"Oh by golly have a holly, jolly...hmm," Dick broke off singing as he reached the bottom of the stairs and saw the glittering welcome table that Alfred had set up in the foyer. Flanking a massive guest book were two crystal vases filled with long, straight peppermint sticks, and it was those striped gatekeepers that had caught his eye. Now they beckoned the teen closer, promising both danger and sweetness. I shouldn't touch them, he told himself, licking his lips as he drew near. They're for the party tonight. But...there's so many of them, you probably wouldn't even be able to notice if I took just one...no! No, Alfred spent a lot of time making this look really great, I don't want to ruin it. He shuffled his feet, undecided despite his moment of conscience. If you can't even tell, though, what's the harm? And I haven't had anything to eat since lunch, but Alfred said he's not cooking anything before the dinner tonight...crap.
Glancing both ways to make sure he was unobserved, he dared to pluck a candy rod from the closer container. Holding his breath, he watched the rest shift to fill the vacant space. You totally can't even tell. Awesome, he grinned, popping the treat into his mouth. Mm, pepperminty...I should take one to Bruce, a thought occurred. He's been working since before I got up this morning; he must be ready for a break by now, especially since he didn't even come out for lunch. Besides, if I take a stick from the other vase it'll be even harder to tell anything's missing from the first one. Satisfied with his logic, he selected a length of red and white from the second vessel and headed for his guardian's study.
Halfway along the corridor Alfred stepped from a side room and directly into his path. Oh, crud! the boy's eyes widened. I figured he'd be in the kitchen or back in the ballroom, not down here! He's going to know what I did now...I knew I shouldn't have touched anything... The thick coating of peppermint on his tongue was suddenly unpleasant, his guilt coming through on his taste buds.
"Master Dick," the butler acknowledged warmly when he caught sight of him. An instant later a frown bowed his lips, and Dick's disappointment in himself deepened.
"I'm sorry," he apologized quickly, pulling his snitched sweet away from his face. "I didn't mean to mess anything up, honest."
"...I beg pardon, young sir? I'm afraid I don't understand what you're apologizing for."
...How do you not see what I'm holding? What...are you not mad? Dick puzzled. "I...I took these off of the table in the entryway," he confessed. "Out of the vases. I know I should have asked, but they looked so good and I didn't want to bother you because I know you're busy today..."
"Oh? Well, that's no problem, so long as you only took a couple."
"It...it isn't?" he stuttered.
"No, Master Dick," Alfred chuckled indulgently. "I'm sure the display looks just as fine as it did when I left it. There's no harm done by your having procured yourself a little afternoon snack from it; after all, you're at least putting the materials to their proper use. Besides, I may have overstuffed the containers slightly in anticipation of your coming downstairs and wanting to have one or two," he winked.
"I...oh. Thanks! I thought you'd be mad." His smile returning now that his actions had been given the butler's benediction, he popped the peppermint stick back into his mouth.
"Not at all. May I assume that you are on your way to see Master Wayne, since you are headed in the direction of the study?" Receiving a nod, he went on, looking relieved. "Lovely. He was in quite a mood earlier when I took him a fresh pot of coffee; be a good boy and see if you can't snap him out of it somewhat, would you? I fear he'll be a less than gracious host this evening if he doesn't find some pleasant distraction between now and six o'clock."
"Sure, Alfred," Dick agreed, removing his candy in order to speak. "I'll see what I can do. This should help," he jested as he held up the as yet unlicked rod in his other hand.
"It may very well do just that. Go on and see, then. But," he stopped the teen as he started to move past, "would you be so kind as to wait until you're not moving to give your attention to your treat? If you were to trip..." He trailed off, unable to finish that dark prediction.
I'm not going to fall and choke on a candy cane, Dick almost rolled his eyes, but if it makes you feel better, okay. "You bet. I'll wait until I'm sitting down," he complied.
"Thank you, Master Dick. I know it's only a little thing, but it does give an old man comfort."
"Any time. And Alfred?"
"Yes, young sir?"
"The foyer looks awesome."
"Thank you, dear boy. Now we've only to see whether the social elite of Gotham agree with you, hmm?" With that the butler hustled away, leaving Dick standing with a peppermint stick in each hand.
If they don't all love it, they're a bunch of Grinches, the youth ruled as he approached the shut double doors of the study. A frustrated harrumph came through the wood just as he reached for the handle, drawing a smirk across his face. And speaking of Grinches... "Bruce?" he asked, poking his head into the room.
"What?" came an irritated reply.
"Aw, c'mon, cheer up!" he encouraged, approaching the desk. "I haven't seen you all day, so I brought you something," he went on, holding the still-whole sweet out as a peace offering. "I thought you might need a break."
The billionaire looked up finally, his face haggard after hours of labor. The bright smile and eager eyes that greeted him broke through his exhaustion, causing one corner of his mouth to hitch upwards as his gaze softened. "Thanks, chum," he murmured, accepting the gift and leaning back in his chair as Dick dropped into a seat opposite him. "What have you been up to all day?"
"Stuff," the teen shrugged good-naturedly. "Since I couldn't go to the Mountain because of the party here, I read part of a book, got online to chat with Wally, and took a nap. Wrapped some presents, too," he hinted, his words slightly muffled due to the peppermint stick that was once more protruding from his lips.
"Stole a couple candy canes," Bruce added as he tasted his own.
"Yeeeah...Alfred knows, though. He said it was okay." They sat in a comfortable silence for several minutes, each busily working at his treat. "Are you ready for tonight?" Dick asked finally.
"Am I ever ready for these damn things?"
"I know you hate them, but...no one can ever tell except for me. Well, and Alfred, but that's just because he knows everything."
"Mm...well, they'll all be able to tell tonight. I have no idea what I'm going to say when I have to stand up and talk."
"Why do you even have to give a speech?" Dick wrinkled his nose. "It's stupid. This is a party, not a fundraiser. No one's giving money to anything, they're just coming because they want to schmooze and drink free alcohol and feel privileged. You shouldn't have to talk if you don't want to."
A slow, sad smile crept across Bruce's face. "I never told you why we have this party every year, did I?" he asked quietly.
"...No. You didn't." Aw, crap, he's got that look he gets when he's thinking about his parents, the teen realized. "But you don't have to, if you don't want to."
"It's all right," the billionaire reassured. "I'd kind of like to tell you, if you don't mind listening."
"I don't mind," Dick answered immediately. You've probably sat through a thousand hours of me talking about my parents; I can return the favor in those rare moments when you wan to reciprocate.
Bruce set his peppermint stick aside carefully, the action giving what he was about to say greater weight than it would have otherwise carried. "I give this party on the weekend before Christmas every year for one reason, and for one reason only. I give it because it's something that my parents did, and my father's parents before that, and my grandfather's, all the way back to before the Civil War," he explained. "Obviously there have been gaps, for instance when I was too young to play host on...on my own, but whenever possible the party has gone on. Every year that there has been a gathering in this house for the holidays, the host has made a speech. Some have been better than others, of course, but there's always been one, or so the story goes. Usually I can manage a semi-decent ramble, but this year..." He shook his head. "I don't know, kiddo. I've been trying to write something all morning, and it's just not coming to me."
"Maybe you should just...you know, improvise," Dick suggested. "Batman's great on the fly; just do what you do on the street. If you can throw criminals for a loop working off the cuff, imagine what you'll do to a bunch of fancy-schmancy socialites."
"It's not quite that easy. I wish it was. You've got to have an idea of what you want to say, what you're aiming for, before you can just spit something clever out. I don't even have a core message that isn't just a reheated version of something I've said into a microphone before."
"Well...maybe you've been concentrating on it too long," the teen tried another tack. "Maybe you need a break, that's all."
"I'm open to suggestions. Keep in mind that this break has to be fast enough to leave me time to get at least a few ideas down on paper before we have to change, though."
"...Ew. Tuxedos."
"Tell me about it."
The teen sucked on his candy cane for another long beat, then held it up to examine it. He had drained the color from nearly two inches of it, leaving the end tapered to a dangerous-looking point, and as he studied his handiwork he struck upon a distraction that might help his guardian clear his head. "So...you know how yesterday was the last day of school until January?" he inquired.
"Yes. Why?"
"Well...we had kind of a party in earth science. Mr. Denton had us bust up rock candy and peppermints with a hammer and gave us a mini-lecture on crystal structures, right? But that stuff only took, like, half of class, so he gave everyone a candy cane afterward and said we could have free time so long as we were quiet. Anyway...a couple of the other guys made theirs really sharp, and...and they started sword-fighting with them. It was crazy," he laughed, "and you could tell they'd done it before, because they were pretty good. We all watched them for, like, five minutes, and Mr. Denton didn't even tell them to quit until Ben almost tipped over his desk. The bell was about to ring anyway, but..."
"...But what?" Bruce pressed, raising an eyebrow.
"Maybe that would take your mind off of your speech, and help you come up with a good idea. You've been in here all day," he half-pouted. "Don't you want to move around some? It'd be good exercise, and it's not like we could get hurt fighting with candy."
"I wouldn't bet on the not getting hurt part," the billionaire countered. "But..."
"But...? Oh, c'mon, Bruce, it'll be fun!"
It was absurdly childish, and exactly what Bruce expected that a pair of fourteen-year-olds would come up, but as he sat with his snack back in his mouth and tried to ignore the pleading look his son was wearing he had to admit that it did sound kind of fun. I never had any friends to do things like that with, he mused. Dick only ever talks about the team, so I kind of doubt he's doing many things like this, either, at least when he'd not at the Mountain. I remember what it was like to watch others have fun without you, and to feel like you had no one to play those kinds of games with. His gaze hardened. I don't want you to miss out on things like that the way I did. "I'll agree to this...diversion...on one condition," he ruled finally.
"Don't tell Alfred?"
"Exactly. Deal?"
Dick beamed and waved his weapon in the air with a flourish. "En garde," he proclaimed.
"No, we're doing this right. Stand up and go in front of the fireplace." When they were in position, facing once another with their confectionery daggers at the ready, he nodded soberly. "Now...en garde!"
The first few rounds were treated seriously, with both participants maintaining their form as if they were having one of their regular fencing duels. As each combatant began to accumulate sticky streaks along their arms and hands, however, the atmosphere devolved, and before long they were laughing and throwing outrageous insults at each other as they ducked and dodged in what had become a strange version of tag.
"Insidious blackguard!" Dick chortled, utilizing the end of a curtain as a makeshift cape in an attempt to disarm his opponent.
"Deplorable cur!" Bruce parried, launching an overhand assault that sent the teen scurrying behind the desk.
"...Wait, did you just call me a dog?! You heathenous nematode!"
"'Heathenous nematode'? If I'm an irreligious roundworm, chum, then you're a cackling crawdad," he drew his son into battle around a lamp, each fighting for possession of it as though the base of the narrow fixture was sovereign, sacred territory.
"A 'cackling crawdad'?! Well that makes you a-"
"I believe it makes you both obstinate scalawags," a new voice piped in from the doorway.
Man and boy froze, their bodies locked in battle positions as their heads whipped around to discover Alfred poised at the entrance to the hall. "Uhh..." both faltered at the same time.
"Just look at the pair of you," the butler shook his head as his charges straightened and tried to look civilized in spite of their flushed faces, mussed hair, and the completely indiscreet marks of war smeared across their skin and clothing. "Here we are, an hour from when your guests will be arriving, and not only are neither of you dressed for the occasion but you've also managed to add showering to the list of things you must do in order to be presentable!"
"Ah..this is my fault, Alfred," Bruce started.
"No, it's mine, if I hadn't suggested it-" Dick objected.
"I could have said no," the billionaire pointed out.
"Or stopped it before you became carried away, yes," the Englishman remarked. "However, we haven't time to assign blame just now, have we?"
"...No," the younger males agreed on top of one another.
"No," Alfred agreed. "That being the case, I advise that you both head upstairs, perform whatever ablutions are necessary in order to remove your candy coating, and put on the tuxedos I've laid out for you." He paused, seeming to consider something. "I assume that you can manage to pass the front table without feeling the need to procure new armaments from the stockpile, Master Dick?" he asked.
"...Yes, Alfred," the boy answered sheepishly.
"And you, Master Wayne?"
"Yes, Alfred," the billionaire echoed his son.
"Very well, then, off with the pair of you. I'll be up shortly to ensure that you're making sufficient progress."
Ducking their heads and exchanging guilty looks, Dick and Bruce made to file past the tight-lipped butler. "Ah!" he halted them, holding out an imperious hand. "You'll surrender your swords, if you please." They handed over their abused candy canes without argument, then shuffled into the passageway. A few steps down the corridor Bruce gripped Dick's wrist and put a finger to his lips, bidding him silently to stop. A moment later they heard an amused guffaw come from the man they'd just been lectured by. "Incurable scamps," Alfred's disembodied voice, long-suffering but overflowing with affection, floated out to them. "Whatever shall I do with you, my boys?" That rhetorical question was followed almost instantly by a sound of disgust. "For heaven's sake, is there any part of these peppermints that isn't sticky? Good lord..."
They nearly lost it again right there in the hall, and had to lean against one another to make it to the foyer without bursting into fresh laughter. Once they had reached the relative safety of the stairs, Dick glanced over at the pure, fresh candies standing sentinel at the front doors.
"Don't even think about it," Bruce, still shaking slightly with amusement, nudged him. "He'll kill us."
"Yeah, you're right. But...it was fun, right? I mean, it took your mind off of the speech?"
"It did do that, chum, no doubt about it. It was a good suggestion." The billionaire glanced at the path ahead of them. "...Try not to touch anything, okay?"
"Right." They ascended with their hands held out, avoiding the freshly polished railings at all costs. "Hey, Bruce?" Dick asked once they'd reached the top.
"Hmm?"
"...Do you know what you're going to give your speech about tonight?"
Taking in the strip of red dye running along the teen's left cheek and the dab of color near the end of his chin, Bruce recalled the unadulterated joy that had shone in his child's eyes when they had been swiping at one another with sticks of candy. It was something so simple, he reflected, but it made you so happy. Hell, it made me happy. It even made Alfred happy, or at least it sounded that way after he'd finished yelling at us. I spent all day laboring over a few words, trying to decide what I could say to these people that I haven't said before, and you just waltzed in, proposed a sword fight, and gave me my answer; joy. I've probably brought that up before at one of these, but...it will be different this year. It will be different because I think this time I might actually have half a clue as to what I'm talking about. Joy...you give me that, chum. Joy is my watchword tonight, and if the people at this party don't understand, then I pity them. "...Yeah, kiddo," he nodded, smiling softly. "I think I finally do."
