One month and a day after the encounter with Clayface, Tim showed up at the Manor for more family bonding time. One upside of that day was the family was actually getting together without either causing or suffering from active bleeding. Not that Tim would consider the trade worth it per se, but he never thought he'd be spending so much time with both his previously-murderous predecessor and successor not only without wanting to kill them, worrying about defending his own life, but actually enjoying it.

"Operation Stop Dickface From Being A Self-Sacrificing Idiot" had suffered a couple of - hiccups - but overall seemed to be helping. Though Tim would never admit to Jason ever that Tim had started to refer to the plan by Jason's name for it. The golf cart game was played as often as they had enough participants at the manor. No one was surprised when Barbara turned out to be the best at giving directions, no matter who was driving. Dick still had company during waking hours, and someone - usually Bruce or Damian - checked in on him before going to bed after patrol. And if they often ended up spending the rest of the night in Dick's room, no one said anything. At least those nights Dick seemed to get some real sleep.

Two weeks of careful observation since Leslie fixed Dick's vertigo reassured Tim that Dick wasn't hiding any more symptoms. Tim's biggest current concern was determining whether or not Dick's reluctance to actively assist Bruce with the long-shot chance of a cure was made out of unhealthy resignation or a healthy kind of acceptance. Tim talked to Dick, but aside from a factual recounting of everything that Dick could remember, Dick didn't want to talk about feelings or his reasons behind his decisions, and Tim didn't know whether or how to push. It didn't help that Dick would have been able to repeat everything that everyone said more or less verbatim before the incident. Now, he still had problems with his short term memory, and got frustrated when he couldn't recall everything with perfect precision.

Tim supposed he could just, you know, try to talk to Dick again. But perhaps he could figure it out through close and continued observation. Some might call it stalking. Tim thought of it as gathering data.

Tim spent another week and a half gathering data. After another fabulous dinner from Alfred - four different kinds of curries, including a vegetarian one for Damian, homemade naan bread, homemade chutney, two kinds of rice, Tim had a typical patrol for a Tuesday night. Busy, but no Arkham breakouts, no major supervillain activity, and Tim felt tired but productive by the end.

Bruce offered him a chance to sleep at the Manor, but Tim's own loft was so much closer. After showering and typing up his detailed report for the night, Tim spent an hour working on open cases before realizing that maybe he had a good chance of actually falling asleep that night. Tim sought out his bed, hopeful that his insomnia wouldn't be too bad tonight. He'd just fallen asleep when something woke him up. A sound, perhaps, or just the feeling of being watched. His fingers touched the handle of the golf club he kept next to his bed, waiting for another noise or movement to give away the intruder's position.

"Drake," an imperious voice greeted him.

Tim sat up, bringing the golf club with him. "Damian. I almost threw this at you."

Damian shrugged. "I would have dodged."

Tim rolled his eyes. "We just spent the last eight hours together. Why are you now sneaking into my bedroom?"

"I wanted to see if your security and reflexes in your own home are as pitiful as they seem to be at the Manor. It appears that they are."

Tim thought that now he really should throw the golf club at Damian, so he did. The brat easily evaded, so the club dented the wall behind him. Tim knew that he would dodge, which was fine, since Tim didn't actually want to hurt him. That was another change the last six weeks had wrought.

"So what are you doing here?" Tim demanded.

Damian glared at Tim, five feet three inches of tense muscle and adolescent angst. "Grayson." Damian cleared his throat. "I wish to talk about Grayson."

Tim sighed but got out of bed. "Let's go to the kitchen. I'll put on some tea." He padded out of the room. As he passed the dented wall, he pointed at it and said, "You're fixing that tomorrow."

"Tt. Only if you tell my why you used a golf club as a weapon." The words golf club were said which such disdain that it was if Damian's lips could barely shape the syllables.

Tim shrugged. "It doesn't make anyone suspicious if they see it in my bedroom, and the head drops off and the handle telescopes into a bo staff at the push of a button."

"Hmmm. Not a terrible idea. Maybe I wasn't a fool to seek out your counsel after all."

A wry smile twisted Tim's mouth. "Let's hope not."

After he started boiling the water, Tim made Damian sit down at one of the bar stools at the kitchen island. He studied the boy - teenager in just a few days. Damian was wearing black clothes but at least Tim didn't have Robin in his apartment. Tim reminded himself to find and plug whatever security hole Damian had exploited to let himself in.

"So, you wanted to talk about Dick. What's up?"

Damian traced a pattern on the granite that only he could see, then looked up at Tim with a fierce expression in his eyes. "Do you think Grayson has given up?"

Tim didn't show his surprise at being asked the same question that he'd been mulling over for the past two weeks.

He paused for a minute, gathering his thoughts. "No, I don't think so," he said, realizing that he believed it.

"Explain."

Tim got out two cups and other supplies to buy some time. One wrong word and Damian could explode, and Tim didn't actually want to pick a fight with him tonight. "So he had his checkup today, and the doctor cleared him for more exercise and activity?"

"You already know that she did."

"Rooibos okay?" At Damian's indifferent shrug, Tim continued. "So what's the first thing that he wants to do tomorrow?" Tim already knew the answer - Dick had texted him.

"Spar with me," Damian said, still glowering at Tim.

"What else does he want to do?" Tim scooped the loose leaf tea into his pot.

"Go for a run."

Tim nodded as he poured boiling water into his tea pot. "He wants to get back into fighting shape as soon as possible. Would he do that if he was giving up?"

Damian traced the whorls of the stone again before speaking. "No."

"I don't think Dick is giving up, but he knows that there's nothing he can do to fix his sight. It's not like there's therapy for him to try. So he is concentrating on the things that he can effect, and letting the rest go." Tim paused. It had been twenty-three seconds since he poured the water. "Can you understand that?"

"Yes," Damian conceded, pouting. "But he's acting like he thinks his sight isn't coming back."

"Maybe it isn't," Tim said gently.

"Why can't Father and Cyborg cure it? Cyborg has an implant for one of his eyes."

41 seconds. "That wouldn't help Dick. The problem is with his brain, not his eyes. We can't just replace an entire region of a human brain."

"Not yet, anyway."

"Not yet," Tim agreed. "There are some potential solutions, but they are still extremely preliminary. There are drawbacks and limitations with current technology and our understanding of the brain. Even alien tech can only help so much. But I know Bruce and everyone else is working very hard."

"So what can I do?"

"Spar with Dick. Help him with whatever he's working on right now. See if you can maybe work with him during therapy. I know it's difficult, but try to meet him where he is. Accept that right now he wants to focus on other things besides a cure that even I have to admit is a long shot." 97 seconds.

Damian looked at Tim, considering, head cocked. Tim had to admit that he looked almost . . . cute. "Very well, Drake. I will take what you said under advisement. Now please tell me that your ridiculous excuse for tea is brewed yet."

"Close enough," Tim said, thinking that Damian had gone almost two minutes without insulting anyone. Without insulting Tim in particular. Tim smiled. "Does Bruce know you're here?"

"I informed him, yes. I may very well stay here for the night."

"Knock yourself out, brat," Tim said without heat, pouring the tea. "Tell me more about how Dick's therapy has been going."

Damian gave Tim a flat stare. "I thought you would be sufficiently informed by the rest of the family."

Tim couldn't deny it. "True, but I want to hear it from you, too. What your opinion is."

Damian hid a tiny smile behind his tea cup as he took a cautious sip. "As you should."

Tim took a drink of his own, sitting down on a stool near Damian. The truce felt raw and tenuous but not uncomfortable. Maybe this could be the start of a real relationship between them.

"Of course, Drake, even you must be aware that rooibos isn't actually a type of tea."

Tim sighed. Or maybe they'll still murder each other one day.

The next afternoon, Tim was trying to finish reworking the R&D project Bruce didn't like before heading home when his phone buzzed on his desk.

Dick: hey tim call me when you can i am going crazy but no rush

The speech to text program Dick used could do punctuation, but Dick rarely bothered to dictate it. Tim frowned but decided to call Dick back before returning to the proposal. There was a chance Dick just wanted an audience to vent to, but he could be genuinely upset.

"Tim! That was fast!" Dick answered on the first ring.

"You caught me at a good time," Tim lied as he saved his document. "What's up?"

"Damian and Bruce are hovering. Constantly. I can feel them just . . . watching. I need to get out of here."

Tim couldn't help it; he chuckled a little.

"And I've asked them to stop trying to sneak up on me, and I'm pretty sure I hear them most of the time, and they promised to stop, but I don't think they can really help it."

"So now you're paranoid and don't know if you should be or not." Tim sighed.

"Exactly!"

"Do you want me to tell them to knock it off? Or better yet, get Alfred to tell them to knock it off?"

"I'll take you up on that if they don't stop soon, but for now, I really just need to get out of here."

Tim bit his lip, thinking through logistics, glancing at the proposal that Lucius had promised to review for him if he could get it to him before close of play today. "I can pick you up, but I've got at least another 30 minutes of work and then the time it'll take to drive out there, I won't be at the Manor much before 6:00. Is that too late?"

"I'm sorry, I know I'm a pest, but I -"

"Shut up, Dick." Operation Stop Dick From Being a Self-Sacrificing Idiot continued. "Let me figure something else out. Can you ask Alfred to drive you here? You can come up to my office or I could meet you in the lobby when I'm done?"

Dick hesitated before slowly saying, "Everyone knows me there, Tim."

Tim almost replied with 'of course they do,' before he realized that Dick was worried about. "They would be thrilled to see you. Lucius was just asking how you were earlier today."

"I know. I just don't think I'm ready. What if I met you at your place? It's not far from Wayne Tower. You haven't changed the lock again?"

Dick hadn't been to Tim's loft in months, since well before the accident, but if Dick didn't mind being alone in a new space then Tim didn't mind. It was a sign that Dick was doing so much better. "No, your key will still work. I can disable the rest of the security from my phone."

"Great, thanks."

"I'll finish this as soon as I can, then meet you there?"

"Okay, see you soon." And Tim knew that it was a common figure of speech, but he still flinched.

Tim raced through the rest of his proposal - 482 words in 36 minutes, spell check, quick proofread (sending typos to Lucius would be so embarrassing) - emailed it to Lucius then headed home.

He wasn't surprised that Dick was already there, sitting on Tim's couch in a hooded sweatshirt with a can of Tim's fancy flavored water. Tim saw a pair of sunglasses and a baseball hat on the coffee table in front of Dick, and Tim surmised that Dick had been trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. Tim kicked off his shoes, grabbed a can of his own, and joined his brother on the couch, shedding various parts of business Tim on the way. Bye-bye business Tim's tie, jacket and briefcase.

"Made it up okay?" Tim asked.

"I did." Dick looked pleased with himself. "And Alfred just dropped me off at the front door, so I went the rest of the way on my own."

"Nice. I bet it feels good to be away from big grumpy ninja-spy and baby grumpy ninja-spy."

Dick laughed. "Yes it does! Damian has been stalking me all day. He won't leave me alone. We sparred first thing in the morning - which was amazing - but then he keeps asking if I want help with therapy and following me from room to room."

"Oh! That's my fault. I didn't think he'd actually listen to me, but last night he asked for advice."

"Advice in dealing with me?" Dick raised an eyebrow. "There's a reversal of fortune."

"Heh. My exact words were 'try to meet Dick where he is.' Somehow that translated to stalking. Sorry about that."

Dick shook his head, smiling ruefully. "Not your fault, Timmy. In fact, I'm so happy that you two were talking. I'm proud of you."

Tim felt his ears burn and hung his head. "You know, you've been saying for years to give the kid a chance. I think I might be starting to get it now. He'd do anything for you."

Dick pulled Tim into a massive sideways hug. "You're a good brother too. Don't think I don't know that you rushed here as fast as you could, that you take my calls whenever you can, all the research you've been doing, and everything else."

Tim shook his head. "It's the least I can do."

Dick sighed and sat up straight again, pulling away from the hug, but he slid his hands down to grab Tim's wrists. Automatically, Tim shifted his hands to grip Dick's wrists in return in the acrobat's hold Dick had taught him long ago. Dick gave a brief squeeze in appreciation, so Tim relaxed, knowing that he'd done what Dick wanted.

"Tim, I've wanted to say something to you for a long time, and I don't have a good excuse for why I didn't say it sooner."

Tim looked at Dick, saw stress and guilt almost completely hidden, but Tim knew Dick and could read them in his face. Just like he knew what Dick was going to say. Tim tensed and tried to pull away. "Want to order pizza? Or Chinese?"

Dick didn't let go. "Tim. I'm sorry for the way I handled things when we thought Bruce was dead. I should have talked to you, I should have listened, we should have figured out things together. I'm so sorry."

Tim sighed. He really didn't want to have this conversation now. Or, well, ever. Thinking about the worst time of his life and rehashing it was definitely not on his to-do list. "Dick, you were in a bad place then."

"So were you, and I didn't need to make it worse." The three-year old hurt roiled in Tim's gut, and he remembered how alone and desperate he felt.

Tim huffed out another sigh, looked at Dick who almost seemed to be meeting his eyes, face earnest and . . . scared. Scared that Tim hadn't forgiven him, maybe. Or wouldn't. "It's taken me a while, but I think you were right to give Robin to Damian. I wish you'd had more of a conversation with me back then, but you couldn't let him go back to the League. Go back to being abused by his mother and grandfather, and with Bruce gone he needed a reason to stay."

"I'm sorry I took it from you like it did. Out of everybody, I should have known how much that hurts."

"And out of everybody, you are the only one who has the right to decide who's Robin."

Dick shook his head in fierce denial. "That's not how it's supposed to work, and that's not what I was thinking at the time." He still had Tim's hands, and Tim knew that Dick would never let him go again.

That old pain coiled in Tim's stomach flexed but then relaxed, and Tim decided to let some of it go. He breathed out again, this time thinking about releasing some of that fierce ache to the air, and he imagined it glowing bright white like phosphorous before dissipating.

"We're good now, Dick. I promise." Tim pulled Dick into a hug, and he almost never initiated that kind of contact, but it felt safe. It wasn't the same thing at all, but Tim imagined that Dick felt alone and desperate himself now.

"Thanks, kiddo," Dick mumbled into Tim's hair and Tim laughed to keep from crying.

"How about pizza and Chinese? I'm starving."

A few days later, Tim pulled up in front of the Manor to take Dick on a long-planned shopping trip. Before Tim could even make it to the steps up to the door, Alfred swung it open. Dick jogged down the stairs wearing a fedora, sunglasses, and a warm jacket against the November chill. Tim met him halfway and got swept up into a hug of greeting.

Alfred, who had stayed in the open doorway, raised an eyebrow. "Master Dick is looking forward to the outing."

"I can see that," Tim said with a grin. "We'll be back by dinner."

"What can I say, I'm just happy to be a free bird," Dick cracked and Tim groaned.

Tim walked Dick to the car and there was a second of awkwardness as Dick groped for the door handle, and Tim felt like he could have handled that better, but Dick didn't say anything, so Tim walked around and hopped into the driver's seat.

"Babs, Steph and Cass are going to meet us there," Tim said as he headed back to Gotham. "Do you have any idea what you're going to get the demon-brat for his birthday?"

"Don't call him that and I think I have an idea."

Dick and Tim chatted amiably the rest of the drive into Gotham, about current cases, Tim's job, gossip about other heroes, the family. Dick looked relaxed and happy and kept making bad jokes, so Tim felt content. Tim usually felt better when Dick or Bruce felt better. It made Tim feel like he was doing his job right.

Once inside, Dick took off his sunglasses and hat. "That's better," he said.

"Yeah, you don't look like a B list actor trying to hide from the paparazzi any more."

They met the three women at a coffee shop, fortified themselves with pastries and caffeine, then headed to a high end department store to shop for Damian. Dick had brought his cane, but was barely using it. He said that he wanted to relax and have fun today, so he preferred to use one of his siblings or friends if he needed a guide for this trip.

Tim noticed the looks the group got. He knew Steph, Cass and Babs did too. No one said anything to Dick. He knew Dick knew. Dick might not be able to see the looks but he wasn't stupid. People would see the blind man and the woman in a wheelchair and part like the Red Sea.

When they arrived at the store, Dick said that he wanted to buy Damian a cashmere scarf. Steph led them to the men's clothing section and flagged down a sales associate.

"What color do you think Damian would like, Dick?" she asked.

"Hmmm, what color best conveys I'm turning thirteen and I'm full of murderous intent?" Tim mused.

The sales person turned a snort into a cough.

Cass slapped Tim's shoulder. "Be nice."

"I don't care about the color," Dick said, ignoring Tim. "I want to find the warmest and softest one I can."

The sales person handed Dick several scarves. Dick felt each one, compared them, examined with his fingers. He even rubbed his favorite two against his cheek. Once he made his final choice, he asked for it to be gift wrapped.

"Do you want me to tell you the color?" Barbara asked tentatively.

For a second, Dick looked wistful, then shook his head with a genuine smile. "I think Damian will like it no matter what."

The next display case over had more men's accessories. Steph insisted Dick needed some new sunglasses and hats. Dick posed as he tried on each new item and made over the top faces and called everyone "darling." He bought every hat and pair of sunglasses that he tried on, even the pair that Barbara said made him look like Yoko Ono. Tim was sure he'd never seen a salesperson so quietly amused. And no doubt pleased at the commission.

Once the main errand had been accomplished, Dick said he still wanted to hang out. They wandered the mall, Dick switching between guides capriciously.

At one point as they walked, Dick wrinkled his nose. "That's a shoe store. I never noticed how . . . distinctive they smell." That wasn't the only store he could identify from smell. He could tell the difference between Lush and Bath and Body Works, Sephora from a candle store.

Shopping was not Tim's favorite activity, but these were some of his favorite people, and he was having fun. He thought Dick was too, until Steph grabbed his arm and pulled him back a few feet.

"Cass said that Dick is starting to get tired and stressed," she whispered right into his ear.

Tim glanced at Dick, who was laughing. Dick looked just fine to Tim, but Cass could tell if Dick was tiring before Dick himself was aware of it. He raised an eyebrow at Steph to communicate so what does she want me to do about it?

"Pedicures. Make it happen," Steph hissed and skipped away.

Tim rolled his eyes but pulled out his phone. Pedicures, she says. Make it happen, she says, he thinks to himself. Good thing I'm a genius with an AmEx black card. He thought for a minute, then hacked into the appointment calendar of a nearby hotel that had a reputation for discretion, which is how they ended up at a five star hotel spa an hour later.

All five of them were sitting in ridiculously comfortable massage chairs with their feet in hot water as the women giggled over the polish choices.

"This one is called 'Ladies and Magenta-men'" Steph laughed. "Dick, that sounds like one of your puns!"

"It is! They stole it from me. I demand royalties."

"I like this name better. It's more appropriate for the former boy hostage - 'All Tied Up,'" Babs said with a wicked grin. "Though I think it would look good on Steph."

Steph rolled a pale color around in her hands. "'Don't Bossa Nova Me Around.'"

Cass held up a different bottle. "This one. Dick needs this one."

"What's it called?" Dick asked.

"Don't know. But. It is perfect."

"Can you describe it to me?"

Cass smiled. "Your favorite shade of blue."

"You know, that blue," Steph interjected.

"With sparkles and glitter!" Cass concluded.

"It does sound perfect," Dick said. He grinned and relaxed even further into the chair with a small groan of contentment. His smile turned puckish. "I'll get my hands done too. Now who is going to describe Bruce's face to me when he sees it?"

Everyone laughed, and Tim smiled. "Cass, can you pick a color for me, please? The more glitter, the better."

Cass beamed at Tim and winked.

"Don't worry, Tim. You and Dick will both be pretty, pretty ponies," Steph said in a mock serious tone.

Dick cackled and gently wiggled his feet in the water. "This was a great idea. Thank you."

Tim leaned back against his chair and felt something tense in his shoulder ease just a touch. "You're right, Dick. The pedicures were an excellent idea."

Steph and Cass both cleared their throats pointedly.

Tim grinned. "Too bad I can't take credit for it."

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Thanks for all of the comments, follows and favorites! My summer has been so crazy busy so thanks for bearing with me even though I've been posting less frequently.

Title for this chapter is from the poem "Simplicity" by Jorge Luis Borges. It really is perfect for this fic.

Come chat with me on tumblr at blog/caramelmachete