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The first thought Alfred has when they get the first riddle is actually quite ridiculous. He’s normally quite composed in times of crisis. Nevertheless, he thinks to himself: what type of disguise is a pair of glasses?
---
When Bruce was fourteen, a little bit after his parents died, he suddenly got the all-consuming need to learn how to play cricket. Thomas Wayne had always been a fan. There were more than a few cricket-themed keepsakes in the manor, including at least five autographed bats.
Alfred welcomed the fixation. The first few months after the Waynes had died, Bruce had locked himself in his room for hours and ignored every reminder of his parents. He’d even requested Alfred, in that meek way of his, to make bland food.
So when Bruce decided he was going to learn cricket once and for all, Alfred cheered inwardly. He decided he would do everything in his power to make sure it happened.
He signed Bruce up for this summer camp a few miles out from Gotham. It had great reviews from former members and they were awfully friendly. Alfred even got himself added to the campers’ mothers’ Whatsapp group chat.
Every morning, he would drive Bruce to the field. The first day, Bruce dragged his feet while getting out. He had his dad’s old cricket bat in his backpack. Alfred had packed him one of those outrageously sweet jam sandwiches he liked with the crusts still on.
“Alfred,” Bruce said quietly when Alfred opened the door. He pouted, looking down at his feet. “What if I don’t do good?”
“Master Bruce, I hardly think anyone is a champion the first time they play,” Alfred replied reassuringly. He patted Bruce’s shoulder. “Now come. Don’t be late. Tell me all about it when I come to pick you up.”
He took Bruce all the way into the grounds, depositing him next to the camp counselor and a scrawny boy in a green sweatshirt who was trying to convince the counselor to let him jump in the river after practice. Bruce looked mortified but he shrugged his way into the conversation.
Alfred didn’t leave for an hour that first day. He stood outside, watching the kids learn the rules and do running exercises. At one point, a nice old lady came up to him and struck up a conversation.
“Mine’s the one in the corner,” she said, pointing to a girl with pigtails who seemed to have recently found out that nails can be used to dig holes. “She’s my granddaughter.”
Alfred thought it was probably polite to return the sentiment. “Mine’s the one running,” he said. He didn’t have to point, because Bruce was the only one still running.
“Oh!” the lady said, clapping her hands. “Are you his grandfather?”
“Something like that,” Alfred said, shrugging. He thought it wasn’t worth the effort to explain the situation to this very nice old lady. This is my ex-employer’s son who was orphaned a year ago and has attached onto me like a little barnacle who just pouts a lot.
He knew that the lady was probably doing her best to suspend her disbelief, which he appreciated. In turn, he let her chat about her daughter’s undeniable skill in cricket. Alfred considered himself fairly invested in the sport of cricket, enough that he could look at the counselor and recognize the marks of an amateur.
He figured most people who could still play cricket in America were amateurs, though. Why would they have come here if they weren’t?
They finished their conversation when the lady got a call from her husband. Alfred stood awkwardly by the side of the car for a few more seconds, peering into the fields to try and locate Bruce. He wasn’t anywhere to be seen.
He didn’t panic. Not really. Before he could barge into the field unannounced, though, Bruce appeared soaking wet as he stumbled into the fields with the boy from before.
Alfred couldn’t hear what he said, but he figured Bruce was in safe hands. He left.
---
Really, Alfred thought he must have imparted some wisdom. Clearly not enough since this boy thinks glasses are an acceptable disguise. The beard doesn’t help, it just makes him look more like himself. The glasses are hideous, by the way. Who wears bright green frames with purple rhinestones?
---
When Alfred picked Bruce up on the first day, he wasn’t expecting Bruce to be so surly on the way home.
“How was your day?” Alfred asked, expecting a nice and normal answer. Something about running or wickets.
“He pushed me into the lake !” Bruce replied instead. He shook his head, making a series of hand gestures that Alfred can’t follow. “I told him not to sneak out and he was like, noooo, Bruce, it’s fine. It wasn’t fine! I said to follow the rules and then he pushed me into the lake!”
“Right,” said Alfred. He kept his eyes on the road. “Did you eat your lunch?”
“Yeah,” Bruce said before rushing into his rant again. “And then I said that he should pay more attention. Do you know what he said? He said he didn’t like to run! He said he would rather swim, which probably should have tipped me off that he was going to push me in the lake.”
Alfred realized that this might have been the most animated Bruce has been since his parents’ death. He thought the tradeoffs were worth it. He tuned out the rants and drove them home.
---
Naturally, the glasses match the outfit. Alfred doesn’t know if Bruce has made the connection here. If he hasn’t, Alfred doesn’t want to be the one to make it.
To be honest, Alfred had not expected this. He prides himself on being able to predict the very big things in life. Bruce dressing up in a bat mask from his fifth grade Halloween costume and going out to fight evil? Silly, but predictable. That boy had always had an unnerving dedication to duty and also, on smaller occasions, dressing up.
However, this? This was beyond Alfred.
---
A week before the last day of camp, Bruce came back despondent. He didn't eat his sandwich, even though Alfred had used the apricot jam. He got into the car sadly and crossed his arms in the front seat.
"What's wrong, Master Bruce? Not a good day?" Alfred asked.
Bruce grimaced. "He's leaving. He's going back to California. Like, forever."
"Ah," said Alfred. He figured it was something like that.
The one time he had met the kid, he had introduced himself with a name wildly different from the names he introduced himself with to everyone else. Bruce said this was normal and that’s why he usually called the kid E, because that was the first ID letter on his nametag. Bruce’s name tag started with R10, probably because Alfred had signed him up late.
The kid had seemed flighty. It was hot that day, but he was still wearing a Lakers sweatshirt. He told the most inane jokes Alfred had ever heard.
Bruce still seemed despondent, so when they got home, Alfred made him drink a cup of chicken soup. He wheedled out the knowledge that actually today wasn't the kid's last day here.
"Well, focus on the positives," Alfred said. "Maybe he can come visit later."
---
When Alfred talked about a visit, he hadn't meant returning to Gotham and kidnapping four people. Maybe a spring break vacation, not a crime spree.
Alfred does wonder if he knows Bruce's secret. The letter is written to Batman, so there's no telling if he knows who the man behind the mask is.
Dear Batman,
It's great to finally meet you! You won't be bored anymore, I'll personally make sure of it. What do you call a king without a throne? A queen without her gown? Keep the rice piling. I'll see you soon.
The Riddler
The kid has graduated from telling knock-knock jokes in the past six years, Alfred thinks to himself. He looks at Bruce, who is still biting his lip in frustration, trying to figure out the riddle. He puts a kettle on.
---
Camp ended in early August, but Bruce fell into a funk for the rest of summer. Alfred particularly remembers a time when the Gordons had come over for dinner. Commissioner Gordon had been a good friend of Thomas Wayne and he decided that he would keep coming to Wayne Manor every month like he had before. Consistency was important for children in times of distress. Alfred agreed.
Barbara Gordon, a precocious seven-year-old who carried a magnifying glass around with her, picked up on Bruce’s feelings immediately. She made him redo her pigtails, despite his protests that he didn’t know how to fishtail hair.
“Then learn ,” she said in a final tone. It was somewhat less effective considering it came from a gap-toothed seven-year-old. “Who else is going to teach you?”
Bruce couldn’t argue with that, so that was also the summer he learned to braid Barbara’s hair. Alfred thought it must have helped him, making sure Barbara didn’t fall off her heelies or start too many fires on accident with the magnifying glass.
Later, he’d wonder if maybe he made a mistake. He knew Bruce took things a little too seriously. Giving him the responsibility of a child… maybe it was too much.
Then, he thought about Barbara again. Bruce at seven was a strange boy, more interested in sticking wires into a potato than looking at insects. Barbara at seven was a menace, but Alfred always nurtured a soft spot for her. He always thought she deserved better than she got.
---
Bruce has a little practice as Batman under his belt when The Riddler first shows up. After that first disaster of a gap year in which he somehow ended up with malaria from a crocodile-infested river in Gotham , he goes to Howard. It was where his parents met and Alfred thought he seemed content until he turned on the news one day and saw talk of a vigilante in a bat costume running across D.C.
He called up Bruce. “How are you adjusting?” he started off, clearing his throat.
“Oh, fine,” Bruce replied haphazardly. He smiled. “My roommate’s nice.”
“Good,” said Alfred. He paused before attacking the main point. “I saw the news. Master Bruce, be careful. There aren’t even any big vigilantes in D.C. What happens if you get hurt?”
“How did you know?” Bruce marveled. His voice sounded deeper through the phone, but not enough to make Alfred forget that this was Bruce Wayne.
Alfred scoffed. “Master Bruce, I saw the news. What do you think is going to happen when the Bat appears wherever you go? Someone's going to make that connection. Be careful. Besides, I sewed that vampire costume for you when you were seven. I didn’t expect to see it put to later use.”
He didn’t try to talk Bruce out of it. He knew there was no use once Bruce put his mind to something. He could only make sure that Bruce didn’t end up beat up in a ditch somewhere because of his nature. Alfred shuddered to think of it.
His senior year of college, he had mentioned a guy who always showed up at crime scenes before Bruce did. Some guy who wore a green sweatshirt all the time. It was really supposed to be just some guy.
“Master Bruce, have you considered this man may be the perpetrator?” Alfred asked on one of their nightly calls. He did worry. “Please remember you have your robotics class tomorrow morning at 8:00. Don’t miss it.”
“I won’t,” Bruce promised. “I don’t think it’s him. Or, it might be. I don’t know. He’s just kind of watching.”
Then, of course, Batman came back to Gotham once Bruce had graduated. Alfred had gone to the graduation. He had dabbed a tear away almost as quickly as it had appeared.
Here, Alfred was able to help him. Bruce made his own gadgets, these sturdy bat-themed tools that were supposed to help him. There were a few villains that they flew through.
And then, almost a year after Bruce had moved back to Gotham, the first riddle came.
---
When Barbara was twelve, Bruce started going out in the mask. Alfred never quite asked her if she remembered that summer after Bruce’s senior year, but he figured that like the rest of them, she hadn’t forgotten the rise of the Bat.
After that first villain--one especially weird guy who kept throwing ketchup at Bruce--it was like the floodgates had opened. Bruce was in constant danger. The thing about Bruce is that he was very good at fighting, but maybe not that good. He’d had a lot of teachers over the years. He’d been into martial arts as a kid and even Alfred had been one of his teachers. The boy was talented.
The issue was that he was, well, reckless as teenagers tend to be. Bruce had always grown up too fast. Even now, he felt that he wasn’t doing enough.
He had talked to the commissioner the last time he brought in one of the villains that ha cropped up around Gotham. This one was a man obsessed with the calendar--Alfred wasn’t quite sure what his modus operandi was, but Bruce had set back all of his clocks an hour and finally made him weak enough to beat. The commissioner had agreed that Batman was needed. He didn’t like the idea of vigilantes, but he did know corruption when he saw it. There was a reason the Calendar Man, as Alfred had taken to calling him, hadn’t been caught before.
It was Bruce who had come up with the idea of the Bat signal. He installed it on the roof of the department, and then told Commissioner Gordon it was there. Forgiveness before permission.
Now that Alfred considers it, Barbara had probably seen him around this time. He does remember an especially brutal winter day when Bruce had come back home complaining about his leg. Bruce didn’t complain often, so Alfred had checked it out, then promptly taken him to the hospital since the wound was infected.
For Christmas, Bruce and Alfred went over to the Gordons’ like they had done for the past four years. Barbara zeroed in immediately on Bruce’s leg, but she didn’t actually mention it. She had grown from a menace into a thoughtful but mischievous young girl with very brightly colored braces.
In the gift exchange, Bruce got a single Hello Kitty sock from Barbara. “You don’t need it for your cast leg,” she explained solemnly. “So it’s fine.”
Goodnaturedly, Bruce put it on. Alfred grabbed a picture of a grimacing Bruce and a grinning Barbara as quickly as he could.
---
"I think he followed me here from D.C.," Bruce admits, scratching something down in a notebook. "He's the guy who watched those crime scenes. Except, maybe those were his crimes. I don't know."
"Master Bruce, if I may," Alfred said. “Perhaps you should upgrade the suit. The gadgets are useful, but perhaps a better suit should be in order.”
“You’re right,” Bruce sighs, shaking his head. “Yeah. I’ll see.”
Alfred looks at the picture of the Riddler on the screen again, a grainy image of a young man with dark skin and bright coppery hair. The glasses are in focus, but everything else isn’t. He’s wearing a suit--also green. Alfred can’t really connect the two in his head, and maybe that’s the point.
Bruce accepts his cup of tea without a word, already sketching on his tablet. He mutters something under his breath. Alfred puts another kettle on.
---
After his Batman gap year, Alfred made Bruce apply to college. Bruce really did thrive in college, and he liked to learn. His mother would be proud.
He started off at Gotham U, actually. Alfred had tried to convince him that the city could function without him like it had been functioning since before he was born, but then Bruce had brought out the “I don’t want to go too far from home. I’m not ready.” and Alfred had no defense. So, every morning Alfred would make sure Bruce didn’t skip his morning computer science class even though he pretended that computers were haunting him.
On one memorable occasion, Bruce had been fighting off a rather unfortunate kite-obsessed foe. He flew around on a kite and then tried to smack Bruce in the face with smaller kites.
"Master Bruce, wrap this up, if you will. You have chemistry homework due tonight at midnight," Alfred mentioned over the headset after Bruce landed a particularly good blow.
Bruce groaned, then knocked Kite Man out cold. He called the commissioner and rattled off the location of Kite Man’s body and still made it home in time to knock out his macromolecules worksheet.
Barbara, then a thirteen-year-old menace, came over to bother Bruce after his classes sometimes. When Bruce left for Howard, Barbara didn’t actually stop coming to Wayne Manor. She just followed Alfred around, reciting stories about her day and the latest plot twists in the books she was reading.
Alfred liked to say that he was the reason Barbara got into the library. Wayne Manor was modern, but the Waynes had loved the idea of a library. Sometimes, he would deposit Barbara in the library and set her up with a few books before going about his work. Eventually, she started frequenting Gotham City Public Library and from there, she got herself work as a page for the summers.
Strangely, Alfred did miss her when she stopped visiting Wayne Manor to trail him like a duckling. He hadn’t expected to.
---
The new Batman suit is much safer than the previous one. It’s fully bulletproof, for one, instead of just a chestplate. Alfred had always complained about that specific lack of safety, but Bruce had assured him that the helmet he wore over his headphones was bulletproof and that no one ever died from a bullet to the arm or leg.
Speaking of the headphones, they’ve finally disappeared from the suit. After three years of computer science classes that Alfred forced Bruce to attend even when he thought the computers would poison his bloodstream, Bruce can finally connect his knack for hardware (and his childhood obsession with robotics) to an actual system. He names it the Batcomputer with a grin on his face.
Bruce has already figured out where the Riddler is. Gotham only has one dedicated chess store, just south of the library. Alfred stops him just before he leaves.
“Master Bruce,” he says, pausing for a moment while Bruce looks at him, tilting his head. He’s still so young to Alfred. “Be careful.”
“I promise, Alfred,” Bruce replies solemnly. Alfred almost believes him.
---
Barbara was an even stranger eighteen year old by the time Bruce's graduation rolled around. She didn’t keep her hair in pigtails anymore and the gap had closed up, but she still had that way of seeing that intrigued Alfred sometimes. She was curious, always.
“Can I come with you?” Barbara begged when she came over to Wayne Manor after school that day. “I’m not going to miss any school and I’ve never been to D.C. so it’s basically educational.”
“Did you ask your mother?” Alfred asked. He knew it was a formality. Once Barbara put her mind to something, she would get it.
“Yeah, she said it was fine,” assured Barbara. “I even have work off!”
So that was how Alfred ended up driving one of Thomas Wayne’s Bentleys down to D.C. with Barbara Gordon in the passenger seat, pointing out landmarks all the way through Maryland. He hadn’t even known anything interesting happened in Delaware.
Bruce had scrambled Barbara’s shorter hair, grinning in his graduation gown. Alfred dutifully took at least a dozen pictures of him with dry eyes. Bruce’s parents would be so proud of him.
---
Alfred isn’t privy to what happens between Batman and the Riddler that first encounter, because Bruce’s microphone shuts off suddenly. He was right about the location. The Riddler is waiting for him, decked out in a green suit patterned with violet question marks. He has a golden cane in the shape of a question mark, but Alfred can’t tell if it’s for utility or style.
When Bruce comes back, bleeding from the shoulder but grinning from success, Alfred can’t help but sigh in relief. “Master Bruce,” he says, somewhat dryly. “I’m glad you were careful.”
“He’s crazy, Alfred,” Bruce replies, shaking his head. If Alfred closes his eyes, he can almost imagine being back in that car, driving Bruce home from cricket camp. He shakes himself out of it, because that was just a very annoying boy, not a villain who kidnapped four people . “He got away. I’ve never… he was the first one who’s gotten away.”
“You saved the people, Master Bruce.” Alfred takes off Bruce’s bat-shaped cowl, already sanitizing his shoulder. “That’s what matters.”
When Bruce answers, he sounds far away. “Yeah. That’s what matters.”
---
So that’s how Bruce Wayne finds himself with an archnemesis. They play this game again and again and again--no casualties. It seems to Alfred that the Riddler isn’t quite interested in killing for the sake of killing. He won’t go out of his way to stop people from coming to harm, but he won’t kill for pleasure. Alfred can’t say the same about some of Bruce’s other persistent foes.
Barbara comes back from college in the summers and takes up work in the library again. She says she likes the work, even though Bruce teasingly offers her an internship at Wayne Enterprises.
The company’s become sustainable under Bruce. Alfred nagged him into starting his MBA and Bruce can’t really find a reason not to, so he ends up becoming really good at his job. Alfred remembers, sometimes, when Bruce’s grandfather started the company. It quickly grew to become one of the leading technology firms, despite being rather small and focused in the city. He’s proud of it. He’s especially proud of what it’s become under Bruce.
Over the summers, Bruce does relax. The sun is good for him. Alfred finds himself comparing Bruce to a cat sometimes, the way he changes in the sunlight. It’s so strange that he chose a creature of the night to theme himself on.
Barbara swings by more often. Alfred makes them sandwiches, then teaches them to make their own sandwiches because they're so particular.
It's a good summer, all things considered, until Barbara finds out Bruce is Batman. Really, the girl is sharp, it's a wonder Bruce has fooled her for so long.
It starts, of course, with the Riddler. Bruce is already healing from his last broken bone, some new titanium in his ankle. The Riddler sends him a message.
Dear Batman,
It's been a whole month since we last played. Oh, that was a beautiful night. I do love Amusement Mile. You know where I'll be tonight. Where the water is full to the brim. Don't call bullshit, you know it's true.
The Riddler
It barely takes Bruce five minutes before he's running out of the Batcave, already sure of the location. The issue here is that Alfred has been left with a bored Barbara Gordon, who was over for dinner when the message came.
“So, Alfred,” Barbara says, leaning forward conspiratorially. She doesn’t seem all that bothered that Bruce has suddenly run out of the dining room, muttering something about a work emergency. “I have a theory and you need to hear it.”
“I’m all ears, Ms. Gordon,” Alfred resignedly replies. Whatever it takes to keep her occupied. He keeps the earpiece open, in case Bruce needs him. He’ll make up an excuse.
“It’s about Bruce’s girlfriends. First of all, half of them haven’t even been into men! So something is definitely going on with him,” Barbara starts.
Alfred narrows his eyes at her. “Ms. Gordon, if I may. How did you ascertain this?”
Barbara does actually seem a little ashamed of that. “I, uh. I asked them out when they seemed bored because Bruce didn’t dance with any of them? It was just for the investigation. Well. I mean, some of them were very cool.”
“They were all at least three years older than you,” Alfred points out.
“Yes,” Barbara concedes. “It was just coffee. Really good coffee. Anyways, here’s the theory. None of these women actually like Bruce. I mean, they’re friends but that’s it. But as soon as they break up, they become part of the Bruce Wayne’s Ex-Girlfriend Club, which gets them automatic publicity. So I think that he has a plan. "
Alfred pauses, trying not to confirm or deny anything. Barbara is remarkably close to the truth.
"Remember the last one? She wasn't even from here, she said she was one of Bruce's college friends. It's a win for all of them, except I don't know what Bruce gets out of it. He's hiding something. I know it."
Then Barbara pulls out a slideshow detailing her investigation like she used to when she was younger. Alfred does his best to listen.
On the sixth slide, however, Bruce starts talking in his ear. "Alfred. I'm downstairs. My shoulder…I'm not sure."
"Apologies, Ms. Gordon," Alfred says, standing up slowly. "It's time to let Ace out. I'll be right back."
He reaches the Batcave, where Bruce is wincing but high on success. He's like this, sometimes, right after he meets with the Riddler. He doesn't even realize he's been hurt until later. Especially if he wins.
The shoulder isn't actually too bad. Alfred listens as Bruce explains how they'd faced off at the Monarch Playing Cards factory branch near the shipyard. It's a small gash which Alfred is in the middle of stitching up when he hears something drop behind him.
"Oh my God," says Barbara, who has snuck her way in. "This was, like, slide 24. The last slide in terms of probability."
Bruce winces as Alfred continues stitching his shoulder up. "Babs, you can't let anyone else know," he says gruffly. "Especially your dad."
"Who am I going to tell?" Barbara asks. She shakes her head, sighing. "Okay, when you said extreme sports, I was fully expecting you to be a secret Formula One driver. Maybe for Ferarri? I had a whole plan. I was going to make you teach me how to drive like that."
"I'm sorry to disappoint," Bruce replies, smiling slightly now. Alfred finishes off the stitches. "I'll still teach you to drive if you want."
---
The game shifts, though, when they get news that the Riddler has stabbed Commissioner Gordon. Bruce spends hours with Mrs. Gordon and when she breaks down on the phone, he's the one to finish telling Barbara what happened.
She comes home hardened and hurting. Alfred thinks he's never seen her this furious. She picks fights with Bruce when she comes by about how he should have put the Riddler away once and for all.
Even though he doesn't say it, Alfred knows Bruce holds… reservations. The crimes of the Riddler are always for spectacle, always for an audience. They're never meant to hurt. This isn't his style.
Neither of them voice their concerns. They kind of both figure that the Riddler will break out like he's always done, but he stays this time. Neither of them know why.
---
Then Bruce goes missing and Barbara shows up at Alfred's doorstep with Edward Nygma by her side. Barbara is, of course, a welcome presence. Alfred can't say the same for Nygma.
He's grown into himself. Even though he's swamped in a GCPD hoodie over his gray Arkham jumpsuit, he looks comfortable. The facial hair hasn't changed much since that first appearance, but it's always made him seem more himself. His hair is scraggly, though. He does seem like a wet rat. Then, there's a glint in Nygma's eyes as he scans the manor. Alfred can almost understand why Bruce keeps chasing him after all.
Alfred is doing his best. Really, he is trying to be as open-minded as possible for Bruce's sake. Bruce, who is definitely not dead by the way. Alfred knew this, but it's a welcome reassurance for Barbara to explain the lack of metal in the body they found.
When he tells Barbara about Bruce's isolation, he finds himself feeling a strange emotion. He doesn't think she notices, but he hides it anyway, like he's done for years.
Alfred doesn't want to take Nygma to the Batcave, but he does his best. He takes note of Nygma's shrewd eyes roving over every surface in the Cave, catching on the security measures. At this point, though, right now, Alfred doesn't care as much as he should. He just makes a note to make Bruce update the security later.
---
Things happen quickly after that, but Alfred finds that the ride in the Bentley slows the moments into infinites. The Riddler, bleeding out in his back seat. This is not how it was supposed to go.
Nygma comes to when Alfred makes a particularly sharp turn. He gasps wetly, sounding like blood.
"I hate the taste of blood," Nygma groans, turning his head. He looks down and pales.
"Mr. Nygma, I would advise you to keep your eyes forward," Alfred says. He looks in the rearview mirror and sees a broken man who looks like a broken boy. "Perhaps a distraction may be in order."
Nygma laughs. "You don't have to humor me. I know you hate my riddles."
"That may be so," concedes Alfred. "But there's something you can clear up for me. Your memory is powerful. I haven't changed much."
"You're asking if I remember you? Of course I do," Nygma replies, taking the bait. "I toyed with the idea at first. Show up at Bruce Wayne's doorstep without a clue if he remembered me or not. If he would let in a strange man who only barely looked like his friend at fourteen. But I didn't think I could deal with the rejection."
"So you turned to crime?" Alfred isn't sure he follows.
"Oh, Alfred. I turned to crime long before I came back to Gotham," says Nygma. He shakes his head, then winces when it seems like too much. “Student loans are a bitch.”
Alfred doesn’t respond. He takes another turn, tries to make it softer this time, then catches himself and focuses on driving again.
“Have you ever said anything to him?” Nygma asks quietly, trying to tamp down his heavy breathing. He sounds sincere, almost. “I never knew if he remembered. I figured he didn’t, after D.C., but then I figured it was the hair, or the beard, or the green. Maybe I was pretending a bit.”
“You may be right, Mr. Nygma,” Alfred surprises himself by saying. “I’ve never connected you with the Riddler to him, although I knew. Heaven knows why. You never gave a proper name, but sometimes Bruce does wonder what happened to that boy who pushed him into the lake next to the field.”
“I didn’t have a name,” Nygma replies petulantly. He seems pleased, though. “I had to make one myself.”
“Hm.” Alfred takes the last turn into the hospital. “And mere coincidence, I suppose, that you took on the same letter he always called you by?”
Nygma grins. “You have no idea how long I spent trying to find a different one. People don’t look at me and see an Edward.”
“I think it rather suits you,” Alfred replies. “At the hospital, I’ll make sure they don’t hurt you further. Any preexisting conditions, in case you pass out again?”
At that, Nygma’s smile widens as he starts rattling off a list of conditions that feel at least partially made up. Alfred parks the car.
---
When Alfred wakes up, Bruce and Barbara are by his side. He's in the Batcave and Bruce is hurt. Of course he stands and tries to help him.
Instead, he falls and watches Barbara clean the wounds slowly. Bruce says he loves him. Alfred says the same. It feels right.
---
They get news soon after that Nygma has escaped. It takes a few hours for Bruce to figure things out and fly to Egypt. He offers Alfred an explanation garbled by excitement, which Alfred waves off.
"Be careful," Alfred warns before Bruce heads out. He's actually not sure what he's warning against more. The Riddler, whose crimes stopped by Batman are more spectacle than anything, or Edward Nygma, a boy who has always been of interest to Bruce Wayne.
Bruce grasps his hand briefly but warmly. "I am. I always am. I promise."
This time, Alfred does try to believe him.
---
About a month later, Alfred visits the Batcave in the middle of the night, expecting to find Bruce and scold him for once again leaving Ace out for too long. Instead, he finds Edward Nygma sitting on the ground, eyeing a sandwich on the table warily.
"If I'm not mistaken, Mr. Nygma, you're meant to be at Arkham. Not in my home," Alfred says. He sits down.
"I'm on consultation," Nygma responds flippantly. "Batman and Batgirl found their villain. Poor Riddler doesn't have a bat on him, so they left me here."
Alfred rubs his temples. "Please tell me they didn't break you out of Arkham."
"Okay, I won't tell you," Nygma says. "They told me to eat this sandwich, but I think it might be poisoned. None of this goes together."
Alfred inspects it closer and finds that it's familiar to him. "You have a Barbara Gordon original," he informs.
"Like, mustard and hot sauce? Fine. Normal, even. Mushrooms and fruit? And this bread, is this naan ? I feel my ancestors quaking. Yours are probably screaming, oh no that's not what we colonized them for."
Nygma takes a bite and tries to mask his surprise at the taste. "How is this good?" he mutters angrily. He wrinkles his nose.
"Do you plan to tell him?" Alfred asks after the silence has gone on too long. The Batcomputer beeps encouragingly from the corner.
There's no answer for a bit. Nygma's not even eating, just sitting there. He's wearing a green sweater that is almost definitely Bruce's over a neon green GCPL volunteer shirt that Alfred remembers from Barbara's youth. Perhaps not so much a consultation as a visit.
"I don't," Nygma says finally. "I think he'll start feeling sorry for me or maybe for himself. I don't think I could bear that."
"I think he deserves more credit," Alfred replies. "But it's your choice. I understand if you don't want him to connect the two."
"Maybe," concedes Nygma. He takes another bite of the sandwich. "What made you change your mind about me? I haven't gotten a single threat about my hands since you came down here."
Alfred pauses. "I haven't changed my mind. You're the same as always. I thought it went unspoken."
Edward smiles. "Okay, Alfred. Sure. Did you know Babs has been taking bets on when you'll find Bruce's mechanical bat?"
"His what."