Closure [Young Justice Animated - Dick, Bruce]

Thanks to time zone differences, it was late Christmas Eve by the time Robin and the others returned to Mount Justice from their "mission" in Europe. With Wally insisting that the group stick around for a round of carols, eggnog, and exchanging Secret Santa gifts – especially after he'd come all the way over, and convinced Kaldur and Zatanna to do the same – Robin's return to Gotham was delayed for a further few hours. Fortunately, Dick had previously informed Alfred that he'd be spending Christmas Eve, and the days preceding it, with the Team at Mount Justice. There was some truth to it. Kind of.

Even so, once the last bit of gift-wrap had been cleared, Robin decided it wasn't prudent to linger, and  gathered up his Secret Santa gift with great care. It was a fancy Martian memory globe from M'gann: it portrayed whatever memory or image you thought of while rubbing it, and would continue to do so until you "changed" the memory. Too. Cool.

"Gotta get back, guys," Dick said, tearing his eyes away from his gift as he stood up to leave. "Or Batman will have my head."

A chorus of Merry Christmas and Bye, Robin! bounced back at him, as his friends stood up and prepared their own departures. Zatanna, despite the fact that she'd be staying in Mount Justice, walked with Robin.

"Have a good holiday, Robin, and thanks for the gift. It's lovely," She held up her wrist, showing off the glittering bracelet clasped upon it. It matched the white earrings she always wore, and Robin – her Secret Santa – had added charms with various functions, like a globe-shaped GPS tracker.

"Glad you like it, Z," Robin winked at her, and stepped up to the Zeta tubes. Her returning smile made his stomach do a triple flip, enough to make the additional hours spent with the Team worthwhile, but there was no time to bask in it. Mount Justice de-materialised in the next second, replaced just as quickly by the darker, quieter interior of the Batcave.

Robin did a quick preliminary scan, as Batman had always taught him to. There was no added glow from the computer, and the Batmobile was parked in its corner. Most tellingly, his mentor's costume was in its display case. Bruce was either working in his study upstairs (unlikely), asleep (even more unlikely), or that his business trip to Australia had not been so asterous, thus delaying his return for Christmas Day (very likely).

Still, one could never be sure. With utmost quiet, Dick changed out of his Robin costume, and into a pair of pyjamas. As he tip-toed up to the Manor, he realised that the sun hadn't risen in Gotham yet. It did always rise later in the winter, of course, but either way, both Bruce and Alfred were nowhere to be seen.

Dick allowed himself a brief stop at the den, where he gently placed his gift from M'gann on the mantle above the fireplace. Presently, the globe displayed a Circus ring packed to the brim with cheering spectators. In the centre, six people tumbled gracefully through the air, the red and gold of their costumes glimmering under the bright lights. In that little glass world, the Flying Graysons flew again.

They were beautiful.

"Merry Christmas." Dick's voice was soft as he lay his hand on the globe in a reverent benediction. With one final, lingering glance, he padded out of the room. Sleep was a-calling. After the events of the past few days, Dick looked forward to burrowing under his fort of blankets.
  
... Or not, he realised, upon opening the door to his suite of rooms.  
  
"Um," he said eloquently.
  
His visitor, who stood observing the photo collage on the right wall of Dick's room, didn't turn around.
  
"How was Europe?"
  
Dick couldn't find it in himself to be surprised, or irritated. After all, few things slipped past Batman –- or Bruce Wayne -– unnoticed. So he simply walked over to his room's window seat, sprawled his limbs onto it, and glanced up with a rueful smile.
  
"Cold," he opined, in mock-sufferance. "How was Australia?"  
  
"Warm." The cushions next to Dick sank down as Bruce settled his weight on them.
  
There was a brief pause, as they both observed the view from the window. Dick's rooms were located on the West wing, and the grounds on that side were covered in rolling hills. Thanks to recent, extended snowfall, everything was covered in a thick blanket of white.  
  
Tearing his eyes away from the serene scenery, Dick sneaked a peek at his mentor.  He couldn't have been waiting long, still decked in his shirt-sleeves (albeit rolled up) and work trousers as he was. "You're not mad?"
  
The you-don't-learn-emotions-from-Batman poker face was a go. "Should I be?"
  
Ugh, trick question. So not concerting. "Well... I told the others that you'd ordered the mission."
  
Bruce levelled that look at Dick -- the one that made Dick wonder if his mentor didn't secretly have X-ray vision like Superman did.  
  
"I'm not angry. But you should have spoken to me before setting off."

Dick could feel his face burn up, as it often did under Bruce's scrutiny. "I guess," he began slowly, shrugging his shoulders, "this was one of those things I needed to do by myself."  
  
A tangible explanation as to why wasn't so easy to hack out of his tangled brain circuits, but maybe he didn't need one. Looking up tentatively, he added, "Besides... I figure that if there's anyone who doesn't need an explanation? It's you."  
  
Bruce's nod was slight and brisk, and his eyes seemed to blaze as he met Dick's gaze unwaveringly -- unflinchingly, where most others would have looked away. Strangely, it reminded Dick of all the times his dad used to toss his young, tiny self in the air. The overwhelming warmth at being caught was the same surge coursing through his chest now. Because Bruce did understand. He was the only person who ever had, without ever having to say a word.  
  
"He recognised me." Dick shifted his own gaze to the scenery outside, idly observing that the slopes would be excellent for sledding, even as he spoke of entirely different matters. "Pop Haly, I mean. Just the way I worked the trapeze was enough."  
  
"But he doesn't know we're superheroes – I didn't give him any details about the real culprit, or how he was caught," Dick added quickly, before Bruce could raise an eyebrow or anything like that.
  
The other man nodded, looking thoughtful. "I trust you were -– and are -– responsible about keeping your cover intact." he agreed. "But I can't say I'm surprised. Your acrobatic style is distinctive, and he knew your family well."
  
"Yeah," Dick echoed. Pop Haly had known his dad and Uncle Rick since they were kids. Maybe Dick would have even stayed with Pop, after that awful night. But Uncle Rick was bound to a bed in Gotham for the rest of his life; Dick couldn't leave him. Anyway, he could hardly be a one-boy trapeze act, even if he'd wanted to remain at the Circus.   
  
Staying had been the only choice, more so with Bruce Wayne's offer of compassion, understanding, and an opportunity to exact justice. Which wasn't to say that departing Haly's had been easy – both the first time, and the second time.
  
"Before we left," Dick began, a little hesitantly. "Pop requested a final performance, as a favour to him."
  
Just talking about it now, Dick could feel the rush of wind in his face: that exhilarating drop when the trapeze was in its downward trajectory, followed by the leap of his heart as it curved back up. Secure in the knowledge that all was well, and that his team-mates -– with their superpowers and open hearts -– had his back, a Grayson had flown high in the rafters of Haly's Circus once again.

Incredible didn't begin to describe it. Dick couldn't wait to tell Uncle Rick later, during his and Bruce's Christmas pilgrimage to the hospice.  Though Uncle Rick would lay there motionless, reactionless, he would hear every word. Dick knew, with a twinge of his heart, that he would.

It was the same twinge that made an appearance every time he thought of the wonderful, loving, amazing Graysons -– every time he ran through happy memories. Uncle Rick's easy, ever-present laughs - Aunt Karla's soothing lullabies - his cousin's John's constant puns and grammar jokes. Mom's kisses. Dad's cuddles...
  
"Closure." The word slipped out of Dick's mouth before it had even formulated itself in his mind.  
  
"I needed the closure," he repeated, realising this only as he spoke the words. The image in the memory globe came unbidden to his mind: the little fake, snow-globe world in with its smiling scarlet-and-gold aerialists, doing what they did best.

"To say goodbye to the Circus," Dick continued, the words tumbling out in one, quick breath. "To the life I might have had if my -- " his voice faltered for a moment, but he swallowed hard against his grief, and continued.

"- If they were still around, and I was still a Flying Grayson. I can't have that life anymore… but I've made my peace with that. Because I'm happy with the life that I do have. "
  
Silence followed his words, and lingered in the warm air. Dick stared at his hands, emptied of speech and uncertain about how to proceed. After a beat, though, Bruce placed his hand on Dick's shoulder.
  
"I can never replace your family," he said quietly. "And I would never try to."

Bruce paused to squeeze Dick's shoulder.

"But you will always have a home here, Dick, and people who love you. Whatever happens, I hope you'll remember that."
  
… Wow. It was a Christmas miracle. When was the last time Bruce had spoken this much about feelings..?  

Dick looked up, searching his mentor's face – for a sign, an indication that he wasn't really an alien or robot imposter, something. But all he saw was Bruce, gazing back at him. To anyone else, he may have looked blank, but Dick saw the slight furrow of his brows, the mild downward tilt of his jaw... the complete lack of the mask that Bruce Wayne used to shut out the world.

He was a man to whom emotional discourse did not come easily, but he'd made an effort. His quiet assurance enveloped Dick as the cape of Batman did against the harshest winter winds.

Dick's returning smile was bright, wide, and loving.  "Thanks, Bruce."  
  
More words weren't needed, not between them.
  
They sat in silence for several minutes, interrupted only when Alfred stepped into the room.  He had a tray in his hands.
  
"A light repast, Master Bruce, Master Dick?"  
  
Dick sat up.  There was warm gingerbread, tea for Bruce, and cocoa for Dick - with marshmallows, yes! Alfred made the best Christmas food.
  
"Thank you, Alfred." There was a tiny smile playing on the corners of Bruce's mouth, as he took his cup of tea, and turned back to Dick. "Up for some training?"
  
"On Christmas morning?" Dick grimaced over his steaming drink, not bothering to hide his un-thusiasm.
  
Bruce levelled his thumb at the snow-covered hills outside.  "Navigating difficult terrain."
  
That was Batman-speak for: "Sledding?"  
  
Bruce responded by sipping his tea, but Dick wasn't fooled. His mentor's smile had widened a fraction: "If you're up for it."
  
Dick gulped down his gingerbread and cocoa, burning his throat in the process, but not quite caring. Never mind being up for it - this was an occasion that called for being totally chalant!  
  
"Last one out is a stinkin' bat!" he yelled, racing out of his room and down the stairs, the echoes of his snickering laughs mingling with Bruce's chuckles and Alfred's sighs behind him.

Maybe in that little memory-globe world, there were six healthy and whole Graysons huddled in a little trailer, opening presents and eating Christmas cookies.  But between capturing Parasite, saving the Circus, hanging with the team, eating Alfred's awesome snacks, and sledding with Bruce, Dick figured that the real Christmas was turning out to be most asterous, indeed.