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thejusticelounge2014-07-16 09:35 pm
bossymarmalade) wrote in thejusticelounge2014-07-16 09:35 pm
thoreau box (revisited)
Alfred holds the boy’s hand steady in his own, as they move the tubing of icing along the top of the cake: it was a decent enough job for a double layer, cream filled confection, and Alfred was pleased, his voice warm: “That’s it. Just a touch of pressure, not too much.” He steps back, wiping his hands on his apron as he moves around the Wayne Manor kitchen with ease. An animal in his natural environment.
Bruce stands behind the boy, watching Alfred, his expression barely contained: the smile tugs at the edges of his lips, from where he sits, sneaking a green bean from the casserole to the side of him.
Kate has been invited to Wayne Manor, which feels a bit odd, but then again, she always feels a little bit like a fish out of water on a day like today. She paces in the library a little, stares out at the just-about-to-bloom garden for a long moment or two.
Ramsey has what is definitely the worst icing handwriting but delights in this task, since Alfred uses the metal icing tops, which seem far more legitimate than Momma Julie’s store-bought plastic ones. Although, of course, Ramsey loves his stepmother too, and has ensured that a giant bouquet of flowers — bought on Peter’s credit card — will arrive at their Canadian home.
Bruce comments, as he watches Ramsey, a diffused sense of pride making the edges of his words honey-warm, sunshine bright: “Your cursive is getting better.”
Alfred leans in, as he walks past Bruce, “..but your stealth could use a touch up, sir—you’ll ruin your appetite,” and he pushes the casserole away from the man, patting him on the arm as he walks to the oven.
Kate wanders out of the library. She’s spent enough time now living in this place that she no longer gets lost in the main corridors, has little fear of their dark corners, and she can smell dinner cooking all the way from here through some alchemy of Alfred’s. Kitchen. Coffee. This she can do.
Bruce grumbles, good-naturedly at the older man, even as he stands up, and moves to help Ramsey’ with the ‘y’ on ‘day’ helping him with the loop. He smiles, over the boy’s shoulder, nodding when Ramsey’s wrist flicks to finish the last loop. “Good,” he murmurs.
The door is half closed, when Kate gets there, and she lifts an eyebrow at it, contemplating if she needs to KNOCK or something.
Ramsey pulls away from the cake triumphantly, dressed in one of Alfred’s aprons that is far too large. He waits until Bruce is distracted by looking at the cake and Alfred is looking for cleaning utensils to squirt a huge line of remaining icing straight into his mouth.
Bruce pretends he didn’t see that, smiling and murmurs, “She’s here.” He arches his eyebrows, looking at Alfred, before he glances back to Ramsey.
Alfred returns that smile, his own growing at the sight of Bruce and the young boy, even as his heart twists, painfully in his chest. He looks back to the sink, washing up the last of the dishes, taking care with the gold lacquered edges of the plates.
Ramsey immediately snaps his mouth shut, very nearly sending Manhunter-red icing out of his nostrils at the sheer amount that he’s shoved into his mouth.
Kate does, in due course, knock, because of the way the door’s sitting, feeling vaguely awkward, and pokes her head around the door. “Sorry, is there any more coffee?” she asks.
Bruce tilts his head towards the door, his eyebrows arching, looking at Ramsey with a ‘it’s your cue’ look upon his face.
Ramsey isn’t quite sure what the cue is, so he just screams at the top of his lungs, arms in the air: “HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY WE MADE CAKE I LOVE YOU!!!”
Bruce smiles, his expression warming even further as he leans back, arms folding over his chest as he goes for another green bean.
Alfred clears his throat, still at the sink, back turned to them all as he washes.
Ramsey looks over his shoulder, arms still in the air, and turns back, amending: “Alfred did most of the work.”
Kate looks startled for a second because of the loud, but she can’t help herself from quickly walking in and wrapping her arms around Ramsey. “Oh, little man. I love you too, dulcito,” she says, and presses a kiss into his hair, though she is snuffling back a bit of mist. “And thank you to Alfred, of course. You guys didn’t need to make me a cake.”
Bruce pulls his hand back at the throat-clearing and rises up, and moves to set his hand on the woman’s back, the small of it, and kisses her temple, his voice warm in a deeply private way when he murmurs into the shell of her ear: “Happy Mother’s Day.”
Ramsey “Alfred—Mr. Alfred?—can make so many cakes, Mama!” Ramsey exclaims triumphantly. “Do you think bakers can also be lawyers?”
Ramsey is going to be a baker-lawyer come hell or high water.
"I think you could do both. Maybe do law during the week and baking on the weekends," says Kate, though she’s not about to tell Ramsey about the kind of hours you put in as a junior associate. "A side business."
Kate smiles soft and warm at Bruce, leans into his hand for just a second, lips quirking at the corner of her mouth before she reaches down to smooth out Ram’s hair where she’s made a mess of it.
Alfred turns and smiles at Kate, the expression genuine as he shakes his head. “Thank you, Mrs. Spencer-Queen..” Then, after a moment, he states, tentative, watching her expression with an eerie sharpness. “Kate.” His eyes are bright with an unspoken emotion. “We haven’t had an excuse to celebrate this particular day in..” He glances at Bruce and then Ramsey, before bringing the shine of his hazel gaze to hers again. “For much too long, I’m afraid.”
Ramsey places both his hands on the counter, resting his chin there as he watches the adults in the room. All of them people he wants to be. Ramsey thinks to himself that “Rojita Wayneworth” would be a good name for for a bakery, but of course is nine and has no clear understanding of branding.
Kate nods her head slightly at Alfred, her smile still soft and warm, though somehow a different soft and warm. “Well, I really appreciate it,” she says, because she needs to say something and it’s the truth, not a cliche. She’ll process what Alfred’s look, his use of her name, means later, and it will thrill her and break her heart in a beautiful way all at once. But not yet.
Alfred hums to himself, as he turns back to the dishes. Counting them, he asks, over his shoulder: “Master Bruce, any word on if the others will be joining us?”
Ramsey sneaks a green bean of his own, but without the precision Bruce has mastered over the years, ends up taking an entire chunk of the casserole out and immediately looks shamed.
Kate has gone to try and steal some of the frosting off the cake, but realizes she can’t without messing it up. So she goes and gets some coffee instead, waving at Dick.
Bruce looks over at Ramsey, his mouth splitting into something like a grin, before he glances at Alfred. “I’m not sure.” He glances at his communicator, which shows no messages, and then looks back at Ramsey. “Going to borrow her for a moment.” He claps his hand on Dick’s shoulder, placing his hand against the small of Kate’s back, steering her away from the coffee. For which he’ll suffer for later, he’s sure of it.
Ramsey quietly slips his mother a green bean and a hunk of breading.
Kate accepts the food before Bruce grabs her, and stuffs it into her mouth before her hands get all messy. She makes grabby hands at the coffee and gives Bruce a look.
Kate may have made little whining noises when pulled away from the coffee pot but will DENY THIS CATEGORICALLY.
Bruce takes her just outside of the kitchen, not far from the commotion at all, and reaches into his jacket pocket for a small box. He holds it out, pressing it into her hand. “You don’t have to open it now,” he states, his voice low, but it isn’t a command. “I wanted to—” He takes a breath, hearing her voice in her mind use your words, Bruce, and begins again. “Happy Mother’s Day, Kate,” he says, stepping in front of her, his hand curling against her neck.
Kate brushes her thumb against the box, looking up at Bruce for a moment with an almost child-like confusion, something like why do I deserve a present, before she looks down at it, feeling her face heat. “I…” After a second, she looks back up at him before opening the box very carefully.
Bruce watches her face, carefully, as she opens the box, explaining almost immediately at the gleam of the small key: “..it’s the key to her studio, my mother’s studio, here, I wanted you to..” He takes a breath, steadies himself. “If she knew you..” He reaches up and rubs his knuckles across the line of her jaw, fingers ghosting her lower lip. “If she’d gotten to know you, she’d have invited you.”
Ramsey manages to both shake his head and nod at the same time at Dick. “Sort of! Mr. Alfred helped, and Mr.—-Bruce, he was kinda like the cheerleader cheering us on!”
"Bruce," Kate says first, reaching out to touch the key, graze the cool metal with her fingertips, a little dizzy, before she meets his eyes. It is a lot of words about this sort of thing, for Bruce, and she needs to show him she appreciates it, almost as much as the key itself. "Thank you," she says, her mouth gently curving up into a smile that’s just for him and this. "I promise I’ll be careful with it. I…" And god damn it, Bruce’s attitude to words is catching and so she brushes a kiss against his lips instead.
"I’ll be careful."
Bruce stands behind the boy, watching Alfred, his expression barely contained: the smile tugs at the edges of his lips, from where he sits, sneaking a green bean from the casserole to the side of him.
Kate has been invited to Wayne Manor, which feels a bit odd, but then again, she always feels a little bit like a fish out of water on a day like today. She paces in the library a little, stares out at the just-about-to-bloom garden for a long moment or two.
Ramsey has what is definitely the worst icing handwriting but delights in this task, since Alfred uses the metal icing tops, which seem far more legitimate than Momma Julie’s store-bought plastic ones. Although, of course, Ramsey loves his stepmother too, and has ensured that a giant bouquet of flowers — bought on Peter’s credit card — will arrive at their Canadian home.
Bruce comments, as he watches Ramsey, a diffused sense of pride making the edges of his words honey-warm, sunshine bright: “Your cursive is getting better.”
Alfred leans in, as he walks past Bruce, “..but your stealth could use a touch up, sir—you’ll ruin your appetite,” and he pushes the casserole away from the man, patting him on the arm as he walks to the oven.
Kate wanders out of the library. She’s spent enough time now living in this place that she no longer gets lost in the main corridors, has little fear of their dark corners, and she can smell dinner cooking all the way from here through some alchemy of Alfred’s. Kitchen. Coffee. This she can do.
Bruce grumbles, good-naturedly at the older man, even as he stands up, and moves to help Ramsey’ with the ‘y’ on ‘day’ helping him with the loop. He smiles, over the boy’s shoulder, nodding when Ramsey’s wrist flicks to finish the last loop. “Good,” he murmurs.
The door is half closed, when Kate gets there, and she lifts an eyebrow at it, contemplating if she needs to KNOCK or something.
Ramsey pulls away from the cake triumphantly, dressed in one of Alfred’s aprons that is far too large. He waits until Bruce is distracted by looking at the cake and Alfred is looking for cleaning utensils to squirt a huge line of remaining icing straight into his mouth.
Bruce pretends he didn’t see that, smiling and murmurs, “She’s here.” He arches his eyebrows, looking at Alfred, before he glances back to Ramsey.
Alfred returns that smile, his own growing at the sight of Bruce and the young boy, even as his heart twists, painfully in his chest. He looks back to the sink, washing up the last of the dishes, taking care with the gold lacquered edges of the plates.
Ramsey immediately snaps his mouth shut, very nearly sending Manhunter-red icing out of his nostrils at the sheer amount that he’s shoved into his mouth.
Kate does, in due course, knock, because of the way the door’s sitting, feeling vaguely awkward, and pokes her head around the door. “Sorry, is there any more coffee?” she asks.
Bruce tilts his head towards the door, his eyebrows arching, looking at Ramsey with a ‘it’s your cue’ look upon his face.
Ramsey isn’t quite sure what the cue is, so he just screams at the top of his lungs, arms in the air: “HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY WE MADE CAKE I LOVE YOU!!!”
Bruce smiles, his expression warming even further as he leans back, arms folding over his chest as he goes for another green bean.
Alfred clears his throat, still at the sink, back turned to them all as he washes.
Ramsey looks over his shoulder, arms still in the air, and turns back, amending: “Alfred did most of the work.”
Kate looks startled for a second because of the loud, but she can’t help herself from quickly walking in and wrapping her arms around Ramsey. “Oh, little man. I love you too, dulcito,” she says, and presses a kiss into his hair, though she is snuffling back a bit of mist. “And thank you to Alfred, of course. You guys didn’t need to make me a cake.”
Bruce pulls his hand back at the throat-clearing and rises up, and moves to set his hand on the woman’s back, the small of it, and kisses her temple, his voice warm in a deeply private way when he murmurs into the shell of her ear: “Happy Mother’s Day.”
Ramsey “Alfred—Mr. Alfred?—can make so many cakes, Mama!” Ramsey exclaims triumphantly. “Do you think bakers can also be lawyers?”
Ramsey is going to be a baker-lawyer come hell or high water.
"I think you could do both. Maybe do law during the week and baking on the weekends," says Kate, though she’s not about to tell Ramsey about the kind of hours you put in as a junior associate. "A side business."
Kate smiles soft and warm at Bruce, leans into his hand for just a second, lips quirking at the corner of her mouth before she reaches down to smooth out Ram’s hair where she’s made a mess of it.
Alfred turns and smiles at Kate, the expression genuine as he shakes his head. “Thank you, Mrs. Spencer-Queen..” Then, after a moment, he states, tentative, watching her expression with an eerie sharpness. “Kate.” His eyes are bright with an unspoken emotion. “We haven’t had an excuse to celebrate this particular day in..” He glances at Bruce and then Ramsey, before bringing the shine of his hazel gaze to hers again. “For much too long, I’m afraid.”
Ramsey places both his hands on the counter, resting his chin there as he watches the adults in the room. All of them people he wants to be. Ramsey thinks to himself that “Rojita Wayneworth” would be a good name for for a bakery, but of course is nine and has no clear understanding of branding.
Kate nods her head slightly at Alfred, her smile still soft and warm, though somehow a different soft and warm. “Well, I really appreciate it,” she says, because she needs to say something and it’s the truth, not a cliche. She’ll process what Alfred’s look, his use of her name, means later, and it will thrill her and break her heart in a beautiful way all at once. But not yet.
Alfred hums to himself, as he turns back to the dishes. Counting them, he asks, over his shoulder: “Master Bruce, any word on if the others will be joining us?”
Ramsey sneaks a green bean of his own, but without the precision Bruce has mastered over the years, ends up taking an entire chunk of the casserole out and immediately looks shamed.
Kate has gone to try and steal some of the frosting off the cake, but realizes she can’t without messing it up. So she goes and gets some coffee instead, waving at Dick.
Bruce looks over at Ramsey, his mouth splitting into something like a grin, before he glances at Alfred. “I’m not sure.” He glances at his communicator, which shows no messages, and then looks back at Ramsey. “Going to borrow her for a moment.” He claps his hand on Dick’s shoulder, placing his hand against the small of Kate’s back, steering her away from the coffee. For which he’ll suffer for later, he’s sure of it.
Ramsey quietly slips his mother a green bean and a hunk of breading.
Kate accepts the food before Bruce grabs her, and stuffs it into her mouth before her hands get all messy. She makes grabby hands at the coffee and gives Bruce a look.
Kate may have made little whining noises when pulled away from the coffee pot but will DENY THIS CATEGORICALLY.
Bruce takes her just outside of the kitchen, not far from the commotion at all, and reaches into his jacket pocket for a small box. He holds it out, pressing it into her hand. “You don’t have to open it now,” he states, his voice low, but it isn’t a command. “I wanted to—” He takes a breath, hearing her voice in her mind use your words, Bruce, and begins again. “Happy Mother’s Day, Kate,” he says, stepping in front of her, his hand curling against her neck.
Kate brushes her thumb against the box, looking up at Bruce for a moment with an almost child-like confusion, something like why do I deserve a present, before she looks down at it, feeling her face heat. “I…” After a second, she looks back up at him before opening the box very carefully.
Bruce watches her face, carefully, as she opens the box, explaining almost immediately at the gleam of the small key: “..it’s the key to her studio, my mother’s studio, here, I wanted you to..” He takes a breath, steadies himself. “If she knew you..” He reaches up and rubs his knuckles across the line of her jaw, fingers ghosting her lower lip. “If she’d gotten to know you, she’d have invited you.”
Ramsey manages to both shake his head and nod at the same time at Dick. “Sort of! Mr. Alfred helped, and Mr.—-Bruce, he was kinda like the cheerleader cheering us on!”
"Bruce," Kate says first, reaching out to touch the key, graze the cool metal with her fingertips, a little dizzy, before she meets his eyes. It is a lot of words about this sort of thing, for Bruce, and she needs to show him she appreciates it, almost as much as the key itself. "Thank you," she says, her mouth gently curving up into a smile that’s just for him and this. "I promise I’ll be careful with it. I…" And god damn it, Bruce’s attitude to words is catching and so she brushes a kiss against his lips instead.
"I’ll be careful."