Dedicated to my father, who has taught me that sometimes the greatest gifts can be found in the most silent but selfless acts of loving-kindness.

A-A-A-A

The sky was a soft powdery shade of blue. The air was cold but crisp with the freshness of new snow that spiraled to the ground like dainty bits of lace. A single snowflake landed on the boy’s fidgety nose. The slight irritation caused him to sneeze aloud.

“Achoo!”

“Master Richard,” Alfred called from the interior of the house. “Would you kindly shut that window and come back inside? You’re likely to catch cold in this weather.”

The small boy blinked his large blue eyes at the tuxedoed butler. Sighing reluctantly, he pulled the window shut and fastened the bolt securely. Dick Grayson hopped down from his seat and walked over to Alfred who was winding red and green garland ribbons around the banister.

“When’s he getting home, Alfred?” the boy asked.

“Knowing Master Bruce, it could be any hour of the night,” he answered.

Dick tugged at a crimson ribbon that he was twirling around his finger. He had already been living in Wayne Manor for eight months and this was to be his first Christmas with them. Somehow, the festivities didn’t seem to be of much comfort to him.

It had been less than a year ago when it all began. That one fatal night when a few drops of acid burned through the ropes. One final swing caused his parents to plunge to their deaths.

One lone bastard named Anthony Zucco was the reason that Dick was an orphan.

You would think that Dick Grayson, a bright and energetic boy, would be gladly welcomed into the home of a foster family. But these things take time. Mountains of paperwork, social workers coming to Dick, and ridiculous phone calls were slowly dragging down the weary days that passed at a snail’s pace. He’d ask Bruce very meekly in those first few months what was going to happen to him.

“I don’t know,” the millionaire would usually answer while on the phone or buried into a newspaper. Then he would give the boy a glance, one of the rare times that he dared to make eye contact with Dick. And then perhaps in a much more sympathetic tone he would say, “Just take it a day at a time, chum. I’ll make sure everything’s fine.”

So far, Bruce has kept his word…sort of.

There was this constant awkward silence between them and it always made Dick uneasy. The sharp contrast between a usually well mannered but meek child and a bustling businessman caused Dick to question his very existence within the mammoth-sized house. He and Bruce were as different as night and day.

Bruce Wayne’s name was up in lights. He was dubbed “the Prince of Gotham”, the city’s most attractive bachelor and most bored billionaire with a face often featured in the most popular magazines around the world.

Richard Grayson’s name was modestly scattered among a few posters here and there across smaller towns under the banner of Haley’s Circus but that was about as far as his fame went.

Bruce owned a mansion on 40 acres of land, a business empire, 12 cars, two swimming pools, and his own private jet.

Dick owned a gold locket that belonged to his mother.

Yes, the differences were as clear as black and white to him.

Dick remembered the first time that Bruce had taken him shopping for new clothes. He had heard of what wealthy people do with their money but never had the experience of watching it happen.

“What do you think?” Bruce asked him.

The boy looked at his reflection in the three-way mirror, tugging on the collar of the shirt.

“I like it,” he said at last, admiring the crisp way the new fabric brushed over his skin. “It’s a nice shirt.”

They had never been poor in the circus but money was something that had to be saved for the most important occasions. Point being, Dick was used to going around in the same jeans most days and only changed into his circus uniforms when needed.

“I’ll try not to get it dirty or torn,” Dick promised him.

The wealthy man raised an eyebrow in surprise. “We’ll take the red one,” Bruce said to the saleslady with a nod. “Four red, six blue, six white, and five charcoal gray.”

Dick nearly fell off the stool he was standing on. “That’s twenty one shirts!” he blurted aloud. He had never owned so many clothes at once. Bewildered, the boy watched his companion casually sign his name on the receipt for a staggering amount of money.

“Um, thank you,” he said to Bruce. “But you really didn’t have to get me so many.”

“At least you’ll have spares,” Bruce replied, waving a hand in approval to the sales clerk.

Just one thought was in Dick’s mind while the clerks wrapped up his shirts and placed them into silvery tinted boxes:

“What am I going to do with all of these shirts?”

Bruce had bought countless toys for Dick from puzzles to video games to action figures and roller skates. He was given the run of the house and allowed to explore the spacious indoor marble pool, the game room, and massive library. Only the master bedroom, the private quarters of Bruce’s late parents, was off limits.

Yet all of these kind gestures were not sufficient to quench Dick’s thirst for understanding. Just why would someone as rich and powerful as Bruce Wayne bring a little kid into his life? What was he trying to accomplish in making his home into a “safe house” for the orphan?

Dick’s curiosity was distracted by the preparations for their holiday feast. He followed Alfred into the kitchen were the most appetizing smells were wafting from the stovetop. Dick breathed in the scent of turkey roasting and could almost taste the garlic on creamy mashed potatoes. He helped Alfred tear bread for stuffing, mix the cranberry sauce, and finally finished off by peeling the carrots.

“Should we have chocolate or vanilla ice cream for dessert, Master Richard?” Alfred asked him.

That’s another thing, Dick thought. Who calls a kid “Master”? It’s not like I’m a prince too or anything.

“I guess that depends on what kind of cake we’re having,” he said as he started to peel the carrots with gusto. It was a lot easier than he thought it would be.

“It’s a pumpkin spice cake. Made by my, ah, friend-Maggie,” Alfred said with a slight tinge of red on his face.

“Vanilla, hands down,” Dick nodded. “It’d taste a lot better than chocolate would with anything pumpkin.”

“Vanilla it is,” Alfred announced. “And speaking of vegetables, do be careful that you don’t cut yourself with that peeler, lad.”

“Huh?” Dick was running the utensil down the carrot in swift fasts strokes until nothing but a flying stream of orange curls could be seen. “Did you say something Alfred?”

A smile spread across the amused butler’s face. “If you keep this up, Master Bruce will have me replaced.”

A-A-A

Time: 9:31 PM

Location: Bat Cave, 1500 feet underground Wayne Manor

Hundreds of feet below, a man clad in a black uniform was seated across from a massive computer screen. On all the other night he would be pouring over his case files in deep research or perfecting his athletic abilities in the gym area.

But tonight, the screen remained shut off. The cave was silent save for a few bats twittering above his head. He remained silent in his chair with his gloved fingers locked together and his cowl-covered head bent down in thought.

During this solitary evening the elusive detective was not thinking about the criminals and crime lords that were plotting to destroy his city. Nor was he debating which socially elite woman to date to perfect his playboy image or which car to drive to Ms. Vreeland’s party. He was thinking about one single person.

Dick Grayson.

The image of a small boy’s frightened face was forever burned into Bruce’s mind. Those two blue eyes that brimmed over with tears upon the tragedy, the teardrops fell like burning rain onto his memories.

Bruce knew the smell of the gun smoke and the sound of a bullet bursting from its barrel before embedding itself into his father’s chest.

Thomas and Martha Wayne had died before his eyes.

He had smelled the sawdust in the air and heard the shrill snap of a cord. In a spiraling display of performance lights, two figures fell from the trapeze to the ground.

John and Mary Grayson had died before Dick’s eyes.

Nobody else knew the pain. Nobody.

But why bring in a child? Was it only out of sympathy that Bruce had told Commissioner Gordon that Dick would be safe with him? Or was there something more? Did he truly feel a bond with that boy, a connection that was pulling him in another direction from his duty?

This is ridiculous, Batman chided him. You have work to do. There are millions of people in this city that need your help. You cannot risk that just because of one child.

Yes, Batman was rigid and uncompromising. It was that personality embedded within the Wayne protégée that advised him to take affirmative action.

Dick does not need your curse. He should be placed with a family as soon as possible.

A family in a red brick house and a white picket fence outside. A father who could teach him baseball and read him stories late at night. That was what Dick really needed. He deserved good things like that. He didn’t need a pile of ridiculous Armani silk shirts.

How odd that the brooding Dark Knight suddenly had his hands full with one nine-year-old boy.

Twelve levels of martial arts under his belt.

Eight crime lords sent into prison by his hands.

Dozens of punks and robbers quaking in their shoes.

But helping one child?

Impossible.

“Master Bruce?”

Alfred’s footsteps came nimbly down the stairs with the dinner tray in his hands. He noticed his master’s body that was nearly immobilized as a statue.

“It’s wrong, Alfred. It’s just wrong,” he said at last.

“Sir?”

Bruce sighed wearily and placed his hands on the arms of his chair. “I’m not a father, Alfred. Child rearing is definitely not a part of ‘The Plan’. Why did I offer to take in that boy in the first place?”

“Perhaps the traumatic experiences that you share have caused you to identify with Master Richard’s adversity,” Alfred suggested.

“I cannot let emotions get in the way,” Bruce said firmly. “Batman doesn’t have time for being a child’s hero.”

“Forgive the intrusion, sir, but if the Dark Knight and Gotham’s first son are indeed one, then perhaps you should at least attempt open up to the child. After all, you did declare that your ‘Plan’ included abolishing ignorance from this city.”

“What does ignorance have to do with any of this?” Bruce asked, somewhat annoyed.

“If I recall, a certain eight-year-old Master Bruce had the tragedy of losing his parents,” Alfred said. “He spent years and years of his life dedicated to the most exhausting training that any man on earth could put himself through. It was only at the end that he had found for himself a direction in his life. Ignorance, a temptation to bury the past, was not an option to him.”

Alfred pointed with an index finger up to the exit of the Cave. “Upstairs is a youth very much like yourself. However, I doubt he is willing to wait for his own personal crusade when he grows up to be enlightened.”

Bruce shook his head and pulled off his gloves that were stained with sweat. “No, Dick’s not going to wait until he’s an adult. That kid has a lot more energy at his age then I did. He’s so . .so . .” Bruce struggled to find the words.

“Dynamic?” Alfred suggested.

A-A-A

Dick spent the next few days shoveling snow for exercise, reading books in the library, and helping Alfred get ready for Christmas. He tried to keep a watchful eye on his guardian to see if he had any unusual activities but just trying to find Bruce Wayne was a challenge in itself.

At one point that he could have seen Bruce enter the library but not come out for the rest of the night. Then Bruce appeared at breakfast the next day with a purple bruise over his right eye. When asked, Bruce said he had gotten hurt playing golf against the movie star Carmen “Candy T” Tannerson. Then he told Dick to finish eating his eggs.

Who plays golf at 10 o’clock at night?

There was also the way Bruce acted. Sometimes he’d sit lazily as he listened to people talk with the careless disinterest of a man with too much time and money on hand. The famous azure eyes that sent most women into melting sighs of longing would be half-closed in a sleepy gaze. Then, in the middle of a conversation, Bruce would let out a massive yawn and cover his mouth with a hand. He might even apologize to his colleagues with good-natured humor for his behavior-he just couldn’t help being bored and rich.

But other times Dick would see his black eyebrows turn down into deep concentration. Bruce’s pliable voice could become low and firm with the steel cold ring of an army general. Dick had seen this more serious side of the rich man once before when he was absorbed in a chess game. Bruce’s eyes had been locked on the playing pieces with a solemn intellectual stare before making a cool and calculated move. There was no trace of ridiculous nonsense on his face now, only the sheer genius of an intelligent man.

Dick had watched with spellbound interest at his guardian’s transformation during these rare occasions. He came to the conclusion that Bruce must have some sort of a split personality.

But who was the real Bruce Wayne: an empty headed nincompoop or a gumshoe wannabe?

“Can we make gingerbread men tonight?” Dick asked him one day at breakfast.

“Fine with me,” Bruce murmured over his morning paper. “Just don’t get too close to the oven.”

Dick hesitated and stirred his oatmeal with a spoon. “I meant, we. You and me, Bruce,” he said bravely.

Bruce just turned a page of his paper. “I’m sorry Dick, but . .”

The faintest coughing sound came from Alfred’s throat. Bruce saw the man give him a reproachful look. He noticed Dick’s gaze was also fixed upon him with wide innocent blue eyes. Realizing the bind that he was in, the playboy found himself at the mercy of a child and a paternal butler. You could not just negotiate as done in a business deal at times like this.

Bruce cleared his throat and started to fold up his newspaper. “I, ah, suppose I could ask Lucius to postpone our meeting until Thursday.”

The boy’s face brightened up into such an unexpected smile that it nearly caught Bruce off guard. Inwardly, he felt somewhat guilty for denying the boy this desired experience for so long.

He was also gripped with the terror of trying to bake something edible. Cooking was definitely not Bruce’s forte.

“Great! This is going to be a lot of fun, Bruce,” Dick beamed.

“Right, chum. I’m sure it will,” Bruce said as he attempted to be pleasant. He rubbed his hands together. “So, where do we start?”

A-A-A

That evening:

Bruce’s fingers that were accustomed to holding shriiken ninja stars, grappling hooks, and criminals by their necks, were now embedded in sticky dough.

“Hmm,” he said. He looked at the messy creation on his tray that looked like some lifeless blob.

“What’s that supposed to be?” Dick asked over his shoulder.

“I think it started out as a reindeer,” Bruce said. “Now it looks like a mutant.”

“Alien mutant,” Dick corrected him. “Like alien monster blob or something.”

Bruce had already rolled up his sleeves and gotten into the “simple” process of rolling and cutting out cookies. He had yet to discover how painfully difficult it was to make gingerbread. The dough had to be measured out precisely with just enough cloves and not too much flour. Rolled too thick and the dough wouldn’t cut. Rolled too thin and the dough would break.

Dick had been very generous in dumping in cinnamon so the kitchen smelled like a spice factory. A thin trace of caramel scent could be detected in the air as well from a saucepan of sticky frosting that was bubbling to the surface.

Neither of them had said very much except conversation that related to their work. Now Bruce was attempting to create cookie shapes but with little success.

“Maybe you should use the cutter,” Dick advised him. The flour-smudged boy passed a Santa-shaped cookie cutter to Bruce. He pressed it into the sheet of brown dough carefully as Dick told him to and then tried to lift it up. The ripped Santa head came out.

“Ouch,” Bruce winced. “St. Nick is not going to be very happy about this.”

His comment made Dick giggle a bit. “The good think about cookies is that they’ll all taste great in the end no matter what they look like.”

Bruce’s eyebrows went up in relief. “That’s of some comfort to me,” he said.

The young man found himself impulsively asking Dick a question. “Did you used to make gingerbread with your parents?”

“No. We were way too busy rehearsing for the show to do this kind of stuff,” Dick said. “But Mr. Haley would always get a nice tree that we set up near the circus tent and everyone would come for this big potluck dinner on Christmas. Spartacus got the other kids and me to sing holiday songs and stuff . .”

“Spartacus?” Bruce asked.

“He’s one of the clowns in the show. Very smart guy, speaks like French and Italian and other stuff and even sings some opera. He gave us all tutoring in the circus so we’d know to read and write if we weren’t training.”

“Really. Sounds far more exciting than Gotham Academy.” Bruce rested his elbows on the table and kept listening to Dick’s interesting story.

The boy noticed his guardian’s attention. He lifted up a flawless Santa-shaped piece of dough as he kept talking. “We stopped off near Star City at one point and got a day off during the holidays. My mom and I walked around town and I remember smelling something so good and sweet that we stopped.”

“Gingerbread men?” Bruce asked, an unknowing smile tugging at his lips.

“A whole army of them!” Dick exclaimed, throwing up his hands and scattering flour about. “It was in a toy shop window with dozens of gingerbread soldiers all lined up and frosted blue for their uniforms. And they all had bright sprinkles on their heads for hair and had candy canes for swords. I never saw anything so great in my entire life.”

“I have,” Bruce said as-a-matter-of-fact.

Dick looked up at him. “You have?”

“La Gateau Bakery on Fifth Avenue used to make a large gingerbread house for the Astoria Hotel’s lobby here in Gotham,” he informed the boy. “Big enough to walk inside.”

“What was it like?” Dick breathed out.

Bruce hesitated and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to imagine his mother in her fur coat holding a boy’s gloved hand as they walked down a star-lit sky in Gotham City. The memory was pulling at something inside of him so hard that he wanted to grasp onto it and hold it tightly between his fingers.

“I remembered all that shiny gold glitter that was sprinkled on the roof. I thought it must taste like sunshine. They had two chocolate angels on either side of the doorway and even under the bright lights, they wouldn’t melt a single drop. And the windows-they were pure sheets of candy, each one striped with different rainbow colors.”

Dick’s sky-colored orbs were growing wider and wider with fascination from Bruce’s descriptions. “Don’t they do it anymore?” he asked.

Bruce shrugged. “Maybe they just got tired of the tradition. I don’t know.”

“Huh.” Dick started pressing raisins into the gingerbread men for eyes. “I know I’d be happy to eat it up for them if Monsieur Gateau needed someone.”

It was Bruce’s turn to chuckle. “I’m sure he would.”

They continued in that vain for ten more minutes, savoring the warmth of the cozy kitchen against the frosty chill of the night.

It was getting dark already when Bruce glanced towards the window. The piercing aura of the Bat signal stood stark against the night sky. At once his stomach tightened up in the preparation for the duty called. There was no time to be patient.

He dropped the cutter like a hot coal and ran to the sink to wash his hands.

“Bruce? What’s wrong?” Dick asked.

“Emergency, Dick. I forgot about tonight’s interview,” he called as he viciously scrubbed the cookie dough off his hands. Bruce dried them on a dishtowel and started to head out of the kitchen.

“But-but, I thought you said,” Dick started to sputter.

“The Gazette runs a tight deadline, sorry,” he said quickly over his shoulder. “Have Alfred clean up with you. Bed by nine.”

With those rapid few words, Bruce was gone in the blink of an eye.

Dick stood there alone in the kitchen. The only other sounds were the ticking of a clock and the humming sound of the oven. Despite the pleasantness of the kitchen, he felt something cold and nasty crawling around inside of him. His fingers slowly curled around a ball of dough and began to squeeze it until the brown mess oozed out of his hands.

Alfred walked in carrying some china plates. “Master Richard? Did you have an enjoyable evening with Master Bruce?” he asked kindly.

It hurt. It hurt too much. His chest contracted tightly and his small teeth were clenched up. He wanted to do something very child-like, something very bad.

Dick slapped a tray of cookies off the counter.

BANG!

It hit the ground with a large hard noise.

“He hates me, Alfred! He hates me!” Dick shouted, feeling the lump harden in his throat. “He pretends to like me but I know that Bruce just hates my guts!”

“You mustn’t say that, young man,” Alfred said soothingly, coming closer to the boy and resting a hand on his shoulder. “Despite his bizarre habits at times, I know that he truly admires you in every way possible.”

“Then how come he acts nice one minute and then he’ll be so cold the next?” Dick rubbed his nose vigorously and tried not to make a mess all over again.

Alfred sighed wearily. “Forgive me for being vague, but Master Bruce is a very complicated person.”

“I’ll say he is,” Dick said. Tears started to brim in his eyes. “It’s like he’s a, a nigma? Negmatic?”

“Enigma,” Alfred corrected him. “Meaning a puzzle or a mystery.”

“Yeah, that’s it,” Dick through a reddened face of frustration. “It’s like he’s this mystery that keeps changing at every second.”

Salty tears trickled out of his eyes and landed on the soft sweet cookies, staining them with teardrops of a deeply misunderstood child.

“Like Bruce is wearing a mask all the time and he won’t take it off…won’t show me under his mask.”

A-A-A-A

Time: 9:11 PM

Location: Gotham Police Headquarters

The wind howled like a tormented soul on this terrible night. Commissioner Gordon stamped his feet to warm against the biting chill. He rubbed his arms for protection as he stood on the rooftop of the Gotham Police Department.

Next to Gordon, the Bat signal blazed like a shining beacon of yellow light into the sky.

The faintest fluttering sound was heard behind him.

“What is it, Jim?” a rumbling voice called out.

“Nothing good, I’m afraid,” the man grunted as he pulled down the lever to extinguish the light beam. The towering presence of the vigilante clad in his black body armor and cape stood in stark contrast to the pure white snow. At tall as Gordon was, he still had to lift his head up enough to see the cowl-covered head.

“Victor Fries is loose,” he announced.

“I know. Arkahm was lax in changing the guards during their shift at 7:40 last night,” Batman said emotionlessly. “He must have headed towards the East River so he could relocate without exposing himself to anything less than a sub-zero climate.”

Gordon’s pipe almost fell out of his startled mouth and into the snow from his ally’s precise calculations.

“Well, here’s a list of places that he’s been spotted at in the past 24 hours.” He handed a folder to the Dark Knight who flipped it over and began to speed read the police reports.

“He won’t be going far unless his suit is fueled,” Batman concluded. He handed the folder back to Gordon. “Have extra security guards around the Diamond District and STAR Labs Inc. I’ll look into any of his old hideouts or contacts.”

Gordon puffed on his pipe skeptically. “Do you think he might try to make a move on Christmas Day?”

“And thwart everyone else’s plans for a kind and compassionate filled holiday? Most likely. If there’s one thing that describes Fries, it’s emotionless. His psychotic mind could easily drive him into harming civilians, especially at this time of the year.”

“Is there anything you don’t know?” Gordon asked.

Batman was about to fire his grappling hook and vanish when he was halted in his tracks. “What does a nine year old boy really want?” he murmured between barely moving lips.

“Excuse me?”

The commissioner’s secret friend turned his head aside from his position on the ledge. “Never mind, Jim. It’s late. You should get some rest before you call your men out tomorrow. I’ll start with the East Side tonight.”

The grappling hook burst through the air and swung around a gargoyle before securing itself into a tight knot. Gotham’s dark defender flew off and melted into the dying shadows of the night.

“Kids. My Barbara’s a real mystery herself,” Gordon said to himself.

A-A-A-A-A

“Twenty dollars and fifty three cents, twenty dollars and fifty four cents,” Dick counted out. He continued to sort his money into piles while he wrote the numbers down on a pad of paper. When he was done, the boy studied his financial calculations and drummed the pencil against his mouth.

“Let’s see. If good ol’ Spartacus was right about math, I should have twenty five dollars and sixty two cents to get Bruce a Christmas present,” he finished aloud.

Secretly, Dick hopped that he might be able to buy his guardian a genuine sentimental present that he would appreciate. Perhaps it would break the tension between them as well.

This time he had no qualms with Bruce’s hurried departure for another late night. The boy found himself comfortably snuggled up in the back of the limousine while Alfred drove them to Gotham’s largest department store on Madison Avenue.

“Who’s he seeing tonight, Alfred?” Dick asked as he swung his feet back and forth. “Oliver Queen? Lois Lane? The Markovian ambassador?”

“You know Master Bruce,” the butler said from the driver’s seat. “He keeps company in the most interesting circles.”

A-A-A

Time: 7:28 PM

Location: Lucky Louey’s Corner, 17th Street

Louey was sent flying across the room and landed on top of a rickety table. A large hand grabbed his shoulder and turned him over on his back.

“I won’t ask twice,” the stranger snarled through a mouthful of yellow teeth. He raised his fist just below Louey’s nose.

The bootlegger gulped weakly. That hand may have been bruised and ugly but it had a sinister red Jolly Roger grinning on the wrist—a surefire sign that this man was in the Skull’s gang. Nobody came back from a Skull brawl unless he was crawling on his belly in pure agony. And judging by his long shaggy hair and sharp nose, this Skull was used to playing it rough.

“Aright, aright,” he gasped. “Freeze was here the other day. Sent some of his men in ahead to loot my register. Said he’d pay me back once he got his account fully loaded.”

Louey found both hands grasping his head and squeezing in to apply enough pressure to fracture his skull. “Give me a place, or you get the ultimate massage,” the man warned him.

“I, I don’t know! I swear to God!” he begged tearfully.

The man released his grip on Louey and stood up. With an annoyed grunt, he jammed his hands into the pockets of his greasy leather jacket and stomped out. The door slammed hard behind him so hard that it rattled the dusty windowpanes. Louey wiped his sweat-stained brow with a shaking hand.

The man crossed the street and took massive strides up sixteen blocks in his heavy combat boots. Then he stopped in his tracks and glanced over his shoulder for added precaution. No one had been following him. The man stuck his index finger and thumb into his mouth. With a sharp tug, he pulled the fake teeth out and started to flex his jaws.

“Not surprised if I have a speech impediment,” he muttered to himself. He quickly rubbed the red ink off his wrist with a handkerchief and the skull “tattoo” started to vanish.

He started to pick at the thick wax makeup until it peeled off his skin revealing a young handsome face. The straggly wig was removed before he ran a hand through his thick ebony locks of hair. The man’s short breaths left puffs of white vapor that escaped his lips and nostrils as he thought to himself.

Time was running out. He’d have to switch uniforms if he wanted the culprit brought to justice tonight. Discarding his disguise in a dumpster, the young man took off in a sprinting dash without sliding once on icy patches of the street.

The sooner Fries was brought down, the better.

A-A-A

Dick pressed a hand to his mouth in deep thought.

“I don’t know,” he said to the lady behind the cash register.

“It’s one of our best lines in fountain pens,” she offered him proudly. “Your father will be able to use it for years.”

Dick just glanced back at the shiny blue and gold writing instrument that lay on a bed of green velvet. Already he had looked at ties and cologne but found nothing just right for Bruce. He was very reluctant to compromise on a pen.

“I just want to get him something…special,” he explained to the lady.

“We can have it engraved for you,” she suggested. “Would you like a special message to be printed out?”

That did sound a little better to him. “Ok. How much for it?” Dick asked.

“Eighty five dollars,” she answered.

Eighty five dollars! Dick gulped and clutched his battered wallet. He was mortified. He didn’t even have half that much money on him! And while he could probably have borrowed from Alfred, Dick wouldn’t dare feel right spending somebody else’s money on a present for Bruce.

“Would you like that gift wrapped?” The lady was still there smiling and being patient as ever to her small yet charmingly adorable customer.

“Um, thank you but no,” he mumbled, stepping away from the counter. “I, I think I’ll find him something else. Merry Christmas.”

Dick took off as fast as his feet could carry him. He kept up the pace while his eyes scanned the various kiosks and racks for the perfect gift. Dick’s mind was whirling fast.

A gift certificate? Too dull.

A set of leather bound books? He had a whole library.

An ashtray? Bruce didn’t smoke.

A pair of bedroom slippers? Already had a pair.

A flask? He hardly ever drank!

Dick was almost in tears of frustration when he heard a chipper voice talking.

“Dad, I’m going to be fine,” someone said close by. Dick’s saw a head of brightly red hair bounce back and forth impatiently in its ponytail. A girl was nimbly jumping up and down on the toes of her shiny green boots.

“Are you sure you’ll be all right, Barbara?” he asked her.

“Of course, Dad,” she smiled. “I’ll get my stuff and meet you at the front in an hour.”

“All right, sweetheart. I’ll see you soon.” She kissed the mustached man on his cheek then walked…

…right into the starring Dick.

“Oommph!” he grunted. They bumped into each other harshly.

The girl fell back hard on the floor.

“Ow!” she cried, rubbing her head.

“Oh man, I’m sorry,” Dick apologized quickly. He noticed her glasses had fallen off in the collision and picked them up.

“Are you ok?” he asked, offering her the spectacles.

The girl gratefully placed them back on her face and looked up at the newcomer. “Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks.”

“Sure,” he said back. The girl slowly stood up and starred at Dick. He could see the smattering of freckles spread across the bridge of her nose. She looked cute with those freckles. Very cute.

The girl noticed his intense stare and cocked her head to one side. “Do I have a wart on my nose or something?” she asked.

Dick gulped and waved his hands in defense. “N-no!”

She giggled softly. “It’s ok, I’m just teasing you.”

They starred at each other for a long moment.

“I’m Barbara Gordon,” she said suddenly, sticking out a mitten-covered hand.

“Dick Grayson,” he answered, shaking her hand with his own gloved one. “Barbara? That’s kind of…pretty.”

“You can call me Babs if you promise to be nice,” she replied. The girl slung her purple purse over one shoulder and started walking slowly. Dick followed next to her but she didn’t seem to mind.

“You’d think my dad wouldn’t have to worry so much about me. I know I’m not ten yet but I can still do a lot!” she said as they pushed through the sliding doors. “I guess when you have a job like his, you can’t take any chances. I still wish he’d let me do more stuff on my own. I’m not a little kid anymore, you know? What’s it take to show someone that you’re growing up?”

Her attentive prattle was a welcoming distraction to Dick. “I guess we’ve got to live with what they say,” he shrugged.

Barbara gazed at him intently. “You’ve also got issues with your dad?”

“Well,” he paused and swallowed. “Something like that.”

“Look, here’s the toy store!” Barbara exclaimed. “Come on, let’s see what we can find.”

She and Dick forgot all troubles and ran towards a towering display of stuffed animals and dolls. They looked at xylophones and barking robot dogs and a new remote controlled racing track. Dick tried on a pair of goggles and a snorkel and Barbara tried on a rhinestone tiara. It was nice having someone closer to his age on this night.

“Dick, check it out!” Barbara dropped the tiara and tugged at his sleeve and until she had pulled him to a new hot item at the back of the store.

“What do you think?” she asked Dick as she picked up a doll and smoothed out its tiny cape. “Think they got the details just right?”

Dick took one of the dolls and studied it carefully. He tugged on the rubbery tips of the imitation cowl. “I don’t know. Is this really how he dresses and moves? I think I’d be mad if I looked like this.” He puffed out his cheeks and stuck his hands out stiffly to imitate the doll’s facial and structural features.

Barbara laughed a bit. “I actually think my dad would get a kick out it.” She bought the doll and had it wrapped up in bright blue tissue paper.

“No way. Your father is really Commissioner Gordon?” Dick gawked as they walked out.

Barbara nodded. “I’ve always thought its cool having a police cop for a father. Especially someone who’s got interesting friends like him,” she pointed to the contents of her bag.

“Have you ever seen…him?” Dick asked curiously.

“Just for a few seconds. I followed my dad to the rooftop and got a tiny peek while they were talking. He was like this moving shadow-here one minute and gone the next. I thought it was a ghost but ghosts are white, not black.”

Barbara swung her bag back and forth. “What about you? Have you ever gotten any closer than that?”

Dick shook his head.

“They say he’s a real mystery,” Barbara whispered in a low voice. “No detective in town can crack down on who this guy really is.”

“I think I know someone who can relate,” Dick said under his breath.

“Aiie!” a woman shrieked.

Dick saw something blue and spiraling go blasting through the air coming directly towards them. He snatched Barbara’s hand and they both flattened their bodies to the floor. When Dick looked up, he saw the pleasant saleswoman from the pen store had been immobilized in a thick sheet of glittering ice. Her mouth and eyes had been frozen in wide open cries for help.

Most people were already running in panic. Several men in coats of gray and pale blue fur were entering the department store holding guns in their hands.

“Fries,” Barbara whispered softly. “Those must be his men.”

Dick’s eyes were growing wider and wider with alarm. The same man that had been appearing in the papers lately? From what he had heard, Mr. Freeze was like the Abominable Snowman: a horrible monstrous creation that existed only to cause pain and agony to his victims.

The two children curled up as tightly as they could behind the counter. Dick realized that Barbara’s hand was back in his but she was squeezing his very tight. He could already see that she was sweating nervously from the encounter.

He put a finger to his lips.

The two of them heard someone taking slow even sounds with heavy boots. The marching was so mechanical and precise that it seemed to thunder against Dick’s pounding heart.

“You are a mockery,” the man said in a steely mechanical voice. “All of you, a mockery to this world with your ridiculous show of pretend love and affection.”

He aimed his pistol at a dazzling Christmas tree and pressed the button. Sheets of thick wet ice blasted down on the victim, freezing the tree into a lifeless statue with brittle branches.

He kicked the tree over where it fell to the ground and shattered into millions of tiny pieces.

Some people gasped.

Others tried to run.

“I think not,” Mr. Freeze said in a dead tone. He aimed his pistol at a helpless civilian who had the misfortune of being caught running to the exit. Another thick wave of ice blanketed his body, rendering the man lifeless inside of a crystal case.

Barbara screamed.

Dick clamped a hand over her mouth and pulled her close to his body. He didn’t dare to even say “Shh!” lest Mr. Freeze hear them. He could hear the footsteps coming closer in their direction. He shut his eyes and prayed for a miracle.

Maybe that mysterious man in black would come. He was feared just as much as the freaks and weirdoes that plagued Gotham City but the people only knew him as their protector. A dark angel of the night.

Batman, I don’t know where you are, Dick thought frantically to himself as he kept his arms protectively around Barbara. But I wish you were here.

Mr. Freeze’s powerful kick turned over the counter sending bits of wood and glass splintering all over the place. The children saw his shadow come over their shaking bodies. They scrambled to their feet, knees knocking against each other in fear.

All Dick could see was a man’s face enclosed in glass while the rest of his body had been secured inside a menacing suit of armor. His skin was chillingly white and his eyes were two burning red sockets that betrayed no sympathy or pity-only the same ruthlessness of a programmed killer.

The eyes starred into Dick’s own with the gaze of a predator about to strike. But then his friend had distracted the criminal’s attention away from himself.

“And where do you think you are going, little girl?” Mr. Freeze’s frigid voice demanded. Dick saw that Barbara had started backing away towards the wall.

Then he saw Freeze’s gun aimed directly at her heart.

“Babs!”

Dick saw the gun start to glow with energy. In a split second it would spray a deadly blanket over her entire body. Dick heard his mind scream out something and his feet moved swiftly. He felt himself race in front of her and throwing his arms out as far as they could go, shoved Barbara out of harm’s way.

“No!”

He saw the spiraling rings of blue and white coming towards his body, almost hypnotizing him to the very spot with their glistening beauty of flawless crystal.

The last thing Dick saw were those two blood-red eyes as hollow and lifeless as stone cold rubies.

A-A-A

Runrunrunrunrunrun.

Catch him.

Stop him.

“FREEZE!” Batman thundered.

The psychopath jumped on top of a car, the metal roof bending in from the impact of his weight. However that annoying ebony-winged adversary managed to hunt him down right after that fiasco in the department store was the least of his worries. Now the madman could only focus on getting away.

He aimed his weapon over his shoulder in an attempt to slow down the Dark Knight. But the vigilante had been trained far better than he had imagined.

Batman’s grabbling hook pulled him up to safety and out of harm’s way. Swinging forward, he propelled his body towards that of Mr. Freeze. The Dark Knight’s boots slammed into Freeze’s chest, knocking him off the car and against a brick wall.

“Impressive,” he clipped instinctively. Freeze started to get up. “But not enough.”

That was until he saw the small device blinking on the outside of his helmet. Tiny web-like cracks started to spread across the glass.

“No!” he roared. The device’s light changed from green to red. There was a shattering sound as Freeze’s protective headgear imploded from Batman’s carefully planted weapon. The criminal inhaled a blast of warm air and automatically felt his lungs begin to shrivel up from the impact.

Gasping for breath, he sank to his knees in writhing agony.

A gloved fist punched the villain directly into the face. There was the snapping sound of bones and blood started to pour unexpectedly from Freeze’s nose. Batman was thoroughly satisfied far more than he usually was in these fights.

He hurt Dick Grayson.

Batman grabbed Freeze by the lapels and drove him up against the wall as hard as he could. His knee jabbed into the villain’s chest, which caused him to sputter and choke like a sick man.

That’s unforgivable.

“You picked the wrong people to hurt, Freeze,” Batman growled in a threatening tone.

A-A-A

Ten minutes later:

“He’s a lucky boy,” Dr. Rosen said to Bruce, glancing up from the medical record.

Behind the hospital windows, Bruce could barely make out a small figure surrounded by men and women in green scrubs. Dick was slowly being submerged into a bathtub brimming with a steaming pink liquid that encompassed his entire body. The doctors continued to monitor his heart rate as they worked on the painstaking task of removing the frosty coating.

“We’re working right now on breaking down the ice without causing any injuries to the skin or underlying tissue,” Dr. Rosen informed him. “He should be able to regain all feelings in his limbs within a few hours.”

“You call that lucky?” Bruce demanded angrily. “Dick could have been blasted to a frigid death by Mr. Freeze and all you can say is that he’s lucky?”

Dr. Rosen was accustomed to the stress and frustration that came with his duties but he knew that a snappy comeback was the last thing needed now.

Speaking in a more hopeful voice, Dr. Rosen said, “Thanks to Batman’s previous research on this ‘Freeze’ character, we’ve been able to create a chemical bath that can break down the ice without any side effects that might have otherwise injured Dick Grayson. You might want to thank him should you cross paths, Mr. Wayne.”

To be fair, he saw the lines of Bruce’s face crease but he lost his frustrated look. “I’m sorry, Dr. Rosen. I was just worried about the boy since he’s under my protection for now,” Bruce apologized. “Please understand that I sincerely appreciate all that you’re doing for him.”

“Just doing our job, Mr. Wayne,” he nodded humbly. “It’s really the hospital that should be thanking you for your generous donations to keep the Gotham clinic running for this many patients. Your father would be very proud of you.”

Like Leslie Thompkins, Steve Rosen had come to respect the memory of people like the late Thomas Wayne for his undying devotion to helping the ill and needy of the city. The only thing that gave them all hope was seeing the patients make their journeys back into the world of the living.

“How soon will Dick be out?” Bruce asked.

“We’ll be finishing the treatment in about an hour. He’ll be in room 15B if you’d like to visit him,” Dr. Rosen offered. “Though we’d like to keep the boy overnight and if his tests run well tomorrow, he can go home for the holidays.”

Bruce shook the doctor’s hand with rejuvenated relief. “Thank you, doctor. Have a Merry Christmas.”

“You too, Mr. Wayne,” Dr. Rosen smiled back.

A-A-A

It was his fault.

Bruce found himself starring off into space while he waited for Dick to come out of the operating room. If only he had been with Dick tonight or any other night, the poor boy wouldn’t have run into Mr. Freeze.

Damn that mad scientist.

“Don’t hurt yourself anymore,” a female voice said behind him.

Bruce saw the motherly face of Dr. Thompkins smiling at him. Everything from her graying hair in a bun to the wrinkles in her tired but content face made a dull throb ache inside of him.

“Leslie,” he said, trying not to choke up as he took one of her hands. “Its my fault that Dick’s like this. If only I had..”

Leslie put a finger to her lips and whispered “shhh” very softly to calm him. “Batman stopped the criminal and brought him to justice. It’s in the past, Bruce. It’s over”

Bruce averted his gaze from her. His clenched fists hit the wall in anger. “I’ve been trying so hard to do what’s right in this city yet I don’t practice what I preach.”

“What do you mean, Bruce?”

“I’ve been a horrible guardian, Leslie. Dick’s been so patient and good while I keep running off for business, meetings, parties … night life ‘plans’ and all. All this time I thought it was about him but I was really thinking about myself.”

Leslie rested a hand on his shoulder. “You’re not the Man of Steel, Bruce. Sometimes, you just need to be an ordinary man. That’s all a child wants: a friend, a companion..”

“A father,” Bruce said softly.

Leslie was silent for a moment.

“Try to remember how you felt when you were nine years old. Can you retrace your steps and try to find out what it is that he wants?”

Bruce starred into Leslie’s wise gray eyes, basking in the comfort and relief that came out of their warm glow.

And suddenly, he knew what he had to do.

A-A-A

Dick was dozing lightly in the bed when he heard the squeak of a handle turning. The door creaked upon moving hinges and then a familiar head of jet-black hair stuck into the room.

“Dick?” Bruce said barely above a whisper. “Are you awake?”

The boy turned his head to the right. To Bruce’s surprise, he actually smiled at him through sleepy half-closed eyes. “Hi, Bruce,” the boy croaked out.

Bruce came over to the boy in the hospital bed and set a paper bag and cups on a side table. “How are you feeling?” he asked, pulling up a chair and sitting down in it.

“Ok,” Dick said in a raspy voice. He sniffled and reached for a tissue. Bruce pulled one out of the box and handed it to Dick. The boy rubbed his red nose thankfully.

“I’ve just got a little cold but they said I can go soon if everything’s ok.”

There wasn’t the slightest trace of anger or contempt for Bruce in his voice, just the sweetness of a big-hearted boy.

“I want to apologize to you, Dick,” Bruce said as he tried to keep the quivering sound out of his throat. “I only hope you can forgive me for ignoring you all this time.”

“It’s all right,” Dick said, shifting his weight so he could sit up better. He coughed lightly to clear his throat up. “I’m the one that should be sorry, Bruce. I mean, I got the wrong idea about you. I had no idea you were like a saint here.”

Bruce’s eyebrows arched up from his comment. Dick went on.

“All this time I kept thinking you were just some rich man but these doctors and nurses keep telling me what a great guy you are. That you’ve been giving tons of money to this place and making sure your father’s company stays secure. And the reason that you keep going to all the fancy parties is because you’re so popular that all the other men and women’ll get the idea and give to charities too.”

Dick started to cough again. “Take it easy, chum,” Bruce cautioned him. He pulled the plastic lid off a cup and steam started to drift out. “How about some hot chocolate?”

“Thanks.” Dick was propped up in bed now, far more awake from the offer. Bruce handed him one of the cups and Dick took a taste. Then he hesitated. “This sure doesn’t taste like hot chocolate.”

“Something wrong?” Bruce asked. He sniffed the beverage and took a sip, then examined the cup’s label. “Ah, they gave us French Vanilla flavored. That’s why it tastes off.”

He frowned and looked down at his cup. “That’s a tad odd, don’t you think?”

“What?”

“It’s hot chocolate, damnit,” Bruce said with slight annoyance. “Why would they make vanilla flavored chocolate drinks? What’s wrong with hot chocolate that tastes like chocolate? Heaven forbid that we should be denied this one pleasure,” he added sarcastically.

Dick gave him a tiny giggle so Bruce continued to ramble on.

“What’s next, strawberry-flavored deli meat? Cucumber and horseradish ice cream? That does it. Wayne Enterprise won’t allow for this desecration of foods. We’ll just have to come out with our own line of normal decent chocolate hot chocolate drinks.”

Dick stopped smiling and looked down at his cup into the swirling creamy brown liquid.

“Bruce..there’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you for a while,” he said quietly.

“Dick, there’s something your father and I have been meaning to discuss with you.”

Dick was so absorbed in the book that Spartacus had lent him that he hardly heard his mother calling him. It was only on her second time did he finally look up from “The Scarlet Pimpernel” and close his book.

“Is everything ok, Mom?” he asked her.

Mary sat down on the edge of his bed and gazed at her precious son.

His stomach knotted up a bit. “I’m not in any trouble, am I?”

His mother raised an eyebrow. “You? Of course not, darling. I just wanted to let you know about some changes that might occur.”

“What kind of changes?” Dick asked. He suddenly gasped and sat up on the bed. “Are you going to have a baby? Am I gonna be a big brother?”

Mary was unable to contain her serious expression any longer and she burst out laughing. “No, my little Robin, but that may come later on.”

“Huh?”

“Your father and I were thinking that it might be good if we settle down soon. You’re getting to be a young man, Dick. We’d love to have a house and a garden..and you could go to school. Meet other kids your age to play with.”

Mary lowered her head. “How does that sound to you?”

“But, but,” Dick sputtered. “What about Mr. Haley and Spartacus and the other clowns and the Kung Fu fighters? What about the circus? It’s our home!”

Mary rested a hand on his smooth cheek, stroking it gently. “Darling, it doesn’t matter if you travel all over the world or stay in the same place forever. As long as you’re in a place where there is love and happiness with the people you care about, then that place is home.”

“Well…” Dick twitched his nose in thought. “Then I guess wherever you and Dad go, that’s home for me,” he announced. “Because I’m always happy when I’m with you.”

A large pair of arms came around Dick’s waist from behind and lifted him off the ground. He squealed with delight when his father tossed him into the air and he was brought back safely into the bear hug of John Grayson.

“And we’re happy when we’re with you, Dick,” he said proudly. His father set him back down on his feet just as Dick studied his father’s new clothes.

“Dad, what are you wearing? It’s great!” he gushed.

“This?” John turned around so his son could see every inch of the dashing costume. “Smashing, isn’t it? Go look in that package on the table, son. That one is just for you.”

The small boy ran to where his father was pointing and unwrapped the soft tissue paper from inside a box. His hands smoothly glided over the fresh clean fabric. It was a beautiful bright rich red bolt of cloth. Red like a fresh new apple or Dorothy’s magic ruby shoes.

“Its wonderful,” he gasped. The boy gently lifted the costume out of the box. Emerald-green pants had been carefully sewn onto the crimson leotard.

“Mom! It’s even got a cape!” he exclaimed with delight. He unfolded the canary yellow cape; yellow like daffodils and light and feathery as the sun’s rays. Red, green, and yellow. They all looked like such bright proud colors all shining together from the costume.

“Mr. Haley said we should all be getting new uniforms for next month’s gala performance,” she smiled at him.

Mary got to her knees and gently lifted her son’s chin up with her finger. “We’ve already talked to Mr. Haley and he’s said it’s all right if the Graysons want to take a bow. Our Gotham show will be the biggest one we’ve ever done and then we’ll start a new life somewhere else. Our family, together forever. I promise.”

Dick nodded bravely. “Together forever, Mom.” He threw his arms around her neck and hugged her tightly. He could smell the soft lavender scent that clung to her silky black hair and smiled.

“I love you, Mom.”

“I love you too, little Robin.”

Dick’s eyes began to brim with tears.

“Mom said that after we did the tour in Gotham . .we might settle down, get a life outside the circus. Dad would be a gym trainer or something and she’d have a little house with a garden.”

He wiped his runny nose with the back of his sleeve. “And maybe I could get a white rabbit. I’d take good care of it, my Mom and Dad would trust me.”

Dick swallowed and tried to be brave. “But we never got that far,” he choked out. “We never got our house or a rabbit.”

Bruce’s hand covered his own small one securely. His voice had gotten warm and soft, somehow different than any other time.

“Dick…”

The boy felt large arms come around his body and hug him gently. Almost like his father’s arms, but just as strong and safe. He shut his eyes and two glistening tears trickled out before rolling down his face. Bruce’s arms were like anchors of relief holding him securely and he clung in gratitude, the tears finally dissolving off a weary mask.

“I get scared, Bruce,” Dick cried, burying his face in the man’s chest. “I get so scared at night. I’m afraid I’m going to fall one day and I’ll never come back.”

“It’s ok, Dick,” Bruce soothed him, cupping the back of the boy’s head securely. “It’s ok to be scared.” He found himself rocking back and forth slowly as he held the shaking child. Now his own mask was also washing off and the silent wisdom of another tragedy had left Bruce a better and stronger person as before. It was this same loneliness that he wanted to ease for the little boy, the same darkness that he sought to illuminate.

“I promise you, you’ll never be alone again,” Bruce said to him. He lifted a hand up and carefully stroked Dick’s thick black locks of hair. The boy’s sobs began to slow down, his crying voice being comforted by the man’s words.

“I’ll be there to catch you, Dick. I promise.”

A-A-A

Time: 11:59 PM

Location: Arkahm Asylum.

Inside his prison cell, Victor Fries sat alone and solemn upon the iron bed.

His thoughts, usually so calculated and precise, were bewildered with the most recent events.

Blue eyes.

The girl should have died but the boy ran to protect her.

The boy had blue eyes.

Not the flawless pale blue shudder of ice. Not the shivering blue waters of an Arctic lake.

They were warm, those blue eyes. The boy had risked his own life to protect the girl and that kind act would remain tattooed in Victor’s mind for eternity. He could not understand why a silly child would sacrifice his own safety for another.

Those warm deeds, so kind and compassionate, had been frozen out of his heart a very long time ago.

Nora had eyes like that.

Now he felt something odd stir inside. He had not flawed in his calculations about humanity—he could not risk something like that to occur.

But a mere youth had changed that. Could he have overlooked something about the human race? What was it that fueled his archenemy, Batman, with this burning energy to protect the vulnerable and flawed people of Gotham City?

Perhaps, if others were indeed, more like that boy, then that was the reason why the Batman believed in those people. Batman believed in Gotham City. He believed in blue eyes.

Blue…like the deepest part of a summer’s sky.

Blue…like the soft petals of cornflowers swaying in the wind.

Blue…like a robin’s egg cradled inside of its mother’s nest.

A-A-A

Bruce never left the boy’s side for one moment that night. He kept holding Dick, trying to ease his troubled mind, attempting to remember the same weeping tears that he had once shed a long time ago. And somehow, the old wounds were finally beginning to heal. Dick stopped crying after just a few minutes and thanked Bruce, saying that it helped just to talk to someone.

Then the two of them had started to open up again and began to talk about their parents. Bruce told Dick how his father would show him how a stethoscope would work and how he was almost scared when he heard his heart beating so loudly for the first time. Dick told Bruce how his father taught him not be afraid of heights and catch somebody’s hand in a tight grip.

Dick’s mother would play guitar around the bonfire for the circus people just before bedtime. Bruce’s mother read Alice and Wonderland to him on rainy days.

Dick said he’d never forget those beautiful green, yellow, and red costumes from their performance.

Bruce said he’d never forget the movie about a masked hero that his parents took him to at the most fancy theatre in town.

Dick had been sleeping peacefully once he had taken his medicine and was now breathing softly, safe and warm against the cold outside. Bruce refused to budge from his spot and was more than content to spend the night on a cot beside Dick’s bed.

The billionaire was still wide awake even at 2 AM. He lay flat on his back with his hands rested behind his head as he stared out the window. Bruce could see a tiny sliver of moon gleaming against the clear night sky.

At that moment, a single thought illuminated Bruce’s mind. He bolted up from the cot and pulled out his cell phone.

Bruce quickly punched in a 24 hour number and put the phone to his ear.

“Hello, Rogerstein’s Sporting Goods. How may I help you?” a professional voice asked.

Bruce cupped a hand over his cell phone just in case Dick might wake up. He softly began to whisper an order over the phone.

“Well sir, it usually takes two to four weeks to ship a load that large out, but. .”

Bruce suddenly mentioned an increase in payment and the name of the person who was making the order.

“Oh!” the salesman said with a slightly more animated voice then before. “Well, Mr. Wayne, I’ll see what I can do. We’ll have it express shipped overnight or as soon as possible.”

“Thank you,” Bruce smiled.

“A pleasure to do business with you, Mr. Wayne.” There was a clicking sound and the person had hung up.

Bruce called up the next person on his list. Again, he listed his request and added his willingness to cover certain expenses.

“But, but, Monsieur Wayne!” Armand began to sputter.

“But nothing. The bill is on me,” Bruce said firmly. “Do you or don’t you think you can have that house up by this Friday?”

“O-Of course, Monsieur. But, eet eez has been such a long time,” Armand stammered. “Neverzeeless, I shall do my best. Ah, such an honor! I veel be making a masterpiece zat tastes like zee finest in the city.”

A-A-A

26 light years away in the star system Vega on the planet Tameran…

“Koriand’r!” The servant continued to tap her foot impatiently as she scanned the marbled hallways of the palace. Her eyes fell upon a silken curtain that barely concealed the slender figure of the little girl.

The handmaiden swiftly went up and pulled the curtains aside.

“Princess Koriand’r,” she repeated.

A youthful pretty face turned around to face her. Koriand’r brushed her thick mane of bronze-streaked red hair off her neck and gazed up from her work at the marble table. “Yes, R’honi?” she asked in a sweet innocent voice.

“Your father, King Myand’r, wishes to see you this evening,” R’honi informed her. “And you had better remove that mess from the library before you hurt yourself.”

Koriand’r’s dazzling green eyes flew open in alarm. “Oh no, R’honi!” she begged, covering the small formation on the table with her tiny hands. “Please do not make me tear it apart. X’hal help me, I have been working on it all day.”

R’honi’s firm face softened upon the tiny monarch’s requests. “Very well. I shall have it moved to your chambers later on so it will not be damaged. Then will you come see your parents?”

“Yes, yes I shall,” Koriand’r promised as her head bobbed up and down. Gathering the folds of her pristine white gown, she curtseyed to the handmaiden. “Thank you, R’honi.”

R’honi bowed and left the princess to her work.

Koriand’r had read a little bit about the customs of the far off planet in the Milky Way in a book from the archives. The Terran planet, they called it: Earth. It was also known as the Azure because its surface was the loveliest shade of blue. Or at least, that’s what it looked to Koriand’r when she saw the picture of Earth.

Reading further into the pages, Koriand’r had discovered that this festival holiday was celebrated by adorning trees that remained green for all year. The Terran natives spent their coldest and most frigid weather making things as warm and bright as they could possibly be; a fascinating ideal to the princess.

She had been using sticks of Cer’drec wood from the Tameran gardens to craft a special object. It had taken many hours but somehow the flecked brown twigs were starting to look more like a Terran plant in the book. True, her own little tree had red speckles on its surface unlike an Azure-born tree, but Koriand’r was more than content with the results.

“Enjoying your visit to Azure, sister dear?” a mocking voice called out.

Her elder sister, the proud and haughty Komand’r, had stuck her head through the curtain and made a pouting face. “Silly girl. You know they say Terrans evolved from monkeys, don’t you?” she jeered at her younger sister.

Koriand’r said nothing and only gazed at her elder sister curiously. Komand’r pulled back from her place in the doorway and ran off.

Koriand’r went back to her work. She refused to argue with her sister right now. Let Komand’r be a tease if she wanted to. The younger princess was far too interested in her creation.

She picked up a few tiny sparkling stones on the table and fastened them to the branches were they glittered like stars. At last, she set a gold one atop the tip of the tree to finish up the decorations. Her Terran tree was complete.

Koriand’r beamed to herself with pride. Then she rested her head in her hands and studied the small imitation on the table with bewildered fascination.

Shall I ever go to Azure myself?

She lifted her skirts up so she could stand properly and bowed her head in deep respect.

I implore onto you, X’hal almighty, to allow me to see this Terran planet with its beautiful blue colors and green trees. Should X’hal grant me favor in the eyes of the Terran people, I promise to do my best to aid them and their home against any oncoming threat.

Koriand’r finished her silent prayer and gazed up at the sky.

A-A-A

“I do hope you understand why Master Bruce could not see you home personally,” Alfred said sympathetically as they drove away from the hospital.

“Sure, Alfred. It’s ok. I know he may have some last minute Christmas stuff to take care of,” Dick said cheerfully.

The butler was surprised but relieved at the boy’s change in attitude. “At least Master Bruce should be home for the holiday itself,” he added.

The black limousine drifted down 5th Avenue gracefully before turning left onto a smaller and more dismal looking street. Dick’s eyes scanned the various battered signs, most of them advertising liquor stores or tattoo parlors. But then a poster plastered in the window of an old looking store had caught his attention.

“Alfred, stop the car!” Dick cried. The man hit the brakes so hard that he nearly banged his nose into the steering wheel.

“What is it, Master Richard?” he asked with alarm.

Dick opened up the door of the limousine allowing a blast of cold air to come inside. He jumped out and tugged on his collar. “I’ll be back in a few minutes, Alfred. There’s something I’ve got to check out here.”

“Are you certain that you are feeling up to it?” Alfred asked, eyeing the battered sign over the store.

“Positive. I’m sure I’ll find what I need here,” Dick smiled. He closed the car door, pulled his cap down over his ears, and walked into the store.

Inside, a large burly man with a scruffy orange beard was sitting behind the cash register watching an old serial movie on a black and white television set. He didn’t look up when Dick walked in and only flickered his eyes downward when the boy cleared his throat.

Reluctantly, he got off his chair and peered down at the tiny customer.

“Excuse me, sir,” Dick said, trying to be as polite as possible. “But I wanted to know if you…”

“Kid’s cartoons ‘n stuff, that’s at Mega Monster’s Rental Store ten blocks away” he mumbled in a rough voice. “Yer not gonna find anything here except movies three times your age.”

“I know,” Dick said firmly. He slid a piece of paper across the counter towards the man. He picked it up, pulled down a pair of spectacles from atop his head, and studied the writing on it.

His facial expression slowly relaxed into a more amiable one. “Ah, now that’s a gem,” he said to Dick, tapping the paper with his index finger. “I’ll see if we’ve gotta copy of it in the back.”

Within a few minutes, he reappeared from the back of the store with a videocassette in his hands. A grin was spread across his massive face.

“Listen, kid. This one’s worth its weight in gold,” the man said. “They don’t make movies like they used to. This must for a good friend of yours.”

“He is,” Dick nodded. “This is the best Christmas present that I could ever get him and I just have to make sure I can buy it.”

He placed his money the on the counter. “Is that enough?” he asked skeptically, holding his breath in slight fear.

“Well, usually we’d charge $40 for a collector’s item like this,” the man said with a shrug. He pulled off his glasses and looked at Dick’s mortified face with a chuckle. “But in your case, I’ll make an exception.”

Dick released a breath of relief. “I suppose you wouldn’t have any gift paper, would you?”

“Nah, but I can improvise.” The man tore off a large sheet of brown butcher’s paper from a roll and placed the videocassette on top. Within seconds he had wrapped up neatly and added a few yellow stickers on the top.

“Thank you, thank you!” Dick was enthusiastic as he hugged the precious package to his chest.

“You’re welcome,” the man said. “And a Merry Christmas, kid!”

A-A-A

Bruce had just finished up his pre-holiday mission when he bumped into a familiar face and nearly dropped his valuable purchase.

“Selina!” he exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

“Its my part of town, Bruce. What are you doing here?” the charismatic woman asked him. Her voice was low and fluid, soft yet strong, and it always seemed to hold Brce with captivated interest.

His eyes could not tear away from the charming young lady standing before him. Even dressed in a simple gray jump suit, Selina Kyle could do little to diminish her beauty. Her long wavy raven tresses were swept back into ponytail at the base of her graceful neck. Nimble feet in white sneakers were still moving as she bounced from one foot to another.

“I’m here to watch you jog,” Bruce simply stated.

“I’m flattered. You could join me and we’d take over the town,” Selina offered. She playfully tugged on his sleeve.

“What’s the Boy Billionaire been doing in a pet store?” she asked as she gestured to the shop behind them.

“Ah, it’s a tad complicated to explain,” Bruce said, lightly tapping the top of the box he was holding.

Selina stopped her footwork and stood still. “Fair enough. But I’m still waiting to hear from you tonight. Tell me, what thrilling plans do you have for this festival season?” Selina cocked her head to one side while she talked. “Cruise to the Bahamas? Skiing in Switzerland? And more important, who’s going with you?”

“Actually Selina, I was just planning on being home,” Bruce admitted.

She stuck her lower lip out in a teasing pout. “You poor boy, all alone on this merry holiday? Come to my place, Bruce. I’ll cheer you up.”

“Sorry, Selina. I promised to spend this Christmas with someone else,” Bruce apologized.

His words halted her teasing tactics. Selina’s arms dropped to her sides. “I believe I have been insulted,” she replied coolly. “You seem to prefer the company of Candy T to my own.”

Bruce looked astonished for a moment but then he recollected his thoughts. “Oh no, not like that,” he said as he burst out laughing. “You’ve got it all wrong, Selina. It’s just me and Alfred and a new friend named Dick Grayson.”

Selina lifted one dark eyebrow up inquiringly. “Grayson?”

“Nice kid, very friendly too. Maybe you could stop by afterwards and meet him,” Bruce offered.

Selina rocked back and forth on the heels of her sneakers. “I’d like that,” she said at last. Though Selina was tall, Bruce was taller and she had to stand on her tiptoes just to reach his face. Selina’s hand rested on his arm just before her delicate lips planted a kiss on his right cheek.

With that gesture, she winked a glistening green eye at Bruce and took off running. He never took his gaze off her figure, always watching her fluid movements that seemed to mimic the speed and grace of a particular feline creature.

A-A-A

Dick’s bed in Wayne Manor smelled nice and clean when he climbed into it the night before Christmas. He pulled the covers up to his chin and immediately fell into a pleasant sleep. Upon a featherbed mattress he had been dreaming of angels and snowflakes and stardust until dawn’s rosy fingertips slowly touched the edge of the sky and gradually began to turn night into day.

On the morning of December 25th Dick woke up to feel something soft tickling against his face.

He looked up and noticed a small white ball of fur quivering next to his pillow. The boy bolted up in alarm when he noticed the “thing” was really a live creature with a red ribbon tied around its neck. A tiny pink nose and long whiskers twitched back and forth while its deep brown eyes blinked at Dick curiously.

“Holy Moley!” he blurted out. Dick gathered the wonderful creature in his hands and rubbed his nose against its smooth fur. The animal curled up against his neck in search for warmth.

“Where’d you come from, bunny?” Dick said with delight. He jumped out of bed and threw open the heavy velvet curtains. Now sunlight was flooding through the windows and causing all the white snow outside to sparkle against the brown stones of Wayne Manor.

He scooped the gift up and into the deepest pocket of his bathrobe, and then went running down the hallway to Bruce’s room. The millionaire was buried under his blanket and didn’t move a muscle. Dick swore that Bruce slept like a dead man.

“Wake up, Bruce!” he shouted. “It’s Christmas!”

Dick was so excited that he jumped on the bed and landed hard on Bruce’s stomach. The man jolted from the impact. Dick bounced back and scooted aside on the bed to make room for the groggily awakening man.

“Oomph!” Bruce grunted, finally stirring from his sleep. He pulled a pillow off his face, now more awake from the boy’s arrival. He absentmindedly ran a hand through his rumpled black hair.

“Oops. Sorry,” Dick apologized. He reached into the pocket of his robe and pulled out the new pet.

“Thanks a million Bruce,” he smiled, cradling the rabbit to his chest in gratitude. “This is the best gift ever.” Dick sat back on heels while the millionaire propped himself up against the headrest.

“You’re welcome,” Bruce mumbled. He yawned deeply and started to rub the sleep out of his eyes. “What do you want to call him?”

“What should we call him?” Dick grinned.

“I don’t know . . Spartacus?”

Dick ran two fingers across the rabbit’s silky ears and down its back. “I was thinking of calling him Thomas.”

Bruce opened his mouth and yawned deeply like a tired mountain bear. “For this you wake me up at 7 o’clock in the morning on a holiday? Just to name your new furball? That’s it. I’m changing your name to Fluffy. Fluffy John Grayson!”

And just for that, he suddenly swatted a pillow over Dick’s head and began to tickle him in the stomach. The boy shrieked and laughed with delight. “Ha ha ha ha! Stop! Bruce! I’m ticklish! No! Ha ha ha! Please!”

Dick rolled over on the bed and the two of them continued to laugh for a few more minutes. Then Bruce stuck his feet out of bed and into his slippers. He quickly pulled down his nightshirt that had ridden up but not before Dick has seen a few more bruises on his torso.

“Geez, Bruce, don’t tell me Veronica Vreeland creamed you at polo,” he said aloud.

“It was croquet,” Bruce corrected him, putting on his bathrobe.

“Croquet?”

“Yes, you know, the game that Alice played the Queen of Hearts until she nearly got her head cut off?”

“Did Veronica almost cut your head off?” Dick grinned.

“Of course. I was winning.” Bruce knotted the sash of his robe and secured it tightly.

“Come on, let’s go downstairs.”

Dick slid down the banister so that he landed on the shiny wooden floor before his friend did. He and Bruce walked into the living room where Alfred was tending to the tree and adjusting one of the many glistening ornaments that adorned its fragrant scented branches.

Dick ran to the pine tree and knelt down at its base. He pushed a few other wrapped boxes aside until he found what he was looking for.

“This is for you, Bruce,” Dick said. He handed Bruce the small package in brown paper. “I hope you like it.”

Bruce accepted the package and turned it over carefully, studying the gift. Dick clasped his hands behind his back. He started to rock back and forth on his heels, hoping that he had done something right for the day.

Bruce slowly tore off the paper. Alfred heard him gasp in disbelief when he set aside the wrapper and ran a hand over the gift.

“Dick,” he whispered in bewilderment. “Where on earth did you find this?”

“I almost didn’t see it but I got lucky and found a store in town,” Dick confessed. “Do you like it?”

Alfred glanced over his shoulder and read the title of the movie.

“Bless my soul, you dear boy,” he murmured. “That’s The Mark of Zorro. Don’t you remember, Master Bruce? It used to be your favorite movie.”

“It still is,” Bruce said with a nostalgic look in his eye. “I haven’t seen this in years.” He placed the movie down and starred at the boy, too stunned for words.

“Thank you,” he said warmly. “Thank you, Dick. You don’t know how much this means to me.”

“I think I do,” Dick replied.

Bruce’s attention drifted up to somewhere on the second floor. Dick tried to see what he was looking at but saw nothing out of the ordinary; just the long corridor of oak doors across the balcony.

“What is it?”

An amused look spread across Bruce’s face. “There’s something I have to show you.”

Dick scrambled to his feet and tried to keep up with Bruce’s immense paces as he followed him up back up the stairs and down the hallway.

“Come on, Bruce. What is it?”

“You’ll see,” Bruce promised him. At last they came to a halt in front of a pair of double doors. Bruce stood behind Dick and placed the boy’s hands on the brass doorknobs.

“I want you to close your eyes and count to three,” he was instructed.

Dick took a deep breath and shut his eyes tightly. “One…two…three!”

On three, he turned his hands and heard the locks click inside the keyholes. The doors swung wide open and Dick stepped inside the room. The boy opened his cerulean eyes and gazed forward.

He stood frozen in his tracks.

Training mats.

A balance beam.

Two gymnastic rings.

A trampoline.

Dick managed to take another step forward. He blinked hard to make sure that he wasn’t dreaming. Several of the best athletic equipment pieces had been set up and were gleaming from sunlight that flooded through open windows. From shiny exercise bicycles to the stretchy black material of a jumping mat, every item beckoned to Dick with the dazzling perfection of an art that his family had mastered for years. The entire room had been transformed into a perfect acrobatic training gym.

“All this for me?” Dick whispered in a small high voice.

“All this for you,” Bruce answered from the doorway. He folded him arms over his chest. “Do you like it?”

To show his answer, Dick tore off his bathrobe and went running to the balance beam. Dressed only in his pajamas, he leapt into the air and landed on top of the bar in his bare feet. The boy took two steps forward with his arms stretched out in a flawless balance. Suddenly, he arched his back and twisted his slender body backwards into a flip off the beam.

The boy’s nimble feet landed together on the mat in a squatting position. Then he slowly stood up and faced Bruce. His face beamed with delight.

Now I’ll always have Mom and Dad with me whenever I practice.

“I love it.”

A-A-A

It certainly was an unforgettable day for them. Dressed in his best pants and a red sweater, Dick went with Bruce to the Gotham Cathedral downtown. The organ music swelled up in his heart when he heard the beautiful music and saw all the boys and girls singing together inside.

As Bruce had promised, they met Leslie on the steps outside the church. He wanted Dr. Thompkins to receive her Christmas gift hand delivered: a tiny crystal figurine with wings.

For my guardian angel, Dick had read from the engraved gold letters. He thought it was the perfect way to describe Leslie.

At Leslie’s suggestion, they went to the soup kitchen and dished out peas and turkey from giant army tins onto waiting plates. The tired but happy faces of newcomers smiled and thanked the two young men for their effort in taking time to perform the generous task. Dick noticed a few people were starring at Bruce but he only showed his charming smile, nodding and serving graciously as if he was entertaining royalty in his own home.

Dick showed off some of his circus tricks to entertain the children. He nimbly sprinted into feats of cartwheels and handstands for their pleasure. They all laughed and clapped their hands when he landed right sit up with a flushed face from the constant rush of blood but very happy.

Bruce took the long way back home and drove slowly past the Astoria Hotel where a crowd of people had gathered in front of a display window. There were so many people clustered against the windowpane that Dick couldn’t see what they were looking at.

“What’s going on?” he asked. Bruce only slowed the car down to a graceful stop in front of the hotel. Dick opened the door and climbed out after Bruce, pulling his coat a bit tighter for extra warmth.

“Monsieur Wayne!” a deep voice called out. Armand had strode out of the hotel and was walking towards them with open arms. He was wearing a crisp white chef’s jacket and puffy hat that bobbed up and down with enthusiasm.

The Frenchman grasped Bruce’s hand in a vigorous handshake. “I am honored to show you my masterpiece,” he announced.

He gestured for the two young men to step inside the lobby. Crystal chanticleers, marbled floors, and vases brimming with red roses graced the hotel’s main room with an air of charm and elegance. But it was the heavenly perfume that captivated Dick who was enveloped in the most fragrant scent of ginger and cloves. He inhaled deeply through his nostrils and only then saw the gingerbread house that Armand had created.

“Holey Moley!”

As if this day couldn’t get in any more surprises.

“Is she not zee most lovely sight to behold?” Armand puffed up with pride.

Dick and Bruce were looking at a dazzling confectionary display with star-struck faces.

It was at least six feet tall and piped with thick creamy white icing in the most delicate scalloped shapes across the windows and the doorway. A pattern of crisp red wafers crossed up and down the house in a lattice design. Gold glitter had been generously showered onto the roof and it shined so brightly that Dick nearly had to squint to see properly.

As Bruce had said, there were candy sheets for windows but the colors were so brilliant that they looked like stained glass windowpanes or jeweled mirrors to Dick. Yes, two chocolate statues of angels stood in the front but there were also tiny peppermint mice with whiskers and tails all in a row running across the chimney. The best part were the doves, just dozens of fragile white sugar-spun candy doves adorned all over the house.

Bruce thought it looked even brighter and more beautiful than the last time he had seen it nearly 20 years ago.

“C’est tres magnifique, Monsieur Gateau!”” Dick said to Armand.

Armand’s bushy black eyebrows went up from his words. “Monsieur Wayne, you deed not tell me zat Monsieur Grayson, shall we say, knows zees language tres bien!”

“I didn’t know,” Bruce said. “Spartacus?”

“Who else?” Dick grinned.

He was caught off guard by two hands that came from behind and spun him around. “Babs!” he blurted out coming face to face with bright red hair and freckles. To Dick’s astonishment, she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly.

“Thank you for saving me,” she whispered tenderly. Barbara broke the hug and released her friend only to find his ears as red as his sweater.

Dick tugged on his collar awkwardly. “Hey, uh, it was nothing.”

“This is for you,” she said as she handed him a package. Dick knew he had already received more than enough of his fair share of presents but he was overwhelmed with curiosity for her gift.

Bruce walked over just as Dick peeled off a layer of yellow wrapping paper. Inside was a long knit blue scarf with familiar yellow imprints all over it.

“Do you like it? I made it myself,” Barbara said proudly.

Dick studied the little animal-shaped pattern on the scarf. “Are these...”

“Bats? Yup,” Barbara said proudly. They looked at each and started to laugh at once.

“Somebody appears to be jeopardizing my popularity,” Bruce remarked as he glanced at the scarf.

“Come on, Mr. Wayne. Even you’ve got to admit that Batman’s done a good thing or two for this city,” Barbara retorted. “What with your face in all the papers, don’t you read ‘em?”

“Barbara!” Commissioner Gordon had stepped forward. “Apologize to Mr. Wayne right now.”

“It’s all right Commissioner, I’m used to having a swelled head,” Bruce replied cheerfully. “But just because I don’t see my face stitched into clothing yet doesn’t mean I’ve been upstaged by a flying rodent.”

“Bats aren’t rodents, sir.”

Commissioner Gordon tried to put on a stern face but Dick and Barbara were already covering their mouths to control their snickering.

A-A-A

“I’m ever sorry Veronica, but I won’t be able to make it to your party tonight,” Bruce drawled out. He glanced at Dick and winked a sapphire eye. The boy rocked back and forth in the leather chair with excitement. He and Bruce were now inside of the Entertainment Center, a giant television screen gracing one wall of the pine-green carpeted room.

“Yes, it’s a shame, darling. You have no idea how much I look forward to your stunning social performances, they’re the only thing that give someone like me any relief!” Bruce continued to pour on the honeyed words into the phone with grace and poise.

“What’s that? Oh, ghastly business I have here. Yes, I’d much rather be waltzing with you right now but I just cannot tear myself away from it. Regards to Chelsea and the other girls. I promise we’ll spend Valentine’s Day together. Merry Christmas, darling.”

Bruce hung up the phone, tossed black bangs back, and breathed out a tremendous sigh of relief.

“And with that out of the way,” he declared as he rubbed his hands together with glee. “We may proceed.”

“Yes!” Dick bounced up and down in his chair.

Bruce pulled out The Mark of Zorro and slid it into the VCR. Taking the remote in his hand, he walked back to the doorway and turned off the lights.

“Is it me or do all the good movies look better in the dark?” Dick asked.

“I’d say the latter, chum.” Bruce cautiously made his way back to his seat on the couch. An oversized bowl of fluffy popcorn was placed between them along with two brimming hot cups: coffee for Bruce and traditional hot chocolate for Dick.

Dick pulled the blanket up over his lap for extra comfort. He reached for the bowl and helped himself to a fistful of popcorn. “What’s this movie about anyway?”

“Don Diego de la Vega is a wealthy man living in California in the early 19th century,” Bruce informed him. “Inspired by legends of old, he dons a black mask and rides through the country to fight injustice under the name of Zorro.”

Dick popped a few kernels into his mouth. “And what does ‘Zorro’ mean?”

“The fox.”

“Not the bat?”

“Bats, bats, bats. Why is this whole town obsessed with bats?”

“Hey, Bruce. I got an idea for your next Halloween party.”

“Shhh….here comes the opening title.”

Dick sealed his lips and focused on the screen just like Bruce. Within minutes the boy was spellbound by the majestic beauty of the old movie. Drama, action, swashbuckling adventures, and more-it was all just brilliant. The actors were daring, the costumes were stunning, and the stunts rivaled those of his circus techniques. He had to resist the urge to boo at the bad guys and cheer for Zorro when he rode off into the sunset after a daring escape.

Bruce was equally captivated with the movie and dug into the popcorn as well, especially during the more dangerous parts of the movie. Dick clasped his hands over his eyes and begged Bruce to tell him if Zorro got out of the old mine alive without being captured by the guards or being set aflame in the burning watchtower.

After the two-and-a-half hour epic, Bruce aimed his remote and turned the television off. He glanced aside to see Dick had fallen fast asleep on the sofa.

Bruce rose slowly and stretched his stiff muscles after being still for so long. Alfred watched from the doorway as the young man bent over Dick. He slid a hand under the boy’s knees and another under his arms. Bruce lifted Dick off the sofa and carried him up the stairs.

He set the boy down carefully in his bed and pulled off his shoes. Dick didn’t stir once the whole time that Bruce was tucking the covers around him comfortably.

It was only when Bruce had turned around to walk out of the room that Dick spoke up.

“Bruce?” he mumbled sleepily.

“Yes?”

“I know you’re really Zorro,” Dick murmured. “And I want to thank you for the training room…and Thomas…and everything….”

Dick smothered a deep yawn. “….best holiday I could ever have. Merry Christmas, Bruce.”

He turned over and went back to sleep.

Bruce shook his head and smiled. He placed a hand on the doorknob and said, very softly, a few words before closing the door.

“Good night, Dick. And Merry Christmas.”

END