Dick carefully dabbed at the still bleeding cut across his forehead, hissing at even the faintest contact the wet tissue and the wound made. He was leaning over the bathroom sink, perched on his elbows and barely a pinky's width from the mirror's glass that fogged under his shallow breath. Even with his attention completely on cleaning up the aftermath of yesterday's mission, he managed to catch sight of his guardian in the mirror's reflection.

"And you're sure you can't go to school?" Bruce inwardly sighed as he paused in the doorway, hands idly toying with the scarlet tie around his neck.

His ward chuckled softly and straightened, pulling the salmon colored tissue back from his face with a taunting sort of smile. The tissue was quickly balled up and tossed into the trashcan, a steady hand combing the lengthy black bangs up off of his forehead while it dried.

"Half the nation saw Robin get this exact cut. Doesn't exactly help that I look just like the kid. I'll go back Monday and pick up all the work I missed, I promise," he shook his head with a glint in his eyes, "You're the one who taught me to be careful about this kind of thing in the first place."

Bruce cracked a thin smile and set his tie down to his chest, folding his arms over his chest with a small shake of his head.

"I shouldn't be complaining. You've been a great student so far," he plucked another tissue from the box off the counter and folded it.

The man touched it to the thin drip of blood that seeped from the two inch gash, trying to mute his worry with a classic face of stone. The affection in the simple touch chipped it away in seconds though.

"I guess you'll just have to come with me to work today," he pressed just a bit harder before pulling the tissue away entirely and frowning at the blood that speckled the white material.

As he walked past to get to the medicine cabinet and to toss the tissue away, the fourteen year old tensed at the words. Dick turned, eyebrows furrowed with a tiny pout on his lips.

"I'm not a little kid anymore, Bruce. I'm pretty sure I'll do fine being here alone. I've got Alfred after all," he leaned back onto the counter, eyes trained on the back of his guardian's head.

He didn't need to see a face to recognize the smile that was probably stretching up to those high and mighty cheekbones.

"It's that 'pretty sure' that has you coming with me."

Bruce pulled out a box of adhesive bandages and popped the lid open, unwrapping a rectangular bandage and gently easing out the creases as he covered the gash on his ward's forehead with it. It was the softness in something as simple as this that kept Dick from complaining any further and led him to bob his head in a curt nod.

"I'm not going to enjoy it though," he stubbornly smirked, combing his hair down over the bandage and checking the mirror to make sure that it couldn't be seen.

When he had turned his head to check his reflection, Bruce reached over and tousled his hair briefly. It was enough to leave the strands out of place and a small grin over the acrobat's lips, his eyes following the suited man out into the main entryway.

"I'll go start the car. Come out when you're done preening."

They both had to swallow grins.

"Would it kill you to put your phone down, for just a second?" Bruce held the door to make sure a second head wound wouldn't be made when or if his ward smacked his head on the door.

Dick smiled down at the screen of the phone held delicately in his nimble fingers and returned the favor, holding the next door with his foot for the head of Wayne Tech.

"As much as it'd kill you to tone down the cheekbones," he sent his reply and pocketed his phone with a growing smirk at the look that crossed his guardian's face, eventually leading the man's hand to touch defensively to his cheekbones.

The fourteen year old held a giggle to his lips at it, shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket and sobering up when he noticed the man at the front desk's stare.

"Mister Wayne," the man greeted Bruce with a smile, eyes flitting over to the boy walking beside him, "Will Dick be joining you today?"

The ebony tensed when an arm was put around him, but he relaxed just a little into it and managed a small smile to assure the man that he wasn't being kidnapped or anything. Standard procedures; he was used to them. They just always managed to slip his mind when he actually had to use them.

"Yes; the doctor said he has a concussion and after the Rixon incident, I don't want to leave him home alone."

There was a nod of understanding and then the civilianized Dynamic Duo were let through the still locked gates of Wayne Tech's many passage and hallways. Bruce had dropped his hand by now and it stayed dropped, a mutual silence hovering between them until they were out of sight.

Dick averted his eyes as Bruce punched in the key code to the lock on his door even though he had the numbers memorized, looking up again once the door clicked open.

"Think you can handle staying in here for a few hours? I have a conference downstairs at nine with the heads of the San Francisco franchise," there was a slight apology in the older of the two's voice as the door was held and they both walked in.

The acrobat rolled his eyes sarcastically with a small grin, unfastening his binder strap from over his shoulder and resting it up against the side of the armchair barely a few feet from the doorway. He threw himself into the chair gently, sighing in ecstasy as the cushioning swallowed him up.

"I think I can manage," the ebony tilted his head back and let the nape of his neck rest on the back of the chair, fingers tracing out the arms, "but I might get bored later. How about letting me propose a few ideas to your buddies downstairs about some rocket boots?"

His head lolled to the side and he cracked open one of his eyes with a cheesy grin, laughing as Bruce set a hand to his head and chuckled softly.

"You wish," the man walked over to his computer and started it up with a quick scan of his finger and a roll of his eyes, "If they didn't like your jetpack idea, who's to say 'rocket boots' will get more support?"

That had Dick excitedly on his feet, teetering on the toes of his Converse at even the slight suggestion that he could convince someone to make him some flying boots.

"Rocket boots and jetpacks are two totally different things, Bruce. Don't be lame," he walked over to the computer desk and rested his arms on the shelf that protected the computer from the top, relying solely on his toes to stay up, "Rocket boots are just on your feet, and if something goes wrong, you'd only be down limbs instead of dead."

The billionaire tried to swallow a grin with little success.

"Ah, yes, because losing limbs is so much better than dying," he shook his head, fingers waltzing fast across the keys, "No, I don't think that'll blow over well in the conference room."

The acrobat fell flat and groaned distastefully, letting his head fall back and pouting up at the ceiling.

"You're no fun," he walked back to the chair and collapsed in it, arms folding across his chest and a pout staying on his lips.

Bruce caught sight even with the desk in his way and he stood up a little straighter, shooting his ward a stern glance to try and help discourage him.

"Stark Industry made rocket boots," Dick grumbled.

His guardian grinned at the childish tone, looking back to the document on his computer screen and storing a few phrases in his memory to use at his own conference in twenty minutes.

"Yes, but Stark Industry isn't real. You can't use comic book references to make a good argument," he chided, already expecting a retort to it before he had even finished.

It took maybe a second.

"You're just jealous that Tony has a hot wife."

The small chuckle had Dick smiling proudly down onto the binder he had hauled up into his lap.

"That's it, you've caught me," Bruce held his hands up in mock surrender, "I'm jealous of a fictional character. Drat, I'm being outsmarted by my protégé."

He rolled his eyes with a grin and shut down his computer, heading for the door with a glance to the clock.

"Bruce?"

At his name, the billionaire paused and glanced over to his ward with a worried accent glazing over his features.

"Everything alright?" his dark eyes immediately flew to where he knew the bandage was beneath the boy's hair, one fist defensively tightening.

Dick took a baited breath, as if he was self-conscious under the scrutinizing look before he nodded and leaned back as if to say 'never mind'.

"Headache," he frowned lightly, toying with the zipper on his binder, "but it can wait a few hours. Good luck down there."

Bruce didn't move, probing a sigh from the younger ebony's lips.

"No, really, I'm fine. I've dealt with worse," the fourteen year old assured the man, waving it off with his hand like the problem was just a pesky bug. "Be sure to bring up my rocket boot idea though. I'd like to be flying by next Tuesday."

The billionaire shook his head incredulously and laughed to himself.

"You got it, rocket boots. What color would you like those in again?"

"Black with blue highlights would be fantastic."

"Sounds like a plan. I'll be back in time for lunch."

"Bye, Bruce."

"Bye, Dick."

You have no idea how long I've wanted to write a civvie Dick and Bruce fic. It might be a little sloppy, but I just needed something to sate this… desire.

-F.J. III