Over the next five days, in a silent acknowledgment of the seriousness of Bruce's condition and the decisions he might have to make regarding that condition, G spent the mornings reacquainting himself with Bruce's life. It was just as he remembered it, except bigger, even more larger-than-life, and it was only in the privacy of his own thoughts that G would admit to some intimidation at taking responsibility for it all.

Still, Bruce had apparently left that responsibility to him, and it was the last thing he could do for the man who had saved him from despair and given him purpose, so he would do it as best he could.

G spent the afternoons at Bruce's bedside, reading or simply thinking. Sam joined him for an hour or two each day, but otherwise left him alone to … well. G didn't ask what Sam did when they weren't together. He was imposing on Sam's time enough already and didn't need to know every detail of his partner's day.

His nights - more than the one or two he'd intended - were spent on the streets of Gotham, the suit settling less and less comfortably on his shoulders each night. Babs might be the Oracle, giving him information on crimes and other times he might be needed, but it was Sam's voice, familiar after so many stakeouts together, that kept him grounded and reminded of who he was and why he was gallivanting around dressed up as a bat.

At the end of his first week in Gotham, G conferred with Bruce's doctors, both the specialists treating him and his personal physician, Dr. Leslie Thompkins.

"He's still alive, right?" G asked. "Not just in a machines-keeping-him-alive way, but alive?"

"There's still brain activity," the neurologist said. "But it's not like what we usually see in patients in his condition."

"What is it like, then?" G asked.

"Like he's in deep meditation," the neurologist answered. "It's the damnedest thing I've ever seen, and I would love to write a paper on it someday."

G didn't have to think before he responded to that, "A year after it's over, however it ends. Properly anonymized."

"Of course." The neurologist looked offended that he'd even had to say it.

He didn't pay attention to the rest of what the doctors said. He had his answer, and now all he had to do was decide how to proceed.

When the specialists left, Dr. Thompkins took his hand, her wrinkled hand dry and tiny in his. "You know he's come out of worse than this."

"I don't remember worse than this," G confessed.

"Well, he has. He'll come out of this, too." Dr. Thompkins squeezed his hand, and then she was gone, leaving him alone once more.

Alone with an unconscious Bruce.

Again. Still.

G swore under his breath. After days of sitting vigil, he should be used to a too-still, too-silent Bruce, but he wasn't.

The Bruce he knew was alive, filled with determination, always in motion, whether in a boardroom or the streets. No matter how often he saw Bruce like this, G knew he'd never get used to it.

The door to the room opened, and Sam came in bearing a drink holder with two cups in it and two large bags with a familiar logo.

"Who told you Tony's Burgers is my favorite?" he asked.

"Not Robin," Sam answered. "And why didn't you tell me about Zesti Cola?"

G paused midway to taking one of the drinks and one of the bags. "The guy who yells at me all the time for my eating habits, Mr. I eat all my vegetables and you should, too, wants to know why I didn't tell him about a soda pop?"

"It's good soda pop." Sam set the other bag on the overbed table.

G could only shake his head. "Zesti's regional, can't get it in L.A."

"They have this thing now called the Internet." Sam took a burger from his bag and started to peel back the wrapper. "You can order things from anywhere in the world, have them delivered right to you."

"Fine." G grabbed a burger from his own bag. "I'll send Kamran and Aiden each a case for Christmas."

"Funny, G. Real funny." Sam's last word trailed off into an mm as he took the first bite of the burger.

"They're my favorite for a reason." G followed suit, and for a while the room was quiet while they ate.

A sound, the faintest whisper of fabric on fabric, had G out of his seat, his gun in his hand and his burger forgotten before he even realized where the sound had come from.

Bruce's bed.

He holstered his weapon and was at Bruce's bedside in two quick steps.

"Bruce?" he said. "You back with us?"

Bruce's hand moved again, and G clasped it in his own. A return squeeze sent his heart soaring.

"D-Dick?" Bruce's voice was hoarse, dry from disuse while he'd been unconscious, but almost as strong as G remembered. Of course. Not even a bullet to the head could keep Bruce Wayne down for long. Still….

"Wait one." G looked to the table, but there was no cup of ice chips waiting, because they'd had no idea when - if - Bruce would wake.

But there was a Zesti Cola, and G reached for it to scoop an ice chip out with his fingers and drop it into Bruce's mouth.

Another ice chip followed, and a third.

"That's probably enough for now," G said. "You've been out a while."

"How long?" The words might be slow, but at least Bruce's voice didn't sound like his throat was made of sandpaper now.

"Nine - no, ten days. I think."

"Didn't think you'd come."

"Like I'm stupid enough to ignore a summons from Alfred. Speaking of -" G looked up, only to see the door closing behind Sam.

And that was when the nurse arrived, bustling G out of the way with friendly efficiency.

G held Bruce's gaze for a long moment before jerking his head toward the door where Sam had left. Bruce gave a millimetric nod, and G slipped through the door.

Sam was waiting in the hallway. "I called Alfred. He said he'd inform the others."

"Thanks." Then Sam's expression registered and G gave a silent sigh. "Go ahead. Say it."

"Your name's Dick."

"Richard. Or it was. Now it's G."

Sam grinned. "So when people call you a dick, they're being literal."

"Just telling the truth," G said. He had no need to remind Sam that what happened in Gotham stayed between them - and maybe Michelle, if Sam really felt the need to talk about it - but that didn't mean Sam wasn't going to tease him mercilessly about it forever.

Sam's now-sober expression and intense scrutiny brought him back from his momentary reverie.

"What?"

"You good?" Sam asked.

"Bruce is awake." And he didn't have to make the decision to end Bruce's life support as a result. "I'm good."

G let Bruce's family - Alfred, Babs, Robin, the commissioner and Dr. Thompkins - have the first day Bruce was awake. It was an obvious courtesy, and one no one would think twice about.

The morning of the second day found him in the Batcave, pounding hard on a punching bag, sweat flooding from his body thanks to the punishment he gave it.

"That's my thing." Sam's voice punctuated G's blows.

"Yeah, well -" G landed a double-punch combination on the bag. "I'll borrow anybody's thing if it works."

"Works to do what?" Sam crossed to stand behind the bag, bracing it.

"Get my mind off things." G may have hit the bag harder than usual on that sentence.

Sam gave a slight grunt and adjusted his stance. "Things like the choice you have to make?"

"Choice?" G paused, his hands still in fight-ready position. "What choice?"

"Whether you're coming back to L.A. or staying here."

G felt his eyebrows pinch together. "Why would I stay here?"

"It's home - or it was home."

G shook his head, cutting off whatever Sam might have said next. "It's not home. It wasn't home when I left, and it hasn't been home since. It's sure not home now."

"Isn't it?" Sam countered. "Alfred adores you. Barbara misses you. Robin could use a big brother."

"Babs misses me?" G shook his head again. "Even if she did, nothing in that list addresses what I need or want."

"And what is that?" Sam asked, more a challenge than a question. "What do you want?"

"Why's it so hard for you to believe that I'm happy at NCIS?"

"This." Sam waved one hand in an inclusive gesture. "There's so much more here than even Hetty has access to."

"It's not about the toys, Sam," G snapped. "It's about doing the right thing, the right way. It's about protecting our servicemen and women, and when we can't, getting justice for them."

"Doesn't Batman do the same thing, on a smaller scale?"

"Maybe," G allowed, his thoughts falling into place even as he spoke. "Maybe. A little. But it's not the same. Batman doesn't care about laws or procedures. He cares about justice, yes, but the justice that slides a little too close to revenge for my comfort. Why all the questions, anyway? You trying to get rid of me?"

"No." Sam's serious expression matched his tone. "I'm trying to be sure you know what you want, so if you come back to L.A., you do it with a clear conscience."

"If I wanted this," G said carefully, "I could've had it at any time."

"At what cost?" Sam asked. "Coming back with your tail between your legs? This time, if you stay here, you're the returning hero, the prodigal son."

"Not interested." G started unwrapping the tape on his left hand. This workout was clearly over, no matter what Sam had intended.

"Come on, G - how can you give this up? The money, the freedom to do as you like when you're in costume?"

"I was born into nothing. I never wanted Bruce's money, and if he leaves any of it to me in his will, I'm giving it to charity. Or you. Or Kensi. Or even Deeks. I don't want any of it."

"Not even a legacy?"

G scowled, and bit back a scathing retort. Sam was only doing what a partner - a friend - should do. Yelling at him for it would be ungrateful.

"I have a legacy," G said carefully. "And it's not the Flying Graysons. It's not Bruce Wayne's ward or foster son or whatever. It's the work I've done for the FBI, CIA, and NCIS."

Sam studied him for long moments. Whatever he was looking for, he must have found it, because he nodded. "Okay. You going to see him today?"

G unwrapped the tape from his other hand. "I am sorely tempted to just fly back to L.A."

"Why?"

G debated briefly, and then gave his partner the truth. "To avoid talking to him."

"You know you should."

"Pretty sure he said all that needed saying the night he fired me."

"Maybe," Sam allowed. "And maybe not. See, G, thing about being a parent is, there are no manuals. No rule books. Worst of all, no resets. And all parents make mistakes."

"Even you?" G couldn't help the challenge. He knew Sam's kids, and knew Sam and Michelle, and knew that if any kids were going to turn out well, Aiden and Kamran Hanna would.

"Even me," Sam agreed. "Some of the mistakes are small - like not getting Kamran what she wanted for Christmas. Some of them are bigger, and if I could think of an example, I'd give you one. The hell of it is, you don't realize you're making a mistake until after it's made and you're dealing with the fallout."

G sighed. "Or not dealing with it, because your child ran away."

"Your words, man," Sam said.

"Because they're what you would say," G shot back.

But somewhere inside, he knew Sam was right. He had to talk to Bruce, if only to clear the air between them before he returned to Los Angeles.

It was almost noon when G let himself into Bruce's room. Morning rounds would be complete so they shouldn't be interrupted.

Bruce looked up from the Gotham Gazette someone had brought him. G kept his expression neutral even if he did take a perverse enjoyment in Bruce's ever-so-slight double take.

"Dick." Bruce sounded stronger already. "I thought I'd hallucinated that."

"Sorry to disappoint." The words were out before G thought, and he winced. "Sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"You should say what you're thinking. Even if I don't like it."

That made G's eyebrows rise. "You don't like it?"

"No." Bruce folded the Gazette and laid it aside. "I don't like that you think you could ever disappoint me."

G lingered at the door. "You made it pretty clear I had."

He didn't miss the stricken expression that crossed Bruce's face and was gone almost before it registered. Then Bruce sighed.

"I guess we need to talk about that."

Something in Bruce's tone made G step forward, finally. Much as he'd done during his first visit to this room, G pulled a chair closer to the bed. Sitting it in meant he had to look up at Bruce a little, but this conversation didn't need any other attempts at intimidation. Not, he reflected, that he'd ever be able to intimidate Bruce.

"You're right," Bruce said finally. "I was disappointed - but not in you. In me."

G narrowed his eyes, as if that would somehow help him see Bruce more clearly. "Explain."

"I screwed up, and you suffered for it."

Realization dawned. "And you've always been good at directing your anger outward."

"Something like that," Bruce agreed wryly. "I lashed out, and then you went away."

That much was true. But, still, "You let me stay away. Which meant you wanted me to stay away."

"Or I was too stubborn, too proud, to track you down."

"You really did get hit on your head, didn't you?" G asked, a hint of humor in his tone. "Are you sure you're still Bruce Wayne?"

Bruce's lips twisted into an approximation of a smile. "That's what the staff keeps calling me. Look, Dick - I know it's a lot of years overdue, and probably too little too late, but for what it's worth, I'm sorry."

G blew out a breath. He hadn't realized how much he'd wanted to hear those words until he actually did. Now that he had heard them, they felt hollow - too little too late, as Bruce had said.

But the words were a peace offering, and G found he wanted to accept it, however hollow the words may have felt, if only to finally close out this part of his life.

"I kept your city safe," he said. "I kept your identity safe."

"Thank you." Bruce hesitated for a moment, and G thought he'd never seen the other man looking so vulnerable. "You said I let you stay away, and I did. But I always knew what you were doing."

G nodded - he'd assumed something of the sort, given how he'd been summoned here. He waited for whatever came next.

"And?" G prompted when Bruce still hesitated.

"And - you made different choices than I would have. Than I did," Bruce corrected himself. "But they're good choices."

Those words rang with sincerity, and G smiled. He and Bruce might never be family, might never even be partners the way he and Sam were, but they could respect each other, and that was enough.