A/N: The last fic of this series! If you have an opinion on what I should do next (series of future one-shots vs. more present one-shots) please review! Also, I am considering a small multi-part story spinning off from this one.
"Remind me why I agreed to this again?" Bruce said, fingering the Scrabble titles and thinking of seven different words he could play, all of which would on the triple-score box.
"Ma wanted to see the boys." Clark played "canine" which made Bruce with derision. They were sitting across from each other on the floor of one of the Wayne manor's living rooms (the one connected to the kitchen to be exact). Clark was quite enjoying the game. Bruce was trying to resist the urge to leap up and start doing something productive. "And Alfred wanted you to be more social."
"Mm," Bruce said, and played "xeric".
"Is that even a word?" Clark asked.
"Are you doubting me?" Bruce looked at him.
Clark shrugged and picked more tiles. "I think Ma's been lonely since Pa died. She likes seeing Alfred."
"Mm," Bruce said.
"You know I'm not good with sentimental things." Bruce watched Clark fiddle with his tiles more. "But yes, they seem to get along well enough."
Dick and Tim raced into the room, Dick abandoning his "I'm so grown-up" attitude for a minute to tackle his little brother and toss him onto the couch. Tim, giggling, rolled off onto the floor and into the middle of their Scrabble game. "Alfred and Ma Kent say its time for dinner."
On cue, Ma yelled. "Boys! Dinner!"
Alfred appeared in the kitchen doorway. "Master Bruce, Master Clark, dinner is served."
Clark looked at him quizzically. Alfred turned to lead them to the dining room. "Forgive me, sir, but it is a butler's duty to announce meals. Whether or not Martha decided to infringe on that duty."
"Oh, honestly." Martha walked in, drying her hands on her apron. "I'm sure there's also some butlerly-rule against redundancy."
"Not a one," Alfred said. His pencil mustache twitched in what might have been a smile. His attention focused again on Clark and Bruce. "Now please pick up your game and join us in the dining room."
Clark tossed the Scrabble board and pieces into the box while Bruce stood up and brushed imaginary dirt from his trousers.
"You could have helped," Clark said, in mock-annoyance once he stood up.
Bruce raised an eyebrow at him. "You have superspeed for a reason, Kent."
Clark sighed and they walked into the dining room. Tim and Dick were already seated, forks in hand, drooling over the pot roast displayed in the center of the table, courtesy of Ma Kent. Bruce sat down across from them, looking at the roast only a hair more patiently than his wards.
"Oh dear," said Ma, "I seem to have left the gravy in the kitchen."
"And I the serving spoons," Alfred said, and followed her through the doors.
"They forgot my water, too." Tim wrinkled his nose at the empty spot in front of his plate. "And I'm thirsty."
Bruce sighed. "I'll get you a water."
He stood up from his chair, opened the door and froze. Alfred and Martha were standing in front of the stove, close. While Bruce watched, eyes wide, Martha put her arms around Alfred. And kissed him.
"What's going on?" Clark asked, walking up behind him. He evidently saw the same thing as Bruce did (he'd been wishing that this was the effect of hallucinogens) because he stopped and breathed, "Oh, my—"
Martha looked up at the sound of her son's voice and blushed. "Oh dear. Alfie, I think the cat's out of the bag."
"Alfie?" Bruce repeated, silently.
By now Dick and Tim had tumbled into the room, and ascertained what was going on. Dick wore the same shocked expression that Bruce did. Tim was staring and mumbling something about how gross it was to see old people kissing.
"This is…" Clark began, broke off, and ended with, "…a surprise."
"It only happened recently. We were planning on telling you soon," Martha said, and giggled like a schoolgirl. "Ok, Clark, I was so lonely after your father died…at the last Thanksgiving Alfie and I just hit it off."
"I do not wish to replace your father, Master Clark," Alfred said, his hand on Martha's arm. "Martha and I are quite fond of each other…but if you feel this is a development you cannot accept…"
Clark smiled, a grin from ear to ear. "No! Guys, this is…this is great. You're two of my favorite people…Ma, you totally deserve someone."
They all smiled at each other for a moment before Alfred turned his gaze to the doorway and said, almost expectantly, "Master Wayne….?"
Bruce was still standing in the doorway, staring at all of them.
"Bruce?" Clark said.
"I…" he started, still looking shocked. "I…uh…holy crap."
Clark, Alfred, and Martha burst out laughing. Bruce blinked at them all. Dick, grinning, grabbed the gravy and serving spoons and kicked open the door to the dining room. "Come on guys, this calls for a celebratory dinner."
They all sat down at the table, Tim and Dick jockeying for the largest slices of roast, Clark and Bruce on the left side, Ma and Alfred next to each other. Clark was pretty sure they were holding hands under the table, but he respected them both enough to not peek.
Clark looked over at Bruce. "Are you done processing this?"
Bruce stared down at his plate and mumbled something like, "That was certainly not expected."
Tim shoved a double-bite of mashed potatoes in his mouth and said through the half-chewed food, "If they get married, would that make you Uncle Superman?"
Bruce choked on his roast the minute "married" left Tim's mouth. Clark chucked. Dick kicked his little brother under the table.
Martha and Alfred smiled at each other. Alfred put his hand over Martha's but said, "Now, let's not get too far ahead of ourselves, boys."
"No let's not," Bruce said, so quietly that only Clark heard it.
Tim said, even more quietly, "Kissing is gross anyway."
Clark grinned and hid it behind a forkful of roast. This was certainly going to be interesting, at the very least.