Archive of Our Own

i. We were dancing with our hands tied and I had a bad feeling.

Dick Grayson was good at a lot of things. He had touched the bars of a trapeze before he had even learned to walk. He had mastered some of the most difficult acrobatic tricks which he used to bring down Gotham and Blüdhaven’s most violent criminals. Even as the non-meta hero Nightwing, he was a trusted comrade and leader. He had been trained by Batman, had the endorsement of Superman, and the respect of the entirety of the Titans and the Justice League. So why the hell did the idea of a game of golf fill him with absolute fear and dread?

Dick was lying on his back, wishing that the king sized hotel bed would just swallow him whole. Not even the extra hot shower he had just taken had done anything to ease his anxiety. He let out a breath through pursed lips, blowing a dark strand of hair out of his eyes. He and Bruce were staying at the five star Gotham City Luxury Resort and Spa. Their suite was immaculate with Egyptian cotton sheets, a beautiful balcony view of the Gotham river, and fancy towels folded in the shapes of animals–Dick had taken several pictures of the elephant shaped one to send to Damian. It would be the perfect place for a romantic getaway… IF it had been just Bruce and Dick. But it wasn’t. Brucie Wayne’s friends were also in attendance. The group of four men–Dick could hardly remember their names, let alone tell them apart from one another–had been asking Bruce for months to join them for a weekend getaway of golf and whatever else rich people did at luxury resorts. Yachting, probably. Bruce had previously been able to come up with excuses, but the well was running dry, and when the only excuse he could think of was that his bananas were too ripe and he needed to stay home for the weekend and bake banana bread, he knew it was finally time to accept the invitation. 

“Remind me. Why did I have to come with you? I could be at home right now in our own bed. Alfred’s making banana bread, you know? I think your attempt at an excuse inspired him.” Dick called to Bruce, who emerged from the bathroom midshave. Dick drank in the shirtless form of the older man. It had been nearly a year since they had started an official relationship together, but feelings had certainly been brewing for much longer. However, it had only been several months since they had made their relationship public. Their family and close hero friends had already known, but Dick had just assumed that Bruce would never want to make their relationship known to the press or to his rich “Brucie Wayne” inner circle. “Brucie Wayne” was a carefully crafted persona to keep any suspicion from rising that Bruce could be Batman. Being in a committed relationship, let alone a gay relationship with the man who was your former ward, didn’t exactly keep up the billionaire playboy image. But, surprisingly, it was Bruce who had suggested that they go public. 

“I don’t want this to be a secret. I don’t want you to be a secret. It’s not fair to you, and… I can’t keep flirting with these women anymore, Dick. I don’t want to dance with a random face at a gala, I want to dance with you.”

Dick’s face softened at the memory. He knew the admission hadn’t been easy, and he knew that Bruce was risking a lot by admitting to all of Gotham that he was in a relationship with a man half his age, let alone one that he had raised as a son. Some tabloids had been surprisingly positive while others had been relentlessly cruel. They had done their best to ignore the negative press, but it was difficult walking by a newstand with your face plastered all over the covers of magazines that labeled you as a “midlife crisis fling” or a “gold-digging slut.” Damian had been especially furious about that last headline and, with the help of Jason and Tim, had found evidence of a money laundering scheme within the company. After dropping off the evidence to Gordan and the GCPD, the publication was quickly shut down. Bruce’s rich friends seemed pleasant enough to his face about their relationship, but he had no idea what they said about him when his back was turned. 

“I told Alfred to make more banana bread for us when we get back.” Bruce said as he wiped shaving cream from his face. He couldn’t hide the way his eyes lingered over Dick’s body which was barely covered, save for the loose towel hanging around his hips.

“That wasn’t the answer to my question, B.” Dick shifted onto his elbow, the towel falling dangerously low on his hip. “I’m not a part of your billionaire crowd. I don’t own a yacht–!”

“I don’t own one either.”

“You’re missing the point.”

“Which is?”

Dick sighed dramatically, “Why am I here? You can have a rich boy’s weekend without me. I didn’t need to come.”

Bruce moved forward to sit on the edge of the bed. “Maybe not. But I wanted you here.” He turned to run a strong hand over Dick’s bare waist, watching as goosebumps formed over the smooth skin. A soft smirk crossed his face as Dick shuddered pleasantly. “And I think my… associates want to get to know you.”

Dick raised a brow. “Associates? Don’t let Brent, Bertram, Bradford, and Calvin hear you say that. They think you all are bosom buddies. Also, Calvin should change his name to start with the letter ‘B.’ That way I can refer to you guys as the 'B-Squad.'”  Dick couldn’t stop the grin on his face. 

“Then we’ll change your name too so you can join. I think Blake or Bentley might suit you.”

Dick made a face. “The only squads I’m a part of bring criminals to justice and wear tight fitting lycra.”

“You do look good in lycra.”

“I’d rather be wearing that than the stupid golf outfit Alfred packed for me.” Dick’s breath caught in his throat as Bruce’s fingers dipped into the soft skin below his hip bone before trailing a finger down the deep curve of his oblique muscle.

“Speaking of which, we need to meet them downstairs in fifteen minutes to make our tee time.”

“I hate golf.”

“So do I.”

“Then let’s stay up here. I can think of much more exciting things to do…” Dick leaned up to capture Bruce’s lips in a slow, sultry kiss. He felt Bruce stiffen before the older man melted into Dick’s mouth, his thumb running lower and lower… Then Bruce pulled back.

“Nice try, pretty bird. But we’re playing golf whether we like it or not.”

Dick groaned, flopping on the bed with a pout. “Fine. But maybe later tonight we can see which one of us can get a hole in one.” He grinned with a suggestive wriggle of his eyebrows.

Bruce rolled his eyes, but Dick could see the whispers of a smile on Bruce’s lips. It filled him with a sense of pride knowing that he was one of the few people in the world who could get Bruce Wayne to smile like that. If he could keep Bruce smiling, then maybe this weekend wouldn’t be so terrible after all. Maybe golfing would be tolerable. Maybe Dick would actually have a pleasant time with the B-Squad plus Calvin.

ii. People started talking, putting us through our paces.

Dick was not having a good time.

The first offense was the baby blue polo shirt tucked into a pair of plaid shorts with a new pair of golfing shoes that he knew he would never wear again. And although the shirt brought out the blue in his eyes, it felt like he was playing a strange form of dress up. Bruce looked natural in his own golfing attire even pairing it with a navy sweater tied loosely over his shoulders. Dick had forgone his own draped sweater, stating with conviction that there was no point in wearing a sweater like that because it wasn’t like they were going to get cold playing golf. That had earned him a whisper of another Bruce Wayne smile. But when Dick saw that the B-Squad were wearing their sweaters in the exact same way, he deduced that it must just be a fashion choice that rich people collectively made. Calvin, however, was not wearing the silly shoulder sweater, and Dick was finding that Calvin was becoming the most tolerable of Bruce’s friends.

The second offense was just that– Brucie’s friends. They were so… unpleasant. When Dick and Bruce had met them in the lobby, they looked at Dick as if they were trying to appraise his worth before one of them–Bertram? Or maybe Brent? It was hard to tell them apart–had said, “Usually we make the ladies stay home, but we made an exception for you, Dickie boy.” And then they laughed and Brucie had chuckled right along with them. Dick knew they were only words. Other people and tabloids had said worse things about him. But to watch Bruce laugh along with them like Dick was just the butt of their little joke had hurt more than he cared to admit. But he knew that this wasn’t Bruce. This was Brucie, the other mask that Bruce wore. So Dick laughed right along with them.

The third offense, that Dick was sure would not be the final one, was golf itself. It was a boring game of hit the ball, walk to where the ball landed, hit the ball again, until you finally hit it in the tiny hole. The walks left a lot of time for idle chatter about stocks and fancy vacations to the Maldives on their luxury yachts. Calvin did not own a yacht and that gave him another brownie point in Dick’s book. The only saving grace about the golf game was that, in order to save time, Dick didn’t actually have to play. It was a relief, until the B-Squad began to treat him like a glorified caddy.

“Oh, Dickie, could you be a peach and fetch me my water from the cooler? Oh no, not the 1907 Sparkling. That ones more of an “after golf” water. The other one. The Aur’a Spring. That’s it. Very good.”

Why there were so many brands and types of water was beyond Dick’s comprehension. Water was water whether it came from the bottle or straight from the tap. But Dick didn’t have time to ruminate as Brent’s nasal voice called out.

“Richard, be a sport and grab my driver for me.”

There was no ‘please’ and Dick knew there wouldn’t be a ‘thank you’ as he made his way over the golf carts to rummage through Brent’s golf bag.

“Poor thing probably doesn’t even know what a driver looks like.” Came the low chuckling voice of Bradford.

Dick, in fact, did know what a driver looked like. Alfred had drilled the different types of golf clubs and their uses into his head when he was twelve and had gone on an undercover mission with Bruce that had taken place at a different golfing resort. But these men believed him to be nothing but a low class circus boy playing dress up in high society. If that’s what they believed, then Dick could oblige them. After all, it was always best for your enemies to underestimate you. The B-Squad plus Calvin certainly weren’t his enemies like Deathstroke or Blockbuster were, but they were slowly crawling their way up his shit list. So with a great show of rifling dumbly through the clubs, Dick pulled out the driver.

“Is this the driver?”

It earned him an applause.

“The diamond in the rough can be taught!” Bradford proclaimed as Dick handed him the driver. 

Bruce moved to stand by Dick’s side as Bradford lined up his shot. “Are you all right?” He asked in a low voice.

“Oh, I’m fantastic. Never better. I’m having the time of my life.” Dick kept his gaze on Bradford’s back as he swung at the ball. His form was terrible. “Why would I even want to be eating Alfred’s homemade banana bread at home when I can stand here in a horrible pair of plaid shorts and be treated like a pitied piece of garbage by Brucie Wayne’s best chums?”

“Dick, I–!”

“Oh, Bruce, stop flirting with your little boy toy! You’re up.” Bradford called.

“Let me take the shot.” Dick glanced at Bruce, a flicker of competitive fire in his eyes. 

A subtle, knowing smirk crossed Bruce’s lips before it morphed into a chuckling Brucie grin. “I think I’ll let Dick take this round!” He handed Dick his driver, leaning into his ear. “Give them hell, pretty bird.”

Bertram frowned, “We do have dinner reservations to make this evening, so long as he doesn’t put us too far behind schedule, he’s welcome to take a shot.”

Dick set the ball on the tee, glancing out towards the green. Calvin approached, adjusting his expensive glasses on his freckled nose. “Do you need any help lining up your shot? It can be a little tricky on your first try.”

Dick knew that Calvin meant well and he truly was the most likable out of Brucie’s friends, but it was still insulting that he assumed Dick had never hit a golf ball before.

"Cal, let’s see what he can do on his own!” Bradford called out as he took a sip of his expensive water. 

“Yes, it should be quite entertaining.” Bertram added.

Dick flashed them his most charming smile. “I’ve played on putt putt courses all around the world when I traveled with the circus as a kid. It’s basically the same principle, right?” He said as he lined up his shot.

This sent a wave of laughter through the group.

“Putt putt courses??”

“Around the world he says!”

“Oh, Bruce, your little circus fling is too much!” 

“He keeps me laughing, that’s for sure.” Bruce chuckled.

Fling. They had called him a fling and Bruce didn’t deny it. Dick had known he was going to hit the ball well, but their words and Bruce’s laughter at his expense made him pour all of his strength into the shot. With perfect form he hit the ball. The sound was deafening as the tiny ball soared through the air, landing directly on the green and rolled straight into the hole. Dick Grayson had just gotten a hole in one.

Silence fell over the group. Dick turned to face them, plastering on a dumb smile as he surveyed the slack-jawed expressions of the B-Squad. “Wow, was that a hole in one? Must be beginner's luck, eh Bertram?” 

“Ah, yes… quite.”

“Brent, could you be a good sport and put the driver back in Bruce’s golf bag for me?” Dick handed Brent the club before he could even protest. “Oh, and Brent, you’ve been using your 9-iron when I think a pitching wedge would do you so much better, especially if you swing through when you hit the ball.” Dick patted Brent on the arm, keeping a good natured smile on his face as he walked over to Bruce’s side.

“That was an impressive shot.”

“Yeah, well, it’s amazing what the 'little circus fling' can do with the right motivation.”

Bruce looked wounded, but there was no time for conversation as the game continued and the Brucie Wayne mask was kept fully in place. But the B-Squad stopped treating Dick like he was their personal caddy. They mostly ignored him which Dick counted as a personal victory. Dick knew he was being petty, but would it kill Bruce to act like Dick mattered in front of his friends?

When the game was finally over–Bruce having won thanks to Dick’s hole in one–they all went their separate ways to dress for dinner. Dick had showered again, scrubbing the smell of the golf course from his skin and trying to wash away the bitter feelings that were building in his heart. But the more he thought about the game and how he was treated and how Bruce had just stood there and let them talk down to him, it only made him more angry. He emerged, wrapped in a fluffy bathrobe. Bruce was already dressed, adjusting the cufflinks on his dress shirt.

“We’re all meeting in a few minutes for some pre-dinner cocktails. You should join us.”

Dick folded his arms over his chest, leaning against the bathroom door frame. “‘No, I don’t think I will. I’ll be cordial and join you for dinner, but I’m not spending one more minute being ridiculed than I have to be.”

Bruce looked up at him, letting out a sigh. “I know that golfing today wasn’t pleasant–”

“I had a great time golfing. I got a hole in one. What wasn’t pleasant; what isn’t pleasant is your ‘associates.’ I don’t like your friends, Bruce.”

Another sigh, but this one was bone weary. “Dick, I know they can be… difficult. But it’s just how they are. It’s just how this life is. I know it’s not pleasant. I don’t enjoy being around them. But it’s all part of this ‘billionaire playboy’ persona. It’s a mask. It’s not me. It’s not how I really think or feel. I need you to understand that…”

Dick did understand to a point. But understanding and accepting were two very different things. “You know, sometimes I feel like you’re more worried about protecting your identity than protecting–!” But he was cut off by a knock on the door

“Brucie! Hurry it up! These cocktails won’t drink themselves.”

“Yes, we are quite parched.”

“Stop fucking your little toy and join us!”

Bruce looked at Dick apologetically.  “I’m so–!”

“Don’t.” Dick shook his head. “Just go. I’ll see you at dinner.”

There was a beat of silence before Bruce suddenly strode over to Dick. The younger man barely had time to react before Bruce’s lips were against his own. It was forceful and heated as if Bruce was trying to force Dick to understand feelings that he couldn’t verbalize aloud. Bruce was always better with actions than with words. The kiss was over in an instant before Bruce pulled away to look at Dick for only a moment, a conflicting storm in his eyes. He pulled his dinner jacket on and just like that he was gone, leaving Dick breathless and more frustrated than before. So Dick did something that he knew would cheer himself up. He grabbed his cellphone from the nightstand, pressing the number three on his speed dial. It only took two rings before a voice answered, and Dick was smiling.

“Hey, Dami! Did you get the pictures I sent you of the elephant towels?”

iii. I loved you in spite of deep fears that the world would divide us.

Talking with Damian was enough to brighten Dick’s mood. The younger boy made Dick promise to purchase one of the elephant shaped towels and to find out from hotel staff how they did it so they could teach Alfred. Dick suspected that Damian would now only use towels that were formed into animal shapes. After a parting “I love you” which Damian only half returned with a mumbled “you too,” Dick got dressed for dinner. He was still a few minutes early, so he decided to make his way to the cocktail lounge to join Bruce and his friends. As he neared the entrance, he could hear the boisterous laughter of the B-Squad followed by Bertram’s voice, “Oh, come now Brucie, be honest with us. How long is this little fling of yours going to last?”

That gave Dick pause, he peered around the corner. Bertram was leaning against a fireplace mantle while Bradford and Brent sat in plush chairs. Calvin was nowhere to be found. Bruce was holding a glass of what looked like whiskey as he looked at Bertram.

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean?”

Bradford piped up next, “Don’t be daft, Bruce. How long are you going to keep pretending you’re head over heels for this Richard Grayson? You’ve never shown interest in men before. Hell, you’ve had women practically dripping off your arms for years. Then your little ward grows up and ‘poof’ you’re now completely off the market all because of a silly boy?”

“We’re not against you being with a man or anything like that, but I mean really, Bruce. The boy is hardly marriage material. He grew up in a circus for god's sake. You should find a nice, lovely woman to settle down with. I have a cousin who’d be perfect for you!”

The three men kept talking about various women who they wanted to introduce Bruce to, and the whole time Dick stood there waiting for Bruce to defend their relationship. But Bruce said nothing. He just stood there looking sheepish and awkward and just so Brucie-like that it made Dick want to scream. It was then that Bruce turned and his eyes caught Dick’s, but Dick didn’t stay to see the look on Bruce’s face. He turned and fled down the hallway. He could hear Bruce calling out his name, but he didn’t stop. He darted through a door labeled “stairs” and began to descend. He had no idea where he was going, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to get away from those awful men. He wanted to get away from everything having to do with Brucie Wayne. 

The stairs ended in front of a door labeled ‘storage.’ Without another thought, Dick went inside. Shelving units lined the walls and a few various crates were stacked around the room. Dick wandered aimlessly past the shelves of cleaning supplies, lost in his thoughts when he heard something or rather someone muttering to themselves. He moved around a large crate to see the shape of a man crouched in a corner. Dick recognized him immediately.

“Calvin?” Dick called as he moved closer.

Calvin froze, his shoulders sagging. “O-oh, Dick Grayson. You really shouldn’t have come down here…” Calvin rose, turning to face Dick. A gun was in his hand, aimed right at Dick’s chest, and on the floor right behind Calvin was a bomb. 

iv. Baby, can we dance through an avalanche?

Dick had dealt with guns being pointed at him and bombs set to detonate before. That was just a regular Tuesday night. But he was always Robin or Nightwing and never Dick Grayson. But here he was, staring down the barrel of a gun held by the only member of the B-Squad whose name didn’t start with the letter ‘B,’ and a bomb just behind him with no idea when it was set to blow. 

Dick held his hands up, trying to convey to the other man that he wasn’t a threat. “And just when you were starting to become my favorite of Brucie’s terrible friends.” Dick said easily. He noted that Calvin’s hands were shaking. 

“Don’t lump me in with that lot. I know how terrible they are! I grew up with them. Went to school with them. Bertram, Brent, and Bradley… the things they’ve said about me and my family just because we ‘weren’t rich enough’ or our house wasn’t ‘big enough’ or I wasn’t ‘handsome enough.’ First world problems right? Well, when you hear how ‘not enough’ you are that can tear you apart piece by piece and there isn’t enough money in the world to put the pieces back together.” Sweat was dripping down his face. “So, I’m going to break every piece that’s left and I’m taking every single rich asshole in this goddamn hotel with me!”

Dick usually hated villain monologues. They were usually melodramatic and went on for way too long. But Calvin’s words just made his heart ache. “Calvin, I know how hard that must have been for you…” Dick remembered growing up as a poor circus orphan thrust into a world of wealth and all of the ridicule he received from classmates and other rich snobs who thought it was beneath Bruce to bring someone like him into their world. And for someone like Calvin who was born into that world but was berated by people who were supposed to be his friends, it made Dick’s blood boil, but no matter what Calvin had been through it didn’t give him the right to take a life. “This isn’t the way, and I think you know that. Let me help you. We can–!” Dick took a step forward. That was a mistake because it made the panicked Calvin pull the trigger. Dick was grateful that Calvin was a terrible shot. The bullet barely grazed his shoulder, but Dick could feel the sting of the bullet and the blood that trickled down his arm. He knew that if Calvin shot again, he might not be so lucky.

“G-get on your knees! Now!”

Dick did as he was told, kneeling down. “Okay, okay. You’re the boss here, Calvin.” He knew that within five seconds, Nightwing could disarm the shaking man and he cursed himself for his lack of domino and lycra. Dick Grayson would just have to talk the guy down. “Why don’t we just talk about this.”

“I’m done talking.” Calvin suddenly moved behind Dick, pressing the barrel to the back of his neck. “I really am sorry, Dick. Bruce… he’s always been kind to me, and I can see why he chose you… you’re special. I think maybe if things had been different, we could have been friends.”

Dick stayed as still as possible. “Calvin, we still can be friends. We can get through this. I can help you.”

Calvin laughed. It was soft and sad. “No one can help me now.” And with that he slammed the gun into the back of Dick’s head. 

Everything went dark.

v. I’d hold you as the water rushes in if I could dance with you again.

When Dick awoke, he was vaguely aware of two things. One: he never wanted to go to another golf resort again and two: he didn’t want to die at said golf resort. He pushed himself up, ignoring the splitting headache that made him want to puke–he had a bomb to deal with. He crawled over to where the bomb sat in the corner. Calvin didn’t seem like a man who could craft his own bomb, so Dick assumed he had shelled out a hefty sum to have it made. That made it incredibly more difficult to disarm. He managed to carefully remove a panel revealing several wires and a timer–ten minutes and forty-two seconds. 

I’m not used to the luxury of so much time. Where’s the challenge? Dick thought to himself. The humor managed to keep the panic at bay. Dick took three of those minutes to call 911 to alert the authorities about the bomb, grateful that Calvin’s own panic had caused him not to search Dick’s pockets. Then he pulled the fire alarm, hoping that it would be enough to evacuate everyone before… Well, Dick hoped it wouldn’t come to that as he set to work on the bomb again. He could feel his phone vibrating nonstop in his pocket, but now wasn’t the time to take a personal call.

Six minutes and twenty-eight seconds. Dick had tossed his suit jacket to the side, sweat pouring down his back as he examined wires and removed more pieces of paneling. It seemed that the trip wire was buried in the center of the bomb and without proper tools there was no way to disarm it. 

Five minutes.

Dick rose. He needed to get out of here. If he ran as fast as he could, he’d be able to make it out before detonation. But as he tried the handle of the door, his heart sank. It was locked. He was locked in the basement storage room with a bomb set to go off in less than five minutes at a golf resort he didn’t want to be at with the blaring sound of the fire alarm as his last lullaby to send him off in a blaze of fiery death. It would have been almost comical if he hadn’t pulled out his phone to see twenty-eight missed calls from Bruce. Bruce. Bruce, who Dick was angry with. Bruce, who would rather talk with his body rather than with his words. Bruce, who Dick was so in love with that it made his skin burn with a heat strong enough to melt his bones. Bruce, who Dick would never ever see again. He thought about calling. He wanted to tell Bruce just how much he loved him. But if he called now, he knew that Bruce would run through a detonating bomb to try and save him. Dick suddenly slammed his fist against the metal door, letting out a curse of anguish. But just as he was about to start feeling even more sorry for himself, he heard a familiar voice shouting his name. He waited, unsure if his ears were playing tricks on him, but he heard it again. Bruce was calling out for him.

Dick began pounding on the door. “I’m here! I’m in here!” He heard a rush of familiar footfalls as Bruce’s voice drew closer. But there was a different timbre to the way he called Dick’s name.

“Dick! Status.”

It was Batman.

Dick didn’t have time to think about how Bruce had smuggled the Batsuit into their shared suitcase, but that would definitely be a conversation for later if they made it out of this. “I’m sitting on a bomb. Less than four minutes until blast off. Can’t disarm it. Got slammed in the head by a gun. Bullet graze to the shoulder. Calvin’s the bad guy. I’d like to formally say it again: I don’t like your friends.”

“Noted. Now stand back.”

Dick got as far away from the door as possible. He heard the buzzing sound of a plasma cutter before the door flew open with a powerful kick. Batman dashed into the room, glancing down at the bomb.

One minute and forty-five seconds.  

Batman grabbed Dick’s arm. “RUN!” And together they ran, sprinting up the stairs. Dick prayed that everyone had evacuated as they turned down a hallway, running towards an emergency exit. Just as the cool night air hit their faces, they could feel fire at their backs as the bomb exploded. The force pushed them forward, and Dick felt strong arms wrap around him, holding him tightly as they tumbled forward, rolling and skidding against the damp grass of the golf course. Batman pushed himself up, looking down at Dick. Their breaths were heavy and for a moment they just looked at each other, both not knowing what to say. Dick was grateful that no one else was around because they would have seen him slap Batman across the face before launching himself up to press their lips together in a heated, desperate kiss. Batman tensed for only a moment, before he let a gloved hand come to the back of Dick’s head, gripping his dark hair to pull their mouths closer together. When they parted, their mouths were slick and bruised. And as much as Dick was so overwhelmingly grateful that they were both alive, he couldn’t shake the anger in his heart. They sat up, and Batman began to check Dick over for injuries.

“Dick, are you–?”

“I’m fine, B. No life-threatening injuries. I’ll live.”

“You’re upset.”

“Astute observation.” Dick could hear sirens in the distance. He shook away Batman’s touch as he moved to stand, looking back at the burning hotel. “It was Calvin. Your friends bullied him for years and years until it was just too much. This was his way of getting back at everyone for all of the hurt they caused. And, in a way, I get it. Getting belittled all the time, not feeling seen…” He looked straight at the other man. “...that can wear you down until your break.”

Batman’s jaw tightened. “Dick I’m… when you ran from me I—!” But he stopped himself, shaking his head. “When I heard the fire alarm, when I couldn’t reach you I–!” He stopped again as if the words just wouldn’t come out. “Dick, you have no idea how much you mean to me…”

“You know what? No, I don’t. And honestly, B, I don’t want to hear it right now. You don’t get to hide behind your mask and talk to me. I don’t want to talk to Batman. I don’t want to talk to ‘Brucie.’ I just want to talk to the man I fell in love with. Sometimes I wonder if he’s even still there.”

Despite the cowl that covered half of his face, Dick could see the pain in Bruce’s expression. He looked like he was about to say something when he heard the sound of voices coming around the other side of the building.

“I’ll find you. I… I want to talk to you.” And with those words, Batman disappeared into the night.

vi. Say that we got it. I’m a mess, but I’m the mess that you wanted.

The next few hours were a flurry of activity. Paramedics rushed to examine Dick’s injuries. Bruce appeared at his side as his arm was being bandaged. He feigned surprise and relief, but Dick could see the true worry behind the Brucie mask. Dick gave a statement to the police and answered any questions they had and he watched as a handcuffed Calvin was loaded into the back of a squad car. Batman had found him amongst the crowd and had turned him over to the police–or so people were saying. 

“It’s a shame.” Dick said quietly as Bruce led him away from the flashing lights of police cars and ambulances. “If Calvin had just had a real friend, maybe things wouldn’t have turned out this way.”

“Maybe. It’s hard to know what–”

“Bruce! There you are!” Came Bertram’s shrill voice as the remaining members of the B-Squad surrounded them.

“We were terrified when you were separated from us in the crowd! What a relief to see you both all right.” Brent said.

“Ghastly business about Calvin. Had we known what a criminal he’d become we certainly wouldn’t have invited him, I can tell you that.” Added Bradford.

Dick felt his headache coming back. He wanted to yell at the three of them. He wanted them to know that they were responsible for this. But that was Calvin’s story to tell and it could only be told when he was ready. 

Bertram spoke up again, “Bruce, we still have the rest of the weekend, why don’t you and Richard join us at my cabin in the mountains. We could–!”

“No.” Bruce interrupted, his voice more Batman than Brucie which earned him a surprised look from Dick. Bruce cleared his throat quickly. “Ah, what I mean is, thank you for the offer, but I think Dick and I need to head home. It was quite a trying event.”

“Understandable.” Brent nodded.

“Maybe we can set up another weekend getaway sometime soon.” Bradford offered.

Bruce gave a strained smile, “Maybe sometime.” They bid farewell and Bruce and Dick made their way to Bruce’s car.

“That ‘maybe sometime’ better not come any time soon.” Dick grumbled as he sank into the passenger’s seat.

“Believe me, it won’t.” Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose as he started up the car. 

“So, are we really driving six hours back to the manor tonight or do you have a trick up your sleeve?” 

“I made us reservations at a five star bed and breakfast with a lakeside view and a jacuzzi tub.” 

“No golf?”

That made Bruce smirk. “No golf.”

Dick let out a sigh of relief as he leaned back against the headrest. “Well, it better have towels folded in the shape of elephants. I promised Damian I’d bring one home and I’ll never hear the end of it if I don’t.”

“I think I can arrange that.”

It was nearly midnight when they arrived at their new lodgings. Dick sat on the king sized bed with a sigh as Bruce brought in their luggage.

“Please tell me you did not sneak into the burning hotel as Batman to grab our luggage.”

“You looked good in the plaid shorts. It would have been a shame to let them burn.”

Dick could only roll his eyes in response. He was beyond exhausted and all he wanted to do was take a hot shower and bury himself  under the thick comforter and sleep until it was past noon. But as a silence fell over them, Dick knew that he couldn’t go to sleep without talking to Bruce.

“Bruce, I–”

“This isn’t a fling.”

“Bruce, you don't..."

“This isn’t a fling.” Bruce repeated. His fists were clenched tightly, a tactic that Dick had seen many times before. It was something Bruce did to keep himself grounded, to keep him from running away. “I told you I wanted to talk to you. I wanted to tell you that this isn’t a fling. I don’t… I can’t do that anymore. I won’t. When I went public with this… Us. I knew it wasn’t going to be easy. We’ve both had years of cruel tabloid stories and I know we’ve simply ignored them. I didn’t feel the need to refute them because it helped me keep up with this persona I had carefully crafted to keep my other identity safe. I was protecting myself, but I should have done a better job of protecting you.”

Dick’s eyes widened at the admittance. It was so rare for Bruce to talk like this that it almost took the words right out of his own mouth. But if Bruce wanted to talk, Dick was going to talk right back. “I’m not fragile, Bruce. I don’t break easy. Tabloids can say what they want, but hearing it from your so-called “friends” and you just standing there in silence… You didn’t pull the trigger, but you did nothing to stop it.”

“I know… and I was wrong.”

“Can I get a recording of that? Jason’s not going to believe me when I tell him.” A ghost of a grin appeared on Dick’s face.

“Dick…”

Dick held up a hand, letting out a tired sigh. “I don’t expect you to be perfect. I’m certainly not perfect. I like being imperfect and I like that this thing between us is imperfect, but I don’t want to settle with things the way they are. I want to grow as a person, but as a couple too. And I guess… I want to know that you want that too and–!”

What Bruce did next made Dick Grayson’s words stop in his throat because Bruce Wayne had pulled something out of the suitcase pocket. In his hands was an open black, velvet box, and within that box was a silver ring with a single blue sapphire embedded into the thick band. Dick could only stare as Bruce dropped to one knee. 

“Bruce, what are you–?” 

“I’ve been carrying this around with me for months. I didn’t know when or how I was going to do it. I’ve… tried so many times.” Bruce lowered his gaze for a moment, as if he was summoning up all the courage he could muster. When he looked up, there were tears in his eyes. “I will never be perfect. As much as I try to be or put on this facade, I’m just a man–a man who is so in love with you that sometimes it just hurts and it makes me afraid. Because if I surrender myself to that love… I’m scared that I’ll lose it. I’ve lost so much already. But that’s not an excuse to stay rooted as I am now.” His hands were trembling. “I want to grow as a person and also as a couple. I want you by my side as a partner, as an equal, as a lover, as a second father to Damian, as the heart of our patchwork family… I want everything with you, Dick.” Bruce took another breath. It was shaky and unsure, but as he let it out he looked at Dick with the courage, not of Batman, but of Bruce Wayne. “Richard John Grayson, will you marry me?”

Dick stared at Bruce then at the ring and then back at Bruce again. "You… Bruce, I'm literally covered in grass stains and debris. My suit is ripped, we almost got blown up by a bomb tonight! I’m–! This is–! God, you are the most frustrating person I've ever met. You drive me absolutely crazy! Of course, I'll marry you." The grin that lit up Dick's tearful face was enough to power all of Gotham and Blüdhaven combined. Bruce couldn't stop his own gentle smile as he slipped the ring into Dick's finger. It shimmered beautifully in the light as Dick admired it. "I can't wait for the tabloids to get a load of this."

And Bruce Wayne laughed and Dick decided that he wanted to hear that sound for the rest of his life.