The next afternoon, Bruce winced as he reached for the phone. Cynthia had buzzed back to inform him that it was Alfred on the line, and after the lecture of the night before and the miserable breakfast he'd been served that morning the butler was the last person he wanted to speak to. Cantaloupe and plain, sugarless oatmeal, he shuddered, remembering. I'll be lucky if he even feeds me dinner at all, at this rate. He'd eaten little of his morning repast, instead stopping by a fast-food place on his way to work and bearing the shocked stare of the employee at the window. The fact that the items he ordered were somehow less palatable than what had been set in front of him an hour earlier – people pay money for this? – had been almost as dismaying as the lucky paparazzo he spotted snapping photos as he drove through the exit.

The only bright spot in his day had come early on, and even that had been a mixed bag. Remembering Batman's hesitation the night before, he'd tried an experiment as he came out of his bedroom and found the hallway unoccupied. Turning left rather than right, he'd forced himself the short distance to the boy's bedroom door. It had taken every ounce of strength he had, but he finally managed to pass inside and move forward enough to see him, asleep, Elinor clutched in his arms as if she were his only friend in the world. …If his letter last night was any indication, that's exactly how he feels, he'd moaned to himself, something twisting in his chest at the thought. He made to slip closer, aching to erase the sad expression that the child wore even in slumber, and managed one step before he was halted.

What do you think you're doing?

Wiping that awful look off of his face.

No. No touching, no pet names. You're lucky I allowed you to come this far.

Bullshit! I had to fight you for every inch between my bedroom and here, don't try and tell me you 'allowed' anything!

I kept up a resistance, yes, Batman lied smoothly. But you are only standing here now because I chose not to hold you back.

In the sleeping child's presence, Bruce was emboldened. Screw this. I'm going to him. His foot got half an inch off of the floor before it halted, then lowered itself against his will. He jerked it up once more, and this time there was an effort from the other side to make him step backwards. He fought, and managed to get the limb back down where it had started.

…An impasse, Batman stewed.

An impasse, Bruce repeated with a fierce joy. He'd realized the night before that he was gaining on the vigilante, and this latest battle only served to support his suspicions. Batman had dominated the conversation with Alfred, certainly, but the moments when the billionaire had managed to grasp control had not been approved. He'd fought for them, and won them, and it seemed to be getting easier with every attempt he made. Why don't you just give up now? he teased.

For the same reason that you did not. Because I believe that I am doing the right thing.

That was the last he'd heard from Batman for the rest of the morning. Improvement or none, Bruce found that he wasn't able to overcome the lock on his mouth that prevented him from calling the boy to him. With that option barred to him, he simply stood, watching him sleep, until he glanced at his watch and discovered that he was running late. I wish he would have woken up and seen me, he'd sighed as he backed silently out of the chamber, but at least I got to see him. And maybe my being there helped stave off a nightmare or two…he seemed to be okay, except for that frown… I wish I could have gotten closer, kiddo, I do, but…we're getting there. I'm not giving up; don't you give up, either.

The successes of the morning still clear in his mind, he pushed the vigilante back once more and answered the phone. "Ah…Alfred?" he asked hesitantly once the handset was to his ear. Please don't yell at me. I'm doing my best, honestly I am.

"Master Wayne, I need you to come home immediately."

A blade of dread slipped into his. "What? Why? What's wrong? Is…is he all right?" Oh, god, tell me he didn't try to do something foolish, take a cue from Caleb, or…or…run away, or something…

"So far as I know he's fine…physically speaking," the butler replied, the last two words dripping with accusation.

Oh, thank god. "…Then what's the problem? Something with CPS, or…?"

There was a heavy sigh at the other end. "I suppose I may as well give you the whole story now. He slept in a bit this morning, which struck me as odd since he rose extremely early yesterday in the hopes of catching you before you left for work."

"…I didn't know that," Bruce whispered into the expectant pause. Oh, baby, I'm so sorry. I know I have so much to make up for once I finally get this under control, I just…I'm so sorry.

"No, I don't suppose you would have. In any case, he slept in this morning, or so I thought. When I went to get him for breakfast, however, I found him at his window rather than in bed. He'd risen, bathed, and dressed, and based on the fact that his hair had dried completely I believe that he had been staring outside for some time. He said he was fine when I inquired, and then asked me the date. I thought the question only slightly odd at the time, seeing as how the weather has reversed itself completely in the past day, and told him that it is the first day of spring. He seemed a little dismayed by that, but said nothing further about it.

"He was quiet all through his breakfast – which, I'll have you know, he once again barely picked at – and-"

"Did you serve him what you served me?" Batman sneered into the phone. "Because I can hardly blame him if you did."

Knock it off! This sounds important!

So is making sure we have enough energy for patrol. That greasy…thing…that you bought was nothing but congealed cholesterol.

Yeah, well, maybe, if you'd stop being such an ass he'd be feeding us better. Now shut up.

"…I beg your pardon?" a scandalized question came through the phone.

"Sorry, Alfred," Bruce enacted quick damage control. "I didn't mean that."

"Indeed? I couldn't tell. Regardless, no; I served him an omelet. He said it was good, and yet he ate very little of it before retreating to the den with his book."

"…How far is he into it now?" the billionaire asked quietly. If I'd been reading to him at night, I'd know. But I haven't been.

"He appears to be nearly finished. He fell asleep on the couch shortly thereafter, which didn't surprise me in the least given that I removed him from your bedroom doorway twice again last night, and stayed that way until lunch. I suspect that he had another nightmare towards the end of his nap, since he was freshly awake and rather teary-eyed when I fetched him to try and eat again, but he once more insisted that there was no problem.

"I attempted to engage him in conversation over his luncheon, and he responded politely enough – I've yet to hear a coarse word from him, which I must say is a truly delightful change of pace – but it was obvious that his heart wasn't in it. Thinking some fresh air might do him good, I suggested that he venture outside and enjoy the sun, which he did."

It is a nice day, Bruce had to admit, glancing out of his windows. Although it was a pretty safe bet that Gotham's usual blanket of clouds would return tomorrow, they'd all vanished that morning, leaving the sky a perfectly blank blue. Suddenly unobstructed, the sun had pushed the temperature up into the sixties by midday, and was making the office hot enough that he'd been seriously considering turning on the air conditioner when he was informed of the call waiting for him. He should be outside. And…well, I should be with him, he sighed. But I don't have that level of control. Not yet. Stick around another day, sun, and maybe I'll have brought this war to a conclusion. "Okay. So he's outside. Is that…is that why you called me to come home?"

"No, sir. I had a very strong suspicion that something as simply wholesome as spending time with your son – yes, there's that word again – on the first truly beautiful day we've had since I can remember wouldn't be sufficient for you, at least not as you've been of late." His tone was scathing, but Bruce, feeling like he deserved it, didn't try to defend himself. "I phoned you because I discovered something rather awful when I took advantage of the young master's absence to look over his CPS file more in depth."

"'Awful'?" the billionaire repeated, frowning. "I didn't see anything too terrible when I flipped through it."

"Nor did I the first time. But I imagine that we both rather glossed over the vital statistics, being more interested in the academic and psychological testing results."

"I didn't exactly read the basics word for word, no, but we know most of that stuff, so…" I'm confused. Where is this going?

"I thought as much myself, until I noticed this morning that he is nine."

"Eight," he corrected automatically. "He's eight."

"He is nine, sir, as of five twenty-three this morning," Alfred informed him quietly. "Hence, I must assume, his mood upon hearing the date."

"…Are you telling me that today is his birthday?" Bruce asked for confirmation as stunned tears welled up in his eyes. Dicky…baby…I wish you'd said something…

"That is exactly what I'm telling you, Master Wayne. On top of everything else, we failed to recognize his birthday," he said, his shame audible.

"Why the hell didn't he tell us!?" First the note, and now this. Christ, I am an absolute failure.

"…Surely you're cognizant of that, sir."

"…Goddamn it. Of course I am." He stood up. "I'm…"

No, you aren't! You can see him for a short while this evening, given the circumstances. But there's no need to cut the work day short.

You know what? I'm about done. It was bad enough before, but this…this is out of the question. He skipped telling us about his birthday because he thought no one would care. This isn't an issue of whether or not I'm getting 'too attached'; this is a problem of doing justice by a scared, lonely child. And by myself, he added furiously. Because I'm sick of hiding in the shadows all the time. I'm not saying I want to let the whole world in; just this one person. I've waited long enough, and he's waited too long. No more. Do you understand me? No. Fucking. More. "Alfred, I'll be home as fast as I can be. Don't tell him; I want it to be a surprise. And…I don't know, presents?"

"I think seeing you, provided that you can act like you ought to around him, will make his day, but we can address the issue of belated gifts this evening. I'll prepare a cake for after dinner." He paused. "…I'm glad to hear that you've come to your senses, Master Wayne. It would have pained me greatly if I'd had to request that your steak for the fundraiser on Saturday be cooked to the consistency of shoe leather."

The fundraiser. Paparazzi. Shit. "…Can you get me out of that?"

"Sir?"

"The fundraiser. Get me out of it."

"It's the semi-annual Wayne Foundation plate dinner. Are you certain? You've never missed one of those."

"I know, but…I owe him two days."

You owe him nothing!

I owe him everything, and that's even if he never forgives me for what I've let you make me do to him since Monday night. "…I think they'd understand, don't you?" he asked out loud.

There was a pause. "Yes, Master Wayne, I daresay that they would," Alfred answered softly, not needing to ask to whom his elder charge was referring. "I'll make the necessary arrangements."

"Thank you. And Alfred?"

"Hmm?"

"…I'm sorry."

"We all make mistakes, sir," the butler nearly whispered. "So long as you do your best to rectify the error, I've nothing to hold against you."

"…See you in a little while."

"Indeed. I shall meet you in the foyer." And with that, the call ended.

Bruce sped home at speeds he usually risked only in the Batmobile, managing through sheer luck to avoid being pulled over for reckless endangerment. Wouldn't the tabloids have loved that, he thought bitterly as he braked hard, sliding to a stop in front of the manor.

This is stupid.

Look who's using juvenile phraseology now, he retorted.

He'll destroy you. You'll lose him someday, you know you will, and it will kill you.

…You know what? Fine. If that's how it works out, then that's how it works out. So long as I get to spend time with him between now and then, then it's okay. If I have to die, it might as well be for a cause, and he's the best one I've ever encountered.

Really? Better than the overall crusade for justice that we wage every night? This one boy is more important than all of those other people? Batman asked sarcastically.

Not statistically speaking, no. But he's a symbol of why we do what we do; how can either of us walk away from that?

I…you…hmm.

Yeah. Now maybe you see where I'm coming from. He paused. He's going to have to know about Batman. It's the only way.

I disagree. Strenuously.

I don't really care if you agree. I'm telling you that that's what has to happen.

How can you trust a child you barely know to keep that secret? He'll expose us, you know he will, if only by accident.

…This is the kid who volunteered to sweep the Batcave so we'd have more time for investigations. The kid who kept his own birthday a secret. And you don't think we can trust him?

I'm hesitant, yes, for the obvious reasons!

Well, I trust him. So…get used to it, because I'm telling him. A little more tension released from his muscles suddenly, and he was able to climb out of the car.

As he'd promised he would be, Alfred was waiting just inside. He deftly caught the jacket that the billionaire practically chucked at him on his way by. "Where is he?" Bruce demanded, not stopping. He wasn't on the front lawn, so he must be out back, but I don't want to waste a bunch of time searching for him…

"He was down by the standalone oaks about fifteen minutes ago."

"Good!" he called, sweeping towards the patio door. Oh, kiddo, I just hope you can forgive me… His self-control seemed to grow with every step he took, Batman falling further into the shadows as he moved out into the light. Had his tie not been clipped, it would have been over his shoulder in an instant, skewed by the breeze of his rapid passage through the spring air. Where are you? his eyes narrowed, searching the ground between a pair of trees that had been planted several generations before his birth.

He drew to a standstill. …He might have moved. Alfred said it had been about fifteen minutes since he… The thought trailed off as he finally caught sight of him, standing on a branch some twenty feet in the air with his back turned. There you are, he smiled softly. Tree climbing. Why am I not surprised?

He blends in very well, especially considering that there are no leaves, but the lowest limb is at least twice his height from the ground. How did he even get up there? Batman wondered.

Eh. He's strong; you said it yourself. I'll ask him, though. His pleased expression slackened as the boy crept away from the trunk. ...What is he doing? he thought, the same knife as earlier slipping into his guts. …Dick?

Go, he's going to-!

Dick jumped.

Author's Note: I refuse to be so cruel as to leave you with that ending for 24 hours. As such, I've posted two chapters today. Happy reading!