Chapter six
"No!" Dick pounded his fist on the table. "You know the difference! I know the difference! And I will not have HIM a part of this! HE is always right! HE always wins! HE deals with criminals, for God's sake! I am not a criminal, and I am not HIS junior partner anymore!"
Bruce sat, stunned, as Dick condensed years of frustration and hurt into a few moments of succinct, eloquent desperation.
No use avoiding the issue now. Better to get it out in the open, that's why you came, wasn't it?
Say it, verify your fears, face them, but don't look at him. Just in case. Just in case the answer is yes. "So you hate Batman."
Once again, he felt the warmth of a body next to him, and a hand on his knee. "No, I don't," Dick said. "There are things about my relationship with Batman that I wish you could accept in your relationship with me."
Bruce looked up at him now, unable to hide his confusion. If he didn't hate Batman, then…what did he mean?
Their personal relationship had always been good, hadn't it? Well, until things had changed. What could Dick mean? He'd done his best with the boy, tried to be supportive, tried to guide him to be the best person he could be. He'd given him every opportunity his wealth and position could provide. He'd tried to be the kind of father his dad had been, hadn't he? And he'd truly cared for Dick, too, it wasn't just a chore to him, an obligation to be carried out. They'd been pals, hadn't they? Sure, they had, look at all the things they'd done together, the fun times. When Dick was small, there'd been the stories at bedtime, and the ball games and hockey games, the fishing trips and the jaunts to Metropolis to look at the Christmas lights. When Dick had gotten a bit older, before the trouble began, there had been good times then, too; the countless charity dinners, when Dick's sense of humor had been at its best, and the gala balls when they'd compared notes about blondes, brunettes, and redheads.
And then, of course, there'd been the late night sessions, in the Cave or the kitchen, after a night of crime fighting. Detailing the evening's events for Alfred, reliving the thrills over a midnight snack.
Didn't any of that mean anything? Was he that bad of a parent? Bruce couldn't think of anything to say.
Fortunately, Dick was far less taciturn, and the answer poured out of him. Robin had freedom and Batman's respect; Dick had neither.
How could he not understand that? It was so obvious. "Dick, that was different. Robin was going into a situation he'd been trained for. Robin was focused. Robin had a job to do."
"Robin was me."
How to make him understand? It wasn't just that Robin was trained, there were other factors involved. "Dick, I know that, but when you were out with your friends, you weren't vigilant. You were too relaxed. You could have gotten into trouble."
Bruce considered telling him about all the threats he'd received, still received, on almost a weekly basis. The worry every time Dick was late getting home from school. The anxiety if Dick didn't call home to tell him the movie ran late, or traffic was bad, and he'd be delayed. The sheer terror that gripped his heart every time he read yet another unsigned note: "WE HAVE DICK GRAYSON. WE'LL KILL HIM UNLESS YOU BRING X AMOUNT OF CASH IN UNMARKED BILLS TO THIS LOCATION BY NOON TODAY." Never mind that none of the threats were ever realized, the fear was omnipresent. That fear was the primary reason that Bruce Wayne took an ever increasing back seat to Batman.
"Do you realize how much danger you were in, just by being my ward?"
THAT brought another torrent of confession. That Dick did not, could not, see himself as a separate entity from Robin had never occurred to him. Even though he knew his own dichotomous nature was abnormal, to say the least, he had believed it to be a necessary evil. He'd never given a second thought to the possibility that Dick might feel differently.
No, he told himself, you never gave it a first thought. You didn't think, period. You never considered the possibility that Dick didn't want to be Robin. You just assumed that he wanted to share your vision.
And Dick was scared out there on those streets. Now there's a revelation for you. You took him out on the streets, put him up against psychopaths and vicious killers, freaks who'd kill their own mothers for a laugh, and you expected him to be as fearless as you were. Never mind that he's just a child, forget that he's small and these are grown men and women he's fighting, forget that he hasn't had a decade or so to train his body and his mind for this kind of work. Forget that he doesn't have a stake in this personal vendetta of yours. And above all, don't think about the fact that he could be killed every time you answered that signal. The work is the only thing that matters, remember? Your vow, your holy quest to rid the world of evil - yours, not his.
Of course, he didn't exactly tell you that, did he? He put up a good front, he did everything you asked. He did more than that, he did exactly what you asked of him; he gave you everything he had, and then he gave you more. He laughed at the danger, laughed right in the faces of those creeps. He seemed to enjoy it, most of the time. Look how he acted the one time you tried to ground him, tried to keep him home, safe with Alfred, what had he done? He'd fallen into a depression, losing his interest in school, sports, life in general, begging you to let him come back out on the streets.
No excuse for not knowing. You should have known. You should have recognized the signs. He wore a mask, the same as you did. It was just a different kind of mask.
"Oh God . . .Dick, I thought you could handle it."
"I COULD!" Dick protested, vehemently. "I could, I never actually did it! Never! I'm not saying that. But just that, I wanted to. And I thought I was a coward. And I wondered sometimes why he didn't take care of me like you did."
That shut him up again. Well, served him right. Maybe this was for the best. Shut up, and take your medicine, Batman. High time you did. Listen for once.
And, Bruce did listen. He listened to Dick confess his frustration at his own apparent failings, failings which were trivial, in reality. A poor grade. A slip up in the field. All minor things, really. His anguish that he could never be the perfect child, the perfect partner. And worse, Dick's own sense of failure, of never measuring up to the impossibly high standards that Batman and Bruce set for him, at never being able to satisfy both of them.
Bruce was confused. Could it be that he really, truly didn't know? He didn't see the pride that he - that both Bruce and Batman - felt for him? The constant appreciation for his every effort, the amazement that a child, that a young man, could be every parent's dream? How could Dick not know this?
Even as he thought it, the answer came to him. You failed HIM, Batman. You just couldn't tell him that he'd done well, you always, ALWAYS had to temper the praise with criticism. "Good work, Robin, you got him. You were a little slow on that kick, though. We'd better work on that." "Excellent debate, Dick. But you almost let him get you on that second point. Next time, you'd better study harder." Would it have killed you to just tell him, "Great job, really great job. I'm so proud of you?" You let him think he was inferior, you encouraged that attitude. You caused him this pain, Batman. You did. You.
He reached for Dick's hand, wanting so much to grip it, to pull him close into the embrace he needed. But he couldn't do that, not quite. Instead, he patted his hand; not intimate, no, but still touching him. It was all he could allow himself, just now. "You WERE a perfect child, Chum."
That slipped out. He hadn't meant to say it, he'd been careful for the past few years to never say it. Dick didn't like it, apparently, it was…what was it he'd said? "…Demeaning, servile, condescending, patronizing, and manipulative!" Dick had been vehement, it had been like a dam breaking, the accusations and the anger. Bruce expected another similar explosion now, but it didn't come. Instead, Dick smiled at him. Bruce relaxed a bit. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad, now. Maybe Dick was right. Maybe they both had issues to deal with.
"Dick, I was always proud of you. You always gave me your best, I know that." There. That wasn't so difficult, was it? Dick seemed surprised, too. Best to go on, go with the gut feeling, here.
"I had to point out when you did something wrong or could do something better because I was raising you, that was my job. And as far as Robin is concerned, every wrong move WAS of life and death importance." Dick was listening to him, really listening. That was a good sign, he thought. Go with it, then. No analysis, no calculations of outcome. Say what you feel, for once in your life go with the heart, not the head.
"Batman WAS taking care of Robin, making sure he was the best he could be, so he wouldn't get hurt?" He looked up at Dick, looked into his eyes, searching for some validation. He was almost shocked to see his own intensity reflected there. "Can't you understand that?"
"Yes, Bruce," Dick replied, getting up and pacing. Well, that was familiar territory; he'd always thought better on his feet. It was comforting, to see that much had not changed. Not so comforting, however, to find himself staring at Dick as he walked, fascinated by his physique; even more disconcerting, he could feel himself becoming aroused. For once, he determined that he would not suppress the emotions he felt; he'd come here to settle the question, one way or another. Besides, it was more than obvious that Dick was experiencing the same feelings - those shorts left nothing to the imagination. Bruce wasn't sure whether he should be relieved or alarmed. He left the question to solve itself for the time being.
"I understand that," Dick said, crossing his arms over his chest. "And I realize that in many ways you were right. But you have to understand how I felt. You have to understand how difficult it was for me to make everything look so easy."
Bruce started to protest, that he knew how difficult it was, but stopped. He was listening, not talking. Shut up, Batman. Just shut the hell up.
"You have to understand that it was Dick that you were taking out there into the Gotham streets, and that it was Robin that you were telling to be in by ten. And you have to understand my frustration, my insecurity, my fear, and how that was all boiling over by the time I was in high school. . . and then . . .to top everything . . .I fell in love."
Bruce caught his breath. He'd never actually heard Dick say that before. He'd suspected it, of course, after what happened in his room, and if he were truly honest with himself, he'd suspected it before that. But he'd never actually allowed himself to believe it, not until now. It was almost easier to not hear it, to tell himself that it was one sided, that it was his problem, his misunderstood emotions. He couldn't deny it any more. Dick loved him, was IN love with him. Had been, too, apparently for as long as he'd been capable of such feelings. Undoubtedly, since Bruce himself had felt the same.
Dick, though, had obviously reacted far differently. Bruce had denied his own feelings outright, while Dick had fought for his, tooth and nail. They'd both bungled it, it seemed. Bruce had ignored the obvious, had pretended it didn't exist. Dick had done everything in his power to make it obvious, and in the process, had pushed away the very thing he most wanted.
"You want another?" Dick pointed at the untouched bottle in front of him.
Bruce looked at it, as if it were some oracle capable of giving him the answers he so desperately needed. But the bottle sat there, mutely sweating on the bare tabletop. "Sure," he said, grateful for the distraction, "I'll have another."
Dick took the bottle and tossed it into the trash, along with his own empty soda bottle. He got another beer out of the refrigerator, and pulled out a large carton of chocolate milk. Bruce had to smile at that; it had always been one of Dick's addictions, along with Alfred's chocolate chip cookies. It almost made Dick's next words less terrifying. Almost.
"I guess it's your turn."
Bruce took a deep breath. "Yes, I suppose it is." He toyed with the bottle in front of him, and took a pull on it. It was the first alcohol he'd had in months, since that incident in the bar, and it tasted strange. "I don't know where to begin, really."
"Take your time, Bruce," Dick said, closing the carton of milk and returning it to the refrigerator. "You made it this far, you're not going to back down now."
Bruce smiled at that. "You know me that well, do you?"
"Damn right," Dick grinned back at him. "I know you better than you know yourself, Bruce. Probably better than even Alfred does, sometimes."
"I think," Bruce said carefully, "I think that may be part of the problem." He looked up. "We're too much alike, we know each other too well. We know all the wrong buttons to push."
"Yeah," Dick agreed. "I guess you're right. Like I said, I was pretty much a jerk for a long time."
"I was no prize, either," Bruce said, rising to his feet. He took the bottle to the sink and emptied it. "I pushed you when I should have eased back. I expected you to act like an adult, but I treated you like a child. I demanded things of you that weren't mine to demand. That was inexcusable." He turned and leaned against the counter. "I'm sorry about that. I hope you can forgive me, but if not, I understand."
Dick was quiet for a moment, his eyes wide in shock. After a moment, he shook his head, smiling. "It's okay, don't sweat it. Ancient history, Bruce. Let's forget about it, okay?" He gestured towards the living room. "Come on, the sofa is a lot more comfortable than these chairs."
Bruce followed him into the next room, and they sat on the sofa, one at either end. Bruce thought that it was probably the shabbiest piece of furniture he'd ever seen, but at least it was solid, and surprisingly comfortable - or maybe, he was too tense and too exhausted to notice the lumps and springs. At any rate, the informality helped him to relax.
Somewhat.
More or less.
Don't analyze. Just talk. From the gut. Honestly.
"I don't think it's a big secret that I've never been good with relationships," Bruce said, leaning back and putting his hands behind his head. "I never really had the time to devote to developing anything permanent. Maybe I just never wanted to make the time, I don't know. A relationship would have complicated things, made too many problems. Too many risks, having someone else in on the secret, I guess."
"What about that psychologist?" Dick asked. "She figured you out, didn't she? I mean, she was in on it, and she didn't breach the security. I thought you and she had something going there, for a long time." He grinned. "Made me jealous as hell, too."
Bruce felt his face flush, and was grateful for the dim light. "She was a close call, yes." He shrugged. "But it just didn't work out. She was too much the psychologist, I think. She wasn't so much interested in me as she was in my . . . " He paused, looking for the right word.
"Your dark, twisted psychosis?" Dick offered, grinning again.
God. He was absolutely breathtaking when he smiled like that.
Bruce mentally shook himself out of that line of thought. "Something like that," he agreed. "At any rate, she finally gave up. Or maybe I did."
"I did wonder what happened," Dick said. "One minute, she's dating you, next minute she's Mrs. Mega-Watt. Talk about a reality check." He laughed.
And that voice, God, it sounded so good to hear him laugh again. It had been too long, far too long since Bruce had heard that.
"Yes, well," Bruce smiled, "I guess even my twisted psychosis can't hold a candle to Hollywood. Besides, she wasn't the only one who got…close." He thought of Lois, and not for the first time wondered at the irony of that little situation. Oh well. "It's always the same in the end, though. They just weren't right, something was always wrong. Something was always missing." He leaned forward, and rested his elbows on his knees, looking out into the dimness of the room.
"After awhile, I convinced myself that I really didn't need anyone. I had my work, that was more than enough. I didn't need anyone. I couldn't need anyone.
"And then, you left. I thought it wouldn't bother me, I thought, You can handle this, Ba - Bruce. You can let him go, it's for the best. And for awhile, it almost was acceptable. But that didn't last It became apparent to me that the work alone wasn't enough, not by a long shot." He frowned, and ran a hand through his hair. He didn't know how much Dick knew about those dark days, and frankly, he wasn't sure he wanted him to know. Some things were best left alone. "When Tim showed up, I thought, this will help. He needed my guidance, and I suppose, I needed to have someone like him around."
"You need some light to counterbalance your dark," Dick said quietly. "Yin and yang."
"Maybe," Bruce smiled slightly. "It was nice, having him there in the house. Oh, I knew he could never truly replace you, no one could do that, Chum. He slept in your room, he wore your costume, but he wasn't you, never would be. But still, Tim helped fill a void, I suppose. He helped - " He paused. "He helped me, anyway, if not Batman. He's a good kid, in and of himself."
"He's a great kid, Bruce," Dick emphasized. "You don't need to defend Tim to me, I like the kid a lot."
"I'm very glad of that," Bruce replied. "I am very fond of him, too. I'd forgotten what that was like, having someone that young around all the time."
"Did you think Alfred shrunk your shorts again?" Dick asked, all innocently.
Bruce threw a sofa pillow at him. "No, I didn't." He laughed. "I do occasionally learn a lesson, too." The laughter felt good. God, how long had it been since he'd laughed? Far too long, he knew that. Talking seemed easier, now, anyway.
That was good. What he knew he had to say now was not going to be easy.
"When you showed up that night, I don't know what I thought. I knew things weren't going to just return to the way they'd been before, but still - I don't know.
"After you left that night, I didn't know what to do. What to think. I knew I'd made a major mistake, but I didn't know how else I could have reacted."
"Honesty would have been a good choice," Dick said dryly.
"Yes, it would have," Bruce agreed. "But unfortunately, it wasn't that easy." He met Dick's gaze evenly. "I couldn't accept what had happened. I couldn't. You were my ward, Dick. In effect, you were my son, and yet, I was having those kind of feelings for you." He put his head in his hands. "I felt like some kind of monster. Some twisted, sick, perverted monster. I couldn't accept that. I knew I wasn't a monster like that, I knew it! Yet, there it was." He shrugged. "What was the truth there? I reacted the only way I could, at the time."
"That really hurt, you know," Dick said, quietly.
Bruce reached over, and squeezed his knee affectionately. "I know, Chum. I know, and I am more sorry than I can ever express." He waited for a response, and got a quick nod. He let go, and leaned back. "Since then, I've gone over it and over it. Why did I react that way? What did I really feel? What do I want to do about it?"
"Do you have an answer yet?"
"I think so, yes." He turned back to look directly into Dick's eyes. "Propinquity."
Dick stared at him, obviously confused. "What?"
"Propinquity. Nearness." Bruce spread his hands before him. "I know, now, that you are the one I've always looked for. You were there all the time, only I wasn't able to see you. You were too close, we were too close." He laughed once, and shook his head. "Really, it's so simple, I can't believe I never thought of it before. You grew up, I grew up, we changed. That's life, right? Well, that's what happened with the relationship, too. It changed, as we did."
He stopped for a moment, surprised at what he heard himself saying. It had really just occurred to him that instant. Son of a gun. Perhaps, there was something to this emotional stuff after all. Years of analysis hadn't given him the insight of these few minutes of honest emotion. Like a dam breaking, the words flowed out of him, fueled by the pent-up, suppressed feelings of a lifetime of denial. He didn't know how to start before - now he didn't know how to stop.
"This relationship that I'd been looking for, or avoiding, whichever you prefer, this elusive thing, was right there all the time. You picked up on it long before I did, but I didn't, couldn't, accept that you were right. But you were. You knew it, and you had the courage to act on your instinct.
Even with my inexcusable bungling of it, you still stuck by your guns. You were - you are - the only one for me, Dick. You're the perfect partner, in every sense of the word. I couldn't believe it before, but now, I know it's the truth. I love you, Dick. With all my soul, I love you. I don't care if it's right or wrong. I don't care what anyone else thinks. I love you." He took a deep breath.
"More than that. I'm in love with you. And I have been, for a long, long time."
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