December 20th

"You know what I want?" she said, watching the man's face. "More than anything in the entire world?"

"What," he asked, not looking up.

"A tattoo."

Bruce snorted. "No."

"Oh, c'mon!" She fluttered her hands. "A little bunny rabbit, elegantly placed across my shoulder blade."

"Absolutely not."

"You're no fun." She wrinkled her nose and flopped on the couch. "Hey, are you working Christmas?"

His pen stilled. He hadn't not worked Christmas since—since—

"Imagine the balls of these guys," Jason complained. His nose was red and his eyes were wet from the stinging cold winds. "Committing a crime on our Lord and Savior's birthday. Wait til Father Tom hears about this. It'll make me punching his nephew on Good Friday seem like nothin'."

"Usually I do," he said quietly. He focused on the page and began writing again, each stroke of the pen feeling like lead.

"Okay, cool. My mom usually works—" She paused. "Worked Christmas. So when I was a kid I would watch all the old movies on tv. Do you have Casablanca? I usually watch that. Unless I work. Mom and I both worked Christmas Eve last year. How does anyone have time for crime AND last minute shopping? I swear to you, I gift wrapped a present for Harley Quinn just before closing. Do you think she used the gift to commit a crime?"

He opened his mouth to reply, but she shot up from her seat with a gasp.

"Look!"

Bruce turned around in his chair, peering out the window.

"It's snowing!"

"I can see that."

Stephanie darted into the yard, ducking under the Christmas decorations. "It'll be a white Christmas!" she shouted. "Just like in the movies!"

Bruce followed her, snowflakes settling into his hair softly. "Has it not snowed in Gotham since the blizzard three years ago?"

"That wasn't a real blizzard," she told him, as if he didn't already know. "That was Mr. Freeze, and it was in November. It doesn't count. White Christmases have to be on Christmas," she told him imperiously. "Stick your tongue out!" She flung her head back and stuck out her tongue, catching a cluster of flakes. "We should make snow angels!"

"It's not deep enough for that," he pointed out.

"No, I know, but when it is! And Tim needs to come over so we can build a snow igloo!"

Tim's parents were leaving for Haiti soon, so it was safe to presume that Stephanie would be dragging him over at all hours to entertain her.

"Have you ever built one?" Bruce asked, watching her growing excitement.

She twirled, hat flying off her head. "Nope! Not enough space. Stick out your tongue, Bruce!"

Bruce watched her, face considerate, and obliged.

December 21st

"Dick?"

"Yeah. I'm...I'm still here. I can, uh," he cleared his throat. "Yes, I can make it. Alfie would...he would like that."

"He would."

They were silent, as if afraid to speak and trespass on the memories of the past. After a minute of nothing but quiet breathing, Bruce inhaled and said, "So I'll see you then."

"Yeah," Dick murmured. "Yeah, I'll see you then." He clicked off the phone and looked at his empty apartment. "Christmas at the Manor." He dragged a hand through his hair, gripping at the roots. "Huh."

December 24th

"What's this?"

"It's a five hundred euro banknote," Dick explained before Bruce could open his mouth. "You can see that by the 'five hundred' and 'euro' on the front."

"I spit in your drink earlier," Stephanie said pleasantly.

"Oh yeah? Which one?"

"All of them."

"Back to the matter at hand," Bruce sent a look of parental exasperation at the two of them, "this is yours." He set the euro down in her hand.

Stephanie gazed at it. "Thank you," she said, brow furrowed. The green velvet hair bow of Alfred's creation had already fallen out from the snowball roughhousing, and had been retied hastily. It drooped over her ear as she studied the euro. "This is a nice collector's piece."

Bruce sat down, resting his arm and tucking a hand under his chin. Dick met his eyes and grinned.

"I told you she wouldn't get it."

"I get everything," she shot back at Dick. He smiled and ruffled her hair, disturbing the hair bow even more.

"Of course," he said, handing over a glass of sherry to Bruce. When Bruce raised an eyebrow, Dick shrugged as if to say 'lighten up.' "But what do you do with it?"

Stephanie rolled her eyes. "Just because I can barely do geometry doesn't mean I don't know how currency works. Euros are divided into 100 cents, so this is—"

"Dear god, Steph." He picked up the banknote from her hand and waved it. "This is money. You spend it."

"Not in Gotham, dingus," she replied. Then she stopped. She turned to Bruce, eyes shining. "Really?!"

He tilted his head, almost smiling. "Yes."

She grabbed his sleeve, banknote and Dick's teasing forgotten. "When?!"

"Spring break."

"Will you take me to Paris? And Rome? And all those other places that Ingrid Bergman grew up?"

Ingrid Bergman was Swedish, but he didn't comment on that.

"Yes," said Bruce, extricating his sleeve from her hold and setting down his glass. "All those places."

She gave a whoop and jumped upon him, throwing her arms around him in a hug. "You are wonderful! Not a beastly goblin man like I said before. You're a gem, a veritable gem!"

He laughed. He poked her cheek, saying with mock-sternness, "Provided you stay in school and behave yourself, of course."

"I'll be an angel!" she promised. She held up two fingers in scout's honor. "I'll be so good, God will hardly recognize me."

"Pretty sure Lucifer thought he could trick God too," remarked Dick from a way's off. She wound back her leg to kick at him, missing by several inches.

Dick laughed and lightly kicked her in the ankle back, and she stood up to give him a solid whack in the thigh when—

"Master Bruce!"

The ER was cold.

Stephanie shivered. She didn't have her coat.

Dick paced in front of her, agitated in worry. Steph didn't really understand why; it seemed like everyone knew what no one was willing to say.

The Drakes were gone.

The doctors kept trying, but she knew it. Bruce knew it, Dick knew it. Tim knew it.

Tim knew it.

Stephanie wound her hair ribbon around her fingers, watching her fingers purple when she cut off circulation. She unwound it and watched her skin return to its healthy tone, then wound the ribbon again.

Aged hands patted her arm. She turned and looked up at Alfred. His brown eyes drooped sadly, face lined in sympathetic grief.

"Come, my girl," he said softly, unwinding the ribbon from her hands. She turned around and felt his gentle hands gather up her hair, looping the ribbon and tying it with such a gentleness that Steph's throat went tight. He slowly brushed her hair out, then patted the crown of her head before withdrawing.

She turned around. "Alf," she whispered. "Alfred, what about Tim?"

Alfred patted her arm again, and Stephanie swallowed. She wound her fingers through his.

Dick paced, dress shoes squeaking against the floor. In another room, doctors worked rapidly on two people who said goodbye to their son that morning. And in another room, Bruce sat, holding a new orphan in his arms.

The snow drifted outside the hospital window, encasing Gotham in white.