Chapter Text
While his grandsons were out doing last-minute Christmas shopping, Alfred prepared dinner. He had found a mushroom and leek pie recipe and wanted to give it a shot. Bruce had offered his help, but after that spaghetti fiasco, he was barred from using the stove. Alfred raised him better than setting a pot of noodles on fire. Alfred had tried replicating the incident but never figured out how it happened. A camera was also installed in the kitchen after that as well.
As Alfred started chopping vegetables, Tayir turned into the kitchen. He seemed startled by Alfred and the knife but entered when Alfred made no move against him.
“Hello, Tayir,” Alfred greeted, wiping his hands on his apron. “What may I help you with?”
“What… you doing?”
“Making some dinner,” he replied, opting not to pick up the knife again just yet. Best not to scare the highly decorated assassin, even if he didn’t have his sword. “Would you like to see?”
Tayir shuffled forward and took a seat at the island where Alfred was working. Alfred kept the chef's knife close to the counter, but Tayir seemed comfortable being surrounded by the sound of Alfred's humming and the heat of the oven heating up. Once Alfred was done with the vegetables, he added them to the saucepan with butter. To thicken it into a sauce, he grabbed flour and milk. He then added some ground beef.
“Can you go into the bag of cheese from the fridge?” Alfred asked as he poured in the liquids. Tayir found it quickly and brought it over, still keeping some distance.
“What’s on… the fridge?” Tayir asked. He was pointing to a paper from Damian's school. Next to it were a ton of pictures from years past.
“Oh, that! That paper is from Damian’s school. Those are his grades in his different subjects. Straight A’s. That’s the best grade you can get, by the way. He is at the top of his class!” Alfred explained with a bright smile. He poured the sauce into a pie crust and covered it, scoring the top. “Those photos are from the past 15 years or so.”
The earliest photo on the fridge was of a smiling Dick Grayson after Bruce took him to a Knights football game. He was holding a stick of cotton candy and looking at it like it was gold. Alfred had scolded Bruce for buying him so much sugar, but in Bruce’s defense, it made the boy happy. It was the most Dick had smiled since his parents had died.
There was a photo of Jason that was taken secretly when he was playing chess with Alfred. He had won that game. The only other person to beat him at that point was Bruce and then later Tim and Damian. Dick never really understood the game. Jason was still an angry teen then, but at that moment, he only looked focused on the game, like he was a general.
Next to it was a photo of Dick and Jason walking Ace. Jason was cringing at a pun Dick had said, but he was trying to hide a smile. Dick was laughing so hard, Ace looked concerned.
At the lowest corner was a picture of a sunrise in the garden. The sky had turned the colorful garden to a deep shade of orange. Alfred had taken that one the morning after Jason’s funeral. He had been sitting in the garden clearing his head, mourning his grandchild, missing his other since Dick had locked himself in his room, and worrying about Bruce. That sunrise was the only good thing about that morning.
The first picture of Tim was of him and Dick at a gala. Tim was a natural at galas since he had gone with his parents, but he still looked uncomfortable. In the background, you could just barely see Bruce smiling at the two of them.
The first picture of Damian was of his reading in the library. Titus was lying across his lap, just a puppy at the time, and Damian was reading Jane Austin. He looked content, with a cup of tea next to him and a roaring fire warming the room.
Tayir grabbed the picture of Damian and studied it. Alfred smiled. This man loved the boy so much, as a brother would. Damian would never run out of brothers now.
“You can keep it if you like. I always make copies.” Alfred offered. Tayir took the photo out of the magnetic frame and tucked it close to his heart.
“Who’s this?” Tayir asked. He was pointing to the first photo of Jason. Alfred's breath caught in his throat. The family didn’t talk much of Jason save on quiet nights. It wasn’t like they wanted to forget him, but they still blamed themselves. Perhaps they should talk about him more, which might remove the guilt.
“That was Bruce’s second son. We lost him years ago.”
Tayir nodded. “Dick mentioned him.”
A silence fell over them as Alfred covered the pie in saran wrap to heat up later. The boys wouldn’t be back for a few hours.
“I… help?” Tayir placed a hand on Alfred’s shoulder, shaking him from his thoughts.
“Do you want to help me cook? I could use a side dish.”
Tayir looked around the cupboards and the fridge, muttering so quietly the cloth mask covered most of it. After some time, he pulled out flour and yeast. Alfred meant that he could help, but Tayir looked fine making something by himself, so Alfred stepped back, only moving when Tayir needed something he couldn’t find. Actually, for the most part, Tayir seemed to know where stuff was. He must have been in the kitchen before.
Tayir took care in his work, kneading the ingredients into a dough, using perfect accuracy and the exact methods. He added some cranberries, walnuts, and cinnamon.
When he was done, Alfred helped him place it in the oven. Tayir seemed to hate the heat.
“Where did you learn this?” Alfred asked in awe.
Tayir shrugged. “No clue. Just do.”
“Surely not the League?”
“No,” Tayir laughed. “Old… friend maybe? It’s… unclear.”
“Huh. Well, you are welcome to use the kitchen whenever. I’m afraid Bruce is banned on account of him being way too accident-prone.”
Tayir nodded a bow. “Thank you.”
Alfred and Tayir shared more stories as Bruce came down to check on dinner. Tayir stood to bar him from entering, but Alfred assured him he was okay being in the kitchen. As he realized his mistake, Alfred could see a smile in Tayir’s eyes. That was so much better than fear.
Tayir regaled them with stories of Damian as a boy, of the Christmases he tried to give him, of Damian’s first drawing and wondering where it was, of dancing in private courtyards. Tayir acted them out or drew shaky pictures of these events, but they soaked up every account, holding them close to their hearts.
They were going to make this Tayir’s best Christmas yet.