"...You two can't be on the same team this year," Damian informed Bruce and Dick flatly.
"Excuse me?" The billionaire arched an eyebrow.
"He's right, Bruce," Tim pitched in. "You two can practically read one another's minds. Charades isn't fun for anyone else when you're working together."
"It was a bit of a landslide victory for you last year, sirs," Alfred reminded. "It might be nice for the rest of the family to have a chance."
"Well I don't care whose team I'm on, so long as we're playing Christmas charades," Dick shrugged.
"Why don't you each captain a team?" the butler suggested. "Then you can't possibly end up allied."
"If we're doing it that way, then I call Tim," Bruce said immediately.
"I call Babs," Dick countered, draping his arm across his girlfriend's shoulders.
"Sap," Damian rolled his eyes.
Dick just grinned. "You'll understand some day, little brother."
"Fine. Alfred," Bruce selected.
"And that means I get Dami!"
"Really, Father? You're abandoning me to the Sap Squad?"
"Sweet! That's our team name. 'Sap Squad'. Good job, Dami; it makes us sound like we cut down Christmas trees for a living."
The boy slumped. "Ugh. Great." Looking utterly miserable, he trudged over to sit on the couch beside his cuddled-up teammates. "...You two had better not drool on me or anything."
"If we start drooling we won't be able to play charades very well," Barbara remarked.
"So we'll save it for later," Dick added. "The drooling, not the charades. Let's get those started."
"I assume this is played just like normal charades?" Barbara inquired.
"Right," Tim answered. "It's just that all the stuff you have to act out is Christmas-themed." A box appeared under his nose. "...And apparently I'm going first." Fishing a card out, he stood up and moved into the space that had been cleared in front of the couches. "Who has the timer?"
"I do, Master Tim. Whenever you're ready."
"Okay..." He glanced at his card. "Go!"
The hourglass was flipped, and Tim thrust three fingers into the air. "Three words," Bruce interpreted.
A nod, and then six more fingers popped up.
"Nine," said Alfred.
An elaborate sphere was outlined in the air behind Tim, and he pantomimed combing out long hair and putting on makeup. Then he raised his hands and began to spin in silent, steady circles, tossing his head about and giving a simpering smile all the while.
"Nine ladies dancing," Bruce judged.
"Bingo," Tim said, dropping his act. "That's five points for us."
"Being a lady suits you," Damian smirked. "Maybe you should try it on a more permanent basis."
"I rather just watch you fail at charades. Here." He shoved the box at his brother. "It's your turn to dance."
"Yay, Dami!" Dick cheered.
The boy shot him a look. "I haven't done anything yet."
"I know. I'm just excited. C'mon, pick a card!"
"...Ready, Master Damian?" Alfred inquired once he stood at the front of the room and had peeked at his card.
"Yeah. I'm ready."
"Two words," Dick and Barbara said together. Damian bent his wrists so that his fingers dangled below his chin.
"Cthulu," Tim joked.
"You know that's Dami's Santa," Dick chastised gently. "So, Santa?"
Damian managed to nod an affirmative and glare at Tim simultaneously. Then he raised his hands and rested them atop his head with the fingers still splayed.
"Santa's moose?" Dick wrinkled his nose. "I've never heard of Santa's moose."
"It's Santa's reindeer," Barbara corrected. "He's just giving them the wrong antlers, that's all."
"How do I know the difference between reindeer and moose?" Damian complained. "Seriously, Grayson. Santa's moose? It's a good thing Gordon's not an idiot, or we wouldn't have any points."
"Brains and beauty," Dick grinned at the woman. "That's a potent combination."
"Keep your potency to yourself," Bruce said as he took a card and rose from his seat. "At least until after my turn."
"Go, sir," Alfred directed as he rotated the timer.
The billionaire indicated that he had long, pointed ears. "Mr. Spock?" Tim guessed. "...Wait, he has nothing to do with Christmas..."
"Nice job, smart one," Damian scoffed.
"I believe that's supposed to indicate an elf, young sir. But good try."
In the end Bruce's card proved to have read 'The Elf on the Shelf'. Once that was settled and Tim had been sufficiently teased for guessing a Star Trek character, the box was passed to Dick. "Ooh," he let out as he read his assignment. "That's a toughie. Okay, Alfred, I'm ready."
"Go."
He held up three fingers, then dropped instantly to one knee, put on a hopeful, pleading look, and pretended to hold up a small box.
"Worst. Proposal. Ever," Damian said.
Dick shook his head. He proceeded to slip a non-existent ring onto an invisible finger, lift a transparent veil, and deliver a smooch to the air.
"Marry," Barbara said. "We've got that. What else?"
Her boyfriend's finger tapped against his chin as if was thinking. His other hand hovered above his head, curled in a fist, and then opened up suddenly.
"What does a lightbulb have to do with getting married?" Damian queried.
"Who wants to get married in the dark?" Tim joked.
"Shut up, Drake. It's not your turn."
"Maybe it's more abstract," Barbara pondered. "An idea? But that doesn't go with getting married, either..."
"And none of it goes with Christmas," her teammate griped. "What are you trying to say, Grayson? You want to marry an idea?"
Dick appeared to be on the verge of apoplexy. The lightbulb above his head flickered on and off, and when that continued to not yield results he began to gesture wildly at his cheerful green pullover. "Ugly sweater wedding?" Damian guessed.
"I don't think it's an ugly sweater," Barbara rebutted. "Although at least ugly sweaters are things people wear at Christmas."
"Time's up I'm afraid, Master Dick," Alfred said.
Dick let out the frustrated noise he'd been holding in for thirty seconds. "Gaaah! That card is impossible." His eyes slipped to where Bruce was sitting with a smug look on his face. "...You knew what it was all along, didn't you?"
"From the second that lightbulb popped on over your head."
"What was it?" Tim, Damian, and Barbara all queried.
"Merry and bright," the billionaire replied. Dick groaned and slumped to the carpet, nodding in defeat.
"'Merry and bright'?" Damian repeated, gaping. "How did you get that?!"
"Marry...merry," Barbara sighed. "I didn't even think about homonyms."
"And lightbulbs as well as Master Dick's jumper are bright," Alfred finished off. "...Goodness, that is difficult."
"And that is why the two of you aren't allowed to be on the same team any more," Tim stated. "No one should be able to get that card correct. I'm pretty sure it's in there just to tick people off."
"I believe that makes it my turn, yes?" the butler inquired. "Here's hoping for something a bit more manageable than what Master Dick drew..."
They went through their groups over and over again, making utter fools of themselves as they flapped and flailed around the room in an attempt to convey what was written on their cards. One team would pull ahead for a while only to be overtaken by a hot streak from the other side, and each reversal was met with higher and higher emotions. Despite the flip-flopping of the scores, they were tied as they went into what Bruce had declared would be the last round due to the fast-approaching patrol hour.
"Ah-hah," Alfred smiled as he read the penultimate card. "You may turn the timer, Master Tim." As soon as sand began to flow, he held up one finger to indicate that the answer was a single word.
"Oh, come on!" Damian exclaimed.
"Hush, Dami, it could still be really hard," Dick shushed him.
That one word, Alfred indicated next, had two syllables. The first one was easily indicated with a shake of his head – 'no'. It was the later half of the word that proved difficult, particularly since the butler's way of expressing it was to sit down on the floor with his legs out in front of him and indicate himself from head to toe.
"Nosit, no seat, nosat, nougat...Nougat?" Tim ventured. "...No. Um..."
"North? Your legs are pointing north," Bruce suggested."
"No, no, no...no..."
"Yes!" Damian's cheer broke through the thick atmosphere. "Time's up!"
"NOEL!" Bruce and Tim shouted at the same time. A beat passed as they turned to each other with disbelieving looks on their faces.
"Did we really miss that by, like, half a second?" the younger asked.
"...Yes," the elder ground out. "Noel. Jesus."
Tim buried his face in his hands. "He was sitting in an 'L' shape. How did we not get that?!"
"We'll chalk it up to the fact that we've spent two hours playing this game," Alfred allowed as he stood up and dusted his spotless pants off. "No hard feelings. Besides, it could still end in a tie if Miss Barbara fails to adequately relay her topic."
"Not gonna happen," Dick said. Leaning forward, he rubbed his hands together eagerly. "Let's show 'em how it's done, pretty lady."
But Barbara blanched when she saw her card. "Oh, great," Damian complained.
"No, it's okay!" she assured. "It's...it's okay. I think we can do this. It's hard, but...I think we can do this." Her eyes met Dick's. "...Ready?"
"Flip it, Alfred!" he cried.
Two fingers went up, and then began pointing back over the boys' heads. They craned around to look. "Christmas tree?!"
Tim groaned.
But Barbara was shaking her head. Lifting her hands to his mouth, she indicated something spilling out.
"This card makes you want to vomit?" Tim jested.
"Shut up, Drake."
"It's a song," Dick guessed. "Well that's easy; 'Oh Christmas Tree'!"
"Too long," Bruce reminded him.
"Dang, you're right. It's only two words, isn't it? It's got to have something to do with the tree, though. Umm…"
Barbara was smiling and nodding even as she flew into a new set of gestures. Indicating a pair of horns on her head, she sang a silent opera. Then she appeared to pick something up and fill it from a tap before toasting wildly and swilling down the beverage. She repeated those motions over and over again, her expression growing desperate as the level of sand in the top of the hourglass grew low.
"Five seconds," Alfred warned.
"Come on!" Damian pleaded.
"Four," Tim began to count down.
"Christmas tree…song…" Dick muttered.
"Three."
"Shut up, Drake!"
Tim narrowed his eyes at the youngest member of the group. "…Two."
"Horns…opera…drinks…wait…beer?" Dick's eyes widened. "It's German. A German Christmas tree song."
"One!"
"It's 'O Tannenbaum'!"
"YES!" Barbara shrieked joyfully as a collective groan rose from the other team. "It's 'O Tannenbaum'! You got it! Oh, that was the best game of charades I've ever played…" It took her a bare second after that to land on her boyfriend's lap and pull him down into a triumphant kiss. When they broke out of it, Dick grinned at Damian.
"Sorry for the display, little brother," he apologized jokingly.
But Damian just smiled back, victory writ large in his eyes. "Grayson," he said permissively, "considering what you just did, I'll even let you kiss her a second time without any complaint."
"What a prize! Excuse me for a minute," he addressed the losers. "I'll be right back." And then he dove into another round of lip-lock.
"…We have to win next year, guys," Tim pressed, looking tactfully away from his elder brother.
"Or at least make them take their celebration into another room if they beat us again," Bruce added.
"We'll simply have to practice between now and then," Alfred deemed.
"I hope you mean charades, not kissing," Tim said, blinking hard.
"Naturally, Master Tim."
"Next year," Bruce nodded. "Next year is ours."
"Good luck with that," Dick challenged as he came up for air again. "Maybe Babs and I will practice charades in the meantime, too."
"Hey!" Damian broke in. "What about me?!"
"You're too young to practice the charades he's talking about," Tim deadpanned.
"I meant charades charades, Timmy."
"'Charades'," Tim repeated, drawing air quotes.
"You're a charade, Drake," the boy accused. "…But seriously, are we going to practice?"
"Relax, Dami," Dick soothed. "We'll practice. First we'll out-charade the rest of the family, then all of Gotham, and eventually the entire world. Sound good?"
Barbara laughed. "You'd make a terrible super villain, you know that?"
"Good thing I never aspired to be one of those, then, huh?"
"Yeah. I don't think I'm allowed to date them."
"In that case, I would definitely be changing careers."
"Speaking of careers and super villains," Bruce announced, "it's about that time."
"Oh! Oh, I've got this one!" Leaping up, Dick pranced into the center of the room and held up three fingers.
"Three words," Tim said obediently. "…Two syllables?" he added when one digit disappeared. "No? The number two, then?"
There was a nod. Then Dick flapped his arms and pretended to glide about. When he returned to his starting position he put both arms over his head and pretended to huddle beneath them.
"Two kabuki theaters?" Alfred suggested, looking puzzled.
"That…makes no sense," Damian frowned.
Only Bruce chuckled. "…To the Batcave," he explained.
The man cowering under his own limbs beamed. "Haha! He's got it! Charades are over; now, to the Batcave!"
"That's it; you're not allowed to play anymore. Punny charades are an instant ban," Tim said.
"Then you're not allowed to play anymore," Damian countered.
"Then you're-"
"Everyone's playing again," the billionaire cut them off. "...But not right now. Right now we're listening to your brother."
"…Huh?" Damian wrinkled his nose.
"What do you mean?" Tim asked.
"I mean," Bruce smirked, "to the Batcave!"