Notes: As always, many thanks to Emaniahilel for introducing me to her fic "Fable" as well as Robin and Raven's fan-made progeny, Jonathon Bruce and Victoria Grayson, then letting me borrow said progeny again and again.
And FURTHER thanks to Em for inadvertently writing a portion of this chapter
Brush Strokes VII:
Playdate
by Kysra and Emaniahilel
Wednesday:
In the bowels of Wayne Manor, two men are discussing a matter of great importance that has nothing whatsoever to do with saving the city/country/world, superheroes, or the great responsibility that comes with wearing a batsuit and mask.
"If they are such devils, Master Bruce, I fail to understand why you have invited them over for the weekend." The poised and polished old butler asks with a look that is altogether droll and just this side of patronizing.
Distracting himself with readouts crawling across the 30 feet by 10 feet high definition plasma screen installed for the central database (which just happened to be clandestinely hooked into the JLA's central database), Bruce tries not to smile and fails miserably. After all, he thinks, his grandchildren might be denizens of mischief when the manor is at their disposal but they are endlessly amusing as well. "I'm a glutton for punishment."
Alfred scoffs before taking the stairs to the main house, but even that little bit of feigned displeasure cannot mask the slight spring in his step.
Friday:
Robin can barely believe his eyes but Raven shortly confirms that yes, that is Bruce Wayne playing an impromptu game of 'Tickle Monster' with their children. It is a source of endless wonder and humor that the staid and stoic man became a grown-up child when Jon and Vicky were in his presence.
He had once talked it over with Raven – how Bruce had never been that way with him, and his wife had simply given him a calculating look before blithely replying that the children have always known their grand-father for what he is.
And as he watches the older man, flushed and slightly mussed (as mussed as Bruce would ever allow himself to get with witnesses at the ready) hoist Vicky to a hip with one arm and ruffle Jon's hair with the other, Robin cannot help but understand. To the world, the Batman is at once lauded, respected, and feared. To Jon and Vicky, the Batman is nothing but a shadow of the man they know as their beloved grand-father.
Raven is giving Alfred a three page list of contact numbers in case of emergency because she believes in being prepared, and though she does not like to admit it, she worries when the children are out of her sight for any length of time. Robin thinks that this will be a difficult weekend, as it will be the first time she is parted from the children overnight.
Sensing that if they do not leave soon, Raven will decide to pack the children back into the car and take them back home (effectively ruining his plans for the night), Robin kisses Vicky goodbye and lifts Jon into a bear hug that has the boy giggling and squirming until he is set back on the ground. Then, with an imperious warning to "Be good and listen to your grand-father and Alfred," he collects his wife – who has also spread hugs and kisses – and leaves his progeny in his foster father's care.
"Do you think Bruce will survive?" Raven is looking straight ahead, but Robin doesn't miss the tiny glint of mischief in her eye.
He smirks, "Odds are 3 to 1 that he has finally met his match, and then some."
Saturday:
Bruce normally rises at 4:30 am to train and exercise. He holds the fervent belief that rest for the sake of rest is overrated and has lived on less than 3 hours of sleep everyday since he first donned the cowl. There is simply too much to do and not enough hours in the day, and because the Earth cannot stop spinning for one person, he has elected to accommodate the many hats he has chosen to wear by cutting into sleep.
Alfred, meanwhile, wakes at dawn without prodding and has breakfast on the table by 6:30 – sometimes 7, depending on the dish du jour, the exact time Bruce completes his morning regimen. Their schedule is a sturdy, well-oiled machine that has not been altered since its inception.
Until now.
"Grand-pappy!!" Victoria, 6 years old and spritely, is a flour covered ball of energy as she flings herself into him, dusting his navy Armani suit and smearing his face with raw egg yolk when he bent to accept her greeting kiss.
Sighing and accepting that 1. Vicktoria will never call him the more dignified title of "Grand-father" no matter how many times he corrects her and 2. he will have to change, regardless of the time, he wonders if it is normal for little girls to be up so early on the weekend when his grandson stumbles into the dining room. The boy lacks the sister's obnoxious bounce but it clean and flushed with the lingering sleep that has his hair alternately clinging close to his scalp or standing on end and one leg of his pajamas rolled up over his knee.
"G'morning." Jonathon says but his tone suggests that he would have been much happier to be still abed. Bruce only has to look at Victoria's wicked grin to have some idea as to why the older child is awake so early.
"Did you two sleep well?" Bruce asks just as Alfred enters from the adjoining kitchen with a cart laden down with pancakes, scrambled eggs, bacon, and pitchers of milk and orange juice. The man is covered in flour, egg, and bits of raw meat. Victoria giggles when he ruffles her hair, sending up a small cloud of white powder.
Bruce merely bows his head to hid his grin.
However, Jonathon is unaffected. "You have soft pillows."
"I made the pancakes! Have some, Grand-pappy!" The girl, standing on a towel covered chair (courtesy of Alfred's quick thinking), grabs a handful of the aforementioned pancakes and throws it toward his plate . . . though most of it ends up on his lap and on the floor.
Victoria has the grace to look a touch guilty but more crestfallen. "Sorry, Grand-pappy."
Jonathon shoots his sister a pointed glare. "Icky, Father said to behave. That means sit down, be quiet, and don't make a mess."
The girl pouts sullenly but sits obediently and eats her breakfast as Alfred fills her plate.
Bruce looks down at the fallen pancakes and silently thanks his lucky stars that Victoria had such a fit of enthusiasm. The flat cakes were hard as rock and just this side of burned. Looking up at the children again, he is fully aware of the affectionate half-smile ruining the imperious expression he had been trying to project. "Victoria, you will help Alfred clean the mess you made."
Her voice is small and muffled when she responds, "Yes, Grand-pappy."
"OW!" Jonathon is rarely given to fits, but both Alfred and Bruce calm when they see the acid sneer the boy shoots at his sister who is humming happily to a crisp piece of bacon she has ready to finish the work of breakfast art she has been arranging on her plate. "Fine. I'll help too. (Even though I didn't do anything)."
Chuckling at that last utterance, Bruce wipes his mouth and excuses himself from the table. There are a few business things he must take care of this morning, and he wants to have them completed as soon as possible.
When he passes Victoria, he bends to press a kiss to her crown, and he is just at the door when . . .
"Grand-pappy?" Victoria is now on her knees, watching him from over the back of her chair.
"Call me 'Grand-father,' Victoria."
"Ok," she says but doesn't correct herself. "Grand-pappy, can we play Hide-and-Seek?"
He thinks for a moment, tracking mentally through the errands he must run and how long it will take to get back home. "How about after lunch?"
She squeals and jumps to the ground to hug him once more, rubbing more flour onto his suit, before bounding in the opposite direction to the kitchen.
"Get changed, Master Bruce," Alfred grins, his old face crinkling with the expression. "I shall keep the children entertained in your absence."
Jonathon shakes his head silently at the old butler. "You have no idea what you're getting into."
At that, Bruce bursts out laughing.
- BS -
Vicky is 'It' and has been looking for Grand-pappy's hiding place for what feels like ten minutes (but is actually barely five); and she is becoming extremely bored. Unfortunately, Grand-pappy has decreed that using her 'special abilities' is not fair, and Jonny has opted not to play.
Because she is just this side of impatient, the six year old whizzes through the hallowed halls with nimble bounds. Her entire focus is on finding Grand-pappy to gift him with one of her signature glomps when Alfred blurs on the edge of her vision as she runs past.
And where Alfred is, Grand-pappy Bruce is sure to be close by.
She skids around a corner and stumbles to a stop, finding herself in front of Grand-pappy's study and has an impromptu debate with herself. Grand-pappy has always said that his study is off-limits and they are not to enter under any circumstance. But they are playing a game, and as she is the seeker, she should be able to seek unfettered, right? However, Mommy always says that she should listen to her elders and respect boundaries.
Vicky deflates dramatically then seems to regain her spirit and takes a step towards the beckoning door.
"Ahem." Alfred clears his throat loudly in an exaggerated attempt to get her attention. He's still rather tickled that the little girl had decided to play 'butler' in the hours between Master Bruce's egress and return, following Alfred around in an extended game of Follow-the-Leader. She even greeted Master Bruce with a stately bow, a napkin draped over her arm, and a decidedly snotty, "Welcome Home, Master Grand-pappy."
For a moment, Alfred had thought Bruce would drop with a heart attack, he had turned positively red while fighting to contain his mirth.
Vicky turns to him with wide, innocent eyes and a pointed finger to her lips. Alfred smirks then walks over to knock upon the door. There is no answer and Vicky looks up to the wizened old man with confusion. He nods toward the door slightly and she brightens, bursting through the door without regard for any inhabitants therein.
"Grand-pappy?" She looks around with a pinched look on her face when she doesn't find what she's looking for. Turning her head, she gazes back at Alfred who nods again, toward the desk.
It is then that Vicky thinks that Grand-pappy only meant her people-finding ability wouldn't be fair, so she can use other abilities, right?
Leaving the floor, she levitates herself up high until she can see her grand-father cowering behind the desk.
"FOUND YOU GRAND-PAPPY!!" The little girl crows before lowering herself back to the floor, running around the desk, and bowling the man over with a super-sized Vicky-glomp.
Bruce sighs but cuddles the girl close. "Victoria, what have I told you about using your 'special abilities' inside the house? Any of them."
Oops.
"Sorry, Grand-pappy."
"It's all right, Victoria. And call me 'Grand-father.'"
"Okay, Grand-pappy."
He just grins and pats her head as Alfred announces that he is going to make dinner. Vicky immediately yells that she'll help, running off and leaving Bruce to his work – a prospect that doesn't seem quite so important anymore.
He soon leaves his office to help prepare dinner as well, deciding to pick up Jonathon (who had holed himself up in the house library) along the way.
- BS-
In the safety of the library, Bruce sits with a groan and a silent vow never to allow the children in the kitchen again. Victoria is too rambunctious and – quite unpredictably – Jonathon sometimes exhibits a wicked brand of mischief the likes he's never seen before. The boy's propensity for scheming while covering his tracks inspires Bruce to pray that his grandson will use his power for good instead of evil.
Everything had started out so well, so orderly, then Jonathon had looked at Victoria's clean frock and the kerchiefed hair and inexplicably dipped his hand into the spinach dip before raking his fingers through his little sister's tidy pony tail.
Victoria had screeched – but Bruce still believed it was a laughing sort of screech – loudly, hopping down from the stool Alfred had furnished her with then chased after her brother, arms dripping with strawberry syrup from their half-prepared dessert.
The chase lasted for over an hour, the children relentless and tireless while he and Alfred simply tried to keep up (when they weren't – embarrassedly – slipping on fallen syrup). That adventure had spanned nearly the entire house and ended in the dining room when Jonathon – busy taunting his sister while skipping mockingly before her – smacked into the edge of the table and as he fell back, his hand grabbed the pristine white table cloth, pulling it over himself and Victoria both in a tangle of now-stained ivory.
Bruce had caught up moments later, standing over their struggling and bound bodies with arms crossed over his chest and his features schooled into an imperious expression.
Victoria had the grace to look a little ruffled and deeply apologetic, though the exaggerated pout led him to believe she may not have been so sincere. Jonathon had simply stared him down in challenge, and he couldn't help but smirk back.
The kid has backbone. Just like his dad.
And while Bruce does appreciate Jonathon's cheek, he does not appreciate the trashing of his clean house. Therefore, as punishment, he had ordered Victoria and Jonathon to clean every room they had managed to destroy with Alfred acting as supervisor and absolutely forbidden to lift a helping finger.
Rubbing a hand over his eyes, Bruce glances at the grand-father clock standing at attention, noting the time. It was nearly 9 o'clock. The two had been cleaning for four hours.
Maybe I should give them a break and finish up for them tomorrow . . . But no sooner does the thought strike than the door to the library opens and Jonathon shuffles in, looking small and contrite.
The boy pauses before Bruce, staring straight ahead, back stiff and unyielding. "I apologize for my actions this evening, Grand-father."
And it is then, at the sound of Jonathon's flat apology that Bruce realizes he has never seen his grand-son so lively before the unfortunate incident hours ago. He smiles gently and gathers the child to him. "Next time you want to make a mess, do it outside. Deal?"
Jonathon grins and hugs him back. "Deal."
Finally, when they are clean and coaxed into bed, Bruce tucks Jonathon in first, and no sooner is a "Good night" spoken than the boy is snoring and dead to the world. It reminds him so much of how Robin was as a child that he chuckles softly before shuffling over to give Victoria the same treatment.
Unlike her brother, the little girl is awake and doing a strange dance in her bed. Bruce shushes her softly, and pulls the covers to her chin, effectively trapping her still.
"Grand-pappy?"
"Grand-father, Victoria Angela." He is so tired, and she is so stubborn.
"Okay." She smiles winningly.
"Thank you." Not that he thinks she actually means it.
"Grand-pappy?"
Bruce sighs, admitting defeat for the moment. "Yes, Victoria."
"C'n you teach Daddy how to cheat at Hide-and-Seek?"
Cheat? Well, he had known that Alfred was just outside the door, and known equally as well that the other man would tell Victoria where he was hiding. He supposed that counted as cheating (particularly since he had wanted the game to end as expeditiously as possible). Still . . . "You shouldn't ever cheat, honey."
Her face scrunches up as if she had just tasted something sour. "But you did today."
"Alfred helped you cheat."
"But you let him. I won!"
"Yes, you did."
"Grand-pappy?"
"Yes, love."
"Will I grow as tall as you?"
"We'll have to wait and see."
"Oh."
She closes her eyes as he ruffles her hair, and he hopes that she will fall into whatever lollipop dreams she's destined for tonight soon.
"Grand-pappy?" Her dark near-violet eyes are big, round, curious, and alert.
Bruce touches the tip of her nose with one finger, his mouth a straight line of seriousness. "Victoria, one more question and then you'd better sleep."
A sharp salute. "Yes, sir."
"Go ahead."
"Why do you and Mommy call me 'Victoria' when Daddy calls me 'Princess' and Jonny calls me 'Tori'?"
"Victoria is your true name. The others are just nicknames."
"Do you and Mommy not like nicknames?"
"No. We don't."
"Okay." Again, she closes her eyes, and this time Bruce rises from his seat at her bedside to shut off the light.
"Grand-pappy?" Her voice is thin and riddled with sleep, and though he is tired and anxious to see his own bed, he lets out a heavy, heavy sigh and answers,
"What is it, grand-daughter?"
A sleepy giggle brightens the near-dark. "Love you, Grand-pappy."
Smiling, he bends to press a kiss to her forehead. "I love you too."
"G'night . . . "
His hand traces the outline of her face as her breathing evens out and her mouth falls slack. "Sweet dreams, angel."
Sunday:
As he eats a slab of toast with a bit of cream cheese spread over the top, Bruce mutters, "Criminal masterminds . . . villains . . . monsters . . couldn't break me . . . Three days with 8 and 6 year olds . . ." . . . Of course, Jonathon's mastermind of mischief is mostly to blame. He suddenly grins at his half-eaten toast though it is notably sharp, pointed, and remarkably devoid of humor.
Once Victoria and Jonathon had been safely tucked in and asleep, he had made to walk through the manor to inspect their cleaning efforts only to find that they had only cleaned one single room – the least dirty of the dozen. However, instead of waking them or waiting till morning to exact further punishment, Bruce had opted to finish cleaning the mess himself – an undertaking that had seen him working well into the waxing hours of morning.
The children are seated and partaking of breakfast as well – Victoria to his left and Jonathon to his right, the both of them on their best behavior, looking slightly guilty and completely shocked.
"Icky," Jonathon suddenly breathes, serious and somewhat accusing. "You did it . . . you killed Grand-father."
Bruce nearly chokes on his toast, but decides to listen rather than correct.
Victoria turns her bright violet eyes toward her brother, biting her lower lip worriedly even as chocolate coats and drips from her fingers and cheeks. "What?"
"He's munching!" Jonathon's eyes are wide and shocked and just this side of convincingly innocent.
Victoria swings her head this way and that, studying Bruce's working jaws in one moment then giving the boy a measuring look the next. "Grand-pappy?"
Playing along, Bruce schools his face into a tired non-expression, chomping his toast all the harder. "Hhhn."
Jumping down from her chair, his little grand-daughter climbs into his lap then grabs his face with her tiny, grimy hands before yelling in his face, "Are you in there Grand-pappy??"
"Victoria Angela, you know better than to yell." Raven's voice reaches them from the entrance hall and soon enough she appears, as crisp and calm as ever.
Robin isn't far behind, trailing Alfred into the dining room and surveying the situation with an attentive eye. "Good morning, kids. How was your weekend with grand-father?"
Victoria, whose hands remain stuck to Bruce's face, bounces in her grand-father's lap with a smile that could light up Gotham City for weeks. "It was so much fun, Daddy! I cooked with Uncle Alfred and Grand-pappy let me cheat at Hide-and-Seek (but really, he wasn't hiding in a good place!) and –"
"Tori killed Grand-father." Jonathon's succinct voice carries over his sister's babbling ramble.
Robin's eyes widen before shifting to study his foster father more closely while Victoira issues a loud and indignant, "I DID NOT!" She pounces on her unsuspecting brother, and suddenly the dining room is in pandemonium.
The tussle that ensues sees hair pulled and uncoordinated slapping, syrup and butter dribbled over clothes and skin and rolling about on the new carpet. Bruce is just getting up to separate them forcefully and Robin is close enough to pry them apart when Raven blocks their rolling around with a well placed foot and very quietly, casually reminds them that there is a trip to Disney in their future and that trip can certainly be cancelled should they continue with such immature behavior.
The children immediately push away from each other, apologize in tandem, hug, and return to their breakfast obediently.
Bruce stares at Raven silently for a moment before giving his toast one last munch, the admiration he has always had for the woman his son married bubbling to the surface. "How do you do that?"
Raven smirks, grabbing a napkin and approaching him to wipe the syrup from his cheeks as if he were a child. "I learned from watching you."
Robin grins a little at the older man at that. "So, next weekend . . . Want them over again?"
It is on the tip of Bruce's tongue to give a distinct and heart-felt negative – not because he is worn out and demoralized but because he doesn't think his house can handle another beating so soon. However, what comes out of his mouth is, "I would be happy to spend more time with them."
Alfred's corresponding cough is tiny and subtle (but – to Bruce – obvious) beneath the penetrating screeching telling Victoria's excitement. He shoots the older man a sidelong glance and a wink. He is, indeed, a glutton for punishment as long as his grand-children are the ones to mete it out.
More Author's Notes: Stay tuned! A new Brush Stroke will be up for Father's Day XD
