Revelations [Alfred Pennyworth]

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They had met once in a hospital, but that had been official business, if one could call pulling a relative out of a place he had no more desire to be in official business. Having rescued Alfred Pennyworth from that torturous hell, Elena had faded into the shadows once more and though she had meant the short meeting to be one where she would be able to sooth his concerns for her, the subsequent weeks had proven otherwise.

Now with her mother gone, killed in the line of duty while protecting her daughter from a mission gone bad, Elena had no choice but to leave her beloved London and make her way to the one place she thought she might find protection, might find sanctuary, might find - her father. Elena had arrived via a favor, a private jet from a man that owed her for saving his life once back in time, and though the favor had cost her to some degree, the fact that authorities had swarmed the plane she was registered to have been on, made Elena feel better.

Customs had not been a problem as Elena had arrived on a diplomatic plane and had been hurried through the normal procedures, but still she had the idea that somebody had seen her arrival. She could not pin point the reason she felt that way, but in her former line of work, one was never completely concealed from scrutiny, which had caused her more than one restless night in a hotel room, though Elena doubted very much if anyone would come looking for her in such a flea-bitten rat trap of a motel.

Elena had done her homework. The illustrious Bruce Wayne was out of the city and would be for the next few days, leaving one Alfred Pennyworth alone at the estate. Security cameras were plentiful as were other measures, all aimed at foiling any kind of security breach and protect Bruce Wayne and from what she could see, they were all state of the art, they were virtually pointless to one of her training. In minutes, Elena had evaded each and every one of the measures and was standing just outside of the kitchen where the indomitable Alfred Pennyworth was making what looked to be tea and croissants, her arrival as yet unknown, though the longer she stood there, the more likely she knew the older man was to see her, she just hoped he wouldn't spill the tea.

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Alfred pulled the croissants out of the oven, shifting then to a cooling rack. He glanced back at the oven to assure it was turned off before setting aside the used to handle the hot pan. The water hadn’t started to boil. So he took the opportunity to clean the pan and put it away, humming the William Tell Overture to himself. As if on cue, the water began to boil. He transferred the water from the kettle to the teapot, then added the tea ball to let it steep.

He went back to the croissants, moving them onto a serving dish and that to a on which the teapot, cream, sugar, lemon, and two cups on saucers waited. His father had instilled the habit long ago of always having an extra cup when he planned to have tea alone. It cost little to be prepared for company and usually impressed when one did arrive, and would never be seen as a faux pas if nobody showed up. It applied to other eating arrangements.

He had everything set on the tray and was ready to move it to the table when something outside the French doors caught his view. It was a person, or a clever facsimile of one. The shape was too small to be Batman, and he wouldn’t approach from that way at any rate. The size was closer to that of Catwoman, though she would be an unexpected visitor as well. Whomever it was had managed to get past the manor’s security. And then, paradoxically, she had waited to be noticed. It was not a typical situation.

“Not that I’m expecting anyone to begin with,” he murmured to himself.

“Patio lights: on.”

He had thought the idea of verbal commands in the manor to be a silly expenditure when Master Bruce had then installed. After all, the light switch was only a few yards away. He appreciated the technology at the moment, though, because it cast light outside without him having had to make any obvious move as a warning. What he saw intrigued him: a woman in black, with a silver belt and bracers, long blond hair, and a domino mask. The costume was something he hadn’t seen before, but the mouth and jaw looked vaguely familiar.

He considered reaching for a weapon, but the light didn’t seem to bother the visitor. His mind briefly went to thoughts of Bram Stoker’s Dracula waiting to be invited over the threshold and he almost smiled at the nonsense of the idea, though some part of his heart was slightly chilled by the thought. Steeling himself, he moved the tray to the table and then went to the door, opening it and gesturing for the visitor to open it. He couldn’t remember if Dracula required a verbal invitation, or if a gesture was enough. Not that it really mattered.

“I’m afraid the costume ball was last month, but you are just in time for tea. Perhaps you would care to enlighten me as to the purpose of your visit over a few croissants?”

The face under the mask was one he knew he’d seen before, but he was unable to make the connection.

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Elena had stood perfectly still while she watched her father prepare the breakfast. he had prepared a serving fit for six but so far as she knew he was alone, and from what she had learned of Bruce Wayne, the playboy seldom sat down long enough to eat, though he did sit down long enough to have some twit do a lap dance on him. The tea was an inviting addition, one that was pure English in tradition as was the added cream which made the tea slide down the throat.

The light coming on did nothing to alarm her though she did take a quick glance toward the light itself. That he had finally noticed her was interesting, given the fact she had been standing there long enough to have shot him, ransacked the lower floors and then left, and if what the estate had in security was what they considered state-of-the-art, then they were to be slapped across the back of their heads for they were entirely wrong about that.

"Do you have any idea how long I have been out here, any idea at all? Your security stinks and if you consider it state-of-the-art then you need to learn what that is. But if I have caught you at a bad time, and from the way you have addressed me then I assume that I have, then I will just leave and chalk this up to a failed endeavor on my part."

Nightfall did not step into the house nor did she give her name, though for one as practiced as Alfred should have been, he should not have needed either of them to realize who she was. The pure English accent alone should have told him he was dealing with someone not of Gotham, let alone America, Reaching up to touch the mask for a brief moment, Nightfall slowly removed it from her face just long enough to give her father a chance to really look at her, before she pulled the mask back up and settle it back into its proper place, though by the look of things, of Alfred's body language, he still did not seem to realize just who she was.

"Constance is dead, she was killed trying to save my life, which she did, by the way. I will take my leave of you now."

Turning to leave, Elena stepped off the patio and made her way toward the group of trees that covered much of the east side of the estate. If her father wanted to find her he could, though perhaps he had forgotten about MI-6 or more importantly Constance. If he had, then her trip to Gotham had been a waste, not a complete waste but one none the less, which meant Elena would have to close shop and start over again, perhaps up in Canada where at least the air was crisp and the ground white.

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Alfred had not been expected to be berated on the Manor’s security, though from the looks of things, it was deserved. He would definitely be looking into that. He maintained his poise through the rudeness of the intrusion and inference of his lack of hospitality. He was fairly certain he had just invited her in to share his repast; apparently, that had a very different meaning where she was from. And it shouldn’t, as she was from England, near London by her accent. He’d known who she was before she removed her mask. He’d only seen her briefly before, and the mask did its job. Height, body type, and her jaw line had made her familiar. He voice gave her away as the woman that had rescued him before. In that earlier encounter, she’d left before he had a chance to show her his appreciation.

Now, she was bringing news of Constance . . . Dead? The thought stunned him. She had stayed in the Business, and had avoided a desk job. Adventure was in her blood, but all adventures come to an end. But now? How? When? Saving Elena, apparently, but that hardly explained what had happened, or why. He covered the croissants and stepped out the back door after her. She would be able to get away from him if she wanted to, from what he had presumed about her. She was younger, faster, and could go for longer than he could, judging what he could from her appearance in costume. While in excellent shape for his age, he was nearing seventy. He wasn’t going to just let her go, though. Not if he could help it.

Thoughts of Constance went through his mind: memories and the realization that was all had left. It’d been nearly a year since he’d seen her last, and a month since they’d spoken. Their life had become like that. He had his secrets, she had hers, and when they got together, the secrets weren’t important. He couldn’t say it was like old times, but when they were together, that was all that had ever really mattered. And now she was gone. What had she gotten herself into? He had no idea exactly who Elena was; she’d gone before he could learn very much last time, and now Elena brought the news of Constance’s death and a scathing report on his Master Bruce’s security. The latter would wait; if she had the training to match that of Constance, then it was little wonder she got through the grounds. He redoubled his efforts, tracking her through the woods, though she’d made her trial conspicuously easy enough to follow. If she was trying to goad him into a trap, deal with that when it happened. All he wanted at the moment were answers.

He came over a rise and there she was, leaning against a tree as though she were trying to decide whether or not the cherries would do well this year. He’d seen the nuances before, though he wasn’t sure if the similarity was something his emotions were pushing him to see. She reminded him at that moment of Constance, of how she handled failure and grief; she turned her attention to something else, something that was largely irrelevant and made a great show of being concerned with it. Inside, Constance was mulling over the problem, thinking it through from different angles, or trying to figure out how it had happened, though never with the thought that she would be able to make something right. She had always done what she could with full conviction, and if it turned out badly, she analyzed how it had come to happen so she could avoid a similar outcome in the future. That was the impression he had of Elena at the moment, though he had no idea of why he thought that.

“The security will be looked into,” he said, leaning against a tree and panting to catch his breath. “The croissants are getting cold, but I can make more. Please, Miss Elena, come back with me and tell me what happened. We used to be partners, Ms. Constance and I, and shared a relationship that was very important to me. She’s been important to me for decades. It would mean much to me to learn how she died, and more of the person she died to protect.  I have every faith that it was a worthy sacrifice; Ms. Constance didn't make mistakes of that magnitude.”

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"On the contrary, some would say she made a big mistake in me, but then you wouldn't know much about that, would you father?"

Daring not to look Alfred in the eyes, Elena held up her hand as if asking, no telling him to be quiet. Birds had been chirping when she arrived in the clearing and there were other signs of life about her, but for the last few moments before Alfred's arrival, all had gone quiet. Were she back in England or on some far away mission, she might have thought ambush, but they were on the Wayne estate where security was to be at its highest, though she had managed to slip in so it made sense someone else could too.

Looking off into the thicket for any signs or movement, Elena remained alert, but after several more minutes relaxed, only to then turn her attention back to her so-called father, the man that never knew he has bred a child with his lifelong partner, Miss Constance - her mother. Seeing that he was still breathing heavily, she shook her head at how he had gotten out of shape and then sighed deeply, before she turned to lean back against her own tree until Alfred could catch breath, even though a part of her didn't particularly care.

"You didn't know I was your daughter all these years, did you? Well, that is just one of the secrets I have been charged to reveal to you, by my mother, I might add."

Pushing off the tree, Elena walked up to Alfred and held him at arm's length while he continued to rest. She could see the look of doubt in his eyes over what she had just revealed, and it reminded her of just how she had felt when her mother had told her about the father she had barely known. Smiling at last, Elena started to say more when her body tensed even as her eyes went wide. Her breath caught in her throat, Elena fell into Alfred's arms before she collapsed, the handle of the long-bladed knife sticking out of her back to show Alfred exactly what had happened.., before the sounds of two people could be heard running away across the stream.

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A look of confusion registered over Alfred’s face as took in the news. It was certainly possible that he had fathered a child with Constance, or perhaps in the case, the better word was sired. He tried to calculate the Miss Elena’s age and decided she must have been born after he had been put on LOA from the agency to work for the Wayne family. After the Wayne’s death, he’d taken on the task of raising Master Bruce. Part of that education had been rather extensive travel and quite often to Great Britain. So, the opportunity was there. That didn’t make it a reality, though.

Alfred’s tensed slightly when Miss Elena approached him. She didn’t seem to have any malice toward him, but something had made him nervous. He didn’t know why he felt uncomfortable, but the idea of having a daughter come into his life fully grown might have had something to do with it. He didn’t want to not trust her, but he was in a position that didn’t allow him to assume the trust of those he didn’t know. That there were other secrets didn’t surprise them, but that Ms. Constance had instructed Miss Elena to reveal them was odd. It was either something she had already had in the works, or something she’s prepared and needed to have someone outside know if something happened to her. He’d been out of the game for nearly thirty years; in some ways that showed, but he’d kept abreast of the larger picture at least.

He was immediately alarmed when she went rigid. Her falling into Alfred’s arms caught Alfred by surprise, as did the knife handle sticking out of her back. Alfred went to the ground with her, looking around for the attacker. He heard footsteps running away, but this was not the time to go hunting them down. At the moment, Miss Elena needed his full attention.

He cursed himself for not having some level of medical kit with him, but that was something he couldn’t currently change. He thought of taking the knife from her wound, but he knew that it might be the only thing keeping her alive. Forgetting his fatigue, he lifted her and started carrying her back to safety. Time was of the essence, and every second was one step closer to losing the woman in his arms, no matter who she might really be. The fatigue he’d been fighting only minutes ago began returning, but now he had a more concrete reason to persevere. He moved back to the manor, checking the way they’d come from periodically, though as they got closer, exhaustion threatened to take him over.

His pace slowed, but he refused to stop. He forced his breathing into a steady rhythm, knowing that how he breathed would greatly affect his stamina. His arms demanded respite, but he ignored them. His back groaned in protest, but he refused to give in. Eventually, he made it to the manor. He got through the door into the kitchen and pushed the croissants and tea to the edge of the table as he as her down. He moved the tray to a counter and pulled out his medical kit. It was stored in a Korean War era case, but everything inside was up to date.

Alfred’s hands were shaking from the exertion; he wouldn’t be anywhere near effective on his own. He pulled out an oxygen tank and breathed on that for about a minute and a half before his body began to return to normal. Then he turned his attention back to Miss Elena. The knife was still in place.

“Miss Elena, would you like something to bite on? This will hurt a lot before it get better.”

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"Actually you may wish to secure me to this table as I have inherited much of my mother's ways, if you catch my drift."

Her mind going back to the time she had been shot in the upper right shoulder, Jennifer frowned. The bullet had lodged itself next to her collar bone and had to be cut out and though she had grabbed a stick to bite on, her movements once they had begun to cut on her made the stick idea futile at best. The stick had been bitten in half before the scalpel had gone more than an inch into her which had shown Jennifer that she had not had a high thresh hold for pain, something she and her mother had been working on to increase before she had - - - died, but as it was, Jennifer couldn't tell if that training would pay off now.

"I was shot once. If I was not in costume you'd see the scar on the upper left shoulder area. When the scalpel slid into the wound to begin digging it out I bucked like a wild horse. I nearly killed the guy trying to save my life. I've been working on raising my thresh hold of pain but this is the first time I've been stabbed so I can't guarantee I won't ruin your breakfast. By the way, before you do cut into me, my real name is Jennifer..., Elena is my field name."

Though she knew Alfred might not take her seriously at first, Jennifer had already begun the process of tying a leather cord to her left wrist. Doing the same to her right wrist, she then secured her left one to the closest table leg, making sure to tie it off in such a way as she would not be able to break it once the cutting had started. Why Alfred had a pile of leather straps laying on the table had not been lost on her but it was something Jennifer was going to deal with another time.

"Before I find something to bite on, have you received any package with a return address marked simply as Amazon.Com - House Wares? I sent it and it would better explain who I am. Now please, tie me down?"

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Alfred sat Jennifer on the table and took a moment to catch his breath. He pulled his medical kit out of a cabinet and set it on the table before moving the breakfast to the counter. He took his time in setting out his instruments and other materials, making sure his hands had stopped shaking before he turned his attention to his patient.

“It has never been a habit of mine to work on a bound patient, Miss Elena, and I am not at all sure it would help matters. The strain could cause injuries on its own.”

He listened to her describe the ordeal of her being shot, nodding to indicate he understood. Constance would never had been described as being passive, though exactly how far that went was beyond the given conversation, or even the possible relationship. He understood what she meant, though.

He stopped short when she revealed her real name. He’d assumed Elena was a field name, if her story were true; Constance had gone by that name as well. Jennifer, though, was the name of Constance’s child. Granted, that wouldn’t be terribly difficult to find out, but it was an unanticipated confirmation of sorts. He looked at her again and could see the face of the young girl in the woman’s face. He found himself staring for a moment, then smiled as his cheeks flushed, embarrassed at his faux pas.

“My apologies, Miss Jennifer. I don’t usually stare.”

Alfred moved behind Jennifer and examined the costume around the wound. It had pulled away, but not enough. The blade was remarkably sharp, having been able to penetrate the Kevlar reinforced material. He had a pair of scissors that were designed just for such a situation. He carefully cut the hole larger to allow it to fit over the knife’s handle. He then unzipped her costume down her back and slipped his hands between it and her back. Slowly, he lifted the material up and over the blade without letting them touch. When he had it out of the way, he looked the wound over again.

“It’s not as bad as if could have been. It was a very sharp knife; I don’t think there was any tearing of the tissues. I might presume that you grew up in London, Miss Jennifer.”

He continued with small talk in a pleasant voice as he first applied a topical sedative with a cotton swab, then began a series of injections of a local sedative just under the skin around the wound, followed by another going further in. Around fifteen minutes after he’d starting applying the pain killers, he was satisfied that Jennifer would be spared most, if not all, of the pain.

“You’re going to feel a tug,” he told her, then pulled the knife from her back, wearing latex gloves and trying not to spoil any prints that might be on it. He set it aside and then went to inspecting and then cleaning, closing, and dressing the wound. The entire procedure took him a little less than an hour. When he was finished, he gathered up everything that had blood on it and collected it in a clear plastic bag, apart from the knife. That went into a plastic box as evidence.

“You’ll probably be a little groggy for a while, but you will be all right. I saw no sign on toxins, which is very good. I’d like to have a look at that in a couple days, if you don’t mind. And a shower wouldn’t be out of order. I’m sure there’s something around here for you to wear.”

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Jennifer was half amused over the comment of working on a bound subject as the picture which had formed in her head was anything but related to what was happening now. Sat on the small table, she crossed her ankles and then placed her hands in her lap to wait for the inevitable, knowing exactly what it was going to feel like. The comment regarding her name had surprised him, something Jennifer didn't think possible, but it was a surprise that was only matched by the one he had been able to deal to her.

Watching while Alfred placed each piece of surgical equipment out with intricate care, Jennifer wondered why such a man would have such tools in the kitchen or even at all. Granted he had taken over the care of Bruce Wayne when the man was but a young boy, but they could afford the very best in medical attention, which made her wonder about the why's. The thought came to her mind that the rich tended to be weird and penny-pincher, but what she saw laid out before her was pushing even that limit.

The second he touched the area around the wound, she tensed. It was not so much the pain, as that had been radiating up her spine long enough for her to recognize it, but more the anticipation of what might be about to happen. Even with the surgical tools laid out beside her, it didn't mean Alfred knew how to perform on the injury, though with each passing minute her opinion was being challenged if not outright changed.

She could feel the cooler air of the kitchen assault her flesh when Alfred pulled down the zipper to her costume and Jennifer had to remind herself that she trusted the man doing it. Pulling her legs back under the table while she stiffened, Jennifer placed both of her hands on the table's edge and then grabbed it as each touch of the area, the lifting of the rubber up the length of the blade - the shaft - sent shivers of pain through her mind even though she had remarkably felt little of the actual pain from the wound.

“It’s not as bad as if could have been. It was a very sharp knife; I don’t think there was any tearing of the tissues. I might presume that you grew up in London, Miss Jennifer.”

"I..."

The first touch of the cold anesthetic cut off her intended reply and though she could feel the tentative prick of the first two needles as they slid into her flesh, all she could feel of the others was a very slight press against her skin, though the deeper one, or at least Jennifer assumed it was deeper, sent a mild sensation of subdued pain to her mind, one she couldn't help but let out with a soft groan that was barely audible.

"Ggggggggggnnnnnnnn."

She felt the pull of the knife but it was little more than a feeling, one without so much as a hint of pain for which Jennifer was grateful. The chemicals had already made it to her brain and Jennifer assumed they were responsible for how she was feeling at the moment. Groggy wasn't the word for it and Jennifer knew the cause - a drug her body was allergic to, one that would send her mind reeling in cyclonic whirlpools unless she found an antidote, but at the moment she didn't care. Sliding off the table before she fell off, Jennifer found the closest chair and sank down into it before she placed her arms on the table, laid her head on them, and rested...., her body going limp within moments.

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Alfred had begun to gather the croissants from earlier for a food kitchen. They were still fresh, only hours old, but it was below the standard of what he served in his kitchen. He also had a new kettle of water on the stove for fresh tea.  He saw Jennifer slide into a chair and cradle her head in her arms on the table’s surface. He got a fresh batch of croissants in the oven, then left the kitchen to return moments later with the box she had mentioned.

It didn’t take a close inspection of her to see that she wasn’t just resting. She’d gone limp, which could meant she’d passed out, but he hadn’t expected that as a normal result of the anesthetic. When he approached her, a soft touch of his hand on her bare back revealed her temperature had risen. Infection wouldn’t have set in that fast, and the wound had been thoroughly cleansed. If he’d missed anything, it should've been days before this kind of effect should have set it.

He put the box on the table and went to her, kneeling at her side be her eye-level with her.  He caressed her hair and gently turned her face toward him.

“Are you all right?” he asked in a concerned voice. “Talk to me. What are you feeling? How can I help?”

As he spoke, his mind went through the possibilities. He’d detected nothing on the knife, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t something that he'd missed. He also reviewed the topical and injected anesthetics in his mind, how he’d cleaned the wound, and what he’d used to dress it. There were several possibilities, but he’d needed to know exactly what had happened if he was going to help her, and he was too far from the lab for it to be of immediate help.

“Talk to me . . .”