Let me preface this by saying that I dislike Christmas. I don't mind the gift giving, or the music (actually, I take it back. I do mind the music), or the food, or anything. I just...don't enjoy Christmas. When they passed out holiday goodwill, I missed out, I guess. I think my problem is too many people forcing me to be social. People are fine in small increments, like half an hour at maximum. Anything over that is suffocating.

And another thing, I hate eggnog. It's nasty.

So most of this is my own feelings about this festive season. Projected onto Roy, because really, we're too similar in personality for me not to. But Merry Christmas anyway, if you celebrate that sort of thing. I won't judge.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. At all.

Warnings: Roy's mouth, I guess. Oh, and ages-this is in the future, where Roy has been on his own for three years. He's twenty one, which means Dick is sixteen, Wally and Artemis are eighteen, and M'gann, Conner, and Kaldur are all nineteen (or the biological equivalent thereof). In case anyone was wondering.

Home for the Holidays

Roy Harper, generally speaking, wasn't in the habit of celebrating Christmas. Or Hanukkah, or Festivus, and definitely not Kwanza given his coloring. He never really had been much in the holiday spirit-his childhood on the reservation hadn't exactly been conducive to delusions of Santa Claus, and even when he was older, Oliver had been more interested in unwrapping girls than unwrapping gifts. Not that Roy particularly minded-being forced into celebrations would just have brought back everything he'd lost, and he'd learned quickly that expecting more than vague provision (i.e. a twenty for pizza under a magnet on the fridge) and tutelage from his legal guardian was like expecting a fish to climb a tree. And anyway, he was better off left to his own devices. He always had been. Christmas was just another day to fight crime.

Briefly one December eighteenth, walking home from patrol in the snow, Roy wondered absently if this outlook on the season made him the masked equivalent of the Grinch. No, he decided, hauling himself up onto the fire escape clinging to the side of his building. I just want to be left alone. I don't care if anyone else celebrates, not like the Grinch did, anyway. To each his own, and all that. Well, except if you celebrate by robbing jewelry stores. That doesn't count.

Even when Dinah-Black Canary, he corrected himself, as a non-League affiliate he didn't know anyone's secret identity-came into their lives when he was fifteen, he still didn't care to celebrate. She had tried to make it special for him, she really did, but ultimately, she was just another adult taking pity on a kid bent on playing superhero. She taught him how to not get his ass kicked, and nothing more.

I'm not ungrateful, he thought carefully around a sip of scalding hot coffee in an IHOP after patrol one December twenty-first. I'm just realistic. It's not like the woman's my mom, or anything.

Christmas Eve became just another night on patrol in his adopted Steel City, Christmas morning another day to sleep late on the couch and nurse a cup of coffee and a few new bruises. He didn't care-three years of being the Grinch (the second Christmas he spent alone in his apartment, he decided he really liked the analogy after all) had made him comfortably indifferent to the loneliness of his cold studio apartment.

A knock on his door pulled him from both his thoughts and his coffee. He turned to look over the back of the couch and raised an eyebrow at the dark green panel, waiting a minute to see if his visitor would leave. Another knock sounded bravely, bouncing off the fake wood, and he swore under his breath. Someone he knew then, or at least someone who knew him. Well, fuck.

With an annoyed sigh, he heaved himself to his feet and shuffled to the door. When he glanced through the peephole, he saw only an empty hallway. He sighed. That would be Robin.

"What do you want, kid," he asked impatiently as he opened the door. He didn't bother asking how the Boy Wonder had found his apartment, or how he knew Roy was home-at this point in their relationship, such questions were redundant.

Dick Grayson appeared in the doorway-from where, Roy's half-caffeinated mind could only begin to fathom. He adjusted his sunglasses casually, looking every inch the tiny gangster in his striped button down shirt and black fedora. "What, no 'Hi, Dick, nice to see you after all these years'," the sixteen year old asked, feigning a kicked puppy look.

Roy raised an eyebrow, his patience already worn to bare threads by a long night on patrol. "Frankly, I don't like to make a habit of lying to kids," he retorted, leaning on the door frame. But you like Dick, a voice in his mind reprimanded quietly. Screw it, he thought in reply, he didn't care whose feelings he hurt this morning.

Dick frowned, genuinely wounded now. As mature as Dick was for a sixteen year old boy, Roy had been his hero for years, and one of his best friends-such blatant dismissal stung. He shrugged it off-he had places to be and no time to get upset over Roy's attitude issues. "Okay, look," he said, suddenly all business. "Oliver's having a big Christmas whatever at his place in like, four hours. A bunch of the mentors are going to be there, and then we're going too, so there's people you actually like, sort of, and it would really mean a lot to me as your friend if you would come. Really. Please."

Roy snorted derisively. "Oliver doesn't do Christmas parties, and I don't do Christmas at all, kid," he said, attempting to close the door. Dick's foot caught it mid-swing, and he pushed to get inside.

"Don't do Christmas? God, what are you, the fucking Grinch?"

"Pretty much," Roy retorted smoothly, still fighting to shut the younger boy out. "Get out of my apartment, squirt."

Dick stopped struggling to get in, but didn't cede his ground. He stared at Roy for a long moment before sighing-if Roy didn't know any better, he'd say that was defeat. "Okay," he muttered, digging in his shoulder bag for a minute, leaning against Roy's pressure on the door. He produced a mid-size box wrapped in simple black paper and handed it to Roy. "It's kinda from everyone, but you can pretend it's just from me, if it makes you feel better about it," he said, before finally stepping back. Roy stumbled, but didn't close the door. "Merry Christmas, bro," Dick said as he retreated to the stairs.

Curiosity aroused, Roy left the door standing open and tore the wrapping paper off in the doorway. He pried the box open, reaching inside slowly. His fingertips met smooth wood, steel strings, cloth of some kind, and leather. He pulled the object-no, objects-out of the box like one would a rattlesnake.

The crossbow was apparently collapsible, and made of a highly polished dark wood that he was pretty sure didn't grow on dry land. It was a deep almost-black, with an inky leather strap that was hooked to a belt. Also on the leather belt was a pouch of silver crossbow darts, sharpened to a lethal point. Classy, dependable, useful. Just the thing he loved.

Roy sighed bitterly, squeezing his eyes shut for a minute. Great. Now he felt like a jackass.

His bare feet just barely kept traction on the threadbare carpet as he ran for the stairwell. "Dick," he shouted down the stairs as he threw open the door to the cavernous space.

There was silence for a minute-Roy feared he'd left-before Dick's voice floated up from three floors below. "Were you insulting me, or asking me to wait?"

Roy sighed. "I'll... I'll go, okay? Just wait up for a minute, I'm still in my pajamas."

When Dick came bounding into view, his grin clearly spoke of victory. "You like it?"

"It was Artemis's idea, wasn't it," Roy asked.

"Not if you don't want it to be," Dick chuckled.

-x-x-x-

Kaldur was waiting to head them off at the door to Oliver's penthouse. "Roy," he said warmly just inside the entryway, strategically positioning himself to block the view of anyone else in the front room. "When Dick said he was going to invite you today, I feared it was an exercise in futility."

"Almost," Roy muttered, looking around. It had been years since he'd been home-had Oliver redecorated in his absence? Not that he cared, it wasn't his house. "Thanks for the crossbow, by the way. Is the wood Atlantean? I don't recognize it from anything I've seen on land."

Kaldur's smile broadened, clearly proud the gift had been well received. "Yes, I had it specially made in my hometown. The wood is stronger than almost any metal, and half as heavy. It should handle a beating very well in the field, I believe."

"Excellent, I can't wait to try it," Roy enthused. He glanced around again, sobering. "So who's here? Besides Queen and Canary."

Kaldur laughed at the apprehension on his friend's face. "My king, Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman, J'onn, Flash and his wife, and of course our team." Our. As though Red Arrow were still a part. Roy nodded and chose not to comment on his word choice.

"So, basically, everyone who wants to kick my ass, in one place."

"Dude," Dick said, obviously trying to put his friend at ease, "It's totally bad form to beat someone up on Christmas."

"Thanks," Roy deadpanned, and offered the boy a weak smile in thanks for his misguided show of support. "Well. Now or never, I guess."

Kaldur squeezed his shoulder in a gesture of brotherly support and stepped aside to let them enter fully.

Flash was, unsurprisingly, the first to notice them walk in. "Well hey, look who just blew in!"

Roy winced as the elder speedster's volume drew the attention of everyone in the room, wishing he'd at least have brought the crossbow, or his own recurve. Despite the fact that everyone was out of uniform, the identity piece would have been comforting.

Dinah emerged from the kitchen at Flash's voice, her light blue long sleeve sweater rolled up to the elbows. "Roy," she exclaimed, surprised and delighted. In four steps, she'd crossed the room and threw her arms around him in a long, hard hug, her fingers clutching at his coat like he'd vanish if she let go.

"Dinah, what-oh," Roy heard around his hesitant return of her embrace. He heard whisper quiet footsteps on the hardwood-he's probably in his socks, how typical, Roy thought-and felt an uncertain, feather light touch on his shoulder blade. Dinah pulled away reluctantly, her eyeliner a little smudged. Oliver gave Roy a once over and swallowed hard.

"I, ah- Dick invited me," he explained awkwardly, feeling the eyes of half the Founding Seven pinned on him. "If that's, um. If that's okay."

Dinah promptly swatted his ear. "The hell you're leaving now," she reprimanded firmly. "Not after you've just smudged my makeup and everything."

Oliver cleared his throat, his lips quirking up a little in a half-smile. "Translation: You're always welcome, and we're glad you came, Roy," he said quietly.

"What's all- Oh, Roy," M'gann squealed, and before Roy could thank her from saving him from the most awkward questioning of his life, he found himself caught in another gleefully bone-crushing hug. "It's so nice to see you, I'm so happy Dick convinced you to come!"

He smiled weakly and returned her hug. "Hi, M'gann," he murmured, "Merry Christmas."

If possible, she squeezed him tighter. "Merry Christmas," she returned, finally releasing him. "Did Dick give you your present?"

Roy smiled, a little guiltily. "Yeah, he did. I loved it, thank you."

She blushed happily. "It was from the whole team," she said, staring at her toes bashfully. "Oh, speaking of the team, Artemis was here a second ago. You should say hello when you see her."

Roy couldn't help a derisive snort. "Yeah, sure. I'll get right on that."

"Thanks," Artemis snipped behind him. "Merry Christmas to you too."

Roy smirked. "Don't lose too much sleep over it, baby doll. I do this to everyone."

"It's ture," Dick piped up. "I had to friggin' guilt him out of his apartment to get him here."

"Hey, whatever works," Clark said, slinging one friendly muscled arm around Roy's shoulders. "Glad to have you here, son," he said warmly.

Roy glanced around the room-the Justice League, their expressions varying degrees of welcoming (or in Bruce's case, slightly less icy), Young Justice, with their enthusiasm at seeing him, his own mentor and his girlfriend, their hopeful, guarded looks-and smiled, feeling shy for the first time since...since Brave Bow died, he realized. "Yeah," he said quietly. "Good to be here."

-x-x-x-

"Hey, Roy," a hesitant voice said behind him on the penthouse balcony. A cloud of a breath escaped him into the cold dusk, and he turned reluctantly to see Oliver, bearing two steaming mugs and an expression that clearly asked Can we talk? Roy offered a small, consenting nod and a suggestion of a smile. What could it hurt?

Oliver joined him by the railing and handed him a mug-Dinah's famous hot cocoa, the one thing he'd (begrudgingly) come to miss about the holidays. He took a cautious sip and almost cracked a full smile as warmth flooded through him. The two stood in silence for a minute, listening to the gathering in the penthouse, before Oliver cleared his throat to speak. "It', um. It's really good to see you, Roy," he said quietly.

"Yeah, it's been good. Seeing, y'know, everyone," Roy exhaled noncommittally, his fingers wrapped around the mug and his shoulders hunched defensively.

Oliver grimaced in Roy's peripheral vision. He rubbed the back of his neck and took a sip from his mug to get his thoughts back in order, and curiously, Roy watched him, wondering what he had to say. "I know we haven't exactly been on amicable terms for the past few years, and, well, I assume full responsibility for that. I've never really been the parent you needed ever, and I... I realize that now." He paused, and for the first time in Roy's life, he saw an altogether too human man who couldn't find the right words to say. Oliver cleared his throat again. "I guess what I'm trying to say is... I love you, Roy. Biological or not, the fact of the matter is you're my son, always have been. I know you don't feel the same way, but... I guess I just needed you to know that. Before you, you know. Disappear on me again."

Roy was silent, digesting his mentor's halting admission. He inhaled quietly, the frigid air burning his lungs, and turned to face Oliver. "You didn't have to take me," he observed quietly. "For the past fifteen years, I've been trying to work out why you did." He saw Oliver start to open his mouth to respond and held up a hand. "I decided it doesn't matter," he said, and took another sip of his cocoa to collect his own thoughts-all this honesty was a little unnerving, especially with their relationship as dysfunctional as it was. "What matters," he continued slowly, "is that you did, regardless of your personal motivations, and you gave me a chance to become what I am. As your...sidekick." Roy grimaced-the term still burned on his tongue.

Oliver smiled weakly. "As much as I've acted otherwise," he said, laying a hand on Roy's shoulder, "Speedy was always my partner. And you...you were always my son. And no matter how I've acted toward you, I have always been so proud of how you've grown up. Dinah and I both have."

And out there on that balcony, Roy could have sworn he felt his heard grow three sizes bigger.

"Thanks," he murmured, trying not to show how pleased he was with Oliver's words, and gazed absently at the party still going on inside. Dick caught his eye and raised an eyebrow, rotating his hand from thumbs up to thumbs down. Roy rolled his eyes, but smiled anyway and gave him a thumbs up.

"Remind me to thank that kid for dragging you out here," Oliver said quietly.

"You should have seen him guilt me into coming," Roy snipped, feigning annoyance. It was impossible to stay mad at Dick Grayson for very long. "Would have brought a tear to your eye."

Oliver chuckled. "So, I don't know if you have plans for New Years," he said, "but Dinah and I were going to take the Young Justice kids into Times Square to watch the ball drop, if you wanted to join us?"

Roy smiled at the hopeful note in Oliver's voice. "If nothing comes up in Steel, I'd like that."

Oliver's smile only brightened, and he leaned over conspiratorially with the stupidest grin Roy had ever seen on him (and that was definitely saying something). "I'm thinking about proposing while we're there. I already have the ring and everything," he whispered gleefully.

Roy snickered. "About fucking time," he said, elbowing his mentor in the ribs. "That woman's probably wondering if she's a cover for your secret boyfriend after this long."

"Metrosexual, not homosexual," Oliver protested. "Just because I moisturize doesn't mean I'm gay."

"I know, I know," Roy laughed, holding up a hand. "So, I'll let you know about New Years. Your number's still the same?"

"As always. And if you need a hand, I can play sidekick for a night or two."

Roy cracked a rather sarcastic grin. "Yeah. Right. Like your ego would let you." He drained his mug and pushed off the railing, the sudden lack of tension disorienting. "I think I'd better go make sure Dick hasn't spiked the eggnog for kicks," he said, stretching away from the warm, sedated feeling spreading through his nervous system. "He'd do it, too."

Oliver chose not to comment, instead draining his own mug. "Roy," he said, suddenly very afraid of losing contact all over again. "You know...you can always consider this home, right? Anytime you just want to come over. Please, don't vanish on us again."

Roy shrugged, choosing his words carefully. "I make no promises about my commitments, but I'll try to come back once in a while." As long as you'll have me, he thought. The idea of coming home was suddenly incredibly appealing.

Oliver smiled and nodded his understanding. "That's all I can ask for."

Please review, and drive safely if you plan to get behind the wheel, folks. Beware of icy highways and spiked eggnog. (Dick is probably behind both.)