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Dick knew when he was washing the raspberries.
Dick switched on the radio to one of those mix stations that Jason always mocked but then ended up singing along with anyway. He paid attention while the DJ read the weather report - partially cloudy morning, clearing to an unseasonably warm afternoon. Dick hoped that the forecast proved correct for once, after three nights of rainy patrols.
He grinned when the familiar nimble fret-work of the one and only Slash in “Sweet Child of Mine” came on as he was getting ingredients out of the fridge. Only the fact that his hands were full stopped him from playing air-guitar along with the tune. He tweaked the lyrics slightly as he sang along, “He’s got a smile it seems to me reminds me of childhood memories,” when he dumped the full punnet into the strainer and turned on the water. He gently shook the berries under the faucet, glanced down to see that one was entirely covered with gray and white fuzz, collapsing in on itself into goo. Fuzz marred a few others as well. He reached into the strainer to pull out the worst ones, but stopped when a wave of nausea curdled in his belly. Dick frowned. No one likes moldy fruit, but it was hardly the most disgusting thing Dick had seen in his life. Hell, had seen this week. He forced himself to try again, but as soon as he touched the slimy berry, his initial reaction overtook him and he spun, retching into the trash can.
That’s when he knew.
*******
Mary Grayson had been a woman of few vices. She didn’t smoke, she drank a glass or two of cheap fizzy wine at New Years and weddings, she didn’t eat candy or chocolate or potato chips. Her body and her health were her livelihood; she supported herself and her family with her trapeze act, it was true, but taking care of herself wasn’t a business transaction. Her body was her joy, her delight and her freedom, just as much as her family was, and she took care of both her family and body with dedication.
She loved fruit, though, especially berries of all kinds. Not exactly a vice, of course. But when she was newly married, and they had a tiny food budget, and she’d spent half the week’s money on blueberries the first time of the year they actually looked good, it was a little bit more of a problem. Still, John had laughed, and made blueberry pancakes, and muffins, and crepes, and they’d made it work. Later, they’d pick huckleberries in Oregon, gooseberries in Maine, and chokecherries in Oklahoma. On European tours, Mary would lead the hunt for black currants in England, lingonberries in Sweden, and wild strawberries in Italy.
Even when the details of his parents’ faces and voices had faded, Dick remembered the way Mary smelled of strawberry jam and raspberry body lotion. Her kisses sometimes sweet and sticky in the corner of her mouth, laughing as he made a face and scrubbed his cheek. She had secrets and sorrow hiding in the corner of her smiles, too, though most people never noticed. Dick did, and remembered. But he also remembered the way she whispered, every single time, that the trick to good blueberry muffins was to dust the berries in flour before adding them to the batter, so they don’t sink to the bottom. (And add twice as many as the recipe called for, of course.)
She never hesitated or frowned when he told her that he wanted to keep his hair short, that he didn’t want to wear a dress, that he wanted his costume to look like John’s, not hers. When he said he was a boy, she’d kissed him, sticky sweet again, and murmured, of course you are, my Robin. When he said he wanted to be called Richard, after his uncle, she’d smiled and hugged him and said she was so proud of him. When he said he wanted to go by Dick, she had merely cocked her head a bit, and asked “Are you sure? Isn’t it a bit old-fashioned?”
Dick had shaken his head. “It’s a family name. And a total power move.”
She’d chuckled. “You’re eight. How do you know what a power move is?”
He’d given her his patented ‘parents are so lame’ look and replied, “It’s called the internet, dai. You should try using it sometime.”
******
When he’d recovered from being sick, Dick threw out all of the berries, cleaned up, and decided that he’d just grab a protein bar for lunch. Real food didn’t seem very appealing at the moment and he had a few errands to run. He texted Jason while he forced down the bar, to let him know not to rush back home, since Dick had decided to go out, then headed to the grocery store to get supplies for the rest of the day including an impromptu visit to the cemetery.
Just “knowing” wasn’t enough, of course. No matter what his gut had told him, Dick needed evidence. Some scientific proof. Besides, he didn’t like visiting their graves empty-handed if he could avoid it. So he bought a few things he needed for the rest of his plans, and some hyacinths. Hyacinths had been her favorite. He hadn’t known their name, for the longest time. Alfred had told him, and it was just one of many priceless gifts that he’d always be grateful to the butler for.
Dick turned his collar up against the wind outside, but at least the brisk breeze was blowing the clouds away. It’d be nice to see his family’s graves in bright sunlight for once, as gray as Gotham often was.
****
John Grayson used to shave with an old-fashioned straight edge razor. He’d lather up his badger hair brush with the special shaving cream and paint a white Santa beard with the foam over his real beard. Sometimes John would lather up Dick’s face, too, and Dick carefully shaved himself with the handle of a toothbrush, scraping off the foam with his little face scrunched with concentration. Then John splashed his citrus and sandalwood aftershave on his cheeks, giving an exaggerated wince at the sting, shaking his head, then grinning like sunshine. Dick had asked him, once, why he used it when it hurt. “It reminds me I’m alive, and if that’s not a good way to start the day, I don’t know what is.”
Whenever they moved to a new country or region he’d hunt out the hottest, spiciest local favorites he could find. John did most of the cooking, except for a few Romani recipes that Mary remembered from her own mother, and he delighted in perfecting the recipes he gleaned from new friends he made as they traveled. Though the circus only toured North America and Europe, the performers themselves came from all over the world. Hunan braised pork, Ethiopian doro wat, Goan (by way of Birmingham) lamb vindaloo and Thai green curry worked their way into John’s recipes, along with the cuisines of the regions they passed through. Mary would smile when John returned with yet another handwritten recipe, scribbled in a mix of languages, and she’d remark that he’d never met a stranger.
John taught Dick the trapeze and tumbling. Mary knew her stuff, of course, but she’d married into the Flying Graysons. John traced his circus heritage back to the era of P.T. Barnum, generations of family learning to fly together. John’s callused hands and blunt fingertips corrected Dick’s form, spotted him as he worked through new tricks, his voice encouraged Dick in the air. Point your toes, legs and arms straight, control, tighten your core, bring your showmanship. Be serious at the scary parts and smile at the triumphs.
During rehearsal, a common question from John was “Are you performing, or just going through the motions?”
One day, Dick asked his dad, “What about real life? Is it okay if that’s, you know, a performance too?”
“Course it is. Everyone is, every day. Doesn’t mean it’s not real.”
****
When he got home from shopping, Dick texted Jason. Do you think you can be back by 4? I want to visit the cemetery before it gets too dark and I’d like it if you could come.
Jason responded in seconds. That won’t be a problem. Everything ok?
I’m alright. Just feeling a bit nostalgic. See you soon.
Dick looked around the apartment that he’d been sharing with Jason for the last year, the hyacinths and raspberry jam for his mom, and the hot sauce for his dad. Dick opened the blinds to let in the touch of sunlight fighting against the Gotham gloom. He had a bit less than an hour before Jason got home - plenty of time to get everything done.
****
Dick was born in his parents’ compartment of the circus train near Munich, Germany. His mom told him about hearing the robins’ song that morning. She’d peeked out the window to see two robins, red breasts bright against the blue sky of early spring. She told him that robins are one of the first birds to sing in the morning and one of the last to stop singing in the evening. She told him that robins are linked to Christmas in Great Britain because they remind people of death and rebirth, and Jesus Christ on the cross, but other people see them as sacred to Thor. Some people say that whoever sees the first robin of spring will gain luck and fortune.
Holding him as a newborn, both impossibly heavy and light at the same time, with a scrunched angry red face, black downy hair, tiny tapered fingers with fingernails so small they looked like miracles, Mary would say, she felt like she had all of her good luck and good fortune in her arms already. Every year on his birthday, she’d tell him the story of his birth and seeing his namesake birds, and how she was so happy he was born, and how the first thing she asked to eat was a berry smoothie. Because for the nine months of her pregnancy, she couldn’t stand the sight or smell or taste of her favorite food.
****
Dick finished everything he needed to do with 20 minutes to spare before Jason got home, so he did the only logical thing to kill some time and expend some of his restless energy - handstand pushups, so he was flushed and a bit sweaty when Jason arrived. He saw Jason notice the bouquet and jars Dick had left out on the counter.
“You sure you’re okay?” Jason asked Dick before he even took off his boots and jacket.
Dick nodded. “Of course I am. Come here. Sit down.”
Jason gave Dick a long, suspicious look but moved to comply.
Dick put a hand on the back of the couch and vaulted over to land on the cushion. (Criteria for buying the sofa: ability to stand up to Dick’s acrobatics on furniture, comfort for long naps, and looks - in that order.)
Jason’s small frown as he met Dick’s eyes didn’t make any of this easier. Dick took a deep breath and tried to push down the bubbling acid in his stomach. This is a good thing, he reminded himself.
“I think I should take a pregnancy test, and I wanted you here, with me, when I did it.”
Jason’s eyebrows rose to his hairline and his eyes widened before all emotions fell from his face, his expression carefully neutral. Dick’s announcement hadn’t come out nowhere; Jason had known this would come at some point. Dick hoped Jason’s sudden Bat-face was him trying not to look too excited - too hopeful. Shutting down all feelings so that he doesn’t end up disappointed.
Finally, after moments of silence that only become slightly strained, Jason managed to say, “You don’t think it’s too soon?” in a calm voice, as if asking about the weather.
Dick thought about telling him about the raspberries, and his mom, but decided to just get the ball rolling instead. He could explain it all to Jason later. “Nope, not too soon. Just wait in the bedroom.”
Dick left Jason sitting on the bed and headed into the master bathroom, where he’d already stashed a few different brands. He’d even already opened the boxes and read the directions, so with a minimum of fuss he took care of business, capped the tests, washed his hands, and opened the door for Jason to come in.
Jason stepped into the bathroom and leaned against the frame, still with his calm, cool and collected mask on, but Dick knew him well enough to read the tension in his shoulders and the awkward way he held his arms, first crossing them and then dropping them to his sides, as if he didn’t know what to do with them. For a split-second, Dick felt bad that he’d waited for Jason to get home to do this. He could have greeted him at the door with either good news or just never mentioned it at all. But his own nerves clawed at his belly, and damn it, they were in this together, so Dick reached a hand out and snagged one of Jason’s, pulling him closer. Jason took the hint and wrapped his arm around Dick’s waist, warm and solid.
“So, what are we looking for here?” Jason asked.
Dick snorted. “If you don’t know what answer we want them to say, clearly you haven’t been paying attention.”
Jason’s face reflected in the mirror rolled his eyes. “No, no, I meant, what little symbol will they show.”
“Plus or minus sign,” Dick pointed to each test as he talked, “two lines for yes and one for no, and that one will show words.”
Jason nodded.
Dick fought the urge to babble more about the research he’d done on the various brands, their sensitivity and accuracy rate. Instead, he leaned a bit more into Jason’s touch. “Now would be a great time for one of your sarcastic quips.”
Jason’s mouth curved into a crooked smile, half cheeky and half wicked. “I was just going to say that this is about as interesting as watching paint dry.”
Dick shook his head and clucked his tongue. “That was weak and unoriginal. Come on, show some creativity.”
“Hey! I’m kinda distracted here. Give me a break.”
“You’ve said funnier things while diving through the air while being shot at.”
“Everyone’s a critic.”
Dick’s free hand drummed a syncopated rhythm on the counter, then he rolled his head just to make his neck pop.
“Gross,” Jason complained. “You better not teach our kid to do that.”
“You pop your knuckles.”
“You pop your spine. That’s a whole other level. A just plain wrong and disgusting level.”
Dick was about to retort, something about how Jason wasn’t complaining about how he bent his spine last night, when he saw that one of the displays had changed. Not trusting his voice, he elbowed Jason and pointed. Two lines, one fainter than the other but still clearly visible, now showed in the little display window.
“I see it,” Jason breathed. “Your timer hasn’t gone off.”
“The instructions said three minutes or less.”
Jason nodded sagely. “Let’s wait and see what the others will say.”
Dick vibrated against Jason’s steadying arm, unable to keep still, gnawing on his lip. Jason squeezed his hip in reassurance but didn’t complain about the jitters. They didn’t have to wait long before a plus sign appeared on the next test, and just a few more seconds for the word “pregnant” popped up on the final one.
Dick took a deep breath and exhaled slowly through his nose.
“That’s pretty conclusive,” Jason said.
“Yep.” Dick reached out to pick up a test, but his hand shook, so he dropped it back down. “I’m pregnant.”
“I’m glad I was here for this,” Jason admitted, his voice a bit hoarse and almost wet sounding, “otherwise I don’t think I would believe it.”
Dick nodded. “It hasn’t sunk in quite yet for me either.” But he couldn’t stop the gigantic, probably dopey, smile from growing across his face. He turned to face Jason and saw the same grin, matching his, and yeah, it was pretty dopey. Dick leaned in to push a kiss onto the corner of Jason’s mouth. Jason hid his pain right there, at the edge of his smile, just like Mary did. And just like he’d done for Mary, Dick liked to kiss it away.
A square of bright sunlight angled across the floor from the open doorway, and Dick pushed Jason to walk through it to get out of the bathroom. The bedroom window framed the Gotham skyline, glinting sunsparks off of windowed high rises against the clear blue sky.
Jason wiped away a bit of moisture from the corners of his eyes and chuckled. “We’re going to be parents.”
Dick laughed. “That was the goal, after all.”
Jason pulled Dick into a hug. “You’re amazing,” he whispered, barely loud enough to hear.
“I haven’t done anything yet besides pee on a stick.”
“You know what I mean.”
Dick nodded because he did know. He let himself relax into the embrace for a few warm, soft moments before pulling away enough to meet Jason’s eyes. “Now I want to tell people.”
Jason’s eyes widened. “Already?”
“I was thinking of telling my parents.”
Jason’s expression sobered. “I saw the flowers on the counter. You okay, babe?”
Dick nodded, considering. “I’m okay, it’s just bittersweet. They’d be so excited and happy, and they would make the best grandparents. They wanted more kids, after me, I think, but it never worked out. I figured out pretty quickly not to whine about wanting a baby brother or sister because it just made my mom sad and my dad go kind of quiet.” Dick snorted. “Which was very unusual for him.”
“You’re going to be the best dad, and I never met your parents, but I bet they’d say the same thing.”
Dick knuckled away some tears that had finally made their presence known. “Thanks, but you’re going to give me plenty of competition for the best dad title.”
Jason rolled his eyes because they had talked about this, off and on for months. Jason loved kids, and he was good with them, but he hadn’t had great parenting role models growing up. Dick squeezed Jason’s hand. “You are.”
Jason gave a small smile of agreement, recognizing that this was definitely not the right moment to argue, and shifted the conversation back to an earlier topic. “So it’s just your parents that you want to tell today?”
“I was thinking Bruce and Alfred too.”
“How about just Alfred?” Jason fake-whined.
“I’ll have to tell Bruce soon, or make up some injury to explain why I won’t be patrolling.”
“It’s up to you. Whatever you want to do.”
“How about stay, just like this, for a little while longer?”
“Of course.”
Jason wrapped his arms tight around Dick and snugged him up close. Dick let his head drop onto Jason’s chest, nestled just below his collar bone. For a moment, he let himself think of nothing but the sounds of Jason’s heart beating.