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Chapter Text

"When the snow lay 'round about, calm and crisp and even…"

Beneath the Englehart Bridge, on the banks of the ice-choked Gotham River, music welled up through the driving winds. The voice was deep, unpracticed, with a Slavic accent. It belonged to a man in a ragged coat sitting beside a fire in a rusty drum. A light sleet fell from the sky, with the forecast predicting a changeover to snow later in the week. But since he had nowhere else to go, he sat by his fire and sang. As he sang, he plucked at the keys of a lira and cranked its handle.

"Brightly shone the moon that night, though the frost was cru-el."

"Would you quit it with that thing?"

Another man, ill-shaven with a filthy scarf, rubbed his hands together a few feet away.

"Bah," the musician grunted. "Where is your holiday cheer?"

"I live in a tent under a bridge, I can't afford holiday cheer. Doesn't help you've been playing this shit since Thanksgiving."

"Well," the lira player began, pulling a flask from his coat and taking a swig, "I remain cheerful. Things are not so bad. Cold? Yes, little bit. A hot meal would be nice. But without one, I will warm my bones with song."

A large storm drain near their camp rumbled as a rush of frigid, brackish water came tumbling out. It was a common sound - somewhere in the city an icy blockage in the runoff sewers must have loosened itself.

"I guess Fritz isn't joining us tonight," the bearded man sighed. The wind howled, and they huddled deeper into their collars.

"He is probably at new shelter in Harlow. Perhaps we should be as well."

"Heh. Nah. I'll take my chances out here."

"Hmm. You have never liked those places."

"You weren't here when Mitchell was running the show. They were more worried about getting us out of sight than getting us off the streets."

"Mitchell is no longer the mayor."

"Like it matters. Reál may talk the talk but when a nutjob blows up the seawalls we get bumped right back to the bottom of the list."

"Perhaps. Even still -"

A louder, heavier splash alerted them to the drain. The shape they saw laying in the slush was unmistakable - and most definitely not ice.

"Aw, man," the bearded man whistled.

"Perhaps he also decided not to shelter," the musician said. He stowed his lira and walked toward the body.

"What are you doing?"

"Should we not call the police? This is no place for a grave."

The corpse was bald, a pallor of frostbitten blue across his skin. His face, and the garments he wore, were plastered in a thick coating of frost.

"If we get the cops, they'll pin this on us! Or worse - they'll sic the Bat on us!"

"You worry too much. It is plain to see what has happened here. This man floated here from upstream. He has been dead for some time."

The corpse suddenly convulsed. The two men screamed, the musician nearly slipping on the ice before being caught by his companion, and they fled into the night. The last thing they saw before the fear spirited them further away from the river was the frozen figure picking itself up, lurching forward a few paces, and then falling headlong into the frigid runoff with a splash.

As the water cascaded over his body, his pulse slowed. He curled into a ball, gently sobbing in the sleet.

Sunday, December 18th.

Gotham is preparing for its first Christmas since the flood. After a year of rebuilding, the city breathes a collective sigh of relief. The people feel safe again - safe enough to celebrate.

In Grant Park, a place that not so long ago was underwater, a crowd cheered as the city's towering Christmas tree lit up, row by row. At the back of the crowd, a mother and child craned their necks to watch the spectacle, their arms full of shopping bags.

Maybe they are safe. Maybe the worst is behind us. The water has drained. Parts of the city that went months without electricity are back on the grid. The GCPD has undergone a major restructuring under the new mayor. Together, we've cracked down on the looting.

A digital "8" flickered inside a neon wreath over a banner that said "DAYS 'TIL CHRISTMAS" at the Gotham Holiday Market. Children were gawking at a display of chocolates. Across the way, a bored-looking woman sat at a t-shirt stall. A man with his coat drawn up close to his face approached from the crowd, thumbing around for something in his pockets.

Maybe I'm just paranoid. Afraid to let my guard down. Step out of the shadows.

As they continued around the park, the boy stopped. His eyes traveled up a full-length mural on the wall of a building they were passing. From three stories up the eyes of a towering, dark figure swept out over the park from behind their mask.

The Batman has become visible in a way I hadn't anticipated. Exposed. I have my allies, and I know who to trust. But now everyone knows I'm out there.

He was painted in such a way that his cape spread out behind him in dozens of points, and he held a torch in one hand. Someone had attempted to make the mural more festive by hanging several cords of red lights as though they emitted from the flame.

But then… maybe that's the point. I created this mask, this life, to strike fear into the criminal element. Where I went, they would stay away. And so whether the city knew it or not, I would make them safer. But there was a truth I denied myself. Something I wasn't ready to accept. When I go out there, it makes people safer.

The man stepped up to the stall and handed the woman a crumple of bills from his pocket. He pointed, somewhat embarrassed, at a gray shirt with a black bat symbol printed across the chest.

"It's all my kid will talk about," he said sheepishly.

They feel safe because they know I'm out there.

At the park, the boy stole a few more moments grinning at the painting before his mother beckoned him back.

But I'm not out there tonight.

A black Corvette pulled up at the University Dome to a flurry of camera flashes. A tall, lean man in a trim overcoat smiled weakly at the valet and passed over his keys. His hair, usually hanging loosely down to his temples, was combed back. A pair of gold cufflinks emblazoned with the letter W was the only real embellishment on his outfit.

"Mr. Wayne!"

An event official rushed to meet him as he entered. "They're waiting for you upstairs Mr. Wayne. Right this way."

Tonight, Bruce Wayne was invited to a charity show, benefiting the reconstruction. It was mostly about appearances. People being able to see him outside the mask meant they wouldn't look for him under it. At least, that was what Alfred had insisted.

Bruce was led up to a VIP box overlooking the arena floor. It seemed he had been the last to arrive - a number of Gotham's most notable public figures were already milling about the box. Among them was Jim Gordon, Batman's closest ally. They didn't know one another very well off the job, however. At the center was Gotham's mayor, Bella Reál. "Severe" was the way Bruce would describe her sense of style. Her hair was piled on top of her head in a tight bun, and she wore a simple but finely pressed blazer. Bruce supposed she had to keep up appearances as well.

"Good evening, Mr. Wayne," Reál shook his hand. "Thank you for coming."

Bruce nodded.

"I… didn't realize you had so many guests tonight."

Gordon nodded at him sympathetically.

"Welcome to the circus, buddy."

The backstage area was a flurry of activity. Gymnasts with plumes of feathers in their hair hurried out of their dressing rooms to take their places. Clowns stocked their sleeves with various trick items. And peering out from behind the curtain in the tunnel was a boy.

He was dressed in stockings and a glittering red and gold shirt, and he kept his focus on the noise of the crowd out in the arena.

"Hey, coming through!" A gruff stilt-walker muscled his way through the tunnel. The boy pressed himself against the wall to make room.

"Dick?"

A woman in another red and gold outfit wove through the crowd.

"Dick! It's almost time, we need to finish getting you dressed."

"Sorry, mom."

She led him back to a private dressing area. A third acrobat; a tall, muscular man with a dark pencil mustache, was limbering up inside.

"Hey, there's my little man! What's the matter, Dick, getting cold feet?"

"Dad, stop!" Dick scrunched up his face. "I'm not scared! I just like to look at the crowd. It looks like a full house tonight."

The man, an older and slightly grayer version of his son, smiled.

"Well, I should hope so! This city's been through a lot. It deserves a night out. Now, please put your shoes on."

"Okay."

He laced up his shoes in silence, before he said;

"Dad, do you ever get scared going up there?"

"Well, sure. What we do is scary, I think any normal person would agree. But fear is a weight. If you focus on it too much, it will stop you in your tracks. If you try to live without fear, you might be able to float. But if you can reckon with that fear, it can give you momentum. You can fly."

He looked at his son.

"Do you know what I mean?"

"I guess?" Dick offered.

He laughed.

"That's why I'm a trapezist, not a motivational speaker."

"Let's see, introductions," Gordon sighed. He really didn't seem like he wanted to be there.

That makes two of us, Bruce thought.

"Come now, officer."

A slick, blonde haired man stood up and came over.

"Surely some of us don't need an introduction."

"Derek Powers," Bruce said brightly. "It's been a while."

Even if Bruce wasn't leading a double life he would have had to fake a smile.

"Bruce and I went to school together for a few years," Powers explained to Gordon. "Until he dropped out, that is."

"That's right," Bruce said. "We were in the business program. Wasn't for me. What brings you out tonight?"

"He's my guest!"

A man with a bright bowtie and a plastic smile approached.

"You might know Commissioner Loeb," Gordon said. "Came to Gotham after a stint with the Bludhaven Police."

"I like a challenge, what can I say?" Loeb laughed haughtily. "Then we have this handsome devil here, Gotham's daring new District Attorney."

A man who had been sitting quietly in the front row stood up to shake Bruce's hand. He had wispy black hair and an olive complexion.

"Harvey Dent, nice to meet you," he nodded bashfully, which Bruce returned.

"Good old Hollywood Harvey," Loeb grinned as though he were a political cartoon of himself.

"I tell you, Mr. Wayne, Jimbo and I-" he put an arm around Gordon "-I'm telling him all the time that Harv is the best PR thing to ever happen to this town."

"Oh yeah," Gordon puffed. "Gillian is very conscious of PR."

"Of course I am! Why, our new mayor has a lot to prove in the wake of those ghastly terror attacks. She needs all the help she can get, and appearances are everything in this business."

Through all of this, Bella had been watching silently. Bruce could tell she was paying attention rather intently. Before anything else happened, though, a voice cut through the arena.

"Ladies and gentlemen!"

The lights dimmed. Spotlights swept around the darkness. They met in the middle of the arena, where a portly man with a long handlebar mustache and a shiny black top hat appeared.

"Boys and girls of all ages!"

He raised a sequence-gloved hand in a dramatic flourish.

"Gotham State University Arena is proud to present the one, the only, the world famous - Haly's Circus!"

Bruce took a seat next to Harvey, and the show began.

As the spectacles of the circus played out, Dick watched from backstage. By chance, he happened to turn around just as a man was slipping out of a doorway leading deeper into the arena. He wore a knit skullcap tight against his head and was bundled in a bulky jacket. He made eye contact with Dick and his eyes briefly flashed with surprise before hardening into a sneer.

"What are you lookin' at? Friggin' brat!"

He hurried out of the room and into the crowd beyond.

"Hey!" Dick shouted. But he was gone.

"Haven't been to the circus in years," Harvey Dent said, the first words either he or Bruce had used since the show began.

Bruce grunted.

"One of the last times I went out anywhere, a serial killer set off a bomb in my house."

"Ah," Harvey said simply. "I heard about that. Scary stuff. I'm glad your bodyguard recovered."

Harvey thought for a minute.

"You say that like if you hadn't left, the bomb wouldn't have gone off. But Riddler still would have planted it, and someone would have opened the letter. Therefore, you leaving the house could have saved your life."

Bruce blinked. 

"Are you… cross examining me?"

"Maybe. But I've definitely had people say to me 'you know, it wouldn't kill you to get out more.' And now here we have evidence!"

"Heh," Bruce chuckled in spite of himself. "Is that supposed to be funny?"

"I know, I won't quit my dayjob," Harvey smiled. "But maybe it does say something about being a shut-in like the two of us. What do you think?"

"I think… that you and Alfred would get along."

Below them, a slender woman danced with some glowing hoops.

"So," Bruce said. He felt the need to break the silence. "What do you like about the city so far?"

"And answer honestly, Harvey," Derek grinned.

"No pressure," Harvey chuckled.

"I love the spirit of this place. Gotham is a fixer upper, to be sure. But the people here are resilient. When I first came to Gotham downtown was flooded and people were in dire straits. We've come a long way since then. I just hope we're ready for what comes next."

"You don't think we're ready?" Bruce asked.

"Call me paranoid, but when the waters receded, so did the National Guard. Gotham is on its own again. And the criminals know it."

"We aren't entirely alone," Gordon offered. "The Batman has made great progress in the areas we couldn't get to during the flood."

"The Batman," Loeb's smile turned into a smirk, genuine this time but with an ugliness to it.

"Really, Jim, I don't know how you can stand it. That skulking freak is an affront to our very profession!"

"Batman operates at the pleasure of the Mayor," Harvey said. "A lot like you, Gil."

"I like to surround myself with different opinions and perspectives," Bella finally spoke.

"The Batman is a vigilante, which is something I cannot fully abide by. But his contributions to the city cannot be discounted."

She grabbed at her shoulder.

"I owe him the benefit of the doubt, at the very least."

"I suppose I can respect that," Loeb shrugged. "But mark my words - confidence can be betrayed. I have no doubt that Batman will eventually show us who he really is. And that's going to be a fight only one of us can walk away from."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that, Commissioner," Derek clapped him on the back.

"The police in this country have enough problems without Batmen eroding trust in our civil institutions! Wouldn't you agree, Bruce?"

"Hm," Bruce shifted uncomfortably.

Bella Reál rolled her eyes.

"Mr. Wayne is one of those people who still has trouble trusting City Hall, Mr. Powers. That's why, I imagine, he's gone to such lengths to take back the land his parents donated to the city, and why he's reluctant to participate in any of my reform initiatives."

"Reacquiring the Wayne Estate was… not inexpensive, Madame Mayor. And the Wayne Family Trust is not what it once was."

"I don't care about the money you do or don't have to give," Reál cut him off. She was tenacious, which Bruce could respect.

"It's your action. Your family is very influential. If you could work with me - if you could trust me - we could do great things for this city."

"I like you, Ms. Reál," Bruce said wearily. "A different person might have folded coming into office on the heels of the Riddler. But trust is… hard to come by. There are people here that need our help, it's true. Keeps me up at night. But would I be helping Gotham with my money? Or would I be just another rich man thinking he could help, like my father?"

"Some unfortunate news has come to light about your father thanks to the Riddler," Reál said. "But whose word are we to believe? A deranged killer disillusioned by society, or the man's own son?"

"I don't really know what to believe," Bruce sighed. "And I can't get any answers from Carmine Falcone anymore. But I'd of course like to believe my father wanted the Renewal Fund to work. The problem is, it didn't. Gotham has always been my home, Madam Mayor, but I haven't decided if it actually wants me here yet."

Bella looked at him long and hard.

"But you're still here, Mr. Wayne. That counts for something."

"I know that Riddler isn't who this city is," Bruce hardened. "He can't be. So… I trust Gotham that far."

"Mom! There was a weird guy in here a second ago."

Dick's mother was waiting at the base of a metal ladder when her son ran up.

"Not one of the other performers?"

"No, he was in regular clothes."

She frowned pensively.

"Okay. After we go on we'll go right to Mr. Haly and let him know."

"Are you two ready?" His father called from above. "It's time to shine!"

"He's right," she smiled. "Let's break a leg out there, Dick."

A trio of clowns finished capering about the arena and bowed. The portly man from earlier in the evening - Haly, the owner and ringmaster of the circus - clapped his hands as they exited.

"Let me tell you folks, some acts need no introduction and some acts simply demand one. And this next act is really something special. It's got high-flying thrills, it's got death-defying chills. The family that gravity forgot, the triple threat without a net - Gotham University Arena, give it up for the Flying Graysons!"

The spotlights panned up and up until they found a platform atop a high pillar. On it were three people - a man, a woman, and a young child. Dick and his family beamed as they waved down to the crowd. This was the stuff they lived for. As the music started, signaling the beginning of the program, Mr. Grayson ran forward with his trapeze and swung out into the void. The spotlight followed him as he flipped off of the bar and onto another pillar. The crowd reacted in awe as Mrs. Grayson did the same. Then it was Dick's turn, venturing out onto a tightrope hanging over the arena. He stumbled just once - a planned maneuver designed to whip up the crowd - before letting himself fall so that he was hanging upside down by his knees. As the audience held its breath, he spun 180 degrees into a one-armed handstand.

The lights darkened, and the spotlights returned to the Grayson parents. Dick watched them both swing out once again, this time both towards the center. As the lights merged in the center, his mother leapt from her trapeze and his father leaned forward to catch her. There was a brief, tense moment where there was nothing connecting her to solid ground. The audience roared. Mrs. Grayson linked arms with her husband and they soared beyond the view of the spotlight. When the trapeze returned to view, there were no acrobats on it - and no bar.

Maybe it's paranoia. Or maybe I know the city better than most.

A wave of gasps passed through the audience, turning to screams as they noticed the two shapes lying on the darkened floor of the big top. As the crowd began to panic, the various security details of the VIPs in the mayor's box began gathering their charges.

Bruce stood amidst the chaos. As soon as the frayed rope came into view his eyes were - against his own better judgement - instinctively drawn upwards.

This city can change. But what price will Gotham ask for that change?

There he was. The lighting program for the acrobat show was still going on, and now they were all focused on the boy watching from above. The sight made his stomach lurch.

How much do I still have left to pay?

Bruce and the others were escorted out of the box. Everyone was dazed. Not even Loeb had a comment.

"You should… stay clear of the area, Mr. Wayne," Gordon said, not really making eye contact with him. "I have some calls to make."

"So do I…" Bruce muttered as Gordon disappeared into the crowd.

Chapter Text

"Captain Gordon."

A woman in a tanned leather jacket crossed the police line, flashing a badge as she did. Her blonde hair was tied back in a bun behind her, displaying the sharp angles of her cheeks and chin.

"Detective Sarah Essen, Homicide. I just transferred here from Chicago last week."

"Well, I'd welcome you to the force," Gordon said, shaking her hand, "but I think it would be in poor taste, given the circumstances."

The arena had been cleared, and the work lights turned on. It was a stark contrast to the scene of wonder from an hour earlier.

"I only heard a few of the details on my way," she said.

Gordon gestured towards two figures underneath white sheets.

"Jonathan and Maria Grayson, the acrobats known as the Flying Graysons. The Graysons famously performed their act without a safety net, which means when the rope severed-"

"There was nothing to catch them," she finished. "Are we sure this isn't just an… accident?"

She trailed off mid-thought as she noticed the officers part at the entrance to the arena floor. She heard him before she saw him. The rhythmic clomp of boots growing steadily closer. Out of the crowd emerged a dark figure. He wore a black mask with pointed ears, and a long cape flowed behind him. On his chest was emblazoned the silhouette of a bat in flight.

Thus was "Oh" The first thing she ever said to the Batman.

"You're early," Gordon said. "We didn't even light the signal. Guess word travels fast."

Unless… he was here tonight, the detective thought. I suppose even vigilantes need a night out.

"We were just discussing whether this is a job for homicide or not. It's true that it could just be an accident, but something about that doesn't sound right. The Graysons did this act hundreds of times, all over the world. You don't perform this act without accounting for all the variables."

"I agree," Batman's voice rustled. "They were visible figures. If someone had it out for them, they'd know exactly how to pull off a crime like this. Where is the rigging now?"

"Up in the grid above the arena," Gordon pointed. "Want to take a look?"

Detective Essen crossed her arms.

"Well, this became a more interesting evening than I had expected. Everyone talks about how tight you are with the Bat, but it's another thing to see it."

The two watched him cross the catwalk, tersely asking questions of the investigators at the ropes.

"Yeah well, we've certainly been in the trenches together once or twice," Gordon shrugged sheepishly. "Uh… you said everyone talks about it?"

"Well, yeah. Some of it's even good," she smirked. "You won't hear me complaining. I hear he does good work. Any idea who it is under there?"

Gordon shook his head.

"I used to wonder, but I'm starting to think it's better for everyone not to pry. I'd like to think I'm a friend, and I'd like to keep it that way."

Essen tapped the side of her head thoughtfully.

"Guy like that is either really ugly under there, or absolutely gorgeous."

She saw him turn around and beckon the two cops over to him.

"You don't think he can read lips, do you?" She gulped.

"Maybe he's got real, gorgeous bat ears under there," Gordon chuckled.

Batman gestured to the array of pulleys around the catwalk.

"The rigging. Reset it. Exactly as it would have been before the Graysons' act started."

The investigators briefly looked to Gordon for encouragement, then began moving the pulleys. Batman watched intently as the frayed end of the trapeze rose into view. He took it in his hand for a closer look.

"Here," he motioned to Gordon.

"Most of this rope severed during the incident, it came apart in uneven strands. But this side, all the individual braids are broken at the same position. It was cut intentionally."

"Well, would you look at that," Essen said. "The rope would have held until there was enough weight on it to finish the job."

Gordon nodded.

"In this case, it held when Jonathan was on it, but the combined weight of Maria and Jonathan together pushed it past the limit."

"But then who was the target?" Essen asked. "The wife? The husband? Both?"

"Hard to say," Batman frowned. "Are we looking for an expert who knew exactly how to cut the rope to take out both at once? Or was it a sloppy attempt at sabotage, not caring who got hurt?"

"We should see what sort of enemy a circus performer could make," Essen said, beginning to head for the elevator back down.

"A rival act, maybe?" Gordon mused. "We'll have to investigate the ringmaster. C. C. 'Pop' Haly. A real showman if ever I've heard one."

They passed Harvey Dent coming in as they exited the elevator.

"Where's Loeb?" Gordon asked.

"You know he loves the press," Harvey said flippantly. "He'll be fielding questions for at least another ten minutes. Too much heat for me. I needed a little bit of air."

He looked at Batman.

"Um, excuse me."

"Hollywood Harvey… seems camera shy," Batman said, watching the DA leave.

"Yeah, well, sometimes a name is just a name," Gordon said. He pointed back and forth between Batman and Essen.

"If either of you ever calls me 'Jimbo,' you're getting arrested."

"A fair deal," the detective smirked. "I'm going to interview some of the other performers, see if anybody had it out for the victims."

"Then I leave it in your hands," Gordon said. "I'd better get home. If my daughter is listening to the police scanners on a school night - again - she'll be worried about me."

Dick Grayson was sitting on a step in the arena atrium. An EMT had given him a blanket and a water bottle, and was now off to the side talking to a woman. It looked like the mayor. All these thoughts registered in his mind with a dull thud. Just a series of statements adrift in his head. Then she started walking closer.

"Richard," she said softly. "Someone has asked to speak with you."

The boy silently drew in a breath as he saw him approach.

"It's really you," he said, some wonder cutting through the desolation in his voice.

Batman knelt down in front of Dick, meeting his eye level.

"Hello Richard. Is that what you prefer to be called?"

"It's… um, it's Dick, actually," he whispered. Batman saw the fear in his eyes, the tears barely contained behind.

"Dick," he nodded. "I heard about what happened tonight, and I wanted to offer any support I could. I should have been there. But even if I failed you tonight-"

"No!" He suddenly shouted. "It's not your fault… I saw who did it."

Batman and Mayor Reál exchanged a quick, worried glance.

"There was a man… down in the tunnels. I had never seen him before. I told my mom, but it was our cue to start the show."

His gaze became distant and his eyes clouded over with sorrow once again.

"It was him. I know it was!"

"Can you describe him to the officers here?"

"I think so."

"Good. You're a brave kid. It's going to be okay."

"I don't feel brave. What am I supposed to do now, Batman?"

I don't know, Bruce thought. But he didn't say as much.

"You won't figure it out tonight. Or tomorrow. You'll hurt. For a while. But eventually you have to stop hurting. Your parents wouldn't… they wouldn't want you to feel that way. Not for them. How you can do that will be up to you."

He looked at the boy's face, and saw the pain returning. Then he took one of his hands.

"I'll give you some space. Don't let anyone deny you your grief, Dick."

He and Reál crossed to the other side of the atrium.

"Twelve years old," she breathed. "Can you even imagine what he must be going through?"

Rather than answer the question, Batman just said "Thank you for putting in a word for me."

Bella pursed her lips.

"I could tell you were serious about his well-being. That was enough. As… unenthusiastic I am about vigilantism, I admit you represent something Gotham has lacked for decades. And I feel like we're not square yet. I've taken one bullet for this city, but you've taken more than your share."

"I'd prefer to keep it that way. I exist to keep the people of this city safe."

He looked down.

"That included the Graysons."

"I know how you feel," she said. "Nights like this make you feel like you're back at square one."

"Does he have any other family?" He asked.

"The boy?" Reál shook her head. "No, I'm afraid not."

"What will happen to him, then?"

"He's a minor," she explained. "He'll be transferred to Social Services until they can process him into the Foster Care system. A judge will probably grant him temporary status as a ward of the city until after the New Year."

Batman thought for a moment.

"Two of the Graysons died tonight. I can't rule out the possibility that he was a target as well."

"And now he's a material witness," Bella sighed. "I'll speak to Commissioner Loeb, make sure he has protective custody."

"Do what you will," his eyes narrowed under his cowl. "Nothing else is going to happen to him in this city."

Chapter Text

"Bruce? You still alive out here?"

Sunlight was streaming through the windows, offering a gorgeous midday view of Upper Gotham below. Bruce grunted, then shuffled to his feet. He was on the top floor of the Wayne Enterprises Building, a frumpy, utilitarian high-rise from the early 1970s that the company had bought shortly after Thomas Wayne died. The gray-haired man speaking to him was his Uncle Phillip, who had been serving as CEO in place of his father ever since. In Bruce's youth he only met him a few times; Phillip was often traveling around the world doing one thing or another. Now his face was creased with age but his eyes still possessed a keen spark.

"Still here," Bruce said. "Thanks for meeting with me on short notice, Phillip. How have you been? Alfred tells me you're set to receive a humanitarian award next weekend."

"Ah yes, at the Gotham Mint," Phillip smiled warmly. "Industrialist of the Year, or some sort. A fun little honor, to be sure."

They moved through a set of doors into the penthouse office. The space was as sparse as the rest of the building, but Phillip had dressed it up nicely with plants and photos from his adventures.

"You look terrible, kid," Phillip stroked his chin. "Pull an all-nighter?"

"I was at the circus last night. You might have heard how that turned out."

"Oh that! Terrible what happened to those folks. I'm sorry you had to go through something like that again."

Phillip put his hand on Bruce's shoulder and nodded sympathetically.

"I really miss them this time of year."

Bruce closed his eyes.

"Yeah, the holidays are… rough."

"Well, let's not dwell on such things," Phillip clapped his hands together. "What brings the prince to his castle today?"

He crossed the room to his desk. Bruce exhaled lightly.

"Everything that's happened in the last year, I'm thinking it might be time. For me to take an active role in the company. It's… uh, been a while since I've used my degree, but it's what my dad would have wanted, and I've been avoiding it for too long."

"The family legacy," Phillip closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair.

"Not much left of that, is there?"

"There's still us."

The older man chuckled.

"There's still you. I'm at the head of this company but you're the only Wayne left in Gotham. And… how to put this… you've been through a lot."

"You don't think I'm capable?" Bruce asked.

"I don't know if you're ready for that sort of responsibility. It's one thing to think about jumping feet-first into the world after years away. It's another entirely to actually do it."

Bruce bowed his head.

"I see."

"I'm actually thinking it might be time to look towards a more… hands-off future for the company. I'm planning on selling Wayne Enterprises to Powers International. The board is supporting the acquisition. We start moving forward after the first of the year."

Bruce frowned, not believing what he was hearing.

"Derek Powers? You can't be serious."

"I'm very serious. Look, Bruce. I'm… not cut out for this sort of thing. This was only ever going to be a band-aid solution. I'm not the leader your father was. Why, just last week I had to cut ties with an employee for embezzlement, misappropriation of company resources. If your average hourly schmuck won't give you the respect you're due, what will the folks who really matter think of you?"

Bruce's face twisted uncomfortably. But before he could raise any questions about his uncle's comment, a reedy, spectacled man burst through the door.

"Mr. Kane, we really need to discuss those assets you had transferred to - oh, hello there."

"Lucius," Phillip spread out his arms and cocked his head in a show of disbelief. "I'm busy?"

"I'm sorry Mr. Kane," the man said quickly. "You don't usually take meetings this late in the afternoon."

"That's actually my fault," Bruce said, shaking the man's hand gingerly. "I'm something of a night owl. Bruce Wayne, I'm still technically a part of the company."

He glanced at Phillip as he said the last part.

"This is Lucius Fox," Phillip said, jaw set. "He's worked here longer than I have, despite his lack of familiarity with appointment policies. If he had a better head on his shoulders he might have been promoted out of the R&D bunker by now."

"Well, I hate to run out on you, Uncle," Bruce said tersely. "But I do have another appointment to be getting to. Lucius, it was nice to meet you. We'll continue this conversation later, Phillip."

"Phillip. That bastard."

Alfred Pennyworth drummed on the steering wheel impatiently as he waited at the light.

"Quite literally picking his own family for scraps at this point, he is. But… this interest in the family business, it's rather new isn't it?"

"I suppose I took it for granted before," Bruce said from the back of the vehicle. "Now it's something in jeopardy and-"

"And you want to swoop down and save it," Alfred grinned. "How very Batman of Bruce Wayne, sir."

They drove in silence for a few minutes. Then Alfred spoke up again.

"Tell me something. Is the plight of that young Grayson boy troubling you as much as it troubles me?"

"Heh," Bruce sighed. "It is a bit close to home, isn't it?"

"I didn't sleep a wink last night," Alfred said. "In almost 4 years of doing this I've never wanted to be there when the Batman catches a criminal more."

"Is MI6 Alfred making a comeback?" Bruce cracked a rare smile. "That would be something to see."

Alfred looked sheepish.

"Hm. Perhaps a comforting word would be more appropriate."

"He's being held at the Gotham Children's Hospital until he gets processed into the foster care system," Bruce said. "But… perhaps they would let Bruce Wayne pay him a visit."

"The Children's Hospital? I believe Leslie Thompkins is still practicing there," Alfred said.

"Leslie? There's a name I haven't heard in a while," Bruce murmured thoughtfully.

"We send each other posts from time to time," Alfred nodded. "She still asks after you."

"Hm."

"The Children's Hospital is about 15 minutes from here," Alfred reported. "I'll pull around the back."

The hospital was noisy, in a quiet sort of way. Phones ringing at distant stations, the chatter of nurses, the occasional cough. But Dick Grayson didn't really hear any of it. He was sitting on a chair in the hallway, looking at his shoes, when Doctor Thompkins and two other men came around the corner. He watched the younger, more sullen man take a seat next to him.

"Hello, Dick. Do you know who I am?"

"You're Bruce Wayne."

"That's right. And this is my friend Alfred.

"Good morning," the butler said cheerfully.

"So," Bruce continued. "If you know who I am, you know why I'm here."

He leaned a bit closer.

"Did they talk to you about the stages of grief? Show you the little chart?"

"Uh-huh."

"Me too. I got past the first stage pretty quickly. It's hard to deny something that happens right in front of you. Or maybe it was just how easy the anger came to me. How… lost you can get in it."

"I feel… I don't know if it's angry. Sometimes it's like I want to throw up, but there's nothing there."

"Just emptiness," Bruce nodded.

"Mr. Wayne… If you could have, would you have gone after the guy who did it?"

Bruce stared at something in the distance. Alfred stepped in for a moment.

"I'm afraid they never found the person who killed the Waynes."

Bruce sighed.

"I thought I could do better, that the police must have missed something, or that there was some kind of greater conspiracy. I thought I could play detective, make sense of a senseless crime. And do you know what happened?"

"Bruce…" Alfred cautioned.

"What?" Dick asked.

"I went snooping around an abandoned building and got stuck for almost a week. Nearly starved to death. Because I was just a kid, thinking with my heart instead of my brain. The police in this town were corrupt. For all I know, one of them did it on some mob boss's orders, and then covered it up. They couldn't find the culprit because they didn't want to."

"But I saw him! Mr. Alfred, I know he's out there!"

"Then let the police do their job. There are trustworthy people on the force now, who weren't there on that day. If he's still in Gotham, he'll be found."

"And if he isn't?"

"Try not to think that way," Alfred said softly. The older man placed a hand on the boy's shoulder.

"I'm sorry we riled you up. We thought it might be a good idea to give you some perspective, from two men who have been through this before. If you do want to talk to Bruce or I about anything, Doctor Thompkins can put us in touch."

"Sorry I yelled," Dick said quietly. "I… I guess I am angry."

"It's no trouble. I deal with this one's grumpiness all the time," he added quietly with a wink.

Leslie led Bruce and Alfred back to the elevator.

"I'll make sure he's taken care of, but a hospital can be a lonely place for a child. Especially over the holidays."

She looked at the young man, his usually dour expression seeming especially pronounced.

"Are you alright, Bruce? I know this is probably stirring up some bad memories."

"It's just… Isn't there anything that can be done?"

Alfred thought about it for a moment.

"A good family can adopt him. A proper adoption, outside the Foster System."

Leslie smiled and shook her head.

"I would caution you - as I caution many people in your position - that a child is not a pet, and cannot simply be discarded if they do not make you feel better as you intend."

Bruce and Alfred looked bewildered.

"You don't think I-" the older man stammered.

"Leslie," Bruce chuckled shortly. "Look at me. Do I seem like I'm equipped to handle a kid?"

"What a very normal response," she said drily.

"Look. I see the obvious parallels between you two. I don't even necessarily oppose the idea. But Bruce, you shut yourself away for so long. Your heart is in the right place, but I don't know if you understand the sort of undertaking that would be."

"You're right," Bruce said, stepping into the elevator. "Which is why it isn't even worth considering. It was good to see you again, Leslie. Happy holidays."

"Take care of yourself, Bruce."

As night fell, the cold became more acute. Dick Grayson shivered as soon as his sneakers splashed into the puddle beneath the fire escape. The police sent to protect him were guarding the doors, not the windows.

He paid for bus fare with the pocket change he had managed to scrounge up around the hospital, and trudged into the Bowery. The slouching warehouses of the old rail depot frowned from within the shadows of the newer elevated train tracks. But there were still signs of activity - a few of the inactive warehouses had been converted into restaurants and bars. It was into the warm and inviting doorway of one of these places that the boy eventually sheltered from the approaching storm.

The inside was rowdy. Now outfitted as a country western saloon; revelers tromped across former factory floors now covered in sawdust, and mason jars full of lights hung from the industrial ducting. Most of the patrons were wearing denim jackets with the words "Bowery Bulldogs" across the back via matching patches. Those who weren't were giving the bar a wide berth.

A large, squat man was holding court there, eliciting raucous laughter from his friends. Nobody saw Dick approach him.

"Are you in charge here?"

The large man turned towards Dick and flashes a gap-toothed grin.

"What's the matter, kid? Lost your mommy?"

The other gang members snickered. Dick gulped, then stood up straight.

"Yeah. I have. Do you know the guy who killed her?"

Everyone stopped laughing. The bald man stood from his stool and looked down to face Dick.

"Now who the hell taught you to talk to strangers like that, little boy?"

"Answer the question!" Dick shouted.

The other Bulldogs began fanning out behind their leader. The din of the bar suddenly fades as the other patrons decided it might be best to try another bar.

"I don't know who you are, and I don't care if your mother is dead. She still wouldn't be able to recognize you after we're done with you."

Dick Grayson now found himself in way over his head. He slid across the sawdust and hopped over a table, putting some distance between himself and the gang. But he was only one person, and they were several. It wasn't long before he was surrounded.

That was when the door slammed open, and a dark shape entered.

The lead Bulldog, seething with rage, looked to the Batman in confusion. Of all the places he could show up...

"Let's make this easy," the masked figure said matter-of-factly. "The two of us are going to walk out of here. And you're going to let us."

The leader stepped away from Dick and moved between Batman and the others.

"We're just wrapping up some business, pal," he said, attempting some sort of calm.

"Just let us deal with it, and nobody else has to get hurt."

Batman cracked his neck.

"Nobody except the kid," he growled. 

"What if the kid has it coming?" The Bulldog asked defiantly.

The leader moved for something in his pocket. Batman was faster, flicking a spinning metal object into his wrist.

The leader groaned in pain, and the others rushed forward. The twangy Christmas music echoing through the bar now underscored a savage bar brawl. Batman slammed one thug into a wooden pillar, causing it to splinter. Another gang member was thrown headlong over the bar. Someone managed to crack a glass bottle over Batman's head, and was rewarded with the cracking sound of his own ribs as the vigilante's elbow propelled itself into his chest.

"Go," he ordered as he made eye contact with Dick, now largely forgotten in the melee. He pointed to a side door into the alleyway.

Dick broke for the door, but was grabbed by a thug who had already been knocked to the ground.

Batman bellowed as he charged through two more men, scooping up Dick along the way.

They burst through the door, into an alleyway.

"Where do we go now?" Dick asked.

The sound of dozens of footfalls directed them to turn around, where the remaining Bowery Bulldogs were filing outside.

The leader grinned wickedly.

"Well, you got your wish. You walked out of my bar. Now we're going to drag you out of this alley."

A burst of light behind them briefly distracted him from Batman and the boy. It was the headlights of a vehicle, engine screaming a terrible high-pitched wail, crouched aggressively at the end of the alley. There was no one behind the wheel, which made it all the more distressing to watch it begin thundering towards them, sparks flying as its sides scraped against the bricks.

The Bulldogs screamed, steamrolling one another to get back through the door. Dick recoiled, ready to run for himself, but he felt Batman's grip tighten on his shoulder.

A couple stragglers who didn't make it inside in time were now hyperventilating and clutching at Batman's cape, all thoughts of the fight or the boy flown from their heads.

The roar climbed in pitch as the vehicle reached the doorway in the alley. But before it got to its owner it slammed on the brakes and crashed to a halt. One of the thugs fainted dead away, the other one looked back and forth between Batman and the car in confusion before the masked figure kicked him in the chest, subduing him.

He walked over to the car and opened the passenger side door.

"Get in."

Dick looked at the phantom black vehicle.

"How did it…?"

"Stop? The car has remote anti-collision sensing. It stops short of any pedestrian it encounters."

Dick looked up at the vigilante incredulously.

"So they were never really going to get hit?"

"No," Batman said flatly.

"But they didn't know that."

Falling snow blew through the open window to the brownstone. It didn't look like they had been here yet. Good, he thought. He fastened another ice pack around his chest and busied himself with his work.

IV tubing. Respiration helmet. Oxygen tanks. That would handle the hardware. He pulled back the rug in the living room and unlatched the hidden compartment in the floor. Inside was a refrigerated container of blue vials, each of them meticulously labeled.

"I am what they made me."

He began writing out equations, measuring out fluids dropwise into his device. Once he was satisfied, he jabbed himself in the forearm and turned the machine on. He felt his breathing even out as the serum entered his bloodstream, and began removing the ice packs. Sighing, he turned towards the picture frame on his desk. A young blonde woman smiled at him from behind the glass pane.

"I will survive for the time being, Nora. Now I can turn my thoughts to more pressing matters."

He grabbed the frame and watched the frost gather over the photo within.

"To retribution."

Chapter Text

"Is this going to be a problem? Are you going to be a problem, Dick Grayson?"

The boy sat quietly, staring straight ahead as Batman's car sped through the darkened streets. For the second time in as many days he was just inches away from the Batman. He was starting to get used to his frightening countenance. But where last night he was trying to offer some comfort, tonight an obvious frustration simmered behind his mask.

"What was your plan?" Batman continued.

"Antagonize every gang in Gotham until you found the one connected to your parents' murder?"

"I didn't have any other ideas," the boy grumbled.

"I did," Batman snapped. The police do. That's why they should be out here, and you should be at the hospital. I can't do my job if I have to look out for you too."

"I can't just do nothing, Batman. I saw him."

"And he saw you. You're the only person who can tie this man to your parents' murder. That makes you a target. If he finds you before I find him, you might be the next body to drop. You need to think with your head, not with your heart."

"Everyone keeps telling me that," Dick moped. "You, Bruce Wayne, Doctor Thompkins…"

"So listen to them. We care about you."

The car slowed to a halt.

"We're here."

Leslie Thompkins ran out to the car wrapped in a scarf and a hastily-buttoned coat.

"There you are. Please, come inside."

Dick turned to look once more at Batman as he shuffled into the hospital.

"Gordon said he had a man bringing the boy around," Leslie said.

"Imagine the shock when I realized it was you. I should thank you. I'm sure you are busy with… the other things you do around town."

"Just keep an eye on Dick. These early days are usually the hardest for people in this position."

"My thoughts exactly," Leslie said.

They should be. They're your words, Bruce thought.

He produced a phone from his belt and handed it to her.

"There's a number already on this. I have to go. But if you need anything, call."

"Morning, Martinez."

Sarah Essen swept past the bullpen on her way to her desk. The precinct was a relic of prewar America, with only the most garish aspects of Art Nouveau. Small wall-mounted lamps struggled to light the space, creating a dim and moody atmosphere. Essen had to wonder why everyone in this town kept their offices so dark.

She put her bags down and headed straight for the coffee pot. She could catch bad guys a lot easier once she had her caffeine fix.

A stack of papers rounded the corner near the water tank. Peering around one side of it was the tousled brown hair and severe brow of Howard Branden, the captain of Gotham's Strategic Response Group.

"Well, well. If it isn't the new blood. Morning, Essen."

"Morning. What is all that stuff, Branden?"

"Inventory logs. The Commissioner thinks some of our boys have been joyriding with department hardware, so everything gets counted. Don't know how SRG managed to land that job, but here we are."

Sarah put her coffee down.

"How does a cop steal from the cops?"

"When they ain't a cop no more," Branden said.

"After that business with the Riddler, Mayor Reál thought the GCPD needed an external audit."

He crunched on the words for a bit before continuing.

"Anybody caught with their pants down got shown the door. Next thing you know, some equipment turns up missing from ESU's armory."

"You think some of the dirty cops decided to sweeten their severance packages on the way out?"

"Thus, the paperwork. We gotta figure out what's missing and who had access. And hope they haven't sold them on the streets."

Sarah's eyebrows rose.

"Is that a concern?"

"If you lost your job all of a sudden, what would you do to keep bread on the table?"

"Not steal from the police, I'd hope."

"Heh. Guess that's why you're here and they're not."

"Do I hear Detective Essen out there?"

Commissioner Loeb bounded from his office to join the two cops.

"I'll see you around, Essen," Branden smirked, taking his leave.

"Sir." Essen stiffened.

"Oh, please there's no need for that. I simply wanted to formally introduce myself. I've read your file of course - exemplary stuff. How is Gotham treating you so far?"

"Oh," she relaxed a bit. "It's fine. Still plenty to get used to. And this Grayson case is keeping me pretty occupied so far."

"Ah, yes. That. Well, the wheels of justice turn slowly, but they do turn! I was actually hoping to discuss something else with you. I'm invited to a gala of sorts at the Gotham Mint this Saturday, and I thought it might be good for some of our best and brightest to attend alongside."

He puffed his chest.

"As a show of unity and strength, you understand. I've already tapped Gordon, and I'm on my way to see where Chief McKenzie is now to extend the same courtesy."

"Saturday? That's Christmas Eve, sir."

Loeb chuckled.

"Of course, my apologies. Did you have other plans?"

Essen caught sight of Jim Gordon leaning out of the doorway to the copy room, making expectant eye contact with her. He moved his chin as if to beckon her inside.

"Now that I think of it, not really. I guess I just would have been home. So why not?"

At least I wouldn't be alone, she thought, still looking at Gordon.

"Forward me the details, when you get a chance," she said quickly, moving towards the copy room. I have some leads I need to run down."

"So you got roped into Christmas Eve at the mint too, eh?" Gordon sighed as she closed the door behind her.

"Well, you can't really say no to the PC on your first week, can you?" Essen put a hand on her hip. "What's your excuse?"

"Loeb doesn't really give me the option to opt out of these kinda things. He figures the more of an eye he keeps on me, the less time I spend 'enabling' the Batman. I just hope the stuffed shirt at this awards ceremony doesn't keep us too late. Barbara's going to be mad enough as it is."

"Barbara?"

"My daughter," Gordon said. "It's just the two of us ever since her mother left the picture, but this job keeps me away from her too much. We're gonna spend Christmas Day together though."

"That sounds nice. The only family I have is back home, so I'm not really sure how the holidays will find me this year… but, I assume you had something else for me besides an excuse to ditch Loeb?"

"Yeah. Let's compare notes on the Haly's Circus case. Statements come in from all our circus folk?"

"Yup. No motives stick out yet. Seems the Flying Graysons were pretty well-liked among the performers. There are some… irregularities in the finances though."

"Finances?"

Sarah shrugged.

"Mr. Haly was pretty cagey about it, but maybe it's the sort of tax hanky panky all traveling circuses deal in. We'll need to take a closer look regardless."

Gordon frowned.

"Hm. People have done worse things than this for money. Let's work that angle."

"Will do," she said. She turned to leave, then stopped.

"Hey, speaking of enabling Batman, have you heard anything from him about this investigation?"

Gordon shook his head.

"Other than that scare with the son last night, no. He's… a quiet guy when he doesn't have anything to say."

"Everything alright, sir? You seem more aloof than usual."

Bruce Wayne shuffled uncomfortably in the back seat of his town car.

"I'm angry, Alfred."

"Well, that's hardly breaking news, is it?"

"With myself. I'm letting my personal feelings get in the way of this case."

"Is it wrong for Batman to care for a boy's safety?" The older man asked.

"The Batman has to stand for everyone," Bruce said. "Not just one boy."

"And what if, of all the people in this city, that one boy is the person who needs Batman the most right now?"

Across town, Leslie and Dick were at the mall.

"I just want you to feel comfortable while you're staying with us, Richard, as brief as it may be."

"I'm sorry I ran away, doctor Thompkins."

"Put it behind you, dear. You've been through a lot of late. Now; the toy stores are rather picked over this close to Christmas, but if there's something here you think might help you pass the time, feel free to pick it out."

Dick wandered about for a bit until he came to the sport section. A solid aluminum bat hung on a peg just above his eye level.

"That baseball bat, and a glove. My dad and I used to play catch. It would… help me remember him."

"That sounds like a very nice tribute. Perhaps you and one of the other boys in the wing can play catch - not in the hallway though!"

As dusk settled over the city and Leslie and Dick made their way back to the hospital, the flurries of snow escalated into a full-blown storm. Street lights cast their glow into flakes as they fell fast and heavy, suffusing the city in a strange, luminous twilight. Sarah Essen was carefully driving home in the deteriorating conditions, when a voice came across the scanner.

"All units, possible 10-31 at 36 Burnley, potential break-in. Looks like a silent alarm at Wayne Enterprises Biomedical."

"Wayne Enterprises?" She murmured. She knew the Waynes were a big deal in the city. Might be worth a look.

"Dispatch, this is Detective Essen, off-duty but in the area. I'll drive over and wait for backup."

Essen pulled into a side alley near the building, only to find she wasn't alone. A black muscle car was parked further down the way, and its driver was now illuminated in her headlights.

"Oh. Hello there," she said as she emerged from the car.

"Detective," Batman said.

"I guess you heard the dispatch too?"

He nodded.

"I was in the area. Thought it was worth investigating."

"Well," she said carefully. "Protocols say I shouldn't go in without backup. But they don't say anything about bat vigilantes. What do you say we clear this place together?"

He stared at her for what felt like a while. Then he gestured at the side doorway to the building.

"The intruder used some kind of explosive reaction to cave the door in. It's coated in frost."

Essen took the lack of objection as a sign that she was allowed to approach.

"Liquid Nitrogen?"

"Perhaps."

He carefully moved the door off its hinges so they could make their way inside. They were met with a darkened hallway, a number of windowed doors leading deeper into the facility on either side.

"You take the left. I'll take the right."

Essen nodded, and they separated.

Batman stepped carefully around an area of broken glass on the floor, scanning with his flashlight. Something had definitely happened in this place, perhaps not moments ago. It felt strange, almost wrong, to be inside a Wayne Enterprises building like this. This should be Bruce Wayne's domain. And Bruce Wayne and Batman had to be separate. Or so he believed...

He needed to focus. The air was damp and cool, not the way a lab with sensitive biological samples ought to be maintained. He wondered if someone had tampered with the building's climate control.

Then the circle of light fell over the prone form of a security guard, who suddenly wriggled at the new stimulus.

Alive. Good.

He started to say something, but Batman raised a glove finger to his mouth, instructing him not to make a sound. The vigilante quickly observed his injuries. A thick icy layer over his feet had him stuck to the floor.

Frozen. By the same compound they used on the door.

"Help will be here soon," he whispered. "Are they still in the building?"

The guard nodded frantically. He pointed to the left, and Batman silently glided in that direction.

This side of the building was used for storage. All sorts of things Sarah couldn't pronounce, with warning labels that took up most of the container. Perhaps someone was looking for materials to make drugs.

Every metal surface in the room was cold to the touch and her hand came away slick with condensation.

It practically feels like I'm outside, she shivered. What's going on here?

She rounded the corner to see Batman crouched in a doorway. He nodded for her to keep going while he flanked. Found someone injured, he mouthed.

Then they heard a noise off to the side. Heavy footfalls, not unlike the reinforced boots Batman used to wear for protection. A third figure moved out into the aisle between shelves, evidently not seeing Batman or Essen yet.

Essen could only see their back, but they appeared to be tall and broad. Their body was obscured by heavy coveralls and a fur-trimmed hooded parka. Over the jacket they wore a backpack with twin compressed air tanks. In one hand they held a metal briefcase marked with the Wayne Industries logo.

Essen drew her gun and leveled it at the stranger.

"GCPD, Freeze!"

The figure slowly turned, revealing a pair of red lights glowering beneath the hood. They brandished what looked like a paint sprayer at her.

"My sentiments exactly."

"No!"

Batman leapt in front of Sarah, and immediately felt an unnatural chill permeate through his cape. He landed awkwardly with a crack as hundreds of black shards scattered away from him. Flash-frozen chunks of fabric from his suit. His breath came harsh in visible clouds of vapor from his mouth.

The stranger fired their device again, and Batman saw a beam of thinly phosphorescent blue fluid coat the ceiling above them, causing beans to groan and buckle. The air in the room filled with a dense fog.

"Do not pursue me," their voice rumbled through some sort of amplifier. "Gotham will not deny me what is mine."

Essen paid him no mind as he vanished into the mist.

"Batman? Are you okay? Jesus."

He heard her shouting for an ambulance into her radio as he faded to black.

Chapter Text

Batman's eyes fluttered open under bright lights.

"He lives!" A voice came from behind him.

Batman craned his head up to see Officer Ramirez, a man in Gordon's unit, sitting not far away. Ramirez was… not Batman's biggest supporter from the jump, but the events of the last year had softened his opinion somewhat.

"Don't get up too fast. You got hit pretty good."

Batman looked down at his forearm, where his sleeve had been trimmed off. A bright crimson welt was spread across it, still feeling numb.

He jolted up to look for Essen, finding her a few yards away where Gordon was comforting her.

"She said you two got jumped by a guy with a… freeze ray? Is that right?"

Batman looked back down to his arm.

"For lack of a better word, sure."

Ramirez helped him up. Most of his cape was missing, lying in tatters on the ground.

"There was a guard a few rooms that way."

"He's alive, being treated for frostbite at Gotham General. Same weapon, I take it?"

"Likely. Any word on what was stolen?"

"We'll need some folks from Wayne Enterprises to do an inventory before we know for sure, but based on the size of the briefcase he made off with it seems like chemical vials. Probably nothing good."

He looked around.

"But hey, he sure picked the right night to burst onto the scene."

Batman's brow furrowed.

"What do you mean?"

"What, you don't have a calendar? Today - well, yesterday, I guess now - was the first day of Winter. We're in the longest night of the year. You gotta love a gimmick."

Ramirez turned around, and Batman was gone.

"What the hell, man?"

Bruce winced as he applied the mixture to his arm. A solution of hot water, aloe, and some other herbs; low-tech but easy enough to put in a spray bottle. A few more rounds of treatment and he'd start to regain feeling in his forearm.

His quiet suffering was cast against the backdrop of the cavernous subway station he had come to call the Batcave. The name wasn't entirely symbolic. In the years since its construction as an emergency egress point for the Wayne family it had come to be a home for many of the nocturnal creatures. Little by little he had been adding to it over the last three years. A performance computer with forensic software was a few feet away from his small triage station. His vehicle, engine lifted out for maintenance, was jacked up not far beyond. Across the platform was his motorcycle and a glass case displaying what remained of his first suit, cratered by bullet holes as it was. An elevator in the corner led up to the penthouse Bruce grew up in. Its doors now opened to reveal Alfred, and a bowl of soup at the ready.

"Whoever this freezing bandit is, he or she is certainly resourceful. But there's no more surefire way to sort out a cold than some hot soup."

"Thank you Alfred. I'm pretty sure this one is a 'he,' though I haven't ruled anything out. The bulky gear and masked voice make it harder to tell."

He moused over to some scientific diagrams on his computer.

"I suspect he was looking for more of the materials he needs to make this cryogenic compound. Carbon-based, seemingly to better interface with organic tissue. Like the guard's foot, or my arm. Liquid nitrogen, if improperly handled, could snap off a limb bone and all like stale bread. The hit I took was painful but… I'm intact."

"Extraordinary," Alfred breathed, looking over the molecular models.

"It's more than that," Bruce threw a few more images on the screen.

"These compounds shouldn't exist at these temperatures. Just the theory behind this is Nobel worthy. This could change everything we know about Chemistry."

"Then it seems your man is quite brilliant."

"And that makes him dangerous. I think I can synthesize a more effective counteragent based on the structure, but it will take time."

He held up the spray bottle before clipping it into his belt.

"This will have to do for now."

"I imagine knowing the materials would help that endeavor."

"Yes. And I know someone who might be able to help."

He plugged his phone into the computer to boost it through the microphone, then dialed his uncle.

"Hey, kiddo."

"Uncle," Bruce began, his voice shifting subtly.

"I heard the news about the break-in. Terrible news."

"Oh yes, not a great way to start my day, that's for sure. I'm at the building now with Loss Prevention, trying to make heads or tails of it.”

“Do they have any idea what they were after?”

“Besides me? No.”

“You? Do you think this was a kidnapping attempt?”

He heard his uncle chuckle bitterly on the other side of the line.

“No, no, nothing so extreme. But you know how it is. Someone has it out for me, and I’d like to know who."

Bruce was shocked.

"You think this was a targeted attack?”

“This close to the award ceremony? It’s the only thing it could be. Like I told you the other day, we have a respect issue at Wayne Enterprises of late.”

“Um, isn’t that bad? If the burglar really does want to attack you, they may not stop with some stolen chemicals. I think you should be careful this next week or two.”

“I will. Thanks for your concern. I have to get to business, but feel free to call any time. And don’t be afraid to video call next time!”

“Sorry. Signal is still a bit spotty out here at the house.”

He watched a few loose tools vibrate across the counter as a subway trundled through an adjacent tunnel.

“I’ll have to move some of my equipment over there once the renovations are done.”

When Phillip hung up, Alfred perked up.

“For a man with a target on his back, he certainly doesn’t scare easily.”

“I know,” Bruce nodded. “But he does raise an interesting point. Violence sends a message. Which means… that message has to be for someone. I need to go.”

Across town, a stout man sighed at a poster for the circus as he finished packing his trunk. A shadow passed over him, making him shudder.

"C. C. Haly," he heard a voice behind him. Turning around, he saw the lean, dark shape of the Batman standing in the parking lot.

"I thought you only came out at night."

"It gets dark earlier in winter," Jim Gordon said, coming from the other direction.

"We have a few more questions about the Flying Graysons."

"I already told that blonde detective everything I know. Nobody here had reason to kill John and Maria."

"We were looking at the case wrong," Batman said. "We thought the victims were murdered because of who they were, but they were just the most effective collateral damage."

"Give it to me straight. I run a circus, I know when someone is talking in circles."

"He means nobody was out to hurt the Graysons," Gordon said. "They used them to hurt you. There's something fishy in your finances. A regular cash withdrawal in your banking history but not on any of the books. It's happened every December, every year for the last six years. Except for this one."

"You were either embezzling," Batman continued. "Or you were being extorted."

Gordon took a step closer.

"Who's been leaning on the circus, Haly? Who's been squeezing you?"

Haly groaned.

"His name is Tony Zucco, okay? He follows the circus around like a buzzard looking for handouts."

"And you didn't go to the police after he showed up?" Batman's eyes pierced through him.

"Look. The people in this line of work tend to be the folks on the outskirts of society. The kinds of people that don't necessarily have the right documents to be where they currently are. So, if I went to the police, it would open up the door to a whole lot of other problems. It seemed like paying the guy and letting it quietly go away for a while would handle the situation."

"And now two people are dead. Does the situation still seem handled?"

Haly looked at the two men eyeing him up.

"Hey. What's going on here? This crime happened in my place of business. I'm still the victim here."

"You're right," Batman said. "You are the victim. But that doesn't make you innocent."

"You didn't pay Zucco this year," Gordon scowled. "Why?"

"It was a bad year. I told him this Gotham gig would have a big payout, all those rich people donating, you know? After this show I would have had his money. But he was mad."

"Has he been mad in the past?"

"Sure. But I never would have thought he would be capable of something like this. Before when he wanted us to pay up, he'd smash a window, slash a tire, something like that. He's never hurt anyone."

Batman turned to leave.

"If he makes contact with you again, Gordon finds out first."

"Well, we have our prime suspect. But do you really think this Zucco guy is stupid enough to show up around Haly again?"

Batman was walking back to his car as Gordon caught up with him.

"Not really. But he also doesn't know Haly gave him up. We should keep it that way."

"Agreed. And uh, now that that's over, I just wanted to say thank you. For helping Sarah last night."

Batman looked uncharacteristically surprised.

"...Of course. You would have done the same."

"Heh. If I did, I probably wouldn't be here to be humble about it. But really. You work well with a partner. I know things have been… different since your friend with the cats left town."

"You're joking," Batman stared Gordon down.

"I'm serious, man!"

"Your men think I’m half insane for wearing a cape and a mask. Who'd partner with me?"

"Maybe I don't mean a cop," Gordon said. "There's gotta be someone else like you and Selina Kyle, someone who sees the world different. A partner watching your back, keeping you sane when you have a day like last Sunday. You'd probably live longer."

The shadows lengthened as the sky overhead faded from red to purple.

"Who says I don't already have someone like that?"

"I mean, look at you, man."

Batman exhaled quietly.

"What about you and Detective Essen?"

"Sarah? What do you mean?"

"I've seen the way you look at one another. And you just called her 'Sarah.' You only use first names with people you're close to."

"So?"

Batman tilted his head. 

"So, you were flying solo for a while before we started working together. Maybe you're the one who needs someone to care for you."

"Don't say it like that! I'm not taking relationship advice from you."

"Because I'm a half insane man in a bat costume."

Gordon grinned despite himself. 

"Well okay. Maybe I'll take half of your advice then."

Gordon's phone started ringing. 

"Ramirez," he said, then winced as he realized he proved Batman right.

"Our ice guy has struck again, sir."

"What? Where?"

"PC Repair shop in the Cauldron. No casualties this time. But Captain, I'm seeing a pattern here."

Gordon wiped his brow.

"Yeah… I think you're right. Chemicals. Small electronics?"

Batman stared ahead gravely.

"He's making a bomb."

Chapter Text

“Phillip!”

Chapter Text

"Captain Gordon. Would you mind explaining to me why a vigilante is loose in my police station during a major press conference?"

Batman had vanished during Loeb's initial tirade - a talent Gordon currently resented as the drubbing now moved into the commissioner's office.

"I am trying to build a modicum of integrity in this department, Gordon. I thought that meant something to you!"

"With all due respect, Commissioner, your predecessor dealt drugs under the Tricorner Bridge. You're not going to lose a pissing contest with a dead man!"

"And what about a living one?" Loeb snapped.

"A hero cop who saved the new mayor and captured a notorious killer? You really expect me to believe there's no resentment there, that it's me in this chair and not you?"

"Yes. I'm a detective, Gil. I do my job regardless of who is in charge or what kind of bullshit they hand down. What I can't get behind is when that bullshit interferes with my cases . We have dangerous weather and dangerous people out there threatening the city; and with the two of us here bitching at one another about the Batman, he's the only one currently doing anything about either."

Loeb scowled at the detective.

"Then I suppose you had better get moving, Captain."

Gordon sighed, bringing himself down a level.

"I suppose so. Zucco has a head start now. If I can't catch him soon he's going to run."

"Run?"

Loeb drew back the curtain over his window and gestured out to the snow with a smug look.

"How do you expect him to do that, Jimbo? With a sled team?"

Morning came, and Gotham was a swirling blue-grey void, only charitably lit by the invisible sun. Only the most essential - or most desperate - shared the road with Batman as he journeyed back to the cave.

"I used to like the snow," Bruce grumbled as he got to work putting chains on the car's tires. "Can you pass me the bigger lug wrench?"

"It would be a lovely sight indeed if it didn't impede your cases so much," Alfred said wistfully.

"It's been years since we've seen a white Christmas in Gotham."

"And I might be able to enjoy it - if I can bring in Zucco."

"And Victor Fries, if Mr. Fox's hunch is correct. It all seems a rather ghastly business, keeping one's wife in a coma, using her as some sort of… lab rat? Not to mention, Phillip's role in all of this."

Bruce didn't meet Alfred's gaze as he worked. 

"The police don't have enough to move on him. All they know for sure is that Victor Fries was experimenting on his wife. There's nothing concrete suggesting Phillip actually knew that when he terminated him."

The older man put a hand on his shoulder.

"Bruce. Would you be talking like that if he weren't family?"

"I don't know. I've learned a lot of things about him recently. I'd like to believe he isn't capable of something like that but… to hear him talk…"

"He wasn't always that way," Alfred said. "I suppose losing your mother the way we did got to him. And then the responsibility of the company on top of that. He's become colder. Cares more about public perception and shareholders than about people."

Bruce leapt from the tires as Alfred said that, a bolt of inspiration suddenly animating him.

"That's it! Alfred, you're amazing."

"Am I? I mean… of course, sir. Thank you. In… what way, however?"

Bruce hastily glanced over his work on the car and started the turbines up. 

"I need you to take care of some things while I'm away. I'll send you the details from the car."

"Master Bruce? On the way to where?"

He dusted his eyes with black makeup and pulled on his cowl.

 "To see an old friend."

"Well it’s one for the record books, folks. 24 hours into this storm and Gotham’s already buried under 25 inches of snow, making this one of the biggest winter weather events in Gotham history. Inclimate weather closures to the bridges and tunnels should be scaled back in the next day or so, but wintery conditions will make traveling a mess straight through the holidays. Here at GCN, we recommend staying home!”

A boy in a puffy red Gotham Rangers coat trudged through the blizzard, an aluminum bat slung to his belt and a black crew sock with holes cut for eyes tied over his face.

He knew where he was going. To the one man in Gotham who would know where Tony Zucco was. But he had to survive the trip first. Two feet of snow in a city didn't necessarily mean two feet across the whole city. It meant 6 inches in some places and 35 in others, based on the whims of the winds driven through the skyscrapers. Dick was fording one of the towering drifts when he heard a terrible racket. It was vaguely musical, something like an accordion, but the sound was sporadic and random, more concerned with making noise than making melody. 

Then Dick heard a voice in between blasts.

"Help! Please, anyone help!"

Dick somehow felt himself grow colder. Someone was in trouble out in the blizzard.

I need to keep moving, he thought. But…

Dick ran into the alley to find a tragic sight. The remnants of a fire, unsuccessfully tended against the raging storm, were smoldering in a drum at the center. A haggard man with a lira - the source of cacophonous noise - was leaning over a scruffier man slumped against the wall.

"What happened?" Dick shouted over the storm.

"He is not moving. I tell him not to go to sleep but he is not moving!"

"You don't look so good either. We should get him out of the cold! Do you know a place we can go?"

"There is a shelter a few blocks from here. In Harlow."

"I'll help carry him."

Batman raced through the streets, as quickly as the slick conditions would allow him. But a skewed set of tail lights as he approached an overpass gave him pause. There was a sedan, crashed into the guard rail. Its front wheels hung out into space as its lights caught the falling snow.

Batman reacted instinctively, first grabbing a winch from the car, then trudging through the snow to attach it to the hanging vehicle. He fired the rear engine and the winch began pulling the car to safety. 

The driver still looked terrified as Batman pried the door open, but he was coming down. 

"Thank you!" He said, breathing heavily.

“Are you alright?"

“I am, but… another car lost control. They went over the side!”

Batman peered over the bridge. Down on the snow-choked Conroy Expressway a car lay battered and wedged along the wall. 

He hooked a grapple line to the edge of the bridge and began grappling down to the wreck.

Dick and the musician staggered in from the cold at the Harlow shelter. They clearly weren't the only people seeking refuge from the storm. As soon as the attendants saw the bearded man they rushed over to take him to a row of cots along the far wall. 

"He's hypothermic, but not too far along. He should make it."

"Thank you," the musician exhaled. 

He turned to Dick. 

"And thanks to you as well, little one. I can see by the mask that you take after the Batman. What do I call you?"

"Oh. It's… not important."

"You say it's not important? You save my friend's life and you say your name is not important? 

He shook his head.

"You bet bippy is important. You come out of the snow, some brave little thing, deliver us from wintery hell. You are like the first robin in springtime, young friend."

"A robin? Brave? It's just a little bird."

"And a bat is a twitchy little rodent, yet it is seen as brave, it as seen as scary, because of man who wears it. My mother, she had saying, after she moved to this country. Everyone always thinks the robin heralds the arrival of Spring. She thought the opposite. That the Winter feared the little bird, so that even the most bitter of colds would flee before it arrived."

"Wow. That's… pretty cool actually. Your mom must have been very wise."

"Oh, she was a crazy bitch!" The man laughed. "But yes, wise when she wanted to be."

"I need to get going, but I hope your friend is okay! Happy holidays!"

"Happy holidays, little robin."

The black angular vehicle swung into the hospital unloading area at breakneck speed. The second driver was still alive, but he had lost a lot of blood. Batman hoped he had made good time. As the paramedics wheeled him away, Batman leaned against a wall and sighed wearily. It had been a long night. But he hadn't yet begun. It was time to do what he was really put in this weather for. 

Across town, Dick Grayson resolved to do the same. 

Chapter Text

“Oh the weather outside is frightful~”

The storm couldn’t put a damper on the excitement inside the Iceberg Casino and Lounge. Music thumped, slot machines sang, and people made merry. 

“~But the fire is so delightful!”

At a table high above the bustling gambling floor, no one was laughing more raucously than Oswald Cobblepot, who was having a very happy holiday. 

“Boys, I tell ya. Night clubs? Exclusive. You gotta get in to spend any money. But any old asshole could lose their money at a casino! And boy do they love it!”

The sound of the Iceberg was distorted and muffled in the air ducts, where a wiry young boy was putting his acrobat training to use moving deeper into the building. He knew the Penguin was the shiftiest man in town, so in his mind he had to know where Zucco was…

Wind howled across the rooftop as Batman went about his work. Over the noise he heard his phone ring through his earpiece. The secure line. He answered the call.

"Doctor Thompkins."

"Oh, thank goodness it worked. Richard ran away again. The thought of him out there in this weather… I know you're probably stretched rather thin, but-"

"I'll find him. He couldn't have gotten far. Call the police just the same. I'll be in touch when I have him."

There was silence, for a moment.

"You know, I really thought you were just a scare monger - getting your kicks antagonizing criminals. But meeting you in person, I can see there's more to you underneath that mask."

"I appreciate that, Doctor," Batman said. 'But I have to go now."

He placed the last of the charges around the skylight.

"I'm about to do something antagonizing."

Dick steeled himself to kick open the vent and confront Cobblepot, but just before his foot could make contact with the grate he heard an explosion up above. 

He leaned towards the slats and watched as the Batman descended in a hail of glass and snow straight onto Oz's table. As soon as he landed the Penguin's guards pulled out their guns and began firing, but everything around the table became obscured in a cloud of smoke. Dick heard people rushing from the casino at the sound of gunfire. Then he heard another sound - just one voice, squawking above the blasts.

"Hey! Hey! Stunads! Stop with the bullets!"

As the smoke cleared, Dick saw Batman hefting the Penguin up by his shirt collar on top of the table, the crooked empresario's feet kicking in the air. 

"What the hell are you doing in my casino? What did I do?"

"I have questions," Batman rumbled. "Do you have answers?"

"Are we gonna have this whole conversation on my table?"

"We can make this as uncomfortable as you'd like."

"Fine," he waved down his gunmen.

"Let me down. And follow me."

"You fixed the window," Batman said flatly. The last time he was back near Cobblepot's office he had shoved him into the glass… rather zealously.

"Oh yeah," Oz sneered. "Insurance fixed me up good after the flood."

He pointed up.

"But who's gonna go up there and fix that window, huh? You? Did you miss the frickin' blizzard you're letting into my establishment?"

Batman walked right up into his personal space.

"I thought penguins liked the cold."

"Har har. Now. What brings you here, and why haven't I called the police?"

"Tony Zucco. I want to find him."

Oz wheeled around, did a double take, and then loosed a wheezing, derisive cackle.

"Don't we all!" He said, barely able to breathe. "Hey, if you find him can we split that big prize Commissioner Chucklehead promised us?"

"Do you know where he is or not?"

"I might have seen a guy like that a week or so ago. Real bad at craps. But that's all I know. I just run a casino."

"Just like you ran a club for Falcone. And managed his apartment upstairs."

"I'm just a numbers guy, Batman. How was I to know that one of my tenants was such a nefarious individual? Besides, it all worked out in the end. That conniving bastard got what he deserved, and now the Iceberg and the Shoreline are out of his hands - and in mine.” 

Batman scowled.

"You were a dirtbag then, and you still are. Now you're just a dirtbag with a gambling license. Only… those guns your men fired at me tonight. Those wouldn't happen to be from the supply of unregistered firearms you're smuggling into the city, would it? That would be… unfortunate for you, getting shut down for an investigation during a major holiday week."

Oz's eyes widened. 

"How do you know about that?"

Batman stared back.

"You just told me."

The Penguin swore under his breath. 

"He's probably holed up with Arnie Stromwell. Dude was talking him up like he still has credit. Guess he's like an uncle to him or something."

In the vent, Dick mouthed the name silently.

"But Stromwell was uh, asked to retire when Falcone took control, and he's been pacing around that mansion ever since. Nobody touched him as long as he held up his end of the bargain, and he ain't got the balls to try anything anymore. Even with Falcone being on ice."

Batman narrowed his eyes.

"I thought you didn't know anything about that."

"And I thought you had a killer to catch - you better get your ass in gear, too," Oz furrowed his brow with mock concern, then flashed a mean grin. 

"Because as soon as this blizzard clears up, you're never gonna see him again."

Chapter Text

“I’ve got 10 men in heavy winter gear, private military issue. Armed."

Batman was perched on a service ladder on the side of the Burnside Bridge, overlooking Arnold Stromwell's estate. He had an open channel to Gordon, who was shivering on the other side of the property aiding in the stakeout. 

"Armed guard? In this weather? Guess exile pays well enough. No sign of Zucco though.”

“If Penguin’s intel is right, Stromwell hasn’t been active in decades. He wouldn’t bring this kind of heat if he wasn’t protecting someone.”

"We're running on a skeleton crew right now. I've got all available officers on the way but it's slow going in this weather."

"We can't afford to wait any longer. I'm going in."

"Whoa, don't do anything rash, pal. If we have him, he can't get away now."

"He's evaded us this far. I won't leave anything to chance." 

Gordon sighed. 

"Okay. But the moment you run into trouble, call me."

Arnold Stromwell was on his evening constitutional when he felt a chill. It seemed to come from the study a few doors down the hall. Opening it, he saw the French doors wide open, and the gossamer curtains floating in the frigid night air. 

"What the hell?"

He slammed the doors shut and reached into his robe to find someone on the radio to yell at. 

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Batman growled. The masked figure had stationed himself in a corner out of view of the door, watching the old gangster enter. 

Stromwell reacted with a start, but Batman crossed the room before he could say anything. He pushed him into an armchair and kneeled over him, flowing cape filling his periphery with black. 

"Tony Zucco. I want him. Bad. And I know he's here."

"W-who is that? Am I s-supposed to know?"

"A little bird told me the two of you have history. Is my source incorrect? It would make me very angry if I were misled somehow."

"What can I say? Don't go away angry, just go away!"

"Do you understand what he's done?" 

Batman was circling the armchair now, occasionally bringing his face inches from Stromwell's for emphasis. 

"Do you know what I'm going to do to him when I get my hands on him? I know how to break every bone in the human body individually. You owe it to yourself to cooperate, Stromwell. Or you may learn how as well."

"I'm gonna call the police."

"Then call them! Bring them here, and see what they find. They'll ask the same questions I am. Where's. Tony. Zucco?"

The old man was starting to break. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, less in defiance than out of desire not to be in this experience anymore.

Batman roared in Stromwell's face and wrenched him to the side, sending chair and mobster tumbling over in one push.

"Answer me!" The Dark Knight bellowed. 

"Help me, God help me!" Stromwell wailed. When he at last opened his eyes again, Batman was gone.

On the roof of the estate, Batman collected himself. With luck, Zucco was nearby and had heard his "tantrum." 

"Well done, Bruce," he heard Alfred say. "But, that bit about the bones was just you being creative, yes?"

"I'm in control, Alfred."

"I don't doubt it. And your anger is absolutely in the right. But just remember that it's on young master Richard's behalf, and not your own."

Rather than reply, Batman tuned his transponder to the bug he had placed in the room while Stromwell was distracted. The old man handled himself well enough, considering how long he's been out of the game. Now he sounded agitated, though.

"Find him. If he's still on the property I want him dead! And you - go get Tony and tell him to get his ass in the tunnel. Now!"

"Gordon, I've flushed Zucco out. He's heading for a tunnel somewhere on the property. Find out where it leads."

Across town, Sarah Essen combed through municipal records but any sort of tunnel a person with Stromwell's history might have probably wasn't part of the blueprints. 

"Ramirez. You've been here longer than I have. If I'm a criminal with a secret escape tunnel under my house, where am I escaping to?"

"Let me see that," Ramirez pulled the blueprints over to him. 

"There's only really two places you could go," he pointed.

"Inland, into the sewers, or out to the river."

"The river would be a good exit point if you had a boat," Sarah said. "If the river wasn't frozen."

"You couldn't just park a boat on the banks. You'd need a place to keep it hidden and out of the elements until you needed it. Like a shed, or-"

They both locked eyes.

"Like a bridge pylon."

The blizzard was finally starting to let up, and the scattering of the streetlights in the snow was almost blinding compared to a few hours earlier. But it was still coming down heavily enough for Dick to vault over Arnold Stromwell's wall without being detected. For some reason, all the guards were moving away from the mall and closer to the house. Maybe Batman was already inside. 

The backyard was now so empty that Dick was the only one to notice the back door open, and a bundled up figure slip out into the snow. Zucco had, in fact, been listening in on his uncle's conversation with Batman, and as soon as the action started he was already on his way out. The boy watched him open a heavy metal door concealed behind some brown vines on the side wall and vanish inside…

"Jim, it's Essen. Zucco's making a break for the bridge. We think the tunnel connects to the East tower."

Gordon tensed up in his car.

"Shit. He's trying to cross on foot? That's suicide."

"He's desperate," Batman's voice crackled across the line.

"And desperate men do dangerous things," Gordon muttered. "I'll pull as many uniforms as I can off of Stromwell but we'll be off-roading once we get to the bridge. They haven't even started to plow it yet. 

"Don't endanger your men," his mysterious friend said sternly. "Proceed on foot if you have to. I can get there faster."

Snow blew off the top of the bridge in sheets as Batman landed on the east tower. He donned his thermal imaging goggles and spotted a dark red shape against the blue - with just the pinprick of a face lit up in orange - moving through the utility walkway on the side of the span. 

"Finally. There you are, Zucco."

Then he adjusted his goggles and saw a second, smaller shape quickly moving in on the first. 

Batman's blood immediately turned to ice. 

"No… it can't be."

Had it been a clear, sunny day, Tony Zucco might have heard the footsteps coming up on him from behind. Instead, he felt the sharp crack of cold aluminum on bone.

"Argh! My arm! My goddamn arm!"

Shouting, he wheeled around on his assailant, seeing… some kid? He swung his bat once again, impacting Zucco's arm with a dull thud and sending the crooked man sliding to the metal walkway.

"Gyah! You broke my goddamn arm! Who the fuck do you think you are?"

Dick paused his assault long enough to pull back his hood and look down at his enemy.

"You killed my mother. You killed my father! You won't get away with it!"

Zucco's adrenaline spiked and he jumped into the boy to tackle him. Dick swing the bat again, hitting his hand. It stung, but he was prepared this time. Now the larger man grappled with him over the bat, each one holding on with both hands. 

"The Circus Boy! My little material witness! You've made my life pretty hard these last couple days. I was about to leave town! But now, maybe my luck is changing."

He looked down at the choppy, frozen river.

"You know, killing your folks wasn't personal," Zucco said, his eyes burning with a violent mania as he pushed the bat into Dick's windpipe.

"But I think I'm gonna enjoy killing you."

Dick struggled and kicked as Zucco tossed the bat aside, the length of metal plummeting down through the ice and to the bottom of the Gotham River. His parents' killer began forcing him over the railing, ready to push him to a similar fate.

"One last performance of the Flying Graysons, just for me!"

A roar of anger cut through the whipping winds as a dark shape tackled Zucco back to the ground. Batman clasped both fists together and drove them straight down through Zucco's teeth. All Zucco could do was scream as Batman turned him on his stomach (he wouldn't drown in his own blood that way) and begin wrenching his wrists and ankles into position to zip-tie them together.

"Shut up. Your pain will fade with time," Batman hissed in his ear. "His won't."

A few places away, Dick felt his glove losing its grip on the icy railing.

"Batman! Help! I'm slipping!"

Seconds expanded into minutes as Batman's mind went into overdrive. He saw Dick's hand slip off the bar and into empty space. His eyes darted to the plastic restraints in his hands. In another second he could have Zucco tied up and get after Dick. But… In another second he would fall too far.

Damnit.

Time began flowing normally, and the zip-cuffs lay discarded in the bloody snow as Batman dove off the bridge. Dick was flailing as he fell. That meant Batman could catch up to him by falling into a vertical dive. About halfway between the deck and the water, Batman overtook the falling child. This next part would be tricky - the first iteration of his suit’s glide system had been… less than successful. Pulling the cord, his cape stretched out like a catcher’s mitt, and Dick clattered into his chest.

“I have you,” Batman said softly as he wrapped his arm around the boy, who was still shrieking inconsolably.

“Brace yourself.”

With a sound like a gunshot the high-velocity catch-rope launched from his belt and courses through the night air like a helix. Batman held his breath for a second before the rope went taught and they came to a rough halt. He felt the boy at his side shuddering, heart racing from fear. His blood was surging as well, as the realization was catching up with him - of what he had just done up above.

“He’s down here, Captain Gordon!”

“He’s got someone! It looks like… a kid?”

Batman squinted as the spotlight fell on him, and the officers finished reeling him up. Zucco was nowhere to be seen. He vaulted over the rail without dropping Dick and started marching past Gordon and the other officers. 

“There should be a blood trail.”

“Yeah… we’re on it,” Gordon squinted, perplexed. “Is that who I think it is?”

“I’m handling it.”

“Okay…”

He looked at the boy, nearly catatonic with eyes still wide as saucers, letting Batman half-drag him off the bridge.

“Good luck, kid.”

Chapter Text

Batman’s foot was heavy on the accelerator, almost dangerously so as he peeled through the heavy snow.

Dick sat next to him in silence, staring straight ahead and occasionally sniffling.

Bruce, for his part, was not very talkative either. There were a number of things he wanted to say, but he knew the words that came out would be angry. Rash. Ultimately unhelpful.

Leslie was right, he thought. I really can't handle a child. Perhaps she can tell me "I told you so" when I drop Dick back at the hospital.

The tense drive was interrupted by the ringing of Batman's phone. He picked it up so quickly and firmly that the device nearly snapped in his hand.

“What?!”

“Hi, um, it’s… Lucius? Fox? We talked yesterday. I need to show you something. Now.”

“The security footage,” Batman’s demeanor immediately softened. “You’ve repaired it?”

“Yes. And you need to see this. A phone call won’t do.”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes."

The car came to a halt with a bass gurgle in front of the building. 

Batman looked back at Dick, grunted, and opened the door of the car.

"Stay. Here."

The air was raw, but the snow had nearly passed. He trudged through what had drifted up against the metal door and dusted off the call box. After a few minutes, the door clanged open and Lucius poked his head out. 

"Brr," he shivered. "Thank you for coming."

Batman's cape swished as he briskly crossed the R&D Bunker's main floor. He wasn't in the mood for niceties tonight. 

"Did you make copies?"

"Of course," Lucius stood up a little straighter.

"Audio and video. I've got them down in the secure wing with Nora and the other assets from Victor's office."

"Nora?"

"Er, yes. That's her name. The woman in the chamber. You… should see what I found on the camera.”

They moved to Fox's nerve center, where Fox typed a few lines into the central console.

“Well, there’s a lot of footage here, it stores about a month before it dumps. Nora was there from the beginning of the archive. This is from one week ago.”

He pressed play and a thin-haired man could be seen from above and behind, sitting at a lab bench full of different liquids and scientific instruments. Beside him was the glass cylinder Fox had shown him the previous evening, and the blonde woman inside. The man was reciting notes into his phone.

“Day 74. Nora’s condition still hasn’t improved. The cryobath continues to slow the spread of the disease in her system, however. 

“Fries?” Batman angled his chin at the man.

“Yes. I’ve taken the liberty of splicing the audio from the phone to match up with the video footage here.”

“As I reiterate often in these recordings, the electrum requires a catalyst to be fully compatible with cellular function. Tonight I have finished incubation of Isotope 52, and will put it through its-”

The sound of a deadlock being fiddled with derailed his train of thought.

“Open this door. Now!”

A brutishly-built man forced open the door. The footage was grainy, but not so illegible as to mask the grin of satisfaction on his face. 

“Boles,” muttered Batman.

“So you know Mr. Kane’s fixer too, then,” Fox said, just as the CEO of Wayne Enterprises stormed through the door behind Boles on the screen.

“Get away from that equipment, Victor!” He shouted, pointing at the chamber containing Nora. “Frank, start pulling plugs. I want this crap shut down before it leeches any more off of the power grid.”

Victor bolted from his chair to intercept Boles.

“Phillip, don’t! I have experiments running, critical experiments!”

“Unauthorized experiments. With equipment that belongs to my company, not to you . Do you have any idea how expensive the resources you’re stealing are?”

“Stealing? Mr. Kane, I beg of you, this has nothing to do with the company or, or money! My wife is in there...”

“So bring her out,” Kane said matter of factly.

“I can’t,” Fries cried out. “Once the process has been started, it can’t be interrupted. But I’m close, Phillip. With your blessing, I can save her. Save her, a-and advance medicine by decades!”

Phillip seemed to mull this over for a moment.

“What are you doing, Phillip?” Batman whispered, eliciting a strange look from Lucius.

“I feel for you, Victor, really I do. But legally, I’m in the right here, and legally I have to act in the company’s best interests.”

He looked over to Boles.

“Open it.”

“Please! It’s her only chance!”

“That’s the risk you took, Victor,” Kane said coldly. “It isn’t one I’m willing to take.”

Victor was briefly locked into place before he ran at Boles.

“No! Stay away from her. Murderer!”

The scientist grappled with the bruiser, but he was easily outmatched. Boles picked him up and slammed him on the lab bench. There was a spark, and then a flash, and then the camera cut out. The audio, however, continued for several more harrowing seconds as Victor’s gurgling screams filled the room.

“No-ho! Nraah! Arrgh!”

“Get out!” Phillip was screaming. “Get out!”

Fox started scrubbing forward.

“After this it’s just a few minutes of HVAC until we hear Phillip and Boles again.”

“Are we clear? Shit. We need to make this disappear - tonight.”

“What do you want me to do, boss?”

“I want you to get some of your guys down here to clean up the lab, then you're going to get this body somewhere far away. Lot of people die of exposure this time of year. He was… he just lost his job, his wife. This was a tragedy. The rest, Fox can deal with. We’ll write off the equipment, move on."

"That's all we get until I come in later in the evening."

"My god," Batman bowed his head. 

"Yes. It would move me to tears, if I still had tears to shed."

The two men wheeled around to see what remained of Victor Fries standing behind them. With his jacket open, Batman noted the vest protecting his torso - heavy duty, military or police issue, perhaps. His hood was down, and now Batman could see his face - bald, grayish blue, and bleached here and there by chemical splashes. A barely visible vapor seemed to swirl around the clear dome surrounding his head. A pair of red goggles concealed his eyes which, in combination with his flat, unmoving expression and the series of tubes snaking underneath his body armor made him seem almost mechanical in nature.

That is, until he raised his gun and launched a beam of pure cold at the two men before him.

Batman launched forward, pushing Fox out of the way as the beam destroyed his computer station.

“The secure wing,” he whispered harshly. “Where is it?”

East side, below us," Fox pointed to a door behind them. 

"The stairwell is through that door."

"Go. I'll cover you. Don't come out until it's safe. We need those tapes."

Lucius nodded, then bolted for the door as Batman rolled across an aisle, dodging another icy blast.

“I saw what happened, Victor. That explosion could have killed you.” Batman shouted from behind his cover.

“Am I supposed to feel grateful, just to be alive, Batman? The chemicals bonded to me on a cellular level, permanently lowering my body temperature. I require constant exposure to subzero temperatures to keep my body from hemorrhaging internally. My life is ruined . Our lives are ruined. And by the time the sun rises on Christmas Day, I will have paid back all the men responsible. Starting with Mr. Fox, the dutiful lapdog of Wayne Enterprises.”

"The people responsible should answer for what happened to you. But this isn't justice, it's murder. Let me help you, another way."

"Do not try to thaw my heart with sentiment. My sense of touch is confined to the inside of this suit. My emotions have been frozen dead in me. I have naught but my grief, and a swirling storm of icy hatred."

"What about Nora. Isn't there anything left in there for her? A part that still cares?"

"Nora is gone. Consigned to cruel oblivion. And if you insist on getting in my way, I will have no choice but to send you there as well."

Batman ducked around a corner as another stream of fluid whizzed past his head. 

“Sir, I do hate to interrupt, but I’m overhearing some chatter on the police scanners. It seems someone noticed Victor entering the facility, and the GCPD Strategic Response Group has been dispatched to investigate.”

“Where were they an hour ago?” Batman grunted as he pushed a steel shelving unit into victor’s path.

"I'll try to stall for time until they get here. Maybe with enough manpower we can subdue Victor here."

Dick sat in the passenger seat, squirming around like any part of the vehicle's interior could burn him if he got too close to it. But then he saw the flashes of light in the windows. The shadoww of a man, walking around with a gun. 

“Oh no,” he whispered. He started glancing around the dashboard, hacked together with all sorts of button panels.

“There has to be a button here that’s useful.”

He saw one with a pictogram of a ball surrounded by fire.

“Missile launcher? Worth a shot.”

He pressed the button, and from the roof of the car came not a missile but a flare, bathing the surrounding street in red light.

In the back of a heavy APC, Howard Branden watched the flare arc through the air. 

"Team 2, report. What was that?"

"It's him, sir. The Batman. His car is parked out front."

"Jackpot," Branden grinned. "Alright boys, the bogey's inside. Breach and fire at will. Anybody hits the Bat by accident, their first drink's on me every night through to President's Day."

Victor glanced behind him, momentarily shaken from his wrathful march by the red glow. 

"Who have you summoned?"

"No one. It's just you and me, Victor," Batman replied.

"Liar."

"Bruce, I'm bringing the car around to your location for a quick exit. Master Richard seems to think I'm some sort of AI assistant built into the car, and considering the remote driving operation I suppose I can understand that. Do be quick about whatever you have planned."

Batman stepped away from the wall, hands out to show he wouldn't hurt the scarred scientist.

"You have to listen to me. Nora is alive. I can take you to her. There's still a chance to save her - and yourself."

"Nora…" Victor's shoulders slumped and his brow furrowed, awash in a flood of emotions he had convinced himself he didn't need anymore.

But whatever effect it had was cut short by a voice coming through a megaphone outside.

“This is the GCPD Strategic Response Group! Come out with your hands up or we will consider you hostile. You have ten seconds to comply!"

Victor's face immediately hardened once again. He looked back at Batman.

"Liar."

The alley outside erupted with the sound of gunfire, breaking windows and shredding wood posts adjacent to the walls. 

With a flick of his finger, the grapple gun rotated out of Batman's gauntlet, and he shot it at the window behind Victor. As he surged forward, Victor fired volleys at him, but he tossed a lit flare in the path of his thermal goggles to throw off his aim. Batman barreled through the helmeted figure and then kept going, shattering the window and hurtling over the police cars in the alley, armor buffeted by bullets most of the way down. At the same time, his dark vehicle rounded the corner, catching him less than gracefully across its roof. 

Not far away, a younger SRG recruit watched Victor Fries briefly appear in the window frame before fading into the darkened interior of the building.

"Team 1, this is Team 3. We have visual on both bogies, awaiting your orders. Which one are we going after?"

Branden didn't take much time to think it over.

"Loeb wants the Batman bad. I say we wrap the bastard up and give the Commissioner a nice Christmas present. Send Team 4 to clear the building, see if our snowman decided to stick around or not."

Batman wiped a trickle of blood from his mouth as he watched the SRG vehicles begin to turn around towards him.

"What are they doing?"

"Oh dear," Alfred's voice crackled out of the center console.

"Master Richard, please put your seatbelt on."

The car's motor growled as it peeled off into the night, Batman still on the roof.

"Team 1, this is Team 2. We are in pursuit of the Batmobile and preparing to engage."

"Pursuit of the what?"

"Erm, the automobile that Batman drives, sir."

"Is that supposed to be cute, corporal? 

"No, sir. Just a nickname the boys have been using, sir."

"Well, focus on the road, not nicknames, or your ass will be riding my footmobile back to the academy."

"Yes, Branden…"

On the roof of the Batmobile, the Dark Knight dug his fingers into the bungee wires he had placed on the edges for just such an occasion as this. The G-forces at play up here were intense. 

"Alfred, the sparklers!" He shouted over the wind. 

Dozens of tiny pellets spun out of the back of the Batmobile, bursting into bright firecrackers as their fuses expired. One of the patrol cars, ill-suited as it was for chasing in the snow, overcorrected and spun out into a lamppost.

From out of the cloud of powder smoke, the armored vehicle roared unflinchingly onwards.

“Team 3, Team 2 is down. Fall back and wait for further instructions. Team 1 will take it from here.”

Branden cracked the hatch on top of SRG-1 and hefted up his 50-caliber automatic beside him, bouncing it in his hands a few times like an infant.

"Goddamn, I love being a cop."

Batman executed a daring flip into the driver side window of the car, just as the heavy artillery began to thunder off of the reinforced roof.

“Why are they shooting at us?” Dick shouted.

“I’m taking back the wheel,” Batman said, ignoring him.

He threw the Batmobile into a tight 180 degree turn and throttled the rear thruster, shooting up the shoulder of the road past the APC, a high-stakes game of Chicken.

"Try that again, pal," Branden sneered. "I'll wipe you off my windshield."

Have to move quickly, Batman thought, mentally assembling a map of the streets in this part of town. A right, then another right, then another. He pushed a button and felt brief resistance as a spike was driven deep into the asphalt under the car, serving as an anchor for a high-tension metal cable spooked in the undercarriage.

As he zoomed down one street, he caught sight of the APC barreling towards him perpendicularly. 

"There you are, pal!" Branden shouted from his perch, taking aim with his gun once more. 

Batman threw the Batmobile into a hard break turn, pulling the cable taught. With another button press, two hydraulic stakes anchored the car itself into the street. In the dark and snowy night, neither Branden not his driver noticed the cable until, as the APC slid into its own drifting turn around the corner, it impacted the cable laterally and flipped about its center line multiple times, coming to a rest on its side. 

As Howard Branden extricated himself from the wreck, he saw the tail lights of the car taking his prize away from him into the cold. 

The snow had tapered into a light flurry once again. Batman pulled over in an old parking lot and began fishing around for supplies to bandage his wounds.

"Why are we stopping?"

Nothing through-and-through, he thought. Painful, but not life threatening.

“You’re bleeding,” Dick said. “Are you okay?”

Grunting, Batman got out of the car and stood in the cold. But the boy followed him out. 

"Did you get shot? Hey, why won’t you talk to me?”

Batman’s fists clenched.

“What are you trying to prove?” He shouted.

“What do you mean?" Dick was losing his temper as well now.

“You run away," the older figure's dam fractured. "You throw yourself at every danger!"

"You were in trouble, so I thought I could do something to help!” Dick continued to protest. 

"I was this close to having him. To ending this. And now I may not have the chance.”

Dick threw a loose clump of snow towards the vigilante. 

“Why didn’t I deserve a shot at him? After everything he did to me?”

“There is a cost to vengeance, Dick Grayson. It isn't going to bring you the peace you want!”

"How do you know?" The boy shouted. "You all know so much about what I need and what I want. How do you know?"

Bruce ripped the mask off his face and shoved it into Dick's hands. 

"Because I've been through all of this before. Every dark thought you've had in the last week went through my head 20 years ago.”

“...Mr. Wayne…” Dick’s breath caught in his throat. “This whole time?”

Batman exhaled, and ran his hands through his damp hair.

“They never found who killed my parents. I never got that justice. But you still could. That’s why I fought so hard to find him. Dick, I can’t let you turn into me. I may not be able to catch him anymore, but no matter what I can’t let Tony Zucco create another Batman. Do you understand?”

Dick nodded, clearly rattled by his inclusion in Bruce’s secret.

Batman nodded back, satisfied.

"Now come. I'm taking you somewhere."

"Back to the hospital?"

"No. We're on Victor's path now. I want you to see where it leads."

The beginnings of a gray but bright morning were forming at the edges of the sky. The blizzard had passed, and it was Christmas Eve in Gotham City.

The apartment door was forced open. Batman didn't bother announcing himself. He could tell by the cold air flowing from the other side that it was already done.

"Stay behind me."

He flicked on his flashlight and stepped through. The small apartment opened up to the living area, where the action had apparently happened. Batman sighed wearily. 

In the middle of the floor, arms stretched pleadingly out in front of him, was the frozen form of Frank Boles. Through the thick layer of ice some of his facial features could still be made out, twisted in terror. Ripples of ice radiated out from his chest. The shot was fired at close range. 

Dick saw the body and his breath caught in his throat. They stood that way for what felt like a long time, until a snowplow roared past outside, cutting through the silence. Batman took Dick by the shoulder and walked him into the kitchen. 

"He's a killer now," he said finally. 

"He's taken his first life, and tonight Victor Fries is going to kill Phillip Kane at the Gotham Mint, along with who knows how many others."

"Why?" What did they do?"

"The others? Nothing. But when you let your anger take you to the place that Victor is, you lose sight of that. I know you think you would have stopped at Zucco, but-"

"I wouldn't have killed him. At least… I don't think I would have…"

"But if you hadn't, and it didn't fill the hole in your heart… what might you have done to fill it?"

Dick walked back out towards Boles' frozen form. 

"Have you ever… you know. Killed anyone?"

"No. But if I was in the same position as you, if I was standing right in front of the man who did it? I don't know that I would have been able to stop myself either."

"Batman?"

"Please, let me finish. Taking a life… most people think that they can’t, but the problem is that it’s too easy.”

"Batman, I saw his eyes twitch!"

He stopped dead in his tracks.

"What?"

"Come look. I think he's still alive in there."

Batman leaned in close and focused hard. Very faintly, Boles’ chest was rising and falling inside the ice.

“That’s… not possible.”

He quickly pulled his thawing counteragent from his pack and poured it on Boles’ face he saw the man suddenly draw breath before losing consciousness.

He opened his comms.

“Alfred, get an ambulance down here immediately. Major frostburn victim. He’s seriously hurt but he can pull through.”

“The roads are beginning to be cleared, sir. Should only be 15 minutes."

Batman exhaled sharply, a mix of exhaustion and relief.

Dick went over to him.

“So when do we go to the Mint?”

"We?" Batman raised an eyebrow.

“After what I’ve seen tonight, how could I just go back to Doctor Thompkins with nothing to show for it. I want to help.”

“Even if that means losing Zucco’s trail?”

“Even if we catch him, Zucco will still be evil. But Mr. Freeze can still be stopped before he crosses that line.”

"Mister… what?"

"Freeze. Victor Freeze. Didn't you say that was his name?"

"That's not how… heh," Batman couldn't help but chuckle. "Never mind. You're right. Saving a life is always more important than revenge. That's why I saved you on the bridge."

“I never said thank you for that,” Dick looked down.

Batman lifted his face by the chin. 

“I wasn’t in a headspace to have accepted it anyway. I was only thinking of losing Zucco, after I already had my hands on him.”

"Then let me help. I was the one who let him get away. I need to do something to fix it."

Batman stared hard at the boy in front of him. Then he grunted. 

"I was about your age when I started down this path. I swore that, if I could help it, nothing like what happened to my parents would ever happen again."

He knelt down and out a hand on Dick's shoulder.

"It consumed me. For two decades it was all I could think about. I need you to promise that you won't become like me. This city already has a Batman. It needs something else. Something beyond that."

Dick’s face hardened.

“I promise.”

Batman flashed a brief, rare smile.

"Okay. The police will be here soon. Now we have to get you dressed. You're not running into danger in a hockey jacket on my watch."

Chapter Text

~One missed call~

"Hey, kid. It's your uncle. I wanted to say, I’m sorry about the way we left things the other day. I hope we can talk about it after the awards ceremony tonight. See you then?”

I’ll be there, Uncle , Bruce thought as he patched his suit. But I doubt we’ll have much time to talk.

“Alfred, I have to call Doctor Thompkins. Take Dick and start him on basic self defense. He has mobility experience from the circus, but he may need to know how to fight.”

“I suppose it wouldn’t be the first time I trained a child in such things,” Alfred said, gesturing back at Bruce, his first protege.

“But, is this a wise thing to do? To get the boy… involved?”

“He’s going to do it regardless, Alfred,” Bruce said. “Wouldn’t you rather it be under my supervision?”

“The logic is unassailable,” Alfred smiled sadly.

“Master Richard, it is good to see you again, and in somewhat better spirits. I’m told you have a proclivity towards blunt instruments. Let’s see what we can do.”

He walked the boy over to a cabinet and opened it, revealing a staggering array of different martial weapons.

“Whoa,” Dick breathed. He immediately reached for a pair of metal rods with inlaid carvings along the tips. Alfred grabbed them from his hands with alarm. 

"Erm, no, no. Escrima sticks… perhaps when you're a little older.”

“What does Batman even have these for anyway?”

“Bruce tries to be prepared for any variety of weapon. Although the day he actually faces a mace on the streets of Gotham I do believe I’ll owe him a tenner. So I’ve garnered quite the collection over the years.”

“All of these are yours? ”

“Well, I think one of them will be yours now. Hm. You have quite a bit of agility on your side. But your height gives you a disadvantage of reach…"

He pulled a longer wooden rod down from the wall. 

"A disadvantage that the quarterstaff would go a long way to alleviate. We'll have to adjust the length a touch."

A trip to the machine shop later, Alfred and Dick were suited up for sparring.

Now, it usually takes about three months of rigorous training and repetition to become proficient with a weapon such as this."

Alfred checked his watch. 

"But seeing as we only have until lunchtime, a crash course will have to do."

After a while, Bruce came down to watch the proceedings. 

“How is he doing, Alfred?”

“Ah, he’s a natural, Bruce. Perhaps not ready for the nationals but for one disturbed scientist I imagine he’ll manage.”

“Good. Dick, get some rest. The Batman told Doctor Thompkins that he’d keep you with him until the situation with Zucco blew over, but she was very adamant you come back to the hospital tomorrow. Apparently you have Christmas plans already.”

“Could it be that someone is looking to adopt you? How exciting!” Alfred clapped the boy on the back.

“Um, yeah…” Dick said. “I actually am pretty tired now that I think about it."

"Then I'll show you to your room."

They moved upstairs to the penthouse, where they came to the large guest room door.

"It's okay to be frightened, you know," Alfred said as he fished for his keys.

"This is… a lot of responsibility for someone so young."

Dick looked at the floor.

"My dad said fear was like a weight, and that if you used it right it could help you fly further."

"I suppose acrobats do throw their weight around to perform wondrous acts," Alfred shrugged. "Your father sounded like an interesting man."

"He was great," Dick became more sullen. "I wish I could talk to him right now."

"It sounds like you already can," the butler smiled. "I'll leave you to it."

Bruce met him as he came downstairs, a somewhat darker expression on his face. 

“And what about our other business you were seeing to, Alfred?”

“Ah, that. The orders will go through at 7 this evening. This sort of thing isn’t usually permitted on the weekends but through a small amount of dodgy phone calls I’ve arranged a buyer in the UAE to handle things.”

“You’re good, Alfred.”

“Indeed. Not the skill set I expected to be tapping in the private sector, but then I am in a cave full of bats helping my charge train a 12 year old to fight a chemically-altered fellow with an ice gun. Happy Christmas, sir.”

“That’s the risk you took, Victor. It isn’t one I’m willing to take.”

“No! Stay away from her. Murderer!”

“I can’t believe your uncle would do that,” Dick shook his head.

“I can’t believe he would be stupid enough not to erase the recording from Victor’s phone," Alfred frowned. 

"The desk was covered in chemicals that have proven to have unknown harmful side effects," Bruce said, attaching his cape. Night had fallen on a chilly but clear Christmas Eve proper. The three of them were reviewing Lucius’ footage while they made final preparations for the night’s festivities.

"I'd say it was the one careful thing he did that night."

He nudged Dick on the shoulder. "Doors open at 8. Go get dressed.”

As the boy ran off, Alfred came a little closer.

“Master Bruce, I have some concerns about the colors Master Richard has chosen for his suit.”

“It isn’t particularly stealthy, is it?” Bruce agreed. “But if the intention is to distract, I think it will work. Besides, he has his cape.”

“Just promise me you’ll keep an eye out for him, Bruce.”

“That’s the reason he’s coming along,” Bruce finished pulling his mask on.

“Time to get to work.”

The ballroom at the Gotham Mint was lavishly decorated for the holidays. Long tables across the back wall had gleaming trays of food laid out, while circular ones with poinsettia centerpieces crowded in the center. At the front of the room, a stage had been assembled in front of the mint’s icon. A 60 ton penny, forged to commemorate the end of the Second World War, held court over the hall at 15 feet in height. Guests were already starting to file in. Sarah Essen was one of them. She talked to a few of the other women in the department and found a tailor in Chinatown that offered discount rates to cops, which allowed her to put together a sparkly silver gown on short notice. 

Even dressed as she was, she felt out of place. She could feel the affluence exuding from the other partygoers. After a moment or two of looking around, she spotted the rest of the GCPD contingent. Gordon was dressed in a somewhat baggy jacket with a white carnation on his lapel. He waved her over when they made eye contact.

“Essen! Over here!”

She saw Gordon and a few other cops 

“You look… good,” he said, clearing his throat.

“Heh. Not you didn’t clean up so bad yourself,” she blushed lightly, then looked around.

“Hey, Martinez. Are you eating already?”

The beat cop swallowed and gave her a fist bump.

“Bacon-wrapped scallop. These rich jagoffs put out a good spread. They've got champagne flying around too.”

"Nice to know the evening isn't a total wash, then," she grinned.

"Where's the commish?"

"Schmoozing with the mayor, naturally," Gordon jerked a thumb towards the stage where Bella Reál appeared to be exhibiting a saintly amount of patience with Loeb. 

"Guy's lucky we even showed up after that stunt he and Branden pulled last night."

"You, eh, reckon tall, dark and gruesome is still sore about that?" Martinez quickly placed his index fingers on either side of his head as if they were pointed ears."

"I haven't heard anything from him since the bridge. If anything, he's probably still kicking himself for what happened there."

At the entrance, a wave of applause rippled through the ballroom as the guest of honor entered. Phillip Kane had arrived.

“Now, obviously the budgets have been turned in for the year already, but I think you’ll find that the repair cost is important enough to-”

“Please excuse me, Commissioner. Mr. Kane,” Bella said, hurrying over to Phillip.

"Madame Mayor,” Kane shook her hand. “Thanks for getting the streets plowed for everyone to get out here tonight."

"I imagine the citizens of Gotham appreciate getting home to their loved ones for the holidays,'' Reál smiled. "But yes, it does have its other positives. Congratulations. You’re a real credit to Gotham industry. I only wish some other members of your family were so committed to philanthropy.”

“Bruce,” Phillip smiled sadly. “His heart is in the right place, but he’s sensitive when it comes to matters like this.”

“There’s the humanitarian!”

Dereck Powers interjected into the conversation with a big grin.

“I have to get my speech from backstage anyway,” the mayor said. “I’ll leave you to mingling.”

“Break a leg out there tonight, Phil,” Powers clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“I want the stocks good and juicy for my new acquisition.”

“Of course,” Phillip said, only half paying attention.

“You haven’t seen my nephew around, have you?”

In a van outside, Victor Fries was putting the finishing touches on his work as well. He paused briefly to caress the small portrait of his wife he had secreted from his home.

“Oh, Nora. This is how I always want to remember you. Before the diagnosis. Before… all of this. Forever young. Forever beautiful. Rest well, my love. The monster who took you from me will soon learn that revenge-”

He clicked a final component into place, unflinching as a bright blue light washed over his face.

“-is a dish best served cold. ”

The evening was progressing nicely, and now the mayor’s speech was coming to a close.

"So, without further ado, let's hear from the man himself - Mr. Phillip Kane!"

The room erupted in applause as Phillip took the stage.”

“Thank you everyone. Years ago, I was thrust into the CEO’s seat at Wayne Enterprises by a terrible tragedy...”

"So he jumped off a bridge?" Essen whispered.

"Sure did," Gordon nodded. "After relieving Zucco of a few teeth."

"Well, shit," Martinez said. "Freak's a hero, you gotta give him that."

"It certainly makes the guys blasting 50-cals at him on an open street on goddamn Christmas Eve look worse by comparison."

“That business will be addressed in time,” Loeb said, revealing his eavesdropping with a bitter tone.

“Conduct notwithstanding, however, it wasn’t Howard who damaged a very expensive police vehicle, now was it Jimbo? Who do we think that could have been?”

The three of them went quiet. Then their text message alerts all went off at once. 

"Speak of the devil," Gordon said, looking at Loeb. Then he looked down at his phone and blanched.

Big trouble headed your way. Keep the guests safe.

Gordon leaned in close to Sarah.

"Did you bring your gun?"

"Of course I brought my gun," she whispered back. 

Back up on the stage, Kane was reaching the end of his speech. 

"That's why, on behalf of everyone at Wayne Enterprises, I humbly accept-"

The back doors of the room burst open in a rolling wave of fog as Mister Freeze stormed in, red goggles blazing under his hood. He immediately blasted the doors behind them, freeing them shut.

“Nobody move,” he said, firing upwards at the ceiling, causing sparks to rain down as light bulbs popped overhead.

“W-w-what do you want?” Phillip shivered.

He pulled down his hood, revealing the face of Phillip’s former employee.

"Victor. Jesus, it really is you," Phillip said, mouth agape.

“You suspected as much, when Wayne Enterprises was targeted the way it was,” Victor sneered. “But your arrogance would not keep you away from accepting this award.”

He turned to the assembled crowd and shrugged off his coat.

“An award you do not deserve.”

The crowd began to shriek and wail as they saw the explosive device strapped to his chest.

“Look upon the humanity that Phillip Kane fosters,” Freeze said, holding up his arms, displaying their icy coloration, the tips of his fingers blackened by necrosis.

"I do not actually know what will happen to me when the device detonates. Perhaps it will destroy me along with all the other occupants of this room. Perhaps my newly acquired physiological abnormalities will grant me immunity to its effects."

He turned back to Phillip.

"This risk we will take together, old friend."

“Victor… see reason… you really want to kill all of these people… just to get to me?”

Mr. Freeze nodded slowly.

“Imagine, Phillip. To never again walk on a summer’s day with a hot wind in your face, and a warm hand to hold.”

His face hardened.

“Oh yes. I’d kill for that.”

“But you don’t have to.”

They both looked over to one of the tables, where a short, lean figure was perched. A dark gray hooded cloak obscured the top part of his body, but he wore green boots and pants, a red reinforced tunic, and a simple black mask. He sounded like… a child.

“A week ago Phillip Kane interrupted an experiment, and wrecked two lives in the process,” he announced to the room. He finished fiddling with a device at his feet and stood up.

“See for yourself.”

Light and sound emitted from the device, and began projecting an image against the mammoth penny behind the stage.

“Tonight I have finished incubation of Isotope 52, and will put it through its-”

"Open this door. Now!"

“What? No, no no no,” Kane whispered. “How is this possible?”

Victor could only watch that fateful moment in time, all over again.

Chapter Text

“No-ho! Nraah! Arrgh!”

“Get out! Get out!”

The crowd, in spite of the continued danger, had begun murmuring in harsh tones. From where she sat with her hands over her head, Phillip could see Bella Reál staring daggers at him.

“Lot of people die of exposure this time of year. He was… he just lost his job, his wife. This was a tragedy. The rest, Fox can deal with. We’ll write off the equipment, move on."

Victor meanwhile, fist balled at his side, bit back a tear as he leveled his gun at Phillip.

“Just write Nora off, then? It always was about the money for you, after all. The human race, diminished to numbers on a spreadsheet. Very well.”

He aimed the gun up at the lines holding the giant coin into place behind the stage.

“Let this be the last red dime of your illustrious career.”

He squeezed the trigger, the ropes snapped as they turned cold and brittle, and the towering profile of Abraham Lincoln bore down on Phillip Kane.

That was when the dark, billowing shape of Batman swung down from the ceiling, shoving Phillip out of peril just in time and landing adjacent to his new partner.

Batman nodded to Robin, and the duo prepared to stand their ground against Mister Freeze. 

“No one dies tonight, Victor. Not on our watch.”

Mister Freeze aimed his gun and pulled the trigger, and the two vigilantes scattered in opposite directions.

“Alright everyone, let’s move,” Gordon shouted as he, Martinez, and Essen leapt from their chairs, motioning for the guests to make for an emergency exit.

“I’m going to grab Reál!” Sarah shouted.

“I warned you not to pursue me. Not to deny me. You have no part in this.”

“You’re threatening innocent people,” Batman shouted. “You’ve made it my problem, Doctor.”

He tried a defensive jab, but his knuckles rebounded painfully against Freeze's body armor.

Victor fired again, grazing Batman’s arm with scintillating cold.

“Innocent? How many of these people are truly innocent? How many other Phillip Kanes are there in this room, patting one another on the backs?”

"That isn't your choice to make!" Robin shouted, jumping down and striking the embittered scientist.

Essen reached where the mayor was taking refuge. She was in full battlefield mode, focused on the objective. She grabbed Bella with both shoulders.

“Get to Gordon and then get out of here,” she said sternly. “Use the tables as cover.

“Thank you,” Bella called back.

Sarah turned around just in time to see the beam of Victor’s gun swinging around towards her.

“Oh no, not again.”

“I gotcha,” Robin said, yanking her under the table with him.

“Run on my signal,” he whispered. Essen nodded.

“One… two…”

Batman wrapped a length of grapple wire around Victor’s helmet and pulled him down.

“Now!”

Essen started running toward Gordon.

“Enough.”

Mister Freeze shot through the wire, turning it icy and weak. Snapping free, he sent another blast into the ceiling, upsetting numerous heavy pieces of sound and lighting equipment.

One large spotlight began to teeter over towards where Gordon was managing the evacuation.

“Everyone heads up!” Essen roared, tackling Gordon into a nearby table of catering equipment.

“Leave me to my business,” Victor pleaded, sending volley after volley out at Batman, the caped vigilante rolling from table to table. “You cannot understand.”

Champagne flutes clattered to the ground as Batman heaved the nearest table over as a makeshift shield.

“I understand you, Doctor Fries," the Dark Knight's voice came from behind the table, "Everyone here does, now. Put the gun down, and I promise you will get the help you need."

He surveyed the ballroom from his cover. He couldn't see Dick, but he had a hunch about where he might be. Hopefully he was right…

“I do not want your sympathy, Batman,” Freeze said in a voice loud enough to make the escaping guests turn back.

“I want retribution! I demand it! In my nightmares I see my Nora behind the glass, begging to me with frozen eyes. How I have longed to see that look frozen on the face of Phillip Kane. The fear. The hopelessness. All the things that I feel.”

Batman's eyes narrowed.

"Then why haven't you armed your bomb yet?"

Fries looked down at the device on his chest.

"Yes. I suppose we have belabored the point long enough."

Batman stood up and hurled a batarang as Victor reached for the bomb.

"Now, Robin!"

Victor deflected the projectile just as Dick burst out from under one of the still-upright tables behind him, swinging his quarterstaff. It caught one of the tubes on Victor’s backpack while he was distracted, causing it to hiss out a spray of chill air as it came unplugged.

“ Ar r g h!" Fries sputtered, flailing for the loose hose. Robin pressed his offensive, pulling a different line connecting his gun to the tank.

Batman ran up and wrestled Freeze to the ground, pinning him on his stomach so he could reattach the hose.

"Nora… I have failed you," Victor's voice was ragged, despondent.

"You haven't," Batman whispered next to him. "Not yet. She's alive, preserved in the cryogenic coma you put her in. She was a few stories below your feet at the bunker last night."

"You… wer e tellin g the truth?"

“Yes.”

The gun dropped from his hand. Batman flipped him over and pulled the explosive device from around him. Martinez and a few uniformed officers who had just arrived rushed to secure the scene.

"My god," Victor breathed. "What have I done?"

“Come one, pal,” Martinez said, bracing Victor with his shoulders on one side.

“Let’s get you some place you can cool off, if you’ll pardon the turn of phrase.”

“Y es. It seem s… app ropri ate, in this case.”

“Okay, everyone,” Phillip Kane announced, standing up and chuckling wearily as Victor limped out.

“Sorry for that… that little interruption.”

He straightened his bowtie.

Where were we?”

Everyone only just stared back at him, looks of disbelief, and in some places disgust, on their faces. 

"Come, Robin."

Batman turned brusquely to leave. As he did, he brushed past Phillip.

"Goodnight. Humanitarian."

Nearby, Gordon lay in the debris of the table, making no effort to get off his back. 

"Detective Essen, you're new in the city, yeah? My daughter and I are doing a brunch thing tomorrow, and to be honest it'll be way too much food for the two of us. If you don't have anything lined up, I'd love to host you. We have a pie recipe we’re very proud of."

"Does pie count as brunch?" Sarah asked, wincing as she picked herself up.

"It does on Christmas."

She chuckled, and helped the detective to his feet.

"That sounds lovely, Jim. But I think it is almost tomorrow already. So maybe we push it closer to lunch?"

Sunday, December 25th.

Christmas was my father’s favorite holiday. But since I first put on the mask, I haven’t thought about it much.

“Just promise me you’ll give them a chance, Richard. They wanted to make sure you had a Christmas this year. And maybe, if it works out, it might make a good home for you.”

“Okay,” Dick said apprehensively from the back seat. He didn’t seem particularly enthusiastic.

That was a time to be with family and friends. And the life I chose, didn’t include that.

Bruce stood in front of a large TV, watching the other board members pop into the grid of the video call.

“Mr. Wayne, you do understand what day it is, correct?”

“I do. And I promise to make this quick. Thank you all for calling in. Especially you, Mr. Fox.”

“You’re very welcome Mr. Wayne, though I’m afraid I’m as in the dark as the actual board members here.”

“Well, since everyone is here I’ll get started. A few days ago, Lucius here encountered an… irregularity that tipped me off to the scandal that has since come to surround Phillip Kane. As such, last night, I shorted my shares of Wayne Enterprises on an international exchange. When the markets open on Tuesday, I will purchase back enough shares to acquire a controlling interest in my family’s company. Or, perhaps someone faster will. So I’m giving you an offer, while the markets are closed for the holidays; sell the company back to me, or take the chance that I’ll be able to do it myself come opening bell. You’re already down 20%. You won’t get a better offer than that.”

But I’ve learned a lot since then. Like how easily family can find you when you aren’t looking.

“Is this… where I think it is?” Dick asked as he saw the large wrought iron “W” in the gate they drove through. They were coming upon a large, old house. Standing in the doorway was a familiar butler.

“Welcome to Wayne Manor 2.0,” the older gentleman announced proudly as Dick rolled down the window.

“Pardon our dust, the renovation is still ongoing. We’ve prepared all the necessary rooms for Christmas dinner, however.”

They stepped inside to see a stately Christmas tree in the foyer, and the smell of cooking from somewhere beyond.

“Dory has the week off, but I still know my way around a roast turkey.”

“Oh, I’m sure it will be lovely Alfred,” Leslie said. “You and Bruce didn’t need to go through such trouble.”

She looked around, somewhat concerned.

“Erm, Bruce will be joining us, won’t he?

“I’m here. I apologize, something came up.”

Bruce emerged from his office to greet the new arrivals.

“Merry Christmas, Dick, Leslie,” he said, flashing an unpracticed smile.

"Something wrong?" Leslie asked. 

"No. Just an emergency that crept up last night. My uncle is resigning, and the board is up in arms that they have to put their Christmas plans on hold to name a successor. Nothing to worry about. Even if I had to drive to the office, I wouldn’t be late for this.”

"You sound like your father," Leslie chuckled. "He would always drive like a maniac when he was behind the wheel."

"Heh. I can’t imagine.”

He turned to Dick.

“Well, Dick, do you think you’d like to spend Christmas with Alfred and I?”

Dick looked confused at first, then realized to play along.

“Uh, yeah! Absolutely!”

“I’m glad to hear that. Leslie, let me get you something to drink.”

As Bruce exited, Dick looked around.

“I’m going to go see if Mr. Alfred needs help in the kitchen, Doctor Thompkins.”

“Very well,” she smiled. “I’m going to rest my legs. Christmas Eve is a long shift.”

Family can be… complicated. It’s built on trust. Something I’ve always been in short supply of.

“So after all that, Kane doesn’t even get the award? Who does?”

A few cops were overseeing the cleanup with Martinez at the mint.

“I don’t think they do runners-up for this sorta thing,” Martinez yawned.

“What a night.”

“What the hell happened here?” One of the cops walked over to a large field of broken floor tiles roped off with caution tape.

“Didn’t you know the Gotham Mint kept a big-ass penny in here for photo ops? Mister Freeze knocked it over in the fight with our dynamic new vigilante duo.”

“So, where is it now?”

“I heard a rumor the Bat wanted it for something. And as he seems to clean up all our messes for free, the mayor must have let him have it.”

Martinez took off his hat to scratch his head.

“Now, how he got the damn thing out of here, I can’t tell you.”

Having someone to rely on though… it might be the piece I’m missing. I don’t know what the future holds for Dick Grayson - or for “Robin.” But it feels… good, having him around. Like the start of something new. Something better.

“Would you pass me the turkey baster, Master Richard? Second drawer on the left.”

Dick crossed the kitchen floor to search for the tool.

“You knew Bruce was the one having me over when he brought it up yesterday, didn’t you?” Dick asked as he handed it over.

“Well of course. We can’t have a precocious little liability running around with Batman’s secret identity, can we?”

He leaned in and smiled.

“Especially not one we’ve grown so fond of.”

Dick laughed.

“I don’t suppose I could quit now either. Not after everything I’ve seen.”

His face hardened.

“Any word on Zucco?”

Alfred sighed.

“There’s… a small paper trail. Maybe be a lead that can be run down in Bludhaven. But, let me provide something of a bit more comfort to you. I… reviewed the footage from Master Bruce’s suit, after that night on the bridge. And I saw the look on his face as Batman laid into him. I may not know where Anthony Zucco is, but I know that wherever he is, he’s carrying the fear of God with him. Or, at the very least, the fear of Batman. He won’t be settling down for a long winter’s nap anytime soon.”

“It serves him right.”

“Indeed.”

You can’t let your enemies know your vulnerabilities. But being vulnerable, putting yourself out there for others to see, can lead to healing.

“...and that’s why I transferred out of Chicago.”

Jim Gordon laughed as Sarah wrapped up her story. Beside him, his young daughter Barbara stifled a chuckle as well.

“I’m kidding, of course. But you can imagine the embarrassment.”

The conversation paused as the doorbell rang. Gordon looked to his daughter.

"Barbara, did you invite anyone else?"

"No. Want me to get the door?"

"No, no," Gordon pushed back his chair. "I'll get it. Just don't touch that pie until I get back."

Barbara looked across the table at Sarah. 

"I haven't seen him like this in a while," she said.

“Pie-hungry?” Sarah grinned.

"Happy."

"Oh," Sarah's voice wavered slightly. "Well, it is Christmas."

"You're both tough guys," Barbara smirked. "I get that. Just… don't be too tough that you miss something important."

Gordon opened the door and was surprised to see Bella Reál on his stoop, dressed as orderly as ever in a smart scarf and buttoned up coat.

"Madame Mayor," he began, "Merry Christmas. Come in, if you like."

"Thank you, Captain, but I can't stay long," she shook her head. He closed the door and joined her on the stoop.

"Everything alright?"

"Very much so, thanks to you, Detective Essen, and the Batman."

"Ah, well, we're just doing our jobs, ma'am."

"Yes. And your hard work is paying off. I've decided that Mr. Loeb isn't a good fit for my administration. I'm going to wait until the new year to break the news so he can enjoy some time with his family, but I wanted to see you in person to tell you the job is yours."

"M-me? Why, I don't know what to say."

"Say yes, please," she smiled warmly. "I've fielded no other candidates. Honestly it should have been you from the get go. But my advisors wanted someone with more 'messaging experience.' Your track record more than makes up for it, I would say."

"Well, I appreciate that coming from you, Miss Reál.  Are you sure you can't come in for a cup of coffee?"

"Unfortunately not," she said. "I still have other people to wish well today. Congratulations again."

She turned to get back in her car.

"And Happy holidays… Commissioner Gordon."

And sometimes, healing is all we’re looking for. A way forward.

Across town, in the walk-in freezer of Arkham Hospital, since emptied of its other contents, Victor Fries lay on a meager cot. His equipment was gone, leaving him just a pale, gaunt man in a jumpsuit. His sole possession in confinement was the portrait of Nora he had carried throughout his journey.

“Merry Christmas, my love,” he said, his eyes no longer obscured by the red lenses.

“May we meet again, some day. I hope you will forgive me then, for the fool I became.”

Bruce was down in the wine cellar when his phone rang.

“Hello again, Lucius. Something you forgot to bring up at the meeting?"

“Hello Mr. Wayne. I didn’t think this was the sort of thing you’d want to discuss at the meeting, but it’s been bothering me ever since. I didn’t share that footage with you, Mr. Wayne. In fact, I only shared that footage with one person.”

Bruce was silent for a moment.

“Mr. Wayne?”

“I appreciate what you did for me, Lucius. Coming forward with that footage was the right thing to do. You’ve shown great discretion working under my father, and under Phillip. I wonder, perhaps, if you could exercise that same discretion during my tenure. Perhaps as my COO?”

“Are you… bribing me for my silence, Mr. Wayne?”

“It would only be a bribe if you weren’t otherwise deserving, Lucius. Or if I thought your silence was for sale.”

“Well, good. You needn’t worry about that from me. So, what happens to Victor Fries next?”

“They have him on three counts of attempted murder,” Bruce frowned. “But Captain Gordon will try to negotiate sentencing down due to extenuating circumstances. I’m told Victor will testify against Boles and Kane as well, which should improve his chances of getting out of Arkham sooner than later.”

“In the meantime, I still have copies of Victor’s research that I won’t be handing over to the police. I’m going to see about continuing his work, see if there might be a happy ending for Nora as well.”

“I think he would like that. Now please, go be with your family. See you Tuesday morning.”

“Happy holidays, Mr-”

“Call me Bruce.”

Bruce came upstairs to see Dick opening a small box. 

“Wow. What is it?”

“Richard, don’t be rude.”

“Oh, not at all Doctor Thompkins,” Alfred said from his place on the banister.

“That is a rather obscure rendition of the Gotham Rangers logo, briefly used during my youth. Pure diecast metal. I noticed Master Richard’s jacket during our visit to the hospital and thought it might be a nice addition to it.”

Dick turned over the circular black and gold R symbol in his hands.

“Or anything else he might want to use it with,” Alfred said pointedly.

“Thank you, Mr. Alfred.”

Bruce joined the butler next to the stairs.

“Just a little something, Master Bruce. Unwrapping is half the fun of a Christmas gift.”

“Next year you can wrap the escrima sticks.”

Alfred’s eyes brightened.

“Was that a joke, sir? It’s a Christmas miracle.”

“I don’t believe in miracles, Alfred. Today was made possible by you and I. Well, mostly you.”

"Mostly me. Merry Christmas, Bruce."

"Merry Christmas, Alfred.”

THE END

"Should auld acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind…"

Tony Zucco scowled at the revelers from between the blinds. The apartment was dark and dirty, but he was able to pay for it with cash and without questions. A pile of styrofoam takeout containers sat in one corner, and a dresser with a TV stand sat pushed in front of the door. The windows and door were covered in deadbolts and padlocks. Zucco checked to make sure his pistol was loaded - a ritual he had repeated every 15 minutes or so for the last week - and exhaled deeply. 

"Happy frickin' New Year."

Satisfied, he made for his crooked bed, placed his pistol on the nightstand, and drifted off to another fitful night's sleep…

"Wake up, Mr. Zucco."

…Until a voice jolted him awake. He grabbed at the pistol and sat up. There was someone standing across the room. He squeezed the trigger - nothing?

The figure waved their hand and sent a handful of bullets clattering across the floor. They stood on the other side of where thin slats of light washed in from outside, their body cloaked in shadow. 

"Anthony Zucco," he said flatly. "You're a difficult man to find."

"Son of a bitch," he threw the gun and looked around helplessly. How did he get in? The outlet his alarm clock was plugged into hadn't worked since he got there. It could have been minutes or hours since he went to bed.

You, uh… you're not him," he finally stammered. 

"You were expecting the Batman," the stranger said. He crossed his arms in the darkness.

"He will not find out about this meeting, I can assure you."

"Then what the hell are you doing in here?"

Tony Zucco had gotten through most of his life thus far by talking a bigger game than he could walk. So even as he felt the room closing in on him he couldn't help but continue to present a tough front. The man on the other side of the room didn't seem impressed.

"Batman isn't the only one to take an interest in you of late. The organization I work for had a considerable investment in Haly's Circus. An investment that was recently compromised when you chose to murder Jonathan and Maria Grayson."

"Frickin' Pop Haly has leg-breakers now? What a world."

"I assure you the world is much bigger than the view it affords you, Mr. Zucco," his visitor said darkly. 

"There are forces in Gotham you could never understand. I am one of them."

Zucco gulped.

"What do you want with me? I'm not exactly flush with cash at the moment."

"It is not your money but your silence that I have come to secure. My employers do not like your chances of evading the police in the long term, and they do not wish to see any further scrutiny brought to the circus. You have the air of a man who might be persuaded to cooperate if such an opportunity arose, if I may say so."

"I'm no snitch!" 

Zucco was sweating bullets. 

"You want me quiet? You'll never hear from me again!"

"I believe you, Mr. Zucco. You won't say anything."

Something flashed as it passed momentarily in front of the window. Zucco tried to respond, but was barely able to make a sound before he hit the floor. The pain in his chest didn't register before the light faded in his eyes. The stranger's boots clomped across the wooden boards, stopping at the knife embedded in Zucco's heart. He knelt down to retrieve it.

"Not a whispered word."