Birthdays were a stressful time for Bruce. Not so much his own, although he was always forced to endure one too many surprise celebrations he didn't want from people whose company he didn't truly enjoy, but that was the price of maintaining his mask of the affable fop. No, it was the birthdays of others that filled him with dread, even if Bruce Wayne had enough resources to procure any and all desired gifts. Showing genuine emotion, not his fake, exuberant personality, was difficult for Bruce, and he found it easier to express his feelings through large and extravagant offerings. The problem was, the people he cared enough about to give it such gifts to were impossible to buy for.

In the case of his former-ward-turned-eldest-son, Dick Grayson, Bruce had all but abandoned hope. Dick wasn't overly materialistic, but he liked the nice things in life, enjoyed a little luxury, so there was really no reason for Bruce to consistently fail to find an appropriate gift for the other man. His son expressed wants for many things, all of which Bruce could afford, and yet the billionaire fell short in his gift-wrapped displays of affection. It's baffled him, and left Bruce with a sense of failure that he always resolved to rectify with the next occasion, only to miss the mark again.

While his son never verbally expressed his disappointment, Bruce knew for a fact it was there. He also knew he hadn't completely offended his son with his gifts, thankfully, because Dick had always been extremely vocal about all the times the older man had caused offense, but this knowledge provided little relief in the face of his son's quiet disappointment.

The sixteenth birthday of his young ward was a event that still haunted Bruce. It was a troubling year, full of growing pains in both the civilian and costumed aspects of their lives. At times, Bruce felt like the young boy in his house was an afterthought, a ghostly presence that rarely manifested itself and was a distant stranger when viewed up close. And at other times, the two clashed with such visceral fervor that's Bruce felt physically ill at the end of the day, either with frustration or love or some unholy combination of both. If this was normal for the fathers of teenage sons, Bruce didn't know. What he did know was that Dick's cheerful moods were becoming less frequently seen and Bruce had signed a lot of papers promising the state that he would ensure the child's safety, health and happiness.

At sixteen years old, most teenagers turned their thoughts towards cars. The parents with enough wealth to do so bought new sports cars in grand displays, those of more moderate means pursued used cars or allowed their beloved offspring to borrow the family vehicle. It was a right of passage, an opportunity for paternal bonding if so desired, so as they entered the month of March, Bruce promised to buy Dick a car.

Dick, with a somewhat listless shrug that was far too common of late, told Bruce he didn't have to do that. When pressed, Dick explained that he already drove a motorcycle as Robin, and Dick Grayson the regular teen had little free time and was often chauffeured places. It was a senseless expense.

And that struck something in Bruce, a deep and not entirely unfounded fear that the boy viewed himself as a senseless expense. So he pressed the issue. "You can't tell me you don't like driving fast cars," he teased, earning a bit of that beloved smile back. "And all the other students in your class are getting cars for their birthdays."

"And if all the other students jumped off a bridge, would you do that, too?" Dick needled, but the boy's grin soon faded. "I don't need a new car, though. If I hadn't come to live with you, I probably wouldn't even bother with a driver's license." An interesting thought. Where would Dick have kept a second vehicle, if his family even had a first one? When would he find the time to drive it, and where would he go? Did he or his parents even make enough money with the circus to make such a purchase feasible?

It was always uncomfortable to be reminded of the financial gap between the Waynes and the Graysons. Not because Bruce felt Dick's status was somehow lower or his previous situation worthy of pity, but because so much of the world did. As if Bruce's money could ever make up for all John and Mary Grayson gave their son, gifts Dick would never receive again. A car by itself didn't mean much, but if it told Dick and those around him that he was worth an expensive gift, that Bruce thought his ward equal to all the other young men and women receiving cars from their parents, that they didn't need a blood tie for Bruce to want to share this milestone with the boy in his care, then it was money well spent. If it could communicate any of the feelings in his heart, well, that's what money was for, in Bruce's opinion.

His mother believed so. "It's just metal and paper. Cheap, useless things," she said of the change in her son's fist as the boy debated between one candy shop and another. "But we say the paper is worth something, and now it has value. When you spend it, you're telling the world what you bought has worth, more value than all the other things you could have bought." That's why she and father gave money to charities, she went on to explain. It wasn't the only way to help others, or even the most important way, but it told the world that Martha and Thomas thought the cause valuable. "And maybe other people will see that and think it's valuable too."

Dick wasn't a charity, in any sense, but Bruce remembered standing on his tiptoes to slide his small amount of coin across the counter when he finally decided which candy shop he wanted to spend his allowance on. He was too shy to tell the lady on the other side how much he loved her fudge, or how her small candy shop was so much more fun and friendly than the franchise store at the other end of the mall, but by spending his few precious dollars there, Bruce had a way of communicating that to her without words. And while he couldn't put a price on love, he could metaphorically show Dick that this shrewd and aloof businessman he lived with, always fighting for the best deal, thought the boy's value worth any and all expense.

"I'm not trying to out-do your parents, or imply you're better off now," Bruce said with a great deal of care, since Dick had brought the subject up. He remembered how adamantly the boy had resisted his new benefactor in the beginning, refusing the idea of the rich stranger swooping in and writing over his old life. A compromise had been struck, and Dick's circus roots and memory of his parents existed alongside the new family built with Bruce and Alfred. "Maybe you don't need it, but you're a good kid, and it's your sixteenth birthday. If you've got your eyes on a dream car, I'd love to buy it for you."

He was rewarded with a small smile, but again, Dick said Bruce didn't need to buy him a car. Never that he didn't want a car, but always that it was too expensive, not practical, Bruce didn't need to bother. They went back and forth for some time before Dick finally sighed and said in a soft voice, "Look, if you're that set on getting me a car, just give me one of the five hundred we are already have." There were hardly so many in the garage, but Dick was correct in saying there was an excess of vehicles in their house. "Hand me down one of those."

The request surprised Bruce, and he argued that Dick was entitled to something new and fully his own, but Dick ended the conversation by saying, "That's what I want, Bruce. Just put a bow on one of your old cars. Or don't get me one at all." When asked if there was any one in particular he preferred, Dick simply said, "Surprise me."

Bruce had a week or two to contemplate that before the day arrived, but every time he cast his eyes over his extensive collection, his stomach curdled. All the students at Dick's school were receiving brand-new cars and would judge each other based on that superficial possession. It was petty, Bruce knew, and he shouldn't have bought into it. But his ward had endured far too much ostracization, insults and judgment. For bearing that very title of 'ward', for his less-than-opulent roots, for his old profession, his mixed blood and even his comparatively modest or humble behavior. Everyone would be comparing their cars to that of their peers, and would surely look down on the boy with on outdated, re-gifted used car, even if it was still a luxury model. Not a 'real' son, and therefore, not worth a gift with actual cost and effort attached; Bruce could hear the taunts now.

The word 'ward' would cease to have meaning the second Dick turned eighteen, but he was still a son in Bruce's eyes. He wasn't entirely sure if that was how Dick viewed their relationship, but Bruce wanted the guardianship to last their whole lives. Dick should inherit the Wayne fortune, he should attend any university he pleased with no care for expense, he should feel comfortable begging his parental figure for all the things his heart desired, even if it said parent didn't spoil the child with constant acquiescence. But people attached to value to possessions, to checkbooks and little green pieces of paper, and wrong as it might be, transferred that value to a person. And if that was the world they lived in, then Dick deserved it to drive around in the biggest, flashiest display of grotesque spending to ever set wheels to road.

After weeks of searching, Bruce finally found the perfect car, the right combination of make, model, color and features to reflect to Dick's tastes. Brand new, one of a kind, fresh out of the factory and all Dicks own. When the fated birthday came, Bruce waited eagerly for the moment of unveiling, hoping to finally see that look of pure excitement and unbridled joy. The more he thought of the significance of a sixteenth birthday, the more Bruce became emotionally invested, and he began to hope that offering such a memorable gift would cement something between them, forge something unbreakable that would last through these tumultuous teenaged years, the physical distance of the Titans and the JLA, and the loss of a legal tie when Dick came of age. While it sometimes seemed like Bruce and Dick were starting to drift apart, now the man entertained fantasies of road trips and drives through Gotham's picturesque surroundings, teaching his charge the rules of the road and sharing stories, going through drive-thrus for comfort food after long days...

All of those thoughts evaporated when Dick saw the car. Bruce had been watching the boy's face with his anticipation only barely hidden, and so had a perfect view of Dick's crushing disappointment.

It only lasted a second, and then the birthday boy was overflowing with expressions of gratitude and insisting on taking it out for a spin with Bruce and Alfred. But the first expression was burned into Bruce's mind, the face of a beloved child let down, and as happy as Dick expressed himself to be, the wall between guardian and ward remained in place, and the boy's enigmatic moods were more impenetrable than ever.

Every year after that, Christmas, birthdays, graduations, Bruce tried to rectify the mistake made. He tried giving Dick things he expressed desire over, things recommended by the boy's friends, thoughtful gifts, practical gifts, but always there was something missing from the recipient's reaction, effusive as it was. But Bruce kept trying to find that perfect gift, the one that spoke all the things he was trying to prove to Dick since the day he took him in. He kept hoping, even if the result always fell a little short.

But this year held more significance than any before it. Bruce missed Dick's last birthday, lost on a trip through time courtesy of Darkseid. It would be the first birthday since returning from the "grave" and if there was ever a time to find the perfect gift, a tangible, crystallized symbol of the feelings Bruce longed to convey, this was the day. This was no time to rely on Bruce's terrible intuition. So he took the direct route, and asked Dick point blank what he wanted for his birthday.

This was no help at all. "Oh, I don't care, anything's fine." Bruce would have rolled his eyes, but he was wearing the cowl at the time, and that would have negated the effect. And given that Dick was dressed more or less identically, Bruce refused to be the juvenile Batman in the room.

"Then ask for anything. Just say it, and it's yours."

"But I already have everything I want." The sincerity warmed Bruce's heart, even if he didn't think it was true. But Dick gestured around the Batcave with a broad grin, "Really, Bruce, I live in a penthouse with a butler, great family, great friends, my adopted father isn't dead and I'm Batman. At this point, asking for anything else would be greedy."

"It's not greedy if I want to give it to you," Bruce argued back, pushing away his casework in frustration. After everything that the past years brought them, he wanted to do something meaningful, something to make up for all the pain. "You know it's useless to let me guess."

"Aren't you supposed to be a detective?" Dick teased, receiving a grunt in return. "Don't take it so seriously. It's not like you're obligated to get me anything." And the younger man turned back to examining trace evidence under a microscope while Bruce resisted the urge to fidget.

"That's why I want to." The look on Dick's face shone through the cowl.

"Well, that's a gift in itself," he said with a shy grin that looked out of place on Batman. "You've always given me amazing presents. Whatever you decide will be fine." But Bruce didn't want it to be 'fine'. "Where is this coming from?"

There was a lump in Bruce's throat, preventing him from answering immediately. He looked down at the case file he was supposed to be working on but only saw Darkseid and bats, gravestones and birthdays spent with only Alfred. He'd put Dick and Tim through that, when he'd taken them in specifically so they wouldn't be alone, had Damian living with him in order to know his son and offer a better influence. But when he thought about his life, all the times he'd been absent, all the times he'd pushed his children away or been purposefully distant, he wondered if there was even a point to being there now? If he were to ask, would he learn that a year of their father's absence was not actually so different from all the years he was supposedly by their side?

"The car," Bruce mumbled out while Dick was occupied with the microscope. "I got you a car when you were sixteen, and you hated it."

Dick looked up from his evidence in surprise, and actually took off his cowl to reveal shocked blue eyes. "What are you talking about, Bruce? I loved that car! When Poison Ivy attacked downtown and collapsed a parking garage on it, I was devastated!" And yet, Bruce couldn't get that one look out of his mind, the sight of his child disappointed and hurt, longing for something...

Bruce had done enough of that to his kids with his 'death'. "It wasn't what you wanted," Bruce grunted. This year, his gift couldn't be just a nice purchase, it had to mean something. "You should have something that matters. Especially after..." After that separation. All the lives Bruce lived with none of his sons. The family believing their father dead, with only that inadequate holographic recording to comfort them. After all the ups and downs in Bruce's relationship with Dick, he wanted to give something that lasted, a testament that he cared for his son and would give anything to make him happy. "What do you really want? There's no limit, ask for anything."

"You have got to be the most generous person I know," Dick said with a small laugh. "But really, if you even just give me a phone call, I'm thrilled. Everything else is icing on the cake." If that was a birthday pun, Bruce decided to ignore it.

"Come on, just say it. Multiple things, if you can't decide." Dick gave a low whistle, but fell into quiet contemplation, and Bruce grew eager with anticipation.

"All right," Dick said once he'd decided, but his tone was so hesitant and his face so solemn that Bruce grew afraid that the younger man would settle on one of the few things Bruce couldn't give, asking to bring back his dead parents from the grave or something similar.

But Dick's true desire was much more modest. "One hour with you," he said, deliberate, but also quiet and soft. "No work, no interruptions, no Batman. I don't care what we do, but that that's what I want. One hour where it's just the two of us."

"That's all?" Bruce could have given anything short of a small country if he'd desired it, and Dick asked for this? "But that's nothing!"

"It's all I wanted last year," came the strained reply, which Dick soon shook off. "Look, I know you're busy, and Batman's on call 24/7, so I won't be crushed if it doesn't happen. But if you can swing it, that would be an awesome present." It threw Bruce to hear that. Touched him, certainly, but should he have been worried that his son wanted so little from his father?

But he couldn't ignore the request. That had been his mistake with the car. If Dick said he wanted an hour of time, then Bruce needed to honor that wish. But surely there was more to the story? They spent time together often, after all. Maybe not a scheduled, one-on-one hour, but this was an everyday sort of occurrence, not a special event worthy of a birthday. He doubted Dick would be truly content with just an hour, and hoped that it wasn't a self-deprecating message: "I'm not worth the effort, not worth the money, not worth the recognition".

"That will be a little difficult to gift wrap," Bruce finally said, only to have Dick laugh and clap him on the back.

"Well, it doesn't matter. I'll love anything you decide. I always do." Bruce smiled, but his heart fell, for he knew it wasn't true. Dick's first car wasn't the only disappointment in the line of Christmases and birthdays Bruce had failed in, and this year had more emotional baggage attached than any before it.

An hour of something Dick already had didn't make up for the years of grief caused. Bruce resolved, come Hell or high water, he would find the perfect gift for his son's birthday...