Christmas Morning

Bruce was not a big holiday person. He observed them as far as they were federal holidays, meaning days off, but that was as far as it went. He wasn't one for all the pomp and festivity. That said, the maids that cleaned Wayne Manor had found some decorations tucked away in some long-forgotten room and had decorated a few of the rooms to match with the season.

That was the only reason why there was garland and wreaths hanging from the walls, a few candy canes added for color. There wasn't a Christmas tree, mainly because the one his parents had bought so long ago was gigantic and belonged to the foray. It usually required a work crew to set up and the maids had lost their enthusiasm when they considered the logistics of moving it.

Sitting in the sitting room, a fire crackling in the fireplace, the Wayne heir just stared into the dancing flames, a glass of store-bought eggnog in a Christmas festive mug. It tasted about like one would think.

It was Christmas morning.

It was Christmas morning and he was awake, lounging in his robe and pj pants on a couch.

There wasn't much more than that honestly.

Oh, Cassandra was there, slouching on the couch cushion next to him. She stared into the fire like him, though her mug of eggnog was sitting ignored on the coffee table. She had been the one responsible for the eggnog to begin with, wanting to try it. She hadn't cared for it.

And let's not forget Damian. He was standing towards the corner of the room, where a pile of presents had been stacked. He held one such present, turning it this way and that as he examined it.

None of them were up for opening the wrapped boxes just yet, letting the sluggishness of the morning rule over them. Part of that had to do with the late night following the attack on Max Shreck's party.

Unfortunately, Scarface and his inner circle had managed to escape, leaving behind the former Calabrese recruits to suffer under the law. And speaking of Calabrese, Selina had made a swift exit too, vanishing into the night.

The Batclan had searched the area, but hadn't gone very far, perhaps a four block radius around Shreck's penthouse. There had been no sign of either party, so either they were very good at keeping a low profile, even after such a public display of violence, or they had left in some unknown way. Either way, Bruce didn't want any of the girls finding them and getting way in over their head.

The dark-haired man resisted the urge to sigh. This whole thing was a mess. Selina was a mob boss who had roped him in to fund a power plant that involved Max Shreck in some way. Her lack of forthcomingness had stalled his investigation to the point it was going nowhere. Now she was wanting Max dead, and hid no pretense about it. Oh, and she was also Catwoman.

And now there was Scarface and his gang starting to stir up a gang war with Selina's mob family. And Max Shreck was also involved with that if Gordon's own investigation was any clue. There was a power struggle here and all parties were more familiar with it than he was. Bruce didn't like that one bit.

"What exactly are we supposed to be doing?" Damian called out, earning both Bruce and Cassandra's attention. He had turned so that his profile was towards them, still holding the present. "Are we supposed to be opening these?"

"Eventually," Bruce shrugged. "I was just enjoying the moment."

"Is that also something to be done on this Christmas?" the boy asked.

"It's one thing, yes."

"I don't recall reading about that."

Bruce nearly frowned at that response before he recalled Damian's upbringing. The Demon's Fang didn't exactly celebrate international holidays and Damian would see this as just some other day. Now, the boy had been in Gotham for the last few years, so it was possible that he and Talia had done something, or just merely took the day off. He wasn't exactly certain.

"Most children are excited about the presents," the older man observed. "I remember as a boy I was. My parents were more than content to watch me."

"So it is up to me to start the festivities?" Damian questioned.

"If you wish."

The dark-haired boy returned his attention to the present he held, then began ripping the wrapping paper. The sound of tearing paper filled the room.

Bruce tilted his head over to his daughter. "Do you want to join in?"

"I am fine," Cassandra responded. "I'm tired and drowsy for some reason."

Bruce's eyes darted to her ignored mug of eggnog. Part of him wondered if it was spiked. Taking a sip from his, he didn't taste anything alcoholic. So that wasn't the reason for her fatigue. Most likely, it had to do with last night.

"When did you get to sleep?" he then questioned.

"I don't know," she shrugged. "I got a little sleep, I think. Not long though."

"It's a box," Damian suddenly declared, holding a white box in hand now, the torn wrapping paper lying on the floor at his feet. He only paused for a moment before he opened the box. "It has socks," he said then, holding up a pair of Christmas-themed socks. He didn't sound the least bit excited.

A bubble of amusement appeared on Bruce's face. That was usually his reaction when he got clothes as a Christmas present. He was always more interested in the toys than the clothes. Most children felt that way, he imagined. At least he got to experience his son's disappointment in this generational tradition.

"I'm sure you'll find some use for them," the older Wayne reassured his son.

"I suppose I can frighten Gotham's criminals with its gaudiness," Damian observed.

Hmm, well, there was certainly that use for them.

Suddenly, the doors to the sitting room opened. "I hope I am not too late," a vibrant voice rang out. Three heads turned and found Talia entering the room, a couple of her bodyguards following in behind her. Each one had armfuls of presents in their arms, their hands grasping the handles of bags of red, green, and white.

"Welcome," Bruce greeted her as he held up his mug of eggnog to her. "Make yourself comfortable."

"Thank you," the dark-haired woman smiled at him before she made a beeline for Damian. This wasn't a surprise visit by the al Ghul woman; this had been discussed with his children. It was why Cassandra hadn't leaped out of the couch upon seeing her and Damian didn't begin glaring at her. The two children just looked impassively as Talia came to stand before her child.

"It is so good to see you, my son," Talia greeted him before she took him in her arms, hugging him. Damian just went with the flow, leaning into her, but not returning the hug. He was still holding his socks. In the meantime, Talia's guards took the presents they held and placed them with the stack in the corner. They then bowed to Talia before leaving.

"I must say, Beloved," Talia then said as she ended her hug with Damian, looking around the room, "you did not do much to celebrate this festival season."

"Makes for easier clean-up," he quipped as he took a sip of his eggnog. Cassandra leaned forward in her seat to pick up her own mug and take a drink of it herself. It was entertaining to see her face twist in disgust from it.

"There is something to that I suppose, but perhaps next year you can make a greater effort. Talia began pulling off a scarf that was wrapped around her neck. It matched her glamorous outfit, making her look like a magazine model. One could not say she was not above appearances.

"I'll keep that in mind."

Though Talia had a way of drawing attention to herself, this didn't completely distract Bruce, not as he watched Damian silently making his way out of the room. He was clearly using his mother's distraction to his advantage. He only paused when he noticed Bruce watching him.

All the older Wayne did was nod and then returned his attention to Talia. He didn't miss the grateful look on the boy's face as he then made his way out of the door.

Tossing her scarf onto the back of a nearby chair, Talia then took her seat in it and looked directly at Bruce and Cassandra, crossing one leg over the other. "So, what are we to talk about?" she asked pleasantly.

It felt wrong. Yeah, that was the best way to describe it. It was wrong.

Christmas had always been a happy time for Stephanie. The tree was set up, standing damn near up to the ceiling with just enough room for the star to fit at the top. Ornate balls and silver string and colorful lights decorated the tree, and there was usually a pile of presents underneath it, spreading out like a flood.

This Christmas was different.

She really hadn't noticed it, but the number of presents was small. Like, as in small from previous years. There had been a couple less presents from year to year as she got older and her tastes got more expensive. That was to be expected. However, this year the number of presents barely moved out from beneath the tree.

That was a sign that not all things were good. She hadn't known it, but her dad had lost his job on his game show, all thanks to that question mark wearing asshole in Arkham. People just couldn't handle questions and riddles and clues after that lunatic taunted the city by kidnapping its children and asking riddles.

With the show gone, Dad had struggled to find another job. Slowly, it ate at their savings until he and her mom were juggling which bills to pay. Stephanie had been oblivious to it all. Yeah, here, with all of her detective training, had missed her family in dire straits.

And what had her dad's solution been? Become a rip-off Riddler and steal. The clues had been a distraction the entire time, praying on everyone's fear of riddles.

And now, well, Stephanie was now responsible for sending her dad to jail.

She couldn't blame it on anyone else. Not Cassandra. Not Harper. Her. She had made the call to turn him in. She could try to justify it, sure. That it was the right thing to do, which it was. That it was a test to see if her morals stood up to the others when the wrong-doing was committed by someone in her family—a bit of a stretch honestly. She doubted Cassandra and Harper would hold it against her; give her shit for it, yeah, but not much further than that. That it could be seen as white privilege if she let him go without letting him suffer the repercussions of his crimes was another, though that was a hindsight argument rather than an in-the-moment one.

So she made her decision, and now her mom was in her bedroom, crying her eyes out. There had been shock, dismay, sorrow; then there was the begging, the phone calls made to friends and family to help get bail, to retain an attorney, and, and, and…

Suffice to say, Christmas sucked this year.

So Stephanie sat on her couch, the TV off so that she could see her distant reflection in it. She had a small plate of Christmas cookies on her lap, those crumbly, dry, store-bought ones. You know, the ones that looked better than they tasted? Those. And she was numbly biting a corner off of one, lost in thought.

Things were about to change. No, they had been changing, but now they were going to be a lot more cutting and difficult. Without dad, there was no income coming into the house. Mom had been a stay-at-home mom, and she was about to have a crash course into joining the workforce.

Stephanie paused.

Oh crap, was she going to have to join the workforce?

It made sense. No way could Mom pull in money like Dad had. She didn't have the qualifications or the experience for that. What she could get would be low-wage, long hour, highly stressful and difficult work. That was the career prospects here. And unfortunately, Stepanie couldn't see herself getting anything much better, which she would have to get reduced hours anyways because she had school and no way was she going to be dropping out. That was her parents' decision, not hers.

Yeah, this whole mess was getting worse and worse by the minute.

Would she be able to keep up with the Batclan? If she was going to be helping Mom out, and subsequently herself, she couldn't do it much. Not as much as she would like. She would literally become a weekend warrior while Cassandra and Harper were doing it full time. She really needed to ask them how they made it work. Harper had to take care of her and her brother with her job while going to public school and having time for the Batclan. She made it work. Maybe she had some tips?

For some reason, Stephanie felt that playing hooky was going to be one of those tips. Hmmm, maybe she needed to be careful which advice she listened to. Maybe she should listen more to Cassandra, who only seemed to complain about her job and hated it and…and…

Yeah, maybe asking those two for pointers wasn't a good idea. Hell, one of them had the ultimate form of nepotism and that hadn't gotten her much!

The blonde girl couldn't help but groan as she leaned her head back to rest on the top of the couch cushion. Maybe she should have just let her dad go. He could have worked this out so much better than she was. Yeah, he had decided a life of crime was his only option, which didn't really speak well to whatever logic he used to arrive at that point…

Okay, so his judgment went right off the rails. Damn it, Dad! Why did you have to do this?

And at Christmas no less!

An overcast in the sky threatening to drop mounds of snow across the city was not enough to deter Jim Gordon from reaching the side of his daughter to celebrate the one day he was able to even when commissioner. Only emergencies would summon him back to the precinct, though usually they had to be very sensitive. When he had been a beat cop, he always had been on call, and even in those days under Loeb, he managed to get the night shift on Christmas Day.

It hadn't always worked out, in which case he would try and volunteer for the early morning. Sometimes coming home from a Christmas shift was better than any gift that Santa would bring. Almost. That one video game console that one year had been hard to compete with.

Barbara was the only family he had still in Gotham, and it would be in her apartment that he would celebrate. He came bearing both gifts and the makings of dinner. Last minute shopping hadn't yielded anything that would be considered a feast, and despite all the years of living alone, his cooking skills were enough to get by. His first wife had been the one who took care of such things. Sarah, well, she and he had been more alike in that regard.

Hopefully that was one aspect of him that would not be inherited by Barbara, but the girl was a Gordon through and through. Still, they were also stubborn to a fault. If anyone could…

The warmth of the heater made the apartment toasty. Coffee warmed the inside. The cheer from a quiet yet intimate setting that was comfortable relaxed the soul. Even with everything going on, this moment right here was the closest to being perfect. Morning light peeked in through the windows, his daughter curled up on the couch with her legs under her gave the illusion she might start walking at any time, and the memories…

Memories weren't here and now. So to the present he kept his attention.

"So how's business?" Barbara asked, pulling a blanket over her lower half.

Business? Oh, right. "Picking up. More than I thought it would. I have at least one important client, so it's keeping me busy."

"Nothing too dangerous?" his daughter tried to wheedle. One thing that hadn't changed was Barbara wanting to know all the details.

However, recalling running out of a collapsing building, a bomb, and some dangerous new players in the city… "Nothing too out of the ordinary. Don't worry, if I even suspect something is up, I have Bullock on speed dial."

"You do, do you?" Something didn't feel right here. Why did he feel as if he was in danger? And in his daughter's apartment? "You wouldn't happen to…call Harvey every once in a while? Or him call you?"

There we are. That Bullock was keeping an eye on Barbara for him was only between himself and the lieutenant, but Barbara was sniffing that out. Perhaps it would be an empty effort, but there was no way he was going to confirm that.

A father always worried about his daughter. Sometimes he had friends who were sympathetic.

"Sometimes I need perspective on a case." Pausing, he reflected over one he had recently worked on, "and sometimes I need to get my hands on a record. I may be old, but I'm still sharp."

She was giving him a look, one that implied that she was seeing right through him. It also had elements of knowing everything, something that Gordon had found a lot of women possessed in such a look. That was something definitely inherited from her mother.

Still regarding him, his redheaded daughter casually asked, "Did you hear about Harvey's latest uncover gig? Or did he keep that to himself?"

Hmm? He didn't know Bullock to be one for going undercover. Duplicity and deception tended to be things his former right hand man despised and refused to engage in. "I think he's been keeping secrets. You wouldn't happen to know what he was up to?"

A still steaming cup of coffee was held up to her lips, hiding an amused smile. "He wasn't an elf, I can assure you."

Huh? Gordon found himself blinking dumbly, trying to comprehend what he had heard but…it still wasn't making any sense. "I'm afraid you've lost me."

"He had to dress up as Santa Claus. Apparently he was the only one who fit in the suit perfectly."

He had to take another moment for that. The visual of Bullock in a Santa outfit…why did that seem like a fit and not at all at the same time. He couldn't imagine…and yet…it was a little funny. How had Sawyer convinced him to do that? And when had that happened? If only he could see the proof of it.

"I think Montoya might have the photographic evidence still. If you're interested," Barbara added, tacking it on almost like it was an afterthought.

Gordon could admit his curiosity was piqued. Perhaps checking in on Montoya was in order. The detective had grown over the years, skills sharpened, and had become quite the investigator. She was far from being Bullock's Rook anymore. Whether she might be willing to share the incriminating evidence that Barbara hinted she had was going to take a little finesse.

Speaking of checking on, "Are you doing well?" he asked. "Be honest with me, please. I know that department. I know the individuals there. Are you doing well."

She understood his meaning. "It was always going to be a challenge," she answered after a while. "It feels like there's a disconnect between myself and the rest. People keep their distance and I wonder if that's because of Harvey keeping an eye out for me."

Or maybe it was because of the Gordon name and that people knew she was his daughter. There was something about positions of power that stuck to you even after you left the office. Gordon was aware that he had some pull despite no longer being commissioner. If he wanted he could pull strings he didn't even know he had still, and there would be action taken, perhaps going as far as City Hall itself.

People were both drawn to and fearful of power, much like fire. A fire that the apartment distinctly lacked due to not having a fireplace. That would have added some ambiance. What, he had found a lot of time to read nowadays.

Nevertheless, "Do good work and let that speak for you. Be yourself, and you will charm them over. Be careful, there will always be those who want to use you. I know you can handle this. If…if you need me to, I can always have a talk with anyone giving you problems."

Not even the cup could hide that smile. "I know, Daddy."

Gordons didn't need to do a lot of talking. Their actions spoke plenty for them, and sometimes silence really was worth its weight in gold. To be next to one another, enjoying the moment and each other's company, that made for a very nice Christmas.

Not everyone had a family one could go to for a holly, jolly Christmas. There were plenty of people that were on their own, minding their own business as they saw this as yet another day on the calendar.

For Helena, she wanted little to nothing to do with her extended family. She just didn't like them. Those feelings had only increased as she had gotten older. As a child, honestly, family get-togethers were really fun. You would be surprised how much "family" was involved with "crime family." Doting aunts and uncles, cool cousins, mom and the other ladies bickering like hens in the kitchen as they made the food. It was really like one giant family, even if the relations were distant.

Still, Helena was on her own this year, ignoring the usual invite she received. Well, she wasn't alone exactly. She was meeting with people she actually liked spending time with.

That being Dinah and Tatsu.

Now, there weren't a lot of places they could go, you know, with most places being closed for the holiday. However, that didn't mean the entire city was shut down. A couple years ago, they had found this Denny's that was open rain, sleet, and snow. Christmas was no exception, it just had a skeleton crew of one waitress and a cook in the back.

This was where they met, the three of them crammed into a booth. "Your usual?" the waitress asked them as she came to stand at the foot of their table. Mavis here looked like she was falling apart, her old, leathery skin hanging off of her body, from her arms to her neck. She looked as if she had spent too much time out in the sun and her voice sounded as if she had smoked one too many cigarettes. Her makeup was painted on in those bright colors that stood out rather than accentuated.

"That's right," Helena told her, and Mavis wrote their orders on a paper pad.

"I'll be back with your coffee," she grunted before taking off.

"So, Blondie, I'm surprised you made it," Helena said, turning her attention to Dinah. "You spent last Christmas with that boy toy of yours."

Dinah shrugged her shoulders. "It's actually busy over in Star City, believe it or not."

"I don't believe it. You saying their Mob is acting up enough for Robin Hood there to be busy?"

"Not the Mob, actually. Apparently there's this group of metas that have settled there."

Helena raised an eyebrow. "Metas? Really?"

"Yeah. Young ones though, but they seem to know how to fight. They gave Arrow a bit of trouble the first time they met. He's got them handled, or so he says."

"'Or so he says'," the dark-haired woman replied mockingly. "I'm putting money on him still struggling and just trying to hide the fact he's in over his head."

Dinah just rolled her eyes. "Get this: these metas call themselves the Fearsome Five."

"Seriously? The Fearsome Five?" she repeated.

"Yeah, the Fearsome Five."

"Where did they come up with that name? Sounds like a 90's cartoon that was trying to be 'rad' or something."

"Not everyone can be called the Birds of Prey," Tatsu pointed out.

"Damn straight. I'd be willing to sue for copyright infringement if someone else did."

At that point, Mavis returned and set down three cups of coffee, along with a steaming pot as well. "Anything else I can get ya?" she asked patiently.

"No, we're good, Mavis," Dinah replied.

The waitress nodded and took off, leaving them alone again. "Anyone hear from Kate?" Helena eventually asked.

Dinah nodded. "She sounded better, I think, when we talked. She found herself a therapist and has been going twice a week. Says she's doing better."

Helena nodded. She hated to say it, but she hadn't noticed that Kate had been suffering ever since her imprisonment at the hands of Lyle Bolton. She had hidden it pretty well, she thought, even through that nightmare-fueled night with the Teen Titans. In retrospect, that had happened fairly soon after they had busted the former prison guard, so the impact of that torture hadn't set in just yet. No doubt, Kate's previous training with the DEO had helped in that regard. It was when she was alone and everything was quiet that it slowly sunk in and began to affect her.

And all three of them had missed it. The elementary teacher had to admit, they had dropped the ball on that one. That wasn't a proud moment for them.

"I'm glad for her," the dark-haired woman said before taking a sip of her coffee. "Sucks we didn't notice what was going on with her."

"Yes," Tatsu agreed softly. "It is not a good feeling."

"Yeah," Dinah chimed in. "I know I've tried to justify it, you know, like Kate never told us, that she said she was fine, and so on. It's still a shitty feeling."

"How do we fix that though?" Helena asked. "I mean, yeah, you're right, Kate didn't talk about it to us, so there wasn't much we could do to stop her from having that breakdown. How do you make sure that doesn't happen again?"

"Better debriefings," Tatsu said. "We do not accept 'I'm fine' as a response. All of us need to talk about what we experience following our missions and patrols. It doesn't matter if it was uneventful, or traumatizing, it must be spoken about."

"I guess I can get behind that," Helena replied. "Though I feel like we already do that."

"Not really, no," the Asian woman denied.

"You sure?"

"I am."

"Well, that's one New Year's resolution we have," Dinah quipped. "Anything else we need to add?"

He should still be in Father's home. Damian knew this. With the exception of one unnecessary addition, theoretically today had become the goal that he and his mother had set out to do years ago. To be together, one family under one roof. Him, Mother, and Father.

Why did the sight of it repel him?

He couldn't blame the Usurper for this. Prior to Mother arriving, he had been…content to be there, to allow her presence, and just…it hadn't been that bad so long neither spoke a word to one another. Father's attention, platitudes of his own childhood, attempting to relive them himself, that had been nice.

Damian did not understand still why he had chosen to leave. Why that leave led him into the city dressed in civilian garb. The only understandable part of it had brought him to a certain orphanage where he had let his presence be known to a particular occupant within it.

"I wasn't expecting to see you today. Merry Christmas!" Colin greeted him once the boy had managed to slip away from the other orphans and supervising nuns. "I got some new socks, and these don't have any holes in them! I need to be getting back, though."

Socks. He recalled discovering some socks himself earlier this morning. Hopefully Colin's were more practical and less…festive.

"Walk with me," he commanded. This morning was bitterly cold, gray clouds above suggesting snowfall at any moment, and he could see his breath condensate before his eyes. There was every reason to remain indoors with warmth both from a heating unit and the company of others.

"Okay," Colin agreed.

The two boys set out down the sidewalk, distancing themselves from St. Aidan's. The chill was their only company, an empty street dusted in white to their left, and concrete edifice to their right. There was no wind to batter them, perhaps the only comfort here as empty as it was.

Damian found that he was unable to justify this action, much like how he had left Father's home with Mother and the Usurper keeping him company. Why had he left? Why come into the heart of Gotham, and why seek out the companionship of a metahuman orphan who had nothing to offer that would give him any kind of answer he sought? What was the question he was asking? How could he answer it if he had not yet asked it?

"Sooo…?" the red haired body uttered beside him, hands jammed into pockets. "Do you like walking when it's cold?"

"I do not find it pleasurable, no," Damian found himself speaking automatically.

"Oh." Blue eyes peeked at him. "Is something…wrong?"

Many things were wrong. Which specifically did Colin…ah yes, he had not informed yet. Yes, that original question of his motives for being a vigilante had yet to be answered, but it was not that question that had driven him here.

"It is a holiday, my mother and my father are in the same building, in the same room, and I have been trying to achieve this outcome for a long time. It has finally happened, but I find myself unwilling and unwanting to be there. I do not know why."

Asking for the other boy's thoughts remained unasked but their implication was clear for anyone to hear.

"Why do you think I can help?" Colin asked. "I don't know what it's like to have parents. Anyone who ever tried always gave up."

"I do not know. I do not understand why I came here in the first place," he admitted. A long exhale of air followed. "I have what I wanted, and on a day where miracles are alleged to happen. I…"

What was he trying to say? What was eluding him? What did he not understand that would unveil perception?

"Do you still want it?" the boy beside him asked, looking straight ahead with quick glances continuing to be made.

"I…" Of course he did! He wanted it more than anything! Everything! It would mean that progress was being made, one step closer to having the family that was always promised, and to have that completion. "I…" So close, the closest ever,.. "It…" So why…?

"I don't know anything about this kind of stuff," Colin admitted. "Do you? I wouldn't know how to act or feel or anything. Was it nice?"

More like manufactured. Three hundred sixty-five days of the year and mother chooses none of them except for this one. Father becomes closer to the Usurper, they have conversations, they like…enjoy…like being around one another, Father who is suppose to love him because he is the true son and heir, and…and…

And…

Green eyes—identical to his mother's—shut, a hand presses to his closed eyelids and apply pressure. Legs stop walking and a child without anything stops footsteps away and turns to face him. Breathing is both deep and shallow somehow. The contradiction is unsettling and without explanation.

"I wanted this so much." The words slip out, no control over them anymore. "I wanted…want. I finally have it. It's happening."

"Do you still want it?"

"Of course!" Hand drops, eyes snap open, there is a surge of anger with a target right there, and Colin remains standing, blank and concern fused together, a dichotomy much like the emotions Damian himself was feeling. "It's everything I've been working hard for!"

"Did you change your mind?" a young voice spoke into the ether, and those words found their way into the true heir's mind. There they corrupted whatever they touched and resonated like radiation, infecting anything that tried to get close to dislodge them.

Change his mind. Why would he ever do that? Why change when it was there, right there, right before his eyes and within reach finally? Preposterous! Inane! It would imply that he had been wasting time and energy, and that was something he had been taught never to do! The great set their course and kept to it, that was what Mother and Grandfather had taught him.

"Everybody changes their minds. They do it all the time." Colin was not looking at him anymore, head lowered and eyes on the pavement beneath their feet. "It's normal. Maybe you want something different now."

From a why to a what. This boy always seemed to know how to obfuscate everything in Damian's life, but for the life of him, he had no idea why he kept seeking out the redhead's company. Why place himself in such a position to have doubt after doubt placed into him? Would overcoming those doubts be conquering another challenge?

If so, why did it feel like he was failing this challenge?

These thoughts only served to frustrate him. He needed to refocus both them and his priorities. Beginning to walk again and passing by the boy whom he kept returning to, Colin following after him, Damian said, "Do you know any warm places? A place to acquire nourishment? Today is about giving gifts, so may that be mine to give to you."

"But…I didn't get you anything," Colin replied, wide-eyed. "I—" hands pulled themselves out of pockets to begin patting a body hidden under poor winter gear, "—don't know if I can get you anything. Um—"

"Think nothing of it. I do not want anything, and even if I did, I would not ask you to sacrifice anything that you could use for yourself." Hmm, where did those words come from? They should have been a bit harsher, not patronizing. Colin appeared to receive little comfort from his words, regardless, and it probably had to do to what he perceived as the reciprocal nature of this gift-giving tradition.

Reciprocal, not a term he thought he would ever have to experience or deal with. If recent history indicated anything, whatever association he formed with this other boy implied that it would not be ending any time soon. He would need to learn how to navigate it. For whatever reason, he felt exhausted thinking about it.

Intellectually, he should cut it off, end it. Mysteriously, and in application, Damian found that he was not willing to give it up. It made no sense, such as volunteering to feed the redhaired boy again and on his dime.

Perhaps there was something to the indoctrination of this seasonal time of the year. The messages of giving were insidious enough to slip through years of training and mental fortitude. Even Father was not immune, allowing the cleaning staff to decorate portions of the manor.

He would go along with it this year then. Learn what he could. Perhaps discover the answers to any of the questions he had been presented with this last month.

Maybe this season of giving would gift him those answers.

Author's Note: A nice little calm chapter here. There are some days where very little happens, you know, and what other day of the year is this most likely to occur. Enjoy the calm while it lasts, because this holiday season isn't over yet.