Chapter Text
Dick didn’t make a habit of breaking into strangers' apartments. Typically breaking and entering fell to the villains he stopped, not the vigilante that stopped them. However, desperate times call for desperate measures, and Dick couldn’t see straight. His body felt tingly and the steady pour of blood coming from the hole in his stomach was warm and sticky between his fingers that barely pushed against it.
Golly, he was in pain. When did guns become the preferred weapon to petty thieves? Dick was used to the knife and maybe a brass knuckle when taking down a mugger, not a handgun… Safe to say, Dick was… caught off guard when the man pulled out the gun and shot at him. It had caught him in the midriff. The worst part? The guy got away. You win some, you lose some…
Dick stumbled about two blocks before he realized he was truly bleeding out. The adrenaline had been carrying him after the mugger, albeit not very fast, and when he lost sight of him? He collapsed.
Bruce was gonna kill him.
So he did the only logical thing he could think of in his blood loss idle brain: he scaled the closest apartment complex in search of an unlocked window. Surely not everyone locked their windows at night, right?
He was on his fifth window when he realized free climbing on the side of a building wasn’t a smart idea when you could barely see and your hands felt weak, but, by some miracle, the fifth window opened.
—
Now, Diana King had seen a lot while living in Bludhaven. Muggings, shootings, various vigilantes running around outside her apartment, and, particularly, the aftermath of those things. The ER in Bludhaven, like Gotham, was never short on patients, so it was quite common for Diana to come home covered in dark stains that she hoped would come out in the wash. She was also very similar with the smell of gunpowder and blood. She’d work tirelessly after work most nights scrubbing her skin and hair to get the stench out, lighting candles and air freshers to counter what she left behind in every room. So there was a lingering smell in her apartment, but never quite so pungent as when she stepped through the door this evening.
Dick thought he heard footsteps as he hunched laid on the floor of what looked to be a women's bedroom. He’s not sure how long he’s been laying there, just that it was much better than moving because every step, every twitch, felt like being shot all over again.
The door to the room squeaked open, Diana frowning as she pushed it, her hands already pulling the hem over her scrub top over her hair when she froze. She had to be hallucinating, so tired from work that she was conjuring scenarios that she’d see at the hospital…right? There wasn’t actually a man, the Nightwing, bleeding on her bedroom floor…but the longer she stared, clad only in her scrub pants and her undershirt, the more real he looked.
He stared at the ceiling, the whites of his domino mask unblinking; his skin was a sick pale she’d recognize anywhere in a dying man; the blood coming from the hole in his stomach oozed blood with the beat of his slow heart; and his chest moved barely, his breaths shallow and raspy.
After that was purse instinct. She was at his side in a second, The Nightwing’s side, her fingers pressed to his limp wrist, searching for a pulse. It was faint, like she assumed, but it was getting weaker.
Dick barely registered the women touching him. He felt like he was on a different planet. Nothing was real. There was this blissful calm that should’ve scared him, but nothing could scare him right now. Everything was a haze. And when the women hovered above him, dark brows furrowed in concentration as her fingers nimbly found the zipper on his suit, her messy brown hair falling in cascades around her face which she batted away annoyed, he could’ve sworn she was an angel. She seemed to glow in the darkness of his vision.
“Hi,” he slurred, trying to smirk charmingly at the beautiful women.
His voice startled her, she believed he was too out of it considering how much blood was staining her new carpet, but a part of her was grateful that he was still semi-conscious.
“Hi,” she said hesitantly, working off the second sleeve of his black and blue spandex suit revealing scared arms with bicep muscles that were the size of baseballs. If she wasn’t worried about him dying, she’d be swooning far harder than was appropriate.
The man looked up at her with glassy eyes, watching him but definitely not seeing her the way he should. The blood loss was increasingly worrying, and Diana did not make a habit of keeping spare blood in her apartment given that she wasn’t a sociopath.
He mumbled something as she pressed a shirt from her floor to the wound, her brows furrowed as possibilities ran through her mind. Calling an ambulance would be smart, but this was Nightwing, a superhero who prides himself in his identity under his mask. He was vulnerable and not everyone was as sympathetic to his secret as this stranger was. No. No she wouldn’t call anyone. She had to help him. Alone.
“What was that?” She leaned her ear in, trying to hear his slurred words. Diana pressed harder into his wound, the blood soaking through the shirt fabric faster than she’d hoped.
“M’Dick,” he mumbled, his breathing shallow and face curled up in a wince. Somewhere in his blood loss idle state, he knew he wasn’t supposed to say that. Saying his name while dressed as Nightwing was a dangerous game he wasn’t willing to play. But this was an angel to him. He was dying and his guardian angel was making a last ditch effort. He should introduce himself, right? “M’name s’Dick Grayson…” Dick’s words trailed off into a groan as pain flared from the wound.
Had this all been a movie, the freeze frame of the two would’ve been comic gold. A dying vigilante, half naked and bleeding on the nurses bedroom floor as she stares down at him in unabridged shock, her hands covered in his blood and face a flushed red.
Diana wasn’t sure what to do. He wasn’t in his right mind, that was clear as day. He had just told her his name. Supposedly, his real name. And she knew that name. Of course she did. Everyone knew Dick Grayson, the Wayne family’s first son, the Golden Boy. The Nightwing.
“I’m…Diana King,” she introduced, unsure of herself, but he’d probably not remember when he was bleeding to death. She pressed into the wound harder, feeling sticky, warm blood soaking the fabric of the shirt she used as a makeshift gauze. Her medical supply, most of which she’d swiped from work in her pockets, were in her kitchen. She either had to wait until the bleeding stopped, or make a mad dash.
Dick grunted in pain and groaned out a low, “Diana…but…you’re not Wonder Woman..? Are you?”
Despite herself, Diana chuckled. The Wonder Woman jokes were a standard for her life, stuck to her like gum at the bottom of your shoe. Not pleasant but it stops bugging you after a while. “No. Not Wonder Women. Just Diana.”
“Jus’ Diana…An angel…”
Dicks murmured words came out slightly slurred, and panic rose in her throat. He was losing a lot of blood now, the old college shirt she’d been using, drenched in the vigilante's blood.
“Dick?” Diana’s voice was high pitched with worry. His eyes were dropping and he didn't respond. Her red hand reached out, snagging his face, startling his eyes open. “Dick?” she repeated, just as panicked.
“Diana…” he murmured back slowly.
“Stay awake.”
“Yes…Ma’am…” Dick tried for a charming smile, happy to be talking to this beautiful angel woman, but it was weak, and his eyes kept threatening to close.
She squeezed his face again, waking him up again. “You’re not a very good listener,” she mumbled to herself, pressing into the wound, her free hand reaching blindly for another piece of clothing to ruin with his blood. This time it was a pair of sweatpants.
It took half a pant leg and too many deliriously mumbled words from Dick for the bleeding to stop. Removing the sweats, Diana could see a glint of dark metal peaking from the hole in Dick’s abdomen. She had no way of knowing if it had hit anything vital, but judging from the fact that he was still alive now, she’d say he got really lucky. Either way, she’d have to remove the bullet. She couldn’t stitch it without pushing the bullet further in and that would do more harm than good.
I reached for his face again, forcing his drooping eyes back open again. “Stay,” I hissed at him, my eyes searching his glassy blue ones for any indication that he heard and understood what I'd instructed him.
“Mmmm’angel…” he groaned, his weak hand lifting to her pant leg, tugging at it.
That was a good enough reply for Diana. She scurried out of the room, beelining for the kitchen and her medical supply cabinet. The box was full with enough medical supplies to last her to last two life times. How she acquired a suture kit, she wasn’t sure, but the small box felt heavy in her hand, the weight of what she had to do in her small apartment bedroom pressing down on her.
Stitches weren’t first, though. Getting the remaining parts of the bullet out was.
Her hands rummaged around the bin for the surgical tweezers she definitely had when the low grunt reached her ears. She whipped around, brown eyes impossibly wide as she took in Dick hobbling into the room, back hunched and hand pressing to his stomach.
“Oh my gosh..” Diana breathed, abandoning her tweezers to go to his side, guiding him to the living room couch a few feet away. “I told you to stay,” she chastised, examining the wound once he was laying on his back, checking to make sure it wasn’t bleeding more.
Dick gazed up at her, dazed but grateful to see her, happy to feel her cold hand against his warm skin. Somewhere in his brain, he remembered her telling him to stay put, but she had left him all alone. “You were gone,” he mumbled though half lidded eyes, the pain pulsing from the wound that had started to bleed again. “M’sorry, angel.”
“I’m…not an angel,” Diana sighed, scoping gauze, the suture kit, and tweezers from the kitchen before kneeling at his side. She pressed the gauze to the hole in his middle, huffing annoyedly at the fact that it was bleeding all over her nice couch, the light pink fabric splotched with crimson that she knew would never truly come out.
“My angel..”
“I’m not-”
“So beautiful…”
“Dick-”
“You know my name…”
“Because you told m-”
“Beacuse you’re my angel.”
“Shush!” She huff, peeling back the gauze to check the bleeding. Better. “Okay..Dick? I need to get the bullet out of the wound, okay? It’s gonna hurt though…” She warned. Dick’s face scrunched up in distaste, mumbling something about a mugger and how stupid people were. Diana rolled her eyes, moving Dick’s weak hand to his shoulder. “Squeeze, don't scream. If you scream…well, then this will be a very shitty night.”
“Already shitty…”
“On three. One…two…” Diana located the metal, trying to grasp at it with the tweezers, the metal on metal slipping more than once, pushing into the sensitive, red flesh. Dick gasped and hissed, making awful noises of pain that made Diana's heart sink further than it already had. She offered small apologies, reassurances that he was doing great. His jaw was squeezed so tight she was afraid his teeth might break, and the grip on her shoulder was much too tight for a dying man, but it kept him from altering the whole complex of him being here. The last thing they need is the police showing up and asking questions
The bullet was finally grasped between the two parts of the tweezers with a sigh of relief from both parties, though Dick’s hand didn’t let up on her shoulder. She discarded it in a gauze while placing a clean one on the bleeding hole.
“Dick?” she asked softly, a bloody hand on his. His eyes were closed tightly, as if still bracing for pain and now the grip he hand on her shoulder was starting to ache.
He mumbled something, he’s not even sure what. Maybe reassurance to her, maybe another compliment. His brain was so fuzzy, he honestly could barely even hear his angel talking to him. Perhaps he was already dead…but no. He can feel the solid shoulder underneath his sweaty palm, the soft fabric of her white long sleeve beneath his finger tips. He wondered if her skin was as soft as her shirt…
“I have to stitch you up now,” she told him, speaking slowly and as clearly as possible. His eyes were still glass, a slight shine in them told her that his pain was a lot more than he was letting on. “Dick? Dick Grayson?” she tried firmly, gripping his chin again. He huffed, eyes focusing on her face- her beautiful, angelic face- his lips drawn in a half frown and half pout. Diana frowned with him, pushing sweaty locks of black hair from his forehead, far gentlier than she meant to.
Dick’s reaction was immediate. It was almost like he preened under her caring touch, his head leaning into her hand, trying to reach for it, waning more. He mumbled her name, the end of it almost like a whine, “Dianaaa. Please…”
“Plese what?” she responded, leaning her head closer to accommodate for his low, almost hoarse, voice.
He opened his mouth, ready to ask for more, his body shifting for her hand, but instead of words, a small cry left his lips. The shifting moment had pulled at the torn skin, making pain shoot up his body. Fresh tears prickled at the corners of his eyes. Usually, he’d be embarrassed. He’s nightwing, for goodness sake, but here, with this angel, on the brink of death, he didn’t have the heart to care.
It hurt so much, all he could really think about is the people he was leaving behind, because surely he wouldn't survive this. He knew he’d lost too much blood. He’d broken into someone's home. He didn’t know anything about their medical background other than she wore scrubs and had tools. He was going to die on his pink couch that smelled like strawberry and vanilla, and no one, not Bruce or time, Jason, Damian, Wally, Steph… no one would know what happened to him…
His tears startled Diana. She wasn’t expecting the steady flow to start in his ocean blue eyes. The pain was bad, she knew, but he’d toughed it out so far, barely shed a tear when she was picking the bullet out, but a small twist of his body made the waterworks?
“Dick?” she said softly, brushing a tear that leaked onto his temple. He mumbled incoherently leaning into her hand again. Diana felt her heart clench, and the urge to just hold him was almost too much to bear. “I need to stitch you,” she whispers, caressing a soft hand through his damp hair. “Can I?”
He nodded barely, sighing like the weight of the world had left his shoulders as her hand carded through.
Diana worked fast, but efficiently, suturing the wound up, stopping a few times to let him breathe. Every grunt and gasp from him made her heart squeeze. She now wished she’d taken a vial of morphine from work once and a while. She whispered soft words to him, promising it will be better when it’d done and telling him how good he;s doing. Dick just grunted from the pain, whispered back her name like he still wasn’t sure she was real. His tears had subsided to silently dripping down the side of his face, his body shaking with a hiccup every few minutes much to Diana's dismay.
“All done,” she whispered, beginning to wrap the bandage around his middle, hugging him a little to her chest to move the material behind him. “You did so well. So, so well.”
Her words had an immediate effect on him. He relaxed into her hold while she bandaged him, breathing in her smell of strawberry that lingered on her under the smell of blood that now clung to her. Dick couldn’t resist pressing his face to the side of her neck, trying to inhale the intoxicating sweet smell from her skin. A lotion or perfume, perhaps, either way, he wondered if he could bottle it up if only to prove that this really happened.
When she lowered him back to the couch, his middle tightly wrapped, he tried to linger, a desperate, if dick was truly conscious, pathetic whine left his swollen lips. It was enough to dust Diana’s cheeks pink.
She lifted a bottle of water to his lips, supporting him to sit up a little. His cracked lips drank greedily, water spilling down his chin, mixing with the tears that contented to slip down his face. She had nothing that would ease the pain, nothing strong, rough at least. She gave him some over-the-counter drugs but they will only help so much for so long.
Diana took a step back, letting Dick lay on her stained couch, torso bare and wrapped in white bandages. His lip was swollen and there was an abrasion on his forehead framed by sweaty hair stuck to it. His nightwing suit was half off, the shirt and sleeves handing form his middle, and his pants torn, reeling cuts on his legs that were already scabbed over. Blue eyes cracked open watching her watch him.
His angel…
Now that he wasn't in danger of dropping dead in that second, she could feel how her body trembled, how her hands shook, the adrenaline keeping her going fading into the eerily quiet apartment. Her brown eyes became damp and she couldn’t pinpoint why. This scene was not very different from work besides the fact that she wasn’t in a hospital. She dug bullets out and sown men and women alike up in less time, with more going on around them, so why was this different? Why did her heart feel hollow and her body so unnerved?
She couldn’t help but notice how small Nightwing looked, how small Dick Grayson looked. He was very out of place bleeding on her pink couch her mom helped her pick when she moved out.
“Don’t cry,” Dick whispered hoarsely, only audible due to the utter lack of other noises. It startled her, his quiet words. She figured he was half asleep already, brian and body fighting against the blood loss to replenish itself.
Diana sighed, swiping at her cheeks. “I’m not,” she lied, her voice cracking a little.
“Angel…”
“You need to sleep,” she cut him off, backing further away from the hand he stretched for her even if he couldn't reach her no matter what. “Yiu body is fighting a losing battle when you’re awake. Just…don’t die on me in the night, alright?”
He hummed weakly, his eyes closing finally.
“And…I’m no angel,” she added, pressing her lips tight together.
“You are to me.”
—————————
Dick had definitely been in more pain before, but nothing hurt more than the confusion that came when his eyes opened. The unfamiliar ceiling was startling, so was the soft couch beneath him crusted in dried blood. All around him smelled like something fruity. Strawberries, maybe, with vanilla…
The sun was at its peak from the window in this strange and oddly comforting living room. It was very neat, save for the box of medical supplies and the bloody gauze on the floor next to him. Dick tried to get up, but the bandages and the blinding pain from the moment he moved kept him laying down. Hurt like hell. Throbbing pain in his abandon.
The gun shot…
Dick couldn't help but groan remembering the mugging and the stupid gun. It was a blur after that. He did remember scaling a building and slipping into someone's window. A pair of warm brown eyes. His guardian angel…
Diana.
That got him up, or at least sitting up.
Where was she? Was she real? His angel…She did this.
The paper on the living room table caught his eye before he could even try to start his search for the beautiful women. Scribbled on a piece of printer paper with what looked to be a pink pen, was a message.
If you are not here when I get off of work @ 4, I will tell the world who you are Dick Grayson.
If you start bleeding out again, call me. (***) ***-****
-Di
Right…he did remember also saying his name. Remember thinking it was a bad idea, but he was a dead man anyways, right?
Wrong.
He checked the clock. 3:50. She’ll be home soon.
He didn’t even have to think about trying to leave, not that he would, because the sound of a key turning in the lock made him jump.
Diana really wasn’t sure how she made it through work today. Four o’clock couldn’t come fast enough and she was lucky to be getting off that early. Bless Jess for taking the latter of her shift because if she had to stay until 8 she’d die of worry. Dick hadn’t been awake when she left and she didn’t have the heart to wake him, so she left him that vaguely threatening note. Was it a bit of a lowball considering he’d told her his identity while dying? Yes, but she was sure he’d try to bolt the second he woke.
She entered her apartment feeling she’d just worked a double and with the little sleep she got after patching the vigilante up, she practically did. Her eyes found the figure sitting up on the couch like a compass finding north. He looked a lot better than last night. His skin was less pale and the swelling in his lip went down. He’s also yet to rip his stitch which was her biggest fear when she left this morning. Would’ve been a mood dampener to find the man she spent so much time fixing dead in her apartment. Maybe there’s hope in getting the blood out of her couch…
“How are you feeling?” She sighed, tossing her work bag to the floor and began fighting with her shoes to come off.
Dick observed her. She was tired. She had dark circles under her eyes that he didn’t remember from last night; but that’s not saying much, and her hair was messily falling around her face. Her voice was rough like she’d been talking all day, and it was…hot.
Damn it, Richard. Stop it.
He cleared his throat, tearing his eyes from her. “Better, I think….look about last night—Agh!” he cried out as he tried to stand, but the pressure sent a blinding pain though his body and he dropped to a knee, nearly hitting the table.
Diana was at his side with a speed that rivaled Wally. She held him under the arm, cooing reminders to breath and to lean on her. She eased him back on the couch, brows pinched in concern.
He slumped into the cushions, the sweet smell of her enveloping him. The comfort was only magnified by her presence even if she reeked of antiseptic and something a little rotten.
Dick huffed, the pain receding to a not so dull throb. “Thanks…um—anyways…I’m really sorry about all of this. Not sure what compelled me to break into a rando’s house while bleeding out. Figured no one would be awake at that hour,” I reasoned, running a hand though his tousled hair. He couldn’t meet her eye, a sudden guilt consuming him. A hard working nurse like her didn’t need a problem like him added on top of it.
Diana pushed the fabric of his Nightwing suit away from his bandages if only to give her hands something to do. The wound needed rebandaging anyways. “I won’t lie and say it was a welcomed surprise,” she began, unwrapping the white fabric from his torso, each layer getting tinged with pink. “I’m just glad you didn’t die on me.”
“Yeah…me too. So…I’m Nightwing.”
Diana paused in her wrapping of his torso to look up at him, brows pinched. Her eyes trailed to the suit he was still half wearing then glancing to the ionic mask she;d retrieved from the floor and placed next to her threatening note. “Yes. I know,” she replied, a little flatly.
“Okay…okay…just wanted to make sure…and my name is-”
“Dick Grayson. Yes I also know that,” she chuckled, grabbing a new bundle of bandage.
Her laugh floored Dick’s ears and he swears his soul left his body. It was nothing short of angelic. Light and welcoming, and her touch…Now that Dick was fully conscious, he couldn't believe he survived the night with her touching his skin at all. He watched as she focused on the wound, inspecting the stitches, her cold hands gliding over his hot skin, his abs flexing at the sensation which only made the pain worse.
“Diana,” he half-gasped, face pinched.
Her eyes flicked up to his, hands freezing on his skin. He watched her though hooded lids, the pain numbing his brain temporarily. Diana would be a liar if she said that her brain wasn’t wandering to horrible places. She hadn’t paid attention to his abs last night…
She cleared her throat, pulling her lingering hands from his body. “I have something for you. Multiple somethings actually.” From her work back she pulled out a small vial and a plastic covered needle. On her way back to the couch, she also picked up a bundle of clothes. “I snagged this from work,” she brandished the vial and needle. “Morphine.”
Dicks dark brows disappeared into his mop of black hair. “That couldn't have been easy to get.”
“You’d be surprised…but I could get in a lot of trouble if they knew I took it so feel lucky. And these” -she out the clothes on the couch next to him- “are my ex’s. Found them in my closet, so they might smell like dust. Sorry.”
“You keep a lot of your ex’s clothes?” he smirked, taking the clothes. He sniffed them unashamedly. Mothballs, but also that beautiful strawberry scent that was distinctly hers lingered.
“Only the assholes…I got a lot of sweats…the price they pay for being douches,” she added with a blush. She seemed almost embarrassed with the way her cheeks tinged a dark pink.
If Dick died right then, he was sure to go a happy man. That blush was enough to soothe a dying man, for sure. It felt like a balm to his soul.
Diana unwrapped the needle and began drawing the medicine from the vile under Dicks careful eye. “You should get better taste in men then,” he offered, unhelpfully.
This got a laugh from her and Dick was stunned again. He’d do a lot of things to make her laugh. It was a drug. Now that he got a hit, he’d chase this high far longer than he should, trying to draw that sweet sound from her pink lips.
She approached him with the needle full of morphine which Dick still eyed wearily. “Yeah, well. I’d have to move out of Gotham to do that. Not many options here.”
“Should come to Bludheaven. Heard they got a pretty hot vigilante over there,” he teased, successfully getting her to laugh again.
Yes. His victory was silent but the grin he was giving her wasn’t. Pearly white teeth flashing, not letting him be subtle with how much he liked to make her laugh.
Diana tried not to be distracted by his infectious smile as she prinched the skin next to the stitched wound, a small smile playing on her own lips. “Take a breath..” she guides, stabbing the needle into his skin, making him hiss regardless. Dicks face twisted as she pushed the plunger down, all but feeling the drug go into him. “I said take a breath,” she joked when he exhaled as she took out the needle, pressing a thumb to the pin prick of blood that bubbles to the surface. “You might feel a little…floaty but the pain should get better. Now about that ‘hot vigalante’” —her lips tugged up in a smirk— “I’ve heard some things about him.”
Dick grinned, not only at her smile and voice but also the pressure she applied to his skin long after she needed to. “All good things I bet.”
“I’m sure you do.”
He smiled up at her, his eyes zooming over her face, as if he’s trying to memorize every detail. She has 10 freckles across her cheeks, that observation made his smile just a little wider, but maybe that was the morphine making his head feel like it was full of feathers. She seemed like she was glowing to him, an ethereal light shining around her. His angel.
He remembers that. From last night. His angel…
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his hand reaching up to touch her face.
She chuckled again, catching his hand before it touched her. “I’m gonna assume it’s kicking in.”
Her hand was warm and soft, and Dick damn near melted at the contact. Wow, his head was foggy, but it was a good foggy. Not the blood loss induced type from before. Everything sparkled a little brighter and he felt like he was on top of the world.
Diana would be lying if she said that Dick’s morphine induced smile wasn’t the sweetest smile in the world. She can't remember a time someone watched her with such adoration, like she’d hung the stars for him. Despite her own exhausted state, a wide smile pulled at her lips. This damn vigilante.
Seeing her smile almost sent Dick over the edge. His lips couldn’t spread wider but if they could, it would rival the Joker’s grin.
“Y’know I’m Nightwing…” Dick began to muse, his words slightly slurred on the ends. “Not many people do.”
Diana sighed, tearing herself away from the man to start cleaning up the remnants of last night she didn’t manage to because if she sat there any longer, she was sure to fall more in love with the billion son that she already was.
“I’m sure. Can’t let every person that nurses you back to health know your secret identity,” she replied, an amused lithe in her voice, but the words hit a deeper cord in her. She really did wrench him back from the brink of death.
Dick scoffed, his body slowly relaxing back into the pink sofa that smelled like her. “Bruce and Alfie know who I am. Babs too. Never had a civilian help me like this…You’re special…” His eyes were closing as he spoke, his voice thick with sleep. Now that he wasn’t in pain, he would be able to rest easier.
Special…
Unfortunately for Diana, or fortunately, the way he was watching her with hooded blue eyes definitely made her feel special.
“Go out with me?”
Dick’s mumbled question made Diana’s head snap to him so quickly that there was an uncomfortable pop from her neck. He wasn’t smiling anymore. He was half-asleep, but his face was dead serious, the blue of his eyes barely showing past his thick lashes.
This must be the drugs talking…right? but damn it, Diana, the weak willed woman she is, would say yes in a heartbeat. It was embracing frankly, but it was Dik Grayson, Nightwing, and the sweetest patient she’d ever had the pleasure of helping.
Something pulled her to him, and she crouched in front of the couch, her arms folded on the edge, very close to Dick. A tiny, sleepy smile graced his lips mirroring Diana’s. A pretty dark curl fell over his drooping eye, just begging for Diana to move away.
“I’d love to, but you’re too high to remember this…so ask me when you wake up,” Diana whispered to the near asleep Dick, a soft hand brushing the hair away, because she is weak when it comes to this man. She had little hope that he’d actually ask when he woke up tomorrow. People say crazy things when they’re hopped up on pain meds, Dick Grayson would be no exception. So Diana will see him in the morning, make sure he’s okay, before dropping him off wherever he’d like, and silently wishing he’d ask.
The news would forever lament about the famous Dick Grayson and Nightwing, and they’d be the only two people to know about this. She’d get to see gossip columns about all the women he’s been with and know that drunk words were not always sober thoughts