Chapter Text
"That was uncomfortable to watch."
Dick grimaces at the sound of his daughter's voice, glancing over his shoulder as she steps up beside where he sits. There's a deeply unimpressed look on her face, arms folded across her chest, and Dick is struck not for the first time—nor will it be the last—of how much she looks like her mother. Yes, she looks like him, too, but his features don't compare to those green eyes, the shape of her face, and, of course, the way she looks at him and sees right through everything.
"It felt uncomfortable," Dick agrees, turning away from the judgement in Mar'i's expression for the moment to instead look back to Bruce's retreating figure. Another conversation ended with one of them awkwardly leaving.
"The pair of you are going to have to actually communicate, you know," Mar'i says. "Something's gotta give."
Dick sighs, and decidedly does not go into a spiel about the long history of issues between him and Bruce, the problems that go far deeper than are fixable with a few short conversations. Isn't it enough that he and Bruce are both trying? They aren't going to fix a decade or two's worth of tension overnight, especially when Bruce has such an advantage over him, what with Dick being a fucking invalid and trapped under the other man's roof.
But it's a start. It's—well, it's leaps and bounds ahead of what their relationship has been. So Mar'i—and Clark, and everyone else watching and waiting—is just going to have to be patient.
He's not going to go into that right now, though. Mar'i knows where he stands, and she might have her mother's passion and stubbornness, but she also has Kori's ability to back off when it's needed. Thank fuck.
"How was PT yesterday?" Mar'i asks as she sits in a chair beside him, mercifully changing the subject.
Dick offers her a quick, grateful smile, and replies, "Good. My leg won't stop shaking for hours afterwards, and still buckles, but I managed three steps without the bar. Plus my eye is getting clearer with every day. So, progress."
"Progress," Mar'i agrees with a smile. She reaches out, resting her hand on top of Dick's. He turns his around to clasp hers, and gives it a light squeeze that makes Mar'i's face go soft around the edges.
Before Captain Marvel's death, Dick and Mar'i were on...not opposite sides, but definitely different ones. He'd been afraid that that would cause a schism between them, that he wouldn't be able to sit with her like this again without tension. That even with the battle over, the distinction between them would linger. He truly is so relieved that's not the case.
He opens his mouth to say something of the sort, even if he knows his daughter will just roll her eyes at his sentimentality, when a shadow falls over them, a figure coming to stand at Mar'i's side.
They both look up, and the man offers Mar'i a steaming cup of something that she accepts with a warm smile. "Thank you, Ibn," she says, and Dick fights to not make a face at her calling him that.
"You're welcome," Xu'ffasch replies. His eyes flick over to Dick, and he says, "Would you like anything, Grayson?"
Dick shakes his head silently, examining the younger man. It's something he's found himself doing a lot lately, considering how often Xu'ffasch is around. Xu'ffasch is a serious young man, but regal, definite signs of the way he was raised. But there's a respectfulness that he carries that Ra's certainly never did; and, if Dick remembers correctly, Talia wasn't exactly the most tactful of people either.
But thinking about where Xu'ffasch comes from only leads to his mind seeking out the similarities between him and Bruce. That Wayne jaw, the shape of his face, hell even the hairstyle isn't too far off from what Bruce had when he was younger. He's closed off the way Bruce is, too, but his actions are more—open, maybe. He might not quite like the friendship between Mar'i and Xu'ffasch just yet—too many unknowns, too many variables—but he can at least appreciate that the boy isn't hesitant with signs of his...care. Bringing her drinks, watching her back like it's the most natural thing in the world...Yes, Dick can appreciate that.
But none of it explains why Xu'ffasch is here. Dick knows the younger man and Bruce are starting to try to build some kind of relationship, not too dissimilar from what's currently happening between Dick and Bruce really, but that doesn't explain Xu'ffasch's presence around Dick.
Because he is around Dick. He sits and reads at Dick's bedside, occasionally accompanies him to physical therapy sessions, hovers in the corner of Dick's vision. Dick really can't tell the purpose for it, and he doesn't know how he feels about it, either.
Because on the one hand...it's good, he supposes. They're—family, in a way. Good for them to spend time together. But on the other—Dick doesn't know a damn thing about Xu'ffasch, past him being Bruce's son, Ra's' grandson, and Mar'i's friend. And his silent presence provides absolutely no answers.
"Grandpa and dad just had another 'conversation'," Mar'i offers up, and Dick can practically hear the air quotes. He rolls his eyes.
Xu'ffasch hums, eyes flicking down the hall towards where Bruce now stands talking to another patient, one who lost an arm in the battle. Certainly worse off than Dick is, and the thought makes him grimace; honestly, all things considered, he got off easy. Moping about his injuries doesn't help anyone.
"Those are always fun," Xu'ffasch says, and the hint of dryness makes Dick snort. Xy'ffasch's eyes flick over to him, meeting his gaze, and the intensity there has Dick going still, an instinctive urge to have a weapon in his hand rising in him. But he keeps his body language calm, not letting any of it show.
Xu'ffasch blinks, and one corner of his mouth ticks upward before his gaze slides back to Mar'i. He says, "You'll have to be patient with us; Bruce isn't exactly the easiest of individuals to get close to."
Dick huffs a quiet laugh. Yes, they sure are in the same boat, aren't they? Both attempting to get to know their 'father', Dick after years of separation, Xu'ffasch for what's practically the first time. Bruce is—trying, with both of them, in the best way Bruce can, but it's a struggle. And no one can truly understand the position Dick is in, what it's like, other than Xu'ffasch.
Mar'i looks between them, and something grows across her face that Dick can't quite interpret, but is certain he doesn't like. It reminds him of when she was a little girl, trying to pull one over on him and Kori. Doesn't spell good things, that's for sure.
"I suppose so," Mar'i agrees, like she's granting a big favor, and for a moment there's something soft and fond on Xu'ffasch's face as he looks at her. Dick considers whether or not that's something he should be worried about—is he okay with Mar'i dating Ibn al Xu'ffasch?—before he looks closer and is pretty sure there's nothing romantic in the expression. Thankfully. He really wasn't looking forward to having to deal with...that.
"Ibn, would you get my father some coffee?" Mar'i asks, ignoring the way Dick opens his mouth in protest. "He's trying to pretend he isn't completely dependent upon it, but I know he's dying for a cup."
Xu'ffasch nods, and slips off down the hall.
"Why do you call him that?" Dick mutters, squinting at his daughter.
Mar'i arches a delicate brow. "You mean his name?"
Dick sends an unimpressed look her way. "No one calls him that, not even Bruce. He seems to prefer Xu'ffasch anyway, so why call him that?"
Mar'i chuckles. "I love you, but you're an idiot." Then, as he sputters a laugh at her, she continues with, "How often is he here?"
"In the hospital?" Dick clarifies with a frown, and she nods. "Nearly every day, I suppose. He and Bruce are attempting to build a relationship, so he's around a lot."
Mar'i hums, tilting her head. It's such a Kori gesture, with the way her hair falls over her shoulder, the way her green eyes seem to glimmer, that Dick can't help but smile. "And how often is he around you?"
Very is the truthful answer, but it feels like a trap so he doesn't want to reply. He taught Mar'i just about everything she knows when it comes to detective work and finding out information, so he knows what it feels like when she's digging into something. Knows that casual tone she's using is absolutely fake.
"Why, Starshine?"
A smile breaks out across her face, amused more than anything. "You realize you call me that more often when you're trying to distract me?"
"It worked more when you were younger," Dick grumbles, and Mar'i chuckles.
"Answer the question."
"I don't know, Mar'i," Dick says, exasperated. "Often, I guess. But I'm always here so it's not like him being around me is hard to do."
Mar'i just shakes her head. "Sure, of course."
Dick narrows his eyes. "What?"
For a moment, Mar'i just stares at him, and then she snorts. "You know, you sound and look just like Grandpa when you do that."
Thoroughly derailed—which, Dick can acknowledge with begrudging pride, was absolutely her intention—Dick blinks at her. "E—excuse me? I am not like—"
"You are, a little bit," Mar'i disagrees, eyes dancing with mischief. "I would know—which one of us has spent a lot of time around him lately? Because working with him in the MLF only served to prove to me how alike the pair of you are, and you're really not helping your case when you look at me the exact same way when I'm being obstinate. Also your voice goes all flat and—"
"I get it," Dick interrupts. Jeez, daughters. "I get it, fine."
Xu'ffasch returns then, and holds out a steaming mug to Dick. Dick accepts it with a 'thank you' and a smile, and Xu'ffasch smiles back, inclining his head.
It's made perfectly, Dick notes with surprise as he sips. Exactly the way he takes his coffee. It's...a little unsettling, and maybe sweet, and Dick watches Xu'ffasch out of the corner of his eye as the man sits beside Mar'i, the pair striking up a casual conversation about some book they apparently both enjoy.
Dick lets the conversation wash over him, his head starting to ache after so long of engaging it. Concussions are a fucking bitch, and he'll never appreciate the way they seem to scatter his brain. A few hours of talking to people and being alert shouldn't exhaust him as much as it does. He really can't wait until he's up to full strength.
He's not sure how much time passes before there's movement, and he tilts his head to see Mar'i pushing herself to her feet. She brushes a hand down her dress, not that Dick can see a single speck on it, and turns to him with a smile.
"I have to head out," she says, bending down to kiss his forehead. "And you have PT soon anyway, right?"
Dick glances at the clock and nods. "It was good to see you Mar'i. Bring a deck of cards tomorrow, would you? My books keep vanishing—I think Bruce is having Luthor take them when I'm asleep. Controlling bastard, my head is fine."
Mar'i laughs, and there's something like a snort from Xu'ffasch, though his expression is placid when Dick glances over.
"Can do," Mar'i agrees, then looks to Xu'ffasch. "Would you make sure he gets there okay? Old men need help."
Dick simply rolls his eyes at her teasing, and then watches her go, feeling some tension creep into his shoulders when it's just him and Xu'ffasch left, then trying to will it away when the younger man's eyes turn to him.
"Shall we?" Xu'ffasch offers and, with a suppressed sigh, Dick nods. He doesn't try to get to his feet despite how much he wants to, instead allowing Xu'ffasch to step up behind his wheelchair and begin to push him along.
Physical therapy goes about just the same as it always does, leaving Dick panting and exhausted by the end. The therapists are perky and positive, and Dick hates them just a little for it, even though he knows it's their job. Keeps himself from snapping at them, knowing how much hostility they must have to deal with all day from all the people being forced to endure this, forced to endure their bodies betraying them.
Xu'ffasch is gone, and Dick doesn't quite remember when he lost the feeling of the man's eyes on him, but he's a little relieved it isn't there now, when he's very far from his best. Being an invalid is bad enough—but shaky and collapsing into his wheelchair? No, Dick would really rather his shadow not be witness to that.
One of the therapists wheels him back out of the PT room and to his bed in the recovery wing, chattering all the while, and Dick is irritated with her and himself for how soothing the annoying chatter actually is. It's a ridiculous contradiction, and Dick has to wonder if it's something these people study. It's a fascinating skill.
He waves her away when she offers to help him into bed, determined to at least do that himself, though he waits until she's gone to try. He's even more exhausted by the time he accomplishes his task, sitting against the backboard with the blankets draped across his lap. He closes his eyes and just breathes for a moment, waiting while his heart rate goes back down, and then turns for the bottle of water on his bedside table.
And then Dick has to pause, because right beside the bottle is a stack of familiar books; the ones that, one by one, had been confiscated from him in the name of resting.
Dick lifts his head, looking around, mystified. Who would...?
He picks up the book on top, and frowns when he sees a piece of paper sticking out between the pages. He tugs, and his furrowed brows deepen when he reads over the precise scrawl.
What my father doesn't know, won't hurt him. Enjoy your books. -Xu'ffasch.