Fic: The Raven And The Nightingale Book III: Cherry Blossoms (1/22)
Title: The Raven And The Nightingale Book III: Cherry Blossoms (1/22)
Author: BradyGirl_12
Pairings/Characters (this chapter): Bruce/Dick, Alfred Pennyworth, Donna Troy, Roy Harper
Genres: Angst, AU, Drama,Historical, Holiday, Mystery, Romance
Rating (this chapter): G
Warnings (this chapter): Use of the word ‘Gypsy’.
Spoilers: None
General Summary: Bruce and Dick get caught up in political intrigue on a business trip to Washington City.
Chapter Summary: Dick enjoys his first American Thanksgiving.
Date Of Completion: September 9, 2015
Date Of Posting: January 16, 2022
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, DC does, more’s the pity.
Word Count: 1692
Feedback welcome and appreciated.
Author’s Note: The entire series can be found here.
PART ONE
BUDS
I
PUMPKIN PIE
November 28, 1907
If I should die
Before I eat pumpkin pie
Then I should never know
Heaven.
Harry Snow
“Whimsical Whimsies”
1906 C.E.
The orchestra played like angels plucking harp strings, the music pure and sweet, bringing tears to the eyes. The jewels of the women in the audience were outshone by the glitter on-stage. The sets were cotton candy laced with diamonds as the dancers whirled in heartbreaking grace.
The young man in the center sparkled as strong legs propelled him across a world of fantasy as women in tutus pirouetted and danced en pointe. The world was an airy confection of beauty as he watched the enchanting ballet, his heart swelling with love. The glittery stage was his world now. This gorgeous man was all he needed, all he wanted. He would never give him up.
Suddenly, the beautiful ballet world dissolved and the dark wood and furniture of his familiar bedroom coalesced around him. The young man danced only for him.
Only for me.
The dance was sensual, every limb strong and every movement passionate. As the young man turned, his smile dazzled, sunshine in a dark room. The weight of tradition felt much lighter as a clean breath of fresh air aired out the mustiness.
The young man danced closer, knowing exactly how to use his body. Closer, closer, closer as the beauty approached the bed.
That’s it, come closer, come closer.
A rustle of silk reached his ears as a shadow danced across the room, holding out her hand. She twined her legs around the man’s limbs as she started to draw the beauty away.
He felt panic constrict his chest. He shot his hand out. “No!”
The shadow turned to him. Selina smiled.
“You will lose him, Bruce.”
& & & & & &
Bruce came awake with a strangled cry. He looked around wildly, noting that it was his bedroom. Looking to his right, he nearly collapsed with relief as he saw Dick sleeping soundly next to him. With a shaking hand he lightly touched his companion’s hair.
Moonlight streamed through the windows. He had forgotten to pull the drapes. Bruce rubbed his face and carefully slid out of bed. He put on his dark-blue robe and belted it, slipping his feet into warm slippers. He left the bedroom and walked silently downstairs.
He could smell the turkey cooking. Alfred always cooked the Thanksgiving turkey all night, getting up to check on it periodically. Right now the kitchen was empty and Bruce opened the icebox. A few items had been prepared ahead of time. The icebox was too small to hold many dishes, so Alfred would be making them later today. Several pies were lined up on the counter in the pantry. The grandfather clock in the library chimed two o’clock.
He wandered over to the window over the sink and watched the play of moonlight over the water. He folded his arms over his stomach as he hunched his shoulders.
I can’t lose him. He chases the shadows away.
“Master Bruce?”
Startled, Bruce turned around. “Oh, I’m sorry, did I wake you?”
“No, sir.” Alfred indicated the stove. “I must check on the turkey.”
“Yes, of course.”
Alfred leaned down as he opened the stove door and with a fork he poked the bird. Closing the door, he asked quietly, “Everything all right, sir?”
“Yes, fine.” Bruce smiled slightly. “I was just wondering if I should patrol as the Raven soon.”
“And the Nightingale?”
“Always the Nightingale.”
“Perhaps Thanksgiving Night is not the best time for strenuous exercise, sir.”
Bruce chuckled. “No, I suppose not. Probably everyone will be too stuffed to go out and commit crimes.”
Alfred put the fork down. “Well, I had better return to bed. Goodnight, sir.”
“Goodnight, Alfred.”
& & & & & &
The kitchen was filled with activity. Dick had insisted upon helping out with the dinner preparations. He was mashing Maine potatoes as Alfred cut up yams. The butler sprinkled brown sugar on the pieces and put them in the oven on a tray.
“What can I do to help, Alfred?” asked Bruce.
“Well, sir, could you please set the dining room table? The good china, of course.”
“Of course.” Bruce left with a smile.
“No need of kitchen help?” Dick asked.
“I would prefer to limit the Master’s participation in the kitchen.”
Dick grinned. He added dill to the potatoes. “You’re a wise man, Alfred.”
“Of course, sir.”
& & & & & &
Bruce carefully set the dining room table. A pale orange tablecloth bordered with a design of colorful leaves was laid out, a centerpiece of small gourds arranged on a brown ceramic platter flanked by two orange candles set in crystal candleholders made for a festive display.
The china was from the nineteenth century, flawless bone with a gold stripe encircling the center where the Wayne family crest rested, painted in blue and gold.
Bruce looked at the plate in his hand. He was proud of his heritage. He knew where he came from and where he belonged.
Guiltily, he thought of Dick’s situation: no relatives that he knew of and his parents dead because of hate. He feared that Dick had the wandering Gypsy in him and would never be satisfied in Gotham.
I have to make sure that does!
The doorbell ringing nearly made him drop the plate. Nerves tingling, he grasped it tighter and put it on the table.
“I’ll answer it!” he called toward the kitchen. He hurried down the hall and across the foyer. Opening the front door, he smiled. “Happy Thanksgiving!”
“Thank you, Mr. Wayne.” Donna Troy swept in, dressed in a pumpkin-colored dress. Her cloak was red velvet and her hat matched her dress, a long, orange-dyed feather tickling Bruce’s nose.
Roy Harper wore a burgundy suit and matching cloak and hat. Bruce collected both guests’ outerwear and put the clothes in the hall closet.
“Where is everybody?” Donna asked.
“In the kitchen. Now, if you’ll come this way…”
“We’d like to help out in the kitchen.”
Bruce looked surprised but smiled. “It’s to your right.”
Donna and Roy disappeared down the hall as Bruce returned to the dining room. As he set the table he could hear laughter coming from the kitchen. He felt happy as he heard such gaiety.
I’ve got a lot to be thankful for.
Bruce finished with his task and went to the kitchen. Standing in the doorway, he crossed his arms and watched Alfred’s helpers. Donna and Roy had donned aprons and were busy cutting, chopping and stirring. It was a domestic scene that Bruce would remember in the days ahead.
“That turkey smells fantastic, Alfred,” said Roy enthusiastically.
“Thank you, Miss Troy.”
Dick was tossing a salad and finished it as he asked, “Should I bring this into the dining room?”
“Yes, please, thank you.”
“All right.”
Dick smiled at Bruce and gave a little jerk of his head. Bruce followed him into the dining room as Dick set the large crystal bowl of crisp salad on the table.
“Remember our Thanksgiving in Russia?” Dick’s eyes sparkled.
“Very much. No pumpkin pie and roast chicken instead of turkey, but the feast was bountiful.”
“Oh, yes.” Dick put his arms around Bruce’s neck. “Plentiful.”
Bruce pulled Dick close. “It was a memorable holiday.”
Dick’s lips brushed Bruce’s. “We’ll have all the trimmings, won’t we?”
“All the trimmings you want, my graceful Nightingale.”
Dick kissed him and pulled away, his smile promising joy, probably later tonight. At least, Bruce hoped so.
“Soup’s on!” Roy called from the kitchen.
“We are having soup,” Dick said.
Laughing, Bruce put his arms around Dick’s shoulders as they headed for the kitchen.
& & & & & &
Bruce did remember last year’s Thanksgiving with everyone at Natasha’s aunt’s estate pitching in to give him as American-style a holiday as they could manage. He had been touched by their eagerness to ease his homesickness. Now he could show Dick a typical Thanksgiving.
The feast was laid out on the table: salad, mashed potatoes with dill, yams with miniature marshmallows and brown sugar, green beans ringed by onion rings, two kinds of stuffing (hamburger and bread), gravy, cranberry sauce and pumpkin soup brought in piping-hot from the kitchen. And, of course, the tender turkey.
Bruce stood and tested the carving knives and began his task of carving the turkey, passing the plates around. The other dishes were passed around family-style, and everyone took what they wanted.
“Save room for dessert,” Bruce cautioned.
“Three kinds of pie,” Alfred said cheerfully. “Apple, pumpkin and mince.”
“Mince!” Roy was excited. “I haven’t had any in years.”
“And you shall have it very soon, young sir,” said Alfred.
“Thank you for inviting us, Mr. Wayne,” said Donna.
“How could I deprive us of such a lovely ballerina as yourself?”
Donna smiled. “We’ve been doing well with the company. We’ll probably stage a new ballet after New Year’s.” She sipped her wine. “Speaking of ballet, I hear that Selina Kyle is doing well in New York.”
“Good for her,” Dick said as he cut a piece of turkey. “I understand why she left.”
“Why did she?” asked Roy. “She was at the top of her game here.”
“She wanted to see new places. She’s got restless feet.”
Bruce felt a tightening in his stomach. He had finished carving the turkey and took a sip of wine, one of the best from his cellar.
“Ah, the old Gypsy wanderlust,” Roy said as he nodded.
Dick’s hand faltered slightly. Bruce knew that he had not revealed his heritage to his friends. The only reason that Ollie and Dinah knew had been due to circumstances in Europe.
He has to keep so much of himself hidden: his heritage, his homosexuality…I’m glad I know him best.
Alfred had plenty of help in clearing away the dishes after dinner, and the pies were brought out from the pantry.
“I must have pumpkin!” Dick declared. He took a bite and rapture filled his face. “Heaven!”
“Quite so, my friend, quite so.” Bruce lifted his wineglass. “A toast to our good fortune.”
Everyone heartily toasted at the bountiful table on this happy Thanksgiving.
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