to build, to bond
Mar. 26th, 2021 04:37 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
softpunks alfred & jason, bruce & jason // ~3k
> piece for Jason Todd Zine; Pre-Death In The Family
When Alfred walks into the kitchen that afternoon to prepare for dinner, the first thing Jason says is, “This isn’t cocaine.”
Alfred simply raises an eyebrow. Even if Jason hadn’t given him the disclaimer, the idea that the white powder splattered all over him would be drugs had been the furthest thing from Alfred’s mind. “I am aware of that, Master Jason.” he says mildly. “No need to look so panicked.”
Jason shrugs, making a move to dust off the white powder from his pants and frowning when he realizes that it just goes to his palms instead. “Just checking.”
The late afternoon is about to descend into the evening in a few hours. Alfred surveys the kitchen. Besides the bag of flour that likely exploded—how, Alfred isn’t exactly sure—staining Jason’s clothes and the center countertop, the place is more or less still in good shape. He isn’t exactly sure if it’s because Jason generally has the situation covered despite the obvious mishaps, or because he just came at a good time before things could go disastrously.
Alfred makes his way to the cupboard to retrieve all the things he’ll need to start cooking before he stops, spotting Jason in his periphery trying to open a bag of white sugar. A part of Alfred tells him to not get involved, but he knows that the thought is preposterous. It’s been around a year since Jason’s settled into the Manor, and Alfred doesn’t need to hold himself back out of fear that it might scare the boy off.
“May I ask what brings you here to the kitchen this afternoon?” Alfred asks. “You’re not normally this energetic after a long day of school. Usually I’d have to wrangle you out of your room in two hours for supper.”
Jason blushes. “‘M not that bad.” he argues, except Alfed simply raises an eyebrow pointedly. “Anyway,” Jason clears his throat. “That’s not—I’m trying to bake something.”
“I can see that,” Alfred replies. “However, as for what you’re baking exactly, and why, I can’t seem to tell.”
“I’m trying to make a cake.”
Alfred flips through his mental calendar. “I wasn’t aware it was anyone’s birthday this month. For a friend, I propose?”
“It’s not for a birthday. It’s for, uh—” Alfred waits for him to finish. It’s not like Jason to stumble so much on his words, so it says a lot about the reality of the situation, if it’s managed to make him feel reluctant. There are only a few things Alfred can think of that doesn’t invite Jason’s brash side to come out, however. “It’s for Bruce.”
“For Master Bruce?” Alfred questions. “Did something happen that I was not aware of?” He looks back at the past week’s events, trying to find any anomaly that might’ve occurred that would’ve resulted in Jason trying to bake something for Bruce. So far, Alfred draws up a blank. Work was the same draining repetition of events and problems for Bruce, Jason still complained about his classmates every time he’d return home from school, and patrol always left the both of them either dead-tired or incredibly wound-up.
“Nothing happened,” Jason says. “But I guess there’s a special occasion coming up?”
“Why do you sound so uncertain?”
“I’m not ‘uncertain’. It’s just kinda embarrassing to say, okay,” Jason huffs. “Today was the day I met Bruce. That’s all.”
Something clicks inside Alfred’s mind. “I see,” he says. “And you’d like to make something to celebrate the occasion.”
“More like make him something as a thanks or whatever, but yeah.” Jason shrugs. “Mom always told me to be grateful for the good things that happen to you, and Bruce gets back from work late all the time anyway, so I figured this was a good time to do something without him knowing.”
“Gratitude is a good attitude to have,” Alfred agrees. Jason nods, and then looks back down at the sugar. “I take it you’ve never baked anything before?”
Jason pauses. “It can’t be that hard.”
“I’m offended that you underestimate how challenging this craft can be,” Alfred comments tonelessly. “Allow me to help you, Master Jason. First off by pointing out that Master Bruce is not entirely fond of cake.”
“But who doesn’t like cake?”
“Master Bruce.”
Jason lets out a sharp exhale. “Figures. I bet his cake is just slabs of steak stacked on top of each other.”
“They were layers of cookie skillets, actually,” Alfred corrects. “So I suggest we make that instead if you’d like to surprise Master Bruce with something he’d like.”
“Skillet..?”
“No need to worry about what that is,” Alfred swiftly says. “Now, come along. Let’s pick out the right ingredients from the pantry so we can start as soon as we can.”
There are admittedly more complicated pastries Alfred can name that Bruce likes, but he’s the assistant here; Jason is the one who should be making them, and despite his enthusiasm, he isn’t what Alfred would call the best in the kitchen. That’s why when he asks what they’re specifically making, Alfred says, “Chocolate chip cookies.”
Jason frowns. “That’s so basic though.”
“Need I remind you of that time someone hadn’t been able to fry an egg?”
“I’m working on it!”
“I’m certain you are,” Alfred reassures him. “But until then, chocolate chip cookies are what we’ll be making for Master Bruce.”
Jason crosses his arms. “Would he even like that? It’s not exactly anything special.”
An argument comes to mind upon hearing Jason’s question. Baking chocolate chip cookies has always been something Alfred considered to be a childhood staple, something all children should experience. Bruce hadn’t been the exception to this, and despite the years that have passed, Alfred can still vividly recall the memory of a young Bruce helping his parents bake cookies in the kitchen. At the time, Alfred simply sat back and watched the scene unfold, Martha insisting that he should relax because he’d been feeling under the weather and she hoped to get some personal bonding time with her family anyway. She felt like Bruce had been getting lonely since they’d been so swamped with work.
Bruce rarely talks about his parents, even to Alfred himself, but he doubts that Bruce has forgotten . And while Alfred thinks there’s nothing wrong with cherishing the old, there’s nothing wrong with creating new ones anyway—this time with Bruce’s new family.
Alfred is certain that Jason making Bruce cookies would be something he’d appreciate.
“It’s the thought that counts,” Alfred answers.
Jason doesn’t look impressed with the reply, but he doesn’t push it.
The recipe for making chocolate cookies is one Alfred knows by memory, but he takes out the cookbook anyway from one of the cupboards as he instructs Jason to get certain ingredients they’ll need from the pantry and refrigerator to lay out by the countertop for convenience. Granulated sugar, brown sugar, butter, egg, Alfred lists off. Vanilla extract, all-purpose flour—just open the new one, it’s alright—and get baking soda.
It’s a simple process of separating dry and wet ingredients made much easier by an extra set of hands, no matter how inexperienced they are in the kitchen. Jason is careful with the measurements he reads from the cookbook and Alfred has to tamper down his urge to pick up a camera and snap a picture of this moment: Jason, dressed in a bright yellow apron, cradling a large bowl as he tries to mix the ingredients manually. He didn’t want to use the mixer, saying it would be better if he did all the work himself so he’d know for sure he was doing everything right. Alfred’s response to it had been a sarcastic, “Suddenly the expert now, are you?” but ultimately left Jason to his devices and returned to his duty of supervising.
“Make sure to not overmix the batter, Master Jason,” Alfred tells him as he starts to preheat the oven.
“How do I know if it’s already good?”
“You’ll simply know.”
Jason gives him a look. Alfred represses the urge to laugh.
Folding in the chocolate chips after the batter is properly mixed takes more time than usual because Jason is meticulous about spreading them around evenly. Afterwards, they wash their hands and grab a pair of gloves so they can scoop out bits of the batter to roll into small balls. Alfred takes out the baking pans and lays sheets of wax papers over them. By the time they’ve emptied the bowl of batter and laid out all the unbaked cookies on the tray, Alfred mentally counts a total of fifty made as he slips it all into the oven.
“Now what?” Jason says, staring at the oven. There’s a look of wonder in his face, like he can’t believe he managed to get through the entire thing without much problems. Alfred is not as expressive, but he admittedly thinks the same thing. Then again, maybe he underestimated Jason by assuming that he’d mimic the same disaster as Richard had when he wanted to try and make slime.
“Now, we clean up.”
They wash the plates in relative silence, the same way Jason had more or less been quiet as he made the batter. Alfred used to think it was because he was shy, but nowadays, he’s been entertaining the thought that it’s because when Jason concentrates on something, nothing else matters. It’s not a bad habit, but it’s not something one would expect given Jason’s sharp tongue. Alfred wonders if things will change when he’s older, if he’ll make a quip not because he doesn’t want to rile anyone up but because he trusts them enough to know he’s just making light banter, trying to tease.
“Hey, Alfred.” Jason starts, setting the measuring spoons by the drying rack after they’d been thoroughly cleaned. “Did Dick ever do something like this?”
“What do you mean?”
“Make something for Bruce, I mean.” He’s clearly uncomfortable with talking about it even though he’d been the one to bring it up. “Like on a special day or something that they share.”
Alfred pauses. “Master Richard was never really the type to be secretive about his endeavors,” he explains. “But for a time, it had been a tradition of theirs to spend an entire afternoon doing paintball fights.” Alfred hadn’t thought much about why Bruce caved in besides the fact that he’d grown a soft spot for his first son and wanted to indulge in his wants; though Alfred doesn’t doubt that it’s still the reason, it also probably had something to do with celebrating a specific occasion only shared between both Bruce and Richard.
“For a time.”
Alfred shrugs. “I believe he’ll come around eventually. You never know with teenagers, truthfully. The rebellion stage, in my opinion, will always be the most fickle time of a man’s life. As much as I hope you won’t go through it, it would be wrong for me to put that much expectation onto you. Master Bruce hadn’t been an exception, after all.”
Instead of arguing with Alfred on that matter, Jason says quietly, “I know Dick’s mad at Bruce because of me, you know.”
“Perhaps,” Alfred considers. Jason doesn’t have to explain for Alfred to know what he’s referring to. “But as I said, it’s the rebellion stage. Whether or not you had entered the picture, the riff between them would have formed regardless. It’s best not to dwell on it too much. We should trust Master Bruce and Master Richard to sort things out themselves.” He pauses. “Though Master Bruce isn’t known to particularly excel in that.”
This makes Jason laugh. Alfred can’t help but reach out and squeeze his shoulder, feeling fond.
The oven dings. After Alfred takes out the pans and lays them on the countertops to cool down, Jason contemplates on how they should go about presenting the cookies.
“We should use a candle,” Alfred suggests. “That puts out a pleasing aesthetic.”
“I don’t think that—” Jason narrows his eyes. “Wait. You’re mocking me.”
“Of course not,” Alfred says smoothly. He glances out through the window. Before they even noticed, the sky had dimmed, the day turning into night. He should start making dinner before Bruce gets home. “But need I remind you that these are cookies you’re working with, not a cake? There’s no need to stress too much, Master Jason. The beauty of this pastry is in its simplicity.”
There’s also not a lot of ways to properly present a batch of cookies in all the creative ways one can with other pastries. They settle on pulling out a small plate and putting in three cookies, layered unevenly on top of one another. Jason is the one who picks which cookies to use and gets the one that has their chocolate chips evenly spread out for consistency and because it looks nice.
Jason stares at the plate silently. Then he walks to the cupboard, pulls out a mug, and pulls out the pot of coffee Alfred had brewed over the afternoon to pour into the mug before setting it beside the cookies.
“This reminds me of a practice children occasionally partake in over the celebration of Christmas,” Alfred says. “They would leave behind cookies and milk right beside the Christmas tree, so when Santa Claus would come to visit them in the middle of the night, he’d have something to eat as he left behind gifts.”
“Yeah, I know about that,” Jason replies. “Some of my classmates were talking about it last Christmas. I don’t get why that’s a thing. Isn’t Santa Claus technically a robber?”
Alfred smiles wryly. “You aren’t wrong there.”
“Besides, this is different anyway. I’m giving Bruce cookies and coffee. And he doesn’t have a white beard and beer belly.”
“I believe your schoolmates would cry if they ever heard you imply that Santa Claus is an alcoholic,” Alfred notes. Jason makes a face, another look so childlike that Alfred feels a swell of fondness. From a distance, he vaguely hears the gates to the Manor open. “Oh. It looks like Master Bruce has returned.”
Sure enough, a few minutes later, the door creaks open and Bruce steps in. “I’m back,” he says as he hangs his coat by the rack and steps into the kitchen. Jason and Alfred watch him as he raises an eyebrow in surprise at the plate of cookies and the mug of coffee. He pulls out one of the stools to sit down. “Where did the cookies come from?”
“Master Jason,” Alfred says, before Jason can say anything. “A new hobby he decided to indulge in, for some reason, but one I hadn’t questioned much and simply decided to assist him in. We’ve set a plate for you, Master Bruce.”
He doesn’t miss the relieved look in Jason’s eyes at the fact that he doesn’t bring up the truth. Despite the vague explanation, Bruce must either be exhausted or distracted, because he just nods, accepting the reason easily enough. A small smile creeps up on his face when he reaches for the coffee mug and he catches a whiff of the smell. When he reaches for a cookie and takes a bite, Jason watches from the corner of his eye, trying his best to look nonchalant despite how he clearly cares about Bruce’s reaction.
“This is good,” says Bruce, and then he takes another bite.
“Of course it is,” Jason replies, trying to sound unbothered even though it’s obvious he’s pleased.
“I’ll start preparing dinner then,” Alfred says. The two of them nod absentmindedly at him, but Alfred isn’t offended. Jason slides into the stool beside Bruce and they start talking about school. It doesn’t sound like Jason expects anything from Bruce, as if the latter liking his cookes is more than anything Jason could ask for, and from the way they talk, Jason already seems to have moved on, more than content with Bruce’s reaction and not needing to acknowledge that he did it because it was a special day. Alfred isn’t exactly surprised. Jason has never been the type to make a big deal out of things that mean a lot of him.
“Before I forget,” Bruce suddenly says. “I got us two tickets to that baseball game you wanted to see over the weekend.”
Jason pauses. “I thought you said you’d be too busy for that.”
Bruce shrugs. “Special occasion. I can make a few exceptions.”
He doesn’t elaborate. Alfred watches Jason’s reaction from the corner of his eye as he starts taking out the poultry he’ll be using for their meal. Jason goes from looking shocked to ecstatic to casual in the span of a second.
“Oh,” he ends up saying. “Of course you can. Boss benefits, right?”
They aren’t going to say it, but they don’t actually need to. Alfred understands, in this way, this is how they are father and son.
He turns away. Tradition, he thinks. Despite his words earlier, he doesn’t think it’s wrong to assume that this might just be one that lasts.
> piece for Jason Todd Zine; Pre-Death In The Family
When Alfred walks into the kitchen that afternoon to prepare for dinner, the first thing Jason says is, “This isn’t cocaine.”
Alfred simply raises an eyebrow. Even if Jason hadn’t given him the disclaimer, the idea that the white powder splattered all over him would be drugs had been the furthest thing from Alfred’s mind. “I am aware of that, Master Jason.” he says mildly. “No need to look so panicked.”
Jason shrugs, making a move to dust off the white powder from his pants and frowning when he realizes that it just goes to his palms instead. “Just checking.”
The late afternoon is about to descend into the evening in a few hours. Alfred surveys the kitchen. Besides the bag of flour that likely exploded—how, Alfred isn’t exactly sure—staining Jason’s clothes and the center countertop, the place is more or less still in good shape. He isn’t exactly sure if it’s because Jason generally has the situation covered despite the obvious mishaps, or because he just came at a good time before things could go disastrously.
Alfred makes his way to the cupboard to retrieve all the things he’ll need to start cooking before he stops, spotting Jason in his periphery trying to open a bag of white sugar. A part of Alfred tells him to not get involved, but he knows that the thought is preposterous. It’s been around a year since Jason’s settled into the Manor, and Alfred doesn’t need to hold himself back out of fear that it might scare the boy off.
“May I ask what brings you here to the kitchen this afternoon?” Alfred asks. “You’re not normally this energetic after a long day of school. Usually I’d have to wrangle you out of your room in two hours for supper.”
Jason blushes. “‘M not that bad.” he argues, except Alfed simply raises an eyebrow pointedly. “Anyway,” Jason clears his throat. “That’s not—I’m trying to bake something.”
“I can see that,” Alfred replies. “However, as for what you’re baking exactly, and why, I can’t seem to tell.”
“I’m trying to make a cake.”
Alfred flips through his mental calendar. “I wasn’t aware it was anyone’s birthday this month. For a friend, I propose?”
“It’s not for a birthday. It’s for, uh—” Alfred waits for him to finish. It’s not like Jason to stumble so much on his words, so it says a lot about the reality of the situation, if it’s managed to make him feel reluctant. There are only a few things Alfred can think of that doesn’t invite Jason’s brash side to come out, however. “It’s for Bruce.”
“For Master Bruce?” Alfred questions. “Did something happen that I was not aware of?” He looks back at the past week’s events, trying to find any anomaly that might’ve occurred that would’ve resulted in Jason trying to bake something for Bruce. So far, Alfred draws up a blank. Work was the same draining repetition of events and problems for Bruce, Jason still complained about his classmates every time he’d return home from school, and patrol always left the both of them either dead-tired or incredibly wound-up.
“Nothing happened,” Jason says. “But I guess there’s a special occasion coming up?”
“Why do you sound so uncertain?”
“I’m not ‘uncertain’. It’s just kinda embarrassing to say, okay,” Jason huffs. “Today was the day I met Bruce. That’s all.”
Something clicks inside Alfred’s mind. “I see,” he says. “And you’d like to make something to celebrate the occasion.”
“More like make him something as a thanks or whatever, but yeah.” Jason shrugs. “Mom always told me to be grateful for the good things that happen to you, and Bruce gets back from work late all the time anyway, so I figured this was a good time to do something without him knowing.”
“Gratitude is a good attitude to have,” Alfred agrees. Jason nods, and then looks back down at the sugar. “I take it you’ve never baked anything before?”
Jason pauses. “It can’t be that hard.”
“I’m offended that you underestimate how challenging this craft can be,” Alfred comments tonelessly. “Allow me to help you, Master Jason. First off by pointing out that Master Bruce is not entirely fond of cake.”
“But who doesn’t like cake?”
“Master Bruce.”
Jason lets out a sharp exhale. “Figures. I bet his cake is just slabs of steak stacked on top of each other.”
“They were layers of cookie skillets, actually,” Alfred corrects. “So I suggest we make that instead if you’d like to surprise Master Bruce with something he’d like.”
“Skillet..?”
“No need to worry about what that is,” Alfred swiftly says. “Now, come along. Let’s pick out the right ingredients from the pantry so we can start as soon as we can.”
There are admittedly more complicated pastries Alfred can name that Bruce likes, but he’s the assistant here; Jason is the one who should be making them, and despite his enthusiasm, he isn’t what Alfred would call the best in the kitchen. That’s why when he asks what they’re specifically making, Alfred says, “Chocolate chip cookies.”
Jason frowns. “That’s so basic though.”
“Need I remind you of that time someone hadn’t been able to fry an egg?”
“I’m working on it!”
“I’m certain you are,” Alfred reassures him. “But until then, chocolate chip cookies are what we’ll be making for Master Bruce.”
Jason crosses his arms. “Would he even like that? It’s not exactly anything special.”
An argument comes to mind upon hearing Jason’s question. Baking chocolate chip cookies has always been something Alfred considered to be a childhood staple, something all children should experience. Bruce hadn’t been the exception to this, and despite the years that have passed, Alfred can still vividly recall the memory of a young Bruce helping his parents bake cookies in the kitchen. At the time, Alfred simply sat back and watched the scene unfold, Martha insisting that he should relax because he’d been feeling under the weather and she hoped to get some personal bonding time with her family anyway. She felt like Bruce had been getting lonely since they’d been so swamped with work.
Bruce rarely talks about his parents, even to Alfred himself, but he doubts that Bruce has forgotten . And while Alfred thinks there’s nothing wrong with cherishing the old, there’s nothing wrong with creating new ones anyway—this time with Bruce’s new family.
Alfred is certain that Jason making Bruce cookies would be something he’d appreciate.
“It’s the thought that counts,” Alfred answers.
Jason doesn’t look impressed with the reply, but he doesn’t push it.
The recipe for making chocolate cookies is one Alfred knows by memory, but he takes out the cookbook anyway from one of the cupboards as he instructs Jason to get certain ingredients they’ll need from the pantry and refrigerator to lay out by the countertop for convenience. Granulated sugar, brown sugar, butter, egg, Alfred lists off. Vanilla extract, all-purpose flour—just open the new one, it’s alright—and get baking soda.
It’s a simple process of separating dry and wet ingredients made much easier by an extra set of hands, no matter how inexperienced they are in the kitchen. Jason is careful with the measurements he reads from the cookbook and Alfred has to tamper down his urge to pick up a camera and snap a picture of this moment: Jason, dressed in a bright yellow apron, cradling a large bowl as he tries to mix the ingredients manually. He didn’t want to use the mixer, saying it would be better if he did all the work himself so he’d know for sure he was doing everything right. Alfred’s response to it had been a sarcastic, “Suddenly the expert now, are you?” but ultimately left Jason to his devices and returned to his duty of supervising.
“Make sure to not overmix the batter, Master Jason,” Alfred tells him as he starts to preheat the oven.
“How do I know if it’s already good?”
“You’ll simply know.”
Jason gives him a look. Alfred represses the urge to laugh.
Folding in the chocolate chips after the batter is properly mixed takes more time than usual because Jason is meticulous about spreading them around evenly. Afterwards, they wash their hands and grab a pair of gloves so they can scoop out bits of the batter to roll into small balls. Alfred takes out the baking pans and lays sheets of wax papers over them. By the time they’ve emptied the bowl of batter and laid out all the unbaked cookies on the tray, Alfred mentally counts a total of fifty made as he slips it all into the oven.
“Now what?” Jason says, staring at the oven. There’s a look of wonder in his face, like he can’t believe he managed to get through the entire thing without much problems. Alfred is not as expressive, but he admittedly thinks the same thing. Then again, maybe he underestimated Jason by assuming that he’d mimic the same disaster as Richard had when he wanted to try and make slime.
“Now, we clean up.”
They wash the plates in relative silence, the same way Jason had more or less been quiet as he made the batter. Alfred used to think it was because he was shy, but nowadays, he’s been entertaining the thought that it’s because when Jason concentrates on something, nothing else matters. It’s not a bad habit, but it’s not something one would expect given Jason’s sharp tongue. Alfred wonders if things will change when he’s older, if he’ll make a quip not because he doesn’t want to rile anyone up but because he trusts them enough to know he’s just making light banter, trying to tease.
“Hey, Alfred.” Jason starts, setting the measuring spoons by the drying rack after they’d been thoroughly cleaned. “Did Dick ever do something like this?”
“What do you mean?”
“Make something for Bruce, I mean.” He’s clearly uncomfortable with talking about it even though he’d been the one to bring it up. “Like on a special day or something that they share.”
Alfred pauses. “Master Richard was never really the type to be secretive about his endeavors,” he explains. “But for a time, it had been a tradition of theirs to spend an entire afternoon doing paintball fights.” Alfred hadn’t thought much about why Bruce caved in besides the fact that he’d grown a soft spot for his first son and wanted to indulge in his wants; though Alfred doesn’t doubt that it’s still the reason, it also probably had something to do with celebrating a specific occasion only shared between both Bruce and Richard.
“For a time.”
Alfred shrugs. “I believe he’ll come around eventually. You never know with teenagers, truthfully. The rebellion stage, in my opinion, will always be the most fickle time of a man’s life. As much as I hope you won’t go through it, it would be wrong for me to put that much expectation onto you. Master Bruce hadn’t been an exception, after all.”
Instead of arguing with Alfred on that matter, Jason says quietly, “I know Dick’s mad at Bruce because of me, you know.”
“Perhaps,” Alfred considers. Jason doesn’t have to explain for Alfred to know what he’s referring to. “But as I said, it’s the rebellion stage. Whether or not you had entered the picture, the riff between them would have formed regardless. It’s best not to dwell on it too much. We should trust Master Bruce and Master Richard to sort things out themselves.” He pauses. “Though Master Bruce isn’t known to particularly excel in that.”
This makes Jason laugh. Alfred can’t help but reach out and squeeze his shoulder, feeling fond.
The oven dings. After Alfred takes out the pans and lays them on the countertops to cool down, Jason contemplates on how they should go about presenting the cookies.
“We should use a candle,” Alfred suggests. “That puts out a pleasing aesthetic.”
“I don’t think that—” Jason narrows his eyes. “Wait. You’re mocking me.”
“Of course not,” Alfred says smoothly. He glances out through the window. Before they even noticed, the sky had dimmed, the day turning into night. He should start making dinner before Bruce gets home. “But need I remind you that these are cookies you’re working with, not a cake? There’s no need to stress too much, Master Jason. The beauty of this pastry is in its simplicity.”
There’s also not a lot of ways to properly present a batch of cookies in all the creative ways one can with other pastries. They settle on pulling out a small plate and putting in three cookies, layered unevenly on top of one another. Jason is the one who picks which cookies to use and gets the one that has their chocolate chips evenly spread out for consistency and because it looks nice.
Jason stares at the plate silently. Then he walks to the cupboard, pulls out a mug, and pulls out the pot of coffee Alfred had brewed over the afternoon to pour into the mug before setting it beside the cookies.
“This reminds me of a practice children occasionally partake in over the celebration of Christmas,” Alfred says. “They would leave behind cookies and milk right beside the Christmas tree, so when Santa Claus would come to visit them in the middle of the night, he’d have something to eat as he left behind gifts.”
“Yeah, I know about that,” Jason replies. “Some of my classmates were talking about it last Christmas. I don’t get why that’s a thing. Isn’t Santa Claus technically a robber?”
Alfred smiles wryly. “You aren’t wrong there.”
“Besides, this is different anyway. I’m giving Bruce cookies and coffee. And he doesn’t have a white beard and beer belly.”
“I believe your schoolmates would cry if they ever heard you imply that Santa Claus is an alcoholic,” Alfred notes. Jason makes a face, another look so childlike that Alfred feels a swell of fondness. From a distance, he vaguely hears the gates to the Manor open. “Oh. It looks like Master Bruce has returned.”
Sure enough, a few minutes later, the door creaks open and Bruce steps in. “I’m back,” he says as he hangs his coat by the rack and steps into the kitchen. Jason and Alfred watch him as he raises an eyebrow in surprise at the plate of cookies and the mug of coffee. He pulls out one of the stools to sit down. “Where did the cookies come from?”
“Master Jason,” Alfred says, before Jason can say anything. “A new hobby he decided to indulge in, for some reason, but one I hadn’t questioned much and simply decided to assist him in. We’ve set a plate for you, Master Bruce.”
He doesn’t miss the relieved look in Jason’s eyes at the fact that he doesn’t bring up the truth. Despite the vague explanation, Bruce must either be exhausted or distracted, because he just nods, accepting the reason easily enough. A small smile creeps up on his face when he reaches for the coffee mug and he catches a whiff of the smell. When he reaches for a cookie and takes a bite, Jason watches from the corner of his eye, trying his best to look nonchalant despite how he clearly cares about Bruce’s reaction.
“This is good,” says Bruce, and then he takes another bite.
“Of course it is,” Jason replies, trying to sound unbothered even though it’s obvious he’s pleased.
“I’ll start preparing dinner then,” Alfred says. The two of them nod absentmindedly at him, but Alfred isn’t offended. Jason slides into the stool beside Bruce and they start talking about school. It doesn’t sound like Jason expects anything from Bruce, as if the latter liking his cookes is more than anything Jason could ask for, and from the way they talk, Jason already seems to have moved on, more than content with Bruce’s reaction and not needing to acknowledge that he did it because it was a special day. Alfred isn’t exactly surprised. Jason has never been the type to make a big deal out of things that mean a lot of him.
“Before I forget,” Bruce suddenly says. “I got us two tickets to that baseball game you wanted to see over the weekend.”
Jason pauses. “I thought you said you’d be too busy for that.”
Bruce shrugs. “Special occasion. I can make a few exceptions.”
He doesn’t elaborate. Alfred watches Jason’s reaction from the corner of his eye as he starts taking out the poultry he’ll be using for their meal. Jason goes from looking shocked to ecstatic to casual in the span of a second.
“Oh,” he ends up saying. “Of course you can. Boss benefits, right?”
They aren’t going to say it, but they don’t actually need to. Alfred understands, in this way, this is how they are father and son.
He turns away. Tradition, he thinks. Despite his words earlier, he doesn’t think it’s wrong to assume that this might just be one that lasts.