Title: One And Only: VIII

Author: D C Luder

Summary: Set four years after the conclusion of Life Is Good. The Family moves on and… apart?

Rating: PG 13 for language

Infringements: All recognizable characters belong to DC Comics, not DC Luder.

Author's Note: It is highly advisable that you read Time Will Tell and Life Is Good or you may be a tad bit lost. I am writing this due to the numerous requests for a sequel. That and I am absolutely obsessed with the concept of the Bat and Cat living happily ever after.

A/N 2: Thanks everyone for reading, I hope to be back on track with this one as long as Chris keeps me motivated :)

A/N 3: The history of Firefly is based on events in "Batgirl: Year One" and the last POV has scenes based on events in David Simon's "Homicide: A Year On the Killing Streets"

V

A quiet winter's eve.

Well, the definition of quiet in Gotham was skewed slightly. It generally meant that the murder and rape numbers were in the single digits, less than a baker's dozen of cars were stolen or damaged in some way and that no more than four major fires broke out.

I was at my desk, just about ready to call it quits. After ten hours of telephone calls, meetings and shifting through pointless reports, my eyes were grainy and my brain was threatening to implode. I had even gone as far as turning the ringer off of my phone. A glance at my watch face showed it to be a little after eight. It was possible, I suppose, to head out shortly. Get home, throw a steak on the grill, sit back and relax for the rest of the evening. Unlikely scenario, but I was in an optimistic mood.

"Commish?" I heard after a rap on the door.

I looked up to see Renee Montoya, head of special crimes. She was forty but didn't look a day over thirty, with long, kept black hair and trim features. She had been one of the first female detectives to make an impact in Gotham and had stuck through to make it to the top. As head of SC, she managed several rosters of detectives and officers involved in the processing of the bizarre crimes that seemed to surface in Gotham's city limits.

She and her team were currently working on the disappearance of one Garfield Lynns, AKA Firefly. A once successful pyrotechnic stunt coordinator, his obsessions for fire had grown out of control and eventually lead to a near fatal accident on the set that nearly took the life of the lead actress. Unemployed and lost in his pyromania, he adopted the name of Firefly and used various parts of Gotham as his playground to set fires and watch them grow. Eventually, he had teamed up with the pathetic Killer Moth for a brief spell before their differences in sanity levels separated them. Over the years, Lynns had never expressed any undue hatred for Gotham or for its protectors.

He simply liked to burn things.

For the last ten years he had been incarcerated in Arkham and after a "miracle recovery" had been released on a probationary status. As with countless others over the years, we had known right away that this was a bad idea. It wasn't a few weeks before he had disappeared from his single room apartment into the darkness of Gotham. And he had yet to strike or show his wild-eyed face.

Yet.

"Renee, come in," I said while sitting straighter in my chair.

She approached my desk, holding a thick folder against her side, "Sir, we have a sighting of Lynns. Security cameras showed a masked figure in a trench coat breaking into a fuel station storage room earlier this evening. We had Tech. take a look and they were able to get a close up," she retrieved a photograph from the folder and handed it to me. It was Lynns all right, his stylized mask reflecting in the soft light.

After she took the picture back, she continued, "There was nothing at the scene besides some foot prints and a jimmied lock."

I stood and looked down at her, "Good work. Have Forensics get to work on what fuel he took, get an estimate of how much juice he'll have."

"Commish!" a hoarse cry came from the hall. A scanner sounded just after, sending out tones for emergency response of both medical and fire varieties.

I took a few long strides and a left turn, which placed me on the open floor of the "Spill Over", an area of desks and open offices that several detectives had taken in light of the expanding forensics lab. Several detectives were in the front of the room staring up at the mounted TV. I looked as well and heard Montoya gasp behind me.

An apartment complex glowed in the night sky, balls of flame erupting from broken windows as billows of smoke rose into the air. Ten floors of residents, trapped inside, their efforts to prepare for the holidays reduced to cinders. But then the camera panned upward to a faint, reflective thing floating in the sky. The zoom was awkward but once adjusted, I could see the gliding winged form of Firefly.

Dispatch was calling for what help they could, and I quickly realized that I needed to make a call of my own. I dashed back to my office, grabbed my cell phone and then took the steps to the roof three at a time. Once the signal was lit, I dialed seven digits into the phone quickly and waited. After three rings, "Hi this is Barbara, I'm not here so leave a message." I hung up and dialed Bruce's cell phone, got no reply and then dialed Wayne Manor, swearing when I had a similar automated reply.

I looked out at the horizon of the city line and sighed at the sight of a soft glow in the distance. Sirens and lights flashed below as they quickly navigated Tri-Corner to get to the apartment. Hoping to save something.

"Sir?" I heard Montoya's voice and turned towards the door, "We're heading over."

"I'll…" I looked up as the Signal seared the dark sky. I left the light on and followed her down the steps. I would keep trying to get a hold of Barbara, she would surely be able to tell me where the hell everyone was, so that I could end their quiet night.

V

The forecast for the weekend was mild, but that night we were to see another four inches of snow and wind gusts up to thirty miles per an hour. A frigid eve, but not uncustomary for winter in Gotham.

As a long tradition, the fifteenth of December was the beginning of decorating for Christmas. I recalled years ago when Master Thomas would lift his young son up over his head in order to top the tree off with a gold star while Ms. Martha and myself would tend to decorating the lower branches with garland and popcorn strands.

This Christmas, it was Master Bruce, Timothy and Miss Cassandra decorating the rooftops with lights while I prepared evening coffee, cocoa and cookies for their triumphant return. Dr. Thompkins, Ms. Selina and daughter in tow were in the den, hanging the glass balls, decorations and lights on the new Douglas fir that had taken up residence in the Manor.

"Alfred, you in here?"

I turned my head away from the stove in the direction of the kitchen door. She was dressed in a blue wool sweater and tan pants, fresh from a long day's work at the Clinic. Dr. Thompkins had been uncertain as to if she would have been able to attend the night's festivities at all. She had been rather busy of late, following the unexpected death of one of her fellow physicians. Juggling the massive patient roster by herself and with only two other doctors had taken its toll. My Christmas wish had been for her to find rest and peace… if not but for just one night.

"I smelled the chocolate from all the way down the hall," she closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. She stepped up behind me and wrapped two slender arms around my waist, "Mind if I have a taste test?"

"I certainly would, madam…"

She laughed and retrieved the spatula from my hand. I had been heating chocolate for hot cocoa and was just about to add a hint of mint when she made her move. Dr. Thompkins leaned forward, aimed the spatula at her lips and almost stole a taste before I intervened. I expected a protest on her part, but was pleased when she moved back and then approached my side.

"No fair," she sighed as she looked out the window, "It's really coming down out there isn't it?"

"That it is. I have begun to wonder if those risking life and limb on the rooftop have been caught in the midst of an avalanche of some sort." I looked up as well and watched as the puffy flakes of snow fell slowly.

There was a slight noise above us and she asked, "What was that?"

"The patter of eight tiny reindeer, perhaps?"

To my utter surprise, a large section of frozen snow suddenly appeared outside the window and collided with the hedges, followed by several more similar chunks. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I thought that perhaps the icicles and snow on the roof were finally beginning to succumb to gravity's pull.

It was only as a strand of lights came into view that I realized I had been mistaken.

The blinking light strand rapidly slipped to the ground from up above, moving as if it were a cord of an unsuccessful novice rope charmer. Then, the dark clothed form of Miss Cassandra breezed by, landing with a soft thud, followed then by the green parka wearing body of Master Timothy. I glanced at Dr. Thomkins just as she gasped slightly and I looked again just in time to see Master Bruce make his own ungraceful fall to earth.

Not a moment later, the service entrance into the kitchen opened, allowing access for three snow-covered individuals. They seemed to disregard both Dr. Thompkins and myself as they trudged past, all talking at once and ignoring each other. I listened carefully and surmised that Master Bruce was complaining about a lack of communication on the behalf of his younger protégés. Master Timothy was asking if it was possible to "break your butt" while Miss Cassandra was complaining about snow that had gone down her shirt.

As they marched onward and out into the hall, my acquaintance leaned against my arm and commented, "What are you smiling about?"

I paused and then stirred the chocolate, "Oh, nothing dear. A bit of the holiday spirit is all."

A moment later, "Well, that's about to be ruined," she mumbled. After I turned the heat down on the chocolate, I looked over at her and then followed her gaze back out the window. And there, beyond the snowflakes and dark sky, shone a searing light towards the city confines.

"Ruined indeed, madam."

V

"Oracle?"

"Right here, Boss," she responded just before her image came up on the 'Mobile's display. Batgirl and Robin were in the Redbird a mile back, following my lead as we sped into Gotham. After the chaos that had been the Christmas light arranging, it would be a while before any of us would be on friendly terms.

"What's going on down in Coventry?"

Her eyes glanced away for a moment, to another display on her screen system and then said, "Huntley Apartment Complex at the end of Roberson Ave. Firefly's been spotted on the scene, has made no attempts to flee."

"He hasn't been apprehended?" I asked, pushing the accelerator until the speedometer read triple digits.

"Um, he won't come down. Those new glide wings are really something…" her joke was half-hearted, a trademark characteristic she expressed in stressful situations. Strikingly familiar to a young boy I once knew…

"I'm on it. Contact the Redbird and have them meet me there."

"Right-o."

The image faded to black and I returned my gaze to the road before me. Having been released from Arkham, Garfield Lynns had been placed as my top priority of late. In the past, other rehabilitated villains had been given their second and third chances at functioning in society, and I knew it was only a matter of time before old habits resurfaced. Lynns had always been predictable, his activity fueled by a deep obsession with fire. Unlike others that I faced off with, Lynns seemed to be somewhat easy to apprehend due to his conventional nature. Whenever he started a fire, he was compelled to stay and watch it grow from a small crackle of flame to a bursting inferno. Not much for combat, he armed himself with a variety of tools to help him evade capture, most notably his flamethrower.

A tone sounded in my cowl and then Robin's voice followed, "Coming up behind you."

"Check your re-breathers and stock up on foam pellets."

"Already done."

I paused and then spoke, "Fine. We'll rendezvous at the scene. Batman out."

It was another ten minutes of silence before I saw the first inklings of orange glow. I fed the accelerator and closed the last few miles faster than the slippery roads warranted. Despite being in the city, the roads in Coventry tended to be one of the last ones plowed or even salted. The tires handled it well and hardly slipped as I pressed the brakes down firmly. If I had the liberty of time, I would have parked within a side street. Instead, I locked up and left the car in a two-hour parking spot.

I was out an already running up the street, glancing above for a good anchor for a line when the Rebird pulled up behind me. Years earlier, I would have stopped to brief them face-to-face. I shot up a line to the top of the fire escape and activated the comm. link, "Robin?"

"Here," he replied. I glanced down to see them running towards the scene, "We're heading over to help with rescue."

"Fine, I'll handle Lynns," I barked before closing the connection. As I reached the rooftop, I counted half of a dozen rescue vehicles including fire trucks, ambulances and police cars. There were many small figures running about, calling out orders, fighting with massive hoses and herding victims away from the blaze. Adding two vigilantes would provide adequate coverage on the ground.

As for the sky…

Lynns was making lazy figure eights above the apartment inferno he had caused. The waves of heat allowed his thermal wings to provide excellent being and control of his speed. A disadvantage for me. His gaze was fixed on the flames as he soared, unaware of everything else in his surroundings. An advantage for me.

I leapt onto an adjacent roof and measured the distance by sight before taking another bound, this time, my destination wasn't the rigidity of the rooftop, but of the back of Garfield Lynns. The Kevlar lining of my suit took most of the impact as my torso collided with his aluminum alloy body armor. As I hooked my arms around his, pulling them back at an awkward and painful angle, he cried out in surprise and began to shake back and forth in an attempt to free himself. His wings strained against my hold, but I pulled back harder on his arms, felt a pop and then leaned forward, aiming both of us straight at the rooftop I had jumped from.

Seeing how he was more heavily protected, I allowed Lynns to take the brunt of the impact and set him up for it long before he realized we were going down. As we collided with the cement, his head snapped back and connected solidly with my jaw. I rolled off of him quickly and jumped to my feet as he stumbled to his.

"Lynns…" I growled. He finally made eye contact with me, faint reflections of fire glistened the glass that covered his eye slits.

"Batman," his voice was muffled slightly, but I clearly detected the anger in his voice. I had interrupted his work, of which he never seemed to appreciate. Lynns stepped back and tested his arms, as he spoke, "Can't seem to get anything done with you around." He then proceeded to aim his fire gun at me and pressed the trigger. I stood still and did my best to remain stone-faced as nothing happened.

"What the…?" he began as he looked down at the gun. I took the opportunity in his midair confusion to cut the cord that fed the gun. The tanks in his belt were practically empty anyway but I wasn't about to go home with any burns that night.

With his attention elsewhere, I jumped at him, delivering mostly kicks to his abdomen and neck. Punching his body armor was just about as effective as hitting a brick wall. He flailed back at me, his attempts easily blocked before I responded with harder blows. He managed to hit me once with his useless gun before I ripped it away from him and reminded him why I was one not to be messed with.

Lynns fell to the ground, rolled to his side and muttered, "Ow."

As he tried to get up on his hands and knees, I looked over the edge of the roof, noting any progress that had been made. Batgirl and Robin were nowhere in sight but I knew they could take care of themselves… for the most part.

Wanting to get to the fire, I reached down and lifted Lynns up by his throat. He kicked out a bit as he tried to get his feet flat on the ground. Unfortunately, by the time he had managed to do so, I was holding him over the edge and ten stories above the chaos below.

"You're insane!" he cried out, his legs frantically trying to grab onto the ledge I stood on.

"No, Lynns," I growled quietly, "Look at what you've done… Look down there."

He hesitated and then shot a glance over his right shoulder at the blazing apartment. I noticed his breathing deepen suddenly as he took solace in the fire, "Yes, what I've created…"

"No!" I forced his head to the left, down at the firefighters and ambulances, "Look at what you've done."

"I… I didn't…" he stammered before looking back at me.

Having dealt with his and many others' pathology, I had learned to tolerate their behavior to a point. Unfortunately for him, my patience had long since run out. I threw him down on the roof, probably harder than necessary. As a result, he was unconscious when I walked over to his fallen form. Once bound by his hands and feet, I called in his location to Special Crimes and that those on the ground could use the aide of another vigilante.

V

"Snow," she muttered as we ran towards the blazing apartment building.

I looked over at her and asked what she meant. Batgirl jumped a small patch of ice, landed flawlessly and looked back at me, "Still can feel the snow."

Despite the danger we were about to put ourselves in, I snickered, recalling how our short-lived flight off of the roof had ended with us piled on one another in a snow pile. A few days earlier, we had attempted to make a snowman with Mattie, ended up in the midst of an awesome snowball fight before Alfred had threatened our lives. Especially if we continued to rough house in such close proximity to his burlap wrapped hedges. And when we had crashed into the snow not too long ago, she had managed to get snow under her clothes, just as she had in our snowball fight.

Then all the fun and games disappeared.

Dozens of service men and women, geared for the battle against the flames, were already on the scene. Aside from the squeal of sirens, the squawks of radios and screams of innocents added up to the chaos I had expected. After a quick scan, I spotted Gordon's trench cot clad form near an unmarked, speaking into his own hand held radio. Nearby, I recognized Detevices Montoya and Randomme, eyes skyward hoping to get a glance at Firefly. I looked as well and couldn't make anything out through the smoke.

Not that there was any chance he was still up there, I thought while we approached Gordon. Knowing Batman, poor Lynns was probably getting a taste of his own medicine.

"Here comes the Calvary," a gruff voice said. Beyond the unmarked that Gordon was hovering next to I spotted the lumbering giant that was Harvey Bullock. His dislike for masked individuals ran back long before I sported one.

I offered him a quick nod before locking eyes with Gordon. The Commissioner looked exhausted, his grim face darkened slightly from ash. There was an undecipherable voice crackling on his radio and he listened briefly before translating it in his head and responded, "Move the third team out than and get in touch with Chief Teague," and then at us, "A few sections of the stairs have collapsed. They've cleared out everything below the eighth floor, but there are five units on the top two floors that have not been cleared. The fire escape on the back wall is suffering from serious fire damage, hardly sturdy enough for a flea."

"We're on it," I nodded and motioned for Batgirl to follow me. I thought I had portrayed myself as being brave and in control rather well. With the stairs out, our only entry and exit would be with grapples, a quick, effort-demanding method, but the only one in sight.

We secured lines to the stone edge of the roof and ascended quickly. As we neared the top, I called out, "I'll take the top floor, you go for the ninth."

"Right," she replied.

"Here we go," I swung out a bit on the line and aimed for a broad window feet first. Glass shattered musically and I landed on my feet in the middle of a smoky living room.

"Hello!" I called out before retrieving my re-breathing device and a handful of foam pellets. The faintest sign of fire and it would be covered in an ooey gooey mess. I left the room, keeping low as I looked for signs of life. I heard a faint cry and quickly moved towards it as I partially opened the door of a bedroom.

She couldn't have been more than five years old, dressed for bed in pale yellow and blue flannel pajamas.

My mind flashed to Mattie's face before I regained focus. This girl must have been a star student in the fire safety class at kindergarten because she crawled on the floor towards me, keeping her mouth covered with what appeared to be a sock. Smelly, but it was doing its part in decreasing her smoke inhalation.

"Hi," I knelt before her after taking out my re-breather, "My name's Robin and I'm going to get you out of here."

She practically leapt into my arms. After I showed her how to hold the re-breather in her mouth, I gave her the backup and replaced mine in my mouth. We backtracked to where I had left my line and told her to hang on really tight as I wrapped one arm around her back and the other with my line. I then took a slight breath and jumped out the window.

When I had been training as Robin, so many years ago, Bruce had made me climb possibly one of the largest oaks I had ever seen in my life. Later that afternoon, he told me the triple digit footage that the tree measured up to. I thought the goal had been to test my agility or to find any fear of heights. To my horror, it had been to test my guts. Luckily, I kept my guts in place as I reached the top of that tree, secured a line and jumped as he directed me from below.

After we landed on the ground in one piece, I wiped a few tears off of her face before removing the re-breather from her mouth. I asked her if anyone else was at home with her and she whimpered softly before looking up at the fire and whispering, "Mommy…"

Three trips later, I had cleared two apartments, of which included three adults and one child. To save time, I had doubled up on the passengers on my body, knowing I would pay for it in the morning. Before I went back up, Batgirl landed nearby with a teenage boy at her side. He stumbled a step, looked at his parents as the ran towards him and then back at her, "Thanks."

She nodded at him and then looked at me, "How many---" she was interrupted by a deep cough, "Have you found?"

"Seven."

She smirked, coughed again, "I've found ten. All clear on my floor, I'll go back up with you."

As we neared the tenth floor, I heard her cough again. On a hunch, I guessed that she had yet to use her re-breather, a bad move in this heavy smoke. I was beginning to feel the effects of the smoke but it had yet to show. When we landed on a window ledge, I told her, "Batgirl, stay here, I'll go in and find who's left and then I'll help them get to you to take them down."

She hesitated, acted as if she was going to reply and then nodded, "Okay, Boss."

I almost laughed and then shook my head and then left her. The ground I had yet to cover was the rear left quadrant of the floor, which consisted of a largest apartment. I alternated calling out to anyone that was left with taking slow, deep breaths with the re-breather, sucking in whatever clean oxygen was left in the hallway. The last door was locked and it took two solid kicks to break it down. Unlike the other apartments, this one

Had begun to burn, flames licked walls and danced up to the ceiling.

In the corner of the first room I entered, I saw the fire demolishing a Christmas tree.

"Anyone in here?!"

"Help!" a woman's shrill voice replied. I passed down the far too narrow hallway towards her cry and proceeded to walk into a nightmare. The rear bedroom was completely ablaze and towards the back of the room, a good portion of the wall had crumbled, blocking the way around the fast burning bed. A young woman huddled with a black haired child and when she saw me, she rose slightly and cried out, "Over here!"

I stepped back and then took two quick, powerful strides before jumping above the bed. Given the small space on the other side, I practically landed on them and shielded any fire form them with my cape. The girl in her arms was on the verge of unconsciousness and when her mother's eyes followed my gaze, she began to cry, "She won't wake up…" before coughing violently. I gave her my re-breather to use and then placed the spare in the girl's mouth and told her to make sure it didn't come back out. The kid's pulse was slow, but steady.

That's how to win the race…

With careful aim, I landed a few of the foam pellets on the bed and towards the doorway. They were quickly activated by the heat and upon explosion doused the flames in fast-spreading foam. I then helped the mother get across the now slippery bed as I took the girl into my arms. Once in the hall, I guided the way out into the main corridor and told her how to get to Batgirl. She reached for her child and I shook my head, "I've got her, you lead the way.

As we approached the door of the first apartment, where Batgirl was eagerly awaiting our arrival, a burst of fire came through from below. The floor itself was shaky for a few moments and I suddenly wondered if it was all going to come crashing down. If I had taken too long in getting everyone out and if we were going to die because of it…

I watched the mother enter the door and stumble down the hall to safety.

Then I watched a part of the ceiling cave in right in front of me.

"Shit," I mumbled. The mother was out of eyesight and I hoped that she would keep going. I activated the comm. link after checking the girl's breathing and my own, "Batgirl, there's a woman heading your way, meet her in the hallway and help her out."

"Where are you?" she asked, her voice noticeably more raspy.

"I've got her daughter with me but I'm in the corridor and the ceiling's starting to give so I'm going to take another way out."

"Wait, I'll come help---."

"Robin out." I shook my head and stared down at the little girl, "If that wasn't a Batman move I don't know what is."

Despite Gordon saying the fire escape was no use, I made my way to the East wall. As the ceiling and floor continued to make unsavory groans and crackles, I picked up the pace. With twenty yards to go, my eyes were watering beneath my mask and I was doing everything in my power not to lie down and cough up a lung or two. In the midst of a coughing bout, I knelt down slightly and took the opportunity to check the girl over quickly. Still slow and even. Mine had to be going at least a thousand beats per a minute. Which was doubled when I felt a sudden blow to my shoulder.

I spun out of the way and stomached the urge to grab at the wound. When I looked up, I recognized my "attacker" to be a pull down attic door and ladder that had finally lost its fight with gravity. I felt the gravitational force as well and wondered when the girl had become so heavy. Then again, that could have been a number of things. The lack of oxygen. The numbing blow to my arm. The ever-growing fatigue. The haunting fear that the second I would set my foot on the rickety fire escape it would collapse…

"Robin!" a voice sounded above the crackling flames.

I looked up and realized I was kneeling on the ground still, mere feet from the window. When I looked through the smoke, I noticed Batman was standing just inside the already opened window, his cowl-covered face more concerned than I had seen it in years.

Getting to my feet was agony and each step I took towards the window could have been categorized as medieval torture. Fortunately, I had something more imperative to worry about.

I ignored Batman as he offered to take the girl and then I refused to take his already anchored line. After carefully balancing myself on two secure bars of the fire escape, shot my own line and called back to him before jumping, "See you down there."

Aside from handing the girl off to a blue-garbed female paramedic and mumbling her vitals, everything else ended up as being just short of hazy. I really couldn't remember how I managed to get myself to the alley behind the northern wall of the apartment. I faintly recalled feeling water drop on my head as the fire fighters brought out more hoses to battle the blaze.

But I recollected, crystal clear, stumbling and falling onto the wet pavement, and thinking how good it felt not to be moving.

V

Despite staying up until a little after three in the morning helping Alfred tend to the torched heroes, I was awake just before seven and turned the alarm off before it sounded. Bruce had piled a few pillows to elevate his shoulder. I had taken one of them in the brief time that we had been sleeping and he hadn't even made a move to take it back.

I sat in bed beside him after stretching my arms and stared at his face before deciding he was actually asleep. He had come to bed a little after five, after making sure our guests were comfortable.

After the Firefly fiasco, or as Bruce ha described it "an incident", Cassandra and Tim had both returned to the Manor to be cared for by Alfred. Tim won the coveted "Who Could Obtain the Most Injuries In One Night" with a grand total of six significant first degree burns, smoke inhalation induced laryngitis and pharyngitis and a five inch gash on his shoulder, to mention all the little bruises and strains on his joints and muscle from jumping ten stories on a repeated basis. Cassandra was a close second, who suffered the same as Tim, minus the cut. Bruce, shockingly enough, came in third, with only a few bruises, the worst being on his shoulder from crashing into the roof with Firefly.

I slipped out of bed, put on Bruce's fleece lined loafers and then his thick cotton robe before stepping out into the hall. I checked in to see Mattie was still out, Taffy's furry body concealed by the covers. From there, I took the stairs quickly sown to the second floor. At the third door on the right, I knocked softly and then opened it after hearing a raspy, "Come in."

"Awake already?" I asked as I walked into the room.

Tim was sitting up in bed, beneath far too many layers of blankets to be comfortable. Alfred had no doubt forced them onto the poor guy. The TV in the corner of the room was on a local news station and showed a tall, red-haired man giving the seven day forecast. As a precaution, Alfred had also set Tim's injured arm in a sling, so when I looked, I found the remote to be in his free hand.

"Yeah," he replied, "Figured I had a long day of nothing ahead of me, might as well get started now."

I took a seat on the edge of the bed and smiled slightly, "Too bad, Bruce is sawing logs upstairs."

He smirked as well, and then coughed quietly, "Wouldn't doubt it." He shifted slightly and did his best to conceal the wince that resulted. Tim caught my gaze and shrugged, "It's all right. I can't tell which is hurting me worse, everything from the fire or falling off of the roof last night."

I laughed, "Yeah, what happened with that? I was expecting to see beautiful lights all over my house and instead there's a strand on the ground, not even lit, and a hole in the snow interestingly shaped like a pile of humans."

"It wasn't my fault, I was holding the staple gun."

A moment of silence later, I asked, "Well, do you need anything, breakfast? Another blanket perhaps?"

He laughed and the coughed hoarsely. "No thanks, Mom."

I gasped and barely resisted slapping his arm, "Now, now, I'm not awake enough for that," I stood and walked to the door, "I tried to be nice, you can fend for yourself."

As I stepped out of the room, he called out, "Okay, Mom!"

I refused to admit my motherly tendencies were spreading beyond my own daughter. Or that I was old enough to a mother to a twenty-one year old singed Bird Boy. Tim seemed to find it amusing to torture me about it. Little twerp… When I came to Cassandra's room, across the hall and two doors down, she didn't reply to my soft knock. I cracked the door and found her sleeping still. Finally, rest for the weary.

Not wanting to be the only one eating breakfast, I decided to head back upstairs to see if Bruce had realized I was missing. To my surprise, he was sitting on the edge of the bed when I walked in. The muscles of his shoulders were tensed and no doubt every fiber in his body was refusing to cooperate. I walked over to him and sat beside him on the bed before kissing his cheek, "Mmm, well done. Just the way I like it."

"Ha," he managed before slowly rising to his feet. I watched as he walked over to the dresser, in search of a shirt to complement his rumbled pajama pants. After being with him for so long, the unsightly scars that covered his body had become a normal, everyday thing. But even sometimes, especially when I looked at his back, I felt a stirring in my chest. The amount of pain he had suffered, and for so long it had been alone…

Mattie had never really asked about them, since the scars had always been there, they were also normal for her. The one time I could remember her taking an interest was when he was teaching her to swim two summers earlier. He had told her they were old injuries from when he was younger, not a lie but most certainly not the truth.

Although Bruce moved slowly across the room, I knew it was more from fatigue than injury. When they had returned the night before, Cassandra could hardly take two breaths without hacking and Tim was in and out of consciousness. In fact, as I looked at Bruce, the only visible harm on him was a large bruise that mottled his side, of which he had designated as when Lynns had hit him with his gun.

Unfortunately, it wasn't until she spoke that I realized I wasn't the only one looking at him.

Mattie, as she stood by the doorway, asked softly, "Dad, what's that?"

We both looked back at her at the same time, or shock at her sudden appearance plainly expressed on our faces. Bruce quickly donned a long sleeved shirt and walked over to her, "What's what, kitten?"

She pointed at his side, "That. It's a contusion. Leslie told me that's another word for a bruise. How did you get it?"

He looked over at me for support and I shrugged before getting up and walking over to open the drapes. I heard his soft grunt and then, "It was an accident. Ran up the stairs and tripped."

Luckily, I glanced back just in time to see her shaker her head, "You're not supposed to run up the stairs, Dad."

"I know," he replied as he picked her up.

Mattie pointed a finger at his face, "Now you know why."

I hid my grin by turning away from them. Bruce agreed with her and told her to go get dressed before breakfast. He then looked over at me after she had left, "Thanks for helping."

My response was a shrug.

And then a giggle.

He walked towards me, "What's so funny?"

"Nothing, dear," I said with a grin.

He kept coming and I said, "Bruce no running in the house…"

That did it.

The second he got a hand on me, I was laughing uncontrollably. He picked me up and then laid me out on the sofa by the windows. In a weak defense, I pinched his neck and then moved on the flesh of his underarm, "Stop it…" I managed between giggles.

"Wayne women turning against me," he murmured in my ear before kissing my neck.

"Poor baby," I replied before poking his sore side. That didn't go over well and he retaliated by poking my own sides.

Finally, I dug a fingernail into his collarbone and he backed off, "Always going in for the kill."

"Meow," I said before sitting up next to him. My hair was a mess and I smoothed it as I continued, "I wasn't the one who broke his own house rule."

He sighed and looked over at me, "I didn't."

"According to your daughter, you did. I half-expected her to put you in time-out." I watched him smirk slightly in response. A few weeks earlier, Bruce and I had been arguing over something stupid, so much so that I still can't remember what it had been about. He had gotten to yelling louder than I and Mattie, who had been down the hall helping Alfred make dessert, came down and told him to use his inside voice or he would have a time-out.

I laughed quietly, thinking about the stern look on my child's face that day. He leaned over and kissed my cheek before saying he was going to shower. I said I would be in shortly and proceeded to sit on the couch and stare out at the crisp winter morning.

And where I should have been pouting because the high for the day was twenty-three degrees and because my husband had to lie to his daughter and members of the Family were infirmed from trying to do what was right, I was smiling. I had a soft grin on my face because December meant snow angels and Bruce would read Black Beauty to Mattie every time she asked and no matter what, there would always be someone watching over Gotham.

"Mom?"

I looked over my shoulder to see Mattie in a pair of tiny blue jeans and a blue sweater. She trotted over and pulled herself up onto the couch next to me, "Good morning, Mommy."

I kissed her head.

"I heard laughing," she said quietly.

"Your dad was tickling me."

A grin spread over her face, "He's silly.

Yes, he was silly. And tall and dark and handsome. And broody.

And my one and only.

V

I was staring at a silent phone and hour and half after my shift had ended when I heard Trey's laugh, loud and clear.

When I looked up, it took a moment to realize what the source of amusement was a cardboard Santa Claus that had been marred with red pen bullet holes over by the Board. The last addition to a variety of morbid Christmas decorations that surfaced every December. The highlight of course was the miniature fake pine tree that sat on the water cooler, decorated with cut out morgue photographs of drug dealers, ornamented with sparkles and tinsel.

Merry Christmas.

With less than two weeks until the twenty-fifth, I had yet to even consider shopping for my friends or family. In fact, the only time shopping had come to mind was when I had wondered what gifts Alicia Wallach would not receive on Christmas morning. Other than that, it had been nothing but work.

Since Thanksgiving, I had put down two murders. The first had been a brawl in a tavern just south of Exmoor. Two patrons, drunk beyond and sane level, had enrolled in an argument over who the bartender was attracted to. Fists gave way to beer bottles and then finally, one pulled out a switchblade and repeatedly perforated his former buddy's bowels.

The second had been worse, if that could have been possible. A drug deal gone sour had resulted in two wounded and one dead. All under the age of eighteen and coked out of their minds. The weapon of choice had been unregistered Berettas, spitting out a total of nineteen bullets before all three were on the ground bleeding.

A complete waste of my time.

I had once cherished a slow month where it was nothing but natural cause deaths that needed to be finalized or no-brainers that simply needed to be okayed. That allowed my real detective work as Nightwing to excel. But in the last three months it had been less and less nocturnal vigilantism and more and more night shifts. My paychecks were astounding but my patience was running out.

Somehow, the rushed demand to solve the Wallace case had slowly ebbed over the last few weeks as evidence disappeared and theories became the only way to attempt to solve the case. My superiors had hinted several times that I needed the fresh cases that I had landed to get a break from Alicia. Veteran detectives, even Hardy, had encouraged a break, just to get my mind reset for another go.

But everyday I wasn't working the case, it was another day that I wasn't solving the case.

"Tis the season to be bloody," Morris's voice rang through the silent detective room. I looked up as he walked through the entrance, sporting a charcoal suit, white shirt and a tie printed with Christmas lights. He wore it every year, alternating it with the one with Santa playing strip poker with a Rockette. And was winning. He walked up the Board, gave a good look over and then glared at Trey, "Shouldn't you be typing something?"

"Excuse me, what?" Trey replied glancing back at me for support. I hadn't offered any in his time on the fifth floor, mostly because when I had first started out, no one had done so for me. Besides, a vast majority of the banter was done in simply good fashion to build report and to ease the tension of handling murder cases.

I shrugged in response and proceeded to take a sip of my recently filled coffee mug. "Come on, Grayson, help me out here."

"Sorry," I replied quietly.

Morris sauntered over towards my desk and sat on the corner of it, squishing a few of my recently solved case files, and then crossed his legs slowly, "What's the matter, Darlene? Need a little pick me up?"

I managed a smile and then winked at him, "Not at the moment, but when I do, I'll look you up, sugar."

He let out a deep laugh and patted my shoulder before getting off of my desk. Two years ago we had been volunteered to transport a female prisoner to her hearing and the jail matron had refused to release into the custody of two men. There had been a considerable pointless debate about breaking protocol and in the end, Morris had shaken his head, grabbed the clipboard from the matron and said, "Well, guess we can't keep it a secret forever, Darlene."

The matron, a squat, black woman who had just about lost her patience with us asked, "Who the hell is Darlene?"

I had nodded and held out a limp-wristed hand, "Please to make you acquaintance."

Morris grunted as he handed the clipboard back and then nodded in affirmation, "She's my partner, Darlene Grayson."

The matron, in no mood for humor, looked me up and down, and then scowled, "You are not a woman."

I had winked at her quickly before replying, "No, but I used to be."

And even still, whenever there was nothing to do around the office or whenever Morris felt like living up that warm afternoon, he'd bring it up and new detectives would arch their eyebrows as the older ones would laugh their asses off.

Unfortunately, there was no response, especially from me.

Morris noticed, and asked quietly, "Hey, you know that dumb shit that we brought in last week?"

I nodded as I thought back on the bar stabbing and said, "Lance Franklin."

"Right, dumb shit. Anyway, he got in the paper this week. You got some serious props for it."

"Hunh, didn't even see it."

He shook his head, "When's the last time you read a paper, Darlene?"

I hadn't looked at one on over a month but I told him it had been six days. He said he'd find a copy and stash it on my desk under the mess somewhere when he got around to it. As he made his way to his desk, Trey pulled up an empty chair to mine and collapsed into it. Instead of having to look at his pouting, I indulged in reviewing three-month-old coroner reports on Alicia Wallach.

"Can I ask you a question?" he asked suddenly.

"I suppose," I mumbled before moving onto color eight-by-ten photographs.

There was a long pause as the young man collected his thoughts. He started to speak, stopped and then started again, "Well, I know that this is really a hard thing to talk about for you… And I could see why. But, maybe you should, I don't know…"

I finally looked up to jumpy eyes that were doing their best to avoid my face, "What is it Trey?"

"This case. I mean it's gotten to me to, don't get me wrong…"

I shook my head and drank coffee, "What about it?"

My confrontation ended up coming out in my voice more than I had intended and Trey responded, "I know we haven't worked together long and I know you have been doing this longer than I have and I know that you, well, know more than I do."

"Is there a point to this?" I asked, my tolerance running thin.

"All I'm saying is that maybe I know something you don't." He looked at me expectantly for an answer but when I didn't give him one, he continued, "I know what this is doing to you, Dick."

Whoa.

I had nothing to say to him. In fact, I had nothing to say to anyone. After rising to my feet and packing a few files into a leather attaché case, I donned my blazer and buttoned it before Trey stood.

"I didn't mean anything by it, I just want you to know I'm here, if you want to talk."

Wrong move.

"Yeah, I'll keep that in mind," I pointed to the files Morris had sat on, "Type up the final reports and get them field. And make sure you have your schedule figured out for Christmas, I don't want to have to cover you."

"Dick, please… where are you going?"

"Home, my shift is over," I walked away, "Get to work, Trey."

As those in the homicide room watched my back as I strode off, I lengthened my stride and looked down at the floor. When I passed the board, I glanced at my name, at the red letters beside it and continued to a small lounge area that had a row of second-hand lockers from the high school. Although I had a full locker down on the first floor, it was too much of an effort to not only maneuver the halls to the locker room, but the last thing I wanted to do was mingle with officers.

Every time I ran into one that had helped in the initial handling of my case, they offered useless words of encouragement and desires for me to "catch the sonofabitch."

I retrieved my leather coat and a shoulder bag that had my laptop and other necessities for on-the-road detective work. As I went to slam the door shut, I looked up to see a large blue shoebox on the shelf. Interesting, I thought to myself. I had no lock on my locker, mostly because I had nothing of real value in it nor did the other detectives even bother to meddle with the belongings of others.

The box was practically weightless, its top not even taped on. There was a folded index card on it however. I unfolded it with one hand and recognized the undecipherable chicken scratch of Detective Sergeant Doug Roberts: As the meanest guy here, I figured I'd be the first to give you a Christmas gift. It's an old one of mine, and since the one I have now is better than this, you can have it. Hang in there, kid. DR

I pocketed the note and then opened the box. Wrapped in delicate white tissue paper, was an old fedora, clean of dust but it had seen better days. Roberts could never be found at a scene or outside of a building without a hat on his high-browed head. I had never asked him about it, but I had heard other new detectives dare to question the practice. His reply had been that if Indiana Jones could score all those girls by losing his bullwhip and gun and sword and by keeping his fedora, well "so can I, damnit."

Replacing the empty box in my locker, I donned the hat and glanced at myself on a grimy wall mirror. A sly smile formed on my lips before it quickly returned to the weak frown I had sporting for far too long.

I took it off and hooked it on my thumb before returning to the hall and setting out for the stairwell. I had just opened the door to the stairs when my cell rang. The display read Barbara's cell number. There was a pang of guilt somewhere in my chest as I turned the phone off.

She had been the only person in Gotham that I had spoken with since November, and that had been on a very limited basis. Brief chats on my dinner breaks for the most part. And as much as I would have loved to hear her voice, I knew I wouldn't be the best of company for her.

As I slowly made my way to the parking lot, I knew the only company I needed right then was a few hours of sleep, hopefully dream free.

V

Sorry for the delay, I apparently suck at life…