Chapter Text
“No-ho! Nraah! Arrgh!”
“Get out! Get out!”
The crowd, in spite of the continued danger, had begun murmuring in harsh tones. From where she sat with her hands over her head, Phillip could see Bella Reál staring daggers at him.
“Lot of people die of exposure this time of year. He was… he just lost his job, his wife. This was a tragedy. The rest, Fox can deal with. We’ll write off the equipment, move on."
Victor meanwhile, fist balled at his side, bit back a tear as he leveled his gun at Phillip.
“Just write Nora off, then? It always was about the money for you, after all. The human race, diminished to numbers on a spreadsheet. Very well.”
He aimed the gun up at the lines holding the giant coin into place behind the stage.
“Let this be the last red dime of your illustrious career.”
He squeezed the trigger, the ropes snapped as they turned cold and brittle, and the towering profile of Abraham Lincoln bore down on Phillip Kane.
That was when the dark, billowing shape of Batman swung down from the ceiling, shoving Phillip out of peril just in time and landing adjacent to his new partner.
Batman nodded to Robin, and the duo prepared to stand their ground against Mister Freeze.
“No one dies tonight, Victor. Not on our watch.”
Mister Freeze aimed his gun and pulled the trigger, and the two vigilantes scattered in opposite directions.
“Alright everyone, let’s move,” Gordon shouted as he, Martinez, and Essen leapt from their chairs, motioning for the guests to make for an emergency exit.
“I’m going to grab Reál!” Sarah shouted.
“I warned you not to pursue me. Not to deny me. You have no part in this.”
“You’re threatening innocent people,” Batman shouted. “You’ve made it my problem, Doctor.”
He tried a defensive jab, but his knuckles rebounded painfully against Freeze's body armor.
Victor fired again, grazing Batman’s arm with scintillating cold.
“Innocent? How many of these people are truly innocent? How many other Phillip Kanes are there in this room, patting one another on the backs?”
"That isn't your choice to make!" Robin shouted, jumping down and striking the embittered scientist.
Essen reached where the mayor was taking refuge. She was in full battlefield mode, focused on the objective. She grabbed Bella with both shoulders.
“Get to Gordon and then get out of here,” she said sternly. “Use the tables as cover.
“Thank you,” Bella called back.
Sarah turned around just in time to see the beam of Victor’s gun swinging around towards her.
“Oh no, not again.”
“I gotcha,” Robin said, yanking her under the table with him.
“Run on my signal,” he whispered. Essen nodded.
“One… two…”
Batman wrapped a length of grapple wire around Victor’s helmet and pulled him down.
“Now!”
Essen started running toward Gordon.
“Enough.”
Mister Freeze shot through the wire, turning it icy and weak. Snapping free, he sent another blast into the ceiling, upsetting numerous heavy pieces of sound and lighting equipment.
One large spotlight began to teeter over towards where Gordon was managing the evacuation.
“Everyone heads up!” Essen roared, tackling Gordon into a nearby table of catering equipment.
“Leave me to my business,” Victor pleaded, sending volley after volley out at Batman, the caped vigilante rolling from table to table. “You cannot understand.”
Champagne flutes clattered to the ground as Batman heaved the nearest table over as a makeshift shield.
“I understand you, Doctor Fries," the Dark Knight's voice came from behind the table, "Everyone here does, now. Put the gun down, and I promise you will get the help you need."
He surveyed the ballroom from his cover. He couldn't see Dick, but he had a hunch about where he might be. Hopefully he was right…
“I do not want your sympathy, Batman,” Freeze said in a voice loud enough to make the escaping guests turn back.
“I want retribution! I demand it! In my nightmares I see my Nora behind the glass, begging to me with frozen eyes. How I have longed to see that look frozen on the face of Phillip Kane. The fear. The hopelessness. All the things that I feel.”
Batman's eyes narrowed.
"Then why haven't you armed your bomb yet?"
Fries looked down at the device on his chest.
"Yes. I suppose we have belabored the point long enough."
Batman stood up and hurled a batarang as Victor reached for the bomb.
"Now, Robin!"
Victor deflected the projectile just as Dick burst out from under one of the still-upright tables behind him, swinging his quarterstaff. It caught one of the tubes on Victor’s backpack while he was distracted, causing it to hiss out a spray of chill air as it came unplugged.
“ Ar r g h!" Fries sputtered, flailing for the loose hose. Robin pressed his offensive, pulling a different line connecting his gun to the tank.
Batman ran up and wrestled Freeze to the ground, pinning him on his stomach so he could reattach the hose.
"Nora… I have failed you," Victor's voice was ragged, despondent.
"You haven't," Batman whispered next to him. "Not yet. She's alive, preserved in the cryogenic coma you put her in. She was a few stories below your feet at the bunker last night."
"You… wer e tellin g the truth?"
“Yes.”
The gun dropped from his hand. Batman flipped him over and pulled the explosive device from around him. Martinez and a few uniformed officers who had just arrived rushed to secure the scene.
"My god," Victor breathed. "What have I done?"
“Come one, pal,” Martinez said, bracing Victor with his shoulders on one side.
“Let’s get you some place you can cool off, if you’ll pardon the turn of phrase.”
“Y es. It seem s… app ropri ate, in this case.”
“Okay, everyone,” Phillip Kane announced, standing up and chuckling wearily as Victor limped out.
“Sorry for that… that little interruption.”
He straightened his bowtie.
Where were we?”
Everyone only just stared back at him, looks of disbelief, and in some places disgust, on their faces.
"Come, Robin."
Batman turned brusquely to leave. As he did, he brushed past Phillip.
"Goodnight. Humanitarian."
Nearby, Gordon lay in the debris of the table, making no effort to get off his back.
"Detective Essen, you're new in the city, yeah? My daughter and I are doing a brunch thing tomorrow, and to be honest it'll be way too much food for the two of us. If you don't have anything lined up, I'd love to host you. We have a pie recipe we’re very proud of."
"Does pie count as brunch?" Sarah asked, wincing as she picked herself up.
"It does on Christmas."
She chuckled, and helped the detective to his feet.
"That sounds lovely, Jim. But I think it is almost tomorrow already. So maybe we push it closer to lunch?"
Sunday, December 25th.
Christmas was my father’s favorite holiday. But since I first put on the mask, I haven’t thought about it much.
“Just promise me you’ll give them a chance, Richard. They wanted to make sure you had a Christmas this year. And maybe, if it works out, it might make a good home for you.”
“Okay,” Dick said apprehensively from the back seat. He didn’t seem particularly enthusiastic.
That was a time to be with family and friends. And the life I chose, didn’t include that.
Bruce stood in front of a large TV, watching the other board members pop into the grid of the video call.
“Mr. Wayne, you do understand what day it is, correct?”
“I do. And I promise to make this quick. Thank you all for calling in. Especially you, Mr. Fox.”
“You’re very welcome Mr. Wayne, though I’m afraid I’m as in the dark as the actual board members here.”
“Well, since everyone is here I’ll get started. A few days ago, Lucius here encountered an… irregularity that tipped me off to the scandal that has since come to surround Phillip Kane. As such, last night, I shorted my shares of Wayne Enterprises on an international exchange. When the markets open on Tuesday, I will purchase back enough shares to acquire a controlling interest in my family’s company. Or, perhaps someone faster will. So I’m giving you an offer, while the markets are closed for the holidays; sell the company back to me, or take the chance that I’ll be able to do it myself come opening bell. You’re already down 20%. You won’t get a better offer than that.”
But I’ve learned a lot since then. Like how easily family can find you when you aren’t looking.
“Is this… where I think it is?” Dick asked as he saw the large wrought iron “W” in the gate they drove through. They were coming upon a large, old house. Standing in the doorway was a familiar butler.
“Welcome to Wayne Manor 2.0,” the older gentleman announced proudly as Dick rolled down the window.
“Pardon our dust, the renovation is still ongoing. We’ve prepared all the necessary rooms for Christmas dinner, however.”
They stepped inside to see a stately Christmas tree in the foyer, and the smell of cooking from somewhere beyond.
“Dory has the week off, but I still know my way around a roast turkey.”
“Oh, I’m sure it will be lovely Alfred,” Leslie said. “You and Bruce didn’t need to go through such trouble.”
She looked around, somewhat concerned.
“Erm, Bruce will be joining us, won’t he?
“I’m here. I apologize, something came up.”
Bruce emerged from his office to greet the new arrivals.
“Merry Christmas, Dick, Leslie,” he said, flashing an unpracticed smile.
"Something wrong?" Leslie asked.
"No. Just an emergency that crept up last night. My uncle is resigning, and the board is up in arms that they have to put their Christmas plans on hold to name a successor. Nothing to worry about. Even if I had to drive to the office, I wouldn’t be late for this.”
"You sound like your father," Leslie chuckled. "He would always drive like a maniac when he was behind the wheel."
"Heh. I can’t imagine.”
He turned to Dick.
“Well, Dick, do you think you’d like to spend Christmas with Alfred and I?”
Dick looked confused at first, then realized to play along.
“Uh, yeah! Absolutely!”
“I’m glad to hear that. Leslie, let me get you something to drink.”
As Bruce exited, Dick looked around.
“I’m going to go see if Mr. Alfred needs help in the kitchen, Doctor Thompkins.”
“Very well,” she smiled. “I’m going to rest my legs. Christmas Eve is a long shift.”
Family can be… complicated. It’s built on trust. Something I’ve always been in short supply of.
“So after all that, Kane doesn’t even get the award? Who does?”
A few cops were overseeing the cleanup with Martinez at the mint.
“I don’t think they do runners-up for this sorta thing,” Martinez yawned.
“What a night.”
“What the hell happened here?” One of the cops walked over to a large field of broken floor tiles roped off with caution tape.
“Didn’t you know the Gotham Mint kept a big-ass penny in here for photo ops? Mister Freeze knocked it over in the fight with our dynamic new vigilante duo.”
“So, where is it now?”
“I heard a rumor the Bat wanted it for something. And as he seems to clean up all our messes for free, the mayor must have let him have it.”
Martinez took off his hat to scratch his head.
“Now, how he got the damn thing out of here, I can’t tell you.”
Having someone to rely on though… it might be the piece I’m missing. I don’t know what the future holds for Dick Grayson - or for “Robin.” But it feels… good, having him around. Like the start of something new. Something better.
“Would you pass me the turkey baster, Master Richard? Second drawer on the left.”
Dick crossed the kitchen floor to search for the tool.
“You knew Bruce was the one having me over when he brought it up yesterday, didn’t you?” Dick asked as he handed it over.
“Well of course. We can’t have a precocious little liability running around with Batman’s secret identity, can we?”
He leaned in and smiled.
“Especially not one we’ve grown so fond of.”
Dick laughed.
“I don’t suppose I could quit now either. Not after everything I’ve seen.”
His face hardened.
“Any word on Zucco?”
Alfred sighed.
“There’s… a small paper trail. Maybe be a lead that can be run down in Bludhaven. But, let me provide something of a bit more comfort to you. I… reviewed the footage from Master Bruce’s suit, after that night on the bridge. And I saw the look on his face as Batman laid into him. I may not know where Anthony Zucco is, but I know that wherever he is, he’s carrying the fear of God with him. Or, at the very least, the fear of Batman. He won’t be settling down for a long winter’s nap anytime soon.”
“It serves him right.”
“Indeed.”
You can’t let your enemies know your vulnerabilities. But being vulnerable, putting yourself out there for others to see, can lead to healing.
“...and that’s why I transferred out of Chicago.”
Jim Gordon laughed as Sarah wrapped up her story. Beside him, his young daughter Barbara stifled a chuckle as well.
“I’m kidding, of course. But you can imagine the embarrassment.”
The conversation paused as the doorbell rang. Gordon looked to his daughter.
"Barbara, did you invite anyone else?"
"No. Want me to get the door?"
"No, no," Gordon pushed back his chair. "I'll get it. Just don't touch that pie until I get back."
Barbara looked across the table at Sarah.
"I haven't seen him like this in a while," she said.
“Pie-hungry?” Sarah grinned.
"Happy."
"Oh," Sarah's voice wavered slightly. "Well, it is Christmas."
"You're both tough guys," Barbara smirked. "I get that. Just… don't be too tough that you miss something important."
Gordon opened the door and was surprised to see Bella Reál on his stoop, dressed as orderly as ever in a smart scarf and buttoned up coat.
"Madame Mayor," he began, "Merry Christmas. Come in, if you like."
"Thank you, Captain, but I can't stay long," she shook her head. He closed the door and joined her on the stoop.
"Everything alright?"
"Very much so, thanks to you, Detective Essen, and the Batman."
"Ah, well, we're just doing our jobs, ma'am."
"Yes. And your hard work is paying off. I've decided that Mr. Loeb isn't a good fit for my administration. I'm going to wait until the new year to break the news so he can enjoy some time with his family, but I wanted to see you in person to tell you the job is yours."
"M-me? Why, I don't know what to say."
"Say yes, please," she smiled warmly. "I've fielded no other candidates. Honestly it should have been you from the get go. But my advisors wanted someone with more 'messaging experience.' Your track record more than makes up for it, I would say."
"Well, I appreciate that coming from you, Miss Reál. Are you sure you can't come in for a cup of coffee?"
"Unfortunately not," she said. "I still have other people to wish well today. Congratulations again."
She turned to get back in her car.
"And Happy holidays… Commissioner Gordon."
And sometimes, healing is all we’re looking for. A way forward.
Across town, in the walk-in freezer of Arkham Hospital, since emptied of its other contents, Victor Fries lay on a meager cot. His equipment was gone, leaving him just a pale, gaunt man in a jumpsuit. His sole possession in confinement was the portrait of Nora he had carried throughout his journey.
“Merry Christmas, my love,” he said, his eyes no longer obscured by the red lenses.
“May we meet again, some day. I hope you will forgive me then, for the fool I became.”
Bruce was down in the wine cellar when his phone rang.
“Hello again, Lucius. Something you forgot to bring up at the meeting?"
“Hello Mr. Wayne. I didn’t think this was the sort of thing you’d want to discuss at the meeting, but it’s been bothering me ever since. I didn’t share that footage with you, Mr. Wayne. In fact, I only shared that footage with one person.”
Bruce was silent for a moment.
“Mr. Wayne?”
“I appreciate what you did for me, Lucius. Coming forward with that footage was the right thing to do. You’ve shown great discretion working under my father, and under Phillip. I wonder, perhaps, if you could exercise that same discretion during my tenure. Perhaps as my COO?”
“Are you… bribing me for my silence, Mr. Wayne?”
“It would only be a bribe if you weren’t otherwise deserving, Lucius. Or if I thought your silence was for sale.”
“Well, good. You needn’t worry about that from me. So, what happens to Victor Fries next?”
“They have him on three counts of attempted murder,” Bruce frowned. “But Captain Gordon will try to negotiate sentencing down due to extenuating circumstances. I’m told Victor will testify against Boles and Kane as well, which should improve his chances of getting out of Arkham sooner than later.”
“In the meantime, I still have copies of Victor’s research that I won’t be handing over to the police. I’m going to see about continuing his work, see if there might be a happy ending for Nora as well.”
“I think he would like that. Now please, go be with your family. See you Tuesday morning.”
“Happy holidays, Mr-”
“Call me Bruce.”
Bruce came upstairs to see Dick opening a small box.
“Wow. What is it?”
“Richard, don’t be rude.”
“Oh, not at all Doctor Thompkins,” Alfred said from his place on the banister.
“That is a rather obscure rendition of the Gotham Rangers logo, briefly used during my youth. Pure diecast metal. I noticed Master Richard’s jacket during our visit to the hospital and thought it might be a nice addition to it.”
Dick turned over the circular black and gold R symbol in his hands.
“Or anything else he might want to use it with,” Alfred said pointedly.
“Thank you, Mr. Alfred.”
Bruce joined the butler next to the stairs.
“Just a little something, Master Bruce. Unwrapping is half the fun of a Christmas gift.”
“Next year you can wrap the escrima sticks.”
Alfred’s eyes brightened.
“Was that a joke, sir? It’s a Christmas miracle.”
“I don’t believe in miracles, Alfred. Today was made possible by you and I. Well, mostly you.”
"Mostly me. Merry Christmas, Bruce."
"Merry Christmas, Alfred.”
THE END
"Should auld acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind…"
Tony Zucco scowled at the revelers from between the blinds. The apartment was dark and dirty, but he was able to pay for it with cash and without questions. A pile of styrofoam takeout containers sat in one corner, and a dresser with a TV stand sat pushed in front of the door. The windows and door were covered in deadbolts and padlocks. Zucco checked to make sure his pistol was loaded - a ritual he had repeated every 15 minutes or so for the last week - and exhaled deeply.
"Happy frickin' New Year."
Satisfied, he made for his crooked bed, placed his pistol on the nightstand, and drifted off to another fitful night's sleep…
"Wake up, Mr. Zucco."
…Until a voice jolted him awake. He grabbed at the pistol and sat up. There was someone standing across the room. He squeezed the trigger - nothing?
The figure waved their hand and sent a handful of bullets clattering across the floor. They stood on the other side of where thin slats of light washed in from outside, their body cloaked in shadow.
"Anthony Zucco," he said flatly. "You're a difficult man to find."
"Son of a bitch," he threw the gun and looked around helplessly. How did he get in? The outlet his alarm clock was plugged into hadn't worked since he got there. It could have been minutes or hours since he went to bed.
You, uh… you're not him," he finally stammered.
"You were expecting the Batman," the stranger said. He crossed his arms in the darkness.
"He will not find out about this meeting, I can assure you."
"Then what the hell are you doing in here?"
Tony Zucco had gotten through most of his life thus far by talking a bigger game than he could walk. So even as he felt the room closing in on him he couldn't help but continue to present a tough front. The man on the other side of the room didn't seem impressed.
"Batman isn't the only one to take an interest in you of late. The organization I work for had a considerable investment in Haly's Circus. An investment that was recently compromised when you chose to murder Jonathan and Mari Grayson."
"Frickin' Pop Haly has leg-breakers now? What a world."
"I assure you the world is much bigger than the view it affords you, Mr. Zucco," his visitor said darkly.
"There are forces in Gotham you could never understand. I am one of them."
Zucco gulped.
"What do you want with me? I'm not exactly flush with cash at the moment."
"It is not your money but your silence that I have come to secure. My employers do not like your chances of evading the police in the long term, and they do not wish to see any further scrutiny brought to the circus. You have the air of a man who might be persuaded to cooperate if such an opportunity arose, if I may say so."
"I'm no snitch!"
Zucco was sweating bullets.
"You want me quiet? You'll never hear from me again!"
"I believe you, Mr. Zucco. You won't say anything."
Something flashed as it passed momentarily in front of the window. Zucco tried to respond, but was barely able to make a sound before he hit the floor. The pain in his chest didn't register before the light faded in his eyes. The stranger's boots clomped across the wooden boards, stopping at the knife embedded in Zucco's heart. He knelt down to retrieve it.
"Not a whispered word."