"Scrooge and he were partners for I don't know how many years," Bruce murmured, calloused finger moving across the page in time with his low voice.

He wasn't quite sure if you were still awake. The realization sent affection flooding through his chest. Reporters might call you his latest 'stray', but Bruce didn't see you that way. He saw you as what you were--a wonderful addition to his life. Wayne Manor felt brighter with you in it.

Your head was a warm weight on his thickly muscled shoulder, your body curled up in the crook of his arm. Firelight from the hearth filled the living room with a warm, golden glow, dancing across the two of you on the couch. Two empty glasses frosted with the remnants of eggnog sat side by side on the coffee table. Each soft crackle of the smoldering logs mingled quietly with Bruce's words in a soothing, mellow duet.

"Scrooge was his sole executor, his sole administrator, his sole assign, his sole residuary legatee, his sole friend, and sole mourner."