Title: Imitations of Mortality
Author: Annie Oates
Fandom: Batman Begins
Pairing: Bruce, Alfred
Rating: PG-15ish
Archive: Ask.
Disclaimers: Not mine, I'm a nasty little law-breaker.
Warnings: Alternate reality.
Summery: Not that the changes were all bad.
Feedback: Is welcome, in all forms.
Opinions varied. “He’s a little eccentric.” “A little?” “He’s a billionaire, what do you expect?” “He’s spoiled.” “Wish I were a billionaire.” “You and me both.” “I’d love to sleep in every day. Just party all night.” “Must be the life.” But it wasn’t. Not in the way traditionally thought of as “living.”
It all started with the bats. Everyone knew they nested somewhere on the property, but no one cared to inspect. To make sure they were in satisfactory conditions, to check the contents of the creek that ran over and through their cave.
All these years and Fox still hadn’t isolated the compound. Not that the changes were all bad. Sure, it was a drag to have to keep clear of ultraviolet rays, but he’d always been a bit of a night owl anyway. And sure, the anemia was a factor, but it could be controlled by massive doses of supplements and he eventually grew fond of the taste.
When he complained about that night’s dinner being none too fresh, Alfred chided him, “You’re being too bloody gothic for a man of your limited years, sir.”
Bruce groaned at the pun and followed Alfred around the manor with the sleeve of this robe drawn over his nose and mouth. At least he did until Alfred offered him a glass of wine and Bruce’s only recourse was to stick his tongue out at him.
Years later, when Alfred caught him in the stables, not a word was said. Alfred helped Bruce clean up and discretely arranged to have the carcass disposed of. And if Alfred sometimes arranged the paper a little too obviously, he never spoke of it. Alfred would just bring the tray with toast and a warm mug for Bruce to enjoy while he read about the latest victim of the Bat-Man.
End.