A/N: Someone commented on the fact that this story sounded familiar and they might have read it before. The answer to that is "Yes," but I have since re-written parts of it, added more dialogue, and brought it up to a higher standard, making everything more consistent, since re-reading it myself, I found there were parts that were confusing and even contradicted with other parts. I hope you enjoy it again this Christmas Season.

A Bat Christmas Carol

With Great Respect for Charles Dickens

By

Part 1: A Bitter Man

Years had gone by, and Bruce Wayne became more and more bitter. His CEO Lucius Fox died some years ago, leaving Bruce solely in charge of the Wayne Enterprise business. The business thrived while others floundered and closed their doors. Then an Earthquake hit Gotham, leaving much of the city in ruins. It could have been an opportunity to rebuild, but Bruce Wayne wasn't interested in rebuilding. That meant he had to care for someone, and right now, he cared for no one. Years before, it was Lucius Fox who suggested that reducing their staff was "good for business" until they were the only two people left. And after Lucius died, oddly enough, it was Bruce who felt he couldn't do without someone to keep track of their clients.

Richard Grayson warmed his hands over the single oil lamp that sat between them. The single lamp was growing dim and Richard reached to turn it up in order to see his work more clearly.

"Grayson, lay a hand on that lamp and I might consider getting a new clerk," Bruce Wayne growled a warning.

"Sorry, Sir, but it's getting darker and . . . "

"I cannot stop the sun from going down. If you cannot see to do your work, move closer to the lamp, or get a candle to put at your desk."

Richard was getting anxious to be done with work on this particular day. The clock on the wall didn't reflect the feeling that time was moving at a snail's pace. Before long the hands did move, and Richard Grayson breathed a sigh of relief to know that time had continued moving forward and had to been stopped in its tracks.

It was Christmas Eve, and just before six, a young man entered the office of the once great Wayne Enterprise, now reduced down to only two people. The young man had a familiar face, but this young man was full of cheer, and had a hopeful heart, as opposed to the older man sitting at one of two desks, scribbling in a ledger.

"Evening, Father," Damian stated.

"Humph," Bruce groused. "Don't call me that during business hours."

"Ah come on, Father," Damian commented. "Don't be grumpy."

"You are disturbing me during business hours, why shouldn't I be grumpy."

"Father, it's almost closing time, besides, I came to ask you to come dine with my wife and I, tomorrow."

"Why in the world did you get married?" Bruce groused. "You should be learning to run the business. Your Grandfather should have prepared you better, and not filled your head with dreams, and dropping out of school."

"Grandfather was a good man. Besides I fell in love with the lady, and you know how much I love being an artist. Learning to run a business is just not for me."

"You're more like a starving artist," Bruce said under his breath, scrutinizing his son's attire. "And no, I will not come to dinner, I will be busy tomorrow."

"Father, it's Christmas. All the businesses will be closed. You won't have anyone to do business with."

"Then it will be a perfect time to get caught up," Bruce countered. "Grayson! Take these and begin the collection process!"

"Yes, Mr. Wayne," Dick Grayson stated. Dick Grayson went over to Mr. Wayne's desk and grabbed the sheets of paper. There was a stack of 20 this time.

"Father, tomorrow is Christmas," Damian stressed, again.

"Bah, humbug, just another day on the calendar."

"You can't mean that."

"I do, Sir," Bruce glared at the young man. "What is it to you, you're poor enough."

"And you're rich enough," Damian countered. "Come on. Father, you can take one day out of the year to celebrate. Mother would have wanted you to."

"Do not speak of your mother. What right have you to celebrate? You keep Christmas in your way and let me keep it in mine."

"But you don't keep it," Damian argued.

"Good afternoon!" Bruce said, trying to dismiss his son.

Damian shook his head, seeing that his father wasn't going to change his mind. He tried to do this every year, even as a boy. Even when his mother, Talia tried to tell him that his father had chosen money over them, Damian wouldn't believe her.

"There has to be some good in him," Damian remembered.

"He has forgotten us," Talia said before she died.

Even so, Damian vowed to for his mother's sake to try to change his father's mind, to remind him he was still loved.

Afterward, Damian was sent to a boarding school where his grandfather lived and worked, until he died as well. Without his grandfather's help, young Damian would have faded out of obscurity, and out of his father's mind completely. Damian though, was still determined, and had not forgotten his vow.

Bruce Wayne nearly forgot about his son, leaving him to fend for himself in the world. The young man never became bitter, believing that his father would someday see the truth, and accept him for himself.

"Merry Christmas, Father, and to you Mr. Grayson, and your family."

"Merry Christmas, and call me Dick," Richard Grayson replied. "All my friends do."

"Be careful Mr. Grayson," Bruce Wayne stated. "Mention Christmas one more time and you will be celebrating Christmas on the unemployment line."

"Yes, Mr. Wayne," Dick stated quietly, and he went back to his work.

As Damian left his father's office, two women entered.

"Excuse me, Sir, would you be Mr. Fox or Mr. Wayne," one of the women asked.

"Mr. Fox has been dead for several years. He died this very night. Get on with your business," Bruce groused. "Are you here to pay your account?"

"Actually, we represent the poor," the other woman stated.

"Are you lawyers? I am within my rights."

"No, actually. We are trying to collect money so we can provide meals and warmth for the poor and homeless. And a means so they can protect themselves from those who would harm them. What should we put you down for?"

"Nothing," Bruce stated.

"You wish to remain anonymous?"

"I wish to be left alone," Bruce replied. "Leave now, before I call security." Even though Bruce Wayne had let go his security go some three years ago.

"Sir, it's Christmas, many are in need."

"They have nothing to do with me, and I have nothing to do with them."

"Many could die without food or comfort."

"Well, let them. That would reduce the population, wouldn't it? More resources for the rest of us. Good evening, ladies."

The two women left with shocked look on their faces. When six o'clock finally struck, Dick Grayson cleaned up his desk and placed his pens away. He started to turn off the lamp then realized Mr. Wayne was still writing. He approached Mr. Wayne and cleared his throat.

"Sir, if you don't mind, may I have my wages early?"

"Early?"

"Tomorrow is Christmas . . . ."

"I know that," Bruce growled.

"Every business will be closed, and it is only once a year," Dick stated.

"I take it you will want the whole day?" Bruce opened the safe and started counting out some bills.

"If it's convenient," Dick said meekly.

"It's not convenient, paying a day's wage for no work, but if it's only once a year, very well, take the day," Bruce handed Dick Grayson his daily wages as well as for the next. "But be here early the day after."

'Yes, Sir, thank you," Dick placed the bills in his pocket, grabbed his coat and scarf and headed out the door.

Continues with Part 2