Work Text:
Slade grinned at his phone, humming in satisfaction at the notification showing a payment made to his off-shore account. Two million dollars in exchange for swiping a sample from a medical research facility so far underground that the Spanish government didn't even deny its existence — they just looked confused when asked about the rumors. Granted, most of them probably didn't know about it. Some did, though. Some fuckers had green-lit and paid for the experimental research to target weaknesses in individuals with activated meta-genes. Slade wasn't a scientist, but he'd seen enough late-night nature documentaries to know that cell mutation was a natural part of life. And he'd seen enough bizarre, comic book science-fiction type of shit in his line of work to believe there were ways to create a virus or an infection tailor-made to attack a certain mutation.
And he didn't like the sound of it. So he took the job.
The security had been a challenge — heat and motion sensors, biometric scanners at every door, automatic weapons, rooms that had all the oxygen sucked out of them if an intruder was detected — and Slade thrived under the chance to stretch his skillset. When he'd reached the main lab, he found a trial sample of a virus left sitting on a workbench, a pipette and a microscope slide strewn next to it, as though a scientist had left in a hurry — which they probably did, once the last guard had finally noticed his comrades weren't on their radios anymore and turned on the alarm before Slade dispatched him, too. The alarm had only been on for a few seconds, but the laboratory staff were either skittish or very aware of the widespread implications of their special project, because they'd fled, leaving Slade's path clear as he dealt with the automated security measures.
The sample left on the bench was labelled with neat, blocky handwriting — Common Cold, 2008
Slade grinned. There were a couple of refrigerated cabinets along one wall holding more preserved samples, many labelled with trial numbers and dates, representing different mutations of base viruses. There were hundreds of iterations, and Slade let out a low whistle, glancing over the cabinets then back toward the lone sample on the workbench.
The contract said he'd retrieve the latest sample.
It didn't specify the latest dated sample, or the latest sample being used. Well, if his employer cared about the distinction, then they should have put it in writing. Slade pocketed the outdated common cold, then took great pleasure in unplugging the refrigerated cabinets, flipping them over, smashing the rest of the samples, and breaking most of the more expensive-looking equipment for good measure.
He whistled happily as he made his way back outside.
Later, waiting for his private plane to be cleared for take-off, Slade pulled out his phone to let Jason know how the job went, and that he'd have at least two weeks free, if Jason wanted to join him. But he was stopped short when he noticed the date —December 24th.
Slade paused, his thumb hovering over the messaging app. He didn't know how to define this thing he had with Red Hood; they'd started as teammates two years back, ended up sharing a bed, and then kept falling into bed together until they realized they liked spending time with each other for other reasons, too. And now, when Slade was off a job, he spent it in Gotham more often than not. But Christmas together? That felt like... a step. And Slade didn't like taking steps without thinking it through, without knowing what to expect.
On the other hand, last year, Slade had seen Jason's apartment at the end of December, and there weren't any lights or wreaths, no red and green garland or even the a whiff of peppermint or pine scent. And when they'd gone out that night, Jason mentioned that he didn't care much for the holiday in Gotham. He wished Christmas wasn't so loud and wanted the city to use the decoration budget for more important things.
So Jason didn't care, and spending December 25th together wouldn't be a step at all.
Slade tapped into the messaging app just as the plane started taxiing toward the runway. "Job finished; went well. Omw back to Gotham now. Free for a couple weeks. Thinking about reserving the penthouse for us through New Years. What do you say?"
The penthouse at the Ritz Gotham and New Years Eve together. That was a good step, a manageable step — champagne and kissing and low pressure fun. They’f been sharing Jason's apartment lately, but a little luxury would do them both some good.
Jason's answer came quickly. "Sounds perfect."
Slade smiled and quickly texted the head manager at the Ritz. He felt marginally bad for whoever had already booked the penthouse, but all the staff knew how well Slade tipped, and he had no doubt they'd sort out his preferred room, the one with floor to ceiling windows overlooking Gotham, perfect for watching the New Years fireworks.
The plane was gaining speed down the runway when he got another text from Jason. "You don't mind if I bring my menorah, right?"
Slade blinked in surprise, questions flitting through his head. Was Jason Jewish? Of course he must be; why else would he have a menorah? Had Jason ever mentioned that to him before? No, definitely not. Slade had a mind for details — so was Jason hiding this from him? Why would he? When and what was Hanukkah anyway?
The wheels lifted off the ground, and Slade quickly replied before he lost service.
"Of course not."
After the plane landed at Gotham International, Slade got into the car waiting to take him to the hotel, but directed the driver to make a stop at the nearest Walmart first. Amidst a sea of red and green and gold decorations — still for sale, even at 4pm on Christmas Eve — Slade found a small corner of blue and silver. He looked at the shelves, full of streamers, chocolate coins, paper plates and napkins, and other party supplies, mostly embossed and embroidered with motifs of candles, menorahs, and dreidels — and promptly decided to shove all of it into his cart. After all, he had 2 million dollars burning a hole in his pocket. He briefly considered the boxes of small, multi-colored, tapered candles before also shoving one box of each color into his nearly-overflowing shopping cart.
Satisfied, Slade wheeled his loot to the checkout lanes, packed the bags into the waiting car, and then tipped the bell-boy with a handful of hundred dollar bills for lugging all of the stuff up to the penthouse along with Slade's suitcase. A long shower and a delicious room service dinner later, and Slade was passing out on the California King bed.
He woke up around noon to few brisk knocks at the door, and checked his phone to see some texts and a missed call from Jason. He grinned and quickly rolled out of bed.
Slade opened the door and barely caught a glimpse of Jason — cheeks rosy from the cold, lips slightly chapped, eyes brighter than any of the tropical waters Slade had seen in all his traveling — before his favorite bat was launching himself at Slade. He had enough presence of mind to catch Jason, return his kiss, and carry him to the bedroom where they spent several hours getting joyfully reacquainted with each other after a spending the last few weeks apart. They were interrupted only by a room service lunch, and, later, by a long bath in the jacuzzi tub — which, to no one’s surprise, led to some more joyful reacquaintance.
Slade almost forgot about the 17 plastic bags full of Hanukkah party supplies shoved into the closet.
"Oh I fuckin' love these things," Jason said, moaning happily as he put on one of the plush bathrobes, his still-damp hair curling around his face.
Slade laughed. "I could buy you one, you know," he suggested, putting on his own robe before pulling Jason into a languid, satisfied kiss.
But Jason shook his head, smiling as he broke the kiss. "It wouldn't be as nice. The robe is part of the whole penthouse experience."
"I could buy you this penthouse," Slade amended, entirely serious.
Jason rolled his eyes. "Don't," he said, fondly pressing one finger to the tip of Slade's nose. "I mean it. Now come on, I need a breather, and the sun's about to set —come watch it with me?"
Slade followed him out of the bathroom as Jason headed toward a sofa that overlooked Gotham through those giant windows, facing east toward the harbor. "What am I supposed to do if I can't buy you nice things?" he asked.
Jason snorted loudly. "Spend time with me and listen to me bitch about my work my family? Normal couple shit," he added, motioning for Slade to join him on the sofa.
Slade frowned in thought, but laid down on the sofa, resting his head on Jason's lap. "Is that we are, now?" he asked. "A couple?"
"I think we have been for a while now," Jason said, his even, casual tone belied by the way his fingers played nervously with Slade's hair. "Don't you?"
Slade played the word around in his head. Couple. That was close to duo, or team. "Sounds about right," he answered.
Jason huffed out a laugh, and they settled into a comfortable quiet, watching the sky change from blue to yellow to pink and orange, like a flower blooming to life and then dying again just as quickly, bright warm tones melting away into a sliver of deep green and a sea of midnight blue that finally turned to black. Jason let out a soft sigh as the last bit of sunlight faded, replaced by a few bright stars and the glow of a city coming to life at night — a little more subdued than usual, for Gotham, many of her citizens likely spending the holiday at home rather than downtown.
Jason shifted, and Slade grumbled a complaint, making Jason laugh. "Come on, I want to light the menorah."
Right. Slade sat up and watched from the couch as Jason walked over to where he'd dropped his duffel bag earlier, just inside the door. He rummaged around for a second, then pulled out something wrapped in a soft t-shirt that definitely belonged to Slade. (Or, at least, it used to.)
"What is that?" Slade asked, staring at the thing in Jason's hands that looked much more like a bright red stegosaurus than the elaborate candle holders that patterned half the stuff he'd bought at Walmart.
Jason blushed slightly, but held it out proudly for Slade to see. "My menorah," he said, turning it to show off holes in the stegosaurus' back. "The candles go here. Bruce got it for me the year he adopted me," he explained, looking at the dinosaur with a small smile and trailing a hand fondly down its side. "Help me move that little table closer to the window?"
Slade stood to comply, setting the end table up against the glass, then moving aside so Jason could place his dino-menorah on top of it.
"Ah fuck," Jason swore emphatically, face twisting in dismay.
"What's wrong?" Slade asked.
Jason pinched the bridge of his nose. "I forgot the candles. Stupid. Do you think they'd have some at the front desk?" he asked, but then shook his head, answering his own question. "I doubt it... I'll have to go grab them from my apartment."
"I have some," Slade said quickly.
"You do?" Jason asked hopefully, then raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Why?"
Slade shrugged, letting his face go blank. "I stopped by the store to get supplies on my way here from the airport," he said, gesturing at the coat closet that still hid his Hanukkah hoard.
"Supplies?" Jason snorted, walking over to the closet. "This is a five-star hotel. They'd dry clean your socks if you wanted. What supplies would you possibly need?"
He opened the door as he finished talking, and frowned at the bags, then cocked his head. Slade watched silently as Jason bent down to rummage through the stuff, emerging with a blue and silver party hat in one hand, and a dreidel as big as his head in the other.
Then, he started laughing — a deep, full belly laugh, enough to make him double over in mirth. Jason kept laughing, peals of joy spreading through the room and making Slade's ears burn as Jason dug through the bags, pulling out containers of menorah-shaped glitter, blue and silver streamers, and a string of lights shaped like little dreidels.
"Oh these are fantastic," Jason said with a grin, holding onto a pair of oven mitts embroidered with a little jar of oil on one, and the phrase I love you a latke on the other.
Slade thought the laughter was over, but then Jason caught sight of all the candles, and he doubled over again, laughing until he was wheezing and gasping for air, a smile on his face the whole time. Finally, after the longest minutes of Slade's life, Jason did stop laughing, and walked back over to Slade — still holding onto one oven mitt, and adorned with a sparkly blue boa wrapped around his neck like a scarf.
"What possessed you to get all this stuff?" he asked, grinning widely. Slade didn't realize he'd placed his arms defensively over his chest until Jason was tugging at his wrists, uncrossing Slade's arms for him before pulling him into a hug. "Thank you," Jason murmured, pressing his smile to Slade's neck. "I love it."
Slade's embarrassment melted away. "You're welcome," he said, then huffed a little. "If you'd ever mentioned you were Jewish, I could've prepared better," he grumbled. "I don't know anything about this stuff."
"You never asked," Jason replied, but sighed and pulled back a little to look at Slade, biting his lip, hesitating. "I wasn't born Jewish," he explained. "Bruce is though, and when he adopted me — it was real rough for the first month or so. I missed my mom more than ever, and I didn't want to replace her."
"That makes sense," Slade said.
Jason snorted. "No it doesn't."
“Yes it does,” Slade defended. “You were a kid. It makes sense.”
"Right," Jason acquiesced, pressing his finger to Slade's nose again and giving him a smile. "Well, then December hit, and I hated the idea of having Christmas at the manor. It would be too different. But then Alfred told me we didn't have to do Christmas if I didn't want to. And that Bruce was only decorating for Christmas because he thought I would like it," Jason went on, his gaze going a little hazy with memories. "And that they didn't usually do Christmas anyway, they did something better."
"Hanukkah," Slade said.
Jason nodded. "The timing was great that year, it started a few days before Christmas and ended a few days after. Eight whole nights of the best food I’ve ever had, playing games together, and learning about miracles. What's not to love? Bruce even got me my own menorah," he smiled down at the stegosaurus, "so we could light the candles at the same time, together. Later on, I realized they'd really pulled out all the stops that year with the food and decorations and parties every night. Most of the time, Hanukkah is simpler — still fun and a good time to celebrate together, just simpler — but it's still my favorite holiday."
Slade frowned. "So why not tell me?"
Jason shrugged, pursing his lips a little. "I don't know. Bruce taught me all all the Jewish traditions and I still do them, but I never officially converted, and I feel like a fraud sometimes, calling myself Jewish."
Slade could understand that —or, he could try to anyway. He looked thoughtfully over at the boxes of candles and the absolute massive pile of party decorations, now strewn across the floor in front of the coat closet. "If it's any consolation," he drawled. "You're definitely more Jewish than I am."
Jason choked out a laugh. "I wouldn't be so sure — looks like you've single-handedly kept the Hanukkah industry in business this year."
Slade snorted. "Like I said, I don't know anything about this stuff. If I did, I wouldn't have bought so much of it."
"Yeah you would've, Mr. Moneybags," Jason teased, then glanced at Slade with a hopeful look. "I could teach you some stuff, if you wanted?"
And there was something about Jason’s face, particularly the look in his eyes that told Slade this was a bigger step than he’d planned on taking tonight. But somehow, he didn’t mind.
Slade shrugged. "Sure," he said. "Why not?"
Jason smiled. "Go pick a box of candles then," he said nudging Slade toward the pile of stuff. "Doesn't matter which one. You packed a lighter, right?"
"In my suitcase, outer compartment."
"Perfect."
Slade grabbed the box of bright orange candles and met Jason — now holding Slade's lighter — back at the table with the menorah on it.
"Good color choice," Jason teased with a slight laugh, taking the candles from Slade and easily opening the box. He placed one candle in the hole on the far right, by the dinosaur's head. "It's the first night of Hanukkah, so we'll have two candles. One is the shamash candle, and it goes in the middle," he gestured at the highest point of the stegosaurus, the middle of its back, then placed another candle there. "It's always higher than the other eight candles, we’ll add another one each night of Hanukkah. See how some of these holes are deeper than others?" Slade nodded. "That's so those eight candles will all be the same height, and only the shamash is set apart."
Slade recalled the shape of a traditional menorah and nodded again. "And they have to do that because stegosauruses aren't flat," he teased lightly.
"Right," Jason laughed, then clicked on the lighter and lit the shamash candle. "Before we light the other candle, I'll sing a blessing." He opened his mouth, but Slade stopped him first.
"What do I do while you're singing?" he asked.
Jason grinned and touched his cheek fondly. "Just stand there and look pretty."
Then Jason sang, his bass-y voice low and pleasing to Slade's ears, lilting slightly. The words were foreign to Slade — Hebrew, of course — but they felt pleasant, hopeful. It was only a few seconds before Jason finished the last note, a peaceful smile on his face.
"Do you want to help me light the candle?" he asked.
Slade quirked an eyebrow. "Can I do that?"
"I should hope so," Jason joked. "There's just one tonight, even you should be able to handle it."
Slade huffed. "That's not what I meant."
Jason grinned, and nudged him with his shoulder. "I know. Go on, pick up the shamash, I'll guide you."
After the briefest second of hesitation, Slade picked up the lit candle, quickly comforted by Jason's hand wrapping around his own. As they moved the candle slowly toward the first candle, Jason sang another blessing, and unconsciously, Slade hummed along, watching as the wick caught and began to burn. Jason sang the last note of the second blessing as they placed the shamash back into its spot in the middle. Then Jason softly sang a third blessing, a small smile playing across his face.
They watched the candles burn for a few minutes before Jason squeezed Slade's hand. "There you go," he said. "That's the first night of Hanukkah."
Slade blinked and looked at him. "That's all?"
Jason shrugged. "That's all. Usually, Bruce would throw a party for everyone at the Manor one night, but he's off-world, and the rest are a bit too busy this year," he said, a little bit of sadness coloring his words. "I was planning on making latkes one night, and seeing if Hallmark is putting out another Hanukkah movie," he mused, "but I don't know if I was up for doing that alone, anyway, so I'm glad you texted," he added, leaning against Slade's side.
“Glad you answered,” Slade replied, a little surprised by the honest softness in his own voice. “We could watch one of those movies tonight.”
Jason made a small, considering noise. “If you want,” he hedged. “The menorah is the important part. Tonight, Jews all over the world are lighting their menorahs, and I'm one of them," Jason finished softly.
"Yeah," Slade pressed a quick kiss to Jason's temple. "You are." He let them stay there for a few more minutes, watching the candlelight reflect in the window, then asked, "What's a latke?"
"The best thing you've never eaten," Jason replied cryptically. "Do you think the hotel would let us use their kitchen tomorrow? I could show you."
Slade cocked his head to one side. "Would they have the right ingredients?"
"Yeah," Jason laughed. "I think they could manage. Besides, I need to test out my new oven mitts."
Slade hummed for minute. "I think we need to break-in all of the decorations, too."
Jason's whole face lit up, and Slade grinned at the way the candlelight made him glow.