****************
Chapter 20 - Christmas

The day before Christmas dawned dark and ugly. The sun rose late under thick black clouds, and what little light penetrated the cloud cover was thin and sickly, its anemic light contrasting sharply against the rich, cheerful colors of the season. The light was fitting: Christmas in Gotham usually meant a body count. The Joker was under tight security at the Slab in Antarctica and most of the usual head cases were behind bars in Arkham, but Gothamites couldn�t shake the sick feeling of nervous dread Christmas afforded in the mad city. The wounds of previous holidays were still fresh in the public�s mind.

Bruce spent the day in town at a Wayne Enterprises board meeting. Another member of the executive committee had died, this time a self-inflicted death. Lucius had made the announcement with a sad, downcast expression. �It�s the holidays,� he�d shrugged. �Makes people unhappy. They can only think of the things they haven�t got.�

It had taken a thirty-second vote to determine the man�s replacement on the board.

Afterwards, Bruce sat quietly in his office, watching the city from his enormous windows. Every muscle was tense and he had to consciously monitor his breathing and heart rate. Christmas until January 20^th was the worst time of the year, both for Batman and Bruce Wayne. With all the distractions about Selina, George Flannery�s murder and Huntress� disappearance, the holidays had crept up on him. It was like putting a frog in a saucepan full of water and slowly turning up the heat; the frog wouldn�t notice how hot the water was until he boiled alive. Bruce hadn�t noticed the advancing days of the calendar, and now it was too late to jump. He hadn�t prepared for Christmas.

�Happy Chanukah, Mr. Wayne,� his secretary chirped, sliding a brightly-wrapped package across the polished surface of his desk. For a moment, he saw Dick�s manila envelop there in front of him. Bruce didn�t move to take the gift. Meredith looked hurt but covered it well.

�I�I hope you have a good Christmas,� she said, pulling on her coat. Bruce nodded at her, turning back to watch the windows and the city below. He didn�t hear her leave.

At two o�clock he decided to head back to the Manor. Sunset would come tonight at 5:15, earlier than usual for this time of year. He forced himself to watch as his driver guided the limo through the throng of holiday shoppers filling downtown Gotham. Happy families, holding hands and bags of gifts, chasing after their children. Innocent citizens scurrying home. Singles frantically trying to catch a cab to the hot club parties set for later that evening. He watched them in their bright, tinselly joy, reminding himself what would be lost from the world if he made one single mistake in the hours to come. There could be no slip-ups tonight. A Christmas had never passed in Gotham without some horrible, bloody crime to mark it. In his first year in costume, the Holiday killer had been active and signed his Christmas crime with a cheap plastic snow-globe. Since then, various criminal masterminds, petty thieves and mass murders had all chosen December 24^th as a night of violence and bloodshed. The holiday hadn�t meant anything to him since he was eight years old but Bruce was determined to ensure that Christmas this year was significant only for the peace which with it had passed. There would be no New Years Eve memorial services in Gotham, that he promised.

Alfred had erected a massive Douglas Fur in the living room at the manor. Ablaze with a thousand brightly-colored lights and shining porcelain ornaments, the tree was as gaudy and joyful as the season was supposed to be. Bruce tried not to look at it. There had been a Christmas tree in the Wayne home like it for nearly nine generations and Alfred had not altered tradition no matter what the circumstance. Bruce thought that the tradition had only made sense when Dick, Jason or Tim had been living at the manor.

He found Leslie and Alfred in the kitchen, murmuring to each other quietly over mugs of steaming cocoa. Alfred�s kitchen was warm and quiet. It had been Bruce�s favorite room in the house as a child. He hesitated at the doorway, not knowing what he was interrupting. Alfred stood almost immediately, straightening his waistcoat.

�Do you require anything, sir?� he asked. Bruce shook his head, opened his mouth to speak and then turned to leave them in privacy. Leslie stood, her chair scrapping lightly against the rich red tile floor. Bruce turned and watched as she poured a mug of steaming cocoa, handing it to Bruce.

�Merry Christmas,� she said to both men. After a moment, Bruce took the cup from her as Alfred reclaimed his. The three of them rose their cocoa in a toast, drinking the hot liquid slowly.

Leslie glanced at the darkening windows in the kitchen. �I should get back to the clinic before the snow starts to fall,� she said quietly. �I�m sure I�ll be needed back in the city. Plenty of babies will be born tonight; they seem to know when only the free clinic doctors are on duty.�

Alfred smiled tightly. He knew what Leslie hadn�t said: certainly babies would be born tonight, in taxi cabs and elevators and subways and apartment buildings. People would be dying, too. In the war zone of the East End, Leslie�s Park Row Clinic was the nearest medical aid until Robbinsville. Many people would come to her tonight in pain and despair and she would lose some of them. She took another sip of her cocoa, dealing with the knowledge of what tonight would bring in her own quiet way.

�Have a good night,� she said to both men. �Be safe,� she said, touching Bruce�s cheek. �And get some rest,� she told Alfred, squeezing his hand. The butler nodded, dipping his head slightly. She surprised him by raising herself up on her tiptoes and planting a soft, hesitant kiss on his lips. Alfred returned the affection gently, touching her shoulder lightly to help steady her balance. Bruce watched them, aware of the currents flowing beneath the exchange. She needed Alfred�s strength for the difficult night ahead. Bruce wondered how long it had been since he�d watched people comfort one another and not thought it excessive or unnecessary. During his first years as Batman a display like this from someone in his inner circle would have displeased him. Now it only made his heart ache.

Leslie lowered herself, flat-footed again but unwilling to let go of Alfred�s hand. �I�ll see you tomorrow night,� she promised and Alfred nodded. Leslie turned, heading for the kitchen�s service entrance where her car was parked. An awkward silence descended between the two men, broken only by the crunch of gravel under her car�s tires as she pulled away.

�Tomorrow night?� Bruce asked. Alfred didn�t look at him as he moved to clear the cocoa mugs away.

�Dinner with family, sir. Attendance is mandatory.�

Bruce closed his eyes, remembering suddenly Alfred�s insistence on a meal with all of them together: Dick and Barbara, Cassandra, Tim and Jack Drake, James Gordon and Leslie. His misery had created such strange company in the years since taking in Dick.

Bruce sighed. �You know that it might need to be cancelled if��

�I have prepared myself for the possibility of seeing another fine meal ruined by your nocturnal activities,� Alfred assured him dryly, placing the cocoa mugs into the dishwasher. �You did promise, Master Bruce.�

�I�m not sure it will be much fun this year,� Bruce warned him, thinking of the look in Barbara�s eyes at the meeting in the clock tower. And Dick�s questioning of him, Tim�s quiet unease.

Alfred sniffed in displeasure. �When is it ever fun, Master Bruce? It is a family gathering. Fun is very far from the point.�

Alfred checked that the kitchen was in order and headed for Bruce�s study, which was not about to dust itself. �Miss Kyle is awake,� the butler thought to mention, his voice carrying down the hall. �And I am sure she would appreciate your company much more than the kitchen sink.�

******************

Bruce knocked softly at her door, entering when he heard Selina�s muffled �come in�. She was curled up in bed, reading. The traction devices supporting her leg and shoulder had finally been removed today.

�What�s that?� he asked and Selina held up her book obligingly so he could read the title. �Herodotus?�

Selina shrugged, marking her page with a bookmark bearing the dubious declaration �Everything I Need to Know in Life I Learned from My Cat�. �A translation. I saw the original Greek in your library, but I�m still struggling with Latin.�

He stared at her for a moment too long and she smiled, shaking her head. �Don�t look so stunned. Library cards were always free, Bruce. I didn�t need to go to Harvard to learn to appreciate Herodotus.�

�Was it learned?� he asked her. She shook her head, honest about her lack of education.

�Taught. A�a friend told me that if I was going to be a successful con artist and cat burglar, I�d have to fit in with you high-society types. Imagine my shock when I discovered that most of them were tutored at home and had never heard of Herodotus. Or Milton. Or Achebe, for that matter. You�re a rarity in your class, Bruce. In more ways than one.�

He lowered his head, the soapy basin of water he�d been holding sloshing slightly in reaction. He looked up to find Selina�s questioning eyes upon him. He shrugged, schooling his face into its accustomed mask of total neutrality.

�Leslie thought you might want a bath.�

Selina smiled, her beautifully-shaped lips pulling back to reveal small, gleaming white teeth. She had a lovely smile, more so when it was seductive than sincere. She was a cat, and sincerity never did look quite right on a feline.

�When are you going out?�

He knew what she was asking. It was a relief that he didn�t have to lie to her about that, at least. �After sunset. 5:15.�

�And it will be bad tonight, won�t it?� she asked him. He nodded stiffly.

Selina set her book down, smoothing the blankets over her body. He tried not to watch as the sheets pulled lower, revealing perfect breasts straining against the material of her thin silk nightgown. Bruce coughed, clearing his throat. He set the basin of water down and removed the suit jacket he�d worn for the Wayne board meeting, undoing the cuffs of the white dress shirt and loosing his tie. He rolled the sleeves up, revealing heavily-muscled forearms dusted with dark hair and white scars. Her eyes were fixed on his face. Heat coiled inside her and Selina shifted again on the bed, the heavy weight of the casts on her arm and leg seeming to belong to someone else. It had been much, much too long.

He helped her to sit up, pulling the silk nightgown up and over her head, carefully guiding the plaster cast covering her arm through the smooth, soft material. Bruce admired her breasts covertly, returning his eyes to her face after a second-long glance. She grinned up at him. �I thought you had a photographic memory. Don�t tell me you forgot what they look like.�

He frowned at her, going to the basin to wring out the washcloth he�d brought. When he turned to her again, the teasing smile was gone, replaced by arousal and something he couldn�t identify. She had shifted her hips a little to the side of the bed and he sat behind her, touching the wet cloth gently to her back. Selina�s skin was soft and white, the few scars marring her flesh small and inconsequential. He drew the warm cloth across her bare skin and she shivered slightly, tipping her head to give him better access to her neck.

�What do you want for Christmas?� she whispered, her eyes closed. Bruce didn�t reply, not quite trusting his voice.

Selina raised her arm and he slipped the cloth beneath it and down her left side, his hand tracing the full, soft curves of her body. His touch lingered, perhaps too long, on the underside of her breast. She grew impatient with the washcloth, wanting to feel his skin on hers. Selina opened her eyes and settled back against his chest, turning her head. When she spoke, her breath feathered against his ear.

�What do you want?�

Bruce leaned forward, abandoning her breasts to wash her arm. She watched the movement of his strong, sure hands, feeling the heat of his body through his thin shirt. Selina wished he would remove it.

�I�m not sure,� he finally replied. His voice was dark and rough, stone scraping against rock. �What do you want?�

She closed her eyes, reaching up with her good arm to twine her fingers through his dark hair. The movement forced her to arch her back and he couldn�t help but gaze at her breasts, the nipples pink and erect against the whiteness of her skin. He finally surrendered, dropping the washcloth into the basin on the table beside him. Bruce placed his warm palms over her breasts, reveling in the heavy weight of them. He trailed a line of soft kisses down her neck and discovered her mouth, open and inviting.

Selina twisted, using the weight of the plaster cast on her leg to help her momentum until she met his mouth more fully. Her tongue darted inside the hungry wetness of his mouth, igniting a fire that traveled the length of his body to his groin. Bruce deepened the kiss, his hands abandoning her breasts to cup the base of her neck. She shifted her knee, bringing it up into contact with his hand, hoping he�d get the point.

Bruce trailed his hand from her knee up the inside of her thigh. Her skin felt like satin. He found the warm, moist heat of her. Responding to the first, shattering glide of his thumb, Selina moaned, arching her back again. She opened her mobile leg wider to receive him and sank back into the hard muscle of his chest. He watched her face, slowly increasing the tempo of his movements to match her labored breathing. Selina�s face was a study in surprised wonder and he wondered why she had never asked him to-

�Stop and I�ll kill you,� she promised hoarsely, and he obliged, massaging the slick, white-hot center of her sex. Her fingers curled in his hair, grasping at the roots until it became painful. She seemed to realize what she was doing and loosened her hold, although he barely noticed. She was too beautiful to watch. He marveled at her unselfconscious enjoyment of what he was doing to her body. She let out a cry, near the peak and he kissed her deeply, cutting off the sound before it could carry from the room. Her body was pulsating with heat and energy. He could feel her heartbeat in her mouth.

Finally she came, her orgasm translating into a deep, animal cry of pleasure. She fell back against him, still breathing heavily. He retrieved his hand, kissing her to relieve the sudden ache created by its absence. Selina looked at him, really looked at him, as if seeing him for the first time. What he saw reflected in those deep emerald eyes made him catch his breath.

�Sure, but what will you give me for New Year�s?� she laughed, brushing at her forehead weakly. �Whew.�

He tried to rise but she caught his arm and held him, fixing him in place behind her with surprising insistence. �The sun hasn�t gone down yet.�

�I know,� Bruce replied. �There are preparations-�

�And they can wait. Could you�could you just let me enjoy you for a second?�

He looked at her, Selina�s slick body glistening in the room�s low light, so exquisite and sated and feminine. Bruce was glad she�d stopped him from going. She twisted again, lying against him on her stomach, her damaged leg jutting out in a straight line, the other bent, toes curled. �Thanks,� she told him, her eyes shining. Selina crossed her forearms and rested her chin on them, positioned against the hard muscle of his biceps. She still didn�t like the fact that he was wearing a shirt. Bruce had a beautiful body, scars aside, and Selina very much wanted to see it.

Bruce tilted his head, opening his mouth to speak. Instead of asking her what he�d wanted, he stroked the silken skin of her back, his thumb exploring muscle and the fragile bones of her shoulder blades. The cast on her collarbone was hard plaster, unpleasant to the touch and offensive to his guilty conscience.

�I can see directly up your nose right now,� she pointed out from her position just beneath his chin. Bruce raised an eyebrow. �And I still want an encore. Guess you�re pretty good at what you do.�

He forced himself to ask her something he�d wondered since that first night in the shower. �Why didn�t you ask me to do something like that before?�

Selina raised her head, a little taken aback by the question. Bruce was probably the only man who would ever put a question like that so bluntly. She only briefly entertained the thought of refusing to answer him. There were enough secrets between them already.

�I wasn�t sure you�d know what to do and I didn�t want you to be embarrassed,� she told him. Bruce didn�t respond, a silent, very Batman-like prompt to continue. �You said it wasn�t a long list,� she explained, shrugging.

�And your resume is extensive,� he added softly, hating the flare of pain in her eyes but wanting her to feel some fraction of what he�d gone through when Dick had shown him those pictures.

Selina blinked, trying to understand him. Bruce didn�t sound angry and his comment hadn�t sounded like an accusation. She resolved to play it as he�d probably intended that little bon mote: an attack. �Which means, as the experienced partner, I have to think for both of us,� she told him. �Consider my own pleasure in proportion to your feelings and abilities. Have you ever tried that?�

�What?�

�Thinking of what someone else might be feeling?�

He flinched, closing his eyes. She didn�t lift her body off his chest, which he took as some sign that the situation might be salvaged. �I-�

�Bruce, you really aren�t good with people,� she told him, scratching her eyebrow, wondering how to react. Any other man, and she�d be gone. But between the cast on her leg and the broken collarbone, she wasn�t about to attempt a dramatic exit. Which limited her options. And Selina Kyle hated any kind of restriction.

�Was there something you wanted me to do?� she said, after considering her options in silence. Might as well act like an adult and see how that goes, she thought.

�What do you mean?� he asked hesitantly.

�Do you want me to�� and she cast her eyes downward in the direction of his lap. Bruce�s hand on her back stilled. �I�ll bet you�re kicking yourself for not thinking of that a month ago,� she smiled. �I didn�t want to do something you�d find unpleasant,� Selina explained.

�I doubt many men find that unpleasant.�

She shrugged again, and he felt the skin tighten and relax over those beautifully-shaped shoulders. �You�d be surprised. I thought we�d just stick with the missionary position, take it from there. I�d like it put into the official record that you�re the one who chose to expand our sexual horizons.�

�Selina-� he said through clenched teeth, wondering what had gotten into her, �I didn�t plan-�

�Plans aren�t going to work between us,� she said flatly, her eyes softening slightly. �There�s a lot you�ve got to learn, pal. About me, about women in general. And about yourself.�

He didn�t try to deny what she�d said but her words made his ears burn slightly in embarrassment. Bruce prided himself on always having a backup plan, but when it came to sex, he�d never found it necessary to have even a Plan A. None of his enemies had ever truly used sex against him, save perhaps Poison Ivy. And Catwoman, of course.

�Now,� she said, a hyperbolic yawn escaping her mouth, �I think you�ve got a city to save tonight. Sunset in half an hour, remember?� Selina pushed up and off his chest, freeing him of her pleasant weight. He looked at her as she sat upright, her breasts full, round globes, her skin pink and healthy, her hair and eyes luminous. He�d always admired her beauty and her sexuality, but the two had never been so fully united for him until that moment. Bruce realized that the girl in those bondage pictures, that thin, frightened, victimized adolescent, had nothing to do with the woman before him. Selina had let the past go, at least part of it. She was capable of a healthy physical relationship despite what had been done to her as a child. And he, at 37, still blushed when she mentioned oral sex. He did have a lot to learn.

*******************

Christmas Eve, for once, was quiet. Perhaps it was because of his choice of partner. Cassandra Cain, clad from head-to-toe in the black Batgirl costume, was a more silent and deadly presence among the shadows of Gotham than even he. She moved with the terrible purpose her father�s training had instilled in her, but it was tempered by mercy. Cassandra Cain had taken a life many years ago, and she bore the guilt of it like she lived her life: silently.

�Good?� she asked him at sunrise, just as their patrol was ending. That single word was the first time she�d spoken all night. Barbara was slowly coaxing her to vocal expression but Cassandra rarely spoke to him. She admired his abilities as Batman and, like the other young heroes he�d trained, she thought of him as a father-figure, but Cassandra had little interest in relationship outside their costumed identities. It had made her a good partner this evening: she had not attended the meeting in the Clock Tower and was unaware that Selina even existed. It had made for a blessedly distraction-free evening.

�Good,� he agreed, looking out over the sleeping city. The cold morning wind stung against the fresh bruises layering his face. One eye was swollen shut and his lip was split. One of the men they�d encountered in a Midtown alleyway had managed to grab him, letting his partner work on his face, for the few crucial seconds it took for Batgirl to get into position and check the safety of the two security guards the gang had tied up in the warehouse backing onto the alley. When they�d first arrived Batman had thought the guards were dead. It was worth the cracked rib and black eye to make sure no Christmas blood had been spilt that night.

Batgirl admired the Gotham skyline and he knew the day meant even less to her than it did to him. Christmas was just a day on the calendar for Cain�s daughter. He didn�t doubt that Barbara was planning some sort of festive celebration to teach her about Christmas later that morning, but privately he disapproved of Barbara�s endeavors to humanize Cassandra. She a more effective crime fighter because she was divorced from humanity in so many ways, the sort of young partner Batman wished he had always been able to take on and train. Cassandra understood the remorse and need for redemption so important to this quest. Dick, Barbara, Tim�even Jason, had never needed their masks for the same reasons he and Cassandra did.

Batman turned to Batgirl, nodded, and leapt off the building, heading for the Batmobile. He knew she would make for her satellite cave, change, and go to the Clock Tower because Barbara had asked her to. Cassandra Cain was nothing if not obedient.

The drive back to Bristol was much less anxious than the drive into the city had been. He was still worried about a Christmas-day caper, or even a Boxing Day crime spree, but December 24^th had passed in relative peace and he was exhausted. It took two and a half hours to remove the costume, have Alfred bandage his wounds, enter the night�s events in his criminal activities report and read over J�onn�s messages from the JLA base. The Martian Manhunter had pulled watch duty over the holidays; other than Bruce, none of the other heroes were willing to be apart from their families over Christmas. Bruce had been unaccountably relieved when J�onn had volunteered for the duty and he chalked it up to Selina�s continued presence in the Manor. He could not afford to forget the threats made against her, or through her, by what the Prophet had called the Other.

At 10:30am he left the cave, satisfied that everything was prepared for tonight�s patrol. Bruce made his way up the grand staircase, catching a whiff of slowly-cooking turkey coming from the kitchen. Alfred had already begun to prepare tonight�s dinner. Bruce made a conscious effort not to think about the coming encounter around the Wayne grand dining table, turning left at the top of the stairs instead of right. He wanted to see Selina before he retired, if only to ensure that her night had passed in safety and comfort.

Her room was deserted when he knocked on the door and he checked the bathroom. Nothing. Puzzled, the first icy fingers of fear closing around his heart, Bruce searched the rest of the guest quarters. Her bed was nicely made up, the sheets perfectly aligned. All of the clothing he�d provided for her was in place, and the rest of the room was in good order. He resisted the urge to bellow for Alfred, fear sparking in his heart as he went back down the hall towards his quarters on the other side of the mansion.

Selina was asleep in his bed, her soft breathing an unfamiliar sound in this, his most private place. He could count on one hand the number of times other people had been in this room besides himself and Alfred. Bruce tried to summon the energy to be offended by her invasion. Instead he rubbed his sore shoulder, debating whether he should wake her. She looked so peaceful, her sleep undisturbed by nightmares. He envied her that. Insomnia and terrible dreams had plagued him for thirty years and only rarely had Bruce enjoyed more than a few hours of sleep. Truthfully, it was one of the many reasons why Batman patrolled at night: it gave him a way to fill the long, sleepless hours before morning.

Selina stirred slightly and he made his decision. Bruce didn�t bother with the ceremony of pajamas and slipped into bed beside her, nude but for the bandages around his ribs Alfred had placed there earlier. Selina sighed softly in her sleep, rolling towards him across the wide expanse of white mattress and soft Irish linen. He slipped his arm between her neck and the curve of her shoulder, wrapping the other tightly around her midsection. She seemed to approve, pressing her back against his chest and fitting her hips against his while still asleep. Bruce breathed in the fragrance of her hair, a warm, flowery scent that he couldn�t begin to place. Vesper had worn two perfumes mixed together. Shondra Kinsolving had smelled like vanilla. Sasha had preferred the clean, simple scent of green apples. But Selina wore nothing, offering only the intoxicating, natural scent of her own body. It was, privately, the one he most enjoyed.

It was a strange thing to sleep with another person next to you, Bruce discovered. The rhythms of her breathing were peaceful and she moved only slightly in her sleep. He held her stiffly at first, careful not to wake her, but Bruce gradually relaxed and fitted himself more tightly against her body, closing his eyes. It had been a very long, tense night and to come home to Selina offered more comfort than he would have expected. Slowly, he drifted into a light doze and then finally, for the first time in three weeks, fell into a deep slumber.

*****************

Selina awoke on Christmas Day at five in the afternoon, Bruce�s body tight against hers, his hand splayed protectively over her stomach. She watched him sleep, noting that she had never before seen him do so. His strong, dark features were no less handsome in repose but he frowned darkly even in slumber, marring the male perfection of his face. Selina noted with curiosity the fresh bruises on his face, knowing he�d probably tell her about it later. She wondered how he managed to maintain his brooding, intimidating demeanor and snore at the same time.

She�d seen his bedroom before, on television during the Fairchild trial as rabid Gotham journalists accused Bruce Wayne of rape and murder. It was all large, empty space dominated by an enormous four-poster bed floating on a cream-colored carpet. The same floor-to-ceiling windows so favored in the rest of the mansion were present here too, framing the pale midwinter sun as it slowly sank over the park-like growth of trees separating Wayne Manor from the river.

Selina watched as the sun died, feeling Bruce begin to stir next to her. He�d held her while she slept and Selina struggled to remember the last time she�d trusted a man enough to allow him to do so. She felt sad, suddenly. And old.

He was awake. The change in his breathing alerted her to it and the way he began putting a careful distance between them, incrementally shifting away from her body. She turned her head and changed position, regaining what little ground he�d claimed for himself.

�Morning,� she smiled. �Or afternoon. Sleep well?�

�Yes,� he replied, his voice free and clear of the lingering effects of sleep. She knew he�d trained himself to come awake fully and completely at a moment�s notice: it was a necessity in a warrior�s life. She possessed the same ability but it seemed unnecessary in the warm security of the moment.

�How�d it go last night?� she asked guardedly, touching tender fingers to his battered face. He allowed her to gently explore the bruised, swollen eye and split lip. �Doesn�t look like a rogue�s work. Too messy,� she pointed out. He nodded.

�Just some punks trying to rob a department store,� he told her. �It was a quiet night.�

�Good,� she said, rolling back onto her side and closing her eyes. �At least Alfred�s big dinner is still on. I�d hate to see the old guy go to so much trouble for nothing.�

�It�s important to him,� Bruce agreed. �But now is hardly the time for a family gathering.�

Selina grinned. �Yeah, that�s what Arbor Day is for.� She turned her head again, looking at him closely. �You really aren�t looking forward to it, are you?�

Bruce didn�t answer, fearing she might ask why. �What are your plans?�

She opened her eyes, part of her wanting to ask if she�d be as welcome at his table as she was in his bed. The larger, more sensible part, hugged her pillow and closed her eyes again. �I think Slam and Holly are coming out. Alfred�s setting up the south parlor for us.�

He rose, planting his feet firmly on the creamy carpet and breathing deeply and slowly through his nose as he felt the blood rush back to the wounds on his face. They began to throb painfully. �Selina, you should have asked me before telling Slam who I really am,� he told her over his shoulder, trying to make it sound nonchalant, casual. Her response was important, and he tried to take the scolding edge out of his tone.

Selina sat quickly, fire in her eyes. �I didn�t tell Slam. He figured it out for himself,� she said. �You�re not the only detective in Gotham, you know.�

�He threatened to expose the truth if I didn�t let him see you,� Bruce told her, his back still turned away as he sat down on the edge of the bed. �Can he be trusted?�

�I trust him,� she said quietly. �What if you can�t? You wouldn�t kill him, and bribery and threats won�t work on Slam.�

Bruce ignored her question; she knew as well has he that he was capable of destroying Slam Bradley�s life. �It�s important that no one knows Bruce Wayne is Batman,� Bruce explained quietly, employing a tone she hadn�t heard him use around her in years, and even then only at the scene of some crime she�d committed. �Too many people know already and my operations could be compromised if the wrong people were to learn the truth. Wayne Enterprises would come under attack, putting the Wayne Foundation in jeopardy.� He paused for a heartbeat, wondering why he�d never voiced that fear aloud before. Was the Wayne Foundation the most important aspect of Bruce Wayne�s life? He could bear to see all the rest stripped away: the manor, his affluent lifestyle�but not the Foundation. That was his parents� legacy, particularly his mother�s.

He forced himself to move on from that troubling discovery of newfound vulnerability. �Dick�s role in my life would be easy to determine. And Tim�s. Their lives would be in danger. I cannot overstate the risk of exposure, Selina.�

She hated the serious tone he�d employed for his lecture. She knew better than he the value of a secret identity to retreat behind after the mask came off. The �death� of Selina Kyle had opened a Pandora�s box for Catwoman, resulting in the obliteration of both her identities.

�Slam wouldn�t expose you on a whim,� she told him directly. �Why did he feel he had to threaten you to see me?

Bruce still wouldn�t look at her. �He thought I was responsible for the attack on you.� Which I was, he added silently.

�I�ll explain it to him,� she said, wondering about the flare of guilt in his expression. �He�s a good man, Bruce. One of the best.�

Bruce turned to her sharply. �He took advantage of you�

Selina looked surprised at his sudden anger, his tone full of much more emotion than when he�d spoken of Slam�s threat to his life�s work. She had never known how closely Batman had watched her in the months after the East End Community Center was destroyed. Was he aware of how close she�d come to the edge? Did he know that it was only Slam who�d held her back from that darkness? More importantly, did he care?

�Actually,� she told him evenly, �since he loved me and I was using him to punish myself, I took advantage of him.�

Bruce didn�t seem pleased by her admission. How old-fashioned he was, she thought, and it occurred to her that Bruce and Slam might have a lot more in common than an affection for female cat burglars.

�He shouldn�t have slept with you,� Bruce declared, undeterred from his chosen course of moral indignation. �Not after what happened to Maggie.�

�Not everyone has your self-restraint,� she pointed out. �Thankfully.�

He looked at her in question. She smiled. �It�s taken twelve years for us to end up arguing in bed together.�

�That isn�t my fault,� he countered, annoyed more with her good humor than the accusation. She was responsible for the majority of the obstacles between them: crime, graft, theft, vice�

�Well, I think it was inevitable anyway,� Selina grinned, changing the subject just to annoy him. �Leslie�s going to set me up with a walking cast in a few days. I�m counting on your help for physical therapy.�

The request came as a surprise. He doubted that Selina would accept him as a drill sergeant in the way that the younger vigilantes had. Her methods were very different from those he employed as Batman. Training her, helping her through the necessary physical therapy after her injuries would be difficult and time consuming. And he wasn�t sure he wanted her back out in the city. Her life was in danger, and she exposed herself to so many risks when she dawned her Catwoman personae.

�It�s not like I�m asking you for a kidney,� she joked, poking him in the ribs. �Just help me get back into top condition as quickly as possible. I�d contact Ted, but after what happened to Flannery�� Selina trailed off, biting her lip. �Think about it, okay? If you helped me get back into shape, you�d know I was fit to be out there with you. You wouldn�t need to worry.�

It made sense. It was a logical, well-defended argument and Bruce didn�t deny that the idea of testing Selina�s abilities held a certain appeal on a professional level. But he had not yet decided if he wanted her out there with him.

�Just think about it,� she requested for the second time. Selina kissed him lightly on the lips in chaste, affectionate punctuation. He briefly entertained the thought of putting her on the Wayne Enterprises executive fast-track. She was a hell of a negotiator.

*****************

They began arriving at six, each slightly uneasy due to the facts that they rather saw one another under such relaxed circumstances. Christmas dinner at Wayne Manor did not involve bio-engineered plagues, earthquakes, robotic dinosaurs, Venom-powered super villains or mysterious deaths and disappearances. It would as a consequence involve appetizers and small talk, far more terrifying to the hardened group of vigilantes than any other foe.

Alfred greeted Dick, Barbara and Cassandra at the door. They were the first members of the family to arrive and Alfred treated them more formally than usual, showing them into the receiving room off the main dining room with a gentle �Just there, sir,� as if Dick hadn�t grown up in the manor and Barbara had suddenly forgotten the floor plan of the rebuilt Wayne Manor.

�He�s nervous about something,� Dick told Barbara as he wheeled her through the dining room, shooting a significant glance at the banquet table arranged with the rarely-employed Victorian place settings. Cassandra trailed behind, a shadow passing through the room. The dining hall was lit by candelabras set at precise intervals on the huge table. Priceless china plates gleamed against the dark red tablecloth with garlands of holly weaved between each setting. Silver-domed serving trays stood waiting on sideboards lining the long, oak-paneled room, sealing in the warmth and flavors of Alfred�s gourmet dishes. Dick was starving. His mouth watered in anticipation as he and Barbara examined the menu. The five-course meal culminated in duck with oysters and three different turkeys but the entire dinner seemed to contain as much imagination and variety as one could expect from a world-class chef at the peak of his career like Alfred.

�Definitely nervous,� Dick muttered as he pushed Barbara into the receiving room. He�d worn a navy blue double-breasted suit with a monochromatic tie. Barbara wore a diamond pendant necklace and a rich burgundy dress. Dick deliberately came to a stop under a spring of mistletoe, bending to brush her lips with a soft kiss. �I�m glad we�re in this together,� Dick told her. Barbara smiled tightly.

�As long as the dissention in the ranks isn�t too obvious in front of Dad,� she agreed.

Dick rubbed her shoulder. They rarely discussed how much (or how little) James Gordon suspected about their dual identities. Sometimes Dick was sure Jim knew that Bruce was Batman, but he doubted the former Police Commissioner had accepted that Barbara had been Batgirl before the Joker�s attack. If he did know the truth and had guessed that Dick had once been Robin, Dick wasn�t sure how Jim would feel about their relationship. He sighed, wondering how many sleepless nights he�d spent worrying about Gordon�s reaction to the truth of their lives. He and Barbara had been stuck in neutral for a while, trying to figure out their next move. If they were to get married, Jim would need to know the truth. All of it. And Dick felt that Bruce should be the one to explain things, a conversation that Dick�s adoptive father seemed determined to avoid.

Cassandra, finished with her inspection of the dining room, slipped into the receiving parlor. She looked at the small, exquisitely adorned Christmas tree in the corner of the room with a quizzical expression, then dismissed the tree entirely, preferring to stand before the blazing hearth and examine the pictures on the mantle. She had only recently discovered that Batman was really a man and she regarded the pictures carefully, trying to guess what the warrior�s face looked like in daylight.

The photographs were mainly of Wayne forefathers who had contributed to the political, financial and architectural battle of converting the small, sleepy farm community of Gotham Proper into a thriving modern metropolis. Most of the mantel pictures were of sober-faced men in outdated suits, their postures unnaturally stiff. Cassandra eyed these ancestors of the Batman, thinking of fathers and their children.

When Alfred next answered the door, it was to admit Tim Drake. Alfred concealed the surprise in his eyes. �Master Tim? I thought Master Drake would be joining us?�

�Yeah,� Tim stuttered, rubbing his neck awkwardly. �Dad and Dana wanted to stay at home. And I knew you had planned this big dinner, and you�d gone to so much trouble��

Alfred smiled, his mustache twitching. He was touched. Tim was perhaps the most considerate member of Bruce�s small family. He patted the boy on the shoulder. �Thank you. If your father would like to spend Christmas with you, please do not linger here. You should spend the holidays with your family.�

�I am,� Tim replied simply. �Besides, I�ve been out of school for nearly a week. Dad and Dana could use some time alone, I think. Newlyweds,� Tim smiled, shrugging. �What can y�do?�

Alfred nodded wisely, holding the door wide for Tim. He did not feel it necessary to direct young Master Drake to the receiving room.

Leslie surprised him by coming from the kitchen rather than the grand front entrance; she slipped her arm around his torso and hugged his back, her face pressing into his shoulders. �Merry Christmas,� she murmured against him. Alfred tipped his head back and closed his eyes for a moment, thankful Leslie was here. He turned and she handed him a small gift. After a cursory glance to both the left and right to ensure privacy, he bussed her on the lips. Leslie smiled against his mouth.

�Merry Christmas,� Alfred said, keeping his hand on her shoulder. �They�re in the parlor.�

�Need any help?� she offered. Alfred shook his head. Leslie glanced down at the present and Alfred obligingly opened the gift, careful not to tear the wrapping paper. Her eyes were laughing as she watched him strip the gift wrap away from the slim white box, his touch as sure and delicate as it was in surgery. Alfred opened the box, his eyes wide with surprise.

�Why�why thank you,� Alfred told her, a little flummoxed. It was a limited edition of Shakespeare�s Henry V, hand-bound in leather with his name embossed in elegant gold script on the back. He resisted the urge to tear up the stairs and find the gift he�d chosen and carefully wrapped for her late last night. Alfred had worried he was being too forward and had only now decided to give it to her. The diamond tennis bracelet didn�t seem so superfluous now.

�Ready to face the lions?� she asked him with a smile. Alfred schooled his face back into the composure required of all English butlers.

�I�m serving tonight. Please join the others. Commissioner Gordon is due to arrive at any moment.�

�Are Selina�s friends here?�

Alfred shook his head and Leslie narrowed her eyes. �What are you planning?�

�Nothing, my dear,� he assured her, pushing her slightly into the hall leading to the dining room. �Nothing at all.�

The doorbell chimed again and Alfred opened the thick oak barrier to admit Commissioner Gordon clad in a rumpled trench coat, leaning heavily on the silver-headed cane which had been a Christmas gift from Bruce last year, if Alfred remembered correctly. Alfred nodded, trying to appear as disinterested in James Gordon as would be required of Bruce Wayne�s valet. He thought the Commissioner looked tired, thin and drawn, but resolved in his effort not to let his daughter or Bruce�s family see it. Alfred admitted him quietly, taking the trench coat. Gordon wore a red sweater paired with dark dress pants and a brown tweed jacket; Alfred approved of the effort, if not the result. James Gordon was hardly known for his fashion acumen.

�Down the hall to the left, sir,� Alfred told him. Gordon smiled, thanking him quietly. Alfred was terrified that the Commissioner would try to tip him.

Gordon advanced down the hall, his cane tapping against the polished marble floor of the grand entrance foyer. He�d been in Wayne Manor only a few times since the reconstruction following the �quake. Bruce Wayne had made his family home even more fortress-like, something Gordon hadn�t thought possible. He had always been intimidated in the homes of the rich, even in the house of a man he liked and respected as much as Bruce Wayne. Gordon thought of the first time he�d visited the Manor, back when he�d first transferred to Gotham. He�d suspected that Bruce was Batman in those days. It seemed like a long time ago.

Gordon found the parlor and went directly to where Barbara and Dick were gathered around a small sideboard, laughing at one of Tim Drake�s corny jokes. �Hi Dad,� Barbara greeted, letting her father stoop to kiss her on the cheek. Jim shook hands with Dick, greeting the boy warmly. He liked him, liked the man he�d become, and Gordon still held out hopes that Dick would be the one to take care of his little girl. He clapped Tim on the back and grabbed a handful of peanuts from the sideboard serving dish, popping them into his mouth. The room was warm, tastefully decorated, lit by the blazing fire set deep in the large hearth. It was the very picture of a quiet Christmas at Wayne Manor. Gordon sighed, wishing he could light a pipe. Make it a perfect holiday spent among old friends.

Some movement in the shadow by the hearth caught his eye and Gordon finally saw the dark-haired, small-framed girl who�d been standing there, intently examining the silver-framed pictures set over the fireplace. He hadn�t noticed her until just now, It was if she had willed her presence into existence, appearing magically from shadows in the room. He�d forgotten her relation to Wayne: the papers speculated that she was the result of a trip Bruce had taken to southeast Asia years ago, just another illegitimate Wayne heir. Barbara had tried to convince him once that the girl was a long-lost relative of Dick�s, or Tim�s�or someone�s. Alfred maybe. Jim could never keep up with what he was expected to believe. He was content to let such matters rest and swallow whatever it was they wanted him to believe. It made life easier, sometimes.

�Where�s Bruce?� he asked pleasantly, watching them carefully. The kids gathered in the room stiffened a bit, their postures telling him something he�d felt since setting foot in the Wayne homestead. Something wasn�t quite right in this house. Gordon gave up, taking his pipe from his pocket and clenching it between his teeth. He wouldn�t light it but it felt good, comforting, to have it in his mouth.

�I think he�s still upstairs,� Barbara told him, her voice high and too bright. Gordon patted her on the arm, taking his pipe out from his teeth and holding it cupped in his palm like the hand of an old friend.

�How�re things in the �Haven?� Jim asked Dick, who was in the midst of shoveling peanuts into his mouth and had to choke past them to respond.

�F-fine,� Dick said, dropping half the handful of peanuts on the rug. Tim grinned at his friend�s ineptitude and bent to help Dick clean them up. Barbara smiled, shrugging at Dick�s silliness. Jim thought they were all trying too hard. Only the girl in the corner seemed immune to the currents of tension in the parlor.

Leslie Thompkins came in, greeted Jim warmly with a handshake and hugged Barbara. �Good to see you,� she greeted them both. Barbara pretended that Leslie didn�t communicate with Oracle every other day and hugged her right back. Leslie had an aura of comfort and motherliness that most of the orphans in the room responded to strongly. Even Jim was drawn to her warmth.

�How are you, Mr. Gordon?� she asked, her voice low and pleasant. Jim smiled.

�Can�t complain,� he told her, just as the atmosphere in the room changed. Bruce Wayne stood in the doorway, watching them. Jim hadn�t even heard his approach down the marble-tiled hallway off the dining room and he shivered as if caught in a sudden draft. Barbara and Dick stopped chattering to each other, Tim stopped his class-clown routine and even the quiet girl at the hearth seemed to withdraw her presence, becoming invisible again. Gordon couldn�t begin to guess what was going on. He wiggled an eyebrow at Leslie, who didn�t seem to be able (or willing) to shed light on the change in mood.

Jim stepped forward, closer to the entrance in the little room. �Bruce!� he said in warm greeting. Bruce�s expression changed. It was like watching the storm clouds pass over Lake Michigan back in Chicago when sunlight finally hit the water.

�Hi, Jim,� Bruce greeted, his voice just as warm and friendly as Gordon�s tone, making a show of it. He grabbed Jim�s elbow, careful not to upset the other man�s balance. Jim brushed off the formality, wrapping his arm around Wayne�s shoulder. It was like hugging steel. Bruce laughed, a short, strange sound, and Jim was aware they were all watching. What the hell was going on?

�Dinner is served.� Alfred had appeared at the door as if summoned by the increasing tension in the room. They filled into the main dining hall and sat down at their assigned places. Jim smiled. Alfred had made place cards for an intimate dinner attended by people who�d known each other for years. Gotta love the English.

James Gordon had never had servants. He�d come from a solidly middle-class background, served in Vietnam as a Special Ops agent and worked his way up the ranks on the Chicago force before transferring to Gotham. Even after the years of charity events and balls and charity events which required the attendance of the Police Commissioner it still felt positively unreal to be sitting in one of the finest homes in the country, being waiting on by a private butler, sipping the same kind of soup they probably served in Buckingham Palace and sucking down wine that cost more than his home in TriCorner.

He leaned over to whisper in Barbara�s ear, �Which fork do I use?�, making her smile and pat his shoulder. She looked beautiful tonight, reminding him very strongly of his first wife Barbara, her aunt. James� ex-wife was back in Chicago raising their son: Paul was about thirteen now and wanted nothing to do with his father. Jim didn�t blame him. He�d treated Barbara horribly when she was pregnant with Paul and their marriage had never really recovered. After little Barbara�s parents died, she�d come to live with her aunt and uncle. When the marriage disintegrated, Barbara had chosen to remain with her uncle Jim and not the aunt who was her namesake.

They�d been through so much together, he and his little girl. So much pain and so little joy. To say he loved her was an understatement. Jim knew he�d kill for her. To see her unhappy or anxious as she clearly was at this moment, was torture. What made it worse was that despite everything, despite all that they had shared and experienced as father and daughter, he could never ask her why it was so hard for her to smile on a night like this.

Alfred started serving the first course, which consisted of black truffles and leek ravioli with celery root soup. The butler made his way around the table slowly, pretending not to listen to the low hum of whispers. Bruce sat at the head, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. His eyes were downcast. He seemed to be somewhere else, oblivious to the questioning glances of Barbara and Dick or Tim�s worried expression. Cassandra sat next to him, fiddling with her place setting, rearranging her fork and knife to a more precise angle. Alfred tried not to be offended, reaching past her delicately to unfold her napkin and drape it across her lap before the girl could muddle with that as well. He filled her bowl with soup and moved to the left, past the empty spaces reserved for Jack Drake and his new wife Dana to fill Tim�s bowl. The boy was looking anxiously around the table, waiting for something to happen that would upset the fragile peace. Tim always looked perpetually on alert; he reminded Alfred strongly of Bruce at that age, constantly watching for some unseen danger.

Alfred moved smoothly around the end of the table, serving Commissioner Gordon, then Barbara, then Dick, who was busy trying to nudge Tim�s foot under the table and make a face at him. Alfred reached Leslie, who shot him a sympathetic look which Alfred pretended not to see. His eyes fixed directly ahead and he appeared immune to the strain Bruce�s presence was causing. It was none of his affair, he reminded himself, repeating his mantra as he had for the last decade. Until someone grew upset with the menu or complained about the table arrangements, it was none of his business.

The first course was served without incident. Bruce still hadn�t spoken to anyone, not even bothering to keep up the small-talk banter of a bored aristocrat for Jim Gordon�s sake. That worried Dick. Bruce rarely dropped the pretence around Jim, but he seemed resolved to sit in his position at the head of the table and brood. Dick wondered if he�d had a fight with Selina. He knew she was staying at Wayne Manor, in Bruce�s bedroom. Dick shook his head, biting into a thick slice of warm rye bread. What was her hold over him? Why couldn�t Bruce see that he couldn�t trust her?

Barbara touched his knee under the table and Dick glanced at her. She inclined her head towards Bruce, who had lowered his hands and looked as if he was about to speak. However, he didn�t say anything and continued to stare at them. Dick rolled his eyes at Barbara, shrugged, and went back to munching on the bread and torturing Tim.

Barbara leaned closer to her father and listened half-heartedly as he told her about his plans for the garden in the spring, trying to absorb details about sweet peas, sunflowers and roses and failing badly. Barbara continued to watch Bruce, trying to bore a hole in his thick head with her eyes. If he wouldn�t listen to her about Selina�

The door chime sounded and Alfred left silently, setting the soup tureen he�d been using on the sideboard. Bruce looked as though he wanted to follow Alfred out of the room but Leslie�s touch stilled his movement. They concentrated on pretending not to eavesdrop as Alfred opened the door and spoke quietly with whoever was there. The door closed and they listened, astonished, as two sets of footsteps echoed down the hall and went up the stairs. Dick looked at Bruce, mouthing �Who?�

Bruce met his question with a blank stare.

Barbara sighed, exasperated, and when Alfred returned, she asked him point-blank �Who was that?�

Alfred picked up the soup tureen, holding it lightly. �Additional guests,� he tried, unsure as they had ever seen him. Tim raised an eyebrow, opened his mouth to ask another question, glanced at Jim and reconsidered.

�Well, are they going to join us?� Jim asked, perking up a bit. He was curious to see who else might brave a Wayne Christmas.

�I don�t believe so, sir,� Alfred responded politely, disappearing into the door leading to the kitchen.

Bruce measured their reactions from his vantage point at the head of the table. Barbara looked annoyed, Jim, Dick and Tim were plainly confused and Cassie seemed bored. Leslie sipped her wine with composure, rising. Everyone save Barbara and Cassandra stood politely. �I think I�ll pop in and say hello to Slam and Holly,� she announced, leaving the room.

Bruce closed his eyes, waiting a beat to open them and see how Jim was reacting. He only looked more perplexed. Dick�s reaction was even more curious. At the sound of Holly�s name, his head jerked up and he glanced around anxiously. Bruce knew he�d worked with Selina�s young partner in Bludhaven but he doubted Holly Robinson knew Dick and Nightwing were the same person. Selina wouldn�t have had the chance to tell her�although Slam Bradley knew about his secret identity, and he had to assume Holly would be able to put two and two together. She had to know who Dick was, at least.

Bruce took a sip of water and tried not to think about Selina�s dinner with Slam and Holly. He doubted their meal would be progressing as awkwardly as his own Christmas dinner was. Selina made it nearly impossible to be awkward or uncomfortable around her, unless she wished it. He would never be as adept as her at putting people at their ease. Bruce remembered something, a ladies� luncheon his mother had held at the Manor once. Martha Wayne had few close friends, but she often hosted lavish social soirees. He�d observed at the age of eight that no one ever seemed uncomfortable around his mother: she had a natural ability to settle disputes and negate tension in the household.

Bruce sipped some water and tried not to mentally list the similarities between his mother and Selina.

Well into the third course, which was designed as a respite from the warmer dishes with lemon sorbet, candies lemon and fresh fruit, conversation finally began to resume. Jim began to talk about his experiences teaching at Dick�s old Alma matter, Gotham U. Bruce finally broke is vow of silence and began to discuss the new science wing at the university Bruce was funding through the Wayne Foundation with Gordon. The low voices of the two men seemed to dispel the lingering nervous tension around the rest of the table. Dick and Tim began to trade one-liners again, Barbara giggling at them girlishly. Even Cassie was smiling. Alfred silently congratulated himself. He was about to declare the evening a success when Dick got up to use the bathroom. It hadn�t taken as long as last year for the small group to begin to talk to each other as people.

Dick made his way down the hall to the foyer, hanging a sharp left and going up a short flight of stairs, down another hall and finally reaching a bathroom in the west wing of the mansion. He was glad Bruce had kept the main floor plan of the old house when he�d reconstructed the Manor. It had taken Dick weeks to memorize the layout of the gigantic house when he�d first moved in. Dick groaned when he saw a sign scrawled in Alfred�s elegant hand posted to the bathroom door. Out of Order. Dick frowned, turned back down the hall and made for one of the bathrooms in the east wing.

The bathroom door was closed and Dick tried the handle, rattling it.

�Just a sec!� a girl�s young, familiar voice replied. Dick panicked. Holly Robinson, who�d met Nightwing and Dick Grayson as separate individuals. He briefly considered diving into one of the hallway closets or taking refuge in an empty bedroom, then envisioned an endlessly silly farce in which he would go in one door of the endless hallway and popping out of another, pursued all the time by one of Catwoman�s sidekicks.

In the end, Dick did the only thing he could. He stood his ground.

The bathroom door opened and Holly emerged, very different from the way she�d appeared in Bludhaven a month ago. She looked nothing like her undercover street personae. Gone were the dark, dirty clothes, bedraggled hair and pale skin. Instead, Holly Robinson looked like a slightly wild fifteen-year-old. Her hair was fire-engine red and streaked blond. Dark eye makeup and bubble-gum pink lipstick made her small, pretty features seem hopelessly girlish and she was wearing a T-shirt lauding a local punk band and jeans that had been mended with several eye-catching patches.

�Hey,� she greeted him in surprise. Dick swallowed past the lump in his throat.

�Hi,� he greeted. Holly folded her arms across her flat chest, shifted her balance, and looked him squarely in the eye.

�How badly do you have to pee?�

�Excuse me?� Dick stuttered, taken aback. He slowly realized she was standing in the bathroom door, blocking his passage. And she was teasing him.

�No hard feelings?� she asked, her posture changing, softening. Dick simply stared at her, completely out of his element. Holly dipped her head. �I mean, you lied about who you were, I lied about who I was. We both lied about who raised us, and how. Can we call it even?�

Dick blinked and Holly extended her hand. He shook it tentatively.

�Hmm,� she grunted. �You�re not so bad.�

She left him standing in shock by the bathroom door as Dick tried to remember why he�d come all the way to the east wing.

He returned to find the small group in the main dining hall much as he�d left them. Jim and Bruce were arguing pleasantly about the new science wing. Cassie and Barbara were chatting, their heads bent conspiratorially together. Dick took a seat and sprang right back up: Tim had put a fork on his chair. He glared at the kid, only to be met with a blank expression. Robins were required to have perfect poker faces. Dick didn�t notice Cassandra�s soft smile.

They were just finishing desert when the doorbell rang a third time. Even Alfred looked a bit surprised. He moved sedately to the entrance hall and they waited again for the soft murmur of voices. There was only silence.

After a few moments Bruce stood and left the dining room. Dick hesitated for a moment and followed. The hallway was dark: Alfred had lowered the lights to better display the glow of the giant Christmas tree in the living room. Cold air had filled the foyer. Dick could practically see his breath. Bruce had come to a dead stop just in front of him and Dick resisted the urge to peak from behind his back like some scared kid. Nothing about this felt right.

There were three people standing in the door, bracing the heavy slab of oak with their small frames. Three girls, all looking like Holly�s �before� picture. They wore dark, baggy clothing, sweatshirts and pocket-lined cargo pants, all in different shades of black. Their faces were thin, pinched and dark knit caps were pulled low over their foreheads. Dick wrinkled his nose. The girls smelled like the East River.

One was standing next to Alfred, her small hand on his forearm. The butler didn�t look frightened, exactly, but the girl was whispering something to him and he kept nodding slowly, thoughtfully.

�Alfred?� Bruce asked, his voice low and mellow. The Playboy voice, hiding Bruce�s concern and fear.

�Sir?� Alfred looked up at him. �These ladies would like an audience with Batman.�

Dick�s eyes widened, and he looked to Bruce for some hint as to how to handle this. Bruce shifted his weight, assuming a fighter�s stance. Dick did the same. Unless these girls had been trained by the best, they wouldn�t be aware of what was happening.

�I wouldn�t try it,� warned the first girl. She was the one holding Alfred and had a slight accent�Mexican, Chiappas dialect. Her dark eyes signaled something to him but Dick couldn�t begin to interpret what she was trying to tell him. �He�s safe. You�re all safe. We came here to deliver a message, nothing more.�

Bruce backed off, relaxing, dropping the threat of physical violence. �Who asked you to deliver the message?�

The girl kept her hand on Alfred�s wrist. �I think you know. That punta, that little black man, he told you who we are. All about us.�

�He told us nothing,� Bruce assured her, his voice sincere, convincing. He moved a little closer, his palms up, radiating calm towards the girls. Dick thought they looked plenty calm, almost medicated. Especially the leader. She watched Bruce like she was looking at a bug crawl around on a rock.

The girl flicked her head, sending a thick lock of black hair over her shoulder. One of the other girls approached, knelt on the polished marble of the entranceway and slid something across the hall towards them. Dick recognized it right away: the Prophet�s little board.

The plank of wood mounted on skateboard wheels rolled towards them, coming to a stop when it connected with Bruce�s ankle. He didn�t move to pick it up, barely even glancing down at it. The girl didn�t look surprised or disappointed. She simply continued to watch.

�We want a meeting,� the girl told him, and Dick watched Bruce�s face. He recognized her. Dick took another look at the girl and her two friends, scrutinizing their features carefully. He finally placed them: he�d seen their photos scattered around Barbara�s room. They were three of the missing girls, the ones Holly Robinson had come to Bludhaven to find.

The Mexican girl continued. �April 1^st. Feast of Fools. Wear the masks, if you like.�

�Who?� Bruce asked in Batman�s low growl.

�You. And the son. And the devil woman. El gato. April 1^st, you choose the place. Anywhere in Gotham, at midnight.�

�You�ve got to be kidding,� Dick muttered. �This doesn�t-�

�Be quiet!� Bruce snapped, turning his head slightly towards Dick, then back to the three girls. �Where is Jessica Bradshaw?�

The Mexican girl blinked, but her eyes didn�t change. The other two didn�t even show they were listening. �I don�t know that name,� the leader said and Dick would have bet money she was telling the truth. �Adios,� she whispered, withdrawing her hand from Alfred�s arm. The girls backed out of the house, the leader�s sharp eyes on Bruce and Dick. They vanished in the darkness around Wayne Manor, lost in the sudden snowstorm that blown up north of the city.

�Perimeter check,� Bruce barked. �Now!�

Dick heard Tim scurry around behind him, headed for the cave. He hadn�t even been aware Tim had followed them into the hallway. Alfred shook his head slightly, took in Bruce and Dick, the freezing entranceway and their concerned expressions. �Sir?� he asked calmly. �What happened?�

�We�ve been compromised,� Bruce told him.