As you've probably guessed by now, we were going to be back to our usual weekend schedule for this fic, but a sudden lack of Internet complicated things.

Also, I'm sorry that we're three weeks into Spring, but we're still celebrating Christmas in this fic! This will persist for the next three chapters, but after that things will start to catch up.

Disclaimer: I don't own The Dark Knight, or "Santa Baby" (though there have been so many covers no one knows for sure who sang the song first).Only this plot.

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Joker

"Season's greetings, Gotham! It's 9:45 a.m., and you kids know what day it is…"

There's something…hot…on my chest. And fluffy. I groan and open my eyes, coming face-to-face with Jack, who automatically starts purring.

"Mornin'," I slur, picking Jack up by the scruff of the neck and putting him down on the floor oh-so-gently.

I slowly sit up and turn off the radio alarm, rubbing my eyes and trying to, ah, get the show on the road. I can already hear the boys downstairs waking up, chattering, shrieking with glee at the little gifts "Santa" brought them. I can even smell pancakes cooking—Schiff's being a good boy as usual, maybe too good for my taste. But it is Christmas Day…yippee.

I sit and pet Jack for a while, grinning as he bumps his head against me and goes off on his way. I look around the room, trying to remember where I put the video camera. The boys'll want this morning to be on tape, after all…the day when we celebrated our first warm Christmas in awhile.

My fingers suddenly touch something smooth and warm—and I remember.

I look down. Batsy's sleeping beside me and not having a good dream, by the looks of things. His hair's a mess, his hands are holding on to the blankets like a lifeline, and his eyebrows are still furrowed, even while he's sleeping. Incredible.

I stare at him awhile longer, marveling at this whole…oddity. I mean, we've never had a "morning after" before. We've never woken up like this. This is a brand-new moment.

…But all good things must come to an end.

Were I a nicer guy, maybe I would do something sappy to wake him up, but…sappy just isn't our style.

I pinch his nose and grin as Batsy's eyes snap open and his hand lunges for my face. I grab him by the wrist and hold on firmly as his hand slowly clenches.

"Merry Christmas, Batsy," I say coolly, dropping his hand and stretching. I'm still a bit…sore in places, and I'm sure Batsy's no better off. "Awake yet?"

"No." Batsy pulls the covers over his head, and suddenly I realize why I was so cold last night.

"You're a regular blanket hog. No wonder you never have anybody over." I tug at the blankets and yank them off, leaving Batsy shivering. "C'monc'monc'mooooon, Batsy! There's still presents for you!"

Batsy grumbles and sits up, rubbing his eyes. "On second thought, I don't want to close my eyes too long around you. Who knows what you'll do."

I giggle. "Good idea—I don't know either."

Suddenly, there's this…silence. We're both staring at each other, not sure what to do with this…morning after thing. I can feel our feet touching, keeping each warm. It's a bit funny, actually—for two years we've been having this affair. We never woke up together before.

It's Batsy of all people who breaks the silence. That little crease between his eyebrows appears, and his hand reaches out. I automatically find myself bracing for the impact. I close my eyes.

Will he grab my shoulder and draw his fist back for a knuckle sandwich? (Not that I mind).

Will he yank my ear and growl something about how last night changes nothing? (So very stubborn…).

Or maybe he'll try to get back at me for last night? (Doubtful, but entertaining at least).

Or even better…all of the above? (Can't go wrong with multiple choice!)

His fingers reach out, touch my cheek, and…vanish.

"Well. That's interesting."

I open my eyes and cock my head to one side. "What?"

Batsy scratches his chin, one eyebrow raised, and for a crazy moment I wonder if he and Al really are related. "You have freckles. I never noticed."

…Well that was anti-climactic as hell.

I climb out of bed and toss Batsy's clothes to him before going through my closet. "Let's see…what to wear…"

I take out my red-and-green pinstriped shirt and green sweater vest, dumping them on the bed. "By the way…do you like pancakes?"

"…They're okay." I can hear the rustle of Batsy's clothes as he puts them on. "Is it some kind of tradition of yours?"

"Christmas pancakes? Yep!" I look Batsy over as he slides on his suspenders, adjusting the collar of his shirt just so. "…You're not going to shower?"

"I showered last night." Batsy pats his pockets, looking a bit…irritated. "I could've sworn I had a comb—"

"Catch." I toss him mine absentmindedly, still looking for a good tie. "Yeah, but…you're kinda…mussed."

I find the camera (and the tripod) in the back of the closet and haul them out, whistling.

"It'll do." Batsy adjusts his tie. "I never thought you of all people cared about hygiene."

I gasp in mock surprise. "What, you never noticed how groomed I am, on our little trysts?" I wag my finger, clicking my tongue. "Bad Batsy, no biscuit."

Batsy rolls his eyes and brushes back his hair. "Perhaps I'll be more observant next time."

Someone knocks at the door. I walk over and open it, smiling as kindly as I can at Schiff. He smiles nervously back, balancing the tray of Christmas tree-shaped pancakes (for two—smart boy) on the tips of his fingers. He would make a great server…if not for his, ah, tendencies.

"Thanks, Schiffy. Merry Christmas." I take the tray from him and head toward the bed. "By the way, how'd the movies go?"

"Great!" Schiff beams. "But—we couldn't pick which…" He falters.

"Was better?" I ask, finishing his sentence for him. "Good boy," I say, putting the tray beside Batsy. "We'll be down in a sec. Don't let anybody open their presents yet. Got it?"

"Yeah," Schiff says, his eyes trained on Batsy—who is being surprisingly oblivious as he shakes out his coat.

I clear my throat, making Schiff jump.

"Got it, Schiff?"

Schiff nods meekly and bolts, tail between his legs. I giggle to myself and sit back on the bed, ready to eat. Batsy picks up a fork and begins eating, legs folded, balancing his plate on his lap.

"Looks like you've…practiced that little trick." I copy him, happy that the pancakes are just as fluffy and buttered as I, ah, expect them to be. "Get breakfast in bed often?"

"Often enough." Batsy's eyes widen as he looks down at his plate. "These are delicious. How…?"

"According to the Schiffster, it's a recipe he learned from a 'friend' of his." I wiggle my fingers pointedly. "Just one of many very…persuasive friends."

"Oh."

Once we've both finished, I stack the plates and things together on the tray and put them aside. "You're sure you don't wanna shower?"

"Positive."

"Your loss." I grab my clothes and head for the bathroom. Batsy's cell phone rings just as I leave the room. "Better grab that—ol' Alberto might be a little, ah, peeved."

I open the bathroom door, humming to myself. I walk in and make sure nobody's, ah, breaking the rules while I was otherwise occupied. Nope. All clear.

I climb into the tub and turn on the shower, singing to myself.

"Santa-Batsy, slip a sable under the tree, for me…been an awful good clown…" I scrub my hair and sigh as the water pelts down on my skin, warm and relaxing every pore. "Santa-Batsy, so hurry down the chimney tonight…"

I decide to sing a bit louder, just in case Batsy didn't, ah, catch all that.

"…Think of all the fun I've missed…think of all other freaks I haven't kissed…" I try picking up the soap, but it keeps slipping for some reason. "Next year, I could be just as gooooood…get back here, you stupid piece of—"

Someone knocks on the door. "Joker, tone it down."

"Why? Is my, ah, angelic baritone too much for the Great Batsy?" I ask, pouring a dollop of conditioner (maybe it's Maybeline) into my hand.

"It sounds like you're being strangled."

"Bet you would looooooove that." I whistle and try to grab at the soap again. "Crap."

"Anyway," Batsy growls, and I shiver despite the hot water running in rivulets down my back. "I'm leaving now. I have a meeting to get to."

"A Mob meeting?" I ask, hurriedly finishing and climbing out of the shower, shaking my head quickly from side to side, splattering the bathroom mirror. "Wait for me, then!"

"It's not like that. It's just…meeting Jenny."

I stop pulling on my clothes and grow very, very still.

"…Could you, ah, repeat that?"

"I'm going to meet Jenny." Batman's tone is firm. "I'm going now."

"Then let me…show you out. And give you your other presents along the way." I finish dressing and yank open the door, giving Batman as…warm a smile as the situation allows. "After all, it's, ah, proper etiquette."

Batman scowls and heads down the stairs, so very tense—as if he knows this whole "hi-bye" routine is getting really, really old. For both of us. It's not something either of us thought we'd have to face—this "something more" business, but I suppose we both knew it was gonna happen someday.

When we reach the bottom of the stairs, I see Schiff and the rest staring at us the same way they stare at little birdies around town—curiously, like little kids. Not that that's surprising or anything.

"I'll be with you boys in a second," I say, resting my hand on Batsy's shoulder. "Just escorting Batsy here out."

The boys nod warily and go back to their breakfast and presents. I toss Batsy a box wrapped with paper I made myself—crayon-drawn bats, purple and black—with the curliest green ribbon I could find.

"What's this?" Batsy holds it to his ear—like I would blow up my own hidey-hole this early on…

"Your gift. The other one can wait for a less…busy time." I shrug and lean against the wall, waiting patiently as Batsy unwraps the gift.

He lifts the item out and looks at me. "A hat?"

"Two hats," I add, grinning as Batsy carefully puts the hat on his head. The green and black worked well together after all. "One for your, ah, Bruce Wayne skin, and the other for when you're out on patrol. It's coooooold out there."

"…Thanks." Batsy takes out the second hat, and—is that a smile that was almost born? "Nice ears."

"Took ages to get them right. I kept having to remember just how long those horn-things were."

"Mm. Well, thank you. I'll see you around."

And just like that, Batsy's out the door.

Typical. And we can't have typical, now can we…?