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The Wayne family had a tradition of late night ice cream confessions that ranged from spilling the name of a crush to sharing a nightmare that made every corner in the manor come alive. It was something of a peculiar advent that had been adopted over the years of impromptu rendezvous at the far less formal kitchen table. Blood, sweat, and tears had been shared on that table. And so had almost every flavor of ice cream known to man.
It didn't particularly matter how late it was, or how many times Bruce found one of his kids sitting at that sturdy kitchen table eating a pint of Ben and Jerry's, there was always still that awful clutch in his stomach where he worried over which type of visit he’d be sharing. Laughter or tears–there wasn’t often a hard line between the two.
Bruce strode into the kitchen already aware of the second presence at the table and he offered a lifted brow by way of greeting on his way to the freezer. It had been a few weeks since Dick had graced the manor with his presence and longer yet since he’d found his way to the ice cream and that table. Bruce already knew Dick would have found a carton of mint chocolate chip, something Alfred always kept on hand, just in case. One might think that Dick would have gone for bubble gum, or something just a bit more juvenile, considering his taste in cereal. But Dick liked the classics when he was feeling particularly bummed. Which meant this visit wasn’t likely to be a chipper one.
Slippers shuffling across the tile, Bruce stared briefly into the misty void of the freezer, then tugged out a fresh carton of cookie dough ice cream for himself. He stopped to grab a spoon out of the drawer by the sink and faltered a moment before collecting a couple of paper towels too.
The rule was unspoken that conversation shouldn’t begin just yet–Bruce intended to keep that rule. Taking his favorite seat closest to the window, Bruce propped his feet up on the opposite chair, and then worked at peeling open his ice cream. The quiet hum of the refrigerator in tandem with Bruce’s crinkling ministrations was oddly comforting and Bruce settled peacefully into the process. He managed one bite of ice cream, savoring the chocolate and dairy confection, then heard Dick shift his focus to Bruce.
Sometimes it only took five minutes, sometimes twenty. Tonight was three.
“Couldn't sleep either?”
Bruce shrugged a shoulder, taking another stab at his ice cream, “No. Hard to sleep when there's so much on my mind.”
Dick grunted an agreement. Then, “I heard you and Clark got into it at the JLA meeting. Everyone’s been texting about it.”
Bruce felt the corner of his mouth tug into a weary smile, “It wasn’t that big of a fight. Let's not talk about me,” he pointed at Dick with his spoon, “Tell me about you.”
Dick paused, seeming to really ponder that statement. His hands were loosely wrapped around the carton in front of him and Bruce could see he’d been sitting at the table long enough half the ice cream was runny. His lips pressed briefly into a thin white line then he shook his head as if he was stuck on how to even begin. For a moment, Bruce thought that Dick wasn't going to talk to him. It happened.
Occasionally, Richard actually liked to keep things to himself. Rarely. But it was still a possibility. Another unspoken rule of the late night ice cream was that anyone could talk about anything or they could talk about nothing. No pressure. No judgments.
In Dick’s case, if he didn’t speak now, it would be later. He would eventually decide that he needed to speak to somebody about what was bothering him. And then he would come find Bruce.
“It's Kori.”
Bruce waited for more but long seconds of silence followed. Dick’s face was a frustrated mask as he picked his sodden ice cream carton back up and started fidgeting with it. His wariness was palpable and it made Bruce’s instinct to fix it swell in his chest like a nest of bees that got kicked.
“You know she's the new leader of the Titans. And while I want her to take on this position and fill the role of leader completely, I find myself stepping on her toes left and right. That's causing a lot of tension between the two of us.”
That was something Bruce could understand and empathize with.
Bruce nodded, “It's difficult to relinquish control. Especially when you're used to being a leader. You're naturally gifted in leading people, Dick. It stands to reason giving that up would be hard to do. Giving that up with a team that you’ve previously led would be even harder.”
Dick frowned, “Natural leader or not, it's making Koriand'r feel like I'm completely undermining her. And it's making the entire team uncomfortable. They don't like mom and dad fighting.”
Bruce snorted, “I understand the sentiment. Clark and I haven't exactly been making the Justice League feel comfortable lately either.”
Dick shot him a look, scooping a spoonful of drippy ice cream from his carton, then letting it fall back like a child playing with his food. It took a great deal of willpower for Bruce not to say anything about it.
“Your turn. Tell me what you and Clark are fighting about now.”
Bruce pursed his lips, contemplating how much was too much when it came to sharing information with his son. There was very little that he kept from his children. But occasionally he felt distinctly uncomfortable with revealing too much about his vulnerabilities. Clark was a huge vulnerability. Especially considering the level of his involvement with the man and their history in a romantic relationship.
“It's more of the same really. Clark doesn't like when I take risks, he questions me in front of everyone else, I get angry, then we go at each other's throats. When we're in private, we end up fighting about him undermining me as a leader of the team.”
Dick bit his lip, “That sounds familiar…Were you putting yourself at undue risk?”
The question was asked softly, but Bruce could feel the reprimand in his tone. They all knew how stubborn Bruce could be, himself included. He was well aware of his faults and his weaknesses and now wasn’t the time to go over what had already been done countless times over. No matter how right his children and Clark and Alfred were about it.
Silence was answer enough.
Yes, Bruce took too many risks. While he'd gotten better at remembering that he had people who depended upon him surviving to the next morning, he still found himself pushing harder than he should, taking risks that he didn't need to. He wasn't as young as he used to be. However much it infuriated him to hear Clark tell him so.
“You two will work it out,” Dick said quietly, a soft look crossing his brow, “You always do.”
“Somehow or another.”
Dick shot him a toothy smile. The grin dropped years of stress from his eyes and made him look far younger than he was. It reminded Bruce of when Dick was just a little boy, easily pleased with almost anything.
“You know that you and Kori will figure it out too.”
“Of course,” Dick said jokingly, but his eyes were less strained than when Bruce had first walked into the kitchen. So that was something.
The silence that followed grew soft and feather-like as he and Dick continued to eat or push around their ice cream. It was more for show at that point. Just as Bruce was about to close up his carton and give up for the night, the back door off the kitchen creaked open, and a familiar dark head of hair peaked in.
Dick’s attention snapped up, then he broke into a tired laugh. “It must be a full moon. Look what the cat dragged in.”
Jason scowled at the two of them in response and Bruce was reminded of a cat having been dropped into a tub of icy water. He looked exhausted. With damp hair and soggy clothes, Jason trudged across the kitchen floor, creaking and squeaking the whole way. He opened the freezer wordlessly, and retrieved his own pint of ice cream. Rocky Road. Jason stopped to grab a spoon out of the drawer, picking the largest one there was, then practically collapsed at the table beside them. He took a seat furthest from Dick and Bruce, immediately digging into his pint. The two of them let him eat about half the container, before Dick reached over and poked Jason in the shoulder with his spoon.
“What?” the growl that came out of Jason was barely human.
Jason's voice sounded hoarse and like he'd been screaming all night. Bruce tensed and leaned forward to study his second eldest more closely. He couldn’t see any obvious injuries but it wouldn’t be the first time that Jason had been mortally wounded and simply kept it to himself. Worry curdled with the ice cream in Bruce’s stomach and made him feel nauseous.
“You look awful,” Dick said blandly.
“ Well don't you just look beautiful yourself, Sunshine?”
Dick’s brows lifted but he didn't take the bait. He was one of the best at navigating Jason’s mercurial moods to root out the crux of an issue. No one had his finesse or patience, or more likely no one was Dick. Jason just liked him best.
“So, why do you look like garbage, J? Spill.”
“I've been busy working, unlike the two of you slugs. Why are you both in here so early tonight? It's not even 2:00 AM.”
Dick glanced over at Bruce and Bruce shrugged.
“It's quiet in Gotham tonight. I did an early patrol then headed home. No need to waste my time on the street. Besides, I thought you’d be happy with how much you two have been ragging on me to cut back now that I’m getting so goddamn old.”
Dick barked out a surprised laugh, having completely given up on his ice cream he pushed it to the side. “Well, I have no excuse. I didn't go on patrol at all tonight. I came to the manor for some cold hard moping time.”
“Figures,” Jason stabbed angrily at his ice cream and pushed an obscenely massive scoop into his mouth. Bruce had no idea how Jason managed to eat ice cream like that without getting a killer brain freeze. But Jason had long ago claimed he was impervious to such trivial things as brain freezes. It had been an hour long argument between the boys of whether or not said talents could be claimed as a super power or not.
Group consensus was not, much to Jason’s disappointment.
“Are you going to tell us why you look like you do, Jason?” Bruce tried, giving his son all of his attention with a bit of concern coloring his tone.
Jason rolled his eyes, “If I tell you, you have to respect the kitchen code. No laughing, no poking at me. No bringing it up later,” he gestured at Dick, “That’s for you, Dickbird.”
“Jay…”
Jason snorted, “Sorry.”
Dick appeared completely unphased by the crude nickname and simply raised both hands in a sign of surrender. Bruce nodded for Jason to go on, allowing his posture to shift into something more open and welcoming. He was well aware of how little Jason tended to open up to anyone about anything. And any chance they got at these late night dining room table meetups, he took advantage of getting a glimpse behind the curtains. Anything was better than nothing.
“Like Bruce said, it was a quiet night tonight. I got a little bored so I did some poking around in my old haunts.”
“You went looking for trouble,” Bruce said stiffly.
Jason shrugged, “You call it looking for trouble, I call it entertainment. I went kicking around in a rat nest, and came up with paydirt. I found Black Mask neck-deep in a shipment of cocaine coming off the Gotham harbor, and he wasn't too happy about it. Naturally, I interrupted the shipment and began cleaning house.”
“So, what went wrong, then?” Dick asked.
Jason pursed his lips, his pale cheeks suddenly dusting with pink along the apples and tops of his ears. It was as amusing as it was comforting to see that Jason still had the capacity to be embarrassed about anything.
“Well, as it happens, I interrupted a police sting.”
“Oh Jay,” Dick said quietly and Jason waved a hand to silence him.
“They'd been working Black Mask in this cocaine shipment for almost a year. I completely blew the operation out of the water. Things got heated between me and this other officer that was running the thing. It got a little physical, and I ended up getting shoved into the Bay.”
Bruce and Dick stared at Jason, unsure how much of Jason’s story had been censured and how much had been outright fabricated. Occasionally, Jason would embellish or alter details of his exploits to prevent getting into deeper hot water with Bruce. Sometimes Bruce dug deeper and sometimes, Bruce let it lie rather than picking a fight when he had no energy for it.
“So, a police officer pushed you into the Bay?” Bruce knew his voice sounded like he didn't believe anything coming out of Jason's mouth. He wasn’t doing a good job of keeping the non-judgemental rule of the kitchen in play.
Jason laughed acerbically, “Is that so hard for you to believe, old man? Sometimes crap happens and it’s not my fault. This time, it really wasn't.”
“I feel like you're not telling us the whole story,” Dick murmured, folding his hands under his chin. He had dark circles under his eyes that looked like he’d been socked in the nose to gain. Bruce wondered if he should nudge him off to bed.
Jason shoveled in a new mouthful of ice cream and shrugged both shoulders. “Your choice if you want to believe me or not.”
“If that was all that happened, then why are you here eating ice cream? We all know the only reason you come here in the middle of the night to do the ice cream dance is because of relationship tension. So…”
Jason’s shoulders had gone taut and that blush from earlier was back in full force. Bruce lifted a brow in question about to start pushing from his end too when Jason sagged in defeat.
“So, I may or may not have known this officer previously.”
Bruce watched Jason’s blush color all the way to his hairline as he kept his gaze away from the two of them. And that was an answer in itself.
“Jason, please don't tell me that you were sleeping with that officer. Who is she?”
“He,” Jason mumbled.
Dick paused, then let loose a low whistle, “He? This just got a hell of a lot juicier than I thought it would. Jason Todd, what hast thou done?”
It was as close to squirming as Bruce had ever seen Jason. While Jason had come out to everyone as bisexual a year previous, he’d been dancing around flirtations with male cohorts like he was afraid to take the leap. Bruce had done his best to show how obviously supportive he was of his son, but he’d also not wanted to get in the way. Mostly, he’d only been able to watch and hope Jason figured out he could bring home whatever made him happy and Bruce wouldn’t care either way.
Jason shifted in his seat, put the lid back on his ice cream then looked up at the two of them with resolve shining in his gaze.
“Not that it's any of your business, but I've got a little bit of a thing going on with somebody at the GCPD. Sometimes we meet up and sometimes we have dinner. Just depends on the night.”
“Fuck buddies with a cop?” Dick’s eyes were gleaming like he'd been given the best gift ever.
Jason scowled, “Don't start with me Dick. I know that I’m not the only man whore in this house. And you either,” Jason accused, pointing a finger at Bruce’s chest. “I don’t want to hear it. No judgement zone.”
Bruce lifted both hands, “Nobody is judging you, Jason. Least of all me. I just hope you know what you're doing. The GCPD still has a lot of dirty cops in it.”
“It can't be any worse than dating somebody in the JLA or Titans. Now that’s like shitting in your own backyard.”
“Touche”, Dick murmured, looking like he’d been slapped upside the head. Bruce had heard that and more long enough it didn’t really bother him like it used to. The ship for avoiding tangled connections with Clark had sailed long, long ago.
“Can I assume that the two of you are fighting with your significant others and that's why you're both here?” Jason sniffed like he’d just taken a dip from a sniff box, his chin lifting. It made Bruce’s mouth twitch.
“Yes, and since you asked so nicely–”
“I didn’t.”
“--I’ll tell you all about it. I've been butting heads with Kori trying to let her take over the Titans. She's the new leader and I need to back off, but I keep stepping on her toes. She's been forgiving about it, but I'm on thin ice.”
“Unsurprising that you've picked up so many control-freak issues considering who raised us,” Jason smirked at Bruce and then turned his attention fully onto Bruce, “And you? What are you and Clarky arguing about now?”
Bruce shook his head with exasperated fondness, then gave into Jason’s query. Kitchen rules made it easier to open up with very little provocation.
“What we often fight about, J. I risk my life too often, Clark gets worried about my safety, I fight back at feeling controlled. And around and around it goes. We all know I'm an idiot.”
Jason laughed warmly, tapping a spoon on the table, “At least you're self-aware, old man. Better than a lot of us.”
“No bits of wisdom for me?” Dick teased, nudging Jason under the table with his foot.
“No. You’re hopeless. Only god knows how Kori hasn’t run for the hills already.”
“I’ll have you know, I’m a catch.”
Jason batted his eyelashes at Dick and blew him a big raspberry, “Too sexy for your own good. It’s getting hot in here!”
The boys laughed and traded good-natured insults for another handful of minutes, then slowly fell silent, each getting lost in their thoughts. The quiet that settled over the three of them was welcome and familiar. They didn't need to fix each others’ problems, or really offer any solid advice. The sharing of their relationship problems was more like letting off steam, lifting a pressure valve. It made them feel like they were closer when their worlds were so different and tugging them in different directions.
Bruce treasured their late night conversations and knew every one of them was a gift he didn’t truly deserve. He hoped they wouldn’t ever stop having them. He would be bereft if the boys ever decided they were done.
By 3, Bruce stood to put away ice cream cartoons and tidy up the counter, before Alfred saw the mess. But of course, that was when Alfred slipped into the kitchen like a man arriving late to the party. His tired eyes warmed when they drifted over Jason and Dick, before settling back on Bruce, a half smile lifting his mouth.
“I came down for a spot of tea. I've got the late night munchies and could eat something scrummy about now.”
“Is this a biscuits or a scones kind of scrummy, Alf?”
Alfred’s smile stretched to full wattage and it made Bruce's chest ache with how good of a grandfather he was to the boys. It didn't matter that their family was mismatched, or that none of it was by blood. Alfred had helped him raise all the boys in their house just like he'd raised Bruce. Bruce could not imagine having done it without him.
“As it happens, Master Richard, I made scones earlier today. It must have been a premonition.”
Dick rubbed his hands together happily, “Yasssss!”
Jason stood, stretched his hands overhead, and made his back pop audibly drawing Alfred’s attention and censure. He frowned at the young man, then shook his head.
“Master Jason, go change out of those wet clothes at once. You'll catch yourself a cold. Once you are finished, come down for that spot of tea. You'll need warmed up.”
Bruce stifled the urge to laugh at Jason's sour expression, and strode over to the stovetop to gather the teapot to boil water. Alfred joined him quietly, a brush of fingers against his own in greeting, a small sound of approval as Bruce turned the burner on and the flame lit the gas.
“Thanks, Alf.”
Alfred brushed shoulders with Bruce, as much a hug as any typical person might offer. But Alfred was Alfred. Bruce appreciated the gesture all the same.
Turning to face the kitchen, Bruce leaned on the counter while watching Alfred and Dick converse quietly over preparing the plate of scones. It was a familiar scene, one that warmed every bit of his heart and made his eyes sting. He was probably getting a little bit too sentimental in his old age. Or too soft.
But he'd stopped caring about that sort of thing a long time ago too.
Reaching into his pocket, Bruce pulled up Clark's contact information in his phone. He found the thread for their text messages, then fired off a simple message.
I'm sorry for what I said earlier. You were right. I know you're only ever trying to look out for me.
It took less than 30 seconds for Bruce’s phone to vibrate. A glance down at the screen and he smiled.
I love you Bruce. You know all I ever want is to make sure that you stay safe, right? Tell the boys I said thank you.
Bruce didn't need to ask what Clark meant by that, he knew that Clark knew about their kitchen late-night chats. It was something that Clark respected, and appreciated. Over the years, Clark likely counted on those chats to help smooth out the wrinkles between them.
Do you wanna come over? Bruce typed out the message and hit send before he could rethink it.
Clark's answer was faster than the first.
I was already on my way. I'll be there in 5 minutes.
Bruce shook his head, grinning, then slid his phone back into his robe pocket. Dick and Alfred were already seated at the table digging into the scones and Jason had meandered back into the kitchen wearing a pair of Bruce’s sweatpants and an old band shirt that was probably Tim's because it was a bit small on him. His ragtag family gathered for their odd little social.
It should have been strange having scones and tea in the middle of the night, but it wasn't. It was perfect. Bruce wouldn't have wanted it any other way.