When is a house a home?

[_darkknight_]

Even for billionaire playboys, rising at 3pm is pushing it. Well, what the hell. The Batman was up until dawn collaring a group he thinks is tied to Black Mask - one way or the other, dope pushers need to be taken down - and for his trouble, he got a fresh set of bruises, a shallow gash in his forehead that bled like a son of a bitch, and a

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[_nightwing_]

Someone else is already there, sitting at the breakfast table, and he's munching away on a handful of cheddar Goldfish crackers, pilfered shamelessly from the opened bag he's brought with him. Alfred would likely have a conniption fit if he saw the debris of crumbs.

[_darkknight_]

Bruce glances at the man at the table as he heads toward the coffee pot, grumbling, "Remind me to update the alarm system."

[_nightwing_]

He grins cheekily back at Bruce, annoyingly awake as usual and sporting far less in the way of obvious physical injury. "Not much good an alarm system can do you when your burglar's got the keys."

[_alfred_]

A damp kitchen towel is suddenly dangling next to Dick's face. "I believe you will find this to be the key to a different problem, sir." Alfred gives the table a meaningful look.

[_darkknight_]

Bruce snickers. Yes, snickers. Then he pushes the start button on the coffee maker and begins the often-destructive task of making himself something to eat. "What brings you to Gotham?"

[_nightwing_]

Dick has the presence of mind to look suitably chastened, and he takes the towel from Alfred, setting about clearing the table of his sins. "Oh, you know, the usual. Bright lights. Big city. Great shopping. Grouchy CEO's who've broken up with their fiancées."

Well, he's not usually one to beat around the bush.

[_darkknight_]

Whole wheat bread, check. Peanut butter, check. Banana, check. Bruce starts making his sandwich and keeps his bruised, scarred, stiff bare back to his son.

[_nightwing_]

Dick continues with his erstwhile task, and pops another cracker into his mouth while he does so. "What's going on?"

A simple question, in of itself. The answer, he's fully aware, is likely to be anything but.

[_darkknight_]

"Cleaning up after someone," is Bruce's answer. Man, that's a lot of peanut butter on one slice of bread. He hesitates, then continues, "Someone working for the League of Assassins figured out Green Arrow's ID."

[_nightwing_]

Silence follows for a few moments as he pauses in his cleanup effort, looking up sharply. "What? How?"

[_darkknight_]

"Something stupid he did, unfortunate timing and something we all risk." Bruce glances over his shoulder at Dick and adds softly, "DNA evidence from Ollie's blood. I'm handling it, but I needed to buy time. You know who runs the League now."

[_nightwing_]

It doesn't take much to put two and two together. "Talia." Dick drops the towel on the table in favor of running his hand over his face. "Oh, shit."

[_darkknight_]

Bruce nods, takes a big bite of sandwich and chews as he carries it to the refrigerator. With a glance at Alfred, he gets out a glass for the milk rather than drinking it out of the carton. "I needed to buy time," he repeats. "I told Selina it didn't change anything, and..."

He shrugs, helplessly.

[_nightwing_]

He gives the older man a sardonic look as he sinks back into the chair. "Bruce, there is not a woman alive on this planet who would not take an engagement breakoff personally."

[_darkknight_]

"I told her it didn't change anything privately, just publicly," growls Bruce after downing a glass of milk. Coffee's ready, too. Thank God. "She should know by now that being with me means dealing with a lot of public crap that's just flatly untrue."

[_nightwing_]

He exhales, long and slow. "Knowing is one thing, Bruce. What someone feels is something else."

The package of crackers is set on the table.