfred would have sworn he saw the shadows retreating from the bright child at his side.