[Email Log] Proper Preparation Prevents Poor Performance
Alfred and Tim plan out a very important mission.
Occasionally Tim looked very like his mother. He didn't know that--didn't really think about it--but there was a certain set to his jaw, a certain determination in his eyes, that were entirely Janet Drake. Tim's father would have recognized it, and in fact, had on several occasions which had made it hard for him to deal with his teenage son in the first few months after his coma. It was that look, the one he got from his mother, that Tim wore now as he spread his papers and plans over the table like a general preparing for battle. "We have to make sure this goes perfectly," he said, looking up at his companion, "It's important. There's not a lot of room for error."
"Under the circumstances I entirely agree," Alfred said mildly. His customary black suit had long since been retired, a casualty of the climate, and though his first foray into the clothes box hadn't been notably successful, he somehow managed dignity even in a Hawaiian shirt and Bermuda shorts. He gave the papers a critical once-over. "I foresee very little difficulty with the first part of your plan--at least, not if the proper materials can be found. It's this second part that worries me." He tapped the page in question. "We'll have to be very careful about our approach."
"I think that I can implement that part, actually." Tim skipped over the methodology that would be involved. Some things Alfred was better off not knowing, no matter how long he'd been a friend and confidant to their peculiar little family. In some ways, that was exactly the problem. No one did knowing looks like Alfred. "I'm worried about being able to bring together the appropriate parties for the first part. The dynamics are troubling."
"Hmm." Alfred glanced back down at the pages, frowning slightly. "I should hope, under the circumstances, that a certain amount of basic cooperation won't be too much to ask. After all, we're not asking anyone to cross battle lines, only to respect a short truce." He thought for a moment, then quirked an eyebrow. "Still, perhaps I should make sure to impress upon a few of them the significance of the occasion."
Tim didn't smile at that but it wasn't because he didn't want to. "If you think that will work, I'm willing to give it a shot. If all else fails, I can enforce a code of conduct during the occasion. I assume you'll handle the preparations if I can bring you the materials?"
"You may rely on me, sir, as always." Alfred smiled. "It may be a touch more challenging than at home, but I think I can manage something satisfactory."
"If anyone can, Alfred." This time Tim did let himself indulge in one of his small, barely-there smiles. "I'll let the Exiles and the Titans know about dinner then. What time do you want everyone to arrive?"
"Shall we say six o'clock? That should give me plenty of time to prepare." Alfred looked over the papers once more and smiled at Tim. "I daresay Master Dick will be very pleasantly surprised."
Tim's smile widened just a bit, softened a little and he pushed his hand through his too long hair, "I hope so, Alfred. He's had a rough month with Roy going and Donna showing up how she did. And then Benny and Peter...he's taking this all pretty hard." Tim sighed, looked a little wistful, "I want to just give him a good birthday and then give him space to...you know, be a Bat."
"How well I do know, sir," Alfred replied with a touch of wry humor in his voice. "And I think, if you'll allow a moment of pride, that we'll be able to give him a very good birthday."
"I guess you would. Like father, like son, right?" Tim smiled a little. "I'll take care of the invitations now and you can get me that list whenever you have it assembled. No coconut, he doesn't..." Tim stopped that neurotic train of thought before it got going, "You already know that. I don't have to tell you."
"Indeed, sir." Alfred's voice was at its most reassuring. "No need to fret. I can't immediately recall odder circumstances in which we've celebrated Master Dick's birthday, but we'll make an occasion of it regardless."
Occasionally Tim looked very like his mother. He didn't know that--didn't really think about it--but there was a certain set to his jaw, a certain determination in his eyes, that were entirely Janet Drake. Tim's father would have recognized it, and in fact, had on several occasions which had made it hard for him to deal with his teenage son in the first few months after his coma. It was that look, the one he got from his mother, that Tim wore now as he spread his papers and plans over the table like a general preparing for battle. "We have to make sure this goes perfectly," he said, looking up at his companion, "It's important. There's not a lot of room for error."
"Under the circumstances I entirely agree," Alfred said mildly. His customary black suit had long since been retired, a casualty of the climate, and though his first foray into the clothes box hadn't been notably successful, he somehow managed dignity even in a Hawaiian shirt and Bermuda shorts. He gave the papers a critical once-over. "I foresee very little difficulty with the first part of your plan--at least, not if the proper materials can be found. It's this second part that worries me." He tapped the page in question. "We'll have to be very careful about our approach."
"I think that I can implement that part, actually." Tim skipped over the methodology that would be involved. Some things Alfred was better off not knowing, no matter how long he'd been a friend and confidant to their peculiar little family. In some ways, that was exactly the problem. No one did knowing looks like Alfred. "I'm worried about being able to bring together the appropriate parties for the first part. The dynamics are troubling."
"Hmm." Alfred glanced back down at the pages, frowning slightly. "I should hope, under the circumstances, that a certain amount of basic cooperation won't be too much to ask. After all, we're not asking anyone to cross battle lines, only to respect a short truce." He thought for a moment, then quirked an eyebrow. "Still, perhaps I should make sure to impress upon a few of them the significance of the occasion."
Tim didn't smile at that but it wasn't because he didn't want to. "If you think that will work, I'm willing to give it a shot. If all else fails, I can enforce a code of conduct during the occasion. I assume you'll handle the preparations if I can bring you the materials?"
"You may rely on me, sir, as always." Alfred smiled. "It may be a touch more challenging than at home, but I think I can manage something satisfactory."
"If anyone can, Alfred." This time Tim did let himself indulge in one of his small, barely-there smiles. "I'll let the Exiles and the Titans know about dinner then. What time do you want everyone to arrive?"
"Shall we say six o'clock? That should give me plenty of time to prepare." Alfred looked over the papers once more and smiled at Tim. "I daresay Master Dick will be very pleasantly surprised."
Tim's smile widened just a bit, softened a little and he pushed his hand through his too long hair, "I hope so, Alfred. He's had a rough month with Roy going and Donna showing up how she did. And then Benny and Peter...he's taking this all pretty hard." Tim sighed, looked a little wistful, "I want to just give him a good birthday and then give him space to...you know, be a Bat."
"How well I do know, sir," Alfred replied with a touch of wry humor in his voice. "And I think, if you'll allow a moment of pride, that we'll be able to give him a very good birthday."
"I guess you would. Like father, like son, right?" Tim smiled a little. "I'll take care of the invitations now and you can get me that list whenever you have it assembled. No coconut, he doesn't..." Tim stopped that neurotic train of thought before it got going, "You already know that. I don't have to tell you."
"Indeed, sir." Alfred's voice was at its most reassuring. "No need to fret. I can't immediately recall odder circumstances in which we've celebrated Master Dick's birthday, but we'll make an occasion of it regardless."