Warning: Some mild language . . .
"So, who's willing to go first," Elle asked, cheerfully.
If it weren't too cold for crickets, she could have probably heard them chirping at this point. She looked around at the men who make up the Bat Clan, and felt the realization slowly dawning on her that the bravest men she knew were chickenshit when it came to karaoke! The one thing of which she was certain was that she could not go first or no one else would follow and this would become all about her.
"Seriously . . .?" She stared at them. "It's not difficult. The screen puts up the words and there's this little bouncing ball that goes along lighting up the words in the rhythm you are supposed to sing to."
Silence reigned . . .
"Are you kidding me?" Elle glanced at Dick. He smiled back sheepishly, but didn't volunteer. She appealed to the others. "It's just a game! Really, it's a lot of fun! The Japanese do this all the time!"
Dick cleared his throat. "They also do this in bars," he reminded her. "With lots and lots of alcohol."
"Why don't you go first and demonstrate how it's done," Bruce suggested to Elle slyly.
She gave him a look that spoke very clearly that she was onto him.
"Alfred, can you get me some scrap paper and a couple of pens?" Elle turned to Dick. "I need a hat."
"I'll get it," Damian volunteered and dashed off.
In a few minutes, Tim and Bruce were tearing up pieces of paper as Elle and Dick wrote on them. Damian came in with a baseball cap.
"Will this do," he asked.
"It will be perfect," she assured him.
When the boy started to move off, Dick snatched him up and settled him on the floor between his and Elle's feet. The fact that he settled in so quickly and quietly told Elle that he was extremely satisfied with his new position. She was smiling as she finished scribbling on the last square of paper.
She dumped the first pile of notes into the baseball cap.
"Okay, gentlemen," she told them. "This is how we are going to do this. You will each take two pieces of paper. You can share what you get or you can keep them to yourselves."
She passed the hat to Tim who sat in the chair on the other side of her. Obediently, if reluctantly, Tim dipped his hand into the hat and took the required pieces of paper. He passed the hat to Bruce before reading the notes. He chose to keep silent.
Bruce took his pieces with a small sigh. The man was highly intelligent. He already knew how this was going to work, and seemed to accept his fate. He passed the hat to Alfred who proceeded to pass the hat back to Dick.
"Oh no, Alfred," Dick cried. "You are an integral part of this family. We couldn't function without you. You have to take two pieces of paper as well."
"My job is to serve the beverages and snacks," Alfred corrected him; pushing the hat back in his direction.
"Huh uh," Tim spoke up. "If I have to, then so do you."
"Dick's right, Alfred," Bruce declared authoritatively. "You are as much a part of this family as anyone else here. You must participate with us."
Elle smiled at him encouragingly. "Please, Alfred? It wouldn't be the same without you."
The butler's shoulders seemed to slump even as he appeared pleased with the assurances of his place within this odd, little family. "Very well," he yielded graciously; taking a slip from the hat. "But only one."
Thrilled that Alfred joined in without a fuss, no one complained as Dick took the hat and his two pieces of paper. He held the cap as Damian picked out two.
"Wait! There aren't any more pieces left for Elle," Damian frowned. "You need two pieces, too!"
Elle grinned as she scooped the second pile into the hat. "I don't need any, Damian," she assured him. "I have no problem singing for all of you. And I won't be picking any of these either. I will go last. Choose only one piece this time around," she instructed. "You go first this time, Dami."
And around the ball cap went. Elle took the emptied cap from Tim and placed it on Damian's head; tugging the bill down over his eyes, playfully. Damian shoved the cap back; glaring up at Elle for a second before a smirk lifted the side of his mouth. She shoved his shoulder with her knee, and earned a giggle. It was quickly aborted, but she had heard it nonetheless and felt her heart lift in pleasure.
"All right," she declared with a happy smile. "Who has number one?"
Tim glumly raised up his slip of paper.
"Choose one of the songs on one of your other two slips of paper," Elle told him.
Tim studied the two songs for a moment, before handing one of the other slips to Elle. She looked at it, and smiled as she ran through a list of songs on the USB she had inserted into the karaoke machine.
"This is one of my favorites," she announced as she turned the machine toward him so that Tim could read the lyrics. She offered him the microphone. "You don't have to use the mike if you don't want to, but you have to sing loud enough for all of us to hear."
Tim took the mike from her, but let it dangle from his hands. He nodded, looking, for all the world, like he was facing his own death.
Elle giggled at his discomfort, and nudged him lightly. "Come on," she coaxed. "It won't be so bad."
He sighed. "Whatever you say," he mumbled.
The music started, and although he fumbled the first couple of words, Tim began to sing The Christmas Song.
"Chestnuts roasting on an open fire . . . Jack Frost nipping at your nose.
Yuletide carols being sung by a choir . . . And folks dressed up like Eskimos.
Everybody knows a turkey and some mistletoe . . . Help to make the season bright.
Tiny tots with their eyes all aglow . . . Will find it hard to sleep tonight."
Elle's breath caught in her throat at Tim's pure, clear, tenor voice. Every note was sung in perfect pitch. His cheeks were flushed with embarrassment although he had absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about.
Taking pity on him, Elle began singing with him in harmony. Tim looked a little startled, but a slight smile appeared as his solo became a duet. His cheeks brightened for a second, but then slowly the blush faded as he became more comfortable singing in front of the small group.
She let him sing another few lines of the song solo again, and this time he managed without the previous shyness. Then she came in again to sing with him for the song's ending.
There was a moment of stunned silence, and then everyone broke out in applause! Tim's blush was back, but it was accompanied by a large grin.
"I had no idea you could sing," Bruce exclaimed, clapping enthusiastically.
"That was marvelous," Alfred beamed.
"I didn't know you had it in you," Dick laughed.
Damian didn't say anything, but he clapped slowly with an odd expression on his face. He looked up at Elle. "Is that how it's supposed to go?"
"Yes, that how it goes," she grinned at him, but also recognized his nervous look. Leaning down, she whispered in his ear. "I know this is your first time, Damian, so don't worry about singing by yourself. I'll sing it with you. I realize you may not know these songs. You can choose something that someone else sings first if you like; that way you'll know how it goes."
"I don't know if I can sing like Drake, though," he told her softly.
"You don't have to sing like Tim," Elle assured him. "Honestly, part of the fun is when people get flustered and screw up, or when they can't sing at all. A lot of people will just make up the words and don't even bother to follow the bouncing dot. It can be very funny, and this is about having fun. No one will tease you about it afterwards."
"Drake . . ." he started.
"Tim won't tease you, I promise," she told him. "If he does, I'll punch him in the arm as hard as I can."
As far as threats went, it was sad, but it satisfied Damian enough that he didn't look so pale anymore.
"So, who's up next," she asked.
Bruce sighed, and held up his paper. Elle smiled widely at him as she took the slip that had the song of choice on it and exchanged it for a microphone. He looked at it in horror and held it away from him as if it were an angry snake.
Thankfully, Elle didn't correct him, but just did her little adjustment of the karaoke machine and a few seconds later it was spitting out the beginning notes of the song he was to sing. He couldn't make himself start, however.
"Ah, this is a bad idea," he muttered, and frowned as the mike still picked up his voice from so far away.
Elle stopped the music and looked at him.
"Mr. Wayne . . ."
"Bruce, Elle," he reminded her again. "You are a part of the family now. You can call me Bruce."
"Bruce," she said, not unkindly. "Who told you that you couldn't sing?"
His eyes looked up at Alfred and he felt his cheeks begin to burn. "Ah, well, you wouldn't know her . . ."
Alfred took pity and explained. "There was an unfortunate incident that happened when Master Bruce was in middle school."
"Shannon Miller," Bruce blurted. "Her name was Shannon Miller."
Elle's face hardened and her tone was clipped. "Shannon Miller was wrong," she snapped. "Everyone can sing! Everyone has the right to sing, no matter their talent. Singing is making a joyful noise, and that is all it is. To tell someone that they cannot express their emotions in song should be a crime."
Dick looked at her startled. In fact, they all did.
"I didn't know you felt so strongly about it," Bruce said, putting all their thoughts into words. "I thought since you were such a connoisseur of music, that you wouldn't enjoy hearing it done so poorly. One would think that forcing others to listen to a voice that sounded like nails on a chalkboard would be the crime."
"Is that what she told you," Elle asked him angrily. "Music is the voice of the soul. Singing is the cry of the heart. It is a requirement to a healthy life. You hear terms like "music calms the savage beast," and "music is the universal language," and it tells you that it transcends the barriers between cultures, species, and even worlds. One does not have to do it well for it to have power."
Bruce blinked as she inadvertently reminded him that Elle's voice had power. He knew that even by simply speaking she could influence a room and ease tensions. Although he knew he was correct when he told her once that some people seem to be more affected than others, but everyone was affected in some way. Even him. Initially, he had been concerned, but later realized that her influence on him was small and subtle and he could override it if necessary. She couldn't prevent his emotions, merely encourage certain ones over others, and she did it unconsciously.
The truth was, she calmed him. Her voice relaxed him as few things in this world could do. Perhaps he should be more concerned, but he found he enjoyed her company, and she certainly was very good for Dick.
Good for the family, he thought, glancing at Tim and Damian who were on a roll for the number of days that they hadn't had a physical fight. He could start counting it from the day Dick had brought her home.
The boys still snarked at one another, but their comments seemed to no longer hold much in the way of malice. The words themselves weren't as goading or as hurtful anymore. Sometimes, Bruce thought he could even hear a note of playfulness in their teasing remarks to one another.
No, the boys were actually getting along together, even when Elle wasn't present. If appeared that her influence lingered even after she was gone. Perhaps if she used this ability, subtle though it was, for evil . . . Bruce watched her and shook his head. He couldn't imagine it. He could sense no evil in her; only a heartfelt need to help and heal. She brought laughter and music back into the manor.
Bruce had believed until recently that only Dick had held that talent. A smile curved his lips . . . It would appear that he still did. He had brought them Elle, after all.
And Jason . . .
If the prodigal son returned as Elle predicted on the morrow . . . Bruce discovered another ability the young woman possessed; one that instilled hope to those around her. For the first time, Bruce had found a flicker of hope that his family, his sons, would be reunited and maybe . . . If they were lucky, finally be healed.
Bruce broke off from his thoughts to find the room was staring at him.
"What?"
Dick's lips quirked up, amused. "We were wondering if you were actually going to sing or not, or if Shannon Miller had managed what no other villain in Gotham City has ever been able to accomplish."
Bruce quirked an eyebrow and frowned. "And what is that?"
Tim tilted his head and grinned. "Did she cow the Batman?"
"I was thirteen," Bruce quipped. "I wasn't Batman then."
Dick shook his head sadly. "Answer the question, Bruce. Did Shannon Miller beat you?"
Bruce huffed, offended. "Put on the song," he commanded.
He had only sang once voluntarily since Shannon Miller had cruelly remarked upon his voice when Bruce had been in the midst of puberty. As an adult, he knew that his voice had been in the middle of changing when she had first made fun of him, but it had prevented him from ever singing in public again.
There had only been one exception; on that first night that Dick had spent in the manor, so many years ago, Bruce sang. The nightmare had been horrific and the boy had been traumatized not only from watching his family die, but also for several weeks after when CPS decided the safest place for a small child who was the sole witness in the murder case of his parents was in a detention center.
That night Dick had screamed the house down. Bruce had just gone to bed himself when he had heard the boy. He still remembered how the sound had sent terror through his own heart enough that he had nearly torn the door off of the hinges in his efforts to get to Dick and protect him from what he was sure had been Zucco's men come to silence the boy.
But it had only been a nightmare.
Dick had been inconsolable. Bruce had difficulty in rousing him from his night terrors, and in desperation, fell back on a memory of his mother singing to him once as a boy. He hadn't been thinking of Shannon Miller then, only of calming the child in his arms when he began singing a lullaby from his happier childhood.
It had worked. After a couple of stanzas the sobs had quieted to a few watery hiccups, and shortly thereafter Dick had fallen back into sleep; somehow comforted by the warbling notes of his guardian/benefactor. He had still suffered nightmares in the months and even years ahead, but never had Bruce been forced to resort to singing again in order to calm him.
He had just been surprised to hear tonight that Dick actually remembered it.
It wasn't that bad, Dick had said.
The music began and Bruce cleared his throat nervously.
"Silent night . . . Holy night. All is calm. All is bright . . .
Round yon virgin, mother and child. Holy infant so tender and mild.
Sleep in heavenly peace; Sleep in heavenly peace . . ."
Bruce's voice wasn't bad. In fact, he could carry a tune very well. Not perfectly as Tim or as well as Dick, but his deep baritone was soothing. On the second verse, Elle opened her mouth to bring in some harmony when Alfred beat her to it. His voice was lower than Tim's, perhaps a second tenor but the impromptu duet was actually very well done to Elle's ears. She could see emotion spreading across Bruce's face and knew enough about him now to realize he wasn't aware of it.
"Silent night . . . Holy night. Son of God, love's pure light.
Radiant beams from Thy holy face. With the dawn of redeeming grace.
Jesus, Lord at Thy birth. Jesus, Lord at They birth . . ."
At the third verse, Elle joined in and was thrilled when Tim and Dick did as well. This was what she had been hoping for when she had decided to load the Karaoke machine into the car with everything else. Damian gaped at all of them, but surprisingly didn't sneer at their performance; instead, just listened with rapt attention.
"Silent night . . . Holy night. Shepherds quake . . . at the sight.
Glories stream from heaven afar . . . Heavenly hosts sing Alleluia.
Christ, the Savior, is born. Christ, the Savior, is born . . ."
They repeated the first verse together and on the last sentence, let Bruce finish the song alone. Silence followed for an entire minute as the family basked in the true spirit of the holiday.
Damian's horrified voice broke through the quiet. "You can't be serious! You don't really expect me to do that, do you, Hamilton?"
REACTIONS?
I couldn't resist a little flashback. Does anyone else find it utterly adorable that Bruce would sing to little, 8 year old Dick?
This isn't the only time I've had Bruce sing a lullaby to Dick, but it's the only time in this particular AU.
"Silent Night" was composed in 1818 by Franz Xaver Gruber to lyrics by Joseph Mohr in the small town of Oberndorf bei Salzburg, Austria (according to Wikipedia). Nope! Do not own it!
"The Christmas Song" was written in 1945 by Bob Wells and Mel Tormé. Thank you, Wikipedia . . . I do not own this one either.