The Romantic Machinations of Timmy the Elf Who Didn't Want to be a Dentist, and his Faithless Sidekick, Yukon Cassandra OR A Story in which Dick and Babs are Doomed By Anonymous *** The Fight "Oh, it's ALWAYS about YOU, isn't it, Grayson?" "Me? You're the one who's scared to death that if she POSSIBLY ever tried something NEW, her brain would explode and LEAK OUT HER EAR!" "Well, it couldn't hurt me that much, since the exact thing obviously happened to you YEARS AGO!" "I don't have to take this!" "No one's asking you to!" "Are you kicking me out?" "I wasn't, but now that you mention it, yes. GET OUT!" Tim Drake alighted on the balcony of the Clocktower, only to be nearly run down by one angrily retreating Dick Grayson. "What's going on?" he tried to ask as Dick fired off a jumpline. "Don't ask me. Apparently, my brain exploded. Go ask HER." Tim never knew that such a simple feminine pronoun could drip with such loathing. But before he could garner an explanation, Dick had dropped off the balcony into oblivion. The Boy Wonder briefly contemplated following the Former Boy Wonder, but frankly, it didn't take the World's Greatest Detective to tell that Dick wanted to be left alone. Cautiously, Tim poked his head into the Clocktower apartment, and nearly had his head taken off by a flying Nightwing beanie. Well, perhaps his head wouldn't have been taken off entirely. But he was definitely running the risk of a put-out eye or somesuch. "Gaaaaaaah!" Barbara screamed, unable to put her frustrations into any semblance of actual speech. "Is this a bad time?" Tim asked meekly. "There's ice cream in the freezer," Barbara grumbled. "You have thirty seconds to get it into my face, or I'll kill you." Fortunately, Tim was a man of action. Twenty-three seconds later, Barbara was attacking a pint of Cherry Garcia with a vengeance she normally reserved for clown-faced super villains and those who refused to signal before turning. "What happened?" Tim finally ventured from his perch on the back of the couch. "I don't want to talk about it," Barbara snapped angrily. "So, you and Dick had a fight..." Tim went on, playing with his gloves. "I mean, it was just a little argument and--" "It was not just a little argument. Me and the World's Second Biggest Dick are through." "Um, don't you mean 'Greatest'?" "No. No, I don't." "Oh." Tim frowned. "Barbara, it's a week before Christmas. You can't break up with someone a week before Christmas." "Watch me." "But--" "Did you come here for a reason?" "Um, yeah, Batman wanted me to pick up this--" "Oh. That. Yeah, hold on, I'll go get it." Barbara wheeled off, the wheels of her chair nearly squealing with her vehemence. Tim winced, and glanced around the apartment while she disappeared into the back room. There were a few half-unpacked boxes of Christmas decorations sitting around the room, and a pile of unopened Christmas cards on the end table. Right next to Dick's police academy photograph, which had been turned facedown on the table. He knew that if Dick weren't allowed back in the Clocktower, the decorations would stay in their box, and the cards would stay in their envelopes. There would be no laughter or joy in the frozen retreat of Barbara Gordon. It would become a pit of darkness and misery. A place even Santa Claus himself could not touch. Tim felt himself getting choked up. Barbara wheeled back in, her spoon still stuffed in her mouth, holding a zip disk in her hand. "Barbara, if you don't take Dick back, we'll have to CANCEL CHRISTMAS!" Tim wailed. There was a pause. Then a rather pointy-edged zip disk hit Tim in the chest with the force of a locomotive. Well, a small locomotive. One with anemia perhaps. But a locomotive nonetheless. Tim fell off the back of the couch. "Get out," Barbara grumbled. Tim Drake paced the Batcave. He had a quandary. An enigma. A dilemma. A predicament. A conundrum. A problem, even. He, Timothy Drake, needed to save Christmas. This was not a situation he'd ever pictured himself in. Well, at least not since he was seven. Even though the initial melodrama of the situation had worn off, Tim was quite aware that if he didn't Do Something and Fast! Barbara would be grumpy for Christmas. And Dick would be grumpy for Christmas. Bruce had pretty much signed up to be grumpy for Christmas by last June. So, unless he did something now, he and Alfred were going to have the carry the entire load of Christmas cheer themselves. So it was up to him to save Christmas. Tim frowned. He was gonna need help. Alfred Pennyworth listened patiently while he peeled wax turnips. He was good at that. Listening patiently, that is, not peeling wax turnips. Actually, he did have something of a talent for the turnips, as well, but that's a story for another time. Tim finished his story excitedly and with many hand-motions. Alfred idly wondered how long the young Master had harbored secret fantasies of liberating Yule. Probably his entire life. "So will you help?" Tim asked pathetically, his eyes shiny with hope that Alfred would swing in on the proverbial chandelier to save the day. Swip. Swip. Two more turnip peelings slipped into the sink. Alfred turned to face the youngest of his brood. "No." Tim's face fell. "No?" Swip. Swip. "No. I will not." Tim set his jaw. "Alfred! Why not?" Swip. "Because Master Dick and Miss Barbara will work things out in their own time. They always do." Swip. Alfred stopped peeling in order to give his apprentice a pointed look. "Besides. If I have learned anything in the past sixty-two years," he leaned forward ominously, "it's that meddling... only... makes... things... WORSE." Tim blinked. "But surely it couldn't hurt to--" "Yes, Master Tim. It could. Don't do it. If you want to save Christmas, go build a magical snowman or something. In the meantime, leave Master Dick alone." "Okay," Tim mumbled abashedly. "Um, I'm going back down to the cave." Alfred shook his head as the boy slunk from the kitchen. He only hoped Tim didn't screw up things too badly... Well, if Alfred wasn't going to help him, Tim was just going to have to find his help somewhere else. Which is where the cell phone came in. BRNNG! BRNNG! "Hi!" "Cissie?" "Yes, who is this?" "It's Robin." "Oh, um, hi, Robbie. This doesn't involve saving the world, does it?" "Only tangentially. Um, I have this friend, and his girlfriend--" "Robbie, this isn't one of those lame-o stories that's about your friend, but your friend is really you, is it?" "No! It's not me! I don't have a girlfriend." "Okay, fine, go on." "Well, my friend and his girlfriend just broke up, but it's a week before Christmas and they need to get back together, and I'm not quite sure how to get them back together, so I need help. Are you still there, Cissie?" "You know, I used to think you were the sane one on the team." "I am!" "Then take some advice-- don't mess with other people's relationships. It's bad moxy, PERIOD." "Cissie..." "But hey, it's nice to talk to you when we're not being attacked by lizards from the seventh dimension or something. Thanks for calling." "Yeah, yeah, yeah." BRNNG! BRNNG! "Y'ello?" "Hey, Kon, it's Robin." "Hey, Robbie, what's the good word?" "Um, I need some help." "If it involves the babelicious Poison Ivy, consider me in Gotham twenty minutes ago." "Ummm... no." "Oh. Nuts. What, then?" "Um, Nightwing's girlfriend dumped him, and I need to get them back together." ". . ." "And I need help." ". . ." "Superboy?" CLICK. Tim scowled, and turned back to his address book. BRNNG! BRNNG! "Hello?" "Cassie?" "Speaking. Robbie, is that you?" "Yeah, it's me." "Robbie!" "Hi, Cass. Um, I need some help." "Anything!" "Great! I have this friend, and he and his girlfriend just broke up, and I'm trying to get them back together. I need some help." "Umm..." "I could come pick you up and--" "Actually, um, I can only really help when favors don't involve leaving the house." "Come again?" "See, um, I kinda got a C in trig, and I'm grounded for the next two weeks. And no powers for a month if I filch. Sorry." Tim sighed. "No problem. Thanks, anyway." BRNNG! BRNNG! "Fite residence." "Um, hello, Mr. Fite. Is Anita home?" "Yes, she is. Who's calling?" "Uh, this is her friend from school. Alvin. Alvin Draper." "Her friend from school, huh?" "Uh, yeah." "And which school would that be?" "Um... high school." "WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM MY DAUGHTER?" "...eep." "Heh, heh. Hi, Urban Legend. What's up?" Tim scowled at the phone. "How did you know it was me?" "Urban Legend, my job is to determine if you really exist. You think I haven't listened to every tape we have of your voice at least three hundred times? I know more about you than your grandma does." "Um, may I talk to your daughter, now? I promise this has nothing to do with aliens or demons." "I'm more worried about your asking her out to the movies." "No, sir, I would never do something like that, sir." "Right answer, son. 'Nita! Phone!" There was some scuffling around before Empress' voice came over the phone. "Hello?" "Hey, Anita, it's Robin." "Oh, hi. Dad, go away. I don't care. Go away. Go hang out with Uncle Ish, I don't care. Go! Ahem. Go ahead, Robin. Just taking care of the eavesdroppers. Now he has to stick his ear to the door, just like Uncle Ishido. So what's up?" "I need some help." "Superhero-y help?" "No, normal help." "Great! I think I can handle that." "I've got this friend. No, it's not me, he really is my friend, I just can't tell you his name." "Okay." "And he and his girlfriend just broke up." "Okay." "I can't tell you her name either." "Okay." "And I want them to get back together. Because it's Christmas." "That's reasonable." "So you'll help?" "I'll do what I can." "Anita, you're the best!" "Wait 'til I do something first. Okay, why did they break up?" "Um, I don't really know. They won't tell me." "Okay. Um, so tell me about them. How do you know them? School?" "Uh, no. I, um, can't really tell you that either." "Uh, okay. Same age as us?" "Older." "Older, okay. Like, college older or grown-up older?" "Grown-up." "Okay, what do they do? Like for a living?" "I..." "Can't tell me that, right. I don't suppose there's any way I could meet these people..." "Um, no." "I didn't think so. So, is there... ANYTHING you can tell me about them?" "They broke up." "Riiiiight. Look, Robin, I'm sorry, but it's a lost case. Without any info, there's not much I can do. Sorry." "No problem." BRNNG! BRNNG! Tim quietly contemplated whether or not he'd just lost his mind. "Hail, and well-met, gentle citizen! You have reached the subterranean lair of--" "BART!" someone in the background screamed. "ANSWER THE PHONE LIKE A REAL PERSON!" "... crandell residence, bart speaking." "Hi, Bart, it's Robin." "See, Max! It was just Robin!" Tim rolled his eyes, and knew this was all a Terrible Mistake. "So what's up, Robbie?" "Um, I, uh, don't suppose you know anything about relationships, do you?" "Do I? Do I ever! I think Max harbors perverse sexual lust for Dr. Laura." "I... didn't need to know that, Bart." "So what can I help you with? Huh, huh, huh?" "Um, well..." Tim sighed. It wasn't like he had any other options. "I need help getting two people back together." "That's as easy as the proportion of the squared radius of a circle to its area!" "Pi?" "Yeah, whatever. Okay. I'm ready. I got a plan." "You have a plan? Already? With no details?" "Details muck things up. And I have tons of plans! Hundreds of plans! A plan-o-rama! Um, but first, do you happen to have access to either spider monkeys or wader boots?" At that point, last hope or not, Tim came to his senses. CLICK. "Hello? Robbie? Robbie?" The Batcave was silent, save for one single, persistent, repetitive sound. The sound of a young man's head coming into repeated contact with a tabletop. She padded in on silent Cass feet. Which are a lot like silent cat feet, except that they wear rather largish and heavy boots, which makes their silence all the more impressive. Swiftly, she crossed the cave, until she was standing directly behind his chair. A single, gauntleted hand whipped out as his head was on its down stroke. Five slim fingers grabbed hold of his neck, stopping its motion short; his forehead scant millimeters from the desktop. Tim's eyes slowly swiveled around to peer at the black-masked face staring at him. "Stop," she said simply. Tim nodded. She let go of his neck, and flung herself into the extra computer chair. Tim leaned back, rubbing his neck where she'd grabbed him. He was fairly certain he'd have bruises. Cassandra tapped the table, then pointed to Tim. "Why?" Tim sighed. "It's been a very long day." Obviously not satisfied, she continued to stare at him. "Dick and Barbara broke up." A horrified gasp came from behind the mask. "Yeah, I know. I really want to get them back together, but I need help. I don't think I can do it myself. But no one will... or can... help me." She cocked her head slightly, as if perhaps one side needed the blood more in order to complete the current thought process. Then, excitedly, she tapped her chest. "Me! I help!" Tim frowned. He hadn't considered Batgirl. Then, again, she was the sort of person you tended not to think about if you weren't looking directly at her. It wasn't that she was forgettable... just overlookable. She tended to blend in with things. At least, that was the excuse Dick had used the time he left her in an I. Goldberg for four hours. Tim looked down at the address book in front him, Impulse's phone number glaring up at him, just to remind him of the dire straights in which he'd been, ten minutes previous. "You're in." Twenty minutes later, they sat in O'Shaughnessy's, munching on double bacon cheeseburgers with onion rings. Tim thought best on a full stomach, and he felt that if he bribed his eager assistant early on, maybe she wouldn't ditch him. He leaned back in the booth and watched her squirt an entire ketchup packet onto one onion ring. It was the first time he'd ever seen her in civilian clothes, he was pretty sure. If they counted as civilian clothes. She was wearing a pair of oversized, black pants, combat boots, and overtop her long-sleeved black t-shirt was another black t-shirt with the words "I'm not antisocial, I just don't like you," on it. Tim was wearing a sweater with reindeer on it. "We need a plan," Tim announced. Cass nodded, stuffing the onion ring in her mouth. "I'm sure that if they'd just sit down to talk things out, everything would be fine," Tim frowned. "It's just a matter of getting them to sit down." Cassandra nodded, eying the last few of Tim's onion rings. "I need something they can do together. Something kinda harmless that would give them a good opportunity to talk to each other. But what?" Cass pointed to his onion rings. "Eat?" Tim missed the all-important pointing finger. "You mean like dinner? Hey, that could work. If we could get them to go to dinner together, they could sit down and talk about things! That's a great idea, Cass." Cass shrugged, and wiggled her finger at the onion rings. "Huh? Oh, you want these?" Tim pushed them across the table, along with the rest of the ketchup packets. "Hmm. Now it's just a matter of getting them there..." Plan A Barbara Gordon tapped her fingers on the arm of her chair. She was bored. This was boring. She wanted to help people and find useful information and be very Oracular. Except that no one was calling her. It was all terribly depressing. She clicked one of the names on the screen. "Aquaman, here," a gruff voice on the other end greeted. "Hi, Aquaman. Oracle here." "Greetings, Oracle. Is there something you need assistance with?" "Um, actually I was wondering how things were going down there." Pause. "Really?" "Yeah, I... was just wondering how you were doing. What are you working on?" The King of Atlantis almost sounded... excited. "Well, we've had a lot of shark activity lately, and I'm out investigating." Sharks could be cool. "Sharks, huh? What's going to happen when you find them? Are you going to kill them with your bare hands or a big harpoon or something?" "Usually, I just use my telepathy and ask them to move on. Um, sometimes I suggest better hunting grounds?" "Oh. You never tried killing one?" "Well, they haven't really done anything. We just worry about the children and such." "Oh. So you never get the urge to just... wrassle?" "Er, can't say that I have." "Oh." This sucks, Barbara scowled. Suddenly, there was an insistent banging on the door. "Gotta go, Big A. I'll catch you later." "Um... bye." Babs checked the security cameras. Cassandra. Babs beamed. Company. Company that didn't suck. Barbara threw the door open. "Hey, Cass, what's up?" She held out her hand for the girl to punch. Cass did so, grinning broadly, and walked into the apartment, dumping an envelope into Barbara's lap. Barbara picked up the envelope and looked at it. It was sealed, although it bore no writing. Curious. "This is for me?" Cassandra nodded. "Who gave this to you?" Cass shrugged noncommittally but her puckish smile indicated that she knew exactly what the envelope contained. Carefully, Barbara tore it open and nearly recoiled from the reek of Stetson. Even Cassandra, halfway across the room, wrinkled her nose. Holding the letter at arms length, Barbara smoothed it out, and started to read. "'Dear Sweetie-Pie...' Sweetie-Pie?" She looked at Cass, who shrugged. "'Dear Sweetie-Pie, I can't stop thinking about you and the fight we had last night. I'm so sorry, darling-- I can't believe I was so monumentally stupid' --got that right-- 'and I hope you can find it in your wonderful and loving heart to forgive me. Please meet me for dinner at l'Unicorn Joli this evening at six o' clock. I miss you. Dick.'" Barbara raised one eyebrow. "Dick gave this to you?" Cass shrugged. "Did you watch him write this? There's no way he wrote this. I bet he made Garth do it." A goofy grin swept onto her face. "He made Garth write me an apology letter. Cassandra wandered closer and tapped the letter, looking at Barbara questioningly. "Am I gonna go? For the opportunity to see Grayson grovel? In a hot second!" Somehow, Cass didn't think this was exactly what Tim had had in mind. When Dick Grayson slogged home from work at three o'clock in the afternoon, he was greeted by a rather unusual and amusing scene on the front stoop of his apartment. Tim Drake sat in fervent conversation with John Law. Clancy and Amygdala sat near them, looking on bemusedly. As Dick drew closer, he caught snatches of conversation involving "best actor ever!" and "the part with the Indians." "Hey, squirt," Dick greeted jovially. Tim looked up, his eyes bright. "Hey, Dick!" "What are you harassing my neighbors about?" "Oh, I caught an old Tom Mix movie on AMC last night, and I was asking Mr. Law about some of his other films." "Well, stop pestering him," Dick warned, knowing how irritable his elderly neighbor could be at times. "He's no trouble at all," John replied, concerned that Dick was about to remove his best audience. "I had no clue that anyone under fifty still knew who Tom Mix was." "Yeah, well, Tim's really eighty-seven. He's got a picture of himself in the attic that ages while he stays young," Dick chuckled. "You wanna come inside, Junior? It's cold out here." "It's brisk," Tim replied. "Brisk, whatever. What's up, brat?" "Oh, I had something to give you." "Okay, come on in." "Bye, Mr. Law! If the offer still stands, I'd love to come over and watch some of your old tapes with you." "Any time, kid." Tim followed Dick up the stairs to his apartment. "Well, you've discovered the secret to John Law's squishy side. Just don't mention the word 'Tarantula.'" Tim blinked. "Why would I do that?" Dick stared at him. "He was a hero back in thirties? The Tarantula? He wrote a bunch of books about it? There was a movie?" Tim shrugged. "I know he likes Tom Mix." Dick finished fumbling with his keys and stumbled into his apartment. "Okay, so what did Bruce send over?" "It's not from Bruce." Dick raised one eyebrow. "Huh?" Tim held out a clean, white envelope. Dick took it and tore off one end. "PHEW! Jeez, this thing smells like Big Barda." Tim made a mental note to himself that rubbing a letter through six different magazine perfume samples was not an accurate way to simulate the fragrance of a female. Unless said female was Big Barda. Dick squinted at the letter. "'Dear Honeybunny--' Honeybunny? 'Dear Honeybunny, I can't stop thinking about you and the fight we had last night. I'm so sorry, sweetie-- I can't believe I was so monumentally stubborn' --no kiddin'-- 'and I hope you can find it in your wonderful and loving heart to forgive me. Please meet me for dinner at l'Unicorn Joli this evening at six o' clock. I miss you. Barbara.'" His brow crinkled. "French food. She knows I hate French food." Tim looked up at him hopefully. "It sounds like she wants to patch things up." "Yeah... kinda... that's not like Babs at all..." "Well, maybe she realized she was wrong." "She gave you this, huh?" "Yeah." Dick shrugged. "Hey. If she wants to grovel, I'm game. This ought to be fun. Go tell Babs I'll be there. With bells on." Something told Tim that perhaps, somewhere along the line, this had ceased to be a good idea. Barbara Gordon surveyed herself in the mirror. She looked Goood. With three O's. She wore a rich, forest green skirt that came down to her ankles, showing off stylish black boots. Her jacket was deeper green-- almost black, and contrasted the cream blouse she wore underneath. Her dark red hair was swept up into a twist and pinned with an elegant pair of black lacquer chopsticks Dick had given her a few weeks before. He'd been in Chinatown, and they jumped out at him. A "No-Good-Reason, Just-Cuz-I-Love-You" present. How very Dick. Barbara managed a small smile at herself in the mirror. She was glad they were getting back together. After he apologized. Dick Grayson studied himself in the mirror. He looked Gooood. With four O's. He wore a charcoal three-piece suit (could never pull them off as well as Bruce, but it was Christmas season, and he was feeling old-fashiony). The vest was green. He rather hoped Barbara would be wearing green so they could look... coordinated or something. But even if she wasn't, it was nice and wintery looking. The suit was of that upper-echelon of suits that, rather than merely clothing the body, turned a man into a Gentleman. The sort that the circus brat Dicky Grayson never would have dreamed of wearing, but Wayne heir Dick the Playboy reveled in. He could already see the look on Barbara's face. The sly appraisal, the arched eyebrow. The slight twist of the mouth that said "You BETTER look that good, Grayson... after all, you're MY date." He loved that snarky smile. She would never actually *admit* that he looked good-- no, he'd have to settle for that smile. It would have driven another man crazy, but Dick after years of being the object of affection of many a young society girl, gushing compliments didn't do anything for him. Nope, that smug smile told him exactly as much as he wanted to hear. He couldn't wait to see it again. After she apologized, of course. Tim Drake looked at himself in the rearview mirror. He looked stooooopid. With five O's. He glanced over at his companion. She looked kinda hot. With one O. They were both sitting in Dana's Honda Civic (since the Redbird was still off limits, besides the fact that it was rather distinctive...) in the parking lot of l'Unicorn Joli. Cassandra was wearing a pair of black leather pants, her combat boots, and a rather snug black turtleneck. She looked like something a bad guy would use to kick the crap out of James Bond. Tim wore a pair of black pants, and a hooded black sweatshirt. With the hood up, no less. He looked like an inept mugger. "Do you see them?" he asked, leaning closer to the windshield. Cassandra sat up from her slumped position in the passenger's seat, and surveyed the parking lot. She stabbed her finger at a large SUV pulling into the lot. Barbara's car. "Let's go," Tim said. They got out of the car, keeping their heads down, and dove under the car next to them. From there, they watched Barbara pull into a space a few spots over, but still in the same row. Cautiously, they crawled under the adjacent cars, until they were both huddled beneath the Mazda Miata two spaces down from Babs' monster truck. She'd just opened the door, and riding the lift to the ground, when a bright blue Mustang squealed into the parking lot into the space on the other side of Barbara. There was the sound of a door slamming, and Dick Grayson trotted merrily around the back of Barbara's car, just as she reached the ground. Barbara wheeled free of the lift, and started to load it back into the vehicle when she caught sight of Dick. Despite herself, she smiled. Dick looked at Barbara. Barbara looked at Dick. They were both grinning like idiots. Which was nothing, compared to the It-Lives, It LIVES! grin currently plastered across Tim Drake's mug. Cassandra scooted a little further away from him. "So," said Babs. "So," said Dick. Tim's grin threated to cleave his face in twain. "Shall we go in?" asked Dick. Barbara smiled. "Wasn't there something you wanted to say to me first?" Tim stopped grinning. Dick's brow furrowed. "Well... no. I mean, you asked me here. I figured you had something to say." Tim started to bang his head against the concrete. This time, Cassandra didn't bother to stop him. "I most certainly did not. You invited me!" "You're crazy!" "Sent me a letter that reeked of Stetson! Who else could it have be-- Wally?" Dick's face suddenly froze. "Oh, I see your game. Invite me here and then claim it was me, and expect me to apologize. Yeah, well, it ain't gonna happen, sister." "What? That is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard!" "Fine, get all defensive now that you're caught. Go ahead, Barbara." "What is this? You invite me here and then accuse me of setting you up? Nice, Grayson. Real nice. I'm out of here." She angrily stabbed the button on the lift remote control, and cursed the wheelchair for the thousandth time. It made it damn hard to storm off in a huff. They stood there while it descended with an annoying whir. Finally, Barbara stared at him. "Look, maybe you could at least storm off in a huff. I'm doing my best, but it really isn't happening." "Fine," Dick replied, and stormed off in said huff. A few seconds later, his engine roared to life, and the Mustang peeled out of the parking lot. "Fine," Barbara sniffed, wheeling herself onto the lift. "That's JUST FINE!" A few minutes later, her SUV slowly pulled out of the lot and disappeared. Quietly, Tim and Cassandra crawled out from under the Miata. "Well. That was monumentally depressing," Tim frowned. Cass nodded. "Nuts!" Tim cursed as strongly as his inherent Tim-ness would allow. "And I was on the phone for, like, a HOUR trying to get those reservations." He sighed. "What are we going to do now?" And then Cassandra's stomach rumbled. Tim looked at Cassandra. Cassandra looked at Tim. Tim grinned. "Aw, heck. Why not?" Fortunately, Tim had the remains of his school uniform in the back seat of the car. He had traded the sweatshirt in for his navy Brentwood blazer, and jammed the tie around his neck. He wasn't sure if fancy French restaurants had any dress codes for girls, but he was pretty positive he would need a jacket and tie. Currently, the look the maitre'd was giving him indicated that he'd need quite a bit more than that. Tim cleared his throat and stepped up to the little maitre'd desk thingie. "I have a reservation. Grayson, party of two. Six p.m." An elegant eyebrow was raised. "Oh, you DO, do you?" Tim frowned. "Well, actually, it was my friend's, but his girlfriend got sick, and he couldn't make it, so he told me to go ahead and use it." "I... see." "So, um, could we be seated?" The maitre'd flipped through his list impatiently. "We are quite busy tonight. There may be a bit of a wait. A long wait. Perhaps you would be better off going elsewhere." Tim noticed that the man was not actually staring at him, but rather at Cassandra, who was making faces at the angelfish in the large tank that dominated one wall. "But I have a reservation! And there are empty tables!" "I'm quite sorry, Monsieur--" "Drake. My name is Drake." He slammed something down on the desk. "See? It says so on my credit card." The man gingerly picked up the card. Issued to a John C. Drake, Timothy listed as the authorized user. John Drake... that name sounded familiar. As in-- "Your father is John Drake? The archeologist?" The independently wealthy archeologist who frequently dined at l'Unicorn Joli? Who brought along his equally wealthy and esteemed colleagues? Who preferred a certain table on the eastern side of the room, and was usually quite... convincing about getting it? "Yeah," Tim frowned. "One moment, Monsieur. NEVILLE!" Neville Cavanaugh had been a waiter for over thirty-seven years. He'd begun his career in a musty pub in Bristol at age thirteen. The REAL Bristol. In England. His father had been a waiter before him. His grandfather had been a personal servant of the Queen herself. The Cavanaughs upheld a proud dynasty of serving. Neville was no exception. Which is why his eyes narrowed into angry slits when he sensed the return of the ill-bred little ruffian who had come into his restaurant, consumed three baskets of bread, saved the life of one of their more distinguished customers, then proceeded to bleed all over the floor of the kitchen. She grinned winningly. Neville set his jaw. "Yes, sir?" The maitre'd nodded towards the little beast and the confused schoolboy accompanying her. "Please escort Monsieur Drake and the young mademoiselle to a table." "Sir?" Neville asked hesitantly. They had a picture of the girl in the New Employee Training booklet under "Who Not to Let In." "Please. Neville." "Of course, sir." "And Neville?" "Yes, sir?" "Please take care of... *young*... Master Drake." Neville's eyes widened, and he glanced at the youth. There was a resemblance to the elder Drake. He wore a Brentwood uniform, obviously of good stock. But the girl--? But Neville Cavanaugh had not been a waiter's waiter for this long for nothing. "This way, Monsieur. Mademoiselle." He led them to a table overlooking the street. Gotham, in its Christmas finery, shone through the glass. The girl's eyes glittered, and the boy looked impressed. "Your table," Neville gestured. He noticed the boy held the girl's chair for her. How... trite. He leaned over as he handed her a menu. "Find yourself a new sugar daddy?" She grinned winningly. The boy looked confused. "Should I bring you an extra basket of bread? Mademoiselle?" She waved her hand dismissively as she glanced over the menu. "Anything to drink, Mademoiselle? Water?" She gave him a snarky sneer. "Hey, they have sparkling cider!" the boy said, looking up from his menu. "Great. We'll have that to drink, okay with you, Cass?" She nodded vehemently. "Hmm. A live one, eh?" Neville asked Cassandra with a raised eyebrow. Cass shot him a wink. Tim stared at the waiter as he strode off to get their drinks. "What's up with you and him?" Cass shrugged. "Old pals." Tim chuckled. "I'll never get you, Cass." She grabbed a breadstick, and whapped him on the nose with it before taking a bite. Grinning, he stuck his finger in his water glass, and flicked it at her. She glanced around the table for something else to throw at him, and then stole his fork instead. "Ha," Tim replied smugly. "I've got four more. Not that I know what any of them do, but I'm got four more." Sullenly, she put his fork back. But not before breathing on it. Then she turned to her menu. And realized that nothing on this menu said "cat." Cass was not illiterate. She could read. She could write as well, even if she was a little shaky. Just as long as it was "cat." This menu did not say "cat." Cass was screwed. Tim was trying to figure out how to pronounce "cancoilloeuf." He glanced up, and saw Cass's face screwed up with frustration. "What's up?" he asked leaning forward. She shook her head. "You can't read the menu, huh?" She nodded sadly. "That's okay. I can't, either." "What we do?" "Stay calm. I have a plan." A few seconds later, Neville returned, bearing two elegant flutes of sparkling cider. "Are you ready to order? Or would we like more bread?" "Any specials today?" Tim asked. "In the way of entrees, we're featuring Avocat er Oeufs a la Mousse de Crabe, Terrine Rustique, Souffle au Fromage and Pate de Lapin." Fromage was cheese. Tim knew that. Cass... maybe Cass liked cheese. And he'd had pate before. Really. Dana bought it in the little cans whenever his father was trying to impress people. "I'll have the pate, the lady will have the souffle." Neville raised one eyebrow. "Monsieur does realize that the pate is made from little fluffy bunny rabbit?" "Ha, ha. Yes. Thank you." "Very good, sir." He glided off again, and Cass stared at him. "What you get me?" Tim glanced at the menu again. "I got you cheese souffle. Is that okay? According to the menu, it's light and fluffy, and contains swiss, sharp cheddar, Brie and Camembert." Cass counted off on her fingers. "FOUR?" "Yeah, four cheeses. Sorry about ordering for you and stuff, I was trying to play it cool and--" "FOUR CHEESES?" Tim grinned. "Yeah. It's not unheard of." "Wow." Barbara Gordon stared at her Stouffers' Four-Cheese Lasagna. It looked... yucky. She shoved it back on the table, and glanced at the computer again, and clicked on another random name. "HeyOracleGuesswhatIjustranthroughChicagoandIwenttothezoo andIwenttothemonkeyhouseandoneofthemlookedjustlikeMaxandItoldhim soandhewasgonnagroundmebutthenIsaid'psych'andthenhegroundedmeany wayandhemademesitinmyroomdoingnothingforaWHOLETWELVE MINUTESbutIimaginedIhadarocketshipandagunandaspacesuitandDoxwas mysupertopsecretrobotspacedogand--" Gingerly, Oracle reached over and signed off. The lasagna didn't look so bad after all. Dick Grayson stared down at his Super Sparkly Crocky Crunch. He didn't exactly remember buying it, but he found it in his cupboard, and frankly, there wasn't much else. He suspected it might be radioactive. It had, however, come with a Wonder Woman temporary tattoo that was temporarily gracing his right bicep. Four times your daily supply of riboflavin! the box joyously proclaimed. Cautiously Dick took a bite. Hmm. Not bad. A little too sweet, and kinda packing-peanuty, but not bad. And then four times Dick Grayson's daily supply of riboflavin hit bottom. "Ugh," Dick proclaimed, pushing his bowl away. "Maaaaaan. Even French food is better than this." For years, Tim's father had been singing the praises of fine French cuisine while Tim made faces and swore that he would eat at O'Shaughnessy's until he died. Tim hated admitting that his father was right. Granted, this place was not about to become a regular hangout for him (thank goodness for his dad's credit card...) but... but... but he was eating coffee creme brulee. Life didn't get much better than this. "How's the fancy pudding?" he asked Cass, wiping some chocolate mousse off her nose. "Souffle better--" "Well, not everything can come with four cheeses." "--but good." He grinned. For someone who barely spoke, she made a great dinner companion. Tim rested his chin in his hand. "Unfortunately, the entire Get-Dic-and-Babs-Together plan kinda fizzled." She nodded. "We need a new plan." She nodded. Tim stirred his creme brulee. "Any ideas?" She nodded vigorously. Tim did a double take. "You have an idea?" Nod. "Back-up plan." "You had a back-up plan?" Nod. "Cass, you rule. What is it?" Cass rummaged around in her pocket, and came out with a page she had ripped out of a magazine. It was a little damp and crumpled from being in her pocket, but she handed it to Tim anyway. Carefully, he unfolded the little wad and spread it out on the table. It was an ad slick of two happy people embracing in front of a lavish Christmas tree. On the coffee table in foreground was a small ceramic bowl brimming with red and white roses and Christmas greens. "'This holiday season, say it with flowers,'" Tim read out loud. "'Order now to get the exclusive 2001 Charles Wysocki Bowl Arrangement for only $54.95.'" "Need Wasabi bowl," Cass nodded sagely. "Saw on tv-- then in magazine." Tim nodded slowly. "Flowers. Cass, you're brilliant." She grinned brilliantly. Plan B "No way." Tim blinked. "No way?" Dinah Lance started to crawl under the couch, searching for some elusive item. Tim and Cass dutifully lifted their feet. Finally, Dinah sat back. "Sorry, Tim, but trust me on this. People start pre-ordering Wysocki bowls in *October.* I don't know of any flower shop that might still have them. Hey, you want to come to my Christmas party?" "You're having a Christmas party?" "Great! You're bringing cookies." Tim and Cass blinked. "Um, okay, cookies, fine." Tim scratched his head. "Back on the SUBJECT, is there another nice holiday arrangement you can recommend? I mean, you know flowers pretty well, and Barbara is your friend." "No! Wasabi!" Cass scolded. Dinah shrugged. "I think she's right, Tim. If it's not the Wysocki bowl, Babs is gonna see right through it." "It's a flower arrangement!" Tim exclaimed. "No," Dinah wagged her finger. "It's THE flower arrangement." Little bells tinkled on the door as Tim and Cass walked into Mike-n-Paul's Flower-o-Rama. There were little animatronic carolers in the window. Tim wanted to leave. Cass wanted to leave more. "Good morning!" Mike and/or Paul greeted merrily. "Good morning," Tim replied. "We're here for flowers." "Great! You've come to the right Flower-o-Rama!" "Need Wasabi bowl," Cass annouced. Paul and/or Mike's face fell. "The Wysocki bowl?" A tortured scream came from the back room. "Paul! Calm down!" He turned back to Tim and Cass with a smile that was a little too wide. "Um, we're out." "Need Wasabi bowl!" Tim cleared his throat. "That's actually not necessary. Um, could you show us some of your other lovely holiday arrangements? Someplace in the same price range?" "Sure!" Mike replied. "We've got--" "No," Cass shook her head. And then she grabbed Tim by the arm, and forcibly removed him from Mike-n-Paul's Flower-o-Rama. "Er, sorry, we're sold out." "No, sorry, we don't have any left." "Just sold the last one." "Try Rico's. I hear he's got a hidden cache in his basement." "Okay, sure. You want this for next year?" "Uh-uh." "Nope." "Sorry." "Sorry." "Sorry." "Cass, we're getting nowhere. Can't we just get her some other flowers?" "No!" Cass shook her head vehemently. "Not work!" Tim threw up his hands. "But nobody HAS any!" Cass deflated. "Look, let's give it a try. And if it doesn't work, we'll know it wasn't our fault." She nodded. They walked into Brenda's House of Flowers. "You have any Wasa-- Wysocki bowls?" Tim asked tiredly. Brenda looked tired. "No, actually--" "Dozen roses," Tim grunted. "Here's the address." Barbara sat at her computer, wondering whose name to click on next, when there was a buzz at the door. Glancing at the security camera, it was a man wearing a heavy coat, and a baseball cap that looked like part of a uniform. He carried something wrapped up in tissue in his arms. Barbara hit the intercom. "Barbara Gordon?" "Yes?" "Flowers for ya, ma'am." Barbara blinked. "I'll buzz you up." A few minutes later, she signed a receipt slip in return for a fragrant armful of paper-wrapped flowers. She put them on the coffee table, and pulled the card off the wrapping. "I'm sorry," the card said simply. It also featured a little hound dog in a house, with voice bubble that said, "I'm in the dog house!" Barbara giggled. It was cheesy, but it was Dick. She ripped at the paper, and scent of roses filled the room. Barbara grinned, and lifted the arrangement out of the paper. And stopped grinning. And picked up the phone. BRNNG. BRNNG. "'Lo?" "Jeez, Dick," she griped. "Is it so hard to find a Wysocki bowl in this town?" CLICK. Barbara shook her head. Dumb men. Plan C Tim ran into the Batcave, waving two slips of paper. "Do you know what I had to go through to get these?" he said excitedly. Cassandra shrugged. "Three hours of 'tea' with my stepmom, is what. But one of her friends is in the cast, and Dana came through for me." Cass grabbed the tickets out of his hands, and stabbed excitedly at them. "Third row, I KNOW!" Cass sighed happily. "Yeah. Wow, I wish I could go. But really, Babs and Dick will love 'The Nutcracker.' Well, at least Babs will. Dick better go along with it if he knows what's good for him." Cass nodded assertively. "Now it's just a matter of getting them to go." Cass nodded again. Less assertively. "Look, third time's the charm, right?" Cass outright shrugged this time. Taking a deep breath, Tim picked up the phone. "Hello?" Barbara's tired voice answered after a few rings. Tim let out a long-suffering sigh. "Hey, Barbara, it's Tim." "Hey, Tim, what's up?" "Well, you know the Gotham Ballet's premiering 'the Nutcracker' tomorrow night, right?" "Oh, I read about that in the paper." "Yeah, well Bruce had tickets to it, but he's off being Batman right now, and he gave them to me." ". . ." "What?" "Bruce... gave you ballet tickets?" "Yes." "There's something seriously wrong with this picture, Timothy." "He did! It was weird and creepy. Really." "Of course it was weird and creepy. Whenever Bruce and ballet are in the same sentence, weird and creepy are required to also be in that sentence. Hey, why'd he give you the tickets? He could've given me the tickets! I like ballet! He could have made Dick take me." Tim's original plan had to been to claim Barbara would be going with him and beg sick at the last second. This was even better. "Well, see he did." "Come again?" "He already told Dick to take you, but Dick was working, so he left the tickets with me. And told me to call you." "I refuse to go." Tim blinked. "You just said you wanted to go." "Not with Dick." "You specifically said you wanted to go with Dick." "I... was delusional. Elongated Man? Elongated Man, is that you?" "Barbara!" "Sorry." "So, will you go or not?" "Tim, I... Dick and I..." "But it's the *opening night.* And Dick already said yes." "He did?" "Uh-huh. But he wanted me to call you it hurt to hear your voice when you guys were--" "Now I know you're shitting me, Tim Drake, so quit while you're ahead." "Yes'm." "Yeah, well, he'd better pick me up on time, that's all I've got to say." "Yes, MA'AM!" Tim clicked off. "Heh. One down." Cassandra nodded approvingly. Tim dialed another number. "Yo." "Dick, it's Tim. I have heinous news." "Shit." "Word to that." "Hit me with it." "You know how Bruce went to South America this morning...?" "No." "What?" "Tell me he did not leave me with one of his Brucie obligations. TELL ME THERE ARE NO BRUCIE OBLIGATIONS!" "There's a Brucie obligations." "Dammit! What is it? Charity ball? Auction? It's the OPERA, isn't it? I knew it. It's the opera. Dammit, why doesn't the man ever have to go to, like... spaghetti dinners or anything? Crud." "Well... it's not the opera." "Yeah? Opening pitch? Is he throwing an opening pitch somewhere?" "Dick, it's December." "A MAN CAN HOPE!" "It's the ballet. Tomorrow night." ". . ." "Dick?" ". . ." "I'm sorry, Dick." ". . ." "C'mon, Dick." "YOU go." "He already said that you and Barbara would be taking his place." "Barbara? I have to go to ballet with Barbara? Oh, shoot me now." "Sorry, Dick." "Crud." "You already said that." "Sorry." "Hey, maybe you guys can use this opportunity to... y'know. Make up. I mean, Babs is all into ballet and stuff. Act enthusiastic and she'll be... I dunno. Whatever it is you do to girls." "... That's not a bad idea. Who are you, and what've you done to my Tim?" "Oh, shut up, Dick." "Heh." "So you'll go?" "Yeah. But don't expect me to like it." "Nooooooo problem." Dick whistled merrily as he trotted through Titans' Tower. He was getting his girl back. He'd have to sit through three hours of men leaping around in tights, but that was pretty much was hanging around Titans' Tower was like, anyway. This time, there'd just be bad music and he wasn't allowed to talk. But he was getting his girl back. That was the important thing. "HEY, UNCA NI'WING!" "What's up, princess?" he asked, squatting down to greet the small child barreling down the hall at him. "Daddy and I just visited Santa, and he's gonna bring me my own bow an' arrow an' a pony an' my own bulldozer an' a cordless drill for Daddy!" Lian Harper exclaimed joyously, rubbing at a runny nose with one be-mittened hand. Dick chuckled. "Since when does your daddy want a cordless drill?" "Oh, he doesn't. But Daddy says it's not a good idea to ask Santa for beauty-ful women." "I'd imagine not." Lian sneezed delicately. "Come play in the snow, Unca Ni'wing?" "Sounds like you're catching a little cold, Miss Lian. Maybe we should play inside today?" "Shoots and Ladders?" "You are SO on." Dick grinned. Hadn't lost his touch with women after all. "What's UP, girlFRIEND?" Dinah exclaimed, hurling herself into Barbara's apartment. "Yah! My friend Dinah's here to relieve me of my insane boredom. You know, I had a twenty minute conversation with BOOSTER GOLD about car wax. BOO$TER GOLD, Dinah. Does no one have crime to fight in this world?" Dinah shrugged. "Hey, I had to brave the mall with Roy and the munchkin this morning. There's a crime right there." Babs shook her head. "Internet shopping, my friend. Internet shopping." Dinah made a pooh-poohing gesture with her hands. "Where's fun in that? I gave some old woman a black eye this morning when she tried to touch a sweater I wanted. It was great." "Santa is so bringing you no presents. Speaking of presents, what are those?" Barbara glared pointedly at the roses on the table, which had opened beautifully, and filling the whole room with a lovely fragrance. "Those are not a Wysocki bowl." She shook her head. "Dick." "Hey, those are impossible to get this time of year," Dinah shrugged. "How's that you-Dick thing coming, anyway?" Babs frowned. "I told you about that?" Dinah blinked. "Um, a little... bird... told me?" Barbara scolded. "I'm gonna hang that brat upside-down by his cape. Yeah, Dick and I had a fight. Oddly enough, though, Bruce had to leave down and dumped his ballet tickets on Dick, so we're going tomorrow." "Ballet is cool." "Yeah. I hope we get a chance to talk or something. It's been... kinda rotten without him." Dinah sighed dramatically. "Men. Can't live with 'em and they're too big to flush down the toilet. Speaking of which, are you coming to my Christmas party?" Babs blinked. "Wait-- toilet... Christmas party?" "Great! You can bring the eggnog." Suddenly, Dinah sneezed. Barbara raised one eyebrow. "Coming down with something?" "Me? No way. I never get sick. And by the way, Dick's coming to the party too, and he's bringing pizza rolls. Make sure you tell him." "Yeah, I'll do that." "My life rules," Tim Drake announced, reclining in Bruce Wayne's Laz-E- Boy. The one he didn't want the JLA to know he owned. Cass nodded eagerly. While Bruce was in South America, the younger members of the Batclan had taken it upon themselves to make use of Bruce's extensive multimedia center. I.e., they were watching Jimmy Stewart in surround sound. They each had giant bowls of popcorn in their laps, and large mugs of cider resting (safely coastered) on the coffee table. It was bliss. And in two hours, Dick would swing by to pick up the tickets, and then whisk Barbara off for the night of her life. There was a stack of Christmas movies on the table, and Alfred had informed them that there was plenty of popcorn in the cupboard. Tim was set. His cell phone chirped merrily. Probably Dick, he decided, picking it up. "Tim's phone." "'Ello? Timb?" Tim frowned. "Dick? Is that you?" "Yeah. Id's me." "Are you okay?" "Do. I'm id bed. I hab a feber of one hu'dred and t'ree. I feel horrible." "Geez, Dick, that's terrible! Do you need me to come over?" "Do. I just wadt to lie here a'd be miserable. I think I caught the flu frob Liad." "Oh, yuck." "So I habe to cadcel tonight. Tell Bruce I'b sorry, but I just..." "I totally understand, Dick. Don't sweat it. Just lie there and get better, okay." "Okay. Look, cad you call Barbara a'd tell her? I dod't..." He trailed off. "You don't want to disappoint her. I'll take care of it." "T'anks, Timb. You're the best little brot'er I neber had." "Yeah, well, you just get better fast. You're in charge of the pizza rolls for Dinah's party." "Right. T'anks again, Timb." Tim sighed and hung up the phone. "Another plan down the drain. Dick's got a fever." Cass frowned, then brightened. "Babs-- nurse!" Tim smiled. "Cass, that's great! You're a genius!" He punched Barbara's number into his cell phone. After a few minutes, a groggy voice answered. "Hello?" "Barbara?" "Timb? Is dat you?" "Babs, you don't sound so good." "I... I dod't feel so good. I dink I might have a feber." "Were you around Dick yesterday?" "Dick? Uh-uh. Why?" "He's really sick, too. All stuffed up and fevery. He said he caught it from Lian." Barbara groaned. "I was with Didah yesterday, a'd she'd beed out with Roy a'd Liad. She sdeezed on be." "Do you need me to come over and make you some soup? Or send Alfred?" "Uh-uh... I'b okay... I t'ink I wadda go back to sleep, dough. I dod't t'ink I'b godda make it todight." "Yeah, well Dick isn't either, so don't worry about it. I'll take care of it." "T'anks, Timb. You're the best." "Yeah, yeah. That's just a rumor I started. Go back to sleep, Oracle Lady." "I t'ink I will. Bye, Timb." Tim sighed and hung up. "Barbara's sick, too. This is just great." He stuffed some popcorn in his mouth. "Well, at least we didn't make things worse this time." Cass looked sad. Tim pulled the tickets out of his pocket, and frowned. "Hey... I don't suppose you'd want to..." "'Kay!" Tim glanced at his watch. "You have exactly four hours to find a dress." Batgirl smiled winsomely. "No problem." Three and one half hour later, Tim and the Honda Civic once again pulled up in front of stately Wayne Manor. Tim wasn't exactly sure where Cassandra lived, but she said that she'd meet him back at SWM, and that was fine with him. He'd changed into one of his nicer suits-- one of the "son of a wealthy archaeologist" suits. He adjusted his tie as he rang the bell. "You've been keeping the lady waiting, Master Tim," Alfred teased. "Cassandra's back already?" "As a matter of fact, she is. She's waiting for you in the parlor." The parlor. Seemed a strange place for her. Cass belonged on foggy docks and in seedy bars and possibly bowling alleys. She did not belong in parlors. Tim frowned. No, that wasn't right. Batgirl belonged in bars and docks. Cass belonged wherever she wanted to. He stepped into the parlor, and his jaw dropped. Alfred smiled knowingly. "Where did you get THAT?" Tim exclaimed. Cass spun around letting her long skirts swish. "Bruce." Tim was busy taking in the long, black dress. It was simple, yet elegant, and made Cass look entirely un-Cass-like. He blinked. "That's... Bruce's? Ew!" Cass giggled. "No! Bruce... give me. For undercover. Might need dress." "Bruce has good taste," Tim put in appreciatively. Cassandra beamed. Barbara lay in bed. She was miserable. Her nose hurt. Saltines sucked. And she was watching "An Affair to Remember." And crying. A lot. It just made her nose redder. The phone rang. "Hello?" "Hey, Babs, id's Didah." "Hi, Didah. You bade be sick. I hate you." "Yeah, I'b sorry. I'b sick too. So is Roy. Id fact, the odly ode who isd't sick is Liad. Go FIGURE." "I'b watching 'Ad Affair to Rebeber. It's SO SAD!" "I DOW! I'b watching it too!" "Didah, this sucks! I could be at the ballet right dow." "A'd this mobie's so SAD!" And then the two of them started bawling all over again. Cass settled down in her seat, and checked her watch. Ten minutes 'til the lights went down. Tim leaned over conspiratorially. "Hey, you won't tell anyone I like ballet, will you? It's... kinda sissy." Cassandra mimed zipping her lips. "Cool." "Tim?" "Yeah?" "What is ballet?" Tim blinked. "You don't know? Oh, well it... It's kinda like a play, you know what that is?" She shook her head. "It's like TV, only live." She nodded that she did, indeed know what he was talking about. "Except instead of talking or singing, the actors dance. That's how they tell the story. Through movement. Kinda like... like..." "Me!" Cass exclaimed. "Exactly! Wow, I hadn't even thought of that." Cass frowned angrily. "Why is sissy?" "Why is it sissy?" Tim shrugged. "I dunno. Guys aren't supposed to like ballet. I think it's because everyone wears tights." Cass cocked her head. "You... wear tights. Dick-Robin not wear tights. Dick look more sissy." Tim tried not to laugh and ended up sputtering hysterically. "You said it, Cass. You said it." Roy and Dick lay on the couch at Titan's Tower. They were watching football. And sneezing. "Liad! Liad, bri'g Daddy adother box of tissues, sweetie! Please!" Lian looked up from her legos. "Use your sleeve, Daddy." "It's wet." Dick made a disgusted face. "But I don't know were we keep them." "Ask Uncle Garth." "Okay!" Lian scrambled to her feet and scampered off. "She'll neber cobe back," Dick pointed out. "She'll be back. When she's a teedager, she'll wadt modey or the car or sobething. She'll be back." Dick winced as the Opal City Pirates made a touchdown. "Ouch." "This SUCKS!" Roy announced. "I HATE bei'g sick." Dick shrugged. "Ahh, it's not so bad." He grinned. "I could be at the ballet right dow." Tim chuckled as he watched Cassandra dance through the parking lot, her skirts swirling around her legs and snowflakes glittering in her hair. "I think the lady enjoyed the ballet," he teased.. "LOVE BALLET!" Cass exclaimed. "Catch me!" And then she grand jete'd right at him. Mikhail Baryshnikov, Tim was not. Two seconds later, they were both sitting in the snow, laughing their heads off. "Cass," Tim said, wiping at his eyes. "We are having entirely too much fun on Dick and Babs' dates." She nodded, her chest still shaking with giggles. Tim stood up and offered her a hand. She didn't need one, but she took it anyway. "We need a new plan. Man, Christmas is less than a week away. Poor Babs, sitting there in her poor, un-merry apartment. Dick would never stand for that. He'd wrestle a tree through the window if he... had... to..." Oh, no, Cass thought. Plan D "The most important part," Tim said, tapping his fingers on the table. "Is to get Babs out of the house. Unfortunately, the only person she ever goes out with is Dick." "Dinah?" "I think Dinah's out getting stuff for her party. She wasn't home. You used to live with her. Does she have any other friends I don't know?" Cass thought for a few minutes. "Dad." "Yeah, there's her dad... but he doesn't know me, so I'd have no way of getting him into our conspiracy." Cass nodded. Suddenly, her face brightened. "Blue Beetle!" Tim snapped his fingers. "That's right! I forgot about that. I'll give him a call." A few minutes later, he'd located Ted Kord's phone number. "Hello?" "Hey, Ted, it's Robin." "Hey, Kid Wonder. What's up?" "I need a favor." "Need a little Blue Backup?" Tim rolled his eyes. "No, nothing like that. I need you to take Barbara out to lunch or something. Her boyfriend's got something planned and he needs to get into her apartment while she's not there." "Oh, I gotcha. No problem, Rob, I'm your man." "And Ted?" "Yeah?" "Leave Booster Gold at home." "Hey!" Barbara sighed and leaned back on her skateboard. Perfect. The wooden floors of her apartment gleamed beautifully. She tossed her sponge back in the bucket, and skated out into the other room, where she hefted herself back into her chair. She'd planned to scrub the day before, but the flu had kept her in bed all day. Fortunately, it seemed to be one of those twenty-four hour things. Barbara wheeled into her bedroom, and had just changed into some decent clothes when the door buzzed. She frowned and checked the cameras. Ted Kord was waving cheerfully from outside. "Come on up, Ted!" she called over the intercom, buzzing him up. "Happy Holidays," Ted said brightly as he stepped into her apartment a few minutes later. "I haven't seen you in a while. How is everything?" "Um... it's going," Babs shrugged. "I had a little bug yesterday, but it seems to have worked itself out of my system. So what's up, Ted?" "Oh, I was in town doing a little Christmas shopping and I realized how long it's been since I've seen you. Thought maybe I'd drop by and see if you wanted to do lunch or something." Babs' mouth opened slightly. "Er, I, uh..." She smiled. "I'd love to." After all, it sure beat pestering Hawkman about where he kept that mace when he wasn't using it. "Great!" Ted grinned. "Hey, nice flowers. Not a Wysocki bowl, but those roses opened up nice." "Let me get my coat," Barbara said. "So many..." Cass breathed, glancing over the rows of bundled Christmas trees. Tim chuckled. "It's better to go out in the wilderness and cut one down yourself, but this'll do, I think. Now, the trick is one to find one that's not too full, but--" "This one." "Hmm. Not bad. I think we need something a little shorter, and--" "THIS one." "It's got kind of a bald spot right..." Tim looked up. She looked at him, brown eyes wide and damp. Her lower lip trembled. Ten minutes and $19.95 later, Tim, Cass and a Christmas tree were walking down the streets of Gotham. Fortunately, the Christmas tree stand they'd chosen to grace their presence with was a mere two blocks away from the Clocktower. "That's Ted's car," Tim pointed out. "And her SUV is gone. Wow. BB actually came through. Okay, now it's your turn." Cass nodded, and disappeared around the back of the building. She launched her grapple up to the tower, and a few seconds later, stood on the ledge outside Oracle's window. Fortunately, she was still keyed into the security system, and she slid the window open and slipped into the apartment. Shaking her head at the roses on the table as she passed, she hit the buzzer so Tim and Tree could come up. "We forgot a tree stand," Tim pointed out as he wrestled Tree through the door, scattering needles in the hallway. Cass glanced around, and noticed that Barbara had left a bucket on the floor. She pointed. Tim propped Tree in the corner, and went over to inspect it. "It's full of soap, but it might work after I wash it out." While Tim fixed up the bucket, Cass put her backpack down on the couch and started unloading it. Three strings of Christmas lights. Two boxes of multi-colored balls. A box of Christmas balls with different superhero logos on them that Tim had found on sale somewhere and thought were funny. And tinsel. Lots of tinsel. Lots and LOTS of tinsel. Tim returned with the bucket, which was now filled with water. It sloshed slightly as he carried it across the living room, and set it in one corner. Cass watched in mild amusement as he wrestled the tree into the bucket, trying to make is stand upright. Finally, he just shoved the bucket further into the corner so that the tree could lean against the wall while still appearing to stand under its own power. "Perfect," Tim declared. Cass nodded, and pointed at the gigantic pile of pine needles on the ground. Tim cringed. "We'll sweep up before we leave. Let's get going." Dick stared at the phone. It didn't stare back. He was gonna call her. He wasn't gonna call her. He was gonna apologize. He was gonna wait for her to apologize. Call. Not call. Call. Not call. Dick picked up the phone. It rang once. It rang twice. It rang three times. "Hi, you've reached Barbara Gordon. I'm out at the moment, please leave a message. BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP." "HiBabsit'sDick.I'msorryaboutthewholefightthingandIreallywannagetbacktoget her.Thanks.Bye." CLICK. He stared at the phone and wondered if there was any way to blow up Barbara Gordon's answering machine by remote control. Tim and Cass stared at the answering machine in abject horror. "What was THAT?" Tim finally managed. "Pathetic," Cass replied. "So, uh, how's stuff with you and Dick?" Ted asked, playing with his salad. "Ohhhhh..." Barbara drew out, playing with her soup. "Um... we have our moments." Ted's brows creased. "You guys are still seeing each other, right?" "Ummm... yeeeeesss..." "That sounds very convincing, Barbara." "We had a fight." "Oh!" Ted said, several pieces snapping together in his head. "Well, I'm sure you guys'll get back together real soon." "I hope so," Barbara said wistfully. "Er, I mean... um... after he apologizes!" Ted blinked. "What'd he do?" "It's a long story." "I don't have anywhere to be." Two minutes later, Ted Kord spewed lettuce across the table. Tim held his hands up like a director's frame, looking at the tree. "Perfect." Cass nodded. There tree sagged under the sheer weight of the tinsel on its boughs. But it sparkled like a drunk Starman, and lit up the entire apartment. "I'll get the broom to get all those pine needles," Tim said, when, suddenly, there was a click in the lock. "She's early?" Tim exclaimed, aghast. But they didn't call him the Boy Wonder for nothing. In less than a second, he was diving out the window, Cass hot on his tail. They crouched on the balcony... only to see Dick Grayson walk into the apartment. "Who gave him a key?" Tim snorted. Dick walked into Barbara's apartment, trying to remember where she kept her answering machine anyway. He glanced with mild surprise at the Christmas tree in the corner. Barbara had set up her own tree? That was strange. She must have had Tim or Dinah help her-- she'd never use that much tinsel on her own. Dick walked over to survey it quickly, and reached out to examine a little Bat-Ornament. Cute. Unfortunately, when he touched the tree, about fifty needles and six tons of tinsel fell on the floor. "Whoops," Dick chuckled, reaching down to pick it up. And then he heard the squeak behind him. Busted. "Dick?" Barbara's confused voice rang out. Dick straightened up instantly, and turned around. Barbara stood in the doorway, Ted Kord right behind her. Dick felt his face flush. Half a week they'd been broken up, and here she was, out with another man. "What the...?" Barbara asked, wheeling closer to the tree. "Look at this mess!" she said, her eyes widening at her freshly scrubbed floor. "Um..." Dick waffled. "Sorry?" "I spent all morning cleaning in here, and you go and--" "You cleaned your apartment for HIM? The old messy Clocktower was always good enough for me!" Barbara looked confused. "Ted? What does Ted have do with anything?" "Oh, fine, act innocent. I'm outta here." Barbara stared, astonished, as he walked out. "Well, FINE!" Ted scratched his head, confusedly. "That's a gorgeous tree." Barbara nodded, her eyes moist. "Isn't it, though?" Tim and Cass exchanged forlorn looks. Suddenly, a blinking light on the end table caught Ted's eye. "Hey, you've got a message. Want me to play it?" "Huh? Um, sure." Ted hit the button. "HiBabsit'sDick.I'msorryaboutthewholefightthingandIreallywannagetbacktoget her.Thanks.Bye." CLICK. Ted blinked at the answering machine in amazement. "I didn't understand a word of that. Was that..." Barbara gritted her teeth. "YES. And if I find out that Robin was the one who gave Impulse my home phone number, someone's gonna die." Plan E (for Effort) Tim and Cass sat in the Batcave, looking glum. "I'm out of ideas," Tim sighed. "Me, too." "What are we gonna do? Christmas is only three days away. Tomorrow's Dinah's party. It's our last chance. But... but... I don't know what to do." Cass shook her head sadly. "Unless... unless..." Tim gritted his teeth and picked up his cell phone. BRNNG. BRNNG. "Greystoke Manor, Lord Clayton speaking. GREAT SCOTT! Bolgani, the gorilla has stolen my beloved bride, Jane. d'Arnot! Tantor! To me! Tarzan of the Apes is on the move! AaaaauuhhhAUGHaugh--" "BART!" "... crandell residence, bart speaking." "Hey, Bart, it's Robin." "Oh, hi, Robbie. Hey, last time you called, I think we got cut off." "Yeah, I accidentally used up all my cell phone minutes and they cut me off, so I couldn't call you back," Tim lied. "Oh, okay." "You remember what I called about, though? My friends who broke up?" "Oh, yeah! Yeah, I had tons of ideas about that! More than one, even!" "Okay, let's hear 'em." ". . ." "Bart?" "Really? You really wanna hear my plans?" "Sure." "Wow! Okay! Well... okay, it's actually one plan. I didn't think you actually wanted to hear them, so I only came up with one real one. But it's a really GOOD plan!" Tim nodded grimly. "Go ahead." Ten minutes later, he hung up the phone. Cassandra looked at him questioningly. "It's a horrible plan. But it's all we've got." "Sign here." Dick squinted at the long box the deliveryman carried. Something he'd ordered on eBay and forgot about? Odd gadget or ancient artifact from Bruce? Strange, stalker-y gift from Flamebird? Dick handed the clipboard back, and the brown-suited man handed him the package. There was a letter taped to the top of the box. Dick sat down on the step, despite the cold, and pulled open the letter. "Bring me to Dinah's party," was all it said. Dick shrugged and peeled off the tape sealing the box. "What the hell is this?" "Thank you," Barbara said, accepting the long, brown box. She peeled the letter off the top. "'Bring me to Dinah's party...'" she read out loud. "Hmm." She grabbed a box cutter and tore into the packaging. "Hey. I thought I was supposed to bring the egg nog..." Tim's fingers dug into the arms of the sofa. He'd promised Dinah he'd be early to help set up. And he still needed to pick up Cass. And wrap up those cookies. And Aunt Madelaine just wouldn't... shut... up. "And then I said to him, 'Bobby, dear, I know you aren't eating six helpings of vegetables a day. You're living on macaroni and cheese again, just like you did in college.' That boy is flirting with scurvy, mark my word!" Tim slumped down further. "So how is little Timmy doing?" "He's right there, Maddy, you could ask him," Uncle William grumbled. "Oh, William, stop being such a grumpy-puss! So, how are you, Tim?" "I'm... good," Tim managed "So what are you studying in school?" "Um... this and that." "You're good at math, aren't you?" Tim swallowed, hoping this wouldn't turn into another Cousin Bobby story. "Er, yes." "You should go into accounting! Bobby's an accountant, you know!" "Making good money, is he?" Tim's father asked. Tim squeezed his eyes shut. If Dad started showing *interest,* she might never shut up. "Hey, didn't you say you had a Christmas party to go to this afternoon?" Uncle William asked. "Um, yeah," Tim replied. He couldn't actually remember Uncle William ever saying something directly *to* him... usually he just sat around stolidly, grunting occasionally, and begging cigar breaks from Aunt Madelaine when the Cousin Bobby stories got too intense. "When do you have to go?" "Um... about ten minutes ago." "Maddy, the kid wants to go to his party. No one needs to know that much about Bobby." "Pish posh, William! Tim loves Bobby. Don't you remember them playing together as kids?" Tim hadn't actually seen Cousin Bobby in years. He had vague, baby-memories of being chased around with a plastic crocodile and large quantities of snow being jammed down his pants. He couldn't say with any certainty, but if he had to guess, Tim would say that the only feeling he had towards Cousin Bobby was resigned contempt. "Yeah, well, I'll give him the kid's phone number, and he can call Bobby himself. Let him go." Aunt Madelaine sighed dramatically. "Well, you have to open your present first, Timmy." She thrust a huge, green-and-gold wrapped box at Tim. "Gee, thanks, Aunt Madelaine, Uncle William," Tim said. "I had nothing to do with it," Uncle William mumbled under his breath. Tim tore off the paper, and opened the box, only to recoil in horror. Fortunately, he recovered quickly. "Wow... Aunt Maddy... that's really great." "What is it, Tim?" Dana asked, leaning forward. Carefully, Tim lifted it out of the box. It was green. It was fuzzy. It had a giant "T" on the front. It was the Sweater from Hell. "Oh, put it on!" Aunt Madelaine squealed. "Don't--" Uncle William started before he was hushed. "Go on, Tim. Model," Jack said, leaning back in his chair. Betrayal! By his own father! Tim slowly drew off his own reindeer-printed sweater, and pulled the Jughead-ian monstrosity over his head. "Oh, he's so precious." "Wow, this is, uh, really something, Aunt Maddy," Tim said. "I've never had a sweater with a 'T' on it before." "For 'Tim'!" Aunt Madelaine exclaimed. "Thanks, Aunt M," Tim smiled, giving her a hug and a kiss on the cheek. He got a pinch on the cheek in return. "In fact, this is such a great sweater that I bet Cousin Bobby would LOVE one of his own. Only, you know. With a 'B' on it." Aunt Madelaine's eyes widened. "You think? Bobby was never much for sweaters..." "But it's so cool!" Tim exclaimed. "You don't have time to knit Bobby a sweater in the next three days," Uncle William pointed out. "I have yarn in the car! I'll go get it!" Aunt Maddy dashed out of the room. "Run for it!" Uncle William and Dana shouting in unison. Jack looked perplexed. Tim ran like the wind. Tim pulled up to Wayne Manor six minutes later, the cookies in the passenger seat, and the "T" sweater tossed in the back. He was wearing the reindeer sweater again. Cass was waiting out front. She hopped in, putting the cookies on her lap. "Well, you look festive," Tim teased. Cass looked down at her black turtleneck and black jeans, then shrugged. "Not have." Tim frowned. "Oh." Cass frowned. "I look silly?" "No, no, you look fine! I was just teasing. I mean, Dinah'll probably be dressed as an elf or something, with means that the Christmas content in the room is gonna be way over the top, anyway." "Oh." She looked... disappointed. "You want to be festive?" "No." Tim pulled off his sweater. "Here. You can wear the reindeer." Her eyes widened. "No! Tim's reindeer!" "Oh, they'll be okay with you for a few hours." "Tim cold." "I'll be fine." She looked uncertain. Tim swallowed his pride. "Hey, I forgot! I've got an extra sweater in the back seat." He grabbed Aunt Madelaine's "T" sweater, and with a grimace, pulled it over his head. Cass' eyes widened. "You like the sweater?" She nodded vehemently. "You wanna wear this one?" "No! 'T' for Tim!" "Yes. Yes, it is." "Come in!" Dinah crowed, hurling the door open. "Oh, my God. She IS dressed like an elf," Tim murmured. Dinah was wearing a knee-length red dress that actually had fur around the bottom. She was wearing a Santa hat with a big jingle bells on the end, and had jingle bell earrings. She was wearing candy-striped stockings. "You actually brought the cookies! Tim, you rule! And nice sweater." Dinah grabbed the cookies, and waltzed off into the kitchen. "What can we do?" Tim asked. "Huh? Oh, well, I got a big box of Christmas stuff. Just kinda... strew. You know." Cassandra smiled. She was good at strewing. "So, you get the lovebirds back together yet?" "No," Tim sighed. "I'm playing one last minute ploy." Cassandra was already tangled up in garland. "Oh, things'll work out, you'll see," Dinah said. Tim sighed again, and tried to extricate Cassandra from the string of lights that had joined the garland in wrapping itself around her body. "I hope so." The Party "How on earth did you get *him* to come, anyway?" Barbara asked, setting her bowl of eggnog on the main table. "Well, I invited him, and he said he refused to come to any party with Ted Grant dressed up as Santa Claus, so I said that Ted wasn't doing that anymore. Then I told him that he didn't actually have to come as Batman, he could come as that stinky hood he likes to dress up as, and he said okay." Babs looked confused. "So who's the guy in the corner with the pillow up his shirt?" "Oh... Alan. He's not as 'bowl-fulla-cherries' but it's not bad." Barbara blinked. "You made... ALAN SCOTT dress up as Santa Claus?" "Bow to my skillz. Bow to my skillz." "It was a dirty trick," the scruffy man in hideously red-and-green checkered suit said from across the table, where he was snarfing cocktail hotdogs. "Cry, cry, cry. And get out of those, MALONE!" Dinah scolded. "You've had enough." "Speaking of strange processed food," Babs frowned, "I got this in the mail with a note that said I should bring it to the party. Do you know anything about this?" Dinah looked down at the long, cylindrical object Barbara proffered. "Is that...?" Suddenly, she snatched it up, and dashed across the room. "What was that?" Barbara asked, turning to "Matches." He just shrugged and went for more weenies. "I shouldn't've come," Dick sighed, glancing over at where Barbara sat near the food table. "Oh, come on, you CAN'T miss one of Dinah's parties," Roy shrugged. "I mean, how often are you gonna get a chance to see Ted Grant dressed up as Santa Claus?" "I don't think that's actually Ted. She must've gotten someone else to do it, this year." "Besides, if you hadn't come, I'd be making you watch my kid." Dick shook his head. "You know, the only reason I *did* come (besides the pizza rolls) was that I got this in the mail with a note that I had to bring it to the party." He held up the mysterious object. Roy's jaw dropped. Suddenly, he snatched it out of Dick's hands, and dashed across the room. Tim felt a pokepokepoke on his shoulder. "What is it?" he asked Cass. She pointed, to the center of the room, where Roy and Dinah were quickly converging. Tim wasn't exactly sure what was supposed to happen next in Bart's Great Plan, but he was pretty sure this wasn't it. "ROY! LOOK!" "DINAH! LOOK!" "It's a CHEESELOG!" "It's a BEEFLOG!" "Cheeselog's better!" "Beeflog's better!" "Cheeselog!" "Beeflog!" "Cheeselog!" "Beeflog!" "Pbbbt!" And then... Roy broke into song. "Beeflog, beeflog, what a treat! "A hefty hunk of processed meat, "Dipped in mustard, Oh what joy! "I'm jolly beeflog boy! "Hot and spicy, mild or plain, "I'll even eat the cellophane, "I might share some with my dog, "Cuz we both love beeflog, "Oh boy!" Dinah straightened up dramatically. "Roy, I beg to disagree, "Cheeselog is the log for me, "As a meal or as a snack, "It's my favorite saturated fat. "Cheeselog, cheeselog, "Cylindrical and yellow, "Cut the cheeselog, "And I'm a happy fellow!" And then they both broke down into a giggle fit. Matches put down his cocktail weenie. "That's it. It's official. I've seen everything." Tim just hung his head. Screw the Plan, It's Time to Improvise "Okay, okay!" Dinah announced, jumping up and down. "It's time to light up the Christmas tree. Everybody, get ready to oooh and aaaah at my Christmas tree! Hit the lights, Jay!" The apartment was bathed in darkness. "Let 'er rip, Tim!" There were a few sparks and the slight odor of burning Drake, and then Dinah's tree gleamed to life with the force of a small supernova. "Wheeeee!" Dinah cheered. There was a smattering of applause and some muted ooohs and aaaahs. "Okay, okay, turn the lights back on," Dinah called. "Whoops, was that your foot, Sandy?" "YES." The lights came back on, and to his surprise, Dick realized he was standing next to Barbara. How had that happened? She noticed at the same time, and they were about to back away in opposite directions, when a small, dark person in a reindeer sweater interposed herself between them. "Um, hi, Cass," Barbara said warmly. "Enjoying the party?" Cass nodded vigorously. Dick started to edge away, but Cass caught his arm in a vise grip. "Like lights?" "Yeah, Cass, they were really great," Dick agreed. Cass stared at Barbara pointedly, waiting for a response. "Mmm-hmm. Really pretty." "I did!" Barbara's eyes widened. "You did?" "Tim help." Dick chuckled. "That must've been a sight." Cassandra smiled proudly. "Batgirl and Robin make good team." And then she scampered off. Babs looked at Dick. Dick looked at Babs. Then they both started talking at once. "Dick, I'm sorry, I know she's your friend, and I should've been a little more grown up about the whole thing." "Babs, I'm sorry. I never should've tried to make you eat Donna's fruitcake. I mean, I *ate* a piece. I know what it's like." "I want to be with you again!" "Me, too!" And then... there was hugging. And a minor amount of snogging. Tim leaned against the wall tiredly. His hair was sticking up, and his hand was slightly singed, but somehow, the sweater had come out of the tree incident none the worse for wear. Cassandra walked up to him, looking incredibly smug. "What're you up to?" Wordlessly, she pointed across the room. Tim looked. His jaw dropped. "How... how did you?" Cass smiled enigmatically. "Cass, I'm never going to figure you out." She grinned happily, for a moment, then seemed to notice something behind him. "What?" Tim asked, turning around, and looking up at the little plant duct taped to the wall. By the time he realized it was mistletoe, it was too late. The End