Chapter 18

Bruce decided that he was looking forward to the day when none of his kids would walk into Wayne Manor looking like they were facing an execution. Because if Bruce thought that Jason had been tense when he showed up yesterday with Harley, that was nothing compared to Dick, who looked like one strong word from Bruce would blow him away as he stood on the stoop with Babs.

Barbara, thank God, looked much more composed. Bruce supposed it was partly due to her more placid nature and partly because her life was undoubtedly about to get significantly better if her basically-a-husband and his father could manage to figure out how to stop sniping with each other on a regular basis. Barbara did have to get through the rabbit-hole of meeting Harley tonight, that was true, but Bruce thought that Babs looked more curious as to what the evening would hold rather than anxious, and she was a welcome still pond of unflappable emotions in the midst of Dick's swirling undercurrents of unease.

"Come on in," Bruce said to his son and daughter-in-law, reaching out to pull Babs into a hug as soon as she walked in the door. "It's good to see you," he said to her warmly as he unhesitatingly squeezed her tight. "It's been too long."

"Yeah, it has," she said, leaning in to hug him a little tighter, too, and feeling a lump start to grow in her throat. Because Bruce was the only parent who Barbara had left and until he hugged her, she hadn't realized quite how big the void in her heart had grown from not making time to see him.

Barbara's dad, Jim Gordon, had died almost two years ago after a short but intense battle with prostate cancer and the grief of losing him had practically swallowed Barbara alive. Dick and Bruce had been her rocks back then, even rallying themselves to avoid stupid fights with each other for the longest extended period of peace that they'd had in the last decade as they supported her, first through her mourning and then in her bid to become the next Police Commissioner.

Barbara was young for the job, only twenty-seven when she ran for office, but her record was more than impressive. She had hung up the Batgirl cowl after graduating the Police Academy with Dick, feeling a more passionate calling to the force and to follow in her father's footsteps than to continue with vigilante work once she grew up. But she took her secret past into the Gotham Police Force with a passion, suggesting new training methods and gear to better equip officers to deal with the spectacular level of villains that haunted their dreary, crime-riddled town.

And her hard work and persistence had paid off. Within her first five years on the force under her father as Commissioner, officer mortalities were down, combat skills were up, new tech was being regularly reviewed and incorporated into use, and Barbara had accumulated an impressive personal arrest record of rogues.

So when Gotham's much-beloved Jim Gordon passed a few years later, Barbara's name wasn't being tossed around in consideration for the Commissioner's post out of nepotism, but out of hard-earned respect from her peers backed up by the solid statistics of her innovative successes.

She'd still had to campaign hard for the post - being a woman as well as being so young meant that she'd had to fight twice as hard against her older, more experienced male opponent, who had also had the advantage of being appointed the interim Commissioner immediately after her father's death - but with Bruce Wayne's generous fundraising efforts and campaigning, Barbara had been elected.

In her first eighteen months in office, she'd been steadily proving to her detractors and to the public that she had what it took to be the Commissioner, but her new job kept her far busier than being an officer had been. Not to mention how hard it was to squeeze time in with Dick, who was on Bludhaven's police force as well as being Nightwing. When she added Dick and Bruce's recurrent spirals of drama and Dick's penchant for avoiding conflict on top of that, it had been hard to find time to see Bruce lately.

And she'd missed him, Babs realized. A lot. She looked up at him with a slightly teary smile as she pulled away from their hug.

"Let's not go so long without seeing each other again," she said to him, and he rubbed her arms as he let her go.

"Agreed," he said with a misty smile. Dick sighed to himself. Bruce got along so easily with Babs. He always had, even when she was Batgirl and he was Robin. Not that he was jealous of Babs. She wasn't Bruce's own kid, after all, and that undoubtedly reduced their potential for conflicts. But still… Dick wished that he could have that easy relationship with Bruce, too.

He gulped as he thought about what they had to discuss tonight and wondered again if he'd be able to get the words out. Babs had encouraged him all evening over dinner at her apartment and even helped him practice what to say, but Dick's upset stomach was making him want to run back to Bludhaven. Or, at the very least, to the nearest toilet for the rest of the night. Bruce was talking to him, though.

"Dick," Bruce said. "Come on in, son, and shut the door," he said. Dick jumped a little bit out of his trance, because he hadn't even realized that he'd stopped in the doorway watching Barbara and Bruce hug without actually crossing the threshold himself.

"Sorry," he muttered, quickly entering the foyer and shutting the door behind him.

Bruce wasn't glowering at him, though, and even more shocking was the fact that Bruce was advancing on him and pulling him into a bear hug. An actual, tight, embrace. Which was not at all what Dick would have expected from Bruce even on his father's very best day ever, let alone on today of all days, after the way that their blowout fight over Jason had ended the last time that they saw each other.

"Let's go work this out," Bruce said as he stepped back, cuffing Dick's cheek affectionately and meeting his eyes warmly without any hesitation.

"Ok," Dick managed to get out, casting a nervous glance at Babs, not sure suddenly if he was more anxious over what he had to say to Bruce or over Bruce's apparent lobotomy. Babs just smiled at him and Bruce amiably, though, as if everything was great.

"Harley and the kids are in the kitchen," Bruce said to her as if that was completely normal. "With Alfred. He's teaching them cake decorating skills tonight."

"Oh!" Barbara said with interest. "That sounds fabulous. And we get to eat their hard work after?" she asked with a grin and Bruce nodded.

"I'll head down there to join them," Barbara said. "You boys have fun…" she called mischievously over her shoulder as she sauntered into the depths of the mansion.

"I thought we'd talk in my study?" Bruce asked Dick, who nodded in response and would have followed Bruce there, trailing after him like a scolded puppy dog, but Bruce slowed his steps and matched Dick's gait so that they were walking shoulder to shoulder.

"How's work been going?" Bruce asked him congenially as they made their way through the hallways.

"Um, it's fine," Dick managed to get out. "We just busted up a drug trafficking ring in Bludhaven that we've been after for about six months, so that was a pretty big deal. Not that another one won't crop up tomorrow," he sighed and Bruce growled sympathetically.

"It never stops, does it?" he said with some bitterness and his son shook his head.

"And yet we continue," Dick muttered. Bruce cast a slightly guilty glance Dick's way but didn't say anything to that. He figured, upon consideration, that it was better to deal with their personal issues first before springing the 'Bane as Batman' shocker onto Dick. Because, hell, he'd like to at least have a chance of making up with Dick and leading their conversation with Bane did not seem conducive to meeting that goal.

"You want anything to drink?" Bruce asked him as Dick settled into the well-worn brown leather sofa in the study. Bruce and Alfred maintained a charmingly old-fashioned liquor cabinet in the room despite the fact that Bruce, as far as Dick knew, rarely drank. It had been Bruce's father's, though, from the heyday of highballs and it was as much a fixture of Bruce's study as his marble chess set or his bronzed bust of Shakespeare.

"No thanks," Dick said, even though a drink would probably have calmed his nerves some. But it could also loosen his tongue too much and after their last in-person fiasco, Dick wanted all of his self-control at his disposal.

"So," Bruce said, as he sat across from Dick in the sofa's matching leather armchair and leaned forward on his arms with an intently probing yet open look in his eyes, "tell me why we really fight so much."

And there it was. The Question of All Questions. About the secret hurt that Dick had buried for so, so long and Bruce had put it directly out there in front of them, expecting an answer. The real answer. Dick felt his cheeks start to burn with embarrassment before he even got his mouth open and he tried to will the tears to stay in his eyes.

"Um," he began, hesitating. "It's… it's stupid, really," he muttered. "It's not even that big a deal. It shouldn't be, I mean. I don't know why it bothers me so much. It shouldn't," he said, blinking furiously at the tears. Stay, he begged them, wishing that he could sink through the floor to hide in the depths of the Batcave rather than say this out loud.

"It's clearly not stupid," Bruce said gently, "if it's been upsetting you this much, for so long. You can tell me, son," he said. "I want to know. Hell, I need to know," he said, sighing. "You matter too much to me for us to keep being at each other's throats like we always are." Dick's head jerked up a little bit.

"Really?" he said softly, doubt lining his face.

"Dick," Bruce said in surprise, a wave of guilt immediately washing over him, reminding him of how he'd felt when Damian, too, had questioned if Bruce actually loved him the first time he'd said it.

"Yes, you matter," Bruce said to Dick insistently. "Although I'm well aware that I'm a shit father most of the time and probably don't show how much I care," he said with regret. "And I'm sorry for that," he added, holding Dick's eyes steadily with his own for a moment before looking down at the floor.

"I'm trying to do better, now," Bruce said with determination when he raised his head back up. "And I love you," he said quietly, but with no hesitation.

Dick sniffed and felt the tears starting to win the battle of wills. He brushed them away with the back of his hand and took a few steadying breaths before trying to speak.

"It's - it's a couple of things," he said slowly. Bruce nodded and waited for him to go on.

"You fired me from being Robin," Dick said, and he couldn't keep the hurt out of his voice. When Bruce didn't say anything at first, but seemed to be waiting for more, Dick kept talking.

"That was our thing, Bruce," he said to him. "You gave me Robin. To avenge my family. And it was ours, what we did together," he said with frustration, wiping his eyes some more. "And then you fired me," he ended brokenly. "Why would you do that? It was like you adopted Jason and didn't want me anymore," he said and Bruce inhaled sharply.

"Shit," he muttered. "I didn't think about it like that," he said. "Jason had nothing to do with firing you, son, but… shit," he muttered again. "When you put it like that," he groaned. "God, I am such a fuck up," Bruce said under his breath to himself.

"So why did you fire me then?" Dick challenged him. Bruce looked at him with troubled eyes.

"We were fighting too much as you grew up and ended high school. You wanted to take charge, do things your way - and that was good," he said, suddenly arresting the knife of hurt that had started to twist in Dick's heart.

"I felt like I needed to push you out of the nest," Bruce said slowly. "So you could spread your wings." Dick's jaw dropped open. Because really, never once in all of his angry ruminations had he ever considered that Bruce was trying to help him grow up by firing him.

"I didn't want you to feel tied to me and to Gotham and to the family business out of obligation, so to speak," Bruce said, frustration at his own poor communication skills now mixing with his regret. "I thought you needed the freedom to see if being a vigilante was really the life you wanted as an adult. And to learn your own style, your own way of doing things if it was. To make your own allies and figure out your own path just like I did."

Dick was starting to breathe more heavily as Bruce looked at him consideringly.

"I thought you becoming Nightwing was a good thing. And what you wanted," he said to him. "I was proud of you," he added more quietly. "You came into your own, Dick."

Dick sniffed harder and wiped his nose on his sleeve before rubbing his eyes as he bit back sobs because throughout the course of his entire life with Bruce, he had never once heard his adoptive father say that he was proud of him. He couldn't believe how good it felt to not only finally hear the words but to feel the full weight of the truth behind them when Bruce spoke.

"But - Jason," Dick said as he struggled to maintain his composure, unable to let that part go.

"I would have fired you with or without Jason," Bruce said. "It was time. You needed to fly free, little Robin," he said with a tender parental smile that had a hint of wistfulness in it.

"But you made Jason into Robin!" Dick said in a spasm of hurt. Bruce looked at him oddly, not seeming to understand.

"That bothered you?" he asked Dick in confusion. "Aside from thinking that he was the reason I fired you?"

"Yes!" Dick shouted at him, beginning to lose control as pain wracked his chest. "Yes, it bothered me! Robin was my name. It was my mom's name for me," he got out and then the sobs really started to control him as the hollowness in his heart where his family should have been and the overwhelming grief that could still catch him off-guard any day of the week and the longing for his mom that never, ever went away and the pent-up years of hurt at having her pet name for him stolen rose to the surface and slashed his soul with shredding agony.

"Oh, Dick," Bruce said regretfully, tears starting to fill his own eyes. "Dick," he said again, getting up to sit next to Dick on the couch and pulling him into his arms. Dick didn't even fight him but just kept crying while Bruce held him and rubbed his head. And embarrassed as Dick was, he couldn't deny that it felt really nice to have Bruce take care of him like he was a little kid again, but he still tried to stop the flow of tears as soon as he could. Even though, despite his best efforts, it was several minutes before his sobbing stopped.

"You had already become Nightwing by the time I made Jason into Robin," Bruce said as Dick quieted down. "I thought you didn't want to use the name anymore," he said.

"You fired me," Dick protested.

"Well, you could have asked me if you still wanted to use the name," Bruce said. "But… I guess I see your point," he said. He paused. "Actually, I think I did want you to give the name up," Bruce said. "In retrospect. I didn't want it to hold you back. But I get that I wasn't the easiest person to talk to back then," Bruce sighed.

"You're still not," Dick muttered, causing Bruce to chuckle.

"I know," he said. "I'm working on it." Dick wiped his eyes as he sat up, pulling himself out of Bruce's arms.

"I remembered that it was your mom's name for you," Bruce said, causing Dick to still and meet his eyes in questioning wonder. "I gave it to Jason to honor you and your mom. So there would always be a Robin flying in Gotham. I didn't like the idea of the Flying Graysons disappearing forever," Bruce said somberly. Dick opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

"I should have told you," Bruce said. "Or asked you," he corrected with a little grimace. "Definitely asked," he said and Dick managed a little half-smile.

"I wish I'd known," he said miserably. "Or asked you sooner." Bruce grunted.

"I knew things weren't right with us after you left home but I thought it was growing pains at first," he said. "And then Jason died…" he said, swallowing hard. "And Talia, and Bane, and my back, and…I lost myself. And I let you go. I shouldn't have," Bruce said with enormous guilt.

"It's my fault, too," Dick surprised him by saying. "I run from conflict. So Babs says," he said with a mirthless laugh. "But she's right. I run from her, I run from you… I stuff it all inside and avoid the hell out of whatever's bothering me."

"How's that working out for you?" Bruce asked him with a wry grin.

"Not well," Dick said. He rubbed his hair back with his hands. "Babs said it's why she won't marry me," he said and he looked so sad that Bruce couldn't help reaching out again to hug his shoulders.

"She will," he said. "You're young. You can change."

"Maybe," Dick muttered.

"If I can change, you can definitely change," Bruce pointed out, and Dick had to smile at that.

"You are the most stubborn man on the planet," he said to Bruce, getting a small smirk back. "I guess I can't be a worse case than you."

"There you go," Bruce said with an encouraging thump to his back. He hesitated for a second. "What about your other problems with Jason, though? Everything else you said last time. None of your feelings were news to me, Dick," Bruce said more seriously.

"Yeah, I know," Dick said. "I guess I always felt like my childhood was just as bad as Jason's, so why should he act like he had it worse?"

"He did have it worse," Bruce pointed out grimly.

"I know," Dick said apologetically. "Babs kind of reamed me out about that recently. Hell, Bruce, I was still a teenager when you adopted him and I felt like my family being murdered was the worst thing any kid could go through. And Jason hadn't been through that so I judged him. I was too young and arrogant to get how much rougher his life was from mine and how that shaped him."

"And too stubborn to see it later?" Bruce teased him, poking his side. "Now who on earth could you possibly have gotten that trait from?"

"Yeah, yeah," Dick said, looking a little embarrassed. "So I'm slow to mature. Clearly I'm not the only one, old man," he said.

"Not denying it," Bruce smiled. "Runs in the family." Dick heaved out a huge breath, feeling like the old, tired weight of resentments that he'd been carrying around for years was finally loosing its hold on him.

"So you and me, we're gonna be ok from now on?" he asked Bruce with a little hopeful flicker in his eyes.

"Always," Bruce said, leaning over to kiss the side of his head. "We'll talk about it sooner the next time something comes up. Yes?" he said to Dick. "Because I'm sure we'll find more things to fight about."

"Yeah," Dick said, smiling a little bit. "I'm sure that's inevitable, seeing as how you're the most stubborn man in the universe." Bruce cuffed the back of his head lightly but with a playful smirk.

"And," Dick went on, "I won't hold it in and run away next time. But I don't think we'll be fighting over this stuff anymore, anyway," he said with relief.

"Exactly," Bruce said, looking equally relieved to have finally banished the ghosts of past hurts.

"But I need you to work things out with Jason, too," Bruce said with a more serious look to Dick. "He's out of town right now but when he gets back."

"Yeah, explain what the hell is going on to me, please," Dick said, looking utterly mystified. "He married Harley Quinn? And she's here now at the mansion with you?"

"Yes," Bruce groaned dramatically, but he couldn't keep a little affectionate smile off of his face when he thought of his new daughter Harley.

"She's saner than she used to be," he said. "And she and Jason make a really good couple," he said. "And, well, she's also apparently the grand puppet master presiding over Gotham from the shadows and I'm really fuckin' glad she's on our side now," he said. Dick looked at him.

"For real?" he said doubtfully.

"For real," Bruce said. "She killed the Joker," he said and Dick's eyes popped out of his head. "Seven years ago," Bruce added. "Right after he killed Jason. And Dick, she can get anything and anybody she wants out of Arkham. She had a blackmail file six inches thick on Amanda Waller, who's been running an illegal merc squad, by the way. She got Deadshot to agree not to shoot anybody without her permission."

"Wait, what?" Dick said. "Deadshot? Why would he need her permission? He's in Arkham."

Bruce made an uneasy grunt. "Don't lose your shit, ok?" he muttered. "We just made up. So seriously, don't lose your shit when I tell you this."

"What?" Dick asked very suspiciously.

"Look," Bruce said heavily, "Let me start at the beginning. Bane is sober now and I'm letting him take over temporarily as Batman. He's been doing it for a week already."

"What?" Dick exploded.

"Shit," Bruce reminded him. "Don't lose it." Dick began to take deep breaths in and out.

"And, as it happens," Bruce went on, slowly picking up more speed, "Bane and Jason went out of town for a week and Harley is staying here while they're gone. And since I've had a nervous breakdown, according to Damian, and am unfit to patrol, according to everyone, and since you and I have been fighting, Harley said she'd patrol this week. As Batgirl," he added, as if that made it better. Dick's breaths were coming faster but he had his mouth clamped shut, apparently making a huge effort to keep it together.

"But Harley can't patrol without backup," Bruce went on. "Well, she could, but Jason would kill me and him and me are just starting to work things out so she needs backup. And Harley won't take Tim out because he's underage. Or Steph, for that reason, but Bane broke Steph's ankle so she can't go out for awhile anyway." Dick's face was starting to turn red with the effort of not interjecting and he was biting down on his lip hard, so he clamped a hand over his mouth. Bruce gently patted his shoulder.

"It gets worse," he said encouragingly. "Harley's idea for backup is her Suicide Squad, that's the Arkham prisoners that Waller's been blackmailing. So, the two of us - me and Harley - blackmailed Waller this afternoon into letting the Squad out. Which includes Deadshot." A high-pitched whine escaped from behind Dick's tightly closed and covered mouth.

"Also Captain Cold, Killer Croc, and Killer Frost." Dick's eyes bugged out at the last name. "And Cluemaster," Bruce relentlessly went on, "but he's staying in Arkham for treatment in between Suicide Squad gigs. Which they'll still be taking under Harley's management, but for pay from now on." Dick stared at him, his eyes silently pleading with Bruce to be done.

"Oh!" Bruce said, remembering. "So, Deadshot. Harley's his pimp now and booking his personal assassination contracts for 12.5% of his fees. But she has total control over his targets," Bruce finished casually as if that made everything just fine. He fell silent for a minute and appeared to be done with his report so Dick slowly, cautiously removed his hand from his mouth and took a few experimental breaths before trying to speak.

"Bruce…" Dick said very, very carefully.

"Oh, and Harley and the whole Squad are getting presidential pardons," Bruce suddenly added. "And that's all," he said. Dick stared at him.

"No, wait, not all," Bruce said. "I think I'm in love with Bane."

"Give me that damn drink," Dick said.