Okay. But ONLY BECAUSE HEATHERLY ASKED.


DISCLAIMER: I do not know how to spell refridgeorator.

Cake Drabbles AGAIN

Bruce stopped in the kitchen doorway. Neither of the two men sitting at the little table looked up.

"Alfred?" Bruce asked after a minute.

Alfred looked at him expectantly.

"What are you doing?"

"Eating cake, Master Bruce," Alfred pointed out calmly.

"Oh. Right." Bruce hesitated, then started toward the refridgorator. Behind him, sounds of cake-eating went on. He paused and looked at them again. "Dick, did you--"

"Just came for the cake," Dick said between mouthfuls.

"Oh. Right." Bruce opened the fridge. He heard Dick lick off the damn fork. Okay, it wasn't possible to hear that, but he was pretty sure *he* heard it. He turned around. There was an extra plate. Bruce smiled. "Is this seat taken?" he asked, pointing at the chair.

"Mine," Tim said from the doorway. "Jeez, a guy gets up to use the bathroom and his cake gets stolen..."

Bruce's smile faded. Tim's. Right. He looked back in the fridge. Behind him, he heard Tim pull out the chair and sit. Then the clink of a fork on a plate. He tried not to think about cake. Cake wasn't good for you anyway. It meant they'd have to work extra hard to make sure those calories didn't turn into fat. Yeah.

"This is way better than the Manhunter's cake," Dick said.

"I still don't get why he *had* cake." The words were muffled. A full mouth. A mouth full of cake. Bruce sighed softly.

"Swallow before you speak, Master Tim," Alfred chided gently.

"Sorry, Al," Tim said, truly sounding contrite, even though his mouth was still full.

Full of cake.

Chocolate cake.

"Yeah, I thought that whole excuse for needing it for a bake sale seemed kinda off," Dick said. Bruce could hear scraping. He could just bet Dick was getting icing off the sides of his plate, like he'd done as a boy. "Why does the Manhunter join bake sales anyway?"

Bruce knew that chocolate cake. He'd had it for his fifteen birthday. And his sixteenth birthday. And his seventeen birthday, which took an act of God, because he'd been in Japan at the time.

Maybe there was cake for him that he hadn't noticed. He looked surreptitiously around the kitchen. No plates. He glanced at the table. The only chair left was occupied by Dick's backpack. Bruce deflated. Obviously, they didn't want him there.

He didn't need cake. He glared at the milk. Besides, it was good for the others to talk. Lord knew Dick didn't talk to him much anymore. And with Tim in Bludhaven--

Tim had come all the way here for Cake? Surely Tim had come for advice. Or--something.

Bruce turned around. "Did anyone need anything?" he asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.

"Just cake," Dick said.

"Maybe some milk," Tim said thoughtfully.

Bruce turned away before anyone saw him look upset. Even thinking in Bat-mode wasn't helping him school his expression.

They came for the cake. They didn't even give him any cake. It was his favorite cake.

He closed the fridge. "Well, if no one needs anything," he said slowly. He paused. For a really. Long. Time. No one jumped in. "I guess I'll just head up to bed, then," he mumbled. Slowly, he started for the kitchen door.

He could smell the cake. But they didn't want to share. He understood that. Alfred's cake was the best. And sometimes, younger Wayne-types (and Alfred) just needed a chance to talk. It was fine. Really.

"Master Bruce," Alfred said steadily.

"Yes?" Bruce asked, pausing in the doorway.

"Your slice of cake is sitting in the oven, waiting for you."

Bruce grinned. Then he quickly looked like he'd known that all along. "Oh, well, of course. I mean, since you kept it warm... I'll just... um... eat that now." He hurried to the oven, pulled it out, and glanced at the tiny table. Dick shoveled cake into his mouth, then scooted his bag off the last chair and put it on the floor.

Bruce settled on the small rickety chair with a heartfelt sigh.

"Milk?" Tim asked, pushing his chair back and standing.

"No, thanks," Bruce said, reaching around to pull a fork out of a nearby drawer. He took a big bite of his cake and chewed slowly, closing his eyes to better savor the chocolate. It practically melted on his tongue. It was perfect. He opened his eyes and smiled.

Tim grinned back at him, setting a glass of milk down.

"What are you doing up still, anyway?" Bruce asked, feeling like he should at least say something about the impropriety of this. "Isn't it a school night?"

"Bruce," Tim said solemnly. He pointed at the table. "Cake." As if that explained everything.

Bruce looked around. Actually, it did explain everything. He took another bite.

****