Author's Note: This little piece grew out of the departure of my best friend and neighbor, who moved across the country a few days ago. It's set pre-Damian, for those who are wondering. Happy reading!

Tim had barely closed the clock behind himself when Alfred's voice rang out. "Ah, Master Tim! Home at last, I see?"

"Yeah. The mission didn't go quite as planned," he sighed, "but when has one ever?"

"Well, I'm pleased that you've returned unscathed. Your fortuitous timing hasn't hurt my feelings any, either."

"'Fortuitous timing'? What's going on?" After the way the last two weeks had been, he braced himself for bad news. "Did someone get hurt, or...?"

"No, no, nothing like that. It's only that Mister West spent the past few days here on a visit. He departed this morning, and-"

"-And so Dick's suffering from post-bromance stress disorder," Tim finished. "Got it." Finding his usually chipper elder brother sulking wasn't exactly what he'd hoped to come home to, but he supposed it could have been much worse. "Bruce is still at work, I take it?"

"He is. I believe he planned on speaking to Master Dick this evening, but..." Alfred glanced up at the ceiling. "He seems to feel their separation more acutely each time they part, and to be frank with you I hate seeing him so downcast."

Tim sighed again. He was wiped out, but there was no way he'd be able to get any rest if he didn't at least try to perk his brother up. "Okay. I'll see if I can do any good."

"I'm sure you'll do a great deal of good," Alfred opined, his face grateful. "In fact, you may be the only person other than Master Wayne who stands a chance of snapping him out of his melancholy."

...Wow. Really? With as many friends as Dick had, hearing himself placed at the top of their ranks by someone who would know was flattering. "Um...thanks. Here goes nothing, I guess. See you later, Alfred."

"Indeed, Master Tim. Good luck."

He knocked on a half-open bedroom door a minute later. Something was said in response, but he couldn't make it out. "Hey," he poked his head around the corner to greet the man curled up in the window seat. "I'm back."

For a brief moment after Dick turned Tim could read the intense sadness in his expression. His face lit up as soon as he recognized his visitor, however, and in an instant the younger male found himself in a tight embrace. "...Hey," he repeated himself, a smile creeping across his lips.

"Hey, little brother," was whispered in his ear. "I missed you."

"How did you have time to miss me with Wally around?"

Dick pulled back, frowning. "I always miss you when you're gone. Didn't you know that?"

"I know," Tim admitted. "I was just teasing you." Bringing the speedster up probably wasn't the best way to keep the mood rising, he considered, but dancing around the topic didn't seem practical. "So...did you guys have a good visit?"

"...Yeah. We did." There was a pause. "Alfred sent you to see me, didn't he?"

"Alfred told me Wally'd been here. You always mope after he leaves, so...I extrapolated."

"Clever bird," Dick sighed, reaching over to ruffle his hair. "You want to catch up, or are you heading to bed?"

Sensing which option the asker would prefer, he moved towards the bed and sat. "I've got a few minutes before I pass out from sheer exhaustion."

"Cool."

"It should be just long enough for you to answer a question for me."

"Okay." The standing figure arched an eyebrow. "What's the question?"

"Why do you get so broken up every time Wally leaves? It's not like you're never going to see him again." It was something he'd wondered before today, but he'd never found a good way to broach the subject.

Dick stilled. "...I don't know that, Timmy," he answered. "I don't know that I'll see him again. I used to feel that way, but...I guess once a certain number of the people you love don't come back you start to think of every goodbye as possibly being the last one."

Tim looked away, ashamed at having drawn such a dark thought out of the usually bright man. "...Sorry," he muttered.

"Don't be. I'm...I'm glad you asked." Looking pensive, he retreated to his spot by the window. "Wally and I've just been friends for so long that...I don't know. It's weird, I guess. I never got like this when we were in Young Justice, you know? We lived just as far apart as we do now, but...we saw each other every weekend. I would write these lists," he smiled, remembering, "of all the stuff that happened during the week that I wanted to tell him about. Now, though..." His expression slackened. "Now the list is so long by the time we have a chance to just shoot the breeze that I never get through it all."

"So...you only feel like this with Wally, or what?"

"Yeah. Wait...yes, but...huh."

"Huh what?"

"I felt this way with Bruce once. When we were living apart and not really talking."

"Before me."

"Before you."

"But that's it?"

"Yeah, I think so. I think...well...when you're really close to someone, when you share every day with them, you get used to it. You start to rely on it," Dick theorized slowly. "And then when that person isn't there the way they used to be, you feel like...like a piece of you has vanished. Like a piece of your life is missing, a piece of your soul." He hesitated. "It's not the same when someone dies, I don't think."

"It's not?" Tim peered at him, puzzled.

"No. That's...that's a different pain. That piece of you is gone, yes, but you know it's not coming back. You...you don't have to search for it. You can just let the wound heal, or try to, at least. But this way, like with Wally, I'm always wondering when I'll have that piece back for a while. I keep that wound open, knowing – or at least hoping – that there will be another chance someday for that little bit to fit back in where it belongs. Then when we meet up again the cycle starts all over. It hurts, but I enable it because…because I guess that when someone else is carrying a piece of your soul you don't want to heal. You just want to be whole."

Tim blew out a long breath. "...Wow. I, uh...I never looked at it that way."

"Does it make sense, though?"

It did. It did because he could remember how he used to feel when his parents would go away for weeks or months at a time and leave him with a house full of staff. He had experienced what Dick was talking about, but he'd become numb to the disconnection over the years. He narrowed his eyes at the man across from him, thinking. Was he jaded by repeated abandonment, he wondered, or had the bits of him claimed by his parents simply healed over so that the loss wasn't as acute as it had been when he was a child? "...It makes sense," he nodded finally. "It just kind of sucks."

"Yeah. It does." Dick sighed. "So, that's why I get all angsty after a visit from the Walster. Because while we're together, I feel more whole than usual. Although..."

"...What?"

"I was just thinking that I wish you'd been here, too."

Tim shrugged. "I would have been in your way. Besides, the team had a mission."

"I know. But you wouldn't have been in the way. Wally likes you; you could have hung out with us. That would have been fun. Put Bruce in the room too, and...gosh, I don't know when the last time was that I felt that whole."

He stared down at the bed covers and swallowed hard, overwhelmed by the implication in that statement. "You mean we all three have a piece of you, or something?"

"Exactly. Three big pieces, all back in place at the same time...my head would have exploded."

"Note to self; don't invite Wally over unless I want to see your head explode," Tim joked, needing to lighten the atmosphere before he lost control over the heat behind his eyes.

Dick laughed. "Poor Alfred. That would be a mess." Neither spoke for a moment. "...Hey, Timmy?"

"Yeah?"

"I know your mission wasn't supposed to be two weeks long, but...try not to go away again for so long next time, huh?"

"I heard Batman gave Superman an earful over this last one. I don't think we'll be going anywhere quite so serious for a while."

"Good."

They fell silent again until Dick stood, stretched, and approached the bed. Dropping to the mattress, he leaned over until his head rested on Tim's shoulder. "I'm glad you're home. I missed you."

"Thanks. I...it's weird not having you with us on missions any more, you know?"

"I know. But it's your turn to lead."

"Yeah..." The weight lifted from the top of his arm, and he looked over. "...What?"

"Nothing. I figure I've used up more than the few minutes you said you had before you passed out, that's all. Just because I don't go out on YJ missions anymore doesn't mean I've forgotten how tired you can get on them."

"I am tired."

"Then you should quit letting me talk your ear off and go to bed." Grinning, he ruffled his hair once more. "Mission accomplished, little brother. Thanks."

"You're welcome. I'll tell you about the other one later."

"Sounds good."

Rising with a yawn, Tim started for the door. He stopped on the threshold as something occurred to him. "...Hey, Dick?"

"Mm-hmm?"

"Ah...you're not scheduled for any long missions soon, are you?" The new JLA members tended to get the longest, most grinding assignments, he knew, and after their talk he wasn't sure he wanted to be the one left at home the next time.

"Not that I know of, no. Why?"

You know why, he almost laughed. I can hear it in your voice. "Just curious," he ducked his head. "...See you later, Dick."

"Yup. I'll be here."

Good. Leaving the door open behind himself, he started down the hall towards his own space. It had been some time since he'd been so aware of his own emotional wellbeing, he realized. Examining himself out of curiosity, he smiled. Bruce would be home from work soon; Dick was in his bedroom. Tonight there would be familiar talk across the dinner table and the joyous challenge of a Gotham patrol. After that…after that, who knew. What mattered was that tonight was still to come, and that he could count on Dick and Bruce to share it with him.

For the first time in two weeks, he felt remarkably whole.