Something personal-
Bad news isn't wine. It doesn't improve with age. -Colin Powell
"This is Jim Gordon-"
"Hello, Mr. Gordon…"
"—I'm not in at the moment please leave a message."
"Lucius Fox speaking—"
"Lucius, I hate to have to…"
"—or he would be if he was in. Please leave a message."
"Barry Allen here,"
"Barry I'd like to…"
"And here comes the beep, hope you know what to do with it."
"Hey it's Steph—"
"Listen Stephanie…"
"leave me a message and I'll talk to ya later."
Barbara. Tim. Diana. Oliver. Dinah. Hal. Cassie. Kate. Selina.
They didn't even round out the list, not even close. But everyone seemed to have one thing in common, none of them answered.
Gently Dick set the phone aside, the ringing slow to subside from his ears. "Why are none of you there, where could you all possibly be?" Rubbing his tear tracked face he tried desperately to understand.
Gotham's entire entity had shifted by an amount so immense it wasn't measurable and no one but he, Alfie, and Damian knew. How did the others not know, how could they be oblivious to such a degree? Dick simply didn't know.
In the perfect world Batman wouldn't be dead. In a great world he would have escaped unharmed. In a halfway decent world the task of delivering the news of a Bruce's death would not fall to his shoulders. But Gotham was an exception, she always had been, and none of the categories suited her. None ever could. Batman, no Bruce was dead, and he was dealt the task of informing all of his allies and children and friends. But how the hell was he supposed to tell them if all he ever got was voice-mail?
Huffing in frustration and grief Dick hardly noticed the approaching shadow, choosing to ignore it he flopped down onto Bruce's stiff sheets. They didn't even smell like him, not that he would remember the scent anyway. When had the years gotten longer, memories dimmer?
"You're going about this the wrong way."
"And how would you propose I go about it little D?" Royal blues swept downward across the seemingly permanently bitter ten year old, their depths softening despite the youngers prickly personality.
"Go public, announce it for the world to hear."
Sitting up with narrowed eyes Dick eyed the little bird oddly. "I can't." Carding his hair he met the others questioning gaze.
"Why not?"
"Because Damian, it's wrong. These people cared about Bruce, they deserve more than to read it off a television screen or hear it across the radio. They deserve something more personal…"
For a moment Dick didn't understand the anger that flashed violently across Damian's face, suddenly fearful of the half pint.
"How can it be personal? Bruce never made it personal, he didn't leave anything behind. Not to you, or me, or any of the others! He left and he didn't come back, but before it all he didn't even say goodbye!"
From beneath the anger Dick saw the sorrow that was consuming his little bird, and Damian was his now.
Now that there was no one else—
"Come here." Pulling back the fluffy gray comforter Dick motioned Damian toward the bed. After a moment of hesitation he simply swept the little bird up and tucked him safely beneath the fabric. Together they hid like that. Damian sniffling and Dick holding him tight.
"He loved you, you know that right?"
Against his chest he felt the slight bob of Damian's head. "I know."
Before drifting off to sleep Dick had to wonder if Damian really knew, or if the answer was to simply appease him.
Damn you Bruce Wayne, damn you for leaving us.
AN: The next chapter will have way more character interaction, I just felt this moment had to be present. For those of you wondering about Kori, she has sadly been left out of this tale because of my inability to write her character. Thanks as always to the reviewers. :)
