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Barbara checked the time again and sighed. She opened Dick’s contact and sent him a couple question marks. He hadn’t responded in almost an hour and she wondered if she should be worried or annoyed.
When it came to the “Bat Crew,” as Stephanie sometimes called them, tardiness could mean anything from a nap run wild to a slow bleed behind a dumpster.
She scrunched her eyes shut, quickly ridding herself of that mental image and the tension that it had squeezed into her shoulders and was just about to send Tim a text when she finally heard the familiar rumble of a motorcycle pulling into the lot.
Dick hopped off and shot her a goofy smile as he sauntered her way, his hair a sweaty tangle and his eyes somewhat droopy.
Nap run wild, then.
“Sorry about that,” he murmured, his voice brittle with exhaustion as he tilted her chin up to kiss her. “My alarm didn’t go off.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Barbara said. She wanted to seem annoyed, but her relief that he wasn’t mortally injured somewhere made it difficult to maintain.
Part of her wondered if normal girls worried that their boyfriends were dying whenever they were running late for a date. Probably not.
They headed for the theater, Babs’ arm looped around his, and she frowned at the dense hoodie he had on while she was in shorts and a tank.
“What’s with this?” she asked, tugging on the sleeve. “You covered in bruises or something?”
He nodded but avoided her eyes the way he always did when he was either lying or embarrassed. She pursed her lips at him but said nothing as they moved through the ticket line.
It wasn’t until they got to the concessions area and Dick hesitated to join her in line that Barbara found herself on high alert.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. “Don’t tell me you aren’t getting anything.”
She’d personally watched Dick polish off family sized combos singlehandedly. It was equal parts impressive and frightening.
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard a few times, the color slowly draining from his face. “Uh, you know, I’m not hungry,” he said, his voice wavering. “M-maybe later.”
“You don’t eat popcorn because you’re ‘hungry,’” she teased, but she was getting genuinely nervous now. Her heart was starting to pound.
Dick didn’t seem hear her, but an urgency came over him as he shoved his wallet into her hands. “Here,” he said breathlessly. “I’ll be right back.”
“What are you–” she began, but he was already ducking into the bathroom.
Ten minutes later Babs had an armful of popcorn and was waiting impatiently by the men’s room, grinning awkwardly as people drifted in and out. Finally Dick emerged, a rueful smile on his lips and even paler than before.
“Sorry about that,” he muttered. His skin was glistening, and she couldn’t tell if it was from sweat or if he’d splashed water on his face.
“What’s going on with you?” she asked, instinctively reaching for his face, but Dick retreated from her touch, taking her hand in his instead.
Okay. Definitely hiding something.
“Nothing,” he promised. “C’mon, we’re gonna miss the trailers.”
Within the first forty minutes, Dick slipped out at least four different times, each time with a different excuse. A phone call, to get some candy that he didn’t even touch, to get Barbara a refill.
When he left for the fifth time, Babs had had enough. She grabbed her bag and their food and followed him.
She lingered outside the bathroom for only a few seconds before rolling her eyes at herself and going in. Whatever was going on in there, she was sure she’d seen worse.
Thankfully there was no one in there, which spared her any awkward explanations or excuses. The only person happened to be in the first stall, where a pair of shoes were sticking out from under the door.
The guy looked like he was kneeling in front of the toilet. And Barbara didn’t have to do much digging to know exactly who it was.
Dick coughed and groaned painfully, his voice reverberating in a way that made her suspect he had his face in the bowl.
Gross.
The toilet flushed and he opened the door and braced himself against the frame. His hair was clinging to his forehead, his eyes half-open and shadowed, and he looked moments away from sinking to the floor.
Barbara stared, her arms crossed like a disapproving mother, and waited for him to notice her.
When he finally did, his tired eyes went wide. “I– Babs, what are you doing here? This is the men’s room!”
He staggered past her to close the bathroom door so that no one else would come in, and the short dash seemed to take everything out of him because he stumbled over to the sinks to lean against the counter with his eyes squeezed shut.
Barbara waited, arms still crossed tightly, fighting the urge to comfort him right away.
After a moment he squinted at her, apparently battling a headache, and sighed. “I know.”
“You’re sick.”
“I’m not ‘sick’…” He lifted a trembling hand to his temple and rubbed it.
“You look like you’re about to pass out. When was the last time you ate something?” she demanded.
Dick considered that for a moment. The fact that he had to think about it at all made her want to scream.
“It’s been a while,” he admitted. “Haven’t been able to keep much down.” He added the last part reluctantly, his gaze shifting away.
“Dick,” she sighed, finally going to put her hand to his forehead. He didn’t pull away this time. In fact, he leaned into it, his eyes closing.
His skin was way too warm as if he’d been laying out in the sun for the past hour instead of sitting in a dark theater. “It’s probably the flu,” she said. “You should be home.”
“The flu,” he muttered. “Tim is gonna go ballistic.”
“What?”
“Nothing.” He looked at her through heavy lids and tried to smile. “I’m fine,” he breathed, but there was no conviction in his voice.
“You’re burning up.”
“You calling me hot…Gordon?” He could barely muster the energy to finish the joke.
Barbara just rolled her eyes, kicking herself for the schoolgirl thrill that still sent through her.
Damn him for being so charming.
“Why don’t you take this thing off so you can cool down a little?” she suggested, starting to pull off the hoodie, but he grabbed her wrists.
“Don’t,” he whispered, suddenly earnest. “Please. I’m freezing.”
“Fever and chills,” she noted. “Yeah, you’re a picture of health there, Grayson.”
He grumbled something weakly and shoved his hands under his arms as he shuddered.
“C’mon. Let’s go,” she said, tugging one of his hands free so that she could snake under his arm and let him lean on her.
The process was slow, with Dick having to stop a few times to catch his breath or sit down on a bench to rest, and there was one nerve-racking moment when Barbara wasn’t sure he’d even make it to the parking lot without passing out altogether.
She was strong, but she definitely couldn’t carry an unconscious Dick Grayson alone for very long, and the last thing any of them needed was for some well-meaning bystander to call an ambulance.
When they finally did make it to the parking lot, she felt a massive weight lift off her chest, but Dick looked suddenly anxious, his mouth twisted in an awkward frown.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, already searching for the nearest trash can. It wasn’t too far. If she dragged him he could make it.
“I don’t think…” he began, avoiding her eyes again. “My bike. I don’t think I can make it home on my own right now…” His pale face suddenly turned red as he continued to look anywhere but her eyes. “I mean, I could but–”
“It’s fine,” she said, cutting him off before he could dive into a blackhole of backpedaling and caveats. Even after so many years of working alongside people – Batman, the rest of the Gotham crew, the Teen Titans, and even sometimes the Justice League – it struck her how hard it still was for him to just admit when he needed help.
She supposed that was the case for any of them, though. They’d all rather grin and bear it than feel like a weak link, even with something as low stakes as the flu.
She wondered if that had something to do with where they grew up. Weak links didn’t tend to last long in Gotham.
“I brought my car,” she added, tilting her head towards the maroon Nissan.
She loaded him into the backseat so that he could lay down, and as soon as his head hit the seat, he was out cold. When they got back to his place, Babs had to half-carry him up the steps, fumble with one hand for the spare key he’d given her, then awkwardly assure the desk worker that everything was okay before she managed to drag him up to his apartment.
They shuffled to his room where, once again, Dick flopped lifelessly across his bed, and Babs quickly abandoned any effort to coax him into more comfortable clothes. Instead, she slid a trashcan over along with a glass of water and some aspirin, then retrieved an ice pack from the freezer which she wrapped in an old T-shirt and laid across his forehead.
Dick muttered something that sounded grateful, and she kissed his cheek and wandered into the living room.
A few hours later, she was back in his room with a bowl of soup saying, “Come on, at least hold it.”
Dick, now propped up on a few pillows, stared at the bowl then looked at her. His mouth curled into grin that was an odd mix of playful and embarrassed.
“Would you believe me if I told you I genuinely can’t?” he asked. Then he lifted his hands a bit off the bed and turned them slowly. They shook noticeably, and Babs realized he genuinely wasn’t confident that he’d be able to hold the bowl for himself right now.
The sight of Dick being so depleted, the man who any other day was practically backflipping off the walls and leaping across roofs and laughing with his whole being, turned something jagged in Barbara’s chest.
Without another word, she scooped some of the soup and held the spoon to his mouth. “Open.”
“What? No sound effects? Isn’t it supposed to sound like a plane or something?” he teased. “Where’s the ambiance? The mise en scene?”
She laughed in spite of herself. “Sound effects are for people who don’t lie to their girlfriends about being sick for three days.”
“Ouch,” he said, but he opened his mouth to take a bite. Then he paused, the spoon still in his mouth. “Girlfriend?” he asked.
Babs felt her face getting red. “Don’t talk with your mouthful,” she ordered quickly, then shoved another spoonful in before he could respond.
Dick just laughed, a muffled sound since he hadn’t managed to swallow anything yet, and in that moment, he looked more like himself than he had all day.
He made it about halfway through the bowl before he was sick again – and Barbara couldn’t help but think her rapid-fire feeding was at least partially to blame. But after that, he slept for the rest of the evening, with Babs changing out his ice pack and checking his temperature every few hours. She realized that was all probably excessive, but it made her feel better regardless.
The next day the color was back in his face, and he got up on his own and took a shower. The day after that, he was practically back to his normal self, and emerged from his room freshly shaven with wet hair and his shirt unbuttoned and the scent of soap and lotion wafting off of him.
Barbara sat up on the couch, groggy and achy, but pleased to see him on the mend. “Looks like someone’s feeling better,” she yawned.
He plopped down next to her, finishing the buttons on his shirt. “I’m a new man,” he announced.
“The wonders of food and rest never cease to amaze,” she murmured, without much spirit. She felt almost too tired to even smile properly.
Dick eyed her carefully. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m just tired,” she sighed. “I haven’t gotten much sleep these past couple days and unlike you and Tim, I need more than two hours a week to function properly.”
“Right,” Dick said, looking somewhat wounded. It made Babs’ chest ache. She hadn’t meant to make it sound like she regretted staying to help.
“Thanks again,” he said. “For everything.” He leaned over and kissed the side of her head, then pulled back, his brows scrunched together.
“What?”
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked. “You feel warm.”
“You calling me hot, Grayson?” she asked. Dick grinned but put his hand to her head. His palm felt shockingly cool.
After a second, his eyes went wide. “Uh oh.”
“Don’t say it.”
“Babs, I am so sorr–”
Before he could finish, her stomach lurched and sent her careening towards the bathroom where she collapsed in front of the toilet and hurled her guts out. A few moments later, she felt her hair be pulled gently away from her face and a hand rubbing circles into her back.
“This cannot be happening,” she groaned.
“’Fraid so,” he sighed. “I’ll make up my bed and get you something to wear.”
“Okay… I’ll be here…” Her words were muffled partially by the toilet seat pressing against her cheek and soon, without realizing it, she’d drifted to sleep.
She was only vaguely aware when a pair of strong arms scooped her up and placed her in a newly made bed. Something cool went across her forehead, then a pair of lips brushed her ear as they whispered, “Guess it’s my turn to take care of you.”
Barbara smiled, or at least she thought she did, before succumbing once again to sleep in a bed that smelled distinctly like her favorite person.