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Cissie returned to Elias after practice with a sore shoulder and aching arm muscles. She really should have waited to increase her resistance, especially after her last competition, but she couldn’t quite refuse the challenge. The problem was that practice took more of a toll on her than usual. At least with the holidays and vacation, the dorms at Elias were mostly empty. There were only a handful of students who didn’t go home for break. It was nice to return to an empty room—not that she didn’t love living with Traya, but she was looking forward to having some time to herself. Her grand plans for the evening consisted of plugging in the Christmas lights and crawling into bed with a heating pad and watching obnoxious Christmas movies.

She was lying on the floor, digging under her bed for her box of Christmas movies when her door opened suddenly, with enough force to bounce off the wall behind it.

"HiCissiewanttogoseewhatRobin'sdoingforChristmas?"

Cissie looked up from her spot half under her bed and blinked at Bart. “Um. Hi, Bart,” she said slowly, processing what he had said. Then she realized what Bart was wearing—a hideous, oversized red sweater with a large green Christmas tree that had blinking lights. Over his Impulse costume. Bart, with those goggles and that sweater, in the middle of her room while she was covered in dust and half under the bed.

Cissie smirked a little. She could never call her life boring. “Nice sweater.”

"Thanks," he said, beaming. "It's colder here than it is back home, so I thought it would be a good idea. And it's probably cold in Gotham, too, so do you want to go?"

Cissie sat up, brushing her hands off. “Wait, you want to go to Gotham? Tonight?”

"Well, yeah," he said with a wide grin. "Don't you? We can go see Tim—can you believe his name is really Tim? It's such an ordinary name for such a weird guy."

“Do you really think that’s a good idea, Bart?”

“Why not?”

“Well,” Cissie said slowly, standing up. “Batman is in Gotham, for one.”

"Yeah, but…" Bart shrugged. "We're not going to see him, we're going to see Robin. Tim."

“You just saw him on Sunday, Bart, didn’t you?”

"Yeah, but it's Christmas Eve," he said pleadingly. "You know what he's like—he's probably not even celebrating. I bet he's on patrol or something, and come on. You shouldn't have to patrol on Christmas Eve."

Cissie smiled; it was hard not to smile when Bart looked that earnest. “You do have a point,” she conceded.

"Great, so, areyouready?" he asked, rolling from heel to toe and back in impatience.

Cissie blinked and grabbed her winter coat. “I guess so.”

"Great!" He made to move forward, then paused. "You mind if I carry you?"

She laughed and gave him a quick hug. “It might be hard for me to keep up if you don’t.”

"True," he said with a grin, scooping her legs out from under her. "Let's go, then!"

~*~

Tim watched the back door of the warehouse across the street through his binoculars, waiting for people to come out. Stealing toys on Christmas Eve, he thought in disgust as he watched for them to come out and begin loading their truck. From a charity. I hate this town sometimes. He hunched his shoulders under his cape and pulled it closer in front of him. It was cold tonight.

There was a blur of motion to his left and he found himself splattered with snow. “HiRobin!”

"Wet," Tim commented irritably, brushing off the snow he could reach. "Hi, Imp—good God, what is that?"

“What’s what?” Bart asked, setting Cissie down next to him.

"Hi, Cissie," he said absently, still staring at Bart in horror. "You—what are you wearing?"

“Hey Robin,” Cissie replied, smirking as she took in his reaction to Bart’s appearance.

Bart looked down at himself, frowning. “What? My sweater? You don’t like it? Wait! Therethat’sbetter,” he said, looking up again with a huge grin. “The lights weren’t on.”

"Turn those off," Tim ground out through gritted teeth. "I'm trying not to be seen up here."

Bart deflated, pouting a little as he turned the lights off again. “They’re not that bright,” he mumbled. Then he brightened and grinned up at Tim, throwing his arms out. “Merry Christmas!”

"Bright enough," Tim muttered, looking from one of them to the other and back again. "Um, not to be rude, but why are you here?"

“Um…” Cissie looked at Bart and scratched the back of her neck. “We came to say hi. Right?”

Bart grinned. "And Merry Christmas. So what are you doing?"

Tim stared at them for a moment. "I'm trying to keep people from stealing from the Toys for Tots warehouse. I'm working."

Cissie made a face. “We should probably—”

“You shouldn’t have to work on Christmas Eve,” Bart interrupted, looking disgusted. He glanced at the warehouse. “Are they in there now?”

"Yes—wait, IMPULSE!" Tim shouted as Bart dashed into the warehouse. Too late—he was already gone. In less than a minute, he was back.

"They're all tied up. Do you need to call the cops or something?"

Tim took a deep breath and counted to ten as he exhaled. "Impulse. I needed more evidence to leave for the police. I wanted pictures as they were walking out of the warehouse with the toys. These kinds of things help with conviction. Now I just have to hope that they left enough physical evidence in there to prove that they were stealing and not just getting ready to deliver toys."

Bart blinked and Cissie slapped her forehead with the palm of her hand. “Oh,” Bart said. He glanced back at the warehouse. “Do you think the ski masks they’re wearing will help?”

"They might," Tim muttered. He tapped his earpiece and made a quick call for pick up to Gotham Central. He turned his attention back to Bart and Cissie. "So… Merry Christmas. Is that the only reason you two came out here?"

“Did we need another reason?” Bart asked, looking at Cissie in concern. “Can you think of one, because ifyoucan’t—”

“Bart!” Cissie interrupted, grabbing his arm. She shook her head. “You’re not helping.”

Tim closed his eyes and brought his hand up to his forehead. "I'm working."

“We know!” Bart cried, indignant. “On Christmas Eve! You shouldn’t have to work on Christmas Eve, no one works on Christmas Eve, except air traffic controllers and hospital staff and police and do you think the President works on Christmas Eve or does he make the Vice President take that shift?”

"They're both on vacation," Tim answered absently. "Impulse, did it occur to you that I'm like law enforcement out here? What I do isn't all that different from what the cops do."

Bart blinked at him. “Oh. Right. But cops get paid and don’t they get overtime for holidays? They should. But you don’t get paid! So you should at least get to hang out with your friends if you have to work, right Cissie?”

Cissie’s eyes widened as Bart turned to her. “Um. Right,” she said slowly, recognizing the tension in Tim’s shoulders as a not particularly encouraging sign. Then the implications of Bart’s question hit her. So much for her movie night—had she plugged the heating pad in before Bart showed up? She hoped not. “Wait, Bart, how long were you thinking we’d stay?”

He shrugged. "Maybe until Tim goes home for the night. That's all right, isn't it?"

"It's Robin when I'm in costume, Impulse. And you can't patrol with me. Batman would kill you. And then me, but mostly you."

"I didn't call you Tim. Well, now I did, but I was just proving a point!" he exclaimed as Tim slapped his hand against his forehead.

"Cissie, help," Tim said, giving her a pleading look.

Cissie scrubbed at her face, and grunted. She grabbed Bart’s arm, wishing that for once he would just stand still for a second. “You told me we were coming to visit,” she said. “You didn’t say anything about patrolling with Robin. I for one do not want to tick Batman off. Even if it is Christmas.”

"We are saving Robin from the drudgery of his existence," Bart said firmly. "Because it is Christmas. And don't worry about Batman—I can outrun him."

Tim groaned and cast his gaze skyward. "Oh, God."

Cissie’s grip on Bart’s arm tightened. “I can’t outrun him, Impulse.”

"Yeah, but—I'll take care of you," he said, tossing her a lopsided grin.

She let go of his arm and rubbed her forehead after shooting Tim a quick, apologetic look.

“So!” Bart clapped his hands and zipped over to throw his arms around their shoulders, yanking Tim and Cissie in for a tight hug. “What do we do now?”

~*~

"Impulse. Please, please hang back for this, okay? I don't know what kind of whack-job is in here, but Gotham doesn't breed crazies like most towns—ours are meaner, so just… hang back." Tim was watching the animal habitat through binoculars, hoping that he didn't really see what he thought he saw. He refused to believe, even in Gotham, that someone would dress up as Santa Claus and try to steal reindeer from the zoo.

From her spot next to Tim, Cissie reached out and grabbed a piece of yarn on the hem of Bart’s sweater. “Don’t run, or I’ll unravel your sweater.”

Tim snorted a brief laugh as Bart's eyes widened comically. "If only I had known that was all it would take," he muttered.

“But it’s a new sweater,” Bart protested. He turned to Tim. “Shouldn’t we check on the other animals, too? I can do that, rightnowevenandbebackbeforeyouknowit.”

Tim let out a slightly exaggerated sigh. "He's not after any of the other animals, Impulse—he's after reindeer."

“Why?”

"Because he's pretending to be Santa Claus."

Bart frowned, fidgeting. “What if he really is Santa Claus? What if the zoo stole his reindeer and he needs them?”

Cissie heaved a sigh and rubbed her temple. “Oh, this could be a long night.”

"Impulse, this is Gotham," Tim said, trying to be patient. "Santa Claus doesn't come here."

Bart turned to Tim in shock, eyes huge. “What do you mean, Santa doesn’t come here? Of course Santa comes here! Didn’t he come to you when you were little? Just because this is Gotham, it doesn’t mean that there aren’t good kids here and—”

Cissie clapped a hand over his mouth. “Impulse. It’s okay. That’s not what he meant.” She cast a significant look in Tim’s direction. “Right?”

Tim ground his teeth together. "Sure, whatever. Just stay here." He tapped his earpiece. "B, I'm in position by the hippopotamus habitat. He's where you said he would be. I'm going to move in a little to see what's happening."

Bart sighed and dropped his chin into his hands. He stayed still for all of two seconds before beginning to hum, swaying back and forth in tune.

Cissie frowned and gave him a strange look. “Impulse… what is that?”

“What’s what?”

“What you’re humming,” she explained, looking leery. “What song is that?”

Bart's face split into a grin. "I want a hippopotamus for Christmas," he sang cheerfully. "Why?"

Cissie stared uncomprehendingly at him, raising an eyebrow. “You want a what for Christmas?”

"Only a hippopotamus will do."

“This isn’t a real song, is it?”

“Mom says a hippo would eat me up, but then—teacher says a hippo is a vegetarian!”

Cissie turned to Tim, looking skeptic. “This can’t be a real song.”

"It is a real song," Tim said crossly. "It was written to raise money for a zoo to acquire a hippo." He glared at Bart. "And do you think you could sing that a little louder? I don't think Nightwing heard you in Blüdhaven." He clapped a hand over Bart's mouth as he took a deep breath. "A working definition of sarcasm, Impulse. Get one. Own it."

Bart frowned as Tim removed his hand. "'Harsh or bitter derision or irony, or a sharply ironical taunt; sneering or cutting remark,'" he recited dutifully. "I read the Random House Dictionary last month, but… so?"

Cissie stared at him, utterly confused. “You… read a dictionary. And remembered the definition of sarcasm verbatim.”

Bart’s rapid nods were a blur. “Course. Don’t you remember what you read? ”

“Not like that,” she muttered. She shook her head. “Anyway, that’s not the point—the point is that Robin wants you to be quiet, okay? He’s working.”

"Why didn't he just say so," Bart muttered, frowning as they watched Tim creep closer to the reindeer pen. "Are you sure we can't help? Because we could totally help."

“I don’t think Robin wants our help,” Cissie whispered back, taking hold of his sweater again.

Bart made a face. “He’s being very Grinch-like. Where’s his Christmas spirit?”

Cissie shook her head, rolling her eyes heavenward. “I think he’s working, Impulse. Surprising him probably wasn’t the best idea.”

He glanced back at her. "Are you calling me Impulse because Robin's calling me Impulse? Because you were calling me Bart before he made such a big deal about ID's."

She glanced at him, surprised. “I was? Huh.” She turned her attention back to Tim and the reindeer pen. “I guess I wasn’t thinking about it.”

He shrugged. "No big deal, just curious." He started humming quietly again.

Cissie watched him from the corner of her eye. “That song is crack, you know this?”

"Hmm? Oh." Bart grinned. "Only a hippopotamus will do…"

~*~

"B—heading home for the night. No—it would take too long, and Dad wanted me home early tonight. I'll hit one of my caches around here and check in with you the day after tomorrow. See you then. R out." Tim glanced back at Bart and Cissie. "That's it for the Robinning—I just need to change up and head home." He gave them a wry grin. "Sorry I wasn't much fun."

Cissie made a derisive noise and waved her hand. “Don’t worry about it. You were fine.” She returned his smile with one of her own. “Besides, it’s not like you expected to have company.”

He shrugged. "I could have been nicer, though."

“Yeah, but that was pretty standard ‘Tim’s annoyed’ behavior,” Bart said happily, elbowing him. “Wait, I mean Robin. Robin’s annoyed. Was annoyed. You’re not annoyed now, are you?”

Tim rolled his eyes. "No, I'm not annoyed, Impulse," he said, shaking his head slightly and smiling.

"Good. Can we walk you home?"

Tim blinked at him a couple of times before answering. "Uh, sure. I just have to stop by 54th street to switch into civilian clothes before I go home. And, uh…" He glanced at Bart uncertainly. "Maybe you could do the same? I don't really want to have to explain Impulse to my dad."

Bart looked down at himself. “Oh! Yeah! I can do that now, even. Here, Ciss, hold this for me?” Whipping his sweater off, he tossed it at Cissie.

“Oof.” The sweater hit Cissie in the face, and she struggled to pull it away. “Bart, what are you—oh.”

Bart grabbed the sweater back, yanking it over his turtleneck and jeans. He threw his arms out, grinning widely. “Ta-da!”

The lights on his Christmas tree sweater blinked cheerfully.

Cissie looked at Tim. “I don’t even know what to say to that.”

"It's best not to say anything," Tim advised, grimacing slightly.

"So are we going to get going?" Bart asked, bouncing impatiently from one foot to the other. "Because Robin said he has to get home early, and it's already getting kind of late, and if Robin's dad is Batman, I really don't want to make him yell, you know?"

Tim stared at him. "Bart—no. I mean, yes, I have to get home, but you just heard me tell Batman that I have to get home to my dad. Why on earth would you think they're the same person?"

He shrugged. "You're Robin. Maybe you're just being super cryptic to keep us from knowing Batman's secret identity."

"That's… really logical, actually," Tim said, feeling a little caught off-guard. Bart was right—that's probably what he would have done if Bruce were his father. He shook his head sharply to dispel the—slightly terrifying—thought. "But not true. And—if you do see my dad, please don't mention Robin or Batman or any of the hero stuff. He doesn't know."

Cissie shook her head with a smirk. She tugged on Bart’s arm. “Come on. It’s cold out here.”

They walked together toward 54th street so that Tim could change. It was getting too cold for them to carry on much of a conversation as they kept up a brisk pace.

Bart began humming.

Tim gave him a long look. After several moments of Bart's solo humming, he asked conversationally, "I don't think Santa Claus will mind, do you?"

Bart stopped mid-step, jaw dropping. He stared at Tim.

Cissie looked back at him in concern. “Bart, are you oka—”

“Youknowthewords!” Bart cried, exploding into motion and grabbing Tim in a hug, spinning him around. Setting him down, he jumped in place. His sweater was visible as trails of multicolored lights. “Ididn’tknowyouknewthehipposong, whydidn’tyousayso?!”

"There didn't seem to be a good moment," Tim said, watching Bart warily for signs that he might grab him again. "Besides, I thought you might guess when I knew the history of it."

Bart shook his head. “I thought it was just another thing you know, you know, because you’re Robin and you know things.”

Tim rolled his eyes slightly behind the mask. "Yes, Bart. I'm Robin, and so I know everything. Turn left here—the place we're looking for is on the roof of this building, and the fire escape's around back."

“Well, you know almost everything,” Bart mumbled as they followed Tim to the aforementioned fire escape.

“And if he doesn’t know it,” Cissie spoke up, “he knows how to learn it.”

Tim laughed. "Thanks—your faith in me is astounding—misguided—but astounding." He reached up to hook the hanging ladder of the fire escape. It was broken, so it hung lower than most. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

Cissie hugged herself, rubbing her arms to warm herself as she leaned back against the wall to wait. Bart watched Tim go, waiting until he was out of earshot before turning to Cissie. “Do you think it’s working?”

She cupped her hands and blew on them, wishing she’d thought to grab her gloves. “What’s working?”

“Us! Cheering Tim up! Operation Christmas Spirit!”

Cissie raised an eyebrow, smiling behind her hands. “Oh, is that what we were doing tonight?”

“Of course. Are you cold?”

She blinked at the change of subject. “Um—just my hands, a little.”

"Do you need mittens? Icangetyousomemittens!" Bart looked poised to dash off.

“No, I’m fine.” Cissie moved to shove her hands into her pockets, but Bart reached out and grabbed them.

“Noyou’renot,” he frowned. “They’re frozen!”

“Bart, I’m really—” She sighed, finding herself alone in an alley in Gotham as Bart raced off. “Fine.”

Tim dropped into the alley beside her, dressed in jeans and a parka. He glanced around curiously. "Where'd Bart go?"

She looked at him wearily. “To get me some mittens, apparently.”

Tim rolled his eyes. "He should have waited a couple of minutes." He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a pair of gloves. "I have some you can borrow if you need them."

She shook her head and pushed his hand away. "You wear them. Bart'll be back any second and I really am fine. You know how well he listens."

He laughed. "I know," he said, pulling on the gloves and then stuffing his hands back in his pockets. "So, I never had the chance to ask—how's Cissie tonight?"

Cissie laughed, pushing her hands into her pockets. "Cissie is good. Actually, I'm quite happy that Bart hijacked me earlier—I had an extremely boring evening planned."

"I remember boring evenings," he said, a smirk belying his wistful tone. "What was the plan?"

She snorted. "Christmas movies and a heating pad. It's nothing but non-stop excitement and adventure for me." She smiled at him. "Honestly, though, I'm glad Bart brought me along."

"Me too—though that's what the plan is for me at home, God help me. Dad wants to watch It's a Wonderful Life and A Christmas Carol." He grimaced. "It's like my own personal hell."

"Not a fan of the classics?" she teased. "I had It's a Wonderful Life and White Christmas in mind, myself."

He grinned. "White Christmas, I like, but do I look like a Tiny Tim to you?"

"Hmm." She regarded him carefully for a moment, tapping her chin. "Well, you are on the small side…"

He blinked at her a few times. "Ow."

Cissie pat his arm sympathetically. "You'll forgive me one day."

"You think so."

"I'm pretty sure I'm too cute and endearing for you to hold a grudge against me."

"I don't know—I'm very good at grudges," he said with a grin.

Cissie pouted, sticking out her lower lip and turning sad eyes on him. "You would hold a grudge against me?"

"Oh, Hell," he muttered, making a face. He gave her a light shove. "Stop. You're forgiven."

She grinned. "I told you—I'm too cute and endearing."

“Back!” Bart skid to a stop in front of them—or he would have, if he hadn’t hit a patch of black ice and gone windmilling another five feet down the alley before he caught his footing. He grinned sheepishly, walking back to them. He held out a pair of red mittens. “Here,” he said, offering them to Cissie.

She shook her head, but took them and pulled them on. “Thanks, Bart. But you really didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugged. "I wanted to—you were cold."

Cissie shook her head, smiling indulgently. "What took you so long?" she teased.

Bart made a face. "Thought I left them at home, and I looked everywhere, even at Carol's, and they weren't there, and then I thought that maybe I left them at school, but they weren't there either, and then I realized I left them at the Justice Cave, and I got back as soon as I could, and I'm sorry I'm late!"

She gave him a quick hug. "You're not late, Bart. Thank you."

Tim inspected the mittens as they set off again. "I thought you lived in Manchester—why do you have mittens?"

"Carol made them for me," he said, plucking absently at the sleeve of his sweater. "She said they were a test run—that the next ones she makes will have the Flash symbol on it. Isn't that cool?"

“Very cool,” Cissie said, turning her hands over to look more closely at the mittens. “For a test run, she did a great job.” She smiled up at Bart. “I liked Carol.”

He gave her a sunny grin. "I like Carol, too." He hummed quietly under his breath.

"Bart!" Tim groaned. "Stop. I'm going to have it stuck in my head."

He blushed, ducking his head. “Sorry! It’s stuck in mine!”

Cissie laughed and opened her mouth to say something, then stopped. She made a face. “I was going to sing something different, but it’s stuck in my head, too.”

Tim rolled his eyes. "I guess we'd better just go with it, then, huh? I want a hippopotamus for Christmas…" his voice trailed off as he realized that he was singing alone, and that both Cissie and Bart were staring dumbstruck at him. "What? Am I off-key or something?"

Bart blinked at him a couple of times before speaking. "You sing?"

Tim gave him a strange look. "Yes… Sometimes."

Cissie shook her head, shooting Bart a bewildered smile. “You learn something new every day.”

Tim frowned between the two of them. "Is this really that surprising?"

“Um.” They looked at one another. “Hate to tell you, Tim,” Cissie said slowly, “but you don’t exactly strike people as the type of person who will break into song in the middle of the street.”

He hesitated a moment. "Okay, I suppose that's fair," he admitted finally.

She smirked and bumped his arm. “Maybe especially when the song is about a hippo.”

Bart frowned thoughtfully. "Do you think Santa really would bring someone a hippopotamus for Christmas?"

Cissie glanced at Tim. “Uh… Maybe if it were a zoo or animal rescue or something,” she suggested carefully. “But I don’t think most kids can take care of a real hippo, you know? So probably not.”

Bart nodded. “That makes sense. Santa would want the hippo to have a good home, right?”

"Right," Tim said, glancing back at Cissie, eyebrows raised.

She shrugged slightly, and Bart turned around to walk backwards in front of them. “So, how far is your place, Tim?”

Tim shook his head in amusement. "Just around the corner—why are you walking backwards? You're going to slip and fall on the ice."

Bart shrugged, not bothering to turn back around. “I won’t fall! And why not? This way I can see you!”

Cissie laughed. “You can’t see where you’re going. It’ll serve you right if you fall, or walk into a wall or something.”

"You wouldn't let me walk into a wall!" he said indignantly.

"Probably not," Tim said, smiling. "Left here."

“Your other left.” Cissie reached out and grabbed Bart’s arm as he went to turn to his left. “And watch out for the ice.”

Bart saluted her with a grin, and his heel caught on a patch of ice. His arms flailed out spastically, and Tim and Cissie each caught hold of one to keep him from falling. Tim gave her an exasperated look as they dragged him backwards to the end of the ice and set him on his feet again. "It's this one here," Tim said, nodding to the townhouse they had stopped in front of.

Bart blinked up at it. “It’s so… normal.”

Cissie snorted, rolling her eyes. “I’m not even going to ask what you expected,” she said. She turned to Tim with a smile. “It might sound weird, but this was really fun.” She hugged him. “Merry Christmas, Tim.”

"Merry Christmas, Cissie," he said after a moment, hugging her back. "I had fun, too." A door opened behind him, and he stiffened. "Oh, crap," he muttered. He turned to face the man in the doorway. "Hi, Dad."

“Hi,” Jack Drake said, looking over the three of them with a bemused smile. “Who are your friends, Tim?”

Tim pulled away from Cissie to begin to make introductions. "Dad, this is Cissie King-Jones and Bart Allen. Bart, Cissie—this is my dad."

“Hi, Mr. Drake.”

“Hi,” Bart said, waving just slightly too fast. Cissie elbowed him surrepticiously.

"Nice to meet you both," Tim's father said holding the door opened. "Why don't you come in for a few minutes and warm up before you head home—it's freezing out here."

“Oh, we should probably—”

“Okay,” Bart cheerfully interrupted Cissie. “Thanks!”

Tim swallowed a groan as he followed his friends into the house. This can't possibly get any worse, he thought desperately.

"So, how do you two know Tim?"

He resisted the urge to slap his palm against his forehead. This was going to be a long night.

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