"I'm going to state for the record," Dick announced from where he was leaning against the end of the staircase banister, "that this sucks."

Bruce sighed and pulled his gloves on. "I'm sorry, chum, but you can't come with me. It's an adults-only opening."

"But it's an exhibit on Christmas!"

"I know," he agreed. It did seem rather counter-intuitive for the Gotham Museum of History to be opening such a show without any children present. Then again, who wanted to drag a kid out into the snow for an event that didn't start until nine-thirty? It was only eight now, and his twelve-year-old was already acting cranky; he could only imagine how even younger attendees might feel by ten or eleven. "But it's not my event. I didn't make the rules."

Dick's shoulders slumped. "...I know." He came forward then, stopping a few feet away and crossing his arms. "Could we at least go see it together this week? Please? I won't even miss any school, since winter break started day before yesterday."

"Next week," he promised, glancing at his watch. He needed to go soon if he wanted a decent parking spot, but he hated to leave knowing that his son felt left out. "I have meetings all day tomorrow and Tuesday, and it's going to be packed on Christmas Eve. We'll go next week." Noting the incredulous and mildly hurt look on Dick's face, he hesitated. "What's wrong?"

The boy just shook his head. "...Nothing. We'll just...go next week. After Christmas." Turning away, he headed towards the stairs. "...I guess I'll see you in the morning, Bruce."

"Chum, what-"

The front door opened, letting in a blast of icy air that cut him off. Alfred entered and began to stamp the ice off of his boots. "The car is ready for you, sir," he shared. "I'm afraid it isn't the flashiest thing in the paddock, but at least it has four-wheel drive and remote start."

"Thanks," Bruce said hurriedly before swiveling back to the boy. "Anyway, Dick-" But Dick had taken advantage of Alfred's entrance to disappear. "...Damn it."

"Is there a problem, Master Wayne?"

"No, he's just upset that he can't come with me tonight."

"Ah. Well, Christmas is his favorite holiday, as it is for most children. Perhaps you can take him later this week."

"I can't. I have meetings all day Monday and Tuesday, and everyone is going to go see it on Wednesday. I told him we'd go next week, but he apparently didn't like that idea." He grimaced. "...Please tell me that there's more to the teenage years than stomping up the stairs and acting like nothing's good enough."

"I expect that there will be a great deal more than that in Master Dick's case, sir. But if I may...what on earth made you think he would want to go to a Christmas exhibit after Christmas?"

It was a good point, but Bruce didn't have an answer to match. "It's the only time I can take him," he insisted.

The butler stared at him for moment, then gave a curt nod. "Then I suppose it will have to be good enough for him."

The billionaire thought he'd picked up a hint of disbelief in the older man's voice, but he didn't have time to inquire after it. "Well...see if you can explain it to him better, would you? I really need to go."

"I shall do my best. Have a pleasant evening."

"Yeah...you, too..." Feeling slightly chastened, he cast one more look up the stairs after his son. Then, unable to do anything more about the situation, he departed.

When he returned several hours later he found Alfred waxing the banister with rather more force than usual. "Didn't you just polish all of that for the Christmas Ball?" he asked with a frown.

"Yes, sir. I did."

Bruce paused with only half of his coat buttons undone. He knew the tone he was being addressed in all too well, having heard it from the time that he was very small. It was a rarity these days, and yet here it was tonight, making him shiver despite the wool on his back. "...Okay, Alfred. What did I do?"

"I think you know, Master Wayne."

His jaw dropped. "This isn't seriously about the damn museum exhibit, is it?"

"No. It's about time and effort."

"Time and...what are you talking about?!"

Alfred screwed the safety cap back onto its bottle with so much pressure that the loud resulting clicks made them both wince. Setting it down on a riser, he descended the stairs and approached. "...Master Wayne," he began, his speech even but brittle, "you need to think about what you are doing."

"What-?"

"That boy asks you for next to nothing," he steamrolled on, "and yet when he finally issues a request for something he truly desires, you can't even make an effort to comply."

"Alfred, I can't take him this week!" Bruce exclaimed in exasperation. "What's wrong with next week?!"

"Where is the magic, exactly, in going to a holiday exhibit after the holiday has passed?" Alfred fired right back. "Honestly, sir, you were a child once; do you remember nothing about the excitement this time of the year brings?"

"He's twelve, not two!"

"And he's also in love with Christmas, and you know it. Good lord, do you not realize that most people never fully outgrow the joy of this month? We adults may not be as candid about our feelings as children are, but we still feel it. Who do you think puts up Christmas lights and displays? The children? Who do you think put together the exhibit that he so desperately hopes you'll take him to see while his anticipation is at its highest? It was an adult – a group of them, more like – and if the show is any good at all it will be because they feel a real love for the topic they were working with!"

He stopped, his eyes blazing, his nostrils flaring. "...Fine, you have meetings this week," he went on after a moment. "But take him on Christmas Eve, then. Yes, it will be horribly crowded and the traffic will be terrible and you'll wait in line forever to buy him lunch, but that shouldn't matter, Bruce. If you focus on the absolute ecstasy you've brought to your son's face instead of on the inconveniences of the moment, it won't matter. All you'll see is him, and the rest will melt away."

There was no argument that Bruce could offer to that that wouldn't sound impossibly selfish. Realizing as much, he gazed down at his shoes and thought back over the evening. "...It's not that I don't want to take him, Alfred," he said slowly. "I saw a lot of things tonight that I know he's going to love. This week is just-"

"This week is the only time to take him if you want to do it right, sir. Hearing about Christmas the week after it's come is just as uninteresting as hearing about it in July."

"It was supposed to open weeks ago. The exhibit, I mean."

"I know. I had to keep moving it around on your social calendar."

"...Right. Well..." He ran one hand back through his hair, stymied. Despite Alfred's cajoling, he desperately didn't want to go to the museum on Christmas Eve. Even putting the people and the lines aside, he generally preferred to stay home that day. Monday and Tuesday were both utterly full, though, and every single meeting was one that had been instigated by his company. To cancel for anything short of an emergency would be bad form.

"Let me see what I can do," he said helplessly. Maybe a solution would come to him while he slept; maybe all of his boardrooms would simultaneously catch fire in the morning and force a rescheduling. Both seemed equally unlikely to him, but he didn't have an answer and he couldn't take another minute of the butler's cool, expectant gaze. "I'll try, Alfred. I really will."

"I would appreciate that, Master Wayne. More importantly, Master Dick will appreciate it."

"Yeah, I...I know he will." Sensing that he could finally leave without incurring the butler's wrath, he moved past him and towards the stairs. "...Good night, Alfred."

"Good night, sir."

He slept poorly, plagued by uncertainty. Dick had been asleep when he'd peeked in on him, and while part of him was relieved that he wouldn't have to give him a definite answer tonight the rest of him was sorry he didn't get to at least tell him that he was going to try for this week. By the time he heard Alfred open the door in order to wake him for work he still had no solution. He showered, dressed, and ate in a miserable mood that was only made worse by the fact that he didn't get a good-morning hug from the pre-teen sleeping his break away. He supposed he couldn't blame him for not making his usual special effort to getup early and come down, but it still hurt.

His outlook was only made worse by the slush-plagued roads and the idiots who couldn't manage to drive on them properly. By the time he reached his office he was in a serious huff, and judging from the way his secretary balked when he stepped off the elevator it showed.

"Um...good morning, Mister Wayne," she greeted. "I have a message from your nine o'clock."

He paused halfway across his executive lobby. "...What's the message?"

"They apologize, but they need to cancel. Apparently the weather system that's giving us all this wet snow and warmth is throwing a blizzard at them. They can't get out of town at all."

A tiny glimmer of hope dawned. "And my afternoon session?"

"I haven't heard from them, so I assume it's still on. I'll let you know right away if they call, though."

"You do that. But you'll have to call my cell phone."

She blinked. "Are you leaving?"

"Yes. I have something else I have to attend to." Spinning around, he marched back to the elevator. "Send out a memo that everyone who wants to can leave at lunch. I know there are a few people who probably have afternoon meetings, but I'd rather not keep everyone here until the roads are starting to ice over again. Tell them they'll still get paid. If my afternoon cancels, just call me and then go," he added. "I don't care what time it is. And make sure you tell Lucius what's going on with the afternoon, too."

"I will, Mister Wayne. And thank you!" she called just before the doors closed her out.

As soon as he was alone a beaming smirk appeared on his face. "...Alfred," he spoke into his phone as he dropped back down into the parking garage.

"Master Wayne? Is everything all right? You haven't been involved in an accident, have you?"

"No. I'm at the office. But not for long. Listen, get Dick out of bed and bring him to meet me at the museum."

"He's awake already, sir. He came down shortly after you departed."

Bruce flinched. If that was the case, then Dick had most likely chosen to not wish him a good day rather than merely slept in. I'm sorry, chum, he thought. I didn't know it meant that much to you. But I'm going to fix it. "Good," he forced out. "Then get him down here. I still have an afternoon meeting scheduled, and I want him to have plenty of time."

"Very well, sir. We'll be on our way shortly."

"Okay. Good. See you soon."

Thanks to the numerous collisions that had slowed the traffic downtown to a veritable crawl Bruce didn't have long to wait by the time he reached the museum. The place looked abandoned from the outside, and a bolt of concern went through him. It would be his kind of luck to have gotten the time to bring Dick to the exhibit only for it to be closed because of the weather. Fretting, he climbed the stairs and tried the door. To his relief, it opened. "Excuse me," he spoke to the guard at the desk. "You're still open, aren't you?"

"We're supposed to close at noon because of the roads, but we're open for now," she replied. "It's a good day to come, too; there's hardly anyone here."

"Great. I'll be back shortly, then."

A car he recognized as his own pulled up to the curb as he went back down the steps. Dick climbed out of the backseat, then leaned in again to speak to Alfred. He turned around just as Bruce reached the sidewalk, and the billionaire knew instantly that his transgression of the night before had been forgiven. "Hi!" a happy squeal sounded as the boy threw himself at him. "Alfred told me. I'm so excited!"

"I know you are. Me, too." How many times during the previous evening had he caught himself looking at a certain part of the exhibit and thinking 'Dick will love that'? It was at least a dozen, he decided. "Let's go. We only have a couple of hours, and it's a big exhibit."

"Yessss!"

The rest of the morning passed in a blur. The early hour and the inclement conditions in town had left the museum sparsely populated, and there were often moments when Bruce looked up to discover that they were alone in a gallery. Dick, he knew, didn't notice; he was far too entranced by what he was actually here to see, just as Alfred had said he would be.

They moved through the history of Christmas, stopping to read about its evolution from different holidays celebrated by diverse peoples into the cultural cornerstone they were familiar with. In the Hall of Trees Dick insisted on circling all of the displays, which ranged from a fake-candled example of early Scandinavian décor to a tongue-in-cheek 'Tree of the Future' featuring a metallic conifer sitting in what appeared to be a spaceship's control room. After that came the section on seasonal traditions around the world, with its dozen life-size dioramas showing Christmas as it was celebrated in other countries. They had just moved on to the rooms labeled 'Christmas in Pop Culture' when Bruce felt his pocket vibrate. "...I'll be right back, chum," he said.

"'Kay," Dick answered without looking away from an elaborate miniaturized North Pole.

"...Mister Wayne?" his secretary's voice met his ear.

"Did they cancel?" he asked immediately.

"Yes. They said the roads are supposed to get worse and they don't want to risk it."

"Fine. Once you've let Lucius know, send out another email. Everyone leaves now," he ruled.

"The whole company?"

"The whole company." He glanced back to where his son was standing, his face alight with happiness. "...In fact, tell them to take tomorrow off, too, and cancel my meetings for then. Better safe than sorry, and I can't imagine anyone objecting to an extra day with their families at Christmas." The companies with which he was supposed to meet on Tuesday were Gotham-based; they would be just as eager for a cancellation as he was, given the conditions.

"Oh, Mister Wayne...did anyone ever tell you that you have a heart of gold?"

He laughed. "...No. But thank you."

"Well, you do. And I'll get the word out. Thank you."

"You're welcome. Merry Christmas." Hanging up, he rejoined Dick. "...Hey, kiddo."

"Hey. This is amazing." A tousled head leaned against his arm. "I'm so glad we got to come together."

Bruce wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "Me, too. But we have to go soon."

"...Your meeting?"

"No. The museum is closing early because of the weather. In fact," he said as a guard came into view at the end of the room and headed towards them, "I think this person is coming to kick us out."

"Oh..."

That was indeed why the guard had come. When she'd departed to search out any other visitors, Bruce went on. "If the weather's better tomorrow, though, we can come back. There's still another two sections you haven't seen yet."

"But...what about your meetings? You said you had them tomorrow, too."

"I canceled them. In fact," he squeezed him closer, "I canceled work entirely tomorrow, and for the rest of the day today."

Dick gaped up at him. "...You mean you have four whole days off in a row?" he whispered.

"I do."

"And we can spend them together?"

"You bet we can. Now let's go; Alfred will be waiting."

"Are you going to ride home with us? It's probably safer, you know. I mean, you're a good driver, but Alfred has, like, a sixth sense for avoiding accidents."

Bruce laughed for the second time in as many minutes. "I'll take the car I brought in back to the parking garage, and I'll ride with you from there. Sound good?"

"Sounds great. But Bruce?"

"Hmm?"

"If they have this exhibit again next year, do you think we could come with a whole day to spend? Like..." Dick lowered his head as if he knew that what he was about to ask for would be met with a negative answer. "...Like do you think you could take a day off of work? Please?"

A sudden wave of wonder washed over Bruce. I nearly missed this moment, he thought. I nearly missed this day. The quiet, eager way his son had moved through the exhibit, glowing with happiness, flashed behind his eyes. As if that vision wasn't enough, he was being given a chance to repeat it. His boy – his almost-a-teenager boy – was asking to schedule time with him a year in advance. It was marvelous. It was wrong, because Dick shouldn't have needed to request a penciling-in twelve months ahead of time just to get a day of quality time, but it was still marvelous, and incredibly flattering.

Overwhelmed, Bruce pulled him into a tight hug and made a promise. "When we get home, chum, we're going to go into my study. When we get there, we're going to pull up next year's calendar and you're going to pick a day. Whatever day that is, Dick, I'm going to take off, and we can do whatever you want. Okay?"

"Okay. That sounds awesome."

It sounded pretty awesome to Bruce, too.