Fraternity

Rated: Y7, because it is a super hero action drama. PG-13, because it has some naughty language and suggested situations.

Characters: Dick/Tim; cameo appearances by Arsenal, Flash, and Tempest. Continuity: The Animated Series, with heavy doses of comics.

Author's Note: This contains references to current Young Justice and Titans story lines; however, I have taken some liberties with characterizations and established situations. Much of what is implied about Poseidonis and Atlanteans comes from some other story ideas DarkAngel and I have been tossing about.

Archiving: Rebroadcast of this story, in part or in whole, without the expressed written permission of Major League Baseball is strictly prohibited. Seriously, for the Batslash Archive, of course, and anybody else, just ask.

Special thanks to J.C. for the ^^V^^ - One of us came up with it, and damned if I know which.

Dedicated: To my own Ves'acha Bari, DarkAngel, who suggested I send Dick to the Titans.

Disclaimer: This is a work of speculative fiction. It is not intended to infringe upon the rights of DC Comics, Warner Brothers, Bob Kane, Messrs. Lester and Valencia, or any other interested parties. No profit will be made by this, and even if some were, it would all be donated to the Wayne Foundation Charitable Trust. Views expressed by characters in this story do not necessarily reflect the opinions of DC Comics or the Titans.

Fraternity

by Father Of Lies

Prologue

"Dick . . . I . . . " Bruce paused, and turned away. There was pain in his voice when he spoke again. "I understand what you feel, and believe me, I am . . . flattered beyond words. But . . . I'm not - I mean, Chum, I don't feel that way about you."

Dick knew, then, with a dreadful certainty, that there was no hope. He stared at Bruce, barely hearing the rest of the uncharacteristically gentle rejection. The months of anguished, careful planning, watching for just the right moment to reveal his true feelings, all of that was for nothing. He felt like he was in shock - what was the line from that movie? "The guy with the amusing look on his face, because his insides have just been kicked out?" Yeah, that was him. He noticed, in a detached way, that he was not breathing; with a conscious effort, he forced himself to breathe. Yes, shock, that was the- word for it. He was in shock, numb; yet a part of him wanted to laugh - He wondered if Bruce, confirmed bachelor that he was, had actually acquired a well-rehearsed spiel for just such purposes. "I understand what you feel, INSERT NAME HERE, and believe me, I am flattered . . . " Very convenient. All he had to do was change a few pronouns, he didn't even have to think about it.

"That's okay, Bruce," Dick heard his own voice saying. "I guess I wasn't thinking. Of course, you're right. I should have known better. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to embarrass you or anything." It even sounded like his usual, cheery self. None of that emotional, heartbroken stuff around Bruce. Keep up the charade - put on the mask.

"Dick, please understand." Bruce's hand was on his shoulder now, turning him around to face him. "If things were different, I'd be thrilled. You're a fine man, one of the two best men I know. Anyone would be lucky to have you as a . . . partner."

"But not you." Dick couldn't hide the bitterness in his voice.

"No, not me," Bruce agreed. "You know the reasons why. It has nothing to do with you, it wouldn't matter if you were a woman. You know this."

"Yeah, I know," Dick said, feeling his throat knot up and hoping that he wouldn't further embarrass himself by crying in front of Bruce. "You already took a vow, that takes precedence. Yada yada yada."

"You're upset, that's understandable."

"No shit, Sherlock, what was your first clue?" Even as he said it, Dick regretted it; Bruce could no more help how he felt than Dick could. Still, that had shocked him, and a small, mean, petty part of Dick enjoyed it. He waited for the cold response, the inevitable curt dismissal that was Bruce's stock in trade.

Instead, Bruce abruptly pulled him into an embrace, holding him in those strong arms; it wasn't the way he'd been held in his dreams, of course, but it was good, nonetheless. This was a side of Bruce he hadn't seen in years, the gentle, thoughtful guy who'd tried so hard to be a good father, brother, friend; Dick had almost forgotten how much he loved that Bruce, too.

So, he let Bruce hold him, enjoying the too rare closeness, and paying no attention to the tears that rolled down his cheeks. It felt good to be held, like this. It was still as comforting as it had been when he was a frightened child. After a few minutes, he felt calmer, if not completely better. He knew, somehow, that they'd get past this. He could think more clearly, now, and while he still felt like a colossal fool, he knew that he was the only one in the room who thought that. Yes, they'd get past this - he'd get past it.

He stayed in the embrace for a bit longer. If it wasn't what he'd been hoping for when he'd come in here tonight, it wasn't something to disdain, either. Bruce was not a demonstrative man, and such displays of affection from him were therefore all the more precious for their very rarity. Knowing this, Dick took what was offered, and accepted it for what it was; not the kind of love he'd been feeling for so long, but it was love, nonetheless. And it was good, too, he had to admit to himself, it was very good to know that despite everything, they still had that.

"Bruce," Dick said, pulling away enough to wipe the tears off his face. "You really are amazing, you know that?"

Bruce laughed. "That's a hell of a thing to say, especially now."

"Yeah, I know," Dick replied, managing a small smile. "But I mean, no matter what, you're always there for me. Even with something like this."

"I do my best," Bruce replied, smiling. "You're my boy. Being there for you, that's my job."

"Lucky for me." Dick took a deep, shuddering breath, squared his shoulders, flipped his hair out of his face. "Listen, I think I need to go home now. But, I'll be back. Just give me time."

"I understand," Bruce nodded. "You know where to find me."

Dick flashed him a grin that he almost felt, and walked to the door. He left the study, intent on getting out of the house and back to his own loft; he had a lot of thinking to do, before he could face the world again. His emotions were all a tangle right now, he had to sort things out, decide what he wanted to do. He was surprised to realize that he didn't feel nearly so bad as he had just a few moments earlier, when Bruce had said no; for that matter, he didn't feel half as bad as he'd feared he would, in the scenarios he'd played over and over in his mind, preparing for the rejection that he'd not really believed would happen. Maybe he had lost an almost lover, but he had regained a father, and in the end, he figured the scales were tipped in his favor.

Yes, he knew he'd get over this, they'd get over it, and things would be better. Didn't Alfred always say that honest, open communication was the key to good relationships? As usual, the old man was right. He still felt wretched, his heart would ache for a long time, but at least, there was a light at the end of the tunnel.

Dick was concentrating on this, forcing himself to see this entire episode in a positive light, as he walked through the familiar old halls. He didn't even notice the small figure standing beside the study door, his brown eyes wide and filled with surprise, wonder - and hope.

Part Two

One year later

Of course, Bruce was dead set against it from the start. "Criminals don't take weekends off," he said. "And Tim doesn't have time for it."

And, of course, Tim didn't take the refusal well. "What do you mean, I don't have time for it?" he demanded. "It isn't like I have any kind of social life."

"I mean, you need to spend more time studying," Bruce replied. "You're failing two subjects as it is, you don't need to waste more time on video games and . . . hanging out."

"School is bogus," Tim scowled. "Besides, why do I need school anyway? I've got a career waiting for me."

"You do?"

Tim rolled his eyes, and favored Bruce with one of those looks that only teenagers can truly master, the one reserved for mentally deficient parental types. "Duh! I'm Robin, remember? And when you decide to hang up the cowl, I'm gonna be Batman."

Bruce returned the look with one of his own, the one that he usually reserved for criminals, just before he punched out their lights. "Not without an education, you aren't."

Tim had stared at Bruce for about thirty seconds before exploding.

The conversation quickly degenerated into a full scale battle of wills, which, predictably, Bruce won. Tim was sent storming off to his room. It fell to Dick to try to make peace in the family.

"Bruce, I think you ought to reconsider this."

"I thought I made it clear already," Bruce snapped. "The discussion is ended."

"I know, I know," Dick put up a placating hand. "Just hear me out, okay? Can't you do that, at least?"

Bruce paused, then nodded, once.

"Thanks." Dick was surprised, but pleased. Maybe, after all this time, Bruce was finally thinking of him as an adult. "Okay, it's just that, I think you're overlooking something here."

"Oh? And what would that be?"

"Tim is a completely different kid than I was."

"I am aware of that." Bruce turned his attention back to the computer screen in front of him.

Bruce was definitely in Full Batman Mode now, and Dick had been dismissed. If he wanted to make any headway here, without getting himself into as much trouble as Tim, he'd have to tread very carefully. Fortunately, he'd had years of practice at that. "Bruce, look, I'm just trying to do what's best for the kid."

"And I'm not?" He didn't turn from the screen.

"Come off it, Bruce. Don't pull that with me." Dick took a deep breath; he was beginning to feel his own temper rising, and fought to keep it in check. Make your point logically and without emotional interference, Bruce respected that, he'd listen, at least. "I'm not asking this because I want to interfere with the way you're raising him. You should know that."

"That's good." The voice was eerily calm, and most people would have said Bruce wasn't angry in the least; but Dick had grown up with the man, and he recognized the danger in the tone. Bruce was angry, very angry. He wasn't accustomed to having his decisions questioned, not by anyone, and definitely not by either of his Robins.

Dick moved around to lean against the console, facing Bruce even if the older man wouldn't look at him. "What I mean is this. Kids learn differently. Tim doesn't learn the same way I did, he doesn't respond to the same kind of discipline."

Bruce made a sound that might have been a laugh. "So, you're saying I'm too strict?"

"No, Bruce, not at all." He put a hand on Bruce's shoulder, and made him look up to meet his gaze. "No way. You're a great fa-" He caught himself before he said the word, and embarrassed both of them. "You know." Bruce nodded, and to Dick's relief, relaxed a bit. Good. One bomb defused. "You're doing a great job with Tim. He's changed a lot since he came here, he's not the same kid he was. He's a lot more focused, more aware."

"With his problems, it's especially important that he has a strong structured environment," Bruce said, his voice back to normal.

"Yes, he does," Dick agreed. "And it's worked wonders, I'm not denying that. But, sometimes he needs a little break from -" He paused, choosing his words carefully. He wanted to say, "He needs a break from you," but that wouldn't help matters. "It's just that, the same kinds of . . . structure that worked for me, don't necessarily work the same for him."

"Go on." Bruce was listening to him, really listening for once.

Dick was almost too shocked to speak. Well, it was now or never. "You know, Bruce, you do tend to be a bit negative."

"Negative?" Bruce was genuinely confused. "In what way?"

"He needs to be told when he's done something well, not just when he's done it wrong."

"I do -"

"No, Bruce, you don't." Dick was walking a tightrope here, and he knew it; lucky for him, he was a born acrobat. "You think you do, but every positive comment you give is always tempered with some criticism."

"There's always room for improvement," Bruce said. The Bat was creeping back into his voice.

"Yeah, and I also know you're just as tough on yourself," Dick sighed. "But Bruce, you have to understand how hard that is for a kid like Tim."

"You survived it."

"Yeah, but I didn't have the kind of problems he has. I already had a stable home before I came here, I was a year ahead in school not a year behind, and I didn't have to deal with being hyperactive." Dick shook his head. "He's got it a lot tougher than I did."

"He's a tougher kid," Bruce said.

"Yeah, he is," Dick agreed. "He's about the toughest kid I've ever met. He would have eaten me alive if I'd met him when I was his age. But being tough doesn't change the fact that he needs to be encouraged, not discouraged." He stood and crossed his arms over his chest. "He thinks he's never going to be good enough for you."

Bruce looked surprised. "That's ridiculous. I wouldn't have let him out on the street if I thought that."

"Yeah, you know that, and I know that, and Alfred and Barbara and Jim Gordon know that." Dick threw up his hands. "Hell, I expect Joker and the rest of those loons know that. But Tim doesn't. All he knows is that you never tell him he's done a good job." He dropped into the chair beside Bruce. "He thinks he's no good, Bruce."

Bruce was silent for a long time. He sat staring at the computer screen, not seeing it. After about half an eternity, he spoke. "Positive reinforcement. I'll consider it."

Dick nearly collapsed in relief. "That's a good start. What about weekends?"

Bruce looked up at him. "What does this have to do with him spending weekends with you?"

"I have a different, uh, style than you do," Dick replied. "I relate to him differently than you do."

"You mean, you let him get away with things." Bruce nearly smiled.

"Sometimes, yeah," Dick grinned back. "But only the unimportant stuff. You know, Zesti Cola, donuts, the occasional R movie."

"You know I don't approve of donuts."

Dick sighed in relief. Bruce made a joke, that was a sure sign that the anger was gone. Now, maybe they could talk. "Okay, seriously. I know you. We both know you probably aren't going to change too much."

"You're right."

"Well, that's a first." Dick grinned again. "To be honest, I don't think I'd want you to change. I think it's one of the signs of the end times."

"Very funny." Bruce almost smiled a bit more. "What do you suggest?"

"Well, to begin with, you let him train with me. That's where the weekends come in." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Like I said, I can relate to him on a different level than you. We're closer in age, for one thing."

"True enough. Sometimes, I think," Bruce paused, and Dick realized that he was embarrassed. "Sometimes, I think his . . . preconceptions about me interfere with his concentration."

"Huh?" Dick was confused for a moment. "Oh, yeah. The Hero thing." He smiled. "As the saying goes, been there, done that. I think I could deal with that a bit better than you."

"So I've noticed," Bruce said wryly. "You two seem to get along well."

It was true. They'd clicked almost from the start, the former Boy Wonder and the New Robin. Despite the occasional hero-worship, Dick genuinely enjoyed his company; Tim was a bright kid, with a keen, if cynical, intelligence and a wicked wit that rivaled Dick's. They listened to the same music, enjoyed the same movies, and generally had a lot more in common with each other than either of them did with Bruce. But, there was also a more serious side to Tim, a maturity borne of being left on his own at such an early age, that gave him insight beyond the ken of most thirteen-year-olds. Dick could talk to him, really talk, and Tim not only listened, he understood. "I like him a lot, Bruce. He's a good kid."

"It would give you better rapport, working together I mean."

Dick wasn't sure if Bruce was trying to convince him or himself. Either way, he was going to press his advantage. "Exactly. And besides, I have a lot of stuff I could teach him that you've never learned. You've said it yourself, you didn't teach me a lot of these moves, right?"

"I hadn't considered that," Bruce mused. "It would give him a broader range. What about the school work?"

"Bruce, I did graduate with highest honors, you know." Even if you didn't show up, he added silently. No point in opening that old wound just now, not while he was winning. "I think I may be able to help him with that, too."

"God knows someone needs to help him," Bruce sighed. "I obviously don't know how to do it." He stood, and stretched, rolling his left shoulder to get out a kink. "He isn't lazy, it isn't that. I've seen him work for hours to perfect one move." There was pride in his voice, paternal pride that Tim was, at least in this way, following his example. "But I can't make him understand the importance of education."

"School is hard for him. He's not good at it, and he gets discouraged very easily." Dick raised an eyebrow. "You know, most people hit a brick wall long enough, they tend to give up."

"It isn't just that," Bruce said, switching off the computer and tidying things up on the desk. "He grew up in an environment that eschews education. A completely different world."

"Yeah," Dick agreed, following Bruce up the long stairway that led from the Batcave to the Manor. "I can't see Shifty Drake extolling the virtues of learning for its own sake."

"Steven Drake," Bruce said, emphasizing the first name. "The man may have been a criminal, but he died trying to save lives. And he was Tim's father."

"Sorry." Dick meant it.

"But you're right," Bruce agreed. They stepped through the doorway and shut the clock behind them. "It's a new concept for Tim."

"So?" Dick followed him through the house and into the kitchen. He could have predicted the destination. It was like a ritual; whether coming back from patrol, or just coming upstairs after working on research on the Bat computer, Bruce's first stop was always the kitchen. "What's the verdict on the weekends?"

Bruce waited until he'd poured himself a cup of coffee before answering. "We'll try it. Probationary period, two weekends a month, for the next two months. If the grades improve, I'll consider it on a more permanent basis."

Dick grabbed an apple for himself. "I can guarantee it, Bruce," he said around a mouthful. "Trust me."

"I always have, Chum."

Part Three

One year later

"Man, I love Saturdays!" Dick poured himself another tall one, finishing off the carton. "Sleep in, hang out, do pretty much nothing all day."

It had become a ritual, these Saturday morning sugarfests. For almost a year, Tim had been spending most weekends at Dick's loft. True to his word, Dick tutored Tim, and trained the new Boy Wonder in the various disciplines that he'd learned on his solitary travels. Tim's performance in the training room and on the street had improved; his reactions were faster, more precise and controlled, and he was even learning to stop and think before he acted. Scholastically, he hadn't shown as marked an improvement, still his grades had risen slowly but steadily from mostly D's to mostly C's, with the occasional B making an appearance. Despite his initial misgivings, Bruce couldn't deny that the change in environment and instructor had made a positive difference. So, he had allowed more frequent visits, but always with the understanding that all future weekends depended entirely upon Tim's GPA.

Keeping this in mind, Tim gave it his best effort. That did not mean, however, that he had to enjoy it. "You do nothing all day," Tim said, reaching into the box on the table and taking out another donut. "Some of us have to do homework."

"My heart bleeds," Dick replied. "I did my time, now it's your turn." He took a long drink. "Mmmm. Hey, Timbo, watch this - nothing but net." The empty carton sailed twenty feet across the loft to drop neatly into the wire trash can. "Pretty impressive, huh? And with the left hand."

"Not bad. But can you do this?" Tim broke off a piece of donut, tossed it high into the air, and caught it expertly in his mouth. "And with the right hand."

"Watch me." Dick broke off a piece of powdered sugar donut, and tossed it into the air. It plopped onto his chest, leaving a white splotch on his black tee shirt. "Aw, man."

Tim mimed picking up a telephone. "Dick, it's the NBA," he said. "They said something about a snowball in hell?"

"Damn." Dick buried his face in his hands, and made sobbing noises. "And I was counting on the money to buy an operation for my guardian."

Tim grinned. "Oh, really? Poor guy, huh?"

"Not a dime to his name."

"Maybe I can spare you a couple of bucks. What's he need? New liver? Heart transplant?"

"No, it's worse than that," Dick took a swig of chocolate milk, and grinned back. "I was going to buy him a funny bone. He's got no sense of humor."

They both broke up. Bruce's uptight, deadly serious demeanor was a convenient, and frequent, source of humor for his previous and present protégés. Of course, the fact that they'd already finished one box of Cremey Crisp donuts and were well into the second probably didn't hurt. Between Tim's hyperactivity, school, and his work as Robin, and Dick's double duty covering Gotham and leading the Titans, they were both a little loopy to begin with; factor in the near total exhaustion they both had after the previous night's patrol, and the generally high stress level of their everyday - and every night - lives, the little sugar buzz was enough to push them over the edge of normal decorum. Still, considering the possible alternatives, a little giddiness was hardly cause for concern.

"I think that's the last one for me," Dick said, when he caught a breath. "What about you?"

"For now, maybe," Tim said, shutting the box. "I wouldn't want to embarrass you any more."

"Watch it." Dick took the box and the empty glasses to the kitchen. "Time to hit the books, Timbo," he said, dropping down onto the sofa beside Tim. "Whatcha got this week?"

"Same old same old," Tim answered. He reached into the back pack on the floor and rummaged around. "Nothing drastic. Some algebra, but I think I got it covered."

"Good, I have laundry that's about ready to form its own country." He disappeared into his bedroom, and returned with a large wicker basket overflowing with clothes and costumes. "I'm going to pop this into the machine, I'll be right back up. Buzz if you need me."

"Okay." Tim opened up the text book and began flipping pages. As soon as Dick was out of sight, however, he tossed the book aside, grabbed his pack and ran into the bedroom. A few minutes later, he came back out, dressed in sweats and a tee shirt. He plopped back onto the sofa, and opened the book again. By the time Dick returned, he was lying on the floor, watching cartoons and eating another donut.

"Hey, come on, you know the rules," Dick warned. "Homework first."

"Done," Tim said, sitting up and pointing to the book where it lay on the sofa. "Check it if you want, but I'm done."

"So you're done with the math," Dick said. "What next?"

"Nothing," Tim shook his head. "I did it yesterday at lunch."

Dick stared at him as if he'd grown an extra arm. "You did your homework ahead of time? You?" Dick eyed him suspiciously, then pointed a finger accusingly. "Who are you, and what did you do with Tim Drake!"

"Ha ha," Tim threw the rest of the donut at him. "I did it ahead of time, I wanted to have a weekend free."

"Hmm." Dick looked over the sheets of notebook paper. "Looks good. You getting the hang of it?"

"More or less," Tim shrugged, and made a face. "I still think it's stupid and pointless."

"Yeah, well. You think that about most of your subjects." Dick slipped the paper back inside the book. "Come on, enough fooling around. You expect me to believe you got all the rest done yesterday?" He laughed. "Yeah, right." He put his hands on his hips, and raised an eyebrow, grinning. "What is it, chemistry? History? Sex ed? Come on, tell the truth."

"I'm not lying!" Tim stood and stared at him, an expression of deep hurt quickly morphing into a stony mask that would have done Batman justice. "Thanks a lot, Dick." He wrapped his arms around himself, and turned his back. "That's really low. Even Bruce never called me a liar. That really sucks, you know? I thought you trusted me. I mean, I've done a lot of stuff, yeah, but I never lied to you."

Dick wanted to kick himself; he was doing exactly what he'd accused Bruce of doing. Tim had obviously worked very hard to get caught up, and he'd immediately done everything possible to discourage the kid.

Hypocrisy never went down well with him, especially when he was the hypocrite.

"Hey, look, I was way out of line." Dick put a hand on the boy's shoulder, pulling him around to face him. "I know you're not a liar. I'm sorry, really. That was wrong of me to say that, even joking."

"It's okay," Tim shrugged. "No big deal." He looked up and smiled, the affront to his integrity forgiven and forgotten. "I mean, geez, I guess I'd probably think the same thing if I was you."

"Once, maybe," Dick shook his head, "but not now. You've really put in a lot of effort, and it shows. That's great, Timbo. That shows a lot of maturity, you know. Bruce will be very proud of you."

"Bruce?" Tim blinked in surprise. "Really?"

"Yeah, really." He ruffled the boy's hair. "I know he doesn't show it, but he notices this stuff. And so do I." He smiled. "I'm always proud of you, kid."

"Thanks, Dick," Tim said, quietly. "That means a lot to me. More than you know."

Their eyes met, and for a long moment, they stood there, face to face, barely a foot apart, not speaking, just looking at each other. It suddenly occurred to Dick that Tim was not a scrawny street kid any longer, but a damned good looking young man. A carefully monitored diet and constant, intensive work outs had dispelled the last remnants of baby fat and the boyish frame. His face had thinned out, revealing a firm jaw and cheekbones that further accented deep brown eyes with an almost permanently smoldering look. He was solid and hard bodied, nearly as tall as Dick himself, with strong shoulders and a build that promised to rival his guardian's once he reached his full height. His chest and biceps were well developed, too, from all those nights spent swinging from a batline, and his abs were beautifully defined, his hips were narrow, his butt tight and -

Abruptly, Dick turned away. "Let's, uh, work off all this, uh, sugar, huh?" He strode across the loft to the mats, waving Tim to follow him.

Tim followed him. "What's on the line up today?"

"I thought maybe we should work on your offensives," Dick said, starting his warm up stretches.

"What's wrong with my offensives?" Tim demanded, following Dick's example. After a few stretches he stopped. "Ow. Man, that ankle still hurts!" Robin had landed wrong the night before, and Tim was still dealing with the consequences. He stood on one foot, effortlessly balancing as he rubbed the injured ankle.

"Let me see," Dick ordered. Tim dropped to the floor, and Dick knelt beside him, feeling the ankle carefully. "Swelling's gone down from last night. Not broken, just a sprain, I think. Are you okay to work out, you think?"

"Yeah," Tim waved away Dick's concern. "It's just a little sore. I can handle it. I mean, Batman goes out with bullets in him, for God's sake."

"True," Dick agreed, standing and helping Tim to his feet. "But we both know, Batman isn't exactly normal, either."

"What's normal?" Tim asked, testing his weight on the injury. "I don't think any of us qualify for that club." He tried an experimental hop, wincing only a little. "Yeah, I'm good. Let's go."

"Okay," Dick said, waving Tim towards him. "Come at me, try to catch me off guard. Let's see you use some of those Jeet Kun Do moves I showed you last week."

They squared off against each other, and bowed slightly. That courtesy done, they both fell into a fighting stance that had become second nature. Suddenly, Tim lunged at Dick, feinting left and kicking out. In one smooth move, Dick stepped aside, casually sweeping his leg to knock Tim to the floor.

"See what I mean?" he said.

"Lucky shot." Tim got to his feet, his face flushed.

"So show me."

They circled, watching each other like two animals in the wild. After a moment, Tim made another move, this time attempting a full body tackle. Again, Dick eluded him easily, and Tim landed on the mat behind him with a loud grunt.

"Luck has nothing to do with it," Dick grinned. "You're not concentrating."

Tim sat on the floor and rubbed the back of his head. "Sorry. Guess I'm a little distracted today."

"Want to talk about it?"

"Don't think so." He got to his feet, and they went back to position.

"Try to focus." Dick pushed his hair out of his face. "Put it out of your mind for now."

"Yeah, yeah."

"Hey, you know as well as I do, you get distracted on the street, it could be real bad."

"You sound just like Batman."

"No need to be insulting."

They continued sparring for about an hour, with Tim ending up on the floor more often than not. Finally, Dick called a break.

"Do you know what you're doing wrong?" he asked Tim, as they downed a couple of bottles of 'Crocade.

"Um, let me see," Tim said, with false brightness. "I'm falling on my ass?"

"Cute." Dick wiped a towel over his face. "You're telegraphing. Every move you make, I see it coming a mile away."

"That's just 'cause you know me so well," Tim protested.

"No, it isn't," Dick shook his head. "I know the difference. But even so, some of the guys we go up against know you almost as well, if they're smart and have fought you before. You think somebody like Harley Quin wouldn't pick up on that?"

"Okay, maybe." Tim finished the bottle and tossed it aside.

"No maybe about it. You're letting me anticipate what you'll do. You're getting predictable. Don't keep relying on the same moves."

"So what do I do?" Tim gestured questioningly. "I'm putting in everything you're teaching me. I'm combining styles, I'm switching hands, what else?"

"That's good, that's real good," Dick replied. "Keep that up. But, you know what he says," Tim rolled his eyes, but didn't say anything. "You get past us, and you can get past anyone. You can do this, Timbo. Just do something unexpected. Keep me guessing. Surprise me. Make me look like an idiot. I dare you." He grinned. "I double dog dare you."

Tim looked at him for a moment, then grinned back. "Okay. I can do that."

They returned to the mats, and got back into position. "Any time you're ready," Dick said.

They circled, Dick watching Tim like a hawk, looking for any tells, any muscle twitches, anything that indicated what the younger man would do. Suddenly, Tim's shoulder twitched, and Dick prepared for a punch, but instead, Tim dove for the floor, tackling Dick's legs, and quickly pinning him. Dick immediately used the momentum to roll, reversing their positions so that Tim was now pinned under him.

"Close," he whispered, their faces mere inches apart, "but not close enough."

"How's this?" Tim raised up and kissed him, fully on the mouth, slipping his arms around Dick's neck and pulling him closer.

Dick responded automatically, wrapping his arms around Tim and leaning into the embrace as Tim deepened the kiss. He felt the familiar sensation and without thinking, opened his mouth, engaging in some serious tongue wrestling until the need for oxygen forced them apart. Only then did the significance of their actions hit him.

"Tim," he began, "I -"

"You're what's been on my mind, Dick," Tim whispered, looking deeply into his eyes. "You're why I can't concentrate. I love you."

"Oh, my God."

Part Four

The kiss was the easy part - if the reaction was the wrong one, he could easily toss it off as just a joke. But Dick kissed him back, thoroughly kissed him back, with the tongue and all, and while that was pretty much the reaction he'd dreamed of and hoped for, it made the next part all that much harder. A kiss was one thing, but professing your love for a guy who'd been your idol, your role model, the next thing to a brother to you, well, that was a lot harder. All in all, he figured he'd rather go up against Two-Face alone.

It took every ounce of courage Tim had in him to say it. "You're what's been on my mind, Dick. You're why I can't concentrate. I love you."

"Oh, my God."

It wasn't the ideal response, but Tim counted himself lucky that he got a response at all. By the look on Dick's face, he'd been caught completely unprepared. Anyway, Tim knew it could've been worse. It could've been a lot worse. At least Dick didn't say something like "You don't know what you're saying," or "Wait a minute, we have to talk about this," or "Yeah, right."

"I mean it, Dick," Tim said, cringing as he heard his voice crack. Damn his slow hormones to hell! Why did that always happen when he was nervous? "I mean it, I love you. And I don't mean just like, you know, buds," he hastened to add. Don't leave any loopholes, be precise. Batman would be so proud of him.

Well . . .

"Tim, I, uh," Dick swallowed once, hard. "I don't think you really know what you're saying. I mean, we, uh, we have to talk about this."

"Oh, man." Tim felt the heat crawl up his face, knowing that he was as scarlet as his Robin suit. "Why'd you have to say that?"

"Look, it's okay, you know? I'm not upset with you, honest."

"Honest?" Tim met his gaze, looking deeply into those blue eyes. There was no anger there, no disgust, and most thankful of all, no pity. He'd never realized it before this instant, but he could live with just about anything but having Dick feel sorry for him.

"Honest. But we have to discuss this. This is serious."

"You're telling me?" Tim flashed him a weak grin, and was repaid with that half amused, mock-disapproving, Why-Do-I-Let-You-Get-Away-With-These-Things smile that got him every time. "I think I could talk a lot better if you'd let me up, you know."

"Promise first that you won't leave until we've talked this through."

"Hey, you're the Bat clone, not me."

That garnered him a friendly smack on the side of the head, but Dick rolled off him. They remained where they were, sitting cross legged on the mat. Neither spoke for several minutes.

"How long have you . . . felt this way?" Dick asked, finally.

"Forever," Tim replied. "I mean, I don't remember when it started, exactly."

"Uh huh." Dick nodded, and was silent again. About a week later, he looked at Tim again. "Was it something I said?"

"No." Tim wanted to say, "Only in my dreams. You said a lot in those. Did a lot, too. You'd be surprised." But he didn't say it. He had to play this just right, or Dick would never take him seriously. And he was serious about this, more serious than he'd ever been in his life.

Dick nodded again, and pulled a knee up, resting one elbow on it and staring at nothing. Another long silence, then he looked over at Tim. "Did I ever do anything? Even just fooling around, work outs or training or anything, that you thought was-"

"You didn't lead me on, Dick, if that's what you're getting at."

"Ah. Okay." More silence.

Tim sighed. The Bat clone comment hadn't been entirely off mark. Despite his frequent protestations to the contrary, Dick was more like his mentor than he cared to admit; when the mood struck him, he could be just as laconic and cryptic as Bruce. The resemblance could be irritatingly uncanny. If he didn't do something, chances were good that Dick would sit here all day brooding about it.

And Tim had other activities in mind.

"Look, Dick." He scooted across the mat so that he was facing him, sitting as closely as he could. "You didn't encourage me. You didn't say anything that led me on, or confused me, or any of that bullshit. You didn't grope me on the mats or drop the soap in the shower." He couldn't help a small smile at that - it had been one of his most common wet dreams. "I never caught you ogling me when we were changing into costume. You never talked to me about your sex life. You don't have a loft full of art prints of naked men to give me ideas. You never did or said anything out of line."

"Are you about finished?" Dick raised an eyebrow at him. "If you're just going to rant on some more, I can go check on my laundry."

"I'm almost done." Tim grinned at him, his courage returned in full. "I just want you to understand. This is all my idea. All of it. You didn't influence me in it at all, at least not the way you think. Hell, you were just about a text-book perfect big brother."

"You made that easy, kid." Dick reached over and ruffled his hair, knowing that Tim hated that. "You're just about the text-book perfect kid brother yourself."

"Is that part of this? You know, the incest angle?" Tim was relieved. He had an argument all prepared for that. 'Cause, you know, we're not really related, not even legally -"

"No."

"Then, what?" Even before he asked, Tim knew what the answer would be.

"Tim," Dick put his hands on Tim's shoulders, and their eyes met. "You're fifteen years old. I'm twenty-four. That's the problem."

"I don't see the problem." That wasn't exactly the truth; Tim had also anticipated this argument. "Lots of guys my age are active. They teach Sex Ed in school now, you know. Besides," here was the kicker, "Bruce already told me the facts of life. He bought me condoms, for Christ's sake! He's cool with it, what's your problem?" He waited, confident that Dick couldn't possibly have any answer to that.

"You think Bruce won't care if you and I have sex. You're sure of that?"

Tim was suddenly suspicious. This wasn't the reaction he'd anticipated, not from Dick. This was bordering awful close to Batman attitude. Well, fine. Tim knew how to deal with Batman, too. "Yeah, I'm sure. You want to hear it play by play?" Chalk up another one to Batman's training; with a little effort, Tim could usually recall entire conversations verbatim. "He said, and I quote, 'It doesn't matter to me who it is, female or male, that's your call. Protect yourself and your partner. No means no. Mutual agreement.' You know, all that stuff."

"I know the drill," Dick said. "I got the same talk, you know."

"Okay, great. So, what's the problem?" Tim was getting impatient. He couldn't see where Dick was heading in this, and his carefully planned arguments were falling apart.

"Tim, the problem is this." Dick got to his feet, and began to pace. "Bruce is cool with you experimenting with other kids your age. That's normal. But me, well . . . I'm not a kid." He wrapped his arms around himself, fell silent again. After a moment, he stopped. "It's like this. You know how he is about kids, about child abuse. He takes it personally."

Tim began to see daylight. What Dick had pointed out was too true. Bruce was fanatical about protecting children from harm; Batman was even more ruthless when dealing with criminals who preyed upon children. "But - this is different!"

"Not to him." Dick shook his head. "Bruce wouldn't see it that way, Tim. You're underage. I'm an adult. End of discussion."

"Hey! Don't pull that crap!" Tim glared at him. He knew Dick hated that little trick of Bruce's and/or Batman's as much as he did. The fact that Dick was resorting to it, coupled with the undeniable truth of what he said, didn't help the situation any. "Yeah, so I'm fifteen. Big deal. I'm hardly a kid."

"Tim -"

"No, listen!" He pounded the mat with a fist. "How many kids do what I do, huh? How many kids my age have lived on their own for a year?"

"That's a completely different set of circumstances."

"Okay, fine. How about this, huh?" He leaned forward until they were face to face. "How many kids my age are Robin?"

"What's that got to do with -"

"It has EVERYTHING to do with it!" Tim jumped to his feet. He knew he was dangerously close to losing control, and either slugging Dick or breaking down into tears; neither was a viable option. He recognized the warning signs all to well; he had to diffuse the nervous energy and anxiety and frustration before it exploded into full fledged rage and ruined what slim chance he had. He knew his temper was a weak spot, but he had learned ways to deal with it. Usually, he opted for a lengthy run, full out top speed for as long as he could stand it, until he could think clearly again; of course, if he did that now, he'd have to leave, and not only would it not solve anything, it would look to Dick like he was running away like a scared kid. Major lame move.

Counter productive. He searched the room for something to vent against, and the closest thing was the heavy bag. It wasn't his favorite, but under the circumstances, it would suffice. He lit into it with a vengeance, assailing it with punches and kicks.

"I'm old enough to be Robin," *THWACK* "I can go out every night," *THWACK* "Fly around Gotham on a little wire," *THWACK* "Get shot at," *THWACK* "Get sprayed with poison gas," *THWACK* "Generally get the living shit beat out of me," *THWACK* "And that's okay." He launched a flying kick at the heavy bag, sending it spinning. "I can risk my life for you," *THWACK* "AND him," *THWACK* and every other thankless jerk in this town," *THWACK* "And that's all fine and dandy." *THWACK* "Oh, yeah, I can lay my fucking life on the line for you, but I can't have sex with you!" *THWACK* *THWACK* "Oh, no, can't do that! Now suddenly, I'm a damned kid again!" He let fired off one fierce jab at the bag, putting everything he was feeling into it. "You know what? That's just fine with me, 'cause you can both go to hell!"

Tim was crying now, silently, hanging onto the bag with his face buried.

Dick was suddenly beside him. "Timbo, I'm sorry. I wish it was different, but that's how it is. It sucks, I know. But that's just how he is. You know it, I know it." Suddenly, Dick's arm was around his shoulder, pulling him away from the bag. "If it's any consolation, I understand how you feel. I've been there."

"Yeah, I know," Tim turned around to face Dick. He knew he shouldn't say it, but the words were out of his mouth almost as soon as he thought it. "Let me guess. I bet I can tell you what you'll say. 'Tim, I'm flattered, but I don't feel that way about you, Chum!' That was the line, wasn't it, Dick?"

You don't live and work with Batman for long before learning to hide your emotions, and Dick had spent most of his life with the man. Still, even he couldn't hide the evidence of the pain Tim's little comment had caused; it was there in his eyes, and in the way his arm suddenly froze on Tim's shoulder. He turned away, again wrapping his arms around himself.

"That's it, isn't it?" Tim pressed on, knowing that he'd regret it later, but too filled with anger and hurt right now to care. "It isn't the brother thing, it isn't even the age thing. You're still in love with Bruce, aren't you?"

"Don't be stupid." It didn't sound very convincing.

"Yeah, right." Tim moved around to stand in front of Dick, forcing him to look at him. "You're still waiting for him, and even though we both know it's a lost cause, you're going to still go on waiting. God damn, Dick! You're not this stupid! Wake up already! He's never going to change his mind, Dick. It ain't in the cards."

"It isn't like that." Tim wasn't sure if Dick was trying to convince him, or himself.

"Bullshit." Tim put his hands on Dick's shoulders, and squeezed, hard. "It's exactly like that. I'm not blind, and neither are you."

"No." Dick looked up, his eyes dark with emotion. "But I - It isn't that easy. You think I like this?" He laughed harshly. "You think I like this unrequited love schtick? I'm the laughing stock of the Titans, you know, 'Robbie's still got a crush on his boss.' Really cracks them up at team meetings. And we won't even go into what it does to my alleged love life." Another laugh. "I'd give anything to change it, but I can't help the way I feel. I've tried."

"I know. Believe me, I know." Tim put his hands on either side of Dick's face, and forced him to look him in the eye. "I know how much it hurts you. I know how much you feel for him. But Dick, you have to know, Bruce can't be what he isn't, any more than you can, any more than I can. And when you keep looking for him, you're missing what's right here in front of you." He pulled Dick's face down to him, and kissed him again. "I love you. I want you. And I'm here." He stepped back, letting his hands fall to his sides. "Which is it going to be, Dick? You going to go on waiting for something that is never going to happen, or are you going to open your eyes and see what you have?"

Tim wasn't sure what to expect. He hadn't intended to attack Dick that way. Sure, he'd known that Dick still carried a torch for Bruce, but it had been so long ago, and they'd apparently come to terms with it. Their relationship seemed little different than the one Bruce shared with Tim. But it was obvious that this was not the case, at least on Dick's part. Still, maybe Tim had gone too far. He debated if he should apologize, take it back, try to patch things over. He didn't want to ruin their relationship entirely; the all or nothing scenario was not in the game plan. Tim was a pragmatist; If they couldn't be lovers, he'd settle for friends. He'd rather have Dick in his life in some way than not in his life at all.

"You're right."

Tim almost jumped out of his skin. The silence had been so intense, Dick's soft whisper had sounded like a gun shot. "Wha- What?"

"I said," Dick put his arms around Tim, "you're right. About all of it." He kissed him, and pulled him into a firm embrace. "You're not like other kids - excuse me, other people - your age. Neither was I. We're a separate breed. Homo Sapiens Sidekickis." They both grimaced at that, and Dick grinned. "And about the other . . . matter. You're right there, too. I've been blind, and stupid, and too damn stubborn to admit to what I did see. But that's going to change. Starting now."

"You mean -" Tim could hardly speak. His mind raced. He doubted his hearing, his sight, his sanity. This wasn't real. This was a dream. He'd wake up soon to tangled sheets and creamed shorts. He didn't care. "Does this mean - what I think it means?"

Dick kissed him again, hard, and slid his hands down Tim's back. "Depends on what you think it means," he laughed. "If you think it means, oh, that you're going to get out of this apartment anytime soon, I'd have to say you're wrong."

"Oh, God." Tim threw his arms around Dick, knocking the both of them to the floor. Thank God for the cushioning work out mats. "Oh, man, you don't know what this means -"

"I have a pretty good idea, actually."

For the next several minutes, they engaged in some serious necking, only stopping to periodically come up for a breath. Tim was euphoric, devouring Dick's mouth and neck and anywhere else he could reach, happily letting Dick guide his novice but enthusiastic hands to all the right places, places Tim had longed to touch for so long, feeling the muscles ripple under his fingers, feeling the skin grow hotter with every touch. And Dick seemed pretty damned happy himself, if the hungry kisses and the circus tent pole pressing against Tim's thigh were any indication. His hands roamed over Tim's body, too, slipping inside the loose sweat pants and the tee shirt, stroking and pinching and squeezing until Tim thought he'd about explode.

When he did come, with Dick's mouth hot on his neck and Dick's voice in his ear and their hands pumping and stroking each other, it was better than he'd ever dreamt of, fireworks and blood roaring and heart pounding and a head rush better than taking to the Batlines, and then the hoarse whisper in his ear, strange words he'd never heard before, beautiful sounds, and his hand suddenly wet and the realization that he'd done it, he'd made love to Dick, they'd made love, this was IT, and suddenly it all made sense, and it was more wonderful than he'd ever begun to comprehend, and he wanted to cry and laugh and scream, and maybe he did all those things, and then he fell back into Dick's waiting, welcoming embrace, soft, gentle kisses now, and oh, God, those arms, holding him, and more of those whispered, strange words, and he knew he'd never be happier than he was right then.

They lay there for some time, a tangle of arms and legs and half-off clothing. Dick's tee shirt had somehow gotten ripped, and Tim had lost both of his socks, but neither of them were terribly concerned. It was late afternoon now, and this side of the building was in shadow. The loft was dark, and without the sunlight pouring in the long bank of windows, it was fairly cold. Neither of them seemed willing to abandon their impromptu nest, however, despite the chill air. But Dick was getting a serious cramp in the arm that Tim lay on. Time to relocate.

"Hey, you," Dick pulled him closer, and kissed him. "It's cold, and my arm's asleep." He sat up.

"No problem," Tim said, leering comically. "I know how we can get warm."

"Oh, no," Dick laughed. "Not yet, buddy. I need recovery time. Besides," he rolled one shoulder, "I've got a cramp in my neck. C'mon." He stood, and reluctantly, Tim did too, and followed him to the kitchen.

"Don't tell me you're hungry," Tim said, leaning against the shiny steel counter.

"Yeah, and dehydrated. Here." Dick pulled a couple of Crocades out of the refrigerator, and handed one to Tim. He took it, and slipped an arm around Dick's waist; Dick put his arm around Tim's shoulder, and nuzzled the top of his head. Neither said anything for some time, and even after they'd both finished the drinks, they didn't move.

"Dick, that was . . . " Tim found he didn't have words. "You know."

"And that's only the beginning." Dick waggled an eyebrow, and laughed when Tim's eyes grew wide and he blushed. "But yeah, I know. I remember what it was like." He was lost for a moment, remembering warm violet eyes and a ready smile and a lulling, Atlantean accent. "Nothing like it, you know," he sighed. "First time, stays with you the rest of your life."

"How- how'd you know?"

"Ah . . . Lucky guess." Dick didn't want to spoil the beauty of the moment with unnecessary embarrassment. They lapsed into silence again, and Dick wondered, idly, if this was some kind of record for the usually chatty Boy Wonder. Before he had time to consider it, however, his stomach growled, loudly. "Look, I don't know about you, but I just burned up a lot of calories."

"Aw, geez, Dick -"

"Hey, you don't want to pass out from hunger, do you?" Dick ruffled Tim's hair, and then pulled him close for a quick kiss. "Besides, there's such a thing as, uh, protocol, you know."

"But I want -"

"Yeah, I know what you want," Dick laughed, and pushed him in the direction of the bedroom. "Me, too. But, first wash up, then some chow, then . . . we'll see."

A bit later, washed, fed, and generally restored, they spooned up on the sofa. Despite Tim's initial insistence that it was "hokey," Dick left the lights off, and lit candles and incense. With a couple of CDs they both loved providing background music, they watched out the bank of windows as night descended upon Gotham. It was comfortable, and beautiful, and felt so perfectly right that Dick nearly wept. He wanted this day to never end, this moment to last forever. But, it was Saturday night in Gotham City, prime time for troublemakers, and he knew it was inevitable that they'd be called out on patrol. So, he pulled Tim a little closer, and made the most of the time they had. Not surprisingly, Tim seemed to be of a similar mind, being content to lie quietly in Dick's arms. More, the usually cynical and wise-cracking young man was quiet; lost in thought, when he did speak, it was uncharacteristically serious and reflective.

"Dick? I'm kind of wondering. What changed your mind?"

"What do you mean? About what?"

"About me. Us. You know. You said no, then you said yes. Why?"

"Oh." Dick pulled him a little closer. "Well, like I said, you were right."

"Yeah, I know," Tim ran his hands up Dick's arms. "But, I mean, I know that wasn't it. So, what was it?"

"Okay, you got me. It wasn't just what you said." Dick brushed the hair away from Tim's face with a feather gentle touch. "It was what I saw in your eyes. What I saw there - you can't lie about that, Timbo. The eyes are the windows to the soul."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. It's like this, Tim. When you looked at me, and said what you did - that you love me, that you want me - I could see you meant it. I knew it was real, the genuine article." He leaned down and kissed the top of Tim's head. "I knew right then, it wasn't what Bruce had seen in mine."

"Oh." Tim twisted around to look at Dick. "You really mean that, don't you?"

"I wouldn't lie to you, Ves'acha."

"That word." Tim shifted so that he could slip his arm behind Dick's back, curling up in his lap. "You said that before, when we - when you came. What is it? What's it mean?"

"It's Rom," Dick replied, taking advantage of Tim's new position to kiss his eyelids gently.

"Hom?"

"No, Rom," Dick emphasized the word. "Romany. Commonly called Gypsy."

"You're a Gypsy?"

"Uh huh. I mean, I'm American, but that's my ethnic background, more or less. It was my first language."

Tim seemed impressed. "Wow. So, what's that word, vest-"

"Ves'acha. It means, beloved."

"Really?" Tim's eyes gleamed, and he hugged Dick hard. "God, that's so cool. I like that. Ves'acha."

Dick laughed. "Congratulations. You can now speak more Rom than Bruce."

"That's nothing," Tim laughed, too. "I already speak more Italian than he does."

Now Dick was surprised. "You know Italian? How?"

"My Nona," Tim replied. "My Dad was half Sicilian, and since my mom died when I was so small, my Nona, his mom, raised me. It was pretty common in the old 'hood before we moved to Gotham."

"I'll be damned," Dick said. "I never knew that."

"Guess we got a lot to learn about each other, huh?" Tim grinned.

"Guess so," Dick agreed. "Sounds like fun to me."

"Yeah."

They had just settled into some serious kissing when a loud buzzing noise broke the evening's spell.

"Tell me that's just like, a weird phone," Tim groaned. A look outside answered him; the familiar searchlight sprayed across the clouds, signaling that once again, crime had reared its head in Gotham.

"Sorry, kid," Dick eased out from beneath his lover and made for the computer console. "Time to go to work."

Within minutes, Dick had gotten the details from the computer link, and they were suited up and on their way.

(V)(V)(V)

Sometimes, Dick thought, you just can't win.

He lay in bed, wide awake, while Tim slept like a log beside him. Any other night, he'd have been relieved that Tim had crashed so early. Tim's seemingly endless energy and limitless libido could be exhausting; Tim's current record was, if Dick recalled correctly, seven times in one evening. While Dick would be the last to complain, more often than not their weekends together ended with him sleeping until noon Monday, just to catch up. Much as he loved Tim, he sometimes wondered about the wisdom of dealing with adolescent hormones on a regular basis.

Tonight, however, Tim had given in to sleep after two sessions, albeit reluctantly. Dick had had a line snap on him tonight, and while the resulting injury had not been serious, it was painful, and Dick had called it a night sooner than was his habit. Tim had complained a bit, but had given in without much of a fight; the fact that they ran out of condoms probably had had something to do with his capitulation, too. He'd made Dick take some pain medication, and then, despite a valiant effort to stay awake to keep Dick company, had promptly fallen asleep himself. So, Dick was left awake with a painfully throbbing wrist and far too much time to think.

As usual, at times like this, he thought about the situation he'd gotten himself into. He refused to accept that he was obsessing, though; that would be too close to being Batman. The last year and a half had been among the happiest times of his life, and paradoxically, probably the most stressful. It was a strange situation, that was for certain. If someone had asked him a year ago if he thought he could ever fall in love with a kid nine years his junior, he'd have flat out told them no way in hell. But a year can make a lot of difference in a guy's perspective. As he looked at his sleeping lover, he knew he wouldn't change things, even if he could. He loved Tim with all his soul. That Tim's feelings ran as deep, he had not the slightest doubt. Any misgivings he'd had at first, about Tim's youth or the impropriety of their relationship had dissipated after that first weekend. They'd spent as much time talking as they had in bed - and they'd spent a lot of time in bed.

It was a revelation in many ways, that first weekend. Sure, he'd known that Tim was as competent a Robin as he'd been, even if their strengths lay in different areas. He'd known they shared a lot of interests. But it wasn't until they'd talked, really talked, that he'd realized how much alike they were - and that he'd long harbored feelings for Tim that were anything but fraternal. In fact, once the forbidden subject had been broached, and Dick had allowed himself to consider the possibility, he had begun to see qualities in Tim that he'd never before noticed, qualities that were high on his most-wanted list for prospective relationships. Of course, he had the Bat squad requisites - intelligence, honesty, integrity, loyalty, dedication, bad-ass attitude, wicked sense of humor - all of which Dick had long recognized and appreciated. But beneath the Boy Wonder bravado and the street smarts, there was a surprisingly sensitive young man. Tim was warm and affectionate, and possessed of a passionate nature that was more than a match for Dick's own. He was completely open, freely expressing his emotions, and unafraid to expose this hidden part of himself.

He was everything that Bruce was not, could not be.

With this in mind, Dick gave himself over entirely to the prospect of this unorthodox and potentially dangerous relationship. He allowed himself to acknowledge his attraction, and to act upon it, and to accept it as a purely good and precious thing, a blessing, a gift. For the first time in his life, he was in love, truly in love, and it was reciprocated completely. They were two halves of one whole, incomplete without the other, utterly devoted.

Still, there was a problem. Until such time as Tim was of legal age, and possibly even beyond that, there was an ominous shadow hovering over their happiness.

A bat-shaped shadow.

It troubled him greatly, this deception. Oh, they could get away with it, all right; they'd both had enough experience in keeping heavy duty secrets, this was little different. They were excruciatingly careful to not show any undue affection around others, especially Bruce and Alfred. They were also equally careful to not be unduly distant, since that could also bring unwanted attention. The rough-housing, the friendly swats and jibes, the occasional wrestling match, these continued as they always had. Nightwing and Robin fought side by side, trading quips as they traded punches; Tim spent most weekends with Dick, training and studying. Everything was just as it had always been.

Excepting, they had to deceive the one man who, above all others, deserved the truth.

Dick hated this deception. It was one thing to wear a mask to do your job; that was for your own protection and for the safety of those around you, those innocents who might become targets were your identity to become known. It allowed you to walk among the populace unrecognized, to have some semblance of a normal life. That kind of mild deceit he could live with, had lived with for most of his life.

It was an entirely different thing to have to hide from the man who'd raised you, and who would gladly give his life for yours without a second thought.

Dick felt like a heel. He knew it was wrong yet he knew there was no other way, not now, not yet. It rankled, it gnawed at him, it haunted him. For weeks, he lay awake nights, unable to stop thinking about it. It lurked at the edges of his mind even when he was with Tim, a specter waiting in the wings to wreck havoc.

Under any other circumstances, he would have taken his troubles to Alfred or Bruce, talked them out, worked out a solution.

Obviously, he couldn't do that.

So, he had gone to the only other people whom he could trust implicitly.

There was something about putting your life on the line every night, giving everything you had for some vague ideal of justice and righting wrongs, something about that kind of lifestyle that transformed ordinary people into - well, into heroes. The thrill of the risk as you dodged bullets, the rush of the wind in your ears as you plummeted from the top of a building with only ten millimeters of line between you and sidewalk pizza, the knowledge that every night you put on that suit might be the last time - these were things made you grow up very fast in a lot of ways. Frequently, it led to a kind of fatalistic attitude, and an impatience in things like relationships; when you never know if you'll see tomorrow, you don't postpone any chance at happiness.

It also formed a bond among those who shared this kind of life, a bond that endured separations, petty squabbles, jealousies, bruised feelings, even broken love affairs. Few comprehended it outside the exclusive club to which they belonged; the members of the JLA, perhaps, although most of them had come to their chosen field as adults. Dick's fellow Titans knew it all too well, and even the new kids, Robin's peers who had recently begun hanging out together and calling themselves Young Justice - they understood. They were a dedicated bunch, devoted to their work, and fiercely loyal to each other. They had to be; theirs was not your average childhood, and friends outside the loop were not easily trusted. After all, when you had a secret identity to protect, you couldn't just kvetch about the day's - or night's - events to just anyone. On the other hand, you *could* vent to your fellow Titans about how your mentor doesn't allow you any free time, or how it really sucked when you got a tear in your kevlar tights in the wrong place, and know that not only would they understand completely, they'd also keep your secrets to the grave.

So, they'd learned to accept that they were different from the rest of the world, and not only had they accepted it, they relished it. They lived by different standards. Ordinary, non-hero folks could call in sick to work, but if a hero did that, innocent people could die. Ordinary folks didn't make life or death decisions on a daily basis. Ordinary folks didn't deal with world-threatening villains before school every day. Ordinary folks didn't have the maturity at age fifteen to be part of a team - or part of a relationship. Ordinary folks had the leisure to take their time in forming a relationship, had the years ahead of them to wait for a love to show up - or grow up.

^^V^^ ^^V^^ ^^V^^ ^^V^^ ^^V^^

He'd showed up at the Tower on a weekday, about two months after that fateful weekend. While he knew any of the Titans would happily listen and give whatever comfort or advice they could, he really wanted to talk to Wally. Sure enough, the Flash was there, as usual in the kitchen, eating; he claimed his metabolism used up a lot of calories, but Dick had always suspected that his best friend was just using that as an excuse.

"Hey, Dick," Wally said, around a ridiculously large sandwich. "What brings you to this den of iniquity?"

"Hey," Dick replied, grabbing a cold drink from the fridge. "You got a minute to talk?"

"For you, sure. What's on your mind?" Wally was now on his second sandwich, and dripped a splotch of mustard on Dick's shoes.

"Guilt."

"Whoa." Wally stopped mid bite. "Seriously? About what? What'd you do, kill a guy?"

"No," Dick knelt and cleaned up the mess. "I'm, uh, lying to Bruce."

"Ah." Wally sounded uncertain. "Something pretty big, huh?"

"Very big."

"And you can't tell him, or don't want him to know?"

"Exactly."

Wally turned away for a moment, and when he turned back, he was unusually serious. "Look, Dick, I know that whatever it is, you have a good reason for not telling him. I know you well enough to know that you're doing the right thing, whatever it is. But, uh, I can't really help you this time."

"What?" Dick was incredulous. They'd never had secrets from each other. Even among the Titans, whom he trusted without doubt, he trusted Wally more. It hurt, somehow. "Why the hell not?"

"Look, Dick, it's not what you think." Wally spread his hands out imploringly. "But I'm in the big leagues now, the JLA. I gotta work with Batman all the time."

"So? I've done that for years." Dick hopped up to sit on the counter. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"It has everything to do with it." Wally joined Dick at the counter, leaning against it and crossing his arms and ankles. "You know how he is. Spooky. Intimidating. He has ways of knowing what you're thinking. It's hard to keep anything from him."

"Tell me about it. It's tearing me apart, Wally."

"God, Dick, I'm sorry, really I am. Anything else, you'd have my total attention." Just then, he tapped at the transmitter in his ear, and groaned. "I'm gonna kill that kid. Be right back." He disappeared, leaving a strong draft in his place.

Dick shook his head, and leaned back against the wall. Before he could decide what tune to whistle, there was another strong draft, and Flash stood in front of him again.

"Sorry about that," Wally said, pulling down his cowl and running a hand through his hair. "One of these days."

"I can sympathize," Dick grinned. The reputation of Wally's young speedster cousin was well known. "So, you were saying?"

"Yeah, right." Wally seemed to flicker for a moment, and now had another sandwich, larger than the first. "Okay, so like I was saying. I'm real sorry, Dick, but I can't do it. Any other time, I'd be the first in line to give you the old stalwart friend routine, but this time, I have to pass."

"I see."

"You know, Dick, if it was anything else, anybody else, I'd say sure. But if it's something this important to you, I don't want to foul it up."

"It's okay, Wally," Dick smiled reassuringly. "I guess I wouldn't want to be in your shoes, either."

"It's bad enough he's kind of got an attitude about Kyle and me anyway," Wally added, grinning. "I don't need anything else to piss him off."

"Okay," Dick exhaled loudly, and jumped off the counter. "So, who else is around? Somebody's got to play confession with me, or I'm gonna get an ulcer."

"The girls took off, I think," Wally said, pulling his cowl back over his face, "but Garth and Roy were around earlier, I heard them arguing. Unless Garth has killed him, I think they're still in the living room. "

"Well, I guess we can always hope."

"Later, gotta run." Before Dick could say good bye, he was gone.

"I hate when he does that." Shrugging, he grabbed a soda out of the refrigerator, and made his way to the living room. Thankfully, his first runner up for confessor was there, watching an old film on the huge screen television.

"Aqualad! Don't you know that surfacer stuff will rot your brain!" Dick hoped his Aquaman imitation was up to par.

There was an infinitesimal pause. "I told you before," Garth growled, without taking his eyes from the screen. "You call me MISTER TEMPEST!" He raised his hand, pointing the remote at Dick. "Don't make me use this."

Dick laughed, and jumped over the back of the sofa to drop beside Garth. "Damn. I used to be really good at that."

"In your dreams, Robbie," Garth replied, grabbing Dick in a crushing, one-armed hug. "How are you doing, buddy?"

"I'm okay," Dick grabbed a handful of popcorn from the bowl on the table in front of them. "You?"

"Busy. I've got a real job now, you know."

"About time."

"Having a kid does that to you." Garth smiled broadly. "Makes you respectable."

"Also makes you a chick magnet."

They both turned to see Roy Harper standing in the doorway, a six pack of beer in his hand.

"I guess you need something, huh, Roy?" Dick waved away the offer of a beer. "Too bad you have to resort to that kind of thing to get a date."

"Hah. You wish." Roy dropped down on the other side of Dick, and opened a can. "I'm beating them away from my door."

"Well, you're probably beating something," Garth said.

"Oh, like you aren't."

"I don't have to. I have a wife."

"Nice to see some things never change." Dick reached behind both of them, and gave each a swift smack to the head. "God, I miss you guys."

"You can drop by anytime," Roy said. "Just remember the code - if the hanger's on the door knob, don't come in."

"I thought it was a sock," Garth said, grabbing a handful of popcorn.

"That was Wally," Roy replied. "He had the sock, I had the hanger, Vic had that blue fuzzy thing, Gar had the gym shoes, Garth - What did you have, Gillhead?"

"I didn't bother," Garth gave Roy a warning look. "I've never understood why you Surfacers have such a hang up about it."

"It's a matter of privacy -" Dick began.

"I don't have a hang up about it," Roy protested. "I just don't like to be interrupted." He finished his beer and opened another. "Rob, you didn't use any signal either, did you?"

"I - Never mind. Look, not to change the subject, but can we get serious a minute?"

"Sure, Robbie," Garth nodded. "Do we need to call the others? I think Wally's still here."

"God," Roy groaned. "You're not going to call another meeting, are you? Today's my first day free all week."

"No," Dick shook his head. "Not Titans' business."

"What then?" Garth asked.

"Um, it's personal."

"Well, that's my cue," Roy muttered, reaching for the remainder of the six pack and standing up. "I know when I'm not needed -"

"No, Roy," Dick stood and put a hand on Roy's arm. "Stay, please."

"Sure, Dick." Roy gave him a look that was equal parts confusion, surprise, and gratitude. "Titans together. What's up?" He dropped back to the sofa.

"I kind of have a problem that's driving me nuts," Dick replied, remaining standing.

"So tell us," Garth made an inviting motion with his hand. "I'm good, but I can't read minds."

"Okay." Dick took a deep breath. He'd been prepared to lay it all out for Wally, but after that didn't work out, he'd lost some of his momentum. "It's like this. I - I've been seeing someone."

"You?" Garth was incredulous. "I thought you gave it up for lint."

"That's Lent, Gillhead," Roy laughed. "And he's been choking the chicken for way longer than that. Uh, Short Pants?" Roy leaned forward, his face the very image of concern. "You do realize that a blow up doll doesn't really count."

"Shut up, Harper!" Dick tried to scowl at them as they broke into laughter, but didn't convince either of them; he barely convinced himself. "You know, guys, I didn't come all this way for abuse."

"Where do you usually go?" Roy and Garth said in unison.

"And I wondered why I left here," Dick dropped into a chair, and buried his face in his hands.

"I always assumed you couldn't take the competition," Roy said.

"No," Garth interjected. "That would be you, Roy."

"Hah. Like you're some expert."

"Compared to you, sure."

"You don't count fish, Gillhead -"

"You're just jealous. You couldn't handle -"

"Are you two about done?"

Garth and Roy looked at each other, grinning.

"That didn't take long," Roy observed.

"No," Garth agreed. "Nice to know we've still got the touch." He turned back to Dick. "Sorry, Robbie, but we saw when you came in, and you looked -"

"You looked so intense," Roy cut in. "Way, way too Batman."

"We thought you needed to be . . ." Garth searched for the word, muttering something in Atlantean that sounded suspiciously like cursing. Finally, he shrugged. "Well, lightened up."

"We won't let you turn into him, Short Pants." Roy slouched back and put his feet up on the coffee table. "Titans together, man." He cracked open another beer and slurped it noisily.

Dick was quiet for a moment, just looking at his two friends. He knew he'd been right to come there. It was like Roy said: Titans together. No matter what, they were there for each other. "Thanks, guys."

"Okay, so you're seeing someone," Garth said, breaking the silence that threatened to turn them all maudlin. "That's great. What's the problem"?

"He's married, isn't he?" Roy leaned forward. "Listen, there are ways around that -"

"No!" Dick threw the now-empty soda can at him. "The problem is, I can't tell Bruce about it. I have to keep it a secret, and it's getting to me."

"Why?" Garth furrowed his brow. "Why would he object? Doesn't he want you to be happy?"

"Sure, I guess so, but it's not that -"

"He can't be jealous. If there was ever a poster child for the terminally heterosexual, it's him."

Dick had to smile at that. "No, it's not that. And," he held up a hand, forestalling Roy's inevitable reference to mentor/sidekick crushes, "it's not that either. I'm over him, completely. I - I found the real thing."

"So what's the frickin' problem?" Roy demanded. "He's not jealous, you're not mooning over him, he wants you to be happy." He threw up his hands. "What else is there?"

Garth looked thoughtful suddenly. "It's who it is, isn't it?"

Dick nodded. "Yeah. He, uh, I don't think he'd understand it. In fact, I know he wouldn't." He took a deep breath. "It's, uh, it's Robin."

Dead silence.

"Holy shit."

"You mean, Robin Robin?" Garth asked.

"Yeah. Tim. That Robin."

Roy whistled. "Damn. I can see where that'd get his tights in a twist."

"Exactly."

"Do you love him?" Garth asked quietly.

"Yes." They knew Dick well enough to understand the absoluteness behind that one word.

"Does he love you?"

"Yes."

A pause. "Have you had sex?"

"Garth!"

Roy hooted. "Way to go, Short Pants," he leaned forward, and slapped Dick's knee. "Congrats and all that." He gave a short, low laugh. "Gives a new meaning to robbin' the cradle, doesn't it?"

"Shut up, Harper!"

"I still don't understand," Garth protested. "If you love each other, why are you afraid to tell him?"

"Gillhead," Roy said. "You remember last year, those twins I was dating?"

"What - Oh."

"Same situation."

Garth shook his head. "Surfacers," he muttered.

"I can't tell Bruce about it, he'll go ballistic," Dick said. "And I can't - not seeing Tim, that's not an option." He ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know what to do. It's tearing me up inside. I've never lied to Bruce about anything. I hate this."

"It'll be alright, Robbie," Garth came over and patted his shoulder. "I've done way worse stuff than that, and Arthur always forgives me. I mean, Dolphin left him for me, and he was still my best man."

"As the Tide Turns," Roy muttered.

"I don't know, Garth," Dick sighed. "This is different."

"He loves you like you're his own son," Garth said. "Maybe you don't understand what that means, you're not a father. It . . . changes you. Changes how you look at things." He turned to Roy. "Maybe you can make him understand."

"I hate to admit it," Roy said. "But you know, for once Garth is right."

Dick feigned shock. "That's something I never thought I'd hear."

"You? I can't believe I just said it." Roy ducked as a handful of popcorn sailed past his head. "I'm serious. You'd forgive your kid just about anything. Just yesterday, Lian spilled a whole pitcher of grape juice on Miss February, and I barely even noticed."

"Yeah, well, it's different for us. This is Robin we're talking about, *his* Robin. He's kind of protective, remember?" Dick shut his eyes, and rubbed his knuckles into his temples. "Why did it have to be him? Why couldn't it have been, I don't know, one of you guys?"

There was no reply. Dick didn't look up, but heard movement from the direction of the sofa, and retreating footsteps leaving the room. Well, that was okay. He didn't know what he'd expected them to be able to do, after all; they were his friends, they'd been supportive, but they didn't have the answers. Maybe there were no answers. Well, it had been good to see them, anyway.

Suddenly, he felt strong hands massaging his taut neck muscles. He opened his eyes, and nearly fell out of his chair when he saw it was Roy.

"Settle down," Roy admonished. "You need it. I could string a bow with these. You have to relax, Short Pants. You're going to hurt yourself."

"I know," he sighed. "Damn, that feels good." He looked around the room curiously. "Where's Garth?"

"He said his hour was up," Roy replied. "I think all this talk about sex gave him ideas."

"Maybe he wanted to see his little boy."

"There's that, too, I guess."

They were quiet for a few minutes, and Dick began to relax under Roy's surprisingly gentle ministrations. He thought to himself that it was probably the longest the archer had ever gone without making some cutting or sarcastic remark. It was refreshing, but a little unnerving; like the calm before a storm.

He nearly leapt out of his seat again when Roy spoke.

"I know I'm not the most sensitive guy around," he said quietly. "I mean, I know you'd rather talk to Wally about this, and to be honest I was kind of surprised that you didn't." He paused, Dick was about to reply when he spoke again. "Anyway. I'm hardly an expert on relationships of any kind. I fucked up with Ollie, with Ches, probably with Lian - If it weren't for the Titans, I'd probably have no friends at all." He put a hand on Dick's mouth to stop him protesting. "Like I said, relationships aren't exactly my strong point. But I do know this much. You don't pick who you fall in love with. Trust me, I know what I'm talking about." "Yeah." Dick thought of his god-daughter's mother, and nodded. "I guess you would."

"Look. You love the guy, he loves you. End of story. You do what you have to do to keep him. You deserve it, Dick, if anybody does, you deserve a little happiness."

"Roy." There weren't any other words necessary, and Dick knew that anything he said would just make things awkward. Besides, he didn't quite trust his voice just now. Nothing like underestimating and misjudging a friend to make you tongue tied.

"Look," Roy said after a painfully long, silent minute. "You know I'm here most of the time. You guys ever need a place to hide out, or whatever - you got it. You and Tom -"

"Tim."

"-Tim can stay here, hide out from the big bad Bat. I don't think even he'd be ballsy enough to take on the Titans alone."

"Thanks, Roy," Dick stood, and grabbed him into a bear hug. "Sometimes, you're not a total bastard."

"Hey! You want to destroy my reputation?"

"I don't think that's humanly possible."

^^V^^ ^^V^^ ^^V^^ ^^V^^ ^^V^^

Dick had spent the rest of that day there, hanging out with whatever Titans showed up. It had felt good, and he'd left there feeling much better than when he'd arrived.

That had been over a year ago, and now, while the unease about lying to Bruce was still there, now at least he could deal with it.

He looked over at Tim, sleeping beside him, and knew that the discomfort was little enough price to pay. In a little over a year and a half, they could break the news to Bruce. Maybe he'd understand the need for the deception. He was a reasonable man, most of the time. He treated them as partners; not equals, no, but with respect. He trusted their judgment in the field, trusted it implicitly; could he trust it any less in their private lives? He'd raised them both, given them his values, his morals, his inherent sense of decency. Bottom line, it was as Garth and Roy had told him - the father factor came into play. He never said it, never even referred to it, but there was no doubt that Bruce loved both his boys, like they'd been his own since birth. Sure, he'd probably be angry, and shocked, but he'd get over that. Anger Dick could handle - it was the other emotion that he knew would probably be there, the hurt - that was going to be tough. But he knew they could make amends, make peace, even for that. They didn't say it, either, but Bruce knew how his boys felt about him; knew they'd die for him.

It would work out fine in the end, Dick told himself sleepily. Only nineteen months to go until Tim was eighteen. Then, they'd tell Bruce and Alfred - can't forget Alfred, although Dick was confident, somehow, that Alfred would understand even if they told him now. Yes, they'd tell Bruce, sit him down and explain the situation, and he'd come to understand. Things would go back to normal, and they'd be one happy, if odd, family.

Tim turned over in his sleep, snuggling closer to Dick, snaking an arm around his middle. Once Dick had convinced himself that things would work out, it didn't take long to drift off himself; the pain-killer had finally kicked in, and he couldn't have stayed awake if he'd tried.

He was out like a light in a matter of minutes, and didn't hear the soft click of a window opening, nor the faint footfall and the whisper of a silk cape. So soundly did he sleep, he didn't even wake when a sharp, black object imbedded itself in the wall above the bed.

=30=