Evolve Or Die

By Dark Angel and Father of Lies

Continuity: Batman The Animated Series

Rated = R.

Characters - Bruce Wayne/Dick Grayson, with occasional cameos by Batman.

DISCLAIMER: The characters of Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Batman, and Nightwing, are the sole property of Bob Kane and DC Comics, Warner Brothers, and their various underworld connections. No infringement upon their rights is intended by us, as we are not like other people, pain hurts us.

This is a work of speculative fiction. The authors also wish to gratefully acknowledge the following persons, organizations and entities, without whose help this spec would not have been possible: Wayne Industries; Curtains 98, the Gotham City Cape Emporium; the good people of Gotham City; the Bad People of Gotham City; Messrs. West, Ward, Keaton, O'Donnell, Kilmer, Clooney, Conroy, Valencia, Zimbalist,Jr. and Lester; Ms. De Carlo, Ms. Charendoff, and Ms. Silverstone; The Haley Circus; Harley-Davidson Motorcycles; The Gotham City Brewery, Makers of Knight Dark Ale; Shayeris ® Lavender Massage Oil, Inc.; Leatherboy ® Riding Apparel; The Warner Brothers and their Sister Dot; Paranoid? Who’s Paranoid! Security Systems ®; Meat-and-Two-Veg ® of the Loom Undergarments; Thomas Dolby and the Science Department for the lyric that got stuck in the author's head; The Gotham City Water Department; the makers of Occult®, Perfidy®, and Rumors® fragrances; and the makers of the Louisville Slugger.

This spec was written under the supervision of the ASPCSH; no superheroes were harmed during the writing of this spec.

Mr. Wayne's wardrobe by Batony 500 ®. Mr. Grayson’s wardrobe by WhoWearsShortShorts, ® Inc.

Any profits accidentally and unintentionally incurred by this spec will be donated in entirety to the Gotham University Department of Physical Therapy; The Gotham City Zoological Gardens Flying Mammal Exhibit; and the Wayne Memorial Hospital Trauma Unit, Gotham City Police Athletic League, The Dent Maxillo-Facial Clinic, and the Gotham Cathedral Chapter of the Knights of Ponce de Leon. The Chiropteran Society; The Nachtflugel Sexual Dysfunction Clinic; and the Boys Clubs of Gotham City.

EVOLVE OR DIE

By Dark Angel and Father of Lies

Prologue

MESSAGE ON ANSWERING MACHINE:

"Dick, it's Bruce. I know you're there, Alfred told me this is the correct number. I only wanted to say - I mean, I want you to know - *pause*

I'm sorry. Can we get together, soon?

*pause*

Call me, collect.

* * * * * *

Two weeks later

Letter sent by Registered Mail, Return Receipt Requested:

R.J. GRAYSON - ANSWER REQUESTED

DG

I THINK THIS HAS GONE ON LONG ENOUGH. I'M WILLING TO TRY TO WORK IT OUT, IF YOU ARE.

BW

,center>* * * * * *

E-Mail which appears in Bruce’s Business Mail

FROM: (FlyingTrapeze@ScorchMail.com)
TO: (BigGuy@WayneEnterprises.com)

SUBJECT: Merger Proposed

Bruce,

I am willing to work it out, IF you promise to give it an honest effort. I'll drop the attitude, but you have to drop the condescension. You no longer have complete control over me and you never will again. I won't force the issue of what happened in your bedroom, so long as you accept that it DID happen. We have to start on an even level. Let me know what you decide.

R. J. Grayson

* * * * * *

TO: (FlyingTrapeze@ScorchMail.com)
FROM: (BigGuy@WayneEnterprises.com)

SUBJECT: Response

> I am willing to work it out, IF you promise to give it an honest
> effort. I'll drop the attitude, but you have to drop the
> condescension.

I never condescended to you. That is unfair. But I will let it pass, in favor of trying to repair things.

> You no longer have complete control over me and you
> never will again.

I know. I should have realized that a long time ago. Old habits die hard, I guess. For what it's worth, I apologize.

> We have to start on an even level.

Agreed.

> Let me know what you decide.

When can we discuss this in person? I will clear some time on my calendar.

BTW

* * * * * *

TO: (BigGuy@WayneEnterprises.com)
FROM: (Ex-Robin@Gotham.net)

SUBJECT: Invitation Accepted

Dear Bruce,

> I never condescended to you. That is unfair. But I will let it pass,
> in favor of trying to repair things.

You did. End of Discussion.

> > You no longer have complete control over me and you
> > never will again.

> I know. I should have realized that a long time ago. Old habits die
> hard, I guess. For what it's worth, I apologize.

Thank you. I forgive you.

> > We have to start on an even level.

> Agreed.

I am glad. I think there may be hope.

> > Let me know what you decide.

> When can we discuss this in person? I will clear some time on my
> calendar.

We can discuss this in person when you stop avoiding the subject of kissing. Specifically the kiss we had together, in your bedroom, the last time we were together. And how you felt about it, and why you rejected me, especially when your reaction to it was obvious.

When you are ready for that, I will clear some time on MY calendar.

sincerely,

Dick

* * * * * *

TO: (Ex-Robin@Gotham.net)
FROM: (BigGuy@WayneEnterprises.com)

SUBJECT: Your call

Dear Dick

> You did. End of Discussion.

Touché.

> Thank you. I forgive you.

At least we have that much.

> I am glad. I think there may be hope.

There has to be hope. I won't accept that there isn't. I don't want there to be no hope.

> We can discuss this in person when you stop avoiding the subject

This is not the forum for that discussion.

> And how you felt about it, and why you
> rejected me, especially when your reaction to it was obvious.

It's very complicated. Surely, you can see that?

> When you are ready for that, I will clear some time on MY calendar.

Believe me when I tell you, I don't like this situation any more than you do, and I want it cleared up as quickly as possible. But you know me, possibly better than anyone else, and you know why this is the problem it is. Or, you should know.

You set the time frame. I'll be ready, when ever you are.

Sincerely

Bruce

* * * * * *

TO: (BigGuy@WayneEnterprises.com)
FROM: (Retired_Boy_Wonder@TitanTower.Com)

SUBJECT: I am ready

Dear Bruce,

> > You did. End of Discussion.

> Touché.

I am surprised, but pleased that you recognized yourself.

> > Thank you. I forgive you.

> At least we have that much.

As good a starting point as any.

> > I am glad. I think there may be hope.

> There has to be hope. I won't accept that there isn't. I don't want
> there to be no hope.

I don't either Bruce. I really don't. It is the thing I am most frightened of with this, that we will try only to find that it is impossible.

> > We can discuss this in person when you stop avoiding the subject

> This is not the forum for that discussion.

So you WILL discuss it face-to-face with me?

> > And how you felt about it, and why you
> > rejected me, especially when your reaction to it was obvious.

> It's very complicated. Surely, you can see that?

Yes, Bruce. I understand that your reaction and your feelings are complicated. But do you see how you made me feel?

> > When you are ready for that, I will clear some time on MY calendar.

> Believe me when I tell you, I don't like this situation any more than
> you do, and I want it cleared up as quickly as possible. But you know
> me, possibly better than anyone else, and you know why this is the
> problem it is. Or, you should know.

Bruce, this is the problem. This 'situation' is not something which can be 'cleared up quickly'. This will take time, and hard work. You will have to communicate with me. REALLY communicate. No one word answers. No terse cut offs. This is emotional quicksand, and we will have to wade through every step of it if you want us to get over this separation.

> You set the time frame. I'll be ready, when ever you are.

I am as ready as I'll ever be. I'm waiting.

Hopefully,

Dick

* * * * * *

TO: (Retired_Boy_Wonder@TitanTower.Com)
FROM: (BigGuy@WayneEnterprises.com )

SUBJECT: You drive a hard bargain

> I am surprised, but pleased that you recognized yourself.

Am I that far gone, that you doubted I would?

> As good a starting point as any.

First step is the hardest, so they say.

> I don't either Bruce. I really don't. It is the thing I am most
> frightened of with this, that we will try only to find that it is
> impossible.

Nothing is impossible, Dick, if we put our minds to it. And, in this case, our hearts.

> So you WILL discuss it face-to-face with me?

Yes. I think it would be for the best. Ignoring it has not worked.

> Yes, Bruce. I understand that your reaction and your feelings are
> complicated. But do you see how you made me feel?

I'm beginning to understand. It is not what I had thought.

> Bruce, this is the problem. This 'situation' is not something which can
> be 'cleared up quickly'. This will take time, and hard work. You will
> have to communicate with me. REALLY communicate. No one word answers.
> No terse cut offs. This is emotional quicksand, and we will have to
> wade through every step of it if you want us to get over this
> separation.

If you're trying to dissuade me, you're off to a good start. But, I said I would try, and I will. Communication has never been my strong point.

> I am as ready as I'll ever be. I'm waiting.

Understood.

Determinedly yours

Bruce

Chapter one

Bruce stared at the computer screen. It had not changed in over a week, but still he’d held to the hope that tonight would be different. To that end, he’d gone through all of his other correspondence, checking this address periodically to see if possibly, hopefully, something new had been received.

Of course, nothing had.

"This is ridiculous," he muttered. He backed out of the system, and shut it down, keeping his temper in check enough to resist the urge to hurl the laptop across the room. He stood, and stretched, rubbing the back of his neck where a persistent ache had settled. Folding the computer, he unplugged the modem and made to put it away, only then noticing the tray on the table before him.

When had Alfred brought that in? He picked up the coffee cup, and sipped. Cold. He picked up the sandwich, noting that the bread was beginning to curl on the edges. Good God, how long had he been sitting here? Shrugging, he took a half-hearted bite of the sandwich; before he knew it, the turkey and swiss was gone. He emptied the coffee in a couple of gulps, and disposed of the pear as quickly. Gathering up the tray, he headed down to the kitchen, suddenly ravenous.

He checked the clock on the landing as he passed; eight o’clock. Not as late as he’d feared, but then again, he’d been sitting at that damned computer since two that afternoon. Encouraged by the snack, his stomach growled it’s displeasure at his negligence, and he hurried down the stairs.

Not surprisingly, Alfred was in the kitchen, along with Tim, who seemed to be actually attempting to do his homework for a change. The boy was a good kid, but sometimes, he was a trial. Why couldn’t he be a little more interested in school, why wasn’t he a natural scholar, like -

He stopped himself. Rule number one: Don’t compare them. Especially now. Tim is Tim, and Dick is . . .

"Don’t go there," he said to himself.

"I beg your pardon, Master Bruce," Alfred said. "Did you say something?"

"Nothing," Bruce shook his head. "I was talking to myself."

"Mmm." Alfred raised an eyebrow, and gave him A Look, but said nothing else.

"You missed a good supper," Tim said gleefully, as if he’d caught his guardian red-handed at something. "I thought you came home so you wouldn’t have to work tonight."

"Sorry," Bruce replied, ruffling the boy’s hair. "I guess I got preoccupied. Alfred," he crossed to the refrigerator, "I apologize. Thanks for the sandwich. I’m starving, now. What do we have?" He poked his head inside the door, peering at the myriad little containers and boxes. Alfred seemed to have an inexhaustible supply of the little plastic containers, each filled with something different; Bruce was certain that the old man had stock in the company that made them.

Alfred put a hand on his shoulder, and gently but firmly moved him away from the refrigerator. "I’ve kept a plate warm for you. Sit down, it won’t be a minute."

Obligingly, Bruce sat across from Tim, and watched guiltily as Alfred pulled out a plate from the warming oven, and quickly gathered up the rest of the neglected meal. He tried not to show how ravenous he was, especially since Tim was watching him like a hawk, waiting for any breach of etiquette.

"Are we going out tonight, Bruce?" Tim asked, apparently disappointed at Bruce’s good manners. He shoved an entire cookie into his mouth and downed it with a huge gulp of milk. "I’m almost done with my homework," he added, with a note of pride.

"I don’t think so," Bruce said. He stared at the plate before him, toying with the fork and pushing around a stray carrot. "I have to take a …" He paused, debating if he was really planning what he seemed to be planning, and if so, whether he wanted to share this information with Alfred. "I need to make a brief business trip," he said, deciding to throw caution to the wind. "I need to check out a few things, follow up on a few hunches." Think fast, Batman, he told himself. What would you need to check out? What business do you have that will provide a good enough excuse?

"Ah," Alfred said, clearing away Bruce’s plate and handing Tim a napkin. "I thought you might want to check into that Powers merger."

Bruce looked up at him, and their eyes met. Of course, Alfred would know. He knew everything, and not only did he know everything, he knew how to fix everything. Bruce smiled, equal parts relieved and embarrassed; relieved that at least in this he would not be forced to remember some elaborate lie, but embarrassed at the possibility that Alfred knew the full story behind the need for this trip.

"Yes, there are some aspects of this merger that seem a bit shady. I thought perhaps a little incognito investigating would be a good idea."

"Of course, Master Bruce," Alfred nodded, and smiled reassuringly. "Shall I pack you a bag?"

"Can I go, too?" Tim asked.

"No, and definitely no," Bruce replied. "It’s best if I travel light, less noticeable. I’ll take the Indian, I think. And you," he reached over to the plate of cookies in front of his ward, and took one, "have school this week, remember?"

"I was hoping you’d forget that," Tim grinned. "It was worth a try."

"Maybe next time," Bruce smiled. "Get those grades up, and keep them up, and maybe we’ll see."

"Great," Tim sighed. "Like that will ever happen."

"Positive attitude, Master Tim," Alfred said, patting the boy on the shoulder. "One can’t win the battle if one gives up before it starts." He turned back to Bruce, who still sat at the table, dunking a cookie into his coffee. "Will you be leaving tonight, sir?"

Bruce nodded, and got to his feet, grabbing another cookie and finishing the coffee. "I’ll go now and change, and be off in a bit."

"Very good, sir, I’ll see to things here. Good night, and have a safe trip." He relieved Bruce of the coffee cup, leaning closer to speak so Tim couldn’t hear. "And give him my regards."

Bruce stopped in his tracks for a split second, and then gave his old friend a small smile. "Will do," he replied. "Good night, Alfred. And," he turned back to pat Tim on the shoulder, "Sleep tight, Tim. I’ll see you in a few days. Be good."

"Yeah, yeah," Tim shrugged. He looked up at Bruce, and his face was suddenly uncharacteristically serious and mature beyond his years. "Be careful, okay? Don’t let anybody get the drop on you." He grinned again. "You won’t have me to watch your back, so don’t do anything stupid."

"Gotcha," Bruce smiled. He and Tim had not been together for very long, but already there was an understanding, an unacknowledged affection and loyalty between them. Like between him and Alfred. Or between him and… "I’ll be careful."

"’Kay. Later, Bruce."

"Alfred, I’ll be in touch," Bruce said, and with a final nod, turned and went back upstairs.

It took him a few minutes to find what he was looking for; his dressing room was cavernous, and while Alfred could find anything in it within a moment’s notice, Bruce had to look. Finally, on the last rack in the very back of the immense closet, he found what he was looking for. Pulling the riding leathers on over his jeans, he traded his tennis shoes for black boots, and shrugged into the leather jacket, noticing with some surprise that the ragged tear in the back had been neatly mended, and the blood stain was scarcely noticeable. He opened the wall safe in his bedroom, and took out a roll of bills, separating it into several smaller packets and stashing them in his boots and wallet.

He made his way down to the garage, and filled the tank in the Indian, then it occurred to him that a rare and valuable bike like that might prove too tempting for the less than honorable denizens of Dick's neighborhood along the waterfront. So, he walked it back into its place, and took out the massive Harley. The Hog, while no less valuable, was fixed with an alarm system, and other anti-theft precautions. It also had a tracking device built in - just in case. He started it up, and pulled on the helmet; then, on impulse, he tossed the helmet aside, and headed out the door and down the driveway.

"No turning back now, Batman," he said to himself. He pointed the bike in the direction of Gotham, and drove off into the night.

Chapter two

It had been awhile since he’d been to the docks, in civvies at any rate, but it was an easy enough trip, at least physically speaking. Fairly good road for most of the way, and at this time of night, not a lot of traffic. Even the weather was cooperating, and the storms that had been building all day did little more than make rumbling threats and produce a few scattered bursts of rain. Not a bad drive, all in all. He had the address from Alfred, and truth be told, he'd often driven past the old warehouse that served as Nightwing's lair, while on patrol in the Batmobile. It should have taken him an hour at the most.

Tonight, it took three hours. He needed the time to think.

What had happened between him and Dick had been shocking at the time, but in retrospect, he could see that it had been a long time in coming. Sure, he’d always maintained that they were partners, but deep down, he’d known it was a very uneven partnership; he was the adult, after all, the one in control, and Dick was a child, his protégé, his ward, and subject to his decisions. Live under my roof, obey my rules, that was his byword, and for a long time, it had worked. But as Dick had so eloquently put it, no one can remain a Boy Wonder forever. He should have seen it coming, but he’d been blind to the truth.

Sometimes, even he had to admit, he carried this bat theme a bit too far.

There had been signs, he knew that now. The rebelliousness, that had been the start of it. True, most youngsters went through a rebellious stage, and most parents are prepared for it, at least on some level. It was a normal part of becoming an adult, after all; pushing the limits, seeing what will work, and what won’t, expanding your boundaries past the protective walls constructed by loving parents. Most parents, he’d since learned, were prepared for it, because they’d lived through it themselves.

That, he thought, was probably a large part of the problem. He’d never experienced that with his parents - they’d been long dead by the time he reached the rebel years. He’d never felt the need to rebel against anyone, mainly because there’d been no one to rebel against. Oh, sure, Alfred had been around, but you just couldn’t rebel against someone who deferred to you, and called you "Master Bruce." Besides, Alfred’s philosophy had been more Zen-like; let the young master do what he wished, he’d come out all right in the end. And frankly, Bruce had been far too busy planning his long-term revenge against the type of scum who’d murdered his parents to be much concerned with rebellion of any other sort.

Yes, he was sure a psychologist would agree with him on this; hell, hadn’t more than one said as much to him? It was the pivotal point in his life, his parents’ murder, and everything he had done, or ever would do, could be traced directly back to that night. But even so, Bruce knew that he couldn’t place all the blame on that incident, traumatic though it had been.

The blame lay firmly on his shoulders, and he knew it. He had not paid attention to what was blatantly obvious to the rest of the world; Dick was no longer a ten-year-old child. He was an adult, a young man now, and had been for some time.

It had really started when Dick went away to college. He could have stayed at home, and commuted, but no, he insisted on living in a dorm room, and then in an apartment off campus. He needed his space, he’d said, he needed to be on his own, like everyone else his age. Bruce had argued against it, but in the end, even he couldn’t stand against the combined forces of Dick and Alfred. So, he’d acquiesced, and for awhile, it had almost been enough, or so he’d thought. Dick came home every other weekend, and still fought by his side as Robin.

But it was very hard on both of them, and they both knew it. The visits home became battles. Why had Dick become such a slob, he couldn’t even dress for dinner? Why must he sleep so late? If he must listen to that godawful music, did he have to have it so loud? And the counter arguments from Dick - What did he have to get up early for, it was Saturday for God’s sake! Why did he need to put on a clean shirt, this one was clean this morning, it only made more laundry for Alfred. Why did he even bother coming home, the dorm was noisy, but at least it wasn’t a gulag.

And so on. They tried to compromise, and managed to keep peace in the family, at least for the duration of weekends and holidays. But it wasn’t enough.

It all blew apart that one night. Batman and Robin were out on patrol, and chasing after yet another nameless, faceless criminal. Batman followed the suspect right into his home, and threatened the man in front of his family. This, for Robin, had been the last straw. That night, he quit being Robin. Just like that, he quit, threw his mask at Batman and stormed upstairs. It hadn’t mattered that Batman himself had realized how wrong it had been, or that Bruce Wayne had given the man a job the next day. The damage had been done.

After that, they had very little contact. Dick scheduled his visits home for weekends when Bruce had out of town business, or too many social engagements to be home much. Batman patrolled Gotham alone, until joined by a stunning stranger calling herself Batgirl. Robin disappeared, but soon a new crimefighter appeared, Nightwing. Batman pretended not to notice, but in the end, he was no more convincing at it than Bruce was.

If Robin’s disappearance affected Batman, he didn’t show it. He went out on his patrols, did his part to let Gothamites sleep a little better every night. He had Batgirl now, to join him in his crusade, and after all, crime paid no heed to his personal woes.

Bruce didn’t handle Dick’s absence nearly so well. He showed up at the office less and less, and virtually disappeared from the social scene. Rumors filled the gossip columns for a while, but soon even the most rabid columnists grew bored with the story of reclusive millionaire Bruce Wayne. It was generally accepted that he had, for reasons known only to him, decided to withdraw from public life.

Alfred knew the truth, of course, and did his earnest best to convince Bruce of the dangerous road he tread, but his pleas fell upon deaf ears. Things came to a breaking point the night Bruce woke up in Wayne Memorial's ER, with a punctured lung and seventeen stitches in his back. Jim Gordon managed to keep it out of the papers, and a few thousand dollars to the owner of the biker bar and the other participants in the fight made the assault and battery charges disappear.

That, at least, had made Bruce wake up. He straightened up his act, dried out for the first time in months, and returned to a semblance of what passed for normal life, for him.

Not long after that, another young orphan had appeared in his life, and suddenly, things looked a bit better. Fate had brought Tim into his life, and the boy had taken over the role of Robin like he’d been born to it. Truth to tell, Batman had not been entirely thrilled at the prospect, but on the other hand, for Bruce, it had been just what the doctor ordered. He came to the realization, that first night Tim had come into his life, that he needed to be needed, not just as Batman, but as Bruce.

When Dick had shown up, welcoming the newcomer to the family, as it were, Bruce had thought that everything would fall neatly back into place. And, it had been almost like old times, for awhile. They’d all celebrated, more or less, an impromptu welcome-to-the-family party for Tim, and a welcome-home party for Dick, sitting around the kitchen like a normal family.

Then, after Barbara had gone home, and Tim had been tucked into bed, and Alfred had also retired, Dick and Bruce had been left alone. They’d talked some, and it had seemed the most natural thing in the world for Dick to follow Bruce up to his bedroom, to continue the conversation. After all, they had a lot of things to talk about, and they were both in too good a mood to let pass the opportunity for a reconciliation.

Bruce could still see it, in his mind’s eye, the exact details of that moment. Leaning against the door frame, Dick standing next to him, both of them laughing at some stupid comment, perfectly ordinary, perfectly innocent. Then, Dick had leaned over and had put his arms around him and had kissed him, fully on the mouth. And Bruce had reacted without thinking, and had wrapped his arms around Dick, and pulled him into a tight embrace. It had felt so right, so perfectly, completely right - until the reality hit him.

Then, he’d reacted not as Bruce, but as Batman. Shoving Dick away, too forcefully and without preamble, and then, compounding the insult by denying that it had happened. He could still hear his own voice, as if he were someone else listening in: "This isn’t happening. This didn’t happen. No." And Dick’s argument, and then his anger, the pain evident in every biting, acid-laced word. And of course, Bruce trying to assert his control over the situation, sending Dick to his room, as if he were a ten year old caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

And the look on Dick’s face when he'd left. Bruce knew, in his heart of hearts, that he’d never erase that image from his memory.

He broke himself out of his reverie, and slowed the bike to a stop. Time to stop stalling. He made a highly illegal U-turn and headed back toward the warehouse on the waterfront.

It was a testament to his determination - some might call it stubbornness - that he did not turn around and head back.

Chapter three

Dick was sitting at his computer staring for the thousandth time at the last e-mail message.

> I am as ready as I'll ever be. I'm waiting. He’d written.

Understood. Bruce had replied.

So where was he? How much more clear could that be? What else did he expect Dick to say? Had Bruce lost his nerve? Was he just putting him off?

"I said NO one word answers, Damnit!" Dick pounded his fist on the table which held his computer. He wished he’d taken his computer desk from his room at Wayne Manor, but it wasn’t as if he’d had time to pack. His departure had been rather abrupt.

He still couldn’t quite figure what had gone wrong. He’d returned to see the ‘replacement Robin.’ He was a cute kid, too bad he’d gotten himself wrapped up in the dark world of Bruce’s psychosis. The night had been going well, though. Bruce had looked good, relaxed and happy. Tim must be good for him. And Alfred, God it had been good to see Alfred again. Even Barbara had been there. They’d adjourned from the Cave to the kitchen and had broken out the cake and ice cream. There they’d sat, smiling at each other, joking, talking; the Batbeauty, the Batbaby, the Batbutler , the Batboss and the Batboomerang, the whole Bat-freakin’-family. It could have been a painting by the Bizarro world Norman Rockwell.

Gradually everyone else had dispersed to their various beds, and they had been alone. In the doorway of Bruce’s bedroom. And Dick had felt good. And Bruce had looked good, damn good. Dick had had to check to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. It had become a familiar theme in his nighttime fantasies, he and Bruce, alone, in Bruce’s bedroom. Bruce had had that look in his eye, the look from the dream. He had been feeling it too.

The moment came, and Dick had taken it. He had gone right for the liplock, no room for half measures. Bruce had responded. He had taken Dick in his arms and pulled him close. Close enough for Dick to have felt against his thigh just how in synch their thoughts were.

From nowhere had come this force sending Dick halfway across the hall. Bruce’s voice - no, Batman’s voice, "This didn’t happen. This isn’t happening. No."

"WHAT?!" Dick had demanded.

"No." Batman had repeated. He had even been wearing the mask, a face devoid of any emotion whatsoever.

"What do you mean, NO?! NO, those weren’t your arms around me? NO, that wasn’t your tongue in my mouth? NO, that isn’t a BAT in your POCKET??!!!" Dick had been furious.

"DICK! Keep your voice down!" Bruce had ordered.

"I will NOT! Who the hell do you think you are! Talk to me, damn you!"

"Richard, you are upset, you’ll wake the house. Go to your room and calm down." Bruce had turned dismissively to walk into his bedroom.

"WAIT!" Dick had shouted. "You can’t tell me you didn’t enjoy that!"

Bruce had turned back to him. "Dick, it’s over. We won’t talk about it again. Now go to your room."

Dick had stared at Bruce. How could he possibly reject him this way? What could Dick say to convince him? Then he had realized that there was nothing he could say. There never had been. There never would be. Bruce controlled everything, even whether or not what had just happened had happened. Dick had felt the rage harden his mouth and narrow his eyes. He had shot Bruce a look of pure hate, the last look ever, he’d thought, then had turned and with slow measured steps, walked away.

He had gone straight to his old room, to grab anything he wanted to keep, as he would not be returning. He’d taken most of his possessions when he’d gone to college, but Bruce had argued when he’d tried to take the circus poster off the wall, and when he’d tried to take the pictures of himself with Bruce or Alfred, when he’d tried to take a few childhood treasures. Always the same argument.

"They’re safe where they are, Dick, just leave them. It isn’t like you’re leaving forever."

But this time he was. He had grabbed everything he could stuff into his pockets, and then had grabbed the framed poster off of the wall. It would be difficult to carry it all the way to his loft on his bike, but he sure as hell wasn’t leaving it behind. Besides, he could imagine Bruce’s face when he saw that blank wall. Then he would know that he’d never see Dick again. It would be a tiny bit of revenge, and it had made Dick feel at least a tiny bit better.

He’d walked out the front door without saying goodbye, and he’d never returned.

So here he was in huge cavernous room in a huge cavernous warehouse, staring at the screen of a second or possibly third hand computer, which sat on a thrift shop table, wondering what he should do.

Then he heard a noise. He froze. He felt rather than heard a silent step, and then he knew who it was.

"Please, feel free to sneak in through my window, Bruce," he said, without turning around. "Developed a fear of doors or something?"

Chapter four

Bruce stopped the bike in front of the building, and had checked the address again. Yes, there was no mistake. He had to admit it was a good location and cover for a lair. It was an old warehouse, dating from the days when steam vessels plied Gotham harbor, and Bruce doubted if it had looked any less ominous when it was new. If the series of large deductions from Dick's trust fund were any indication, however, inside it had been transformed into a securely fortified, state-of-the-art base of operations that rivaled the Batcave. It pleased him to know that Dick had taken his advice in this, at least.

It irritated him, though, that Dick had flat out refused to tell him the location. Alfred knew, of course, and Bruce was fairly certain that both Tim and Barbara had been here, but no matter what argument Bruce had given about security and trust, Nightwing's headquarters had remained off-limits to Batman. They both knew that it was a matter of a few minutes research to discover the location, but that wasn't the point; the point was, Batman wasn't welcome. One more brick in the wall that grew between them.

It irritated Bruce even more to realize that he himself was the ultimate cause of it. Him, and his stubbornness, his unwillingness to yield to what he knew, ultimately, to be the truth.

He was in love with Dick. Had been, probably for years.

This was the same child he’d taken into his home, the boy who’d been his son in all but name, who’d fought at his side, who’d shared his life as well as his home. This was the boy he’d comforted when Dick had nightmares of his parents’ death, holding the small, sobbing form in his lap, stroking his hair and holding him close. Dick Grayson, child prodigy aerialist, orphan taken in by the wealthiest man in Gotham City. Straight A student, superb athlete, graduated from college with high honors. Dedicated crime fighter. His ward, his surrogate son, his legal heir, his pride and joy, his responsibility.

His lover?

Bruce just couldn’t wrap his mind around it. He was NOT a pedophile, he knew this with all his being. He could think of nothing more loathsome, no more heinous crime. The criminals he fought every night were shoplifters compared to a man who would so abuse and misuse a child. He had a child in his home now, and he sure as hell did not have these kind of feelings for Tim, thank God; that thought gave him some comfort, at least. No, there was no way that he was like that, he knew it in his very soul.

Yet, he knew just as strongly that he was, indeed, in love with his ward.

His former ward, who was hardly a child any longer, but that didn’t change the nature of their relationship for all those years.

Did it?

Bruce pulled around to the rear of the building, where he saw a ramp and a sheltered area that had probably been a loading dock. He drove the Hog up, and after setting all the security alarms, looked up at the building.

It wasn’t such a dump as he’d first thought. It looked sound enough, no broken windows, the fire escapes in good shape. He walked around the building, and saw that it had excellent camouflage; the bottom story looked to be a well-used flop for street people. Of course, his trained eye could tell that the various pallets, boxes and other remnants had been placed as carefully as a stage set, but the average passerby wouldn't give it a second thought. He also noted discreet but impressive security alarms and other measures that would prevent any unauthorized entry. There was a door in the rear that had the standard buzzer system, and a small mailbox with the name Dick Grayson on it; so, he didn't hide that he lived here. That in itself was not a bad cover; gentrification of the old warehouse district had been very successful in the past few years, so it was not beyond the realms of belief for a trust fund baby to try his hand at it here in the old docks. If Dick wasn't careful, he'd start a trend, and end up living in an upscale neighborhood. Not bad. Not as soundly protected as Wayne Manor, but not bad.

The upper stories were darkened, save for one bank of windows on the top floor.

Eschewing the more obvious means of entry, he returned to the side of the building, checked to ensure no one was near to see, and threw a line to catch the third floor fire escape. He climbed up to the roof, and climbed down over the side to a darkened window on the top floor. He let himself in, noting with some pride that Dick had installed additional security measures that weren't visible from the street. Of course, these were nothing to Batman, and he was inside in a heartbeat.

He found himself in the bedroom, and after giving himself a few minutes to adjust to the dimness, silently shut the window behind him. He looked around the room, surprised at the size of the space; he’d expected some sort of tenement slum, but this was fairly nice, not at all shabby or run down. He wondered how much of that was inherent and how much was Dick’s doing.

No time for such musings now. He stood still, and listened. Yes, someone was here all right. He heard the soft click-click of a computer keyboard, and from the doorway he saw a faint glimmer of light; yes, Dick was home. No matter how many times he’d been warned about ruining his eyesight, he still worked in near darkness.

Moving silently, Bruce made his way out into the main living area of the loft, until he was standing directly behind the figure bent over the computer screen.

He was about to speak, when Dick beat him to it, not even bothering to turn from his work. "Please, feel free to sneak in through my window, Bruce. Developed a fear of doors or something?"

Bruce was startled, but also pleased; Dick maintained constant vigil, as he’d been taught. "You have a good security system here." He tried to put into his voice the pride that he felt, but somehow, the words sounded hollow and flat. Bruce could have kicked himself; they’d not spoken in two years, and this is the best he could do?

"Nice to know you don’t think I’m totally incompetent, at least."

"I - I didn’t mean it like that," Bruce said, chagrined. "I - I’m sorry." A pause. "It’s good to see you."

"I know it’s difficult for you to accept, but I am an adult," Dick said, rising and turning to face him. "I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time now."

Bruce stared at Dick, shocked beyond words. Two years had brought about remarkable changes.

Dick was taller now, nearly as tall as he was. As he wore only a pair of workout shorts, his physical condition was obvious, and it was impressive. He might have been a statue by Michelangelo, so perfectly developed and proportioned was his body; not one muscle group ignored, not one muscle group over emphasized, everything balanced and geared toward optimum physical performance. His abs alone would make a washboard jealous; hell, it made Bruce jealous, and he knew himself to be in prime shape. Dick had always been fit, but the child and the adolescent who’d fought by Batman’s side had barely hinted at the adult who stood before him now.

As Bruce continued to stare, unable to pull his gaze away, he noted other more subtle changes. An earring glinted in one ear; he wondered how long it had taken Dick to have that done, remembering the arguments between Dick and himself, and Dick and Alfred, over the propriety of such a thing. Now, though, even he had to admit, it didn’t look quite so bad as he’d imagined. The hair, now, that was something else. A pony tail hung down his back, not over long by any means, but shockingly different from the brief, conservative cut he’d kept while under Bruce’s roof. His face had thinned out some, too, the slight roundness of boyhood now gone entirely, revealing prominent cheekbones and a strong jaw line.

"Bruce? Hello?"

Dick was speaking to him, he realized. He rubbed his eyes with a gloved hand, desperate to regain some kind of control of himself. "I’m sorry," he said, meeting Dick’s eyes evenly. "It was a long ride."

"I know," Dick said, smiling slightly. "I’ve made it a few times myself."

There was a long silence, which neither of them seemed willing or able to break. Finally, etiquette came to the rescue.

"So, Bruce, you want a beer or something?" Dick asked, waving toward the small kitchen.

Bruce made a mental note to thank Alfred for insisting upon good manners. "Actually, I don’t think that would be a good idea, " Bruce removed his jacket, draping it over the back of a chair. "I’ve just been on a bike for the past couple of hours."

Dick stared at him for a moment, and then grinned. "Gotcha. The "Bat-Room," huh?" He chuckled. "It’s through the bedroom, far end of the room."

Bruce grinned back, shaking his head at the old, but still terrible, joke. After tending to that bit of necessary business, he returned to the kitchen.

"Now, do you want something to drink?" Dick asked. "Beer, coffee, soda, anything?"

"Don’t go to any trouble," Bruce replied, stretching the kinks out of his back and legs.

"Okay," Dick opened the refrigerator, and pulled out a bottle, handing it to Bruce. "Here, I believe this is your brand?"

Bruce took the proffered beer, and nodded his thanks. "You always keep this stuff around, or is it just for my benefit?"

"You always taught me, be prepared." He opened a bottle of soda for himself, and dropped into a chair. He toyed with the soda bottle, not looking at Bruce. "It’s good to see you, too. Really, it is."

Bruce took a long pull on the beer, and then took a deep breath. "I believe we have some things to work out."

Dick looked up. "Yes, we do. And I told you, it won’t happen in a day." Now he took a deep breath. "Are you sure you’re ready to deal with this? Because, I’m telling you right now, if you’re not prepared to take this as far as it needs to go, if you’re going to back out, or pull another little trick like what happened in your bedroom, you might as well leave now." He leaned forward across the table, his eyes burning with an intensity Bruce had seldom seen before. "I can’t take that again, Bruce. I can’t. I’m only human, I can’t deal with that kind of rejection, not from you, not a second time. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I understand completely," Bruce replied. "I wouldn’t have come if I didn’t intend to see it through. Whatever the consequences, Dick. I’m here because -" He paused, unsure himself of why he’d come. What had driven him to leave home on a whim, him, the man who never did anything without planning it to death, preparing for every possible eventuality? Why had he taken off in the night, abandoning his sworn duty, a duty he’d seldom, if ever, abandoned before? When the answer came to him, he found it was almost a relief to say it.

"I came because I want you in my life, one way or another. This can’t go on. I hate it, you hate it. We have to work this out, because we’re both miserable the way things are." Now it was his turn to lean forward, the desperation he felt evident in his voice. "I came because I love you, Dick. I don’t understand it, I don’t even know if I like it or not, but I cannot deny it any longer. I’m in love with you, damn it!" He slumped in his chair, suddenly exhausted, and put his face in his hands, pressing his knuckles against his eyes.

There was silence in the small kitchen, for several minutes. Then, Bruce felt an arm around his shoulders.

"It’s okay, Bruce," Dick said gently. "I know how you feel, I understand. It’s okay, really."

Bruce found it very difficult to speak, his throat felt tight and it seemed impossible to draw a breath. After a moment, he regained control of himself. "Dick," he looked at him, meeting his gaze, and allowing himself for the first time to notice how deep and soulfully brown those eyes were. "My God, I am so sorry, about - what happened."

"I know, Bruce." The voice was still soft, not a trace of accusation, no resentment. "But you understand, don’t you? I can’t go through that, not again."

"No, I can see that." He pulled himself together, fearing that if he didn’t, he’d either get up and leave, or break down in tears. "I was wrong, Dick. I shouldn’t have - pushed you away. Not like that. You deserve better."

"You’re damned right I do," Dick replied, standing and moving back to his seat across the table. Despite the hint of anger now present in his voice, Bruce was relieved; anger he could handle, he’d been expecting it. It gave him something to focus upon, something besides his own confused emotions.

"You have every right to be angry," he admitted. "But I thought we were going to try to deal with this without anger." He raised an eyebrow. "’Drop the attitude,’ I believe those were your words?"

Dick sighed. "You’re right, Bruce. Sorry about the ‘tude." He rubbed absently at the back of his neck. "I guess we’re both carrying a lot of baggage. Something else we have to work out."

"I’m willing to try if you are."

"Are you? Are you truly?"

Bruce gave him his most penetrating look, the one that always had the criminals shaking in their boots. "What do you think?"

This time, it didn’t have the reaction he’d anticipated.

"And that’s another thing." Dick crossed his arms, and returned the look with one of his own, one that Bruce had never seen before, belligerent, determined, no-nonsense. "I am not, do you hear me? I am NOT going to deal with the Bat. Do you understand? This is us, you and me. I will only deal with you. You, Bruce Thomas Wayne. Not Batman!"

Chapter five

That shocked him, Dick could see it. Bruce blinked a few times in obvious surprise.

"Do you understand?" Dick repeated.

"Dick, I am Batman, you know-"

"No!" Dick pounded his fist on the table. "You know the difference! I know the difference! And I will not have HIM a part of this! HE is always right! HE always wins! HE deals with criminals, for God’s sake! I am not a criminal, and I am not HIS junior partner anymore!"

Bruce looked down. "So you hate Batman."

Dick knelt beside Bruce and put his hand on Bruce’s knee. "No. No, I don’t. There are things about my relationship with Batman that I wish you could accept in your relationship with me."

Bruce looked up at him, his blue eyes were clouded in confusion. Now that Dick had Bruce’s attention again, he returned to his chair and sat down.

"Batman gave me a lot more freedom and a lot more respect than you did. You had to know where I was and what I was doing every minute of the day. I couldn’t even stay out past ten o’clock on a school night." Dick laughed at the ludicrousness of the situation. "But Batman routinely left me on my own in fights, chases, surveillance, investigations. ‘Follow him.’ ‘Check that out.’ ‘Meet me back here in three hours.’ You wouldn’t let me have too much candy, because it was bad for me. With Batman I was exposed to all kinds of weird gasses, chemicals, long falls, gunfire and God knows what else, and all he ever said was, "You okay, Robin?" and I’d say "Yeah". And he’d say, ‘Good, lets go after him.’ It was crazy, Bruce, really."

"Dick, that was different. Robin was going into a situation he’d been trained for. Robin was focused. Robin had a job to do."

"Robin was me."

"Dick, I know that, but when you were out with your friends, you weren’t vigilant. You were too relaxed. You could have gotten into trouble. Do you realize how much danger you were in, just by being my ward?"

"No, Bruce, you don’t understand. There was no Robin and Dick. It was all me. No matter what I was wearing, I was always me. I’m not like you, Bruce. I know, you wanted me to have two different lives, one as Robin the Boy Wonder and one as Dick Grayson the normal, typical kid. But I never did. It was all my life, Bruce, don’t you see? I am Nightwing, Nightwing is me. Neither one is a cover or a masquerade. I am both, all of the time. I needed you to understand that. I needed him to understand it too." Dick took a large swig of his Zesti. He looked down, and traced circles in the condensation on the tabletop. "I was scared sometimes, you know, when I was out in the costume, with him. I was scared of all those criminals, and the hardness in their eyes. I was scared of all those madmen, and the insanity in their eyes. I knew they could do anything. I knew they wouldn’t hesitate to kill; kill me, kill him. Sometimes, I would be running in an alley, or swinging from some building, alone, chasing someone, or looking for someone, and I felt an almost overwhelming urge to hide somewhere. I was just a kid, Bruce, and I was scared."

"Oh God . . .Dick, I thought you could handle it."

"I COULD!" Dick looked up with denial. "I could, I never actually did it! Never! I’m not saying that. But just that, I wanted to. And I thought I was a coward. And I wondered sometimes why he didn’t take care of me like you did."

There was silence for a moment. Dick realized that Bruce had nothing to say. Hell, what did he expect anyway? At least he had his attention. May as well get it all out now.

"I always thought I had roles to play. I had to be the perfect child, the model student, the nicest guy, the greatest athlete, the best fighter, the smartest detective. Always do more than my share. Always be cheerful. Never complain. Follow all the rules, even when they changed. I had to make you proud and I had to make him proud, and it was impossible! I felt like I was always failing. I got a C on this test. I let that crook get away. I fell asleep in class. I missed a clue. I slurped my soup. I wasn’t fast enough and one of the bad guys got me in a headlock. I used bad grammar. I didn’t get the right footing and my kick was way off. I couldn’t come up with a good enough excuse for this new bruise, or that long scrape. It was too many rules and I couldn’t keep up. I was always failing, at everything all the time. I couldn’t prioritize. I thought everything was of life and death importance."

There was pain in Bruce’s eyes. He reached over and patted Dick’s hand. Softly he said, "You WERE a perfect child, Chum."

Dick looked straight at Bruce and smiled. Even though he was steeped in some of his worst memories of childhood, the old nickname made him feel better. He hadn’t heard it in almost four years. He had gotten angry about it once and done something stupid. He’d been sitting in Psychology 101 when he realized that he was conditioned to it, like Pavlov’s dog. The way ‘Richard’ let him know he was really in trouble, and tensed his muscles, sent the adrenaline coursing through the old heart, ‘Chum’, let him know everything was alright. He automatically relaxed, felt better. He hadn’t liked the fact that he was so easily controlled, especially by Bruce, who was practically his arch-enemy at the time. So the next time he was home for the weekend, and Bruce used the nickname, he’d exploded. Real good move, get rid of the things you actually like, Grayson. Kick your own ass into a deeper hell, why doncha? They didn’t happen to have ‘self-destructive tendency’ in that Psych book, did they? God, he really was an idiot sometimes.

"Dick, I was always proud of you. You always gave me your best, I know that. I had to point out when you did something wrong or could do something better because I was raising you, that was my job. And as far as Robin is concerned, every wrong move WAS of life and death importance. Batman WAS taking care of Robin, making sure he was the best he could be, so he wouldn’t get hurt. Can’t you understand that?"

Whoa, Dick had never seen this kind of look on Bruce’s face before. He wanted Dick to understand. He wasn’t insisting, he was almost pleading. Is this what a paradigm shift looked like?

"Yes, Bruce," Dick answered gently. "I understand that. And I realize that in many ways you were right. But you have to understand how I felt." Dick stood up and began to pace, gesturing broadly with his hands as he spoke. "You have to understand how difficult it was for me to make everything look so easy. You have to understand that it was Dick that you were taking out there into the Gotham streets, and that it was Robin that you were telling to be in by ten. And you have to understand my frustration, my insecurity, my fear, and how that was all boiling over by the time I was in high school. . . and then . . .to top everything . . .I fell in love."

Dick stopped pacing and faced Bruce across the table. "With you." Dick paused, "YOU, my guardian, my surrogate father, my hero, my boss. YOU, of all people." He gave a little laugh, "So you can imagine what a tailspin that threw me into." He started pacing again, but kept his arms folded to his chest. "I was growing up. I wanted you to let me go. I wanted more freedom. I wanted to decide things for myself and take control of my own life. BUT, you were my life. I wanted to be close to you, closer than ever. I wanted you to hold me and not let go. I wanted to kiss you and not on the cheek anymore. The more you tried to make me into a copy of you the less I wanted to be like you. The more you tried to keep me that obedient little boy, the more I felt that the only way to grow up was to get out. The only way to get out was to leave you. Yet the only reason for growing up was so that you could see me as a man, and love me the way I loved you. I knew it would never work. I couldn’t reject you to get closer to you. It all made me so angry. Everything you did made me angry, everything you said, everything you wanted me to do. The Manor felt like a prison that I wanted to escape, but the only place I wanted to escape to was your bedroom.

"I know I was hard to deal with, and a pain in the ass. I know that I did things just to piss you off. I know I started as many fights as you did. But . . .but . . .I don’t know. It was like I couldn’t control it. I had to get your attention somehow, and I had to show you I was independent. I know acting like an uncontrollable brat wasn’t the way to do it, but . . . that is just how I was." Dick sighed and slumped into his chair. After a second he looked up at Bruce. "You want another?" He pointed at Bruce’s empty beer bottle.

Bruce looked down at the bottle, he’d forgotten it was even there. "Sure, I’ll have another."

Dick nodded, ran his hand through his hair, grabbed the bottle and threw it into his trash can, followed by his empty pop bottle. He went into his refrigerator and pulled out another beer for Bruce. For himself, he grabbed a 1/2 gallon of chocolate milk, and drank straight from the carton. He handed the beer to Bruce and sat back down.

"I guess it’s your turn." Dick said.

Chapter six

"No!" Dick pounded his fist on the table. "You know the difference! I know the difference! And I will not have HIM a part of this! HE is always right! HE always wins! HE deals with criminals, for God’s sake! I am not a criminal, and I am not HIS junior partner anymore!"

Bruce sat, stunned, as Dick condensed years of frustration and hurt into a few moments of succinct, eloquent desperation.

No use avoiding the issue now. Better to get it out in the open, that’s why you came, wasn’t it? Say it, verify your fears, face them, but don’t look at him. Just in case. Just in case the answer is yes. "So you hate Batman."

Once again, he felt the warmth of a body next to him, and a hand on his knee. "No, I don’t," Dick said. "There are things about my relationship with Batman that I wish you could accept in your relationship with me."

Bruce looked up at him now, unable to hide his confusion. If he didn’t hate Batman, then…what did he mean?

Their personal relationship had always been good, hadn’t it? Well, until things had changed. What could Dick mean? He’d done his best with the boy, tried to be supportive, tried to guide him to be the best person he could be. He’d given him every opportunity his wealth and position could provide. He’d tried to be the kind of father his dad had been, hadn’t he? And he’d truly cared for Dick, too, it wasn’t just a chore to him, an obligation to be carried out. They’d been pals, hadn’t they? Sure, they had, look at all the things they’d done together, the fun times. When Dick was small, there’d been the stories at bedtime, and the ball games and hockey games, the fishing trips and the jaunts to Metropolis to look at the Christmas lights. When Dick had gotten a bit older, before the trouble began, there had been good times then, too; the countless charity dinners, when Dick’s sense of humor had been at its best, and the gala balls when they’d compared notes about blondes, brunettes, and redheads.

And then, of course, there’d been the late night sessions, in the Cave or the kitchen, after a night of crime fighting. Detailing the evening’s events for Alfred, reliving the thrills over a midnight snack.

Didn’t any of that mean anything? Was he that bad of a parent? Bruce couldn’t think of anything to say.

Fortunately, Dick was far less taciturn, and the answer poured out of him. Robin had freedom and Batman’s respect; Dick had neither.

How could he not understand that? It was so obvious. "Dick, that was different. Robin was going into a situation he’d been trained for. Robin was focused. Robin had a job to do."

"Robin was me."

How to make him understand? It wasn’t just that Robin was trained, there were other factors involved. "Dick, I know that, but when you were out with your friends, you weren’t vigilant. You were too relaxed. You could have gotten into trouble."

Bruce considered telling him about all the threats he’d received, still received, on almost a weekly basis. The worry every time Dick was late getting home from school. The anxiety if Dick didn’t call home to tell him the movie ran late, or traffic was bad, and he’d be delayed. The sheer terror that gripped his heart every time he read yet another unsigned note: "WE HAVE DICK GRAYSON. WE’LL KILL HIM UNLESS YOU BRING X AMOUNT OF CASH IN UNMARKED BILLS TO THIS LOCATION BY NOON TODAY." Never mind that none of the threats were ever realized, the fear was omnipresent. That fear was the primary reason that Bruce Wayne took an ever increasing back seat to Batman.

"Do you realize how much danger you were in, just by being my ward?"

THAT brought another torrent of confession. That Dick did not, could not, see himself as a separate entity from Robin had never occurred to him. Even though he knew his own dichotomous nature was abnormal, to say the least, he had believed it to be a necessary evil. He’d never given a second thought to the possibility that Dick might feel differently.

No, he told himself, you never gave it a first thought. You didn’t think, period. You never considered the possibility that Dick didn’t want to be Robin. You just assumed that he wanted to share your vision.

And Dick was scared out there on those streets. Now there’s a revelation for you. You took him out on the streets, put him up against psychopaths and vicious killers, freaks who’d kill their own mothers for a laugh, and you expected him to be as fearless as you were. Never mind that he’s just a child, forget that he’s small and these are grown men and women he’s fighting, forget that he hasn’t had a decade or so to train his body and his mind for this kind of work. Forget that he doesn’t have a stake in this personal vendetta of yours. And above all, don’t think about the fact that he could be killed every time you answered that signal. The work is the only thing that matters, remember? Your vow, your holy quest to rid the world of evil - yours, not his.

Of course, he didn’t exactly tell you that, did he? He put up a good front, he did everything you asked. He did more than that, he did exactly what you asked of him; he gave you everything he had, and then he gave you more. He laughed at the danger, laughed right in the faces of those creeps. He seemed to enjoy it, most of the time. Look how he acted the one time you tried to ground him, tried to keep him home, safe with Alfred, what had he done? He’d fallen into a depression, losing his interest in school, sports, life in general, begging you to let him come back out on the streets.

No excuse for not knowing. You should have known. You should have recognized the signs. He wore a mask, the same as you did. It was just a different kind of mask.

"Oh God . . .Dick, I thought you could handle it."

"I COULD!" Dick protested, vehemently. "I could, I never actually did it! Never! I’m not saying that. But just that, I wanted to. And I thought I was a coward. And I wondered sometimes why he didn’t take care of me like you did."

That shut him up again. Well, served him right. Maybe this was for the best. Shut up, and take your medicine, Batman. High time you did. Listen for once.

And, Bruce did listen. He listened to Dick confess his frustration at his own apparent failings, failings which were trivial, in reality. A poor grade. A slip up in the field. All minor things, really. His anguish that he could never be the perfect child, the perfect partner. And worse, Dick’s own sense of failure, of never measuring up to the impossibly high standards that Batman and Bruce set for him, at never being able to satisfy both of them.

Bruce was confused. Could it be that he really, truly didn’t know? He didn’t see the pride that he - that both Bruce and Batman - felt for him? The constant appreciation for his every effort, the amazement that a child, that a young man, could be every parent’s dream? How could Dick not know this?

Even as he thought it, the answer came to him. You failed HIM, Batman. You just couldn’t tell him that he’d done well, you always, ALWAYS had to temper the praise with criticism. "Good work, Robin, you got him. You were a little slow on that kick, though. We’d better work on that." "Excellent debate, Dick. But you almost let him get you on that second point. Next time, you’d better study harder." Would it have killed you to just tell him, "Great job, really great job. I’m so proud of you?" You let him think he was inferior, you encouraged that attitude. You caused him this pain, Batman. You did. You.

He reached for Dick’s hand, wanting so much to grip it, to pull him close into the embrace he needed. But he couldn’t do that, not quite. Instead, he patted his hand; not intimate, no, but still touching him. It was all he could allow himself, just now. "You WERE a perfect child, Chum."

That slipped out. He hadn’t meant to say it, he’d been careful for the past few years to never say it. Dick didn’t like it, apparently, it was…what was it he’d said? "…Demeaning, servile, condescending, patronizing, and manipulative!" Dick had been vehement, it had been like a dam breaking, the accusations and the anger. Bruce expected another similar explosion now, but it didn’t come. Instead, Dick smiled at him. Bruce relaxed a bit. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad, now. Maybe Dick was right. Maybe they both had issues to deal with.

"Dick, I was always proud of you. You always gave me your best, I know that." There. That wasn’t so difficult, was it? Dick seemed surprised, too. Best to go on, go with the gut feeling, here.

"I had to point out when you did something wrong or could do something better because I was raising you, that was my job. And as far as Robin is concerned, every wrong move WAS of life and death importance." Dick was listening to him, really listening. That was a good sign, he thought. Go with it, then. No analysis, no calculations of outcome. Say what you feel, for once in your life go with the heart, not the head.

"Batman WAS taking care of Robin, making sure he was the best he could be, so he wouldn’t get hurt?" He looked up at Dick, looked into his eyes, searching for some validation. He was almost shocked to see his own intensity reflected there. "Can’t you understand that?"

"Yes, Bruce," Dick replied, getting up and pacing. Well, that was familiar territory; he’d always thought better on his feet. It was comforting, to see that much had not changed. Not so comforting, however, to find himself staring at Dick as he walked, fascinated by his physique; even more disconcerting, he could feel himself becoming aroused. For once, he determined that he would not suppress the emotions he felt; he’d come here to settle the question, one way or another. Besides, it was more than obvious that Dick was experiencing the same feelings - those shorts left nothing to the imagination. Bruce wasn’t sure whether he should be relieved or alarmed. He left the question to solve itself for the time being.

"I understand that," Dick said, crossing his arms over his chest. "And I realize that in many ways you were right. But you have to understand how I felt. You have to understand how difficult it was for me to make everything look so easy."

Bruce started to protest, that he knew how difficult it was, but stopped. He was listening, not talking. Shut up, Batman. Just shut the hell up.

"You have to understand that it was Dick that you were taking out there into the Gotham streets, and that it was Robin that you were telling to be in by ten. And you have to understand my frustration, my insecurity, my fear, and how that was all boiling over by the time I was in high school. . . and then . . .to top everything . . .I fell in love."

Bruce caught his breath. He’d never actually heard Dick say that before. He’d suspected it, of course, after what happened in his room, and if he were truly honest with himself, he’d suspected it before that. But he’d never actually allowed himself to believe it, not until now. It was almost easier to not hear it, to tell himself that it was one sided, that it was his problem, his misunderstood emotions. He couldn’t deny it any more. Dick loved him, was IN love with him. Had been, too, apparently for as long as he’d been capable of such feelings. Undoubtedly, since Bruce himself had felt the same.

Dick, though, had obviously reacted far differently. Bruce had denied his own feelings outright, while Dick had fought for his, tooth and nail. They’d both bungled it, it seemed. Bruce had ignored the obvious, had pretended it didn’t exist. Dick had done everything in his power to make it obvious, and in the process, had pushed away the very thing he most wanted.

"You want another?" Dick pointed at the untouched bottle in front of him.

Bruce looked at it, as if it were some oracle capable of giving him the answers he so desperately needed. But the bottle sat there, mutely sweating on the bare tabletop. "Sure," he said, grateful for the distraction, "I’ll have another."

Dick took the bottle and tossed it into the trash, along with his own empty soda bottle. He got another beer out of the refrigerator, and pulled out a large carton of chocolate milk. Bruce had to smile at that; it had always been one of Dick’s addictions, along with Alfred’s chocolate chip cookies. It almost made Dick’s next words less terrifying. Almost.

"I guess it’s your turn."

Bruce took a deep breath. "Yes, I suppose it is." He toyed with the bottle in front of him, and took a pull on it. It was the first alcohol he’d had in months, since that incident in the bar, and it tasted strange. "I don’t know where to begin, really."

"Take your time, Bruce," Dick said, closing the carton of milk and returning it to the refrigerator. "You made it this far, you’re not going to back down now."

Bruce smiled at that. "You know me that well, do you?"

"Damn right," Dick grinned back at him. "I know you better than you know yourself, Bruce. Probably better than even Alfred does, sometimes."

"I think," Bruce said carefully, "I think that may be part of the problem." He looked up. "We’re too much alike, we know each other too well. We know all the wrong buttons to push."

"Yeah," Dick agreed. "I guess you’re right. Like I said, I was pretty much a jerk for a long time."

"I was no prize, either," Bruce said, rising to his feet. He took the bottle to the sink and emptied it. "I pushed you when I should have eased back. I expected you to act like an adult, but I treated you like a child. I demanded things of you that weren’t mine to demand. That was inexcusable." He turned and leaned against the counter. "I’m sorry about that. I hope you can forgive me, but if not, I understand."

Dick was quiet for a moment, his eyes wide in shock. After a moment, he shook his head, smiling. "It’s okay, don’t sweat it. Ancient history, Bruce. Let’s forget about it, okay?" He gestured towards the living room. "Come on, the sofa is a lot more comfortable than these chairs."

Bruce followed him into the next room, and they sat on the sofa, one at either end. Bruce thought that it was probably the shabbiest piece of furniture he’d ever seen, but at least it was solid, and surprisingly comfortable - or maybe, he was too tense and too exhausted to notice the lumps and springs. At any rate, the informality helped him to relax.

Somewhat.

More or less.

Don’t analyze. Just talk. From the gut. Honestly.

"I don’t think it’s a big secret that I’ve never been good with relationships," Bruce said, leaning back and putting his hands behind his head. "I never really had the time to devote to developing anything permanent. Maybe I just never wanted to make the time, I don’t know. A relationship would have complicated things, made too many problems. Too many risks, having someone else in on the secret, I guess."

"What about that psychologist?" Dick asked. "She figured you out, didn’t she? I mean, she was in on it, and she didn’t breach the security. I thought you and she had something going there, for a long time." He grinned. "Made me jealous as hell, too."

Bruce felt his face flush, and was grateful for the dim light. "She was a close call, yes." He shrugged. "But it just didn’t work out. She was too much the psychologist, I think. She wasn’t so much interested in me as she was in my . . . " He paused, looking for the right word.

"Your dark, twisted psychosis?" Dick offered, grinning again.

God. He was absolutely breathtaking when he smiled like that.

Bruce mentally shook himself out of that line of thought. "Something like that," he agreed. "At any rate, she finally gave up. Or maybe I did."

"I did wonder what happened," Dick said. "One minute, she’s dating you, next minute she’s Mrs. Mega-Watt. Talk about a reality check." He laughed.

And that voice, God, it sounded so good to hear him laugh again. It had been too long, far too long since Bruce had heard that.

"Yes, well," Bruce smiled, "I guess even my twisted psychosis can’t hold a candle to Hollywood. Besides, she wasn’t the only one who got…close." He thought of Lois, and not for the first time wondered at the irony of that little situation. Oh well. "It’s always the same in the end, though. They just weren’t right, something was always wrong. Something was always missing." He leaned forward, and rested his elbows on his knees, looking out into the dimness of the room.

"After awhile, I convinced myself that I really didn’t need anyone. I had my work, that was more than enough. I didn’t need anyone. I couldn’t need anyone.

"And then, you left. I thought it wouldn’t bother me, I thought, You can handle this, Ba - Bruce. You can let him go, it’s for the best. And for awhile, it almost was acceptable. But that didn’t last It became apparent to me that the work alone wasn’t enough, not by a long shot." He frowned, and ran a hand through his hair. He didn’t know how much Dick knew about those dark days, and frankly, he wasn’t sure he wanted him to know. Some things were best left alone. "When Tim showed up, I thought, this will help. He needed my guidance, and I suppose, I needed to have someone like him around."

"You need some light to counterbalance your dark," Dick said quietly. "Yin and yang."

"Maybe," Bruce smiled slightly. "It was nice, having him there in the house. Oh, I knew he could never truly replace you, no one could do that, Chum. He slept in your room, he wore your costume, but he wasn’t you, never would be. But still, Tim helped fill a void, I suppose. He helped - " He paused. "He helped me, anyway, if not Batman. He’s a good kid, in and of himself."

"He’s a great kid, Bruce," Dick emphasized. "You don’t need to defend Tim to me, I like the kid a lot."

"I’m very glad of that," Bruce replied. "I am very fond of him, too. I’d forgotten what that was like, having someone that young around all the time."

"Did you think Alfred shrunk your shorts again?" Dick asked, all innocently.

Bruce threw a sofa pillow at him. "No, I didn’t." He laughed. "I do occasionally learn a lesson, too." The laughter felt good. God, how long had it been since he’d laughed? Far too long, he knew that. Talking seemed easier, now, anyway.

That was good. What he knew he had to say now was not going to be easy.

"When you showed up that night, I don’t know what I thought. I knew things weren’t going to just return to the way they’d been before, but still - I don’t know.

"After you left that night, I didn’t know what to do. What to think. I knew I’d made a major mistake, but I didn’t know how else I could have reacted."

"Honesty would have been a good choice," Dick said dryly.

"Yes, it would have," Bruce agreed. "But unfortunately, it wasn’t that easy." He met Dick’s gaze evenly. "I couldn’t accept what had happened. I couldn’t. You were my ward, Dick. In effect, you were my son, and yet, I was having those kind of feelings for you." He put his head in his hands. "I felt like some kind of monster. Some twisted, sick, perverted monster. I couldn’t accept that. I knew I wasn’t a monster like that, I knew it! Yet, there it was." He shrugged. "What was the truth there? I reacted the only way I could, at the time."

"That really hurt, you know," Dick said, quietly.

Bruce reached over, and squeezed his knee affectionately. "I know, Chum. I know, and I am more sorry than I can ever express." He waited for a response, and got a quick nod. He let go, and leaned back. "Since then, I’ve gone over it and over it. Why did I react that way? What did I really feel? What do I want to do about it?"

"Do you have an answer yet?"

"I think so, yes." He turned back to look directly into Dick’s eyes. "Propinquity."

Dick stared at him, obviously confused. "What?"

"Propinquity. Nearness." Bruce spread his hands before him. "I know, now, that you are the one I’ve always looked for. You were there all the time, only I wasn’t able to see you. You were too close, we were too close." He laughed once, and shook his head. "Really, it’s so simple, I can’t believe I never thought of it before. You grew up, I grew up, we changed. That’s life, right? Well, that’s what happened with the relationship, too. It changed, as we did."

He stopped for a moment, surprised at what he heard himself saying. It had really just occurred to him that instant. Son of a gun. Perhaps, there was something to this emotional stuff after all. Years of analysis hadn’t given him the insight of these few minutes of honest emotion. Like a dam breaking, the words flowed out of him, fueled by the pent-up, suppressed feelings of a lifetime of denial. He didn’t know how to start before - now he didn’t know how to stop.

"This relationship that I’d been looking for, or avoiding, whichever you prefer, this elusive thing, was right there all the time. You picked up on it long before I did, but I didn’t, couldn’t, accept that you were right. But you were. You knew it, and you had the courage to act on your instinct. Even with my inexcusable bungling of it, you still stuck by your guns. You were - you are - the only one for me, Dick. You’re the perfect partner, in every sense of the word. I couldn’t believe it before, but now, I know it’s the truth. I love you, Dick. With all my soul, I love you. I don’t care if it’s right or wrong. I don’t care what anyone else thinks. I love you." He took a deep breath.

"More than that. I’m in love with you. And I have been, for a long, long time."

Chapter seven

He said it! Dick couldn’t believe it. Bruce Wayne said he loved him, was IN LOVE WITH him! Dick realized that his mouth was hanging open. He shut it. He opened it again to say something . . . but he couldn’t think of anything to say. What an idiot! Here he’d been preparing for this very moment for at least three years, and he couldn’t remember a single word from any of those fantasy conversations. He shut his mouth again. Something hurt in his chest. Oh yeah, breathing, he oughta keep breathing, that’d be a good idea. Dick took a deep breath.

"Thank you, Bruce. Thank you for saying it. I love you too."

Bruce relaxed and smiled. Ah, that was good to see.

"It was hard for me too, you know. When I first started thinking of you this way. When you started invading my wet dreams."

Bruce turned about six shades of scarlet. Dick ignored that, he had to go on. If he stopped, he might not be able to start again.

"I mean, you were a second father to me. I was fourteen when it first started. I’d been with you for five years. It was very frightening to me at first. It was disturbing and I didn’t know what to do about it. I thought it was wrong too. And I was afraid that if you found out you might throw me out, put me in Arkham or something."

"Dick, I would never-" Bruce protested.

"I know, Bruce, I know that now. But I didn’t then. I was just a kid. I didn’t know what might happen. Bruce, I didn’t even know I was gay! It all hit me at once. And it was my freshman year in high school. Everything in my life was changing and I was really confused and . . . oh god, I don’t know how to describe it." Dick took another deep breath and tried to formulate a clearer thought. "That’s why I took karate. Why I joined the gymnastics team AND tennis AND hockey AND track. I had to stay out of the house. And I had a lot of energy to work off." Dick laughed.

Bruce laughed too. "I wondered where you got the strength."

"Sexual tension is an amazing stimulant. Anyway, I started reading up on it; homosexuality, May-December love affairs, falling in love with your boss, everything even remotely related to this ‘problem’ I had. It isn’t all that uncommon, you know. It was basically a staple of 19th century romantic fiction. Young girl is orphaned and taken in by wealthy, single, distant male relative, they fall in love and marry. Sometimes she wasn’t orphaned, she was hired to be a nanny to his motherless children, or cook or run his household, but the result was always the same. I decided it couldn’t be too sick if it was that familiar, it was just . . . out of fashion, so to speak. That helped me a lot. Eventually, I accepted it. I am comfortable with it now. I just had to convince you of it." Dick grinned. He looked at Bruce’s face. He had his attention. He had his compassion. He had his understanding. FINALLY! "Bruce, I know that we have a lot more talking to do, and I am not trying to distract you from that, " Dick stood up and sat at the other end of the couch, next to Bruce. "But it’s been a long, long time, and I have to do this now." Dick leaned close and kissed Bruce softly. "I love you, Bruce Wayne."

It was Bruce’s turn to be speechless. But he wasn’t resisting either. Dick slid his hand around Bruce’s head and pulled his face closer. He kissed him again, slowly and deeply. Bruce’s mouth opened and Dick twisted his tongue around Bruce’s. The contact sent a spasm through Bruce’s body strong enough that Dick could feel the vibration. He felt Bruce’s arms around him, pulling him close, holding him tight. Dick pressed himself into Bruce’s lap. Bruce shivered and moaned very softly. Dick broke the kiss and laid his head on Bruce’s shoulder, hugging him and breathing heavily. Bruce rubbed his hands along Dick’s back and ran his fingers through the long curly hair.

"Dick . . ." Bruce breathed into his ear.

"This feels good, doesn’t it," Dick said.

"Yes," Bruce whispered. "Yes, very good."

Dick kissed Bruce’s neck. "Just relax. It’s okay."

"I am relaxed," Bruce answered.

Dick laughed, kneading the stiff, taut shoulders. "THIS is relaxed? Come on, Bruce, give me a break."

Bruce smiled a bit embarrassedly and shrugged.

"I know something that will help," Dick said, leaving Bruce’s lap. He walked into the kitchen and popped something in the microwave. "Come on," he said, returning to the couch and taking Bruce’s hand.

"Where are we going?" Bruce asked nervously.

"To the bedroom," Dick answered with a comical leer.

Bruce’s eyes widened. "Dick, I . . . I don’t know if . . ."

"Take it easy, Bruce, I’m just going to give you a massage, okay?"

"A massage?"

"Yes, a massage." Dick laughed.

"Oh." Bruce let Dick lead him to his bedroom.

"Take off your shirt and -" Dick lowered his voice, "whatever else you feel like taking off. And lie down on the bed."

Bruce unbuttoned his shirt and folded it. The microwave dinged and Dick left the room. Bruce laid his shirt on Dick’s dresser. He pulled off his undershirt and laid it there too. He sat on the bed and took off his boots and socks. He stood up and unlaced his riding leathers and let them fall from his waist and legs. He could hear Dick’s footsteps coming out of the kitchen. He wanted to make some gesture, to show that he was willing, if not exactly ready. He bit his lip and quickly unsnapped his jeans. He grabbed the zipper and yanked it down before he got cold feet. He pulled them off and laid on the bed, face down.

Dick came back into the bedroom, shaking the bottle of warm lavender oil. He saw Bruce, naked but for his skivvies, laid out on his bed like a main course. Oh, yeah, this was gonna be a night to remember. Dick put the bottle down and skinned out of his clothes quickly, while Bruce watched. When Dick pulled off his shorts and underwear in one swoop, he saw Bruce lick his lips. It looked like an unconscious movement, but those were the most telling, weren’t they? He flipped the cap off the oil and poured it into his hands.

"This is gonna be a little slippery at first," Dick said, straddling Bruce’s hips.

"Alright," came Bruce’s muffled reply. The scent of lavender slowly filled his nostrils. It was nice, soothing. Dick’s hands caressed him in long, even, strokes. Then in large circles. His muscles started to unknot.

Dick could feel some of the tension leave Bruce’s body. He increased pressure slightly. "Bruce, what is this long scar from?"

Wham! The tension that he’d just loosened came back with a vengeance.

"It’s nothing," Bruce answered - No, not Bruce.

"Bullshit." Dick kept his voice low, leaning closer to Bruce’s ear. "Lose the damned Bat, Bruce. I’m talking to you, not him, remember?" He leaned back, continuing to work at the knots. "It’s a scar, looks to me like a pretty serious wound. You’ve had stitches, that makes it a hell of a lot more than nothing. Come on, I thought we were getting somewhere here. What happened to that honesty, huh?"

Bruce was quiet for a few moments, then sighed deeply. "You’re right."

Dick cheered silently. "Score another one for me," he thought. Aloud, he said, "So, what happened?"

"I was stupid, that’s what happened," Bruce said, looking back at Dick and grimacing. "It’s not something I’m proud of."

"So I gathered," Dick replied, raising an eyebrow. He poured more of the oil into his hands, and went back to work on Bruce’s shoulders. "Well, are you going to tell me, or make me play detective?"

"It was a fight. I wasn’t paying attention, I took a knife in the back. End of story."

"Uh huh." Dick knew there was more to the story than that, but this wasn’t the time to press the issue. The master plan here was to get Bruce relaxed, not to put him on the defensive. If that happened, the Bat would take over, and Bruce would disappear again; Dick wasn’t sure if he’d have the strength to wait for him to return again. "I guess it doesn’t matter, anyway. The important thing is, you’re alright." He leaned forward again, and kissed Bruce’s ear. "Be more careful in the future," he whispered. "I don’t want to lose you, now that I’ve just found you again."

Bruce was happy to have the subject dropped. He didn’t want to get into his long drunk days and nights after Dick had left and the reckless chances he’d taken in bars and biker hangouts, and anywhere else his lonely wanderings had led him. Dick’s fingers found a particularly tight knot under his left shoulder blade and released it. "Ahhhmmmmm."

"Liked that, did ya?"

He could hear the grin in Dick’s voice. "Mmm-hmm. Where’d you learn this?"

"I took some classes in college."

"They gave massage classes at Gotham U?"

"Yeah, they disguised them under ‘Physical Therapy’. Wanna know what really went on in ‘Animal Husbandry’?"

Bruce laughed again. God, he loved Dick’s sense of humor. "I doubt it."

Dick started giving Bruce light hand chops all over his back. That helped release some tension too. Then he got up and sat at the end of the bed.

"Where are you going?" Bruce mumbled. Then he felt Dick take his feet in his lap and rub the lavender oil over the soles and into the heels. "OOOoooooooooh, yeah, mmmmm."

"Musculature of Bipeds, second semester."

"I see. Ever thought about going back for a masters?"

This time Dick laughed. It was rare for Bruce to make jokes, the massage must be having some effect. "I did always wonder about ‘Advanced Reproduction’, but I could never fit it into my schedule."

Dick moved his fingers up Bruce’s hard calves, rubbing small circles over the muscles. He could feel Bruce sink into the mattress. His skin was warm and flushed and his limbs were loose. Very good. Dick pushed his palms up Bruce’s thighs to his hips and back down. He repeated this all around each thigh. Then he concentrated on the small of Bruce’s back, then the thighs again, back, thighs, back, thighs, then up and over the firm mounds of Bruce’s buttocks to his back. Dick felt the little tightening of the muscles when he touched him there. He rolled back over them down to the thighs. He continued this until Bruce relaxed. Then he put his fingers in Bruce’s waistband.

‘Lift up, will you?"

Bruce thought about not responding, but he couldn’t do anything that might hurt Dick again. He Lifted his hips and felt the soft cotton slide off and down his legs. He closed his eyes.

Dick continued massaging Bruce, concentrating on the newly uncovered area until it too was relaxed and flushed and warm. "Okay, roll over."

Bruce rolled over, wondering what to expect. He felt Dick’s body laying over him. The curly dark head on his chest, the slim legs entwined in his, the arms around his chest. "What is this called?"

"Resting. My hands are tired."

"Oh." Bruce wasn’t sure what his next move should be. He pulled Dick into an embrace. He couldn’t ignore Dick’s erection poking hard into his thigh, anymore than he was sure Dick could ignore his, which was practically propping up his belly button.

"Let’s get under the covers, it’s getting cold in here." Dick pulled the blankets out from under Bruce and wiggled under them, throwing the excess over Bruce. He re-situated himself in Bruce’s arms.

"Uh, Dick?" Bruce asked.

‘Hmmm?" Dick answered, sounding sleepy.

"Are we going . . .further?"

"I think it’s a little soon for that, don’t you?"

"Um . . .are you serious?"

Dick looked at him. "Yes. Bruce, let’s be blunt, okay. You aren’t used to this. It wouldn’t be comfortable for you to go all the way with this right now. It’d be too much too soon. Let’s just get used to how we feel together, okay?"

"Dick, I . . .You’re right, but . . .I don’t want to deprive you of . . .of . . ."

Dick put his fingers over Bruce’s lips. "Shh! Listen, I love you, I really do, and I am just happy right now that you love me back. I know that this whole relationship thing is gonna take some work, well, a LOT of work. There isn’t any point in rushing things. If I pushed it right now you’d retreat and I’d end up sleeping with the Bat. I don’t want to sleep with the Bat. I want to sleep with you. So, I’ll wait until you’re comfortable. Right now," Dick reached over and clicked off his table lamp. "I’m bushed, and I gotta get some down time. You’ll stay, right?"

Bruce smiled and squeezed Dick a little tighter. "I’d be delighted."

Chapter Eight

Bruce’s inner clock informed his subconscious that it was after ten, and high time he was waking up. As was his habit, he took a few moments to put himself into a good frame of mind for the day; his constant late hours were not entirely conducive to a sunny disposition in the morning, especially when he had to deal with the million or so duties of the CEO of Wayne Industries. He lay with his eyes still shut, and thought about breakfast, always a pleasant subject with Alfred’s culinary skills involved.

Strange. He couldn’t catch the scent of bacon cooking or coffee brewing. Was Alfred sleeping late? Right. Might as well ask if the sun forgot to rise! Bruce woke up a bit more.

Ah. He wasn’t wearing pajamas. That could mean only one thing. He’d had company last night. He felt warm, bare skin against his, and soft hair tickling his chest. That explained the rare but welcomed state of relaxation he felt; maybe, if he was lucky, there’d be time for more this morning, provided his partner didn’t have to leave. That thought brought a pleasant stirring between his legs. Now, quick, who was it, before you say the wrong name again and get yourself into serious trouble. He breathed in deeply, catching the scent of perfume and trying to identify it. Occult meant Talia, Perfidy meant Selena, and Rumors meant Lois. No, none of those. Another deep breath. Some kind of floral scent, with a touch of spice, and something else, stronger.

Dunhill? But, that wasn’t perfume, it was aftershave, the brand that -

"I wondered when you were going to wake up."

Oh, God.

Reality came flooding back. That pleasant stirring was replaced by a tightening in his chest. It was the same sensation he had when faced with one of his deadliest foes. That is insane, he told himself. This isn’t that kind of situation. This is Dick. Robin. Nightwing. You trust him with your life on the street.

You trust him, period.

He forced himself to relax, to breathe normally. "Dick." It seemed the safest response. He didn’t trust his voice beyond one word, not at this moment. He opened his eyes.

"Bruce, you have any idea how long I’ve dreamed of this?" Dick grinned at him, and hugged him hard. "Waking up with you, in my bed, like this. It’s literally a dream come true. Only one thing missing."

"What’s that?" Bruce was almost afraid to ask. Not that he thought it would be anything he couldn’t handle, but . . . Last night he’d been running on adrenaline, fueled by desperation and a determination to settle things for once and for all, one way or the other. Such spur of the moment decisions were not his usual habit, but at the time it had seemed to make as much sense as anything else. Today, he wasn't so sure he'd done the right thing. Still, he’d given his word that he’d try to work things out, that he’d be honest about his emotions and his own desires. He couldn’t back out, not now. He wouldn’t hurt Dick again. "What’s missing?"

"This." Dick quickly climbed atop him, put both hands on either side of Bruce’s head, and then kissed him, long and hard. "Mmm," he said, when he came up for air. "Damn, that feels good!"

Bruce found that he had to agree. He gave in to the impulse hammering at his subconscious, wrapped his arms around Dick, and kissed him back. That felt even better. A moment later, he realized that he was aroused again.

Very aroused. And quite obviously, so was Dick.

Bruce was shocked to discover that he was very happy about this situation; he felt much the same as he had that night in his bedroom. This time, however, he was determined not to make the same foolish mistake. "So, what next?" he asked, for the moment ready and willing to throw caution to the wind. "What’s the plan from here?"

"Plan?" Dick made a face. "Why does everything have to be a plan? Haven’t you ever heard of spontaneity?"

"Spontaneity got me here."

"You’re kidding me." Dick was incredulous. "You? Mr. Plan-it-to-the-last-minute-detail? You mean to tell me, you just jumped in the car-"

"Bike."

"-Jumped on the bike, rode all the way from the manor, at night, without even a change of shorts, on a whim?" Dick clapped a hand to his forehead. "I don’t believe it. Please, tell me you at least thought to bring a toothbrush?"

"Uh, well," Bruce didn’t want to admit just how right Dick was; even with Alfred’s prompting, he’d still left home without so much as a change of clothes. Yes, he’d thought to bring a copious amount of cash, and had probably had some notion of buying whatever he might need. Hadn’t he? At least, that was the story he came up with as he lay there, frantically thinking of a way to make himself look less careless.

Then, he reconsidered. Wait a minute, he told himself. You’re forgetting something here. You were going to be honest, remember? You don’t need some elaborate deceit. This is Dick you’re talking to. Even if there was a good reason to lie to him, he’d never buy it; he knows you too well.

And besides - Batman doesn’t lie. Neither does Bruce Wayne, when he can help it. "To be perfectly honest, no, I didn’t."

Dick’s eyes narrowed, and he gave Bruce the same expression he usually reserved for facing down low-life criminals. "Okay, mister. Who the hell are you, and what have you done with Bruce Wayne?"

Bruce stared at him for a long moment, unsure if he were serious or not. Then, Dick broke into a wide grin, and laughed. Slowly, Bruce allowed himself to smile.

"That is the big question, isn’t it?" Bruce asked.

"I'm glad you've recognized that," Dick replied. "I was afraid you were too far gone to realize that yes, Virginia, there is a Bruce Wayne." He leaned forward again, and kissed Bruce once more, then rolled off of him and off the bed.

"I guess I have become a little - intense lately."

"A little intense?" Dick called from the bathroom. "You know, that's one of the things I love about you. You are a master of understatement." He laughed. "Saying you're a little intense is like saying you have a little money in the bank, Bruce."

"Very funny."

"You don't believe me?" Dick came back out, and began rummaging in a closet.

"No, I don't," Bruce sat up, and swung his feet off the bed. "If I've been preoccupied -"

"Okay, fine." Dick stopped searching in the closet and turned around. "You want me to prove it to you?"

"I didn't mean -"

"No, I know you, Mr. World's Greatest Detective, you need proof," Dick said, walking over and standing in front of Bruce. "Tell me this. How long has Tim been living with you?"

Bruce blinked. He wasn't sure what he'd expected Dick to say, but that certainly was not it. "Tim? Well, about two years now, or nearly that. Why? What does that -"

Dick pressed on. "Two years he's been with you, and in all that time he's never really gotten to know you. You've hardly been around."

"If you're implying that I have neglected him - "

"Bruce," Dick sat beside him. "We both know better than that. You couldn't neglect him if you tried. You're too decent a guy." He smiled.

"I do my best," Bruce smiled back. "But I don't understand. I've always tried to be there for Tim, just as I was for you. I'm never too busy to talk, or take off from work, or cancel an appointment."

"Yeah, I know, and that's great. But that's not what I mean." He ran a hand through his hair. "It's like this. Not too long ago, I was talking with him, about you." He grinned at Bruce's frown. "And I mentioned how we used to go to the cabin. He didn't even know about the place, or the beach house, or the island. He doesn't know because he's never been there. Geez, Bruce, two years and he's never even been out of Gotham."

"I see." Bruce reflected on what Dick had told him. He hadn't realized it before, but it was true. "I'm afraid it never crossed my mind. I should have been more thoughtful."

"Don't worry about it too much," Dick said. "I don't think Tim's the outdoor type, anyway. I mean, can you see him trying to bait a hook?" He laughed.

Bruce was silent for a moment, trying to picture the former street urchin in anything but an urban setting. He had to smile. "No, I can't."

"Kind of frightening thought, isn't it?" Dick raised an eyebrow. "But you see my point? He's been around for all this time, and he's probably never met Bruce. Batman, yeah, but you, no. Not the guy I used to know." He paused. "I miss that guy."

Bruce was silent for a moment. "You're right," he admitted. "I didn't realize it. I'm sorry."

Dick feigned shock. "What? Wait a minute, I have to write this down."

"Watch it." He reached up and swatted the back of Dick's head.

"Well, that's encouraging," Dick grinned. "It's nice to have you back, Bruce. Hope you can stay for awhile."

"I hope so, too." Bruce knew what he had to do to remedy the situation, but he wasn't sure if he knew how. Well, here's where more of those communication skills could help - if he could rid himself of his ego long enough. "I want to remedy the situation, Dick. It isn't fair to you or to Tim, or even Alfred." He had a sudden mental flash of his manservant's frequent, subtle hints that he lighten up, and the equally frequent comments by his ward inferring that he was overdoing the serious attitude. "I've been an idiot."

"No, you haven't," Dick said, slipping an arm around his shoulders. "You are many things, Bruce, but never an idiot. I should know - like they say. Takes one to know one."

"Dick." He tried to say more, but couldn't find the words. "So, you seem to have all the answers today. What do I do?"

"Believe it or not, I may actually have an answer for you." Dick got to his feet, and went to the closet again, returning momentarily with a large towel. "Do you remember what Alfred always told me when I had some problem I couldn't solve?"

Bruce looked at the towel, and smiled. "Everything looks better after a hot shower."

"Yep. Alfredism number 42. One of my favorites. " Dick threw the towel to him, and pointed to the bathroom. "Help yourself. I've got to make a run to the grocery, or we'll have to have beer and ketchup for breakfast." He retrieved his shorts from where he'd dropped them the night before, and pulled them on, then got down on the floor to search under the bed. "Ah, I knew they were here," he said, pulling out a pair of jeans and some gym shoes.

"You have an interesting way of storing your clothes," Bruce commented wryly. "I'm sure Alfred would be pleased to see how his training has lasted."

"Hey, it's laundry day, okay? Give a guy a break. I'm lucky I have these to wear. Last week I was down to three socks and one of Tim's tee shirts." He pulled on the jeans and the shoes, and found a shirt on a chair and pulled it on. "I'll be back in a bit. Take your time, try to relax." He leaned over and kissed Bruce, then disappeared out the door.

Bruce's eyes followed Dick as he left, and he noted how the muscles rippled with every movement. He'd watched him before as he hopped around the bedroom, unencumbered by clothing, and had felt himself growing harder. His first reaction had been to pull his gaze away, to think about something else, but he'd fought that tooth and nail, instead forcing himself to give in to the more primal urge. He was glad he did; he had actually enjoyed the view and the pleasant sensations it caused.

As he stepped into the shower, not for the first time he thought, that's what that cliché means, poetry in motion. Dick moved with a grace that was nearly inhuman, yet so perfectly natural and effortless. He’d often watched Dick in action as Robin, and later as Nightwing, and had had similar thoughts - although never with the underlying sense of lustful appreciation he felt now. Then again, perhaps that sense had always been there, only he'd been too stubborn to admit it.

No, not stubborn. Frightened.

He turned on the water full force, deciding at the last moment to forego his usual icy blast to wake himself; he was more than awake already, and besides, he was definitely not in the mood for a cold shower this morning. He adjusted the temperature to as hot as he could bear it, and stood under the spray for some time, relishing the heat and the massaging action of the water. He didn't allow himself a great many physical indulgences, but a good, strong, hot shower was one. Obviously, Dick shared this particular taste, for the fixtures were state of the art, and the hot water was plentiful.

The water had its usual effect, and his mind was clear. He reflected on what Dick had told him. How could he have allowed himself to disappear so completely? When did Bruce Wayne cease to be and Batman become the sum total of his existence? It was disturbing, and yet, comforting in a strange, twisted way. On one hand, Dick did remember those good times; he hadn't been such a bad parent as he'd feared. But on the other hand, he couldn't deny that he had cheated Tim out of that small bit of a normal life. That Bruce Wayne, the man who could occasionally relax and do normal things, had not been around for a long time. Maybe Tim didn't care, maybe he was perfectly content with just the Batman as his guardian, but Bruce knew that he owed the boy the opportunity to make that choice.

And Dick missed that man. God, that made him feel good, although he couldn't quite say why. He was certain of one thing, though, and that was that he owed it to Dick to find a way to reunite them. Of course, that prospect was not without its drawbacks; that Bruce Wayne was the parent, not the partner. It would take some time to reconcile his mind to the change in roles. But, he knew he could do it. He always told himself, he could do anything he put his mind to, and changing an attitude was no different.

And, what Dick had said last night made sense; he wasn't his son, or his brother, he was his ward. Yes, they'd had that sort of paternal/fraternal/avuncular relationship, but there was no reason why that couldn't change. For that matter, there was actually no reason why that aspect of their relationship couldn't still be a part of their lives. He merely had to wrap his mind around it, accept it, get used to it. He found, much to his surprise, that the fact that he was attracted to another man was not nearly so difficult to accept. True, he'd always been very open-minded about the subject of same-sex unions; it had never bothered him in the least. In fact, he'd made a point of emphasizing this philosophy to both Dick and Tim, that whatever their preference might be, it was fine with him.

Of course, he'd never dreamed that he himself would be Dick's preference. Actually, if he thought about it, it was rather flattering. Dick was an incredibly good catch; charming, drop-dead handsome, athletic, brilliant, and wealthy in his own right. He could have anyone, man or woman, that he wanted. Yet, Dick had chosen him. It made no sense. He was over a decade Dick's elder, his body was battle scarred, his personality left much to be desired, he was just this side of psychotic and damned near impossible to live with, besides. Yet, Dick wanted no one else.

Neither did he. He knew it, he recognized it as a fact, he accepted it.

Changing his attitude didn't seem like such an arduous task after all.

He leaned into the water, rolling his neck to stretch the muscles that never really relaxed, and wondered what would happen next. He didn't try to anticipate anything, he didn't try to second-guess or plot out possible strategies. He simply let his curiosity take over, and wondered. It was a pleasant exercise.

Suddenly, he felt a draft of cooler air hit the back of his legs. He didn't recall bumping into the door, but then, he hadn't been paying attention. Very unlike him, but understandable under the circumstances, and anyway, he wasn't in the mood this morning for a self lecture. Without stepping out of the warmth of the water, he reached for the door to pull it shut.

And touched something that was definitely not the etched glass door.

"Wow. Dream number two; you, wet, in my shower."

CHAPTER NINE SOON