Work Text:
They are adults.
Adults with a history.
Maybe that is why, when the tension between them never quite faded—but also never turned into something they were ready to name—they settled into something simpler. Friends with benefits. No promises. No complicated expectations. It worked. It had worked for more than three years.
Richard Grayson is thirty-five.
Koriand’r has just turned thirty-three.
Perfect timing. Perfect arrangement.
No drama. No pressure. They show up, they leave, and neither of them asks the questions that linger too long in quiet moments. It is easy to pretend this is enough.
Until New Year's.
The celebrations stretch on for a full week—too many teams, too many allies, too many overlapping lives. The Titans. The Young Titans. The Justice League. A careful choreography of moderation and excess, of people coming together even when many of them do not celebrate the holiday at all. Different cultures, different religions, different reasons to gather.
By the first week of January, everyone is exhausted.
And maybe that’s why it happens.
The music is loud but not overwhelming. Laughter drifts through the Watchtower like static. Dick has already loosened his tie; Kory’s laughter is bright, familiar, warm against his shoulder.
They start kissing without deciding to.
It’s easy. It always is.
“You look incredible,” Dick tells her, leaning close enough that only she can hear it. He says it more than once that night—about the purple sequined dress, about the heels she loves, the ones that make her taller and sharper and impossible to ignore. He has always thought she looks devastating in them.
Kory smiles, playful, knowing. The kind of smile she only gives him.
At some point—Dick is never quite sure when—he has her in his arms, laughter soft against his neck, his grin wide and unguarded. He is grateful, vaguely, that none of his family is here tonight. The way they kiss now is not casual. It is practiced. Familiar. Heavy with years of knowing exactly how the other responds.
This is not new.
It is intimate.
They talk. They kiss. Words blur into touches.
When Dick lifts her—effortless, careful—she doesn’t protest. He carries her down one of the quieter corridors, toward the farthest room in the Watchtower. That one belongs to Dick Grayson, who, on some nights, needs to spend time with the team. One Bruce insisted on keeping, just in case. For solitude. For nights that stretch too long.
The room is quiet. Perfect.
He sets her down gently on the bed, as if the moment demands care even though they have never been gentle with each other. The kiss that follows is deeper, slower, unhurried. Different. When they break apart, Kory’s breath is warm against his cheek.
Minutes pass—or maybe more. Time dissolves the way it always does with them.
Dick takes her in without rushing. The lace, the color against her skin, the familiar curve of her body. Kory watches him in return, eyes bright, intent, unashamed. They have both changed over the years, but the thought hits him all the same:
She is the most beautiful woman he has ever seen.
The rest happens the way it always does—intense, wordless, driven by a shared understanding they stopped needing to explain long ago. Two bodies that know how to move together. Two people who trust the other not to hold back.
When the night settles—though the Watchtower never truly leaves the dark—they lie tangled beneath a thin sheet. Kory’s head rests against his bare chest; Dick’s arm curves easily around her waist, protective without thinking about it.
Silence stretches, comfortable.
“We’re missing the entire party,” Kory says eventually, amused. “Donna is absolutely going to kill me. Especially since you ruined the dress she helped me choose.”
Dick laughs softly and presses a kiss into her hair.
Clothes are scattered across the room—fabric, shoes, discarded heels. Even an unopened condom lies forgotten on the floor. The air smells unmistakably of sex, of exertion, of something shared without restraint.
Dick looks at her again.
Her makeup is still intact, lips slightly swollen, skin warm and luminous even now. It strikes him—unsettling and sudden—that despite everything, she still looks radiant. Untouched by the hour. As if light clings to her.
Neither of them is sleeping.
“I think I’ll go check on things,” Kory says, finally pulling back just enough to look at him. She kisses him softly. “Do you want me to bring something to eat? To properly welcome the new year.”
Dick chuckles.
A new year. New routines. New comments from Bruce. From Jason. Time spent with family that somehow always circles back to how much everything is changing.
“Something with alcohol,” he says, settling deeper into the bed. “And lots of canapés. Something worth celebrating.”
Kory laughs. “I’ll see what I can find, Richard.”
She rises from the bed, and Dick watches without trying not to. Her back is bare, smooth, marked only by the faintest traces of old battles. At the base of her spine, the small tattoo catches the light—a comet surrounded by stars. He remembers the night she told him about it. A girls’ night. Donna. The way the knowledge alone had undone him.
She pulls on a white blouse that falls mid-thigh, her hair spilling loose over her shoulders.
“How about you bring champagne?” Dick says lightly. “I have the day off. I’d like to spend it with my partner.” His tone is teasing, but there is weight beneath it. “After this, I’ve got missions. Gotham. Blüdhaven. We won’t see each other for a while.”
Kory makes a face. She knows. They both do. Time slips through their fingers more often now—her work, the refugees, the galaxy. The Titans. Weeks pass too easily.
“Fine,” she relents. “But no clams or shrimp. You know I hate those.”
Dick laughs again. “Anything the redhead likes.”
She circles the bed and kisses him quickly—until his hand catches her hip and pulls her back down with a surprised sound. Kory recovers instantly, straddling him with effortless grace.
“Richard,” she laughs.
“Just something quick,” he says, eyes bright. “It’s only three in the morning. I’m sure there are still people on the dance floor.”
They kiss again, hands roaming with the same familiar hunger.
Minutes later, Kory slips from the bed once more.
Neither of them knows how long it will be before they see each other again.
And neither of them says it out loud.
They don’t see each other for weeks.
It isn’t unusual. It never has been.
Dick’s life fractures neatly into obligations—Wayne Manor, patrols, Blüdhaven, Titans business, and family emergencies that somehow always need him specifically. Kory’s life stretches across star systems, treaties, refugee routes, and conflict zones. They travel too much. Both of them do. Over time, they learned how to make peace with that. With the silence. With the gaps.
With whatever this is between them.
And then something shifts.
Kory doesn’t remember exactly when it started.
The planet is far from Earth—beautiful in a way that feels deliberately excessive. A city built around a sprawling open-air fair, with lights strung between structures grown rather than built. The air hums with unfamiliar life. Vendors sell foods in colors she has never seen on Earth; animals with soft fur and long tails move through the crowds, watched carefully by laughing parents.
Children everywhere.
That’s what catches her attention first.
Kory slows without meaning to, watching a small group of babies cradled against their parents’ chests, protected, cherished. This planet treats its children with reverence. With patience. With space to simply exist.
Her smile is soft. Unguarded.
She shakes her head gently, as if to dislodge the thought before it settles too deeply. Lately, her mind has been doing that—wandering where it shouldn’t. Lingering. Especially now that so many of her friends are marrying, settling, and having children of their own.
Focus, she tells herself.
Kyle Rayner walks beside her, blissfully distracted, chewing through something that looks like fried strips of color.
“You know,” he says, casually, “my stomach’s gotten used to this stuff over time. Other planets, weird food. Hal and John used to joke that the ring adapted us or something, but I think it’s just trauma from Watchtower meals.”
Kory laughs, genuine and bright.
The scents don’t make her dizzy. If anything, they fascinate her. Sweet, warm, rich. She watches Kyle devour the food, notices the way the glaze shines, the way it sticks to his fingers.
“Want to try some?” he offers.
She lifts an eyebrow—and then, without quite understanding why, the words leave her mouth before she can stop them.
“I was thinking about eating a hamburger.”
She freezes.
A hamburger?
Kyle stares at her. “A hamburger. Seriously? Starfire, we’re on a planet with flying mammals and bioluminescent architecture, and you’re craving a burger?”
Kory frowns, unsettled by herself. It isn’t the first time. Donna had messaged her recently—a new place in San Francisco, apparently incredible burgers. The thought had lodged in her mind and refused to leave.
Her thoughts feel… scattered lately. Disorganized. She doesn’t like it.
She runs a hand through her hair, grounding herself.
“Perhaps I miss Earth,” she says finally, shrugging. “I do not know.” She hesitates, then adds, quieter, “But I will try what you are eating.”
She takes a bite.
It’s sweet. Pleasant.
It is not a burger.
And she's truly disappointed with that; she really wants a burger and maybe some fries with that.
Gotham, near midnight.
The cold bites at exposed skin, but their suits blunt most of it. Dick barely notices.
What he does notice—disturbingly—is that he’s hungry. Again.
Not just hungry. Irritable. On edge in a way he can’t quite name.
The fight ends quickly. Modified alien tech, but nothing they haven’t handled before. The criminals are handed over to the police with practiced efficiency. Dick watches his brothers regroup, aware—vaguely—that Gotham feels quieter these days. Everyone is always somewhere else.
Jason travels constantly.
Tim has his own team.
Damian is… Damian.
Bruce disappears into himself.
Cass and Steph drift through the world on their own terms.
And Dick?
Dick wants food.
“We’re getting burgers,” he says suddenly, tone final.
Jason grimaces. “That’s the third time this week, Grayson. I don’t eat burgers this often.”
Tim crosses his arms. “I hate to agree with him, but—who died and made you boss of post-patrol food decisions?”
Dick exhales through his nose, pinching the bridge of it. “Do either of you want to decide? Because we’ll be standing here for an hour.”
Jason snorts. “Wow. Grumpy and bossy. You sure you’re okay?”
Dick shoots him a look. “If you keep talking, I won’t answer your next distress call.”
There’s a pause.
Then Tim tilts his head, studying him. “You haven’t seen Kory in a while, have you?”
Jason’s eyes light up. “Oh. Oh. That explains it.”
Dick blinks. “What?”
Jason shrugs. “Every time she’s gone for long stretches, you get… tense. But this?” He gestures vaguely. “This is worse.”
Tim nods, faintly smug. “We’ve discussed it. You’re noticeably more irritable when she’s off-world.”
Dick opens his mouth. Closes it.
Five weeks later, he realizes suddenly. No calls. No real conversations. Just updates passed through others.
Was it really that obvious?
He waves a hand dismissively. “That’s ridiculous. I’m just hungry.”
Jason grins. “Sure you are.”
Tim smiles, softer. “Come on. Let’s get your burger.”
Dick turns away before they can see the way the thought of Kory—warm, distant, unreachable—tightens something in his chest.
He’s hungry.
He’s tired.
And he really, really wants a hamburger.
And her.
Even if he still refuses to admit that last part out loud.
Dick Grayson misses Koriand’r like a secret he keeps too well.
He hides it with the same discipline he hides injuries, fear, and weakness. Some days, he hides it so convincingly that even he almost believes himself. Almost. But missing Kory has never been simple—especially when they both agreed that whatever they are together only works because it doesn’t ask for definitions.
Still, the absence gets under his skin.
So does the hunger.
Not just for her—but for dinner with her. For shared meals. For the quiet domestic things that shouldn’t matter and somehow do. The messages she sends help and make it worse at the same time: small updates transmitted through their devices, bouncing across satellites and planets.
Koriand’r: I miss hamburgers, Richard. Do you think that is strange?
Kyle says it is unusual, but I have tasted so many things lately. I miss Earth food. I wish to try the new place near the Tower.
Dick exhales slowly when he reads it.
Koriand’r: Yesterday I thought about the raspberry cake you once made. And the peach cake we shared. Is that foolish? It feels like Tamaran food—missing the taste of your home.
He can picture her saying it. Thoughtful. Earnest. Unaware of how deeply it lands.
Koriand’r: I hope to return soon so we can eat hamburgers and peach cake together.
He stares at the screen longer than necessary, jaw tight, chest heavy with something warm and restless.
When Kory finally returns to Earth, she goes straight to Blüdhaven.
Dick is waiting.
He shouldn’t look this relieved when he opens the door. He definitely shouldn’t smile the way he does. But the moment she’s there—real, solid, close—the world snaps back into alignment.
She barely gets a word out before she’s in his arms.
The force of it surprises them both.
Dick lifts her easily, instinctively, hands settling at her waist as they belong there. Kory’s legs hook around his hips without hesitation; her arms slide around his neck, familiar and unguarded. Their foreheads brush. Their breathing syncs.
“Earth always feels better when you’re on it,” Dick murmurs, voice low, smiling.
Kory smiles back—and something about it is different. Softer. Brighter. Her emerald eyes catch the light like polished stones.
She kisses him before he can say anything else.
It’s not hurried. It’s not tentative either. It’s deep, claiming, the kind of kiss that makes him forget to think. He shuts the door with his foot and carries her into the living room, setting her down on the couch with practiced ease.
She pouts playfully, breathless.
When did she start kissing him like this?
Her clothes cling to her in a way that pulls his attention—fitted pants, a snug shirt that emphasizes curves he knows too well. She watches him watch her, pleased.
“I thought you would have already taken off your shirt, Richard Grayson,” she says, eyes dark with intent.
He raises an eyebrow, amused. “Since when are you calling the shots?”
She nods once, decisive, and runs her fingers lightly over his chest. “Let us call it a role reversal.” A pause. “I have been away too long.”
He laughs, quietly. He does not tell her that he put her picture as his lock screen. That he thinks about her more than he should. That right now, he’s looking at her like hunger has a shape.
In seconds, she’s straddling him, kissing his neck, hands everywhere. Warm. Confident.
“Less talking,” Kory murmurs. “More kissing. More of everything.” She glances around the room, amused. “I know you made food. I know there are hamburgers. And cake.” A smile curves her mouth. “But I would prefer this first.”
Something in her tone—decisive, almost urgent—makes his breath hitch.
He kisses her again, pulls her shirt over her head, and shrugs out of his own. Skin to skin. Her hands explore his chest; his mouth follows the familiar lines of her body, reverent and hungry all at once. They pause only to breathe.
“You missed me,” he says lightly, teasing, forehead pressed to hers.
She taps his chest, laughing. “Do not get arrogant.”
That night, Kory ended up in his arms. They ate hamburgers, peach pie, and strawberries, both of them naked beneath the sheets of Richard’s bed. Kory rested against him, her hair spilling across the pillow as the city night of Blüdhaven filtered in through the window. For a moment, she stared off toward the glass.
“Do you think you could go get sushi?” Kory asked out of nowhere, offering him a small, nervous smile. “I don’t know, but I really miss sushi, too.”
Dick lifted an eyebrow at the request. “Sushi?” he echoed, confused. “At this hour? And in Blüdhaven?”
It wasn’t that the city had the best places—if anything, there had been news before, places shut down, warnings issued.
“Please, Richard,” she asked softly. “I just want to eat it. I’ve been eating so many other things on other planets, and I miss it.”
Dick couldn’t say no to that face—especially not when Kory lowered her voice like that, when she looked at him that way. He leaned in, kissed her lips, then her cheek, before slipping out of bed to pull on his pants and a T-shirt.
“Alright,” he said as he sat on the edge of the mattress, tugging on his sneakers. “I’ll see if I can find somewhere open. I expect you to still be awake when I get back, Kory.”
She shook her head lightly. “No, no… Come on, I’ll wait for you. I’ll answer all the messages people have sent me,” she said, picking up the phone beside her. She showed him the screen—her wallpaper was a photo of her and Donna—and then the flood of notifications. “See? I’ll be busy.”
Dick nodded. He wasn’t sure how, but now he wanted sushi too—especially with Kory waiting for him. He grabbed his phone and wallet from the nightstand and leaned in to kiss the redhead again.
“I’m only going because you asked like that, sweetheart.”
Kory laughed softly.
Forty minutes later, he’s back. She hasn’t slept. They eat sushi together in bed, legs tangled, sharing bites.
Eventually, she curls into him and falls asleep. Dick holds her there, awake longer than usual. After that night, things don’t just change. They are complicated. And neither of them can explain why—not yet.
Koriand’r has learned long ago how to keep things separate.
She is a hero—admired, visible, powerful. She belongs to battles, to skies split open by fire and metal, to people chanting her name after the dust settles. But she also needs something quieter. Something human. Peace, in small doses.
Donna Troy gives her that.
Donna’s apartment smells faintly of coffee and clean laundry, sunlight spilling across hardwood floors. It’s one of the few places where Kory can exist without armor—without expectation. Where they can talk about anything and nothing. Where silence doesn’t feel heavy.
Today, though, there is no peace.
They’re in Donna’s walk-in closet, clothes everywhere. Dresses draped over chairs. Jeans were tangled on the floor. Shoes kicked aside. Accessories scattered like an aftermath.
Kory exhales sharply, tugging at the waistband of a pair of jeans.
“…Seriously,” she says, half-laughing, half-exasperated. “Are you buying smaller pants now?”
Donna, sitting cross-legged on the floor with a camera beside her, bursts into laughter. She presses a hand to her chest, shoulders shaking.
“Smaller?” she wheezes. “What are you talking about?”
Kory gestures helplessly at the jeans. “Donna, do not laugh. Why do none of your jeans fit me?”
Donna wipes her eyes, still smiling. “I don’t know, Kory. I have seen you going out to eat a lot more with Grayson.” She pauses, tilting her head. “And neither of you ever brings anything back to the Tower.”
Kory frowns.
She has been eating more with Richard lately. Chinese food. Latin food. Street food. Everything. It isn’t her fault—San Francisco is alive again after the attacks. New restaurants, new food trucks on every corner. And Blüdhaven now has an entire area dedicated just to food carts.
“We go out when we have time,” Kory says, tugging harder at the jeans. The zipper refuses to move. It feels like fighting a losing war. “And you told me yourself—‘Kory, if you eat strange food combinations, do not bring anything back.’”
She huffs. “Other times, you are not even there to share food with.”
Donna watches her closely now. The laughter fades into something more observant.
She reaches into the pile and pulls out a dress, holding it up thoughtfully before handing it to Kory.
“Here. Try this,” Donna says. “I bought it a few weeks ago. It ended up being a little big on me. Maybe it’ll fit you.”
Kory hesitates, brow furrowing.
She’s never struggled with confidence. She knows she’s beautiful. She moves through the world with certainty—in her body, her words, her choices. But this—nothing fitting—irritates her more than she expects. She could buy new clothes. She just doesn’t want to.
She wants what she already has to work.
She takes the dress and sighs.
Donna stands, stepping closer until they’re face to face.
“Kory,” she says gently, teasing threaded into her voice, “are you really hesitating?” A grin. “Maybe if you and Dick actually spent more time with your team, this wouldn’t happen.”
She shrugs. “Just saying. You two should go out more. As a teammate and a friend.”
Kory lightly taps Donna’s shoulder—a small, playful shove.
“Can two teammates not go out together?” she asks, already pulling off her shirt as she slips into the dress.
Donna snorts. “Sure. Two teammates.” She gestures. “Turn around. Let me see.”
Kory doesn’t take off the pants—but the dress, which had hung loosely on Donna, fits Kory perfectly. Too perfectly. It settles against her curves, hugging her waist, her hips, filling in every line like it was made for her.
“…I really need to stop eating with Dick,” Kory mutters, smoothing the fabric. “Especially now that he’s decided to become a chef.”
She reaches back awkwardly. “Can you zip me?”
Donna freezes.
Just for a second.
Something unspoken clicks into place in her mind—an idea too fragile, too bold to voice yet. She swallows it down.
She steps behind Kory and slowly pulls the zipper up.
“I think you’re keeping this dress,” Donna says lightly. “You’ll probably wear it more than I ever would.”
The dress is blue, scattered with white daisies. Summer-soft. Bright.
“It’s a little tight in the chest,” Kory admits, adjusting it carefully. “But it fits.”
Donna blinks.
Once. Twice.
The thought grows louder—but she smiles instead.
“Yeah,” she says softly. “It really does.”
She doesn’t say anything else. Not now. If Kory needs help later, Donna will be there—first in line.
The first time Dick’s protectiveness surfaces, it’s after a battle. Ended in the middle of San Francisco, twisted metal and the remains of massive killer robots scattered across the street. Nothing the Titans hadn’t faced before. Still breathing hard, Dick scanned the area, already shifting into command mode. He shot a look at Victor, then at Roy.
“Civilians first,” he ordered. “Check for injuries, assess the damage. I’ll loop Wayne Industries in so we can get reconstruction started.”
They nodded and split off immediately.
Dick didn’t wait another second. He turned and sprinted toward Kory.
She had stepped away from the others, shoulders tense, posture wrong in a way that made something in his chest tighten. He reached her in seconds, wrapping his arms around her from behind just as he felt her weight sag slightly into him. Her skin felt cooler than usual. When she turned her head, he saw how pale she was—and that alone was enough to spike his fear.
“Kory… what’s wrong?” he asked, voice low and urgent.
She swayed in his arms, blinking slowly. “Nothing,” she said, though it sounded unconvincing even to herself. “I just feel… strange for a moment.”
She tried to step forward, but a sudden wave of dizziness hit her, and Dick tightened his grip instantly, refusing to let her fall.
“I think the hit from that robot is still in my bones,” she added, forcing a breath.
Dick stayed glued to her side, one arm firm around her waist, the other braced against her back. She felt weaker than she should—far weaker—and that scared him more than he wanted to admit. One of the robots had slammed her hard enough to send her crashing to the ground, and she hadn’t gotten up right away. He’d nearly lost his mind watching it happen.
“Kory,” he said carefully, “this isn’t nothing. Let’s go to a medic. The Watchtower—just let them check you. Please.”
She shook her head, hair brushing his shoulder. But her color drained further, and she leaned more heavily into him, eyes fixed on the pavement.
“Love,” he added softly, the word slipping out with raw concern, “please.”
She wanted to argue, but her body betrayed her. Everything hurt—her muscles, her bones, her chest. Worse than pain, it was exhaustion, deep and unnatural, like something had drained the sun straight out of her. Her head throbbed.
“I think… I need to throw up,” Kory admitted.
That did it.
Dick reacted instantly, every protective instinct flaring to life. He guided her carefully toward the alley, one hand firm at her back, the other steadying her as she pulled away just enough to brace herself. His comm buzzed in his ear.
Cyborg: We’re waiting at the ship. The last of the robot debris is being moved so cleanup crews can start. Raven and Gar are helping.
Arsenal: I’m with the civilians. Where are you, Nightwing?
Dick exhaled slowly, forcing himself to stay calm even as his attention stayed locked on Kory.
“Checking on Starfire,” he replied in that steady leader’s tone he used when everything else felt like it was unraveling. “We’ll be there soon.”
He stayed close while she was sick, hovering just far enough away to respect her space—he knew her too well to try holding her hair without getting snapped at—but close enough to catch her if she collapsed.
When she straightened a few minutes later, she looked even paler, her hair disheveled, her breathing uneven. Dick didn’t hesitate. He wrapped his arms around her again, supporting most of her weight as she tried to walk.
“Kory, please,” he said again, quieter now but no less intense. “Let me take you to a doctor. Something could be wrong.”
She lifted her head and met his eyes, and whatever he saw there made his words falter.
“I’m fine,” she insisted. “Do you understand? I just need time.”
She tried to move on her own, but his hand at her waist made it impossible—not because he was restraining her, but because he simply refused to let her stumble.
That look on Dick’s face—the fierce, unyielding protectiveness—was something Kory wouldn’t forget. It was the look he reserved for the people he loved most. His family.
“I’m just tired,” she added after a moment. “I want to eat something.” She glanced at him. “May I eat something, Richard?”
Dick sighed, torn, but still guiding her forward carefully.
“Yes,” he said at last, solemnly. “That’s a good idea. But I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
Kory let out a quiet breath.
They argued more than once after that—Dick hovering, insisting on rest and food and monitoring her every move, Kory stubbornly refusing a medical exam because the exhaustion faded after eating and sleeping, just as it always seemed to.
The strange part?
Dick Grayson was overprotective—even by Koriand’r’s standards.
They don’t spend Valentine’s Day together.
Not really. Kory is off-world—missions stacking one after another, diplomacy bleeding into rescue work. Richard isn’t idle either. Gotham, Blüdhaven, favors called in, favors owed. Distance becomes routine, almost easy.
And yet—
Dick stays alert.
He checks in more than usual. Short messages. “Did you eat?” “How’s your energy?” “Are you sleeping?” He keeps his tone light, careful not to press too hard, but the instinct is there—persistent, coiled.
The thing with the robots never quite left him.
Kory notices. It irritates her, just a little. She feels good. Better than good. She sleeps deeply. She eats well—if oddly. Apples with salt. Pears with salt. Sugar sprinkled over strawberries (that one feels different, but she doesn’t dwell on it).
She’s fine.
Dick, however, is not.
March in Gotham is a lie.
Winter pretends it’s leaving, but the streets are still frozen, the cold sharp enough to sting the lungs. Dick stands ankle-deep in sewer water with Jason, Tim, and Damian, tracking Killer Croc through Gotham’s underbelly.
Bruce is tied up with League matters.
The air hits him wrong.
Dick Grayson has been through hellscapes that would break most people. Deserts. Swamps. Alien planets with atmospheres that actively tried to kill him. He’s gone weeks without proper showers during missions and survived just fine.
But this—
This smell makes his stomach lurch.
It’s sudden. Violent. Like someone flipped a switch in his senses. He grabs onto the concrete wall, fingers digging in as bile creeps up his throat.
Jason turns, already scowling.
“Seriously, Grayson,” Jason mutters, disgust clear on his face as sewer water sloshes around their boots. Tim and Damian are farther ahead, focused. “If you start puking now, I’m leaving you here.”
Dick glares up at him, jaw tight. The smell hits again—sharp, overwhelming, like it’s rushing straight into his skull.
“I’m not sick, Jay,” he snaps, petulant enough to surprise even himself. “Why don’t you watch Tim and Damian? They’re getting ahead.”
Jason grimaces, crossing his arms. He glances toward the younger two—Damian sweeping his flashlight methodically, Tim tracking movement on his phone.
“Ugh. You look like hell,” Jason says. “For someone who lives in Gotham and Blüdhaven, you’re getting soft. Probably your age. What are you now—forty?”
“I’m thirty-five!” Dick barks.
Another wave of nausea rolls through him. He squeezes his eyes shut, inhales—
Immediate regret.
“—Not… sick,” he manages. “Something just—happened.”
Jason studies him more closely now, frown deepening.
“Yeah, you look like you’ve got a hangover. Or like the first time Bruce dragged us down here.”
Dick rolls his eyes weakly. “I probably ate something bad a few days ago.” He pauses, then adds, quieter, “I just need a minute.”
Jason looks ahead. Croc hasn’t surfaced yet. Too quiet.
“Look,” Jason sighs, irritation softening into reluctant concern, “only because I like you. And because you’re my brother.” He grimaces. “I’ll cover you. But if you puke, I swear to God, I will never forgive you. This suit is new.”
Dick snorts. “I’m not going to puke, idiot. Just dizzy.”
He straightens slowly, forcing his body to comply. He hates this—hates feeling weak. Hates not knowing why. After a few seconds, the world steadies enough for him to step closer to Jason.
“See?” Dick says. “Fine. Let’s move. I want this over with.”
Jason eyes him skeptically. “Uh-huh. ‘Things to do,’ right?”
He makes air quotes. “Involving a certain redhead named Koriand’r.”
Dick elbows him hard in the ribs. Jason wheezes, then recovers with a grin.
“Worth it,” Jason mutters, flipping him off.
Later that night, Croc is back in Arkham—security doubled, reinforced.
Dick checks his phone.
A message from Kory.
Feeling better now. Ate. Resting.
Relief loosens something tight in his chest.
He doesn’t go to the Batcave. Not for a few days. He knows the smell there will be worse. Everything smells worse lately. All he wants—more than sleep, more than answers—is to fall back into Kory’s arms and feel steady again.
Just once.
Fatigue comes first.
Not like a hard fall.
Not like a poorly healed wound.
It creeps in quietly—insidious, humiliating.
Dick Grayson wakes up tired.
Not “didn’t sleep enough” tired.
Real tired.
He lies there staring at the ceiling of the Wayne Manor guest room, counting breaths like he ran miles in his sleep. His arms feel heavy. His chest feels full of something he can’t quite push out with air alone. Eight hours of sleep. No injuries. No excuses.
“Great,” he mutters, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Fantastic.”
The coffee doesn’t help. The second one doesn’t either.
He trains anyway. Works anyway. Performs anyway.
Everything just takes a fraction more effort.
Not enough to fail—just enough to notice.
And that irritates him.
The noise of the Batcave grates. Questions feel unnecessary. Traffic in Blüdhaven is unbearable. Even his brothers’ jokes—normally harmless—land wrong. And then there’s Kory. The absence of her presses harder than he wants to admit. Their relationship has always been… complicated. Undefined. Something they never quite pin down.
Today, it weighs more.
Jason watches him longer than usual. Tim too. Dick notices—late.
“You’re dragging your feet,” Jason says one night. No teasing.
“I’m fine.”
But when Dick jumps rooftops, his muscles hesitate half a second before obeying. When he lands, he has to steady himself longer than he should. Maybe it’s old injuries. Maybe the years are finally catching up.
By April, everything shifts.
Kory arrives at his Blüdhaven apartment bright with leftover adrenaline, wrapping herself around him the second the door closes. He’s missed her—God, he’s missed her—but exhaustion still hums under his skin. He tells himself it’s missions, teaching gymnastics again, and splitting time between Blüdhaven and the Manor.
He’s thirty-five. Not old.
He refuses to consider otherwise.
He pushes the thought away when Kory kisses him, and the door clicks shut behind them.
They stumble together to the couch. She’s beautiful—red hair, fitted jeans, a snug shirt that makes it very hard for him not to stare. He isn’t a saint. He’s always admired her, but something about her now feels… fuller. Warmer.
She swings her legs over his lap.
“I thought we were going to do certain things,” Kory says lightly. “Considering how long we’ve been apart.”
A crooked smile tugs at his mouth. “Wow. Missed me that much?”
She answers by climbing onto him and pulling her shirt over her head. He follows suit, movements slightly slower but no less certain. Skin meets skin. They kiss like people who have been waiting too long, breaking only when breathing becomes a necessity.
“Bed?” Dick asks.
She nods.
He lifts her easily, like a princess she is, despite the protest in his bones, clears the path with his foot, and lays her down gently. Moonlight spills over her—red hair glowing, green eyes bright. Perfect. Always perfect.
Yes, he’s exhausted. Yes, everything aches. Yes, smells linger too sharply lately.
None of that matters when she looks at him like that.
Clothes come off carelessly until they’re both left in underwear, scattered fabric forgotten.
Kory kisses him first.
Not patiently. Not gently. Her mouth seeks his like time owes her nothing.
Dick responds—slower, heavier. His hands slide up her back, strong but weighted, as the fatigue has settled deep in his bones.
She moves against him, restless, sheets bunching beneath her knees. Her breath is quick and warm against his lips.
“Richard,” she murmurs. Not a complaint. An invitation. “Please.”
He smiles faintly, tired but undone, resting his forehead against hers.
“Give me a second,” he whispers. “Not because I don’t want to.”
She kisses him again before he finishes, as if waiting is an unreasonable concept.
They kiss like that for a while—until his hands start to drift lower and she stops him gently.
“Hey,” he murmurs, brow creasing.
She rolls onto her side beside him, red hair spilling across the pillow. “Just kisses,” she says softly. “Okay?”
Her chest aches. Badly. She doesn’t say it. Just smiles like everything is fine.
Dick nods, immediately pulling her into his arms. One hand settles instinctively on her stomach, thumb moving in slow circles.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “That works. I’m… pretty wiped.”
“Too much work?” she asks, fingers brushing his cheek.
“Way too much,” he chuckles softly. “Teaching kids is chaos. Worth it—but exhausting.”
She hums in understanding. They’re so different—stars and earth—but nights like this make the balance feel effortless.
He keeps tracing slow circles on her abdomen. She keeps touching his face. Neither seems able to stop.
“You staying tonight?” he asks.
She smiles. “Didn’t you see the bag?”
He hadn’t. He was distracted.
“Hungry?” he asks.
She bites her lip, thoughtful. “Maybe burgers. Or we could order.”
He kisses her deeply, smiling against her mouth. “Yeah. I think I can manage that.”
And for now, that’s enough.
Kory slips free from Richard Grayson’s octopus grip carefully, slowly, so he doesn’t wake.
The moonlight spills through the windows brighter than usual, silver and heavy, cutting pale shapes across the floor. Blüdhaven never truly sleeps—sirens in the distance, engines humming far below—but tonight the sounds feel louder, sharper, as if the city itself is breathing around them.
These nights are rare. The nights when Richard allows himself to just be—not watching rooftops, not listening for crime, not counting exits. When the mask comes off completely.
So she lets herself enjoy it.
She is naked, warm from sleep, but pulls on one of Richard’s oversized shirts anyway. It swallows her, fabric brushing mid-thigh, carrying his scent—soap, skin, something unmistakably him. The hem shifts against her legs as she crosses the living room toward the bag she left near the couch.
Her hands don’t tremble.
The thought does.
Donna’s voice echoes in her head, calm and practical in a way only Donna Troy can manage.
Just do it at night. When he has time. Especially with the… symptoms. That way, there are no doubts.
Kory exhales through her nose.
She’s never been someone who doubts easily.
She and Richard haven’t used protection in a long time—exclusive, careful in their own way, trusting. And everything felt fine. Too fine. Almost suspiciously so.
The fight with the robots.
The sharp, aching pain in her breasts afterward.
The bone-deep exhaustion that made her want to sleep mid-battle.
And the cravings.
Pizza. Human food. After visiting another planet.
That alone should have been her first clue.
She pulls the small box from her bag and heads for the bathroom.
Richard’s bathroom—functional, barely decorated, and frankly deserving of more frequent cleaning.
She reads the instructions twice. Finds a plastic cup. Does what she has to do, wrinkling her nose at the unpleasantness of it all. Then she waits.
Five minutes.
Five very long minutes.
Her mind drifts despite herself.
Once, long ago, there had been a scare. Just a scare. She never told Richard—too young, too uncertain—and the next day her cycle arrived as normal, Tamaranian biology settling the matter neatly.
But now…
Now, if she closes her eyes, everything aligns.
The headaches.
The soreness.
The way Richard has been hovering lately—closer, more alert, more protective than usual.
She places the test stick on the edge of the sink and steps back too quickly, heart beating faster than she’d like. Perhaps she should have gone to the Watchtower.
But this—this is private.
She closes her eyes.
In her mind, a small figure runs across sunlight-warmed floors. Skin like hers. Green eyes bright and curious. Dark hair, unmistakably Richard’s. The image isn’t something she sought out, but it settles in her chest anyway, warm and steady.
Could I do this?
Yes.
If Wally can be a father.
If Roy can be a father.
Why not them?
Especially when she knows—knows—how much Richard loves children. How gently he holds them. How easily he smiles around them.
Her hand moves to her stomach without thinking.
She shouldn’t even need the test.
Somewhere deep inside, she already knows.
She exhales slowly, nerves buzzing under her skin.
Everything is about to change.
Elsewhere, Richard Grayson dreams.
A little girl with emerald-green eyes and dark hair braided neatly smiles up at him, holding a red balloon. She offers it without hesitation. He takes it, heart full in a way he doesn’t question.
The scene shifts.
A garden bursting with flowers. The sunlight was warm on his face. His family surrounds him. He’s no longer alone.
The little girl is in his arms now.
Kory stands beside him, serene, smiling softly.
“Daddy,” the girl says, pointing. “The birthday candles.”
Kory starts to sing.
Richard can’t speak. His chest feels too full, too tight with happiness. In his arms is a baby—small, precious—and beside him is the love of his life.
Richard Grayson sleeps with a smile on his face.
Kory slips back into bed quietly.
The news thrums in her mind, bright and overwhelming. Richard’s arm wraps around her instinctively, pulling her back against his chest, warm and solid.
She’s nervous. She won’t deny that.
She hides the box. Throws everything away. In the morning, she’ll tell him. She would never keep something like this from him—not truly.
Tomorrow.
His hand moves unconsciously to her stomach, fingers splayed protectively as he presses closer.
“Everything okay, sweetheart?” Richard murmurs, half-asleep.
Kory smiles—a soft, radiant thing, the kind of smile that comes after receiving the best possible news. She steadies herself, keeps her emotions carefully tucked away.
“Yes,” she whispers. “Everything’s perfect, Dick.”
His breathing slows again. Sleep takes him.
Kory stays awake a little longer.
Tomorrow she’ll tell him everything—about the symptoms, about the timing, about how far along she must be. She’ll tell him she wants this. She’ll tell him their lives are about to change.
Tomorrow.
That night, Koriand’r dreams too—of a small girl with emerald eyes, smiling from her arms.
That night is the last night they sleep as two.
That night, three hearts beat softly in a Blüdhaven apartment.
End.