Never had the microphone, held securely by the adjustable steel wire, attached to a wooden podium, on a stage on front of at least a thousand people: hundreds of reporters, his office building, and civilians; never did all that ever seem as scary as it was now.

Damian Wayne had committed suicide. It wasn't that hard to say in his head. Oh, but when his mind wrapped around the thought, when his eyes flashed back to the slow motion image of his son looking that truck head on, without thinking... it was hard to stay standing.

It was hard to shut off your thoughts when your mind was your greatest weapon.

"It's time boss." That Damn stage manager. Always do good at her job, trying to get him up on stage in time. Why was she so on time?

Click. Click. Click. Click.

The sound of his shoes, paired with millions of cameras clicking and flashing. The wooden podium was a shield to hide his shaking knees. The microphone was too far, and hid his shaking voice. But the words were still audible. And they still reached the back of the crowd.

The media eats up any sign of weakness. Of you're making a point, you can't show tears. Business men never show tears. Leave it to the actors and unprofessionals right father?

Why was he here? The press had asked for a public statement regarding Damian's death. And if he didn't confirm anything, they would release a statement for him.

Saying no to the big dogs of the press industry was one of the few things the billionaire playboy couldn't afford. Their silence couldn't be bought.

A deep breath. His tie felt like it was strangling him. The camera flashes were blinding him. He loosened the tie ever so slightly, his suit sticking to him. Black always covered sweat marks. That's what father told him.

A forced cough in the back of his throat to clear his voice. No tears. He placed his hands on the podium and opened his mouth to speak. Keep your head up. Just like father told you.

"It seems I find myself in this position again. It seems not to long ago that I watched Commissioner Gordon give a report like this over my parents. And... Jason..." A pause. For respect. For admiration. He knew somewhere, the former Robin had tuned in.

Another breath, and he continued. "Damian Wayne was not an unhappy child. Although his behavior was somewhat troubling at times, he learned quickly. He had many wonderful gifts: drawing, language, literature, geography, history... all things he flourished in.

"The person Damian was visiting was very close to him. They worked on schoolwork together, they attended the same academy for a short period of time, and they were children together. Damian was not allowed much of a childhood where he was raised without my knowledge. To see him connect with someone his age, as a father was amazing.

"Unfortunately, this close friend was involved in an accident. They were left with a 20% chance of survival, and took a turn for the worse the day Damian died."

Another pause. Keep your words clear, just like father taught you. Annunciation is key.

"I truly believe that my son was hit by a truck that could not see him. I truly believe that although he blamed himself for the accident, he was unaware of the truck."

Yet another pause so the media could jot down their golden piece of information. Give them time to write stuff down.

"As for my actions in the robbery situation; I apologize greatly to anyone that I startled. I was distraught, and I needed an immediate release. This was not the way to go about it. And I apologize to the men of whom I injured. It would have been better to let the Metropolis police department, or the GCPD handle it. I am aware that squads from both were on their way.

"No questions at this time please. Thank you for your understanding. I'll be leaving Lucious Fox in charge of the company for the next week so I can plan the funeral. All executive decisions will go through him. Thank you"

Click. Click. Click. Click. The media loves apologies from celebrities.

Back off stage and into the limousine.

A quick ride to the manor.

"That was Good Bruce." Dick was waiting for him at the door. He'd arrived just after the caped crusader had left for the conference.

No further words were exchanged. The door was closed, and Bruce hugged his eldest son.

Dick hugged back and broke down in tears he'd been holding back since he got word in Blüdhaven.

The two slowly sank to the floor, tears running down their cheeks.

Only when you get home, away from the cameras, can you let them get to you. Just like Father said.

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So I updated! Yay!