December 24, 1883.

Damian watched the dancers from the balcony. He had never been a party person, though for the last six years attending a party was a weekly acutance. This party, however, was the worst of the year: his father's Christmas Eve Ball. The guests were only socialites or cops, and the young man found them all quite boring.

From his perch, Daman could see the entirety of the room. One of his brothers, Tim, was dancing gracefully with a blonde in a purple dress, the doctor's daughter, Stephanie. She and Tim had been courting for the past several months. His other brother, Dick, and his wife Barbara were joking and laughing as he pushed her chair through the crowd. People parted for them, a few risking glances at the woman's legs (which were carefully covered by the skirt of her gold and blue dress.

All of this was normal, though, and Damian's eyes were searching for something—someone—who didn't belong. He could feel the shift in his heartbeat as he spotted the faded brown apple cap, a crop of orange hair sticking out the rim. Damian's heart picked up faster as he watched it move towards the front door. That wasn't right. His eyes moved a little higher and caught the police cap escorting him. Without thinking, the young man started a quick decent down the stairs.

At the base of the staircase he was stopped by the butler holding a silver tray of candies, "Humbug, Master Damian?"

"Later, Pennyworth," the young man told him, pushing past. He was able to reach the door just as the other two did, "Holt." Damian commanded was harch, stopping the officer in his tracks. "Explain."

"I caught this thief sneaking bread rolls into his pocket," The officer said, then quickly added, "Sir." It was still a little unusual for grown men to be referring to a young man as an authority. "I was just throwing him out."

"I see," Damian said coldly, "and did you ask how he got in?"

The cop held up a crumpled invitation, "Must'a picked a pocket, sir. Had the nerve ta say he was your guest."

"And so," the young man's voice came out calmly, though his fists were clenched, "instead of seeking evidence, or asking me personally, you chose to take actions into your own hands."

"Sir—" the officer was cut off with a glare.

"This man, in fact, my guest," Damian stated, "and you should do best to remember his face."

"I know his face, sir," the cop informed. "He's a street rat. An orphan. Not the type of company—"

"I think I have the capability of deciding for myself who I wish as company."

"Sir—"

Damian's temper was almost as his breaking point. He hated when people looked at his friend like scum. Like he wasn't good enough to breath the same hair as them. All three of his brothers had been orphans before his father had taken them in. Just be cause they had been a little luckier… "Kindly unhand my friend and be on your way."

"Yes, sir," the cop finally said before releasing the boy and slipping back into the party.

"Colin," Damian said, his voice still a little stiff, "let's get you cleaned up."

"I wa'n't tak'n' nothin'," Colin finally spoke, following Damian through the crowd and up the stairs. "Jus' hun'ry. Ev'ry'ne else ge's'ta eat."

Damian lead them down the hallway, until the party was just soft background noise, and to a room hidden by a tapestry. "I know," the young man said, ushering his friend inside. "People just see what they want to."

The room wasn't really fancy, just a bed, dresser, and table really, but it was better than the one Colin had at the orphanage. Walking over to the dresser, he pulled out a crisp white dress shirt. As he started to remove his own faded yellow top, Damian made a noise.

"What is that?" His eyes were narrowed on a dark spot in the center of Colin's left ribcage. "Did you get into another fight?"

"'Ey," Colin said, pulling the rest of the shirt off, "jus' 'cos da Bat 'n' 'is boys 'ave da ni't off don' mean da rest'a us do."

Damian came closer pressing his fingers lightly against the bruise, "You should still be careful."

Colin smirked, then leaned forward and caught Damian's lips with his own. "Wor'ied 'bout me?"

"Always," the dark haired man told him, returning the kiss. Not only about the thugs that roamed the streets, but about them. Colin could get killed if anyone found out about the two of them. Damian knew he's father's power and wealth could save him, but his Colin would not be as lucky.

Colin wrapped his arms around Damian, a smirk playing at his lips. "You're adorable when you worry."

The boys stayed in the room a long while, and then eventually returned to the party. Damian caught eyes with Dick, who gave him a knowing look, as the headed down the stairs. Tonight, they would be safe. Tomorrow, Damian would need to talk with his brother.

A/N I started this after watching a stage production of A Christmas Carol and thinking "Colin would look really good in a newspaper cap." And he does, right?