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A fire crackled merrily in the library hearth, turning the room into a warm and cozy respite from the near-freezing temperatures of the last week. The Manor sound system played Christmas carols at low volume while the room's occupants unpacked the large storage tubs in the center of the room.
In the corner, between the fireplace and the wall-of-windows, stood a large and impressive Douglas fir waiting to be adorned with twinkling lights and shiny baubles. There were Christmas trees all throughout the grand manor, many of them having been professionally decorated over the last week, but the tree in the library was different. It was the family tree.
Alfred poured mugs of hot chocolate (with whiskey for Bruce, tiny marshmallows for Dick, a peppermint stick for Tim, and whipped cream for Damian) as he watched over his boys. Bruce was tucked into the corner of a plush red velvet sofa, newspaper open and mostly ignored as he watched over the proceedings, though his eyes rarely strayed from Dick's slender form.
It was hard to tell what Tim was struggling with more, the tangled Christmas lights, Dick's penchant for putting more tinsel on *him* than the tree, or the urge to throttle a cackling Damian. The youngest boy's typical mocking stopped rather abruptly, though, when he found himself draped with swags of glittering silver garland, courtesy of a laughing Dick Grayson before he ducked behind a highly amused Alfred who seemed to be having quite a hard time hiding the twitching of his lips.
Bruce hid his quiet laughter behind the folds of his newspaper, but smiling eyes gave him away when Dick turned his way. Bright blue eyes softened, their mischief hazing into something infinitely warmer. Despite everything they'd been through; the deaths of their respective parents, the gut-clenching fear of watching each other bleed out all too often, the anger-fueled arguments over obsessive control, the terrifying sight of a bullet ripping through tender young skin… somehow they'd always come right back to each other; each one half of something better and stronger when together.
It never ceased to amaze Bruce just how well they worked, and played, together. From the first day he'd brought a young, subdued, and grieving Dick Grayson into his home, there'd been a deep connection. They'd shared the bond of tragedy; the desolation in those wet, bright eyes had Bruce moving without thought to simply be there for a newly orphaned child all those years ago. He'd soon discovered that quiet shadow was far from the real Dick Grayson, the one cherished by his parents.
The real Dick Grayson proved to be a whirlwind force of nature, never still even in sleep, exhaustingly curious, bright, frighteningly perceptive, a sponge for information of all kinds, and a prodigy in all things athletic. At first that agility proved to be a boon on the streets of Gotham. It was many years later that Bruce reaped the benefits of such grace in his bed.
Bruce flushed as he thought of many memorable moments in which he'd thoroughly enjoyed Dick's astonishing flexibility. He'd become a different person since opening his heart to Dick Grayson, a better man, and he thanked gods he didn't believe in for the younger man's tenacity and refusal to deny his feelings. It was a night of passionate confessions and even more passionate explorations long after the sun rose when the heated tension between them finally came to a head. When Dick, a braver man by far, forced the confrontation.
Those eyes were still locked to his, the light of the fireplace casting its own possessive touch in the golden blaze that kissed that sculpted face and form. When Dick was in the room it was near impossible to look away, and oh so easy to fall under the spell of his grace and good cheer.
The surprisingly light-hearted bickering of the two younger boys, Alfred's cultured voice quick with dry witticisms interspersed, faded into the background the longer Bruce looked into the warm light in Dick's smile.
Dick had many smiles; the perfect-and-polite-but-distant smile pasted on for galas and functions, the just-this-side-of-sane sharp slicing grin usually reserved for those they hunted, the I'm-a-lovable-goofball smile you couldn't help but fall for when he'd done something silly but harmless, the you-truly-are-the-best-of-us smile for Alfred, the fondly-exasperated curl he saved mostly for Damian's evolving grasp of Wayne family dynamics, the melancholic damn-it-I-miss-you-but-I'm-eternally-optimistic twist worn mostly for Jason, the you-really-are-the-best-little-brother-ever beaming grin for Tim.
And, then there was this one. This joy-filled curl of his lips with his heart and soul in his eyes; a surprising innocence still retained after all this time, suffused with tenderness and peace and the steady burn of a deep desire, all in burning Romany blue. This smile he wore only for Bruce.
Bruce could feel his cheeks warming as Dick moved closer, wearing *that* smile. The one that promised to make him fly, make him scream, make him forget his own name, prove that he was loved and the luckiest damn bastard alive. Later.
The newspaper was tugged from his lax grip only to be haphazardly discarded somewhere over Dick's shoulder as the younger man smoothly curled into Bruce's side, dark, tousled head resting over his heart and fingers gently petting his belly. Bruce ran large, strong fingers through the inky silk of Dick's hair, a hum of perfect contentment swelling from deep in his chest. His lover in his arms, Alfred watching over them all, two of his boys safe and… not killing each other… the only thing missing was-
"I was hoping Jason would come tonight," Dick said softly, watching Tim and Damian decorate each other more than the tree with Alfred's patient refereeing.
Bruce knew Dick had been trying to convince Jason to come back, at least for Christmas tree decorating and dinner, for a few weeks. He'd watched from a discreet distance, distinctly *not* spying, as Dick had seemed to make inroads with the second former-Robin. Every short meeting between the two had started and ended with less distance and hostility; Jason even seemed to warm to the idea, or at least was worn down. Dick could be damn persistent.
He'd even seen Jason accept a hug from his predecessor… or at least, not shrug him off. He could have sworn the younger of the two had even lifted his arms to reciprocate, before the movement was aborted… only to tuck his face into Dick's neck for a brief moment. That was a definite improvement.
Bruce, too, had hoped to see Jason come around, at least for the holidays. Things would probably always be strained between them, but, they were still family. He still loved Jason, would always grieve for a life cut far too short and the brutal twist of fate that brought him broken and screaming back to the world of the living.
Bruce dropped a kiss on the top of Dick's head and tucked him that much closer. Of them all, Dick wore his heart on his sleeve and slights cut deep. Bruce knew Dick would be blaming himself for Jason's absence, feeling as though he'd fallen short and failed them all. But, Christmas was a time for joy, and Bruce wanted nothing more than to make sure his partner knew, without a doubt, the rest of them all found that joy living in him.
Movement at the door interrupted the quiet words on Bruce's tongue.
A few moments of nothing but the fire cracking and popping and quiet Christmas carols brought Dick's head up to see what had stopped their holiday commotion.
Framed in the doorway, hair a windswept tangle and dressed in dark, worn jeans, dark shirt and leather jacket, with hands shoved deep in his pockets, stood Jason Todd, his own blue eyes darting from every pair staring at him and looking decidedly anxious.
Or rebellious… with Jason it was hard to tell.
"Jason," Dick breathed, rising from the couch.
Jason's attention was instantly riveted to the other man, captured by a bright, happy smile blooming across Dick's handsome face. No matter what had happened between them all, it still surprised him to see that honest joy on the other man's face, knowing it was for him.
Bruce watched the emotions play over Jason's face, unguarded for just a moment, as Dick embraced the younger man. Confusion, pain, and relief all chased across his eyes; Bruce could understand. He and Jason were cut from the same cloth, both closed and distant, keeping themselves aloof more for their own protection than any true sense of disregard. But, Dick had a way of cutting through all of that, sweeping aside the barriers and making a home in your heart.
Jason looked up into Bruce's eyes from over Dick's shoulder; his fingers gripping Dick's sweater before stepping back, cheeks tinted a distinct pink. Bruce's lips twisted as a quick, shared understanding passed between them. Once Dick loved you, he never stopped; and you thanked your lucky stars for it every single day of your life.
It was a universal fact Bruce knew Damian would soon come to understand. If he was lucky, it wouldn't take him as long as it had the rest of them.
Bruce moved up behind Dick, hands on the younger man's shoulders, both to give Jason the space he needed now that he was here, and to pull Dick back against his chest in gratitude and appreciation.
"Welcome home, Jason," Bruce said, voice a soft, quiet rumble.
Jason mumbled a "thanks" and "Merry Christmas" before shuffling over to Tim and relieving him of yet another tangle of bright lights.
"Come make yourself useful, squirt," he aimed at Damian, giving him an end to plug into the last strand of lights on the tree. Damian's outraged squawk resulted in a burst of laughter from Jason and Tim as the holiday commotion erupted, noise and movement filling the library once again.
"This Christmas is almost perfect," Dick said as he leaned back against Bruce and hummed happily. The strong arms around his waist tightened as Bruce frowned.
"Almost?" He turned Dick around in the circle of his arms, clasped hands resting above the sweet curve at the small of the younger man's back. Warm hands reached up to cup Bruce's face, thumbs sweeping across the rise of his cheekbones.
"Yeah, almost." Dick's eyes were smiling, soft and warm and sweet, Gypsy mischief twinkling merrily deep within. He stretched up on his toes, brushing his nose against Bruce's.
"Now, it's perfect," he breathed across the other man's lips. Bruce hummed his agreement into Dick's kiss.