He stayed in the shadows, listening to the voices behind the door--indistinct murmurings that gave him no clues.  Nothing he'd done for the past few weeks had gotten him any closer to an answer.  But with each passing day, his observations had worried him more.

The door opened suddenly and Bruce walked out, followed by Alfred.  Dick pressed closer to the wall, thankful for the relative gloominess of the Manor's corridors.

He heard Alfred ask, "Would you like me to bring you something?  Warm milk, perhaps?"

"No, thank you, Alfred."

"Sleep well, then."

"You too.  Good night."

Dick cornered Alfred getting a cup of tea in the kitchen.

"Okay, tell me what's going on."

"Going on, Master Dick?"

"Don't give me that.  Lately, Bruce has been...weird.  More weird than usual.  Scary even.  A terror in the field and deathly quiet around here.  And now, you two are having secret powwows in the library at three in the morning.  It's something, Alfred, and you know what that something is.  So, spill it."

Alfred gave him a look that he hadn't seen since he was fifteen and had tried to take the Ferrari for a joyride.  It still worked.

"All right, all right, I'm sorry, but I'm just....  Is he dying or something?"

Visibly startled, Alfred said, "No!  No, he's not."

"And you?"

"I'm fine, never better."

"Well then, what is it?"

"I understand that you're concerned, but I can't divulge what I've been told in confidence."  When Dick started to protest, Alfred cut him off.  "Would you want me to make him privy to your situation last year with a certain Atlantean?"

Dick's words were choked back, swallowed down, and he could feel the blush staining his cheeks.  In a word, no, he did not want Bruce anywhere near that information.  He was surprised he had been able to keep it from him so far.

"Okay, Alfred, you win," Dick said and turned to go.

"It's late.  I’m sure you don't need me to tell you that you're welcome to stay here tonight."

"No, thanks.  I better head on to my place."

His place, which definitely was not Wayne Manor, not anymore.  Tired and frustrated, he rode his motorcycle home and forced himself to face, not for the first time, that he could never have the place he wanted in Bruce's life...or Batman's.  And every time that he thought he had come to terms with that, he stupidly ended up doing something else foolish.

Like following Batman the next night.

The rain provided some cover, as did the darkness, but Nightwing knew it was testament to the other man's state of mind that he wasn't discovered.  He almost relaxed when he saw where they ended up, and didn't even need to keep the figure in sight, slipping ahead to get a vantage point from which he could observe Batman's slow approach.

For a very long time, Batman stood, head bowed, water sheeting off of his cape, in front of the huge granite headstone marking his parent's grave.  It started to make sense, if Bruce's parents had been on his mind strongly for some reason, because so much of Bruce, of the Batman, was twisted up in the memory of the loved ones who had been brutally taken from him.  Nightwing understood that...only too well.

When Batman turned to go, Nightwing didn't move, deciding that he'd intruded enough for one night.  But Batman only went a few feet, kneeling down, pulling at something in the ground, sweeping it away with his hand.  Then, just as suddenly, stood and disappeared into the mist, leaving Nightwing puzzled and staring at empty space.  Collecting himself, Nightwing made his way over and had to kneel down himself to see in the dark: the cleared away space, the marker lying flush with the ground, a single rose growing limp in the downpour, and the name "Victoria Beaumont".

The next morning he waited, watching until Bruce had left for work and Tim had gone to school, then cornered Alfred in the kitchen again.

"Good morning, Master Dick," Alfred said, "this is a pleasant surprise," though his tone indicated that it was not entirely a surprise and that he didn't expect it to be exactly pleasant.

Despite that, Dick forged ahead.  "Tell me who Victoria Beaumont is."  And started to feel uneasy when Alfred went completely still for a drawn-out second.  But, not enough to make him give up.  "Please, Alfred, I need to know...because...I...I..."

Before he could say something that he wasn't quite ready to voice out loud, Alfred took pity on him. "Very well.  Sit down, Master Dick, this will take some time."

Dick wondered just how much Alfred had guessed, and whether or not it was something Alfred would support.  Even if nothing could come of his unspoken feelings, the idea of Alfred's disapproval was unsettling.

Alfred poured tea for himself and a glass of orange juice for Dick, and they sat down at the table across from one another.  Dick could remember many conversations held at that table over the years--scoldings and praises, condolences and joy--but he wasn't sure he was prepared for whatever Alfred was about to tell him.

"There almost never was a Batman," Alfred began, and Dick leaned forward, juice forgotten, giving Alfred his full attention.

Dick was familiar with part of the tale: Bruce's reaction to his parent's death, his plan to make Gotham safer, his determination that nothing interfere with that objective.

"But then, young Master Bruce met Andrea Beaumont."  Alfred gave Dick a look that kept him quiet.  "The two met at the cemetery.  Victoria was her mother."

Bruce had met a girl, fallen in love, had almost decided not to put on the cape and cowl.

"He was torn," Alfred continued.  "He'd had his 'plan' for so long..."

Dick made a sound, a snort of acknowledgment.  No one got to work alongside the Batman without knowing about 'The Plan'.

"He didn't feel he should ask someone who cared for him to sit home waiting for him, when he knew how much he was putting his life on the line."

It was an argument that Dick understood, but often found himself arguing against.  Cops, firemen, soldiers, all examples of people who constantly risked their lives.  Why should they also have to sacrifice having love?  Of course, Bruce had the added dilemma of a secret identity.

"And then there was the sanctity of the promise that he'd made to his parents, " Alfred was saying.  "A vow made out of his own pain, his sense of helplessness at not being able to save them, though he was merely a boy at the time."

"I get all of that, Alfred, but tell me what's happening now."

With a sigh, Alfred asked, "What do you think it is that Master Bruce would be most afraid of?"

Dick thought about it.  "Failing as Batman and having Gotham fall to the likes of Joker."

Alfred gave a slight shake of his head.  "For a long time, he felt that not being Batman would be letting his parents down, as if *not* acting meant that he didn't care that they had been murdered.  But much later, while trying to apprehend the Scarecrow, he found out that his greatest fear is that by *being* Batman he has become someone of whom his father would not be proud.  That he hadn't become the man that his father would have raised."

That unexpected statement had Dick sitting back in his chair, stomach turning at what a cruel joke life had played.  Imagining dedicating your life to doing something for someone only to start believing that maybe they would actually be disappointed in you for it.

"I told him in no uncertain terms that his father would indeed be proud, as I myself am, but I am sure that it still weighs on him from time to time."

"Are you really?  Proud of him and what he does?"  A small part of him really wanting to know if Alfred's pride extended to him as well.

"Why, of course.  I'm proud of you all.  Particularly because though you may walk the edge, you have managed not to become that which you fight; despite the scars and weariness that I know run rather deeply.  Yes, Master Dick, I am very proud, even if I am only the butler and not your fathers."

Blinking back a sudden stinging in his eyes, Dick said, "You're not 'only' anything, Alfred.  And you're more than a father...to all of us."

"Yes, well, thank you for that," Alfred said, clearing his throat and fidgeting a little in his seat.  He picked up his tea, which Dick was sure had long gone cold, and stared into its depths.  "What Bruce has never been able to take to heart is that the choices he's made may not be the ones his father would have made for him, but he is a man of strength and principle and goodness, all that his father would have wanted him to be."

Dick thought about that, wondered what his own father would have thought of the man known as Nightwing.

"As a matter of fact, I think Master Wayne would have taken more exception to the terminally unattached playboy persona that Master Bruce insists on maintaining."  Alfred's small smile quickly faded.  "But back to the story at hand--Father's Day was two Sundays ago and on that night, Bruce was sure he saw Miss Beaumont in a crowd.  The incident awakened some issues for him and it is taking him some time to resettle."

"So, he's still in love with her?"

Alfred stared at him for a long, uncomfortable moment, and Dick wondered if maybe he just exposed too much of himself.

"He asked her to marry him and she disappeared.  When she returned years later, it looked as if they might reunite, she even knew about his secret identity, but very serious matters arose which made it impossible.  And then...she died tragically."

"Oh, shit."

"I'm sure he has a place in his heart for her, Master Dick, but that is the past.  Well, I think I've probably told you more than I should have," Alfred said, getting up, clearing the table.  "I better get some work done around here."

Dick got up too, gave Alfred a hug from behind.  "I'm sorry for putting you on the spot like that, Alfred.  But thanks."

"Perhaps some day the two of you will sit down and talk to one another, rather than using me as an intermediary.  Now, run along, I have chores."

Dick left, mind swirling with all he'd heard.  Alfred was right, he probably now knew too much, more than he would have found out by searching computer databases for Victoria Beaumont's name, as he had first been inclined to do.  So much information, but yet no closer to knowing how to help Bruce and certainly no closer to furthering his own hopeless cause.  Yet, in some way it cheered him to know that once Bruce had tried to factor love into the equation of his life.  It meant there was a chance he could do it again...maybe when they were both old and gray...

As he drove off on his motorcycle, Dick imagined meeting up with a retired Bruce Wayne one day.

***

"Thank you, Alfred."

Bruce came into the kitchen from the corner where he had been waiting and listening after doubling back earlier that morning.  He hadn't been so preoccupied that he hadn't noticed Dick's curious concern, hadn't been so detached that he hadn't been aware of Dick following him.  And after the cemetery, he knew Dick would be brimming with questions, and had given Alfred permission to answer them honestly.  Though, he thought, maybe Alfred had been a little more honest than he'd expected.  In answering Dick's questions, Bruce realized that Alfred had raised a few more questions in his own mind.

"I meant what I said, Master Bruce.  I hope the two of you realize that you don't need me as a go-between."

"I don't know what either of us would do without you, Alfred."

"If I didn't know better, I'd say that this wealth of sentimental compliments was an attempt at softening me up for something."

"Never.  Well...maybe for your famous chocolate mousse."

"I'll see what I can do this Sunday.  Perhaps you could invite Master Dick to dinner?"

"Alfred..."

"Just a suggestion.  It might help ease his mind."

After a pause, Bruce said, "Fine, I could call him."

"Very good.  So, are you about to go to the office in earnest this time?"

"No, I think I'll work at home today, if you don't mind having me around."

"Of course not, Master Bruce, it *is* your house, after all."

Bruce snorted, chuckled at Alfred's feigned expression of offense, and turned to leave the room, only to stop when Alfred cleared his throat.

"You might also consider what I said about your father being at peace with your choices.  I do believe that would include choices besides your nocturnal occupation, and...well, Master Dick is a fine, young man."

Bruce struggled to hide his surprise.

"Please don't bother with denials or explanations, Master Bruce.  I'm sure that I don't need to be in the middle of that particular affair."

Bruce quickly left the kitchen and sat in his library thinking for a long time.  As hard as he tried, he couldn't imagine telling his father that no, he wasn't going to be marrying that nice Miss Carlisle of the Connecticut Carlisles, but was in love with a young man named Dick.

But...he could invite Dick to dinner, and they could probably even talk a little...despite Alfred's insinuations, it wouldn't be the first time.

And some rainy night, he would return to the cemetery.  Andi had told him once that maybe his parents had sent her as a sign that it was okay for him to be happy.  It just might be time to ask them if they had in fact sent a certain someone else to be part of his life.

He picked up the phone, already looking forward to Sunday dinner.
 
 

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