Gotham winters were always cold, as if the grayness that seemed to permeate the city year-round was able to, for a few months, take on a tangible form and chill the body as thoroughly as it always did the heart and soul.

Batman didn't seem to notice the cold. If he did, he made no note of it. He worked his way through the streets as usual, pausing only the slightest bit as he passed the empty lot where the last vestiges of the old Gotham Clocktower had stood. Its destruction was only one of many changes resulting from the recent gang war that had swept across Gotham City.

He almost instinctively called his "troops" to ask them to report in, but there was really nobody there to give a report. Robin and Batgirl were in Bludhaven for the duration of Nightwing's self-imposed exile. Oracle, Black Canary, and Huntress had created a new headquarters for themselves in a converted Blackhawk jet, making the Birds of Prey truly airborne. Catwoman was busy with matters in the East End. In a tragic bit or irony, Spoiler, who had inadvertently started the gang war, was gone, one of its many causalties..

There was always the police band, but it only took a few minutes of listening to realize that there was nothing going on at the moment that required his assistance. There were a few reports of muggers, drug dealers, and various other lowlifes being apprehended, and with every report, came the pointed question from HQ: "Any sign of any capes?" The answer was always negative, but the fact that the question was being asked to begin with said a great deal about how much his relationship with the Gotham City Police Department had changed.

Finally, as the wintry dawn broke over the city skyline, Batman turned his car toward the suburbs and headed back to Wayne Manor. As he pulled into the cave, Alfred had already risen and was making his way down the stairs with a tray of tasty bits of nourishment, none of which would keep Bruce Wayne awake. He sat in front of the massive computer, running various scans and searches as he ate.

"Have you decided where you wish to obtain a tree this year, Master Bruce?"

Without looking up from the computer screen, Bruce simply said, "No." He finished the light snack, shed his cape and cowl and retired to his bedroom.

Each day, as the night's patrol overlapped into the dawn, the ritual repeated itself. Attempts to engage Bruce in some kind of planning for the holiday were met with few words.

On the morning of the 24th, after Bruce went to sleep, Alfred returned to the kitchen. He opened his journal as he did many of these early mornings, recording his thoughts as he sipped his tea and prepared for the day ahead.

The morning of December 24. It is Christmas Eve once again, only this time a bit emptier than usual. I remember when Master Bruce was still very young, before the awful night that changed everything. Even with the Manor being as large as it is for only 4 people, it seemed filled with warmth and joy. Mrs. Wayne enjoyed the decorating, finding something festive but unique for every room. Dr Wayne would take charge of finding a tree. And Master Bruce would spend endless hours trying to guess the contents of the various presents. After they were murdered, the Manor would be dark and quiet for the holidays for several years until Master Dick joined us. Although it was never quite the same, there was always somebody with whom to make merry the holiday, but not this year. This year, they are all in other places, and Master Bruce is again refusing to let in the light of the holiday. As with so many of the tragedies that have marked his life, I can only watch and stand ready to help. And hope.

With that, Alfred paused, and then he closed the journal, replacing it in the small kitchen desk he used, and locking the drawer.

In the master bedroom, Bruce was beginning to slip into a deep sleep when a bright light filled the room. The Dark Knight was wide awake in an instant, attempting to see where the light was coming from, when he heard a familiar voice.

"Still sleeping during the day, I see," said the voice. "Bruce, I never did figure how you managed to keep up the odd appearances at WayneCorp."

A curious look came over Bruce's face, even as he was shading his eyes. He whispered, "Jason?"

"Yeah, Bruce, it's me." With that, the light in the room dimmed, and Bruce saw his second Robin standing at the foot of his bed.

"What are you doing here?" Bruce asked. "Did Deadman bring you? Zatanna?"

"No, they're busy doing holiday things," Jason said. "You do know this is Christmas Eve, don't you?"

"You didn't answer my question," Bruce said slowly. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here for you, Bruce," answered Jason. "Through all the time I was with you, I was learning from you. Now it's time for you to learn something from me."

Bruce pulled his robe around himself and sat in a chair. Touching his fingers together in front of his mouth, he said simply, "I'm listening."

Jason sat on the edge of Bruce's night table and said, "Do you remember how I died?"

A pained look flashed across Bruce's face before he nodded. "I remember how Jason died. If you ARE Jason, you tell me."

"Always the skeptic," Jason said. "I went looking for my mother by myself instead of asking you to help. You're the world's greatest detective, but I pushed you away and searched for her on my own."

"But I caught up with you," Bruce remembered. "You weren't on your own."

Jason shook his head and said, "You aren't remembering everything. You had gone off to pursue a lead, and you told me not to contact my mother until you returned. But in a final act of pushing you away, I watched you go and promptly went to her."

Bruce paused for a moment, then asked, "What does that have to do with now? Why come back now to talk about this?"

"Because you're doing the same thing I did," said Jason with more than a hint of exasperation. "Think about what happened when the earthquake hit Gotham and you told everyone from the Justice League all the way down to Robin to stay out. You had to do it all yourself, so you pushed them all away. Same as you did when Bane broke the inmates out of Arkham. You had to protect Gotham by yourself."

"Gotham is my responsibility," Bruce said resolutely.

Jason simply shook his head and said, "Somehow I knew you were going to say that." He rose from the edge of the dresser and knelt next to Bruce's chair. He "placed" his ghostly hand on Bruce's arm and said, "You're going to get a chance to learn. On patrol tonight, you can expect to encounter three visitors. Listen to them. Look at what they have to show you."

He stood up, and said, "You don't have to end up like I did." With that, he waved his hand, and disappeared in a flash of light.

The next thing Bruce knew, he was in his bed, and the clock said it was noon.