Alfred wore a mild frown as he knocked on the door to the master suite. "Master Wayne?" he called out, hoping that he was worrying for nothing.

The portal opened to reveal a disheveled Bruce, his tie gone, his shirt half-unbuttoned, and his eyes bleary. "What is it, Alfred?"

"Sir, is Master Dick in there with you?"

The billionaire stilled. "No. Why?"

He grimaced. "It's just that he isn't in his room, either."

"…Didn't you put him to bed hours ago?"

"I did. That's why I thought it so strange that he isn't there now."

"He wouldn't have gone down to the cave, not with so many people moving between the ballroom and the foyer." A note of panic could be heard in the billionaire's voice as he began eliminating possibilities. "And he's not in here, or in his own bedroom…have you checked the kitchen?"

"I didn't look specifically for him, sir, no, but I did a final sweep of all the halls and open rooms before I came upstairs. I saw no one."

The faint flush of alcohol that had been lingering in Bruce's cheeks drained away, leaving him pale. "…Let's check everywhere again," he said. "You take the kitchen wing, I'll take this side, and we'll meet in the ballroom."

"Very good, sir. I'll see you shortly." Hopefully, he thought as he turned away, with the young master in tow…

It wasn't unusual for his more youthful charge to wander across the hall to his guardian's chamber – in fact, the boy made the migration almost nightly – but the vanishing act he seemed to have pulled this evening was unprecedented. As Alfred searched unsuccessfully, his fear grew. The den, kitchen, and living room all proved to be as empty as he had last seen them. His own small section of the house, to which the boy knew he could go if he felt the need, was abandoned. Beyond that lay the half-lit indoor pool, and as he stepped into the high, open room he felt his stomach plunge into his shoes.

Something child-sized was floating just under the surface, unmoving and silent.

He felt his heart leap into his throat. Oh, dear god, no… His panic reached its crescendo just before he realized that he was looking at the automatic cleaning apparatus. Coming to a stop at the edge of the water, which he'd been about to dive into, he stared at the hovering machine. Part of him was immensely relieved, as anything was better than finding one of his charges beyond help. At the same time, though, he was right back at square one in his search. "Where are you, child?" he muttered as he turned away from the tool that had given him such a scare. "Hide and seek has rather lost its appeal for me tonight..."

The bevy of spare bedrooms, storage, and formal gathering spaces that lay on the west wing's second floor had all been locked during the party, but he checked each one anyway. As he looked he tried to imagine what might have driven the usually obedient youth to avoid all of his preferred spots. Perhaps the gathering had been too loud, he mused as a linen closet turned up uninhabited. Some of Master Wayne's guests weren't known for their mastery of the so-called 'inside voice', and that went double for when there were copious amounts of alcohol flowing. Still, why wouldn't Master Dick have gone to the living room, or perhaps locked himself up in the den, if he was disturbed by the noise? It made no sense for him to have disappeared completely.

Alfred stopped short halfway between the balcony overlooking the grand foyer and the upper east drawing room, which had been in use during tonight's gathering. Dick had been at his guardian's side through the formal dinner and the first hour of the party, looking completely adorable in his miniature tuxedo; every attendee had had the opportunity to see him sparkle. There had been a tasteful signs put in place at bedtime requesting that guests utilize the twisting stairs that connected the drawing room and the ballroom rather than traipsing through the private areas of the house, but that was no guarantee that everyone had complied. How difficult would it have been, he mused darkly, for a cruel-hearted guest to spirit the child away?

He shuddered. Anyone attempting a kidnapping would have found themselves with quite the challenge, but not even the boy's Robin training and the fact that the bedroom door had been locked was enough to make success impossible. Plenty of the people who regularly attended the annual Wayne Manor holiday gathering were the jealous, money-hungry sort, and after years of observation there was very little that Alfred would deem as too low for a few of them. There was the hired help to be considered, too. While he tried to call back the same staff from one event to the next, there were always one or two workers who were otherwise engaged and had to be filled in for. He trusted his old hands, many of whom had been working Wayne Manor to-dos since Bruce was a child, but perhaps he had missed something in his security checks of the new assistants…

He glared into every corner as he moved through the upper east drawing room. If the person responsible for the boy's disappearance had still been there, they would have frozen under his baleful look. As it was, though, the guests and the staff were all gone, having left only hastily-cleared tables and a few strands of broken tinsel behind. He must be here somewhere, he thought desperately. We're just missing him. Surely no one would be so nasty as to kidnap a child this close to Christmas, and from his own bed at that. It was wishful thinking, and he knew it, but he clung to his vague hope anyway.

Descending the stairs at an urgent pace, he spied Bruce leaning against what had been the drinks table an hour before. Dick, much to his dismay, was nowhere to be seen. "…Master Wayne," he said a bit helplessly as he approached. "I take it you've had no luck, either. I hate to say this, sir, but perhaps we ought to begin considering…well…suspects."

"I don't think that will be necessary, Alfred."

Shaking his head in confusion, he studied the younger man's face. "…You're smiling," he noted out loud. "What on earth are you smiling for? Have you found him, then? Where is he?"

"He's right here." Bruce took half a step to the side and lifted the tablecloth. "…Don't be mad at him."

Alfred was too far gone on a tide of relief to imagine what could be meant by that request. "Why on earth would I be upset that he's safe?" he asked as he studied the nine-year-old's peacefully sleeping visage.

"Because I think he might be a little drunk."

"...I beg your pardon?!" Boggling, he let his gaze travel from the boy to the man. "Drunk?!"

Bruce snickered and reached behind himself. His hand came back holding a crystal glass, the inside walls of which bore an opaque liquid sheen. "I found this on the floor next to him."

"...The eggnog," Alfred deduced. Recalling a snippet of conversation he'd held with the young master earlier in the day, he groaned. "Damn it all...I fear that this may be my fault, sir."

"Your fault?" The billionaire arched an eyebrow. "How is it your fault?"

"Master Dick came into the kitchen while I was mixing the drinks for tonight. He inquired as to what I was making, and I told him. When he remarked that he had never had eggnog before, I offered to save out a small amount so that he might try it. He was quite enamored with his portion," he sighed, "but I never dreamt that he might scheme to dip into the adult servings."

"Alfred..." Bruce's expression had turned pensive. "Did you tell him there was alcohol in it?"

He thought back. Things had been perched on the edge of frantic when the child had approached him with a curious and slightly left-out look in his eyes. The spare tables for the ballroom had just arrived, the caterers had called to say that they were running late, the massive gingerbread model of Wayne Manor had only yet been half-decorated... "Upon reflection, sir, I believe I may have failed to mention that rather important fact," he confessed with a guilty wince. "Although one must wonder why he didn't stop after his first sip. Surely he noticed the difference in taste?"

"I'm amazed he got it past his nose," Bruce opined. "You don't exactly make weak eggnog."

"No, I do not." It was the tradition of the house, in fact, to double the bourbon in the recipe on the night of the Christmas party. Remembering as much, his brow knit in renewed concern. "...Good lord, you don't think he's drunk enough to endanger himself, do you?"

"He seemed all right when I found him – well, all right other than being passed out drunk – but...let's wake him up. Better safe than sorry." With that Bruce knelt and touched the child's pajama-clad shoulder. "...Dicky? Chum? Hey...wake up, kiddo."

"Mmph..."

"C'mon. You've got to get up for a second."

"How cooome?" came a whine. "'M comfy..."

"You're lying on a hardwood floor with no padding whatsoever," Bruce chuckled. "I don't think you're as comfy as you think you are."

"Sleepy..."

"Yeah, I'll bet you are that. Wake up anyway for a minute, huh? We need to at least get you back to bed."

A pair of skinny arms were raised. "…Could carry me?"

"I could, and maybe I will eventually, but not until you wake up and talk to me for a minute."

Finally, Dick opened his eyes. "...'M I in trouble?"

Alfred could tell that Bruce was struggling to hold back laughter. "I don't think so, but I won't know for sure until you answer a couple of questions for me. Can you do that?"

"I guess." He tried to push himself up, but he failed, and only the billionaire's quick reflexes kept him from slumping back to the ground. Once he'd been pulled upright and was leaning against Bruce's side, he hiccupped. "...Sorry, Alfred."

"I forgive you, considering the circumstances." Seeing that the boy was having trouble focusing on him, he crouched down. "Tell me, young sir; you drank the eggnog, didn't you?"

"You said it was – hic! – okay!" Dick's lips turned down.

"Yes, I know I gave you some in the kitchen earlier. But that was a bit different than what was being served to the crowd tonight." I can't believe this, he marveled silently. I've contributed to the delinquency of a child. To the delinquency of one of my...well. It was foolish of me, in any case. "Didn't you notice the change in flavor?"

The youth peered at him. "Yes," he agreed. "But it was still kinda good, so...I drank some."

"You liked the eggnog you drank tonight?" Bruce inquired.

"Well...not really. I mean, it was pretty gross, actually. But I just tried to – hic! Hic! – think about the part that tasted like what I had earlier. Then it wasn't so bad, except the way it burned on the way down." He paused. "What went wrong with it that it tasted like that?" His eyes widened suddenly. "Did someone poison it? Bruce, did someone try to poison your party?! You have to tell the people who left, they were all drinking it earlier!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Bruce, who was now laughing openly, tried to calm the flustered child. "Nobody got poisoned, chum. In fact," he judged, "I think even you escaped that, despite what you downed when no one was looking."

"...Huh?"

"Your 'poison', Master Dick, was bourbon," Alfred contributed. "That is what made the eggnog taste 'gross', to use your word."

"...Bourbon? But...but that's alcohol, isn't it?"

"It is indeed, young sir. And while it is a traditional part of eggnog," he went on, "it's generally not served to children."

"Oh..." Dick wrinkled his nose. "Why do people even drink that stuff? The eggnog was way better without it. No offense, Alfred, but – hic! – I think you should have left it the way it was."

"I assure you that I will be careful to leave the bourbon out of your share in holiday seasons to come," the butler promised. A small grin slipped across his lips as he watched the boy sway slightly despite his sturdy supporter. Now that it seemed that he hadn't overdosed on the Christmas beverage, his intoxication was almost cute. "But what on earth inspired you to come back downstairs?" he asked, curious.

"Yeah," Bruce seconded the question. "And how did you get past everyone?" He hesitated. "...No one saw you drinking, did they?"

There was a tone of dread in the billionaire's voice that Alfred could very well understand – heaven only knew what the papers would say if someone leaked that Bruce Wayne's ward had a penchant for liquor – but Dick was already shaking his head. "No. There was no one here when I came in. I woke up and felt thirsty, but I didn't want water. I didn't want the fizzy apple juice I had when I was at the party before, either. All I could think about was the eggnog from earlier, and I remembered that there was a big bowl of it down here. A big bowl," he smiled woozily, "that never got empty. It was like magic, the way it stayed full. I know it's not magic, but...it was like magic. I wanted to see that again.

"So I came back downstairs. I thought maybe I wasn't supposed to be at the party in pajamas, but I didn't want to put my suit back on. Plus, I figured it would be a good test of how sneaky I could be. You know," he craned his neck to stare up at Bruce, "like Robin training? If I could get in, get eggnog, and get out without anyone seeing me, how neat would that have been?"

"Sure," the billionaire, his eyes still twinkling with amusement, allowed. "That would have been good."

"But there was nobody here for me to sneak past," Dick went on, his shoulders slumping. "And the bowl was gone, too. I was really sad. Then I saw a cup that someone had left on a table. It was half full, and it looked good. I still wanted to be all ninja-y even though there was no one around, so I climbed under this table and drank it there." He shrugged. "It was kind of gross, like I said, but after I drank it I didn't want any more eggnog." His face contorted suddenly, and he reached for his stomach with one hand. "...In fact, I don't think I want any more eggnog ever."

"Are you feeling unwell, Master Dick?" Alfred queried.

"Um..." An unhappy grumble emanated from the boy's midsection. "...Yeah. Like...really sick." He blanched. "...Bruce?"

"Need a bathroom, chum?"

"Now. Help?"

The billionaire had swept the child up off of the floor and was heading for the hall in an instant. "Just hold on," he ordered as they hustled away. "Don't lose it on me, kiddo, whatever you do..."

Alfred watched them go, covering his mouth with one hand to hide the pitying smirk that had appeared there without his permission. While he did feel more than a tad responsible for his younger charge's unfortunate stomach woes, he couldn't help but be somewhat pleased with the way his first foray into drinking had turned out. With any luck tonight's experience would keep the youth uninterested in alcohol until he was not only of age to drink legally but also mature enough to drink responsibly. In his opinion, the headache and nausea that he would have to provide remedies for in the morning were a small price to pay for an inoculation against such a powerful cause of youthful foolishness as booze.

Spotting the cup that had tempted Dick, he picked it up. One edge bore unmistakable traces of lipstick, causing him to shiver in disgust. Just before he put the glass back down in an effort to not think about which of Gotham's high-class femmes fatales Dick had ended up having a drink with, his fingers froze. Wouldn't it be amusing, he thought, to clean the vessel and keep it in hiding until the young master's twenty-first Christmas? He could almost see the look of perplexity on his charge's face as he opened the gift in the distant future. The object would seem vaguely familiar, he was sure, but twelve years would fuzz the memory enough to make its origin story a mildly embarrassing revelation.

They could reminisce then, he dreamed, about the strange December evening when a drunken nine-year-old ninja had sneaked through the halls of Wayne Manor. Perhaps by then enough time would have passed for him to be able to mention the fright he'd received at the side of the pool, and the wild speculations that had flown through his head shortly thereafter. Maybe, he hummed quietly, he would even be able to use the keepsake as leverage to get the boy-turned-young-man to give the family eggnog recipe another try. That would mean another hangover, of course, but at least then it wouldn't be an illegal one.

He would wait and see. Until then – he winced as the sound of helpless retching came from the corridor, followed by a recalcitrant 'sorry, Bruce...' – there were sure to be plenty of other surprises to clean up after.

Author's Note: Poor Dick. I promise I'll treat him better in tomorrow's chapter. Until then, be sure to check out my blog for a look at the glasses I was imagining all that double-strength eggnog being poured into - they're very pretty. Happy reading!