'"Bruce, I know that you've been having a hard time with - "

"Leave it, Clark."

"But I really think that - "

"Go. I'm busy."

"But I'm - "

"Trying my patience."

"... Fine."'

Every year, Clark insisted on subjecting him to a round of "holiday cheer." He dragged out the wreaths, the carols, the music. He made excuses for them to visit his cheerfully-lit home in Kansas. He insisted that his irritable friend be polite to his parents. On the rare occasions that he could fend Superman off (a feat claimed by few, and supported by fewer), he found himself "inexplicably" involved anyway. Every year the attempts to get him to enjoy the holidays were the same: distracting, tiring. Annoying.

This year was different. For once, Clark had found a new target for his goodwill. Tapping through screens showing peace in Tunisia, Lebanon, even Khandaq, Bruce almost felt sorry for the undoubtedly nonplussed Martian.

Almost.

'This is ridiculous. I've been trying to get him off my back about this for years. I'm finally spending Christmas Eve here, in the Watchtower, working… Maybe there's an alert from Gotham.' He checked, but he hadn't missed an alarm. 'Something will come up. They're hardly going to take a break tonight, when the police are likely off their guard.' He flipped through another two screens (Oman and Kazakhstan): nothing. '"Silent night…" Alfred's been playing too much music in the house again.'

For the first time in hours, he glanced up from the monitor. He already knew that, with the exceptions of Speedy (training), Question (in the ventilation shaft), and Huntress (helping Question), he was alone. There was no one poring over mission logs, no one bustling back and forth with cafeteria coffee; no one at the small card table that had been shoved into a back corner to make way for new processing banks. The stillness was surprisingly eerie. 'As if I'm not used to that.'

He resolutely turned back to the monitor and continued to flip through it. 'Oman: fine. Lesotho: fine. England… not sure why I checked. Fine. Qatar: fine. South Africa: fine. Tibet… Maybe I should just read the news.' He absentmindedly brought up the websites for the first ten newspapers he could think of. Two were in English, so the exercise took considerably less time than he had been expecting. The diversion exhausted, he returned to the Watchtower security notes.

'Still just the three of them. Of course, Huntress isn't supposed to be here, and Question hasn't explained what he's doing. I should do something.' He had risen and reached the door before the thought was complete. 'I'll come back later. There's nothing happening.'

It took less than a minute to reach the duct in question. Finding the maintenance entrance was a matter of seconds. He could hear breathing almost immediately, and the closer he got, the more apparent it became that they were waiting for him. It was difficult to see them both in a space that didn't allow any of them to stand, but he could spot the bright purple of Huntress' costume behind the Question's hunched back.

"Huntress," he began. "You aren't a member of the League. You shouldn't be here."

"And I should be?" replied the Question. Batman ignored him.

"There are protocols for visiting. You would have been permitted, but it was necessary to make your presence official."

"That is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard! When did you ever 'make your - '"

"I'll handle this."

"Shut up, Q!" As if to illustrate her implied point, she shoved the Question against a wall and crawled past him. As he retreated, there was almost an expression of sheepishness on his "face."

"I have as much right to be here as he does. He invited me."

"What makes you think that he has any right to be here?"

"You can take that up with him. I wouldn't know 'official League protocol.'"

'You break the rules once on principle and suddenly talking about them makes you a hypocrite.'

Aloud, he reiterated the reason behind the rule: someone could be mind-controlled or manipulated into admitting a dangerous "guest," even when it would have been clear to other members that the visitor was a threat.

"Do I really need to remind you that the majority of the League isn't psychic, and a number of members haven't learned the dangers?" He peered around her. "Surely you agree?"

"We shouldn't have members like that in the first place. In any case, I check myself for mind control regularly."

'Of course you do.' "And you're certain that that's better than independent correlation?"

"Absolutely." Batman considered craning his neck to see the Question's face, but immediately realized the stupidity of the gesture. The resulting hesitation gave the impression that he was nodding. "Glad you agree. We're busy at the moment. I assume you want to know why."

He did. He absolutely wanted to know why a known conspiracy theorist and his girlfriend were invading the Watchtower's ventilation system. The odds were that neither would bother to lie. After all, they would hardly want to damage the League, which would suggest a security threat, real or imagined. It was important to keep track of those. However, there was one thought more tempting than that of resolving the mystery, tempting enough to make him forgo the chance to learn the easy way.

'He's expecting me to say "Yes." This will be interesting.'

"No, I don't."

Huntress' eyes widened.

"Are you sure, Batman? I mean - "

"Yes."

"What?" added the Question. His tone was satisfyingly startled. In a moment, he remedied his standing with a customary "Hmm." Then Batman backed out, leaving them alone.

'He probably thinks that I've been compromised. He'll figure it out eventually. Meanwhile, I can use the security feed or search that giant filing cabinet of his for details.'

He returned to the Monitor Room completely and utterly alone. Just then, a call came through on the main screen. It had clearly been "ringing" for some time. He calmly walked over and answered it.

"Bruce?"

"Yes, Clark?"

"I just thought I'd call. I mean, I think that it was good for J'onn to stay with us this year, but I wanted to make sure you were - why are you smiling?"

"... No reason. Is that all?"

"Yes. I should, um, go. I should go." He signed off quickly, his brows knit with confusion.

'He'll probably never bother me with that again. I should have thought of this years ago.' He returned to the screens, but their inactivity didn't last long.

'Crisis in Bialya. I should… wait.' He picked up his communicator and made a call.

"Question, I need you to go to Bialya. I'll send you details in a minute."

"Now?"

"Yes."

"You want me to leave… now?"

"Is that a problem?"

"I just - "

"Good." He hung up.

'I should stop this. If I keep it up, he'll probably think that I've been replaced by an evil counterpart or something.

'I'll tell him tomorrow.'