It was with glee that Bruce crept down the halls of Wayne Manor, clutching two wrapped gifts to his person. The first was smaller and earier to manager, a flat rectangular package, but the second, though similarly thin, was much more delicate. He took great care not to damage either as he slipped down the halls and into the library.

This was a good place to store it, out of sight, and easily retrieved or forgotten, depending on how the first gift went over. Bruce had been so sure before retiring to bed that this was the perfect present for Dick, but now, after a night's rest, he was having some doubts. It could be that he was reading the situation completely inaccurately, and if so, he absolutely didn't want to make things worse by introducing a second failure. After stashing the more cumbersome gift safely behind a sofa, Bruce left the library and continued on to the kitchen, where his two sons were seated at the table for breakfast.

Before he could even offer a morning greeting, Damian was out of his chair and inspecting the brightly colored package in Bruce's arms. "More of these gaudy things? Grayson, just how long do you intend to drag out this pampering?"

"Now, let the man breathe, or I won't let you see what it is," Dick said with a grin, and Damian returned to his chair with a grumble that he didn't really care. "That's for me? You didn't have to."

"Happy Birthday," Bruce offered, feeling a little bit hesitant now that the moment had come. He wanted so badly to finally see that look of unbridled joy on his son's face, to watch his child be completely overwhelmed with surprise and happiness, and know that he made that happen. But if Dick's face showed the same flashes of disappointment or resignation that he was so used to seeing, Bruce thought his heart might break. To distract himself, he searched for another topic as he handed over the present. "I don't need to be vaccinated against that virus you boys found last night, do I?"

"Not unless I bleed on you," Dick said with a dismissive wave, and Bruce noticed that he seemed a little sluggish in his movements, but otherwise healthy. "It was incubated in these mutated plants, and I got covered in the infected spores. But Damian and Alfred made sure I was clean before we all came over to the Manor. We didn't bring along any hitchhikers, but let us know if you start feeling sick, just in case."

"Sure. You seem a lot better." Dick's hands were tearing off the wrapping paper, and Bruce almost held his breath.

"No kidding. I'd steer clear of the bunker if I were you, last night got intense for awhile."

"That's an understatement," Damian muttered. Bruce observed the posture of his youngest son, the tension in the shoulders, and suspected that he'd been a bit shaken by the events of the previous day. Though everything seemed safe and casual now, it appeared that there was at least a moment where Damian had been truly afraid. "Please don't make the same dumb mistakes as Grayson, Father."

"Aw, you're so sweet, Dami," Dick teased, then stopped as the last of the bright wrapping paper came off. Both he and his brother stared for a moment at the box.

"Monopoly? You got him a board game?" Damian's tone was almost patronizing, but Dick's was merely quizzical, and both faces turned up to their father with curiosity in their eyes.

Bruce cleared his throat and hoped for the best. "I thought you and I could play against each other, if you're feeling up to it, of course." There was a moment of silence, and then the lights dawned in Dick's eyes, and a slow smile began to pull at his face, widening with every second until there was no more room to expand.

"Bruce," his son all but sang, "This game is going to run way longer than an hour."

Encouraged by that reaction, Bruce gave a smile of his own. "I've got all day." And there was. That look of happiness Bruce longed to see. Nothing hidden, nothing compromised.

Dick's fingers clenched around the Monopoly box, but the grin never lessened. "You canceled your trip to Africa for this?"

"Well, delayed it. But, yes."

"Man, Bruce..." After a few seconds, Bruce thought Dick might start giggling. "You're the best, you know that?"

No, you are. All the things in the world Dick could ask for, and he made something so small seem so precious. All the dangers that could or had separated Bruce from his son, and Dick acted like he was the one receiving a gift. "I am the best, chum. You'd better bring your A game if you want to win. I won't go easy on you just because you had a birthday yesterday."

Dick's laugh was the most beautiful thing in the world. "You're on, old man. You're on."

"This is disturbingly like real life," Dick surveyed the board with a rueful grin. A good three quarters of the game was covered in Bruce's hotels, all his properties built up to their maximum limits, while the man himself sat on a small mountain of colorful cash. Dick, on the other hand, had been forced to mortgage or trade away most of his properties, and was now only left with two railroads and Baltic Avenue.

The two were sitting cross-legged on the floor of the library, both absorbed in their game while time outside had no meaning. Behind a nearby sofa sat Bruce's second present, but even though Dick had responded well to the offer of a game, Bruce still wasn't sure if he should bring out the second part of his plan. "I don't know. A few lucky rolls and you might turn it all around."

"That would be a pretty big turn." Dick rolled and breathed a sigh of relief when he narrowly avoided Bruce's properties to land on his own railroad. "Remember when you used to try and teach me business principles with this game? I don't think I learned anything."

"You could give up now, save yourself the embarrassment."

"Ha! Never! I'll still fight the man with the last dollar I have." Which they weren't that far away from.

"Well, you learned tenacity, at least." Bruce made his own roll, but since he was in possession of the majority of the board, it wasn't a surprise when he landed on his own property.

But even if he was losing, Dick still wore a large smile. "This is really fun, Bruce. Thank you."

"You're welcome." He done it, finally made his son happy- truly happy- with one of his presents. But Bruce was still troubled by how little it was. Perhaps less troubled as awed, but there were still voices of doubt in his ears. He never wanted Dick to grow up spoiled or greedy, but had he pushed too far in the other direction? Shouldn't Dick feel entitled to more? Parents wanted to give things to their kids, everything they could. Didn't Bruce love Dick enough, that the boy would want and expect more?

"You're brooding again. What is it?" Dick asked while making his roll, but the question died on his lips as soon as the dice landed. "A seven? But that's... no! Come on!" He landed on 'Go to Jail', and Bruce couldn't help but laugh at the barrage of despondent faces his son made.

"No leniency for a former cop?"

"Guess not. Man, I don't even get a fair trial!" He mostly dragged his little token all the way to the Jail square, then looked up with wide eyes. "Bail me out, Daddy?"

"Not until you tell me what you did," Bruce played along, and Dick stuck out his tongue.

"Fine. I organized an Occupy Park Place rally, and things got violent." He handed over the dice and let Bruce take his roll, and groaned audibly when Bruce passed Go and collected $200. "And of course you land on Community Chest. You have all the luck in the world."

The card drawn was a bank error in Bruce's favor so he collected more money and passed Dick the dice so he could try and fail to roll the necessary doubles for bail. "You should just pay the fifty dollars."

"With you owning the next three blocks? I'm probably safer in jail." He handed the dice over, then looked away. "Bruce, are you having fun?"

"What?" Bruce was startled and even a little hurt by that question. "Of course I am! This is been..." It struck Bruce just how much of a good time he was having, just sitting with his son, no masks. "This is a blast." He meant it, and Dick seemed to accept that, but it didn't end line of questioning.

"Good, but you're upset about something. I can always tell."

"I'm not upset." Just a little nervous. The second present still hid behind the sofa, and Bruce wasn't sure whether or not to take it out. "It's fine, let's just play. No interruptions, remember? That was the deal." Bruce rolled his dice, and Dick frowned as his father moved the token a measly few spaces to land on Just Visiting.

"The deal was that I got an hour with you. Talking through problems isn't an interruption. That used to be our thing when I was younger." It was true, and Dick was better than any therapist for providing a listening ear, and able to give advice that no other well-meaning person around Bruce had a right to give. But he wanted this to be a happy memory. Bruce pondered that while Dick grabbed his little token and shuffled it to the edge of the square. "So sweet! You came to visit me! Hi, Bruce!" the younger man chattered in a high, squeaky voice, and Bruce stifled a laugh.

"It's your birthday. Or close enough," he winced. "I finally got you a present you like, so let's not ruin it with serious topics."

"What do you mean, finally?" Dick laughed. "I've always loved your presents.." He rolled and failed to get doubles for the second time. "Ugh. Maybe third times the charm?"

"But you haven't liked those presents, Dick. Why do you keep saying that?" Dick's head snapped up from the board game in shock, and as much as Bruce hadn't wanted to mar the game with this discussion, he couldn't listen to the lie anymore. "I know you were disappointed when I gave you that car, I saw your face!"

"Are you still talking about that car? From my sixteenth birthday, like a decade ago?" Dick shook his head. "I don't know what you think you saw, but I love that car, and that that's the truth. You need to let this go."

"I can't." The board was motionless, now that the words were in the air, and Bruce couldn't bring himself to take his turn. "I know I'm not always as attentive as I could be. Sometimes I let my pride take over and I say things I don't mean."

"I know that, Bruce," Dick tried to interrupt, but the older man forged on ahead.

"You have a gift with people. You understand them, make them feel validated or welcome, you can keep your allies even when you are forced to make choices most would find unforgivable," Bruce explained, and it was always a marvel how magnificent Dick was in this capacity. "This comes naturally to you, so I doubt you can ever understand what it's like for someone without that ability."

Contrary to what Bruce hoped to accomplish, Dick's eyes were growing dark. "I understand people, so I'll therefore never understand them? You're not making sense. And quit making excuses for yourself, you're perfectly capable of empathy and making friends. Bruce Wayne's associates and employees love him and in case you've forgotten, there's this guy named Dick Grayson who still hangs around." He folded his arms and glared a little. "Being afraid to empathize with people, or connect emotionally, that's not the same as not being able to. You do know how to deal with people, but you usually run away when things get hard."

The condemnation settled on Bruce's shoulders, and Dick seemed to regret his words a little. "Sorry to be harsh," he muttered. "Now, take your turn and tell me why you're so hung up on some car." Bruce found himself compelled to obey, and rolled the dice to land on one of Dick's railroads. "I believe that's fifty bucks to me."

"You're in jail," Bruce pointed out, and Dick froze. "You can't receive income."

"...well, suck." The younger man sat back in defeat. "Guess I'd better quit stalling and scrounge up my own bail money." He began counting out ones and fives while waiting for Bruce to speak, and though both actions took some time to complete, they finished at about the same time.

"Expressing things through gifts is... easier for me. More efficient," he said while Dick paid out the fifty dollars for bail. "Even if I'm afraid to say something, as you accused, or I say something thoughtless, a gift is a tangible expression. It's permanent, it means so much more than I could ever say in words, and I can't take it back just because I have a fit of temper."

"Yeah, I get that." Dick picked up the pair of dice and rolled them, getting double fives. "Son of a bat..." A second later, however, joy replaced the irony. "That's Free Parking! Take that, old man! I'm so back in this game!" He all but whistled as he moved his token and swept up the cash in the center of the board, counting it with glee. As no one had landed on Free Parking all game, it was a substantial amount. "I believe we had this discussion when I got my first job. If you couldn't be financially responsible for me, it was like you ran out of ways to say you loved me. But we moved past that, didn't we?"

Having just rolled doubles, Dick got to shake the dice again, and Bruce waited until the other's turn was finished before speaking. "You're my son, Dick. You always were, and I never told you... but that car was supposed to mean that, and so much more, it was a symbol of everything I felt for you, but... you didn't want it." You didn't want me. He lowered his eyes to the board, that fictional place where Bruce owned the whole city and Dick subsisted on scraps, exploited, bereft and deprived. Money was so much in the world. It bought freedom, it bought a measure of power, it facilitated grand actions for expressing love, creating memories, offering kindness and charity. Though not always accurate, it was a symbol of hard work or sacrifice, and a show of worth. Of course Dick had so little; money was just a symbol, just a means, and if Bruce couldn't give his son the real thing, what worth did little pieces of paper have? "Somehow, I hurt you with that, and every time since, and I still don't know why..."

Dick was very quiet. He set his play money down and rested his elbows on his knees, dropping his head. "You've been hanging on to this for years, haven't you? All right, I'll tell you my stupid deal with the car." Bruce snapped to attention and leaned forward, but his son kept his gaze down. "But if I say this... You've got to understand, sixteen was a rough time for me."

"Rough, how?"

"Duh, I was a teenager. All teenagers think their worlds are ending," Dick said with a rueful shake of his head. "But you and I... we were starting to fight, and some days it felt like you'd been replaced by Mr. Freeze. I hated it."

Bruce wanted to reach across and offer comfort, but there was a new tension in the room, and he was afraid to push against it. "I didn't like it, either."

"I know," came Dick's soft voice, "But that wasn't really the issue. Around my sixteenth birthday, that's about the time... that's when I realized that I loved you."

Bruce's heart stopped for a second, even before his brain fully processed the words. "I mean, I always did, you were my best friend and my teacher, my guardian, but at some point I started loving you like a dad, and that was terrifying, Bruce." Dick gripped his arms a little. "I'd feel happy, and then guilty, or just so afraid to lose you that I couldn't sleep at night, but I couldn't say anything to you because you never talked about the future. I was going to turn eighteen in a couple years and my friends were all talking fancy colleges and I didn't know if I'd even have a home by then."

"Dick, of course you-"

"I know that now, Bruce," Dick snapped a little, "But you never talked about it with me and I started to worry that when the word 'ward' stopped having any meaning, so would I." Dick had once written Bruce a letter, after moving out, saying such things. He didn't know what they were to each other, and it had been Bruce's job to establish those parameters. But he'd always assumed Dick knew without words, just as Robin worked alongside Batman without the need for constant explanation. "It didn't seem fair that I'd start to love you so much when I was so close to losing you."

These were feelings Bruce understood. He'd felt the passage of time just as strongly, the fear that there were limits on their peaceful, loving home, but the realization had come a bit later. He'd felt something pulling Dick away, and as his son had accused, ran away from those emotions, pulled away even more. But it wasn't until Dick had already left that Bruce realized there were no longer any legal ties to bring his boy back. His little Dickiebird wasn't his anymore, and Bruce hadn't convinced him to stay out of love.

So it became a downward spiral, a self-fulfilling prophecy. Bruce believed all family ties were severed, and so hid himself until there was nothing left for the boy to grab onto. "When you offered to buy me the car, it was nice, but just another thing that would stop having meaning when I left home. So I asked for one of your cars. Something you could hand down, like a father-son thing, with real memories attached. Even if we stopped being a family, we'd both still know that I was out in the world somewhere, driving a car you used to drive..."

The full meaning hit Bruce. "You wanted me to give you a piece of myself." When his son nodded, he felt his heart breaking into a million pieces. "Oh, Dick..."

"So, yeah, I was disappointed for five seconds, when it looked like you didn't want me to have that," Dick continued, running a hand through his hair and trying to bravely override the crack in his voice. "But you bought me that car because you wanted me to feel like your son, right? Like all the other parents who bought their kids new cars, it was a ritual for them to walk into the driveway or the parking lot and see the big bow... you wanted to share that with me."

"I did," Bruce answered truthfully, but his gut still clenched with guilt. "Still, I should have listened to you..."

With a smile, Dick said, "Money's different for you. You don't have to work, if you don't want to. But you do, you work so hard, so you can funnel all of it into being Batman and all these charities and... taking in stray orphans. Even after growing up here, I can't help but count dollar signs wherever I go, and that car..." Dick swallowed and blinked back a few tears. "That could have bought so many Batarangs, or a new Batmobile, you could have used that money to buy new equipment for a hospital. But it's not like you had to choose one or the other, you always do it all, and you were trying to tell me I was just as important to you as your mission, and helping Gotham. All the work you do as Bruce Wayne to make that happen, I'm worth that too, even when I'm not Robin..." Dick met his father's gaze with a tearful smile. "That meant a lot to me, Bruce. Tell me you weren't carrying so much hurt all these years because I wasn't grateful for five seconds."

"No, of course not, I just wanted..." Bruce sighed. It was too late, now, what was done was done. "You had a right to be a bit upset. I wanted to do something meaningful, but that's no excuse for not listening to you."

"Gifts aren't about what I want, they're about what you want me to have," Dick insisted. "There's nothing I could ever get you that you can't buy for yourself. Everything I give you is cheap, but you always say you love it. I like to think that's because it's me who thought you'd like it." He began to look very uncomfortable, and the billionaire felt his heart melt.

"It is." But that still didn't absolve the CEO. "Which car did you want, when you asked for one of mine?"

"Whichever one you wanted to give me. That was the whole point." Dick took a breath and pushed the dice over to Bruce. "Take your turn, big man." Bruce obeyed, and landed on his own property again.

"I did think about it back then," Bruce revealed as he moved his piece, and Dick raised an eyebrow. "I bought a new car in the end, but I spent a lot of time looking through my collection for one you'd like."

"Oh yeah? Which one did you decide on?"

"That red and yellow love-bug," he replied, and Dick burst out laughing.

"The one with the fuzzy dice? Aw, man, I would have loved that!" he chortled, clutching at his stomach. "I would have thought I looked so cool!"

Bruce couldn't help but smile. "It was the first car I bought for myself." With those words, Dick sobered up in a rush.

"Really?"

"Really. I was sixteen myself, well before I started training for the mission. I was still looking for something to fill the void my parents left, and even though buying things didn't really help, I kept looking for new and bigger stuff. But I saw that thing in a used car lot, it wasn't very expensive, but it made me laugh a little. I didn't have a lot of fun times back then, but the few I had involved driving that thing around hoity-toity wine country."

"Wow. You'd have given that to me?" Dick's eyes were shining, and something light and free fluttered in Bruce's chest to see his son looking so touched by his words. Now he knew, though, his second gift was right on target. He just needed to find the right moment to reach behind the sofa and present it.

"It would have been right." He handed over the dice, wishing he had gone through with that gut instinct so long ago. "But you were a kid, then. I think I'd rather give you the Lamborghini, now."

He was rewarded and also a little disturbed when Dick's eyes glazed over. "Oh," the young man all but purred, "That's a nice car." But he very quickly shook his head. "Probably not a good idea, though. I don't get out for fun much these days, and I won't be able to afford the insurance once I give up my job at the company."

"You're going to-" Bruce stopped himself and tried to count to ten before responding, and Dick held up his hands.

"Come on, you knew it was coming. Tim was always better at that stuff, and you're back now, so I don't need to..." he trailed off in the face of Bruce's heavy sighs. "Don't hate me, we gave up on me being a business tycoon years ago. I mean, just look how I play Monopoly!"

That earned a chuckle from Bruce, and one final sigh. "You're capable of anything, Dick. I just want you to have everything you deserve in life."

"That's all relative. I deserve a lot of stuff money can't buy." As if he hadn't meant to say that, Dick scrambled for the cards before him. "I'm going to un-morgagte these two properties, Vermont and Mediterranean Ave., and put houses on Mediterranean and Baltic." Bruce was quiet through his son's turn, and eventually, Dick raised his head again. "I'm happy, that's all I meant to say. I appreciate all you do for me, but the good life I have now only exists because of the good life I lost all those years ago, and I'm at peace with that. Just because I'm turning down your career path doesn't mean I'm rejecting you. You have more to offer than that." He handed over the dice with an innocent smile, and Bruce raised an eyebrow.

"You have something to offer as well," he said in an effort not to get choked up. "I noticed you landed on Tennessee, with my hotel."

"Aw, I was hoping you'd get distracted by all the sap we're flinging around here."

"You should know better," he chided. "Keep trying to cheat and maybe I won't let you drive that Lamborghini."

"Such threats!"

"Maybe I'll leave it to Jason as part of his inheritance."

"First of all, still too soon. Second, he'd ram it into a tree." Dick sat back and stretched a little. "Your move, old man."

Bruce hesitated. He wanted to let the conversation drop off with the humor, just give his second gift and have nothing but smiles attached to the day, but this was something that needed to be said. "I want to do better, Dick, for all of you. I know today doesn't make up for all the mistakes I've made, but-"

"Hey, hey, I told you not to beat yourself up about the whole present thing-"

"No, this is about everything else," Bruce insisted. "I had a lot of time to think, while I was lost in time. It gave me a new perspective on things. We get to spend days like this together, but there's just as many days when I let my temper take over, or lose myself in the mission..." He trailed off and Dick nodded with a slightly sheepish look on his face.

"You're human, Bruce. I've let that big ol' chip on my shoulder come between us more than once."

And who was responsible for that? "That sounds like the kind of excuses we hear in domestic abuse cases." He watched all the blood drain out of Dick's face. It was a sensitive topic, for the both of them. "The families always loved each other, swore up and down that the aggressor was just a little hot-headed, or overprotective, or having a bad day. They were usually so loving, and the victims started the fights just as often."

"That's not us."

"I hope not." Bruce reorganized his stacks of Monopoly money to give himself something to do. "But I don't want to keep racing through time so quickly that everything in the past is a distant memory. I don't want to disappear again and leave you wondering which side of me was the truth, or how I really felt about you. And I especially don't want to live a life without you again, not even able to remember if my last words to you were good ones." Life could change in a moment, he'd learned that once and for all through Darkseid. He'd been taken from everything he loved in the blink of an eye, and then ripped from era to era with no warning until he was finally free. Last night, he could have lost Dick without even knowing it, been wrapped up with his oh-so-important business in Africa like he'd been wrapped up with cases before while Dick attracted danger like a magnet.

And he couldn't keep assuming he'd get an infinite amount of second chances. "I keep relying on physical things, or for you all to intuit what I mean, so I don't have to put myself on the line with my words. But the truth is, you're..." Why was it so hard to say this now, when there was no one else who deserved to hear it more? "You're so precious to me. That's the truth, whatever else happens between us. And I'm going to try and be better." He couldn't meet Dick's eyes, which were wide and staring. "I just wanted you to know that."

"Okay, so, we did get you back from time, right? Not another fake?" He was fairly sure Dick was joking, but there was a tone in the young man's voice that suggested his son wasn't entirely confident. "You don't usually talk like this, is everything all right?"

"Things haven't been all right for a long time. But today, just spending time with you, that's been wonderful. Being with my son feels like more of a gift for me than for you." Dick smiled back, that perfect, sky-blue smile, and Bruce felt a push of courage. "I have something I want to give you." He reached behind the sofa and pulled out the second present with care, summoning confidence as he gestured Dick over.

"Careful, Bruce, you'll spoil me."

"I don't think that's possible." Dick sat on the sofa and began pulling the paper away from the present, which revealed itself to be a painting. "Is this...?"

The same painting that used to hang in Bruce's bedroom. "My uncle painted that, you know. It was a gift for my mother, to celebrate her new little baby. I want you to have it," he said, when Dick seemed shocked and speechless. "You've always seemed interested in it."

"Well, yeah, it's pretty cool," Dick managed to find his words again. "I really like the black on white, it's so vivid." He gestured down at the monochromatic view of the Gotham skyline, with some grayish tones shaded in to indicate a gorgeous sunrise. "And I'll never know how he got that sunrise to look like that, it's like it's tricking my eyes or something, I'd almost swear I see golden sunbeams."

"Maybe Damian can explain it. He's the artist in the family," Bruce smiled, then put a hand on Dick's shoulder. "My mother always said you couldn't have the light without the dark, or vice versa. But she used to worry that the contrast in Gotham was too wide a separation. The city was divided into black and white, and she was afraid that blackness would corrupt her little boy, or I'd be so dazzled by the white lights that I'd be blind to the rest of the world."

"Well, I think you turned out all right," Dick leaned his head back to smile up at his father, and Bruce gave his son's shoulder a squeeze.

"When my uncle gave this to my mother, he told her she'd always been able to appreciate the beauty in both the light and dark, and he knew she'd teach me to do the same. Her dream was to bridge the gap between the wealthy and the impoverished in Gotham City, find a middle ground between the white and the black. A new, brighter day, full of hope and joy." He felt Dick's shoulders tightening under his hands, and Bruce hoped that wasn't a bad sign. "The painting's called 'Gray Son Over Gotham'. It's always made me think of you."

He wasn't sure what to think when Dick set the painting to the side, then plunged his face into his hands. Nervous, Bruce hovered over the other man, until Dick started to laugh. "I just don't want to cry all over the paint. Bruce, I don't know what to say..." He lifted his face a little to reveal misty blue eyes. "You really want me to have this? It was your mom's..."

"And then it was mine. Now, it's yours. A little piece of family history."

"This is... unbelievable..."

"Good unbelievable, I hope."

Dick's response was to pull Bruce down to the sofa. "Get down here and let me hug you." Dick's arms wrapped around his father, and the two shared an embrace for several minutes. "You really give the best presents, you know that?"

"I don't know, I've never found a gift to top everything you've given me."

"Keep saying things like that and I might start thinking you love me, or something."

Bruce felt his throat tighten, knowing Dick to be facetious, but still gripped by worry. "I do. Of course I do."

"Do what? Say it," and the younger man's tone was full of teasing. Bruce felt his fears subside with the obvious humor, and that allowed his mouth to open more easily.

"I love you, Dick. Always."

He felt, rather than saw Dick's smile. "Now this birthday is perfect. Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet. I still plan to destroy you at Monopoly." Dick's heartfelt laughter filled the room, and both men rose from the sofa to move back to their game. "Happy Birthday, son."

"It really has been." And for the first time in years, Bruce knew he could believe it.