Fathers

I hate Father's Day. My dad is dead and has been for a while. Bruce won't let me buy him anything for the holiday. He tells me he doesn't feel like it's appropriate, seeing as he's not my dad, just my guardian. Bruce's dad is dead and has been for decades. He still feels his presence though. This isn't his house, not according to him. This is his father's house. His office isn't his office. His study isn't his study. All that he possesses belongs to his father. His whole world belongs to a dead man, someone I think he can barely even remember. It's creepy and sort of upsetting at the same time. After all this time, he still walks in his father's shadow. He's entirely his own man, has built his family's empire up to fortunes I doubt his dad could have even imagined and done it all by himself. But it doesn't matter, not to him. All his charity efforts, all his hard work mean nothing to him; his father would have done more…always done more. Privately I think it's ridiculous. I loved my dad and I idolized him when I was younger, but I understood immediately when I lost him and my mom that he was just a man. Bruce seems to think his dad was some kind of god. Like I said, creepy.

It's late on the third Sunday of June. Father's Day. Bruce is in his study; I don't care what he says, it is his study. I knock on the door and wait. His voice isn't even muffled by the barrier between us.

"Enter."

I don't go straight in. He doesn't like that, even from Alfie. I open the door just enough for my head to poke round the side. The big guy is sat behind the antique desk, looking at some dull statistics or other. The only light in the room is coming from the reading lamp on his desk. It hides everything but his hands in the darkness.

"Yes Dick?" He asks with the kind of softness I remember my own dad speaking to me with. He's good with kids. He is. I answer casually enough.

"Check my assignment for me?"

He doesn't even hesitate. "Of course. Come in. Turn the light on." He is busy, I know. But I also know he always has time for me, especially on this date. Mother's day is the same. He knows I'm lonely and sad on these days because he is too. We both miss our parents, whether it's been a few years or a couple of decades. It still hurts. It still hurts.

When I switch the light on, the whole room is different. Everything is lighter, less spooky. When I'm with him in this place, I don't think Bruce can feel his dad's spirit as much. He's less haunted. Whenever I find him in the dark like this, I always imagine when I switch on the light I'll find a monster in his place. I imagine him with blood-shot eyes, wild hair and being unshaven, as if he hasn't slept or eaten or washed for days. I imagine him half-crazed over his parents' deaths and raving about his guilt like his torment had literally driven him insane. I honestly scare the crap out of myself just thinking about this. That's why I always hesitate in flicking the switch. But none of it is true. I keep telling myself it will never be like that with him. I can't convince myself though. There's always a chance…

Bruce looks like he always does in this room, impeccable. His hair is clean and styled. His face is freshly shaved and moisturized. His eyes easily balance intense focus without appearing strained by the effort. He is relaxed in his seat. As great as his reverence for his father is, the guy seems most at peace sitting in that chair in this study. I guess he and his dad are very alike, like me and my dad. He gestures to the seat in front of the desk. He does not entertain anyone in this room. Alfie doesn't sit down in this room. The high-backed armchair in front of the desk is my chair and mine only. It makes me feel special and kind of privileged. I hand him my homework folder for Chemistry. Normally, I just get Alfie to give it the once over. Bruce and I only do this on special occasions, like tonight. He is silent for almost ten minutes. He reads and re-reads it several times.

"This is very good work, Dick. I am impressed." He offers whilst handing it back to me. He is not humouring me. He doesn't spare people's feelings if the work is not up to standard so this is high praise indeed. I nod graciously. I want his approval. It makes me feel warm inside when he likes my work, like my dad did when I managed a great performance at the circus.

"Thanks. How's work going?" I ask putting the folder on my lap. Bruce doesn't do that usual dad thing when they want to know why you want to know something; he just answers. And he answers concisely.

"Good. My meeting tomorrow should be uneventful. Have you enjoyed your weekend?"

He hasn't been around much this weekend. He gave me a break from my duties as Robin and went on patrol solo. I wasn't mad at him. Sometimes Bruce needs some space, time to think about things without some kid jabbering in his ear all night. Judging from the way he's sitting and behaving, he suffered no injuries whatsoever. I don't think he ever gets injured when he's on the streets alone. I guess he doesn't have to think about anything or anyone else but himself. I feel unwanted sometimes. But not often.

"Yeah. I went to the movies on Friday night with a couple of friends then I went ice-skating with Alice Rhodes on Saturday and then I played a little B-ball in the park today." If I wanted I could sit there for the next two hours and tell him everything about my weekend. I could literally explain every stupid, little detail of the last few days and he would not say a damn word to stop me. He would listen to me without any discomfort. He likes it when I tell stories, when I tell jokes, when I theorize on cases with him. Tonight I don't feel like talking about that stuff. I have something more important to ask him.

"Bruce, I bought this for you." I place a box on the edge of the desk. It had been in my back pocket all weekend. "I want you to take it."

The big guy regards the box without any kind of expression. I know he doesn't like it. I know he is about to object to its existence and ask me to return it. I won't let him tell me so. He is about to articulate a polite rejection only for me to beat him there.

"No. I will not take this back. I just won't. It's Father's Day. You deserve something for everything you've done. This is it." I slide the box across the desk top. It comes to rest at Bruce's hands. The box looks tiny compared to them. So freaking tiny. He tries to utter another refusal and again, I beat him there. "You know how stubborn I am. I'm not leaving until you give in." I fold my arms and dare him to refuse me now. There is deathly silence. After a few minutes, he speaks.

"I see. You are a very unusual fourteen-year-old, aren't you?" He says tapping the box with his finger, "Most boys your age don't even know this holiday exists. Why is it so important that I accept this gift?"

"Because I love you. And if you don't accept this gift, I may cry." There was probably no need to lie about bursting into tears; I think reminding him how much he means to me was probably enough. Maybe. Bruce doesn't believe I'll start weeping anyway. He knows me too well; I don't shatter easily.

"Dick, I am not your father."

"Not literally. Just because I call you by your first name and have a different last name, doesn't mean you're not some kind of dad to me."

"I just do not feel comfortable accepting such a gift from you."

"Tough luck. I'm sick of spending Father's Day by myself, pretending I don't have one. You're right here. Take the gift."

"Dick…"

"Take it or I'll freaking scream right now."

This frankly pathetic threat actually makes him relent. He sighs and opens the box. He regards the tie and matching cufflinks with a weird expression, like he's suffering from powerful nostalgia. He says nothing. I speak anyway. "I figured you could wear them to work tomorrow. Just remember that, if anyone asks where you got them from, say that they're a Father's Day present from your…son." I almost said 'ward'. This man is not just my guardian, not even close to it. I figure as soon as he realizes that, we can be closer. Even closer than we are right now. Maybe closer than I was with my dad. Closer than he was with his father. That's what I want. That's all I want. All I want.

Bruce stands up and puts the box reluctantly in his trouser pocket. "This means you won." He tells me with a small smile. I smile back. Winning with this guy makes you feel ten-feet tall. "It's late. We should both retire for the night I feel." I nod in agreement and stand up too. He's still behind the desk. When he offers me his hand to shake, I scoff.

"Big hug or you're not leaving this room." I say resolutely. This is the most demanding I think I've been with him, ever. I feel confident at the moment, able to make him do anything I like. He rounds the desk and stands in front of me, still towering way out of my reach like a skyscraper. We stand like that for almost a minute and then I get tired of him teasing me like this. I latch my arms round his waist and bury my cheek in his chest. I feel his hands press round my back moments later. I am safe and I am loved and I am happy. Bruce is able to do this by the simplest of gestures. One day, I won't have to force these moments out of him. One day he'll just do them automatically.

"You're a good boy, Dick. A very good boy." He tells me without relinquishing his hold. "Your father would be proud of you." I know this already. I knew my dad very well. Bruce needs to hear something similar.

"Your dad would be amazed by the sort of man you've become." The big man stiffens immediately, not expecting me to say anything like that in response. I hug him tighter. "It's okay. I love you. Everything's okay I promise." He relaxes again. He brings me closer to his body and squeezes me. He doesn't say anything to reply to my statement. He really doesn't need to. I know he still walks in his dad's shadow and is scared of admitting he now casts the longest shadow of all in this city. Someday he'll realize what he is and who he's become is beyond anyone's expectations, even his father's. He lets me go a short time later.

"It still hurts, Dick."

"I know. I miss my dad too."

"Thank you for your gift."

"Thank you for everything."

He nods his head and gestures to the door. "There are no more tolls to pay, I take it?" I shake my head.

"Nope. You're free to go."

"Come on then. Off to bed."

We walk out of the study together, down the corridor and up the grand staircase. For the first time since I've been here he does not pause to look at his parents. He walks straight past the portrait with his hand on my shoulder. We reach my room first. His hand falls off my shoulder and is back in his pocket.

"Good night, Dick."

"Night Bruce."

Happy Father's Day.