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1.
“Coming, coming!”
Dick threw the front door open and nearly dropped his beer at the sight of the visitor waiting on the step. Even over the booming base pouring from the sound system, he could feel the thud of his heart quicken.
The guy was gorgeous. Tall, tan, wavy dark hair lightly sprayed in place over dark blue-green eyes and sharp facial features. The man’s uniform – dark blue with gleaming brass badge and pins – was carefully starched and tailored to fit a lean, muscled frame. A utility belt weighed down with pouches slung low over his hips.
“Uh,” Dick said, mouth suddenly very, very dry.
One dark brow raised and the man shifted his weight from one gleaming boot to the other. A pink tongue swiped quickly over his bottom lip, and he started to say, “Good evening, I’m – ”
“You’re the guy,” Dick blurted over him.
“Excuse me?”
“You’re the guy,” Dick repeated. “But you’re too late. We set it up for midnight.”
“Set what up for midnight?” the man asked, eyes narrowing. He hitched his utility belt up some, which drew Dick’s gaze down to the pouch with the cuffs – thick metal things, not plasticky and pink fur-lined. At the man’s hip sat a holster where a very real-looking gun rest inside it.
Realization dawned over him like a twenty-five-pound weight being dropped on his head.
“The lap dance,” he answered stupidly.
Surprisingly, the officer laughed – a short, quick, beautiful laugh that sent prickles up the back of Dick’s neck. “Uh? Let’s try again. Sergeant Todd, GCPD. Are you the owner of this residence?”
“No, I’m Dick,” he said, then groaned. “I mean – no, I’m not.”
“Alright, Dick,” said the officer. “Is the owner present?”
“Barbara!” Dick called, voice cracking a bit at the end. God, it just kept getting worse and worse.
“Coming!” she yelled from somewhere within the house, then there were quick footsteps behind him and she skidded up to the door, covered in silly string and paper confetti of all colors. She smiled brightly at Sergeant Todd and said, “It’s my birthday,” then turned to Dick and stage-whispered, “Is this the guy?”
“No, it’s the real cops.”
“Are you the owner of this residence?” Sergeant Todd asked again.
Babs pursed her lips, gathering herself up in that drunken-person-trying-to-look-sober kind of way. She stunk of vodka and there was a Funyun in her hair, so she probably wasn’t fooling anyone. “I’m am. Wait. I am.”
“Right,” said the officer, hint of a smug smile playing at his lips. “I’m Sergeant Todd, with the GCPD. A couple residents in the area have called in noise complaints related to this address. Quiet hours on a weeknight are 10pm to 6am, and right now it’s,” he paused to look down at his watch, “12:45am.”
Barbara frowned, then turned around and hollered into the house, “Turn the damn music down!”
“Are we getting a citation?” he asked warily.
“No citation,” Sergeant Todd said. “As long as we don’t get any more calls.”
“Cool!” Barbara chirped. Clapping a hand on Dick’s shoulder, she spun on back down the hallway in loping and swaying steps, confetti floating down to the floor in her wake as it fell from her hair.
“Is that the guy?” shouted Stephanie from the kitchen.
“No!” shouted Tim and Babs simultaneously.
“Ugh!” Steph cried. “Gotta do everything myself. Babs, where are you? Get the chair and sit the hell down. Alexa, play Pour Some Sugar on Me.”
If Dick hadn’t been crushing the doorknob in one hand and his beer in the other, he would have smacked a palm to his face. “They’ll be quiet, I swear,” he promised desperately.
Sergeant Todd smirked then, then smiled, a glint of teeth shining in the porch light. The doorknob creaked under Dick’s clammy hand as the officer turned and jogged down the steps to the patrol car at the curb. The patrol car that Dick hadn’t even noticed because he was an idiot and too wrapped up staring at the hot guy’s face.
“You look like a man of your word, Dick. Make sure they keep it down,” Sergeant Todd called over the roof of his black-and-white. His features were shadowed and not discernable under the streetlights, but his voice. That voice.
Dick nodded, skin itching weirdly, and slammed the door shut.
2.
Two weeks after the stripper-less party, Dick was turning down the cereal aisle and screenshotting a stupid snap from Damian when he ran face first into a brick wall.
His phone clattered to the linoleum and spun under the perforated shelving, his loaf of bread arcing up and up and right into the granola before falling to the floor with a sad little plop.
“Damn it,” he swore under his breath and reached down for his phone.
“Sorry,” came a voice from above.
Dick froze, eyes widening, and followed a beat-up pair of boots to denim-clad muscle to leather jacket to Sergeant Todd’s face, mouth twitching in a smirk, hair tousled likely from the helmet he was holding loosely in a gloved hand.
“Oh, hey, man,” Dick said a bit dumbly. “Sergeant Todd?”
After a second, the man replied, “Jason is fine.”
“Yes.” Dick winced, that full body cringe where everything seizes up because you know you’re a fucking idiot. That kind of wince. “What I mean is – ” he trailed off, miserable.
Jason hummed, then his brow cocked upwards and he gestured down. “You gonna answer that?”
Dick blinked.
“Your phone is ringing,” Jason said slowly, carefully.
Oh yeah. The first few lyrics of Red Headed Woman penetrated through the sound of the blood rushing in his ears and he scrambled for the phone, dragging his gaze away from the twist of Jason’s lips to swipe at the answer button.
A high-pitched voice came from the phone, which hung limp at Dick’s side. Jason stood there like he was waiting for something, grinding the sole of his worn boot into the squeaky linoleum before he blew air out the side of his mouth and nodded. “Okay, well, I’ll see you around?” he asked, sounding almost unsure.
Ask him for coffee, ask him for drinks, ask, ask, ask!
“Okay,” Dick said instead.
Jason snorted and backed out of the aisle, holding up his helmet in a wave.
“Who was that?” Babs asked, tinny-sounding over the cheap speaker. “Was that the not-stripper? The hot one?”
“The hot one,” Dick confirmed somberly.
There was a cough and Dick turned back around, where Jason stood holding up a slightly squashed loaf of bread, apples of his cheeks fiery red. He shoved the package into Dick’s hand and was around the corner and out of sight before Dick really felt the tips of his ears blister off in embarrassment.
3.
Dick was running late.
Not an unusual occurrence, but he was running very, very late.
It was still early, the streets mercifully empty as he skidded the bike around a corner. The tires squealed across the pavement, slick from the earlier rain, and adrenaline spiked through him as the bike wobbled a bit before she righted. He gunned out of the curve and beat the yellow light, speeding out of the intersection.
A glance at his watch showed him he had about five minutes to open up for Leslie’s weekly shipment of ace wraps and ice packs and exercise bands. Honestly, what kind of medical supplier unloads at six in the morning? And why the hell did Babs have to go on vacation this month of all months, anyway? She was the morning assistant. He wasn’t even alive before nine.
Coming up on a four-way, he slowed down just enough to glance both ways – the good, old Jersey roll – and accelerated through, engine wailing. And promptly, his side-view mirrors washed out in bright flashes of red and blue.
Dick groaned as he eased down on the break and pulled over. Behind him, Gotham’s finest pulled to the curb and idled, idled long enough Dick heard his watch chirp to signal the six o’clock hour.
Shit, Leslie was gonna be so pissed.
He cut the engine and pushed his visor up as light steps smacked the wet asphalt behind him, a pen clicking open. Oh yeah, he was definitely not getting out this one.
“Remove the helmet, please.”
Dick laughed in disbelief at the familiar voice. Oh, it just kept getting better. Reaching up, he eased the helmet off his head and shifted his gaze onto Sergeant Jason. Sergeant Todd. Whatever.
“Well,” Jason said, blinking in surprise.
Heat creeping up his neck, he guessed, “Speeding under weather conditions and failing to stop at a marked four-way?”
“Yup,” Jason replied after a long moment. He clicked the pen again a couple times, then brought the end of it up to the corner of his mouth. “License, registration, and insurance?”
“Yup,” Dick said, handing the documents over.
The other man took them wordlessly, eyes glinting strangely in the flood of the patrol car’s headlights. He walked back to it and climbed back in, door open as he ran Dick’s information. Meanwhile, Dick was trying to decide if the heat deep in his stomach was irritation or attraction. Probably both. That was a first.
After a few minutes, Jason was back and handing him a thick envelope full of traffic violations. He put his hands on his belt and cleared his throat quietly. “Look, I don’t think I need to lecture you about driving safely, especially on a motorcycle – ”
“You really don’t,” he insisted.
“ – but I can’t ask you out for dinner if you wrap your bike around a stop sign,” Jason finished like he hadn’t interrupted.
“Oh,” Dick said lamely.
“Oh?”
“Yeah, no,” Dick started. “I mean, yeah, that’s – that’d be cool. Dinner.”
“Cool.” Jason rubbed a hand across the back of his neck and started stepping away. “Yeah, so. I guess don’t be dumb on that thing.”
It was half past the hour by the time he opened the occupational therapy center for the morning shipment, and about five minutes after that when he realized he hadn’t got Jason’s number.
4.
It was nearing midday on a Friday and he and Babs were passing the time before the last appointment by setting up the dinky little Christmas tree in the front window of the OT center, though it was only the first week of November.
“Pass me the lights,” Dick said, making a grabby hand at her.
Barbara smacked it and handed him a grip of tinsel instead. “Put that up top. I can’t reach. And sprinkle it on, don’t throw it in a clump.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled, but did as she said as best as he could. They both knew she and Leslie would fix it in the morning no matter how he did it, especially if they were going to have to stare at it for the next two months.
Wordlessly, they decorated the tree side by side, spacing out the baubles and candy canes amongst the fairy lights. The important ornaments gifted to the clinic by grateful patients over the years – the silly little ones, the homemade ones – were placed at eye-level, proudly.
Babs ran her fingers carefully over each one, and Dick swallowed the lump in his throat, overcome by a lingering bitterness. At what could have been if she hadn’t walked out, if she had kept the ring. He gave her a tight smile and tucked away a pine scent stick on one of the lower plastic branches.
The bell over the front door tinkled and a gust of cold, wet air swept through.
“Must be the last appointment,” Barbara muttered. “I’m outta here. Have a good weekend, Dick.”
Dick nodded, watching as she slunk off towards the back without a backwards glance. Leslie passed her coming out, shrugging on her customary white coat, a small smile spreading on her face. She clasped her hands together and said, “You must be Jason Todd.”
With a start, Dick stepped out from behind the tree to see Jason looking miserable on crutches, lower leg encased in a clunky walking boot. The sudden movement must have drawn his attention because he whipped his head around and, like in slow-motion, tottered on the crutches, lost balance, and toppled over.
Sprinting out in two long strides, Dick managed to catch him around the middle right before he hit the floor, easing the other man’s not-inconsiderable weight slowly and gently to the ground.
“Nice catch,” Leslie said, impressed.
“Yeah, nice catch,” Jason grit out.
“Get him into one of our recliners, please. Elevate that leg. I’ll pull his file.”
“Recliner, yes. That sounds good,” Jason said.
From this close, Dick could see sweat beading up at his hairline and the tight lines around his eyes, lips pinched. He was definitely in some kind of pain, whatever his injury was.
Carefully, he hoisted the man up and put him back on his crutches, resting a hand at his lower back as he hobbled to the closest recliner. Dick kept a hand at his elbow as he eased himself down with a great, big exhale. After a moment to let him catch his breath, Dick slowly raised the leg rest to above heart level. Jason twitched in what Dick could only hope was some relief.
“So,” Jason said, unmistakably strained. “You a doctor, then?”
Dick laughed, pulling up a rolling stool and sitting at his side. “No, therapy assistant.”
“Ah.”
“Someday, maybe? I’m not sure.” He touched the tips of his fingers to Jason’s knuckles, where they were bone white from gripping the arm rests. “You’ll feel better in a minute.”
“You know,” Jason started, a little hitch to his words. His eyes were screwed shut. “I never got your number.”
“No, you didn’t,” Dick said kindly.
“So you’re not interested anymore or . . . ?”
Dick looked over to see if Leslie was still occupied looking over Jason’s file. She was. He turned back around, a little surprised to see those dark blue-green eyes trained on him, just a little cloudy from what Dick surmised was some damn good pain meds. Even sweaty and stubbly and pale, Jason was still ridiculously gorgeous.
“I’m interested, but will you still be when your therapy’s all done? Because I really can’t give you my number before then. Provider/patient rules, all that stuff.”
“I will,” Jason said firmly.
“Good,” Dick said.
5.
It was a bitterly chill morning a few days before Christmas and Dick was running along the bike path in Robinson Park, gym shoes crunching away in the fresh powder covering the trail.
The park was eerily quiet, the way places get after a fresh snowfall, and the dark and heavy sky seemed to have scared most others away. Very few people were out, the random couple holding hands, a retiree walking a fat little dog, two early-rising kids smoothing out a hill for optimal sledding.
His breath fogged in front of him, the tip of his nose numb, eyes watering a bit at the corners from the cold air. But still, he kept running, avoiding the footprints already left on the trail. Last thing he wanted was to hit ice and break his ass.
A mile or so in, the single set of footprints he’d kind of been following veered off towards the drinking fountains. Dick looked up and saw, who else, Jason pushing at the button with sharp jabs, irritation set deep in his face.
“The pipes are probably frozen,” Dick called out, a bit breathless. Hands on his hips, he jogged in place to keep his heart rate up and the sweat on his skin from cooling down too much.
Jason looked up, rolling his eyes, but a grin was tugging at his lips. “Well, well,” he said, tugging his gloves back on.
“You never came to your last appointment,” Dick said.
“I know. There was a thing at work.”
“Never got my number either,” he said, bouncing lightly on his heels. Over the few weeks Jason had spent coming into the OT center, Dick had had time to get used to his weird, little crush. He no longer flustered at the sight of him; instead, he felt that attraction much, much deeper. Easier to hide, but infinitely harder to live with.
“I still want it, if you’re still interested,” Jason said.
“I am.” God, yes, he was.
Rubbing at his jaw, Jason turned back to the trail, admitting, “My phone’s in the car. I have a good memory, though.”
Dick smiled. “How about I walk you back to your car, then?”
Hell yes, Dick, smooth!
It was slow going, Jason only a couple weeks out of the walking boot, but they got there.
At the car, Jason popped the door for his phone and looked up to Dick with an earnestness that sent warmth through his chest and he dictated his number gladly, checking it over to make sure it was correct. Then Jason tossed his phone back into the car and wiped his hand on his joggers. “Do you want to – ”
“Yes,” Dick blurted, face burning. Didn’t he just say he was over doing that? “Or, well, go ahead.”
“Do you want to run into each other over breakfast in an hour? Maybe Pauli’s? Or we can wait until after the holidays, if that would be better.”
“No! I mean, yes. Breakfast. One hour. Pauli’s.” Dick nodded. “Breakfast is good.”
+1 year
Dick sipped at his coffee as the café door opened and Jason strode in, actually on time and handsome as ever. He stamped his boots on the mat and shook the snow from his hair before picking his way through the small tables to the plush wingback chairs Dick had claimed earlier.
He leaned up and Jason leaned down, resting a cold hand to the side of his throat and pressing a soft, chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. Dick chased his lips, just for a moment, then pushed the hand off his neck, complained, “Your hands are cold.”
Jason laughed and took the seat across from him, instantly wrapping his fingers around the latte Dick had ordered for him a few moments before. He took a long sip and sighed, “Thank you.”
Edging his foot out, he nudged his snow boot up against Jason’s black work one, the other man pressing back just as firmly. He was about to ask how his first day on a day shift had been going when a crackle emitted from the boxy radio on Jason’s belt, who fumbled his coffee back onto the table and shoved the earpiece into his ear.
After a moment of listening, he said, “10-4. Unit responding.”
“Gotta go?”
“Gotta go,” Jason confirmed, looking apologetic. He took one last sip of the coffee and bent across the table for another kiss, sweet from the latte and Dick's stomach swooped when Jason bit lightly at his lip before pulling away, looking only slightly mischievous.
“Be safe, I guess,” Dick said lightly, but smiled.
“Do my best,” Jason promised and turned to leave, speaking back into his radio. “You said the guy was wearing clown make-up?”
Dick snorted to himself and turned back to his coffee.
Only in Gotham.