A Small Order
Who: Bruce Wayne, Alfred Where: The Batcave When: Sunday evening. What: Bruce places an order for Barbara Rating: PG
Bruce flipped through a series of specifications on the screen for the thousandth time, looking over the designs Barbara Gordon had sent to him. Well, sent to Batman, requesting help. Help he had offered to her , as much as he had kicked himself for it.
Rubbing his nose, Bruce jotted down a few notes while examining the pictures. Pausing there he stared at the note paper for a few minutes, crumpling it at one point and then smoothing it out.
"Alfred," he called out finally, the butler glancing up from the small lit table in the Batcave at which he was working.
"Yes, Master Wayne?"
"I need an order of Kevlar. Not the kind in the suit, but lighter, something they would use in concealed shirts." Bruce tapped his pen point on the paper, not looking up at Alfred as he called out his requests.
Alfred slid his glasses up on his nose and peered at Bruce and the monitor in front of him. "This is for the Gordon girl?" he asked hesitantly, eyebrows raising.
Bruce said nothing at first, glancing up at Alfred then over to the screen. "I told her I would," he finally muttered, turning to raise his own eyebrow at Alfred.
"Taking her under your wing then, are you, Master Wayne?"
"No, Alfred," Bruce said testily, standing up and pushing his chair back behind him. "There's no sense her getting killed while she's out there. And I don't really stand a chance at stopping her."
Alfred simply nodded along silently, watching as Bruce crossed the cave to him, paper in hand.
"She nearly got killed just for having a father who's not crooked," Bruce rattled on, unnerved by Alfred's silence. "She's not safe just sitting at home. And who am I to say someone can't go try to clean up the streets?"
"And these other vigilantes? Any orders for them?" Alfred asked archly.
"Stop it, Alfred. You know it's not the same thing. This girl has a knack. And she's not a killer, not like that Huntress. I don't have enough time for the bad guys in Gotham, I can't really afford the time to police the good guys whatever they do."
Alfred coughed slightly. "Well, there is policing them and there is buying them equipment, sir ... "
"Listen, just get what's on this list. Make sure it's not from any sources connected to my batsuit, or Wayne Enterprises of course. Much smaller orders. But not too small." Bruce handed him the list, tapping at it.
"Right. Perhaps I should open a store, sir. For bat costuming. Is there a Bat Boy perhaps?"
Bruce gave Alfred a stern stare. "You'll be glad you helped, Alfred, if she takes another slug to the chest. I almost lost her that time."
"Of course, sir," Alfred said with a small smile. "It's just I thought Batman had no room for friends."
Bruce wagged a finger at Alfred and then headed back to the computer. "He doesn't, Alfred. But he doesn't need to worry about kids running around in capes. That's why we need the Kevlar."
Alfred looked down at the note ostentatiously. "And a ... utility belt, Master Wayne?"
Bruce sighed. "She's a college kid, Alfred. Throw her a bone."