Disclaimers:  This work of fanfiction is a strictly
not-for-profit venture.  I don't own the characters,
and I didn't ask before I used them.  Most of them
belong to DC comics/Warner Brothers (i.e. Time/Warner
- a giant conglomerate who hopefully will ignore that
I've borrowed these guys for about 36 hours).

"The Children's Hour" is written by Henry Wadsworth
Longfellow and was published in 1860.

Spud (James) and Filb belong to Smitty, who created
them and who most graciously allowed me to play in her
Futurewhen.  In fact, without Smitty, this fic would
never have come into existence at all, so if you like
it, thank her.  Bert (who doesn't appear but gets
mentioned) belongs to Kerrie Smith.

The string of silver beads in part 5 belong to JB
McDragon and are used with permission.  The story in
which they originally appear (_Decorating the Tree_)
is archived on A.j.'s "Birds of a Feather" site -
http://www.the-family-archives.com/birdsofafeather/.
Please go there, read the story, and give homage to
the creator.

The orphanage tradition (mentioned in parts 4 - 7)
derives from a Syl Francis fic (_A Christmas Wish_)
and is also used with permission.  This story is not
set in strict continuity with Syl's version of the Bat
universe, but her little Dick stories definitely
influenced the way it turned out.  If you haven't read
Sylfic, go read it now.

Setting:  This story is firmly in the Potatoverse - a
Futurewhen created by Amanda Smith (Smitty).  It will
probably make next to no sense if you haven't already
tasted Potatoes.  It is +6 years from the current
comic continuity.  In Potato continuity, this story
occurs a year and a half after the Graysons first take
Spud into their care, and about five months after the
adoption was finalized.

Thank yous:  To Syl and JB McDragon, obviously, for
allowing me to use their stories.  To Reccea, for
reading and feedbacking and being supportive.  To Rose
and amy and A.j. and Phoenix and 'rith for being able
to keep a secret.  And the big ones - to Kerrie, who
got a hold of it when it was still a "for Smitty's
eyes only" affair and provided more encouragement than
I probably deserved.  She truly is SON OF KRYPTON. 
And to Smitty, who won a battle of wills to get this
fic started, and then would not let me abandon it when
I decided it was too long and stilted, and who
insisted that it should be posted.  I am honored that
Smitty allowed me to play with her characters and
flattered that she thinks this fic is worth sharing. 
Plus she also beta'd this, and as long as it is, that
was no mean feat!  Thanks, Smitty.  I owe you.

Summary:  The first Wayne-Lance family Christmas
reminds everyone of the tenuous place of kevlar in
matters of the heart.

Archiving:  You're kidding, right?  Smitty's in
charge, so go through her.  Please don't archive
without talking to her first.

***

Ghosts of Christmas Present
by Chicago (chicago_haven@yahoo.com)

***

Ghosts of Christmas Present 
by Chicago
part 1:  Checking In

	"Hold on a minute," Barbara said, glancing toward the
door of her command center.  "Come in, James," she
said gently.
	"That boy's still up?" Dinah chided in her ear. 
"It's after midnight."
	James, meanwhile, slipped into the room guiltily,
hesitating, his hand on the doorknob.
	Barbara kept her tone mild.  "Seems to me it's past
time for small potatoes to be asleep.  Need me to tuck
you back in?"
	"A mother's work is never done," Dinah remarked.
	"You'll get yours, Dinah," Barbara replied, still
watching her son.  He was staring past her at the
unmoving blue dot on her screen.
	"Dick's not home yet," he said.
	"No, he's not.  You wanna come sit by me?" Babs
patted his usual chair invitingly.
	"Nothing gets by that kid, does it?" Dinah observed.
	Barbara did not answer, focusing on James as he
pushed his swivel chair closer to her until its
casters bumped against the wheels of her chair and the
armrests of both chairs were almost touching.  He
scrambled into his seat and curled up in it, settling
his arms and head on Babs' arm rest.  She ran her
fingers over his thick red hair, offering him
assurance she didn't quite feel.  "I'm sure he's okay.
 His stakeout is just running longer than expected."
	James did not lift his head, and his eyes remained
focused on Oracle's screen.  His fingers reached
absently for the cross dangling from his neck.  "His
shift ended at eight."
	Barbara sighed.  "I know it did, munchkin, but you
know how the Bludhaven PD gets around Christmas. 
Someone probably didn't show up for work."  Never mind
that Dick's shift started at 8 am and he was supposed
to have today off, she added to herself.
	"Did you ask for the signal?"
	Barbara paused in her stroking of James' head.  She
didn't want to alarm her son, but she had to be honest
with him.  
	When she had settled into "Oracle central" after
putting James to bed about 9:00, she had been mildly
surprised to see Dick's tracer still showed him at the
site of a stakeout.   It was the same stakeout he'd
been on while she and James wrapped Christmas presents
and packed and ate dinner and read bedtime stories. 
She had smiled to herself in amusement at the case of
fidgets she was sure Dick had after several hours in
the car.  She knew he would be anxious to do a cursory
tour of the city in his "special pajamas" and then
make arrangements for James' "surprise," whatever it
was.  Without much further thought, she had begun
processing information requests from the JLA that she
had deemed less urgent than quality time with James.
	By ten o'clock, Dick still was sitting at his
stakeout, and Barbara had begun to worry.  It wasn't
inconceivable that he'd been unable to get away to
call, but it seemed unlikely that even Bludhaven had
not found a relief unit for him and Filb yet.  That
was when she had sent for the signal.
	The signal was simple enough - Barbara would buzz a
special pager Dick wore whenever he was away from the
house, either as Nightwing or as Officer Grayson.  If
Dick pressed a button on the pager, all was well - a
little Nightwing signal would light up on Barbara
tracking screen.  It was a way of quickly checking in
at times when Dick could not be in constant
conversation with his wife and son back in the command
center - as when he was on duty for the police
department or in a situation that demanded silence. 
Barbara had been sending for the signal at half-hour
intervals since 10 o'clock.  
	"There's been no answer," she said to James, although
she sensed he already knew.
	"Barbara, take me off the headset and put me on
visual," Dinah demanded suddenly.
	Keeping one hand on James' back to comfort him,
Barbara used the other to key in the command for
visual hook up and remove her headset.  Dinah's
smiling face appeared on a screen next to Barbara's
tracking monitor.
	"Hi, James," she said cheerily.  "You ready for a
couple nights at the Manor?"
	James still did not lift his head, but he nodded.  "I
got something for the babies."
	Dinah grinned.  "Is it a trampoline they can jump
around on when they get done bouncing around inside of
me?"
	"They're kicking a lot, huh?" Barbara asked, grateful
for the distraction Dinah was providing.
	"I want to say they learned from the best, but they
haven't had a chance to learn anything yet.  It must
be genetic.  You should see what Alfred's done to this
place, by the way."
	"He does the place up every Christmas, Dinah," Babs
reminded her.  "It's Stately Wayne Manor.  They have
to dress it up for all those charity galas and stuff."
	"No, no - the last gala was a week ago.  Alfred's
worked more magic.  Did you know Bruce had toy
trains?"
	Barbara wanted to giggle, but concern for James
choked down the reaction.  James loved trains.  The
mention of trains should have perked him up.  Instead
he just replied, "Really?"  His eyes had drifted back
to the stationary blue dot.  He continued to finger
his cross.  Barbara and Dinah exchanged a worried
look.
	Barbara knew her son never slept well until he knew
Dick was safely home for the night.  There had been
that one horrible week in August, shortly after the
adoption was finalized, when Dick had been terribly
injured.  The family suffered a touch and go 48 hours,
followed by days of uncertainty as to whether Dick
would fully recover.  As always, he bounced back
quickly, but James had recovered less surely.  For
weeks he would barely speak to Dick save to demand
that his new father give up his "special pajamas" for
good.  He began to refuse to answer to Spud at all,
and he asked with increasing frequency for stories
about "his grandpa James."
	Bruce and Dinah had stepped in, finally, suggesting
James come spend a few days with them at the Manor. 
Bruce was his typical close-mouthed self about what
had gone on during his stint as "grandpa," but Dinah
said James had spent many evenings in the Batcave in
quiet conversation with Bruce and more hours in the
kitchen with Alfred.  When James returned home, he
announced stubbornly that he was _Oracle's_ sidekick,
but things had steadily improved between him and Dick.
 Barbara had long ago lost track of how many hours of
heart to heart conversations had happened between
Nightwing and "O2" over the comlink into her command
center, but her boys were soon closer than ever.
	And now Dick was apparently still and silent - a blue
unwavering dot on a tracking monitor in the first
hours of Christmas Eve day - and his son was scarcely
more mobile or outspoken.
	Dinah sighed.  "James, you're worried about Dick,
aren't you?"
	This at least drew James' eyes back to her face.  He
nodded, and Barbara could see his eyes begin to glaze
with tears.
	"Look, kid, he's probably broken his signal knowing
how clumsy that boy is.  And it wouldn't be the first
time someone has ditched their Oracle tracking
system."
	Barbara snorted at this.  "Yeah, you've definitely
had your moments, BC."
	"Hey, a girl doesn't always want an eye in the sky
keeping up with her."
	"Of course, if you hadn't ditched my tracer, you
probably wouldn't be in the mess you're in now,"
Barbara replied, relieved to see that this banter
appeared to be calming James.
	"Is Bruce home?" he asked suddenly.
	Dinah shook her head.  "It's nighttime in Gotham. 
Like son, like father."
	Barbara was startled when James sat up suddenly and
used the desk edge to pull his chair across the floor
to his keyboard.  With a few keystrokes, he called up
a bat logo onto another monitor.  "O2 to Batman," he
said crisply.
	Before either Dinah or Barbara could react, the cold
tones of the Dark Knight whispered through Oracle's
command center.  "Go ahead, O2."
	"Batman, have you seen Nightwing?" James asked.
	In the brief silence before Batman's reply, Dinah
looked at Barbara and shook her head.  "And like
father, like son."
	"Nightwing's not back yet?"  Batman asked, his tone
betraying no surprise or concern.
	"Batman," Barbara broke in, "we have no information
that he ever left Bludhaven."
	"Understood.  I'll get back to you."  Batman ended
his transmission abruptly, but James' expression had
lightened.  He pulled his chair back next to Barbara
and slapped a command into her keyboard, shutting down
the offending tracking program with a final disdainful
look at the fading screen.
	"He's gonna hear it when he gets home," he grumbled,
curling up against Barbara's arm rest again.
	Dinah laughed.  "Or maybe I should say like mother,
like son."
	Barbara shot her a look.  "Good night, Dinah," she
said firmly.
	"See, James?  No respect."
	A little giggle escaped James.  "That's why we need
to stick together, Bird Babe."
	Dinah smiled at the private joke.  "You got it, Tater
Tot."
	"Good night, Dinah.  See you tomorrow," James
replied.
	Dinah snorted.  "Or later today.  Get some sleep,
kid.  Good night, Barbara."  Dinah's face winked off
the monitor, leaving behind only the JLA desktop.  
	Barbara sighed.  "Shall I make us some hot chocolate,
munchkin?"
	James sat up, eyeing her suspiciously.  "Are you
tryin' to make me fall asleep?"
	Barbara laughed ruefully.  "Do you want to go to
sleep?"
	"Dick's not home," he pointed out stubbornly.
	"I know."  She backed her wheelchair up, turning for
the door.  "And I'm going to have some hot chocolate. 
I can make some for you, too, if you plan on sitting
up with me."
	James looked at the computer monitor, pulling his
knees up to his chest and hugging them to him. 
"Okay," he agreed.  He settled his chin on his knees,
prepared to wait as long as it took for Dick to come
home.

End Part One


Ghosts of Christmas Present
by Chicago
Part 2:  The Art of the Detective

Batman had just nosed the Batmobile off the expressway
and onto the Bristol off ramp when his comlink
activated.  An electronically masked voice came on
line:  "O2 to Batman."
	"Go ahead, O2," he replied.
	There was scarcely a pause before the voice returned.
 "Batman, have you seen Nightwing?"
	That would explain why the boy was still up, Batman
reflected.  "Nightwing's not back yet?" he asked,
knowing he was risking the surprise, but unwilling to
let his adopted grandson stew.
	Oracle's voice came on then, saying, "Batman, we have
no information that he ever left Bludhaven."
	Bruce raised an eyebrow under his cowl.  Dick had
slipped his tracer?  And even through the Oracle
voice, Barbara sounded concerned.  Something wasn't
right.  "Understood.  I'll get back to you."
	Batman frowned as he closed the connection.  It was
unlike Dick to let his family worry, even for the sake
of a surprise.  And he should have been home by now. 
He turned the Batmobile back toward Gotham. 
"Computer," he said, "dial Thompkins."
	There was a pause as the phone rang, then Dr. Leslie
Thompkins' "Hello?" came through.
	"Hi, Leslie.  Sorry about the hour."
	Any trace of bleariness left Leslie's voice.  "Is
everything okay?" she asked sharply.
	"I'm not sure.  Can you tell me when Dick left or
where he might have been going?"
	"He's not home yet?"  She sounded alarmed.  "He left
hours ago."  She paused, and Batman could almost hear
her mentally calming herself.
	"He was late leaving here - he helped me deal with a
belligerent patient before he went on his errand. 
Then after he brought back his 'friend,' he had to
head for the Clocktower before he went home.  That was
around 8:30."
	"The Clocktower?"
	A hint of amusement cut through the concern in
Leslie's voice.  "His 'friend' had a little accident
when Dick was carrying him in."
	"Oh," Batman replied in sudden comprehension.  "I'll
swing by the Tower then. Thanks, Leslie."
	"Let me know when he turns up."
	"I will."
	"Bye."  There was a click as Leslie hung up the
phone, and Batman headed toward midtown to stow the
Batmobile and return to the rooftops.
	Barbara and Dick had decided to maintain the
Clocktower as a home-away-from-home in Gotham even
after they had married and Cassandra had left to live
at the Manor.  Dick had often commented on how much
better it was to have a base in the center of the city
instead of out at the Manor, and whenever Batman asked
for Nightwing's aid in Gotham, they met at the
Clocktower.  It no longer had quite the computer and
security infrastructure it had when Barbara was living
there full time, but it was still a tightly secured
building with substantial hardware.  It took Batman a
few minutes to make his silent and unobserved approach
across the rooftops.
	Those few minutes in familiar territory were long
enough for a million thoughts and questions to flit
through the mind of the Dark Knight.  Had Dick even
made it this far from Leslie's?  If he had, he would
have realized that a shower and load of laundry would
have made him desperately late.  Why wouldn't he have
at least signaled his family?  Batman knew Dick had
been in the clear until 8 p.m., which was when he had
told Barbara and James that his shift was ending.  He
might have been willing to push that envelope until 9
o'clock - 9:30 at the outside - before he would have
broken down and revealed he was in Gotham.
	Where was Dick?  He had left Leslie's at 8:30 and
headed to the Clocktower.  He could have decided to
change into one of the Nightwing costumes he kept in
the Tower and then headed for home on the Wing cycle,
ending up exactly where he was supposed to be at
around 9:30 and radioing in apologies.  That sounded
like -
	Batman's thoughts were interrupted as he landed - or
tried to - on the iron fire escape outside the window
which had become the traditional entry for rooftop
vigilantes.  His feet shot out from under him on the
ice coated metal, sending him hurtling back over the
railing.  Twisting swiftly in mid-air, he just managed
to grab hold of one of the balustrades, leaving him
hanging one-armed over the alley below.  For a moment
he hung there, letting the pain of his wrenched
shoulder subside, and then he pulled himself up,
swinging back onto the fire escape more carefully. 
The parallel iron strips which formed the floor of the
fire escape made them the perfect site for a build up
of almost frictionless ice, and just standing on it
was work.  Batman was reaching for the window - and
the promise of firmer footing inside - when a thought
occurred to him.
	Gingerly shifting his weight on the slick ice, he
turned to inspect the fire escape railing.  The ice
coating there was incomplete - a chunk of it had
broken away.  Grasping another part of the railing for
balance, Batman leaned in closer.  The metal had
caught a hank of hair - short black hair.  Around the
hair he could vaguely pick out a congealed red. 
Blood.
	Steeling himself, Batman closed his eyes, willing
himself to envision a scene he didn't want to think
about.  Dick had come here, parking his car in the
garage space below and entering as Dick Grayson.  He'd
probably showered quickly, suited up, and dashed with
his usual exuberance for the window, planning to vault
to the rooftops and swing over to wherever he had
stashed the Wing cycle on his last visit to Gotham. 
His mind preoccupied with the great Christmas he had
planned for his son, he had assuredly not noticed the
ice until it was too late to react.  In his mind's
eye, Batman retraced the maneuver he had seen
Nightwing execute a million times, seeing exactly how
he would have placed his hands, the way they would
have shot out from under him, altering his momentum,
how his legs would have swung up as his head arced
down, the crack of bone against iron and the ensuing
fall...
	He must have been knocked unconscious, and his fall
would have been uncontrolled.  His limbs might have
banged lower landings on the fire escape until he
landed - Batman took all this into account as he
mentally marked the area in which he might expect to
find Nightwing before he swung down into the alley to
investigate.  Then he shot out a jump line and
dropped, whispering a silent prayer to the fates that,
this night at least, they would spare him another
loss.

	Nightwing wasn't in the alley.  Batman was torn
between relief and panic as he found the shadows empty
of the familiar shape of his son.  Had Dick retained
consciousness, then, and managed to at least get
himself onto the rooftops?  Had he been found
unconscious in the alley and been taken to a hospital?
 Batman paused for a moment, weighing his next move. 
Should he call Oracle now?  He imagined Barbara and
James in the command center, waiting for word.  If he
called them now, he could only say what they already
knew - Dick was missing and might be hurt.  Better to
wait even a few minutes to see if he could find him,
or at least another clue.
	Batman narrowly eyed the overflowing dumpsters and
discarded mattresses that seemed to live in every
Gotham alley, once again mentally projecting the
trajectory of an unconscious man in free fall from the
fire escape above.  His attention focused on a
particularly sloppy pile of garbage bags, spilling
into the alley way and topped by a flopping twin
mattress, soiled and sodden.  Even at their worst,
Gotham residents rarely allowed the contents of their
dumpsters to impede traffic through the alleys -
although they seemed to have no problem driving over
the garbage rather than moving it if it happened to be
in their way.  This pile had the air of one once
carefully stacked and then disturbed.  As if something
or someone had fallen on it from above.
	Picking a path through the trash bags, Batman noticed
some had ruptured and split.  The cold Gotham night
minimized the odor of rot and decay and urine that
always pervaded alley dumpsters, but even if it had
been high summer, Batman would not have been deterred.
 A dark patch on the mattress had caught his
attention, a spreading stain that appeared fresher
than the other dark and dingy patterns of grime. 
Again blood.  Not as much as there could have been,
thankfully, but still blood.
	Carefully inspecting the disarray of the garbage and
looking again toward the fire escape high above,
Batman did not allow himself to think of how lucky
Dick probably was to be alive.  Instead he focused on
the clues - where had he gone from here?  From the way
the garbage was strewn, it appeared that he had
regained consciousness and left under his own power. 
Had he been disoriented?  Suffering memory loss?  What
would Nightwing do upon awaking with a head injury and
possibly other hurts in a pile of garbage?  Call home
was the obvious answer, but he had not done that.  His
comlink must have been damaged in the fall.  Head for
home, then, Batman decided, resuming his careful
search for clues.
	There was a blood smear at the end of the alley at
about Dick's shoulder height, a barely discernable
red-brownness against the grimy yellow brick of the
building adjacent to the Clocktower.  On closer
inspection, it was clearly a mark made by a hand, as
if a wave of dizziness had compelled Nightwing to grab
the wall for support.  Batman pushed down the knot
that grew in his stomach at this image, focusing
instead on imagining his son's next steps.  His eyes
scanned the surrounding buildings.
	As if on cue, the moon emerged into a hole between
scudding clouds, casting faint illumination on the
grotesques and gargoyles of the upper reaches of
Gotham.  Almost unconsciously Batman rested his eyes
on one of the stone monsters that Nightwing had once
proclaimed his favorite in all of Gotham.  It was a
fantastical demon, but one upon which the carver had
bestowed a faintly bewildered expression.  The curves
of stone had been the perfect hiding place for a tired
and bored Robin on long stakeouts, creating a little
nest where Dick had nodded off more than once as a
boy.  As he grew, he still favored this gargoyle when
working in this part of town.  Although he could no
longer cuddle up in its recesses, he claimed it still
made a comfortable lounging perch.  In later years,
Batman began to suspect he was more entranced with the
view of the occupant of the Clocktower that he could
get from that gargoyle than with any inherent comfort
of the cold stone.
	Now, however, in the fierce wind and intermittent
moonlight, something other than fond memory had caught
his eyes.  For a split second, the weather conditions
perfectly silhouetted an arc of line curling away from
the gargoyle's snout and snapping in the wind.  Batman
checked the time - impossible as it seemed, only
twenty minutes had passed since he had last spoken
with Barbara and James.  In ten minutes, he promised
silently, I'll call, whether I've found him or not. 
Then he shot a grappling line for the gargoyle and
pulled himself back up to the rooftops.
	Nightwing wasn't there, but it was clear he had been.
 The abandoned jump line was uncharacteristic, but it
had caught in such a way that it took two hands and a
good amount of focus for Batman to untangle it and
stow it.  It was the kind of grappling snag that Dick
always compared to the frustration of having a fish
swallow the hook.  The joking complaint always brought
an image to Bruce's mind of Dick, eight years old and
barefoot, fishing in some small town creek with Pop
Haly. 
	The jump lines tucked away, Batman inspected the
rooftop.  Old snow, crusted with ice from the earlier
freezing rain, revealed staggering footprints heading
vaguely toward the opposite corner of the roof -
toward Robinson Park.  There were again faint traces
of blood as Batman followed the trail, and then a
faint acrid odor of vomit.  As Batman stared at the
knee prints in the snow and a single handprint where
Nightwing had braced himself against his fall, his
comlink beeped.  Dinah's voice came through his cowl. 
"Batman."	
	"Yes, Canary,"  Batman winced.  He had been as guilty
as Nightwing of not checking in. "Is everything okay?"
	"Alfred and I were wondering if there was any word on
our missing friend."  
	She must have been talking to Barbara, Batman
realized.  Her voice was professional, but it carried
a hint of concern and understanding.  He closed his
eyes.  Yes, Dinah had always understood how he felt
about his family, even when he hadn't himself.  "I'm
tracking him now."  Then he had a thought that started
him flying back toward the Batmobile.  "Canary, I need
you to check the daily log for the Robinson Park
complex."
	He heard her relay the request to Alfred and smiled. 
It wasn't that she couldn't learn computers, but she
knew how to be resistant.  Her cheer almost deafened
him.  "WOO HOO!  You are a genius, Mr. Bat.  One
Nightwing, entering the complex at 11:02 p.m., and out
the door at 11:28.  Shall I alert Oracle?"
	"Negative."
	"Bruce!  They're worried sick!  You can't-"
	"Dinah, I'm following a blood trail," he said curtly.
	There was a stunned silence, and then Dinah faintly
saying, "Oh god..."
	He wanted to reassure her as he settled into the
Batmobile, but by the time he pulled out of the alley,
Alfred's voice had replaced Dinah's.  "Sir, what is
the situation?" he asked properly, hiding the worry
Bruce knew he felt.
	"He fell, Alfred.  Head injury at least from what I
can piece together.  I just want to check something,
then I'll give Oracle the heads up."
	"Please do, sir.  Worrying for a loved one is never a
pleasant experience."
	"I know, Alfred.  Is Dinah okay?"
	"She will be better when Master Dick is found and you
have returned home."
	"So will I, Alfred."
	"Good enough, sir.  We will be waiting to hear from
you."
	The line went dead as Batman snaked the car through
the elaborate tunnel entrance under Robinson Park.  He
was out of the car and to the motorcycle bay in
seconds.
	The Wing cycle was still there, but a more civilian
bike was gone.  Batman squatted to inspect the ground
around the bike stall.  Again, there were a few traces
of blood - and something else.  Batman picked up the
mask that lay on the floor.  Nightwing might have
entered this complex, but it was Dick Grayson who had
left it.  Whatever was running through his mind, Dick
had decided to take his injuries home to his wife and
son.
	Batman straightened and opened a channel.  "Batman to
Oracle."
	The reply was instantaneous.  "Oracle here.  Have you
found him?"
	"He should be en route to your location.  He-" 
	A beeping sound interrupted him, and he heard James
in the background yell, "He's home!"
	"James-!  Sorry, Batman.  But I've got to go."
	"Barbara, wait.  You need to know -"  But the line
had gone dead.
	Batman pushed back his cowl and sighed, thankful that
Dick had made it home, that he wasn't lying dead on
the highway between Gotham and Bludhaven.  He stared
at the mask in his hand, the legacy of two decades as
a parent.  Two foundling boys he'd raised - or tried
to.  One was lying cold in the ground this Christmas
Eve.  The other he'd almost lost too many times to
count.  Bruce Wayne slipped his hand from his glove to
dash away a single tear of relief and weariness.  How
would he handle the new babies on the way, he
wondered?  Had he learned from his mistakes?
	He quietly secreted the Nightwing mask into a belt
compartment and replaced his glove and cowl, settling
back into his Dark Knight persona.  He was still
worried about Dick, but Barbara would call with
updates.  It had been a long night, and part of his
family was still waiting for him to come home.

End Part Two


Ghosts of Christmas Present 
by Chicago
Part 3:  The Other Side of Heroism

	"One...two... Damn!"
	"Language, James.  Aha!  One... Two... Three!  I win
again!"
	"No fair, you were starting a lecture.  You
distracted me!"
"Are you going to come up with an excuse every time
you lose?  'Cuz that's just sad."
	James gave Barbara a withering look, then held out
his hand.  "Let's go again."
	Barbara looked at his hand for a minute.  "You like
punishment, don't you?"
	James waved his hand insistently.  "Whatsa matter,
ol' lady?  Ya tired?"
	"Oh, so that's how it's going to be."  Barbara
interlaced her fingers with James' and stuck up her
thumb.  "Bring it on, potato boy."
James set his jaw in childish determination - his
"game face" - and stuck up his thumb.  "You're going
down."
	Barbara quirked an eyebrow mildly.  "Oh, really? 
Let's go."
	Barbara had almost pinned James' thumb for the fourth
consecutive round when the Bat insignia popped up on
the computer, disrupting the cityscape screensaver.
"Batman to Oracle."
	Both Barbara and James turned to the monitor, their
game instantly forgotten. "Oracle here.  Have you
found him?"
	Batman's voice was level.  "He should be en route to
your location.  He-" 
	Almost as if on cue, the beeping of a low level
intruder alarm sounded, flashing an image of the front
entrance of the Grayson home.  "He's home!" James
yelled, flying out of his chair toward the front door
faster than Barbara could make a grab at his arm. 
	"James-!"  A glance at the monitor was enough to tell
her that the boy was right, and her relief was
tempered by anger at the hours of apparently needless
worry.  "Sorry, Batman.  But I've got to go."
	She thought she heard him start to say something as
she closed the connection, but it did not matter. 
Dick was home, and he was going to get a firm talking
to.
	By the time Barbara reached the entrance way, Dick
had made it through the front door and was being
pummeled by James.  "Where WERE you?" the boy was
demanding, choking on sobs as his fists reached for
Dick's chest.  "We were worried, we thought -"
	Dick was slumping against the wall under his son's
assault, wincing as the arm he held curled
protectively against his body took several of the
boy's wildly unaimed blows.  "Spud," he whispered in
protest.
	At the sound of his nickname, James pulled back as if
burned.  He stood back, trembling, staring at his
adoptive father, taking in the unsteadiness of his
stance and his pale, drawn features.  He seemed rooted
to the spot, caught in a private nightmare.
	Barbara whisked into action, wheeling up to Dick just
as it seemed his knees were about to buckle.  He
reached silently for her with his good arm, dropping
to one knee and then slipping to the floor, his
forehead resting against Barbara's arm rest and his
hand in hers.  Dick's hand was purplish with cold and
the hair on the back of his head was matted with
blood.  Barbara felt her stomach constricting, but she
had no time for her own fear.  James still stood
rigid, his face drained of color, and Dick needed
immediate attention.
	"James," she began, her voice reflecting a firm
calmness she didn't feel, "run to the linen closet and
get me one of those big blankets."
	The sound of her voice seemed to snap James out of
his spell, and he scrambled to follow orders. 
Barbara, meanwhile, leaned down, putting a gentle hand
on Dick's back and trying not to notice how very cold
he seemed.  "Dick, honey," she said softly.
	"I'm sorry, Babs," he mumbled.  "Is James-?"
	"Shh.  Dick, I need you to get up for me, honey.  I
can't treat you in the foyer."  Barely taking her eyes
from her husband, she accepted the requested blanket
from James and draped it over Dick's shoulders. 
"Thanks, James."
	Dick lifted his head and smiled weakly at the boy
hovering nearby.  "Hey, Spud.  I did it again, didn't
I?"
	Barbara could see James swallowing  tears.  His voice
was rough as he stepped forward and pulled Dick's
injured arm around him, saying, "Come on, Dick.  On
your feet."
	Dick seemed vaguely bemused as James bullied him
upright and led him to the med bay tucked into the
basement of the Grayson home.  Barbara narrowly
watched Dick's staggering footsteps as he propped
himself along the wall with his good arm to avoid
putting too much of his weight on his son.  At least
he wasn't limping, she noted with relief.  The head
injury looked scary, but Dick seemed relatively
coherent and she had seen worse.  She suspected the
arm that Dick was hanging awkwardly around James'
shoulders was broken, which would aggravate Dick and
lead to some cranky arguments in the coming weeks. 
The coldness of his body troubled her, suggesting as
it did mild hypothermia, but she could feel her panic
easing as James helped Dick through her workroom and
into the elevator.  She knew what she needed to do.
	Her tone was brisk as she exited the elevator and
directed James to sit Dick down on the examination
table.  "Okay, let's get this down to a level where I
can see you," she said.  "Watch your toes."  She
pressed a button which gradually lowered the bed,
allowing her to really inspect and deal with Dick's
injuries.  She noticed that as the bed lowered, Dick
began shivering uncontrollably.
	Wheeling in front of Dick, she took hold of his now
more pale than purple hand and drew it to her for
inspection.  "James, wrap that blanket a little more
tightly over Dick's shoulders for me," she ordered. 
While James hurried to help, Barbara saw that color
was beginning to return to Dick's bloodless fingers. 
No frostbite, she noted with relief, just cold.  
	"Dick, where are your gloves?"
	"F-f-f-org-g-got-t-t 'em," he gritted through
chattering teeth.
	"And you rode your cycle home, didn't you?"
	Dick nodded.
	Barbara shot a glance at James, who still knelt on
the bed beside Dick, his hands hanging helplessly as
Dick continued to shiver.  "Let that be a lesson to
you, James.  Riding a motorcycle in December without
gloves is a bad idea.  Now, Dick, I'm going to examine
this knot on your head, okay?  James, can you get
Alfred on the line for me?"
	James reacted instantly to Barbara's request, anxious
to be doing anything other than watching uselessly as
Dick trembled with cold.  As Barbara ran a basin of
warm water to clean the blood away from Dick's injury,
James slipped into a chair facing one of the
omnipresent computers in the Grayson home.  His
fingers flew swiftly over the keyboard, summoning up
Alfred's kindly face on the wide monitor.
	"Hello Master James," Alfred said before James could
open his mouth.  "I understand our missing bird has
returned home."
	James nodded dumbly, feeling tears start to well in
his eyes again.
	"Master Bruce has radioed us that Master Dick might
be injured," Alfred prompted.
	The butler's words echoed in James' head, keying
recognition.  Alfred would be worried, too, he
realized, and found his voice.  "He hit his head, and
I think his arm is broken," he reported.  Then, with a
worried glance back at the bed where Barbara was
continuing to work, he dropped his voice and his eyes.
 "He won't stop shivering.  I got him a blanket, but I
can't get him warm."
	"No wonder on such a cold Gotham night, young Master
James," Alfred replied.  "He needs to get something
warming inside him.  Some hot broth, perhaps."
	James was listening, but Alfred's words could not
push past the image of Dick's shuddering form. 
"Master James!" Alfred suddenly barked.
	James looked up, startled.  "That's better.  Miss
Barbara will have her hands full tending to Master
Dick's injuries.  It is up to you to help her get him
warm.  You will go to the kitchen and prepare some
broth as I have taught you to make."
	James stared at Alfred.  Leave Dick?  He couldn't
leave...
	Alfred's face softened as he looked into the boy's
eyes.  "Master James, I know how you desire to be
there for him," he said quietly.  "It is sometimes the
price of heroism that we can best help someone we
love-"
	"-by doing what needs to be done elsewhere," James
finished, drawing courage from Alfred's mantra and
from the kind confidence in the old man's eyes. 
"Thanks, Alfred," he whispered before activating the
room wide camera.  
	"Babs, I got Alfred," he called, hopping up from his
seat.
	"Thanks, James.  Hi, Alfred."
	"Miss Barbara.  Ah, Master Dick.  Good to see you are
conscious."
	"Ow!  G-g-got-t-t  C-c-christmas d-d-dinner
s-st-st-tarted-d yet-t-t?" Dick quipped, sending a
palpable wave of relief through the room.
	"Whoa, James," Barbara suddenly interrupted.  "Where
are you going?"
	James paused at the elevator door.  "I gotta go make
some hot broth."  
	He dashed into the waiting elevator, oblivious to the
grateful look that Barbara gave Alfred.
	By the time James returned, carefully balancing a
tray of three mugs, Dick's shivering had eased, if not
completely ended, and Barbara had splinted his broken
left wrist.  Barbara was again inspecting the back of
Dick's head.  "...probably right, Alfred.  It looks
like stitches are in order," she was saying.
	"Ohh," Dick groaned.  "My h-head hurts-s en-nough
alr-ready."
	"You are just lucky you are so hard-headed, Master
Dick.  And lucky that Master James is around to
question your whereabouts in the middle of the night."
	Dick turned his attention to James, smiling at the
concentration with which he bore his tray.  "I am
l-lucky," he murmured, ruffling James hair.  "Hey,
i-is that-t h-hot choc-colate?"
	James gave Dick a hard glare.  "That's mine.  You get
broth.  And Babs, I brought you coffee."
	"Thanks, James," Barbara answered, giving him a quick
smile and returning her attention to preparing a tray
of equipment for stitching Dick's wound.
	Dick accepted his mug of broth with a faint pout at
James, who set his tray down on a small side table and
hopped up next to Dick on the examining table.  "So,
Dick," he said with careful nonchalance, "what
happened?"
	Dick finished a swallow of broth.  "Just like
Alfred's," he remarked with a hint of surprise.
	On the wide monitor, a faint smile appeared on
Alfred's face.  "I believe the lad asked you a
question, Master Dick."
	Dick frowned.  "I'm not sure.  I don't even remember
what I was doing in Gotham.  I was by the Clocktower
when I came to-"
	"You fell," a new voice said as Bruce's face came
into the picture behind Alfred.  "Are you all right,
Dick?"
	"He'll be right as rain as soon as I get him stitched
up, here," Barbara interjected.  She laid a hand on
Dick's shoulder.  "Sit still."
	"Yes, ma'am," he replied, then looked back to the
monitor, his face again puzzled.  "I fell?"
	"Slipped, actually.  On the fire escape.  It was
icy."
	James was regarding Dick with a mix of concern and
amusement.  "You slipped on ice?"
	"Don't move, Dick," Barbara warned.
	"I don't remember.  Bruce, was - why was I in
Gotham?"
	"That's what I'd like to know," James interrupted. 
"You slipped your tracer, you never gave any signal-"
	"James," Barbara cautioned gently.  "I'm sure Dick
thought it was a good idea at the time."
	"OW!  Babs-"
	"What?" Barbara replied innocently.  "Almost done."
	James caught Barbara's eye as she smiled faintly,
finishing her last stitch and unwrapping a sterile
dressing.  A tightness in him began to loosen as he
took a sip of hot chocolate.
	"Master Bruce, I think we should postpone our
Christmas Eve dinner until early evening given the
events of the night," Alfred was suggesting.  James
wasn't really listening anymore.  He felt Dick's
splinted arm encircle him, pulling him into the warmth
of the blanket Dick still wore over his shoulders.
	"Good idea, Alfred.  We'll see you kids this
afternoon?"
	"We'll be there, Bruce," Barbara replied, crossing to
the keyboard.  "Give Dinah my love."
	"I will," Bruce replied.  "Good night."
	Barbara severed the connection and looked back to
Dick and James.  Dick was regarding James fondly. 
"I'm sorry I made you worry, Spud," he murmured,
lifting the hot chocolate mug from his son's hands.
	"'S'okay," James mumbled sleepily, curling closer
against Dick's ribs.
	Dick looked up at Barbara.  "I am sorry.  When I woke
up I tried to call you, but I wear my comlink on my
left gauntlet-" He smiled apologetically, nodding
toward the damaged limb that was wrapped around their
son.
	Barbara took a deep breath.  "You scared us, Dick. 
You scared me, which is bad, but you scared James,
which is unconscionable."
	"I know."  Dick gazed at the now sleeping boy, sorry
to have reawakened the anguish of the summer for his
son.  He pushed those memories away, and found his
mind going back to his own youth, to school nights
when he would wait up anyway for the safe return of
his mentor, able to sleep soundly only when he heard
his voice and knew Bruce was home.  He had hated being
left at home, not knowing, not being able to be there
if Batman needed him.  He held James a little closer.
	Barbara interrupted his thoughts.  "Well, we've got a
good few hours to stay awake before I'll feel
comfortable letting you sleep.  I should take James to
bed."
	"I'll take him," Dick replied.
	"Uh uhn, former Boy Wonder.  You are not even
thinking about exerting yourself in your condition."
	Dick hesitated.  "Let's let him sleep here.  I'll
pull up a chair, and we can talk."
	Barbara gave Dick an unreadable look, then sighed. 
"I have mixed feelings about letting him sleep on the
examining table, but fine.  I'll get some more
blankets."
	Dick reached out as she turned, catching the back of
her chair.  "Babs?"
	There was a hint of impatience in Barbara's tone. 
"Yes?"
	"I love you, Babs."
	Barbara pulled away with a snort, not wanting Dick to
see her suddenly tearing eyes.  "Dick Grayson, you
better hope this surprise of yours is worth what you
put us through tonight."
	Dick stared at her retreating back, guilt and
bewilderment warring in him.  "Surprise?" he mouthed.

End Part Three

Ghosts of Christmas Present
by Chicago
Part 4: Home for the Holidays

	Lian entered Wayne Manor with a casual saunter.  "Hi,
Alfie!" she said cheerily to the man holding the door.
	Two steps behind her, an amused Roy Harper was
saying, "Alfie, I'll never figure out how you are
always at the door as soon as anyone - WHOA!"  Roy
pinwheeled his arms to avoid colliding with his
daughter, who had frozen in her tracks.  "Lian, wh-" 
	Roy fell silent as he took in the transformed Wayne
Manor.  He had seen it in its austerely tasteful
holiday face, but this!  Just past the arch of the
entrance way, the main hall beckoned invitingly.  A
fire blazed and danced cheerfully in the giant
fireplace, and a huge Christmas tree dominated one
corner of the room, twinkling with lights.  Under its
branches were piled boxes and bundles of all possible
sizes and shapes.  A pair of electric train tracks
curved around the tree before disappearing off down
halls in either direction, then reemerging at other
points in the room.  Holly boughs trimmed the newel
posts, and ivy wound along just below the banister to
the second floor.  The weak light of the overcast
December midday became magical in this space.
	"Roy," a voice chided, "you should know better than
to ask Alfred how he does things."
	"Gramma Canary!" Lian yelled, dashing to where Dinah
had just stepped out from the far side of the tree. 
She leaped the train track - now occupied by an old
style electric train heading off into another room -
with an easy grace and caught Dinah in a bear hug.
	"Hi Lian," Dinah laughed. 
	Lian leaned back to look into Dinah's face.  "Wow,
Gramma.  I can't even get my arms around you!"
	"Tell me about it!" Dinah replied, as Roy muttered,
"Oh, Lian..."
	"Where's Uncle Bruce?"
	"In his study, I think.  He chased me out a while
ago.  Something about wrapping presents - so knock
first!" Dinah yelled after Lian's retreating back.
	Roy shook his head.  "I guess she's my kid," he
remarked, opening his arms and hugging Dinah.  "How
you doing, Dinah?"
	Dinah returned his embrace.  "Wonderful.  It's good
to see you."
	"You, too.  Even if you are as big as a house.  OW!"
	Dinah smiled as Roy released her in reaction to her
jab to his ribs.  "So where's Cissie?"
	"C'mon, now, Dinah, I had to give her a holiday off! 
I'm not some kind of ogre who insists on having a
babysitter for my daughter on Christmas."
	"Oh, so you guys are still using that babysitting
excuse."
	Roy's eyes widened in mock indignation.  "Just what
are you trying to imply?"
	"Nothing.  Nothing at all.  You gave your babysitter
a couple days off.  Good for you.  She better have had
a place to go for the holidays, though, Roy Harper, or
you -"
	"Hold on, Dinah!" Roy was laughing.  "Save the wrath
of womankind for when I really deserve it!  She's at
Wonder Girl's."
	"You really could have brought her, you know."
	Roy nodded.  "I know, but -" he lowered his voice and
leaned in toward Dinah conspiratorially - "just
between you and me, I think your husband makes her
nervous."
	"Why would that be, Harper?" a Voice intoned grimly
behind them.
	Roy flinched, then winced as he heard Lian's giggle. 
"Good one, Uncle Bruce!  Daddy, you jumped like -"
	"Yeah, yeah," Roy replied in an annoyed tone.  He
gave Lian a look that only increased her giggles, but
she released Bruce's hand and wrapped her arms around
Roy's waist. 
	"Poor Daddy.  I'll keep the bats away."
	She turned and pulled her ever-present bow from her
shoulder, giving Bruce a menacing look.
	"That's enough, sweetheart," Roy said, clearly
discomfited as Dinah began laughing.
	Bruce, for his part, protectively held the present he
was carrying in front of him.  "Do what you must,
young hero," he said somberly, "but don't damage my
wife's present."
	"Uncle Bruce wrapped it himself!" Lian announced.
	Dinah looked at the box, mostly covered in a snowman
patterned paper - and partly covered in wrapping paper
with a sledding theme.  The corners were more wadded
than folded, and there was way more tape than was
strictly necessary holding the paper to itself.  "I
see that," Dinah remarked.  She tiptoed to kiss his
cheek.  "It looks lovely, Bruce."
	Roy wasn't sure, but he thought he saw a faint blush
in Bruce's cheeks as he knelt to tuck the gift under
the tree with the other presents.
	"So where's Sp - I mean, James?" Lian asked suddenly.
 "I haven't seen him in forever."
	"Try three weeks," Roy corrected.  "But yeah, where
_is_ the Grayson clan?  Is it possible that they are
_late_?"
	"Da-ad-dy," Lian rolled her eyes. "Uncle Dick is
never late.  And even if he wanted to be, Auntie Babs
would never let him."
	Dinah glanced at Bruce, but he was making himself
busy with the tree.  He had tried not to wake her when
he crept into bed at 3 a.m., after even Alfred had
retired.  Her own sleep, however, had been fitful at
best as she reluctantly tried to get the rest Bruce
insisted she needed.  She had stayed in the Cave until
Bruce returned and they both knew that Dick was home
safe, if a little worse for wear.  She still went to
bed worried, though, and woke instantly as the
mattress gave under Bruce's weight.  She had curled up
against the back he kept turned to her, her arm around
him, and said nothing as Bruce's shudderingly silent
sobs tore at her heart.  She wondered if anyone began
to suspect how truly deeply he worried for his family.
	She sighed.  "Dick had an - accident - last night."
	"Is he-?"
	"Uncl-?"
	She held up a hand to stay Roy's and Lian's concern. 
"He's okay, but they had kind of long night over there
in Bludhaven."
	Lian glanced up at her father, and Dinah could see
how tightly she was holding Roy's hand.  Not for the
first time, Dinah wondered at the wisdom of bringing
children into such danger prone families.  She
forcibly shoved this line of thought aside to answer
Roy, who asked, "What happened?" 
	"I'm not entirely sure.  He was in Gotham for
something and ended up falling off the Clocktower fire
escape-" Dinah continued past the hissing intake of
Roy's breath -"and somehow managed to not become
street pizza."
	Roy's eyes narrowed suspiciously.  "Nightwing fell?"
	"Babs says he can't remember what he was doing.  But
he's fine, guys, really, and they'll all be here
around 2."
	"Hey, all the more Christmas eve dinner for the rest
of us!" Roy joked with forced cheer, giving Lian's
hand a squeeze.
	"Actually, Master Roy," Alfred began as he appeared
from around the corner, "we've pushed back dinner
until 4.  An email and a voice mail were sent."
	""Told ya we shoulda checked, Daddy," Lian sniffed,
releasing Roy's hand to find out what had caught
Bruce's attention on the tree.
	"I have taken the liberty of preparing a light
lunch," Alfred continued, watching as Lian seemed to
ask Bruce about a new train now curving around the
tree before disappearing to another part of Manor. 
"Miss Dinah, you must eat, and I assume the rest of
you will join her."
	"Well, in that case," Roy declared, holding his arm
out to Dinah with a flourish, "may I escort you to
lunch, Miss Dinah?"
	Dinah accepted his arm.  "Why thank you, gallant
sir!"
	Observing this, Lian turned to Bruce and grabbed one
of his hands with both of hers, pulling him forward. 
"C'mon, Uncle Bruce, before Daddy eats everything!"
	Alfred nodded his satisfaction and returned to the
kitchen to remove a pan of Christmas cookies from the
oven and roll out more dough.  He smiled faintly to
himself - a proper family Christmas at Wayne Manor! 
He'd scarcely dared hope for such a thing, learning
long ago to count a merry Christmas as one when he
knew all his charges were home safe by midnight and
were all on speaking terms.
	He paused in his kitchen labors to look in on how his
family was doing with the buffet of finger sandwiches
and snacks he'd prepared.  He could hear their
laughter down the hall, and his thoughts went unbidden
to Christmases thirty-odd years past, when family
laughter had been a regular feature of life at the
Manor.  "It has taken us a long time to get here," he
thought in silent appeal to Bruce's long dead parents,
"but I believe I've finally gotten close to your dream
for your son."
	Bruce, of course, was not one of the participants in
the laughter.  He sat to one side, watching the
interaction between Roy, Lian and Dinah.  Someone else
might dismiss him as his usual brooding self, but
Alfred knew better.  Bruce's face wore a mild
expression, thoughtful, and Alfred speculated that he
was wondering at the blending of his family and
Dinah's.  Night and day, Alfred thought, as Lian
tossed grapes into her father's mouth with perfect
accuracy.  Roy danced around, continually shifting the
target, but even Lian's giggling did not disrupt her
aim.
	"Well, no doubt who's child she is," Dinah remarked
from where she lounged in an arm chair.  She had
removed her shoes and had propped her bare feet on a
foot stool.  Alfred watched as she looked for a place
to set her plate of food and made a sudden discovery. 
"Hey, guys, look what the babies can do!"
	There was a pause in the antics as all eyes turned to
her, and Roy burst out laughing.  Dinah's plate was
perfectly balanced on her swollen belly.  Lian
scrambled over to inspect from all sides.  "It's
really just sitting there like on a table!" she
announced.
	"It's their father's genes," Dinah determined, giving
Bruce an affectionate glance.
	Just as she spoke, though, the plate jumped on her
belly.  Lian jerked back, startled,  and Roy stared in
wonder.  "Was that a kick?" he asked.
	"That was their mother's genes asserting themselves,"
Bruce replied, his eyes resting on his wife,
apparently oblivious to the incredulous look that
passed from Roy to Lian.
	"A joke?" Roy mouthed to his daughter.
	"I can read lips, Harper," the Voice replied.
	Dinah burst out laughing.  "_That_ was definitely a
joke.  I _told_ you he had a sense of humor, Roy."
	"Shh, Gramma Canary," Lian said, all seriousness. 
"It's supposed to be-" she dropped her voice to a
whisper - "a _secret_."
	Roy chuckled and shook his head.  "Lian, are there
anymore of those peanut butter and jelly triangles
over there?"
	"Alfie made those for _me_, Daddy."
	Wiping a smile from his face, Alfred picked up a
waiting tray and entered the room.  "I anticipated
that you might be needing more of these, Master Roy."
	"WOO HOO!  No one makes PB&J like you do, Alfie," Roy
declared, snagging three of the little crustless
quarters into which Alfred had cut the white bread
sandwiches.  
	Alfred crossed to Lian and bent down to display the
tray.  "Miss Lian?  I'm afraid your father has left
you only one quarter."
	"S'okay, Alfie, I'm almost full, anyway," she
replied, grabbing the remaining quarter and a few
pickles.
	"And Miss Dinah," he said, turning to the lady of the
house, "I took the liberty of making a few of those
tuna-salad-and-turnip-slice quarters than you've taken
a fancy to."
	"Oh, Alfred!  On pumpernickel, too!" Dinah exclaimed
in delight as Roy choked on his sandwich and Lian
crossed the room to thump him helpfully on the back. 
"You always know exactly what I want!"  She
enthusiastically picked up the quarters, munching them
with gusto.
	"Tuna and turnips?" Roy spluttered, pulling a
disgusted face.
	"On pumpernickel!  Nutty, mushy, crunchy perfection!"
	Alfred set a tray table beside Dinah's chair and set
a glass of milk on it.  "Don't forget to drink this,
Miss Dinah," he instructed, then drifted away to begin
collecting empty dishes to take back with him to the
kitchen.  He paused in his duty only long enough to
give Bruce a quick squeeze on the shoulder, pleased to
see the smallest of smiles had settled onto his
surrogate son's lips.
	Roy washed down the last of his sandwiches with a
glass of milk and a satisfied sigh.  "Lian, you an' me
should go get the presents out of the car."
	"I can help with that," Bruce volunteered, rising
from his chair.  "Then you can pull your car into the
garage for the night."
	"Won't we need it for the trip to the orphanage?" Roy
asked.
	"We're going to take Tim's mini-van," Dinah replied,
"and another of Bruce's vans for the presents for the
kids.  And while you guys are emptying Roy's car-" she
stood up awkwardly "- I'm going to take these glasses
back to Alfred in the kitchen and stay here where it's
warm."
	"Sounds like a plan.  Ready, Lian?"
	Lian gave her father a salute.  "Give the word."
	Roy rolled his eyes.  "Come on, kiddo."  Then a
mischievous smile crossed his face.  "Last one to the
car is a rotten bat!"
	Lian and Roy took off in a mad rush, leaving Bruce
staring after them for a moment before he headed for
the door.  Dinah laughed.  "Guess that'd be you,
Bruce.  Looks like Roy's got you pegged."
	Bruce just shook his head.  "And to think I wondered
where Dick picked that up."
	By the time he reached the car, Roy had the trunk
open and was shifting boxes around in order to
efficiently stack them in the waiting arms of his
helpers.  He'd just cleared space to remove the
largest package when a car pulled up behind them.  
	Lian pulled at Bruce's arm to look at his watch. 
"See, Daddy.  Never late," she reported, holding
Bruce's wrist up as evidence.
	The car's engine shut off, and Lian dropped Bruce's
arm to greet its passengers.  She had jumped into
Dick's arms almost before he had stepped out of the
front passenger seat.  "Uncle Wing!" she cried,
hugging him fiercely.  
	Dick chuckled.  "Hello to you, too, Lian."
	"You hurt your head," she observed with a pout.
	"And his arm," James observed dryly, causing Lian to
drop guiltily to the ground.
	"Oh.  Sorry, Uncle Wing-"
	"It's okay, Lian," Dick replied, resting a stilling
hand on James' shoulder.
	Bruce, meanwhile, had approached the driver's side,
where Barbara was expertly opening her wheelchair and
transferring herself to it.  He leaned down to hug
her.  "Hey, Barbara.  How was traffic?"
	She smiled.  "Hi Bruce.  Not bad.  I'm glad the snow
held off."
	"Me, too," Roy agreed smoothly.  "I'd hate for the
belle of this ball to be at all delayed."  He leaned
over to kiss Barbara's cheek.
	"Hands off the wife, Roy," Dick growled playfully,
coming around the car.
	"What?  A guy can't appreciate his friend's gorgeous
wife?"  Then sotto voce to Barbara, "So when you gonna
dump trapeze boy and let me show you my arsenal?"
	"Roy," Dick protested as Barbara giggled.
	Roy opened his arms to his friend and caught him in a
bear hug.  "Hey Dick.  You okay?"
	"Right as rain. How you doin', buddy?  Keeping out of
trouble?"
	"Hey," he replied.
	"It's me," they finished together, laughing.
	Lian rolled her eyes and looked at James.  "They're
quoting Star Wars again."  Her tone was exasperated.
	James shrugged and walked to Bruce, taking his hand. 
"Hi, Bruce," he said, looking up at  him.
	Bruce ruffled James' hair.  "You hanging in there,
James?"
	The boy nodded, but he seemed ready to squirm away
from the hint of concern in Bruce's voice.  "Hey,
Roy!" he called, pulling away from Bruce.  "You wanna
hear how Dick cracked his head?"
	Roy laughed as Dick put his hand to his head and
groaned, "Help me, Babs."
	"James, let's unpack the car first, eh?" Babs
suggested, a faint smile playing on her lips.
	Roy knelt down to James.  "You'll tell me later,
right, Potatohead?"
	James grinned devilishly.  "You know it.  It's just
_too_ good."
	"Let me help, Auntie Babs," Lian insisted, brushing
past the conspiratorial pair.
	"Hey, you were helping me!" Roy protested.
	"James can help you," Lian shot back.  She turned
back to Barbara, rolling her eyes.  "Boys," she said
with disgust.
	"Well, can someone help _me_?" came Dick's muffled
voice from behind a precarious stack of boxes.  He had
already begun unloading the trunk of the Grayson car
and had an uncertain grip on the packages in his arms.
	Bruce stepped forward quickly, catching the stack
before it crashed to the ground and removing a few of
the more awkward parcels from Dick's arms.  "It's good
to see you, Dick," he said quietly.
	Dick met his eyes briefly before returning his
attention to his unpacking.  "You too, Bruce," he
murmured, then called, "Babs, let me put this stuff in
your lap."
	"I got it, Dick," she replied, accepting the stack.  
	Soon, all arms were laden with packages.  "This is
going to take a second trip," Roy observed.
	"We can bring the rest in through the garage entrance
when we pull the cars around," Dick suggested, walking
beside Barbara as she wheeled up the ramp to the
Manor's front door.  
	James and Lian dashed ahead on the stairs, vying to
be the one who rang the bell.  Barbara winced as a
parcel dropped from James' hands.  "I hope you didn't
give them anything fragile to carry."
	Dick shrugged.  "I don't even know what's in these
boxes, remember?"
	Babs paused to stare at her husband for a second,
then shook her head when she realized he was teasing. 
 "You're hopeless, Grayson."
	"Nope.  I've got you," he replied, leaning swiftly to
kiss her cheek as the front door to the Manor opened.
	"My word!  I sent out three and got back six!" Alfred
Pennyworth exclaimed, opening the door wide for his
family.  Inside the Manor, a clock struck two.
	"Oh, Alfie, you knew they were here," Lian objected,
hopping in the door with her packages.
	James cast a disparaging look after her.  "Hi,
_Alfred_," he said pointedly.
	"Master James, you seem to have dropped a parcel,"
Alfred replied in gentle reprimand, sending the boy
back to pick it up.
	Barbara grinned.  "Thanks, Alfred.  Dinah said you'd
worked wonders - oh!"  Barbara wheeled her chair just
clear of the door and sat staring at the Christmas
wonder visible from the main entrance.  
	"Miss Barbara, you are too kind.  Welcome home,
Master Dick."
	"Hey, Al," Dick replied cheerfully.  "I'm just going
to drop this load and head on back- whoa!  Man, Dinah
wasn't kidding."
	"What, you never seen a Christmas tree before? 
Thanks, Alfie." Roy slipped past the halted Graysons
to cross through the main hall, step over the train
tracks and add his armload of presents to the growing
stack under the tree.
	"We planned to finish trimming it after dinner,"
Bruce put in, following close behind Roy.  "It's just
got the manufactured baubles on it now.  Nothing
family."
	"Alfred," came James plaintive cry from just beyond
the door, "they gave me too much to carry!  I keep
droppin' stuff."
	Alfred stepped out quickly to help James, and Dick
and Barbara made their way to the tree, marveling at
the soft light and scent of pine that made the Manor
seem as cozily inviting as either of them had ever
seen it.  Dick hopped the train track to drop his
bundles, then accepted the packages that Barbara
handed him from her lap.  Both paused as a toy train
whistle sounded, watching as a locomotive emerged from
around the corner.  The scale model engine was
followed by several cars which caused Barbara to gasp
in delight and look to her husband's face.
	Dick watched raptly as the managerie cars of a circus
train steamed by, his face lit by wonder and
nostalgia.  His eyes followed it until it had finished
it's circuit of the tree and disappeared down a
hallway, then he looked mutely to his mentor.  
	Bruce shrugged.  "We found it mixed in with a bunch
of the stuff we rescued from the quake but hadn't had
time to sort out yet."
	"I see," Dick replied, his voice sounding oddly
constricted.  "Hey, Spud," he said to the boy standing
rapt at the entrance, "hand that stuff over here."
	James jumped to obey.  "You got it, Dick.  You think
we could set up a train set like this back home?"
	Dick looked into his son's shining eyes and glanced
at his beaming wife.  "We'll see."  He hopped to his
feet.  "Roy, let's go get those cars moved."
	"Dick, maybe Roy should-"
	Dick snorted.  "Let Harper park your car?  I don't
think so.  I only need my left hand to steer.  Don't
worry."  He gave Barbara his best devil-may-care grin
and headed for the door, Roy following in his wake.
	"You don't trust me to park Babs' car?" Roy
complained, Dick's reply cut off as the front door
closed behind them.
	A childish wolf whistle from beside her distracted
Barbara from her worry.  "Now _that's_ a fine looking
woman," James declared, crossing the room to give
Dinah a hug.
	Dinah laughed.  "Hey, Tater Tot!  How's it going?"
	"Well, the 'rents had some lame music on the stereo
all the way from Bludhaven-" James ignored Barbara's
protest to this- "and I had to carry all these
presents in, but otherwise, okay.  How about you, Bird
Babe?"
	Dinah lowered her voice.  "Shhh.  Don't tell anyone,
but I think I'm pregnant."
	"Dinah!  Don't encourage him!"  Barbara objected,
accepting a hug from her friend.  "But he's right, you
look great."
	"Yeah, if you count having no waist as looking
great," Dinah snorted.  "Isn't this just fabulous,
though?" she asked, waving a hand to include
everything around them.  
	"It's beautiful, Dinah.  It's just - perfect."
	Dinah's eyes were shining as she glanced at Bruce. 
"I know.  But we can't just stand around the tree all
day.  Alfred has been baking Christmas cookies all day
so that we could decorate them while he works on
dinner."
	"Cookies?" Lian perked up, looking up from the train
controls she was examining.
	"To decorate, not to eat," Dinah admonished.  "You
just had lunch anyway.  But why don't you and James go
help Alfred color the icing?"
	"Okay.  Come on, James."
	James hesitated until Barbara propelled him forward
with a gentle hand on his back.  "We'll catch up," she
assured him.
	As soon as the kids were out of earshot, Dinah's face
turned serious.  "Is Dick okay, Babs?  Really?"
	Barbara sighed.  "He's got Batpower.  He wants to do
backflips to prove he's fine.  Still has that gaping
memory hole.  Wanna tell me what he was up to, Bruce?"
	Bruce shook his head.  "I'm sure that will be cleared
up by this time tomorrow.  But if you ladies will
forgive me, I'm going to take a pass on the cookie
decorating."
	Dinah looked for a moment like she was going to
protest, but a look at Bruce persuaded her not to. 
"Okay, Bruce.  You're off the hook.  But don't be late
to dinner or I'll send the kids after you.  Come on,
Babs."
	"You _so_ are not a better driver than me, Grayson!"
came Roy's voice from down the hall, halting Dinah and
Barbara.
	The response was Dick's laughter.  "You go right on
believing that, Roy."
	The two men emerged into the main hall, their arms
again laden with gifts.  "Dinah!" Dick called in
greeting.  "Let me just dump these packages so I can
give you a hug."
	"Don't drop them, Dick, there's breakables-"
	"Relax, Roy."  Dick lowered his parcels to the ground
with exaggerated care and caught Dinah in a big bear
hug.  "Where're the kids?"
	"With Alfred.  We're all going to decorate cookies,"
Barbara replied, heading her chair in the direction of
the kitchen.
	"Wait for me," Roy called, racing ahead of Barbara. 
The foursome walked together, laughing and joking,
although Dick paused at the hall door.
	"Coming, Bruce?" he asked.
	At Bruce's head shake, Dick shrugged and caught up
with the others, leaving Bruce to listen to their
trailing laughter.  He stood in the now silent
Christmas wonderland for a moment, lost in thought.  A
train whistle sounded again, and the circus train
reappeared around the corner.  Bruce watched it wind
by and down another hallway, remembering how a
ten-year-old Dick had jumped up and down with
excitement that long ago Christmas when he unwrapped
the box it came in.  He watched the train for another
moment, then turned and headed back to his study.

End Part Four


Ghosts of Christmas Present 
by Chicago
Part 5: Oh Tannenbaum

	Lian looked up at the sound of adult laughter.  "I
still don't see why I had to sit at the kids' table,"
she sniffed, with an accusing look at James.
	"Well, it's not like _I_ wanted to sit here," James
replied.  "I normally always sit next to Dinah."
	"Hmph.  Well, you wouldn't have tonight, because _I_
always sit next to Gramma Canary."
	James mouth was open for a hot retort when Alfred
suddenly appeared at their table.  "Master James, Miss
Lian - it is highly inappropriate for guests to snipe
at one another over dinner."
	James hung his head.  "Sorry, Alfred," he mumbled.
	Lian, however, raised her chin defiantly.  "But
Alfie, I'm 11.  That's double digits.  I shouldn't be
sitting with a _kid_."
	Alfred's hand was surreptitiously squeezing James
shoulder as a restraint.  "Miss Lian, had Master Tim
and Miss Cassandra been here, I can assure you that
they also would be sitting at this table."  He ignored
Lian's incredulous look, continuing smoothly, "But I
suspect the problem is that you two have clearly
finished your dinners and are bored.  Perhaps you can
persuade your parents to excuse you."
	Lian needed no further invitation, flying out of her
seat to Roy's side.  "Daddy, can we go play?"
	Roy turned from the table to his daughter's pleading
expression and grinned.  "It's fine by me, sweetheart.
 Wait - did you eat your vegetables?"
	"Dad-dy!"
	"You haven't eaten yours yet, Harper," Dick observed
from across the table.
	Roy barely had time to pick up his spoon before
Alfred's voice sounded directly behind him.  "Master
Roy, if you start a food fight at my table, you will
be joining the children."
	Roy started and lowered his spoon, glaring at the
smug expression on Dick's face.  That expression
faded, though, as Dick watched James approach the head
of the table.
	"Bruce," the boy asked, "is it okay if we go play
downstairs?"
	"Hey!"  Dick exclaimed.  "Shouldn't Barbara and I
have a say in this?"
	James looked pointedly at his father.  "Your house,
your rules.  _His_ house, _his_ rules."
	Dinah almost choked on her milk, and Barbara took one
look at her husband's crestfallen face and could not
contain her laughter.  Roy guffawed heartily.  "Oh,
that's RICH.  Didn't take him long to figure out the
pecking order, did it, Robbie?"
	Bruce glanced around at this cheerful table and
turned under the cover of their laughter to answer
James.  "What did Alfred say?" he asked
	"It was his idea," James answered.
	Alfred shook his head faintly to Bruce's inquiring
glance as Barbara interjected, "Maybe downstairs isn't
the best idea."
	"Well, James, it's my house, but she's still your
mom, and I defer to a mother's better judgment."
	James stomped his foot.  "Oh!  Thanks a lot, Babs."
	"James," Dick warned, earning a nasty look from his
son.
	Lian glanced anxiously from James to Dick, then
grabbed James arm.  "C'mon, James, we'll go play with
the trains.  That's okay, right, Bruce?"
	"That'd be fine," Bruce agreed mildly, noticing that
though she addressed him, Lian's eyes were focused on
Dick.  Nonetheless, as soon as Bruce spoke, both
children dashed away, disciplinary crisis averted.
	Dick shook his head and put his face in his hands for
a moment.  "That boy will be the death of me," he
groaned.
	"Heh.  Welcome to parenthood, Dick - the world's
greatest roller coaster ride," Roy replied, dishing
more potatoes onto his plate.
	Dick smiled wanly at his friend and waved off his
silent offer to pass the potatoes.  As the
conversation moved on, he closed his eyes for a moment
and rubbed the back of his head.  A gentle touch on
his right bicep opened his eyes, and he looked into
his wife's concerned gaze.  "I'm fine," he whispered,
smiling as he kissed her forehead.  "So what's the
plan for the rest of the day?" he asked, raising his
voice.
	Dinah's eyes flicked to Bruce, knowing he had gone
over the schedule with Dick the day before and sensing
his concern for his son.  Bruce's jaw tightened
slightly before he spoke, but he did not betray his
worry.  "Well, Tim and Cassandra should be here
shortly for trimming the tree, and then we'll do our
annual orphanage visit, and-"
	"Then we'll open presents?" Roy asked hopefully. 
"What?" he added, as everyone at the table turned to
look at him.
	"On Christmas Eve?" Dick asked.
	"Fine." Roy slumped back in his chair.  "I shoulda
known you'd be Christmas Day sticklers," he grumbled.
	"Christmas Eve is for Santa Claus missions," Dick
replied, a hint peeved.  "We've been doing it since my
first Christmas here."
	"Yeah, yeah, the sneaking into the orphanage, leaving
the presents, yadda, yadda, yadda.  It's a Bat thing,
isn't it?  Sneaking around, doing good, _maybe_
leaving a note.  I tell you, Dinah, no sense of
showmanship."
	"Oh, I don't know," Dinah replied mischievously,
"there's things you can do with that cape..."
	"Stop!  No!  Too much information!  La la la!"  Roy
had his fingers in his ears, his eyes wide in
not-quite-mock panic.  Dick stared at his friend,
bemused, while Barbara gave Dinah a knowing smirk. 
Bruce was, as always, inscrutable.
	"Why, Roy, I was talking about scaring bad guys,"
Dinah said innocently.  "What were _you_ thinking of?"
	Roy opened his mouth, but any words he might have
come up with were cut off by the squeal of tires
stopping hard and fast.  He looked in alarm around the
table, surprised to see only vague looks of
resignation on the faces of his friends.  "What the
hell-?" 
 	It was Bruce who answered, clearly eager to be away
from the table and its conversation. "Tim let
Cassandra drive again.  I should go greet them."
	Roy watched Bruce's retreating back.  "Was he-?"
	"Probably wants to check that Cass didn't completely
wreck the brakes," Dick said pointedly, closing down
Roy's speculation.  "Let's go check on the kids, Roy."
	Barbara smiled as Dick and Roy disappeared after
Bruce.  "I think you traumatized Roy."
	Dinah laughed.  "Roy's been traumatized all day.  I'm
more worried that I upset Bruce."
	Barbara wheeled over to Dinah and set a hand on her
shoulder.  "Dinah, you're good for him.  Besides, you
noticed that Dick had his back."
	Dinah nodded, pulling herself to her feet and
stretching her back.  "Ugh.  How many more months
until I can see my feet again?"
	"At least one.  C'mon, oh Walking House, let's go
join the others."
	"Very funny, Babs."
	"You love it and you know it," Barbara replied, her
eyes sparkling with fun as she wheeled out toward the
entrance.
	Alfred had opened the door, and James stood right
beside him as Tim and Cassandra entered.
	"-not designed to stop as fast as you can," Tim was
saying.  "I know you understand physics - there's
inertia and-"
	"You said stop.  I stopped."
	"You ignored the 'slow down' part be-"
	"Good evening, Master Tim, Miss Cassandra."
	"Hi, Al.  Can someone please explain to her-"
	"You said stop."
	"Not -"
	Bruce stepped forward.  "Glad you could make it, Tim.
 How are you, Cassandra?"
	Cassandra shot a scowl at Tim.  "Fine."
	"Hey, Bruce.  We gotta go back right after the
orphanage thing, but Bert finally settled down for a
nap, so here we are.  Hi Dinah," Tim leaned over to
kiss her forehead.
	"Hey, Cassandra, leave any rubber on the tires?" Dick
asked, accepting her greeting punch to his palm and
smiling away her concerned touch to his bandaged head.
 He reached up to throw an arm over Tim's shoulder in
a brotherly embrace.  "Hi, Tim."
	"Dick, she got the minivan to 60 on the _driveway_!"
Tim exclaimed in exasperation.
	"It's a long driveway," James defended, taking
Cassandra's hand.
	Cassandra looked down at James and flashed him her
brightest smile.  "Right.  Long driveway."
	"It sure is," Roy interjected.  "You shoulda seen me
an' Dick when we -"  He trailed off, noticing Bruce's
interested expression and Dick's warning look.
	"When you and Dick what?"  Bruce asked.
	"Um - nothing.  Tim, Cassandra, good to see you!" 
Roy gave Cassandra his most winning smile as held out
his palm for his greeting.  "Always good to see
someone making the best of having to drive a mini -
hey!"
	"Back off, Harper," came a low growl, as Roy looked
down to see that James had stepped between him and
Cassandra.
	"Bodyguard," Cassandra explained with a shrug,
setting a hand on James' shoulder.
	"Rude bodyguard," Barbara added, although her
laughing tone destroyed any effort at reprimand.  "Hi,
Cass."
	"Look, a minivan is a practical vehicle.  Bruce has
minivans-" Tim was objecting.
	"It's okay, Uncle Robin," Lian comforted.  "We all
know you could kick everyone's butt if you wanted."
	Tim groaned.  "Thanks, Lian - I think.  Isn't anyone
going to help me here?  I mean, driving is a big
responsibility, and all those rules are there for a
reason, and-"
	"Poor Tim.  An ever unheeded voice of reason."
	"Unless you want someone to run for Chinese for you,"
Dinah added, grinning.
	Tim sighed.  "I can see how tonight's going to go. 
C'mon, Lian.  Let's go look at the tree."
	"That perhaps might be a good place to this entire
gathering," Alfred suggested, gently herding his
family from the front door to the inviting red velvet
settees and chairs that had been pulled away from the
walls and assembled around the tree.  Within the
semicircle described by the chairs sat a large
cardboard box.
	"What - box?" Cassandra asked, pointing at it.
	"It's a project of Alfred's and mine," Dinah
explained, settling into a central chair and pulling
the box closer to her.  "We've been trying to get all
the family Christmas stuff together in one place. 
Between our night jobs and the disasters of the past
several years, it seems like forever since there's
been any kind of real Christmas celebration.  So much
was lost in the quake or shuffled around in moving
that Alfred and I decided that we should start
centralizing any Christmas stuff we found - to bring
some old memories to a new tradition."
	Dinah's speech quieted everyone, and Bruce set a hand
on her shoulder, his eyes mild and shining.  Roy
cuddled Lian closer, while the Grayson men settled
themselves on the floor around Barbara's chair, one
leaning on each armrest.  Tim wound his fingers into
Cassandra's and she gave his hand a little squeeze.
	"Alfred, don't we have a camera somewhere?" Dinah
asked.
	Alfred held one up.  "Already thought of, Miss
Dinah."
	"Alfred, you're the best.  I want you to put up the
first ornament."
	"Me?  Miss Dinah-" But Alfred paused his protest when
Dinah held up a small silver bell.  "My word, Miss
Dinah, I thought that long lost," Alfred's voice was
almost a low whisper as he reverently accepted the
bell.
	"What is it, Alfred?" Roy asked, curious.
	Alfred cleared his throat.  "It's Master Bruce's
christening bell.  His parents had it made into an
ornament to mark his first Christmas..."  His voice
trailed off as he stared at this treasure.  "Where -?"
	Dinah shook her head.  "In one of those million and
one boxes of stuff the workmen sifted from the rubble
of the old Manor."  Her hand held Bruce's tightly, not
daring to look at him for the lump in her throat. 
"Put it on the tree," she urged gently.
	The bell made a little tinkling sound as Alfred
placed it on a bough, the only interruption of the
silence.  Then a flash and a camera click broke the
quiet and everyone turned to Tim.  "Hey, Alfred needs
to get in some of these pictures," he defended
himself.
	Dinah chuckled.  "You're right, Tim.  Okay, let's see
what else is in this box."  She peered into it for a
moment, then said, "A ha!"  She pulled out a two foot
strand of plastic silver beads.  "Mr. Grayson Sr., I
believe these are yours."
	Dick was up instantly.  "I can't believe you found
these!" he exclaimed in delight as Tim and Barbara
laughed.
	James stepped forward to inspect Dick's treasure. 
"That's pretty lame, Dick," he remarked.
	"Hey!" Dick protested.  "I've been putting this on
the tree since - gosh, as long as I lived here."
	"I did try to throw them away," Bruce pointed out.
	"They're pretty!" Dick insisted, his eyes caught by
the chintzy sparkle.
	"Now would you define that as garland or as an
ornament?" Roy asked.  "I mean, it's not really long
enough to be garland..."
	Dick stepped forward to arrange the beads on an open
space in the tree.  "I'd call it pretty," he said
staunchly, stepping back.
	"Whatever," Roy snorted.
	"Pretty," Cassandra agreed, her head tilted to study
the beads on the tree.
	"Thank you, Cassandra.  I always knew you had taste,
even if you do hang with Tim."
	"Hey!" Tim objected.
	"Let's see what else is in this box," Dinah
interrupted, again rustling through tissue paper.
	Several more ornaments had been added to the tree
when Dinah pulled out a small flat box with a frown. 
"I don't remember this one," she said.  "Bruce, it has
your name on it."
	She held it out for him, surprised to see him freeze.
 "Bruce?"
	In the joking and laughter that surrounded them, she
thought for a moment that only she noticed his
reaction as he slowly took the box from her fingers. 
Then Dick was at Bruce's side, his eyes riveted by the
box.  "Oh, Bruce," he whispered.
	The intense silence around these three gradually
stilled the other conversation in the room.  Bruce
stared at the rough, childish handwriting that had
scrawled his name on the top of this box years ago. 
It took all his will to keep his hands from trembling
as he lifted the top and parted the red tissue paper
that was folded over the object within.
	A small gasp escaped Dick as Bruce lifted the
ornament by its string, an amazingly delicate glass
snowflake.  "It didn't break," Dick whispered.  "It
the quake, in the moving..." His voice trailed off as
he stared at this small miracle.
	No one seemed willing to disturb the silence as the
snowflake caught the Christmas lights and reflected
bits of color around the room.  Bruce's voice was
gruff when he finally spoke.  "James, come here."
	James responded promptly, but moved as if mesmerized
by the light dancing on this snowflake.  "Yes, sir,"
he said quietly.
	"James, this is your first Christmas in our family,
so there won't be anything in this box for you to put
on the tree."
	James nodded.  "I know."
	"This-" Bruce paused, then began again.  He could not
bear to look around the room, to see the dawn of
comprehension and hint of tears in Barbara's eyes, the
commingled guilt and sadness in Dick's gaze.  "The boy
- my son - who gave this to me-"
	He had to pause again, and in the silence he heard a
choked sob catch in Dinah's throat.  "He can't- he-"
	James reached out to touch the hand that held the
ornament.  His eyes were serious.  "Jason?" he asked
softly.
	Bruce nodded slowly, his eyes locked with James'.  A
soft "oh" came from Lian's direction, but he did not
turn to see Roy wrap his arms more tightly around his
daughter.  Nor did he take note of the hand Tim
brought to his eyes, or the tightening of Cassandra's
hold on Tim's other hand.
	"Do you want me to-?"
	"Please," Bruce answered, allowing James to lift the
ornament string from his fingers and carry the
delicate creation to the tree.
	James did not pause to consider where the ornament
should go.  He walked directly to Dick's string of
beads and carefully hooked the snowflake on a bough
just below.  Satisfied that the ornament was secure,
he stepped back and studied the arrangement critically
for a moment.  Below the gaudy flash of the beads, the
snowflake seemed to give off an internal light.  The
incongruity, though, made it appear that the beads
were shielding the snowflake - a sturdy outer armor
for the more fragile element beneath.  "Pretty," James
finally announced, turning away.
	James surveyed the emotions on the faces of the
people around him, seeing something familiar in the
barely contained tears and distant stares.  Alfred
gave him a tight smile of approval, and even the old
butler seemed barely in control of his features. 
James' eyes fell on Barbara, and she smiled at him
through wet eyes.  She held out her arms, and James
crawled into her embrace, feeling a little less hollow
in his heart than he had in months.  He stayed in her
lap as Dinah finally gathered herself and plunged back
into the box, finding a plaster disk impressed with
Lian's baby footprints and a Batarang on a string that
Cassandra had presented to Bruce during her early
years as Batgirl.
	When the box was finally empty, the tree had lost
some of it's tasteful perfection.  A neon orange
toothbrush hung from one branch, compliments of Roy. 
Various school projects involving felt and toilet
paper rolls and styrofoam cups and tissue paper dotted
the boughs, mixed in among the elegant glass baubles. 
"It's so beautiful," Dinah sighed in satisfaction.
	Bruce laid his arm across her shoulders.  "Yes it
is," he agreed.  "Not a bad first tree for the new
Wayne-Lance family."
	Dinah smiled, wrapping her arms happily around her
husband.
	"Wait - there's one more thing," Dick interrupted. 
"Spud."
	James grinned and dashed from the room, appearing a
moment later with something in his hands.  "Ready,
Dick?"
	Dick nodded, kneeling to let James hop onto his
shoulders.  With careful movements, James shifted so
that he stood on Dick's shoulders.  Dick held the
boy's right ankle tightly and stabilized his left as
best he could with his splinted wrist.  At James'
signal, he carefully stood.  "They've been
practicing," Barbara reassured the others as James
stretched for the top of the tree, although even she
held her breath for a moment as she watched.
	"A tree-topper?" Roy asked.  "Is it an angel or-"
	"Oh, Daddy, look!" Lian cried, hopping from foot to
foot.  "It's a bat and a canary!"
	As James was transferred surely to the ground, the
others stared at the admittedly odd but fitting figure
with which he had topped the tree.  The black wings of
a bat stretched out almost  in echo of a traditional
angel, and against the black, a gold canary soared.
	"That brings it all together," Dick said with
satisfaction.  "Now let's get some pictures so we can
get going on our Santa Claus mission!"
	"Right," Dinah agreed briskly, gathering and
arranging everyone in front of the tree.  
	Bruce waited a moment, watching this flurry of
activity in the main hall of his family home in
wonder.  "It is a beautiful tree," Alfred murmured at
his elbow.
	"Yes, Alfred.  And a beautiful family.  Thank you."
	"Bruce, get over here," Dinah ordered, cutting off
any reply Alfred might make.  Smiling faintly, Alfred
began setting the camera for a family portrait.

End Part Five


Ghosts of Christmas Present
by Chicago
Part 6:  Out of the Mouths of Babes

	It had been a long day, Tim reflected as he pulled
away from the curb.  He had really begun to feel it as
he and the others began their evening of sneaking
gifts into the orphanage.  It was always a tricky
game, even if through the years the orphanage staff
had become quite complicit with their vigilante Santa
Clauses.  The effort to pull off the annual stunt with
a posse of people, hampered by disability, pregnancy
and youth, had brought out the worrier in Tim.  He
still couldn't figure out how Dick and Bruce had
managed to make it work at all, let alone as quietly
and seamlessly as it had gone off.  'And that's why
I'm still Robin,' he thought wryly.
	The atmosphere in the minivan was decidedly subdued
as Tim navigated back toward the expressway out of
downtown Gotham.  On some level, he longed to stay
with the others as they huddled around windows and a
skylight, watching the excited children unwrap their
gifts.  He and Cass were expected home, however, and
Bert would not forgive them if they were late.  Plus
he had agreed to see the two children strapped into
the captain's chairs behind him safely into Alfred's
hands.
	The quiet hum of road beneath tires was finally
interrupted by Cassandra.  "Little one - like Bert,"
she said, her eyes quickly moving to Tim's face and
then looking away.
	"I know," Tim answered quietly, thinking of the
toddler they'd seen emerging into the room where
they'd set up their tree and gifts.  He was a couple
of years younger than Tim's brother, but he had that
same beatific smile and those ever understanding eyes.
 The little boy had been clinging tightly to an old
receiving blanket with chewed corners and frayed
edges.  Next year, Tim vowed, he'd make sure that
there was a stuffed gator among the toys he donated to
the Batfamily-as-Santa tradition.  Next year and every
year.
	"Uncle Tim?" Lian spoke up from her seat.  "What's
going to happen to those kids?"
	Tim took a deep breath, but he was beaten to an
answer.
	"They get taken to foster parents, maybe," James was
saying flatly.  "And they'll stay with a family until
they show up to school with bruises.  And then
there'll be another family, but it will only take one
brother.  And when the kids try to run away to be
together, the cops will drag them to juvie.  Or
another group home.  If they're smart, those kids will
run away now."
	Tim glanced into the rearview mirror, watching as
James turned to stare out the window at the passing
pavement.
	"That's not really true, is it, Uncle Tim?" Lian
asked, casting a disdainful look at James before
turning hopefully to Tim.
	Again Tim readied himself to speak, and again he was
cut off.  "Smart kids learn streets."  Cassandra
commented cryptically.
	Tim glanced over.  "Cass?" he asked, but she had
turned toward the back seat.
	"But-" Lian protested.
Cassandra stilled her with a head shake.  "I learn. 
My father like your mother.  Be happy - you have
Daddy."
	In the rearview mirror, Tim caught the bewildered
fascination on Lian's face.  She had really had next
to no contact with Cassandra, and Tim doubted that Roy
knew enough to draw this connection for his daughter. 
"Your father," she breathed, "is an assassin?"
	Cassandra nodded.  "Best.  He made me."
	After another moment's pause, Cassandra turned back
to her window.  Tim signaled and moved into the exit
lane for Bristol.
	"Tim."  Now James' voice broke the silence.  "Has
Dick really been doing this every Christmas?"
	"Ever since I've known him, James.  Him and Bruce."
	"Why?"
	Tim paused, sensing there might be more weight to
this question than there appeared.  "The way Dick
explained it to me," he began, "there was an orphanage
fire on Christmas Eve the first year that Dick was
living with Bruce.  Dick was in the Child Welfare
Services system for a while, you know, and he said it
just made him so sad and angry that these kids had
lost everything and were losing Christmas, too, that
he begged Bruce to let him do something."
	"So they took them presents?"
	"They took them Dick's presents," Tim replied.
	A faint gasp came from Lian.  "Uncle Wing gave away
his own presents?  I don't know if I could do that."
	In the rearview mirror, Tim saw James give her a
disgusted look.  "Yeah, I bet you couldn't," he
muttered.
	"When the next Christmas came around," Tim continued,
hoping to forestall the potential argument in the back
seats, "Dick presented Bruce with a complete plan of
how they would visit the orphanage again, and Bruce
says he just went along with it."
	"Bruce - hides feelings," Cassandra interjected, the
unexpected understatement almost startling Tim from
his narrative.  
	"Yeah.  Anyway, after that it's been every year.  I
have a feeling Dick might have just gone himself
during No Man's Land, but otherwise, each year they've
gotten together in Gotham on Christmas Eve.  Last few
years Dick would come by before or after his police
shift.  I still don't know quite how he got both
Christmas Eve and Christmas Day off this year."
	"He fell off a fire escape," James said flatly.
	"He did not!" Lian objected hotly.  "Uncle Wing never
falls!"
	Tim noted with relief that he was almost to the Wayne
driveway.  "Kids," he warned, but he was ignored.
	"He did fall!  He slipped on a stupid patch of ice,
okay?"
	Ice.  Tim remembered the ice storm that had left
Gotham slickly treacherous the night before.  He
himself had had trouble keeping his footing on patrol.
 It was the kind of accident that would hurt
Nightwing's pride - no wonder Tim had not been given a
full explanation of how Dick had been hurt.
	"He did not!  He doesn't slip."
	"He did slip!  He slipped and he fell and he didn't
call home."
	Tim hadn't heard that detail, yet, either.  "Kids,"
he said again, beginning the ascent to Stately Wayne
Manor.
	"I'm telling you, Nightwing doesn't fall and he
doesn't not call home.  I've known him longer than
you, so I should know," Lian argued stubbornly.
	"Faster, Tim," Cassandra urged quietly.  For once,
Tim agreed.  This was getting ugly fast, and Alfred
would know how to handle it.  He sped up his usually
very cautious pace.
	"Well, for someone who thinks she knows so much about
superheroes, you're dumb.  Heroes can fall and get
hurt just like ordinary people!"
	"I'm NOT dumb!  Just because you grew up on the
streets and all that you think you've seen so much and
you're all tougher or better than everyone else or
something.  Well, I'm tough!  I'm so tough I'm going
to be my daddy's sidekick and-"
	"And what?  Make his job more dangerous?"
	"James!  Lian!" Tim barked, taking the final
switchbacks of the driveway as fast as he dared.  He
should just stop the van, he thought, stop this
argument - but they were so close to home.  In the
rearview mirror he could see hot-tempered scowls on
the faces of both children.
	"I am a trained superhero!  Daddy's been-"
	"You're no superhero," James scoffed.  "You're a
kid."
	"Daddy says-" Lian sounded about to cry.
	"Then your daddy's dumb."
	Fury rose in Lian's eyes at this slight.  For the
second time that evening, Tim's minivan halted with a
screech in front of Wayne Manor.  In the sudden
complete silence, Lian's words hissed coldly.  "Well,
maybe if Nightwing was your REAL daddy, you could be a
sidekick, too."
	James' face grew pale, and he glanced wildly around
the confines of the minivan.  Both Tim and Cassandra
turned, but in their shock, neither was quick enough
to grab for the boy as he slipped free of his
seatbelt, jerked open the van door, and dashed for the
opening Manor door. 
	"James!" Tim called as he reached, too late, for the
escaping boy.  "Dammit," he cursed, practically
ripping himself from the driver's seat to go after his
adoptive nephew.
	Cassandra shook her eyes from Tim's departing form to
look at the girl in the seat behind her.  Lian slammed
her fists down on either side of her, her eyes wild
and glistening with tears.  "Damn!" she swore, then
looked up almost fearfully at Cassandra.
	Cassandra met the Lian's eyes evenly, holding her
gaze.  "I - I didn't mean-" Lian stammered, tears
beginning to flow.
	Cassandra reached out uncertainly to touch Lian's
cheek.  "Words - hurt."
	Lian stiffened.  Words hurt.  Was there sympathy in
Cassandra's voice?  Or condemnation?  She couldn't
tell.  She pulled away from the gentle touch to her
cheek, stiffening in her seat.  She could not go back
into the Manor and face James, could not face her
father when he heard what she had said, could not face
Uncle Nightwing.  Through the blood pounding in her
ears, she heard Tim return to the van. 
	"I told Alfred what happened.  He said to let him
be."
	Cassandra's reply came through muffled.  "Lian sad."
	Lian felt Tim glance at her, and in the moment she
allowed herself to focus on him, her sobs renewed
themselves.  She couldn't understand the look he gave
her or his gentle tone.  "C'mon, Lian," he was urging,
"you're just tired.  Let's get you inside-"
	"NO!" she yelled, holding herself more tightly to the
seat.  "I can't-" she wept.  She squeezed her eyes
closed, but she could not stem her tears.
	She sensed rather than heard a presence slide into
the van next to her.  "Master Tim, Miss Cassandra,"
Alfred was saying, "if you would be kind enough to
excuse Miss Lian and me for a moment."
	As she heard Tim and Cassandra leave the van, Lian
turned her face away from the van door, her eyes still
tightly closed.  She had no idea what Alfred intended
to do or say, but she knew she could not bear to see
the sad disappointment in his eyes.

End Part Six


Ghosts of Christmas Present
by Chicago
Part 7:  The Wisdom of Elders

	The squeal of brakes caught Alfred as he was making a
few additions to the pile of gifts under the tree. 
Quickly straightening up as if caught in mischief, he
crossed to the front door.  He barely had it open
before a blur of sobbing child rushed by him, heading
blindly in the general direction of Bruce's den.
	"James!" he heard Tim yell, and in seconds the young
man followed his quarry through the Manor door.
	"Trouble, Master Tim?"  Alfred asked as Tim stopped
to stare around the foyer urgently.  
	"The kids had a fight.  I need to find-"
	"Let him go, Master Tim."
	"Dick's gonna kill me," Tim moaned, fidgeting
uneasily.
	"Master Tim, I assure you that Master Dick knows both
you and his son, and I scarcely think he will hold you
accountable for a child's fight.  Is Miss Lian all
right?"
	Tim glanced back at the van, noticing that neither
Cassandra nor Lian had emerged.  "I don't know.  I
mean, she's not injured.  They were saying the meanest
things to each other - not just playground stuff -"
	"Master Tim, calm yourself."
	Tim blinked and stared at Alfred, drawing a deep
breath as he took in the old man's steadying
expression.
	"That's better.  Now perhaps you can tell me what
started this so I can deal with the children while you
and Miss Cassandra head home to your brother and
father."
	Alfred spoke without recrimination, and Tim found
himself again marveling at the unruffled calm which
Alfred brought to any crisis.  What had started the
fight?  "They were arguing about Nightwing."
	Alfred raised an eyebrow.  "Indeed.  A sensitive
topic for our Master James."
	Tim nodded, thinking over the details of James'
story.  "Did he really not call home, Alfred?"
	Something unsettled flickered in Alfred's eyes.  "It
is not my place to discuss what did or did not happen
last night, Master Tim, but I begin to see why Master
James may be so upset.  Where did this fight lead?"
	"James insulted Lian, then he said Roy was dumb-"
	"And Miss Lian retaliated.  And it appears she has
some regrets," Alfred added, gazing out at the van. 
"Give me a moment, Master Tim, and I will come talk to
her."
	Tim nodded gratefully and returned to the van while
Alfred quickly checked that James had escaped to the
Cave.  Assured that the boy had remained true to form
in his choice of hiding place and would come to no
harm, Alfred walked out to the driveway to deal with
Lian.
	He heard her yell, "NO!" as he approached, and saw
Tim and Cassandra look at each other helplessly.  Lian
was sitting rigid in the minivan, tears streaming down
her cheeks, as she whispered, "I can't-"
	Alfred slipped into the van through the still open
sliding door, his eyes seeking Lian's.  She turned
away, unwilling to meet his gaze.  Alfred repressed
the urge to sigh.  He'd dealt with this kind of
anguished fit before.  "Master Tim, Miss Cassandra,"
he said, "if you would be kind enough to excuse Miss
Lian and me for a moment."
	With mixed expressions of relief and concern, the
young couple walked up to the Manor, leaving Lian to
Alfred.
	Sitting on the van floor, back propped against the
front passenger seat, Alfred studied Lian and
considered his next words.  He rested a gentle hand on
her knee, hoping to draw her eyes to his face.  "Miss
Lian," he said, "would you like to tell me what
happened?"
	"You know," she said, her eyes still squeezed shut
and her head turned away.  "James told you."
	"Master James has not said a word to me, Miss Lian. 
And it looks to me that you both gave as good as you
got."
	This uncharacteristic phrase and the hint of humor in
Alfred's tone had the effect that his gentleness had
not - Lian turned incredulously to look at the old
butler.  His hand had left her knee to fetch a
handkerchief from his jacket pocket and offer it to
her.  This she ignored, looking past his outstretched
hand to his face.  His eyes held only quiet concern. 
"Miss Lian?"
	"Oh, Alfred!" she cried, new tears welling in her
eyes.  "James just made me so angry, and-"
	Alfred pressed the handkerchief into her hand and
pulled himself into James' abandoned seat.  "Shhh,
child, it is all right."
	"It's not all right, Alfred!"  Lian wailed, balling
the handkerchief in her fist.  "I said - I told him -
Alfred," Lian could not bring herself to repeat the
awful phrase.
	Alfred sat silent as Lian tried to regain her
composure.  Then: "What did you say, Miss Lian?"
	Lian twisted the handkerchief, staring down into it
rather than into Alfred's face.  "I said Nightwing
wasn't his real daddy," she confessed in a whisper.
	"Oh my.  That was a bit thoughtless, wasn't it?"
Alfred replied.
	"I didn't mean it!  He just - he was mean about
Daddy!  I had to say something.  I just didn't mean-"
	Alfred leaned toward her, resting a reassuring hand
on her shoulder.  "What didn't you mean, Miss Lian?"
he asked gently.
	She pulled away, unable to bear the old man's
concern.  "I didn't mean to hurt his feelings.  I mean
I did want to hurt his feelings, but not like that." 
She mopped the handkerchief across her face, then
lifted her gaze hopefully to Alfred's face.  "Can you
fix it?  I don't know where he went, and-"
	"Fix it, Miss Lian?  I can talk to Master James, yes.
 But fix it?  I'm afraid this old man has a mixed
track record for fixing things."
	"No you don't.  You can fix anything!  Uncle Dick
always says that - and Uncle Tim.  And Gramma Canary. 
And Sp- James.  Everyone knows!"
	Alfred smiled at Lian's childish confidence, although
his heart ached at his unworthiness for such faith. 
"Well, Miss Lian," he began, rising to his feet as
best he could in the cramped space of the van, "in
that case I shall endeavor to soothe Master James. 
But I am afraid I cannot do so with you still sitting
here in Master Tim's minivan."
	Lian face turned downcast again.  "I have to face
him, don't I?"
	Alfred stepped free of the van and held his hand out
to Lian.  "The journey of a thousand miles, Miss
Lian," he prompted.
	"Begins with a single step," she answered.  She
released her seatbelt and took a deep breath.  Then
she accepted Alfred's hand and allowed him to help her
step down.  "He won't accept my apology," she sighed
in resignation.
	"Perhaps not, Miss Lian.  I cannot pretend to know
the workings of Master James' heart.  But can you
withhold your apology just because he may not accept
it?"
	She shook her head as they mounted the steps to the
Manor.  "I really messed up," she sniffled.
	Alfred nodded sagely as he opened the Manor door for
her.  "Treat it as a life lesson, Miss Lian.  Our
words can be as deadly as any weapon we wield."
	"God knows I've had to learn that lesson the hard
way," Tim added as Alfred followed Lian in.
	"Yes," Cassandra agreed.  "Tim is foot-mouth."
	Lian blinked at Cassandra, smiling in spite of
herself.
	"Yes, foot-mouth," Alfred mused.  "Miss Cassandra, as
always, you have described Master Tim most
succinctly."
	"Alfred!" Tim objected.  "Is it abuse Tim night?"
	"It most assuredly will be at the Drake household,"
Alfred decreed, "if you make young Master Bertram wait
much longer to open his presents."
	"Right!  C'mon, Cassandra.  Lian, we'll see you
tomorrow.  Alfred."
	"Have a good evening, Master Tim, Miss Cassandra."
	"Bye, Alfred.  I drive."
	"Uhn uh.  No way."
	"Late.  You slow.  I drive," Cassandra insisted as
Alfred closed the door behind the arguing pair.
	The smile had faded from Lian's face.  "Where's
James?" she asked anxiously.
	"I suggest we do not look for him now, Miss Lian. 
But we should get you ready for bed."
	"Are you going to tell Daddy what I did?"
	"I will leave that decision to you, Miss Lian."
	"And Uncle Dick?"
	Alfred hesitated, then knelt down to Lian's eye
level.  "Miss Lian, Master Dick will need to know what
has upset Master James.  If it is any comfort, I think
Master James is more angry with Master Dick than he is
with you."
	"Angry with Uncle Dick?  Why?"
	"He fell, Miss Lian.  But trust me that eventually
all will be well again.  It will not be an easy night,
but all will eventually be well again."
	Lian nodded, not really understanding.  She was
suddenly aware of being incredibly tired.  "Can we go
get ready for bed now?" she asked.
	A faint smile crossed Alfred's face as he stood again
and took Lian's hand.  "Of course."  
	The pair was half way up the stair case when voices
and laughter began echoing through the halls from the
direction of the garage entrance.
	"Did you see that little girl when she saw that
dress?" 
	"I told you clothes would be a good idea, Dinah."
	"Shows what I know - I always hated clothes for
Christmas as a kid."
	"I think the Batman action figure was the hit of the
evening."
	"Dinah...."
	"Don't say anything Babs."
	"Well if we do this again next year -" Roy was saying
as the group emerged into the entranceway.
	"Daddy!" Lian cried, practically flying into her
father's arms.
	"Hi, pumpkin!  Well, this is quite the greeting!" Roy
exclaimed, wrapping his girl in a bear hug.  
	"Hey, Al!" Dick called.  "Where's Spud?"
	"Master James has decided to spend some time
downstairs, Master Dick."
	"In the Cave?  Alfred?" 
	"Everything okay, Alfred?" Bruce asked.
	"We've had a bit of an adventure this evening, Master
Bruce, but nothing that cannot be mended."
	Roy glanced at the others in the room and rubbed his
daughter's back as Lian still clung to him.  At
Alfred's words, he thought he heard her sniffle. 
"Lian?" he asked, leaning his head back as if to look
at the face that rested on his shoulder.
	Lian lifted her head and looked into her father's
eyes, tears again threatening.
	"Sweetheart, what's wrong?"
	Definite sniffles came from the girl now.  "Daddy,"
she began, "me and James had the most awful fight,
and..." Her face scrunched up, tears now falling
freely.
	Dick looked grimly at the sobbing Lian.  "I'll go get
James-"
	"Master Dick."
	Dick started at the restraining hand on his arm and
gave Alfred a bewildered look.
	Barbara wheeled forward.  "What is it, Alfred?"
	Alfred did not move, but he raised his voice. 
"Master Roy, I apologize that I do not have Miss Lian
ready for bed, but I imagine that now that you are
here, she would prefer that you supervise the evening
ritual of toothbrushing and facescrubbing.  Master
Bruce, Miss Dinah, there is food ready for you on the
kitchen table."
	Without a word, the others melted from the room,
leaving Alfred alone with Dick and Barbara.  "Alfred?"
Dick asked, his tone worried.
	"It seems our Master James took his van ride home as
the time to release some of his anger over your
adventures from last night, Master Dick."
	Dick closed his eyes.  "Oh," he whispered, almost
visibly slumping.
	Barbara took Dick's hand.  "Alfred, what happened?"
	"It is as Miss Lian said - the two children got into
an argument, and I believe both said things they
regret.  As soon as they arrived here, Master James
ran straight to the Cave.  Miss Lian would not leave
the van."
	"Man, what did they say to each other?" Dick asked,
not sure he wanted the answer.  "Alfred?"
	The old man studied the young couple before him for a
moment.  He met Barbara's eyes, and seeing the heavy
weight of concern she carried for her family, he made
a decision.  "They were - unkind - to one another. 
There is no need to repeat what they said, unless one
of them should choose to share it with you."
	"Should I-" Barbara began, but Alfred shook his head.
	"I will go fetch him now, Miss Barbara, but I think
it best if we let him continue to believe that I am
the only one who knows of his hiding place."
	Barbara nodded and looked to Dick.  He still stood
with his eyes closed, faint smudges of exhaustion
shadowing them.  Long familiarity with his face let
her read the traces of doubt and self-recrimination
that haunted him now.  "Dick?" she prompted.
	"Yeah, that's prob'ly best," Dick murmured, opening
his eyes.  "Thanks, Alfred."
	Alfred waited a moment, reading familiar and
unwelcome emotions in Dick's eyes.  "You two should
get some food," he directed.  "I'll bring Master James
to you when he's ready to leave the Cave."
	"Thanks, Alfred," Barbara acknowledged.  "Come on,
Dick."
	Alfred watched the pair move slowly toward the
kitchen, then he turned toward the den.  With measured
steps, he entered the den, opened the clock, and made
his way to the Cave floor.  Without hesitating, he
walked past the Batcomputer and down an infrequently
used side corridor, finally stepping into the middle
of one relatively empty cavern.  Once there, he simply
stood and waited, knowing the faint sniffling he heard
was coming from one of the dark niches that lined the
walls.
	Finally, James' bleary voice emerged from the
shadows.  "Why do they do it, Alfred?  Why?"
	Alfred sighed.  "Master James, it is who they are. 
To take it away from them would be to destroy them."
	"But he's going to die!  He's going to walk out one
day, and something's going to happen, and - and -" 
Whatever James had meant to say was choked off by
sobs.
	Alfred, feeling suddenly weary, knelt down on the
cold stone floor of the cavern.  "James," he said
softly, "come here."
	There was quiet for a moment, then James stepped into
the dim light, his eyes and face reddened from crying.
 Alfred silently held his arms open for the boy, and
James rushed forward, burying his face in Alfred's
apron.  "I don't want him to die!  I don't want him to
be like everyone else, all cold and dead!  He's
supposed to be my daddy, not Nightwing.  Anything but
Nightwing!"
	Alfred slowly rocked, his chin resting on the top of
James' head, absorbing the boy's sobs.  Finally it
comes, he thought, feeling months of tangled anger and
fear and desire flowing from this child, his surrogate
- great-grandson?  Another time, the thought might
have coaxed a smile onto his features, but not now.
	He continued to rock James until his sobbing slowed
to an occasional hiccough, running a gentle hand over
his back.  "James," he whispered.
	"Yes, Alfred," came the muffled reply.
	"Do you remember when you first came to the Manor,
the story you told me about Nightwing?"
	Alfred could feel the boy's eyes squeeze shut as new
tears began to fall.  He nodded mutely against the
butler's chest.
	"You believed that Nightwing found parents for boys
like you, remember?"
	Again a nod.
	"Would you take that hope away from another little
boy?"
	James leaned back, staring wide-eyed into Alfred's
gentle expression.  He remembered cold nights in
abandoned apartments, the tight knot of hunger in his
belly, and his brother's voice trying to lull him to
sleep.  "Tell me about Nightwing," James would ask,
and Scorch - Scott, he corrected himself - would weave
tales of mommies and daddies waiting to adopt
half-grown little boys, waiting only for Nightwing to
find those little boys and bring them home.
	"I will not tell you he will not die," Alfred
continued, "but we all die sometime.  Even weary old
butlers like me.  However, I doubt there is a
vigilante anywhere so well looked out for as your
father.  He has you, and me, and your mother, and
Master Bruce - and there alone is an army worth living
for!  No, I cannot say he will not die," Alfred paused
here to wipe a tear from James face, "but I can say he
would never leave you alone to face the night."
	James stared into Alfred's eyes for a long silent
moment, then grabbed him fiercely in a tight bear hug.
 Alfred held the boy with equal tightness for a
several beats, then loosened his hold.
	"Your parents are worried about you," he said softly.
	He felt James start guiltily in his arms.  "They're
home?"
	"Yes.  And Miss Lian was quite upset-"
	"She was mean," James sniffed.
	"As, so I understand, were you, Master James," Alfred
reprimanded mildly.
	James sat up and wiped his nose on his sleeve.  "I
should go upstairs now, eh?"
	"Well, you should use a handkerchief first," Alfred
suggested, holding one out pointedly.
	James managed a weak grin as he scrubbed at his face.
 "If you say so, Alfred.  But then what are sleeves
for?"
	"Rapscallion!" Alfred exclaimed.  "Help an old man to
his feet here, Master James."
	James held out his hand, making a great show of
bracing himself as Alfred stood.
	"Thank you, sir," Alfred remarked dryly, pocketing
the handkerchief James returned.  "Now, we should
return you to your parents and get you ready for bed. 
Santa can't come if you're blocking his route through
the Cave."
	"I thought Santa came down the chimney," James said
suspiciously, playing along.
	"Old wives' tale," Alfred replied, taking James hand
and leading him back to the stairs to the Manor.
	"And the North Pole stuff?"
	"Old wives' tale."
	"And the elves?"
	"Old butlers' dream."

End Part Seven


Ghosts of Christmas Present 
by Chicago
Part 8:  The Power of Daddies

	"Under the covers with you, kiddo!  It's well past
time for all superhero sidekicks to be in bed," Roy
declared, holding up the blankets as Lian scrambled
under them.  His smile faded, though,  as he began to
settle the covers around her face and saw new tears
welling in his daughter's eyes.  "Lian?"
	"I don't know if I want to be a sidekick, Daddy," she
said seriously.
	Roy felt a vague sense of panic at the sting of these
words.  As much as he doubted he would ever seriously
allow Lian to become his sidekick, it was still part
of their father-daughter schtick, a bonding game from
her youngest years.  "What do you mean, sweetheart? 
Does this have something to do with your fight with
James?"  Lian had remained close-mouthed about what
had happened, appearing to accept her father's comfort
without wishing to talk about it.  Roy knew his
daughter well enough to know she would tell him in
time and had not pushed her.  This statement, though,
so out of the blue, alarmed him.
	Lian nodded.  "James said sidekicks make things more
dangerous."  She looked away and rubbed at her eyes.
	Roy sat silent for a moment, knowing precisely why
James would make such a statement.  He also found
himself thinking further back, remembering frustrated
conversations at the Titans Tower on this very
subject.  Then, however, he had been a sidekick
himself, in the company of other sidekicks all
desperate to prove their worth and valor in a grown up
world of crime and danger.  Then, the mantle of
sidekick was the surest sign of love they had from
their respective mentors.  Now?  Now he was a father,
and he could see the other side of things.  How could
those same mentors bear to risk them, night after
night, day after day?  Grown now, the former Titans
shied away from this topic as surely as they threw
themselves into their continuing fight for justice. 
He did not know how to answer Lian.
	"Daddy?"
	Roy focused his eyes on his daughter's face as she
looked searchingly at him.   "I'm sorry, Lian.  Is
that what got you so upset?"
	Lian started to nod, then shook her head.  "He - he
said you were dumb -"
	Roy managed a chuckle at that.  "He did, did he?  Did
you defend the Harper family honor?" he asked,
smoothing Lian's hair.
	To his dismay, Lian's eyes only welled again.  "I got
so mad, Daddy!  I said - I told him -"
	"Shhh.  Sweetheart, it's okay.  We all say things we
regret.  If I had a nickel for every mean thing I ever
said to Dick - well, it'd probably work out even
between us.  And we're still friends at the end of the
day.  You'll apologize in the morning and everything
will be better."
	"Daddy!" Lian protested.  "You didn't hear what I
said.  It was so mean!  I made him cry, made him run
away-"
	"He only ran to the Cave, Lian."  Roy stopped, seeing
that his efforts to soothe were only upsetting his
daughter further.  Pausing for a moment, he made a
decision.  "Sit up, there, Lian," he directed.
	Lian obeyed, and Roy settled down next to her on the
bed, his back resting against the headboard.  He
wrapped his arms around his daughter as she rested her
head against his chest.  "You wanna tell me about it?"
he asked gently.
	She hesitated, and Roy listened closely when she
finally spoke, barely audibly.  "I told him he could
be a sidekick if Uncle Wing was his real daddy."
	The orphan heart of Roy Harper flinched at this
revelation.  The fatherly wisdom in him realized a
moment for honesty.  "Lian, I always thought that if
Ollie was my real daddy, he would never let me be his
sidekick."
	Lian shot a puzzled look at Roy.
	He gave her a squeeze.  "Sweetheart, there are many
things in this world that I am willing to risk for the
sake of justice.  But of all the things I love in this
world, you are my rarest treasure, the one thing that
I could not possibly live without.  You already are my
sidekick and partner, the person who gives me reason
to fight on when I'm tired and feel like giving up. 
You have been that since the day you came into my
life, and you always will be.  I want you to grow to
be a strong and independent woman, able to defend
yourself and make your own decisions about life. But
dress you up in kevlar and put you on the front lines?
 I could not stop you if that is the path your life
takes, but I could never bear to risk losing you in
that way."
	Lian sat quietly listening to her father's speech
through his chest, his words mingling with the sounds
of his heart beat and the air filling and leaving his
lungs.  She closed her eyes, letting the quiet music
of her father wash over her, feeling warm and safe in
his strong embrace.  Unbidden, James angry words came
back to her:  *"...he fell and he didn't call home."* 
Involuntarily, she wrapped her arms more tightly
around her daddy, fighting the fear that echoed in her
head.
	Roy returned her tightened embrace, softly stroking
her hair as he lapsed into silence.  Both father and
daughter sat wrapped in their own thoughts, drawing
strength and comfort from each other's presence.  "I
love you, Lian," Roy whispered.
	Her voice came quiet and sleepy.  "Love you, too,
Daddy."
	He smiled faintly.  "Ready for sleepy time?" he asked
softly.
	He felt her nod, and he gently disentangled himself
from her, settling her back beneath the covers.  She
snuggled deeply into the blankets, already half
asleep.  He leaned over to kiss her forehead. 
"G'night, sweetheart."
	"Night, Daddy," she murmured, her eyes falling closed
and her breathing deepening into sleep.  Roy tiptoed
from the room, pausing for a moment at the door before
he switched off the light and made his way downstairs.
	After the quiet of the upstairs, the kitchen seemed
loud and busy.  Dinah and Barbara were telling a
tangled version of some Christmas years earlier, in
the early days of their partnership.  The story
involved Dick trying to get a Christmas tree on top of
the Clocktower to surprise Barbara, Dinah's
aggravation at being in a foreign land with no butts
to kick, and Barbara's issues with her supposedly
"Batproof" security system.  Roy hesitated for a
moment before entering the room, watching the tableau
before him.
	Both Dinah and Barbara were laughing as they talked
on top of one another in their effort to get all the
details into the story, but there was something
brittle about the laughter.  At the head of the small
kitchen table sat Mr. Bruce Wayne, looking very much
lord of the Manor, a faint smile on his features.  The
smile, however, did not seem to touch his eyes, which
were focused on the young man picking at his food at
the foot of the table.
	Dick looked terrible.  He was smiling and nodding as
the two women teased him about the tree exploit,
occasionally laughing as if on cue.  His air of forced
cheer just made him seem more vulnerable.  Roy had
been in the hero business long enough - had known Dick
Grayson long enough - to know that Dick was just tired
and achy and probably stubbornly refusing to give in
to a need for rest, but he knew the tension around the
room from his own experience.  He had been the center
of that kind of tension before - the unspoken reminder
of how close they all came on a daily basis to losing
one another.  It was easier to forget when everyone
was whole and healthy, but Dick's pallor and the
bandages around his head filled the room like a ghost
of might-have-been.  Here sits Dick Grayson, who left
several pints of blood running through the rain
gutters of Bludhaven one hot night last August and
very nearly never came home.  Roy suppressed a
shudder, wrapped himself in the lingering warmth of
his daughter's embrace, and stepped into the kitchen.
	"Hey, Roy, glad you could join us," Dick called. 
"Pull up a chair, have some eats."
	Roy grinned.  "Leave anything for me, Robbie?"
	Dick chuckled.  "Hey, I'm not Wally.  How's Lian?"
	"Sleeping.  Kid had a long day.  And man, I'm not
sure if she gets her temper from me or her mother, but
man-  how's James?"
	Dick glanced at Barbara, who answered, "Alfred hasn't
brought him up yet, Roy, but I'm sure he's fine."
	"Yeah," Dinah added.  "He's just cultivating a
Batworthy stubborn streak."
	"Hey!" Bruce objected, surprising Roy in what seemed
to be a move to shift the conversation away from a
source of worry.  "There's nothing wrong with
developing strength of will."
	Dinah kissed his cheek.  "You're cute, Bruce."
	Dick snorted.  "Not the word I'd use-"
	"Master Dick, Miss Barbara," Alfred's voice
interrupted, drawing all eyes to him and the rumpled
little boy who held his hand, "I believe it is past
Master James' bedtime."
	Dick smiled and held out a hand.  "C'mere, Spud."
	James walked over and accepted a hug which he did not
return.  "You okay?" Dick asked.
	James studied Dick's face intently for a moment.  He
replied in an almost challenging tone, "_You_ okay,
Dick?" 
	As Roy watched this exchange he thought to the fight
this boy had had with his daughter.  James was still
scared, he realized, lashing out as blindly as Roy
himself used to lash out.
	"Well, Spud, I've seen better days," Dick admitted
with a rueful chuckle.  "You ready for me to take you
up to bed?"
	James startled everyone by shaking his head.  "Babs,"
he insisted, moving himself to Barbara's side and
leaning his head to her shoulder.
	"Well, how do I rate?" Barbara exclaimed, trying to
make light of the situation.  "Well, hustle on ahead
of me, young camper, and power up the elevator," she
ordered, sending James scurrying from the room.  She
gave Dick's hand a quick squeeze as she rolled by,
hoping to shake him from the mask that had dropped
over his emotions at his son's rejection.  He offered
her a weak smile and an "I'm fine," and she wheeled
out, not believing him.

End Part Eight


Ghosts of Christmas Present
by Chicago
Part 9:  The Strength of Mommies

	Barbara sighed as she tucked "'Twas the Night Before
Christmas" back into her bag.  She had not even
realized it was packed among their things until James
had requested it this evening.  She had been more
surprised to see him mouth the words as she read, but
she realized that he was not going to explain how he
knew the story.
	He had been uncharacteristically clingy after Alfred
had brought him up from the Cave.  He spoke only
enough to communicate what he wanted, seeming fitful
and feverish even though his skin was cool to the
touch.  Barbara was not sure if it made her worry less
or more, the fact that she had seen him like this
before.
	The book put away, she paused for a moment of quiet
solitude in the room she shared with Dick whenever
they stayed at the Manor.  She was tired.  As
wonderful as it was to be a part of the first
Wayne-Lance family Christmas, at this moment she would
almost rather be home, badgering her husband to get
more sleep and playing quiet board games with her son.
 She closed her eyes and propped her head on her
fingers as she rested her elbow on the armrest of her
chair.  For not the first time, she found herself
wishing she could rid her family dynamics of their
Bat-derived element.
	"Long day, Mama Bird?" Dinah's voice startled Barbara
upright.
	"Oh!  Hi, Dinah.  Off to bed so early?"
	"It's after 11, Babs.  Time for me and my belly to
crash for the night.  You okay?"
	Barbara nodded.  "Just having a day where I feel like
I have two kids and no husband," she answered with a
rueful laugh.
	Dinah entered and sat on the bed across from where
Barbara sat in her chair.  "Wanna borrow Alfred for a
while when you go home?"
	Barbara laughed at the joking offer.  "And know that
you and Bruce are starving to death because neither of
you can boil water?  I don't think so."
	"We can order in.  It'd be cozy."
	"Then you'd call me at 3 AM because the wonder twins
there weren't so keen on chicken curry.  And then
you'd tell me that since you couldn't sleep, you were
reading another parenting magazine and are convinced
you exposed them to something that will cause a
horrible birth defect because you were in Rheelasia
during your first trimester."
	"I wasn't in Rheelasia in my first trimester. 
Cordova, yes, but not Rheelasia."  Her eyes widened. 
"Do you think I exposed -?"
	"NO, Dinah.  You're fine.  The kids are fine.  We're
all fine.  Even old Grim-and-Grumpy seems in decent
spirits."
	"He knows we call him that, you know."
	Barbara chuckled.  "Of course he does.  He's-"
	"-Batman!" they finished together, laughing.
	"Speaking of Batman, how's our mini-Bruce doing?"
	"James?"  Barbara sighed.  "When he gets like this, I
think he's trying to out-Bruce Bruce.  Dick doesn't
really need that right now, no matter how well I see
James' point."
	"He's pretty upset with him, isn't he?"
	Barbara snorted.  "That's an understatement.  It's
like August all over again.  Y'know what he asked me
right before he went to sleep?"
	Dinah shook her head, her face wearing a look of
trepidation.
	"He wanted me to promise I would keep Dick from going
on patrol tonight."
	"Did you?"
	"Dinah, I told him I'd try, but you know Dick."
	"I also know Bruce," Dinah replied seriously.
	Barbara stared at her for a moment, reading her
meaning from her eyes.  "Maybe I better get
downstairs."
	"Yeah, probably a good idea.  They won't get into it
with Roy there, but I imagine he'll be ready to head
for bed soon.  I'd go back down with you, but Papa Bat
_sent_ me to bed."
	Barbara raised an eyebrow.  "And you let him?" she
teased.
	Dinah patted her belly, a smug smile on her features.
 "He just doesn't realize I'm saving up all my
annoyance at him for the delivery room."
	"Ouch.  Don't be too hard on him, Dinah."
	"Yeah, I know.  He just loves me.  Save that speech
for Dick.  I have a feeling you're going to need it."
	Barbara smiled and held out her arms to give Dinah a
hug.  "Sleep well, Dinah.  And thanks."
	"Hey," Dinah said as she returned Barbara's hug and
then straightened, "What are mothers-in-law for?"
	"Ha ha.  Go to bed.  I'm off to the lion's den."
	"Good luck."
	"I'll take all I can get."
	Barbara waved good night to Dinah and rolled to the
elevator, chewing thoughtfully on her lower lip.  She
wheeled out on the first floor just as Alfred was
passing through with a tray of tea and coffee.  "Miss
Barbara, our party has retired to the west den.  I was
just heading there if you care to join me?"
	"Thanks, Alfred," she replied, swinging alongside him
and matching his pace.
	"Did you get Master James off to sleep?"
	"Yeah, finally.  He's had a tough 24 hours."
	"Indeed.  But Miss Barbara, I think I can safely say
the young man has turned a corner."
	"What happened, Alfred?"
	"He talked about it, Miss Barbara - not well, not
easily - but the floodgates are beginning to open."
	A relieved smile broke across Barbara's face.  "Thank
you, Alfred," she breathed.
	Alfred paused well short of the den entrance.  "No,
Miss Barbara, thank you.  Thank you for trusting me,
for giving me a chance to redeem myself for past
mistakes with heartbroken children."
	Barbara stared at Alfred, blinking back her tears. 
"Oh, Alfred!  Why must you always have a tea tray in
your hands when I most want to hug you!"
	A small smile crossed Alfred's face, mirroring the
emotion in his eyes.  "Why, Miss Barbara?  I'm the
butler."
	Not pausing to allow a rejoinder, Alfred continued on
his way to the den, setting his tray down on a low,
broad coffee table which stood between rich leather
furniture and the cheery fire crackling in the
fireplace.  Barbara wheeled in behind him, slipping
her chair in between the couch where Roy sprawled and
the easy chair which Dick inhabited.  While Roy
pounced on the tea tray and Alfred paused to murmur
something to Bruce, she took her husband's splinted
hand and kissed him.
	"James asleep?" he asked softly, his lips still near
hers.
	She nodded and leaned forward a bit more, so their
foreheads touched.  "I was thinking we could maybe
call it a night, too?"
	Something flashed in his eyes, but his tone remained
mild.  "I'm kind of enjoying just hanging out around
this fire.  But you look tired.  Do you want to head
up now, and I'll come up later?  No sense your staying
up on my account."
	Barbara bit back an angry retort, upset that her ploy
had backfired.  She should have realized that under
the cover of easy conversation, Dick and Bruce were
already locked in a battle of wills.  This was
confirmed when Bruce responded to Dick's final words: 
"It wouldn't be the first time."
	Roy looked quickly from Dick to Bruce, as if suddenly
realizing what he was in the middle of.  His eyes
rested desperately on Barbara's for a split second
before he threw out a joke.  "Yeah, stay up on my
account, gorgeous.  Y'know," he purred suggestively,
"I taught Short Pants here everything he knows about
women."
	"Roy!" Barbara and Dick objected simultaneously.
	Roy chuckled easily, relieved at the break in
tension.  "Yep, I don't know where old Robbie would be
if he didn't have me around to tell him how the world
works.  Probably still living in a cave."
	"Careful, Harper," Bruce rumbled as Barbara giggled
and Dick shook his head.
	"Of course, now he needs me around for those
parenting tips," Roy continued, smiling in Dick's
direction.
	Dick made his face a mask of innocence.  "Golly, Roy,
it's a good thing you were there for me.  Otherwise I