The more his hand hovers over the phone, the more absurd he feels. Scowling at the device doesn't help either, as Alfred, oh-so-helpfully, prompted earlier.

You don't need him, Bruce reminds himself firmly. You don't need him bothering you, nor do you need to know how much Bruce misses you.

He feels like a fool, repeating the same mistakes he made with his other children. Each report from Alfred on your well-being makes Bruce realize how unnecessary his presence in your life truly is. You're already so much more than he'll ever be.

Last night, your visit in his dream dredged up the emotions he felt when you first left the manor. So many things left unsaid, so many words Bruce shouldn't have said.

He should've told you how proud he is, how you're the better version of Bruce Wayne and Batman combined, that he's a better man because of you, and how he's proud you're a good person despite him. Apologies burn in his mind, buried behind the ongoing criminal cases he's investigating.

He longs for your return to the manor, but how can he demand it? Not when he feels responsible for pushing you away, fearing that your relationship was beyond saving.

It's as though his actions created a fissure, marring any chance of reconciliation. While he perfected his two personas, he can't shake the feeling he neglected the role of a good father.

Bruce's thumb slips onto the 'call' button, and he stifles a curse.