Dick doesn't see Bruce until the next morning. He waits for him while he sits in his own room and goes through his homework. Or, while he does his Spanish homework, Wally zooms through his science, Roy reluctantly completes his math homework, and Kaldur jots down answers for his geography class.

Because everyone knows that real friends will do your homework for you. Also, Dick has so much blackmail material on both Roy and Wally, they don't have much of a choice. Kaldur, on the other hand, is just an all around nice guy who's always willing to help out.

Dick is up until four in the morning waiting for Bruce, before he's forced to accept that the man is not going to come home until tomorrow. He picks up his cell phone, gently unwinding himself from Damian who is asleep on his chest, slips into the bathroom, sits down in the bathtub, and calls Bruce. The longer he sits waiting for Bruce to answer the phone, the more convinced he becomes that the man won't answer. The soft click and gruff, "Hello," when Bruce finally answers actually stuns him into a temporary silence.

"Bruce," Dick begins, before realizing that he has no idea how he's planning to finish that sentence. He has no idea what he's planning to say next.

"What?" Bruce's tone is perfectly blank in a way that hurts Dick far more than if the man had simply refused to answer his phone.

He wants to cry. Dick doesn't know why, but he's suddenly overwhelmed with a burning sensation in his eyes, and he's sniffling softly before he can stop himself. He's hit with a deep gut-wrenching sense of loss and yearning because he misses Bruce. He really misses him and the easy way things used to be between the two of them. In this moment, he's suddenly aware of how thoroughly things are screwed up between them.

He's suddenly aware of how much of it is his fault.

"I'm sorry," Dick finally says. That isn't why he'd originally called him. Dick had been planning to interrogate him, to demand answers of his whereabouts, to order him to come back home. But, this is what slips out of his mouth instead and Dick can't help but feel that this is more important and necessary.

Because he's spent the past couple of months doing stupid or hurtful—or a combination of both—things and Bruce has been forced to put up with his behaviour. And if Dick ever expects to fix anything than he needs to address his wrong-doings. He needs to apologize so they can finally begin to heal and move on from this.

"I'm sorry I lied to you. I'm sorry I tried to keep the truth from you. I'm sorry I erased your memories." Dick bites back a sob that tries to escape when his tears finally begin to fall. "I'm sorry I didn't wait for you to sort out your thoughts. I'm sorry I ran away. I'm sorry I hurt you." He wants to stop speaking there, but he's afraid that if he stops, he won't be able to start back up again. "I didn't mean for this to happen, I just—I just didn't want you to know because I thought if you knew then… well, I thought if you knew then this would happen. I just—I just wanted to protect you for once, but I failed and I hurt you instead. I'm sorry, Bruce, I'm so so sorry for everything."

Dick feels better, not completely better because nothing has been resolved and Bruce hasn't even attempted to say a word, but he knows now that Kaldur was right. He really does need to talk to Bruce and clear the air between the two of them.

"Please come home, Bruce." Because Dick misses him and he feels hurt and abandoned because Bruce just took off without a word to him. And this must be how Bruce felt when Dick took off to hunt down Talia. Dick almost drowns in the flood of guilt and shame that realization brings forth. "If you don't want to see me, I can leave and go—"

"No." Bruce finally speaks, his voice angry and hoarse in a way that makes Dick wonder how much of it is Bruce speaking and how much of it is his instincts. "Don't you dare leave the manor."

"But—"

"Stay put." Bruce orders. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Okay," Dick nods his head and spends a comforting moment just listening to Bruce's breathing. "Bruce, I love you."

Dick isn't sure how he's expecting Bruce to react when he says this; but, he's sure he's not expecting Bruce to make a strangled, almost pained, noise. "I have to go," he says, his voice strained and shaking slightly.

"But—"

"Goodnight." Bruce hangs up the phone and Dick is left an odd mixture of concern and hurt because that was weird, even for Bruce.

In the end, there's nothing he can really do, so Dick climbs out of the bathtub and crawls into bed, right as Damian sneezes so hard, he scares himself awake.

DtCW

In the morning, Dick is woken by a whiny Damian whose only goal is to be able to have all of the existing morning cuddles in the world. He cries when Dick lays him on his back, making desperate grabby hands for Dick while Dick peels the tabs for his diaper off. "It's okay, Dami," he promises, "everything's okay." He rests his forehead against the toddler's, gently pries tiny fingers out of his hair after a moment, and pulls away the second the sobs begin to subside.

They return immediately.

Dick flounders for a moment about what to do. He scoops up Damian, the flaps and legs of his Robin onesie dangle awkwardly over his half removed diaper . "It's okay, Baby D, it's okay." Dick tries not to think about it too much. If he thinks about it too much, he might start panicking because Damian has never acted like this before and Dick isn't sure what the fuck he's supposed to do to comfort him.

He's not even sure what the problem is.

Changing Damian while holding him is an awful confusing experience that Dick hopes to never re-experience, but puzzling the logistics of it distracts him from freaking out over Damian's behaviour. The end result is something Dick will continue fiddling with because he just knows it's going to leak at the worst possible time.

He ties the legs of the onesie around Damian's waist because trying to deal with the snaps right now sounds like another logistics nightmare. He stands up, resting Damian on his hip, the baby immediately burying his face into the crook of Dick's neck, and gently rubs Damian's back, hushing him.

Downstairs Dick catches a whiff of Bruce's scent that has him rushing to the formal sitting room before he can think better of it. It's only the faint scent of intruder, imposter, infringer that forces him to stop instead of barrelling into the room.

Talia.

Talia is in there. With Bruce. With Bruce and Alfred. Dick takes a moment, half a heartbeat, to collect and calm himself. He walks into the room, mask of nonchalance firmly in place.

His mask almost shatters when Damian takes one look at Talia and squirms out of his arms to run to his mother. Her lips curl into a smirk as she picks up Damian and deposits him into her lap. Damian plucks and pulls at her shirt and doesn't stop until he successfully moves it out of his way enough to tug at her bra. Talia stares at Dick the entire time, exuding an almost suffocating amount of smugness, as she unlatches a bra strap and pulls the cup out of the way, allowing Damian to nurse.

Sitting in the armchair, Alfred standing behind him, Bruce gives Dick a subtle hand signal. Do not engage.

Dick does not acknowledgement it. He can't. Not with the way Talia is scrutinizing his every move; instead, he saunters over to Bruce and sprawls across the man's lap. Bruce tenses, but Dick knows he won't push him away. Not while Talia's in the room. He watches with his own satisfied smirk as Talia's smugness slips away and the woman begins to silently seethe.

"I do believe," Alfred begins, "we are gathered here today to discuss Young Master Damian's future living situation."

Talia narrows her eyes and opens her mouth to respond—and Dick will spend the rest of his life wishing he could have seen the look Alfred gives her—before snapping her mouth shut and dropping her gaze.

DtCW

They win the argument. Talia doesn't appear to be nearly as angry as she should be when she leaves without Damian; instead, she leaves with an aura of satisfaction that has Dick worrying what her actual plan is.

Damian, curled in Dick's arms where he'd toddled the second he'd finished nursing, coughs a little and begins to sob.

"You're okay, Baby D. Don't cry." From underneath him, he can feel Bruce leaning back in the armchair, his muscles coiling, ready to spring into action at a moment's notice. In other words, Bruce prepares to make a run for it if anyone so much as gives him a look to suggest he help with the sobbing child.

Alfred walks around the armchair, giving Bruce his signature You-Are-An-Overgrown-Manchild-And-I-Am-Not-Paid-Enough-To-Deal-With-Your-Shit Look, and rests his hand on Damian's forehead. "He has a bit of a fever. I'll contact Dr. Thompkins and book an appointment for him. Until then, keep him comfortable." Alfred strides out of the room, giving Bruce an I-Don't-Care-How-Emotionally-Stunted-You-Are-You-Will-Deal-With-The-Issue-Or-I-Will-Make-Your-Life-Miserable Look.

The room is stifling in its silence.

He wants to snuggle into Bruce's arms. He wants to cuddle with the man and feel safe and secure and like everything is going to work out. But, he can't. Not until they have a conversation.

Getting out of Bruce's lap is hard. Sitting on the couch Talia just vacated, directly across from Bruce with a table in between them, is harder. Dick's eyes drop down to Damian because it's so much easier to focus on the baby than it is to focus on the father of his unborn child.

He hates Pamela Isley. He really really hates her. He hates Jonathan Crane as well. He hates them so fucking much right now. Because things are tense and awkward and uncomfortable with Bruce in a way they have never been before.

In a way Dick hadn't even known was possible.

Every aspect of his life feels like it's spiralling out of his control. His emotions are unstable, his decision-making skills are unreliable, and his common sense has spent the past thirteen weeks on vacation. Dick grew up learning to trust himself to do the impossible. His parents and Bruce trained him to do his best and how to handle all the unexpected curveballs life throws at him; and yet, now Dick isn't sure he trusts himself enough to have a productive conversation with Bruce.

Everything is slipping through his fingers: his confidence, his optimism, his self-respect. With every terrible life decisions he makes it becomes harder and harder to regain his faith in himself. And he doesn't know where to turn to for help because Bruce may never forgive Dick for every stupid hurtful thing he's done recently. And what is he supposed to do if Bruce never forgives him? How is he supposed to—what is he—and—

And he's crying. Dick bites his lips, desperately trying to stifle his sobs, but there's no hiding the way his body shakes with every half-aborted sob. And of course his crying sets Damian off, so that both of them are sitting in the seat bawling their eyes out, while Bruce watches uncomfortably from the armchair.

Why did things have to turn out this way? Why is he this way? He never used to be like this. He just—he just doesn't understand how things can go from amazing to shit in the blink of an eye.

Dick can't talk to Bruce like this. He doesn't want Bruce to see him like this. All sad and pathetic, crying like the helpless baby in his arms because he can't control himself.

Bruce hesitates for a moment, neither rising from his chair nor plastering himself against the back of it. On anyone else his actions would be the equivalent of nervous fidgeting and agitated pacing.

"Go." Dick manages to get the word passed the aching lump of snot in his throat. "There's no reason for you to be here." He knows he needs to talk to Bruce, but he can't right now. Not when he feels like this: aching and raw and seconds from falling apart.

A thick calloused thumb gently wipes away the tears on his right cheek, tracing over his eyelid. Bruce doesn't say anything. He sits beside Dick on the couch and drapes his arm around Dick's shoulders. After a second, he pulls Dick into his lap, resting his head on top of Dick's.

"We'll figure this out," he promises.

And Dick has no choice but to believe him.

OMAKE: Inheritable Traits

Damian is sitting on the floor carefully arranging his colourful blocks into a tower when Bruce walks into the room. Dick cheers him on for every block he places and smiles at Bruce when he sits down beside him on the couch. "His record is ten blocks," he tells Bruce.

"Have the two of you spent all day in here?"

"Of course not, B," Dick laughs, sliding into Bruce's lap, "Alfred didn't let us eat in here."

Bruce snorts, jaw clenching at the scent of Dick so close to him, and tries to ignore the smug glint of understanding that clings to the edge of Dick's smirk. "You're spoiling him."

"And?" Dick speaks softly, his eyes half-lidded, and licks his lips.

Bruce has every intention of making a witty response and not kissing those pretty lips when he manages to catch sight of Damian, arms crossed and glaring at him. He pauses, stops and tries to process exactly what he's seeing.

"Bruce?"

His eyes flick back over to Dick's concerned face. "He's glaring at me."

Dick stares at him like he's crazy. And Bruce knows the look Dick gives crazy people. Eyes always a touch wider than normal, lips quivering slightly as he tries not to say or do anything that might set them off, his nose scrunches up just a sliver every few seconds as he reviews options for his next move.

Dick glances over his shoulder at Damian. The second Dick looks at him, Damian bursts into tears, arms up, and makes grabby hands. Dick rolls his eyes at Bruce, climbing out of his lap, and scooping Damian up. "It's alright, Baby D. You just need a nap."

Damian nuzzles Dick's mating gland, wailing, "Mime!" over and over again, as Dick walks out of the room. Damian sends Bruce one last glare before they exit the room.

"He takes after you very strongly, Master Bruce." Bruce is too trained to jump at the sudden start of conversation, but his heart-rate skyrockets, and it takes him a few seconds to calm down enough to face Alfred.

"Does he now?"

"Indeed. You gave your parents the same treatment whenever I attempted to assist them. And, like your son, your first word was, 'Mine,' while clinging to my legs, as I tried to tend to your father's injuries after he stepped on some glass."

Bruce tries to imagine the scenario, but he can't imagine being so possessive of Alfred he hindered the man's attempt to aid his father. "He'll outgrow it then?"

"Yes," Alfred smirks, satisfaction settling in every line of his lips, "in a few years, he should settle down enough to let you approach Master Dick without issue."

"A few years?"

Alfred chuckled as he walked out of the room.