more things I don't have the time to write out fully but I can dream....
Jason did, he thought, a pretty admirable job of not throwing Bruce's hand off his good shoulder as they stood in a corner for a breather. Big fancy parties like these weren't usually his cup of tea on a good day. Nursing a shoulder still sore from being put back in socket the night before--still in a sling, to boot--only made the itching sensation of being observed even worse.
"I'm sorry," Bruce murmured softly, in that stilted way of his. "As soon as we've made an appearance for at least another hour, I can have Alfred drive you home. No one expects you to be here all night, least of all me."
Jason didn't answer at first. The crowd just outside their small sanctuary, shielded by the large fanning leaves of an indoor plant, milled about talking, talking, talking. From a distance, it looked peaceful. Beautiful, even. All those glittering pieces of jewelry and glimmering, slicked-back hairdos and expertly tailored suits and dresses.
He knew from recent experience that up close, the sight was vicious crimson streaked across a dozen faces. A backhanded compliment--a stab there. A veiled threat of lawsuit or buyout--a slash here. It was a battlefield balanced on a tightrope, and Jason had two left feet. He could see the aftermath on people's faces--he'd always been good at that. You had to be, on the open street, where your wits were a flimsy shield against death at every corner.
He could barely follow the words they used, but he could still understand what they meant. Just because he was still catching up in school didn't mean he was dumb.
Not that people paying 10,000 dollars a plate for an event like this cared. The best he was to them was an in with Bruce, and even that was a dubious pursuit for most of them. It hadn't taken long for his temper to make an appearance the first time, and he had no doubt it would make another appearance tonight if he couldn't manage to hold out for another hour. Then he could go home. Go home and sit with a cup of tea and return to the Shire, leaving all the sharp smiles outside the pages of a book.
Then he frowned. "Alfred would pick me up? What about you?"
Bruce smiled at that--one of those soft little smiles that barely touched the edges of his mouth. A real smile that was neither Batman nor Brucie, but something underneath both.
"Don't worry about me. I've been attending these events long before I met you, and I've managed to survive."
Something stiffened in Jason's shoulders at that. Something proud and stubborn and fierce that made a home in his chest.
"Chum, you're injured. Anyone would understand you being tired."
Jason shook his head. "We're partners." When Bruce didn't answer, he prompted, "Right?"
Bruce leaned in a little closer, as if anyone could possibly be listening to them right now, and slowly replied, "Right."
Bruce looked at him again then, with eyes lit up like the moon on a clear Gotham night, and Jason felt the rightness of the decision settle in his gut. Even if his shoulder hated him for it tomorrow. The sling only did so much when he was constantly moving around a ballroom and meeting obnoxious people.
They both turned just in time to see Edith Hugh staring in their collective direction. Worse still, she was walking with the kind of purpose you did when you wanted to give someone a piece of your mind. Jason flinched at her approach and cursed himself for it, but when he looked up at Bruce, the man was making an expression that said he was feeling about the same.
"Divide and conquer. I'll head her off and you get us some refreshments, eh?"
It was a distraction tactic if ever Jason had seen one, but he wasn't about to argue the point. He'd agreed to stay the length of the event, not duel with the Hugh matriarch. He happily skittered off towards the back, where waiters were ducking in and out of the swinging doors on a scheduled interval. It'd be easier to snag one carrying a fresh tray if he caught them right as they left.
By the third tray of caviar, duck pâté and raw salmon, Jason was swiftly losing hope in something edible coming his way. He tried to keep his chin up, however, and was watching so intently for the heavy doors of the kitchen that he missed the voice right by his ear.
"Not a fan of caviar, huh?"
Jason whirled to see a girl, perhaps his age, standing there with a bus pan and apron, her collared polo marked with the brand of the catering company. Glancing around at the waiters with their much sharper outfits, it didn't take a genius to guess she wasn't supposed to be out here on the floor.
Jason said something to this effect, blurted out and awkward, and the girl frowned.
"Well, no, but--you seemed like you were having a hard time." She said defensively. She had freckles on her nose like scattered sand, he realized with a start, and he quickly shook himself.
"Well I'm doing just fine." Jason said pointedly, waving with his good arm. "No hard times here."
The girl looked a little hurt, then snorted. "Sure, okay." She started to pack up her bus tray, darting glances between the swinging doors and Jason. Then, with an over-exaggerated sigh, she added:
"Too bad. If you'll excuse me, I have to go eat commoner dumplings in the back."
"You guys have dumplings back there?"
"Yep. Hot pot too. My maman made it fresh."
Now that got his attention. Alfred--bless his English soul--did not make much in the way of fiery food. Well-seasoned and flavorful, yes. Spicy like traditional hot pot--like the kind his old neighbors used to make on Thursday nights until they got evicted from their ratty apartment building--not so much.
Which was how Jason found himself holding a pair of chopsticks awkwardly in his good hand, nestled between the girl with the bus tray, another girl around the same age with fluffy reddish-brown hair, and a youngish adult sitting around a small pot filled with boiling hot broth.
"I'm Marie, by the way." Bus tray girl said, still smiling as she fixed a bowl with several chunks of blanched meat and veg before holding it above her head. It was taken by a passing woman with similar features and a bark of Mandarin that sounded equal parts affectionate and reprimanding.
"I'm Alya," the girl with reddish-brown hair said, also taking a bowlful of hotpot--this time for herself--before digging in. Marie selected a few dumplings from the plate in the center of the table before carefully spearing one through. Steaming broth poured from the incision.
"Long xio bao--soup dumplings."
"They look good," Jason admitted, pleased when Marie passed him the plate.
"They are good." She grinned.
The older girl at the table snorted. "Sure. Tell that to mom next time she and Auntie Sabine butts heads over menu."
Marie scowled, her chin aloft in scorn. "No one asked for your opinion, Nora."
"And yet I've so generously shared it with you, ungrateful brat." Nora replied magnanimously.
"Ah-ah-ah--don't let Aunt Sabine hear you say that." The older girl, Nora, put on an expression of mock outrage. "My daughter? Swearing like an American? Unacceptable!"
Jason pointedly did not bring up that the "swear" was so mild it hadn't even registered when Marie had said it. Although that might also have been due to the hot pot and dumplings. So sue him, they were good and he was distracted.
The girls bickered for a moment or two more, then they all settled down to the task of eating and were silent. After a long battle to stuff in more, Jason finally laid down his chopsticks and declared defeat.
"Da--darn. Why don't you serve this for dinner? It's miles better than the crap they've got out there." The words caught up to him and he winced. "I mean--not that you guys are doing a bad job or anything--"
"Relax, rich boy. We know what you meant." Alya said forgivingly. "Caviar's got more social clout to it, so that's what they ask for and that's what we serve. There are probably two people on planet earth who actually like it. Everyone else pretends to because everybody eats caviar darling, of course." She finished the sentence in a drippy, melodramatic tone, flinging a hand over her eyes for added effect. Jason fought a snicker at the sight.
"It kind of sucks, sure, but at least that means more hot pot for us." Marie added, her tone chipper for being so late at night.
"Yeah, until Aunt Sabine catches you slacking off and packs it up." Nora cut in, rising from the table. "I'm up for dish duty. Do not touch my bean buns or I will end you both on sight."
Nora promptly left, leaving the two remaining girls to roll their eyes at each other.
"She's really a big softie on the inside," Marie whispered to Jason, even after Nora was out of earshot. "But she's gotta act cool for us, since we're just the peon little siblings."
Jason nodded, "I've got a brother like that."
Not that Dick was around all that much.
"Cool." Marie said, and she sounded surprisingly genuine. "I kind of wish I had an older brother."
"No you don't." Jason snorted, handing his bowl to Marie when she held out a hand to take it. She replaced it with a tea cup and carefully set out an enormous teapot with chipped blue dragons curling up the side.
After a few minutes, Marie removed the tea leaves inside and carefully poured Jason a cup. He was just about to take a sip when a familiar voice sent dread hurtling to the pit of his stomach.
Jason, Marie, and Alya all looked up at once and blanched at the sight of Bruce accompanied by two women in matching company polos who looked an awful lot like Alya and Marie. Marie stood up suddenly, her chair scooting back with a harsh scrape across the floor.
For a moment, all of them stared at one another, before Marie blurted out:
"I'm sorry, sir, it's my fault. I invited him to join us. I didn't realize you were looking for him."
Bruce didn't look angry, but then again Jason hadn't known him for that long. And the man could act.
"Marie, what is the meaning of this?" A woman with Asian features and short-cropped hair around her ears pierced Marie with a look of parental disbelief. She opened her mouth again to speak, but Bruce held up a hand.
"Jason?" He asked, and Jason knew it wasn't so much a question as an order of explain.
"She--Marie noticed I couldn't find much to eat in the fancy food so she invited me to eat back here, with them. It was really good too." Jason felt obligated to add the last part since the Asian woman--Marie's mother, perhaps--looked stricken at the whole situation. Her face didn't even twitch at the compliment.
"That and, well, there's only cocktail tables in the main foyer and I thought Jason could use a break from standing. Since his arm's got to be hurting." Marie added quickly.
Jason blinked, momentarily stunned, but hastily nodded.
Bruce mulled this over. Then he turned to Jason.
"Next time you need a break, I'd prefer you tell me where you're headed before you take off."
Jason didn't flinch at the public reprimand, but it was a near thing.
"Second--what is your name, madam?"
"Sabine Dupain-Cheng." The woman answered, pale but unflinching. "I'm sorry to say my children have behaved this way at such an important event, but I assure you--"
Bruce stopped her. "On the contrary, Madam, I am delighted."
And there was Brucie, making an appearance for the fifteenth time that night.
"Your daughter--is this your daughter?" Bruce continued when the woman nodded, "Your daughter's attention to detail is remarkable. In fact, I have a little soiree coming up soon and I could use staff like yours--would you be interested in talking contract terms?"
The woman stumbled through an affirmative answer before sweeping Bruce toward the kitchen with a grand gesture.
"But of course--we pride ourselves on service. Let's talk scheduling..."
As Bruce gestured he follow, Jason glanced back at Marie and caught one final, tentative grin before he lost sight of her.
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