Fathers 2
Author's Note: Here is a third person experiment. I believe it makes scant impact on the overall dynamic of the writing showcased. A Damian and Bruce father/son moment set amongst the backdrop of a late night in the cave. Enjoy.
Bruce Wayne was in the cave. The sight of the billionaire hunched over an over-sized computer screen pouring through vast quantities of raw data was not an uncommon one. If he did not do this work, he could not construct intelligence on criminal gangs and activities and if he could not construct intelligence, there would be no action whatsoever. It was therefore a necessity of his to devote much free time to this process. He had been sorting the data acquired over the last six-week period for nearly four hours when he was interrupted.
"Father?" The man turned his head slowly to be met with the sight of a ten-year-old boy dressed for bed. He swivelled his chair to face him.
"You should be in bed, Damian. We agreed on a midnight curfew; it is now almost three in the morning. Did you have a nightmare?" Damian shook his head.
"I don't have nightmares, Father. Mother made sure of that." The boy's high pitch and intonation was that of a ten-year-old, but the steely tone and graveness of his expression was that of someone far older and far more bitter. Bruce's expression had yet to appear; his face was still blank.
"I see. So what is the purpose of your visit?"
"I haven't seen you in almost two weeks. I thought it would be 'civilised' to say 'hello' upon your return." Bruce nodded in understanding. He had been conducting business in Europe for the past twelve days, tracking down some unfavourable characters from Gotham. His decision to leave Damian in Alfred's care and impose radio silence seemed to have not been appreciated by the boy; the man could hear the spite underlying his son's every word.
"I apologize, son. I hope my absence did not upset you too much." Bruce offered without getting to his feet. Damian took a few steps forward, his bare feet padding mutely over the stone floor.
"I was not upset, Father, merely annoyed you did not think to include me in your plans. I was under the false impression we were a team." Damian's anger could be heard rising but still Bruce's face did not alter. He remained stoic in the face of an imminent tantrum. He held his son's gaze with intense focus to show he considered this conversation important.
"Do you consider me a bad father in that respect?" The man inquired. Damian took yet another few steps towards him. The boy now stood only a few inches away from his father. Even seated, Bruce's face was able to look down on his son's.
"You are cold and distant. But you are still better than my mother. The margins are very close however." Bruce smiled at him, the first time he had shown any genuine emotion in the past few weeks. Damian remained serious. The man reached up and placed a huge hand on the boy's cheek, practically engulfing half his face, and stroked it gently. Damian made no move against such contact.
"I think I can widen those margins somewhat. Come sit." Bruce said taking his hand back and patting his lap. Damian seemed only resistant to the idea for a moment. Despite his training and independence, he was still only ten years old. He sat down in the man's lap and lay back against Bruce's chest. Bruce crossed his arms over Damian's torso, holding him loosely, and then bounced him up and down a few times. The boy was relaxed and quiet throughout and altogether gave the impression of being contented by his father's behaviour. Bruce swivelled the chair back to face the computer screen, but did not relinquish his grip on Damian. Still holding the youth, the man leaned forward and tapped a single button on the keyboard. There was a whirr as some part of the machine was given life it had not before. A female computerized voice announced itself.
"Transition to voice command inputs complete. Please speak to initiate desired function."
"Run programme Echo Two. Switch to mute until completion." Bruce instructed the system. The voice acknowledged immediately.
"Scan in progress."
The two of them sat there like that, watching the computer analyse and compile the data, for nearly ten minutes without uttering a word. They were rarely this intimate with one another and it was something both wished could be different. Their relationship had always been strained in some fashion or other. Eventually, Damian took hold of one of his father's hands from around his shoulder and held it up for study. Bruce watched the boy turn the hand back and forth before pressing his own hand against it for comparison; it was less than half the size.
"Do you think I shall grow to be as big as you, Father?" Damian asked as they interlocked their fingers. Bruce manoeuvred both hands around effortlessly.
"Perhaps. My final height is determined by genetics so it is likely you share those genes with me."
"How many times have you broken this hand?" The boy said pushing back against it and finding no give whatsoever; it was wall-like. Bruce shrugged but did not hesitate to give an answer.
"I have broken my hand sixteen times."
"And how many criminals have you hurt with it?"
"I'm not sure exactly. An exact figure would be very difficult to tally." Damian seemed to accept this and nodded, shaking his hand loose from his father's and letting it snake across his torso again.
"Is there a reason we don't engage in this behaviour more often, Father? Is it because you don't trust me to reciprocate it?" Bruce let out a brief sigh before reaching up and stroking the boy's hair with the back of his hand. The movement was remarkably soft and delicate given the size and history of the hand conducting it.
"I know you love me, Damian."
"Do you indeed? And how would you possibly know that given I see more of Drake and Todd than I do of you?" The boy did not bother turning round to face his father when issuing this slur. The man did not cease stroking his hair.
"Because I'm your father."
"Apparently you're also THEIR father as well. The way you run after them all the time is sickening." Bruce privately rolled his eyes as the same old tale of blood being thicker than water began to rush forth. It was Damian's favourite counterattack to such a sensitive situation. Rather than try to redirect the conversation, Bruce fed him the necessary line.
"I understand, son. It's only natural for you to be jealous of your brothers."
"They are NOT my brothers, Father! They're street kids and orphans and have no business associating with us!" Damian's voice was beginning to border on hysterical, a change that was always startlingly rapid; he had been calm but a moment earlier. Now the boy had spat out his basest appraisal of his step-brothers, Bruce was able to wade in with his counterattack on the subject.
"And do you feel the same way about Dick?" This question, no matter how many times he seemed to repeat it, never failed to quell the anger and resentment Damian felt. This time was no exception. His contempt for everyone else was lost on Dick. During his tenure as Batman, Dick had obtained an unheard level of affinity from Damian that the boy had never bestowed on anyone else, including his own father. When he spoke again, the boy had reverted to a more level tone of voice.
"No…Dick is…Dick's different."
"I see. Do you feel better for having told me all that?"
"Somewhat. Pennyworth has often posited I should try and share my feelings with you, no matter how negative." Bruce withdrew his hand only for Damian to silently protest it with a sharp glance. The man resumed stroking his son's hair while offering a retort.
"Do find Alfred something of a busybody as well, son?" Damian sneered at the insinuation in clear agreement.
"I find him to be in possession of a highly unprofessional nature given he is supposedly a servant in this household, but his ideas are not always flawed."
"I only ask because he recommended I be more physical with you in these situations. The hair-stroking was his idea." Bruce admitted. The boy sighed lethargically.
"No, Father, it was YOUR idea. While I appreciate your efforts to make it appear we both take our emotional cues from a butler, your ability to act like a parent is far superior to my ability to act like a child. You choose to be physical with me because your three previous children have taught you it is the best way to elicit a response." The man smiled before drawing attention to something he found amusing.
"I never used to bounce my other children."
"I like the bouncing. And the hair-stroking. And your holding me. Do NOT tell Dick and especially do not inform Drake. I would only need one more excuse in order to kill him." It was never a joke with this boy; he genuinely had designs on killing Tim Drake, something Bruce was quick to curb with a change of pace.
"Yes, I would also hate anyone else to know I liked to cuddle you as well." It was exactly the kind of remark and language Damian deplored, that of an affectionate parent, and quickly soured his mood and tongue.
"Bravo on your penetrating sarcasm, Father, but I was only referring to the fact that, unlike you, I still have to prove myself to some members of this so-called 'family'. Having them know I enjoyed being bounced on someone's knee like a six-year-old would only serve as a setback." The remark just sounded juvenile despite its severity of deliverance. The man sighed.
"Do you never embrace being a ten-year-old, Damian?" Bruce asked. Damian scoffed derisively.
"Do you ever embrace middle-age, Father? How old are you, somewhere in your forties? You should be playing bingo and boring people with the other geriatric members of this society." Whenever he had exhausted his conversational abilities or was unsure of how to answer a question, Damian resorted to slander and insults to restore his position of power. It irritated a great many people, but not his father who had grown more than accustomed to its usage.
"I do. It's all part of being a philanthropist." Damian reversed his position so his body was now facing the man. He propped his elbows against Bruce's chest, leaned forward and sighed.
"You're not funny, Father." Bruce disagreed.
"Yes, I am. You just have no sense of humour." Damian stared deeply into his father's eyes and looked as though he was having trouble articulating his thoughts at that moment, or maybe just reluctant. When he spoke there was a semblance of embarrassment underpinning all his words.
"I missed you while you were away." He said it with a frown etched in his face, as if unable to contemplate how such a sentiment ever managed to pass his lips. Bruce nodded, closing his arms slowly around the boy's back.
"I can see that. I missed you too, son." Damian allowed himself to be pressed against his father's chest in a prolonged embrace, relishing the opportunity to be so close to the man.
"This had better not be a one-off occasion, Father. If this is your way of telling me you're departing for the foreseeable future I will disown you." Bruce smirked at the boy's curt tone of voice even in such a tender moment. He briefly ruffled Damian's hair.
"No. I am hoping this type of relationship will persevere until you at least hit puberty. After that milestone, I'll reassess the situation."
"Good luck with that, Father. I'm certain you will need all the help you can get when that day appears."
"I relish the challenge."