Work Text:
“You remember how we agreed to split custody of Alfred?”
Barbara found herself smiling. She knew better, knew she shouldn't, knew that they were headed right into dangerous waters again. “I do. Why?”
“I was thinking we should reassess the agreement.”
“You mean I'll get him for more than just the weekends?”
“Actually,” Dick began, and Barbara cursed herself as she recognized that feeling in her stomach and that look in his eyes, the tone of his voice. “I was thinking more about... shared custody. You and me together.”
She started to shake her head. “This is—”
“We both know there's still something there. It's always just under the surface. We are both under each other's skin, poisoned with each other, tangled up in ways we can't separate. We have a lot of past. We have a lot of mistakes.”
“We have things we can't get over.”
“Yeah. Each other. Babs, I'm not over you. You're not over me. We can keep trying to move on separately, but why? It's not going to cure us, it's not going to save us. The only way to change this pattern is to find a way to stay together,” Dick insisted. “Start over with me. Please. I still love you. I was a mess for a long time, and I am one now, but I know what I want. I know what I need. It's you.”
She closed her eyes and let out a breath. “This is a bad idea, Dick.”
“Tell me you don't love me.”
He knew she couldn't, and she wanted to hate him for it, but she didn't. “If this goes wrong—”
“It won't.”
“You are endlessly optimistic.”
“Is that a yes?”
She thought of all the reasons not to do this, all the reasons to run—figuratively speaking—as far from this as she could—but she didn't. “It's a yes. Provided, of course, that Alfred does the cooking.”