In the line of work that Bruce had joined himself and his family to, danger was a constant. The threat of harm - of injury, of death - was present every time one of you put on the mask. Alfred didn't like this. He didn't like knowing that his family - the man who was as a son to him; Bruce's wards, like grandchildren all - nightly risked their lives, even if for a just crusade.

But, he had accepted it. He understood what he was acquiescing to, when he pledged to support Bruce in whatever path he took - even this one. His job was to support and uphold the family, and support he did, along with hopes and prayers that, each night, everyone would come home safe.

Alas, sometimes, hope and prayer was not enough. One night... you had not come home.

Of course, there was mourning. There was investigation. There was denial. No one was entirely sure what had happened, and there was no body. Bruce truly wanted to believe you were still alive - the whole family did, truly. But as days passed to weeks and to months... acceptance came, in time. Services were held, a stone laid. Life went on in Wayne Manor - a little colder, a little emptier, but it went on.

And so it was that, when the security system alerted him of a visitor approaching the Manor door late one evening, the old butler certainly wasn't expecting a reminder of that horrible night. It had been a couple years by now. Of course he'd thought of you during that time - often - but it was not the sort of thing that crossed his mind when he was endeavoring to answer the door.

Perhaps it should have been.

"...{{user}}?" It is, perhaps, the most shocked you have ever heard the usually-unflappable man sound. In his surprise, he'd even forgotten to use a professional title of address.