Standard disclaimer: All the characters mentioned are the property of DC Comics. I have borrowed them without permission, but I promise to have them home before midnight. I have borrowed them for entertainment purposes only and not for profit, because that would be wrong. *Author’s note: I have read many different versions of Barbara Gordon’s history and I’m not sure which one is the current correct one. So, I fudged a new one that fit the purposes of my story. If it’s not entirely correct. Sorry, but it works. Deal with it. *** A Little Elfin Magic By Libby (PICO19@aol.com) *** Christmas was a magical time. A time when adults relaxed their hold on cynical reality and told children stories of a jolly fat man who gave away presents, lived at the North Pole and consorted with toy- making elves and flying reindeer. Barbara Gordon sat in front of her window and watched the fat flakes of snow drift lazily through the night air, more like bits of cotton candy than frozen water. Feeling contented and peaceful, she glanced over her shoulder at the figure sprawled asleep on her couch. Perhaps it was some inherent quality of his Romany parentage that gave one the impression that Dick Grayson was not quite of this world. There seemed to be something within him that was wild, something that whispered of woodland places, open moors and softly rushing streams. It brought to mind the stories of the Little People, The Fay, the Biti Folki, as the Romany themselves, called them. It was an impression that had stayed with Barbara from her earliest memories of the young vigilante. In fact, it was that very notion that had first caught her attention. A smile spread across her face as she remembered the exact moment that she had first laid eyes on Dick Grayson. It had been the night of Christmas Eve then too, some twelve or thirteen years ago. It had been a rough time for Barbara. Her parents had been divorced for years and she lived with her mother in Metropolis. But when she was fifteen her mother was killed in a car accident and she was sent to live with her father in Gotham City. Living with her father had not been bad, even though he worked long hours at the Gotham City Police Department. But leaving Metropolis and changing schools had been very difficult for the quiet, introverted girl. Her first Christmas without her mother had been even more painful. Christmas was a high crime season in any big city, but especially in Gotham City, crime capital of the United States. Captain James Gordon, whose career was on the fast track, was working almost 24/7. He had plenty of good intentions, but very little time to spend with a depressed, home-sick teenager who had been thrust unexpectedly into his life, full time. Barbara remembered that Christmas Eve vividly. She and her father were sitting at the dining room table eating the Chinese take-out dinner that he had brought home. He only had a few hours before he had to be back at the station. They ate their dinner in silence. The steady tick of the clock on the wall disrupted the quiet with the stressful insistence of a metronome, keeping time with their dysfunction. Knowing that his daughter was hurting, but not really knowing how to deal with it, Gordon finally asked, “So, have you heard from any of the girls from school?” He knew that she had made a couple of friends in her new school. “Oh, yeah, Becky called today and asked if I wanted to go ice skating with her and Lisa tonight at Rochester Plaza.” “Oh, well, that sounds like fun. Are you going to go?” “No, I don’t think so. It’s pretty cold out. I think I’ll just stay inside and read.” “The cold’s never bothered you before.” “Yeah, well, I’m kinda tired too.” Knowing better than to push it, Gordon said, “Well, if you change your mind, just call me at the station so that I know where you are.” “Sure.” “You know, I think there are some Christmas specials on TV tonight. You could watch those. I remember how much you looked forward to those when you were a kid.” “Yeah, maybe I’ll do that.” He watched her for a moment. She had not even looked up at him once through their entire conversation. She had barely touched her vegetable fried rice. She had only pushed it around her plate, separating the vegetables into neat little piles. He knew that they needed to talk, but he just didn’t have the time. He needed to start heading back to the station. Traffic was going to be hell with all the last-minute shoppers. Tomorrow, he told himself, we’ll talk tomorrow. By volunteering to work almost the whole night tonight, he had guaranteed himself all of Christmas Day off. Reaching out and laying a large hand over his daughter’s, he said, “Pumpkin, it’s time for me to head back to the station. Are you going to be alright here alone?” At last she looked up at him. He relaxed a little as he saw the warmth in her green eyes. “I’ll be fine, Dad,” she said sincerely. “I really don’t think I’d be very good company right now, anyway.” “Okay,” he said, giving her hand a quick squeeze as he stood up from the table. “Why don’t you give me a call before you go to bed.” “Sure.” He kissed the top of her head as he moved past her out of the dining room. A few minutes later she heard him call to her from the front of the house, telling her that he was leaving. She heaved a long sigh as she heard the front door open and close. She was alone, on Christmas Eve. She had never been alone on Christmas Eve. She and her mother always made cookies and watched the Christmas specials together. Suddenly the magic was gone. Christmas had become just another painful day, just like all the others since her mother had died. Clearing away the remains of dinner, Barbara went upstairs to her bedroom and changed into her pajamas. Going back down to the living room, she plopped down on the couch. Grabbing the remote she clicked the TV on and lay down. She let the succession of classic, sugary-sweet children’s shows wash over her, Frosty the Snowman, Rudolph the Red- Nosed Reindeer, and How the Grinch Stole Christmas. She was eventually lulled into a light doze to the sound of the Whos’ chorus of “da-hoo doray!” Her eyes were just beginning to slip closed when she caught a glimpse of something flashing past the large living room window across from her. Instantly she was awake. Rushing to the window, she peered outside. A heavy snow had begun to fall, illuminated as streamers of white on black in the glow of the streetlights. She could see nothing else. Curiosity piqued, she pulled on her boots and put her coat on over her pink flannel pajamas. Pulling on gloves and a hat and grabbing her father’s heavy black flashlight, she headed out into the night. The air was crisp and fresh and the snow brushed against her cheeks like soft, feathery kisses. They lived on a quiet side street that didn’t get much traffic during the work week, tonight it was deserted. The unusual quiet was eerie. Barbara almost felt as if she had somehow been transported to an alien, parallel dimension where only she existed. The sound of the snow scrunching under her boots seemed unnaturally loud in the hushed stillness. She fancied that she could actually hear the heavy snowflakes as they hit the ground, making tiny little thumping noises. She stood in the middle of the street, looking around and trying to decide if perhaps this wasn’t just a dream. This surreal, dream-like sensation only increased as she heard the sound of laughter, the high joyous laugh of a child. Spinning around, she looked for the source of the sound, but could see no one. The street was empty except for her. Hearing the laugh again, closer now, she looked up. Balancing on one of the utility wires that ran across the street, connecting the rooftops of the row houses, was a small figure dressed in bright red and green, a yellow cape fluttering in the wind behind him. Walking, arms spread wide, on the wire as if it were a tightrope, the little figure crossed the street to the roof of the house opposite Barbara’s. She blinked in amazement. She had never seen anything like this. The little figure was now walking along the ledge of roof, three- stories above the ground. As she watched, he performed a series of flawless backward handsprings along the narrow ledge. When he ran out of ledge, he spun around on his heel and did cartwheels back to his original position. He seemed to be oblivious of the world around him, to exist only for the pure joy of the moment. His clear, high laughter rang through the night like the sound of tinkling glass. What kind of a creature is this? Barbara asked herself, envious of his bliss. His movements seemed too graceful, too fluid, and too free of self-consciousness to be human. He seemed at once totally out of place and yet completely at home leaping and spinning high above the street against the backdrop of the night sky, as if he truly belonged in flight. He seemed more like a creature out of a fairy tale, a sprite, a pixie… or an elf. Why would anyone but an elf be dressed the way he was? Or act the way he did? And why would anyone but an elf be dancing across rooftops on Christmas Eve? Spotting her standing in the street watching him, the little figure stopped his cavorting and returned her stare. Leaning down, he grabbed onto the downspout of the house, swung his body over the ledge and slid down it to the street. Brushing the snow from his green-gloved hands, he walked over to join Barbara. Up close, she could see that he was a little boy, perhaps nine or ten years old. For a moment she was disappointed, maybe he wasn’t an elf after all. But, than again, who knew what elves really looked like? They were often described as child- like, maybe they looked like children, too? Certainly no child could perform the feats she had just witnessed. And she had never seen a more beautiful child. While all children possessed a certain degree of unconscious beauty, this one seemed too… preternatural? “Are you all right?” the “boy” asked. “Uh-huh,” Barbara mumbled, still too stunned to form coherent words. “Are you lost?” “No.” “Where do you live?” She gestured to the brownstone row house behind them. “Oh. Why are you outside in your pajamas?” “Why are you outside in your underwear?” “I’m not in my underwear!” he said, somewhat indignantly. “This is…what I wear.” “Oh, sorry, I didn’t know. I mean, is that what you all wear?” “All?” “Yeah, you know, the other…” she let her voice trail off. She just couldn’t seem to bring herself to say “elves.” After all, she was fifteen years old. She was much too old to believe in such nonsense. At least that’s what she told herself. “Oh, right, you mean… No, this is just what I wear. Everyone has their own style.” “Aren’t you cold?” “The cape’s warmer than it looks and I’m used to it.” Of course, she thought, he would be, if he were from the North Pole. “So, what does the ‘R’ stand for?” she asked. “Robin.” “Is that your name?” “Yeah, what’s yours?” “Barbara.” “You have pretty hair, Barbara.” “I do? Thank you.” She was grateful for the darkness, so that he wouldn’t see the blush spreading across her cheeks. She had always been rather self-conscious about her bright red hair. “Um, why are you out here all by yourself?” “Oh, I’m not by myself. The Big Guy’s around here someplace. He’s never too far away. Can’t get into any trouble with him around. You know… knows all, sees all. He doesn’t always need my help and, well, I get kind of bored waiting around. Anyway, he’ll let me know when he’s done doing his thing and it’s time to move on.” “You’re talking about…” “That’s right,” Robin said smugly. Oh, my gosh, Barbara thought, there really is a Santa Clause! She suddenly found herself bursting with questions. She didn’t know which one to ask first. How does Santa get into houses that don’t have chimneys? How does he travel all over the world in one night? Did this involve some sort of manipulation of the space-time continuum? How does he know which people don’t celebrate Christmas? How does he really know who’s naughty and who’s nice? Does he have some sort of global satellite surveillance system? Is the C.I.A. aware of this? Deciding on a question, she started to blurt it out, “How does S- .” Abruptly a deep resonant voice interrupted her, calling out from somewhere beyond their sightline. “Robin! Let’s get going, Chum! We’ve got a lot of ground to cover yet tonight!” “Oh, sorry, that’s the boss. I gotta go!” Robin said, turning and sprinting back to the house he had been prancing on earlier. He pulled a small grappling hook from his belt and swung it expertly up to the roof ledge. It caught on his first throw. Barbara watched as he pulled himself back up to the rooftop. He paused for a moment after he had retrieved his line. Flashing her a brilliant smile and giving her a quick wave, he called down, “Merry Christmas, Barbara!” Then he spun around and disappeared from her line of sight. Grappling lines, she thought, of course. I never thought of that. It’s so practical and it would certainly explain a lot. Feeling a little numb and disoriented, Barbara started back toward her father’s house. Once back inside, she took off her winter gear and put it away, moving almost mechanically, as though she were unaware of what she was doing. Which she was, her mind was still reeling from the wonderment of her encounter. She lay down on the couch. The TV was still on, but she paid no attention to it, her ears filled with the sound of musical elfin laughter. She didn’t remember falling asleep, but several hours later she felt a hand gently shake her shoulder. She opened bleary eyes to find her father crouched down beside her. It was a dream, she thought, it had to have been. Oddly, she didn’t feel disappointed. Instead she felt a warmth inside of her that she hadn’t felt since before her mother had died. Of course, it still hurt to think of her mother, but somehow, not quite as much. Perhaps it was because she had realized that the magic of Christmas was still there, if she just allowed herself to believe in it. Seeing the tears welling up in Barbara’s eyes, Gordon asked, “Are you all right, Pumpkin?” “Yeah, Dad,” she said, smiling for the first time in months, “I think I am. I had a really great dream.” “That’s wonderful, Pumpkin, but why don’t we get you upstairs and into bed, huh?” Of course, she would later learn the truth. It had not been a dream, but the strange, enchanting creature she had met that night was not an elf. Again, she was not disappointed. In this instance, the truth had turned out to be much more relevant than the fantasy. But the fantasy of that encounter had stayed with her, reminding her that Christmas is indeed a magical time. A time when even a grief-stricken fifteen year old can dare to believe that beautiful, charming elves dance across the rooftops of Gotham City. Gazing at Dick’s blissfully sleeping face now, Barbara had to admit that there was still a magical and child-like quality there. Not that she would ever admit that to him. No, she could never, ever, tell him that the first time they had ever encountered each other, she had mistaken him for a Christmas elf and Batman for Santa Claus.