Damian crumpled the paper slightly as he held it behind his back. His father paced in front of him, talking to a few corporate directors. They gazed interestedly at what he had to say; obviously whatever it was was important. Damian yawned slightly and shifted his weight to one side. What he really wanted right then was to sleep, but this was important.

When he had been told he was to spend the entire day with his father, he had been excited. What he hadn't realized, however, was that he would spend the entire day in the office with his father and his father's office was one of the most boring places he had ever been in. Damian had stayed up late the previous night and now was ready to drift off, but there was just one thing left he had to do.

Damian slowly and tentatively padded over to his father. He tugged on his coat. Bruce paused mid sentence and gazed down at him. "Damian, I'm kinda busy, can I help you in a little while?"

"Sure", Damian said softly, turning to walk off. Now, if it had been Dick, Bruce wouldn't have worried too much. Had it been Jason, he would have been slightly more concerned. Had it been Tim, he would have been even more concerned.

But, for none of them would he have interrupted his important meeting, being that whatever troubled his charges could be resolved after he had finished and they would not take it as a judgment upon the importance of whatever they had to say. As it were, Damian was the small boy walking away slowly, dragged his feet.

"Continue", Mr. Bebop said.

Bruce hesitated and said, "Just a moment."

"Mr. Wayne", Ms. Noodles said sternly, "We don't have a lot of time."

"I know", Bruce said, "I'll just be a second." He turned to follow his son. "Damian", he said. Damian turned. "Come on", Bruce murmured, leading the boy out of the room and into the hallway. Once they got out there, he closed the door behind him/

Bruce knelt in front of his tiny son (author's note: he's so tiny and adorable and precious, I just want to squeeze him because he's my tiny angle of violence!) and put a hand on his shoulder. "What's up?" he asked. Damian averted his eyes. "I know it's been a long day, I haven't enjoyed it all that much either. I'm sorry you had to hang around here, but we'll be leaving soon. Is that what you wanted to ask about?" Damian shook his head. His father gazed expectantly at him.

"Well", Damian said softly, "back when you were…indisposed, I lived with Dick." Bruce nodded.

"Dick enjoyed telling me stories of his time with you when he was small, making me suffer through several of them a week." Bruce smirked at this. "He told me of a certain thing he used to do for you." There was a pause.

"Yes", Bruce asked.

"He spoke of drawing for you…pictures." Bruce nodded.

"He drew me quite a few, did he show them to you?" Damian nodded.

"They were poor." Bruce chuckled.

"I thought he was a pretty good little artist. Anyway…" he prompted.

"I thought", Damian said slowly, "that perhaps, since you enjoyed receiving them from him, as he claims, you might wish to receive one from me." Slowly, he drew from behind his back a piece of paper and handed it to Bruce.

"See", he said softly, pointing to the first part of the picture, "Here we are swinging across the city to fight the Joker and here we are fighting him. And then, that's us, hugging because we won. Dick's pictures all had people hugging, or trying to strangle each other, I couldn't really tell, but I assumed this pleased you so I chose to include such a scene."

A big grin crossed Bruce's face and he reached out to draw Damian close. "Thank you so much kiddo", he said, "I love it."

"You…you do?" Damian stammered incredulously. Bruce nodded, holding him at arms length so he could gaze at him, elation lighting his face. "I'm gona have to tell Dick I'm now included in the elite "Damian drew me a picture that didn't include my death" club." Damian snickered wickedly.

"Here Tim, I drew you a picture."

"You did?"


"Ohh thanks Damian, you certainly were prolific with the red here. Is that my costume in tatters or blood?"


"Lovely, and oh look, what wonderful knives. I love how you put one right between my legs."

"No point in you passing on your defective genes."

"Well, since I'm dead in this picture, judging by my tongue hanging out of my slightly parted jaws and the axe creating a gaping hole in my chest, I guess we don't have to worry about that."

"Well, I wanted to make absolutely sure."

"The crow consuming my liver is a nice touch."

"Actually, it's your spleen."

"Golly gee Damian, I'll cherish it always".

Bruce hugged him again and kissed the side of his head. "You are such a good boy", he whispered fiercely. Then, he lifted him up, holding him to his chest.

"Well, that brightened up my day considerably; I'll hang it up next to the Mona Lisa when we get home (author's note: Yes, Bruce Wayne does own the Mona Lisa, the one in the Louve is a fake)." Damian yawned widely and blinked a few times, a definite sleepy aura surrounding him.

"You need a nap baby bird?" Bruce asked gently. Damian nodded, tired enough not to take offense at the use of the nickname. Bruce carried him back inside the meeting room. He laid him gently across two of the chairs and draped his suit coat over him.

The boy stretched slightly and then went limp. Bruce leaned down and kissed his forehead. He folded up the picture and put it in his shirt pocket. "Right over my heart", he whispered, patting the picture. Damian gave him a tiny grin. Bruce gently pushed back his hair and then strengthened up to continue his meeting.

"Mr. Wayne", Mr. Globalob said, "this is an extremely significant meeting. Whatever your son needed, it probably could have waited. It can't have been all that important."

"It was important to me", Bruce replied coolly, "Now, shall we continue?" Damian grinned. He loved his dad.