"Father, may I ask you something?" The boat moved slightly beneath the two as Damian slowly shifted over closer to his father. Somewhere, a fish jumped and among the willows, a bird cried.
"Of course", Bruce replied, leaning back with the fishing pole trapped between the side of the boat and his knee.
"You must understand, first of all, that I have had a wonderful time with you this morning Father. I quite enjoy spending this type of time with you, where there is no one attempting to encroach upon us and we can just talk. I hope that perhaps, we can do this again." Bruce grinned and ruffled his son's hair.
"'Course kiddo, I like spending time with you too, it has been a nice morning, hasn't it." Damian nodded.
"But", he continued, "I cannot help but wonder why, though we have been out the same amount of time as that other, lesser father and his inferior son, we have caught nothing and they have caught quite a few." Bruce looked over despisingly at the pair across the lake from them, exclaiming excitedly about the tenth fish they'd caught that morning.
"I don't know son, it can't be that we're doing anything wrong. All you're supposed to do is sit here and wait for the damn fish to bite the damn hook."
"Wait", Damian exclaimed, "I think I have hooked something."
"Reel it in", Bruce said excitedly. Damian furiously fought the thing that had the end of his hook, but he could not seem to bring it to bear. His father got behind him, doing his best to help. Finally, whatever it was gave way and the two Waynes toppled back in the boat.
"It must be huge", Damian yelped eagerly, clambering off his father to gaze at the end of his line. "It's a…shoe. Father!" He whined. Bruce got up, groaning as he rubbed his skull where it had struck the side of the boat.
"Well", he said, "at least we caught something." Over in the other boat, the father and son were laughing heartily.
"Trash", Damian muttered. Bruce nodded in agreement.
"Well", he said, "What are we going to do if we don't catch anything? Alfred is going to make fun of us for weeks if we don't come back with anything."
"As well Grayson, Todd and Drake, being that they are all coming up for the weekend."
"Hmm", Bruce said, "you know, those people over there have already caught ten fish."
"Eleven actually", Damian replied as the pair reeled in another.
Bruce gave them a vicious glare and then said, "Well, you know, that is a bit selfish, they don't need all those fish."
"No Father", Damian replied, grinning wickedly, "they certainly do not. I believe it to be our civic duty to relive them of a few, perhaps ten. We could always ram their boat, by accident of course."
"And," Bruce continued, "tie them up with fishing line."
"And take their clothes."
"And eat all the chocolate chip cookies they have in their boat." Bruce grinned and ruffled his son's hair. "You're way too much like me kid, and that's not a good thing." Damian shrugged and lay down, his head on his Father's lap. Bruce stroked his hair.
"You know", Damian said, "you are in fact much cooler than mother and I do love you so."
"I know", Bruce replied, smiling and stroking his son's hair as a kingfisher dove into the water nearby, surfacing with a mouthful of wiggling, silver fish. "I feel the same way."