Author's Note: That's 'Box Day', not 'Boxing Day', although it would be kind of neat to see Alfred and Bruce switch places on the 26th...

"...Go on into the den, sirs, and I'll bring you a small treat before bed," Alfred bade as Bruce and Dick kicked off their boots in the foyer.

"Bed?" Dick queried, his mouth turning down into a frown. "But what about patrol?!"

"No patrol for you tonight, kiddo," Bruce explained. "Not on Christmas Eve."

"Why not, though? I don't have school tomorrow."

Because it's too risky, the billionaire bit back. Taking a nine-year-old out to fight hardened criminals was always a risk, of course, but tonight it was one that he couldn't bear. If something were to happen that resulted in Dick being unable to dive into the truckload of presents that were going to be waiting under the tree for him tomorrow morning, Bruce wouldn't be able to handle it. It was much safer for Batman to perform a solo patrol with the knowledge that the child was safely tucked into his bed to keep him steady.

He could hardly say all of that, though, so he quickly fabricated other excuses. "Because you already almost fell asleep in the car as we were coming back from lights viewing, and because Santa doesn't come to visit children who are up until two in the morning."

"...Santa?" Dick raised one eyebrow. "I think we both know that neither one of us believes in him. Plus, I wasn't really tired in the car; I just wanted to take a little nap so I'd be extra ready for patrol tonight."

Bruce opened his mouth, then closed it again, stymied. If only his boy wasn't quite so damn smart...

Alfred saved the day for him. "You are correct about Santa, young sir," he remarked, "but I think you're forgetting the person who puts out your presents in his stead."

"...You?"

"Correct. Me. And I'm afraid that as master of gifts in this house I cannot give you your Christmas Eve box if you insist on going out for patrol."

Dick blinked at them both. "Wait...what's a Christmas Eve box?" His eyes widened. "Is it like a present?"

"Yes," Bruce nodded, sending Alfred a grateful glance. "It's a present you can only open on Christmas Eve, so if you don't do it tonight you never get what's inside." He wasn't sure that was wholly true – in fact, he was fairly certain that the one time he'd acted up so badly just before Christmas that Alfred had revoked his box all of its individual parts had ended up under the tree anyway – but some of the pleasure would be missing if they skipped that tradition tonight.

"Wow...you really get to open a present on Christmas Eve?" Dick's eager face was shining with awe. "That's amazing."

"You get to open a present on Christmas Eve," the billionaire stressed. "...You've never done anything like that before?"

"Huh-uh. We never really had enough presents to open one on Christmas Eve, you know?"

"Sure," he agreed. "...Should we go wait for Alfred, then?"

"Yes! See you in a minute, Alfred!"

"Very well, Master Dick. You've made a good choice."

A minute later Bruce was seated on the den couch and watching Dick walk around the room on his hands. "Are you excited for tomorrow, chum?" he asked.

"I'm always excited for Christmas. I mean..." He let his feet fall back down to the floor and crossed his legs beneath himself. "...I guess it'll be really different this year," he frowned, "but...I'm still excited." His gaze met Bruce's. "Do you think that's wrong? To be excited even though they...they aren't here?"

"No. I think it's exactly how they'd want you feel." Relief flooded him. He was expecting a few unhappy moments the next day, given the fact that it would be the child's first holiday since his parents' murder, but he was hoping to keep the misery to a minimum. Kids were supposed to be happy on Christmas, and just because he himself had rarely been so after the age of six didn't mean that Dick shouldn't be. "It's going to be a lot bigger than you're used to," he warned.

"...Are people coming over?"

"No. No one comes by on Christmas. Well...no one except Clark." The Kryptonian had the annoying habit of showing up just before Christmas dinner every year and not leaving until patrol time. "But there won't be any parties or anything."

"Oh. Well that's okay, then. I mean...if there are enough presents for us to open one on Christmas Eve, it makes sense that everything else is bigger, too. Anyway," he shrugged, "I'm glad Clark's coming over. I like him, and I don't think he has anyone else to really spend tomorrow with, you know? It's nice that you let him come here."

Bruce started. He had never thought of Clark's annual Christmas intrusion as an attempt to not spend the holiday alone, but now that the suggestion had been voiced it made perfect sense. Who else was he supposed to eat with? Lois, with whom his relationship status seemed to change from day to day? The other members of the League, who all either had their own Christmas traditions or didn't care to have any at all? His adoptive parents, long dead and buried in a Midwestern cemetery? Of course he came here, where there was company, a hearty meal, and a handsome tree to admire with one's feet up. It was probably the closest the other hero ever got to feeling like he was back on his childhood farm.

As he was fumbling through those realizations and feeling like a bit of an ass, Alfred entered. "Here we are, sirs," he announced. A medium-sized box, gaily wrapped and topped with a ribbon, was set down on the couch beside Bruce. "If you would like to get started, I will go and fetch you some cookies." He turned to leave and nearly ran into Dick, who had slipped up beside him in order to get as close as possible to the gift. Alfred chuckled. "...You go on and open it, Master Dick," he bade, brushing his hand momentarily over the child's hair. "I believe you'll like what's inside."

"Okay," Dick agreed. His hands flew to the lid of the box as if they had just been waiting to be told that it was okay to touch. "...You should lift the other side," he looked up to tell Bruce. "Then it's like we're opening it together."

"You bet, chum." He put his fingers into position. "...Ready?"

"Let's count and open it on three."

"Okay. You count, though."

"Okay...onetwothree!"

Bruce laughed as the lid went flying off without any help from him. "So much for counting," he noted.

"I counted. I just counted fast because I couldn't wait anymore once I said we should count. Hey, check it out!" He lifted something out of the container. "We got new pajamas! And they've got reindeer on them!"

"You did get new pajamas," he concurred.

"No, we got new pajamas. Look, here are yours; they're way too big for me."

He tried not to wince as a set of bright red, reindeer-spotted night clothes were passed over. He'd become accustomed as an adult to receiving a Christmas Eve box containing a new bottle of Scotch, a good book, and a fresh pair of warm, comfortable slippers; pajamas had long ago fallen to the wayside. For some reason he had thought that there would be kid things for Dick and adult things for him in this year's offering, but apparently he had been wrong. "...Great," he tried to plaster on a smile.

"Now we'll match! And look, we got a movie – ooh, 'The Polar Express', I always wanted to see that – and a book, too. Oh, I know this story," he said as he examined the cover of 'The Night Before Christmas'. "Mom...mom used to tell it to me. We never actually had the pictures to look at, though; she just told me from her memory." In the space of a blink he was pressed against Bruce's knee. "Would...would you read it to me later?" he requested hopefully. "I know I could read it myself, but...would you? Please?"

There was absolutely no way he could say no to the pleading stare being directed at him. "Sure, kiddo. We'll read it once you're tucked into bed."

"Are we going to watch our movie first?"

"Of course you are, Master Dick," Alfred answered as he came back in bearing a plate of cookies and two tall glasses of milk. Placing his load on the table behind the sofa, he examined his charges. "...But you're not ready, I see. You have yet to change into your pajamas."

"We get to wear them tonight?!"

"Of course. That's half the fun. Hurry, now," he hustled the boy off towards the bathroom down the hall. "It's getting late, and you want to have time for your story." When Dick had gone he turned to Bruce. "...I daresay we have enough bathrooms in this house for you to both change at once, sir."

"Alfred...you can't be serious."

The butler gave him an imperious look. Then his face softened. "There is a bottle of your current favorite single-malt on the desk in your study," he revealed, "and a new mystery and slippers beside your bed. I felt that the box ought to be full of things you two could use together, but I had no intention of neglecting your more advanced tastes."

"Thank you," he said sincerely.

One corner of Alfred's lips twitched upward into a half-smirk. "A bit disappointed, were you?"

"Uh...maybe a little, yes. But you fixed it."

"I should hope so. Fixing things is half my job, after all. At the moment," he added, "I intend to fix some popcorn. If you would like to get ready, Master Wayne...?"

Bruce looked back down at the flannels in his hands. They seemed less garish now that he knew they weren't the sum of his Christmas Eve gifts. Besides, Dick had been excited about the prospect of 'matching', and it wasn't as if anyone outside of the family was going to see him in them. What could changing possibly hurt other than his pride, which would easily recover? "...Okay, Alfred," he gave in. "I'll go get ready."

Two hours later he was carrying Dick up the stairs when he heard his name being whispered. "Mmph...Bruce?"

"Hmm?"

"...Did I fall asleep?"

"You did."

"Oh no..."

"It's okay. You own the movie now, remember? You can always watch it again when you're more awake."

"Could we watch it tomorrow?"

He winced. It hadn't been a bad story, and he certainly couldn't complain about the warm bundle of boy that had dozed off against his side halfway through, but that didn't mean he wanted to relive the tale twelve or eighteen hours from now. "Why don't we see what you get in the morning?" he suggested. "There might be something you'd rather do instead."

"But if I still want to, can we?"

A sigh escaped him. "...Sure. If that's what you want to do."

"Yay...Bruce?"

"Mm-hmm?" They were at the bedroom door now, and he nudged it open with his foot.

"Can we still read the story?"

"That depends," he answered as he put him down on the mattress. "Do you think you can stay awake for it?"

Dick blinked up at him sleepily. "...Will you be mad if I accidentally fall asleep in the middle again?"

"No, chum. I won't be mad." If he wanted to be honest with himself, the child passing out in short order would please him. He had a patrol to get to, after all, and a new book to start if he could keep his eyes open after that.

"Then could we try? Please? I want to see the pictures that go with the story."

"Okay. Let me..." He glanced around the room. "...Let me go get the book. I left it downstairs."

"I have it, sir," Alfred broke in from the doorway. Entering, he handed it over. "I thought you might want it despite Master Dick's slumberous state."

"Slumberous," Dick murmured from the bed. "That's a good word..."

Bruce, amused by the child's evident drowsiness, shot Alfred an amused glance. The butler winked back. "You'd better hurry up with things, I think," he advised, then departed.

Hurrying wasn't enough. Three pages into the story, Dick was fast asleep. Smiling gently, the billionaire put the book aside and laid his son down. "Sweet dreams, Dicky," he whispered as he tucked him in tightly. "Just sugar plums tonight, okay? No bad things." He bent to drop a kiss onto one smooth temple. "And don't worry," he added just before he pulled away. "We can read it again tomorrow, if you want. I…I don't mind."

Out in the corridor a minute later, he waffled. He needed to go on patrol – it would be a quiet night, but that was no excuse for laziness – but he wanted to sink his toes into the lining of his new slippers and crack open a good mystery. Just as he was fixing to drag himself away from his bedroom door and head for the cave, Alfred appeared at the top of the stairs. "Hey," Bruce greeted quietly.

"I see my timing was spot-on. Excellent." As he drew near it became clear that he was carrying a glass of familiar amber liquid. "...Your Scotch, sir," he said, holding it out.

Bruce's indecision came rushing back. "...I was going to go down to the cave," he said hesitantly.

"Indeed? Oh, dear..." A beat passed. "I thought, Master Wayne, that perhaps this year you might understand why it would be preferable for you to stay in tonight." He paused again. "It is Christmas Eve, after all."

"What..." Then, suddenly, it struck him. For how many years running had he gone out on this night and left Alfred to worry that there would be no one to open the packages under the tree the next day? The butler had never said anything about his concern besides issuing an extra 'take care', but all this time he had been feeling about Bruce's Christmas Eve patrolling as Bruce now felt about Dick's. "…Oh. Ah…"

"You must patrol as you see fit, Master Wayne," Alfred allowed quietly. "…But I do wish that you wouldn't. Not tonight."

How could he, after that? "Alfred…" He searched for a way to assure the older man without straight up capitulating. "…What did you say the title of that new book was?"

"I didn't say, sir, but seeing as how you asked it is 'Eight Minutes to Dawn'."

"'Eight Minutes to Dawn'?" Bruce frowned. "Isn't that the one about the detective who can't go out into the sunlight because of his xeroderma pigmentosum?"

"I believe that is the general synopsis, yes."

"But…that hasn't been released yet."

"No, it hasn't been."

"Then how…?" Alfred was very, very good at procuring the impossible, but so far as Bruce was aware he didn't have any connections in book publishing.

"Ah-ah, Master Wayne; surely you don't want to spoil the Christmas magic?"

"The Christmas…really, Alfred? The Christmas magic?"

"Not knowing makes it seem a bit like that, does it not? In any case, try not to talk about the story with anyone; you really aren't supposed to have gotten hold of it this early."

He wanted to argue, wanted to somehow make the butler tell him how he had gotten hold of the highly-anticipated novel, but he held back. He would find out somehow, but he would do it in his own way, and without being told outright. It would be, he thought slyly, like getting two mysteries for the price of one. "…Okay," he agreed finally. "I won't tell anyone I have it."

"Excellent." Alfred pressed the Scotch towards him again, and this time he took it. "…Good night, sir. And thank you."

"Sure. And Alfred?"

He turned back. "Yes, Master Wayne?"

"…Merry Christmas."

The butler smiled warmly. "Merry Christmas to you as well, Bruce. Sweet dreams."