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Kit — as he called her — stood on the right of the old man, greeting guests with a small, detached smile, and a polite inquiry about theirs and their family's well-being. Resplendent in a flowing gown a rich shade of green with her wildly curling hair a halo around her perfectly composed face as a waterfall of silver bats and robins dangled from her ears. Her only other adornment was a diamond tennis bracelet given to her on her sixteenth birthday by the old man around one wrist.
Those silver bats and birds jingled as Kit turned her head to address a short, squat man and his hook-nosed wife.
Every inch of her screamed pampered princess. However, Jason was fully aware there was nothing spoiled about Kit.
The man beside her hadn’t coddled any of them.
Indulged their hunger for knowledge? Fed their curiosity? Challenged them to take on complex challenges and to solve ridiculously complicated puzzles?
Absolutely.
Given them everything under the sun, moon, and stars?
Hell no.
Part of that was due to the influence of the man standing behind Kit and the old man. Jason freely admitted they’d all have turned out worse — Bruce, especially— were it not for Alfred’s influence.
Hell, he wouldn’t even be at the Ball were it not for the butler confronting him outside the Aces & Eights.
When Jason first spied the Rolls Royce outside the seedy bar he had thought it was Bruce or Dickie come to lecture him about family, obligations, and the holidays. Things he heard enough about the week before Thanksgiving. While he flatly refused attending the family dinner, he did join Kit and Alfie downtown to help feed those in need. He also helped Kit and Timbo with taking meals to those who couldn’t leave their homes.
Hunger being just one of the things he experienced while growing up.
Something he decided nobody would ever be after he became Robin. He still held to that, his death at the hands of that pasty-faced freak, and subsequent resurrection by Lucifer not diminishing his belief.
Instead of finding either Bruce or Dickie seated inside the luxury car, however, he discovered a freshly pressed pair of black slacks, the dress shirt Kit gave him for his birthday, a tie he’d sooner hang himself with than wear, and a suit jacket.
All neatly set across the backseat by the man behind the wheel.
Alfie informed him, in clear, crisp tones when he declined the old man’s invitation, how his attending the Wayne Foundation Christmas Ball was not a request by Bruce but himself. When Jason inquired why, he replied, “I can think of no greater gift to give the family than the one member they would dearly love attend.”
“I don’t do family events, Alfie.” He hadn’t been all that keen on them before his dance with the Joker. He was even less so now. Largely because of the rift between him and the old man. “You know that.”
“This year has not only seen Miss Raya’s husband murdered by that reprehensible clown, but eight others killed by the three boys he turned into monsters for the sole purpose of causing this family extreme pain and suffering. Master Timothy, especially.”
An attack which united him and Timbo outside of their sharing of the role of Robin. He, Bruce, Dickie, and Kit all belonged to what he once jokingly referred to as the Orphan’s Club.
All of them having lost parents to murdering slime balls.
Timbo became the newest member of their organization after the Joker Jrs bludgeoned his pops and their housekeeper, Mrs. Mac with a crowbar.
All for the purpose of breaking Batman. That was the whole point of the game, after all. To show the Dark Knight he was no better than those he locked away in Arkham.
In the opinion of the Joker — who Jason believed about as much as he did the Earth orbited Saturn — Batman was just as insane as the rest of the whackadoodles housed in the asylum. Batman just masked his depravity beneath what the Joker classified a bunch of “pesky principles.”
What better way to prove that beneath Batman's rigid and righteous code was a killer waiting to spring forth and unleash a torrent of violence on a city coated in its moral nihilism than to have a trio of boys torture and murder eight people?
“Miss Raya needs you, Master Jason.” Alfred spoke quietly and all the more effectively because of it. “Now more than ever.”
“Last thing Kit needs is someone like me, Alfie.”
“Miss Raya needs you to help her navigate the changes in her life.”
“She has Dickie to help her.” The argument was flimsy and Jason knew it. However, his attending the Ball wasn’t happening. Nah uh. No way. “She also has Timbo, Malcolm, and even the superfreak. She doesn’t need me.”
If he thought that closed the subject, he was sorely mistaken.
“My dear boy, Miss Raya has always needed you.” Jason’s scoff earned him one of Alfred’s patented disapproving looks. “Why do you think Master Bruce brought you home?” Jason had a few ideas but wisely kept them to himself. Alfie didn’t lose his temper often but when he did, heads rolled. “Because he knew there was no greater gift he could give than the one thing none of you had: each other.”
That was ultimately why he found himself crossing the foyer of Wayne Manor despite his contentious relationship with the old man. Kit was worth a confrontation with Bruce and the subsequent headache he’d receive because of it.
Especially since he wouldn’t even be alive had she not made a deal with the Devil himself to resurrect his ass.
A fact Jason still hadn’t fully come to terms with.
He wasn’t sure he ever would.
How was somebody supposed to reconcile they were alive because the Devil made it so?
It was just a bit hard to accept.
Even for someone from Gotham.
Where the impossible was proven possible on a monthly basis.
Bruce spotted Jason before Kit. Outside of his dark brows quirking upwards, the old man displayed no outward reaction at finding him weaving his way through the throng of people heading for the ballroom. Not a shock there, Jason groused as his gaze clashed with those electric ones. Got the best poker face in town.
Something which tended to annoy the shit outta everyone.
Dickie especially.
“Jason,” Bruce rumbled in that achingly familiar baritone once he reached where they stood. “I’m glad you decided to attend this evening.”
It was on the tip of Jason’s tongue to tell him he hadn’t attended for him but Kit turned that staggering face of hers towards him at that moment and the blistering words died on his tongue. Her mask, the one cultivated long before she entered Batman’s cartoon circus world had utterly vanished the moment those catlike eyes landed on him. In its place was a raw, naked vulnerability that tore at what little remained of Jason’s soul. Joy, surprise, curiosity, a low simmering anger and hate he understood all too well, and echoes of a grief that would never go away also flitted across her face.
The love shimmering in those green depths bolstered his shaky confidence and firmed his resolve about attending. That Kit loved him despite his numerous flaws never ceased to amaze him.
“Jason.” Her lips curved, warm with affection. “I was hoping you’d show up at some point this evening but didn’t think to expect it during the Ball.”
“Yeah, well, someone got it through my thick skull about how there was no greater gift you could be given tonight than my being here.”
“Well, whoever told you that is not only very wise, but right.” Kit set a hand on his arm. Squeezed gently. “There is no greater gift I could be given than you being here tonight.”
Jason glanced over Kit’s head to the man standing behind her. Alfred’s face was composed as always but there was a slight softening of his lips that said he was pleased to see Jason there. “Can’t thank him enough for helping pull my head outta my ass.”
“It was my pleasure to help, Master Jason.”
“The band is about to start playing,” came quietly from Bruce. “We should make our way inside the ballroom.”
“Tend to recall the tradition was Kit waltzed first with you, then Dickie, and finally Timbo.”
“Well, I’ll dance with Bruce as is tradition,” Kit said with a mildly amused look at the old man, “but not Dick or Tim.”
Jason’s brow furrowed. “Why won’t you dance with them?”
“They’re not here tonight is why.”
“They’re not?” That was strange given how Alfred made a huge deal about the family being together that night. “Where are they?”
As if he couldn’t guess where the two were or what they were doing.
“Well, Tim is in his school’s production of A Christmas Carol and Dick is consulting on a case for Gil because I’m on maternity leave.”
“You’re not attending Timbo’s play?”
That surprised him given how fanatical Kit could be about such things.
She sat through every one of the school productions I was in without once complaining.
As he had every one of her dance recitals.
Though he, at least, put up a pretense about hating going.
“I’ve seen the play six times, actually.”
That was six times more than he could’ve stomached.
The only version of the Dickens classic he could tolerate was the Disney version.
And then only cause it’s over in twenty minutes.
“Guess that means I can have their dances then.” Jason shifted his eyes to Bruce’s. Silently challenging him. “Starting with yours.”
The old man didn’t rise up and take the bait, however.
No, he flattened Jason with a much different punch.
“She’s allowed three dances before she’s to go upstairs and rest.” Jason gaped at his estranged father as he bent a stern look on Kit, who harrumphed softly. “Waltzes only, imp.”
“Guess that tango I planned is out…”
“As is anything not a waltz.”
“I’m only six months pregnant.” The roundness of her belly proof of that. “I can still do a number of the things I normally do. Like dance.”
“Waltzes only.” It wasn’t the growl but it came damn close. “And that’s final.”
“Yes, Dad,” was accompanied by a roll of Kit’s eyes. “And here I thought Uncle Jim and Gil were being unreasonable by putting me on early maternity leave…”
“You’re still seeing patients at Arkham.” The last place Jason thought Kit should be allowed in her condition but he wisely refrained from pointing that out. “And you’re allowed to help Batman in a limited capacity.”
Limited meaning from the cave below Wayne Manor.
Where Alfred could keep a watchful eye on her while the old man was out on patrol.
“Fine, I’ll waltz around the ballroom three times before taking myself upstairs.”
“I tend to recall you and Jason used to have a special Christmas Eve tradition.” Something Jason hadn’t been aware Bruce even knew about. “You’d watch Godzilla movies while waiting for me and Dick to get home.”
“Well, I was planning on watching Mothra vs Godzilla while waiting for Dick and Tim to get home…” Kit admitted with a hopeful look at Jason. “And they both agreed to watch the original Godzilla and Ghidorah, the Three-Headed Monster while waiting for the Ball to end.”
“And you mentioned you were going to pop popcorn,” Bruce helpfully supplied as Jason’s suspicions grew. “To go with the chocolate chip and oatmeal cookies you baked earlier today.”
“I also purchased peppermint gelato while bringing Master Jason’s evening attire to him.” A twinkle in Alfred’s eyes confirmed he had not only been Hoodwinked by the butler, but the man he was currently at odds with, too. A fact which aggravated him until Alfred added, “There will also be homemade pizza to accompany those sweets.”
The promise of homemade pizza smothered Jason’s ire.
As did the realization of why they tricked him into attending the Ball.
Kit did need him.
Jason just hadn’t known how much until the hand on his arm trembled in much the same way Mal’s did whenever he got overly anxious.
She already struggles with Christmas ‘cause of her mom being murdered by her shithead sperm donor right before the holiday. Now, she’s got the guilt over her dead husband and eight other people to go with it.
Trauma upon trauma being the soup du jour in Gotham.
“All meat pizza?” Jason covered Kit’s quaking hand with his free one. Offering the same support and comfort she was forever giving him. “Or has Kit finally convinced Alfie pepperoni and pineapple are the only acceptable toppings?”
“She has not won that debate,” Alfred said as Bruce turned to greet an older couple Jason vaguely recognized as the Rottingham’s. “Not yet.”
He did not acknowledge the couple or their inquisitive looks.
He wasn’t there to play host, after all.
No, he came for Kit.
Who said, “Shall we?”
The whispers started soon as they entered the ballroom.
Same as they had at his first Ball. This time, however, Jason didn’t care. They could talk all the shit they wanted about him.
If they say anything about Kit, however…
He pushed his thoughts aside as the band started playing the Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy.
The song that traditionally opened every Ball.
Was the first waltz of the evening.
Always danced by the old man and the woman he was currently escorting out onto the floor.
There was only one other year where Bruce and Kit didn’t open the Ball and that was because she arrived after it started.
And chose me as her partner for that waltz instead of Bruce.
Six Christmases had passed since that first waltz and many things had changed.
About him and her and the cartoon circus world to which they belonged.
The Waltz of the Flowers played immediately afterwards.
Brought another series of bittersweet memories as he and Kit took their second turn around the dance floor.
As most of his recollections from the time he spent under this roof were.
Many of ‘em were good ones. Happy ones, Jason begrudgingly acknowledged as the band finally played the song he had come to think of as her and Dickie’s song: The Sleeping Beauty Waltz.
A tradition started after Bruce brought the two into his life and home.
One continued until the first Ball after he came to live with them. That night Jason had been the one the dragons wanted to feast upon while Kit had been the dragon slayer.
Tonight, though, he was the one sworn to protect her from those same dragons.
By any means necessary.
Bruce and his antiquated set of rules be damned.
When the song ended, he took hold of Kit’s arm and escorted her from the ballroom under the watchful eyes of Gotham’s ever vigilant silent Knight.
Another tradition waited for them upstairs.
One Jason found himself anticipating despite it meaning spending the night here and celebrating with the rest of the family.
Gonna have ourselves a Merry little Christmas, he mused as he ascended the staircase to the upstairs landing with Kit. Watching a cantankerous lizard stomp around and blast everything with his atomic breath while chowing down on Alfred’s awesome homemade pizza.
Some traditions were worth being Hoodwinked for.
Not that he’d admit it out loud to any of those involved, of course.
There was already no living with Kit.
Who had a Christmas Bat and a butler elf delivering the presents this year.