Dick was on patrol alone when he showed up.

He is the night, and the shadows, and the darkness, but Dick had been around that particular night his whole life, and he by now he was honestly kind of used to it.

"Hey there, Batman," said Dick, without turning around, peering into the dark alleyway below them. "I was wondering when you'd show up."

Bruce, standing perfectly still just a few feet behind Dick, asked, "Where is Robin?"

"Oh, did I forget to tell you?" remarked Dick easily. "Hmm. Must've slipped my mind."

"Where is he?"

"How did you even know he was gone? Did Alfred squeal?"

"Just tell me."

There was a familiar growl to Bruce's voice that made Dick relent. "Alright, alright, jeez. He's at summer camp."

Bruce stared blankly at Dick.

"Summer camp," repeated Dick, slower. "He'll be back by Sunday, no harm done."

"Really. And he agreed to this."

"Well, I may or may not have bribed him with the chance to drive the Batmobile. For a week."

"And why would you do this?"

Dick sighed and turned around to face Bruce. "Because he's a kid," he said, "and he should have the opportunity to act like one every once in a while."

"And you don't think he already acts like a child enough?"

"No," said Dick firmly. "Sure, I think sometimes he acts childish, but that's not what I mean. He doesn't have any friends. And friends are important, especially for someone his age." Dick paused, then added, "I'm not willing to sit by and watch him end up like you. I don't want that for him."

Bruce said, "You already tried this with the Teen Titans, didn't you?"

"And I know why that didn't work," replied Dick. "They're a competitive bunch, I should've anticipated that. He felt threatened there."

"He told you this?"

"Of course not. But give me some credit. I know the kid."

Bruce paused shortly. "What did he think about this?"

"I believe he said, and I quote – 'I would literally rather disembowel myself.' He's so cute. Quite the charmer, really."

"So you bribed him."

"So I bribed him. So sue me."

Bruce considered this for a few moments. "Do you trust him?"

"Enough to let him go." Dick paused, then added, "He promised to be on his best behaviour, and he keeps his promises." Dick bit back another comment: if you were around more, maybe you'd know that. "Besides – just in case – I sent the best babysitter I could think of along with him."

Bruce's face was mostly covered by the cowl, but Dick could almost feel the literal waves of skepticism emanating from him.

"Let's hope you're right," muttered Bruce, swooping down into the alley, his fist connecting solidly with a criminal's face.

Damian Wayne sat on the top bunk in an old-fashioned wooden cabin, his arms crossed, glowering down at the floor where the contents of his duffel bag was being rifled through by a blonde-haired teenager. "Are we done here?" he asked, in his bored drawl.

"Just about," replied Stephanie, shaking out his socks. "Dick said to be very thorough. Did he really have to pull a dagger out of your pants before you got on the bus?"

Damian glared at her. "I was keeping it for emergencies."

"Damian, this is a youth summer camp in the middle of the mountains. I don't think rogue supervillains are going to be much of a threat."

"That's what they want you to think. You really are an amateur, aren't you."

Stephanie rolled her eyes and zipped up his bag again. "You're clean," she said. "Please stay that way. If you kill a kid, everybody is going to be really mad at me."

"Like that's any different from usual."

This time, Stephanie returned the glare. "You're a little jerk, you know that?"

"I've been told before."

She stood up and threw the duffel back up at Damian, who dodged it without blinking an eye. "Come on," she said. "You're late for activities."

"If you hadn't felt the need to touch every single one of my belongings," muttered Damian, leaping from the bunk bed to the floor, "then that wouldn't be an issue now, would it?"

She rolled her eyes and turned away, heading out of the cabin. "Just get your damn swim trunks on," she said. "We're going swimming."

Damian made a little sound of derision as she left, but five minutes later they were heading towards the outskirts of camp, where the sounds of children laughing and shouting could be heard. It was a warm, clear summer day, and the water of the lake reflected the sunlight brilliantly. Stephanie, digging sunglasses from her bag and sliding them onto her face, sighed in delight. When she was Damian's age, she'd never gotten the chance to go to any kind of summer camp, like the ones they talk about on TV. She wanted to lie down on the shore, close her eyes, and sleep. What she wanted was a vacation, to enjoy her time there, but Dick had pulled a lot of strings to get her the job as a camp counsellor, and she was determined not to screw it up. And that meant all hands on deck, all eyes on Damian, all the time.

She glanced at the kid, trying to mask her affection with distaste. One hand holding a little plastic bucket Dick had insisted he bring, Damian was ankle-deep in the water, staring straight down, his lip curled in disgust.

She took a few steps out past him, wading out to mid-calf. "It's called a lake," she said kindly, extending her hand. "It's full of water. You swim in it."

Damian batted her hand away, annoyed. "I know what a lake is, and this is not a lake. This is just...vile," he told her. "I own a small sea in the Middle East, you know."

"Really?" she asked sarcastically. "You still do? Because I'd be willing to bet that was a present from Mommy, and last I heard, she threw you out on your cute little butt."

Damian didn't move; he didn't even glare at her, or shoot back another comment, and Stephanie instantly felt terrible.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly. "That was out of line."

"No," said Damian quietly. "You're right."

Neither of them said anything. Around them, children splashed in the water, laughing, playing. Doing everything Stephanie knew Damian could hardly understand. Her heart broke just a little bit.

"Hey, lighten up, will you?" she asked, sweeping her hair back. "You're supposed to be having fun, remember?"

Damian almost sighed. "Can't we just go back to the cabin?"

"No," said Stephanie firmly. "Come on, Mister Boringpants. Loosen up!" She kicked her foot, splashing water at Damian.

He did nothing.

Her face fell. She took a step closer to him. "Look, Damian," she murmured. "If you're really not-"

Suddenly, a wave of water pelted her from above, instantly soaking her hair and nearly stopping her heart from the cold. Her sunglasses fell off her face, floating in the shallow water by their feet.

Damian grinned at her, then held up the plastic bucket he'd brought. "I knew this would come in handy somehow."

"Oh," she said, pushing her hair out of her eyes, "you are so dead."

Before she could grab him, he was off, diving into deeper waters, kicking his feet to soak her even more. A half second later, she was after him, grasping for his ankles, but he was faster than she anticipated.

"Mister Boringpants?" he called as he swam, a little breathlessly. "That was the best you could come up with?"

"Oh my apologies," she called back, dripping with sarcasm. "Sorry I don't posses your rapier wit. I mean, we can't all come up with total gems like-" she lunged for his ankle, but he wriggled out of her grip, "-Fatgirl..."

He let out a bark of laughter. "Fatgirl," he howled. "That was a good one, wasn't it?"

"Get back here, you little piece of-"

"Ah, ah, ah, Fatgirl! Watch your language! Children's camp!"

She lunged again, and, solidly gripping his ankle, yanked hard.

"I hate you, Damian, I hate you with the fiery burning passion of a thousand suns!"

Damian almost laughed, and she noticed, for the first time, that his grin was a little bit lopsided. "And I love you too, Fatgirl," he said, then he took a deep breath and disappeared underwater, leaving her, just for a moment, stunned into silence.

And then he tugged on her foot under the water and she yelped. "Damian!" she began to shout, but it was quickly drowned out by the water as she dived down as well, determined to exact her revenge.

Oracle was still operating from the Batcave. Once in a while, she found herself stopping and looking around, staring at her surroundings. The Batcave. It was incredible. Over the years, so much had happened here. She doubted she knew half of what could be told about the dark, dingy caves. She wondered if she even wanted to know.

Suddenly, somebody put a pair of hands over her eyes. Before she could react, a familiar voice asked, "Guess who?"

Rolling her covered eyes, she reached up and removed his hands. "Too easy," she said, looking around. "You aren't even doing the Batman voice."

Dick made a face. "I don't have to do the voice all the time. Makes my throat hurt."

"Yeah, but you're in uniform," she said, glancing him up and down. "You're supposed to do the voice when you're in uniform."

He couldn't hold back a smile. "But it's just you and me, Babs," he said. "So there's no need...unless you like it, that is." He flashed her that mischievous little grin that reminded her of years and years ago.

It took her a moment to get her bearings back. "Yeah," she said. "Speaking of that, I'm still not sure this was a good idea. It's not like Steph and the demon spawn-"

"You know, you can just call him Damian."

"-the demon spawn haven't gotten into spats before. I don't doubt that, right this very minute, he's just looking for an excuse to fight her."

"You really don't trust him, do you?"

"No. Not really."

Dick sighed, raising a hand to massage his temples. "Why not?" he asked. Mustering a weak grin, he asked, "Don't you have any faith in my parenting skills?"

"I have complete faith in your parenting skills," replied Barbara. "Unfortunately, that doesn't matter, because Damian isn't your son."

Dick was silent for a moment. Then he said, "Are we really going to have this conversation, Babs?"

"That depends," she replied. "You can still walk away if I'm hurting your feelings."

He rolled his eyes. "Look, it doesn't matter whose son he is. What matters is that somebody makes sure he grows up the right way. Bruce isn't my real father, and he did okay by me, remember?"

"Completely different," countered Barbara. "The kid's real parents aren't dead, Dick."

"You just don't like him because he was mean to Stephanie."

"No, I don't like you because you were mean to Stephanie. I don't like him because he's too much of a child to-"

"Oh, right, as if he's the most inexperienced Robin we've ever put out on the-"

"Yeah, you're right, he isn't. But I don't know if you recall, but inexperienced Robins don't exactly have the best track record, remember?"

Dick closed his mouth, unable to reply. Barbara stared at him with hard, stony eyes, daring him to say something. Then, shaking his head, Dick turned around and began to walk away. "You wanna know something, Babs?" he called as he walked. Barbara turned back to the computer screen, ignoring him. "I didn't send the kids away so Damian could fine tune his people skills." He paused at the exit to the cave. He said, "I did it so you and I could be alone for a while. Sorry. I guess that was a mistake."

Before she even managed to turn around, to search his face for a hint of a lie, he was gone, and once again, she was alone in the wide, enveloping darkness of the cave.

"This may well be one of the most idiotic and demeaning events I have ever been coerced into attending."

Stephanie glanced around them, at the tables full of young children handling construction paper, glue sticks, scissors and dry macaroni. "Damian," she said, and she wasn't so much impatient as baffled, "it's half an hour of craft time. I really don't think it's as bad as you think it is."

"It's an evil torture," he hissed.

"The only thing evil here," Stephanie countered, "is you. I can't believe you scared off that nice girl."

"All I did was tell her how I truly felt."

"You cut her Valentine into a thousand little pieces, and then said 'Your genetics are unworthy.'"

"What a ridiculous attempt at courtship. It's nowhere near Saint Valentine's Day."

Stephanie collapsed onto the table in defeat. Damian sat there, his arms folded angrily, glowering at nothing in particular. For a few minutes, Stephanie allowed herself stillness, time to stare at the child, to really see him.

His eyes flickered around him, then to the pile of supplies in the middle of the table. He glared at them ferociously, as if he was trying to make them spontaneously combust through sheer force of will.

And, the whole time, he looked miserable.

He wants to do this, Stephanie realized. He really wants to. But he doesn't know how.

Inwardly, she sighed. Well, that's what I'm here for, isn't it?

She straightened up again and pulled the supplies over to them. "Here," she said, taking out two pieces of purple construction paper, two gluesticks, and the bag full of macaroni. "Let's try something different."

She poured out the macaroni and went to work on her masterpiece, gluing it onto the paper piece by piece. Damian stared at her hands uncomprehendingly. "What are you doing?" he asked, cocking his head slightly, as if completely bewildered by her stupidity.

She glanced at him. "It's called a macaroni portrait," she said. "Since apparently they don't do arts and crafts in the League of Assassins, I thought we should start with the basics. Here, it's really simple. Make a picture with the macaroni. Glue it down. Easy peasy."

Damian looked at her hands, then at his own piece of blank construction paper. "What should I make?"

"Whatever you want," she said. "A dog. A cat. You like cats, right? Anything you can think of." She held up her own, a rudimentary scowling face outlined in macaronis. "I made you. See?"

He pretended to shudder in disgust, then reached for a gluestick. "You are a terrible artist. That looks nothing like me."

"Seeing as your face isn't made out of macaroni, uh, duh. Like you can do any better."

"I can," he said, focusing intently on his work.

"Whatever," she sighed, adding the finishing touches to her portrait, then setting it aside to dry. "I passed kindergarten, which is more than you can say."

Damian ignored her.

A few minutes later, he said, "This is not a very effective artistic medium, as far as realism is concerned."

Stephanie rolled her eyes and held out her hand. "Let me see."

He placed his paper into her outstretched hand; she inspected it for a few moments. It was a woman's face; two eyes, a nose and a mouth, and long hair that went down to the bottom of the page. She blinked, and then, feeling another twinge in her heart, she asked him gently, "Is this your mom?"

"No," he said bluntly. "It's you."

The twinge turned into a crack which broke her heart in two. "Oh, Damian..." she muttered, and although it shouldn't have affected her so much, she felt a prickling in her eyes, tears threatening to fall.

He grabbed it back, handling the paper so roughly that several pieces of macaroni fell off. "You needn't weep about it," he said brusquely. "It's just a few bits of hard pasta and glue."

She smiled, then pulled her own portrait of Damian back. "Here," she said, writing 'To: Damian From: Stephanie' on it, then holding it out. "Let's trade."

Damian narrowed his eyes in suspicion at first, then took her paper, pushing his towards her. "But if you cry," he added, "I'm taking it back."

"Deal," she said, pulling his portrait of her close. "But you know what?"

He glanced at her. "What?"

"Thank you," she said, and before he could move, she leaned in and pressed her lips against his forehead. As she pulled away, she saw his cheeks had gone red. She smiled. "You're a good kid, Damian," she said, inspecting her macaroni portrait lovingly. "Don't let anyone say you're not."

He grumbled something incomprehensible, but she saw the way he held her portrait delicately, closely to his chest, as if it were something secret and precious.

Secret and precious, Stephanie thought, just like him.

"You might want to flap your little bat-wings over to the docks pretty quick, B."

It was the first time he'd heard her voice since their argument in the cave. It felt like music, instantly soothing his stomach, which had been twisting itself into knots with guilt.

"Something about to go down, O?"

"Not sure. Just got a tip that somebody's delivering something big."

"Any idea who?"

"Nope, nothing."

"So you could very well be leading me into a trap."

"Probably am. It's my specialty, you know."

"Yeah, I know," he murmured, heading towards the docks. "Believe me, I know."

There was a pause – Dick thought, for a moment, that she had already disconnected – and then she asked, "You sure you can handle this on your own? I know our two best are out, but I could always call Huntress-"

The casual way she said it, as if it were just an innocent suggestion. Was it a peace offering? Or a test?

"I'll be safe," he replied. "If I need backup, I'll let you know."

"Right. If I hear you screaming in pain, I'll get help."

"Exactly. As usual."

There was silence again. And then she asked, "Dick?"

He slowed slightly. "Yeah?"

"I'm...sorry about what I said the other night. I'm too defensive, I know. About Steph. And Damian. You know I don't always mean what I say. So. I apologize."

Dick said nothing for a moment, and then he asked, as facetiously as he could muster over the commlink, "You're not just saying that to get me to sleep with you, are you? Because you know how I feel about women who just use me for my body."

"Yeah," replied Barbara, and Dick could just hear her rolling her eyes. "You collect them."

"Ah. Guess I deserved that one."

A silence.

He asked, "Will you still be at the cave tomorrow?"

"I don't really have anywhere else to be."

"Good," he replied, reaching the docks and taking out binoculars. "I'll come down for another visit." He spotted the suspicious cargo, and reached for his Batarangs. "Over and out."

The line went quiet, and Barbara went back to work, but not before allowing a small smile to spread on her lips.

"It's surprisingly easy, once you learn the moves," said Stephanie. Several of the other counsellors were sitting around in the hot, abandoned dining room, sipping glasses of icewater. "Here, I'll demonstrate." She held her hand out to one of the boys. He was about her height, maybe a year or two younger than her, and he looked terrified. "Don't worry," she reassured him, "it doesn't hurt that much."

She turned him around and took hold of his arm. "You just need to get a firm grip on the wrist," she said, "and then-" She twisted his arm, and he cried out and crumpled to his knees. Stephanie let go of him and smiled. "Works like a charm."

There was a smattering of applause. "That was awesome, Stephanie," said one of the girls. "I'm so totally using that on my brother when I get home!"

"Yeah," said another. "Where did you even learn all this cool kung fu stuff?"

"Oh, you know," shrugged Steph. "Picked it up here and there."

Suddenly, the door swung open and a little boy stalked into the room. Before Stephanie could say anything, one of the other counsellors asked kindly, "Hey little buddy, you want a juicebox or something?"

Damian shot a withering, offended glare her way. "No I do not want a juicebox," he said derisively, then he shifted his gaze to Stephanie. "Stephanie," he said. "Come here."

He turned and marched away. Stephanie rolled her eyes, then said, "Just a second," to the rest of the group and followed him out. She caught up to him and asked, "Um, do you need something?"

"Walk with me," he replied. Stephanie spared a sigh and a longing glance towards the door, then followed him.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"Down to the creek, I suppose," he replied. "I've been exploring it for the past few hours."

"Just you?"

Damian didn't answer immediately, then said, clearly feigning nonchalance, "I work best alone."

They were walking down a narrow dirt path to the creek below. "Yeah, but this isn't work," said Stephanie, stumbling slightly, "this is play. Dick sent you here to make friends, remember?"

"Well then, he'll just have to be disappointed," said Damian, as if he didn't care. "No one here is worth the trouble."

"Not even your roommates?"

Damian snorted in derision. "Those plebeians? You're lucky I didn't cripple any of them. They're absolutely moronic."

"They're kids," she stressed. "And so are you. Couldn't you at least try to get along with them?"

"I did try," replied Damian icily, "as per Dick's request."

"So what went wrong?"

Too quickly, the words tumbled out of Damian's mouth. "They told me to go away, that's all. I was more than happy to oblige. I've been exploring the limits of the campgrounds ever since."

They reached the creek. For a few minutes, they both stood on the bank silently. Stephanie didn't know what to say. She wanted to be angry at those boys for rejecting Damian, but at the same time, she could hardly blame them. After all, she had pretty much hated Damian at first as well. People usually did.

"I could introduce you to some other kids, if you want," she offered. Damian shook his head.

"I would rather stay here alone. This is a good spot to practice meditation, I think."

Stephanie wanted to ask, If you'd rather be alone, then why did you come get me? but she restrained herself.

Damian sat down on a rock, looking like he was actually going to start meditating. When he closed his eyes, Stephanie almost considered returning to spend time with the rest of the counsellors, but then she looked at him again and she couldn't bring herself to leave. So instead, she slipped off her shoes, rolled up her jeans, and stepped into the creek. It hardly went deeper than her ankles, and the water was clear and cold, streaming down from the melting snow on the higher mountains.

Every now and then, she bent over and inspected a particular rock that had caught her eye. Other than the trickling sound of the water, the gentle, soothing song of birds, and the faint noise of children's laughter from the lake, there was silence.

Stephanie reached down and picked up a shining rock with streaks of bright red in it. Then, without turning to face Damian, she called, "You know, meditation was always my least favourite thing to do. Everybody says it's all mental, and you have to, like, discover the answers within yourself and all that mystical magical mountain crap, but I hated it. Mostly it just gave me a lot of time to think over my mistakes, you know? And I've made a lot of mistakes. So it didn't really help me. At all."

For a moment, Damian said nothing, and she was beginning to think he hadn't heard her when he said, with his usual snobbishness, "You're probably doing it wrong."

She looked at him sceptically. "How could I possibly be meditating wrong?"

"I'm sure it has something to do with your poor mental capacity," he said matter-of-factly. "A more elevated mind, such as my own, effectively utilizes meditation for self-improvement."

She arched her eyebrow. "Oh, really?" she asked, her hands on her hips. "Well, what do you think about when you meditate, O Wise One?"

"Myself," he replied.

"That doesn't mean anything," she said, rolling her eyes. "You're always thinking about yourself."

He visibly twitched in irritation at that, but as Stephanie waded over to him and sat down on the rock beside his, he seemed to control himself. "I ponder my legacy," he continued. "Which is to say, what it means to be both an al Ghul and a Wayne."

Stephanie turned the rock over and over in her hands. "Who you are isn't dictated by your parents, you know," she said. "Trust me on this one. I know."

"That may be true for most," he said. "But with a bloodline like mine, everything is dictated by who my parents are."

"That's definitely not true."

"I'm sorry," said Damian sharply, turning to look her in the eyes, "but seeing as your surname is neither al Ghul nor Wayne, you really have no right to tell me otherwise."

He turned away from her again. Stephanie was slightly taken aback, but she fired back all the same. "No, I think I do. You don't have to be who you are, Damian. Not because of your mom and dad."

"Of course I do," he said coldly. "I take pride in my heritage."

She blinked at him. "That's it?"

Annoyed, Damian asked, "What's it?"

"That's why you're doing this? To please your father?"

"Not to please him, no," retorted Damian. "To...honour him. Weren't you ever taught to honour your father and mother?"

Stephanie sighed. "Well, I guess Dick was wrong about you after all."

Damian looked slightly startled at this comment. "How so?"

"It's just that, he thought you were doing this for the right reasons. And 'because my daddy said so' is not one of the right reasons."

Damian actually gaped at her. For a long moment, he seemed to be struggling for words, and then finally, sounding a little flustered, he began, "No I – that's not completely why – it's only that – I..."

"You what?" Stephanie asked. "Why are you doing this, Damian? Why is being Robin so important?"

"Because it's the right thing to do," he said quickly. "Because it helps people. Because...because knowing all I can do, it would be wrong not to."

"You're just saying what you think I want to hear," said Stephanie, looking back across the creek. "Come on, you have to have something better than that."

He paused, grinding his jaw. And then, resolutely, "Because I want to. That's why. I like cleaning up the streets. I enjoy being Dick's partner. There is nowhere else I would rather be."

She glanced at him. "Nowhere?" she asked. "Not even here?"

"Definitely not here," he replied, grimacing. "I hate this place."

"Aw, come on," said Stephanie, smiling at him. "It's not that bad here, is it?"

"It is," replied Damian. "But I wouldn't expect you to understand."

They were silent. Stephanie sat on the rock beside him, her legs drawn into her chest, as the sun slowly continued its descent in the sky.

Then he said, "At least we're going home tomorrow."

"Really?" she asked. "Has it been a week already? Huh. I didn't even realize."

"Yes," replied Damian sourly. "That would be because you were busy sucking up to the rest of the counsellors the whole time."

"I wasn't sucking up," she said, feeling vaguely offended. "It's called making friends, Damian. You'd know that if you were, you know, remotely normal at all."

"If that's what it takes to make friends," declared Damian, "then I hope I never make any."

Stephanie looked at the angry, glowering boy gently.

"Sorry," she said softly. "But it's a little late for that."

She leaned in and before he knew what she was doing, she put her arms around him in an embrace.

"You've got one good friend right here, Little D," she sighed, "and trust me, it's pretty damn hard to get rid of me."

His face once again blushing red, he muttered, "Get off of me," and she obliged, pulling away. "I should've known you were going to do something stupid and sappy like that. Dick owes me a thousand favours for this."

"And I owe him a thank you," said Stephanie. "I'm glad we had this week, Damian. Believe it or not, I learned a lot about you."

"I learned very little about you," replied Damian dryly, "except perhaps that 'Fatgirl' doesn't bother you anymore."

"Only because I know you don't mean it," she replied, smiling. "You know, I don't know why you act so mean all the time. You really are sweet, on the inside."

He made a retching noise. "And your foolish sentimentality is making me sick. Now be quiet, you've already interrupted my meditation for far too long."

Stephanie nodded, and threw the rock she'd been holding back into the creek. "You're a good kid, Damian," said Stephanie softly, looking at the sunset, and then back at him. "You're a good kid."

Gently, she leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder. She expected him to shake her off or drop a scathing comment, but all he did was slightly return the pressure, leaning back against her.

She smiled and, in silence, they sat there together, watching the sun slowly sink beneath the horizon.

It was always a little awkward to make out with one partner in a wheelchair and the other standing up, but Dick and Babs had had plenty of practice to perfect the art; and while neither of them could say in good conscience that this was definitely a good idea, they both wanted it desperately – wanted each other desperately, as they had since they were just two kids in costumes.

Barbara had insisted on keeping the computer online in case of an emergency, but three minor alarms had gone off in the past ten minutes and she hadn't even looked up. He was intoxicating. He tasted like being sixteen years old again, and although she knew she shouldn't, she found herself missing those days, pulling him closer to remind herself what it had felt like...

This was exactly the reason they'd broken up, of course, but she wasn't going to deny how good it felt, despite how terrible she knew she'd feel later.

He felt her pull, her clear desire for closeness, and pushed back, telling her, Yes, more, I want this.

She pulled away, slightly out of breath. "Don't you think we should find a more appropriate place to do this?" she asked.

"Are you kidding?" he replied, unable to hold back a grin. "Fooling around in the Batcave? We're kind of fulfilling a childhood fantasy right here."

She returned the smile easily, and he entwined his fingers with hers, squeezing her hand, reassuring her. Neither of them felt the need to say it, but they both heard it loud and clear.

I love you.

Always have.

Always will.

Barbara felt a pang in her heart when she thought of the ways that things couldn't work, of the ways that everything was too complicated. Her smile faded, and she held him tighter because there, in that single moment, she loved him. She loved him more than anything. In that moment, there was only she and him.

So, naturally, at that very moment, there were the sounds of several pairs of feet descending the stairs into the cave.

"We're back!" called Stephanie in a sing-song voice, as she reached the bottom of the stairs, Damian in tow.

Barbara pulled away instantly. Even if Dick hadn't lingered just a moment longer, though, clearly unconcerned with the intrusion, it would have been completely obvious what they'd just been doing.

Stephanie's eyebrows shot up and she said, "Well gee, Damian, I think we're interrupting something..."

"No," said Barbara smartly, shaking her head. "Nope, not interrupting anything, definitely not. Glad to have you back."

Dick, pouting a little, said, "Thanks for the heads-up, Alfred."

The butler, who had arrived just behind Stephanie and Damian, cheerfully replied, "You are quite welcome, Master Dick."

Barbara, a small smirk returning, asked, "So how was camp? As horrible as it sounded?"

"No!" said Stephanie loudly, just as Damian muttered, "Yes."

"Oh, shush," Stephanie said to him, rolling her eyes. "It was actually really fun. And guess what?"

"What?"

"Damian made a new friend!"

"He did?" asked Dick, sounding impressed.

"Yes!" laughed Stephanie, then she threw her arms around Damian. "Me!"

At the expression on Damian's face, both Dick and Barbara had to laugh. "Fantastic," said Dick, grinning broadly. "Perfect timing. Now we can all have awesome double dates together!"

"No," said Barbara and Damian in unison. Barbara said no more, only cast a dark look at Dick, but Damian protested, "She's not my girlfriend! I don't even like her. At all. You owe me, Grayson, for making me spend seven long, torturous days alone with a bunch of idiots and Fatgirl over here. In fact, you owe me two weeks driving the Batmobile, not just one!"

"Okay, alright," sighed Dick, taking Damian by the shoulder and pushing him gently back up the stairs. "Don't get too ambitious. We'll work something out, I promise. Come on, let's go home." He paused to say, "Steph, great to see you again. Babs, we'll, uh...talk...some other time. See you guys later."

"'Bye, Dick!" called Stephanie happily. As soon as he was gone, she turned to Barbara seriously. "Okay," she said. "Tell me everything."

Later, as Damian was unpacking in his room, Dick wandered in. "So how was it," he asked, sitting on Damian's bed, "really?"

"Appalling," Damian answered. "I can honestly think of few torture methods more effective than a week of summer camp."

"Aw, come on," Dick said, poking around in Damian's duffel bag. "It couldn't have been that bad."

"You have no idea."

Dick pulled something out, then grinned slightly. "What's this?" he asked, holding it up.

Damian glanced back, then turned red and tried to snatch it out of Dick's hands. "Give it back," he muttered, sounding half furious and half humiliated. Dick held it out of his reach.

"To Damian, from Stephanie," Dick read, laughing. "Oh, God, this is too cute."

"Give it back."

Dick handed the macaroni portrait back to Damian, still chuckling. Damian looked at it for a moment, then he went to his dresser, opened the top drawer, and gently placed it there.

He wasn't sure Damian knew, but Dick had gone through that drawer months ago. Usually it contained a vast array of weapons, and a single sheet of paper – a letter from Damian's mother. Dick understood the importance of that letter to Damian, and the sacredness that drawer held.

As Damian returned to unpacking, he paused long enough to say to Dick threateningly, "Don't. Say. Anything."

"No, no," said Dick, standing up and heading towards the door. "I get it."

Damian looked up at him, almost hopefully. "You do?"

"Yeah," said Dick, nodding his head and leaning against the doorframe. "I mean...if Babs made me a picture like that, I'd...hell, I'd hang it up on my wall." He smiled slyly. "It's the same thing, right?"

He left.

Damian stood there alone.

Then he sighed and collapsed onto the bed in frustration because, goddammit, for the first time that Damian could admit, Dick was completely right.

Indulging the one Steph/Damian bone in my body. I don't really ship it, but I like to think that Stephanie was maybe the first girl Damian had, umm, grown-up feelings for, haha.

Kind of a dumb and campy (hurrhurrrhurrpunintended) lil story, but let me know what you think :D