Bruce was seated, cross legged, in the middle of a Persian rug that could have been a lake with its blue pattern. A special order made specifically for him. He found it comforting. Now, he sat in the middle of it, eyes closed, as if he might have fallen asleep sitting up. This was the position he was in when Alfred entered, orange juice, two triangles of toast, and the morning paper on a silver tray.
The old man said nothing at all as he entered the room and moved to an old oak table to put the tray down. Master Bruce would get to it in the morning.
"How did she take it," Bruce asked without opening his eyes, all too well aware of Alfred's step in the room with him. Alfred was a trained servant, the kind of man used to making himself inobtrusive; however, it was still hard to fool the senses of a man who had trained to be a ninja.
"How exactly do you think she took it," there was the faintest edge, just a whiff, of reproach in Alfred's tone for how things were going between Bruce and Selina. He had been party to the relationship between Bruce and Rachel, only to find that Bruce's second life took precedence over everything. In a way, Rachel had paid for that. Maybe there was, just a little bit of, bitterness in his soul for that. Just enough that he was not so interested in watching it happen again. Still, on the surface, he kept the propriety there for all to see.
"Selina," Bruce said her name as he moved from the floor, unfolding himself smoothly to standing. "Far worse than she let on," the dance of appearances had been on between them for long enough that he knew there were depths he had not been able to reach, something there that she was hiding. However, he knew that she undoubtedly felt the same way about him, so he was a gentleman and did not pry. Let her keep her secrets. It was only fair, right? Walking over to the table, he picked up the paper to look at the front page.
The capture of the Royal Flush gang was on the front page. They were the reason that he had been forced to disappear, leaving his suit at Selina's. Thankfully, he had his other suit in the car so that he could go after them when all the weeks' worth of work finally came to fruition. Dropping the paper back onto the tray with a slight dinging sound, he picked up the orange juice and knocked it back, downing it without seeming to breathe. The glass then joined the paper on the tray.
The toast he seemed to ignore as he turned to leave the room.
"Master Wayne," Alfred called attention to himself for the second time. "If I may say something."
"Of course, Alfred."
"The first time is an accident, the second time a coincidence, the third a pattern. I don't believe they bother with the fourth, fifth, or sixth."
Wayne only raised an eyebrow at the pronouncement, undoubtedly waiting for the point. Alfred cleared his throat before continuing.
"I am only saying, sir, that you might want to consider how this pattern interacts with your other patterns of behavior to avoid any other unpleasantness." Such a proper British expression to refer to the death of a friend as 'unpleasantness'; however, that didn't detract from the import of his words and Bruce could only nod before heading to the shower. Some meditations were done best under water.