Stillness was a skill well learnt, a necessary weapon of the hunter. It was this purposeless passing of time that grated on his senses.
Strong, long-fingered hands tapped out time on the computer pad, calling up figures for the mind to survey with practised understanding. Things were running well for the main corporation and all affiliated companies. His policies were followed down the line, and the best, the brightest were turning the wheels of his empire.
In this moment of inaction, Bruce Wayne wondered for an uncertain second if the wheels turned too smoothly.
The thought was dismissed with the contempt it deserved. His business was not a game, and he could not treat it as one. Not something merely to amuse himself in idle hours. It was important, and had to operate at its highest potential level even when, no, especially when he couldn't be there. When important events took place in the world that could not be handled by subordinates, no matter how bright, Bruce Wayne had to vanish.
Giving a final, sharp glance at the information on his screen, Bruce keyed it off and permitted his abstraction to take him. Knowing his world from the penthouses to the gutters, he knew there were some things he could only resolve in the dark of the night. Some things only he could resolve. There were others, true, but they were too bright for his dark-accustomed eyes, finding their solutions so easily in their power. In the cowl and cape, Bruce faced the night and his vision of it alone.
Scrupulously, harshly fair, his mind would not allow that thought, even as it formed.
'Not alone...' was its urgent prompting, and a boy, a young man filled his mind's eye. But he knew he could not unburden himself in that unequal partnership. Tim did not have the strength, the maturity, or the power over Bruce to force that balance between them.
However, as he grimaced slightly at the very thought of any dependence in that quarter, the internal image was changing. Replacing the boy, with his tousled curly hair, and hopeful eyes, was an older face.
The hair was silky and longer, much longer; halfway down his back. The eyes were dark and liquid, the angles of the face more firm. There was steel, and compassion in that brown gaze, and the tension eased just slightly from Bruce's shoulders, his eyes flickering closed for a nanosecond longer than was normal. Dick.
But with his acceptance of the vision came something else those eyes often held. The slightest tinge of hurt and betrayal.
There was trust enough in Bruce for his younger equal. The man stood alone outside the shadow of the bat, trying to turn his back on its influence. It was this independence which could have allowed an easing of Bruce's burden, but in rejecting Batman's overwhelming presence, Nightwing, Dick, had also turned away from Bruce. He Dick did not believe in their partnership, and Bruce would not allow himself to ask for faith. It was something he had once had and known to be his beyond doubt.
Eyes cold and clear, Bruce relaxed his body into a near meditative state. His mind rested, only subconsciously churning and processing things recently seen and heard.
Still relaxed, expecting only another interminable society wedding, Bruce stepped out of the back of the limo.
After the ceremony, after the traditional gathering outside the church, the bride beckoned Bruce.
"Hey, Bruce. A photo? For old time's sake?" She smiled, glowing in her white and ivory. She was happy, and in love, but still felt the slightest twinge when she looked at her silent friend.
"Fine, Lauren."
As he turned to stand next to her he caught the shine of metal in the sunlight. Instinct kicking in, he pushed Lauren down as he moved towards it. His movement brought him close to her original position, and the bullets ripped through his unprotected body.
Falling to the ground, his earlier vision of Dick, hurt and betrayed, flashed through his mind. This time it was speaking.
"You didn't even ask me."
And his own hard face. "You left, I didn't think you were interested."
And the whisper, which Dick thought Bruce hadn't heard.
"You didn't think I was capable."
Lauren, recovering, bent over him to feel for a pulse, was the one to hear his utterance.
"Call Dick. Must...call...Dick."
Dealing with the emergency, she didn't give it another thought. She held wadded cloth against the entry wounds, blood splashed over her white designer gown. Gritting her teeth, she prayed for the ambulance to come quickly.
It was only at the private hospital, finally standing alone, that she looked at the time. With a mirthless smile she realised she should be at her reception.
Raking a hand through her no-longer coiffed hair, she thought about calling Peter. He would be justifiably irritated with having to take care of the aftermath.
She walked over to the payphone. Time to call Peter. But a different voice echoed in her mind.
She regarded the man seated calmly on a hospital lounge with a speculative eye. She had met him, knew who he was, and decided to approach.
"Alfred."
"Mrs Coake-Hastings. Good afternoon."
"Alfred, who's Dick?" He looked slightly startled at the question, and echoed it questioningly.
"Bruce's Dick," she said flatly, fairly certain of her ground.
A warm light came into the butler's eyes.
"Ah, Dick, yes. Mr Richard Grayson," he elaborated.
The name rang a bell. Brow furrowed, she scanned her memory.
"His...ward?" she questioned. 'His ex-ward,' she corrected mentally. Dick had left Gotham before her brief stint in Bruce's life, and she could not remember the man mentioning him. Not even once. Yet his last words as he collapsed had been about him. Dick might be his heir, she surmised, and Bruce may have wanted legal proceedings expedited, but she doubted it. Underneath the smooth exterior, she didn't think he was that cold.
Which meant Bruce was desperate for Dick to know. Had been forced to entrust something important and personal to whomever was nearest as he lost consciousness. She squared her shoulders.
"Has Mr Grayson been told?"
"I have informed Master Dick. Also Master Tim, the corporate supp..."
But Lauren cut him off.
"When will he get here?" Alfred looked blank for a moment, before saying, "Master Dick isn't coming," in a toneless voice.
"He's not coming," she repeated, disbelievingly. The man Bruce had called for in that vital, needy voice. Not coming.
"Where is he?"
"He resides in Bludhaven."
Not so far, she noted. What could be keeping him away?
"What's his number?" she asked sharply.
Alfred regarded her for a long, silent moment, before opening the inconspicuous black laptop that had rested beside his feet.
Pressing in a couple of commands, he handed it over to her.
"Simply press 'engage'." Her fingers hovered, and he hastened to add, "I recommend you make this call somewhere less...public."
She acknowledged his reference to Bruce's need for privacy, and requested the use of an office with all the weight of her family's authority and influence ringing in her voice.
Dick looked at his vidphone for a moment, but quickly dismissed his impulse to call Tim. Robin had enough on his mind already; he did not need the problems of his predecessor dumped on his youthful shoulders. 'Besides,' Dick glowered to himself, 'he would tell Bruce.' He knew the thought wasn't fair, but Tim would certainly wonder if Dick asked him not to say anything.
His vidphone beeped, and he smiled. Probably Alfred again. He was always worrying about the second of his charges. He was more than surprised to see a dark haired woman with white lace and blood around her shoulders.
"Dick." She stated it, only the slightest hint of a question in her voice.
He tucked the sweep of silky black hair behind his ears, and nodded, slowly.
"Lauren Coake-Hastings," she introduced herself. Sitting behind the small desk, screen in front of her, she almost forgot why she had called.
Dick Grayson was, to be blunt, hot. Really hot. Gorgeous. She could understand why someone would be desperate to see him. Eyes narrowing, she understood why she had never gotten a bite from Bruce. Not even a nibble, with someone like this in the vicinity. The image of Bruce biting Dick suddenly popped into her head, and her eyes flared. Dick suddenly smiled, and her breath caught.
"The bride," he announced, as if making a discovery. Her odd appearance, the lace, the blood, it all suddenly made sense. The blood. "You're not injured," he stated with certainty.
Startled, she shook her head, until she remembered her attire.
"I haven't had a chance to clean up."
He sat back, trying to calculate how much blood he could see, how much he couldn't, and how much was probably a rusted red stain on the ground somewhere.
"So, to what do I owe the pleasure?" he smiled appealingly, eyes crinkling.
Trying to keep her heart rate down, she asked bluntly, "Why aren't you coming to Gotham?"
An unidentifiable expression flickered across his face.
"Why are you asking me that? Did Alfred put you up to this?"
"No."
"Is Bruce dead?" That was said sarcastically, as if impossible.
"No, not yet." That got a reaction, she thought, before a blank face was again presented to her.
"So why? Hear about my existence and decide to butt in?"
She would not be deterred.
"I'm not butting in. And I didn't know who you were until a couple of minutes ago. Someone asked me to call."
He looked puzzled. "I thought you said Alfred didn't..."
She interrupted.
"Bruce."
"Bruce what?" he asked, completely serious.
"Bruce asked me to call," she replied, surprised he hadn't understood. The surprise changed to astonishment as she saw the man on her screen completely change. His shoulders twitched, and there was a peculiar vulnerability in his eyes.
"Bruce. Asked you to call me."
"Yes," she affirmed, warily.
"Why?" he asked, having absolutely no idea.
'He didn't say,' she wanted to say exasperatedly, 'he was bleeding to death at the time.' Instead, she said calmly, "He needs you. Will you come?"
"He doesn't need anyone," Dick burst out.
"He needs you," Lauren repeated. More gently, but with the same assurance, "Will you come?"
"I'll come," Dick whispered, "I will."
Self-mocking, Dick threw some things into a bag, including his costume and some gadgetry, before strapping it to the back of his bike. He pulled on his leathers, tied back his hair, and helmeted, rode out of Bludhaven.
Closing the laptop and walking out to return it to Alfred, she wondered what the hell had gone wrong. Those two needed each other, but somehow the lines of communication had become hopelessly tangled.
There was a silent question in Alfred's eyes, and she dredged up a smile.
"He's coming." The butler nodded, once. "I have a honeymoon to go on. Call me in Venice if he doesn't wake up. Palazzo Terzia. I'd like to know."
With another weary smile, she walked out of the hospital to hail a cab. She'd rather talk to Peter in person.
Dick appeared in the hospital, bag on his back and helmet under his arm.
"Alfred?" There was another question underneath that one.
"Here." As the young man turned, he answered the unspoken query. "It is...uncertain."
Leaving his things with Alfred, he swiftly questioned the administrator at the desk before hurrying down a corridor.
Dick had been sitting in the chair for so long that despite its ergonomically sound structure his back was starting to ache. Alfred had gone back to the manor as soon as Bruce stabilised, dropping Dick's things off in Bruce's room.
Now Dick was waiting for signs of consciousness, nervous about his presence. It was odd to sit and watch Bruce sleep. The strong, withdrawn man was strangely vulnerable. Dick acknowledged this vulnerability was probably another reason, apart from his crusade, why Bruce rarely slept.
Finally, his eyelids fluttered, and he stiffened slightly in the bed, feeling both unfamiliar wooziness and unfamiliar surroundings. But there was a reason he shouldn't feel threatened; there was something familiar, something safe.
Bruce opened his eyes and they met Dick's concerned brown ones. The man laid a tentative hand on his uninjured shoulder, and said, "Bruce?"
"Dick...Lauren called?" he forced out, voice hoarse, eyes trying to close again.
"Yeah."
"Knew you...wouldn't come. Otherwise." He paused, drawing deep breaths. "But Dick, had to say...trust you. Look after my city for me."
If he could have focused on Dick's face, he would have seen warmth and determination, but also slight uncertainty.
"No Jean-Paul Valleys this time?"
"Don...wan...Jean-Paul. Want you." With that last, he slipped back under.
Dick silently berated himself for his instinctive response. If Bruce had been awake, he would have been fighting the self-destructive desire to say lightly, 'Heck of a time to tell a guy you want him,' even though he knew Bruce didn't mean that. With a silent sigh, he tried to discipline his thoughts. It was wildly inappropriate, and somehow disrespectful to sit here thinking wanton, lustful thoughts about Bruce when the man was unconscious.
"I'll look after Gotham for you Bruce. You can trust me," he whispered, before gathering his things to ride to Wayne Manor. The shadows were gathering, and Gotham had already seen one night without a Batman.
Leaving his Nightwing things on an empty surface, Dick observed ruefully how little space they took up in the Batcave.
Thanking gracious destinies that he and Bruce were so similar in height and build, he still noticed the little inconsistencies. There were slight loosenesses in the suit, which Dick admitted were due to his lack of traditional workouts. 'But hey,' he justified, 'I don't live in a mansion with its own gym.'
There was also his hair. He pondered, briefly contemplating cutting it. But it had taken way too many years to grow this long, and weren't vigilantes allowed their little vanities too? Finally, he braided it tightly, and clipped it to the back of the suit. It wouldn't show under the cowl and cape anyway, he reasoned.
Gotham was silent in the midnight blackness. Dick felt its cold call. Bludhaven was filled with sleazy, yellow light and sleazy yellow lives lived too long in its semi-darkness.
He swooped over rooftops in effortless flight. High in the air he was as comfortable, more comfortable than walking on the ground.
The batmobile concealed in an alley, he was taking his patrol through the worst part of town section by section.
He stopped a drug deal, amazed at the awe inspired by his appearance. Bruce had given the Batman a weighty persona, a living legend.
Looking in the junkie's frightened, hazy eyes, he only hoped Bruce wouldn't see the man back on the streets if...when he took back the cowl.
In the nights that followed, with Bruce still in the hospital, very little happened. Intervention in street crime was easy, hardly occupying him, but Dick was more than a little grateful that Bruce's big guns were silent, at least temporarily. Despite Bruce's faith in him, he was not at all certain that he would be the victor in an encounter with someone like the Joker.
On the fifth night, with Bruce due to come home for rehabilitative care the next day, Dick got quite a shock. A communication came through in the Batmobile. Expecting Tim, or maybe Alfred, he almost let his astonishment show when the image displayed Superman.
Uncertain how to proceed, he tried to sound collected when he said, "Wait a moment, please Superman." He clicked off his input, and made another call.
"Bruce, it's Superman on the phone." He felt slightly ridiculous saying it.
"The JLA," Bruce said collectedly. "They need your help."
"They don't need my help, they need your help."
"You can aid them."
"I don't know. They'll figure it out." He rolled his eyes as a thought occurred to him. "Wally'll make me for sure."
"Explain the situation to Superman on a private line. They do not expect you to come, but they may need your advice, some information."
"Okay."
"Dick you should know. Superman knows both our identities. And," Dick could almost feel the hesitation over the phone. "I can't tell you his."
"His name...?" Dick paused, taking in this unexpected information. He hadn't believed Superman had one. "I understand."
"Goodnight, Dick."
"'Night Bruce."
After building his courage, Dick switched back to Superman.
"Batman, we..." Superman began, but Dick cut him off.
"Are the others there?"
"Not yet," was the surprised response.
"Good. Superman," Dick swallowed after the name, which seemed almost a title to him. "It's not Bruce."
"I had wondered. I heard he was shot. He's okay?"
Dick nodded slowly. "Improving."
"But still in the hospital. Which would make you?"
"Dick Grayson."
"Nightwing?"
From the tone of that, Dick could imagine his eyebrows crawling into his hairline, though nothing of the sort could be displayed on the energy being.
He nodded, wondering if he was going to be cut out of the loop. He was surprised and pleased when Superman said without hesitation, "Fine. This is the situation." He proceeded to explain it. Succinctly.
Dick listened carefully, offered his insights and promised to send further information and instruction from the Batcave.
He was a little light-headed from the exchange. Superman was accepting him unconditionally. Bruce's faith in him was an entree even to such circles as these.
It occurred to him what Bruce must be risking. Then he realised Bruce didn't think he was risking anything. He trusted Dick to take his place without misstep or failure. Bruce wasn't, and never had been humouring him. He really looked on Dick as an equal.
Dick sat back in the seat, warmed and uplifted by the realisation, before turning the car back to Wayne Manor to carry out his promise to Superman.
Bruce was installed back at the Manor after assuring the hospital he would have a qualified nurse.
Dick was not exactly a qualified nurse, but he knew an awful lot about bullet wounds.
They faced each other in one of the smaller sitting rooms as Alfred served a late lunch. He pretended to disapprove of so informal a setting, but was secretly pleased. He hoped it meant they no longer had need of the façade of politeness imposed by the dining room.
Bruce studied Dick carefully. The younger man had come to see him every day, but this was the first time they had been face to face. The first time Bruce wasn't flat on his back in a hospital bed. He was elated that Dick still met his eye, there was no suspicion or mutiny in his posture.
He relaxed, ignoring the pain as best he could. This was his first opportunity to see Dick in a long time without the man thinking he had some kind of agenda.
There was the steel and compassion always present in Dick's eyes. Bruce was happy he could now also see faith and a touch of the humour ever present when Dick was a teenager, but so lacking in their recent encounters.
He smiled, a rare lightening of his eyes, eyes that had seen too much pain to ever be carefree. Dick's eyes flew wide open in startlement at the warm expression, before his lids lowered to a dark sensuous sweep across his skin.
The constant observer in Bruce silently catalogued everything before him for processing in his next moment of rest.
Dick finally broke the surprisingly easy silence.
"I'm building a car, you know. A proper, covert car."
"That's great," Bruce responded instantly. "How are you..." and they were off, the necessary and desirable attributes of a concealable vehicle carrying the conversation for a long time.
Lying in bed later that night, Bruce felt himself slip into sleep, feeling comfortable in this known territory. He wasn't resting on the knife-edge of awareness that had prevented deep rest while in the hospital.
His city was guarded, and so was he. With the faint image of a smiling Dick in his head, Bruce let go.
Bruce woke up in the night; his body too attuned to not getting enough sleep. His brain was immediately alert, revolving and studying new data, drawing conclusions, making plans.
He thought over Dick's reaction to being in Gotham. The kid, no, the man, was pleased Bruce had called him. Some of that lost level of trust had been re-established.
Their encounters in the past week ran through his mind. Dick, seeing him in hospital, the silences growing more comfortable and the conversation easier. Until, finally, finally today they had communicated with no undertones or verbal fencing with the past just beneath the surface.
He recalled Dick running an easy hand through his long hair as he gesticulated, signifying the shape of some car part. As the thought drifted away, he returned his attention to himself. His position in the bed, the possibility of more sleep, and, he realised, arousal. 'Well,' he thought, 'I can do something about that. Might even help in getting me to sleep.'
As he gently stroked his body, caressing his chest and sides, the image of Dick combing long fingers through his hair returned. Bruce's hand, about to cup his erection, stilled instantly.
'I want him,' came the revelation, followed immediately by questions. 'Can I have him? Does he want me?'
The answer to the second question came fast and strong, striking him in the gut. 'Yes. God, yes.' He tried to ignore how that made him feel, clenching his fists over his abdomen. The first and more important question was a little harder. It turned into 'Should I try?'
'I've known him since he was a kid,' he thought. There was still the age difference, though Dick was definitely an adult. But that wasn't a real problem, and Bruce knew it. Their current relationship and responsibilities were the significant ones.
Calling Dick to Gotham had only been a step in soothing things between them. Their relationship was still fraught with old tensions and new dangers. Trying to initiate something romantic brought a whole new unknown into the equation.
But if it worked, would the rewards be worth the challenge? Bruce thought that maybe they would. No, definitely. Having Dick would be worth a lot more. But that would be really having Dick. Dick being there, with him, all the time. No hasty visits between Gotham and Bludhaven, no wondering about the degree of their commitment. He wanted everything, and he wanted it for the long haul.
'Because I don't just want him, I need him and I love him.'
There was that second problem. Bruce couldn't leave Gotham. Being Batman had always been the most important thing in his life. He needed it, and knew that Gotham needed it from him.
Bruce couldn't leave, and he couldn't ask Dick to come back. The man might do it, but leaving Bludhaven, his work there unfinished, would shatter the fragile independence he'd fought for. And then any relationship they had would lose its balance, faltering.
'Well, I'll enjoy his...friendship?' he hesitated, 'while he's here.' Shifting in bed, a twinge of pain came from his side. 'Which could be a while longer yet.'
Eventually, in the early hours of the morning, Bruce gave up on more sleep and ventured down to the Batcave to get some work done. 'And see Dick when he comes in,' he admitted to himself.
A call came through from the JLA. Putting it on audio, Bruce quickly surmised that the whole team must be there when Clark greeted him with, "Batman?"
"Superman."
"If you recall the information you gave us on Medai," he hinted, and Bruce quickly called up the file Dick had put together, "the situation has worsened. Batman, we need," there was a significant pause, "your help."
"That shouldn't be a problem," he reassured.
"The Medai took Green Lantern when he was attempting to twist the focus of their Medus collective, the result of the finally perfected incantation which had caused this crisis. They're draining his ring and we need to get into their hideout covertly and break up their gestalt. Flash can get Green Lantern out and away if one of the key members of their mass mind can be incapacitated without them raising their defences. Green Arrow's not here, couldn't be found quickly enough, and they're prepared for the rest of us."
There was a pause, as Bruce quickly calculated the best strategy, before he realised it wasn't his responsibility.
"You'll have your help," he promised obliquely. "In Arizona, outside the Medai collective's range. Batman out."
Tapping another button, he said quietly, "Batman, come in as soon as possible." Then he settled to wait.
Within a very few minutes, Dick was back.
"Bruce?" he questioned.
"The Medai have a complete block over the northern half of Arizona. And they've taken Green Lantern. Justice League have a rescue planned, but they need a..." he paused, "normal human to go in and temporarily disrupt the collective, so Flash can retrieve him. Green Arrow couldn't go. They want you."
Dick grimaced. "They want you, you mean."
Bruce raised an eyebrow. "Superman called," he noted, both of them understanding his meaning.
Dick smiled slightly, before looking worried.
"I'll be working with Wally, of all people. I mean, Superman knows, J'onn will, but you don't want your cover completely blown, and Wally knows me really, really well."
There was a flash of jealousy, as Bruce thought 'how well?' before remembering Linda Park. He was able to respond with a calm voice.
"Just don't talk much. Try to be...grim. And upon no account make jokes."
Cracking a smile, Dick said, "Yes, oh grim one." Bruce smiled in return.
Setting his shoulders, Dick remembered all the pain and courage, and packed his boisterousness into the corner of his consciousness. Bruce looked him over, before nodding once and raising a hand in farewell.
After a moment (several minutes, actually) of trepidation, Dick finally swung out of the plane and stepped over to Superman.
"Batman," he was greeted.
His "Where?" was taciturn and demanding.
Superman quirked his eyebrows, looking him up and down. Finally, in a measured voice, he said, "You go in there," pointing to a low land entrance to the compound. "You break one of the Medai out of the collective, Flash will use the break in their shields to retrieve Green Lantern, while I disable any mercenaries or guards. J'onn's going to try and meld to the collective when the woman breaks out of it. Aquaman's not...entirely comfortable in Arizona. He's at headquarters. He'll transport down if needed."
Dick nodded, looked at his target, and stated, "I'll signal," before disappearing.
Wally zipped over to Clark, abandoning his wary distance now that Batman was gone.
"Did The Man seem different to you, Big Blue?"
"No," was the snappy answer. "Now be ready. He'll signal."
'He'll signal.' Wally winced. 'Ookay.'
The others were set to return to JLA headquarters, and Dick was heading to his plane, when and imp of mischief caught him. The danger was past, and it wasn't like he'd had a brain transplant.
Turning towards the waiting group, he growled, "Good work, Flash."
Wally immediately looked flustered, but he also looked as if he was barely restraining himself from clicking his heels and saluting. Finally, he nodded an acknowledgment. Dick turned away again to hide a grin.
He enjoyed baiting his friend, even if Wally wasn't in a position to properly enjoy it. Still, it wasn't fair. Only Superman could appreciate the joke, and Dick wasn't entirely confident of the Man of Steel's sense of humour.
Mind made up, he said in something like his normal voice, "Flash. Wait."
Wally quaked. Clark smiled inwardly. The others finally finished their clean up and went back to HQ.
Flash was left standing alone, filled with trepidation.
Dick smiled, and Wally gawked at such an expression appearing below the lip of the cowl.
"Wally," Dick said warmly, lifting it from his head, "it's me."
"Dick! You bastard! Your did that on purpose." He flicked his own mask off.
Dick's grin only widened.
"Where's the big man?"
"He's...otherwise occupied."
"Okay." 'There's someone whose privacy I totally respect,' he added internally.
"I meant it though. Nice rescue buddy."
"Would have been nice if you'd said that, instead of," he deepened his voice, and added a drop of ice. "Good work, Flash."
"Yeah, well, I needed for everyone to have faith in my abilities while the operation was on."
"Hey, I've got a lot of respect for your abilities."
"Yeah." Suddenly, he grinned again. "So does Batman."
Wally's eyes widened. "Cool. Does this mean he's given you your wings?"
Dick gestured to his attire and posed.
"Sweet." It was barely an exhalation.
"I'm staying with him in Gotham," Dick commented.
Wally frowned, a hero's immediate concern coming to him.
"What's happening in Bludhaven?"
Dick shrugged. "I have some surveillance at hotspots, and there are still some kinks I worked into the criminal chain of command playing themselves out. I though I'd let them stew in their own filth for a little while. It might bring some defences down."
"As long as you're sure."
"I am."
And that was accepted without reservation.
"How are things on the Keystone front?"
Wally raked a hand through his hair. "I'm coping. At least things are okay at home."
"So Linda's okay?"
"Yeah, Linda's great. How about you?" he made a dramatic face. "How's living with Mr Scary vigilante?"
Dick's tone was mild. "He's my friend, Wally. He's a great guy."
This time Wally's dramatic face came naturally. "He's your friend now? I know he's great, but he's a great guy?"
"You don't know him, Wally."
"I know."
"Batman's only a part of him. He's complex, intelligent, committed and," a wistful not entered his voice, "Yes, he's a great guy."
Wally was impressed. "You sound like you worship him."
"No! No, I grew out of that. I, well, he's my friend."
"Okay man." Mr Insensitivity had a flash of insight. He looked at Dick out of the corner of his eye for a second. Then the cock up he'd made of his friend Harley's coming out came back to him, and he mentally chanted, 'He's the same person. He's the same person.' Mind a little over the shock, he voiced his suspicion.
"You're in love with him."
"What?" The dark head snapped up. Dick scanned his friend's face and found only acceptance and compassion.
He smiled ruefully. "Yeah, for a while."
Wally considered. "Living in unrequited land?"
Dick's smile grew a little sad. "Yeah, for a while."
There was a silence.
"Hey, Dick, you have fun...well, don't hurt yourself in Gotham, okay?"
Dick took the double warning on board.
"See you, Wally."
"Mrs Coake-Hastings, Master Dick."
Dick gave him a slightly baffled glance, before Lauren stepped into the room, and memory returned.
"Oh, Mrs Coake-Hastings. Thanks, Alfred."
Alfred departed.
"Would you like me to get Bruce? He's mobile, almost back to form."
"No. I wanted to speak to you."
"Really? Well, what can I do for you?"
"I just wanted to know if you two worked it out or not."
'Worked what out?"
"Your relationship."
"Our relationship? I guess so."
"Good." She sat down, her eyes going past Dick to the window. "He sounded so desperate, and it just wasn't right. Bruce ahs always been strong." She met his eyes and said frankly, "It's clear he can't be strong without you any more."
He had a sneaking suspicion she had misinterpreted the situation. He felt a little queasy at the thought of Bruce's reaction should she spread it around Gotham society.
"Er, Mrs Coake-Hastings..."
"Lauren."
"Dick. Lauren, Bruce needed me to take care of one of his private interests while he was incapacitated." He wouldn't meet her eyes. "I'm going back to Bludhaven tomorrow."
"Do you want to?" she probed.
"I have to. There's something I have to finish there."
She gave him a hard stare. Finally, she said, "Just make sure you come back."
"Yes," Bruce said, stepping into the room. Both Dick and Lauren quickly stood. "Just make sure you come back."
He walked to face Dick, and lifted a hand to run it lightly through that silky black hair.
"And Dick?"
"Hmm?" was as coherent as he could manage.
Bruce bent over and lightly brushed their lips together.
"Keep in touch."
To be continued...