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It was Damian first, of course. Damian had come first in a great many things since his arrival four years ago. (Was he truly almost fourteen now? He hadn’t grown too much. His mother reportedly assured him that this would not last.)
Bruce made a token effort to pry one eye open. Mornings like these, rainy ones after difficult patrols, made his bed criminally comfortable. Still… Years of vigilance had paid off. He still woke to the soft creak of the floorboard Damian had not yet learned to miss in the hallway outside. He knew it was Damian, then, because Damian was the only one who made that noise anymore, and also because today was Father’s Day.
A soft rap came on the door. Bruce checked the time on the LED by his bedside--- eight-thirty--- and begrudgingly decided that it was not too early for him to feign sleep. “C’min Damian.”
The door swung open on creaky hinges, revealing Damian in his favorite workout uniform. He’d clearly forgotten to tame his bedhead, and the sight made Bruce emotional for a brief moment; little details like that, little slips in decorum, meant that Damian had become comfortable in his own home with his own people.
“How did you know it was me?” the child demanded.
Bruce’s eye twitched; he’d received a killer concussion last night alongside his youngest. Hangovers, he thought distantly, were more fun. “I’m Batman.”
“Tt. Here.” Damian set a breakfast tray on Bruce’s bedside table, complete with juice, a dish of mixed vitamins and meds and supplements, buttered toast, crispy, and a little bowl of blueberries on the side. “Just how you like it.”
Bruce dragged himself to sit up, double checking that he was wearing pants--- Sometimes post-patrol decontamination made clothes very not worth the effort--- and scrubbed his eyes open. “Where’s Alfred?”
“Pennyworth has vacated the kitchen to allow me to attend to my duties.” Damian’s copper skin tinged with a slight blush. “I hope I’ve prepared your usual to satisfaction.”
Bruce allowed a sleepy smile to break through. He’d learned that extra facial tells were extra required with this one. The others could pretend to understand his silence, but Damian was afraid of things that only a smile could reassure. “It looks perfect.”
The boy visibly straightened, puffing out his chest. “Excellent. I shall accompany you through your morning. I wish to express my gratitude for all you’ve sacrificed.”
Bruce raised one eyebrow as he bit into the toast. Mmm. “Is that so?”
Damian nodded stoically, poised like a soldier in a line of inspection. “Grayson tells me it is the way, and I can think of no better gift to give you than my undivided assistance.”
Bruce finished the buttery toast, downed his meds, and polished off the orange juice in order to suppress another smile. Smiling would be poorly timed; one could easily see that Damian was so very serious. “If you plan on keeping me company this morning, you’d better change into pajamas.”
Damian’s brow flickered. “Father?”
“Today is for sleeping in.” Bruce sank back into his welcoming mattress with a hearty sigh, eyelids already heavy. “I hope you’ll join me.”
“I… Yes, of course. As you wish.” Damian creak-creak-creaked from the room. The rain pit-pit-pattered on the window. Bruce breathed deeply around the distant pain of bruised ribs. All was quiet. All…
He snorted awake when the bed sank beneath a new weight. “I apologize, Father. I thought you meant---”
Bruce turned over, scooping Damian close without another word. The boy squeaked, likely an accidental noise, and remained awkwardly stiff for all of two seconds before Bruce rubbed gentle circles into his back. Damian’s stout back, he knew, was his most vulnerable. The boy eased, wriggling a little to get comfortable, and pillowed his head in the crook of Bruce’s shoulder.
Bruce hummed contentedly. “Good?”
“Yes,” Damian’s muffled voice answered. “but only because you desire it.”
Bruce closed his eyes with another secret smile. His son fell asleep before he did.
Sunday morning crepes had never tasted so good. Well… Sunday noon ones. Bruce bit into another between sips of black coffee. Perfection.
“You really didn’t have to do this, Pennyworth,” Damian fussed again. “I had his breakfast perfectly handled.”
“So you did, Master Damian, which is why we are now eating lunch.” Alfred topped off Bruce’s coffee with a smile that crinkled at the corners of his eyes. “Besides, it is a special day.”
“Which is why,” Bruce hurried before Alfred could interrupt. “you should take the day off.”
“Spend such a wonderful day forgoing important work?” Alfred set the kettle back on the stove with a pointed rap. “How dare you suggest such a thing?”
“That’s where you got your insane work ethic,” Tim muttered groggily, flopping down at Bruce’s right. He tossed a key on the table. “Happy Birthday.”
Bruce carefully examined the key’s ridges. This was a copy of the Batmobile’s. “Tim?”
“Hn.”
“It’s not my birthday.”
“Hn.”
“It’s Father’s Day.” Bruce glanced uncertainly at Alfred’s back. He was receiving no help, it seemed, with today’s tough conversations. This was only the first. “Not that you… I mean, you don’t…”
Tim pillowed his messy bedhead on his folded arms. “You meant to adopt me, didn’t you?”
Bruce considered his next words very carefully. When he spoke, he surprised himself with the softness that had crept in. “Yes, I did.”
Tim peeked out at him with an unreadable eye. “Then Happy Being-A-Dad-Birthday from your second favorite son.”
Bruce blinked rapidly. “Who’s… my first favorite?”
“Jason,” Tim muttered at the same time that Damian snapped “Grayson”. They stared at each other.
“It’s me, actually,” Steph said proudly, skipping into the room from approximately nowhere. “I’m the favorite son.”
“Ugh, fudge off, Brown; I got here first.”
“I am quite literally here to pick you up for therapy, Drake. Don’t get nasty with me.”
Damian opened his mouth to make a comment. Bruce shot him a look. Damian shut it.
“Oh, also, happy Father’s Day, B.” Steph dropped a colorfully wrapped package at Bruce’s plate, pecking his cheek. “Don’t overthink it, don’t make it weird. Just take the damn gift.”
Bruce gingerly plucked the box from his plate of slightly squished crepes. Something traitorously warm bloomed in his chest. “Thank you Steph.”
“Thank me by wearing it. I’ll be in the car, Timmy, okay?” Steph hesitated by the door, glancing back over her shoulder. She was wearing glittery makeup today. She only wore glittery makeup when she was unsure of herself. “Thanks, you know? For… everything you’ve done, I guess.”
Bruce opened his mouth to reply--- What would he even say?--- but Steph was already gone.
“Well…” Tim heaved himself from his seat, sighing. “I’d better dress to impress. Maybe she’ll make it up to me with ice cream.”
Bruce got to his feet, hurrying to catch his son before he could think about it too hard. “Tim.”
The boy turned in the hallway, squinting blearily. “Yeah?”
Bruce held up the key. “What is it?”
“Oh.” Tim shrugged casually. “The Batmobile; I fixed it. I added those upgrades you’ve been making a list for. A few extras, too. Lemme know what you think.”
Bruce approached carefully, pinning Tim in place with his gaze alone. “You didn’t have to do this for me.”
Tim lowered his eyes to his bare feet, shrugging defensively. “You really care about everyone. You deserve it.”
Bruce reached out, resting a very hesitant hand to Tim’s shoulder. “I care about you, too.”
Tim’s voice grew oddly husky. “I know.”
“Oh?”
“Mhm.”
Bruce gently pulled the boy closer. Tim went easily; he always did when someone else made the first move. The boy was painfully small in Bruce’s arms. He was nineteen next month. He didn’t seem nineteen in moments like these. “I…”
“Stop.” Tim smushed his face into Bruce’s pectoral. “Don’t make this any more awkward than it already is.”
Bruce breathed a quick laugh, tightened his hug, and stopped.
“You weren’t gonna leave without me, were you?”
Bruce pulled his suit jacket over his shoulders before adjusting his new tie. An ugly yellow thing with bats printed across its length--- Steph had very interesting taste. (At least it wasn’t a Green Lantern tie.) “I’m afraid I’m under strict orders to go alone, Duke. You know how your sister is.”
Duke leaned against the doorway in the mirror’s reflection, snorting. “Yeah, Cass is the jealous type. Just promise to bring back a slice of cake, yeah?”
“I’m not sure if they have cake at operas, but if they do, you’ll be the first to know.” Bruce turned around, forcing his hesitation to the side. Duke was obviously the more nervous of the two, and despite having more experience now than ever before, Bruce still wasn’t sure what to say to his newest. Perhaps a prompt? “What can I do for you?” There, that was alright. Neutral with a friendly read; easily positive; faintly optimistic, and above all, an offer of help that masked the helplessness. Don’t say it, Duke. Not to me. Not for this.
Duke awkwardly cleared his throat. “Yeah, I’m not staying long; I slept over to talk with Damian about classes in the fall. He wants to take some together, apparently, for ‘bonding purposes’ or whatever, I dunno. Anyway… I just… I guess I wanted to say---”
“Don’t,” Bruce interrupted quickly.
Duke’s eyebrows hit his hairline. “Don’t?”
Bruce wrestled with his assumptions. “No… forgive me.”
Duke narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Y’know I was gonna thank you, right?”
Bruce’s jaw flexed. “Yes.”
“Y’know, for being there… training me… taking me in…”
“Yes.”
“Being my guiding compass after that whole thing with my parents… Ring a bell?”
Bruce flexed his fingers at his sides. He wished his tells wouldn’t overpower his training in moments like these. Batman was easy to hide behind. Bruce Wayne, Awkward Father… not so much. “I don’t… deserve that. Everything I’ve… given… was the least. I couldn’t possibly make up for---”
“Make up for what exactly?” Duke cut in, suddenly sharp. “Make up for my parents, for foster care? No, maybe for the Joker; that’s it. Y’see, everything everywhere that happens in a bad way to good people is totally your fault. You might as well quit while you’re behind.”
Bruce rubbed at his forehead, suddenly regretful. “We’ve had this conversation.”
“A couple times, yeah.” Duke’s gentling voice got closer. “Look… I don’t hold you responsible for other people’s fuckin’ bad luck. You wouldn’t blame Dick for how bad Damian was turning out; you wouldn’t blame Jason for his death.”
Bruce opened his eyes with a raised brow. “Both of those are my fault.”
“Look…” Duke pressed his hands to Bruce’s shoulders with a truly menacing glare. “You are being way too complicated about this. I sincerely, truly, deeply thank you from the bottom of my heart for everything you’ve done for me. Happy Father’s Day.”
Bruce blinked quickly to keep his eyes free of tears. Duke patted his shoulder in mock sympathy, turned around, and left. Cass popped up in the doorway not two seconds later, sparkly black dress swirling around her knees, and cocked her bow-adorned head at Bruce’s expression. “What?”
Bruce straightened his tie again, clearing his throat. “Duke.”
Cass’s eyes crinkled when she smiled. (Bruce would do anything to make her smile like that.) BIG affection very menacing? she signed.
“Yes.” Bruce sighed fondly, holding his bent arm to be taken by the princess at his side. These kids would be the death of him. “Let’s take the Bugatti. We don’t want to be late.”
Dates with Cass were rare, so Bruce tried not to miss them. In this case, it seemed he had no choice. Kate texted saying she was on call for emergencies, and Lucius, bless his irritating soul, had locked Bruce out of his own company. This would be easy to thwart if he really wanted to, but the message was well taken. Take the day OFF.
Still, this wasn’t too bad. Bruce leaned back in his seat, smiling benignly as the opera sang itself to a close. Cass had chosen something lovely, something light, and she held his hand every time anything remotely tense happened on stage.
It’s okay, Bruce wanted to tell her. I am not afraid of the arts, he wanted to tell her. This was but the precursor to pain, not the cause of it. This is different. We are different. I am different.
He said nothing, but indulged her. Cass absently stroked his scarred knuckles in time to the singing, and when the lights came on, Bruce planted a kiss in her short hair before stretching from his seat. “Pizza?”
Cass lit up like a Christmas tree. “Yes.”
“Mr. Wayne, fancy that!!!”
Bruce closed his eyes for the briefest of sighs. “Carter… fancy that.”
“How goes it, man?” Carter hit Bruce’s back with entirely too much force, guffawing. “Fit as ever, I see.”
“I like to run.” Bruce glanced at the children at Mr. Carter’s side, both of whom were fighting yawns. “Here for Father’s Day?”
“Yeeeees, you know the kids.” Mr. Carter wrapped his arm around his son, chuckling jovially. “Got to keep the little ones happy.”
“Yes,” Bruce hastened as Cass took his arm. Perfect; an out before they were even thirty seconds into conversation. “On that note, I’m afraid I must dash… The princess mustn’t be kept waiting.”
Cass giggled as they slipped away through the crowd. “Silly Brucie.”
“On the contrary.” Bruce opened the passenger door, handing Cass in. “I take my work as public father very seriously.”
“VERY serious,” Cass agreed stoically, taking her headband off to shake out her hair. The little upturned lip gave her away. “Very, very serious.”
Bruce grumbled to keep up appearances, but there was no fooling Cass. She knew how fond he was, and she smiled about it all the way to the pizza place on the other side of the district. When they pulled into a grimy parking spot, she promptly turned with cupped hands.
Bruce pulled out a plastic baggie with twenty quarters inside. He’d prepared for this moment. “Knock yourself out.”
Cass hopped ahead of him with a happy skip, not content to wait for open doors this time around. Bruce joined the line for the buffet with an almost-smile, scanning the environment for threats before watching Cass at the little coin slot machines. She loved the mystery of the bubble toys.
“Bruce,” a much more familiar voice greeted. “Look at that; we were just talking about you.”
“Commissioner,” Bruce greeted before even turning around. He fought to keep a neutral expression. Gordon was wearing the exact same tie. “They got you, too, I see.”
“Barbara says it makes my eyes pop,” Gordon chuckled good-naturedly, clapping Bruce’s shoulder with the appropriate amount of force.
“Aw, you guys are adorable.” Barbara wheeled up to keep their place in line, smiling with a hint of mischief in those green eyes. Her shirt matched; a yellow blouse with a little bat over the breast pocket. “Just a couple of public servants in their matching ties.”
Bruce made a mental note to watch out for the girls’ group shopping trips. This was far from the worst prank they’d pulled, but with Steph… better safe than sorry. “What are you doing here?”
“A post-lecture lunch.” Gordon shoved his hands into his pockets, briefly exposing the holstered pistol behind his suit jacket. For all that, Bruce hadn’t seen him this… relaxed… in a good long while. “Barb thought I could benefit from a new exhibit at the museum.”
“Oh?” Bruce handed over a fifty, picked up a plate, and moved down the line. “And what did you learn?”
Gordon glanced around, making sure Barbara was a sufficient distance before leaning in with a hoarse whisper. “Not a bloody thing.”
Bruce almost smiled again as he plated brownies for Cass. She usually liked dessert first. “Run into any coworkers there?”
“No, thank God. I like to keep my days off sacred.” Gordon sat down in the table across from Bruce’s booth, sighing, and loosened his new tie. “I thought we’d never get here.”
Cass chose this moment to return from the slot machines, fingers full of fake gold rings, palms full of little sticky hands, press-on tattoos, and bouncy balls, a mouth full of gum, and a neck full of plastic necklaces. Her eyes shone. “Babs.”
“Hi,” Barbara held her hand out, laughing. “Which pick do you have for me today?”
Bruce focused on his greasy pizza while the girls exchanged fake jewelry. Despite the crowd, it was quiet here. Peaceful. No otherworldly threats, no Justice League, no case… Just his tie and his pizza and his little girl.
“Oh,” Barbara finally spoke up, pausing on her first plate when her father went back for seconds. “I’ve got something for you.”
Bruce’s heart sank. Cass, lovely thing, was fiddling with her phone and very helpfully NOT helping. “Yyyyyyyes?”
“Relax, I know you’d rather have heart surgery than acknowledge anyone actually likes you, so here.” Barbara handed over a wrapped rectangular box. “It’s not much, but I already helped Lucius redesign your servers’ security last week, so I figured this was alright. You can open it when you’re alone if you prefer.”
Bruce cleared his strange-feeling throat. “Barbara,” he felt compelled to point out, “your father is right there.”
“And he’s getting much better treatment than you are.” Barbara’s eyes twinkled behind her new glasses. (When had she gotten new glasses?) “Just take it. I care about you.”
Bruce did not have anything to say to that, and thankfully, Barbara didn’t seem to want an answer. Cass finished eating with a silly grin, then hung back, letting Bruce get into the car alone.
Well, Bruce thought helplessly. He picked gently at the wrapping, peeling it away. Inside the markless black box was a beautiful pen set--- three of them with an inkwell included--- and hiding beneath the foam was a flash drive. Bruce didn’t bother checking it for malware before plugging it into his tablet.
Barbara’s smiling face appeared on the screen. “Hi B. Let’s cut straight to the chase, shall we? I’m going to marry your son someday. I want you to know how special he is to me before you realize he’s not your little lad anymore, so here follows a list of reasons Dick Grayson is an amazing human being because of you. First… his smile. Dick Grayson has a lot of smiles, of course, but he got one of them, the shy, unsure smile, from you.”
Bruce sat back, hiding his quivering chin in his hand, and listened.
It was upon exiting his personal shower--- a place no one else had any business stepping--- that Bruce was attacked with red glitter from a hidden lever over the door. He automatically held his breath, then groaned when he realized what he was dealing with. Another stupid prank--- Tim? Steph? Surely not Damian; that child was still too afraid of Bruce for his own---
Something crinkled under his foot. Ah… a note. Blackmail?
Bruce blinked at the handwriting before he’d even read it. Jason.
“Nelson’s @ 6:00 sharp. Wear a suit. Gucci, not kevlar.”
Bruce glanced hurriedly at his watch, rinsed off most of the glitter, and pulled out a new suit. Maybe he was still falling for a prank of some kind, but this was too fragile a chance to miss. He had eight minutes to get downtown.
He made it in seven, speeding tickets be damned, and hurried up the lavish front steps to the door. This building was supposedly run behind the scenes by the likes of Falcone, and after him, whichever richest crime lord came next. Despite his best efforts to get an inside look, even Bruce Wayne hadn’t been able to claim a reservation before now. “Wayne?”
The burly man guarding the lobby glanced down at his list, sniffed disdainfully, and stepped aside. “Right this way, sir.”
Bruce finished pinning his cufflinks as he walked, scanning the environment around him. Gold… marble… and a real diamond chandelier. The other occupants, shifty though they were, blended right in with their thread count. Why had Jason invited him here? To flex his obvious power in Gotham’s underbelly? To show off his less-than-legal wealth?
“Look what the cat dragged in,” a familiar voice drawled. Jason stood up from a table in the empty private wing, nodding to the guard. He was taller than Bruce--- He got taller every time they met--- and his hair was slicked back. The white forelock complimented his red suit. “That’ll be all, Marx. Let Luigi know we’ll order shortly.”
Bruce kept his hands at his sides, fingers twitching. Jason’s teal eyes flicked briefly downwards, clocking the movement with seasoned quickness. Did he know Bruce just wanted a hug? (Did he know how badly Bruce wanted to feel his heartbeat?)
“Do they think we’re here for Father’s Day,” Bruce asked aloud instead, “or an arms deal?”
Jason smirked brashly, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Everyone knows you triple check your weapon contracts. Shinier than Lex’s bald head, Brucie Wayne. They probably think you’re here for me to blackmail.”
Bruce tried for a smile. “It’s good to see you.”
Jason’s eyebrows flickered. Had the brief legitimacy caught him off guard? “I hope you’re not allergic to shrimp.”
Deflection upon deflection. Jason was nervous. (So was Bruce.) “You don’t really want to be here.”
Jason laughed harshly. “Oh, I see how it is. You’re Gotham’s darling; you would never stoop to accept a favor from a place you can’t access yourself. Just admit it; you’ve paid through the nose to get in here.”
Bruce allowed his anger to settle. What was he really feeling? (What was Jason feeling?) “This isn’t exactly your style.”
Jason shrugged casually. “Maybe I’ve learned to enjoy the perks of high society.”
Bruce stepped closer, throwing caution to the winds, and rested his hand around his son’s shoulder. “I know someplace even better.”
Jason bit into his second double decker burger like it was the last food he would ever taste. “Y’re so right. This’s much better.”
Bruce picked at his Jokerized fries, grunting quietly. The status hierarchy of the city’s depths seemed so far away out here in the hills across the bridge. You could even see a few stars poking through the hazy clouds.
Jason loosened his tie with a soft burp. “It’s pretty.”
Bruce turned his gaze back to the city. “Gotham?”
“Yeah.” Jason shrugged defensively. “There’s a painful beauty built in the streets up close, but y’know. Aesthetics are nice, too. Hey, you have glitter on your ear.”
The smile couldn’t be helped this time. Moments like these were too precious to fake. The car hummed steadily beneath them, a warm companion to the chilly breeze, and their suit jackets languished in the damp grass. It felt a lot like a memory. (It felt a lot like something new.)
“Admit it,” Jason finally poked, bundling up their trash. “You were impressed.”
Bruce made a show of rolling his eyes. “Do you have any idea how many favors I called in just to meet the owner of that place? It wasn’t the real owner, either. I’ve been scammed.”
“Hey, you missed your chance.” Jason sprawled back on the warm hood of the car, smirking lazily. “You could have investigated between the courses of shrimp.”
Bruce smiled at the stars above the distant Wayne Tower. “This is better.”
“… Yeah. This is better.”
It was two in the morning by the time Bruce plodded through the front door. The house was by no means asleep, but everything was quiet for now. Alfred was waiting on the back patio. Tim was on patrol with the girls, and Damian was home with that concussion he’d definitely healed from but was too afraid of the butler’s wrath to test yet. Duke was watching TV with him in the upstairs den by the sound of it, and Jason… with any luck… was safe and sound at his Crime Alley apartment where Bruce had left him.
Bruce dropped his suit jacket on the back of the couch before collapsing into its depths. The room was nearly dark, but he knew that shadow. “Dick.”
The boy looked up from his game of cat’s cradle with a soft smile. Not so much a boy anymore, Bruce thought fondly, but that lively spark in his eyes… That he’d never grown out of.
“Hey,” Dick greeted quietly. He sat up--- Was that Bruce’s hoodie? That was definitely Bruce’s hoodie--- and scooted close enough to check Bruce’s pulse. “You didn’t abuse your liver, I hope.”
“No more than usual,” Bruce retorted sardonically, but he couldn’t help a tiny smile at the way Dick’s nose wrinkled in mock annoyance. “I’m alright, Dick.”
His eldest shook the cat’s cradle onto the coffee table. “Was it good?”
Bruce closed his eyes to cast back. Had he misread Jason’s enjoyment? “Yes… it was.”
Dick hummed quietly, crossing from the lounge chair to the couch at Bruce’s side. He didn’t offer advice or a hug. He didn’t speak. He sat there. Silently.
Bruce stared at the portrait over the fireplace for a while, memorizing the features of a man he could barely remember. Dick’s presence was… steady. Grounding. “This is nice.”
“Yeah.” Dick leaned his weight against Bruce’s arm. “I thought you could use a minute of peace and quiet after such a hectic day with the kids.”
“Hm.” Bruce closed his eyes again. Things were always… simpler… with Dick. They’d been through a lot together. There was an effortless communication between the two of them that had nothing to do with words.
Still… Some words were worth saying aloud. “I love you.”
“I want that on record.”
“No.”
“Happy Father’s Day, Bruce.”
Genuine happiness pressed against Bruce’s ribs. “Happy Father’s Day, Dick.”
“C’mon, you did most of it.”
“That is not the least bit true. He stopped killing because of you.”
“Fine, a shared success. I feel old already.”
“Do your joints click every time you sit down?”
“No, but I can pop most of ‘em out of their sockets.”
“You should see Leslie about that.”
“Mph. An occupational hazard.” A smile entered Dick’s voice. “Do you remember… the first time I dislocated my shoulder? You were so worried. Me, I was in too much pain to remember it all, but I’m pretty sure you yelled at Alfred once we got home.”
Bruce scrubbed a hand down his face. “How could I forget? I don’t think I’ve ever regretted raising my voice more than at that very second.”
“The LOOK he gave you. I was half sedated an’ even I got chills.” Dick huffed amusedly. “My recovery was the fun part. I discovered that I could pop my shoulder out at will. It took some twisting, but…”
“I remember that.” Bruce suppressed a hearty cringe. “Vividly.”
Dick shook with silent laughter. “You were horrified.”
“I thought you’d re-injured yourself.”
“Doing what exactly, homework?” Dick settled down with a parting wheeze. “I’ve never seen that look on your face. Priceless. Then… when I laughed…”
“… It made me laugh, too.”
“… Yeah.”
Bruce rested his head against his son’s, taking his time. This… This was peace. Feelings he couldn’t put to language floated gently through his thoughts--- Pride… Affection… Incredible, potent surety that Dick was always exactly as he should have been. The light at Bruce’s side; the prodigal son who’d forged his own path, yet… somehow… always found his way home again. “We were the best, you and I.”
“We still are, Dad. We still are.”
“Long day what?”
Bruce took a seat in the last creaky rocking chair, sighing. “There are so many of them.”
“And each one, in their own way, wished to give you thanks.” Alfred poured the hot tea waiting for them on the patio’s table, bathrobe notwithstanding, and gave Bruce a little wink in the light from the kitchen. “A true success.”
Bruce took a long sip before answering. (His throat felt very strange.) “I’m not sure how much I can take credit for… Those kids are extraordinary people… but thank you. I had a good teacher.”
Alfred lifted his teacup in salute. “I got this set from my maternal grandfather, you know. He was young when he died, but he fought his way through the whole of the great war with brand new china on his back. A gift for his ladylove. I always heard he was a right old gentleman.”
Bruce detected hesitation. “And was he?”
“Hardly. He stepped out on his wife. Twice.”
“I’m sorry.”
Alfred rocked steadily for a few minutes. A quiet symphony of crickets sang from the grounds, and the last of the night’s fireflies bobbed in a gentle dance around the topiaries. Alfred had spent so much time on those topiaries.
“The first man I met who restored my faith in fatherhood,” Alfred finally murmured. “was yours. Thomas was a bit of a stoic, but he always took the time to let you and your mother know just how much you meant to him. Admirable, I thought.”
Bruce’s mouth twitched. “You emulated him.”
“I suppose…” Alfred sighed heavily. “I tried my best.”
“You could have left, you know.” Bruce swirled his remaining tea, thoughtful. He found he didn’t begrudge the idea as he once might have. “I had distant relatives… family friends. Nannies. This didn’t have to be your burden.”
Alfred reached across the slight distance between them, squeezing Bruce’s shoulder. His grip was still so strong. “My dear lad. You of all people should know that burdens can be blessings in disguise. I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.”
Bruce swallowed thickly. That strangeness in his throat had returned. “I couldn’t think of anything to get you, anything you needed.”
Alfred released a belting laugh. (It made Bruce jump.) “I lack nothing but hair, and believe me, I have received my share of gifted toupees this weekend. Stephanie, I believe. The girl has a delightfully blunt sense of humor.”
Bruce reached up to grasp Alfred’s wizened hand, squeezing it. “There must be something I can get you.”
“Take another day off.”
“Alf…”
“What, you don’t think I’m serious?” Alfred offered a soft smile in the dim lighting. The genuine emotion gave Bruce pause. “Take tomorrow to leave Gotham in the hands of those wonderful prodigies you call family. It’ll be Monday; less crowded. We can have a game of mini golf. I’ll even give you a fair shot at victory.”
Bruce’s eyebrow inched towards his hairline. “You’re getting cocky in your old age, don’t you think?”
Alfred cuffed the back of Bruce’s head. “Pah!!! Very well then. I shall beat you soundly, and enjoy it, too.”
Bruce tried not to smile. His face hurt from smiling so much. Darn this family. “Fine. A day off it is.”
“It won’t even kill you.”
“I really couldn’t have asked… I mean… after their deaths…”
“Shhhhhhh. I know.” Alfred sighed contentedly, topping off his tea. “Let’s save the exuberant displays of affection for my death bed, shall we? Just look at those gorgeous fireflies.”