The Faults they Had

Cassandra knows Alfred is staying, because he put her kettle on. If he’s only come to pick up her mess, (which he calls “making sure you’re not living in squalor,”) then he never puts the kettle on. But if he’s staying, there’s always tea.

“I like tea,” she tells him, because it’s true. Bruce and Dick drink tea to please Alfred. Bruce drinks it too hot to taste. Dick puts in honey until he can’t taste anything else. Tim makes sure he has something else in his hands. Cass wants Alfred to know, she likes the way it tastes like clean, like earth, like green.

“A sign of a proper upbringing,” he says approvingly, and pours hot water into the teapot, then swirls it, and pours it out. It’s a ritual, which means it doesn’t do a thing, it means a thing. Bruce has a lot of rituals. Alfred only has a few. He never sews the tears in Bruce’s uniform until he sews Bruce. He never lets the cookies get to the bottom of the jar. He always has tea when he comes to visit. Cass likes rituals, because she can’t tell what they mean by watching.

“How were you bring-upped?” she asks.

“Brought up. Ah, it was a long time ago, and very dull, Miss Cassandra,” but something about his elbows means ouch, and hold, and fly.

She tilts her head and tries to make him tell her with his eyebrows, like Batman does. He smiles, which means it didn’t work. “My uncle was the one who brought me up, for the most part.”

“You didn’t… know your mother?”

“Not… Well, I suppose I can tell, can’t I? She was a drunk.” His mouth does a thing which means unhappy, and means… “When she wasn’t drunk, she was… Not a very good mother. Now, of course, they call it a disease, but then it was a weakness, you know… or rather, I don’t suppose you do.”

“But you loved her,” she says, which makes Alfred very sad.

“Ah, but I spent a lot of time hating her first.” He gives her a half smile, and sips his tea.

Cass nods. “She was your mother.”

They drink tea.