Thanks for not saying you heard me being a shitty father, he thinks, but doesn't let out into the world. There's a bit of it in his gaze, though, dark eyes settled on Clark's bright ones. He's not shamed of his kids--

Kid.

He's not ashamed, Dick isn't a secret, he just isn't sure how to bring it up. Or why he would. It's probably not relevant. But he figures Clark knows on some level, anyway, being an investigator. It's just, you know, weird, that single parent is on the list of improbable shit about Bruce Wayne. Bruce Wayne who should look like someone's been cut out of a fashion magazine and pasted into a John Deere one in this small room. And yet he manages to blend in, wearing dark green plaid pajama pants and a long-sleeved black shirt, sitting on the edge of the guest bed, perfectly awake.

"I hate Christmas," is what he says, reasonably.