DISCLAIMER: The characters and the setting featured within are the property 
of DC Comics and are used without permission, in a non-profit setting meant 
solely for the enjoyment of myself and the readers. 

In the nature of self-improvement, all constructive criticism is welcomed and 
appreciated. Please direct specific comments on content and format to the 
author. 

There’s Got to Be a Morning After
by Vicki Napier (VNapier@aol.com)

***

Dick Grayson accomplished the task Bruce had assigned him. He took Blackgate 
Prison back from under the control of Lock Up. But the price extracted from 
him was huge.
 
Dick Grayson lay battered and beaten on Barbara's sofa. He was exhausted 
beyond any point he had ever been before. He had no idea now he managed to 
make it to her apartment or even how long he had been there. His mind was 
virtually numb. 

But his body wasn't. He hurt. He hurt all over. He tried to move once but his 
body did not seem to respond. All he managed to do was send wave after wave 
of excruciating pain shooting through his entire body. 

So now Dick just lay there, barely coherent, but confident that he was safe. 
Voices began to worm their way into his thoughts. Barbara? Bruce? He just 
wasn't sure. He tried to concentrate. Tried to hear what the voices were 
saying. 

"....a real piece of work, you know that!" Barbara was livid. She had known 
Bruce Wayne for many years. There had been many times over those years when 
she had been angry, even incensed with Bruce, but never before had she 
actually wanted to hurt him as she did now. She wanted to hurt him deeply. 

"You sent Dick into that hell hole, alone, to do an impossible job! No back 
up. No support. No nothing!" she practically screamed at Bruce though the 
communications link. "Then you have the nerve to ask me if I've heard from 
him. If he succeeded." Her voice lowered, becoming icy cold. "Not one thought 
as to whether Dick is okay, whether he is hurt, whether or not he is even 
ALIVE! You really are a cold-hearted bastard. Dick is your son. He'd do 
anything for you, and you just don't give a damn about him." 

When Bruce didn't appear to respond to her accusations, Barbara lost whatever 
hope she had that he might be the least bit human. That he cared for his son 
anymore than he did any other 'tool' he used in his own private little war. 

"Yes, he retook Blackgate. It's under control of GCPD. What's left of it 
anyway." She stared coldly at the image on her computer screen. With no 
further hint of emotion, she added, "if there is nothing else, I have other 
things to handle." Without waiting for a reply, she severed the transmission, 
unable to trust herself any longer. 

***

Bruce didn't flinch once under the verbal assault Barbara launched at him. 
Not visibly, anyway. Inwardly, however, his heart skipped more than on beat. 
Barbara would not be this upset if something had not happened. If she did not 
know something specific. Had Dick been seriously injured? Had she even heard 
from him at all? Bruce knew he had to find out. 

***

Barbara turned to study the figure resting on her sofa. Dick was hurting. 
Soon after his arrival, Barbara managed to contact Dr. Leslie Thompkins. 
Barbara tried to describe Dick's condition so that Leslie would have some 
idea of what medical supplies she would need to treat him. But there was just 
so much blood, so many bruises. Leslie arrived almost immediately, bringing a 
multitude of medical supplies with her. Well, as multitude as it got in 
Gotham under the current circumstances. 

How Dick managed to make it to her apartment in his condition was beyond 
either woman's comprehension. He had a fractured leg and arm. A dislocated 
shoulder. Several broken and bruised ribs. He appeared to be half drowned. 
The torn and strained muscles and ligaments out numbered the uninjured ones. 
Not to mention the innumerable cuts, scrapes and bruises that covered the 
rest of his body, leaving him weak from blood loss. 

And if all that wasn't bad enough, Leslie said he had an extremely severe 
concussion and needed to be kept awake. As exhausted as Dick was, keeping him 
awake was proving to be quite an accomplishment. 

Dick's uniform had been so badly damaged, there was nothing Barbara could do 
but cut the rest of it off of him. Any other time, the thought of undressing 
him would have made her blush and brought erotic thoughts to her mind. But 
Dick's poor body was so badly beaten, and he was in so much pain, that all 
she could think of was trying to make him as comfortable as possible until 
Leslie arrived to provide medical attention. Leslie brought a pair of 
surgical scrubs from the clinic, and they had dressed Dick in them. 

Barbara's heart broke as she looked at him. She quickly wheeled over next to 
him and gently brushed back the hair from his forehead, making sure he was 
still conscious. Looking down at her crippled legs, she mourned the loss in 
her life. Not only had that damned bullet cost her the use of her legs, it 
had cost her any chance to be with the man she loved more than anything. She 
could never shackle him to a life with a cripple. 

Dick moaned, "Babs?" 

His voice was hoarse and barely above a whisper. She could feel the pain 
reverberating off the walls as he opened his eyes. He was in extreme 
distress. 

"It's not his fault, Babs." 

"Don't talk, Dick. You need to stay awake, but don't try to talk. You are too 
weak." Barbara spoke soothingly. It seemed that all Dick wanted was to climb 
into the black abyss of unconsciousness where there was no pain. But before 
he could, it appeared to Barbara that he was determined to tell her 
something. He wanted to make her understand something he thought was very 
important. 

"It's not Bruce's fault." Dick tried again. "He loves me. I know he loves me. 
He just can't show me anymore." Tears welled in Dick's eyes. "I let him down 
when he needed me the most. I can't be trusted with his heart anymore." Dick 
closed his eyes as his exhaustion tried to take over. 

"Dick, what the hell are you talking about?" Barbara was shocked by his 
statements. What on earth could he be thinking? He had never let Bruce down. 
Just look at him now! Beaten to a pulp, and thinking he had let Bruce down? 
This was beyond logic. 

"When I was shot," Dick continued weakly, "he was afraid. He needed me to 
stay. He needed me to help him believe that he wasn't going to lose me. But I 
ran away. I left him when he needed me the most." Dick paused to catch his 
breath. "Bruce was always there for me. I remember him holding me after the 
nightmares, when I was little. He could have just let Alfred handle that 
stuff. Alfred did when Bruce wasn't home. But when Bruce was home, *he* was 
always there for me. Always. But when he needed me to be there for him, I ran 
away like a spoiled little kid." 

Dick tried to turn his head to look at Barbara. The pain that shot through 
his skull took his breath away. 

"Dick, easy." Barbara soothed him. "Don't try to move. You are hurt. You need 
to lie still." Barbara didn't feel that Dick needed to be talking to her 
about Bruce, but at least he was remaining conscious. She was still extremely 
angry with Bruce, but was beginning to regret her emotional outburst. 

"Bruce loved me then and he still loves me now." Dick stubbornly continued 
on. "But I hurt him. He hid his heart away because he was hurting. Bruce 
loves me, but it can't be the way it was. But it is my fault, not his." 

Barbara looked curiously at Dick. He had closed his eyes and it was almost as 
if he was talking to himself instead of to her. He was on a lot of pain 
medication and his face had that dazed overmedicated look as well. 

"I know it's my fault. I know because I did it again. I did it to her, too. 
She loved me but I let her down, too. I wasn't there when she needed me. I 
failed her and now I can't be trusted with her heart either." 

Barbara took his hand in hers. She knew he felt he had let Kory down. He had 
made the comment one that he should have followed her when she left. He 
should have done more to help her. But he didn't. He was too consumed with 
his own pain to even consider hers. Barbara had tried to tell him he was 
wrong, but she could tell by the look in his eyes that she had not succeeded. 

"Dick, honey, you've got to stay awake." Barbara whispered in his ear. 
"Please, Dick, I know you want to go to sleep, but it's important that you 
don't. Not just yet." 

"I wasn't there to protect her." Dick began speaking again. This time it was 
obvious he was unaware of Barbara's presence. He was speaking thoughts 
without realizing he was actually saying the words out loud. "Bruce built the 
emotional walls to protect his heart from me. She knows I can't be trusted 
with her heart either. She just hides behind that chair instead." Dick 
finally gave in to the darkness and slipped away from the world. 

Barbara paled as she realized he was talking about her. He thought it was his 
fault? He blamed himself for her insecurities, her inability to let him get 
close? But she kept *everyone* at arms length. Couldn't he see that? Couldn't 
he see that it wasn't just him? Her tears fell as she realized he couldn't. 

Dick was just too damn loyal. He couldn't accept the defensive weaknesses 
exhibited by two people he loved so very much as faults of their own. *They* 
could never be that weak. Therefore, it had to be something, or someone, 
else. He had chosen himself to blame. For all these years, he had lived with 
his self-imposed guilt. 

Barbara realized Dick was no longer conscious. "Dick." 

"Dick," she said more forcefully. "Dick, wake up. You can't go to sleep now." 
Dick stirred, moaning a little as he woke. He was so exhausted all he could 
do was lie there and breathe. All he wanted to do was sleep, but someone kept 
pulling him back. ~Why~, he thought, ~why won't they let me sleep?~ Barbara, 
convinced Dick was awake and as comfortable as possible under the 
circumstances, went back to her communications center. Dick was only half 
right, she thought. 

Yes, Barbara believed that Bruce had cut off Dick's access to his heart. Yes, 
she believed it was because of the unbearable pain Bruce felt when Dick left. 
Bruce found it easier to keep his heart to himself rather than risk the 
chance of suffering that pain again. She believed this because she herself 
had done the same thing, for the same reasons. But she would never believe 
that Bruce had done so because he distrusted Dick. And there was now way 
possible Bruce had any idea this was how Dick felt. He just wouldn't allow 
it. 

But there was only one way to find out. 

"Alfred, is Bruce there?" Barbara asked somewhat sheepishly. "I really need 
to talk to him." 

"I'm afraid he has just recently departed, Miss Barbara." Alfred had a sad 
look in his eyes and she knew he had overheard her earlier accusations. 

Bruce was as close to being his son as Dick was to being Bruce's. It had to 
hurt him to hear what she had said. How was he supposed to take sides between 
his son and his grandson? Barbara realized for the first time how much the 
strain between Bruce and Dick must have weighed on this poor gentleman's soul 
over the years. But through it all, he had always found a way to remain 
faithful to them both. He was truly an amazing human being. 

"He did not inform me of his destination, but I believe he may be on his way 
to see you." Alfred's concern for Bruce was evident in his voice as well as 
the look in his eyes. "He was...disturbed by your earlier conversation." 

"I'm sorry, Alfred. I shouldn't have said those things to him." Barbara 
confessed, close to tears again. "I just...just don't understand...either of 
them...sometimes." 

"I can understand, Miss Barbara," Alfred agreed sadly. "Miss Barbara, what 
*exactly* is Master Dick's condition?" Alfred inquired hesitantly. He knew, 
just as Bruce had, that Barbara's anger must have been generated by something 
other than just Bruce's seemingly unfeeling inquiry. He, too, was afraid of 
what she would say, but he needed to know. 

"He's hurt, Alfred. He's hurt pretty bad." Barbara didn't want to be 
alarming, but she knew she couldn't lie to him. "He's here. Dr. Thompkins 
treated him, but it's going to be awhile before he's even close to being back 
to normal." 

"I see. Please keep us informed," Alfred tried to remain strong. "If you 
require any help, I can be there immediately." 

"Thanks, Alfred." Barbara sighed as she heard a knock at her door. A few 
quick keystrokes and the image of the visitor outside her front door appeared 
on one of her other monitors. "There's Bruce now. I'll keep you posted. 
Promise." She gave Alfred a reassuring smile as his image disappeared from 
her screen. Wheeling herself to the door, she was both eager and apprehensive 
about seeing Bruce. 

"Bruce, I'm sorry," she said as she opened the door and saw the concerned 
look on his face before the 'mask' could cover his emotions. "I didn't mean 
those things. Really." 

"I know, Barbara," Bruce whispered. "How bad is he?" 

"He's on the sofa." She looked up at Bruce, tears falling for both Dick's 
pain and his. Barbara turned her chair and led Bruce to his son. 
"Leslie came over and did the best she could for him." 

Bruce knelt down next to his son. He could hardly believe how bad it was. He 
couldn't ever remember seeing Dick beaten this badly. Bruce closed his eyes, 
clenching his jaw tightly, as the words Dick spoke not so long ago echoed 
through in mind. 'I would die for you, Bruce.' 

Barbara noticed Bruce's closed eyes and the muscles in his jaw twitch. She 
placed her hand on his shoulder as a show of support. She knew that, for 
Bruce, this was a monumental display of emotion. 

"Bruce," she spoke softly. "Leslie wanted to take him to the clinic, but the 
neighborhood is becoming quite unstable and she thought he would be safer 
here. Besides, even together, we couldn't move him without causing more 
damage. She didn't even want to risk us moving him to the bed in my guest 
room." 

Bruce looked up at her, his eyes dazed, as if she had been speaking a foreign 
language he did not understand. 

"Bruce, if you could carry him to the bedroom, I'm sure he would be much more 
comfortable." Barbara summarized for him. "I just couldn't manage by myself." 

Bruce nodded. Carefully, he eased his arms under Dick's limp body. Barbara 
reached over and placed Dick's injured arm gently on his chest. Dick moaned 
as the cast weighed down on his battered ribcage. Barbara and Bruce both 
grimaced at the pain they knew they were causing. But there was just no other 
way. 

Dick moaned more vehemently as Bruce lived him. Bruce did his best to be 
gentle, but Dick's injuries were too numerous and too severe to allow 
movement without pain. 

"Easy, Dick," Bruce whispered softly. "I know it hurts, son, but it will just 
be for a minute. I promise." Dick's only response was to utter another moan 
of protest. 

Bruce easily carried his injured son to the room Barbara pointed out. She had 
already gotten the bed ready for its occupant and had only been waiting for 
Bruce's arrival. 

"Just a sec, Bruce," she instructed. She held up the heel of Dick's cast so 
his leg would not bind under him when Bruce laid him down. Wheeling to the 
other side of the bed, she lifted Dick's arm off his chest and gently placed 
it on the bed next to him. She brushed his hair back and tenderly caressed 
his cheek with her hand. 

"This will be much more comfortable, Dick," she crooned soothingly in his 
ear. 

Accusing, not-comprehending eyes turned to her. "What's the point," he 
whispered, his voice raspy and low "You won't let me sleep." His voice became 
full of anguish as he pleaded. "Please, Babs, I just want to sleep. Please." 
Tears filled her eyes and she looked up at Bruce. 

Bruce carefully sat down on the bed next to Dick, mindful not to disturb his 
injuries. 

"Dick, you have a sever concussion." He said firmly in Barbara's defense. 
"You must stay awake for the next few hours. Then we can let you sleep for a 
few hours at a time." His voice became low and gentle. "I'm sorry, son. I 
know you're tired, but it just isn't safe yet." 

Dick managed to turn his head in the direction of Bruce's voice. He just 
realized that Bruce was present. He tried to raise his good arm toward the 
voice. He felt a warm hand take his and hold it firmly. 

"Bruce..." Dick's voice was so weak and low that Bruce had to lean down to 
hear what Dick was trying to say. "Bruce, did I finish the job?" Short-term 
memory loss was very normal with any kind of head trauma, so Bruce was not 
overly concerned. 

"Yes, Dick, you got the job done. I'm proud of you, son." Bruce felt Dick's 
hand weakly squeeze his own. "I just wish I hadn't sent you in there alone. 
I'm sorry, Dick." 

Dick's eyes closed and once again he tried to escape into unconsciousness. It 
was Bruce's voice that intruded this time. Actually, it was 'the voice'. 
Batman's voice. And that voice he could never ignore. 

"Dick, wake up. You will stay awake until it is safe for you to sleep. Is 
that understood? 

Dick instinctively nodded. He never disobeyed that voice, but he wasn't sure 
how much longer he could force himself to stay awake. He wanted more than 
anything to sleep, but Bruce wasn't going to let him. First Barbara and now 
Bruce. ~Why are they doing this to me? Why won't they let me sleep? Why?~ 
Bruce looked at Barbara. "How long has it been since Leslie looked at him?" 

"About four hours. She said to keep him awake for at least six hours. More if 
he was able." Barbara's gaze never left Dick as she spoke. She hated what 
they were putting him through. He was just too exhausted to comprehend that 
it was for his own good. "I'm not sure he can last that long, Bruce. I've 
never seen anyone this exhausted." 

"He'll make it," Bruce said adamantly. 

For the next two hours it took the combined efforts of both Bruce and Barbara 
to keep Dick awake. Each one knew they were only doing what was best for 
Dick, but that did not help ease their feelings of guilt. He was suffering 
and they were the reason. 

Finally, Bruce wiped away the tears of exhaustion that had been steadily 
streaming from Dick's eyes for the past ten minutes. The touch of his hand 
brought moans of protest. 

"I'm awake," Dick murmured almost inaudibly. "I'm awake." 

"Dick, it's okay. Go to sleep, son." 

Dick took a look at Bruce to make sure he wasn't hearing things. Bruce's 
affirmative nod was all the encouragement he needed and almost immediately he 
was fast asleep. Bruce tucked the blanket around Dick's shoulders and made 
sure he looked comfortable before standing and following Barbara from the 
room. He closed the door part way, leaving it open just enough for Dick to be 
heard if he were to awaken. 

Bruce watched as Barbara maneuvered through her apartment and into the 
kitchen. She started preparing a pot of coffee, so Bruce took a seat at the 
breakfast bar that separated the kitchen from the dining area. She looked 
almost as tired as Dick. 

"Barbara, why don't you get some rest. I'll keep an eye on Dick." 

"He thinks its his fault, you know," Barbara blurted out somewhat matter-of-
factly. She was tired and Bruce's suggestion was tempting, but first she had 
to talk to him. "He thinks he did something wrong to deserve it." 

"What happened at Blackgate?" Bruce asked, confused. 

"No. I'm talking about us. I'm talking about you and me blocking him out of 
our hearts." Barbara was staring into the can of coffee, her mind a million 
thoughts away. 

She felt the can being removed from her hand and looked up to see Bruce 
kneeling beside her. His eyes said he was confused, and concerned. 

"Bruce, Dick thinks it's his fault that we're both too scared to let him 
close anymore. He thinks he lost the right to your heart when he ran away 
after you forbade him for being Robin." She closed her eyes and swallowed 
hard before continuing. "He thinks he lost the right to my heart when he 
wasn't there to keep me from being shot." She looked at Bruce with accusing 
eyes. "Bruce, why did you have to teach him how to blame himself for 
everything?" 

"Barbara, Dick is who he is, and that is why we both love him so much." 
Bruce's tone was even. "I should have realized that was how he felt. We both 
should have realized." 

Bruce stood and place the coffee can on the counter. Then he reached down and 
picked Barbara up out of her chair. She mildly protested as he carried her to 
her bedroom, but she was emotionally drained and the thought of sleep was a 
welcome one. Bruce lay her down on the bed and covered her with the blanket. 

"Bruce," she called from behind as he was about to leave the room. "Tell him 
you love him. He knows it, but he really needs to hear it sometimes." 

Without turning, Bruce whispered back to her. "I could say the same thing to 
you. Now get some sleep." Bruce closed the door behind him without waiting 
for a response. He checked on Dick, who was still sleeping soundly, before 
returning to the kitchen. 

Finishing the coffee Barbara had started, Bruce settled in to wait until it 
was time to wake Dick again. 

Barbara's words kept haunting his thoughts. 'Tell him you love him. He needs 
to hear it.' He did love his son. More than anything in the world. Bruce's 
mind began wandering back over the years, to a time when his son was so young 
and so vulnerable. What had happened to them? When did they lose sight of the 
love? 

In his heart, Bruce knew that they were going through what normal fathers and 
sons went through when it was time for the son to become a man. It was hard 
for a father to let go. It was even harder to stand back and watch him make 
his own mistakes. But that was a part of growing up, a part of maturing, a 
part of life. 

But they were never like a normal father and son. Their life, and their 
relationship, had been much more intense. It only made sense that their 
problems would be that much more intense as well. 

But things were going better lately. They would never be the same as before, 
but then again, maybe that was how nature intended it to be. The son was no 
longer a child that needed to be protected and the father was no longer the 
protector and guide. The relationship needed to evolve to the next level. 
Maybe strife was nature's way of breaking the parent/child bond to allow a 
new bond to form. That of friend/friend, equal footing for both. 

It was as hard on the father as it was on the son, only less obvious. The 
feelings and desires to protect would never fully fade away, but they could, 
however, be overshadowed by the new feelings of pride and respect. Bruce was 
proud of his son and his accomplishments. And he had the utmost respect for 
Dick's abilities. 

So why had it been so easy for him to openly express his parental feelings 
years ago, while now he seemed completely incapable of adequately expressing 
his feelings of pride and respect? Why was he unable to openly show his on 
how much he still loved him? 

Was Dick maybe a little more correct than he would like to admit? Had he 
denied Dick access to his heart because he was still hurting over losing his 
'child'? Did he, on some level, resent Dick for growing up? 

Why couldn't he accept his son as his friend as openly and eagerly as he had 
accepted him as his child? Did every father go through this dilemma? 

***

"Bruce?" 

Bruce heard Barbara's call from the bedroom. Immediately realizing her chair 
was still in the kitchen from where he had carried her to her room last 
night, he quickly wheeled it into her room. 

The sun was streaming though her bedroom window. She looked more rested than 
she had the night before, but she still looked tired. 

"Thanks, Bruce," she said, smiling weakly. "How is Dick?" 

"He's sleeping. Leslie came by earlier and checked him over. She seems 
confident that he is going to recover, given time." Relief was written across 
Bruce's face. He attempted to help Barbara into her chair, but she gently 
brushed him off. She had managed to make a good life for herself, despite 
everything. He was proud of her, too. 

"Thank you, Barbara," Bruce whispered meekly. 

Barbara looked up, surprised. "You're welcome. But thanks for what, exactly?" 

"For being Dick's friend. For helping him when...when he didn't...when I 
wasn't there for him." Bruce stared out the window. Speaking softly he 
acknowledged to her what he had yet to acknowledge to his son. "I *do* love 
him." 

Barbara wheeled herself over to him and took his hand. "I know you do, Bruce. 
And I know the tension between you two has been as hard on you as it has been 
on him. But now it's time to get past that. Now it's time for you two to 
start acting like you still love each other. Last night I told you that he 
needed to hear that you love him, and he does. But, now I realize you need to 
hear that he loves you, too." 

Barbara squeezed Bruce's hand tightly. She realized she loved Bruce, too. Not 
like she loved Dick. More like the way she loved her father. 

"Bruce, you two need to talk to each other, not at each other. Pull the walls 
down, go off by yourselves and just talk to each other. You *both* need 
that." 

"I know," Bruce replied, still staring out the window. Taking a deep breath, 
he brought his thoughts back to the present. "But first we have to get him 
well." Looking down at Barbara, his expression was the same at it always was. 
But his eyes were slightly different. They now held the glimmer of hope for 
tomorrow. "Would you like some coffee? I think there's still some left." 

"Yeah, right," Barbara snorted. "Brewed all night? Sounds just lovely." She 
winked at Bruce and then proceeded to the kitchen, talking over her shoulder 
as he followed behind. 

"*A* I think a fresh pot would be much better and, *B* I've heard about your 
coffee. I like my stomach intact, thank you. But you are more than welcome to 
share a fresh pot with me, it you like." 

"Excuse me," Bruce replied, doing the best impression of mock indignation 
that Barbara had ever heard. In fact, she stopped and looked back at him to 
make certain that he was indeed kidding. 

"I'll have you know I brew the best pot of turpentine...uhm...coffee in all 
of Gotham." 

"Yeah, and secretly I'm 'Sheena, Queen of the Jungle.' Now do you want some 
real coffee of not?" 

"Real coffee would be nice, thank you." Bruce chuckled to himself under his 
breath. 

A low moan drifted in from the spare bedroom and Bruce hurried in that 
direction, with Barbara not far behind. 

"Dick," Bruce said as he approached the bed. "Are you awake, son?" 

"Did anyone get the number of the truck?" Dick whispered wryly. "Or maybe it 
was a train? Or two? Can I get something to drink?" 

"I'm sorry, Dick," Bruce replied with the deepest regret imaginable in his 
voice. He gently lifted Dick's head off the pillow and held the glass of 
water Barbara had left on the night stand to his lips. "I should never have 
asked you to go in there alone." 

Dick tried not to look too surprised. Bruce didn't apologize for too much of 
anything. "Hey, you didn't hold a gun to my head. I could have said no." 
Dick's voice sunk low. "Or I could have handled the situation better." 

"Dick, don't," Bruce's voice was firm, almost harsh. "Don't you dare blame 
yourself. You've done entirely too much of that and I won't stand for 
anymore. Do you hear me?" 

Dick and Barbara both stared at Bruce, shocked by his tone. Dick was clueless 
that he had babbled his fears to Barbara and therefore had now way of knowing 
that she had told Bruce. Barbara knew, but she couldn't believe Bruce would 
use such a tone with Dick. 

"Dick, I'm serious." Bruce continued, his tone not quite as harsh but still 
firm enough for Dick to know that he meant business. "As soon as you are up 
to it, we're going to have a little discussion about some things. A 
discussion that has been long overdue." 

"Bruce, " Barbara interrupted. "Back off a little bit, okay. Dick doesn't 
have any idea where you're coming from." 

Dick looked from Bruce to Barbara. Obviously he had missed something. But 
what? 

"Hey, you two mind filling me in on what's going on?" Dick asked. His voice 
was noticeably weaker and Bruce responded with a negative shake of his head. 

"No, you're going to get some more rest." Bruce tucked the blanket back 
around Dick's shoulders and shooed Barbara out of the room in front of him. 
"Get some rest, son." 

"Sure," Dick weakly replied. He was enormously curious about what had just 
transpired in front of him, but he was still too tired to protest. He would 
have to remember to find out later. Closing his eyes, he drifted back to 
sleep. 

"Bruce, you could have been just a tad bit more tactful, you know," Barbara 
half-heartedly glared at him. "Dick is probably confused enough as it is 
without you jumping down his throat." 

"Barbara," Bruce began rather defensively. Then, remembering what his 
reproaches to Dick actually were about, he backed down slightly. "This way 
Dick will push the point later. There will be no way for me to change my 
mind." 

Barbara laughed. "You're kidding, right? Bruce, I've known you for a long 
time and believe me, if you don't want to talk about something, it *doesn't* 
get talked about. Period." 

"Maybe, in the past. But Dick has grown up. He is less willing to let me 
brush him off anymore." Bruce explained. "No, he won't let this drop. Of 
course, I have no intentions of making him press the issue, either. I fully 
intend for us to work things out." Bruce smiled to himself. "That was just, 
kind of, a fail safe." 

"Yeah, well you still should have been a little more tactful." 

"Point taken. I'll try and do better next time, your majesty." Bruce bowed in 
her direction. 

"Bite me!" 

Their banter was interrupted by the alarm from her computer station. A call 
was coming in. She quickly wheeled over and started working her magic. 

Bruce tried to ignore what was going on. He didn't want to invade her 
territory. Dick warned him numerous times before that she could become most 
irate about anyone interfering with her work. Bruce smiled to himself again. 
He could understand that one quite well. 

"Anything important?" he asked when she returned. 

"Oh just the same ol', same ol'. A mob here. A gang fight there. It's always 
the same." Barbara's expression was sad and her tone depressed. 

"It will get better, Barbara. I promise you that." Bruce told her 
determinedly. 

"I'm gonna hold you to that promise." Barbara replied with equal 
determination. 

"And speaking of which, there are some things that I must get working on. 
Will you and Dick be all right?" Bruce asked cautiously. He didn't want 
Barbara misinterpreting his leaving as abandoning his son. But at the same 
time, Dick was sleeping and he did have some things to get accomplished 
before nightfall. 

"Sure, we'll be fine. I know where to find you if we need anything." 

Bruce headed for the door, but paused when Barbara spoke to him. 

"Don't you have something to say to Dick before you leave?" she asked. She 
knew she was pushing, but she really didn't care. She wasn't going to let him 
off the hook that easily. 

Without looking back at her, Bruce changed his direction and headed for the 
room where Dick was sleeping. He grimaced as he remembered the image of the 
battered body that lay beneath the blanket. Reaching down, Bruce gently 
pushed the hair back from Dick's forehead. Tracing Dick's jawline with the 
back of his hand, he whispered softly. "I love you, son." Dick was fast 
asleep and did not respond. 

Bruce exited the room and the apartment without another word. Lightning 
hadn't struck, the earth hadn't opened up to swallow him and he actually felt 
better than he had in a long time. He had spoken the words he hadn't said in 
so long that he sometimes wondered if he even could anymore. 

When Dick was better, they were going to find a way to reach that new 
plateau. They were going to find a way to finish the journey. They were going 
to find a way to be the friends they should be. 

Fin.