Title: Happy Birthday

Author: Simon

Pairing: Dick/Garth

Rating: PG-13 or so

Summary: It's Dick's birthday

Warnings: None

Happy Birthday
by Simon

"Excuse me, your Highness, there's a Miss Gordon on line four for you. She says that it's personal. Would you like me to get rid of her?"

"Barbara Gordon?"

"I believe so."

"No, put her through, please….Hello?"

"Good morning, your Excellency. Do you know what day this is?"

"…Thursday?"

"It's your roomie's birthday. Twenty-three today. You were planning to celebrate, weren't you?"

"I hadn't thought about it. Why?"

"Garth! It's his birthday, you have to get him a cake or take him out to dinner and get him a present. I mean, really." There was a disbelieving pause. "You do celebrate birthdays, don't you?"

"Well, no, actually we don't. Is this a big deal?"

"A birthday is the one day of the year when everyone should be spoiled a little bit. You can't just ignore it. His feelings will be hurt."

"I've never done anything about it before. Did he ever say anything to you about it?"

"No, not in so many words, but I know he was upset about it."

"Well…if you say so," he said doubtfully. There was a brief silence. "Barbara, do I really have to do this?"

The exasperated sigh in his ear was answer enough. "OK, I'll think of something."

"See that you do."

He sat back in his chair, clueless. He hit the intercom button. "Ann? Could you come in here for a minute?"

"You wanted me?"

"What's' the deal with birthday's up here? Is this really something that's done?"

"Well…yeah. How did you miss that? I mean, the President sent you a birthday card a couple of weeks ago."

"That was real?"

Her look was enough to get through to him.

"All right, fine. How would I go about celebrating one—and is it really necessary in the first place?"

"Well, whose birthday is it?"

"Dick's. He's twenty-three today."

"OK, you have to do something. Absolutely. He'll think that you don't care if you blow this off."

"Well…I care…what sort of things are good?"

"Dinner is good, maybe followed by a show. Presents are expected. And a birthday cake. Those would all be classic sort of things to do."

"What kind of presents?"

"What ever he would like. Whatever would make him happy, maybe something special that he wouldn't get for himself, but that you think that he'd like."

"Like….what?"

"You know him better than I do. What sort of things does he like to do? I mean besides that. Maybe there are some clothes that he would like that he might not buy for himself. I don't know. Does he like computer games or is there a sport that he could use some equipment for? You could get him a book that he'd like or a piece of artwork if he'd enjoy that."

None of those things sounded like something that Dick would think were special and he could get whatever he wanted along those lines himself, anyway. If he was going to do something, he wanted to make sure that he did it right. "Where do you get a cake? Does it have to be a special kind or anything?"

"What kind of cake does he like?"

"I don't know. He likes anything chocolate."

"I can order you a special cake and have it delivered to your place if you want."

"That would be great. Yes, thank you. Anything else?"

"What about dinner? Does he like to go out?"

"He does, but mostly it's because he's not a good cook, so we go out a lot. I don't think that would be so special." He thought for a minute. "He has an old friend who used to cook for him sometimes, maybe he'd like it if I asked him to make a dinner?"

"Yes, that sounds like it would be good. Do you want me to make the call for you?"

"No, I think I should do that and I think he'll do it if he's not busy. Now, what about a present?"

"I don't know him well enough to know what he would like. If you wanted to surprise him with something that would make him happy, what would it be?"

He thought of all the things that Dick might like, but material things had never been that important to him and if he wanted something he would just buy it himself. That wouldn't do. It would have to be more than just a `thing'.

"What does my schedule look like for the next week or so?"

"Not terrible. You have a speech on Wednesday for Unicef and a dinner Thursday with several of the Central American Reps. Oh, and an interview with Art News about the exhibit on Wednesday morning. I
think they want pictures of you over there."

"OK, don't schedule anything on Monday or Tuesday. I won't be in."

The smirk wasn't even subtle. "Going someplace special?"

"Back to work, wench." He dialed the phone, "Kal? I need a favor."

* * *

Five hours later Dick came home knowing that Garth wouldn't do anything for his birthday. In all the years they had known each other, in the time they had been a couple, he had never once ever acknowledged a birthday for anyone. The only reason Dick knew Garth's own birthday was because he had thumbed through his passport a couple of years ago when he found it lying out after a trip. That was when he had found out that Garth was a couple of years older than he was. They had joked a lot about cradle robbing and chicken hawks.

He didn't care about the birthday, not really. He knew Garth loved him and his other friends would usually send cards and maybe a present or two. Bruce could be counted on for something tasteful and
expensive. It was OK. He didn't really mind. Well, sure, there were times that he'd remember how his mother would always make a big fuss about it with a cake and decorations and presents and usually a party with the other circus kids between the matinee and the evening shows but he wasn't a kid now and it really didn't matter.

Really it didn't.

It was OK.

So walking in he wasn't surprised to find Garth working at the computer as he would on any night. He crossed over, put his arms around his neck from the back, and kissed the side of his neck as Garth's hands came up to hold his.

"Hey."

"Hey. You hungry now or do you want to shower first?"

"I don't care. Are we eating in or out?"

"In. I think it's about ready." Something smelled pretty good, in fact.

"OK, fine. Just let me get changed out of my uniform and I'll be right with you."

"Sure."

A few minutes later he was walking barefoot out of the bedroom in an old pair of jeans and that Halley Circus Tee he practically lived in, now washed almost illegible. Garth wasn't at the monitor any more so
he kept going through to the kitchen.

He pushed the door open. "Dinner ready?"

The kitchen was almost dark except for abut ten candles on the table which was, he could just make out, set with the good stuff—the china that wasn't corell and the silverware that he hadn't gotten on sale at K-Mart. The real tablecloth was out and fabric napkins, the good wine glasses, too. "Well, sit down." Garth was already in his usual chair, smiling.

"Garth…?"

"Happy Birthday, Robbie." There were even roses on the table, arranged by Garth, smelling sweetly and cut low so they could see over the blooms.

Alfred came out of the shadows with tray in hand. "Master Dick, I believe that you have a fondness for my onion soup as a starter? Please do it justice."

"Alfred? What the Hell are you doing here?"

"Language, sir. Language."

"I wanted to surprise you and Alfred agreed to help. He cooked Chicken Cordon Bleu—that's your favorite, right?"

"Well, yeah—Garth? You don't do birthdays, remember? What happened?

He smiled, almost embarrassed. "Happy Birthday, Rob."

"Ahem, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I'll leave you two to your privacy. The main course is ready in the oven and you are capable of serving yourselves I assume? Very good. Enjoy your meal and Happy
Birthday, Master Dick."

"Alfred, this is—thank you, you're great to do this for me."

"A pleasure, sir. Master Garth, good evening." He was gone.

"Garth?" Dick's smile was the one that always made him think of sunshine. "You don't do birthdays, remember? What happened?"

"When in Rome…I just wanted to make you happy, that's all."

He gave his lover a look. "Who called you? Barbara or Donna?"

"I'm hurt and deeply insulted. Couldn't I have thought of it myself?"

"Yeah, right."

"Barbara."

He pulled Garth's hand up to his mouth, kissing the slender fingers. "I'll have to thank her sometime." He kissed each knuckle in turn. "I love that you did this, and I love you."

Garth blushed his happiness, ducking his head with pleasure and finally extricating his hand. "The dinner is ready." He retrieved Dick's plate from the warming oven loaded with the special meal and with a fabulous sauce over the entire thing. Alfred had made a cheese soufflé that would serve both as side dish and Garth's dinner. Placing the dishes back on the table, he took his seat again. The conversation was warm; gentle, happy—content in their being together and in the success of the relationship they were making work despite the odds.

After the main course was done, most of the wine consumed, Garth made Dick go out to the living room, promising that he'd just be a minute. Suspecting what was coming, Dick settled on the couch, making sure
there was a clearing on the coffe table.

About three minutes later Garth came out of the kitchen with the cake, candles burning, in both hands, placing it on the semi-cleared table he looked at Dick beside him.

"Is this alright? I mean, is this the right thing?"

Dick's smile was as warm as Garth had ever seen. "It's perfect. How the Hell did you do this?"

"How do you think? I do have a staff, you know." The candles were getting low. "Are you supposed to do something with them or do they just burn?"

"You're supposed to make a wish and if you manage to blow them all out in one breath, your wish is granted."

Another insane surfie custom. "Alright. So, go ahead." Closing his eyes, he did so, the smoke from the extinguished candles drifting to the ceiling.

"Well?"

"I wished that we could get away, together." His smile and shrug were rueful. "I know, you're busy and …"

Garth kissed him, his hand on Dick's cheek. "I'll never know how you do that. Never. Kal will be here in about twenty minutes to take us to my island."

Dick just stared. "You're shitting me."

"I cleared my schedule for a few days, Robbie. He's taking us there then picking us up Tuesday night, just the two of us."

"What about my shifts? I have a job, too you know."

"The United Nations Secretary General's office called both the New York and the Bludhaven police departments and requested that several officers fitting your description be given special assignments for a
couple of months. They were gracious in complying."

"You mean you got me time off?"

"I got you reassigned to the UN for about three months."

"Fuck me."

"That's the plan."

Dick looked at him in disbelief for a moment. "We should get packed."

"You were planning on wearing clothes?"


8/3/03