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"Can I borrow the Rolls?" Jason asks Bruce as he seeks his audience him in his personal study. Bruce pauses, finger crooked over the page that he's meant to turn but hasn't quite yet, caught in the act of transitioning from one act to another.
It's not that he'll deny Jason the request, but the concept that Jason would come seeking fealty in exchange for favor is something that seems totally out of his wheelhouse.
And the stolidity to his face, the unerring manner in which he proposes himself before his father, seems very uncharacteristic. Which means that it's something that is very important to see fulfilment of task.
"Don't you have your bike?" Bruce asks, because it's not that he is stating outright denial. But there's a growing curiosity in his inquiry—he will grant Jason what he desires, if his son is willing to cross the rubicon of transparency. If his son is willing to answer the other question that's layered in the one he sends his way.
To his son's credit, Jason doesn't hesitate or waver in his quest. His response is terse.
"My girlfriend is graduating from Gotham U tomorrow. I want to pick her up and take her out somewhere nice for dinner." He pauses to allow his reply to be afforded the gravity that is clearly taking root on Bruce's face in abject surprise. "And I don't think taking her out on a bike is the way to do it."
The reaction is two-fold. One, that the passage of time is irrevocable and another class from Gotham U is graduating, is something that makes Bruce feel his poignant age.
The second is the obvious—that not once has Jason ever mentioned this partner of his that apparently takes such precedence and importance in his life that he would go to her graduation. That he's kept this aspect of his life so totally concealed that the world's greatest detective was unaware and completely caught off-guard until now.
He feels shocked. He feels—mournful. That Jason wouldn't share this until it was absolutely necessary, until he could request favor at the risk of being denied and his secret laid out into the open. He feels like he needs to compensate.
Which is why he says more than just a simple yes. "Well, why don't you bring her by the house after so we can all meet her? If you've got time before that reservation, that is."
Jason is silent for a second, because it's clear that this is the quid pro quo—he'll be granted this boon, if he acquiesces to the terms that Bruce sets.
"Okay," Jason says in a monotone, though Bruce has thankfully enough of a read on his son to know hesitance in him, "We'll be here at 4, if the kids want to meet her too."
Then he turns, and leaves, and Bruce finds himself stewing with anticipation—and a headache he didn't foresee.
"You had no idea?" Bruce asks Dick as his eldest leans back on the couch, crossing his arms in rather defensive manner.
"Hey, I'm on a timeshare between here and Blüdhaven—gimme a break for not prying into my brother's life when I get here." Dick retorts easily.
"You love prying, though," Tim comments as he slouches on the couch and watches some inane reality TV. Damian sits beside him, staunchly unamused. "It's like, your bread and butter to be nosy."
"Maybe I had other things to be nosy about—like that date you and Kon had at the state fair last week?" Dick asks, admiring the way that Tim begins to transition from rosy red to scarlet fever.
"Okay," Tim says as he begins his overture of vermillion, "But it's not like I kept that a secret, did I?"
"No, but you sure weren't generous with the details—"
"Didn't know I had to be—"
"Jason's girlfriend is nice," Damian asserts from where he swipes the remote into his hand, deftly changing channels to the local news station—Vicki Vale's familiar voice begins to drone through—"—She's finishing with high honors. She got approved for her graduate program which she starts later this year."
All fall silent, turning to the miniature monolith who does not appear generous with any more details they might desire.
Bruce, ever the resuscitative debutante even amongst his sons, finds the words first. "You knew about her?"
"Jason has brought her to the house sometimes." Damian replies with a scowl to the rest of them. "We have spoken."
This seems a generous understatement. Tim supplies the next question.
"How have you met her without any of us finding out?" He asks—Damian glowers back at the TV screen.
"It was not my business to indulge your curiosity." Damian replies, which almost makes Bruce want to laugh at the way his son frowns at the screen. "And besides—you will meet her many more times from now on."
"What makes you say that?" Dick asks, but there's no time for Damian to further elaborate—not that, it seems, he was willing to grant more of a response. The great door to the manor clicks in the jamb of the lock and begins to push open. It's Jason who pokes his head through, setting a wary glare over the four of them.
They all freeze, deers caught in proverbial headlights, as Jason pushes the door forward, to reveal a figure that bears a bouquet that looks like the florist threw everything in but the kitchen sink.
"Didn't expect the red carpet to be rolled out," Jason says, even though it should be obvious he would. He says your name as introduction, turning to where you stand behind him—"—Meet my family."
It's hard to make out the details of you, because you're swaddled in so many honor sashes, verdant leis, and braided cords—not to mention the gift bags that you bear in your arms. The bouquet that they assume Jason has bestowed upon you was only the first of your defenses, it appears.
You take to the task of making yourself known with enthusiasm—the smile already present on your face grows as you step forward; you make a quiet cacophony of rustling fabric as you push into the foyer.
"It's so very lovely to meet you all," you declare as Bruce, Dick and Tim all approach to meet you halfway—Damian remains seated at the couch, "Jason has told me so much about you all."
You crane your neck, though it appears that this is a task in itself with everything you bear, "Damian, good to see you again."
"Likewise," Damian curtly responds, a badge of honor to be granted such acknowledgement. "Congratulations on your graduation."
"A sentiment," Bruce says, making you turn back up to him with no small degree of jubilant awe, "That we all agree with. Though we wish Jason had brought you around sooner—we'd have loved for this meeting to have happened before such an important day."
You angle your head in shy reticence for the span of a moment, chuckling sheepishly.
"That's my fault, I'm afraid—"—you turn with a shuffle of leis to Jason, who has been the rear guard to your advance into the room—"—My studies have just been so demanding that I've only been able to stop by the house a few times. Usually Jason has been coming by my dorm."
You lean forward as if to share a secret, though your voice doesn't adjust in volume. "You've raised a real gentleman, if you don't mind me saying. He's been such a big help during my finals season. He helped meal prep and keep me on a decent sleep schedule while I was finishing up this final quarter."
Bruce feels his brow instinctively arch at the compliments paid his son's way, though as you turn back to beam up at Jason, he finds his gaze drawn as well. And, to his ultimate surprise, he finds a soft smile with a degree of unexpected gentility draping over Jason's face, in tandem with his hand that is draping silently over your shoulder.
"I'm glad Jason was able to provide that for you," Bruce replies with muted ebullience, "He's just full of surprises."
When Jason looks up to Bruce, there's no edge of resentment—only that same fondness that grows when he turns his gaze back down to you.
"He sure is," you grin, making attention return back to you, "I'm very lucky to have such a wonderful boyfriend."
"Not half as lucky as I am," Jason asserts, and Bruce catches the way his hands knuckle assertively, but carefully, over your shoulder—you giggle. "Not everyone gets to say they have a girlfriend graduated summa cum laude."
"Nope," you smile, "Just you."
Bruce feels as though he's intruding on this tender, heartfelt moment—almost voyeuristic to his son's happiness, because there's no other emotion that can possibly describe the intention on Jason's face. The joy that metes through every inch of him as he regards you the way Bruce does the night sky.
"We should get going," Jason says, and it's more announcement for his family than you, "We got a reservation to make."
"Oh, of course," you're called to attention at the reward of food, "I can't wait. Ah—"—you turn back to the rest of his family—"—It was lovely to meet you all. Looking forward to doing it in the future."
"Of course," Dick says, "Can't wait to hear more about you and Jason."
"Can't wait to share the gory details with you," you reply in a manner that sounds half-teasing. The smile that crosses Dick's face is genuine, though the means through which Jason directs you back in the direction of the door once more, the look that he sends in his elder brother's direction, seems to beget a caution that Dick never will.
"See you soon," Jason calls over his shoulder, though his eyes are not directed towards them—instead, the one person that he's had eyes for since the moment he ushered them into the house.
The door swings shut, leaving them all in a pregnant silence. The silence is only interrupted by the rev of an engine muffled through the walls of the great estate, that pulls away and then dissipates into silence.
"They seem like a good fit for each other." Bruce states, and Dick scoffs.
"Yeah, but good luck on us seeing her again. This was a rare privilege that Mr. Todd gave us." He replies as he leans back on the couch with a gusty sigh.
"He seems happy, though," Tim maintains, and all that Dick can do is offer a good-natured shrug. He can't exactly find anything to disagree with that statement. "If we're lucky, maybe we'll get the invites to the wedding."
Dick chuckles. "Bet it'll just be for Damian."
But Bruce doesn't listen to the retort his youngest has stored in the arsenal. All he can think about is what Tim said—He seems happy, though. And he's scarcely cognizant of the smile that crosses his face as he realizes this truth.
"I do hope we get to see her soon," Bruce deftly interrupts the conversation, which makes the rest of them draw pause as their father speaks. And, as they realize, that he sorely, surely, means it.