Americans have a way of plunging into Christmas preparations almost immediately after Thanksgiving, which always falls on the last Thursday of November. The moment the turkey and pumpkin pie have been cleared away, it seems the collective spirit shifts overnight.
Streets fill with holiday music, homes glitter beneath strands of twinkling lights, and families begin the tradition of planning New Year's gifts, decorating lush trees, and hanging garlands wherever they can. The anticipation is palpable—a joy that ripples across the country in early winter, lifting hearts in the cold.
There's something magical about sharing the festive anticipation with everyone else, letting yourself be swept up in the mood, and transforming your home into a haven of light and color. This year, however, things were off for me. The League of Shadows intervened, complicating what I'd planned as a peaceful celebration.
My aspirations for a joyful, immersive countdown to Christmas melted away, replaced by disappointment and a sense of missed opportunity.
The truth is, I hadn't felt the warmth or excitement of the holiday season—evident in the dull, untouched interior of my apartment. But this evening, I resolved to change that.
I promised myself I'd catch up and restore the festive spirit I always craved. Barbara Gordon, the daughter of Gotham's police commissioner, Victoria Vale, a sharp journalist at the Gotham Gazette, Sasha Bordeaux, my ever-vigilant bodyguard, and Silver St. Cloud, a celebrated Gotham socialite, offered to help with the arduous but satisfying task of decorating my dreary apartment. Silver, with her agency that organizes events, conferences, and lavish parties across America, instantly stepped into a leadership role, channeling her talents and zeal toward making the night memorable.
Within a couple of hours, a dazzling brightness enveloped every corner of the area. The centerpiece of it all was an evergreen tree—a luxurious spruce, its branches lush and full, stretching upward until its tip nearly brushed the ceiling. The fragrance infused the whole space, earthy and sweetly fresh, reminiscent of snowy forests and festive memories.
Having the space for such a tree, and not having to wrestle with hauling it from lot to home, felt like an unexpected, delicious privilege.
The girls—energized by the vision of a perfect Christmas—bustled about, their laughter rising with each ornament placed on the verdant tree. There was a playful reindeer, a chubby snowman, and delicate, glimmering snowflakes, each carefully chosen and delicately hung.
Decorating a tree, I soon discovered, is more art than process: the right arrangement is key, with no unsightly gaps or clusters; balance in size, shape, and color must prevail.
The creative eye is essential, offering harmony from chaos—a beautiful tapestry of memories and meaning stitched together in glass, wood, and light. It's an unpredictable test of patience, detail, and teamwork. Yet, as we worked, another unpredictable element threatened our masterpiece.
Sharon, my mischievous kitten, darted beneath the tree, her eyes bright with mischief, fixated on the shiny ornaments twinkling above her head. She would sneak up, pounce, and snatch the brightest balls between her nimble paws.
"Sharon!" I called out sharply, hoping to curb her enthusiasm before she made off with yet another decoration.
"Don't even think about it!" I pleaded, trying to reason with feline instinct.
"Meow!" came her reply, indignant and wonderfully expressive—a reminder that Christmas for animals must always promise excitement and chaos along with beauty.
"We're decorating the tree for Christmas, not for your fun. Try to understand—and please, behave," I admonished gently, hoping she'd pick up on the seriousness in my voice.
"Meow? Meow!" Sharon protested, her tail flagged high in rebellion.
"No swearing," I reminded her, catching her in the act. Her stubbornness was remarkable—undaunted, she leapt for the defenseless ball again, refusing to be deterred.
"Oh, you!" I sighed, exasperated but helpless in the face of her overwhelming cuteness. Sharon's relentless curiosity and energy made her impossible to discipline. From morning till night, she was a tireless bundle of joy—even as she drove me to the edge of patience, her playful antics ensured she was always forgiven.
"She's absolutely adorable!" Barbara exclaimed, scooping Sharon into her arms. The kitten feigned resignation, submitting to a round of affectionate squeezes. Sharon understood, in her own way, that escape was futile until every guest had taken a turn. So she played the martyr, waiting out each embrace until finally freed.
"Alex, give Sharon to me," Victoria said next, pressing the kitten to her chest. "You're hardly ever home, and Barbara or I end up caring for her. I think it'd be best if I took her home…"
Hearing this, Sharon erupted in protest, twisting and wriggling, meowing with increasing desperation. "MEOW! MEOW! MEOW!!!"
"Calm down, Sharon," I soothed her, reaching over to rescue her from Victoria's arms. "No one is going to take you away. You and I—we're together, always." My words seemed to reassure the little rascal.
Sharon settled into my embrace instantly, comforted by the promise.
"Mrrr," she murmured, pressing her face to mine and nestling close, the heartbeat of home and companionship evident in her every move.
"Traitor!" Victoria declared, only half-jesting. "I fed you, gave you water, loved you—and yet you still choose this blockhead! How utterly unfair."
Silver—ever the observer—watched with amusement. "Her attachment to Alex is unusually strong, which is surprising, considering how pampered she is."
Four curious faces locked onto me, waiting for an explanation.To be honest, I could only shrug. Sharon's affection was a mystery, a gift I couldn't explain. There was no special trick, no secret signal. I only knew she was unusually clever for a cat—intuitive, almost conversational in her responses. If only I spoke her language, perhaps her devotion would make more sense. For now, her loyalty remained one of the house's unspoken miracles.
The evening was progressing swiftly.
"It's already eight," Alexandra reminded us, glancing at her watch. "We have to leave for Babylon."
One last look at the transformed apartment felt deeply satisfying. The interior, now brimming with light, texture, and color, radiated the spirit of Christmas, touching not only the space but those living in it. Sharon, meanwhile, eyed the tree with what I hoped was respect for my request not to tamper with the decorations.
"We're leaving now. Be good, please," I asked, unable to resist one last plea.
"Meow!" came the faint, affirmative reply. Leaving Sharon behind, we headed to Babylon—a place that, too, was swept up in holiday anticipation. Even the building seemed alive with festivity, though the illuminated garlands outside took on a different twist.
Though not draped in traditional Christmas lights, Babylon's glow outshone any LED-covered house. Its façade was enveloped in extravagant vines, petals releasing mesmerizing rainbow glows in the night. The spectacle was hypnotic, magical—the landscape shaped and maintained by Pamela's extraordinary talents as Poison Ivy.
Even inside, the spirit of Christmas had found a foothold. The air carried the essence of living plants, mingling with the sterile cleanliness of laboratory surfaces, evoking both holiday warmth and a sense of oneness with nature. It was, in its own way, a reflection of Poison Ivy herself—a synthesis of festive cheer and botanical mastery.
"Dr. Rao," I called softly to the scientist, who was absorbed in her study of the Lazarus Pit. "Could we distract you for a moment?"
Professor Rao looked up, brushing a strand of hair from her face, her eyes kind but tired. "Of course. Is everyone here? Let's move—everything is ready."
"Where's Pamela?" I asked, scanning the room.
"She's in her quarters."
"Doing research on the healing properties of the Lazarus Pit?"
"Mm, not exactly," Rao answered, hesitant.
"She's been avoiding me lately. I only just persuaded her to help cleanse the Pit. I'm not sure what's wrong. I suspect she's engaged with another secret project."
"Another project?" I pressed, curiosity piqued.
Rao shook her head. "She doesn't confide in me. It's a mystery."
Intrigued, our group approached a hidden alcove, shielded from prying eyes by Poison Ivy's vigilant plants. Purple flower buds guarded the entrance, their unique aroma capable of intoxicating would-be intruders. The moment they sensed our approach, the vines parted graciously, revealing a passage to a chamber enveloped in dazzling white.
At its center was a wide capsule, emanating soft beta radiation—a technological marvel designed to unlock the super-soldier serum's full potential while minimizing pain and stress during the transformation.
Bruce and I had previously endured the agony of the original procedure, the pain searing, albeit brief, forever imprinted on memory. Determined that the girls shouldn't suffer as we had, I'd worked with Wayne to modify the capsule, erasing that defect.
Now, the new generation stood before us—Victoria, Silver, and Barbara—on the cusp of transformation. Vale and St. Cloud, both civilians, faced extraordinary risks in their daily lives. Their empowerment was essential—giving them the ability to better protect themselves and those they loved.
The serum would grant them accelerated healing, extraordinary resilience against physical harm, and impressive strength. Admittedly, this would not guarantee invincibility.
There are always limits, always dangers, but their chances of survival would soar. It would offer Barbara, already fighting on the front as Batgirl, added defense against the carnage of Gotham's criminal underworld.
I remembered too vividly the "killing joke"—a storyline in which Joker paralyzed Barbara, robbing her of hope. Though fate is never certain, preparation is vital. It's best to equip oneself and those we love, just in case. Sasha, my steadfast bodyguard, would have to wait for the next batch of serum. Her disappointment was obvious; she craved strength to fulfill her duty. All I could do was promise her that soon, she would have her chance.
Meanwhile, Rao muttered, "I work here from dawn to dusk. My health is wearing thin." She glanced at Pamela, whose energy never seemed to diminish as she recharged in nature's embrace.
"How about becoming a super soldier yourself?" I asked playfully, offering her the simple solution she'd overlooked.
Rao stared, wide-eyed. "Why didn't I think of that?" she lamented, amazed at her own oversight.
As we entered the chamber, anticipation hung heavy in the air. The girls crowded around, eager to begin the process—a blend of science, courage, and faith in the future.
"Merry Christmas, girls,"
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Sorry for the late wishes.
I got busy, first there were exams, in which...I failed (maths only) and then there was Christmas and then new year so got really busy.
I hope you all enjoyed your end of the year and hope that the next year is better for you all.
So, HAPPY NEW YEAR AND CHRISTMAS TO YOU ALL AND YOUR FAMILY.