Author's Note: This will be a three-shot series based on the quote "gastronomical perfection can be reached in these combinations: one person dining alone, usually upon a couch or a hillside; two people, of no matter what sex or age, dining in a good restaurant; six people, of no matter what sex or age, dining in a good home" by M.F.K. Fisher. Happy reading!

It was spring on the periphery of the world, and Dick Grayson was sick and tired of eating nothing but dried meat and preserved vegetables.

He'd been holed up in this hilly, rural region for two months now, looking after someone else's sheep by day and spying on the head honcho an international terrorist group by night. The story that had been given out to explain his presence was that the flock's owner needed a surgical procedure in the city, and had asked a young nephew to care for his homestead in his absence. That man, who had been a JLA informant ever since Superman had saved his only daughter's life two decades earlier, had in fact been whisked away to the capital, where he had undergone a hernia operation paid for quite magnanimously by the international arm of the Wayne Foundation. Dick, posing as a bumpkin farmer from an even more isolated valley than this one, had stayed in his place and gathered more intelligence in eight weeks than the well-meaning but untrained herder had managed in the last eight years.

Returning to the old shepherd's neat little hut just before sunset, he locked up the sheep for the evening and ducked inside to see about dinner. The animals seemed happy with their grazing now that tender green shoots were coming up in abundance, but until the fruit trees began to produce Dick knew that he would have no fresh food. Sighing and wrinkling his nose at the pickled carrots he'd been eating for a week straight, he closed the curtain between the main room and the lean-to pantry. "I wonder if he'd notice if he came home to one less ewe," he joked aloud in the native tongue.

"A good herdsman would count his sheep first thing," an unexpected answer came from just outside. "Especially if he only had twenty-six of them to start with."

Recognizing Superman's voice, Dick grinned and fairly skipped to the entrance. "...You look like someone who'd know, too," he ribbed, taking in the Kryptonian's dirt-spattered local clothing before throwing himself forward into a tight embrace.

"So do you," Clark replied once they'd parted, his face amused as he reached out to ruffle the younger man's uncharacteristically short hair. "Your father'd barely recognize you if he saw you right now."

"Yeah..." He scrubbed at the quarter-inch of stubble he'd let grow in along his jaw and cheeks. "Customs are different here than at home. Long hair would probably get me beaten or shot. But I'm being rude. Come on inside."

They moved indoors, the visitor shrugging a pack from his shoulders as soon as they were seated. "I'm under strict orders from A. to make sure that this gets to you," he smiled. "He couldn't stand the thought of your birthday going by without you having something from home."

"My birthday? Oh, shit..." He blushed, embarrassed. "It's tomorrow, isn't it?"

"It is," Clark gave a kind laugh. "You didn't really forget, did you?"

"What's sad is that I did. I totally know what the date is, but...well, you get into a daily routine, you know, and when there's nothing on the horizon to break it up I guess you tend to just blank on things like your own birthday."

"You've been out here alone for a while now. It's excusable."

"Heh." Picking up on the unasked question in the Kryptonian's words, Dick shrugged. "It's not so bad. I wish I ran into more people, but...I've got the sheep to talk to. Don't worry, they don't talk back."

"Good."

"So...how is everyone?" His mission was so covert that even his super-encrypted communications with the Watchtower were almost entirely one-sided, and as result he'd hardly spoken to anyone he could trust since his arrival. His thirst for news of home was overwhelming now that he found himself with a few minutes to spare in the presence of a virtual family member, and he just couldn't resist asking.

"They're all fine, aside from missing you. They'd never say as much, of course, but...it's obvious. Your father in particular wished that he could come in my place, especially given what tomorrow is, but that wasn't feasible."

"No," Dick sighed, "I know it wasn't. It's okay, he's busy with...the farm...and it's too much work for one man to do alone. He needs the others there to help keep things going smoothly. Still...summer's such a busy time. Have you heard when Uncle might be allowed to return? I'd like to be home to help with the first crop of the season." Gotham was always a veritable amusement park between April and October, with the hot weather upping tempers and boosting crime. It would be a shame to miss such fun, he thought, and Batman could always use the extra hands.

"In another three weeks or so, barring any new developments. You can manage another three weeks, can't you?"

Three weeks felt like forever now that thoughts of Bruce, Alfred, and his little brothers had been stirred up. There was still work to be done here, though, and trying to insert someone new to fill the gap could very well blow their cover. He couldn't put the entire mission and possibly people's lives at risk just because he was homesick. "Of course. Uncle has an easily manageable flock, it's no problem. I was just curious."

"Of course."

There were a hundred other things that Dick ached to ask – was the information he'd been painstakingly collecting of any use? How close were they to moving in on his quarry? Were Damian and Tim fighting much without him there to step between them, or had they gone back to ignoring each other? – but he didn't dare. He could be certain that there were no monitoring devices inside the hut because he had set up a dozen almost invisible tells as soon as he'd gotten here, none of which had been disturbed, but it would only take an ear lingering against the back wall to ruin everything. For all that he had kept a very low profile and had a solid excuse for being where he was, the danger of getting caught by his extremely nasty target was still very real.

Clark seemed to sense that extending his visit would only make it more difficult for the younger man to keep from making unsafe inquiries. He rose to his feet, smiling when Dick joined him. "The sheep look wonderful. Your Uncle will be pleased." Then he tugged him into another tight hug. "Correction," he breathed in such a way that no one could possibly overhear. "He is very pleased. Three more weeks, pal, and we'll have this sleazeball. I'm sure of it."

"Thanks, Uncle Clark. I really needed to hear that," Dick whispered back.

"I know." The Kryptonian stepped away. "I want to get started back towards home before it's completely dark," he said. "...Take care of yourself until I see you again."

"I will. You're sure you can't stay, though?" After so long without interpersonal contact, he didn't have to fake the urging in the question.

"No, I need to get on my way. Shepherds have early mornings, and I don't want to interfere with your schedule," he winked.

"Well...thank you for coming to see me, and for the gift from home."

"It was nothing." Clark hesitated in the doorway a moment. "...Good night."

"Good night." Moving to the entrance once it had been vacated, he watched his visitor walk away until he vanished over a low swell. He sighed when he was alone again, then turned back to the interior of the hut and eyed the package he'd been brought. Alfred had yet to send him bad gifts when he was away from home, and as he reflected on the many goodies he'd received in the past his mouth began to water. God, I hope he sent food this time...anything but carrots, please...

Acting on that hope, his hands tore into the pack hungrily. Everything they pulled out had been carefully chosen to be in keeping with the role he was playing; rough knit socks, a bar of country soap, and simple fare that could have come out of any local kitchen. Bread, lamb, and dried fruit all gave off their own aromas, filling the little living space with a delicious melange. In a side pocket he found two carefully wrapped triangles of baklava, sprinkled with pistachio nuts in the regional fashion. Oh, Alfred, his eyes pricked. You thought of everything.

He knew the butler's intention had been to ensure that he had a good meal on his birthday, but the idea of waiting until the following day to have his little feast was insupportable. Furthermore, he decided, such a spread shouldn't be enjoyed indoors, especially since the day had promised to turn into a clear, balmy evening. Nodding to himself, he bundled the food back into the bag, slung it over his shoulder, and struck out along the crest of the hill.

A half mile later he stopped beside a small creek. The land rolled away in front of him, covered mostly in scrub grass but with a few fields visible at the hazy edge of the twilight. Behind him rose the mountains, their snow-capped peaks pushing a gentle, cooling breeze into the valleys below. Overhead the stars had already begun to unfurl, and he knew that before he was done eating a nearly-full moon would be on its way up. Humming happily, he sat down.

For the next hour, he knew little other than bliss. Thoughts of home tried to intrude on his peace at first, but he pushed them away. When Clark had initially reported that he could expect to spend another three weeks here, he had nearly balked. Now, watching the country settle into night as a meal perfectly suited to his surroundings slipped over his tongue, he realized that a part of him would be sad to leave. Sometime during the last two months he had come to appreciate this land, and as he ate he found himself feeling truly joined to it for the first time. He only wished that his mission had allowed him to come into greater contact with the people who took their livings from this place in honest fashions. He had mused on them from a distance, but there was no better way to learn about a culture than to sit down amongst its members and listen to their talk.

His position had denied him that opportunity on this trip, but maybe next time, he thought vaguely as he lay back on the earth and cushioned his head on his hands, there would be some task to be undertaken in a town. He would wait and see; action in this part of the world was unlikely to cease in the near future, and despite his longing to see those he'd left at home he now realized that he would volunteer to come back at the drop of a hat. It might be a little while before they dared to reuse him, he grimaced, then shook his head. There's no point in worrying that far into the future right now, he lectured silently. Just enjoy the moment, you dork.

Laughing at himself, he licked his lips. The last of the grease and honey mingled on his palate, and as he lay on the hillside with his stomach full and a meaningful task both behind and ahead of him, he was content.