For succeeding (which, ironically, is the one thing I wasn't while writing this).

Bruce Wayne had a lot of skills under his belt, both utility and regular, but parenting was not one of them.

Prior to Dick, at least to his own knowledge, he had never had a kid before. He hadn't had siblings growing up and he had never really been close to his cousins, so it had been a long time since he had even dealt with one outside of the Kevlar.

He could diffuse bombs, he could leap rooftops without a moment of hesitation, he could pick locks, and he could fly a jet plane, but he didn't know how to handle kids. He didn't know what to say, or where to start, and it wasn't something you could learn through reading a few books in your downtime.

Alfred said the paternal instinct was as natural as his fight-or-flight response, but it wasn't that easy. In fight-or-flight, he at least had two clearly defined options.

It wasn't like Dick was a bad kid, though, all things considered.

The nine year old mostly kept to himself, which wasn't all that hard to do in a mansion so large when one of the other two occupants was always off working. His solitude wasn't all that unhealthy, as Alfred would often find him running through the hallways in some bout of imagination with a bright smile plastered on his face. Sometimes, though, they would find him curled up in an arm chair or against the spindles on the staircase staring off into the distance with heavy eyes, assumedly remembering and mourning the loss of his parents.

The first time Bruce found his new ward consumed in that level of thought, he immediately assumed something was wrong and went to Alfred in his desperation.

"He lost his parents, Bruce. This is a normal reaction. You of all people should understand," the older man insisted. "If it worries you so much, maybe you could try some 'fatherly love'."

"It's too soon," Bruce dismissed the idea quickly, and he struggled with trying to find the aforementioned 'paternal instinct' that would help him find a solution.

The solution found him, rather, in the discrete form of an invitation for both he and his ward to attend a charity ball sponsored by a Mrs. Merryweather.

Seeing that the Merryweather family had the largest titanium manufacturing company on this side of the planet, Bruce was obligated to attend to insure relations between their two companies stayed intact. When he had extended the invitation to Dick, the nine year old had snapped up on the opportunity in a second, much to Bruce's surprise.

"He obviously isn't into dressing up and socializing with rich, old people," he told Alfred quietly as he watched the boy squirm uncomfortably during his suit-fitting. "Why would he agree to come with me?"

"Because he wants to spend time with you," Alfred said without missing a beat, never taking his eyes off of the ties he was comparing to the suit before him.

Dick still wasn't comfortable in a suit when it came time for the ball, but he let Bruce fix his tie all the same and had a big grin for everyone who stopped them on the way in wanting to know who the 'dashing young lad' was. The boy stayed beside him all the way until they made it inside, upon which he quickly lost sight of the small frame among the sea of guests. Bruce tried not to worry about it, though. He didn't have far that he could run off to, and he would probably have more fun on his own than listening politely as everyone went on trying to subtly upstage everyone else.

Even though it wasn't his party, Bruce worked the room as if it were, and the time passed by fairly quickly. He caught faint glimpses of Dick as time went on, once by the food table and again as he ran back into a hallway after something, so he had a fairly light conscience all the while.

He was just about ready to find his ward and see about heading home when one of the butlers at the party pulled him aside for a word. Immediately, Bruce worried about what had happened to Dick, or what he had done, and asked with that train of thought. The butler assured him it was nothing of the sort, but he regretted to say that the hostess, Mrs. Merryweather, had passed away only minutes ago.

The Dark Knight within him had him pressing for a few details, but Mrs. Merryweather had been very old, and it seemed as though she had passed away naturally.

"I only mentioned it because I remembered that you had a son in attendance tonight," the butler admitted, and Bruce thanked him, not bothering to correct the title.

He worked through the crowd this time, scanning faces and legs until he managed to find Dick in the parlor playing with a large ball of fur he presumed to be a cat. The boy was on his feet and dangling his tie down in front of the fur ball with a breathy laugh of amusement as it lazily bat at the end of it. When he heard the footsteps, he straightened up immediately and offered a grin to his guardian.

"Hey, old man," he greeted him, briefly checking to make sure that he hadn't messed up his tie. "Done with the old stiffs out there?"

Bruce gave a surprised laugh and raised an eyebrow, arms crossing over the front of his suit.

"Are you old enough to say 'stiffs'?" he asked, laughing again as Dick quickly became flustered and apologized. "It's fine. Yeah, I'd say we're about done here. You ready to leave?"

Dick about nodded, but looked behind him as though he had heard something Bruce had not and pressed his lips together in thought.

"I'll go get my coat," he said after a moment. "You go get the car."

His pause had been suspicious, but Bruce decided not to question it and nodded, reaching down to straighten the boy's tie. As he himself straightened again, he couldn't help but crack a sly smile.

"That an order?"

Dick tensed at first, but when he noticed the smile, he cracked one of his own and stood a little prouder. "Yeah, it is."

Bruce's smile stayed in place as he made his way outside and through the parking lot until he found the car, wasting little time in pulling up in front of the house. Dick took a minute longer, but when he finally came out, Bruce could see that he was holding his coat in his arms and had a cookie poking out between his teeth. He assumed that there had been a spill and clean-up hadn't been as successful as planned.

For Dick's sake, he tried not to tease him, and let him scramble into the back of the car without a complaint. He even turned on the radio at his ward's request, and turned it up every time he was asked. That party had felt successful, even if Mrs. Merryweather had passed away. He gave credit to the 'paternal instinct' that Alfred had mentioned, and congratulated himself on finding it.

It wasn't until they were parked in front of Wayne Manor that he found out about the dog.

Even as he parked, he still wasn't aware of it until he was out of the car and on his way up the driveway. It was when he started going through his pocket for the house keys that he heard a pathetic yip come from the direction of the door, followed by a string of words that a nine year old most certainly should not know. It was easy to see that the circus still had a hold on Dick.

Bruce had at first assumed the yip to be Dick, but then he caught sight of the poodle slipping out from under the coat it had been taking refuge in assumedly the whole trip home.

It was the literal definition of "frou-frou". Standing barely a foot in height, the dog was snow white and groomed far past perfection with the body's fur trimmed tightly while its tail, ears and the top of its head, and ankles stood out away from the body in neat curls. Its eyes were a dark shadow which was a great contrast against the glittering pink collar that hung loosely around its neck.

Immediately, Bruce hated it with every ounce of his being. He knew if Dick weren't there, he'd be locking the thing outside the gates the first chance he got, but his ward was looking down at this thing like it was a shooting star and he was really struggling with his priorities. He hoped that 'paternal instinct' would kick in again, but the only thing kicking in was an urge to kick the beast out. Instead of doing so, though, he decided to try using his words first.

"Dick," he said carefully, trying not to sound angry. "Where'd you get... the dog?"

Dick held the poodle protectively in his arms, going to extremes to avoid eye contact now. He backed himself to the car and focused more on petting the prissy puppy than anything else.

"Her name is Ms. Magnolia Ethel Merryweather," he said very quietly.

Bruce gave an exasperated noise and had to turn himself away for a moment, putting his palms to his temples. As if having a poodle wasn't bad enough, now he had to live with it having that name. He had to take a few deep breaths to control himself, and when it didn't do much, he turned back to the nine year old.

"Really?" he asked in exasperation, eyes flickering from the dog to his ward. "Wouldn't 'Magnolia' have been fine? Does it really need the full name?"

Dick went out of his way to not lift his gaze, trying not to crack a smile as Ms. Magnolia Ethel Merryweather licked his cheek in excitement over the affection she was getting.

"I didn't pick the name. It's what the ladies at the party called it," he defended himself.

The two stood there in the yard without exchanging a word for the longest time, Bruce at a loss for his own and Dick trying to think of the right ones that wouldn't get him thrown out to an orphanage. He ran his lanky fingers through Ms. Magnolia Ethel Merryweather's fluffy mane and took comfort in her happiness, eventually finding the strength to lift his eyes to meet his guardian's.

"Please don't throw me out," he said softly, and the words caught Bruce off-guard. "I didn't mean to steal her. I-... Mrs. Merryweather- her owner, the ah... the old lady who threw the thing? She died and I didn't want Ms. Magnolia-..."

He stopped himself and gently set the poodle on the ground by his feet. The dog gave a protesting whimper and jumped up against his calves, tail wagging behind it as it sought out more affection from him. Dick took a deep breath as he ignored it, hand shaking a little as he swallowed hard.

"I just... I know what it's like to... lose everyone- how lonely that is. I didn't want her going through that, too."

Bruce stared down at Dick, and then he blinked slowly, bringing a hand up over his mouth. He felt like the worst kind of person.

"I'm not... going to 'throw you out'," Bruce assured his ward, and then he looked back at the house with a tiny sigh.

He didn't know how to handle this. There were a few reasons why he didn't have any natural kids of his own, and this was one of them. Alfred would know what to do, though, and he was going to get right on that.

"You ah... you play with Ms. Marigold..." he trailed off as he headed inside, faintly aware of Dick correcting the name with a gleeful tone.

Once he was inside, Bruce looked out over the yard. Already, his ward was chasing the poodle around with a grin that was larger than life, having already shed both his tie and suit jacket. He looked as happy as Bruce remembered seeing him on the trapeze bar, and all Bruce could think to do was put his forehead to the back of the door.

"I'm not cut out to be a father," he said mostly to himself.

Bruce stood there for a while longer, mostly trying to see if he could sort out the matter without having to consult anyone else, but he was at a loss. Of course he wanted what was best for his ward, but Dick hadn't asked if they could get a pet, and Bruce especially didn't want a poodle. He had a reputation to uphold! He could've handled a Labrador or a Dalmatian, or maybe even a bulldog, but a poodle was right up there with wet socks.

He understood that his family was more than just himself, but he was at a loss for anything familial right now, and set about finding Alfred in the large house, which didn't end up being too difficult a task. The older man was in his own quarters on his laptop while a record played off in the corner. The contrast was charming in a quaint fashion particular to the butler.

Once Alfred was aware of his presence, Bruce didn't waste any time in explaining the situation. When he was done, although he wasn't sure what sort of reaction he had been expecting, he hadn't quite expected the absolute delight from the other.

"We need a dog in the manor," Alfred insisted, abandoning his laptop on the desk to get a look at the dog in mention. "It gets lonely when you aren't home. I'd say it's just what Dick needs."

Any and all protests that Bruce had were lost and he could only trail behind the older man all the way to the front yard where he was left to watch as Alfred fell for Ms. Magnolia Ethel Merryweather. He stood back as his family betrayed him for the fluffy white beast and found himself with only the option to give in and let it stay at the manor.

When he told Dick his decision, the nine year old wrapped him in a hug so tight that it was almost worth having a frou-frou dog around the house.

As time went on, Dick and the dog became inseparable, and they didn't find him lost in thought on the stairs anymore. He was happier, and it was definitely a nice change of pace. When Dick became Robin, it subsequently became the first Bat Dog, although Bruce left that information out during Justice League meetings.

Ms. Magnolia Ethel Merryweather stayed with them for four more years before it passed away peacefully in its sleep at fifteen years old, plump and happy. Even Bruce got watery eyed at the small funeral they held for it, and offered to buy Dick another dog to make up for the loss. Dick wouldn't have it, though.

"Kid Flash is close enough to a dog, I'd say," he assured Bruce, and headed back towards the manor to turn in for the night with a heavy heart.

Bruce stayed out by the grave for a while longer though, and he stared down at the headstone they had made for her. It spelled out her name entirely, and beneath it read "A Boy's Best Friend" at Dick's request.

Ms. Magnolia had been so much more than that, though. She had been the first step to the Dynamic Duo without even realizing. Never would he have thought that the pathetic yipping creature Dick had pulled out of the car that day would have ended up meaning so much to him. She had helped him find that paternal instinct that had otherwise been a complete mystery to him, and had helped shape him into a better father figure. In a household of heroes, she was the real hero among them.

Bruce stared down at her headstone a moment longer before reaching his hand out and patting the top as though he were patting her head one last time.

"Good girl," he murmured, and then he turned around and headed back toward the manor.

-F.J. III