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I.
They were packing and moving again.
Always in a fret, the persistent fear that someone would find them ― whenever they moved, wherever Dick was going to hide them, Rachel knew the burden brought on by her powers was fated to ruin them all. And it was her fault only, guilty of an evilness she couldn’t control yet, but it was inside her, a piece of her soul and spirit.
From a crappy motel to another, the journey was long, so long she couldn’t understand how Dick barely showed any sign of tiredness and fatigue. Now too, while she was busy putting the few clothes she had in a small backpack, Dick was inscrutable. With careful and observant eyes, he kept looking out the window, fingers curled gently around the curtains and a hot drink in his other hand.
The cloudy weather outside must remind him of home, Rachel thought as the sound of raindrops echoed and a faint smell of roasted coffee lingered in the room, prickling their nostrils.
Sometimes she still found herself speculating on what kind of person Dick used to be before ― before they had met, before she had stumbled in his life, bringing more chaos and problems he didn’t deserve, yet whose weight he had put on his shoulders.
Dick Grayson was a mystery to her eyes even after the time they’d been spending together, her life depending on him more than she could’ve ever imagined, and there were no words to describe the gratitude she felt for his help.
Therefore, it was natural wondering if Dick too, in the same way he’d been saving her, had a shoulder to cry on, a hand to grasp in times of need, a shelter where to refuge to when the world outside started to be too harsh. Too unforgiving.
“Do you ever miss it?” Her voice faltered as soon as she saw him turning around, a frown on his face.
“What exactly?”
He didn’t look angry or annoyed. Just ― curious, maybe, because in the last few days they hadn’t time to spare, time to talk about other things that weren’t about finding a safe place and now, although the hecticness was palpable, minds relentlessly wandering to their next destination, Dick looked almost quiet.
Rachel bit her lips, unsure and suddenly plunged in her own indecision.
“Home,” she whispered, a shiver running through her body. “Gotham, do you miss it?”
She didn’t know what to expect, but his reaction took her by surprise. A short sigh, so feeble she thought it had been just a sound generated by her own mind, an illusion projected by her desire to discover, to know more about Dick’s past.
But it was real, like real was the sense of displeasure and ― was it embarrassment? ― emerging on Dick’s face, in his eyes, as if more secrets were well hidden there, beyond his usual assertive façade.
He snorted softly, “complicated question.”
“I can accept a complicated answer,” Rachel replied, a hint of shyness in her voice as she wanted to know, wanted to listen to anything he was willing to reveal, yet at the same time the fear to sound too insistent terrified her. She didn’t want to push him away, not when loneliness had been such a devoted and unsought company in her life.
“It’s― really difficult to explain.”
He insisted and they both looked at each other, laughing to wash away the awkwardness that was slowly creeping up. And it was still between them, now manifesting in a silence stretched in time, one, two ― seconds where nothing happened. Only Rachel’s frail breath was hearable, and with her even the furniture, the cheap room adornments and the walls seemed to wait for Dick to speak again.
She fluttered her lashes, slowly. Sufficiently slow to hit one of his weak spots because he was too kind, too open-hearted, thus just a glimpse of sadness on her face was enough to win over his last resistance.
Rachel observed him, his figure bathed in the misty light of the room when he sat down, on the edge of his bed. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, a shadow of melancholy cast on his cheeks, and she noticed how his hands cupped around the mug, relishing the warmth coming from the hot coffee.
“I used to live with a circus company,” any emotion was concealed behind his closed eyelids, barely moving as he spoke about his childhood. And Rachel listened, heard him talking quietly about how proud he was to have been part of it, how glorious it had been to work with his parents, city after city, a perpetual changing scenery. Gotham was scarcely mentioned, just a reminiscence here and there, among anecdotes of his family and funny names given to his fellow performers.
And, at first, Rachel couldn’t understand how his words were a reply to her question; and while every new disclosed memory was feeding her curiosity, the main answer was again lingering in the air. Heavier than before, because it was obvious Dick was trying to gain time, making Rachel lose herself in his happy yet nostalgic existence as a trapezist.
Only then, as if struck by an unexpected epiphany, Dick gazed upon her once again. “Going around has never been a problem, no need to belong to just one place.”
“So, Gotham..." she attempted to find a way out of it. "You won't go back."
You do not miss it, you do not weep for what you left behind, for who might be waiting for your return. Rachel wanted to say, spilling out whatever thought crossed her mind as to break through Dick's placid appearance.
And it was terrific and frightening how he managed to look both quiet and constantly angry whenever Gotham was mentioned. There must have been a wound somewhere, a still fresh scar Rachel was unable to see, that Dick couldn't forget, couldn't heal, and relentlessly bothered him.
"I moved to Detroit for a reason," rage didn't appear on his face yet, not between the crease of his skin even while he began to frown. It resembled annoyance, rather than pure anger, and Rachel knew Dick was refraining to show that side of himself, afraid she wouldn't be able to see him under the same light anymore.
And Rachel could not let him be - she wanted a friend, desired one for such a long time she was ready to accept any flaw, any limit of his. In the same way he accepted hers, as far to put his own life in danger.
That was the least she could do to show her affection.
"It's about him, right?"
No urge to mention his name. Rachel knew, Dick knew.
His presence was everywhere, tacit, sometimes barely noticeable, but such a perpetual, heavy influence on any choice Dick had taken, and Rachel could see it even if she never personally met him.
Bruce Wayne's power went beyond the mere idea of money and social credibility. He kept Dick's bleeding heart in one hand and Rachel was intrigued and saddened by the relationship betwixt them.
"It's―"
"Complicated, again," she muttered softly. "That's what all adults say. Too proud to discuss over a pizza and resolve it."
She chuckled, knowing the world was more complex than that, more unjust and unstable, but for now seeing Dick's lips twitching in a smile kept any worry at bay.
"If only it was that easy."
"I know, but―" she bit her lips once more, unsure if she could be of any help. "You can talk with me, I'm always on your side anyway."
And Dick finally laughed, edginess still present in his voice, in the corners of his eyes, but the small thank you he muttered was so sweet Rachel's heart swelled in happiness.
An ephemeral peace, but still a welcomed one.
II.
Dick Grayson was ― something.
Jason was trying to find a proper word to describe him, an adequate expression to stress on the many facets of his personality. Proud and resilient and generous, but with a nuance of stubbornness which seemed to be a common denominator for people like them.
Robins, in particular, for Jason’s curiosity about the original Boy Wonder had been growing in a short span of time, fuelled every time Batman mentioned their past adventures and their cleansing of criminality from Gotham.
A part of himself was still surprised to have Dick so close, flesh and bones – not just a whisper on Bruce’s lips or a hearsay resonating in the manor. This, in front of him, was a man with more layers than Batman could ever explain, so human and for that same reason flawed and imperfect.
He had never liked perfection nor its pretence, so seeing this Grayson guy being like any other vigilante was ― revealing?
A small consolation after living almost a year in his shadow.
In retrospect, he could understand the reason why Batman picked Dick as a sidekick and why talking about him was, to a certain extent, a taboo topic.
Dick was similar in seriousness to the caped crusader, but not with the same darkness Bruce carried with him.
Moreover, they both seemed to fall into the habit of sulking quite a lot, yet, while Batman had accepted his brooding inclinations long ago, Dick buried any worry behind a courteous guise.
There he was, smiling, irritation merely visible in his eyes when Jason heard him swearing under his breath, some words that didn't belong to the English language.
"And you're okay with it?" Dick asked and Jason stared at him confused, pursed lips as he forgot what they were talking about.
"Being Robin? Yeah dude, it's just kicking bad guys in a costume. But a good one this time, no offence to your fashion sense."
Dick did not reply back, almost as if he wasn't really listening to what Jason had just told him and he looked overwhelmed too, probably surprised by how enthusiastic Jason was about working with Batman.
He got used to it - to the hectic rhythms, to the double life. Not so much to the strictness and Bruce's emotionally constipated company, but they were working on it.
And the no-killing rule was such a nonsense code to live by, at least from his point of view, but Batman was still the boss which meant, alas, that he had to listen to him from time to time.
"No, I was referring to being microchipped by―" a moment of hesitation and a sharp sound coming from Dick's parted lips followed.
Jason recognised the dithering easily, it was the same as Bruce because Dick's name was pronounced only on rare occasions at home.
It was all about the previous Robin, Detective Grayson or, in times of absolute discretion, just Him and He - Bruce taking for granted that the context of their conversations sufficed, as though there was something sacrilegious in invoking Dick's existence under the manor's roof.
"Well, it's a safety measure." For a brief moment he pretended the displeasure blooming on Dick's face was only an illusion. But then, driven by an insane sense of curiosity and bother too, he fell into temptation and inquired.
"Any chance of you explaining what's wrong?"
"Apart from having a microchip in your body without knowing until now?" Dick crossed his arms against his chest, such a defensive posture Jason was baffled by how fast the other was able to prove his first impressions wrong. So, Dick Grayson wasn’t just a restrained, smiley face - the consequences of the feud between Batman and his ex-partner naturally reflected on their personal relationship as well.
But it couldn't be hate, no, Jason wouldn't consider it as such. It must've been a deeper feeling, a crawling sensation under their skin that had brought them to see each other as strangers now.
Or as someone who had shared joy and suffering, so intensively, so close, the mere mention of what they used to be was a painful and unbearable reminder.
Jason lifted his shoulders, "I guess he cares but, you know, he's a control freak."
"He cares by looking for a new Robin in less than what, one week?"
And Jason felt like laughing because, really? - Dick didn't appear to be the jealous type, especially not jealous of him, since they'd just met each other. It was silly more than everything, because Dick's absence still affected Batman. Bruce as a person too even, which made Jason comprehend they were both ridiculously stubborn.
"Actually, he wasn't searching for a sidekick and the Batmobile―" he froze. Suddenly mentioning their first encounter and how Batman let him drive his car did not sound like a good idea.
"Jeez, listen. He knows I'm here, just― I don't know, give him a call or come say hi once in a while."
This was becoming exhausting already and Jason’s initial intention wasn’t to act as Batman's peace messenger. It was supposed to be his - his moment, a time to seek assistance from someone who had been there before him, hoping for some precious tips from Dick's past experiences. Not an emotional show about the first Robin's dramatic divorce from Batman.
"He can do that first, he knows where to find me anyway," sarcasm suited Dick well, Jason discovered. Him tapping on his own arm added a nice touch of drama, which slowly turned in fake courtesy and impassivity once again.
Jason couldn't stop thinking about how similar Dick and Bruce now looked, but he bit his tongue, aware that the comparison wouldn’t have been appreciated.
"Like a married couple," he later muttered, low, a solitary vibration through his throat.
"What?"
And what seemed like fury set aflame Dick's cheeks, a distinct blush over his tanned skin, the moles on his face looking more vivid under the ruddiness - a delicate shade that suggested ingenuity and a shy feeling Jason couldn't put a hand on yet but that had been harbouring inside Dick’s chest for a long time.
Not hate, no - that would be impossible.
Although he wanted to know the reason for that reaction, Jason didn't challenge Dick’s patience. Not this time.
"Nevermind I'm ― uh yeah, going."
Dick Grayson was definitely… something.
III.
Kory still struggled to comprehend humans in their complexity, from the way they suppressed their emotions – even when so obvious to the eye – to their methods to show devotion and love towards each other.
Dick Grayson was an excellent specimen in that sense, self-contradictory and intricate, yet a magnet difficult to resist to. It wasn’t about his beauty – not unique, Tamaran’s men had nothing to envy to human beings.
It wasn’t the sex either, even though oh, the sex had been good, and she very much liked feeling his warm breath caressing her skin, his body pressing on hers, flesh against flesh. And he was gentle and fast and considerate when needed.
Almost pouring love into it, innocuous and a bit dirty as well, exactly like Kory begged him to.
But it wasn’t real, and she was okay with that, since they were not supposed to love each other and, in fact, there was nothing more than a fleeting physical attraction between them, an animalistic appetite that was instinctively satisfied once or twice, when he wasn’t too busy playing the role of the responsible big brother to Rachel.
Any place was right for them, as it was right the motel they were hiding in now, their sweaty bodies close to each other on a small bed, too small for the emotional baggage Dick seemed to carry around.
And perhaps that was it.
Maybe his charm worked on others because of its tormented tendency, always plagued by bigger things, on the verge to abandon himself into a state of complete anguish, but not letting it win yet.
Never happened in front of Kory nor any other member of their tumultuous team.
Or not until now.
It was new, seeing him as if the world was crumbling over his shoulders and there was nothing left he could do, thus there he was, looking at an unsignificant corner of the ceiling. Probably seeking for a mysterious reply nowhere to be found.
Kory’s gaze chased him in the silence, the same post-sex routine as always, but today done with an unusual indolence she had never noticed before. It was uncharacteristic, his hunched figure as he was looking around for a shirt to put on.
Light seeped through the curtains, just a feeble gleam of a shy, crescent moon, emphasising scars and old scratches and bruises on his back.
It was past midnight and Kory’s mind went to how little she knew him, to the stories those wounds could tell.
She knew none.
However, she was certain that his eyes had a lot to say too, plenty of emotions to disclose, displeasure and anger and ― longing, so deep Kory was almost falling into the trap of empathy. Her, feeling bad for someone else, when she barely knew who she was and why she stood here, on planet Earth.
“I don’t get it,” finally a whisper, to which Dick responded with a muted frown. “A guy like you can please anyone, a damsel in distress would fall for you straight way.”
Dick chortled back, not one of his best laughs but a timid one, tinged with a hint of sombreness that led Kory to think stupid me, he’s not a man of compromises.
“You’re great Kory, and―”
“I’m not talking about sex. You can do it with anyone, but this thing― love, as you call it here. Your eyes give you away every time.” It was cute, how occasionally he exposed himself without noticing, a kind of intimacy Kory had been scrutinizing with an almost childlike curiosity.
But it wasn’t dedicated to her, and seeing it wasted in fruitless yearning was incredibly frustrating.
“Not this now,” he looked at her over his shoulders, not turning around yet. It stung, she knew a nerve was just hit and his back hunched even more as soon as she got closer to him, voice touching his ears.
“Oh, so there’s someone,” Dick wasn’t the only good detective, apparently. And from how his lips were twitching, Kory was sure he was surprised to see his secret being revealed.
“Are they good?”
“He― damn, Kory, we’re not having this conversation.” He stood up, suddenly frigid, goosebumps across his exposed skin and his attempt to hide himself behind a creased t-shirt was quite pathetic. And Kory saw everything, faint blush and a wounded gaze included.
“Aw, a he,” she blinked, a small smile crept across her face. “Why not, I can keep my mouth shut.”
Dick stared at her. Kory looked back.
He was considering it, just for a passing moment, before sighing and plopping himself down on the bed again. She was already relishing her victory. “Still a no, but nice try.”
“I feel like a kid now,” she slid quietly near his side, indulging in her childish side once more. Looking up, Dick was still trying to avoid her eyes. “Is it what Richard Grayson is feeling too? Young again for his little, secret crush?”
It was that easy to work him up, and there was something satisfying in watching him swelling in nervousness. He bit his lower lip, a lone drop of sweat rolling down his cheek and Kory glimpsed truth on his face.
“Not a crush.”
She let a lazy mmh escape from her lips, “Thought so, it’s serious.”
And the atmosphere turned severe. Kory did not laugh, because the expression Dick was giving her was again wounded and- tired, exhausted from something that had been going on for a long time. Of times before they'd even met, an ache he'd learnt to live with, but was consuming him gradually. From inside, invisible to inattentive eyes, and perhaps even more corrosive as the pain was nourished by his silences.
So stubborn and ― stupid.
Kory was amazed, couldn't have thought Dick was capable of being infatuated with someone to that degree. And it was somewhat admirable, because he put in his love the same zeal everyone could find in his job.
"Humans' existences don't last many years if compared with those of my people. Time is precious and sometimes regrets weight more than what we imagine, Richard."
Dick ran a hand through his hair, "Wise words." He sounded sincere, but misery was still there, filling his eyes, darkening his face. "But―I can't do anything, I'm okay with this."
And in that moment, Kory understood how absurd humans could be ― letting themselves burn by desires despite the little occasions they had.
Perhaps that was their charm, fated to a perpetual and unsatisfied ardour, but always proud in their suffering.
IV.
Donna met with Dick again after months, years even, and they both changed so much they barely recognised each other.
But some things, some little details, were still the same. It was comforting and soothing because, no matter what, seeing Dick always felt like home.
Their past selves were only a remembrance of their teen years - days of unripe idealism and a naïve sentimentality they'd left behind after becoming the man and the woman they were now.
Dick seemed sadder too, his boyish sarcasm didn't disappear, and he was obstinate as he'd always been. Yet, he was also different, a woeful aura around him suggested life had got tougher, time hadn't been gentle to him.
Donna wondered how she appeared to his eyes, if her sorrow was as much obvious as his, if he could still tell when something was off.
They'd always been able to read each other's mind easily, a bond that now was more like a curse than a pleasant blessing.
They did not comment on it at first, distracting themselves with ancient languages and mysterious prophecies Dick was hasty to understand.
But Donna kept an eye on him throughout the meeting, observing without judgment, not a single word to comment whatever was going on in that complicated mind of his.
And it was good for a bit ― Dick explained the girl he'd met had incredible powers, abilities never seen before, and then added a bunch of other names that Donna was too tired to remember, but it was nice knowing Dick wasn’t alone.
He was used to solitude, truth be told, but people were attracted to him in such a natural way he embraced it, embraced any role others needed in support because he was that good - the Boy Wonder still had a heart made out of gold.
Helping people was an intrinsic vocation of his and Donna was glad to see it hadn’t changed.
He was incorruptible, despite the world getting more and more wicked.
"And how are things with Bruce?" She asked when the job was completed and easing the tense atmosphere was the only good thing left to be done.
But clearly it wasn't as good as she was expecting because Dick froze on the spot, hands fiddling with a hem of his shirt and ― Donna could see a teen Richard remerging from the past, there in front of her, the same awkwardness and goofy posture he'd closed himself in whenever his relationship with Bruce was mentioned.
And Donna remembered he was― Bruce was― Dick had been putting Batman on a pedestal for years, so long she couldn’t remember if a time where he hadn’t talked about him ever existed.
But she'd thought it was a momentum, a silly and brief calf love for a man who had his charm - Donna couldn't deny this - but he was also a billionaire loner that dressed like a bat at night instead of ― going to a therapist, or whatever. Which obviously had influenced Dick's life too, as living in a manor and as Robin were not common experiences.
"Dick…" She would've laughed, if it wasn’t for how serious he looked, a little embarrassed too as he was waiting to hear the same old jokes. About his insane yet somewhat chaste adoration for his legal guardian ― which wasn't what made Donna so astonished about it.
Bruce was different from Dick, so much Gotham had found a balance between Batman's menacing intrepidity and Robin's callow and high-spirited presence.
But now Dick was a man ― no more a kid in shorts and pixie boots, no more saccharine and irrational respect for the Dark Knight.
"It's not how you're imagining it." Dick justified himself, meek and mortified. "I quitted, it's done."
"But you still love him," Donna dared to say and searched for a reply not in words, but in any silent gestures of his, fingers clutching on leather and cotton and whichever piece of clothes was there to grasp. Perhaps love was too heavy, a commitment Dick wasn't ready for, and Donna expected him to say something, to retort and complain about it not being more than mere admiration.
But Dick did not.
Dick kept quiet and listened to Donna sighing in surrender.
Then when time seemed to roll by slowly, a torture they voluntarily had put themselves into, Dick muttered, "as I said, it doesn't matter anymore. I have my problems to deal with, Rachel is scared, scared of hurting others. And Kory―"
"I can't believe I'm telling you this but," Donna did not comfort people, she did not inspire others to be better. She was terrible with feelings and showing fondness but― but Dick was Dick, they’d grown up together, dealt with being teenagers in a world of adults together. She couldn’t stay there and see his perpetual pining for something he couldn't have.
"You have to take care of yourself too. This― this self-denial and helping others is great, but you matter too, Dick."
She had no right to say it, yet being witness to his desolation wasn't neither pleasant nor funny.
"And you deserve better. You can have more than an old man who spends his days sulking in a cave."
"He's more than that," Dick snapped back, but quietly as if he understood why she was telling him all this. But sure too that Donna knew Bruce wasn't just a recluse obsessed with justice.
"Right, he is. But you're more than his Robin too, you gave him enough years of your life."
Not a fair exchange when you don't get anything back, Donna would've said, but her silence spoke instead, lips in a thin line, barely trembling when Dick stared at her. Looking offended and even more disquiet than before.
A good friend wouldn't regret it and Donna did not. Honesty hurt, could be uncomfortable and cruel at times, but as much as she respected Batman, what he did, what he stood for, she couldn't let Dick wasting himself over this.
"Was nice to see you again," she waved lazily, turning her back to him.
She couldn’t see it but she knew, knew he was smiling by how his voice sounded, a pitch higher, exactly how it used to be when they were kids. Full of confidence and unapologetic about who he was.
"I gave myself to Gotham, not him.”
Donna snorted, “Never change, Dickie.”
V.
How many months had passed since Dick left?
Bruce knew the exact answer, much to his displeasure, for he couldn’t forget their last conversation, so to speak.
Screams, petty arguing, doors slamming – the manor had never been so chaotic, and Dick’s character, innately inclined to being fervorous, passionate about everything he had at heart, had found a natural enemy in Bruce’s more restrained and cold personality.
Whenever Dick had lamented a certain lack of freedom, a privation of a normal level of independence for a young adult, Bruce had replied with even more silences, prohibition after prohibition, a creeping fear telling him that the world didn’t deserve to hurt Dick.
So, Bruce had been the one to hurt him instead.
As only he could, head filled with paranoia, he had worried so much that he’d forgotten Dick was trained to fight, he knew tragedy, loss ―he’d been knowing the horrid side of the world since a young age.
Shielding him from potential dangers meant underestimating him, thinking he was going to be eternally unprepared against pain and disappointments.
As an afterthought, Bruce recognised his past mistakes. Still too proud to admit it out in the open, but Dick was surviving without him, free from his overprotective shadow – such a contradiction for a man who claimed to be always collected and rational.
Now― now Dick was coming back to him, he was at home again.
His figure appeared in one of the many screens Bruce kept in the cave, cameras on the front door of the manor were showing a face he could recognise by heart. And Dick was as beautiful as he remembered; even when resentment and anger were so evident on his face, a pensive expression darkening his blue eyes, Dick’s beauty never faltered.
He looked up, stared directly at the camera, and although he couldn’t see Bruce, the latter felt his limbs going heavy, something blossoming in the pit of his stomach. A grin – the kid had enough impudence to smirk at him – exposed a flash of white teeth, as a reminder that Dick Grayson was back in town, and he was still the same rebellious Robin who used to swing from chandeliers and climb on expensive pieces of furniture like it was nothing.
“Master Bruce,” Alfred’s voice came from the intercom, the familiar British accent reverberating in the quietude of the cave. “Master Richard wishes to greet you, shall I let him join you down there?”
Of course Alfred let Dick come in already. It was his house too, after all, though he didn’t want to be associated with it anymore. Not difficult to understand why.
And again, of course Alfred was reproaching Bruce for his lack of manners, just a slight change in his tone, implying a good host wouldn’t force a guest to meet him in the cave.
Batman and Robin had spent hours and hours together there, in the darkness, eyes tired but relentless hearts in search of peace solutions for a city that never seemed to heal.
But now it was Bruce meeting Dick, no capes, no masks, no secrets.
When he rejoined the world, the normal one, of fancy drawers, old sets of dinner plates and polished pendulum clocks, Dick was already waiting for him, sitting on the sofa with a cup of tea in his hands.
Bruce was tempted to stand there, looking at him and taking in the view ― how gracious he looked with his legs crossed, he had let his hair grow a little, just a couple of tufts framing his face.
He still twisted his lips when something important crossed his mind. Bruce had always considered it fascinating.
"Dick," he called him, voice coming out weaker than expected. Their gazes met halfway, and it was unfair how lovely Dick was when smiling, despite being angry at him.
And Bruce was still convinced he didn't deserve any of this - not his forgiveness, patience and dedication.
"Hey B." Dick had always had his own way to pronounce it. B barely escaped his lips, a whisper so gentle and soft, it was natural to forget for a moment who he was referring to.
Not a scorbutic and lone man who spent days and months and years of his life hiding behind a costume, nor the rich playboy whose smiling face was frequently found in magazines and all over the internet.
For Dick, he was none of that or perhaps a little bit of both.
B was just B.
Bruce couldn’t fathom how Dick was still able to find something worth adoring in him.
"Long time no see," he said, hiding a sense of urgency that made him remember how he'd been longing for them to meet again.
It was foolish, considering a simple call would've resolved the problem quickly. But Dick deserved time for himself.
"Alfred’s tea always tastes great."
Dick smiled again and Bruce felt his mouth twitching too, as if he could sense the same nostalgia the other was feeling. "Yes, he gets tired of me asking for coffee. He wouldn’t mind having someone around who knows how to appreciate it."
"Jason doesn’t like it?"
It was an innocent question, yet Bruce imagined there was sarcasm somewhere, on the tip of his tongue, in his mind, expecting Dick to say he knew he'd been replaced, he knew he'd been forgotten so easily.
"I don't think I've ever seen him drinking something other than cheap beer and water."
Dick giggled, hiding his laugh behind the palm of his hand. "Unruly, isn’t he?"
"Indeed, but he's a good kid when he listens." Bruce had to get used to some of his behaviours, his loudness and the constant urge to break rules, but he was proud of him. Like he had been proud of Dick before.
He still was.
"Aren't we all good when we follow what the bat says?" Dick teased him, hiding a small smirk with a sip from his tea.
"You're still good," Bruce admitted and he― Dick was― Dick was blushing and Bruce was surprised by himself too, usually not being too keen to compliment his Robin. "Even if you're free from the Batman now."
"This was never a prison. I'd do anything," it went unsaid but there was no need to fill the silence. Dick was too kind, and being too kind meant he would do anything for Bruce.
"I know," Bruce wanted to ask why he had left then, why he wasn't staying in Gotham anymore. But the answer was clear, and despite being in another city, being far from the place he'd grown up, Dick still looked at him with the same passion and― and love as always.
On the other side, Bruce felt cowardice was getting the best of him.
He sat down, so close their knees touched but far enough to leave Dick the chance to get away.
A faint bruise was blooming on his neck, Bruce now noticed. A tinge of purple on his warm skin, and while an inner voice was telling him to not touch, not interfere, Bruce couldn't but lay his thumb on it, blood rushing in his veins.
Dick flinched for a moment, "sparring. You're training him well."
"He said I should've called you, checking how you were doing." Bruce murmurs, discreet and suddenly placid. Jason was right, telephones had been invented for a reason.
Dick didn't reply immediately, just melted in Bruce’s touch, feeling his finger running across his neck and up, along his chin and only stopping to cup his cheek. It was warm, warmer than what Bruce had ever imagined, and he slowly realised what they were doing only when Dick began to mutter again.
"Used to tell my parents I was going to be a good ćhavo, work in the circus forever, and find a nice romni to spend my life with."
Bruce breathed in, knowing how much Dick had lost with his parents' death. Even more than him, as he could still say the heritage of the Waynes was saved, the manor was a proof of their existence, a treasure of his family’s history. Dick had renounced a part of himself when he'd started to live there, his culture, his identity. And while Bruce and Alfred had never denied what he was, where he came from, the change had left him scarred.
At times, in darker days, they had wondered if they'd made the right choice.
Bruce never regretted it, despite the price of having Dick here.
Quite selfish and so― Bruce.
Dick chuckles, "Look at me now though, I think my mum would've been surprised to see me falling for a gadze, older than me even!”
"I am old," Bruce didn't feel as such, but he did if compared to Dick. Dick was young and cheerful and― he deserved someone similar to him, someone who was able to cherish him and not drag him down.
But Dick now was somewhere else, mind wandering, and he looked surprised as if he was expecting a different answer or another silence of his.
"You knew already." He shivered. "Knew I like you?"
How couldn't he?
Dick hadn’t been subtle. Emotions were easy to spot in any of his gestures, from how he cared about others to when he was mad at something. He was more honest than Bruce, more eager to accept his own desires and Bruce appreciated that part of his personality. Occasionally even envy it because Dick didn’t feel ashamed of what he felt.
It was human.
And being human meant embracing exposure to frustration and sorrow too.
“Yes,” Bruce said, and Dick sank in the sofa a bit, becoming smaller and smaller.
It was simple to reminisce then, the day Bruce had actually understood it was more than a fixation. It had less to do with being Batman and more about them as people. He’d diminished it for long, thinking Dick had been a foolish teen just as foolish his crush had been.
But years had passed, not their feelings.
Dick was mortified, but still didn’t avoid him. On the contrary, he gazed at Bruce shyly, but not with less courage.
“It must’ve been horrible, I don’t envy your position right now,” he gulped. “But I won’t do anything inappropriate, B. Actually, I think coming here wasn’t such a great idea and―”
“It’s unfitting, can’t say the opposite,” Bruce stood up, walking around the room, avoiding the curious eyes of his ancestors, of the frames and photos and old paintings that followed him and seemed to see through his mind, deeply and intrusively. The manor didn’t look desolating anymore, but like a court with silent witnesses ready to judge a sinner.
Luckily, pictures couldn’t talk.
“But I have a part of blame to share.”
It was heavy, the guilty Bruce felt. And he’d denied his love, mistreated it, oppressed it ― so much he still couldn’t believe this day would’ve ever arrived. And Dick, oh poor Dickie, looked overwhelmed and confused.
“You would’ve not remained if you knew. It was pointless, hence I took the most logical choice. There are many people in the world, Dick, people with a more secure life than mine, of your same age, for starters. So―”
He hadn’t heard any step, not a single breath or a faint sound. The room was quiet, yet Dick was now standing near his side, one hand lingering before travelling on Bruce’s arm.
A light touch, almost imperceptible, as though Dick had been battling against himself and the part of him who had desired to get closer was winning.
And Bruce was cursing himself for how instinctively he indulged in Dick’s caress.
“Unfortunately for you, there’s no one else.” Dick confessed, a watery laughter was stuck on the back of his throat. Bruce’s hands tingled, eager to comfort the other in some way. He’d always been bad at this kind of things.
“You’re the only one, you have to stick with me for a long time.”
The boyish grin was back, there, on Dick’s lips, while the dim light of the room shone on his skin, accentuating his features ― with a candid blush spreading on his cheeks difficult to resist to.
“But speaking of why I am here,” now it was Bruce’s turn to look confused, distracted by how close Dick was, a warm whisper against his ear. “It’s kinda hot when you try to protect me, but no more trackers next time, please?”
A small microchip fell in Bruce’s hand and, for the first time, he was at a loss for words, letting Dick win with another smirk of his.