Fic: Change My World 1/8 (Batman)
Feb. 4th, 2008 04:44 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
seriousficTitle: Change My World 1/8
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Dick/Babs, Batman
Word Count: 5,243
Series: Change My World
Summary: Barbara’s been hurt too many times to play nurse to Dick again. Even if he’s got a concussion. Even if he has amnesia. Even if…
Chapter 1
Hearing the sharp, sci-fi tang of the JLA teleporter energizing and her computer flagging it as from GC/NJ should’ve been Barbara’s first clue that something was wrong. Batman hated using teleportation inside Gotham city limits The second clue was a bit more obvious. Dick had a bandage wrapped around his entire scalp, with some blood-clogged hair sticking out wildly through gaps. He was lying down on a hover-stretcher, which Batman quickly moved from the main room into the living room. There, he dropped Dick down on the couch. Dick was still in his Nightwing costume, bloodied and cut up as it was.
“What the hell!?” Barbara asked, more out of exasperation than anger. “What do you think you’re…”
Batman gave her that look, that insufferable look, that told her he was about to explain in single-syllable words why he was right and people were idiots for ever doubting him. “In twenty minutes, your father is going to serve a warrant on Wayne Manor. His men will search the house. If they find Dick, it will complicate things.”
As much as Barbara wished she could match Bruce in a staring contest, she couldn’t keep her eyes off… Nightwing. The bandage was hastily-applied and he looked a little knocked around, but no more than a good night with Monsieur Mallah or a bad one with Crazy Quilt. So he hadn’t been tortured. Just a lucky shot, not a beating. Or maybe a beating hadn’t been necessary.
No. No way. Stop going there, Babs, this is settled.
“Stick him in the Batcave,” Barbara forced herself to say.
“Both myself and Alfred will have to be on hand for the investigation. As my adopted son, Tim will also have to be there. Cass is…” Barbara sensed a tinge of hesitation from the big man. “She’s not ready to take on this responsibility. In his present condition, Dick requires constant monitoring.”
“Then Leslie…”
Batman shook his head. “I won’t have her involved in this.”
Barbara sighed. “I am running a half-dozen operations here. I cannot just drop everything to play Florence Nightingale!” Not anymore, at least.
“All you have to do is make sure he’s resting comfortably. Your systems can monitor him to make sure his condition doesn’t worsen.”
Kneading her sinuses, Barbara finally let her concern show through. Batman leaned forward.
Barbara admitted defeat subtly. “What is his condition, anyway?”
“Concussion. I think crowbar, swung by someone of extreme strength. He was able to signal for help before he passed out; luckily, I was close by.”
“Yeah. Luckily.”
“I’d like to keep this inside the ranks, but if you’d prefer,” he drew the word out, “I can bother the League or the Titans.”
“No, no, I’ll take him. Whiskey-tango, scan client Dick Grayson and monitor him for any irregularities. Route updates to my desktop every five minutes.”
“Confirmed,” her computer said.
Its slender metal tentacles descended from the ceiling fan to writhe about Dick. The Rann technology was completely noninvasive, one of the reasons she had chosen it over the Thanagarian tech that peppered the rest of the Clocktower. Batman made his traditional “hrmm” of maybe-approval. Barbara almost laughed over his predictability.
“Now, don’t you have a rooftop to crouch on?”
Batman ignored the jibe. “I’ll leave you to your work,” he said before engaging the teleporter again.
Barbara sighed and got her scissors. Trying not to become too preoccupied in the curvatures and firmness of his flesh (you’re been without for way too long, Barbara), she cut away his suit. Underneath was the usual bruises and scars, complete with the usual twinge in Barbara as she ran a hand over him. Despite the medicals’ assurance, she had to know. Ribs unbroken, lungs fine, throat clear. She opened his mouth. Aside from a little halitosis, he was fine. No chipped teeth, no blood. She slipped in a breath mint for him to nurse on and fluffed another pillow to put under his head. Contentedly, Dick drooled on it. She closed his mouth. With another sigh, she cautiously dressed him in paper underwear, then covered him up with a comforter and an electric blanket. That oughta keep him comfortable.
Hadn’t been so long since their marriage… their engagement, really… had fallen through. He’d probably moved on by now. He’d done it before. Probably had some stacked blonde who wrapped her legs around him every night. Barbara could check, but she just didn’t want to. Keeping tabs on him was too painful. But if there was someone in his life, she might be worried. Biting the inside of her cheek, Barbara brought up Roy Harper’s phone on the communicator.
Lian, his daughter, answered: “Hewwo Oraclady?”
“Hello, Lian. Is your father home?”
“He’s with the band,” Lian answered, her feet’s scampering audible in the background. “He said he’s gonna write a song about me!”
“That’s nice, Lian.” Barbara mentally kicked herself for what she was about to ask. “Do you know if Uncle Dick is seeing anyone?”
“Nope! Daddy says Unca Dick needs to get laid.”
“Oh. Is that so.”
Lian was entirely oblivious to the winter that had descended on Barbara’s voice. “Cha. Daddy and Unca Dick have been going to bars all week, trying to find new friends for Unca Dick!”
Note to self: Kill Roy. A lot. “Alright. Thanks for the help, Lian.”
“I like race cars and turtles, can you take me to a pool, bye!”
Barbara held the headset away from her ear as Lian fumbled hanging up a few times, then hit it right. A pop-up on her monitor showed her Dick’s condition. No appreciable change. With nothing better to do than fret, she got back to work. When she wanted to, Barbara could bury herself in her work as well as any of the Batboys. Maybe mining a datastream wasn’t as cathartic as punching someone in the nose, but it was satisfying in its own way.
Another whiz-kid hacker had gone missing. That made four in the last two weeks. She wondered if there was any rhyme or reason to it. All of them were hardcore black-hats, always a step ahead of the NSA. Maybe they’d pissed off the wrong private company. Some of those boys didn’t play as nice as the government.
Like Blockbuster. When he’d realized Barbara had been siphoning from his accounts, he’d assembled an entire team of agents to track her down. Dick had helped then. It was a good time.
Of course, later Blockbuster had died because Dick stepped aside, which he’d done because Barbara had stepped down. Typical. Give him a standard to live up to and he’d exceed it. Give him nothing, and he sank. It’d taken him a long time for him to stop seeking others’ approval long enough to care about his own. Trying to please a psycho like Tarantula… and later Deathstroke, of all people… must’ve finally convinced him that self-respect was more important than what other people thought of him. If it hadn’t, he never would’ve left.
Double-edged sword, eh Gordon? Law of unintended consequences. Well, he’s probably happy going to dives with Roy and hooking up with cheap floozies. Better that than some co-dependent emotional hell.
After a few hours of keyboard jockeying, she had almost forgotten about the half-naked, comatose ex-boyfriend in her living room. Until, of course, he licked the back of her neck.
“Morning, sexy,” Dick said. He’d changed the bandages on his head and draped a blanket around his nudity.
Barbara looked at her computer. His vital signs were fine. He was just awake. She really should’ve thought of that loophole. And not the fact that while she was stunned, Dick had moved his hands from a firm squeeze of her shoulders down along her sides and then back up to round her breasts-
“Hey!”
Dick jerked back, eyes going wobbly before he recovered. “What, can’t a guy say top of the morning to his best gal?”
“Your best gal?” Barbara looked over her shoulder at him. “That’s a little presumptuous, don’t you think?”
“Well, you’re definitely in the top five,” Dick said affably, slapping her shoulder. The blow jostled her forward and she shot him a glare. “You’re angry at me, aren’t you?”
Barbara almost snapped out a reply, but held it in. She could be nice to him while he had a head injury, at least. “No, I’m not angry.”
And she really wasn’t. Just numb. She had a lot in life, and it wasn’t to be happy. Obviously.
His hand, with a touch considerably more sensitive than his earlier grope, brushed through her hair and down her cheek. “Come on, tell me what it is so I can start making it up to you.” With his other hand, Dick pulled up a chair. “We both enjoy that part…”
His calm, delicate touch was doing a lot more for her than his earlier overt acts. Her pulse was racing, her heart was pounding, and she swallowed down all the anxiety he was generating in her. She nodded her head away from his hand. “Dick, really not in the mood for this right now.”
Like she was porcelain, like she was cracked glass, he took her glasses off, folded them up, and set them down by the keyboard. Her vision was blurred, but she could see his smile with perfect clarity.
“Oh, you may fool other people with the prim and proper librarian act, but haven’t we moved past playing hard to get?”
Their kiss was slow and for the first time in a while Barbara didn’t know what to do with her hands. They hovered above her wheelchair’s armrests, flexing uselessly, before she moved them up to Dick’s neck, just below his ears, and then pushed the blanket off his shoulders.
“That’s more like it,” he said, with a hand tapping on her knee and then moving up the top of her thigh. She didn’t notice until she looked down at what his hands were doing. They were, very quietly, undoing her belt and zipper.
Dick knelt down to pull her jeans off. It was an effort to clear her seat. “You know, you could help out.”
“Huh?”
He stood and took her hands. “You’re laying there like a spud. C’mon, the bed’s just a few yards away and I guarantee you’ll want to scoot around there.”
He pulled her to her feet and she collapsed. He caught her, but not before she banged her face against his knee. His face flushing red, Dick lowered her to the floor and knelt to examine her.
“Geez, are you alright? What, you been sitting too long, your legs gone numb?”
She blinked. “What? Numb?”
He looked at the chair. Pushed it back and forth, watched it roll.
“Say, what’s with the wheelchair? Are you hurt? Is that why you don’t wanna…”
“Wheelchair?” Barbara propped herself up on her elbows, looking at Dick seriously. “Dick, what’s the last thing you remember?”
“Going to bed.”
“Before that.”
“Went on patrol with Batman.” Off her inquisitive facial expression, he continued: “Went to school, called you about our date… I didn’t forget our date, did I?”
“What school?” Barbara asked, grabbing her glasses from the desktop.
“Gotham High. And just because you’re working on your college degree already, Miss Smarty-Pants, doesn’t mean you get to be all snooty about it.” He patted her cheek. “You’re still the one who can’t fight evil with a run in her tights.”
Barbara blinked again, slower and longer this time. When she opened her eyes, Dick was still there.
She pulled her pants up. “Dick, are you… Robin?”
“Yeeeeeess.” He dropped down next to her on his back, pulling the comforter back over them and under them so it shielded them from the cold floorboards. “And you’re Batgirl, I’m Robin, and secretly unknown to Speed, Racer X is really his brother, Rex.”
Barbara felt his forehead. He wasn’t burning up. “Do you have a headache?”
“I kinda do, actually.”
”Aspirin’s in the top drawer.”
Dick sprang to his feet to follow the unvoiced order. “So, wheelchair?”
Barbara bit her lip. This couldn’t be a joke. Dick could never be that cruel, not in a million years. So it was real. He really thought that all the years between then and now hadn’t happened. How to tell someone that the life they knew, the future they thought they could reach out and grab… had been ended in a wave of maniac grins and revenge schemes. “Fractured my tailbone in a skiing accident. I’ll be fine.“
The comforter tied around him like a toga, Dick found and dry-swallowed two Aspirin tablets. “Whew! Close one there. So, what’s the prognosis? Weeks? Months? Gotham skyline just ain’t gonna be the same without Batgirl flying around.”
“Six months.” By then, either he’d be better or she’d have to tell him the truth. “Pain meds knock out the feeling in my legs.”
Thank God he accepted that. “But your upper body’s fine, right?”
“Yeah.”
“And down there?”
Barbara gulped dry. “Uh-huh.”
“Glad to hear it. Are we still going to make out, or are there some clothes I should put on? Could put on?”
Barbara bit down on her bottom lip. She shouldn’t. She really, really shouldn’t. This Dick, this Robin really, wasn’t in his right mind. To take advantage of him in his present condition would be wrong, monstrous even. Given his mental age, it would practically be statutory rape. Although if the stickler for that law was mental age… best not to finish that thought.
“I, uh, keep some clothes in the dresser. Third drawer down. They’ll fit you.”
“Thanks.” Dick took off the toga. “I’ll drop this in the wash while I’m out.”
He walked away. Barbara tried hard not to stare and succeeded… as soon as he was out of the room. She called up every medical diagnosis program on her hard drives. He knew his way around the Clocktower, so obviously he hadn’t forgotten everything about the intervening years… nor did he seem surprised to possess the body of a twentysomething rather than a teenage boy. She queried her doctor consciousness program whether it was possible for amnesia to be pervasive rather than a straight block.
Apparently, the concussion had fractured his memories, wiping out most of the recent years while similarly leaving his earlier years intact. His mind had pieced together what was left and retroactively constructed a history out of it. God, could someone even have head trauma in Gotham without it being weird?
Dick came back in, wearing jean shorts and a Frankie Says Relax t-shirt that she was 90% sure she had thrown away.
“What?” he asked upon seeing her incredulous look.
“Nothing. Just… been a while since I’ve seen you wear shorts.” Exhaling, she pondered how best to ease him out of it. “Don’t you think I look… different?”
Dick looked at her closely. Even took a few steps to get nearer to her. He squinted. “New haircut?”
Barbara Gordon steepled her fingers in front of her mouth.
“Wait, no, new glasses! I’ll get it eventually, I was trained by the World’s Greatest Detective.”
“I mean older?”
Dick rolled his eyes and slapped the side of his head as if to say I should’ve known. “Barbara, you’re as beautiful as the day I met you.”
“Smooth line. You should get back to bed.”
“Why? Aside from that headache, I feel great.”
“What, you think those bandages are just for show?”
Dick scratched at his head. “These old things? That’s nothing. If it’s not plaster, I can work through it.”
Barbara thought of the reports she’d received of his time as an enforcer in the Bludhaven mob, when he’d fought and won as “Crutches.” Apparently, impossibly, his appreciation of his own skills had grown since his cocksure days as Robin. She suppressed a smile. She knew from painful experience that smiles only encouraged him. He could run for decades on one half-grin from Bruce.
“How ‘bout we compromise? I stay inside your apartment, but no bed. Unless, of course…”
“Yes, yes, double entrende, you’re very clever.” She waved him off. “Fine. My systems can monitor you just as well wherever you go. But promise not to leave?”
“If you’re lonely, you can just say so.” She glared at him. “Right, right. I’m grounded. I guess I’ll just go find a good book.”
“Capital idea, old bean,” Barbara Britished at him.
“Hang around with Alfred and your voice will stick like that,” he teased, before disappearing into her library room.
Four months since she’d called him in the middle of the night, just wanting to hear his voice, and instead a bright female voice had answered the phone. Koriand’r. She’d almost wanted to ask how long they’d been sleeping together… if they’d ever stopped… but instead she’d just hung up. Princess Kory, Dick’s warm body of choice for when he needed to share a bed. Not her. Whatever he’d felt that drove him into those golden arms, he hadn’t shared it with her. It’d broken her heart, left her so sensitive and raw that she couldn’t bear to look at him. Maybe not ever again. So they hadn’t. Hoping that the next time they saw each other, it wouldn’t hurt as much.
Of course, it had. Just a pang, like a phantom limb bleeding. And Barbara’d seen the same hurt in his eyes when he looked at her. So, that was that. They’d given it a shot and they’d failed. Wasn’t like they were the only two fishes in the sea.
But looking at him, like this… so young and vibrant… it was as if he’d gotten a good week’s sleep or something. He’d never exactly been haggard during their engagement, but his eyes had been haunted. That thousand-yard stare that Gotham seemed to give out for free. Without it, his eyes were clear and blue. Really blue. The kind of blue you could get lost in, if you looked long enough.
Barbara wasn’t going to look.
Feeling the beginnings of a pounding headache setting up its drums, Barbara downed a few Aspirin and went back to work. Helena was still halfway around the world, trying to free political prisoners from under Black Adam’s nose. They were on the plane ride home when Barbara noticed a blade of sunlight invading her space. She turned to see Dick had opened all the blinds and wiped the windows. The glass was practically invisible. Putting her operations on hold, she went out into the hall.
Dick had pulled an Alfred. Barbara had never been a slob, but so long as her own little space was set and she could find everything she needed, she didn’t feel the need for her place to be pristine… it was her place after all. But Dick had washed Sin’s crayon drawings off the walls and vacuumed… must’ve even Febrezed, judging by the lack of bloodstains on the carpet. She followed the trail of reverse-destruction to the living room, where Dick was wiping the HDTV free of dust. He saw her reflection in the blank black screen and turned back to see her.
“Oh, hey. I spruced up a bit. Hope you don’t mind. Blame Alfred. He’s a bad influence on me.”
Barbara stared, agape, at the room. It was sparkling. She wouldn’t be able to find anything for two weeks as she sorted out the un-mess, but it looked very nice.
“It’s okay to be impressed with me,” Dick said, sauntering closer. “I always am.”
Had she really ever fallen for the I am such a sensitive guy – watch me clean and dust for you rush-around? Yes, probably. As easy as it was to condemn Dick as thoughtless and insensitive, he was the most helpful guy in the world to have in the tight place. And damnit, it was nice to have the Tower clean and sunny for once. She was getting to be too much of a shut-in.
Dick planted himself on the armrest of the sofa, doing a little flexing in her direction. “So, now that chores are done, maybe a little of this weird telly? I’ll even share the remote.”
“It’s my remote.”
“But I put batteries in it.”
It was awfully tempting. The sex was easy to put her foot down on, to turn a really inappropriate phrase. This… the normalcy, the comfort of just having someone there for her after Dinah had left and Daddy had gone back to Gotham… this was a lot more insidious. It didn’t even have to lead to sex. She could collapse against him and slowly become used to his mass under hers, supporting, comforting, wheedling his way closer and closer to her until he was wired into her life. After that, all it would take to set them off would be one spark. That was why she didn’t want him in the Birds of Prey, or working anywhere near her for that matter. Their attraction was magnetic. The best way to fight it was not to be on the battlefield.
She reached deep inside her to find justifications. Technically, she was putting her own discomfort with their relationship get between what might be his recovery. But she did have stuff to do and if any of the TV shows clued him into current events… well, it would be that much more traumatic.
Barbara grabbed a book from the shelf. “Why don’t you go in for a good book instead?”
He frowned. “Never really have time. I always end up losing the plot.”
Barbara gave a second for the easy joke to pass. “You’ve got plenty of time now. Besides, reading is active, watching is passive. This will help your brain get better.”
“What’s wrong with my brain?”
She tossed the book to him. “Where do I start, short pants?”
He caught it. “Element of surprise. Causes people to underestimate me. How did you forget that? You take a bump on the head or something?” Flopping down onto the sofa, he looked at the book she’d picked out for him. “Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone? What is this, a storybook?”
“It’s a bit obscure, but I think you’ll like it. Your local librarian recommends it.”
He prodded her with the toe of his socked foot, nudging her gently in the upper arm. She grabbed his leg and gave his calf a wrestling squeeze before throwing his foot down to the sofa. As she wheeled back to her computer, he cracked the book.
Barbara lost track of time. The next time she looked up from her monitor (and Hawkgirl in Eastern Mongolia), Dick was standing in the door to her room. The setting sun painted him red, like a blush. It fit his bashful demeanor, always so much more truthful than the cocksure arrogance of his Robin persona or the quiet self-confidence he’d displayed later as Nightwing. His vulnerability, even as little as this, was so much more honest than the Batman he aspired to be some days… most days.
“So, uh…” He held up the book and wiggled it at her. “You have the sequel?”
“To the kiddie storybook?”
“I just wanna see what happens.” He smiled at her. “Besides, gives us something to talk about.”
“It’s in Helena’s room.”
Dick made his confused expression. She had forgotten how open his face used to be.
“Third door on the left, and don’t touch anything but that book. And don’t lose her place, either. She’ll kick your ass.”
“Yeah, knocked around by a girl… that’ll be the day.”
She waved a fist at him as he left. Was quite surprised when he came back in and plopped down in one of the office chairs, Harry Potter And The Chamber of Secrets under his arm. After a few minutes of him quietly reading, Barbara broke the stalemate and looked at him. He stared back innocently.
“You want a bedtime story?” he asked her. “It is getting rather late. And your eyes are all bloodshot. It’s really unattractive.”
“Dick.”
“You should get some Visine maybe.”
”Dick!”
Dick snapped to attention, as well as snapping the book shut.
“Yes?”
Barbara very calmly folded her hands in her lap. “What are you doing here?”
“Spending time with you.”
God, he was impossible to get angry at. As soon as you built up a resistance to his smugness, he was like the perfect gentleman or something. Casanova could take lessons. Dick said the cheesiest things completely straight.
Her hands on her wheels, Barbara almost rolled forward, but settled for white-knuckling her grip. “Promise you won’t make any noise?”
Dick mimed zipping his lip.
With a carefully suppressed smile, Barbara whirled back to her computer. Aside from the occasional flutter of pages turning, Dick was as quiet as a church mouse. She did the mental calculations of his reading rate versus the page count. As soon as he shut the book, she held out Harry Potter And The Prisoner of Azkaban. He took it from her, yawning, but still mostly alert. She began calling up heroes for the next week’s assignments. Even Dick’s page turning was silent now. When he actually spoke, she nearly jumped out of her skin.
“Hey, how about some music?”
Barbara took a deep breath to calm her frazzled nerves. “Music?”
“Yeah. A little quiet in here, don’t you think?”
I like quiet. “Sure.” Barbara called up a playlist of MP3s and let them unspool. Dick happily returned to reading. Barbara had never seen him sit still for so long. She wondered what had happened to him to make him such a motion freak.
Not five minutes went by before one of the swing numbers she’d bought for Zinda came over the speakers. She considered skipping past it when Dick’s hand grabbed hers. He raised it to his lips and kissed the back of her hand, pausing just before his lips touched her supple skin to let his breath ghost over the fine, dewy hairs. If he was waiting for her to pull her hand away, he could’ve waited forever.
Barbara felt a spark.
His lips came away, still slightly parted. “Could I have this dance?”
She was so off-balance it took her a full three seconds to respond. “Harry Potter lost your attention?”
“It was time to put my bookmark in. And you didn’t answer my question.”
“I, uh, my legs…”
He stooped over her. “We have music. That’s all we need.”
One arm went under the small of her back and then crooked so the forearm was under her thighs. The lift out of her wheelchair threw Barbara further off-balance, so she had to wrap her arms around his shoulders for support. He peeled a hand off his neck and laced it with his free hand, his calluses traveling over the pale skin where she’d worn his engagement ring. With a jolt, Barbara felt him take a step. Then another, then another. Dance steps.
“I know it’s not the real thing, but it’ll have to do for now.” He dipped her. “Besides, at least this way I can’t step on your feet.”
He didn’t understand, maybe would never understand, why she threw her arms tightly around his back and put her head against his chest, listening to the steady pulse of his heart as he moved her through the air. Dick had a sort of swing routine improvised, so he settled for simply carrying her outside onto the balcony. The stars were out, the moon was full, and the clouds were a dull cobwebs webbed up in the sky.
She shivered. He felt it.
“Cold?” he asked.
“Yeah, little bit.”
Dick pulled her tighter against him. Very carefully, he straddled the balustrade and set her down on it. Slowly, like she was falling, Barbara felt herself being lowered back until she was flat against his chest. Together, they looked up at the stars.
“Stars are different. Skyline’s different.” She could hear a frown in his voice, the tension of something being not right and him concentrating on figuring it out. “We’re not in Gotham.”
“No.”
“Metropolis?”
“I needed a change of scenery.”
“Oh.” His lungs lifted and lowered her as he breathed. “Anything to do with me?”
“Maybe a little.”
“Wow. I’ve driven women to lesbianism before, but never out of the state. What is this, your cousin’s place? Helena Gordon?”
“Something like that.”
“Ah.” He was satisfied for the moment. “I’m trying to remember, but everything’s a little fuzzy. I think that bump on the noggin, as unlikely as it sounds, mighta hit something vital.”
“You’ll be fine,” she assured him.
“So, you wanna go to bed or is late-night more your speed?”
“Leno’s on strike.”
“Who’s Leno? Thought you were a Carson girl.”
“Maybe we should go to bed.”
***
It was actually a little romantic. He carried her to her bedroom, set her down on the bed. He asked if she needed help undressing and, God help her, she said yes. It’d been so long since she’d disrobed with anything but a clinical sense of following steps. There was a curt thrill as Dick’s breathing deepened, his hands trembling slightly as they moved over him, him smiling at his own nervousness. She wondered if this Dick remembered having sex. He hadn’t with her… it’d been Kory, in all likelihood… but he seemed to assume they were in a sexual relationship. And maybe there wasn’t anything sexual about the way he brought her a nightshirt and slipped it over her head, but there was something undoubtedly sensual about it. For once, she didn’t need to use the rings hanging over the bed to manipulate herself into a sleeping position.
“Well, good night,” he said, his eyes drifting to the other side of her bed.
Her mouth ran dry. It seemed so cold-hearted to spoil that restrained hope on his face. But she was used to doing what was necessary. “Guest room is right next door.”
“Oh. Okay.” He nodded glumly, put on a smile for her benefit. “See you in the morning.”
“Wake me if you need anything.”
“I won’t. Need anything, I mean.”
Helpless, Barbara closed her eyes and waited for him to leave the room. Or not. She was ready to let him make a choice for once. The hurt of continually acting out-of-sync with his dream world was poison in her veins. Then she felt the slightest of touches against her forehead, the bitter hardness of his callused fingertips on her brow. He muttered something, too low for her to hear. She opened her eyes just enough to read his lips. The words were in Romani, which she really had only learned when Dick’s relative found him. Helping Dick getting back in touch with his heritage. It hadn’t taken.
“A prayer?” she said softly when he finished.
He looked a little abashed. “Yeah. Just… for you to get better. Hope you don’t mind.”
“No. Not at all.”
He bit his lip and walked backward until he was in the doorway.
“Whatever it is I did, I’m sure I’m sorry about it.”
“I’m not angry.”
“I hope we can work it out.”
“Me too.”
And then he was out the door, which he closed behind him. She listened to his footfalls as he walked into the neighboring room, and the very small sound of the covers being pulled back.
And wondered when Dick had stopped praying.
Chapter 2
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Dick/Babs, Batman
Word Count: 5,243
Series: Change My World
Summary: Barbara’s been hurt too many times to play nurse to Dick again. Even if he’s got a concussion. Even if he has amnesia. Even if…
Chapter 1
Hearing the sharp, sci-fi tang of the JLA teleporter energizing and her computer flagging it as from GC/NJ should’ve been Barbara’s first clue that something was wrong. Batman hated using teleportation inside Gotham city limits The second clue was a bit more obvious. Dick had a bandage wrapped around his entire scalp, with some blood-clogged hair sticking out wildly through gaps. He was lying down on a hover-stretcher, which Batman quickly moved from the main room into the living room. There, he dropped Dick down on the couch. Dick was still in his Nightwing costume, bloodied and cut up as it was.
“What the hell!?” Barbara asked, more out of exasperation than anger. “What do you think you’re…”
Batman gave her that look, that insufferable look, that told her he was about to explain in single-syllable words why he was right and people were idiots for ever doubting him. “In twenty minutes, your father is going to serve a warrant on Wayne Manor. His men will search the house. If they find Dick, it will complicate things.”
As much as Barbara wished she could match Bruce in a staring contest, she couldn’t keep her eyes off… Nightwing. The bandage was hastily-applied and he looked a little knocked around, but no more than a good night with Monsieur Mallah or a bad one with Crazy Quilt. So he hadn’t been tortured. Just a lucky shot, not a beating. Or maybe a beating hadn’t been necessary.
No. No way. Stop going there, Babs, this is settled.
“Stick him in the Batcave,” Barbara forced herself to say.
“Both myself and Alfred will have to be on hand for the investigation. As my adopted son, Tim will also have to be there. Cass is…” Barbara sensed a tinge of hesitation from the big man. “She’s not ready to take on this responsibility. In his present condition, Dick requires constant monitoring.”
“Then Leslie…”
Batman shook his head. “I won’t have her involved in this.”
Barbara sighed. “I am running a half-dozen operations here. I cannot just drop everything to play Florence Nightingale!” Not anymore, at least.
“All you have to do is make sure he’s resting comfortably. Your systems can monitor him to make sure his condition doesn’t worsen.”
Kneading her sinuses, Barbara finally let her concern show through. Batman leaned forward.
Barbara admitted defeat subtly. “What is his condition, anyway?”
“Concussion. I think crowbar, swung by someone of extreme strength. He was able to signal for help before he passed out; luckily, I was close by.”
“Yeah. Luckily.”
“I’d like to keep this inside the ranks, but if you’d prefer,” he drew the word out, “I can bother the League or the Titans.”
“No, no, I’ll take him. Whiskey-tango, scan client Dick Grayson and monitor him for any irregularities. Route updates to my desktop every five minutes.”
“Confirmed,” her computer said.
Its slender metal tentacles descended from the ceiling fan to writhe about Dick. The Rann technology was completely noninvasive, one of the reasons she had chosen it over the Thanagarian tech that peppered the rest of the Clocktower. Batman made his traditional “hrmm” of maybe-approval. Barbara almost laughed over his predictability.
“Now, don’t you have a rooftop to crouch on?”
Batman ignored the jibe. “I’ll leave you to your work,” he said before engaging the teleporter again.
Barbara sighed and got her scissors. Trying not to become too preoccupied in the curvatures and firmness of his flesh (you’re been without for way too long, Barbara), she cut away his suit. Underneath was the usual bruises and scars, complete with the usual twinge in Barbara as she ran a hand over him. Despite the medicals’ assurance, she had to know. Ribs unbroken, lungs fine, throat clear. She opened his mouth. Aside from a little halitosis, he was fine. No chipped teeth, no blood. She slipped in a breath mint for him to nurse on and fluffed another pillow to put under his head. Contentedly, Dick drooled on it. She closed his mouth. With another sigh, she cautiously dressed him in paper underwear, then covered him up with a comforter and an electric blanket. That oughta keep him comfortable.
Hadn’t been so long since their marriage… their engagement, really… had fallen through. He’d probably moved on by now. He’d done it before. Probably had some stacked blonde who wrapped her legs around him every night. Barbara could check, but she just didn’t want to. Keeping tabs on him was too painful. But if there was someone in his life, she might be worried. Biting the inside of her cheek, Barbara brought up Roy Harper’s phone on the communicator.
Lian, his daughter, answered: “Hewwo Oraclady?”
“Hello, Lian. Is your father home?”
“He’s with the band,” Lian answered, her feet’s scampering audible in the background. “He said he’s gonna write a song about me!”
“That’s nice, Lian.” Barbara mentally kicked herself for what she was about to ask. “Do you know if Uncle Dick is seeing anyone?”
“Nope! Daddy says Unca Dick needs to get laid.”
“Oh. Is that so.”
Lian was entirely oblivious to the winter that had descended on Barbara’s voice. “Cha. Daddy and Unca Dick have been going to bars all week, trying to find new friends for Unca Dick!”
Note to self: Kill Roy. A lot. “Alright. Thanks for the help, Lian.”
“I like race cars and turtles, can you take me to a pool, bye!”
Barbara held the headset away from her ear as Lian fumbled hanging up a few times, then hit it right. A pop-up on her monitor showed her Dick’s condition. No appreciable change. With nothing better to do than fret, she got back to work. When she wanted to, Barbara could bury herself in her work as well as any of the Batboys. Maybe mining a datastream wasn’t as cathartic as punching someone in the nose, but it was satisfying in its own way.
Another whiz-kid hacker had gone missing. That made four in the last two weeks. She wondered if there was any rhyme or reason to it. All of them were hardcore black-hats, always a step ahead of the NSA. Maybe they’d pissed off the wrong private company. Some of those boys didn’t play as nice as the government.
Like Blockbuster. When he’d realized Barbara had been siphoning from his accounts, he’d assembled an entire team of agents to track her down. Dick had helped then. It was a good time.
Of course, later Blockbuster had died because Dick stepped aside, which he’d done because Barbara had stepped down. Typical. Give him a standard to live up to and he’d exceed it. Give him nothing, and he sank. It’d taken him a long time for him to stop seeking others’ approval long enough to care about his own. Trying to please a psycho like Tarantula… and later Deathstroke, of all people… must’ve finally convinced him that self-respect was more important than what other people thought of him. If it hadn’t, he never would’ve left.
Double-edged sword, eh Gordon? Law of unintended consequences. Well, he’s probably happy going to dives with Roy and hooking up with cheap floozies. Better that than some co-dependent emotional hell.
After a few hours of keyboard jockeying, she had almost forgotten about the half-naked, comatose ex-boyfriend in her living room. Until, of course, he licked the back of her neck.
“Morning, sexy,” Dick said. He’d changed the bandages on his head and draped a blanket around his nudity.
Barbara looked at her computer. His vital signs were fine. He was just awake. She really should’ve thought of that loophole. And not the fact that while she was stunned, Dick had moved his hands from a firm squeeze of her shoulders down along her sides and then back up to round her breasts-
“Hey!”
Dick jerked back, eyes going wobbly before he recovered. “What, can’t a guy say top of the morning to his best gal?”
“Your best gal?” Barbara looked over her shoulder at him. “That’s a little presumptuous, don’t you think?”
“Well, you’re definitely in the top five,” Dick said affably, slapping her shoulder. The blow jostled her forward and she shot him a glare. “You’re angry at me, aren’t you?”
Barbara almost snapped out a reply, but held it in. She could be nice to him while he had a head injury, at least. “No, I’m not angry.”
And she really wasn’t. Just numb. She had a lot in life, and it wasn’t to be happy. Obviously.
His hand, with a touch considerably more sensitive than his earlier grope, brushed through her hair and down her cheek. “Come on, tell me what it is so I can start making it up to you.” With his other hand, Dick pulled up a chair. “We both enjoy that part…”
His calm, delicate touch was doing a lot more for her than his earlier overt acts. Her pulse was racing, her heart was pounding, and she swallowed down all the anxiety he was generating in her. She nodded her head away from his hand. “Dick, really not in the mood for this right now.”
Like she was porcelain, like she was cracked glass, he took her glasses off, folded them up, and set them down by the keyboard. Her vision was blurred, but she could see his smile with perfect clarity.
“Oh, you may fool other people with the prim and proper librarian act, but haven’t we moved past playing hard to get?”
Their kiss was slow and for the first time in a while Barbara didn’t know what to do with her hands. They hovered above her wheelchair’s armrests, flexing uselessly, before she moved them up to Dick’s neck, just below his ears, and then pushed the blanket off his shoulders.
“That’s more like it,” he said, with a hand tapping on her knee and then moving up the top of her thigh. She didn’t notice until she looked down at what his hands were doing. They were, very quietly, undoing her belt and zipper.
Dick knelt down to pull her jeans off. It was an effort to clear her seat. “You know, you could help out.”
“Huh?”
He stood and took her hands. “You’re laying there like a spud. C’mon, the bed’s just a few yards away and I guarantee you’ll want to scoot around there.”
He pulled her to her feet and she collapsed. He caught her, but not before she banged her face against his knee. His face flushing red, Dick lowered her to the floor and knelt to examine her.
“Geez, are you alright? What, you been sitting too long, your legs gone numb?”
She blinked. “What? Numb?”
He looked at the chair. Pushed it back and forth, watched it roll.
“Say, what’s with the wheelchair? Are you hurt? Is that why you don’t wanna…”
“Wheelchair?” Barbara propped herself up on her elbows, looking at Dick seriously. “Dick, what’s the last thing you remember?”
“Going to bed.”
“Before that.”
“Went on patrol with Batman.” Off her inquisitive facial expression, he continued: “Went to school, called you about our date… I didn’t forget our date, did I?”
“What school?” Barbara asked, grabbing her glasses from the desktop.
“Gotham High. And just because you’re working on your college degree already, Miss Smarty-Pants, doesn’t mean you get to be all snooty about it.” He patted her cheek. “You’re still the one who can’t fight evil with a run in her tights.”
Barbara blinked again, slower and longer this time. When she opened her eyes, Dick was still there.
She pulled her pants up. “Dick, are you… Robin?”
“Yeeeeeess.” He dropped down next to her on his back, pulling the comforter back over them and under them so it shielded them from the cold floorboards. “And you’re Batgirl, I’m Robin, and secretly unknown to Speed, Racer X is really his brother, Rex.”
Barbara felt his forehead. He wasn’t burning up. “Do you have a headache?”
“I kinda do, actually.”
”Aspirin’s in the top drawer.”
Dick sprang to his feet to follow the unvoiced order. “So, wheelchair?”
Barbara bit her lip. This couldn’t be a joke. Dick could never be that cruel, not in a million years. So it was real. He really thought that all the years between then and now hadn’t happened. How to tell someone that the life they knew, the future they thought they could reach out and grab… had been ended in a wave of maniac grins and revenge schemes. “Fractured my tailbone in a skiing accident. I’ll be fine.“
The comforter tied around him like a toga, Dick found and dry-swallowed two Aspirin tablets. “Whew! Close one there. So, what’s the prognosis? Weeks? Months? Gotham skyline just ain’t gonna be the same without Batgirl flying around.”
“Six months.” By then, either he’d be better or she’d have to tell him the truth. “Pain meds knock out the feeling in my legs.”
Thank God he accepted that. “But your upper body’s fine, right?”
“Yeah.”
“And down there?”
Barbara gulped dry. “Uh-huh.”
“Glad to hear it. Are we still going to make out, or are there some clothes I should put on? Could put on?”
Barbara bit down on her bottom lip. She shouldn’t. She really, really shouldn’t. This Dick, this Robin really, wasn’t in his right mind. To take advantage of him in his present condition would be wrong, monstrous even. Given his mental age, it would practically be statutory rape. Although if the stickler for that law was mental age… best not to finish that thought.
“I, uh, keep some clothes in the dresser. Third drawer down. They’ll fit you.”
“Thanks.” Dick took off the toga. “I’ll drop this in the wash while I’m out.”
He walked away. Barbara tried hard not to stare and succeeded… as soon as he was out of the room. She called up every medical diagnosis program on her hard drives. He knew his way around the Clocktower, so obviously he hadn’t forgotten everything about the intervening years… nor did he seem surprised to possess the body of a twentysomething rather than a teenage boy. She queried her doctor consciousness program whether it was possible for amnesia to be pervasive rather than a straight block.
Apparently, the concussion had fractured his memories, wiping out most of the recent years while similarly leaving his earlier years intact. His mind had pieced together what was left and retroactively constructed a history out of it. God, could someone even have head trauma in Gotham without it being weird?
Dick came back in, wearing jean shorts and a Frankie Says Relax t-shirt that she was 90% sure she had thrown away.
“What?” he asked upon seeing her incredulous look.
“Nothing. Just… been a while since I’ve seen you wear shorts.” Exhaling, she pondered how best to ease him out of it. “Don’t you think I look… different?”
Dick looked at her closely. Even took a few steps to get nearer to her. He squinted. “New haircut?”
Barbara Gordon steepled her fingers in front of her mouth.
“Wait, no, new glasses! I’ll get it eventually, I was trained by the World’s Greatest Detective.”
“I mean older?”
Dick rolled his eyes and slapped the side of his head as if to say I should’ve known. “Barbara, you’re as beautiful as the day I met you.”
“Smooth line. You should get back to bed.”
“Why? Aside from that headache, I feel great.”
“What, you think those bandages are just for show?”
Dick scratched at his head. “These old things? That’s nothing. If it’s not plaster, I can work through it.”
Barbara thought of the reports she’d received of his time as an enforcer in the Bludhaven mob, when he’d fought and won as “Crutches.” Apparently, impossibly, his appreciation of his own skills had grown since his cocksure days as Robin. She suppressed a smile. She knew from painful experience that smiles only encouraged him. He could run for decades on one half-grin from Bruce.
“How ‘bout we compromise? I stay inside your apartment, but no bed. Unless, of course…”
“Yes, yes, double entrende, you’re very clever.” She waved him off. “Fine. My systems can monitor you just as well wherever you go. But promise not to leave?”
“If you’re lonely, you can just say so.” She glared at him. “Right, right. I’m grounded. I guess I’ll just go find a good book.”
“Capital idea, old bean,” Barbara Britished at him.
“Hang around with Alfred and your voice will stick like that,” he teased, before disappearing into her library room.
Four months since she’d called him in the middle of the night, just wanting to hear his voice, and instead a bright female voice had answered the phone. Koriand’r. She’d almost wanted to ask how long they’d been sleeping together… if they’d ever stopped… but instead she’d just hung up. Princess Kory, Dick’s warm body of choice for when he needed to share a bed. Not her. Whatever he’d felt that drove him into those golden arms, he hadn’t shared it with her. It’d broken her heart, left her so sensitive and raw that she couldn’t bear to look at him. Maybe not ever again. So they hadn’t. Hoping that the next time they saw each other, it wouldn’t hurt as much.
Of course, it had. Just a pang, like a phantom limb bleeding. And Barbara’d seen the same hurt in his eyes when he looked at her. So, that was that. They’d given it a shot and they’d failed. Wasn’t like they were the only two fishes in the sea.
But looking at him, like this… so young and vibrant… it was as if he’d gotten a good week’s sleep or something. He’d never exactly been haggard during their engagement, but his eyes had been haunted. That thousand-yard stare that Gotham seemed to give out for free. Without it, his eyes were clear and blue. Really blue. The kind of blue you could get lost in, if you looked long enough.
Barbara wasn’t going to look.
Feeling the beginnings of a pounding headache setting up its drums, Barbara downed a few Aspirin and went back to work. Helena was still halfway around the world, trying to free political prisoners from under Black Adam’s nose. They were on the plane ride home when Barbara noticed a blade of sunlight invading her space. She turned to see Dick had opened all the blinds and wiped the windows. The glass was practically invisible. Putting her operations on hold, she went out into the hall.
Dick had pulled an Alfred. Barbara had never been a slob, but so long as her own little space was set and she could find everything she needed, she didn’t feel the need for her place to be pristine… it was her place after all. But Dick had washed Sin’s crayon drawings off the walls and vacuumed… must’ve even Febrezed, judging by the lack of bloodstains on the carpet. She followed the trail of reverse-destruction to the living room, where Dick was wiping the HDTV free of dust. He saw her reflection in the blank black screen and turned back to see her.
“Oh, hey. I spruced up a bit. Hope you don’t mind. Blame Alfred. He’s a bad influence on me.”
Barbara stared, agape, at the room. It was sparkling. She wouldn’t be able to find anything for two weeks as she sorted out the un-mess, but it looked very nice.
“It’s okay to be impressed with me,” Dick said, sauntering closer. “I always am.”
Had she really ever fallen for the I am such a sensitive guy – watch me clean and dust for you rush-around? Yes, probably. As easy as it was to condemn Dick as thoughtless and insensitive, he was the most helpful guy in the world to have in the tight place. And damnit, it was nice to have the Tower clean and sunny for once. She was getting to be too much of a shut-in.
Dick planted himself on the armrest of the sofa, doing a little flexing in her direction. “So, now that chores are done, maybe a little of this weird telly? I’ll even share the remote.”
“It’s my remote.”
“But I put batteries in it.”
It was awfully tempting. The sex was easy to put her foot down on, to turn a really inappropriate phrase. This… the normalcy, the comfort of just having someone there for her after Dinah had left and Daddy had gone back to Gotham… this was a lot more insidious. It didn’t even have to lead to sex. She could collapse against him and slowly become used to his mass under hers, supporting, comforting, wheedling his way closer and closer to her until he was wired into her life. After that, all it would take to set them off would be one spark. That was why she didn’t want him in the Birds of Prey, or working anywhere near her for that matter. Their attraction was magnetic. The best way to fight it was not to be on the battlefield.
She reached deep inside her to find justifications. Technically, she was putting her own discomfort with their relationship get between what might be his recovery. But she did have stuff to do and if any of the TV shows clued him into current events… well, it would be that much more traumatic.
Barbara grabbed a book from the shelf. “Why don’t you go in for a good book instead?”
He frowned. “Never really have time. I always end up losing the plot.”
Barbara gave a second for the easy joke to pass. “You’ve got plenty of time now. Besides, reading is active, watching is passive. This will help your brain get better.”
“What’s wrong with my brain?”
She tossed the book to him. “Where do I start, short pants?”
He caught it. “Element of surprise. Causes people to underestimate me. How did you forget that? You take a bump on the head or something?” Flopping down onto the sofa, he looked at the book she’d picked out for him. “Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone? What is this, a storybook?”
“It’s a bit obscure, but I think you’ll like it. Your local librarian recommends it.”
He prodded her with the toe of his socked foot, nudging her gently in the upper arm. She grabbed his leg and gave his calf a wrestling squeeze before throwing his foot down to the sofa. As she wheeled back to her computer, he cracked the book.
Barbara lost track of time. The next time she looked up from her monitor (and Hawkgirl in Eastern Mongolia), Dick was standing in the door to her room. The setting sun painted him red, like a blush. It fit his bashful demeanor, always so much more truthful than the cocksure arrogance of his Robin persona or the quiet self-confidence he’d displayed later as Nightwing. His vulnerability, even as little as this, was so much more honest than the Batman he aspired to be some days… most days.
“So, uh…” He held up the book and wiggled it at her. “You have the sequel?”
“To the kiddie storybook?”
“I just wanna see what happens.” He smiled at her. “Besides, gives us something to talk about.”
“It’s in Helena’s room.”
Dick made his confused expression. She had forgotten how open his face used to be.
“Third door on the left, and don’t touch anything but that book. And don’t lose her place, either. She’ll kick your ass.”
“Yeah, knocked around by a girl… that’ll be the day.”
She waved a fist at him as he left. Was quite surprised when he came back in and plopped down in one of the office chairs, Harry Potter And The Chamber of Secrets under his arm. After a few minutes of him quietly reading, Barbara broke the stalemate and looked at him. He stared back innocently.
“You want a bedtime story?” he asked her. “It is getting rather late. And your eyes are all bloodshot. It’s really unattractive.”
“Dick.”
“You should get some Visine maybe.”
”Dick!”
Dick snapped to attention, as well as snapping the book shut.
“Yes?”
Barbara very calmly folded her hands in her lap. “What are you doing here?”
“Spending time with you.”
God, he was impossible to get angry at. As soon as you built up a resistance to his smugness, he was like the perfect gentleman or something. Casanova could take lessons. Dick said the cheesiest things completely straight.
Her hands on her wheels, Barbara almost rolled forward, but settled for white-knuckling her grip. “Promise you won’t make any noise?”
Dick mimed zipping his lip.
With a carefully suppressed smile, Barbara whirled back to her computer. Aside from the occasional flutter of pages turning, Dick was as quiet as a church mouse. She did the mental calculations of his reading rate versus the page count. As soon as he shut the book, she held out Harry Potter And The Prisoner of Azkaban. He took it from her, yawning, but still mostly alert. She began calling up heroes for the next week’s assignments. Even Dick’s page turning was silent now. When he actually spoke, she nearly jumped out of her skin.
“Hey, how about some music?”
Barbara took a deep breath to calm her frazzled nerves. “Music?”
“Yeah. A little quiet in here, don’t you think?”
I like quiet. “Sure.” Barbara called up a playlist of MP3s and let them unspool. Dick happily returned to reading. Barbara had never seen him sit still for so long. She wondered what had happened to him to make him such a motion freak.
Not five minutes went by before one of the swing numbers she’d bought for Zinda came over the speakers. She considered skipping past it when Dick’s hand grabbed hers. He raised it to his lips and kissed the back of her hand, pausing just before his lips touched her supple skin to let his breath ghost over the fine, dewy hairs. If he was waiting for her to pull her hand away, he could’ve waited forever.
Barbara felt a spark.
His lips came away, still slightly parted. “Could I have this dance?”
She was so off-balance it took her a full three seconds to respond. “Harry Potter lost your attention?”
“It was time to put my bookmark in. And you didn’t answer my question.”
“I, uh, my legs…”
He stooped over her. “We have music. That’s all we need.”
One arm went under the small of her back and then crooked so the forearm was under her thighs. The lift out of her wheelchair threw Barbara further off-balance, so she had to wrap her arms around his shoulders for support. He peeled a hand off his neck and laced it with his free hand, his calluses traveling over the pale skin where she’d worn his engagement ring. With a jolt, Barbara felt him take a step. Then another, then another. Dance steps.
“I know it’s not the real thing, but it’ll have to do for now.” He dipped her. “Besides, at least this way I can’t step on your feet.”
He didn’t understand, maybe would never understand, why she threw her arms tightly around his back and put her head against his chest, listening to the steady pulse of his heart as he moved her through the air. Dick had a sort of swing routine improvised, so he settled for simply carrying her outside onto the balcony. The stars were out, the moon was full, and the clouds were a dull cobwebs webbed up in the sky.
She shivered. He felt it.
“Cold?” he asked.
“Yeah, little bit.”
Dick pulled her tighter against him. Very carefully, he straddled the balustrade and set her down on it. Slowly, like she was falling, Barbara felt herself being lowered back until she was flat against his chest. Together, they looked up at the stars.
“Stars are different. Skyline’s different.” She could hear a frown in his voice, the tension of something being not right and him concentrating on figuring it out. “We’re not in Gotham.”
“No.”
“Metropolis?”
“I needed a change of scenery.”
“Oh.” His lungs lifted and lowered her as he breathed. “Anything to do with me?”
“Maybe a little.”
“Wow. I’ve driven women to lesbianism before, but never out of the state. What is this, your cousin’s place? Helena Gordon?”
“Something like that.”
“Ah.” He was satisfied for the moment. “I’m trying to remember, but everything’s a little fuzzy. I think that bump on the noggin, as unlikely as it sounds, mighta hit something vital.”
“You’ll be fine,” she assured him.
“So, you wanna go to bed or is late-night more your speed?”
“Leno’s on strike.”
“Who’s Leno? Thought you were a Carson girl.”
“Maybe we should go to bed.”
***
It was actually a little romantic. He carried her to her bedroom, set her down on the bed. He asked if she needed help undressing and, God help her, she said yes. It’d been so long since she’d disrobed with anything but a clinical sense of following steps. There was a curt thrill as Dick’s breathing deepened, his hands trembling slightly as they moved over him, him smiling at his own nervousness. She wondered if this Dick remembered having sex. He hadn’t with her… it’d been Kory, in all likelihood… but he seemed to assume they were in a sexual relationship. And maybe there wasn’t anything sexual about the way he brought her a nightshirt and slipped it over her head, but there was something undoubtedly sensual about it. For once, she didn’t need to use the rings hanging over the bed to manipulate herself into a sleeping position.
“Well, good night,” he said, his eyes drifting to the other side of her bed.
Her mouth ran dry. It seemed so cold-hearted to spoil that restrained hope on his face. But she was used to doing what was necessary. “Guest room is right next door.”
“Oh. Okay.” He nodded glumly, put on a smile for her benefit. “See you in the morning.”
“Wake me if you need anything.”
“I won’t. Need anything, I mean.”
Helpless, Barbara closed her eyes and waited for him to leave the room. Or not. She was ready to let him make a choice for once. The hurt of continually acting out-of-sync with his dream world was poison in her veins. Then she felt the slightest of touches against her forehead, the bitter hardness of his callused fingertips on her brow. He muttered something, too low for her to hear. She opened her eyes just enough to read his lips. The words were in Romani, which she really had only learned when Dick’s relative found him. Helping Dick getting back in touch with his heritage. It hadn’t taken.
“A prayer?” she said softly when he finished.
He looked a little abashed. “Yeah. Just… for you to get better. Hope you don’t mind.”
“No. Not at all.”
He bit his lip and walked backward until he was in the doorway.
“Whatever it is I did, I’m sure I’m sorry about it.”
“I’m not angry.”
“I hope we can work it out.”
“Me too.”
And then he was out the door, which he closed behind him. She listened to his footfalls as he walked into the neighboring room, and the very small sound of the covers being pulled back.
And wondered when Dick had stopped praying.
Chapter 2
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-02-04 12:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-05 03:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-04 12:41 pm (UTC)A canon question though (since I don't read the Bat books, really)... Gordon knows about Oracle/Batgirl, but he still doesn't know about Bruce? I suppose I could wiki that, but it's more fun to ask. :D
no subject
Date: 2008-02-04 10:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-04 03:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-05 03:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-04 05:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-05 03:18 am (UTC)Really? Glad there's someone who doesn't think they're corny.
Tho they are ;).
youngish Dick is so cute in his eagerness and joy.
All good things...
no subject
Date: 2008-02-04 06:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-05 12:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-07 03:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-04 10:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-05 03:14 am (UTC)Me too. I suspect there may be angst.
no subject
Date: 2008-02-05 03:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-11 10:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-14 05:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-15 06:45 pm (UTC)