A/N: Well, I wasn't planning on writing any fanfic this week, but after Batman and Robin #14, I really wanted to do something sweet with Bruce and Damian. Please read, review, and enjoy!

"Damian...I'm proud of you."

Damian lets his father hold him, tightly enclosed between strong arms, large warm hands crumpling his yellow cape, one still clasped around the pearl. He holds on to his father's shoulders with a light touch, wary of breaking this rare, fragile moment. This is the first time his father has ever held him like this, not because he's injured, not because he has to, but because...because he...

I'm proud of you.

He needs that. He's needed that for so long without even knowing it. His father's acceptance is everything, and he's tried so hard, for so long, and he needs those words. He's not entirely sure why they're coming now, after an argument, after his father seems ready to give up on him; he doesn't know why the single pearl he was able to find could change anything. He didn't even know why he had started looking for the thing in the first place, it just happened. He thought his father might appreciate it, perhaps, and had been waiting for a good time to present it to him. But he had placed it before him because he needed his father to understand that he wasn't a lost cause as Robin, or as...

He...he hadn't expected this.

Damian's hands tighten a little bit on the back of his father's suit.

He's used to physical reassurance from Grayson, though it's been a long time since he last visited. He's used to "I'm proud of you" from his older brother too, but never from his father. It's different.

"Damian?"

He feels his father's arms slip away and is hit with a wave of disappointment. He doesn't want to be released yet. "Yes, Father?" he replies, letting his arms slip back down to his sides and moving away.

His father lays a hand on top of his head and strokes his hair gently. "Thank you."

Damian presses his lips together tightly and nods.

"Are you injured at all?" Bruce asks, removing his hand.

They're easing their way back into their usual routine now, the one that doesn't involve spontaneous gestures of affection.

"No."

"Alright. I'm going to work on some case files; you can go get some rest."

Damian lowers his eyes. "I'll assist you..."

"Damian—" his father begins to protest.

He knows he won't be allowed to stay. He's still not entirely trusted, but...he wants to earn those words again, somehow.

"Okay. I could use the help."

He looks up quickly, stunned.

"Take a seat." His father pulls up another chair.

Damian quickly sits down next to his father and waits for him to pull up files on the screen. Instead, Bruce continues to roll the pearl around in one hand, gently tracing a thumb over the cracks. "Father?"

He jerks out of his reverie and finds Damian looking at him curiously. Clearing his throat awkwardly, he sets the pearl down on the table carefully before allowing his hands to fly over the keyboard, pulling up several case files. Once he's done that, he pauses and looks at Damian again. "Come here."

His brow furrows in confusion and he rolls his chair a bit closer, not sure what the point is.

"No, I meant..." Bruce sighs and motions him forward. "Come sit with me."

Damian looks skeptically at the chair which, while large, is not meant for two people. He suddenly realizes what his father intended—Grayson had occasionally tried to get him to sit on his lap, back when they were partners. He had refused. But his father? What is this about? They don't do this sort of thing together, it's not...it's not how it works. "I am not a child, Father," he says stiffly, not moving to get up.

"We've already had that argument tonight," Bruce says. "Besides, Dick did this all the time when he was your age."

"I have no doubt," Damian scoffs. "But I am not Grayson and I do not wish to emulate his childish behavior—"

"He was ten—"

"I'm ten."

"Exactly." Bruce tugs him forward by one arm and Damian ends up with one leg on Bruce's knees and a hand splayed on the cushion beside Bruce's head while the other is used to keep his balance.

He stares down at his father for a moment with a scowl.

"Sit." Bruce pushes him down by the shoulders and Damian reluctantly rearranges his limbs so he can sit comfortably, if stiffly, on his father's lap.

"Did Grayson put you up to this?" he asks suspiciously.

"He didn't." Bruce frowns a little at the implication.

Damian purses his lips, thinking. "I thought you had work to do."

"I do." He moves his chair a little closer to the desk and puts one arm on either side of Damian to type.

His son stares at him, waiting. When the silence continues for nearly ten minutes, Damian quietly leans back onto his father's chest, beginning to relax.
Bruce pretends not to notice. After a few more minutes, they start discussing the case, bouncing ideas back and forth. It continues like this for a couple more hours—silence, conversation, silence, conversation—and, every so often, Damian will watch his father pick up the single, dirty, broken pearl, enclose it in his hand briefly, and then set it back down before putting an arm around Damian in a strange not-really embrace for a few seconds. Then he'll let go and the pattern starts over.

"That's all for tonight," Bruce says finally, turning the computer off.

Damian nods silently, slipping off his father's lap.

"You were very helpful. We should do this more often."

He looks startled by this comment, and quickly averts his eyes. "Good night, Father."

Bruce doesn't let the disappointment show on his face. "Good night, Damian."

Damian nearly makes it to the stairs before turning around. "Father?"

"Yes?"

"I...I think it would be beneficial if we did it again tomorrow."

Bruce gives him a small smile. "Quite."

"Okay. Good." Damian starts to go upstairs, but his father touches his shoulder, having come up behind him silently.

"I'm proud of you, Damian." The words roll out so easily this second time, but he's surprised by the effect they have.

Damian suddenly seems rather unsteady, one hand pressed to the wall as he stares at his father, confusion and insecurity all over his face. "But...I haven't...I…I'm going to bed now." He runs up the stairs and disappears around the corner.

"Damian, wait—" he begins, but his son is long gone. He sighs and follows him upstairs.

The lights are off when he enters Damian's room.

"Damian, I know you're awake."

"Tt."

Bruce sits on the edge of Damian's bed. "I am proud of you, Damian."

He sees his son's small form tense. "Why?" Damian whispers.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because I didn't do things the way you wanted me to. I didn't answer my com-link. You said...you said you didn't know if this was going to work. I thought you were going to tell me I couldn't be Robin."

"I was worried about you. In case you've forgotten, the last time you ran off without saying anything, NoBody was—"

"I know."

They both fall silent.

"I am proud of you," Bruce begins finally, "because you've tried very hard to be a good Robin...and a good son. You don't have to be perfect in order to make me proud."

Damian nods, his throat tight.

Bruce gently brushes his son's hair away from his face. "Good night."

Damian watches him go and then stares up at the ceiling. He's proud of me. Father is proud of me. He lets out a small, shaky breath, realizing there's extra moisture in his eyes, and he quickly blinks to get rid of it. It's nothing to cry about. It's just a fact.

I'm proud of you, Damian.