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Entry tags:
fic: Nolanverse, Golden Years
disclaimer: not mine
fandom: Nolanverse Batman, vaguely set at the end of the first movie
characters: Alfred, Lucius, allusion to M from the Bond franchise (I really really want fic of them as an OT3 of spying genius now, pls)
rating: er... G? I don't even think there's a bad word.
length: 600 words
notes: I blame fandomsecrets.
summary: Two old men remenisce.
Golden Years
by ALC Punk!
"Children these days," said Alfred Pennyworth. As though it were the middle of a conversation they'd been having for hours when in truth they'd been sitting silently, watching Bruce pick his way through the rubble of the Wayne Mansion. Alfred had hauled a table up-right and made a pot of tea on a nearby camp stove, less than worried about the state of the place he'd lived and worked half his life.
Across from him, looking comfortable in the blackened, slightly rickety King James chair, Lucius Fox sipped at his own cup of tea. "Think they have to blow everything up," was his meditative reply to Alfred.
The two of them had been friends for longer than either cared to remember, though if pressed, one could find trace records of them with half a dozen agencies. On paper archives that were slowly yellowing with age (though M did keep occasionally sending them both suggestively worded letters once a year disguised as holiday cards, neither was prepared to investigate whether she was serious).
"Explosives," noted Alfred with a slight smile of pride, "were never the problem. It's those silly rubber suits they all seem to favor these days."
"You're forgetting the scuba gear."
"There was a perfectly good reason for wearing that," Alfred sniffed. "Didn't catch us loitering in it on submarines or boats. Or looking ludicrous in what's essentially polystyrene."
Lucius's mouth twitched into a grin, "Oh, of course not. Our body armor was metal, and far too heavy. Not this fiberglass composite that's used these days."
He had a point, but Alfred wasn't going to let it go that easily, "Only needed that if you'd been exceedingly stupid in the first place."
Getting shot at had never been a goal, though Bruce seemed to relish it, when he thought Alfred wasn't paying attention. He kept in a sigh and reached for the pot of tea to pour himself another jot.
Lucius finished his tea and set his cup back in the chipped saucer. "As dangerous as it's become, it's their world now."
"And we're just old men, drinking tea." Proffering the pot, Alfred raised an eyebrow, "Refill?"
They sat in relatively companionable silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Alfred was wondering if he could find another tea bag in the rubble that was left of his pantry. Lucius was trying to decide whether to re-design the Batmobile or not, though he was also leaning towards a hang-glider.
"I do miss it, though," Alfred admitted, a rueful expression on his face.
Lucius tipped his head and nodded, "Mostly."
"Not the boring bits."
A shared smile changed into identical blank expressions when Bruce wandered up. He blinked, then looked at Alfred, "Anymore tea?"
"Certainly, Master Bruce." With quiet efficiency, Alfred produced another cup and poured into the delicate china the last of the pot. It was beginning to get quite cold, sadly, but should still be at least pleasant.
"Thanks." Bruce turned away, his gaze distant again.
"Tell you what, though," Lucius murmured, "They can keep the costumes. And the angst."
"Oh, the angst is a pre-requisite these days. I've had it on quite good authority that one cannot become a savior of the human race without weathering the fires of half a dozen lifetimes." Alfred's tone was less than complimentary upon that subject. His lips curved upwards slightly, "But you are correct, old friend. They are welcome to it."
If Bruce understood their conversation, he gave no sign.
Not that it mattered. Alfred was Alfred, and Lucius was a genius. Every good hero needed them both.
-f-
fandom: Nolanverse Batman, vaguely set at the end of the first movie
characters: Alfred, Lucius, allusion to M from the Bond franchise (I really really want fic of them as an OT3 of spying genius now, pls)
rating: er... G? I don't even think there's a bad word.
length: 600 words
notes: I blame fandomsecrets.
summary: Two old men remenisce.
Golden Years
by ALC Punk!
"Children these days," said Alfred Pennyworth. As though it were the middle of a conversation they'd been having for hours when in truth they'd been sitting silently, watching Bruce pick his way through the rubble of the Wayne Mansion. Alfred had hauled a table up-right and made a pot of tea on a nearby camp stove, less than worried about the state of the place he'd lived and worked half his life.
Across from him, looking comfortable in the blackened, slightly rickety King James chair, Lucius Fox sipped at his own cup of tea. "Think they have to blow everything up," was his meditative reply to Alfred.
The two of them had been friends for longer than either cared to remember, though if pressed, one could find trace records of them with half a dozen agencies. On paper archives that were slowly yellowing with age (though M did keep occasionally sending them both suggestively worded letters once a year disguised as holiday cards, neither was prepared to investigate whether she was serious).
"Explosives," noted Alfred with a slight smile of pride, "were never the problem. It's those silly rubber suits they all seem to favor these days."
"You're forgetting the scuba gear."
"There was a perfectly good reason for wearing that," Alfred sniffed. "Didn't catch us loitering in it on submarines or boats. Or looking ludicrous in what's essentially polystyrene."
Lucius's mouth twitched into a grin, "Oh, of course not. Our body armor was metal, and far too heavy. Not this fiberglass composite that's used these days."
He had a point, but Alfred wasn't going to let it go that easily, "Only needed that if you'd been exceedingly stupid in the first place."
Getting shot at had never been a goal, though Bruce seemed to relish it, when he thought Alfred wasn't paying attention. He kept in a sigh and reached for the pot of tea to pour himself another jot.
Lucius finished his tea and set his cup back in the chipped saucer. "As dangerous as it's become, it's their world now."
"And we're just old men, drinking tea." Proffering the pot, Alfred raised an eyebrow, "Refill?"
They sat in relatively companionable silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Alfred was wondering if he could find another tea bag in the rubble that was left of his pantry. Lucius was trying to decide whether to re-design the Batmobile or not, though he was also leaning towards a hang-glider.
"I do miss it, though," Alfred admitted, a rueful expression on his face.
Lucius tipped his head and nodded, "Mostly."
"Not the boring bits."
A shared smile changed into identical blank expressions when Bruce wandered up. He blinked, then looked at Alfred, "Anymore tea?"
"Certainly, Master Bruce." With quiet efficiency, Alfred produced another cup and poured into the delicate china the last of the pot. It was beginning to get quite cold, sadly, but should still be at least pleasant.
"Thanks." Bruce turned away, his gaze distant again.
"Tell you what, though," Lucius murmured, "They can keep the costumes. And the angst."
"Oh, the angst is a pre-requisite these days. I've had it on quite good authority that one cannot become a savior of the human race without weathering the fires of half a dozen lifetimes." Alfred's tone was less than complimentary upon that subject. His lips curved upwards slightly, "But you are correct, old friend. They are welcome to it."
If Bruce understood their conversation, he gave no sign.
Not that it mattered. Alfred was Alfred, and Lucius was a genius. Every good hero needed them both.
-f-
no subject
Which means I will always be a sucker for anything that expertly depicts those facts of Alfred's past.
no subject