So that's pretty much done then. Thanks so much to everyone who said anything nice about this story. I didn't feel like it ... worked as well as Recovery did but instead of going with my tried and true Give Up Then method I finished it. Because everyone's super nice and supportive. So thanks (again) for that!

They followed Alfred upstairs as quickly as any of them could, both Bruce and Dick were a little stiff and moving a little slower. Alfred had propped Tim up on a few extra pillows, but he'd shut his eyes. He opened them sluggishly when he heard his family come in.

"Hey," Dick said, grinning at him, leaning against the door frame after Bruce more or less barreled into the room. "You look better." Dick said.

"Not really sure I feel that much better, but thanks," he said wearily. "Thanks for everything."

Dick shrugged it off. Bruce couldn't understand the two of them, how casual they could be. He felt like someone had just kicked him in the stomach, seeing his boy like that and there were Dick and Tim, grinning at each other like they'd survived nothing worse than a night of serious drinking.

"How are you feeling?" Bruce asked urgently, taking a few steps closer to the bed.

"Okay," he said, although he was obvious not. "Just kind of tired." He smiled shallowly.

"So you know your name and the date and who's president right?" Dick asked, following Bruce into the room. He had a habit of standing just behind Bruce's shoulders, like a second rank. Bruce must have done that to him somehow.

"I think so," he said. "It's Dick Grayson right?" Dick laughed.

"You're fine," he said with a grin.

"Does this mean you're leaving?" Tim asked kind of weakly and more than a little sadly. Dick's grin shifted quickly to a kind of quiet, affectionate smile.

"Only for a couple days, I promise," Dick said. "I need a bit of help with some gun runners, so I'll be back in a few days to run with Bruce for a night or two anyway and I'll look in on you then okay? I promise."

"Thanks Dick," Tim said pretty quietly.

"Any time kiddo, you know that," Dick said with a smile. "I'll see you in a few days when Bruce and I've got some exciting stories of daring do or whatever."

Then he sauntered out of the room, leaving Bruce standing a few feet away from Tim. The boy's colour was poor and he was already fighting against gravity's steady pull on his eyelids. "Tim," he said, and his voice was surprisingly low, almost Batman like, "Tim I," he started.

But suddenly all those dark thoughts, those fears, that guilt, they couldn't be spoken of in the light of day. They belonged to the darkness, they belonged to Bruce Wayne. They couldn't be said out loud in a well lit room to a child he loved.

"You okay?" Tim mumbled at him sleepily. He grunted and nodded his answer. "Where's Damian?"

"Talia has him, if he survived," Bruce answered.

"He survived. He must have," Tim said. "Bruce I'm not sorry if he doesn't come back for a while."

"You don't have to be," Bruce agreed, smiling a little at the boy. He really was a remarkable child. Had he been missing that, all this time? "Just rest Tim. You need to get your strength back."

"You'll be okay without me for a few days," Tim slurred out. Bruce looked around worriedly,mostly for Alfred, but the painkillers he saw on the bedside table explained Tim's sluggishness.

"It'll be more than a few days," he pointed out. Tim wasn't going to be awake much longer. Bruce closed the space between them. He let his hand hang over Tim's. He was tall enough that it was really only his fingertips that touched the boy's but when they brushed against his hot skin Tim smiled a little and shut his eyes.

"Maybe," he agreed. "Recovery from septicemia is a couple weeks. Normally. Maybe it'll be faster though. Alfred's good you know?"

"He is," Bruce agreed. "Just rest."

"Can't help it," Tim answered. "Alfred's given me something too strong."

"It's probably the right amount of strength," Bruce said gently. "Just go to sleep."

"Will you be here when I wake up?"

"Yes," Bruce promised fiercely.

A few minutes later Bruce heard Tim's breathing slow, back into the steady, gentle rhythm of sleep. His shoulders relaxed suddenly, dropping a few inches and he frowned. He hadn't even realized they were tense.

The night before Bruce had so many things to say to Tim, but he knew he wouldn't, not now. Maybe silence was better between them. Tim wasn't like Dick, he didn't need to be reassured in the same way, he had other people who told him, if not in so many words, that he was loved. He had Dick. He had Alfred. He would be all right. He would understand what Bruce could never tell him.

Damian, had he ever had anyone look him in the eye, without agenda or fear or anger and tell him he was loved? Would Bruce ever be able to do that, even if he had the chance? He certainly had failed to do that with his boys.

With this boy.

He wasn't going to say anything, but there was no reason he couldn't watch his son sleep for a little while.