Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s cold. 

The air, the bench he’s sitting on, his toes underneath his thick socks and boots, his ears underneath his hat, his hands underneath his gloves and the cup of coffee he’s holding… Everything is cold. Everything feels so damn cold it’s starting to hurt. 

No, scratch that. It hurts. Plain and simple, it hurts .  

Down to his bones, everything is so gelid and painful that he knows at one point he’ll start feeling numb. Not that the numbness feels any better, and not that it lasts long anyway, no matter how much he’d like it to. 

He lets out a shuddering breath, and the air in front of him fogs. A shiver runs down his spine, and as he huddles in his seat, he thinks about the little coffee shop halfway across the park. He’d gotten the now-cold cup of coffee there. He could get up before his legs froze up for good. He could march down to the coffeeshop, get his body moving, and once inside he could purchase another coffee. He could even get himself the biggest size of hot chocolate they carried. He could drink it all down in one gulp and see if that heat could breathe some sort of life and comfort back into his body. 

He would actually get up and head to the coffeeshop, but a part of him already knows that the kind of cold he’s feeling is one that no amount of winter clothes or hot beverages would ever cure. 

His throat tightens, his eyes start stinging, and he sets the cup of coffee aside before he balls his frozen hands into fists.  

It hurts. It’s been two months, and everything hurts almost as much as it did the first day.

It hurts. It hurts. It hurts… and it’s cold. It’s cold . It’s so fucking cold. He’s been cold since winter began, and as the coldest month of the year comes to an end, he’s sure that not even the arrival of spring and the melting of snow will be able to make him feel better. 

It’s not like he can be mad at anyone, though, not even himself for how the situation had ended. It’s not like he can blame anyone for having a cold bed when the year-end holidays came, and for not having a warm hand to hold during Valentine’s Day only a couple of weeks earlier. 

It’s nobody’s fault, and even if he were angry instead of simply hurt, he’s not sure he could blame Jason for any of it. He couldn’t, because it wouldn’t be fair. 

Jason had been clear from the beginning. Jason had told him what he wanted and what he could offer. When they began seeing each other, they had been on the same page. They had both wanted the same thing. They had both had lives and goals and wants and needs. They had fit so well with each other, they had made each other happy. They had functioned like a well-oiled machine with clear boundaries and no false promises. 

It wasn’t Jason’s fault that at one point Dick had started wanting more. Jason had never offered more than what he could give, and Dick had been more than fine with it because, at the beginning, he couldn’t and didn’t want to offer anything else either. 

“What about you?” Dick finally heard his own voice say. He leaned in closer to Jason, noses almost brushing together. “Are you married?” If he was, Dick was going to get up, walk out of there and find a job in another hospital. The embarrassment would be too much.

“Married?” Jason echoed. He tilted his head to one side, didn’t pull away. When he spoke again, Dick felt his breath against his face. “I’m too busy for something as serious as marriage.”

“Oh, are you?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“What a coincidence. I'm also too busy for anything so serious.”

And he’d meant it. Every word, Dick had meant it. Having finally broken free from what Bruce had meant to him at one point in his life, Jason had been a godsend, and Dick had enjoyed him as much as he could, as long as he could. 

Dick doesn’t know when his feelings changed, or why they did. He doesn’t know when Jason’s solid friendship and wonderful yet casual sex stopped being enough. 

Dick truly doesn’t know how it all happened, or why he asked Jason that fateful night if they could have more. He doesn’t blame Jason for not knowing what to say, for being taken off-guard and needing time to think about it. He doesn’t blame Jason for finding him the next day, reaching for his hand, looking him straight in the eyes and apologizing. 

Dick’s stomach had dropped to the ground the night earlier, and it stayed there as Jason held his hand between both of his. Hands that were always gentle and warm, despite how big they were, or how tough the man they belonged to could be. 

“I fucked it up, didn’t I?” he heard himself asking. He met Jason’s turquoise eyes, had to look away when all he found in them was compassion and something akin to sorrow. 

“You didn’t fuck anything up, Dickie,” Jason said, voice gentle. He pressed Dick’s hand to his chest. He was warm, even over his scrubs and the shirt underneath, Then again, Jason was always warm.

Dick laughed, abrupt and bitter. “You’re about to break up with me. I think it’s pretty clear I fucked up.”

Jason’s hands tightened around Dick’s. There was a beat of silence, and then, “I wish I could, bluebird… I wish… I really wish I could..”

Dick set his jaw not to blurt out any sort of corny, cheesy stupidity. He didn’t ask Jason for clarification, or for an explanation. He knew what Jason meant, and he knew why. 

“I’m sorry, Jason,” he heard himself say, feeling his throat tighten with every new word that came out of his mouth. “I didn’t mean… I didn’t think… I thought I was fine with what we had. I… I thought it was enough. I think it was… and then I… I didn’t plan for it and… I’m sorry.”

“And I’m sorry too,” Jason said. He slid the fingers of his free hand under Dick’s chin, cupped his jaw and turned Dick’s head until their gazes met.

There they were again, Jason’s beautiful blue-green eyes with so many emotions burning behind them, but none that Dick wanted to see.

Dick flinched. He took a step back, but he didn’t look away this time. Instead he swallowed hard, decided he needed to get this over with as soon as possible.  “Maybe in another world, huh?”

Pain flitted across Jason’s features, raw and as real as Dick’s own. His grip on Dick’s hand and face tightened. “Maybe at another time, pretty boy.”

“Ha. That’s a nice way of saying it. Should I shoot my shot in a few years, once you’ve made it to CMO and beyond?”

“The beyond could take years. I’d never ask you to wait for me.”

“What if I wanted to?”

“Do you?”

A part of Dick wanted to say yes. Deep down, however, he knew the truth. “Not if you can’t promise me a light at the end of the tunnel, Jay.”

This time, Jason was the one who flinched. He shook his head slightly, made sure to keep eye contact as he said, “I can’t do that, bluebird. I don’t know where I’ll go after becoming director. I don't know what will come next, or how long it will take me to achieve my next goal.” Because of course there would be a next goal, and then another, and then another one, until Jason grew old and had his ambitions satisfied.

Dick had known that would be the answer. Hearing Jason say it didn’t make it hurt any less. His heart shattered into the same amount of pieces it would even if Jason hadn’t said anything.

God, he couldn’t be there anymore. He needed to get away from Jason at that very moment, and stay away for a while. He couldn’t do it, not anymore. Now that he knew for sure that he had fucked up and that their situation wouldn’t lead anywhere, Dick needed to leave. 

“Well, then I guess this is it, huh?” he said, words jumbled, rushed. 

“Dick—”

“I’ll still see you around, right? And you and Roy aren’t going to uninvite me from the staff basketball games, are you?”

Jason stared at him, a struggle on his face. “You don't have to pretend everything is okay, or that it will be okay tomorrow or the day after.”

“I'm not—”

“You already are, Dick,and you don't need to. Please don't. This isn't going to be easy and you don't need to pretend it will. Of course you'll always be welcome to the staff games and wings night and everywhere else. You don't have to come, but you can if and whenever you want.”

“Because that's what you'll do too?”

“Yes,” Jason deadpanned, and something must have shown on Dick’s face because Jason shook his head, a self-deprecating smile on his face. 

“What?” Dick demanded. 

“I'll miss you, too, you know? More than you'll think.”

Dick took a moment to process that little admission. “I wish you could let me love you, Jason.”

Jason gave another of those unhappy smiles. He dropped his hands away from Dick, taking his warmth away with him, one that Dick began missing as soon as it was gone 

“I wish I could let myself love you,” Jason murmured. 

Dick had felt cold after those words had been uttered. And as the days and then weeks passed by, he began to realize the cold would never go away. 

It still hasn’t. 

Dick wonders when it will start to go away. He wonders if it even will, if he’ll ever feel warm again. It doesn’t look like it, and if he’s honest with himself, he’s not very hopeful.

He thinks that maybe he could get over Jason a lot quicker and he could heal faster if he moved somewhere else. He could leave Opal, like Bruce had left Gotham years ago, but that would be a very foolish thing to do. Even changing hospitals would be dumb on his part, what with his house being close to his workplace, what with Dick having uprooted his entire life to move specifically to this part of town, to work in this particular hospital, places where he’d already started building a life. He has a job, he has a home, and he has friends. Moving somewhere else, even if it is only to work somewhere else, is an unnecessary measure. 

All because he had been stupid, so stupid, and had fallen in love with a wonderful and gorgeous man that couldn’t love him back. 

Twice in a row, as a matter of fact, he thinks bitterly, trying to move his  fingers around the cold coffee cup. Twice in a row Dick had gone and fallen for men who couldn’t and wouldn’t love him back. What did that say about him? Nothing good, probably, and it’s not like it was the exact situation twice. 

Bruce had been unable to love him until it was too late. Or if he had loved Dick, he hadn’t shown it or expressed it until it was too late. Then again, he hadn’t been able to push Dick away either. Bruce had been awkward and angry and mean even, while with Jason… 

Jason… 

Jason had never led him on. Jason had never promised him anything, not with actions, not with words. Jason had simply existed and shared some of his existence with him. It had been Dick the one who had sought out and yearned for more. He had let his own feelings grow and had let his own mind dream. He had thought, and he had imagined, and he had wanted, and—

Dick doesn’t know where it comes from, or how he doesn’t see it coming. All he knows is that one second he’s licking his own wounds, freezing his pitiful ass off and not paying attention to his surroundings, and the next, there’s a very big and very white ball of fluff zooming straight at him, letting out a quick and short bark… 

And then there’s a dog jumping onto the bench and onto Dick’s lap. 

Dick lets out a very embarrassing yelp. He drops the cup of coffee, the cold liquid spilling into the pants of his legs and his boots, but Dick doesn’t feel the extra chill too much given he’s too busy trying to figure out if the dog is going to kill him or not. 

“Oh my—Jesus— what the f— oh my God, ohmyGod, ohmyGod ,” Dick babbles, trying to avoid the dog’s wagging tail and floppy ears as it decides that in fact, it does like Dick. 

Dick also seems to be a decent cushion, as after pawing at his thighs for a few more seconds, the dog lets out another bark and sits down proudly, wet pant legs be damned. 

Too shocked to do much of anything, Dick can only stare at the animal , who stares back at him from inches, tongue lolling out, a clearly satisfied smile on its face, its tail wagging enthusiastically. 

“Hello?” Dick manages to rasp out, and the dog wags its tail faster. 

“Uh… where did you come from? Are you… looking for someone? Running from someone?” Dick asks. He raises a hand, hesitates for a moment, but when the dog instantly curves its head to fit under Dick’s hand, he relaxes and pets its smooth head, rubs one floppy ear. 

“Well, I guess you’re not going to kill me or bite my hand off, hmm?” he murmurs, and he raises his other hand to rub at the dog’s other side and other ear. The dog leans into the touch, rubs its nose against Dick’s palm and keeps on wagging his tail as if he has known Dick since forever and is therefore a very trusted friend. 

A hollow laugh bubbles out of Dick’s chest. He moves one hand down the dog’s back, feeling the soft and short fur. It’s not a small dog by any means, but its body is lean, and upon closer inspection the fur is not only white. 

Curious, Dick rubs at one of the many pale spots on the dog’s back, not quite brown but a pale beige. The ears are the same color, as is the area around its nose. It looks like a washed out dalmatian, its bright yellow collar the most colorful thing about it. 

“Oh no, you must be looking for someone for sure,” Dick muses. He keeps rubbing the dog’s back with one hand and thumbs at the collar until he finds a red plaque. However, before he can read the name or contact number on it, there’s a very loud whistle that has the dog scrambling down from Dick’s lap and sitting at attention at his feet. The wind and cold hit him suddenly and twice as hard as before, and it takes a second for Dick to realize that the dog had kept him warm the last minute or two. It takes him another second for the cold to really hit his system, and then he’s shivering so hard his teeth start chattering. 

“W-Well, I g-guess they f-found you f-f-first,” Dick tells the dog right before a thunderous, “ Krypto!” rings out. 

The dog barks back in reply but doesn’t move, tail still wagging. Dick feels the sudden need to stand at attention too when he catches sight of a man stomping to where they are. It’s easy to tell even from a distance that he’s not very happy. 

“Krypto!” the man calls out again, and the dog’s tail wags faster. It barks again and does its best to stay still, but once the man is only a few feet away it gets too excited and dashes forward to greet the man that must be its owner. 

“Kryp—” is all the man manages to say before he sighs and kneels down, arms open. The dog runs straight into them, front paws jumping onto one shoulder, tongue lapping happily at the man’s face, his features currently set in a deep scowl. 

“Yes, all right, all right, it’s okay. We’re okay” the man says, petting the dog on the head without losing his expression of disapproval. He glares at the dog for another second, then turns steely blue eyes on Dick. 

“Did he hurt you?” are the first thing the man says to him. 

Dick shoves his cold hands into the pockets of his jacket and tries not to wither under the stern but not hostile look. “N-No. I’m okay. More than o-okay, actually.”

The man gets up, keeps one hand on the dog’s head even as he glares down at it again, then back at Dick. It makes Dick wonder if he’s mad at the dog, himself, at Dick, or if that’s just his usual face. 

“I’m very sorry about this… we’re still new to the area and he got the zoomies when his new friend left a little while ago. We were about to leave and he ran off before I could get his leash or sweater on him. Not that that excuses this whole situation,” the man huffs, digging into the pockets of his navy wax jacket. He pulls out a bright red leash and an equally bright sweater. He holds it down to the dog, an accusatory look on his face, but the dog only sniffs it and gives him a happy bark. 

“You think those big puppy eyes are going to save you?” the man asks.  “Well, they won’t. It’s two treats for you today, buddy, not three. That’s what you get for almost getting lost. Again. And I’m telling everyone you’re in the doghouse until further notice.”

Dick can’t help but chuckle at the man’s adorable sternness, because that’s what it is. “He-he’s adorable,” he manages to say, huddling in on himself and trying to ignore the particularly cold patches on his pants where the coffee had spilled. He shudders from head to toe before he adds, “Almost t-too big to f-fit in m-m-my lap, though.” The last word comes out as a mere whisper, and he shudders again. 

The man frowns again. He takes a step closer to Dick and leans in, eyes zeroing in on Dick’s wet pants, the discarded and empty cup on the floor. 

“Did you spill your coffee when he jumped on you?” he asks, sounding borderline offended.

“Well, tech-technically y-yes, but it was already c-c-c-co—” Dick is shivering so bad by this point that he can’t say anything else or he’ll bite his own tongue. His fingers are so cold underneath his gloves and he’s sure his leg is going to turn into ice any second now. He tries to move, but he doesn’t want to. He’s so cold, and the air and the snow and the bench and the stains are so cold and he just wants to curl into a ball or maybe borrow Krypto and then curl into the ball. The dog was warm, so warm and so alive, and since Dick can’t get the type of warmth he needs right now, the dog will do just fine. Yes, the dog will do quite nicely. All Dick wants, all he needs, is to hold onto something alive. Something that makes him feel somewhere as warm and comfortable as Jason had made him—

“Krypto, sit,” the man says, and his tone has changed. Krypto notices it too, given he sits down, no bark this time. Even his tail stops wagging. 

Dick risks a glance up to the man, finds those clear blue eyes once again on him, handsome features settled into firm lines. 

“Sir, do you have a fever?” the man asks, kneeling down in front of Dick. His whole demeanor has changed. While he still looks as serious as before, there’s a certain intensity that hadn’t been there a few seconds ago.

“F-fev-fever?” Dick manages to sputter. What type of question is that? Of course he doesn’t have a fever, he’s just cold. Very cold, and a cold that not a thousand blankets or even Krpyto could soothe for long, but it’s not a fever. 

He’s not sick, he’s just a sentimental idiot, after all.

Unable to speak any more, Dick merely shakes his head. 

“You’re shivering almost violently, even though you are wearing proper winter gear. Are you sure you don’t have a fever?” 

Dick manages to shake his head again. 

The man purses his lips, clearly unconvinced. “May I touch you?”

The question takes Dick off guard. His eyebrows climb up to his hairlines, but when he sees the man is not budging until he gets an answer,, he manages to give a single, shaky nod. 

The man gives one nod back and raises an ungloved hand. Dick closes his eyes when the man presses the back of his hand to his forehead, another shiver running through his body. The man’s hand is warm, as warm as Krypto had been, and he relishes in the feeling for a split second before the man cups his face with the same hand and then brings the other to his neck, tilting his head to the side.  

Dick is surprised, but he stays still as he feels fingers pressing against his neck, right where his pulse is. The man brings up his other hand and turns his wrist so he can look at his watch. Dick figures out what the man is doing right before he says, “Sir, I think you might be hypothermic.”

Dick wonders who this man is and how long he’s been dealing in some sort of medical field. Not like regular citizens can’t know the basic symptoms of hypothermia or how to look for them, but there’s something about this man that screams he’s gone into business mode, and his business mode is him looking for symptoms. The guy looks kind of young to be a doctor, but he could be a med student or an intern, like Jason. 

Then again, it could be worse. He could be a nurse . 

“I-I’m not—” he tries to say. 

“Your pulse is weak . Your nose and ears are very red. You’re shivering uncontrollably even though you're wearing the correct clothes,” the man lists off in a way Dick knows all too well, and he’s back to frowning as he finishes. “Not to mention my dog spilled coffee on you. You must be freezing.”

He is, he really is, but it’s not because of the reasons the man thinks. 

“I’m not—”

“We need to get you somewhere warm and with a heater, sir. And you need another coat and a warm blanket and warm chocolate. If that doesn’t work I think it’s best you go to a hospital.”

“It’s n-not—” he tries again. 

“There is a hospital only a few minutes from here. If you go to the ER they can tend to you quickly. I don’t think they will keep you long, chances are as soon as you’re all warmed up they will let you go, but I think it’s important that you get yourself checked out.”

Oh yeah, Dick knows that ‘I know better than you and you’re going to regret it if you don’t listen to what I say’ tone all too well. He’s an avid user of it himself, after all. 

“W-What a-a-are you, a d-doc-tor?” Dick manages to ask, and he hopes some of his disdain comes through, even if he sounds pathetic while saying it. 

The man looks offended for a split second, then shakes his head. “Paramedic,” he replies curtly. 

Yeah, that tracks. 

Before Dick’s half-brozen brain can think of a comeback the man adds, “Come on, let’s get some heat back into your body straight away.” He drops the doggie sweater and the leash on the bench next to Dick. He then peels off his nice jacket and scarf, not hesitating to place the jacket over Dick’s shoulders. He wraps the scarf around Dick’s head and neck, making sure to cover his nose and ears too. 

Dick lets out a long shuddering breath once he’s bathed in the heat the clothes offer. He huddles himself in the borrowed items, hiding most of his face in the scarf and wrapping the jacket tight around himself.  The jacket is loose on his shoulders, and both items smell of soap and little else. Most importantly, they’re warm, as warm as Krypto had been, maybe even more so, and Dick half wonders if that’s the truth or if he’s just that touch-starved. 

“Better?” the man asks. He’s now standing in front of Dick in nothing but a fitted black thermal shirt, looking very much unbothered by the cold. 

Dick huddles in his misery a little while longer. He finds the shivers start lessening after a minute, and he watches in silence as the man doesn’t wait for his reply, opting instead to kneel down in front of Krypto. 

“Stay,” the man says. Krypto stays, and the man pulls the doggie sweater from the bench and slides Krypto into it. The dog goes back to wagging his tail, and the man speaks again. 

“Better?” he insists.  He stays crouched down, body now facing Dick instead of Krypto. 

Dick waits another couple of seconds before he speaks. His teeth don’t chatter as much this time. “Y-Yes. Thank you.” He would flash a thumbs up, but that would mean pushing a hand out into the gelid air, and he’s not going to do that when he’s finally regained some feeling on his hands. 

“Okay, good. How about we head back to the place where you got this coffee from? Any place with four walls and insulation will help.”

Dick shakes his head. “No, no. It’s fine. I’ll b-be fine. I really don’t want to move from here. I don’t think I c-could even if I wanted to, anyway. I feel like my b-butt has been glued to the bench.”

The man actually tilts his head to one side to check on what Dick has said. He frowns. “I don’t think—”

“Oh my God, I was kidding. I was kidding,” Dick laughs. 

The man scowls harder. “Then let’s get you somewhere insulated.”

“I mean, I was kidding about being glued to the bench but not about not wanting to move. I’ll be fine, really.”

There is no change in the man’s expression, but he breathes out through his nose. “Are you really not going to move?”

“I mean, I appreciate all you’ve done for me, and you really didn't have to, but—”

The man holds up a hand, looking very much like Dick has just kicked a puppy, or Krypto for that matter. 

“Krypto,” the man says, and Krypto straightens, his tail starts wagging.

“Hug,” he says. “Hug him and keep him company until I get back.”

As soon as he says the words, he stands back up and points a finger at Dick. “Don’t you move. Krypto will make sure you don’t get worse until I get back.”

Dick is too shocked by the sudden turn of events to react in time to what happens next. The man turns around and starts jogging away wearing only his nice thermal shirt, and at the same time Krypto lets out a happy bark and nuzzles at Dick’s knees until he parts his legs. Once he has achieved his goal, Krypto is quick to wiggle himself into the space between them looking up at Dick with a big doggy smile. He sits back down once he’s snuggled in for good and lays his head on one of Dick’s thighs. 

Speechless, somewhat confused, and utterly endeared, Dick looks down at Krypto from under the scarf. 

“Hug? What do you mean you’re told ‘hug’ and this is what you do? Are you a serial hugger?” he asks, and when Krypto only snorts in reply, he can’t help but ask, “What are you, an emotional support dog? Wait, no, that would actually be pretty cool. Are you an emotional support dog, Krypto?”

Krypto doesn’t reply this time. Instead, he stares up at him, almost as if he’s waiting for something. It takes Dick a moment to realize that while Krypto was told ‘hug’, he hasn’t actually been hugged yet. 

“Sorry,” Dick mutters. He takes a deep breath, then slides his hand from underneath the man’s jacket. He wraps them around Krypto’s neck slowly, carefully, not wanting to spook him, but Krypto doesn’t seem to have any qualms about him being a stranger. He leans into the touch, and that’s how Dick ends up bent over, arms wrapped tightly around Krypto, clinging onto the poor animal for dear life. Quite literally, some would say. 

“I love you,” Dick murmurs. “I just met you and I love you already. Do you think your dad would marry me so we could share custody of you?” 

Krypto wags his tail in reply but says nothing else. Dick guesses that means maybe. 

Dick is not sure how much time passes since he begins hugging Krypto and feeling like the ice is melting off his body and he can move and breathe again. He doesn’t think much about where Krypto’s owner went.  He's happy right there, hugging a very cute and sweet dog and beginning to feel more human than popsicle again, which is why he doesn’t raise his head or move from his position even when a pair of black boots are in the periphery of his vision. 

“Are you feeling better?” the man asks. 

“Are you looking to get married, by any chance? Because if you are, I’m happy to be your bride or groom, or whatever floats your boat if it means I get shared custody of this little angel.”

There’s no reply at all to his very bad and long joke, and the silence goes long enough that Dick eventually tilts his head at an awkward angle to see what’s happening. He finds the man standing in front of him, holding two cups of something and looking more confused than before. 

“Marrying me wouldn’t— Krypto is not— I think a lawyer would have to be involved if—” the man mutters, and either Dick’s brain is malfunctioning or the man looks like he’s actually thinking the situation through. 

Dick sees the wheels in the man’s head turn a few more times, then he shakes his head. “We would need a prenup, and the conditions for the shared custody, but as the original owner I would retain most of the custody privileges, of course.”

Dick blinks at him. “Wait. Wait. So you’d marry me?”

“What? No, of course not. I don’t know you, but you asked a question,” the man huffs, and holds out both cups. “Here. Chocolate and coffee.”

“Oh wow, are both of them for me?” 

“Since I’m not the one at the beginning stage of hypothermia, yes.” 

“I don’t think I’m hypothermic anymore,” Dick says. 

“Let go of Krypto for a minute and I’ll be the judge of that.” 

“You must be a joy to work with,” Dick sighs, but he does as he’s told, giving Krypto one last squeeze before straightening up. He is hit by the cold air at once, but he wraps the jacket and scar tighter around himself and lets his body adjust. He doesn’t start shaking and his teeth don’t chatter. The wet pants leg is colder than everything, but it’s not unbearable, not anymore. 

“I’m not,” the man says, replying to Dick’s snide comment while looking rather distracted. He rubs his hands together a few times to warm them up. “All right, I will check your pulse and temperature again.”

“Yes, doc,” Dick says. He stays still as the guy presses a lukewarm hand to his forehead, then slides it under the jacket to check his pulse. He doesn’t say anything else, lets the very intense and off-duty paramedic check him over, including his hands and ears. 

The man pulls back after completing a quick examination and nods his approval. “I would still suggest you get yourself home or somewhere insulated in the next ten minutes and that you drink the beverages before they cool down, but you are not in mortal danger anymore.”

“Huzzah,” Dick says. 

The man doesn’t seem to catch the sarcasm in his tone. “Still, if you feel like you’re not getting better please do take yourself to—” before he gives his umpteenth unnecessary and overbearing suggestion, his phone pings, and he pulls it out without finishing his sentence. 

Dick watches the man stare at his screen, and then both his eyebrows and lips purse in displeasure. “I must go,” the man mutters suddenly. He grabs the leash from where he’d kept it on the bench and clips Krypto’s collar onto it. 

“Take care of yourself,” the man says. “Let’s go, Krypto. We’re already running late.”

Krypto squirms away from Dick after a backward glance and one last happy bark, almost as if he is saying goodbye too. 

Something in Dick’s brain short circuits. His mouth drops to the ground. “Wait, what? What do you mean ‘take care of yourself’? Where are you going?”

The man looks at him over his shoulder and doesn’t stop walking. “To work,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“But your jacket—and your scarf— you don’t want them—and the chocolate!”

“You can give them to someone else in need if you want to, but I would advise waiting until you are somewhere inside and a hundred percent okay. The beverages I really think you should drink before they cool down too.”

“But—”

“Have a better day, sir, and take care of yourself,” the man says again. Before Dick can say anything else, the man lets out a whistle, and he and Krypto take off sprinting down the road. 

Dick watches him go, frozen in place, though not literally this time. He watches the man and Krypto’s figures disappear, too bewildered to even try and chase after them. 

Soon after he loses sight of them and his vision has even become blurry, Dick gets to his feet, huddling into the stranger’s jacket and scarf as he does so. He takes a deep breath in and tries the chocolate. It’s already lukewarm, but that’s okay. His pants aren’t as wet anymore thanks to Krypto, and the beverages will tide him over until he can get into a coffee shop, or drag his ass home. 

It’s cold, it’s still horribly, terribly and brutally cold, but for the first time in months, Dick feels, even if it’s just in that brief moment, that he might not actually die from it anymore.

Chapter Text

He hasn’t been to the ER since Christmas Eve, and even then it had been because they’d needed extra personnel during a particularly bad day. He hadn’t seen Jason that day, not that he’d had time to look for him. Everyone’s priorities had been the patients, and there had been no time for yearning, or for him to wallow in self pity. He hadn’t returned after -not once- and really, if it wasn’t to hunt down Jason, what excuse did he have to go there?

“Still, I’m glad you’ve decided to grace us with your presence again, pretty boy,” Roy says as the two of them stand by the ER’s front doors, all wrapped up in their coats and hats, watching people come and go. Roy is holding a shiny thermos bottle between his gloved hands, a new purchase for Donna, apparently. Roy had asked Dick if he could pick it up the day earlier, as the store had been way closer to Dick’s place than Roy and Donna’s. According to Roy, it is some sort of special edition item that Donna had been wanting for weeks, but Dick isn’t too sure. He doubts Donna cares about 12-hour insulation bottles more than her caffeine-addicted, very sleep-deprived husband, but he’s not going to judge Roy too hard for the white lie. 

“Don’t be so salty. I’m sure you haven’t even noticed I’ve been gone,” Dick says. 

“Well, Lian keeps asking when she’s gonna see you again and if she can do two colors on your nails next time. Donna keeps asking when you’re coming over for dinner again. Donna understands the complications , of course, but Lian? Not so much.”

Dick’s stomach sinks a bit. “I… sorry. I didn’t think either of them liked me enough to miss me in the first place.”

“You’re kind of easy to like, Grayson. Easy to love, even. I’m sure Jay would agree with me on that.”

Dick’s stomach sinks even more, falls out of his body and goes straight through the ground. “Roy, he doesn’t— I don’t want to—” 

“Talk about it, I know. I know. That’s what you’ve told me every time I’ve tried talking to you since you two broke things off.”

“You’re his best friend. I didn’t want to… I mean, I wouldn’t want to put you in an uncomfortable—”

“I know, I’ve heard it all before from both of you. At least he gave in and talked to me a few weeks after it happened. A perk of being best friends, I suppose. It’s all very sad, in my opinion, and I told him so.”

“You mean… me? Like, me having feelings for… him?”

Roy gives him a disdainful look. “Of course not, Grayson. Jay is hella easy to love too. I don’t blame you, and I sure as hell don’t blame him either. It’s just been… kind of pitiful seeing the two of you being sad over something that could have happened.”

Dick bites his lip. He thinks about those words, tries not to focus too much on how this implies Jason was also sad after they stopped seeing each other. Instead, he focuses more on the present. 

“Is he okay?” he asks. “I… I hope he is.”

Roy nods. “He is, but we both knew he was going to be, right? As I said, he opened up to me a few weeks after it happened, and he moped for a little while, but you know Jason. He powered through and is back to being his usual resilient and stubborn self.”

Dick wonders what this all means. He wonders what it says about Jason’s feelings for him that he moped around, even if it was for a little while. He also wonders what it says about those same feelings if Jason is back to normal while Dick sometimes feels like he’s barely holding it together. 

He wonders if any of those things mean anything at all.

“I’m glad he’s okay,” he says, and he means it, even if Jason’s well-being makes him feel conflicted deep inside. 

“I’ll tell him. I’m sure he’ll be happy to hear it, and that you’ve finally decided to pop your pretty little head around here again,” Roy says.

Dick thinks about telling Roy not to tell Jason. He thinks of how he hasn’t wanted to see Jason since they broke up, how he’s steered clear of the ER or the staff basketball games and stopped attending the chicken wing afterparties. He thinks about how badly he’s been hiding and staying away. He thinks about how he’d like to keep it that way. 

He opens his mouth to ask Roy not to say anything, but then he closes it again. 

Jason is over him. Jason is okay. Dick should think about being okay too, and soon.  

“Tell him I hope he has a happy new year,” Dick says. 

Roy’s expression softens. “You’re over a month late, Grayson.”

“I’d wish him a belated happy Valentine’s Day too, but that’d be awkward.”

“Like nothing else has been awkward,” Roy scoffs, and pulls out his phone. “All right, how much do I have to transfer you?”

Dick fishes the receipt out of the pocket of his jacket. As he’s handing it over, the roaring sound of an ambulance reaches them, and the vehicle itself pulls up right after, tires screeching as it skids to a stop in front of the ER entrance. 

The two of them move off to one side automatically, leaving the way clear for whatever chaos is about to unfold. Nurses come barreling out of the glass doors with a gurney between them. 

There’s a blur of color coming out of the ambulance’s driver's side, and then Dick sees a firefighter in full gear sans helmet, neon stripes and all, rushing to open the ambulance’s doors and pull down the ramp before they dash inside.

There’s movement in the ambulance’s interior, and then the firefighter that had gone in is walking backward, gripping the board the patient is on as they start descending the ramp. They are edging a bit too close to one side of the ramp, maybe because of the weight or maybe because of who's on the other end of the board. Either way, if they don’t move they’ll—

“Left, left!” a male voice calls from inside the ambulance, and the firefighter takes a step to the left, where there’s nothing but space. 

Dick holds his breath, as does Roy and probably every single person that is waiting for the patient to come down. He and Roy start to move forward, even if it’ll be too late by the time either of them makes it to the ambulance… but then somehow , the firefighter moves their leg before it’s too late. They stumble and manage to keep the board from hitting the ramp only by a few inches, but they recover quickly enough that neither they nor the board fall. 

“Sorry, sorry, other left!” the same voice calls out, but there is no reply from the firefighter who almost fell. Instead, they get their feet underneath them and make their way down the ramp with the person who had spoken, a slim man in lighter and different-colored gear, a med bag hanging from his shoulder, stethoscope around his neck. 

Dick relaxes without realizing how tense he’d gotten in the last few seconds. Roy relaxes as well, and they both watch as the firefighter and the paramedic transfer a bleeding patient hooked up to oxygen to the hospital’s gurney. The ER nurses wheel the patient inside amidst tense and hectic whispers, yelling for a surgeon as they go. 

“I think if I were a better human I would have jumped in there and helped them all,” Roy mutters, typing away at his phone again. Dick feels his own phone ping with a notification a moment later. “Transfer made.”

“It’s hard to fight our urges sometimes,” Dick murmurs. He keeps his attention on the firefighter, whose short black hair and broad back is all he can see as they pull up the ramp, close the ambulance doors and listen to the thin paramedic as he talks and moves his hands non-stop. 

Eventually, the firefighter turns and says something back. Dick feels a tickle at the back of his mind, but it’s not until he stares at the firefighter’s face that he realizes that they’re a) a man, and b) frowning in a way Dick is already familiar with. 

The firefighter catches sight of him staring, and Dick sees a flick of recognition cross the man’s face. 

Roy is saying something again, but Dick is too busy rushing forward and waving to pay much attention to the words. 

“Hello there! Good to see you again!” Dick calls as he keeps waving. He closes the distance between them and is smiling by the time he comes to a stop a couple of feet away from the man. The man is frowning (and it is a very attractive frown, actually) and clutching at the edges of his black and neon yellow coat as if he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. 

“Hey,” the man says when he realizes Dick is very much not going away and is waiting for a reply. He holds his gaze for a second, then looks away and nods. “It’s, uh, nice to see you again too.” 

There’s a slight hesitation, but then he asks, “How are you?”

Dick’s smile widens. “I’m good! Great, actually, and in no small part thanks to you. I really think that if it hadn’t been for you that day I would have turned into a popsicle, or an ice statue.”

The paramedic has stopped talking by now. Instead, he has come to stand next to the firefighter (wait, paramedic, the man had said he was a paramedic too, hadn’t he?), and is peering at Dick with blatant and unabashed curiosity. 

“What’s this about?” the man asks, and he sounds amused. 

The firefight- wait, paramedic? Firefighter-paramedic? clears his throat. “I uh… met him a week ago.”

“He saved my hypothermic ass last week,” Dick interrupts, if only to be dramatic and make the guy frown again. He surprises himself with how easy it is in that moment to be and feel like his old self in that moment: lighter, more carefree, less heartbroken.

“Not quite hypothermic,” the man corrects, and seems to regret it as soon as he says it. “Very slightly hypothermic, the symptoms were only starting. I, uh, just helped him out.”

“On his day or during one of his moments off,” Dick points out. “I met a true hero that day. And not just Krypto, of course. I’m talking about you too.”

Dick feels a thousand times better than he had five minutes ago just by seeing the man’s face go from confusion to complete and utter disorientation. 

“Well, uh, thank you,” he says eventually, and turns to the other paramedic. “We need to go.”

“Do you work nearby?” Dick asks, because he can be stubborn like that. “I’m guessing you do. I still have your jacket and scarf. I was going to give it to someone who needed it, like you told me, but since I got to see you again…”

“You don’t have to do that,” the man cuts off, and turns to his partner again. “Let’s go.”

“One second.” The other man pushes his hair away from his pretty blue eyes and grins at Dick. “We’re from station 13, if you really want to know.”

“Oh? Really? Aren’t you only a few blocks away from here, then?”

“Oh yeah, we drop off patients here at Opal Medical Center all the time. I didn’t know CK had friends here, though.”

“We’re new here, and he’s not my friend,” CK -finally, the guy has a name- says. 

“Maybe not yet, but maybe he can be. God knows you need more friends, just ask Cassie.”

CK twitches, almost like he wants to sock the pretty paramedic’s smirk right off. “Tim—”

“I’m Tim, by the way, Tim Drake, and this is CK,” Tim says. 

Dick gives CK a curious look. “CK? That’s the full name?”

“No, but if you’d like to ask more questions, maybe stop by the station and give him his clothes back. Bring cookies too, he’ll be grateful,” Tim offers. 

“I don’t eat—” CK starts, but Tim grins and claps a hand over his mouth before he can finish.

“And you are?” he asks. 

“Oh. I’m Dick Grayson, maternity nurse.”

Tim hums. “Childhood must have been tough.”

“For many reasons. The name wasn’t one of them, though,” Dick replies with a shrug. 

Tim snorts and starts pushing CK towards the driver’s side. “Well, nice to meet you, Grayson. Maybe see you around?”

“Can I bring brownies or are only cookies allowed?”

CK makes a sound of protest. Tim fully ignores him. 

“Brownies are good too, but if they’re laced with something we’ll have to wait until after our shift to have them,” he says. 

Dick laughs. “Noted. Nice to meet you, Tim… CK.”

CK makes another sound, this one of exasperation. He gives Dick one nod, then lets Tim usher him back to the driver’s seat. Dick watches Tim round the vehicle and gets into the passenger’s side. He smiles and waves at the ambulance as it drives away, hoping they can see him in the rearview mirror. Once the ambulance is gone, he turns around and walks back to Roy’s side. 

Roy raises an eyebrow at him. “What was that all about?”

“Oh, you know. Nothing much.” 

“Friends of yours? You have friends aside from West and I?” 

Dick rolls his eyes. He clips Roy on the shoulder as he walks past the redhead and heads for the entrance doors. “Maybe,” he says, and then adds, “Well, not yet, but maybe it’s time I find other friends and pull my head out of my ass. Maybe it’s finally time I close this door and  open a new one.”

Roy blinks at him, and then he smiles, big and somewhat proud. “Attaboy. Don’t get stuck, Grayson, he really wouldn’t want that for you.”

“Is this where I say, ‘I don’t care what he would want for me’?”

“Yes, and also where you tell me to fuck off. Come on, say it. He and I will toast to you moving on tonight.”

“With what, apple puree?”

“Grape jelly, I think.”

Dick sighs. “Fuck off, Roy.” 

Roy holds up his new thermos. “There we go. Cheers!”

Chapter Text

If Dick had had it his way, this isn't the way things would have happened or how food would have been delivered. 

Dick had had a plan, and a really good one. His plan had included a schedule and freshly baked goods for delivery at station 13. He had washed CK’s jacket and scarf and had gotten a new chew toy for Krypto to bring along when he stopped by the firehouse. He'd really thought through everything he would do and what he would say, which is why it frustrates him to no end that he is now picking up two dozen chicken sandwiches from a cute little deli with a smirking Wally next to him. 

“The brownies were by far the better option,” Dick grumbles as he hands over his card and does his best to ignore the number the nice lady at the counter will charge to it. 

“Well, I'm sorry your sweet and valiant efforts have gone to waste, but it's not my fault you had to pull a triple shift and they got stale and hard,” Wally replies, and starts picking up one of the bags of sándwiches. They smell great, and it's no surprise. This is Wally’s favorite deli around the hospital, and the sandwiches aren't exactly cheap. 

“No, but it is your fault because you refused to bake them for me. If you'd made the brownies they would have lasted longer.”

“They would have tasted a whole lot better too, Grayson, but sue me if I didn't want to spend my one day off making baked goods so my best friend could run off and get himself a new bestie with them.”

“I wasn't—”

“Maybe ‘bestie’ isn't the right word, ‘cause it's not like you've ever brought me brownies, you know. Maybe you're doing all this to get a new boyfriend, that would make a lot more sense.”

Dick opens his mouth to give a snarky reply, but then he notices the intense and serious look Wally is giving him, and he feels a knot beginning to form in the pit of his stomach. 

“I wasn't—this isn't—I'm not—” he stammers. 

Wally raises an eyebrow. He picks up another bag of sandwiches and nods so Dick can reach out to grab his card when the lady holds it out. 

“I'm not… this isn't… I don't even know anyone at that firehouse,” Dick manages to get out, tucking his card away and picking up the last bag with food. 

“I've certainly heard a lot from this CK lately,” Wally points out, and motions with his head to the sandwiches as they start heading for the door. “And while I do think you'd do this one random day out of the goodness of your heart to support our first responders I don't quite believe—”

“Oh my God, it's not that deep, West. CK was super nice to me and he had the cutest dog and then his buddy kind of invited me over and I do have to return these items anyway and… and I need new friends and to start doing stuff again.” Dick bites the inside of his cheek and hesitates before adding, “I have to start living my life again, Wally. I know I have to, and it’s time.”

They start making their way down the street and towards the firehouse. Wally gives him another one of those long and intense looks, this one sideways as they walk next to each other. 

“So you're done moping about the ER resident that turned your world upside down?” he asks. 

Dick bites the inside of his other cheek. “I didn't say that.”

“Goddamn it.”

“What the hell does that even mean, you jerk? Has my grief been bothering you?”

Wally lets out a sigh. “Come on, Dickie, it's not like that. You know how breakups are. Friends take sides and I can't be on anyone's side but yours.”

“I thought you liked Jason!”

“I do!” Wally retorts. “That has nothing to do with this, though. He broke your heart and I'm morally obliged to be on your side and be mad at him until you're over him.”

“Roy has been super nice to me this whole time.”

“Well, of course he has. You didn't break up with his best friend. You didn't make his friend feel like shit for weeks, or months, rather. Roy didn't have to hold you while you cried your eyes out and then had to bring you to work and stall with your fellow nurses until you could look less miserable.”

Dick doesn't have a reply for that. It's true, Wally has been there for him from the night Jason broke up with him until that very moment, letting Dick crash on his couch and his shoulders for weeks. Wally hasn't pushed him to get over Jason, called Jason mean names, or played stupid pranks on him in retaliation. Dick knows it's because Wally knows Dick doesn't hate or wish Jason any ill, but he supposes Wally does make several good points. 

It's not like Dick has gotten many details out of Roy, but he's sure Jason hasn't been as miserable and in as much pain as he has. It's not like he would want that either. Dick is the idiot that fell in love. Dick is the one that got ahead and himself, and Jason put a stop to it before he could hurt himself any further. 

Not that the knowledge makes it hurt any less. If anything, it stings more to know that Jason was probably never as affected because he never felt the same way. 

“Sorry, West, you're right,” Dick murmurs. 

“Yes, yes I am,” Wally says. “Which is why if we're doing this whole thing today with the sandwiches and all, and all you want are new friends, then I must warn you that you can't replace me or I will go mental on you. We’re clear on that, aren’t we?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now, if this is the start of something else…” Wally signs in resignation. “Good for you, I guess. I just hope you choose a better man this time.”

“You are so annoying… But the concern is much appreciated. I mean it though, it's not like I know anyone at the station, or this CK guy. He was just super nice to me, and… Oh wait, wait, I suppose I did fall in love that day.”

Wally gives him another side-eyed look. “You're about to say something completely stupid, aren't you?”

Dick grins. “There's no love like puppy love is there? And let me tell you, Krypto is the cutest pup I've ever seen.”

Wally groans. “A dog has got to be better than your choices in men, so I guess you have my blessing, and I haven't even met this Krypto yet.”

Dick lets out a laugh, and the atmosphere has picked up considerably by the time the firehouse comes into view. 

“So what, we just walk in with the sandwiches? Is that allowed?” Wally asks. The two of them approach the big and open doors, where the firetrucks are already visible.

“How am I supposed to know?”

“You're the one that's here trying to make friends, shouldn't you have looked up proper firehouse etiquette and all that?”

“I had a hard enough time figuring out how many people we’d find here, Wally. There’s no way I could have looked up the social—”

Dick hears Krypto (or a dog, anyway) before he sees him. They haven’t even gone through the threshold when the barking starts, very loud, very rambunctious, but not aggressive. 

He and Wally walk into the station, and Dick doesn’t have to even look around for more than two seconds before there’s a blur of white coming down a flight of stairs off to one side, and then Krypto is there, in front of him, barking and wagging his tail so happily he’s rocking from side to side. 

“Oh hello! Wonderful to see you again!” Dick cries. He drops to his knees, leaves the bags of sandwiches off to one side and brings Krypto in for a hug. “Who’s a good boy? Who’s a good boy? Who’s the bestest and most heroic boy there is? Yes, you are, yes, you are!” 

Wally stands there looking amused while Dick baby talks to Krypto and pats every area the squirming dog lets him. 

“I can feel you judging me,” Dick calls, letting Krypto lick his cheek. 

“Still a better choice than the men in your life, and a lot more affectionate,” Wally says. “Like I said, I approve.”

“Krypto!” a new voice calls, and a whistle follows the pup's name.

Krypto disengages immediately, throwing one last bark in Dick’s direction before he saunters off in the direction the voice had come from. 

Dick wipes his cheek against his shirt. He picks up the bags of sandwiches and straightens back up. By the time he’s back on his feet, the person who had called out Krypto’s name is now standing very close to them.  

“I was going to ask you two strangers if we could help you, but judging by Krypto’s little explosion, I’m guessing you’re not total strangers,” the woman says. She’s blonde, blue-eyed and not very tall, but that probably doesn’t matter with the size of her arms. 

“Krypto and I have history,” Dick says, like it’s been years since he’s known the dog and not an hour over a week ago. 

“Oh, so that’s how it is.” She glares down at the dog. “You’re a cheater. A homewrecker! I thought we had something special. I’m so telling your dad on you.” 

Dick sees the perfect opportunity, and he doesn’t hesitate to take it. “Speaking of his dad… is he around?” Realizing a second too late how the question might come across (the woman’s raised eyebrows say it all) he quickly adds, “I uh… he lent me some clothes around a week ago. I’m here to return them.”

The woman’s eyebrows climb even higher. “Conner? Did Conner lend you clothes? His clothes? I guess you must have a lot more history than I thought.”

“Oh, so that’s his name… and it’s not like that. He just—”

“Is that chicken I smell? Chicken in buffalo sauce? Oh my God, I smell chicken in buffalo sauce!” 

Dick jumps at the sudden yells that come from behind, and then Krypto dashes past all of them towards the door, where three figures approach. 

Dick recognizes Tim first, in the same uniform as the woman, longish black hair framing his thin face and pretty blue eyes. Next Dick sees a redhead the same height as Tim and just as slim, vibrating with energy even as he stands there and sniffs the air much like Krypto would. 

Lastly, Dick sees CK, though it takes him a moment to realize it’s the same man that helped him at the park and that was wearing full gear the other day. It takes him a moment both because the guy had been smiling when he’d come in, but seeing his broad figure in broad daylight, while not freezing his ass off, in the formal and form-fitting navy uniform is… 

Well, sue him. Dick likes his men chunkier. He’s always been a fan of bigger but awkward and clumsy rather than smaller and graceful. 

CK has his hair combed nicely today too, and his eyes are the lovely color of a robin’s egg. He looks good enough to eat, and sweet enough that Dick wants to squish his cheeks when CK’s eyes find him and the smile turns into surprise, then confusion. 

“Hey,” Dick says. 

CK frowns. It really must be his default mode. “Hey.”

He doesn’t say anything else, and neither does Dick, who can feel everyone waiting almost with bated breath for an explanation, the beginning of a conversation, or for CK to literally say anything else. 

When it becomes crystal clear that he won’t, Tim rolls his eyes and steps forward. “Hey to you too, Grayson, was it? Good to see you again. Did you bring the brownies?”

“Oh, no, not brownies. They—”

“The brownies have passed on to a better life,” Wally interrupts. He holds out his arms with the bags hanging from them. “He did bring you all something else, though. Have you had lunch?”

The redhead lets out an actual squeal of delight, and runs forward, reaching for one of the bags. “I knew it! They're buffalo wings, aren't they? I’d know the scent of buffalo sauce anywhere, it’s my favorite scent ever! How many did you bring? Do we all get a few? How many can I eat? Between how many of us do we have to share? Oh, did you bring ranch? You can’t have wings without—”

“Bart,” Tim and the woman say, trying not to be loud. 

The redhead stops talking so suddenly that he actually rocks in place when he closes his mouth. “Oops. Sorry, got excited there for a second!”

Wally starts laughing. “I haven’t heard of many firehouses around the area that have pets. Who knew we had one right around the corner that has two,” he says. 

Tim snorts. “Not like we signed up for it. Besides, Bart was supposed to be only the probie, not Krypto’s long lost brother.”

“I feel like I should be offended by all of this, but I’m too hungry to care right now,” Bart says, eyeing the bags of food. 

“You’re always hungry,” the woman says.

“So are you, Cassie!”

“Never said I wasn’t.” She sticks her tongue out at him, then beckons everyone further into the house. “Well, Krypto’s friends are our friends, and if you have lunch for us then that earns you extra points. Come on inside, we can all sit down for a minute.”

“Yes ma’am,” Wally mutters, and he follows Cassie as she leads them further into the firehouse. Bart and Krypto follow like the adorable puppies they are, and CK seems ready to follow them, but then Tim elbows him and glares at him for a split second before he follows everyone else. 

Dick and CK are left alone soon enough. Dick offers what he hopes is a disarming smile. CK just frowns at him. They stay in silence for what feels like a very long time. 

Then, after deciding to put the man out of his misery, Dick holds out the bag of sandwiches he has left. “Here, these are for you. All of you. Wally swears they’re the best chicken sandwiches around here. There’s buffalo and barbecue chicken and something about an alfredo sauce. I hope you guys haven’t had lunch.”

CK eyes the bag, hesitates, then decides it’s safe to take the bag. “Thank you. And we haven’t… we didn’t… we’d actually gone out to get Chinese from the place down the street but they’re closed and…” deciding that he has tried enough, CK stops talking and sighs. “Sorry. I mean… Thank you. You didn’t have to, and I’m sure getting everyone food wasn’t cheap.”

“You’re more than welcome, and it wasn’t, but it was a whole lot better than the stale brownies that I had planned on delivering three days ago.”

“Three days?”

“Yeah, I had it all figured out, but then I needed to pull work a lot more and then I was so tired that I forgot and then had to go in the next day for an eternal early shift and… well, I didn’t want to bring crappy desserts, and Wally really likes these sandwiches.”

CK nods. He peeks into the bag. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure, CK! But that’s not everything I brought.” Dick pulls his backpack around and rummages inside. He pulls out a clear plastic bag, the jacket and scarf freshly washed and folded inside. He also pulls out the chew toy. He holds it out and offers another smile. 

CK eyes the offered items with as much distrust as he’d eyed the food. “You didn’t have to bring either back. I wasn’t expecting you to return them. I gave them to you very aware that I wouldn't see those clothes again.”

Dick shrugs one shoulder. “I know, and I was going to give them to the next person I saw who needed them. I didn’t think I’d get a chance to see you again, but I did, and… well, it would have been wrong not to give them back now that I knew who you were and where you worked. Sort of, anyway. You go by CK, and only CK?”

“It’s easier for work. Shorter,” CK explains. He takes the clothes and the chew toy from Dick’s hands and inspects it from all sides. “Krypto will love the new toy. Thank you.

“No, thank you, really.” Dick wonders if he should leave it at that, a general thank you for spotting him freezing to death and fussing over him like a good paramedic would. Dick knows it wasn’t personal, that CK had helped him out because Krypto had found him first, but he hadn’t needed to do anything of what he did. CK hadn’t needed to give him his clothes without any hope of getting them back. He hadn’t needed to trust him and leave his dog for Dick to hug while he got Dick free hot beverages. He hadn’t needed to help him at all, but he still had, and Dick wants to make sure CK understands how much it meant to him. 

“I was starting to freeze to death that day,” he says. “You were right. I shouldn't have sat down for so long without moving and letting the cold seep into my bones.”

“No, you shouldn’t have. You put yourself in danger.”

“I did, I absolutely did, but to be honest with you… the physical cold and the weather conditions weren't the only things that had me in a less-than-ideal situation.”

CK frowns at him again. “Oh?”

Dick shakes his head. “No. I… I wasn’t… feeling good. I wasn’t all right, not mentally. It felt like I’d been hypothermic for weeks before you found me.”

At that, CK does react. He raises an eyebrow and opens his mouth to say something. However, he closes his mouth without saying anything. He seems to weigh his options in his head before he asks, “... And what about now?”

“I haven’t had the time or chance to try and wallow in self-pity and lick my own wounds again, so I’m not sure. I’ve given myself all the pep talks, though. I have prepared myself mentally, and I don't plan on letting it happen again.” 

CK nods. “That’s… good. I’m sure that whatever you’re going through isn’t pleasant, so… good luck. Don’t let yourself turn into ice again.”

“I won’t, not unless I know there’s a very handsome and sweet paramedic and his cute dog somewhere close to save me.”

The compliment seems to fly over CK’s head completely. “I’m really sorry about Krypto. I should have—”

Before CK can finish his sentence, all of the alarm bells in the station go off. The loud and piercing sound reverberates throughout the entire firehouse. Dick sees Cassie, Tim, Bart and Krypto running down the flight of stairs and heading to the racks that hold their gear.

“I guess you have to go now,” Dick says, turning back to CK. 

“We won’t let the sandwiches go to waste, though, I’ll make sure of that,” CK says, raising the bag. 

“Yes please, I hear they’re too good to go to waste.” 

CK nods again. Krypto trots to his side and barks up at him. CK pats him on the head. “I know, I’m coming.” He turns to Dick, and nods a third time. “Feel better, Grayson. Take care of yourself.”

“Call me Dick, and I will. You and your team too, be careful out there.”

“We always are.” CK starts to head towards the racks and the gears, then stops, and faces him one last time. “Conner. Conner Kent. That’s… uh, that’s me, by the way.”

Dick feels something in his chest loosen. He beams at CK -Conner- and gives him a salute. “Go save the world, Conner.”

“We don’t—”

“CK!”

Dick doesn’t know who screams, and it doesn’t matter. Conner’s shifts his attention to the chaos on the other side of the firehouse, and then he and Krypto disappear into it. 

Dick steps to one side. He watches Conner, his team and several other firefighters gear up and hop onto the trucks and ambulances, Krypto in his special harness and goggles included. 

The sirens on the vehicles flare to life. The two trucks and ambulances rush out of the fire station so fast it was like they were never there.

Dick stands there until the ringing in his ears has stopped. Wally comes down the stairs a moment later and joins him. He’s eating one of the sandwiches. 

“Our jobs suck as much as theirs. We never get to eat in peace,” he comments. 

“Oh my God, why are you even eating one? They weren’t for you!”

“Tim was super nice and offered me one,” Wally defends himself. “Cassie insisted. Bart even poured me a glass of soda.”

Dick huffs. “So you got new friends, huh?”

“What can I say, Grayson? I’m super likable.” Wally takes a bite of his sandwich and speaks with his mouth full. “Speaking of which, how did it go over here? Did you make a new friend?”

Dick sighs. He crosses his arms and looks out onto the street. “I’m not sure,” he admits. “But I think I’d definitely like to.” 

Chapter Text

Farmers’ markets were a sporadic occurrence in Gotham. Whether it was the permanent shit weather, the shit people or something else, in the ten-plus years Dick had lived there, he’d heard of a farmers’ market twice and visited them once. They had been quite small and much more expensive than he had expected, and they hadn’t had a wide enough variety of products. 

He had first come to one of Opal’s weekly farmers’ markets with Wally, and then Jason had dragged him along several times too, ecological tote bags and all. The market had been super fun throughout summer and fall, the dozen stands with dozens of products framed by lush green vegetation, and then that same vegetation colored in shades of orange, red and gold. The people had always been nice and the prices were obviously higher than Walmart, but here the products were very much worth it. 

Jason had introduced him to several vendors that now knew him by name and had never asked Dick about why they showed up separately now. Not that it was any of their business anyway, but Dick appreciates the willful ignorance. Besides, he needs the groceries, which is why he drags his ass out of bed on his next day off, picks up his tote bag, his good coat, and heads to the market.

Winter markets are funny. It’s interesting how colorful and fresh the produce and products look, especially against the white background of snow. The products paint an amusing picture, especially in comparison to the vendors who are all bundled up in their parkas and hats and scarves. Dick supposes he looks funny too, a scarf covering his nose, hat pulled low enough to cover his ears, and wrapped in his own thick and fluffy jacket, all the while carrying his tote with the design of a smiley tomato. 

All the vendors have set up but the market isn’t too busy by the time Dick makes it to the park where they set up, which is a small blessing. It gives him more time to chat with the vendors he knows and charm an additional and tiny discount out of them. 

Since he moved into his new house he’s had a lot more space for cooking, even if the space didn’t always equal time. Nonetheless, he understands that meal prep is important sometimes, and that he can’t have cereal for breakfast every single day, no matter how much he’d like to. While he doesn’t like cooking and doesn’t have any food preferences per se, he knows he should eat a somewhat varied and healthy diet. Given that he’s often too tired after work, he doesn’t tend to prepare anything before he goes shopping. His style is more showing up to the market, buying half a ton of stuff, and once he’s home with all of it, he has to figure out how to use it all before it goes bad. Wally has suggested googling recipes before shopping and bringing a list to the market. Dick has suggested Wally to suck on it; his method works just fine most of the time. 

Jason had once called him a food magpie, with how Dick peruses the stalls and buys whatever new and yummy-looking products he comes across, and Dick tries to push Jason out of his mind as he buys a small jar of peach jam and pickled onions from the same man. 

Dick makes his way through the stalls. He chats with the vendors who know him, and they all complain to him about the cold and how the snow is finally starting to melt. They talk about Dick’s job and the dangers of simply existing nowadays, and he does get two bucks knocked off from the man that sells his favorite Italian herb bread. 

Dick’s tote bag is heavy on his shoulder and he has spent more money than planned by the time he’s circled back to the first stand. It’s also at that moment that Dick’s stomach growls not too softly, a small reminder that he had woken up late and hadn’t even thought about breakfast before coming to the market. 

Dick sighs. He readjusts the bag on his shoulder and checks how much cash he has left. He could go back home and start figuring out how to cook everything he just bought, but there are also several nice coffee places on the way back to his house. He should have enough to get a decent breakfast in one of them. Worst-case scenario, he did bring a card with him, so—

Oh, there goes Krypto. 

Dick comes to a sudden halt when he sees the white dog trotting several feet ahead of him. He’s wearing his little sweater but he’s not dragging a leash behind him. He’s not even wearing a leash in the first place, and Dick feels a surge of panic for a split second before he seeks CK -Conner- stepping away from one of the stalls and clipping Krypto back onto his leash. 

Krypto doesn’t fight it. He wags his tail up to his dad and waits for Conner to adjust the backpack and the two tote bags on his shoulders, then goes back to trotting happily in Dick’s general direction. 

Dick isn’t sure if Krypto sees or smells him first. All he knows is that one moment Krypto is being a good boy walking next to Conner, and then he tilts his nose, locks onto Dick, and starts barking like there’s no tomorrow. 

A few people turn to look at the dog, who’s now dragging Conner to where Dick is still standing. 

“Well, hello there!” Dick says to Krypto, and he kneels right away, leaving his bag on the ground to give Krypto a proper greeting. “It’s so good to see you again! How are you doing, buddy? Not cold this time? Not running away from your dad today? Who’s a good boy? Who’s a good boy!”

Krypto licks his face in reply and lets Dick cuddle him until Dick decides to let him go and get back to his feet. 

He smiles at Conner, his smile widening when he sees Conner is already frowning at him. He’s wearing a white turtleneck underneath the coat he’d lent Dick. There’s no scarf this time, and the turtleneck itself looks too thin for the weather, but Dick won’t complain, the white fabric is snug against his chest, and he lets himself admire the view for a minute. 

“Hi,” he says eventually. 

“Hi, Grayson,” Conner replies, and hey, at least the handsome paramedic remembers his name.

“I guess it’s grocery shopping day for you too?”

“Oh, yeah. I’m getting groceries for Tim and myself.”

And just like that, Dick’s stomach drops a little bit. “Oh. Do the two of you live together?” His mind starts racing as soon as the words come out. Do they live together? And if they do, are they roommates or are they a couple? Based on the few interactions he’s had with Tim and the way Tim has treated Conner, it doesn’t seem like they are together. Which, even if they are, it doesn’t matter at all because it’s not like Dick is looking for anything with anyone right now. 

… But if they are somehow together, should Tim have been so easy-going and chill with the whole ‘getting Conner his clothes back’ situation and asking him to visit the station? Had that been some sort of passive-aggressive territorial thing? It would suck if it had because Tim had seemed so ni— 

Conner shakes his head, and Dick’s mind screeches to a momentary halt. “No, we just live in the same building.”

Before Dick’s brain can get ahead of him again Conner continues, “Tim is not very good at cooking, or at leaving his apartment if it’s not for work or leisure. He’s very good at playing video games and oversleeping on our days off, though, so most often it’s only me getting groceries for two people with very different diets and dumping them in front of his door.” 

“Wouldn’t it be easier to let yourself into his place and put them away before someone or something takes them?” Dick wonders. Is it a trick question? It could be interpreted that way if one saw it from certain perspectives with certain prejudices in mind, yes.

“Yes, but I don’t have a key to his place and it would serve him right for deserting me for grocery runs every week since before we moved to Opal.”

Great, that answers absolutely zero of the questions in Dick’s head. “Oh? You mean you both moved here? Together? Where from?” 

Conner shrugs, not seeming to mind Dick’s rapid-fire questions. “We were stationed in Central City before our house was shut down. Government funding, budget cuts, projects for the community, yaddah yaddah, you know how it goes.”

Having worked in a public hospital back in Gotham, Dick totally knows what he means. “Jesus, that sucks… I’m so sorry to hear that.”

“Thank you.”

Dick gives him a second to say more. When Conner raises an eyebrow, Dick fights the urge to smack him and his lack of answers. “So, uh, you both lost your job in Central City and moved here? Weren’t you offered spots in firehouses closer to home?”

“Home is Kansas for me, so I’ve been away from home for a long time at this point,” Conner says, almost as if it’s a reflex. He looks down at Krypto and tugs on the leash so softly the dog doesn’t even react, but Dick manages to see the way his face falls. He stares at the ground for a moment, then raises his head back up and nods at Dick. “Well, uh, it was nice to see you, Grayson. Krypto and I have to get going now.”

“Oh, of course, sorry for holding you for so long. Where do you live, though? I mean, I’m inclined to believe based on today and the day at the park that we might live in the same area, you know? Maybe I can walk you to your apartment and help with everything you’re carrying.”

Conner glances at the straps on both of his shoulders. “You don’t need to do that. The weight doesn’t bother me. I’m used to carrying people out of burning buildings and forcing them onto gurneys. This is nothing.”

Dick’s body and mind shiver against his will. He refuses to let his brain suggest he is one of the people Conner could carry. “I mean, I knew that… sort of. You’re a very big and strong guy, clearly.” He tries not to let his eyes wander down Conner’s chest and legs. He fails. “I’m just saying, it might be easier if someone helps you with the bags since you have Krypto, If one of those bags were to slide off you’d be in a bit of a pickle.”

“It's happened before, but only a few tomatoes have been sacrificed when I dropped something.” Conner shrugs again. “It’s okay, though, it’s not like I’m heading home anyway.”

Dick tries not to ask. Truly, he does, but the words end up coming out anyway. “Where are you going, then?” 

Conner looks surprised at the question, maybe because he expected Dick to just piss off and let it go after clearly being dismissed. Dick wonders why he didn't do just that. 

“Oh. Uh… I’m just… Krypto and I usually… We…” It's the first time Dick sees Conner being anything other than serious and composed, and it's kind of fun seeing him fumble for words, an excuse, or whatever it is he wants to say and seems unable to. 

Dick lets him work through the jumble in his head and waits for a few minutes until Conner says, “Krypto and I try to have a small picnic every week, even if it's winter. We used to live near a park back in Central too, and you know there's a nice park close by and it’s on the way home and it's almost the perfect time for an early lunch so…” He shrugs one shoulder, lets his voice trail off. 

Dick thinks back to the day at the park. He thinks back to what was the time when Krypto and Conner found him. “The day you saved me from dying… Was that picnic day too?”

“I didn't save you from— you know what, never mind. And yes. I mean, that picnic day turned into a pup playdate and then Krypto ran off but— yes, picnic day.” Conner frowns and lets out a huff. Dick thinks he's exasperated with him instead of himself until Conner says, “Do you want to join us?”

The invitation comes out so suddenly and so surly that Dick can't help but burst out laughing. 

“Do you want me to come?” he asks, empathizing the second word as much as he could. 

Conner locks his jaw. He glances down at Krypto, then up to the sky and lets out a sigh. 

“Tim is always telling me I need more friends in my life, especially now that we have moved to a new city,” he says, and locks eyes with Dick. “I heard you need new friends too. Don’t you?”

Dick bites his lip. He’s not sure if he does it in amusement or surprise. “Why would you say that?”

“My team is a nosy and noisy bunch, and your doctor friend mentioned something at the firehouse, apparently.”

Ah, of course Wally mentioned one thing or another to Conner’s little group. He’s a good wingman, platonic or otherwise, Dick will give him that. 

“Maybe I do need new friends,” Dick concedes.

“Okay, it’s good that we’ve established that. Do you want to try and be my friend then?”

“Oh my God, you are adorable,” Dick laughs, deep and full-bodied. Before Conner can get too offended and whack him upside the head, Dick readjusts his tote bag and beams at him. “Lead the way, Firefighter Kent.”

“I’m not only a firefi—” Conner lets out another huff, but he tugs on Krypto’s leash and starts walking without turning around or checking if Dick will follow. 

Dick does follow, of course, a smile still adorning his lips. 

Conner doesn’t say anything as they walk away from the market and towards the park. Dick offers a couple of times to take a bag off his shoulders or maybe hold on to Krypto instead. Conner refuses every single time. Since Dick doesn’t want to spook or scare the big man that somehow resembles a fragile fawn, Dick doesn’t say much either. Instead, he tries to think of questions he can ask once they sit down to eat whatever Conner has brought. 

“This place will be nice now that spring is coming,” Conner murmurs once Krypto has guided them past half the park and towards a picnic table half-buried under snow. The table is right under a very tall but bare tree. “This tree must be quite the sight during every single other season except this one.”

“It is,” Dick replies, looking up at the dry yet thick branches. “I was here last spring. This whole park gets all green and lush and there are flowers everywhere. It’s gorgeous.”

“I caught the last weeks of fall, and even though half the leaves and flowers were already dead, it was still nice,” Conner says. He leans down to unclip Krypto from his leash, then deposits the tote bags and backpacks on the parts of the table not covered by snow. “I really look forward to seeing the beginning of the seasons here in Opal. Instead of seeing the end of them, I mean.”

Dick sweeps the snow away from one bench and another bit of table, then puts down his own bag and sits down. Even though he hadn’t expected it, he takes the opening Conner just gave him as he watches Krypto run in circles around the table, tail wagging in unabashed excitement. “How long have you been here? I mean, fall ended late last year, so if you caught the last few weeks…”

“I moved here at the end of October. Tim and the rest were here earlier, though, almost three months earlier.” Conner gives Krypto a sidelong glance -a habit, Dick is sure of- before he opens the backpack and pulls out a thermos, two sandwiches in ziploc bags, two little plastic containers with fruits and even paper napkins. 

“Here,” he says, handing Dick a sandwich and one of the containers. He pulls a fork out of the backpack and hands it over as Dick mutters his thanks. He lets out a soft whistle that makes Krypto stop running around. Instead, the dog comes to a halt, then sits down. He keeps all of his attention on Conner’s hand as he dips his hand into the backpack again. 

Conner pulls out another plastic container He opens it up, lays it on the bench, and Krypto waits until he says, “Eat,” before diving into what Dick guesses is a homemade pup cup, or whipped cream, anyway.

“You came so well prepared. Were you a Boy Scout as a kid?” Dick asks. 

“No, I’ve just been doing this for a long time,” Conner replies. He sits down and pulls out his own food, digs into his sandwich without much ceremony. 

“And why did you move here months after the rest of your friends?” Dick asks, unwrapping his own sandwich and taking a bite of his own. 

“You seem very interested in asking me questions about myself, Grayson.”

“From what I have gathered you’re not fond of talking too much about yourself, Conner, or you know, talking in general.”

“It’s not like I know anything about you either, and you do talk. Quite a lot, actually.”

Dick tries not to snort and takes another bite of his sandwich instead. “Would you like to? Know more about me, I mean.”

Conner thinks about it for a moment. “Well, we can’t become friends if we don’t know much about each other, can we?” 

“Not if we want to be real friends instead of artificial ones.” Dick lets out a hum. “Okay, I’ve asked you lots of questions already. How about I tell you something about myself this time, and then I ask my next question?”

“That sounds like an arrangement I can agree to.” 

“Right, because this is a business deal,” Dick muses, then searches his brain for the right thing to say. “Let’s see… I’ve been here for over a year. I used to work in Gotham before. That’s where I grew up, where I went to school and where I started working. I’m not from there, originally, but it used to be the only place I really knew.” Dick doesn’t know much about his early life prior to being in Gotham. His birth certificate says he was born in Keystone City and he has visited a few times, but the things Dick remembers from childhood are mostly Gotham and his very old grandfather William. Gotham used to be home though, the only one that Dick ever knew. 

It’s also where Dick met Bruce and where their whole tragedy began and almost ended, but he doesn’t think sharing that with a virtual stranger is a good idea. “Have you ever been to Gotham?” he asks instead. 

After Conner shakes his head, Dick snorts. “It’s a terrible, terrible city, you know? It’s so big and crowded and it’s so dirty and the weather sucks all the time, and the people are as nice as the city, which is to say, not very much.”

“So like, a mix between New York, DC and Oregon?” Conner asks, and he looks so serious and appalled at the same time that Dick can’t help but burst out laughing. 

“You… you could say that, yes,” he manages to get out between chuckles. 

“And you liked living there?”

“Like I said, it was all I knew for most of my life. You get used to it, the good and the bad.”

“It doesn’t sound like there was a lot of good in it.”

“Maybe not, but don’t be such a hard judge. I’m sure you don’t come from a place of rainbows, flowers and eternal summers either, Kent.” When Conner averts his eyes and gives a half-shrug, Dick’s eyebrows shoot up. “You can’t have come from a place with permanent rainbows and flowers. Those places don’t exist… right?”

“We didn’t have rainbows all the time, and more than flowers we had wheat and very green leaves for the crops, but Smallville has always been… idyllic, I guess is the right word.” 

Smallville? “I’ve never heard of that place.”

Conner rolls his eyes. “Of course you haven’t. No one has. It’s a small town in the middle of nowhere in Kansas. There’s one high school, one hospital, two big boutiques and not many grocery stores.”

“Because it’s a farming town?”

“Because it’s a farming town.”

Dick tilts his head to one side. “You don’t sound particularly upset about coming from a place like that.”

Conner takes another bite of his sandwich and turns his attention to Krypto devouring his pup cup. “I’m proud of where I come from… half of the time I wish I hadn’t left.” 

Dick thinks back to an earlier thing Conner had said. 

I’ve been away from home for a long time at this point.

“So why did you leave?” he asks.

Conner keeps his attention on Krypto. Dick sees him bite the inside of his cheek, can almost feel the struggle with whatever Conner wants or is trying to say. He doesn’t expect an answer, and it’s not like he’s owed one, but what he doesn’t expect is Conner to clear his throat and ask instead, “Why did you leave Gotham, if you liked the horrible city so much?” 

When Dick blinks at him in slight surprise, Conner points out, “This is a new round of questions. You have to go first. That’s what we agreed on.”

Dick laughs again. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. Okay, let’s see, what can I tell you…?”

Chapter Text

For some godforsaken reason, the big Christmas tree that someone put up at the end of November last year is still there, shoved away in one of the corners of the locker room. The poor thing has broken branches at this point, none of the ornaments remain and two of the fake pine cones are hanging on for dear life to the exposed wire of some of the branches that are not broken. 

“Who even brought that?” Wally complains as he stuffs his dirty scrubs into his backpack. 

An even better question is… “Why hasn’t anyone thrown it out?” Dick asks. He puts his folded scrubs inside his own backpack. 

“I think that since no one knows who brought it, everyone thinks it’s not their responsibility to take it away,” the redhead offers. 

“It’s going to haunt us this next Christmas if we don’t dispose of it,” Dick sighs. 

“‘We’?”

“You’re a big strong man, and you brought it up. You have to help me now.”

Wally sighs. “It’s not like we can dispose of it into any of the bins inside the hospital. It won’t fit.”

“Then we take it to the big ones outside by the ER.” 

“Oh come on, Grayson, really?” Wally moans, sounding as old as most of his patients. 

“Yes,” Dick replies, ignoring his attitude completely and heading to where the poor decimated tree is. “Come on, you grab one end and I’ll take the other.” 

“But why do we—” 

“Move it, West, we’re wasting precious minutes of our free morning.” 

That gets Wally moving. Grumbling not so nice things under his breath, he grabs the wooden stand of the tree while Dick snakes his arm around the wires and branches. Once they both have a good grip on it, they lift, and Dick starts walking backwards towards the hall. 

“I should have kept my mouth shut,” Wally says once they’re in the elevator and away from the snickers of the people in the hall. 

“Yes, but you didn’t, so here we are,” Dick chirps. He settles the tree against a wall and whistles a random melody as the elevator takes them to the ground floor. 

“You did that just to be annoying,” Wally says once the elevator doors open. 

Dick hefts up his side of the tree and starts walking out, glancing over his shoulder every few seconds to make sure he’s not missing a step somewhere. “I hope it worked.”

“Why are you being so mean to me? I’m here being a wonderful friend helping you carry out this random-ass tree on what is already my day off.”

“You are such an angel, West.”

Wally huffs as they exit the building and make their way across the ER’s doors and towards the big dumpsters off to one side. “You bet your wonderful ass that I am! This thing is poking me everywhere. How can the wires be so screwed up? It’s not like anyone was touching it or playing with it. You can’t possibly tell me that nobody giving a damn about the stupid tree is what made it go this bad. How can some the wires even be split when they’re this thick and—”

“Let me,” a voice cuts in from somewhere, but Dick doesn’t see where they’re coming from, because as soon as the words are spoken, the weight of the tree lifts. Now there’s a figure stepping between him and Wally, throwing the tree over their shoulder like it weighs nothing and ignoring all the sharp edges. 

It takes Dick a moment and a few flashes of black and neon to realize who it is. 

“Conner!” he exclaims, a huge smile already curving his lips. 

Conner nods at him. He doesn’t smile, but then again, he  doesn't smile very often. “Grayson. Hello,” he says, and nods at Wally. “Grayson’s friend. Hello.”

Wally’s face changes from annoyance to amusement in a matter of a millisecond. “Ah, Dickie’s newest would-be-friend. Greetings,” he says. 

“Hello,” is all Conner says again, then turns to Dick. “Grayson, where are you taking this? And why are you carrying out a horrible Christmas tree when it’s almost spring?”

“It’s not a horrible—”

“No, no, it is,” Wally interrupts. “We were taking it over there to the trash bins. Someone from the staff brought it last year and no one ever took it out after Christmas had passed.”

Conner frowns. “Why did they bring it?”

“To spread the holiday cheer and good vibes to all the staff that had to work on those dates?”

“Okay, sure, but then why didn’t the person who brought it get rid of it?”

“That’s what we were wondering!”

“But instead of thinking ourselves into an early grave, Wally and I decided to be helpful and take the tree down before it cursed us or something,” Dick says.

Conner glances at the tree with newfound suspicion. “Then I better get rid of it soon.”

“We were taking it to the dumpsters over there,” Dick says, and points to where the metal bins are. 

Conner turns around without another word. He readjusts the tree over his shoulder and marches over to where the trash is. 

“Be still my heart. He can talk in full sentences,” Wally mutters as they watch him go. 

“And some loudmouths, on the other hand, don’t have a mute button,” a new voice says. The two of them turn to find Tim standing behind them, hands in the pockets of his black and neon uniform jacket. 

Wally blanches. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean… that wasn’t—”

“Yes, yes, you didn’t mean it like that, you didn’t think it would come out that way, I’ve heard it all. Bart is just like you,” Tim says, waving a hand dismissively before turning to Dick with somewhat of an impish smile. “Well, hello there, Dick.”

“Hello there, Tim.” 

“How are you doing today?”

“I’m very good, thank you. How are you?”

“I’m doing great, thank you for asking.” His smile widens. “So.”

“So.”

“I heard from a little puppy that you joined in on last week’s exclusive picnic experience.”

“Oh,” Dick says, and then bursts out laughing. “And here I’d been hoping that Krypto would keep the secret for me.”

“Trust me, my life would be a lot easier if that dog could talk. He’d tell me what actually happened that day and how the whole thing went.”

“... So Conner didn’t tell you?” Dick asks, now confused. 

Tim scoffs. He pulls his hands from his pockets and crosses his arms instead. “He didn’t really offer the information, I got it out of him with a spoon when I asked him why it had taken him so long to do the grocery shopping this past week.”

Had Dick heard that particular comment before he’d run into Conner at the farmers’ market and before what ended up being a very long and enlightening talk, Dick is sure he would have had the same reaction as Wally. 

The redhead raises his eyebrows as high as they can go, and his mouth drops open in surprise and maybe indignation. 

“Do you time him or something like that?” Wally asks, tone laced with offense.

Tim rolls his eyes, lets out another scoff. “What do you think I am, his psycho husband? I’m not even his psycho boyfriend,” he says, and the last bit comes out somewhat rushed and alarmed. It also seems directly aimed at Dick.

“Then why are you timing him?” Wally demands. 

“I’m not timing him! He just doesn’t… Conner rarely takes longer than… and he has a schedule that he—”

“Are you sure you’re not the psycho boyfriend? Because you kind of sound like one.”

“Oh my God, don’t you dare!” 

“Done,” Conner’s voice comes. He comes to stand next to their little group and flashes a thumbs up. 

“Thank you so much. You keep on saving my life” Dick says, pretending nothing had been happening. 

He wrinkles his nose. “This was hardly a life-saving situation, but I’m glad I could help.” He turns to Tim. “We have to go.” He nods at Dick and Wally again and begins to stride off… but then Tim lashes out with an arm and grabs him by the back of the jacket. 

“Now hold on just a minute,” Tim says, and Conner comes to a sudden halt much like a dog on a leash. “We’re in no rush to leave, CK. We barely dropped off our patient and the radios aren’t going off yet.” 

Conner frowns at him over his shoulder. “The ambulance is running.”

“A few minutes won’t cost us much gas, and we were having a very nice conversation here, weren’t we?”

“We were talking about Tim being a psycho boyfriend,” Wally offers helpfully. 

Conner looks at Tim with mild surprise. “When did you get a boyfriend?”

“I didn’t—”

“I thought you were talking to that blonde girl that lives in our building. Are you talking to both people now?”

Tim’s neck turns pink, and the color travels all the way up to his ears as he tries to figure out what to say. “Bernard and I don’t talk much,” he grits out. “And Steph and I are just friends.”

“You and I are just friends, and it’s so not the same,” Conner says, shaking his head. He frowns at Wally and Dick. “Is this what the nice conversation was about?”

“No, they were actually talking about you and Dick having a picnic,” Wally intervenes, being oh-so-helpful again. 

His frown deepens. “What about it?”

That gets Tim going. “What do you mean, what about it?! If I hadn’t asked you wouldn’t have told me Dick joined you that day!”

“I, for one, didn’t even know there had been a picnic in the first place,” Wally says.  

Conner glares at them like they’re unruly children. “And what is there to tell? Dick and I ran into each other at the farmers’ market, he joined Krypto and me for lunch and then I went home and dropped off the groceries.”

“We did have a very nice and long talk,” Dick pipes up. “It was a really nice day, cold weather and all. I had a great time with you, Conner. And Krypto too, of course!” 

Conner seems utterly unprepared for Dick to say any of those things. He looks taken aback, and then he frowns, and then he turns his head off to one side, his jaw locked.

“I had a good time with you too, Grayson,” he mutters. 

Tim’s eyes fly wide. He opens his mouth and seems to be ready to explode on the spot, but before he gets to say anything,  their radios go off. 

“Goddamn it!” Tim cries. “Saved by the bell! Again! You’re an asshole!”

Unimpressed and unaffected, Conner lifts the shoulder with the radio on it. “See you around, Grayson. Goodbye, Grayson’s friend.” And then he hits a button on the radio, speaks into it, and runs off towards the waiting ambulance. 

“Goddamn it!” Tim repeats, and points a finger at Dick. “Come over again with some brownies, you and I need to talk!”

“Aye, captain,” Dick says, and salutes Tim as he too turns around and runs back to the ambulance. 

Dick knows what is coming. He saw it coming the minute Conner appeared, which is why he remains utterly calm as he faces a fuming Wally once they are alone. 

“I assume you have questions,” he says 

“When did you go on a date with the paramedic?!” Wally explodes. 

“It wasn’t a date. You heard him, we just ran into each other at the farmers’ market and hung out for a while.”

“Richard John Grayson, don’t you—” 

“Weren’t you in a rush to start off your free morning or something?”

“Fuck you, man. I’m buying you breakfast and you’re telling me what the hell went down with you and that guy and why you haven’t told me squat.” 

It’s not a bad arrangement at all, so Dick pretends to think about it for a moment before telling Wally he wants pancakes. 

Wally shows amazing restraint as the two of them walk towards Wally’s favorite diner, the one where they’d gotten the chicken sandwiches from. Wally doesn’t ask many questions on the way, and he is silent and patient while they find a table and place their order. 

By the time their food arrives, Dick feels like rewarding him. 

“First of all, it wasn’t a date,” he says, and when Wally opens his mouth to intervene, Dick shakes his head. 

“It wasn’t,” he insists, because he has to convince himself as much as Wally. “I was getting my groceries and saw him and Krypto doing some shopping too. Turns out we live close to each other, and he asked me to join the two of them for a quick bite.” 

“And that’s not a date?” Wally verifies. 

“No, it’s not. You said I need new and more friends. Tim and his other buddies have told him the same. He literally asked me if we could be friends, as in, he flat out used those words and phrased it like an actual question.”

Wally frowns. “Okay. And?”

“And nothing. He had sandwiches and fruit with him. He gave me some and we spent a good while talking and getting to know each other.”

“Okay, and it still wasn’t a date?”

“No.”

“Right…” Wally leans his forearms on the table and angles his body forward. “So what can you tell me about this new friend of yours?”

After trying to find Smallville on a map (and failing, even though Conner had told him he wouldn’t find it) Conner told him that he’d grown up in a little farming town in the middle of nowhere with two very loving, doting and annoying parents and one older brother that was as bad as them.

“Define ‘very loving’ and ‘annoying’,” Dick said, digging into his little container of fruit. 

“Uh… they loved me very much? And sometimes that could be annoying and overwhelming? It still does, actually.”

“So you still have both your parents and your brother?”

Conner nodded. 

“Come on, that’s not enough. I need more context.”

Conner rolled his eyes. “I don’t know how to explain it…  when I first moved out of town my Ma would call me every day to check if I had eaten. Otherwise, she would tell me this neighbor or that one two houses over was going on a trip the next day, so she could send me casseroles or fresh produce or anything I needed, all I had to do was ask. Even now, even though I’ve moved farther away and I’ve been out of the house for over ten years, she always asks if I’m doing okay and sends food over every couple of weeks.”

Dick smiled. “That’s very sweet of her.”

“It is. Tim has always benefited from it the most. He doesn’t like to cook, which is good, because he’s not very good at it.” 

Dick filed that detail away for later. “What about your dad and your brother?” 

Conner’s dad had taken him to soccer lessons when he was a small child. When Conner decided he didn’t like soccer and wanted to try other things, his dad had helped him find out what else their little town could offer. When Conner joined the wrestling team, his dad was all for it and attended every match. When Conner decided he was done with wrestling, his dad smiled and told him there were many activities left for him to try. 

“When I started getting in trouble at school and getting into fights, he never yelled at me, and he was called to come pick me up from school about a dozen times,,” Conner murmured. Krypto had finished his pup cup and was now sprawled on the bench, his head in Conner’s lap, with him running his fingers through the short white fur. 

“You were a troublemaker in school? I find that kind of hard to believe,” Dick admitted, trying to imagine the very serious and nonchalant man in front of him screaming and throwing punches. 

“I was always a weird kid,” Conner said, shrugging. “My brother went to the same school, and he and I have always been… very different people. I wasn’t my brother, and I didn’t really fit in or get along too well with the other kids, and you know how small towns are.”

“Kids can be assholes,” Dick said, nodding. 

“Yeah, and I was an angry little asshole myself for a while. Like I said, though, my dad never yelled at me for the fights. He didn’t ground me either. He used to give me very long talks and was very stern throughout them. He asked me so many times why I was doing it. I never really understood it myself, so I couldn’t tell him, but he always tried his best.”

“And where was your doting older brother in all this?”

Conner rolled his eyes again. “Clark is twelve years older than me. He had been living the big  life in the big city by the time I graduated middle school.”

“I sense a ‘but’ coming.”

Conner told him that yes, there was a ‘but’. Clark had inherited their mother’s tendencies to hover, so Clark checked on him since he was a child as often as his mother did when he first moved out. Which was very annoying and hilarious, because Conner lived with the same parents that had raised Clark.

“He’d come and visit very often too. No matter how many times he said that it was only because we didn’t have as much ‘bonding time’ as we should have had, I think he sometimes missed the life in our little town,” Conner commented. 

Clark had moved to Metropolis straight out of high school and had never come back. He had never planned to spend his entire life in Smallville, and he’d found a good bunch of friends in the city that helped him build a life there. He had finished school and had a steady job and a steady girlfriend by the time Conner finished high school. Clark and his parents had of course been the biggest advocates for Conner to move out of town and out of state to go to university and make a better life for himself. 

Conner hadn’t wanted to leave Smallville. He would have been fine spending his life in the town that he knew and loved, getting a job there and figuring the rest of his life out, but his parents and brother had wanted more for him, and so, lost and overwhelmed, Conner had gone to Central City, because Metropolis was across the country and he had not been willing to compromise that much.  

He’d met Tim his first year in university. Unlike himself, who’d gone to college without any idea of what he wanted to do with his life, Tim had been set on becoming a doctor from their very first day of classes. 

For some godforsaken reason -according to Conner- Tim had decided to sit next to him during his third class of the day, and from that moment on Tim had become a permanent fixture in his life. 

“I don’t know what happened,” Conner mused, rubbing Krypto’s ears with one hand and rubbing his head with the other. “One moment I was sitting there by myself and then this scrawny kid with his snooty and upturned nose was there, talking to me like we were best friends… and he never left. Our first semester we had several classes together by pure coincidence, but by the second semester I’m sure Tim manipulated someone somewhere and made our schedules match.” 

“So you’ve known each other for a while, now, huh?”

Conner nodded. “Tim was the one that brought up the paramedic program. He realized he’d rather do this job than become a doctor and pitched the idea to me because I still didn’t know what to do. We ended up going into the paramedic program together, and we trained at the academy together too. We’ve worked at the same stations since we were probies.”

“You must be pretty close,” Dick said, trying to get a feel of the situation. 

“We are. I’m really not exaggerating when I tell you he’s a permanent fixture in my life.”

“That’s one of the things people want from their friends, right? Knowing they have a group of people they can rely on for long periods?” 

“Yes, but I’ve never had many friends. Tim is special, though. He was my only friend, at some point,” Conner stated, and looked down at Krypto. “Apart from you, of course. Now I have two best friends, don’t I?”

Krypto looked up at Conner and said nothing, just wagged his tail. Conner smiled down at him, and the smile was… a very pretty thing. 

Maybe because Dick hadn’t seen it very often - or at all- but Conner’s smile in that moment was… it wasn’t a grin by any means, and it was close-lipped, but his whole face had changed with it. 

There was genuine joy and warmth behind it, feelings that seemed so raw and real, and emotions that reached his clear blue eyes and were still there as he raised his gaze back up to meet Dick’s.

Dick couldn’t help himself. “You have a beautiful smile, Conner.” 

The smile drained from his face slowly, and Conner seemed to take a moment to scrutinize Dick, but Dick didn’t know what for. 

“Thank you, Grayson. You have a very pretty smile too,” he said, and seemed to have chosen his words very carefully.

A laugh bubbled out of Dick’s chest. A warmth started spreading across his chest as he gave Conner a lazy grin. “I wasn’t smiling until now, though.”

“You are smiling now, aren’t you? And like I said, it’s very pretty,” Conner said, motioning in the general direction of his face. 

“You’re such a sweet-talker, Kent. You will make me blush,” Dick said, and much to his delight, the one whose cheeks ended up pink after that comment weren’t his own. 

“And he offered you all that information for free? On a silver platter? Just like that?” Wally asks, incredulous. 

Dick pushes his last bit of pancake around his plate with his fork. “Now, don’t twist my words. That is not what I said, and don’t sound so surprised.”

“Well, you clearly know him a whole lot better than I do already, but he doesn’t seem the type to spill his guts to someone he doesn’t know.”

“No, I don't think he’d do that.” Dick pops the last bit of pancake into his mouth and takes his time chewing and swallowing. 

“Not without an equivalent exchange, of course,” he adds. 

“Ah, that makes sense. And so, Richard, what’s the verdict of your non-date with the guy? Have enough guts been spilled?”

“Hell no. I didn’t even get to ask about Krypto or the whole firefighter-paramedic thing, and I think those are very long stories unto themselves.”

“I bet. So when are you having another non-date?”

Dick tries to be coy, but Wally throws a balled-up napkin at him, and he laughs. “Nothing has been arranged, but I told him I owed him one lunch now.”

“Right, because you’re just being friendly.”

“Of course!”

Wally sighs. “You know what they say about the river in Egypt,” he mutters, and downs the rest of his coffee in one exasperated gulp.

Chapter Text

His chief nurse asks Dick to bring some papers up to the Neuro team half an hour before his double shift is about to end. He doesn’t know what he did to piss the universe off so much that his boss would send him of all people up to Bruce’s territory, but it’s not like he can refuse without explaining why he doesn’t want to go or be anywhere near the chief of neurosurgery. 

… Not after what happened - after what they did - before New Year’s Eve, anyway. 

Accepting his fate, Dick receives the documents the chief nurse hands him and nods when she tells him Dr. Wayne needs the files today and must be handed to him personally for the well-being of the patient. 

“Head over now, I believe he’ll be on his way out very soon,” the nurse says, and god dammit, it looks like there is no time at all for him to prepare himself, mentally or otherwise. 

“Yes ma’am,” Dick says. He tucks the chart and papers under his arm and beelines toward the elevator. 

He’s alone as the doors close, and he stares at his reflection in silence the entire trip up to Bruce’s floor. 

When the elevator stops and dings, his stomach starts to sink, but he tries to remain calm and composed as the doors open. 

Bruce, on the other hand, freezes in his place when he realizes there is someone in the elevator, that someone… being Dick. 

Bruce’s eyes widen in surprise, and he takes an automatic step back, then he seems to remember that he’s not supposed to feel surprise, alarm, or much of anything, ever. 

Dick’s stomach still feels a little queasy, but now he also feels… powerful, at least a little bit. Catching Bruce Wayne off-guard or making him recoil are things not a lot of people can brag about. 

“Hi, Bruce,” he says. 

Bruce’s hands - one holding the leather messenger bag to his shoulder, the other holding car keys - twitch, and then they tighten around their respective items. He locks his jaw and breathes in through his nose. “Dick.”

“I have something for you,” Dick says, waving the papers. 

“I was just heading out.”

“I was told you needed them today, and to give them to you personally.”

The elevator doors start closing as Dick finishes speaking. 

Neither moves for what feels like an eternity, and then Bruce’s hand shoots out to stop them. The doors glide open again, and Bruce takes another deep breath before he steps inside the elevator. 

“What do you have for me?” Bruce asks. He stands next to Dick, back ramrod straight, his attention focused on his reflection on the shiny doors. The question tugs at the corners of Dick’s mind, bringing back memories of their time in a different hospital, when they had a very different dynamic, and when Dick felt very different things. 

“I wouldn’t know. My boss handed me this about ten minutes ago,” Dick says, holding out the papers and also looking at Bruce’s reflection. 

Bruce’s reflection takes the files. Dick watches the blurry Bruce flip the first folder open and scan it. He turns a page and does the same, repeating the process two more times before the elevator comes to a stop. 

“Thank you,” Bruce says when the doors open. 

Dick nods. He waits for Bruce to walk out of the elevator, as he has to go back to his own floor and he doesn’t think Bruce will want to talk about anything else… but much to his surprise, Bruce says, “Walk with me to the car.”

He walks out without waiting for an answer. He stops and glances over his shoulder once he’s outside. He doesn’t say anything else. 

Dick doesn’t move. “Why?”

“I would very much like to talk with you a little longer.”

“You and I have nothing to talk about, Bruce.”

“You were gone when I woke up the next morning, Dick. I haven’t seen you since.” 

Goddamn it. He had really hoped Bruce wouldn’t bring that up. “I had a shift the next morning. It was New Year’s Eve. I was needed here.”

The doors start closing again. Bruce steps forward and presses his hand against one of the doors to keep them open. “So was I,” he says. 

Dick frowns. “Your point?”

“What was that, Dick?” Bruce demands, and even though he keeps his voice as low as usual, the undercurrent of heated anger is unmistakable. “After Metropolis you… I barely saw you, and I barely heard from you or what you were up to, and then you totally vanished… and then I asked a few people and apparently you were dating someone from the ER—” 

Dick’s stomach drops to his feet, not so much because Bruce knows about Jason, more so because anything related to Jason stings, and badly. “How did you— who— that is— that is none of your business,” he sputters.

“I think you made it my business when you came to find me that particular night and told me to take you home,” Bruce snaps. “To my home, Dick. My home, and my bed.”

And to that Dick says… well… he can’t say or argue much against it. 

Biting the inside of his cheek, he catches people already staring at them out of the corner of his eye. 

“Not here, Bruce,” he says. 

Bruce pushes away from the elevator without a word. He spins on his heel and heads for the exit without looking back this time, the lines of his body angry and tense. 

Against his better judgment, or maybe despite it, Dick follows. 

Bruce doesn’t acknowledge him until they are right beside his black, sleek and overpriced car. Bruce opens a door, throws his bag in, and then turns to face Dick, arms crossed.

“What was that, Dick?” he demands again. 

Dick knows very well what it was. He might have lied to himself the first few nights after it happened, about how he had taken an impulsive decision, about how he had been all feelings and not thoughts when he went up to find Bruce on December the 30th. He had picked up a conversation like he’d never stopped all communications with Bruce for months. At first he had pretended that he was overcome with grief and with his broken heart. He had told himself that he’d felt so lonely, so hurt and so cold that he’d let his emotions take over and his feet had just happened to take him to Bruce. He hadn’t been thinking about it. He hadn’t wanted it, not voluntarily… but Dick stopped lying to himself a while ago.  

The truth is that while he had felt lonely and sad, he had also been horny, and he had missed Jason, and he had gone to the one person that he knew wouldn’t ask questions or want to talk to him about anything, no matter what happened. He went to the one person that he knew would give him what he wanted without questions or explanations, because for some reason he didn’t want to think about… while Bruce was still Bruce… since Dick had pulled away, Bruce had wanted to come closer. 

“I…  honestly didn’t think you’d want to talk to me about it,” Dick admits.

Bruce’s eyes flash with contained anger. “Why not?”

Dick spreads his hands wide, and he feels the flicker of anger rise within him as well. “Oh come on, Bruce. You have never wanted to talk about anything. You never brought up what happened after Metropolis, and in all the years I’ve known you, you just don’t like to talk about anything. Ever.”

“That is not tr—”

A laugh escapes him, short and dry. “Excuse me? The hell it isn’t. From the moment I met you we never really talked about anything happening between us, Bruce. We didn’t talk about us when I first approached you. We didn’t talk about us when you stopped seeing Selina and it was you who would come find me. We didn’t even really talk when you left Gotham, for God’s sake.”

Bruce grips his own elbows. While he keeps his face neutral, the fire in his eyes burns brighter. “Leaving Gotham was different. There was nothing for us to talk about when I left.”

Dick pauses, wondering how it is possible that only the last part stuck. He stares at him, incredulous. “Come again?” he says, because there is no way in hell Bruce just said— 

“There was nothing for us to talk about,” Bruce repeats. “You were starting your career in Gotham, and you had landed a really good job in the best hospital the city had to offer. It made no sense for me to discuss anything with you about me moving to Opal.”

Dick keeps on staring at Bruce. He doesn’t know whether he is starting to feel shocked or utterly furious at Bruce’s stupidity. “You did not just say that, you arrogant asshole.”

Bruce frowns, but before he can say anything, Dick speaks again. At this point, Dick feels like he’s about to lose it if Bruce makes another stupid, almighty comment. “What the actual fuck was that, Bruce? What the actual fuck.”

“And what you said isn’t true. I told you I was moving to Opal,” Bruce goes on. 

And that… 

That is fucking it. 

“Yes, you told me. You told me you were leaving me and moving to a whole other city and starting a whole other life. Yes, Bruce, you told me all that, less than one week before you moved,” Dick snaps. “And I found out when I opened your apartment door to the movers.”

“There was no point in telling you earlier. The decision was made, and it was better that way. You needed to lay down roots and find your own footing in Gotham. Telling you about what I was going to do would have caused unnecessary situations, and it wouldn’t have been wise for you to say something like you were coming with me to Opal.”

“And who made you the all-knowing, all-seeing god, Bruce? Who told you, you could make that choice for me?” Dick says, his voice rising with every word. 

Bruce uncrosses his arms and meets his glare, but there is a slight flinching there. “Otherwise you might  have made a very stupid choice, and I couldn’t let that happen.”

“What, like leaving my job in Gotham,  following you to this city and trying to find a job in the same hospital as you?” Dick’s words may drip with disdain now, but when Bruce first told him about his decision, he can’t say he didn’t think about it. 

Bruce grits his teeth. He tries to be strong and hold Dick’s unwavering, abrasive gaze, but in the end he can’t, because Bruce has never been able to see a tough conversation through to the end. 

“I didn’t want that for you,” Bruce says eventually. 

Dick crosses his own arms to keep himself from shoving Bruce against the car or smashing a tinted window with his foot. “And who gave you the right to choose and decide what was best for me? Who told you what I wanted? You sure as hell didn’t ask, not even me .” 

Bruce lets out a grunt. “It wouldn’t have made sense—”

“No, no, don’t you start. I wasn’t and I’m not a fucking kid, Bruce. And you don’t get to make decisions like that for me or anyone else. I know that sometimes you really believe you are this omnipotent being, but no matter what the nurses say, you’re not a god, Bruce. You’re not!” Dick is screaming by now, and he can’t seem to stop as he barrels on. “You don’t know everything. You don’t know what’s better for people outside the operating room. You don’t know what the people who love you want or need, and I know that firsthand. Do you want to know why?  I know it because you never asked me, and we never talked about what mattered, and if we didn’t talk  about shit when we were together, why the hell would I think you’d want to talk to me when we’re not?! ” 

Dick’s last words echo in the air as his tirade comes to an end. He’s left gasping for breath, blood roaring in his ears, and feeling so tired all of a sudden that he drops his arms, and lets his shoulders sag. 

Bruce doesn’t say anything at first. Instead, he keeps his attention on everything other than Dick and waits for him to catch his breath. 

It takes Dick a few minutes to do so. It takes a few minutes for both his body to calm down, and another few for his thoughts to stop whirling. Dick didn't need to say any of what he had said, but he did, and he can’t take it back now. He said what he said, and a part of him is glad he could. He and Bruce never really talked, and while Dick had to pick up the pieces of his own heart and had put it back together alone and come out better on the other side, he hadn’t had the chance to give Bruce a piece of his mind. 

On one side, he’s thrilled. 

On the other, heavier side… he’s so done with Bruce. He’s been done with Bruce for a while now. He doesn’t need to deal with Bruce’s emotional constipation anymore. He doesn’t want to do it, and that’s because really, down to the bottom of the heart he’d pieced back together…

Bruce isn’t worth it. Not to him, and not anymore. 

Taking a deep breath to settle his nerves a bit more, Dick squares his shoulders and looks at Bruce again, feeling the anger drip away from his body little by little. 

“I’m sorry I came to find you that night,” Dick says. “I’m sorry I came to you and asked you to take me home, Bruce. I’m sorry I took what I needed from you that night and then left without saying anything. I… I’m sorry I used you.”

Bruce bristles at the word ‘use’, because he’s Bruce fucking Wayne and no one would dare use the best neurosurgeon in the country for anything… but Dick holds out a hand and decides he might as well give it to Bruce as straight as he can. 

“You mentioned something about me dating someone from the ER. You’re not wrong, but that isn’t accurate either. I did meet someone from there, and I… I really, really liked him. I liked him so damn much, Bruce, but I got ahead of myself, and it wasn’t mutual. He broke up with me before I could hurt myself too badly, and when I came looking for you I was just… so damn cold, and I felt so alone, and I missed him so bad and I knew… I knew you were there and I knew you wouldn’t ask stupid questions because you’ve never cared…” 

“I care,” Bruce interrupts, short and abrupt. 

Dick’s words come to a halt. He frowns at Bruce. “No, you don’t.”

“I do.”

“Well, you have a really horrible way of showing it.” Dick shakes his head. “Look, Bruce… I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry for what I did and I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again. I have this bad habit of falling in love with men who can’t love me back and I—” 

“Dick,” Bruce interrupts again. He opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again. He uncrosses his arms and balls his hands into fists several times. He fidgets, seems to fight his very own body and his very own mind for what feels like an eternity. 

Eventually, and with a lot of visible difficulty, the words end up coming out: 

“I… I do love you, Dick,” Bruce says. “I… I have loved you. For a long time. Since before… since before Opal. Since before… before Gotham General. I do love you… I love you, Dick.”

The silence that follows Bruce’s admission is thunderous. Dick is speechless and shocked, not because of the words themselves or because they have an effect on him, more so because… 

“I can’t believe you dare say that to me right now,” Dick says. He starts shaking his head over and over again. “I can’t believe you have the nerve, Bruce.”

“Dick, I—” 

“No, I’m done with this, Bruce. I waited for those words for years. I loved you for so long, and yes, my stupid self would have moved here with you even if you hadn’t asked, because back then I loved you so much, and I would have done anything, anything that put me closer to you saying it back to me, but that ship has sailed, and you know it.” Dick feels more and more tired with each word he says. There are a lot of feelings inside him right now, mostly annoyance, incredulity and bone-heavy tiredness, but that is about it. It’s a somewhat comforting and cold reminder that Dick is over Bruce for good, thank God, and that he doesn’t have to stick around anymore.

“I’m done, Bruce,” Dick repeats. He uncrosses his arms and spreads his hands wide. “I’m done with this and I’m done with you. It’s too late for anything but mindless fun between us, and if you can’t deal with that then there is nothing left to say or do. I’m sorry that I used you, and it won’t happen again, but also, Bruce? Honestly? Fuck you.” 

Bruce stiffens, and Dick can’t bring himself to care. He shakes his head one last time. Before Bruce can do or say anything else, Dick spins on his heel and walks away. 

He has to get back to work. His shift is almost over, and that in itself is way more important than everything Bruce said, or whatever else Bruce was going to say. 

It doesn’t matter. They don’t matter. 

“It’s too late,” Dick mutters as he rides the elevator back to his floor. “It’s too fucking late.” 

And it’s not enough. With Bruce, with Jason, it’s not enough. 

It never is. 

Dick wouldn’t say he’s in a funk, but he’s not in the best mood by the time he is done packing his dirty scrubs and making his way towards the exit, scrolling on his phone and seriously considering having an Uber pick him up. It’s not like he lives very far away from the hospital but the conversation with Bruce did leave him emotionally exhausted, and he doesn’t feel like walking to the closest bus station.

He doesn’t even allow himself to think about getting a car. With the lifetime of mortgage payments he has left, getting a car isn’t really on the plans. Not now, anyway. 

There’s an ambulance parked in front of the ER’s entrance when Dick exits his building, the back doors are open, and someone in full gear is sitting on the edge. He doesn’t think much of it as he walks towards it; he has to get to the other side so the Uber can pick him up easily once he orders it, after all. 

However, given what has happened the past few weeks and who has usually been on the ambulances, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that once Dick is walking right beside the ambulance, he notices a familiar face who has several papers in his hands. 

Dick comes to a full stop, and for a moment, some of the weight on his shoulders lessens. “Hi, Conner,” he says.

Conner glances up from his papers, baby blues wide and round with surprise. “Oh. Good after— wait, no. Good evening, Grayson.” 

“Is it evening already?” Dick asks, glancing around. The sky still looks blue, but it had definitely been brighter and bluer when he’d been out there with Bruce. 

Conner gathers all his papers in one hand and pushes back the sleeve of his black and neon jacket with the other. He checks his watch. “It is evening already, yes.” 

“Wow.” Dick sighs. “Guess I’ll be going home early and running errands tomorrow, then.” 

“Are you wrapping up your shift?” 

“Yup, it’s been a really long one. What about you?”

Conner glances towards the ER doors. “Our shift ended a little while ago. Tim and I had to bring in an elderly patient and Tim wanted to stick around to make sure he was all right and didn’t need a ride home.” 

“... You’re not going to take him back home in the ambulance, are you?” Dick jokes, but since it’s Conner, of course the joke doesn’t land. 

Instead, Conner frowns at him, clearly offended. “I would never use the station’s property—”

Dick holds up a placating hand and tries not to smile. “I know, I know, sorry. Did you bring your patient in for something very serious?”

Conner glares at him in disapproval for another couple of seconds, then shakes his head. “He’s one of our usuals by now.”

“Oh, that can’t be good.”

“He lives alone and takes blood pressure medicine, but sometimes he forgets to take it, or he thinks he forgets and he panics,” Conner sighs. 

Dick thinks those words through. “So he calls you guys because he thinks he missed a dose or two and wants to get checked out?”

“Yes. He always wants us to bring him in to make sure he’s not having a heart attack, or a stroke, or an aneurysm.” 

“That is… very responsible of him, though.”

“Maybe, but I don’t think his pension can handle so many unnecessary ambulance services and hospital bills,” Conner says. He glances at the ER doors again right as they open and Tim walks out, holding the arm of an elderly man with a cane. 

Conner jumps off the ambulance and goes forward to meet them halfway. “All good?” he asks no one in particular. 

The man smiles up at him, nods. “Healthy as a horse, they tell me!”

“Is that so?” Conner replies, but his face shows how much he doubts that's what the hospital staff said.

“Yeah, Mr. Bolton is good and ready to go home. I’ll call him a car,” Tim says, digging into his uniform jacket. 

“Do you want me to wait with you?” Conner asks. 

“I mean, if you have nothing better to do…” Tim says, pulling out his phone. He glances around, and when he spots Dick standing near the ambulance, his whole face brightens. “Oh. Well, well, well ! Hi, Dick!”

Dick waves and offers the three of them a smile. 

“I was starting to wonder why CK wasn’t telling me to hurry up. I see he found someone to keep himself entertained with.”

“Oh. I haven’t been here very lo—” 

“Are you finishing up your shift?” 

“Uh, yeah, I’m about to head—”

“Excellent. We just finished our shift too. CK, why don’t you take him home?”

Even poor Mr. Bolton seems taken aback by the sudden chain of events Tim has decided to cause. 

“Take who, home? Grayson?” Conner asks, looking somewhat lost.  

“Yes. I’ll wait with Mr. Bolton and then get myself to the station.”

“Why would I… how would you… I can’t… what?”

“Take Dick home,” Tim repeats with a smile. 

Conner gapes at Tim. “In the ambulance ?” he asks, appalled.

A laugh escapes Mr. Bolton, and Tim’s smile widens. 

“Of course not, CK. We can’t use the station’s property for personal affairs, you and I know that very well.” Tim pauses for dramatic effect, and then he winks at Dick. 

“He has something better than the ambulance, you’ll see,” he says. 

And because Dick needs something to make his shitty day better, and because now he’s intrigued, he turns to Conner with the most innocent smile he can muster. 

“I could always use a free ride home,” he says.

Chapter Text

“So what does Tim mean by you having something better than an ambulance? Do you have a super expensive and unique car?” Dick asks. He's sitting on the passenger's side of the ambulance, watching Conner’s side profile as a somewhat reluctant Conner drives them away from the hospital. 

“Not really. It's hard to top an ambulance,” Conner says. He lets out a sound of frustration. “I can't believe you and Tim convinced me to do this.”

Dick thinks back to Tim standing in front of the ER with Mr. Bolton, shooing them both away and saying he would wait with the elderly man until his Uber picked him up. 

“You're ready to go, aren't you, Dick?”

“Uh yeah, I—”

“Then you catch a ride with CK back to the station and he'll take you home from there.”

“Tim, what if we get a call while we—”

“CK, we're off shift. The ambulance needs to be returned as soon as possible so someone else can take a call if it comes. Besides, worst case scenario, you've got a freaking RN riding with you.”

“That is true, Conner. I'm no paramedic, but I am a professional nurse.”

“... Fine. Hop in, Grayson.”

Thinking how endearing it is to see Conner fuss and protest but eventually listen to Tim's not-sound-reasoning, Dick smiles. “I can't believe you let us convince you to do this either. Thank you for the ride. Both of them.”

Conner nods. He doesn't take his eyes off the road for a second. “You're welcome. I suppose it does make sense to take you home if we're both off and live close to each other. You're nice, Grayson. Krypto will be happy to see you and I don't mind spending time with you either.” 

Dick’s heart does a little flip at the simple but straightforward declaration. He doesn't know Conner very well yet, but he's been able to pick up on a few things. He's pretty sure that if Conner didn't like him, he wouldn’t have been allowed inside the ambulance unless his life depended on it. 

“I like spending time with you too,” Dick says. “You're fun, CK.”

Conner grunts. “I’m taking you home, Grayson. No need to butter me up or play nice.” 

Dick studies him for a moment. “I'm not, though.”

“I'm not fun, Grayson, and I'm okay with that. You don't have to say it to be nice, or polite.” There is no scorn or vulnerability in Conner’s words or demeanor; he’s just stating a fact. 

Dick keeps on studying his face. “Who has told you you’re not fun?” he asks, and he already feels like punching whoever told him that. 

Conner takes his eyes off the road for a split second and raises an eyebrow at him. “Didn’t you say that to me when we first met?” he asks, and again, he doesn’t sound hurt or annoyed, only… slightly amused. 

Dick opens his mouth straight away to say that he would never say such a thing upon first meeting someone, but then he remembers that he did, in fact, say something along those lines the day they met. 

“You must be a joy to work with,” Dick had said. 

“I’m not,” had been Conner’s deadpan reply. 

Dick chews on his bottom lip and punches himself internally. “To be fair I only implied you weren’t very fun to work with… but I’m sorry I said it in the first place.”

“It’s all right. You’re far from the only person who’s told me I’m not fun to be around, both at work and away from it.”

“And you… are you okay with it?”

“You’ve met Tim. You got a glimpse of Cassie and Bart, and you’ve heard about my brother. My life is fun enough as it is, there’s no need for more of that in my life.” 

Yeah, from what little Dick has seen of Conner’s life and the people in it, Conner seems like a very nice foil for the very sociable, loud and extroverted people that seem to be the closest to him. 

“If you’re looking for new friends that aren’t fun, you might have to drop me off at the closest corner,” Dick points out. 

“Yes, I’m beginning to realize you’re much more similar to them than I initially thought,” Conner replies. “I think you’re the kind of fun I can get behind, though, so I’m not dropping you off anywhere except at your house.” He pauses. “After we leave the ambulance, of course.” 

Dick’s heart does the stupid little flip again, and he hides a smile behind his hand as he turns his face away and towards the window. 

They pull up to the station before he can think of anything worthwhile to say. Conner expertly reverse parks the ambulance into the station, and the driver’s door opens before Conner can turn the vehicle off, or before he can reach for the door handle. 

“Where the hell have you been? I was starting to get worried!” Cassie, already out of uniform, chastises. She leans down to glare at Conner. “I mean, I know you weren’t on a call because nothing came in through the radios, but then I thought maybe you had gotten stuck at your last call and I don’t know, maybe you were attacked or robbed or something and you couldn’t report back and—oh my God, CK, why is there a pretty boy inside your ambulance?”

“Hi, Cassie,” Dick says, waving. 

“Oh? Oh, hi! It’s you!” Cassie replies with a dazzling smile, and like flipping a switch, she glares at Conner. “Why is the pretty nurse that brought the sandwiches in the ambulance with you? Where’s Tim?”

Unperturbed, Conner turns off the ambulance and gathers his medical bag and other things. “Give me a few minutes to get Krypto and to change clothes. I promise I won’t take long,” he tells Dick.

“I’m in no rush, take your time.”

Conner nods at him, then slides past Cassie to get out of the ambulance. “Tim is waiting at the hospital with Mr. Bolton, and I’m taking Grayson home,” he says as he walks away.

Cassie keeps on glowering. “That explains nothing!” 

“We ran into Grayson at the hospital when dropping Mr. Bolton off. He was wrapping up his shift and since our shift had finished, Tim offered my services to take Grayson home while he waited with Mr. Bolton until an Uber picked him up.”

“And you said yes?”

“I was outvoted,” is the only thing Conner says. “I’ll be back.” 

He disappears from sight before Cassie can get another word out, and the whole situation is somehow so funny that Dick is still chuckling by the time he gets out of the ambulance and joins Cassie on the other side. 

However, once he’s standing there, Cassie zeroes in on him. 

“I need the full story, but I’m guessing Tim will put me up to speed once he gets here,” she says. 

Dick offers an apologetic smile and slings his backpack over onto his shoulder. “I can try to explain what happened but I’m not entirely sure myself.”

“Try me.”

“Like Conner said, I was wrapping up my shift and thinking about getting an Uber myself. I walked past the ER and he was there, sitting in the ambulance waiting for Tim and… Mr.Bolton, right? Yeah, Tim and Mr. Bolton to come out.”

Cassie gives a slow nod. “He’s a really nice man, but sometimes he can get ahead of himself.”

“Conner said he was worried his pension money wasn’t enough to cover the constant ambulance and hospital trips.”

“Trust CK to worry about something like that,” she says, rolling her eyes, then motions back and forth with one hand. “Okay, so Tim and Mr. Bolton came out and what happened next?”

“Well…” Dick shrugs. “I don’t quite know. I had been talking to Conner only for like a minute when Tim came out and he asked me what I was doing. I told him I was off, and then he made choices for everyone involved and Conner and I sort of… followed them.”

“Yes, Tim can be a force to be reckoned with when he wants to be, the little bastard,” she replies with a fond sigh, and then she gets a gleam in her clear blue eyes. “So. CK is taking you home.”

“That’s the plan, yes.”

“You live close by?”

“Kind of, yeah. I mean, I’ve run into Conner and Krypto twice at the park close to my house, so we all kind of figured we lived around the same area.”

“Ah yes, the picnic date!”

“... It wasn’t a date.”

“Huh, funny. That’s what CK said, too,” Cassie says, chuckling, and then she gets a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. “You have no idea what you’re in for, do you?”

Dick shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “No, but Tim made a comment about something better than an ambulance and Conner wouldn’t tell me what that was about, so now I’m getting kind of worried. Does he drive a limo or something?” Dick thinks about it for a moment. “Or does he have like a two-person bike with a doggy basket?” Because it’s Conner, both options seem very plausible yet implausible at the same time. 

Cassie grins at him. “I mean, it kind of is—”

And then, from who knows where and who knows how, the rumble of an engine reaches both their ears.

Now, Dick doesn’t know much about cars or vehicles in general, but while the sound is loud even from a distance, the noise is… smooth, for lack of a better word. He’s heard the roar of several different engines throughout his life -especially when he lived in Gotham- but he knows the sound of a well-oiled machine when he hears it, and this sound… this purr , rather, announces the arrival of a vehicle that is well taken care of. 

He doesn’t know what he expects, but Conner -now clad in jeans and a worn leather jacket- walking up and pulling a wonderfully big, sleek and black motorcycle by the handlebars is far from anything he could have ever imagined. 

Dick’s mouth drops to the ground. 

Cassie starts snickering, and Dick keeps on gaping as he watches Conner keep a grip on the handlebars as he moves the bike closer to the entrance of the station. Once it is where he wants it to be, Conner pushes the kickstand with his foot, makes sure it’s stable, turns it off, and glances over his shoulder. 

It takes Dick a second to see Krypto is trailing behind his owner, wearing what looks like tinted aviator goggles. When Conner picks up the dog, Dick also realizes that there is something big and square attached to the back of the bike, where the luggage rack should be. 

After a closer look, and after watching Conner place Krypto inside the big square thing, Dick lets out a gasp. 

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Dick whispers, because there’s no way that Conner of all people… that he has… 

A cool and sleek motorcycle.

And the fucking motorcycle… has a doggie seat. 

The motorcycle -Conner’s motorcycle -has a fucking doggie seat. 

“Holy shit,” he says, feeling like he’s about to faint. 

Unable to contain herself anymore, Cassie bursts out into full-bodied and shaking laughter. 

“Your face! You should see your face! Oh my God, your face!” she manages to squeak out. 

Dick is too stunned by the picture before him to pay her much attention, or to react when Conner, after having secured Krypto, takes something off the seat and walks over to them. 

“Here,” he says, and holds out the same blue jacket he’d lent Dick before. “This isn’t hoodie weather, Grayson, you’re going to need something else for the ride. Put this on and let’s get going, because I’m not supposed to park there. We need to move before a call comes in.”

Dick’s brain short circuits. Too much has happened in the last thirty seconds.  “You… you… that’s yours?”

Conner glances at the bike over his shoulder while still holding out the jacket. “Yes?”

“You ride a motorcycle?”

“Yes?”

“With a doggie seat?” 

“Yes?” Conner frowns. “I know it is somewhat ironic given my job, but I can assure you that Krypto’s safety on the bike is as important as my own, which is why the seat has an extra custom belt for him. Besides, I’ve been riding for over a decade,  and my hand to God, I’ve never even gotten a speeding ticket.”

Dick gawks at Conner, not sure of what to say or do. At that moment, he’s not even sure of what he’s feeling. 

On one hand, this makes Conner ten times cooler than he already was. On the other hand, the goggles and the doggie seat and his disclaimers make him the biggest dork Dick has ever met. 

And on a third and invisible hand, the combination of both things make Dick feel so damn endeared all of a sudden that he hangs onto the straps of his backpack to keep himself from swooning. 

“I cannot believe you’re real,” Dick says. 

Conner frowns again. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Dick isn’t sure what he meant. 

He’s saved from having to reply thanks to Cassie, who despite still puffing and huffing with laughter, manages to say, “Just get on the bike… what was your name, again?”

“Grayson,” Conner says.

Cassie wipes a tear from her eye. “Yes, Grayson. Just get on the bike, Grayson. Krypto is waiting.”

Dick’s brain still isn’t working normally. “I… I’m not sure if we… I mean, the seat… and with the doggie seat—”

“It’ll be a tight fit, but I’ll make sure you’re as comfortable as possible,” Conner says. “And you can hold on to me as tight as you want.”

Dick’s chokes on his own saliva. A dozen inappropriate images flash through his mind because Conner is a big man and Dick knows very well that doesn’t automatically translate to everything else being big but there is a lot of shoulder to hold on to, and honestly, if he were with Wally he’d say something like—

“That’s what he said,” Cassie says, and she starts laughing again. 

“Oh my God, that's totally what he said,” Dick whispers, feeling his face warm up and covering his mouth with his hand before the laughter escapes him as well. 

His comment makes Cassie laugh harder, and Conner stares at them both in complete and utter disapproval. 

“I hate it when you do that, any of you,” he says. 

Cassie wipes a tear away from her eye. “I know, buddy. You kinda hand them to us sometimes, though.”

“It’s hard to keep up with everything that has a double meaning,” Conner defends himself, and shakes the jacket. “Come on, Grayson, stop laughing and let's go. Don't make me leave you here.”

Dick raises his hands up in surrender. Conner takes the opportunity to put the jacket between them. 

“Let's go,” he insists. “See you tomorrow, Cassie.”

“Until tomorrow, CK! I’ll wait to take Tim home. You get your pretty nurse home safe and sound, please!”

Dick chokes again, but she only winks at him, and they both turn to Conner, who frowns, clearly exasperated.. 

“Sometimes I don't even know what’s up with you people, honestly,” Conner says. He shakes his head and walks back to the bike. He pets Krypto, gets a happy bark in return, then slings one leg over the bike and grips the handlebars. 

Dick’s mouth goes a little bit dry at the sight. Conner now looks like he belongs in one of those romantic comedy movies. Krypto in his little goggles makes the situation both better and worse. Overall this does feel like a movie moment, because now that he looks closely, the space between Conner and Krypto is not very big, which means one thing: 

They are going to be sitting so close to each other that there won’t be a need for Dick to hold on to Conner.

… Which Dick wasn’t planning on doing anyway -even though Conner had offered-  and even if he had, it’s not like it would be a big deal. He and Conner barely know each other, and they’re trying to become friends, and there is no reason for Dick to feel nervous or worse, excited, about being tucked tight and snug against Conner, and getting to wrap his arms around his waist to see if he’s thick everywhere or— 

Krypto barks. Conner sighs. 

“Grayson,” he chides. 

“Coming, coming,” Dick mumbles. He slips the jacket on, hurries to where the bike is and pets Krypto a few times before he slings his own leg over the seat. 

Conner scoots forward and holds out his hand for Dick’s backpack. Dick hands it over and settles into place while Conner accommodates the backpack in the front.

“Ready?” Conner asks once Dick has stopped moving. . 

Dick, now feeling the warmth and size of Conner’s entire back against his chest and feeling Krypto’s seat pressed against his own back, can’t think very well. “H-Helmet? Don’t you have a helmet?” he hears himself say.

“Just one. I didn’t want to get into an argument about who got to wear it, though,” Conner says, and seems to take that as Dick’s affirmative. “Don’t tell on me, Grayson. I’d really like to keep my ticket-free reputation.” Conner kicks the engine to life without further word. He honks at Cassie once and they speed out and away from the station before Dick can process the fact that Conner might have just made a joke. 

Dick tries to keep his hands to himself; honestly, hand to God (as Conner had said) Dick does his very best not to take Conner up on his offer. Truth be told, there is zero need for Dick to hold on to anything as they weave through the early evening traffic. Dick is comfortable except for the light pressure against his back, and there’s no way he’s going to fall off even if they hit a speed bump at max speed. Which of course wouldn’t be the case because Conner is a very responsible driver that goes at a very responsible speed and doesn’t take off on either side of the four-wheeled vehicles. 

So no, there is no good excuse other than Dick being a complete loser for what he asks Conner as they’re waiting for the line of cars ahead of them to move. 

“Can I hold on to you?” he hears his own voice ask. 

Conner throws him a quick look over his shoulder again. He hesitates for a moment, then faces front again. “I said you could hold on as tight as you wanted, didn’t I?”

The line moves before Dick can reply. Conner doesn’t look back again, nor does he say anything else. It must be as much of a second invitation as he’s going to get, Dick supposes. 

Deciding he is a weak man, Dick wraps his arms around Conner’s waist and leans his head against his back. 

Conner stiffens, clearly startled. Dick feels him turn his head, probably trying to get a glimpse of him.  “Are you okay, Grayson?” 

“Is this too much?”

“No, that’s not what I— just… are you all right?” 

“I am feeling a lot better now,” Dick replies, and he means it. Even though only five seconds have gone by, and even though he knows he has just abused Conner’s harmless offer, Dick feels… 

Well, he feels the thickness of Conner’s body from where his arms are wrapped around him. He feels the smooth leather of the jacket and a softer fabric underneath, probably the shirt he’d changed into back at the station. Dick also feels the soft leather of the jacket against his cheek, but what he feels most of all is how utterly warm and solid Conner feels. 

Conner is right there, human flesh and bone, covered in soft or worn fabrics, heat radiating off his body, letting Dick take it and enjoy it all, even if it’s only for a few minutes. 

He’s warm, he’s so warm, and he had been tense at first, but he’s relaxing as the seconds go by, and the lines of his body make Dick want to hold on tighter to him, to grip him tighter and pull him closer because… 

Because… 

God, he’s missed this so much. He’s missed the feeling of having someone so close, of being able to touch them and feel their body so close to his. He’s missed giving hugs and being hugged. He’s missed the utter comfort of being able to hold on to someone and feel so warm and so safe, even if it’s just an illusion that will last the blink of an eye.

Wally can’t give it to him. Maybe when they first met and they hooked up Wally could make Dick crave and feel this type of human warmth, but that’s not the case anymore, and with Bruce… maybe Dick had gone to find him that night in December looking for something like this, for anything that resembled what Jason had given him, but Dick had forgotten that Bruce had never been able to provide this utter comfort and safety in the first place. 

And Dick might be reading too much into this, and maybe he’s just that touch-starved and desperate, and he doesn’t even know if Conner is into guys or not, and he only wants to be friends with Conner, who he doesn’t know much about anyway, and he can’t let his thoughts get away from himself again because—

The bike slows to a stop. Dick opens his eyes without realizing he’d closed them. Without lifting his head, he sees cars and concrete around them. 

“It’s just a red light,” Conner’s low voice comes. 

“Oh,” is all Dick manages to reply. He closes his eyes again, and the bike starts moving soon after. Dick focuses all of his energy and attention on the man in front of him, on his very solid and real body, on the constant warmth his body gives off, and on the now fully-relaxed lines of his body. 

The bike doesn’t stop again for the next few minutes, and Dick lets everything except Conner fall away for the rest of the ride. 

It’s not a long one, and soon after most of the city noise starts dying down, the bike starts slowing down again. 

“Grayson?” Conner asks, his voice soft. 

“Hmm?”  He might be half asleep or half drunk on sheer stupidity and melancholic feelings at this point, he doesn’t know.

“Where do you live, exactly?” 

Oh, shit. 

His eyes snap open, and he raises his head but refuses to let go of Conner’s waist. He sees bare trees and a few familiar buildings. A second later he recognizes the park where they had had the picnic. 

“It is this way, right? Or did we drive past your house already?” Conner asks. 

Krypto barks behind them. Dick feels the dog start to move in the doggie seat. 

“Oh no, no, no, no, nobody’s getting down,” Conner calls, and the bike starts idling down the street. When Krypto barks again, Conner continues, “Grayson? Do I keep going or turn around? I need an answer before Krypto turns into an anarchist.”

His words make Dick laugh, a quick and hearty sound. “He wouldn’t!”

“He’s done it before. This is the second doggie seat I have purchased. Where do I go?”

“Forward, forward!” Dick urges. Conner revs the engine and they take down the street faster than before and to the very sad sounds of Krypto whimpering about not going to the park today. 

His self-induced spell broken, Dick keeps himself alert the rest of the way. It’s only a couple more blocks and two simple directions until his house comes into view. It’s not very big, but it has two stories and a backyard, which is more than he had ever hoped for. 

Conner stops the bike right in front of the door and kills the engine. Dick, against his will, lets go of Conner and climbs off the bike while the other man studies the house. 

“This is a nice place,” he comments, and hands over the backpack. 

Dick slings his bag over his shoulder and starts petting Krypto. “Thank you.”

“Do you rent it or do you own it?” 

“I own it. Well, I'll probably be making mortgage payments until the day I die, but it’s as mine as it can be.” 

“Cool.” 

Silence falls between them. Conner is too busy staring at the house and Dick is too busy petting Krypto, letting his hands get licked, and also unsure of what to say. 

Conner surprises him by breaking the silence first. “What’s up with you, Grayson?” 

Dick freezes. He blinks and turns to Conner, finding him with his attention still focused on the house. 

“What do you mean?” Dick asks, while Krypto starts nibbling on one of his fingers. 

“Exactly what I asked. What’s up with you?” Conner repeats, and now he does turn his head and pierces Dick with those intense blue eyes he has.

Dick lets out an awkward and artificial chuckle. “I… I don’t know what you mean. If this is about… I’m sorry about the hug, and I’m sorry that I held on for so long. I didn’t mean to… it wasn’t—” 

Conner clicks his tongue. “If you don’t want to answer the question, just say so. You don’t have to deflect or evade it. Tell me it’s none of my business or that you don’t want to tell me and I’ll drop it.” 

Dick blinks at him again. “That would be rude.” 

“So people say, but isn’t it easier to  tell me upfront instead of going around in circles or lying or pretending you don’t know what I’m asking about?” 

Krypto digs his teeth into one of Dick’s fingers a bit too hard. Dick barely reacts. “I… I didn’t expect you to… I mean… Do you really want to know?” 

“I don't ask questions I don’t want answers to,” Conner states. 

Arrogant, much? Dick almost blurts out, but the weight of Conner’s gaze on him and the lack of conceit on his face make the words die in his throat. 

“You don’t beat around the bush, do you?” he asks instead. 

“And you keep deflecting.”

Krypto nibbles onto a new finger. Dick winces, both because of the pain and because of Conner. 

“Krypto, stop that,” Conner says, and he reaches out to grab Dick’s wrist to pull it away from Krypto. 

“You have to put boundaries with this one. He’ll walk all over you otherwise,” he continues. He grabs a handful of his shirt underneath the leather jacket and wipes Dick’s hand from all the doggie drool. 

“There,” he says, let’s go of Dick’s hand, and stares up at him again. “Well?”

Dick, who hasn’t been able to move at all in the past minute, swallows. “Well, what?”

“Are you going to tell me or not? Aren’t friends supposed to talk to each other about what’s bothering them? Aren’t friends supposed to be able to trust each other to talk about important stuff and not only the fun stuff?”

“I didn’t realize we were that deep into our friendship yet,” Dick defends himself, and regrets it as soon as he says it. 

Conner’s face shuts down right away. He looks down to his lap. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I apologize.”

Dick winces again. “Shit, no. I’m sorry, Conner. I shouldn’t have said that either, you were just trying to be a good friend.” 

“But maybe it is too soon to ask such personal questions, and to demand or expect an answer,” Conner concedes. He frowns. “I’m sorry, Grayson. Sometimes I don’t know how to talk to people properly, and sometimes I don’t know when I’ve pushed too far or said too much.”

Dick tugs on the straps of his backpack. “You asked because you really want to know, didn’t you?”

“Like I said, I don’t ask questions if I don’t want an answer. It saves everybody a lot of time.” 

Dick nods. “I appreciate you asking… I appreciate you caring enough to ask. I guess today It’s not the day for me to tell you, though.”

“So you’ll tell me another day?”

“If you really want to know, and after you tell me how long you’ve had Krypto, and once you clear up whether you’re a firefighter or a paramedic, because I don’t even know what you are at this point.”

“You’re asking for way more information than I am.”

“Maybe, but I’ll buy you dinner to make up for it.” The words come out before Dick can really process them. 

“As friends, of course,” he rushes to add when Conner raises an eyebrow at him. 

His heart starts pounding, and he waits with bated breath as Conner thinks it through, giving him time to squash any thought about hanging out with Conner as anything other than new friends. 

Dick isn’t looking for that. He’s not looking for anyone like that. 

He’s not, he’s not, he’s not. 

And he certainly isn’t thinking about this particular paramedic whom he hugged on the ride home, the same paramedic he’s ogled a few times already and who has him anxiously waiting for an answer. 

“Okay,” Conner says, interrupting his whirlwind of thoughts. “Sure, let’s get dinner someday. Or breakfast, or lunch. Whatever works best with our schedules.”

Dick’s chest loosens. “Yes, whatever works. I’ll text you and we can arrange something.”

“I don’t think you have my number. I know I don’t have yours.”

“Right.” Dick gets his phone out of his bag. He pulls up a new contact sheet and offers it to Conner. 

Conner takes the phone. He types for a few seconds, then hands it back. He put in his number and saved himself under his full name followed by a dog and a firetruck emoji. 

“Is this so I don’t forget which Conner Kent I’m talking to?” Dick asks. It’s the most adorable thing he’s seen today, which is saying a lot. 

“Better safe than sorry,” Conner says with a shrug. “We have to go now, Grayson, sorry. It’s getting late, and it’s already past Krypto’s dinner time.”

“Yes, of course.” Dick pockets his phone and turns to Krypto. “Good night, buddy, thank you for being so patient.” He rubs the dog’s ears and pats his head a few times. 

“And thank you for making my day so much better, again,” he tells Conner. He smiles, and even he can feel what a big and dopey smile it is. 

Conner gives him an awkward salute. “See you around, Grayson. Have… a good night. And a nice dinner… and sweet dreams… or all of that, I don’t know.” He kicks the engine to life and nods at Dick one last time before he drives away, but not before Dick catches the blush creeping up his cheeks. 

“And that’s the second time,” Dick says to himself, smiling and watching the bike disappear down the street.

 Ignoring his pounding heart and the fluttering in his stomach (because it can’t mean anything), Dick heads inside only once Conner and Krypto have disappeared from sight. 

It’s not until he’s about to jump into the shower that he realizes he’s still wearing Conner’s jacket. 

Which is… good, actually. Talk about the perfect conversation starter. 

Chapter Text

I've uploaded them here on ao3 as a little separate sidepiece work in 3 different chapters: The Written Paradox

I've put the screenshots up on my Twitter too if you find it easier to read it there: On Twitter

Chapter Text

Wednesday morning, Dick is getting ready to leave the hospital when Wally comes into the changing room to begin his day. He notices the shopping list right away. 

“What do you have there?” he asks, holding his scrub top in one hand and snatching the little piece of paper from where Dick had left it next to his backpack. 

“I believe that is a shopping list,” Dick replies, pulling up his jeans. 

“And whose shopping list is this?”

“Mine. I’m stopping by the supermarket before I go home.” Dick buttons up his jeans and changes his shoes. He pretends he doesn’t see Wally drop his scrub top to hold the shopping list between both hands. 

“Come again?” he says. 

Dick puts his work shoes in his locker, folds his scrubs into his backpack and faces Wally only after he has closed the small metal door. “I’m stopping by the supermarket before I go home,” he repeats. 

Wally narrows his eyes.  “I have been trying to get you to make a grocery list since I met you and you’ve never done it, you lazy ass bum. What’s the special occasion?”

Were he less tired and less nervous about today, Dick would probably jank Wally’s chain for a few minutes before answering his question. As it is, he’s had a long and rough night caring for two c-section patients who had several complications during and after the surgery, not to mention the woman who had still been in labor when he left his ward. He’s feeling pretty exhausted and wants to get as much sleep as possible before he sees Conner today. 

“Conner is coming over for dinner at my place tonight,” he says. 

Wally almost drops the shopping list this time. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m too tired to joke this morning, West, trust me.”

“When did that happen? How did that happen? Why aren’t you telling me anything about you and your next date with your new beau, Dick?”

“Because you keep saying stuff like that and it’s not true, Wally. He’s not my new beau and this isn’t a date.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s like I’m inviting you over so we can have dinner together, just two friends hanging out.”

Wally gives him a look. “Really? Is that it?”

“What else could it be?”

“I don’t know, Dick, many things, or nothing at all. Do you know what it is?”

“Yes,” Dick states, but their text conversations come back to him, as does the last time they saw each other. He thinks about the fact that he hasn’t returned Conner’s jacket and how he doesn’t really want to. He thinks about the short ride on the motorcycle and how he’d felt after. He thinks about how much he’d like to hug Conner again, or even better yet, to be hugged, and to hold on for as long as he could. 

“I know perfectly well what it is. Conner and I are becoming friends, and this will be as if you were coming over to eat,” he insists. “Just two dudes having a friendly afternoon together, getting to know each other a little more and eating some homemade food.”

Wally’s expression shifts from incredulity to something else Dick doesn’t quite understand. 

“What?” he asks, and plucks the list from Wally’s hands. 

“Dickie, sometimes I wished you and I could have worked out, you know?”

The statement is so random and unexpected that Dick needs a few seconds to process what Wally just said. 

“What?” he asks again. He mustn’t have heard right. 

Wally, face somber, walks a step closer to him and lies a hand on Dick’s shoulder. “I know you don’t feel that way about me and God knows I don’t feel that way about you either, but sometimes I wish things were different.”

“ Why ?”

“Because, and this is going to sound cheesy as fuck… you’ve got this horribly big heart that you want to give away, but you haven’t given it to the right person, and it keeps fucking you up.  A part of me believes that if you and I had worked out you’d be happy and… not hurt.” Wally shakes his head. “Or maybe I would have fucked up too, I don’t know. My point is… be careful, Dick. Whatever it is that you have or don’t have with the paramedic, look out for yourself, okay?”

Dick, unsure of what to say, stares into Wally’s green eyes and sees the worry in them. Wally’s worried about him, has been worried about him since he’d gone to the Metropolis gala with Bruce what feels like a lifetime ago. Wally has worried about him and Bruce and about him and Jason, and Dick can’t blame him. As Wally has said, maybe Dick hasn’t been very good at choosing partners or handling himself with them. 

“I’ll be careful,” Dick says. 

Wally nods. “Good. And I’ll be here next to you no matter what happens, good or bad. Don’t forget that either.”

“I won’t.”

“All right, well, I’m glad we could have this talk.” Wally pats his shoulder awkwardly, then takes his hand back and finishes dressing. 

“You’re not half bad at these pep talk things, West,” Dick says. 

“Thank you. I practice them in my head a lot because I never know when you’re going to need one.”

“You’re such a jerk,” Dick says with a smile. 

“I love you too, Dickie.” Wally winks. “Now get out of here. You need to get some sleep and get rid of those bags under your eyes before the paramedic comes over.” 

“Sounds like a plan,” Dick agrees, and heads for the door. 

Dick’s alarm goes off an hour and a half before Conner arrives. 

Dick groans, rolls over in bed and pats the mattress blindly until his hand touches his phone. Bleary-eyed, he lifts his phone and turns the alarm off. He stares at the digital clock on his screen. He’s been sleeping for less than six hours. 

Does he really need to get up right now and not half an hour before Conner arrives? Does he really need to tidy up the kitchen and the living room when they’re going to get dirty again during and after dinner? Does he really need to take a long shower and pick out a decent outfit to wear for the evening? 

If it were Wally coming over, the answer would be… no, Dick doesn’t really need to do any of that. Wally has seen both his house and himself in a much worse state. 

… But Conner isn’t Wally, and sure, they’re having dinner tonight only as friends, but Dick still wants to make a good impression on him. So yes, he has to get up and make the house and himself look better.  

Besides, it’s clear he invited Conner over only for a friendly dinner. If he were planning something else he’d have to clean up his bedroom too, and give himself something more than a simple shower. 

“Shit,” Dick mutters before he gathers all his strength and forces himself off the bed. 

In his wrinkled sweats, Dick drags himself to the kitchen. He’d managed to put the groceries away half-half decently and leave the store-bought pizza dough out thawing before he passed out, and it’s not like he uses the kitchen that much, but he still needs to dust and put things in their respective places… at the very least. 

Oh, he needs to wipe down the stove and make sure the oven is clean too. 

Rubbing one eye with one hand, Dick thumbs through his music library. After finding the loudest playlist he has, he leaves his phone off to one side, slaps his own cheeks and begins moving. 

It takes him two songs to wipe the dust off most of the furniture in the kitchen. It takes him another two songs to wipe down the stove and the oven and leave clean and shiny metal behind. One more song and he’s finished sweeping the kitchen, and he moves into the living room. 

Another five songs later and Dick has shaken his sofa covers, cleaned the coffee table, the furniture where his unused TV sits and the very real fireplace he has never used. The damn thing had increased the price of the house by a considerable amount. When first moving in Dick had thought he’d chop some wood early in the winter and use the fireplace throughout, but here he is, with spring around the corner and the damn thing having collected nothing but dust bunnies. 

Giving the fireplace a last dismissive look, he retrieves his phone from where he’d left it in the kitchen and checks the time. Less than an hour until Conner shows up, which means his long shower will have to wait until another day. 

Wondering why he’s doing this to himself and if he really cares that much about making a good impression (he does), Dick keeps the playlist going as he slides under the warm stream of the shower and tries to turn his brain off at least for a little while. 

He comes out of the shower no less nervous than he had gone in, but relieved there’s still half an hour until Conner arrives. 

He dries himself off and then throws his closet doors open. He stares at his clothes blankly and wonders what on earth he should wear. Again, if it were Wally coming over he would probably throw on some sweats, or some old jeans and a random shirt. 

But because it’s not Wally and even though Dick doesn’t care too much about what Conner will think of him (he does), Dick takes a deep breath and starts rifling through his options. 

It takes him five more songs to finally piece an outfit together. With less than fifteen minutes to spare, Dick takes a look at himself in the mirror. 

Okay, this seems like a decent middle ground. The tight and long-sleeved navy blue shirt isn’t as tight as the thermal shirts Dick has seen Conner wear, but it’s not baggy either. The jeans he chose are a nice washed-out shade that contrasts with the shirt, and the white sneakers he put on give him an overall soft look that isn’t over the top but isn’t too casual either. 

Deciding that he doesn’t have time (or any idea) to deal with his hair, he towels his hair as dry as he can, then runs a comb through it and looks at himself in the mirror again. 

He assesses his outfit and his face and wonders if the eye bags could improve a little bit with concealer. Didn’t he have one of those? He’s pretty sure Donna snuck one into his backpack the same day he let Lian paint his nails a sparkly dark blue (to match his eyes, of course). Donna had even explained and demonstrated patiently how to apply it using Roy as a model, so Dick is pretty sure that if he finds it he should be able to— 

The doorbell rings, and Dick nearly jumps out of his skin. 

“What the hell, get a grip,” he mutters to himself, but he’s still clutching his chest with one hand as he shoves clothes back into the closet, picks up his phone and turns the music off. 

The doorbell doesn’t even ring again, but Dick still rushes out of his room and down the stairs like someone is breaking down his door with an axe. 

Trying to squash the fluttering feeling in his stomach, Dick comes to a sudden stop right in front of the door. He wipes his hands on his jeans, runs another hand through his hair, reminds himself that he’s not a fifteen-year-old kid having his crush over for the first time (Conner isn’t even his crush anyway), and throws the door open. 

“Oh,” Conner says, and lowers the hand that had been about to ring the doorbell again. “Hello, Grayson.”

“Hi,” Dick replies, and that’s all he can say before he gets too distracted by Conner’s… everything, because Conner Kent is standing right there on his porch, clad in a dark gray cashmere turtleneck, pressed gray slacks and a darker gray single-breasted coat. 

Not to mention, he’s got a basket hanging from one forearm, and there’s a bottle of wine inside, along with a small bouquet of pale pink, pale yellow and white flowers that look like roses but most certainly aren’t. 

Horribly endeared and even more amused, Dick leans his elbow against the doorway to keep himself grounded. 

“Hi,” he says again, and can’t help but smile. 

“Hello,” Conner says, and frowns. “Uh. Thank you for having me tonight. For inviting me over, I mean. For letting me cook in your house, too, of course.”

Dick’s smile widens. “It’s my absolute pleasure, trust me. You look—”

“Overdressed,” Conner interrupts, and his frown deepens. “I’m clearly overdressed. I told them I would be, but they didn’t listen.” 

A chuckle escapes him. “They?”

“Cassie and Tim, naturally.” 

Dick nods once. “Naturally. Why do I feel like there’s more to that story?”

Conner gives a resigned sigh. “Cassie asked if I had any plans for my day off. I told her you’d invited me over for dinner. She wanted to know at what time, and she, Tim and Bart showed up at my apartment earlier today with terrible excuses as to why they were there.” 

“They ganged up on you, huh?”

“Bart supported my initial idea of jeans and a sweater, but Tim and Cassie can be so annoying sometimes, so it was easier and faster to go with their idea of whatever this outfit is.” 

Dick glances around Conner. “Where’s Krypto?”

“I figured you wouldn’t mind me bringing him, but my three overbearing friends insisted they were fine pet-sitting him for a few hours, so here I am.” Conner lifts the arm with the basket. “I didn’t come empty-handed, though.”

“I can see that. Whatcha got there?”

“I have red wine.”

“Ah, pity. I’m a big fan of white myself.”

Conner pauses. “Oh, fair enough. Well, I did pass a store on the way that looked like they might—” 

“I’m kidding.”

Conner pauses again. “Are you sure? Because I can—” 

“I’m very sure, Conner. I love red wine, and that was a bad joke, and you should have told me to go fuck myself for being rude when on top of cooking you’re bringing me gifts,” Dick says.

“I don’t think that would be you being rude, that would be you simply stating a drink preference.” 

“Well, you’re a much better person than me for taking it that way,” Dick says, shaking his head and letting out another chuckle. “Come on in. I don’t think you’ll freeze with that coat but better be safe than sorry.” 

“Thank you. Is it okay to leave the bike parked out in front?”

“More than okay. Please come in.” Dick pushes away from the doorway and beckons him inside. 

Somewhat stiff, Conner makes sure to dust his shoes off before he steps through the threshold. Once he’s inside, the first thing he does is take a long look around. He ends his visual exploration by giving Dick a skittish once-over. 

“You have a lovely home,” he says. “And you look very nice this afternoon, by the way. Your sweater matches your eyes.”

Dick heads towards the kitchen, talking over his shoulder as he goes and trying to decide whether Conner is just being polite. “You don’t have to talk to me like you’re reading from an etiquette handbook, you know? You can just be yourself and talk to me like you usually do.” 

“That doesn’t always go well,” Conner points out, and follows Dick like a dutiful puppy would.

“You mean with me?”

“With most people.”

Dick thinks about it for a moment. “Okay, how about you think of me as…  not most people? We’re supposed to be friends, right? You should be able to be yourself around your friends. You can talk to me the same way you text me. You’re a very fun texter, has anyone ever told you that?”

“A couple of people have told me that I appear to be a different person when I text, yes.”

Dick hums. They reach the kitchen, and Dick turns around, leans his butt against a kitchen counter and looks at Conner, who stops walking right under the doorway, one hand shoved into the pocket of his coat. 

“How come?” Dick asks. 

“I think it’s easier to talk to people that way.”

“Why? You can’t see people’s faces, or hear their voices when you text.”

Conner gives a very slow and deliberate nod. “That… is exactly my point. Besides, that’s what emojis and pictures are for.” He lifts the arm with the basket. “Uh. Where can I… leave this?”

“Oh, right, sorry. I’ll take that.” Dick dashes forward to slide the basket from his arm “Thank you for the wine, and also for the flowers. What are they?”

“Camellias. The lady at the flower shop said they were perfect for the occasion.”

“I’ll have to look the meaning up later, then.” Dick takes the flowers from the basket and puts them in the first vase he finds. He sets it in the middle of the small kitchen island, then holds out a hand. 

“Give me your coat,” he says. 

Conner steps further into the kitchen. He removes his coat with slow movements and hands it over. Dick folds it over his arm, then goes back to the living room and drapes it over the back of his couch, making sure it is as straight and smooth as possible. 

Conner is standing right where he left him when Dick walks back into the kitchen. The only thing he's done is roll up the sleeves of his sweater up to his elbows. 

“Your sweater is going to get stained if you plan to cook like that,” Dick points out. 

“That's all right. It's not a particularly expensive or important sweater to me.”

“I really like how it fits you, though, so if I can save it, I will.” Dick opens one of the kitchen drawers and rummages inside until he finds what he wants. 

“Are you looking for an apron?” Conner asks from behind. 

“Yeah. I’m pretty sure I had one floating somewhere in here.”

“If the apron says something dumb like ‘kiss the cook’ or something about a pork being pulled, I’m not wearing it.” There’s a pause. “If it has fake muscles on it I won’t wear it either.” 

“Have people hurt you that badly before?”

“I’ve received aprons as gifts and they say stuff like that. The worst one I got is the one that said I rubbed my own meat.” 

Dick snorts. “Oh, that’s a low blow.” 

“That’s what I said when Tim finally stopped laughing and told me what it meant,” Conner huffs. 

“Well, you’re in luck, because this is a very boring and old apron,” Dick says, finally fishing the apron from the drawer and holding it up triumphantly. It’s a very old apron that Dick has never used but kept even after he moved to Opal in case he ever needed it for… well, not exactly for cooking. It’s black and kind of on the smaller side because… yeah, it wasn’t supposed to be used for cooking, and Conner is bigger than Dick, but it’s still better than nothing. 

“Here you go,” Dick says. He tosses Conner the apron and reaches for the bottle of wine. “Do you mind if I open it straight away?” 

Conner unfolds the apron and puts it on, running his fingers through the fabric very carefully. “Of course not. That’s what it’s for, isn’t it?”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right. Do you want a glass?” Dick asks, already reaching for the only two decent glasses he owns. 

“No thank you. I don’t drink,” Conner says, tying the apron and smoothing his hands down the front. 

Dick pauses with one glass in his hand. “Like… usually?”

“Ever, more like it.”

“So you don’t like wine?” 

“No.”

Dick thinks about what he has in his fridge or the pantry. “Do you prefer whisky or beer or something like that?”

“Oh no, not at all. I just don’t like the taste of alcohol no matter what form it comes in.” Conner hums. “I do find it very useful for cooking, though.” 

Dick sets his glass down and bites the inside of his cheek. “What can I get you, then?”

“The pots and pans would be a good place to start.” 

“What? No. I meant—” Dick starts, but then he catches Conner’s lips twitching, and he gasps. “I can’t believe you just did that!” 

“I didn’t do anything,” Conner says, trying to regain his usual stoic look.

“Uh-huh.” Dick does his best to appear upset, but he loses the battle with himself and ends up grinning. “I can’t believe I’m saying this but, stop kidding around, Kent. What can I get you to drink?” 

“I’ll take iced tea if you have some in the fridge,” Conner offers, raising his hands up in surrender. 

Dick throws the door to his fridge open. It’s unusually full thanks to all the ingredients Conner requested, but there is no iced tea in sight. “Uh, any other thing you’d like?”

“Iced water?” 

“Oh, that I can do. Still, sparkling, mineral?”

“...Do you actually have all of those options?” 

“Let’s pretend I do.”

Conner rolls his eyes. “Still.”

“Cubed or crushed ice?” 

“Whatever you have in the freezer?”

“Coming right up, sir!”

Once Conner has his sophisticated glass of iced water and Dick has poured wine into his, they lay all the ingredients on the kitchen island and stand side by side. 

“So what do we do first, chef?” Dick asks, sipping from his glass. 

Conner pulls up his sleeves a bit higher. “Depends. How good of a cook are you, Grayson, honestly?”

“On a scale from one to ten? Maybe a six.”

Conner grimaces. “Okay, that’s not good but it’s still better than Tim. You’re allowed to use knives. How well do you know your spices?” 

When Dick takes too long to reply, Conner hangs his head. “Right. Start washing vegetables, Grayson, I’ll get the pot and the stove.”

“Yes, chef!”

Chapter Text

As he begins cooking, Conner tells him the history behind the very weird combination of chili and cinnamon rolls. 

“My Ma says it started in the forties,” Conner says. “Right around WWII. My Pa insists it started earlier, around the time of the Great Depression.” 

Either way, Conner tells him, no matter when it started, both his parents agree that the particular pairing started in midwestern schools. In the late 1930s something called the Workers Progress Administration managed to get funding to provide school lunches to undernourished children. While the original plan had been to provide food only to children from relief families, they later realized that all the kids deserved a hot midday meal, especially because in many cases, children came to school without breakfast or weren’t able to eat anything but the food the school provided. Years later, President Truman would lock in federal funding to provide lunches for kids in more rural areas than the WPA managed. 

Conner tells him that once the school cooks had the funding, they had to make do with what they had: beans and ground beef. Many cooks were used to making heady meals thanks to living on farms their entire lives. This meant that when winter rolled around, they started cooking chili and pairing it with cinnamon rolls, which was a very common pastry in the Midwest thanks to the German and Swedish influence that had started back in the 1800s. 

“Remember how I told you we were in time to have this before winter ends?” Conner asks, adding a bunch of powders to the already browned beef. Dick knows there’s paprika, oregano, salt and pepper in there, but not one beyond those. 

Dick, having perched himself on top of a kitchen counter once he was done washing and cutting vegetables, nods. He takes another sip of his wine. “Is it because it’s exclusively a winter dish?”

“Yes and no. Can you eat it only during winter? No, there’s no law, divine or otherwise, preventing you from eating it whenever you want it, but it is tradition to make it and eat it only during the winter months.” 

This is, Conner goes on, because the chili and cinnamon rolls started being served during the cold winters to give the kids a particularly warm and comforting meal. With the chili being served hot and it being so filling, and the cinnamon rolls being a warm and also comforting dessert, it made the most sense to serve them when everyone was freezing their butts off. 

After the combination of dishes started being served during winter, somehow it became a school lunch special, and the cafeterias began serving them only on Fridays, which is still the tradition in many schools in Kansas nowadays, including Smallville. 

“And how often did you have it when you were in high school?” Dick asks. 

“It wasn’t only in high school,” Conner says. “Elementary, middle and high school. It was served every single winter throughout all those years.”

“And people didn’t get bored?”

“If they did in fact serve them every single Friday, maybe. Unlike the big schools in the big cities, the cooks knew they had to space them out more or the people would burn the school down.” 

“So how often did you have them?”

“Once or twice a month, max. That was at school, though. Having this at home was a whole different story.”

Dick takes in all of the ingredients still on the table, then glances at the pot. “How often did your mom make this?” 

Conner’s lips twitch again in that ghost of a smile.  “She still makes it every Friday except for the Christmas week. It’s one of her favorite food combinations and since she’s only allowed to do it during the winter months, she makes it as often as she can.” 

“And she taught you to make it, huh?”

“She taught me how to cook everything I know. She said it was either me or Clark, and since I have a better memory and follow orders better, I was the chosen one to carry on her recipes after she dies.” 

Dick contemplates Conner in his fancy sweater and fancy pants and the too-little apron. He notices how precise yet relaxed his movements are, how he does things almost without thinking about them. He also notices how the lines of Conner’s face are softer, gentler than usual. 

“I’m kind of surprised you enjoy cooking,” Dick comments. “You didn’t strike me as the type of guy that would enjoy doing stuff like this.” 

“Well, Ma said I had to learn basic human skills,” Conner replies, adding the broth and beans to the pot. “She also said that I had to learn because she wouldn’t allow my future wife to go hungry because I couldn’t cook.” 

Dick’s mind skids to a very sudden and abrupt stop. An alarm bell starts chiming very softly in his head. “Your future… w-wife?” 

“Yes.” 

Shit. Shit… shit! Not that the statement means anything because moms say stuff like that all the time no matter what, but it occurs to Dick in that moment that he still has no idea if Conner likes men. 

Sure, Dick had offered to marry him literally the first time they met and then again through texts and Conner has rolled with it flawlessly, but some guys are cool like that, aren’t they? Some guys nowadays are so open-minded and secure and cool, so it’s not like Dick can assume that Conner is… 

That Conner is what? Not straight? 

But he did assume, didn’t he? Otherwise, he wouldn’t hear the alarm bell still chiming in his head. 

“You’re making chili and will make cinnamon rolls from scratch. I’d say your future wife is in good hands,” Dick says, testing the waters. 

Conner raises an eyebrow, keeping most of his attention on the pot he’s now stirring. “Are we going to talk about marriage again?”

“You brought it up first. Again.”

“I didn’t bring it up. I was telling you what my Ma said.”

Dick bites the inside of his cheek. He scrambles his brain for the best way to go about getting an answer without asking Conner point-blank if he likes guys. 

“Maybe I’m hoping you’ll change your mind and say yes to marrying me,” is what he ends up settling for. 

“So I guess we are going to talk about marriage again.” Conner says. “Okay, fine, yes, I suppose I can get married now and promise my significant other they won’t go hungry because I can cook.”

“That’s a big win for your wife, or me, if you accept the proposal I haven’t formally made.”

Conner lets out a soft snort. “I’m not going to marry you, Grayson.” 

Bingo. 

“Why? Because I’m a guy?” he asks, and makes his tone as light and teasing as possible.

“No, that doesn’t matter to me at all, but you can’t marry someone without dating them, and you and I are not dating, so it’s a null question. Besides, I believe you want to marry me just because you want to adopt Krypto, and that isn’t a strong enough reason to keep a marriage together.” 

Something in Dick’s chest loosens. He lets out the smallest sign of relief, then catches himself doing the small sigh and wants to kick himself. 

So what if Conner isn't straight? It doesn't matter who and what Conner finds attractive. Like Conner had said, they're not dating, and it's not like Dick wants to date him or wants anything romantic with him. He has to stop bringing up the whole marriage thing because even if Conner hasn't taken it the wrong way yet, he might if Dick keeps saying weird shit… and Dick doesn't want to make things awkward (more awkward) between them. 

They're not dating, and Dick doesn't want them to.

However… 

Taking another sip of his wine and giving Conner a once over as he stands there looking so at home making dinner in Dick’s kitchen and telling him why the Kansans have weird taste in comfort food… Dick can admit that he feels a little bit of something somewhere inside. 

Shit , Dick thinks, and finishes his glass of wine in one gulp. 

Shit , he thinks again when he realizes that drinking liquor might not be the best idea if he has to keep all his wits gathered tonight. 

… Shit , he thinks for a third time as he pours himself another glass anyway. 

Dick is finishing his second glass by the time Conner is satisfied enough with the chili to lower the flame so it can cook and simmer for… whatever time Conner had said earlier. 

“To be fair, we’re not making the cinnamon rolls from scratch,” Conner says as he reaches for the dough Dick had left out to thaw earlier in the day. 

Dick, who had been staring a bit too much at Conner’s hands and arms in the last several minutes, blinks.“What?” 

“You said my future partner is in luck because we’re making chili and cinnamon rolls from scratch, but we’re not.”

“You’re so polite to include me in this cooking venture when I haven’t done anything besides sit here and judge your cooking abilities. And you’re not buying the cinnamon rolls frozen or from a bakery. That’s making them from scratch in my book,” Dick says. He narrows his eyes. “But I bet you can make the dough from scratch, can’t you?”

Conner hums. He sprinkles some flour on top of Dick’s biggest cutting board and starts rolling out the dough. “Yes. I couldn’t call myself a Kansan or a Kent if that wasn’t the case.” 

“I knew it!” 

“Okay, but now that you bring this up, I have to ask.”

Dick perks up from where he’s still sitting on top of the counter. “Yes?”

“If you’re not good at cooking, how on Earth would you have made dinner if I hadn’t offered to come and help out? What if I had just told you I wanted chili and cinnamon rolls and left it at that?”

Dick thinks about it for a minute. “Can I be honest with you?”

“Why wouldn’t you be?”

“Like, completely and totally and completely honest?”

“Why wouldn’t you be?” Conner repeats, raising an eyebrow and giving him the full weight of those bright eyes of his. 

“Right.” Dick swings his legs back and forth and goes through the hypothetical scenario in his head. Conner keeps his eyes on him as he thinks, and once again, his gaze is so intense and heavy that Dick feels like he can’t give him anything but the whole laughable truth. 

 “I think… I think I would have googled some recipes and tried my very best to cook what you wanted. I probably would have panicked halfway through making the chili and would have called one of my friends for emergency assistance. I would have had my ass kicked by him and we would go out to buy the cinnamon rolls and chili in the hopes that you couldn’t tell where we bought it.” 

Dick waits for Conner to burst out laughing, to roll his eyes dismissively or to give him a pitying look.

Instead, Conner keeps his usual serious expression as he nods at Dick and focuses back on the task at hand. “I’m glad I’m here, then,” he says. 

Dick catches his breath and waits for more. When nothing else comes from the other man, he breathes out. “Me too,” he admits, and questions are spilling from his lips before he can think them through too much. “What are your favorite things to cook? When did you start cooking? Is there something that you don’t like to make? Do you have any food allergies or something like that?” 

“Those are a lot of questions, Grayson. You’ve only let me ask you one so far.” 

“I think you’re a very interesting person, and I’m a very curious one,” Dick defends himself and tries to ignore the fact that in that particular moment, more than curiosity, what Dick feels is a craving. A craving for knowledge or something else, he isn’t sure, but the need to know and have more of Conner is very much right there, simmering beneath the surface much like the chili on the stove. 

“So if I answer those questions, will it be my turn to ask mine?” Conner asks. 

“Well, you also have to tell me how you got Krypto, and what the deal is with you not being just a paramedic.” 

“I think you overestimate how interesting or intriguing I am.”

The tingle beneath Dick’s skin would argue otherwise. “Let me be the judge of that, Conner,” he says, maybe a bit too earnest. 

Conner doesn’t seem to notice. Instead, he lets out a sigh, rolls his eyes and proceeds to answer some of Dick’s questions in the same order Dick had asked them. 

His favorite things to make are hot wings, pot roast, pork meatballs and bierocks. Yes, there is a lot of meat involved and not enough veggies, and yes, it is ironic given he comes from a farming town (Dick doesn’t see why it’s ironic but he lets it go), but that’s why side dishes exist, Conner tells him, like peperonata, or green beans, or roasted potatoes with greens, or ratatouille depending on the main portion, 

“Ratatouille like the movie?” Dick asks. 

“Yes.”

“I’ve never had that. It looks really good.”

“I think it looks better in the movie because some people don’t know what’s in it.”

“And what is it made of?”

“Eggplant, zucchini, carrot, bell peppers depending on who you ask. A few other things, too.” 

“It doesn’t sound too bad. Can you make it the next time you come over?”

Conner almost smiles. “Try what I’m making first and then we’ll talk.”

As for when he started cooking, Conner remembers the exact date, and he remembers his first dish. 

It was his brother’s 21st birthday. Clark said he was coming home to spend it with the family. Ma wanted to make her special fried chicken but she was running over an hour late and still had to bake a cake. Ma had initially enlisted Conner’s help as a kitchen assistant, but she’d been called to a neighbor’s house so she could assist their neighbor and his pregnant cow. Conner had stayed home, looked at the raw chicken and the powdery stuff his Ma had left out, and he’d decided he might as well give it a shot. 

When Ma came back to the house, the chicken was turning golden inside a pan that had too much oil. There was powdery stuff all over the floor and Conner had earned himself an oil burn mark all over one forearm. 

“It left a scar, see?” Conner says, wiping his hand with a dish towel before pulling the sleeve of his left arm even higher. He shows Dick his forearm, and indeed, there’s a medium-sized spot that is a slightly darker color than the rest of his arm. 

“That must have hurt a lot,” Dick comments, wincing. 

“Like a bitch,” Conner agrees with a straight face. 

They made it out of the hospital and back home only a few minutes before Clark arrived at the farmhouse. His Pa had been home by then and had finished the chicken, but it was too late for the cake. Clark hadn’t minded much, though. He’d been too worried about the bandages on Conner’s arm and proud of his little brother for making the chicken to care too much about the lack of cake. 

It had sort of happened from there. Ma started including him more in kitchen activities when he came home from school or after his club activities were done. 

Six years later, at sixteen, after he made pot roast for the first time on his own, his Ma had sat him down and told him to write down his favorite dishes. She said it was so she could give him the recipes and he could pass them on to his children and grandchildren. 

“Is that why you like cooking?” Dick asks. “Because it’s like a special family thing?”

“Grayson, if you keep asking more and more questions every time I tell you something, it will never be my turn to ask you questions.” 

“It’s not my fault that your answers make me even more curious,” Dick argues, but when Conner gives him a disapproving look, he holds his hands up in surrender. “Okay, no more questions about the questions, promise.”

“ Can you promise such a thing?”

“I can promise I will try my very best,” Dick amends. 

Conner seems satisfied with his answer. Nodding, he goes back to adding cinnamon and other things to the dough. As he starts rolling it up and cutting, he says, “I don’t particularly like cold salads, I suppose. Cold potatoes taste wrong, and cold pasta tastes even worse. Crunchy vegetables make my teeth ache, and salads tend to have so much cucumber, and I really don’t like those either.” Conner’s expression sours almost like he’s tasting what he’s saying. Dick can’t help but chuckle at how offended he looks at the mere thought. 

“What type of other salad is there, though?” he asks. “Are hot salads a thing? If we go by the definition of a salad being vegetables assembled together, does ratatouille count as a hot salad?”

Conner looks at him like he’s lost his mind. “No, ratatouille most certainly doesn’t count as a salad, not even a hot one.”

“But—” 

“Ratatouille is a stew, Grayson. If the vegetables are cooked in some sort of sauce or gravy it can’t possibly be a salad.”

“You look so offended, oh my God. If only you could see your face right now.”

“Can you blame me? What you said is kind of offensive.”

Dick grins. “You’re a food purist, aren’t you?” 

“What? No. Food purists aren’t even a thing.”

“You’re sure? I feel like I’m looking at one right now.” When Conner frowns at him, Dick’s smile widens. “I’m not complaining, though. I feel like I could certainly use someone like you in my life.”

“If store-bought chili and cinnamon rolls were your solution for tonight, I’m not going to disagree with you.”

“Oof. That was cold, Kent.”

“Not as cold as a potato salad, trust me,” Conner replies, and he looks so haunted saying it that Dick can’t help but burst out laughing. 

It’s almost seven by the time the cinnamon rolls come out of the oven and Conner declares the chili spicy enough to eat. 

More excited than he will admit, Dick passes Conner bowls, plates and everything else Conner asks for. He watches Conner pour two generous portions of chili, topping them off with cheese, tortilla strips and slices of the one avocado Dick had managed to find at the supermarket. 

“This smells amazing,” is the first thing Dick says once they have settled down in the living room. Their bowls of chili, plates of cinnamon rolls and their very mismatched drinks are placed in the middle of the coffee table. 

“Thank you,” Conner replies. He’s sitting on the floor, having refused Dick’s offer to share the couch because ‘it’s easier to eat if the table is taller than you’. “Don’t pass judgment until you’ve tried the food, though.” 

Dick nods from his spot on the couch. He balances his chili bowl on one thigh and reaches for a cinnamon roll. They’re soft and gooey and smell as good as the chili. His mouth starts watering as he breaks off a piece of the cinnamon roll, then he brings it up to his lips and— 

“Oh, wait, wait. Hold on, no, don’t do that,” Conner interrupts. He scoots closer to Dick, then reaches over and wraps his fingers around Dick’s wrist, pulling him forward in the process.

Dick freezes, mouth hanging open, the piece of roll only a couple of inches away from his mouth. He glances at Conner’s calm expression, then down at the fingers wrapped around his wrist. Conner’s hand is not very soft, but it’s warm. The simple touch makes heat travel all the way up to his cheeks as he meets Conner’s nonplussed gaze from inches away. 

“Uh,” Dick mumbles, because this is the closest Conner has been to him (apart from the time Dick hugged him) and this close, his eyes are bluer, brighter, and god dammit, the man has a strong jaw and a straight nose, which make for a very handsome and stern face. 

“Uh,” Dick repeats, trying his best to maintain eye contact instead of staring at Conner’s lips or the hollow of his throat. 

Conner shakes his head, keeping his grip on Dick’s wrist and looking as unaffected as Dick should have been because… Jesus, it’s not like Conner is even holding his hand. “You can’t do that, Grayson,” he says.

Dick tries to jumpstart his brain and focus on the context of the situation. “W-What? You mean I’m not a-allowed to eat the roll first?”

Conner nods and releases him. The skin where Conner had touched him burns, and Dick stays frozen as Conner goes back to his previous spot on the floor, cuts a piece of his own roll and holds it up like nothing had happened. 

Nothing had, Dick supposed. Conner had just touched his arm, barely. Literally nothing had happened, like the other time Conner had grabbed his hand to wipe it clean from Krypto’s drool. 

“You’re supposed to try it first with the chili,” Conner is saying, and Dick pulls his head back from the clouds. “It’s not Kansas chili and cinnamon rolls unless you dip the roll and eat it like that first.” He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. To him, it probably is. 

Dick glances down at his little piece of bread. The sudden image of Conner feeding him a bite of the unlikely combination burns behind his eyes, but he squashes it down with all his might. He might have started a flirty little something with someone like Jason, or some of the people he dated before Bruce, but he has the feeling that if he pulls something like that with Conner, he’d probably end up at the receiving end of a disapproving stare. 

 “Does it taste good like that?” he asks instead. 

Conner shakes his head without any hesitation. “Not to me, but it’s part of the experience to eat them together the first time you have them. My family loves the combination, though. Bart and Cassie eat them together whenever I make this for them too.” Conner dips his roll into the chili, then scoots closer again and beckons Dick over with his bare hand. “Come here, Grayson.”

Wondering how life can be so cruel sometimes, Dick moves closer to Conner and opens his mouth. 

“You’re allowed to spit it out, but please give me a sign so I know I have to move,” Conner continues, grabs Dick’s chin between two fingers and pops the piece of roll into his mouth. “Someone spat another dish onto me once and it wasn’t pretty.”

Dick would have choked right there and then if he weren’t too worried about looking bad in front of the handsome paramedic-firefighter or whatever the hell Conner actually was. As it is, he breathes in through his nose, tries not to think too much about Conner’s fingers on his skin, and starts chewing. 

He does his best to get a proper taste of the combination. He is sure the items by themselves would taste amazing because they smelled wonderful and even together it doesn’t taste horrible, but the spicy and savory flavor of the chili mixed with the fluffy and almost tooth-aching sweetness of the cinnamon roll is… well, it’s not particularly good. 

He swallows. Conner lets him go and scoots away again. He waits for Dick’s reaction patiently, even expectantly. 

“It’s…” Dick begins. He hesitates, trying to find the best words for a rather… unusual combination. 

“Don’t think about being nice, Grayson. Would you try them together again, yes or no?” Conner asks, because of course he’d ask that sort of question. 

“Yes and no are very definitive answers, Conner. I’d say… maybe and probably not, but it wasn’t… it wasn’t too bad.” 

Conner laughs. 

It’s so sudden and unexpected that the sound makes Dick jump. He blinks a couple of times to make sure he’s not hallucinating. And no, he’s not. There Conner is laughing, the sound light and throaty. The lines on his face are softer than Dick has ever seen them, making Conner seem… younger, a tad boyish even. 

“Your valiant effort is very much appreciated,” Conner says. Still chuckling, he reaches for his glass of water and salutes Dick with it. “Cheers, Grayson. I do hope you enjoy the dishes by themselves more than you’ve enjoyed them together.”

Numbly, Dick lifts his glass of wine and salutes Conner back. Conner gives him one of those big and rare smiles, then digs into his food without further word. 

Dick contemplates the man in front of him for a minute, wondering what goes through his mind while trying to ignore what goes on inside his own. 

After another minute, Dick starts eating his chili by itself like God intended, and it doesn’t take long for him to realize his initial assumption had been correct. 

The chili is good. Or scratch that, the chili is fucking great. 

Dick isn’t very well acquainted with good home cooking, or home cooking overall. He doesn’t remember what his mom’s food tasted like before he started living with his grandfather in Gotham. His grandfather wasn’t exactly the best cook and was far from being a homemaker.  There were a lot of takeout bags and TV dinners in his childhood, and while some takeout had been good, most of it had been cheap and… well, tolerable. 

Once he’d finished high school and started living on his own, Dick learned to cook… to a certain degree. He’s managed to survive almost to thirty with basic skills and weird food combinations. This all seems somewhat pathetic compared to Conner’s cooking, because goddamn it, if everything this man makes tastes half as good, that in itself would be loads better than most of the food Dick has ever had. 

The chili is thick, the beans soft, and the tortilla strips add a nice crunchy texture. The avocado adds a fresh and unexpected twist. The ground beef makes it savory, but there’s also a slightly smoky taste. Could it be from the bacon Dick had seen? There’s a hint of garlic, a hint of onion, some earthy flavors from spices Dick can’t name, and the chili flakes make it spicy enough to pack a gentle but not overwhelming punch. There’s a hint of sweetness somewhere in there, and Dick remembers that he had seen Conner holding some brown sugar, as odd as that had seemed at the moment. 

The cinnamon roll, on the other hand, is warm and sticky. It has the right amount of cinnamon and enough sugar to make it delicious but not overly sweet. The outer edges are crispy, the center soft and gooey, just like Dick is starting to feel. 

Dick’s chest tightens 

The food is good, so good. It’s tasty, and hearty, and warm and so damn comforting and… and it feels like the food was raised in a stable household with two loving parents and a couple of doting siblings in an idyllic small town. 

Which, considering the man who made it, seems to be exactly the case. 

“This is so good, Conner,” Dick says, once he’s swallowed the sudden knot in his throat and his bowl is halfway empty. “It’s delicious. I wish this chili could give me a hug, and these are the best cinnamon rolls I’ve ever had.” 

Conner, who’d been reaching for his second cinnamon roll, freezes. Taken off guard by the sudden praise, he flexes his hand a few times before he actually takes one of the pastries. 

“Thank you. I’m very glad you like it,” he says politely. “I doubt these are the best rolls you’ve had, though. It’s store-bought dough. They come out a lot better when it’s homemade dough.”

“I guess we know what you’ll be making next time you come over, then.” 

Conner raises an eyebrow. “Do we, now?”

“Ratatouille and cinnamon rolls from double scratch, obviously.” 

Conner’s lips twitch. “Obviously.”

“No, in all seriousness,” Dick says, and has another couple of spoonfuls of chili. “This tastes amazing. It’s perfectly spicy and perfectly sweet and perfectly everything. This is the first dish I’ve had from you and I can guarantee everything you make is amazing. You must be the designated cook at the station while you’re on shift. You have to be.”

Conner shrugs. “It’s not like there is any other choice. Tim is kind of useless, Cassie doesn’t have enough patience to cook, and Bart has ADHD, so getting him to cook more than one day in a row can be a struggle sometimes.” 

“Are you sure those aren’t excuses so you’ll be the one doing the cooking?”

Conner sighs. “I wish I could say they weren’t, but I never know with those three.” 

“I mean, if I worked with you I’d play up any excuse I had. This is damn good, Conner, truly.” 

“Thank you, Grayson, truly.” 

“What’s the most complicated dish that you’ve made? Do you bake pies like your mom? Can you make cakes?”

“Oh no, no,” Conner says, holding up a hand. “No, we’re not doing this again. You’ve made me talk all night so far. I’m not doing that anymore.”

“But you have a really nice voice,” Dick says, and he’s not joking. 

“Thank you,” Conner says, almost as a reflex, but then he shakes his head. “I’ve said plenty for tonight already. It’s your turn now.” 

“But—”

“No,” Conner interrupts, tone and expression firm. “No, no more questions from you. It’s my turn now.”

Conner probably doesn’t mean to sound so ominous, but that’s how Dick ends up hearing it anyway. 

Swallowing hard, Dick glances at his half-empty glass of wine. “Okay, fair enough. Tit for tat and all that. What do you want to know?”

“Let’s start with what happened the day I brought you home. What upset you that day?”

“You’re not going to let that go, are you?”

“You said you’d tell me another day. I hope today is the day.”

“It’s a long story, Conner, and it’s not very pleasant.”

“There’s a pot full of chili in the kitchen, Grayson, and I didn’t have lunch. I think I’ll be here for a while.” 

The deadpan way Conner says it makes Dick smile. “It’s a long and unpleasant story,” he warns again, but when Conner merely dips his spoon into his bowl and gives him a challenging look, Dick sighs. 

“Right,” he mutters, and fills up his glass of wine, because he’s going to need a lot more liquid courage tonight. 

Chapter Text

It’s hard for Dick to think of a good place to start, partly because he’s never really talked long and deep (or at all) about the most meaningful romantic relationships in his life, not even with Wally.

Dick remembers the time Wally asked him about Bruce. He remembers how very little he said and how much he avoided talking about it in the first place. Wally had figured it out himself, which is why Dick had given him bits and pieces about their history but not much beyond that. 

Dick had known then and he knows now that if Bruce talks to him again he will punch him at the first arrogant, obtuse comment he makes, but explaining to anyone other than himself how he got to that point seems… like a tall feat. 

“Okay, let’s try this,” Conner says. “Don’t think about going back to the beginning. That’s not what I’m asking you right now. I asked what upset you the day I brought you home. Let’s take it one question at a time, and don’t think about your answers. Say the first thing that comes to mind.” 

Dick sips his wine. “You sound like a textbook therapist, you know.” 

 “Is that bad?”

“I guess not, but it is a little bit weird. I don’t talk to anyone like that, all structured and therapy-like.”

“Oh, okay.” Conner frowns. “Isn't it easier to break down the difficult stuff into one block at a time, though? Or one knot at a time, like you're dealing with a jumbled and tangled mess of Christmas lights?”

Dick laughs, because that… that is a very good yet simple metaphor. “I mean, I guess so, it's just that most people don't think about it so logically.” He smiles at Conner. “Then again, you're not quite like most people, are you?”

Conner shrugs. “I was a weird kid that turned into a weird adult, I guess.”

“Well, normal people are overrated anyway.” Dick takes another sip of his wine. “All right, let's try it your way, therapist Kent.”

“One question at the time, and you’ll give me quick answers?”

“Yes, give me a free and unauthorized therapy session, Firefighter Kent. Why not.”

Conner, as expected, ignores everything but the ‘yes’, so he simply nods and starts off the interrogation. “What made you upset the day I brought you home?”

Dick does his very best to say the first thing that comes to his mind. “I had a nasty talk with someone.”

“Who?”

“My ex,” Dick says, and neither of them reacts to the word beyond a small twitch. One could call this progress.

“Okay,” Conner says. “What was the nasty talk about?”

Hell, where can he start? It had been about everything about them, yet it had been about how there had been nothing between them at the same time. Bruce had pulled a confession out of his stuck-up ass that hadn’t fazed Dick for more than a minute. This in itself was very sad, and it showed how much everything didn’t—

“Grayson,” Conner interrupts. “What did I say?”

“Sorry.”

“Come on, quick and easy. What was the nasty talk about?”

“It’s a long story, Conner.”

“What was the nasty talk about?” Conner insists. 

Dick bites the inside of his cheek. “It was about how I hooked up with him before New Year’s Eve, walked out the next morning without saying anything and haven’t contacted him since,” he ends up saying, and prepares himself for a harsh judgemental look or scoff. 

However, while the words do get a reaction out of Conner -his eyebrows climb up to his hairline and he stops with his spoonful of chili halfway through his mouth-, after a few seconds of looking surprised, Conner nods and resumes his eating. 

“Was he your ex before the hookup or was that why he became your ex?” he asks instead. 

Dick studies him. “Is that all the reaction you’re going to give me?”

“What reaction did you want?”

“I don’t know. Shock? A lot more surprise? Disgust?”

“Why?”

“Because what I did was shitty?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?”

“I’m asking you.”

“Why are you asking me about something I barely know about?” Conner asks, sounding genuinely puzzled. 

Dick frowns. He’s starting to feel annoyed. “Never mind. To answer your question, he was my ex before we hooked up. He’s been my ex for a while. What happened before New Year was… a moment of weakness, I suppose. I wasn’t feeling very well.” 

“Because of… him?” Conner ventures. 

Dick takes another couple of sips from his wine. “Not, not because of him.”

“Were you… lonely during the holidays?” Conner seems to be considering his words very carefully now. 

Had he been lonely? Yes. He’d been lonely and missing someone he couldn’t have anymore. He’d also wanted to have the melancholy fucked out of him, and all those feelings had won over his half-rational brain. 

“Yes, I was lonely,” Dick admits, staring down at his wine. 

“Were you missing family or friends?”

“No, no family. I told you my grandfather is dead, right?”

“Yes.”

“And I had Wally and other friends around me for the holidays. I wasn’t missing them, or the grandpa I never got very close to.”

“Right.” Conner taps his spoon against his bowl. “So… were you missing another ex, then?”

It’s funny that Conner would refer to Jason as his ex. It’s not like Conner knows anything about Jason, and it’s not like he and Jason were ever in an official and full-blown relationship, after all. Still, the question hits the nail straight on the head. 

“Yeah, I was,” Dick admits, and while those three words are hard to get out, he feels his chest loosen as he says them out loud. “Yeah, I was missing someone else. Badly.” 

“And did it work? Going to the other ex for comfort?”

Dick laughs, short and abrupt and very bitter. “It did for the first hour. After that it was just a matter of counting down the minutes until I could leave and never talk about it again.” 

Conner drags his spoon along his bowl, nodding slowly. “I see why that would be an upsetting situation.”

“I shouldn’t have done it in the first place,” Dick sighs. “It was stupid, and selfish, and I counted on him being the usual emotionally constipated jerk that he always has been. I never thought he’d want to talk about what happened. He never wanted to talk to me when we—” catching himself in the middle of the verbal vomit he’s gushing out, Dick stops talking. He frowns at nothing in particular, then takes another couple of drinks of wine. 

He pauses when he realizes that this is… his third and a half glass, isn’t it? In less than an hour? Two hours? Who knows. 

He’s tempted to think he’s not feeling the effect of it whatsoever, but the way he almost started spilling his guts a few seconds ago in front of someone he sort of wants to impress is… concerning. 

“Anyway, that’s what upset me that day,” Dick finishes, voice muted. 

“That sounds pretty bad,” Conner concedes. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.  The bitter hookup and then the nasty talk, I mean.” 

“Yeah, well, I sort of got myself into that situation. I used him, and that wasn’t a nice thing to do.” 

“No, but it’s normal for people who are hurt to hurt other people, and to want… revenge, or retaliation, or whatever you want to call it. It’s not nice, and it’s not a pretty thing to acknowledge, but it happens.”

Dick eyes Conner, noticing how unaffected he seems by everything at that moment. He sees how calm his eyes are, how rational and no-nonsense all of his reactions and words have been since he started talking. 

“You seem so above all these petty human emotions. Why is that?” Dick asks. 

Conner blinks at him, and there it is again, the slightest flicker of surprise across his face for only a second. “I’m not.”

“But you seem so… unshakable. And I don't mean today, I mean, since the first time I met you. It makes me feel like picking a fight with you would be damn near impossible.”

“Is that what you want? To pick a fight with me?” Conner tilts his head to one side. “Is that why you wanted me to judge you for walking out on your ex? Did you want to argue with me?”

 “What? No. That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

Dick lets out a frustrated sound. “I don’t know what I meant, Conner. I’m starting to get a little freaked out.” 

Conner frowns down at his bowl. He taps his spoon against the ceramic edge again and glares down at it like it has done something very offensive or disappointed him greatly. 

“I’m sorry if I’m not giving you the reaction that you want,” Conner says eventually, and he raises his eyes to meet Dick’s again. There’s a struggle in them. “I’m truly sorry, Grayson. Sometimes it’s hard to figure out what reaction different people expect in different scenarios.”

“I’m not expecting a specific reaction from you, Conner. I’m just asking you to react the normal way you would.” 

Conner hesitates. “I… am.”

Dick frowns. “But you’re being kind of—” he starts, and then cuts himself off because… what is he going to say? That Conner is being—

“Weird?” Conner asks. “Am I being weird? Probably. Sorry.” He rubs his palm across his face and lets down a sigh.

Looking at the genuine display of frustration and understanding that it is not directed at him but at himself, Dick contemplates Conner for a few more seconds. There’s been something different about Conner that he has noticed since the first time they met. Conner has been awkward and blunt and so serious every single time Dick has spoken or seen him. He’s been blunt almost to the point of being rude, and rational almost to the point of being unsettling… So yes, maybe he’s a little weird, but he has never been mean, and clearly, he’s putting in the effort the best way he knows how. 

“What do you think about this whole situation? Honestly?” Dick asks, even though he doubts Conner would give anything but his honest opinion about anything.

“Why do you care what I think?” Conner asks. 

It’s a very good question. Why does he care? Because he knows what he did was wrong? Because he knows what he did was pathetic? Because he was weak and pathetic and he needs someone to tell him out loud that he was stupid?

Or is it because Conner is a handsome guy that Dick might or might not be feeling something for, and if he thinks Dick is pitiful, or a slut, or anything other than perfect, then Dick’s chances of … something lower dramatically?

“I’m not sure, but I want to know,” is what Dick ends up settling for. 

Conner seems to accept that. Sighing, he places his palms on his thighs and tilts his face towards the ceiling. 

“I think…” Conner starts, and shakes his head. “I think what I think shouldn’t matter much to you. You did what you felt you needed to do in a moment of weakness because you were in pain, and that’s that. I’m sorry you had to mourn someone else and that drove you to this other person and I’m sorry that experience turned bitter.”

“You probably wouldn’t have made the same mistake, would you?”

“No,” Conner's reply is simple and confident. “But that’s probably because I haven’t mourned an ex as much as you might have.” 

Dick grunts. “Because you’re the one that your exes mourn?” he mutters, and decides he needs to keep sipping his wine. 

“Me?” Conner asks, incredulous. “Grayson, I swear to God it feels like I say black and you hear white.”

Dick sinks lower into the couch. He does his best not to pout. “So you aren’t a heartbreaker.”

“No! And that’s not the point. The point is you did what you thought was the best for you at that moment and it turned out it wasn’t, and that’s fine.”

“It doesn’t feel fine.”

“Did you get something out of the nasty talk?”

Had he? He had gotten a great weight off his shoulders by telling Bruce exactly what he thought. He had proved to himself yet again that nothing regarding Bruce mattered, and now it truly felt like everything with him was over, so if he was honest with himself… 

“Yeah, I think that ended for good this time,” Dick admits. 

“Well, then it’s all fine.”

Dick shakes his head. “Life isn’t so simple, Conner.”

“No, but it doesn’t have to be too complicated either.” Conner looks down at his bowl. “I’m getting some more. Would you like a second serving?”

Dick pouts, but he nods. Conner reaches out to scoop his bowl, then gets to his feet. He sips his wine as he hears Conner puttering around in the kitchen, probably longer than necessary, but Dick appreciates the respite. He needs a moment to gather his thoughts and to get his emotional ducks in a row. He also needs a moment to truly think about what Conner has been saying… which isn’t much, or maybe not what Dick had been hoping to hear. 

Conner has been listening to his sad story and has been very much not shoving his opinion into the whole thing. It’s… somewhat of a new feeling. Dick loves Wally to death by now, and he loves Roy and his wife too, but whenever any relationship issues are discussed, people around him tend to give advice and share their own thoughts in the situation. Dick knows this is normal and what he does too. He can acknowledge that people probably have the best intentions when doing it because he knows he does, but Conner isn’t giving him any of that. 

Conner is very much not influencing what Dick should do or how he should feel. He’s not telling Dick what he should have done or how things could have turned out differently. He’s being a damn pond, letting Dick drip onto the surface, letting the ripples expand, and then letting them disappear. 

It’s refreshing, but also a bit unsettling. 

“Here you go,” Conner mumbles, entering the living room. He puts Dick’s bowl on his lap as he walks by. He seems ready to sit on the floor again, then hesitates… and ends up sitting on the other side of the couch. He glances at Dick out of the corner of his eye, then dips his spoon into his bowl and starts eating again. 

“Thank you,” Dick says, and he’s not thanking Conner only for the second serving of chili. 

“Yes, well. It’s better to eat as much of the chili as you can while it’s fresh. It doesn’t taste the same once you’ve frozen it and then warmed it up,” Conner says.

Dick smiles. “I can imagine it doesn’t.” Conner nods and keeps eating while pretending that Dick isn't bearing a hole into him with how hard and how long he stares at him. 

It's not until Dick has seen Conner empty half his bowl that he gathers enough courage to say, “The day you and I met… I was missing the same person I was missing during the holiday season.”

Conner, in a moment of déja vu, stops with his spoon halfway to his mouth. He glances at Dick out of the corner of his eye again, and the spoon wavers in the air for a brief moment before Conner lowers his bowl and his spoon and sets them on top of the coffee table. He clears his throat, turns his body so he’s facing Dick and giving him his full attention. 

Dick almost tells Conner he didn’t need to stop eating to show he will pay attention to whatever Dick says, but he swallows the words down because he appreciates the gesture. 

“You didn’t look very well when we first met,” Conner says. 

Talk about an understatement. “I didn’t feel well at all. I felt almost as bad as when I went to look for Bruce,” Dick murmurs, letting the name slip by because it’s not like Conner will know who he’s talking about. 

Conner lets out a sudden whistle. “You must have been down really bad, Grayson,” he says, and he looks and sounds so aghast that Dick can’t help but laugh. 

“I was, clearly,” he concedes. 

“May I ask what happened with this other person? If you were mourning them during the holiday season and you had the hypothermia scare not that long ago…” Conner does math in his head. “You must have been down really, really bad,” he concludes. 

Dick laughs again. “Well, something very normal happened. We started things off casually, and he was very upfront about it the whole time. He didn’t have time for a relationship, he wasn’t looking for one, and he just wanted to have fun. I did, too, when the whole thing started.”

“So, fuck-buddies,” Conner says, straight-faced. It’s the first time Dick hears him say anything that could be considered a cuss. 

“Yes, fuck-buddies,” Dick says. He shrugs. “It was great when it started. It was exactly what I wanted, and we both had an agreement. We both knew what we wanted and where we stood. And then…”

And then Dick had started missing and longing for Jason. And then he had begun stretching out their moments together, trying to make them less casual than what they needed to be. He had tried to make a space for himself in Jason’s life as big as the one Jason had been making in his.

And then Jason had been gone, and the space had remained empty, and so fucking cold. 

“And then I fucked it up,” Dick finishes. 

“Did you?”

“Oh yeah, six ways to Sunday.”

“That bad?”

“Yup.”

“Why?” 

Dick purses his lips. What can he say that doesn’t make him sound pathetic, or pitiful? 

“I eventually wanted more from what we had. He didn’t,” he mumbles, and… great. That didn’t sound too pathetic, even if it came out as a cliché. 

Conner considers his words for a moment. He also eyes his bowl of chili like he wants to pick it up and continue eating. He probably holds himself back out of respect for Dick or something along those silly lines. 

“That’s it?” Conner asks, doing a herculean effort to look away from his food and raising an eyebrow at Dick. 

That’s it?

Dick feels another spark of annoyance as the words echo inside his head. “It may sound like nothing, but it didn’t feel like nothing, you know. It hurt like a damn bitch, and it didn’t get better until recently. That’s not nothing, Kent. It was a lot. It hurt even more.”

Conner’s mouth drops in a silent and surprised ‘oh’. He shakes his head.  “No, no, sorry. That’s not what I meant, Grayson.”

“Okay, Mr. Therapist, then let me ask you the question this time. What did you mean?” Dick hopes Conner stumbles over his words or also admits to not knowing what he meant so Dick can make a snarky and mean comment…

But that doesn’t happen. 

“I meant, is that all you did to screw things up?” Conner says. “Catching feelings and wanting something more serious from someone you were regularly having sex with? That’s all the horrible things you did?”

“Well, it fucked everything up, didn’t it?”

“I don’t know. Did you two end up on horrible terms after an epic screaming match or something?”

Dick finds himself pouting again. “No.”

“Did either of you say you don’t want to see each other ever again after things came to an end? Did you break up and wish each other the worst things ever? Like, was it that ugly of a breakup?”

“No.” In fact, Jason had asked Dick to mourn and pull away all he needed. He had also left the door open for him to come back and watch the staff basketball games if he wanted to, to come and join them for chicken wings afterward. Jason hadn’t told Roy to stop talking to Dick, to push him away from himself and his family because they didn’t have a relationship anymore. Dick hadn’t sworn vengeance on Jason either, and he sure as hell had never wished him ill, so if he took all of that into consideration… 

“Okay, fine, but maybe if I hadn’t said anything or if I had kept myself under control things would be different,” Dick points out. 

“Different how, exactly? As in, you would still have a fuck-buddy that you have intense and deeper feelings for? Someone who couldn’t or wouldn’t return those feelings? Wouldn’t that make you feel even worse?”

Jesus Christ. If someone had told Dick a few hours ago that Conner was relentless as fuck… Dick would have totally believed them. He just couldn’t have imagined just how intense he could be. 

“Maybe if I hadn’t let myself—” he begins, but Conner leans over, places a hand on Dick’s knee and the other over his mouth, effectively shutting him up. 

“If you’re going to talk about controlling feelings, don’t,” Conner says. “They’re feelings, Grayson. They’re not rational and they’re not particularly smart either. Feelings are… hard to manage. They’re all about instinct, and they don’t listen to reason. They don’t care about what they should or shouldn’t be. They exist, and they make your life harder sometimes, and you have to deal with them. You can try to make them go away, but they don’t always do. It sucks, and trust me, I wish I could turn them on and off at will, but nobody can do that, no matter how hard we try.” 

Dick’s heartbeat spikes. He does his best to focus on Conner’s words instead of thinking ‘wow, these hands are big’, or thinking about how Conner is so close and he smells like laundry detergent, chili and nothing else. 

He would be lying if he said he succeeded. 

“Maybe the result sucked, and I’m truly sorry you were hurt and are maybe still dealing with that pain,” Conner goes on, and there’s genuine sorrow on his face. “I’m sorry, Grayson, but you can feel whatever you want whenever you want. And if things don’t work out, then that’s another feeling you have to deal with. Good or bad, it doesn’t matter. You feel things, and you do or don’t do things, and you deal with the fallout and with whatever that brings. It’s okay, and you’re okay, and you will be okay. Even if it takes time, you’ll be okay, all right?” 

Heart still hammering the back of his throat, all Dick does is stare at Conner, feeling his hand on his knee, on his mouth, feeling the warmth they provide, a warmth that is similar to the one in his words. As for those striking eyes of his, there’s a different type of warmth there. It’s intense, it’s relentless and it’s unforgiving, but it's there, unhidden and unabashed. 

Dick’s throat tightens. He manages to tap the hand on top of his mouth with his fingers, and Conner drops the hand straight away. 

“I need a minute,” he says, his voice barely a whisper. 

Conner nods, relief flooding across his features. He pulls his hand back from Dick’s knee, grabs his bowl and spoon and stands up.

“I’ll be in the kitchen,” he says, and walks away without looking back once. 

Dick pulls his knees to his chest as soon as he’s alone. He hears the clink of utensils in the kitchen and other sounds of Conner busying himself in there. Dick lets out all the air in his lungs only once the sounds have stopped and wraps his arms around his legs. 

He waits for the bubbling sensation inside him to rise in his throat and to spill out from his eyes. He waits for the painful coldness of loneliness and a broken heart to settle within him. He waits for everything to come spilling outside, and when it finally does… he embraces it. 

He doesn’t know if it’s that simple mental switch that does it, but as the silent tears slide down his cheeks and as he lets the pain ride over him, he also realizes… 

It's not so bad. 

It hurts, because it still does, and the memories burn brightly in his mind, but there’s a hollowness there that hadn’t been there before. 

… Or had it been there before, and he simply hadn’t bothered to dig deep enough inside himself to notice?

Either way, Dick allows himself to feel or not feel whatever the hell his mind wants for the next few minutes. He gets overcome by a wave of pain, then anger, then there’s some hopelessness in there. 

And then, at the end of the emotional rollercoaster he’s been avoiding the past few months, Dick feels like he can breathe a lot better and like he got some twenty pounds lighter. 

He stares at his stupid carpet like an idiot for a few minutes longer and lets those feelings settle. He snaps out of it only when water starts running in the kitchen. 

“Shit,” he mutters, grabs his bowl and gets to his feet… too fast after too much wine. 

“Shit,” he repeats, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. He waits a few seconds for the room to stop spinning, then opens his eyes and makes his way to the kitchen one slow step at a time, an arm stretched out just in case. 

Conner is washing the dishes -because of course he is- when Dick finally makes it into the kitchen. He barely spares Dick a glance and a nod before he goes back to lathering up the chili pot and the baking tray with soap. 

“At this point I’m really wondering what the point was of asking you over for dinner. I’ve been the guest the whole damn evening, which makes me a very, very shitty host,” Dick says by greeting, leaning his shoulder against the doorway. 

“Hosting isn’t a contest, Grayson.” Conner replies with a sigh. 

“It sure feels like one, and I lost today. By a landslide, I might add.” 

“‘Six ways to Sunday’ this, ‘by a landslide’ that. You’ve got quite the dramatic streak, don’t you?”

Dick hums. “Doesn’t mean I’m wrong, though. I am sorry you basically had to do everything yourself today, including consoling my sorry ass. You must think I’m pathetic.”

“I think you’re human, a dramatic one,” Conner says. “And you’re flawed, and so am I. Many people have issues and problems with flawed humans. I don’t think I do.”

Dick thinks about Conner’s frustration with himself the whole evening. He thinks about the comments he’s made about him being himself not going over well with some people, he thinks of Conner saying he was a weird kid who grew up to be a weird adult. Dick thinks about his own thoughts about how Conner is intense, and somewhat odd, and his chest tightens. 

“I shouldn’t either,” he says. 

“To each their own, Grayson, but if anything I said today helps you, great.” He rinses the pot and the baking tray and puts them with the rest of the dishes he’s already cleaned. His bowl is there, as is his glass of water. 

“Are you done?” Conner asks, nodding towards the bowl between Dick’s hands. 

“No, and don’t you dare go and see what’s left in the living room. I’ll wash those.” 

“But I don’t mind.”

Dick glances around the kitchen. Conner has wiped down the kitchen island, the counters and the stove. All the leftover ingredients seem to be back in the fridge or the pantry. There are two see-through plastic containers that Dick didn’t know he had sitting next to the stove. One has the chili inside, the other the leftover rolls. The only thing Conner hasn’t done is sweep the kitchen, and that’s probably because Dick walked in before he could find the broom. 

“No,” Dick repeats. “No, you’ve done enough. You’ve done more than enough. You’re not washing another dish, or touching another rag.”

“Oh, okay.” Conner puts down the rag he was holding. “Then I guess I should leave.” 

Dick pushes away from the doorway and sets his bowl down on the closest counter. “You don’t have to leave. Then again, I don’t blame you if you want to. My emotional meltdown ruined the mood.” Dick isn’t sure which mood was ruined, he just knows one was. 

Conner shakes his head. “You didn’t ruin anything. I had a really nice time tonight, but I do think the evening has run its course, and I have to be up early for my shift tomorrow.” 

Dick isn’t convinced. He knows most people would say the same thing to him and not mean it. Other people would say those things with the most apologetic look while on the inside itching to run away from the crazy nurse who spilled his guts to someone he’s not too close with…

But Conner wouldn’t do that, would he?

“So I haven’t scared you off?” Dick verifies. 

“Haven’t I scared you off?” Conner questions. 

Dick laughs. “As if. When will you come over again to make the ratatouille?”

Conner unties his apron and slips it over his neck. “Whenever you want to have me… or whenever our schedules align again, rather.”

“I do hope it is soon.” Dick shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “I’ll walk you out.”

Conner nods, folds the apron and leaves it next to Dick’s bowl.  “Don’t put anything in the fridge until it cools down completely. And finish that bowl. It really won’t taste the same when you warm up the rest.”

“Yes, sir,” Dick says, saluting him. 

Conner walks past him and back into the living room. He gives the mess on the coffee table a long and thoughtful look, then shakes his head and grabs his coat. 

Dick walks ahead to open the door. He holds onto the doorknob as Conner slips into his coat, adjusts the neck and joins him under the doorway. 

“Thank you for having me tonight,” Conner says, nodding. 

Dick snorts. “Thank you for bringing your handsome ass over, Conner. And thank you for making dinner. And thank you for such a good meal. And thank you for listening to me talk. And thank you for your advice. And thank you for cleaning up my own damn kitchen too. Are we sure you didn’t have me over tonight?”

Conner rolls his eyes. “Yes, we’re sure.” 

Silence falls between them after that. Dick grips the doorknob for dear life, because otherwise he might do something really, really, really stupid, like throw himself at Conner and kiss him… because goddamn it, Dick could totally see himself doing that right now. It would feel right, but at the same time it would feel like the most insane thing because there is no way Conner would want to—

Conner sticks out his hand. “Good night, Grayson.” 

Dick’s little bubble bursts. He stares down at the offered hand for several seconds… and then he grins at Conner. 

“You’ve had your hands all over me tonight, Conner. A handshake is the best you can do?” he challenges, trying not to laugh. 

Conner frowns. “I haven’t—” He cuts himself off and flexes his fingers, then pulls his hand back. “Would you prefer a hug?” he wonders, because that is the next logical thing to ask, of course.

Dick wants to kiss this man. He wants to kiss this man long and hard and bad… but for tonight, he will settle for the second best thing. 

“I would love a hug, actually,” he admits. 

“Uh, okay.” Befuddled, Conner opens his arms, and Dick…

Well, he already knows he’s a very weak man, so Dick steps closer, wraps his arms around Conner’s waist, and… hugs him. 

Conner lets out the softest of grunts, but he wraps his arms around Dick right away and pulls him in, pressing their bodies together from the waist up, so close and tight that Dick can feel Conner’s belt buckle digging into his skin. 

You don’t do anything halfway, huh? Dick wants to say, but he’s too busy digging his nose into Conner’s shoulder, his fingers into Conner’s back. He’s grabbing fistfuls of coat before he knows it, and he’s turning his head towards Conner’s neck, closing his eyes before his brain catches up to his actions. 

He can’t help it, though. This… this is… this is bliss. 

Dick realizes at that moment that Conner is only a couple of inches taller than him, but goddamn it, this is a thick waist, and the arms around him are big and strong and warm and so solid, and so real. Dick is sure that if his legs give out in that moment Conner would keep him upright without wobbling, and he doesn’t know how he’s so sure of it or why the thought fills him with so much relief, but it does, and he… he just wants… 

“You,” he whispers. “You… are such a delight of a human being, Conner. You’ll make someone a damn wonderful husband one day.”

Conner pauses. “Marriage again, Grayson?”

“That’s not my name, Conner.”

“It is, though.”

“You know what I mean, you smartass.”

Conner sighs. “Dick can’t be your official name.”

Dick pulls back slowly, dragging his fingers through Conner’s coat until he doesn’t have any other choice but to let go.  Every nerve in his body screams for him to lean in for another hug, but Conner drops his arms straight away and takes a step back, so Dick does the same and tries his very best not to show too much disappointment. 

“My full name is Richard, but nobody calls me that,” he says, wrapping his arms around himself instead. “Richard John Grayson, but I’ve always been Dick.” A heartbeat passes. “You can call me Dickie if you want. My friends call me Dickie.” … Which isn’t a lie. Wally calls him that all the time. Sure, ‘Dickie’ is more of a humorous and ironic name but Conner doesn’t need to know that. 

“Dickie,” Conner repeats, and his face sours. “Nope. Dick is fine.”

“I like Dickie better, though.” 

“Do you?” Conner asks skeptically. 

Dick laughs. “I don't particularly care, but it sounds nice when you say it.” 

“I… will try my very best to incorporate it into my vocabulary, but mostly it’ll be Dick from now on.”

“Still better than Grayson.”

Conner shakes his head. “Good night, Dick.”

“Good night, Conner.” 

Conner hesitates, and seems like he’s about to reach out and hug Dick again, but he stops himself in time. Instead, he shoves his hands into the pockets of his coat and gives Dick one final nod before he trots down the porch and towards his bike. 

Dick watches Conner get on the bike and wave at him. He waves back with a smile. He keeps smiling like an idiot until Conner disappears down the street. 

His heart is beating hard inside his chest as he closes the door and makes his way back to the kitchen. He picks up his cold bowl of chili and smiles down at it, then at the flowers still in the basket Conner had brought. 

He feels both lightheaded and lighthearted, and he’s not too sure if it’s only because of the wine, only because of Conner, or if the wine is making everything worse. 

Either way, Dick fucked up. He spilled his emotional guts (again) and said things he shouldn’t have (again) and felt things he shouldn’t have (also, again)... and for the first time, he can ask himself, so fucking what?

Conner still wants to come over again and make ratatouille. Conner gave him a full-on bear hug before he walked away. Conner also left him delicious homemade food ready to pop into the fridge. 

So yeah, he fucked up, and so what?

He feels untouchable as he scoops the dishes from the living room, half-cleans the table and then dumps the dishes in the sink. He walks on clouds out of the kitchen and into the bathroom. He brushes his teeth in a daze, but when steps back into his room and sees Conner’s jacket lying innocently on top of his bed, the whole illusion shatters. 

“Shit,” he hisses, and goes to find his phone from wherever he’d left it. 

He snaps a picture of the jacket, then fires a message to Conner with the attached image. 

U forgot ur jacket. 

The answer comes about twenty minutes later, and Dick has spent that whole time lying on his bed and staring at the ceiling. 

I didn’t forget about it. I simply didn’t find the right moment to ask for it. 

U want me to drop it off at the station tmr?

No, that’s okay. Keep it until I see you again.

U sure?

Very.

I have to go now, Dick. The Three Musketeers are still here and they’re being annoying. They won’t leave until I tell them how the evening went. 

And what are u gonna say?

That I had a lovely evening :).
Thank you, Dick.
Good night. 

And just like that, Dick feels like he’s floating again.

Chapter Text

Donna knew exactly what she was doing when she pointed out in front of Lian that Dick’s hair was getting long. She knew that she was a) exaggerating and b)giving Lian the perfect opening to welcome Dick into her high-end salon forcibly. 

“It’s not even that long, and it’s just the front,” Dick sighs, sitting as still as he can on the floor of the Harpers’ living room. Lian pulls on the longer strands of his hair with her brush, mumbling something about needing hairspray and lots of colorful hair clips. 

“It’s longer than I’ve ever seen you have it,” Donna points out, sitting on the couch across from them and taking a sip from her coffee, her laptop on her lap. 

“I’m trying to keep the fringe long, that’s all. Besides, it’s not like you’ve seen me very often as of late.” 

“And whose fault is that?”

Dick opens his mouth to say something, then thinks better about it. He waltzed straight into that one. “I’m sorry, Donna. I figured it was better for me not to be anywhere he could be.” 

“I get that, Dick. It would have been very awkward for us and uncomfortable for you and Jason, but it’s not like you couldn’t have called or texted ahead of time. I would have told you not to come over if Jason was coming over. You could have invited us to your place. If you wanted to spend time with me and Lian we could have gone out for an ice cream or something.  There were many options, pretty boy, you just chose not to explore any of them.” 

As if on cue, Lian tugs harder on his hair, and Dick winces. 

“You’re right. I could have made an effort to see you and talk to you and Lian, but I didn’t,” Dick admits. “If I'm being honest with you, I didn’t think you would want to see me.” 

“And why would you think that? As far as I know, Jason is the one that called things off, and it’s not like it was a nuclear breakup.”

“It wasn’t a breakup. He and I were never together,” he says. 

Donna gives him a look. “Well, even less reason for you to ghost everyone you used to talk to, then.”

Dick tries to lower his head, but Lian’s constant tugs keep him from doing it. “I’m sorry. You have been Jason’s friends way before you ever were mine so I didn’t think—”

“And if you had hurt Jason in any way or if the breakup had been ugly, you would be a hundred percent correct, Dick. I wouldn’t want you anywhere near my house or my daughter or myself if you’d harmed a single white hair on my husband’s best friend,” Donna says, and she lets the words hang in the air for a moment before she adds, “But that wasn’t the case, was it?”

“... No.”

“So it was that you didn’t want to see us?” 

“Maybe? I don’t know, Donna. I felt very bad for so long. I didn’t want to be anywhere close to anything that could involve him or remind me of him and… and I’m sorry it spilled all the way over to you and Lian.”

Donna considers his apology, and Dick feels like he’s on trial until she nods at him and smiles. It’s a warm and sisterly smile that makes his chest loosen allows him to breathe again.

“You will always be welcome here, you know,” she says. “I mean, not if you don’t want to be here when Jason is here or not until you’re ready to run that risk, but I like you, and I like talking to you, and Lian loves having a life-sized pretty doll.”

“Pretty doll,” Lian echoes in agreement. Dick feels hair clips dig into his scalp a second later. 

“There!” Lian exclaims. She braces her hands on Dick’s shoulders and leans in on one side. 

“Can I do your nails, too? Pretty please?” she asks, stretching out the last word into a perfectly pouty whine. 

Dick pretends to consider the offer. “I don’t know. What shade do you want to use today?”

“Momma bought me a new blue polish! You can try it on, Dickie. You look good in blue.” 

“When you put it like that, I can’t possibly refuse to model your new polish, Ms. Harper.” 

Lian grins at him and scampers off to look for her new blue polish. Dick watches her go, then turns to Donna and frames his face with one hand. 

“How do I look?” he asks. He has no idea what Lian has done with his hair, but chances are it’s very chaotic and not exactly pretty. 

“You look…” Donna tilts her head to one side, then the other. “Well, there’s no hair sticking out this time, and she certainly made sure to leave your face as visible as possible. That’s what you get for being pretty, I guess.”

“Is it better than the last time I was here?”

“Oh yeah, heaps.” 

“Then I’d call this a win.” 

“I would too.” Donna gives him another smile, takes a sip of her coffee, and then tilts her head to one side again. 

“So, most of the jokes aside… I take it it’s a good sign that you’re here,” she says. 

Dick takes his phone out, flips the camera, gets a look at himself, and promptly closes the camera. “I think so, yeah.”

“Have you seen Jason?”

“Not since we cut things off, no.” He bounces his phone against his knee. “I feel like it won’t kill me to see him now, though.” It doesn’t mean he will like it, and it certainly doesn’t mean it will be pleasant, but at this point Dick feels like he can bear it. 

It’s over. It has been over for months. Whatever they could have had, they didn’t have. Despite how wonderful Jason is and how much he meant to Dick in such a short amount of time, everything is in the past now. He has a life that he has been getting back into. He has met new people and done new things. He has other things and other people to focus on, and he feels stable and strong enough to not want to rip his skin off when he thinks of Jason. 

Whether that has to do with one person in particular is… a matter for another day. 

“Good,” Donna says, nodding. “Honestly, Dick… good. I’m very happy and relieved to hear that. I still think it’s stupid why it didn’t work out because you and Jason would have made… quite a nice couple, but it wasn’t meant to be, I guess.” 

“No, it wasn’t,” Dick agrees, and even though the words taste bitter, he swallows them down. “Jason has other plans for his life and I couldn’t be part of them, and that’s… it’s fine. It has to be fine. We wanted different things, and he never said otherwise.” 

“He’s going to be a hell of an attending, and a hell of a director,” Donna muses. 

“Damn straight he will.” Lian comes rushing back in with a bottle of polish, cotton balls and polish remover in hand, and the conversation pauses, at least for the moment. 

“Here,” Lian says, and drags the coffee table closer to where Dick is sitting. “Put your hands here, and stay very, very still!”

“Yes, ma’am,” Dick says, and obediently moves to where Lian wants him. He puts his hands on the flat surface, palms down. The little girl nods, sits down on the other side of the table, grabs Dick’s hand and tugs, because clearly he’s not close enough. 

“There,” she says, once Dick is leaning at a somewhat awkward angle over the table. “I’m going to clean your nails first, okay?”

“Work away, Ms. Harper, I trust you.” 

She flashes him a toothy grin, then starts cleaning his already clean nails. 

“And how have you been, aside from the Jason  thing?” Donna asks, closing her laptop and placing it on a corner of the free table. 

Dick flashes a thumbs up with the hand Lian hasn’t commandeered. “I guess I’ve been good. Work is as exhausting as usual, not much to report there. I’ve been in a funk for a while, so sadly there’s not much to tell.”

“Really? Is that all?” Donna asks, almost too casually. 

Dick raises an eyebrow at her. “Or maybe not? Do you know something I don’t?”

“I don’t know. Do I?”

“I guess you do. Roy probably sucks at keeping anything from you.”

“Papa’s really, really bad with secrets,” Lian agrees absentmindedly, keeping all her attention on her beauty project. After a moment, she decides to snatch Dick’s other hand too. 

“It’s not like he knows much, though,” Donna tries to defend her husband. 

Dick rolls his eyes. “All right, let’s get this over with. What do you know? And most importantly, what do you want to know?” 

“It’s not like this is an interview.”

“Isn’t it?”

This time, Donna is the one that rolls her eyes. “No, it’s not, so stop looking so darn smug. Anyways, Roy tells me you’ve made a new friend.” 

“You’ll have to be more specific. I’ve made two new friends, actually.” Krypto is a whole new friend unto himself, after all. 

“But from what Roy says that he saw, there was one in particular that seems interesting.”

Ah, he sees where this is going… and he’s not going to give Donna the easy answers so quickly. 

Dick looks up to the ceiling, pretending to be coy. “Okay, yes, he’s not wrong.”

“So there is someone new in your life?” Donna asks, sitting up straighter on the couch. 

“So that’s what you want to know?”

“Duh!”

“Well, if you must know, yes, there is someone new and slightly special in my life.”

Donna’s eyes sparkle, her cherry red lips curving up in curiosity.  “Who are they? How long have you known them? What do they look like?”

“I don’t have the words to describe him, Donna, but I can do you one better, actually.  I’ll show him to you.” He turns to Lian. “Ms. Harper, may I have one hand back for a minute? I want to show your mom the picture of the new guy that is keeping me up at night.”

“Oh wow, okay,” Donna mutters under her breath, but she’s starting to look uncertain. 

Lian thinks about it, rolling the bottle of polish between her hands. “Can I see him first?”

“Absolutely.”

“Okay, Dickie, you can move a hand.” 

Dick thanks Lian for her kindness and grabs his phone. He opens up his messages with Conner and scrolls all the way up to the first picture of Krypto he had received. Donna waits with bated breath while Dick shows his phone to Lian, who lets out a delighted squeak and grabs his phone. 

“He’s so cute!” she squeals, hugging the phone to her chest with one hand. “I love him! Is he yours, Dickie? Is he yours? What’s his name?” 

“Why don’t you show him to your mom?” Dick asks, nodding towards Donna and smiling, because Donna’s face has just fallen, and her expression goes straight to disappointment when Lian shoves the screen onto her face. 

“Look, Momma!” she says, and Donna barely manages to get a grip on Dick’s phone before Lian lets it go and returns to her seat at the table. 

“Oh,” Donna says, voice glum. 

Dick bursts out laughing. “Oh come on, Donna, he’s beautiful! And I love him, and he loves me!”

“Who is this?”

“That’s Krypto. He’s… a dalmatian, I think? An albino dalmatian? Is that what you would call him? I don’t know yet.”

“When did you get a dog?”

“Oh, he’s not mine. I just wish he were,” he replies, and then has to shift in his seat because Lian barks out an order. 

Donna lets out a disappointed sigh. “I shouldn’t have expected anything else.”

“No, you really shouldn’t have.”

“So there’s no one new and interesting in your life?” 

“I’m kind of surprised you want to know. Shouldn’t you be thinking that I can’t do better than Jason?”

Donna scrunches up her nose. “I’d really want to say that, because… I’ve known him as long as I’ve known Roy, and I love him like a brother too, and all of my instincts would say that he’s the biggest catch after Roy…” 

“But?”

“But you shouldn’t spend your time still thinking about him when you guys don’t want the same thing. He’s moving on with his life and going back to kicking butt and taking the world by storm like he always has, and you should go back to your normal life. Jason doesn’t want anything serious and I think that’s always been the case… but you do, don’t you? And if you do, you should find someone who can give it to you.”

“I get the feeling you’ve thought long and hard about this.” 

“Roy and I have talked long and hard about both sides of a relationship we shouldn’t have an opinion on,” she admits. “We support and smack you both depending on our moods.”

Dick shakes his head. “Well, if you must know, the dog’s name is Krypto, and his owner is very nice, and that’s all I have to say.” 

“Really?” 

No, it’s not. It’s really not, but he’s not ready to share that just yet with anyone other than maybe Wally and himself. 

“Yup,” he declares, and then he turns the conversation to what Donna has been up to since they last saw each other, and how Lian is doing at school, and also how Roy has been doing at work in the ER. 

Donna is careful to avoid mentioning Jason in what she tells him, which Dick does appreciate. Lian, on the other hand,  isn’t aware of any of the adult bullshit that has happened around her, so as she paints his nails a bright sky blue, he gets treated to stories about Papa and Uncle Jay. Dick hears stories about him taking her to basketball games, of Uncle Jay babysitting her for several days when Momma had to leave town for work and Papa had to cover a lot of days at the hospital. Dick also learns that Uncle Jay fell asleep on the couch during one of those days, dropped his laptop, ended with a cracked screen and Lian had to hold his hand while he tried not to cry. 

Dick smiles as she tells him all that, because he can picture all of those scenarios, and even though his heart breaks in two, it doesn’t shatter into a million pieces like before. 

“He had the oldest, crappiest laptop anyway,” Donna says. “Roy and I had been telling him he needed to get a new one for years now.” 

“He cried a lot,” Lian offers helpfully. “But Uncle Jay came back the next day and he had a really cool new laptop, and he wasn’t crying anymore. He told me I couldn’t tell anyone he was crying.” She pauses, then lets out a horrified gasp and covers her mouth with both hands. “Oh, no!  I told you and Momma now!”

“That’s all right, sweetheart. I’ve seen Jason cry several times, and Dick isn’t going to tell anyone, is he?” Donna says, doing her best not to laugh. 

He knows it’s not a question, and it’s not like he would need or want to tell anyone anyway, so Dick lifts one of his freshly painted hands and mimics zipping his lips. 

“Be careful!” Lian gasps, and reaches out to grab the hand. She lowers it onto the table next to the other one. She glares at them for a moment, then nods. 

“Momma, he’s ready for the shiny protective stuff,” she declares.

Donna scoots closer to where the two of them are and inspects Lian’s work. “That’s awesome, hon. Have you asked Dick if he wants to wear it outside the house? If he does, you do have to clean up a bit more before you apply a top coat.” 

Lian turns to him. “Do you want to wear it outside the house,” she says, because again, it’s not a question. Like mother, like daughter, blood be damned, he supposes. 

“Sure, kiddo, I’d love to. I do have to take it off before I head back into work the day after tomorrow, though,” he says. 

“Papa can’t wear nail polish either,” Lian huffs as she goes off to find the top coat. “Your hospital has really dumb rules.”

“I know, right?” Dick humors her. 

“That’s why I don't want to be a nurse when I grow up,” Lian declares several minutes later, when she’s done cleaning Dick’s skin and has finished applying the topcoat. 

Donna snorts, and Dick waves his hand in the air hoping it will make the clear polish dry faster. “Oh? Then what do you want to be?” he asks. 

“I dunno,” she replies proudly. “But not a nurse, and not a doctor. Uncle Jay says lady doctors can’t wear nail polish either.”

“That is also true, I’ve seen it since university.”

“It sucks real bad!

“You know, Lian, you are so right. Who would want to be a nurse or doctor when they have rules that are this dumb?” 

“Right?” she replies with a passion, and Donna starts to laugh as they all hear the front door open. 

Lian gasps. “Papa’s home!” she cries. She can’t get to her feet fast enough, and she runs out of the living room already calling Roy’s name at the top of her lungs. 

“Hey, honey,” Roy’s voice comes, and even though he’s excited to see his daughter, Dick can also hear how exhausted he is. 

“Hello, Papa!” Lian yells, and a second later, with as much enthusiasm she cries, “Hi, Uncle Jay!”

Dick freezes, and Donna stops laughing like someone flipped a switch. Dick turns his head slowly to face her, and when their eyes meet and he sees the growing horror on her face, his stomach drops 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” she hisses, and springs to her feet. “Shit. Shit. I’d toss you out the back door but we don’t have one, Dick.” She pauses. “... Unless you want to see him, that is?”

It’s a valid and rational question. It’s an adult question, rather, and Dick -being almost thirty- is an adult, which means he should be able to answer the damn question like a sensible and rational and level-headed human being… but at the same time…

“I’d rather not,” he says, but he speaks too late, and everything happens too slow yet too fast. Before Dick can do more than turn his head in the other direction, and before Donna can do more than take one step towards the door, Lian wanders back into the living room, dragging Roy by one hand… and Jason by the other. 

“Hello, beautiful,” Roy calls to his wife with a huge smile. “I’m h—” and then Roy sees Dick, and the smile vanishes. His mouth drops, and he turns towards Jason to do or say God knows what, but it’s too late. 

Jason has seen him, and Dick has seen Jason, and when Dick’s eyes meet those unique and beautiful blue-green eyes, he feels like a deer caught in headlights. 

He hopes with his entire self that a hole will open up and swallow him whole. 

“Oh,” Dick hears Roy say. “Dick. Hi… I didn’t know… I didn’t expect… Shit.”

“Papa cursed,” Lian giggles, and when Donna mutters a heartfelt ‘Fuck’ she laughs. 

“I’ll get the swear jar,” she says, voice cheerful, and dashes out of the living room again. 

“I will.. I… I’ll help her,” Donna’s voice comes. “Roy, help me help her, come on.” Donna reaches out to grab her husband by the sleeve of his jacket, and Roy calls a genuine “Sorry!” to everyone as she drags him towards the kitchen. 

Dick is vaguely aware of everything that is happening. He hears the Harpers step away, leaving him and Jason alone, and he can hear as the flurry of whispers starts coming from the kitchen, but he can’t make out a single word. His pulse is roaring in his ears, his heart feels like it’s about to burst out of his chest and he can’t feel his legs or his arms or any part of his body. 

He can’t move. He can’t speak. It’s starting to feel like he can’t breathe, and so Dick can’t help but look, and keep on looking at the man that is Jason goddamn Todd.

He looks… unchanged, but that is by no means a bad thing. Those eyes are still bright and sharp and beautiful, his hair is just as black, with that particular white streak running through it. His face is still handsome and masculine, and those shoulders are as big as Dick remembers, but he doesn’t dwell on that too much. 

The staring competition goes on for who knows how long. Dick drinks Jason up, all six feet of him, trying to get his body to move and trying to get his brain to do something -anything- useful. 

Not to his surprise, Jason manages to speak first. 

“Hey, bluebird,” he says, in his smooth and deep voice and with as much gentleness as he used to. 

Dick shudders, like there’s something slow and cold slipping down his spine. He tries to open his mouth to say something,  but no sound comes out. 

“Had an appointment at Lian’s Salon and Spa, huh?” Jason goes on, and his lips twitch in an attempt of a smile. 

When again, Dick doesn’t reply, Jason makes a vague motion in his direction. “You look gorgeous, but then again, you always do, don't you?”

Knowing he has butterfly, bow and flower hair clips arranged haphazardly and not very prettily into his tangled hair, Dick feels a snort bubbling up in his chest. 

“Well, preserving my good looks without Lian’s premiere services would be impossible, so…” Dick hears himself speak, and lets his voice trail off, amazed that he even managed to get the words out in the first place. 

There’s a moment of tense silence, at least on his part, but then Jason throws his head back and lets out a sudden and heartfelt laugh. 

“Amen to Lian’s Harper deluxe spa then,” he says, and aims a smile Dick’s way. Some of the tense lines around his turquoise eyes and lips have vanished, and more disappear as he nods at his hands. “You got the whole treatment, too.” 

“Yeah, too bad I’ll have to remove this before I go back to work,” Dick manages to speak again. He wiggles his fingers. This shade of blue does look nice against his skin. It’s a warm and bright shade of blue that reminds him of clear summer skies and high temperatures. It makes him think of days at the pool or at a beach, letting the sun soak his skin until it becomes almost unbearable. 

Above all, the color reminds him of Conner’s intense and honest blue eyes. 

“That is quite the shame,” Jason says, and Dick blinks himself back into the present. “She painted mine red a few weeks ago. She was very sad when I came over for dinner the next day and the polish was already gone. That’s when she told me she doesn’t want to be a doctor if the lady doctors and lady nurses can’t have cute nails at work.” 

“Yeah, she was telling me about that.” Dick drops his gaze as he says it, and instead stares at the pretty shade of blue on his nails. 

An awkward pause follows. Dick isn’t strong enough to look up at Jason again, but then he thinks that if he has to say something, he knows just the thing. 

“I heard about your laptop. Sorry about that,” he says, voice muted. 

Silence, again. Dick stubbornly keeps his gaze down, but he hears Jason shift where he’s standing. He hears clothes rustle, then a long and sharp intake of breath. 

“Thanks. Everyone keeps telling me it was about time I changed it, so…” Jason clears his throat. “What about you, bluebird? How have you… been? Any… any fun stories to share?” 

The words are innocent and kind. Sweet even. The way Jason says them, so unexpectedly gentle and like he genuinely wants to know… 

It unnerves Dick. It sends another chill down his spine, this one more unpleasant than the last one. His stomach feels heavy like lead, and underneath all that there is confusion because… why on Earth is Jason asking those questions?

It doesn’t take long for the confusion to turn into annoyance, one that Dick suspects will lead to anger if he doesn’t get out of there in the next second or earlier. 

“Sorry, I have to—” Dick starts, and praying that the nails are dry enough by now, he starts picking the clips out of his hair. Feeling like his fingers have turned into sausages, Dick pulls out the first set of clips and lets them clatter down onto the coffee table. He gets to his knees as he does so, is getting to his feet as more clips hit the table, and he has to move, and he has to do it fast because he has to leave, leave, leave leave —

“I can help,” Jason’s voice comes. Dick turns in the direction of his voice almost automatically, and when he sees Jason’s big hand reaching towards him, the annoyance spikes all the way up to fury. 

“ No ,” he hisses, and takes two steps away from Jason. “No, no, no. Don’t touch me.”

Jason’s hand freezes midair. “Blue—” 

“No, don’t touch me, Jason, and don’t call me that.” Dick runs his fingers through his hair, and when they don’t hit any metal, he lets out a small sigh of relief. He takes a deep breath, gathering enough courage with it to raise his gaze… and when he does, he wishes he hadn’t. 

Jason has lowered his hand, but he’s balled it into a fist. His face is open, and while there’s a flash of surprise there, mostly Dick sees… what? What does he see? 

Caution? Yes. Pain? Maybe. 

… Regret? 

It couldn’t be. It better not be. 

There is no way Jason is looking at him with regret, is there? There is no way. What would Jason be regretful about? 

Well, he could be regretful about seeing Dick in that moment, about talking to him in the first place, but he could also be regretful about the fact that he’d even gotten involved with him in the first place, many months ago. 

It has to be one of those, or all of them. It has to be, because otherwise, Jason is looking at him with regret because Jason… what? Because Jason…  wants him? Misses him? Because Jason… 

No, he’s not letting his brain tgo any further. He’s not letting himself think of anything besides the ridiculous things he has already conjured up. 

He won’t think about anything else, because it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. It can’t matter. He won’t make the same mistakes he made with Bruce, not if he can help it. 

“I…” he starts, and he doesn’t know what to follow up with. Silence stretches between them, now both of them unsure on what to do or say, but then Dick’s brain reminds him that he can’t be there, he won’t be there, and he has to leave, now. 

“You look great, Jay,” is what he hears himself say, and heads for the kitchen without waiting for a reply. 

The Harpers are huddled around their kitchen island when Dick bursts in, Lian sitting on a high chair next to her parents with a glass of juice in her hand.

“Hi, Dickie,” she says, and Donna and Roy stop whatever whispering they had going and lift their heads. 

“Oh, hey, Dick,” Roy says. He offers him a weak and artificial smile. 

“How did it go?” Donna asks, almost at the same time, with almost the same smile. 

Dick’s heart is still hammering in his chest. He’s starting to feel dizzy. “I-I have to go.” 

Donna’s smile fades. “That well?”

Did it go well? Maybe it did. It may have gone horribly wrong. He doesn’t know, because the only thing he knows is that he can’t be in the Harper house anymore. 

“I’ll see you guys around. Bye, Lian,” he calls, and turns on his heel. 

To get to the door he has to go back through the living room. He almost runs into Jason, who is now heading towards the kitchen, but manages to sidestep him in time. 

“Hey, Dick,” Jason says, and against his will, against his better judgement… Dick stops. 

“Yes?” he asks, and gathers enough courage to turn and face him. 

Jason hesitates, then braces himself. 

“It was good to see you, beautiful,” he says, and after another hesitation he adds, “I’ll see you around?”

Dick wants to crawl up the walls, or throw himself off the closest roof. 

“Yes. See you around, Jason,” is all he can reply, and can’t get to the front door fast enough. 

Chapter Text

It’s easier to breathe the next day. It’s easier to think and forget as he gets out of bed the next morning and goes on about the chores on his list for his day off. 

The morning goes by, then the afternoon, and it’s easier to remind himself that he shouldn’t be angry with Jason or himself as he leaves his house and decides he needs to take a walk.  

While it’s easier to remind and tell himself to calm down as he gets further away from his home, the confusion and the annoyance are still there, and it doesn’t look like they will go away as fast as he would like. 

He’s several blocks from his home and has no real idea of where he’s going exactly, when his phone goes off. 

Dick pulls out his phone and keeps walking. He thinks about hanging up or ignoring the call, but when he sees Conner’s name flashing across the screen, he comes to an abrupt halt. 

Conner is calling him? Of all the weird things that could have happened today… 

“Hey, handsome,” Dick says, bringing the phone up to his ear. “I thought you said you didn’t like phone calls.” 

“Oh, he loathes them,” a voice says on the other side, but it’s not Conner’s. The voice clears its throat. “So… you think he’s handsome?”

Dick pauses. “... Tim?” he ventures, just as another voice on the other end lets out a frustrated, “Tim, come on.”

“No, no, you stay busy with your fancy ingredients and fancy dishes. I’ve got this,” Tim says, and makes a shushing sound before he speaks directly into the phone again. “Hi, Dick! I’m guessing you’re not working right now, since you picked up your phone?”

“I’m… not, no.”

“Awesome. Are you busy?”

“... Not really, no.”

“Great. Do you want to come over to the station? CK’s practicing his ratatouille.” 

“... What?”

“Jesus Christ, give that here,” Conner’s voice sounds far away. There’s some rustling, Dick hears Tim cursing, and then Conner seems to regain control of his phone. 

“Hello, Gr— Dick,” Conner says, and he doesn’t sound particularly happy. 

“Hey, Conner.”

“I’m very sorry about this. I had my phone on top of one of the kitchen counters and I was thinking about texting you but then Tim took everything out of context—”

“Me? Ain’t that the pot calling the kettle black!” Tim screams in the background. 

Conner ignores him. “—and then he called you and asked stupid questions. I’m sorry, Dick.”

“No worries, big guy.”

Conner clears his throat. “Right, okay. I hope you’re having a good day, Dick. I… I will talk to you soon. Or text you soon. Bye.”

“Bye?” Dick echoes. “Wait, wait.”

Conner actually stays on the line. “Yes?”

“What do you mean ‘bye’? You can’t just hang up on me now.”

“Why not?”

“What is this I hear about ratatouille?” 

There’s silence on the other end of the line, followed by a very soft sigh. “Don’t ask me that question, Dick. I’d rather not answer it“

“Hey, Tim was the one that brought it up.” 

“Yes, yes he was. Unfortunately.”

“Yes, and he said you were practicing your ratatouille. What does that mean? I thought you already knew how to make ratatouille.” 

“I do,” Conner says glumly. 

“Then why are you—?”

“I will kill, Tim, I swear,” Conner mutters. “Gr—Dick. Dick. Are you free and close to the station right now?”

Dick perks up. He doesn’t think he is, but that can be easily remedied. “Yeah, I am.” 

“Then… uh… would you like to—- I mean, if you want to and you can… you can—”

“Come over and have dinner with us!” a new voice yells. This one is female, and a giggle follows soon after. Dick guesses it’s Cassie.  

“Quiet down!” Conner says, and it's the loudest Dick has heard his voice. “Sorry, Dick. Uhm, but yeah, what they said.”

Dick smiles. “I’d love to, Conner, thank you for the invitation.” 

“No need to thank me,” Conner answers, voice gruff. 

“Should I bring anything?” 

There’s another short pause. “Yeah, actually you should. Can you get two big bottles of orange soda for the rest and an iced tea for me?” 

“Sure thing, chef. I’ll be there soon.”

“Thank you. See you soon, Dick,” Conner says, but before he hangs up Dick manages to hear someone screeching, “You big oaf! This is where you tell him to only bring his gorgeous self here!” 

“Why would I—?” Conner starts, but the call cuts off before Dick can hear the rest. 

“Orange soda and iced tea it is,” Dick says to himself. He smiles down at his phone, then glances around to figure out where the hell he is and how long it will take him to get to the station. 

The fire trucks are gone and there's only one ambulance inside the station by the time Dick makes his way there. It's eerily quiet as he steps inside, and after seeing the gear racks empty, he realizes he probably just arrived too late to the invitation. 

“Hello?” he calls out anyway. 

There's silence for a couple of seconds, followed by the sound of nails against the floor, and Krypto comes dashing down the flight of stairs at the back of the station, barking. 

“Hi, buddy!” Dick calls, stepping further inside. He kneels and sets the drinks aside. Krypto skids to a stop a foot away from him, then inches closer, sniffs him, and once he deems Dick familiar enough, he crashes against his chest, wagging his tail from side to side.

“It’s so good to see you! I missed you the other night. How are you?” Dick mumbles, hugging Krypto to him and rubbing his ears and head. The dog licks his cheek and lets out another bark. “You’re good, huh? You look good, buddy. I’m glad you’re doing okay. Your dad is still feeding you the chicken stuff every day?”

“I don’t feed him chicken every single day, only a couple of times a week. Sometimes he gets beef broth instead of chicken, though. Depends on what I have in the fridge,” Conner's voice comes, and once he hears his owner's voice, Krypto wiggles away from Dick and goes to find him. 

Dick’s eyes follow Krypto as he waits for Conner to come down the stairs. Once Conner is on solid ground, Krypto barks happily and presses his snout against Conner’s leg… or his bare calf, which leads to a bare knee and then a sliver of thigh because Conner is wearing loose shorts and— 

Dick swallows hard as he takes in what Conner is wearing above the waist. It’s clear he has already worked out for the day at some point before Dick got the call, but it’s also clear that he hasn’t changed. While the shorts are loose and certainly not tight and hiking up over his big thighs, Conner’s shirt is… is… well, could it even be considered a shirt?

Yes, it is a shirt. A tank top, rather.  It's navy blue, with Opal’s fire department shield plastered across the front, but it’s one of those tank tops that hangs loose and has holes for the arms and neck that are way too big. 

Then again, Conner’s chest and arm need big holes, Dick thinks to himself, unable to look away from the front of the shirt because… good lord, he’s pretty sure those pecs would make a damn good pillow, and he’s also pretty sure there’s a hint of nipple on the right—

Dick shuts his eyes and turns his head away before his thoughts go any further. His head spins, and one of his hands shoots out to steady himself on the ground. He brings his other hand up his face, but it’s not like that will hide the blush. 

“You okay?” Conner asks, suddenly alarmed. 

“Peachy,” Dick replies without opening his eyes. 

“Uh-oh,” Conner says. There’s the sound of shoes against the floor, and then there are fingers around one of his wrists, pulling down the hand that had been covering his face. 

“Did you get dizzy?” Conner asks. He sounds way too close. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that he’s kneeling in front of Dick right now. 

“I'm okay,” Dick says. 

“That's not what I asked. Did you get dizzy?”

“Yes,” Dick mutters. 

“What are you feeling? Lightheadedness? Is the room spinning? Are your ears ringing?”

“Conner, I'm all right. I probably just moved too fast.”

“You only turned your head, Dick. Your face is very red, too. Here, let me take your pulse. I can also grab the blood pressure mo—”

Jesus Christ, this man has no off-switch.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” Dick tries again, and takes a deep breath before he decides he’s brave enough to open his eyes. 

Conner is, in fact, kneeling in front of him. Krypto is silent and alert at his side. The tank top has slid in one or the other direction, and this close, he gets to see a lot more of the other man’s chest. 

And damn,with his  legs bent like this, Conner’s shorts hug his thighs in a way that have no business being this—

Dick squeezes his eyes closed again. 

“I’m okay. I just need a minute,” he says, before Conner can speak. 

“You don’t seem okay,” Conner points out, and there’s still an edge of alarm on his voice. 

“Can you turn your inner paramedic off for half a minute, big guy?”

The silence that follows his question is heavy with incredulity. “Dick, I’m on shift.”

“Come on, half a minute. Please? Also, I’m a nurse, remember? I can also deal with dizziness spells.”

“Yes, and as a nurse will you deny that people like us make the absolute worst patients ever?” 

Dick opens his eyes again, and he makes sure to keep his attention on Conner’s face this time. He even manages to smile. “You’ve got a point there.”

 “Let me—”

“I’ll let you help me to my feet and that’s me being gracious. I’m okay. I’m kind of pathetic, but I’m all right.”

Conner’s forehead creases in confusion, but he slides his hand from Dick’s wrist to his elbow one slow inch at a time. He holds Dick with great care as they both get to their feet. 

Dick tries not to think too much about how warm his hand is or how nice it feels. “There, I’m all good, see?”

Krypto comes closer to him and sniffs at his leg. He lets out a whimper and rubs his head against Dick’s leg. 

“Thank you, buddy. I’m okay, really,” Dick tells him, and turns back to Conner. “I promise.”

Looking conflicted, Conner lets go. “All right. I will believe you.” He hesitates, purses his lips, then bends down to grab the bags with the drinks. He picks them up, turns around and heads for the stairs, Krypto hot on his heels. “Come on up.”

Dick waits a few seconds before he follows Conner up the steps. He doesn’t linger because he’s still dizzy or lightheaded. He lingers because he gets a nice view from Conner from behind, and damn, those shorts manage to hug his ass nicely too. 

“Dick?” Conner asks, glancing at him over his shoulder from the top of the stairs. 

“Coming, coming,” Dick mutters, and makes his feet move faster.

There’s a kitchen area, a dining table with several chairs and a living room on the second floor. It’s all one big and open room, and there are only two other people up there, both of them lounging on the couches. They look up when they see Dick, who waves. Their eyebrows go up, and the three of them look at Conner, who is walking towards the stove like nothing is happening. 

“Uh, CK?” one of them asks. 

Conner comes to a sudden halt. “Yeah.”

“Is this the friend you said was going to come over to eat?”

He turns around slowly. “Yeah.”

“Ain’t you going to introduce us?” the other one asks. 

He sighs. “Hawkins, Reyes, this is Dick Grayson. Dick, these are Hawkins and Reyes.”

“Virgil,” one of them says, rolling his eyes. “Virgil Hawkins.”

“Jaime Reyes,” Reyes says, and his eyebrows go up again. “Dick?”

“Richard, but that just makes me sound boring,” Dick says, and offers his best and most dazzling smile. “Thank you for having me. I hope I’m not intruding too much.”

“Ah,” Virgil muses. “Well, that’s a very pretty smile and a very pretty face, isn’t it, CK?”

Conner freezes again, but he looks at Dick from top to bottom. The once-over is as skittish as the one the other night, and he turns his head to one side once he’s done… appraising Dick. “Yes, Dick is very good-looking,” he replies in a monotone before he turns towards the kitchen. 

Dick’s heart skips a beat. “Why, thank you for the compliment,” he calls, and Conner hunches his shoulders in what is probably embarrassment. 

“That is a high compliment coming from him,” Jaime says, laughing. “And you’re not intruding at all, Dick. Thanks for the sandwiches the other day, by the way. CK is our cooking guy and I don’t think the food is ready, so if you want to come and sit with us while—”

“No,” Conner cuts in. “No, no. Kitchen, Dick. With me. Now.”

Conner’s tone leaves no room for argument. Virgil and Jaime exchange a surprised glance. Dick ignores the little thrill down his spine as he says, “Yes, sir,” and walks over to where the kitchen is.

“What do you want me to do?” Dick asks, watching Conner pull the drinks out of the bags. 

“There is nothing to be done. The chicken is ready and the ratatouille is almost done baking,” Conner replies, putting the drinks into the fridge. 

Dick hums. “So I can go and sit with your friends?”

“No. You stay right here with me.” 

“Afraid I’ll like them better than I like you?” Dick teases, but honestly… he should know better by now.  

Conner spares the two guys in the living room a glance, then frowns. After a few seconds of thoughtful silence, he says,  “Now that you mention it, you probably would. They’re both very nice. I mean, if you’re not uncomfortable sitting over there with them for an unspecified amount of time and making small talk with two people you’ve never met, by all means go ahead.” 

“Oh.” A lightbulb goes off above Dick’s head. “It’d make you uncomfortable, if the roles were reversed, wouldn’t it?”

Conner crosses his arms and looks down at the oven. “I’ve ended up dumped and paired up with strangers a few times by people I do know, and I get tired of the niceties fairly quickly. I try not to put anyone else in that position. But like I said, if it doesn’t make you uncomfortable and if you’d enjoy sitting with them, please go ahead. There’s nothing else to do around here but wait.”

Warmth starts spreading through Dick’s chest. “You’re very thoughtful,” he says, and there’s no way in hell he’s moving from that kitchen now. After taking in his surroundings, Dick decides what to do. 

“So how come you’re here, and they’re here, but Tim and the others aren’t?” he asks, and leans against the closest kitchen counter, angling his body towards Conner. 

Surprise flickers across his features, and he turns his attention to something other than Dick. “A call came in. The three of them and a few others took it.”

“But not all of you,” Dick points out.

“No, there was no need for everyone on shift to go. We’re on standby if another call comes in, or if they need backup.”

“But you don’t ride in the rig, do you?”

“Not really, no. My place is in the ambulance most of the time.”

“Because you’re a paramedic.” Dick waits a moment. “But you’re also a firefighter.”

Conner uncrosses his arms, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “That’s right.”

“Is everyone a paramedic and a firefighter?”

“No. Here only Tim and I are double-certified, but there are some states where they do require everyone working in a fire station to be double-certified. This fire station was low on paramedics, though, that’s why the two of us take care of the medical stuff more often than the fun stuff.”

Dick crosses his arms and thinks that through. “But if you want to run into burning buildings and carry people over those big shoulders of yours, you can still do that.”

“Of course.”

“And if you want to climb a really high tree to rescue a kitten you still get to go up the big ladder?”

“Naturally.”

“And then, when you come down, you can give the little old lady that lost the cat fluids and make sure she’s not having a heart attack?”

This time, Conner does smile. “You are so… imaginative,” he says, and there’s genuine amazement in those four words. “You’re so whimsical, and so spontaneous…” he shakes his head, still smiling. 

“Should I be flattered or offended?” Dick asks. He smiles back, because how can he not? 

“I… am not sure,” Conner admits. His smile widens, and he looks right at Dick, sky blue eyes sparkling. 

“You do have such a pretty smile,” he says, echoing Virgil’s words so casually, so thoughtlessly…

And Dick can’t dwell too much on those words, because the roaring of several engines reaches his ears. Krypto starts barking, and their little bubble bursts so fast it might have never been there in the first place. 

“Ratatouille! Ratatouille! Ratatouille!” someone starts chanting downstairs as soon as the engines are turned off. The chant continues and gets closer by the second, and Dick isn’t surprised when Bart is the one who zooms up the stairs, still chanting the word like a prayer. 

“Is it ready? Is it ready?” he asks, rushing over to the kitchen. Krypto barks and rushes towards him, and Bart turns his attention to the dog without a second thought. “Hello, buddy! It’s good to be back. Is the food ready? Can we eat now? I’m starving. I bet you’re starving too. Hey, let me go get your bowl. It won’t be fair if we eat but you don´t…” Bart continues babbling as he turns around and heads in another direction. Krypto jumps up and trails behind him, both of them happy at the mention of their respective foods. 

“How old is he?” Dick asks, somewhat mesmerized. 

The oven pings. Conner reaches for a pair of mittens. “Twenty-two going on twelve,” he says, and while his tone is neutral, the pain on his face speaks volumes. 

Dick laughs. “He seems like he’s a lot of fun.”

Conner grunts. He motions for Dick to take a step back, and once he does, Conner opens the oven and reaches in to grab the sizzling baking dish inside. 

“To you, maybe, but not for the old guy that’s thirty-two going on seventy,” Tim says cheerfully, coming up the stairs and heading straight towards them, Cassie by his side. . 

Dick blinks at the new bit of information. However, before he can comment on it, the rest of the firefighters who had gone on the call clamber up the stairs. They all pause and notice Dick, but they are quick to move and join Reyes and Hawkins by the living room area. They all begin talking in hushed tones as soon as they’re grouped up, which Dick doesn’t find suspicious or anything. . 

“Like you’re any better,” Cassie says, ignoring everything and rolling her eyes. 

“Yeah, you’re worse. You are thirty going on sixteen with those rampaging hormones that you have,” Conner says. 

Cassie gasps, pleased.  Tim narrows his eyes and crosses his arms. “Fuck you, Kent.”

“I mean, at this point I think even I could get someone to sleep with me before you do, Drake,” Conner goes on. He looks concerned by the possibility as he pulls a dish overflowing with grilled chicken from somewhere. 

Tim and Cassie exchange a glance, and then Cassie tries very hard not to stare at Dick. Tim, on the other hand, suddenly smiles like the cat that ate the cream. 

“You might be right, CK. Some people might find you sweet and nice and all that, and attractive enough to sleep with,” Tim muses. “Wouldn’t they, Dick?”

It’s a trick question. Tim knows it, Dick knows it, and judging by the gleam in Cassie’s eye, she knows it too. He’s being called out front and center, right in front of Conner’s nose, and what is he going to say? Is he going to lie?

Staring at the low neckline of Conner’s tank top and at his arms while the firefighter takes off the oven mittens and puts them back in their place, Dick knows that lying would be a very stupid thing for him to do right now. 

“I think—” he begins, but Conner cuts him off with a sharp yell of, “Food’s ready!” 

It’s mayhem. Dick manages to take a step back before Bart materializes out of nowhere and everyone else in the fire station follows, voices rising in excitement. Conner manages to place the big bottles of soda next to the ratatouille dish while everyone is grabbing plates and dumping big spoonfuls of food into them, and then he comes to stand next to Dick, two empty plates in his hands.  

“Thigh or breast?” he asks. 

With Conner standing there in his excuse of a workout outfit, Dick bites down the urge to answer ‘both’. 

“Whatever is left after they’re done,” he says instead, nodding towards the chaos at the table. 

“Okay.” Conner dives back into the fray without a single drop of fear. He emerges soon after, the two plates piled up with chicken and the ratatouille and a couple of forks. 

“Come on, let’s head upstairs,” he says. “Can you grab the drinks?”

Dick nods. He pulls Conner’s iced tea out of the fridge and gets a glass of orange soda by one of the unknown firefighters. The two of them and a few others head towards a second flight of stairs, while most spread out around the dining table or amble back to the living room area. 

“So no family dinner?” Dick asks. He had expected everyone to sit around the table to chat about their day while they wolfed down their food. 

“Not usually, no,” Conner replies, and leaves it at that. 

Dick climbs the stairs behind Conner again, allowing himself some more glances at the back of his body, invisible hands tracing lines down the bare skin he can see. He’s not proud of himself for doing it, but Conner doesn’t seem to notice at all… which he doesn’t know if it’s good or bad. 

They reach the end of the stairs and walk out to the firehouse’s rooftop. The space is flat, big and square with concrete low walls surrounding the edges so no one falls off. There are a few garden chairs and plastic boxes spread around. 

“Do you come here to sunbathe after your workout sessions?” Dick can’t help but ask as Conner guides him to one of the corners, shuffling some chairs with one foot so the chairs end up facing each other. 

“I’m never too long up here to sunbathe, and that’s not very healthy anyway,” Conner replies. “Sit.”

Dick sits and puts the drinks on the floor. Conner hands him his food and goes to search for one of the plastic boxes. He returns with one, places it between them like a table and puts the drinks on top. He sits down with his own food and starts eating without saying anything.

Dick contemplates him, amused. “I have so many questions for you right now.”

“You always have questions for me, Dick. Aren’t you bored of hearing me talk?” Conner asks, but there’s no malice in his words. 

“On the contrary, Conner. Everytime it feels like I just need to hear more about you,” Dick says, and there it is, the same feeling he’d had the night at his house. There it is, the itch right under his skin to know more, to hear more, to have more of Conner, however he can. 

Conner sighs. “Okay, ask away. What do you want to know about today?”

Dick decides to start with the easy question. “So you’re thirty-two?”

As expected, it throws Conner off guard. “Uh, yeah?”

Dick raises an eyebrow. “Huh.”

“Why ‘huh’?”

Dick ignores him. “So you’re much older than Bart. Are Tim and Cassie your age?”

“Those two are a couple of years younger.”

“But you said you and Tim went to university together.” 

“I got held back a year in high school during my… problematic phase. Tim is smart, so he graduated really, really early.”

Dick tries to picture a younger Conner, angry and explosive and aggressive, but he doesn’t get very far. “I still find it difficult to imagine that you had a problematic phase in the first place. You’re so damn cool, Kent.” 

“Thank you, I think.” He looks down at his food, then shakes his head. “I’m not sure what’s better, though. Before people would tell me that I needed to be more serious, a lot calmer, a lot cooler. Now, sometimes it seems I’m almost too serious, too calm and too cool. It’s confusing.”

“You have to tell me who is saying all this stupid stuff to you, Conner,” Dick says, and when Conner blinks at him in confusion he adds, “So I can go and knock them on their asses, of course.”

“Why would you—” 

“Because they’re being rude, and mean, and they have no business telling you that you’re weird or too little something or too much of another thing. Weren’t you telling me a few days ago that  it’s okay to be a flawed human?”

“Oh, yes, and I meant everything I said, of course.”

“Then don’t listen to that type of bullshit from anyone. Anyone and everyone that has ever told you you’re too much of something or too little of something can suck on it. If I and everyone else can feel whatever we want and have the right to it, you have the damn right to exist as you are, and no one can make you feel bad for it,” Dick says, and maybe he sounds too heated, and maybe he’s overreacting, and there’s probably a lot more to Conner than he knows, but…

But it seems so unfair. Conner is handsome, sweet, and caring, and he makes awesome food. He’s such a good dog dad and very dedicated to his job. Sure, he doesn’t get a lot of Dick’s jokes and yes, he’s intense and maybe takes himself too seriously, but so fucking what? It all adds to his charm, and Dick is happy to take a swing at anyone who says otherwise. 

“Thank you, Dick, that is… very nice of you to say,” Conner murmurs, but he doesn’t take his eyes off the ground. 

“I mean it, Conner,” Dick says, “And for what it counts, I think you are awesome. I’d even say you’re delightful.” 

Conner snorts. “Delightful? Really?”

“Yes, really. I also think you’re adorable.”

“I’m too old to be considered adorable.”

“You call me pretty, I get to call you adorable.”

“Those are not the same things at all,” Conner huffs. 

“Both are compliments,” Dick points out, and before Conner can argue he adds, “And anyways, back to the topic at hand. Can I just say, you look a lot younger. I wouldn’t have guessed you were even thirty.” Honestly, Dick would have put Conner closer to Bart’s age than his own. He looks very young, the illusion probably aided by how clean-shaven he always seems to be. It also seems very interesting how most of the time Conner does act like a tired old man, but there are brief moments where he seems very young, shy and confused by the world around him. 

“Thank you, I guess. My brother and I get that a lot. People back home would tell Clark every time he came back to visit that he hadn’t aged a day,” Conner says. He pauses, and there’s a moment of hesitation before he throws Dick a concerned look. “Are you feeling alright?”

The question comes so far out of left field that Dick needs a moment to make sure he heard right. “W-What?”

“Are you feeling okay?” Conner repeats. 

“Y-Yes. Yes! Why wouldn’t I— why do you think— what?” Dick has no idea where this is coming from. 

Conner nods in his direction. “You haven’t touched your food. Maybe you’re not hungry? Because of what happened earlier? Are you getting dizzy again? Nauseous?” 

“Wait, what happened ear—? Oh.” Dick glances down at his plate of delicious-looking food. For a moment he had forgotten it was there. “No, no, I’m fine.”

“You don’t have to eat the food. If you’re not feeling well, it might not be a good idea to—”

“No, we’re not doing this again,” Dick interrupts, scooting his chair closer to Conner’s. Without thinking too much about it, he places one hand on Conner’s knee and gives a soft squeeze. Conner jumps slightly at the touch, but when he doesn’t jerk away, Dick squeezes again. 

 “Turn it off, Conner. I’m okay. I honestly forgot this was here for a second. I got too wrapped up in what we were talking about.”

“That makes no sense. We weren’t even talking about anything particularly interesting.”

“I disagree.”

“Of course you do.” Conner frowns down at the hand like he always does. After a few seconds, he sets his plate aside, then grabs Dick’s hand with his own and brings it up to his face.

Dick’s heart feels like it stops again. He leans back in his chair, balances his plate on his lap and lets Conner turn his hand to one side, then the other. When his hand turns at a particular angle, he realizes what has caught Conner’s attention. 

“Blue looks nice on you,” he comments.

“... Thank you.” Dick’s heart starts beating again. He wiggles his fingers, Lian’s handiwork still on full display. Looking at it reminds him of what happened yesterday, and he doesn’t want to relive it again, but he doesn’t want to take it off until the very last moment. 

“Does the color remind you of anything in particular?” Dick asks, deciding to focus on one of the few good things that came out of his visit to the Harper house. 

“It looks like the sky on a nice and clear day.”

“That’s what I said, too. Anything else?” 

“No. Should it?” 

Feeling bold, stupid and also a tiny bit haunted, Dick leans forward a bit more. He raises his other hand, holds it up next to Conner’s face. “I think this color resembles your eyes, too.”

Conner turns his head. He grabs Dick’s raised hand with the one hand he has free, looks at the nails on the second hand for a moment, then brings it closer to his face. “You seem so sure.”

“I… I am. I’ve spent a good amount of time looking into these baby blues as of late. The talented lady who did my nails pulled out this bottle and your eyes were one of the first things I thought of when I saw it.” He manages to get words out without a single stutter or voice crack, but he can feel his heart hammering against his chest. 

Conner drops his gaze as soon as Dick says that. It’s very much what he figured would happen, and with how close his fingers are to touching Conner’s face, all he wants to do is reach out, touch his cheek. He wants to trail his fingers slowly down to his lips, his chin. He wants to tilt Conner’s face upwards, wants to get another glimpse of those wonderfully clear blue eyes, maybe even get closer and…

And then the sirens go off at the station. 

Conner stiffens. Dick can feel and see the switch flip in his mind and body. The lines of his body tense up,  his jaw tightens, and he’s on his feet in a second, his hands still tight around Dick’s. 

Around them, the people who came up to the rooftop with them are already running down the stairs. Some empty plates of food are forgotten, others are being carried down by the firefighters. 

“I have to go,” Conner says, and he squeezes Dick’s hands.

“I know,” he replies.

“I can’t leave you here. Captain Smith barely authorized me to have a visitor, mostly because Cassie and Bart bugged him until he gave in before the earlier call came in.”

Of course he’d gotten official permission from his captain. “I know, big guy. I understand. I’ll leave right with you.”

“If you want to take the food I can get you a bag—”

“Move along, Kent. I’ll keep him company until you get back,” Tim says, popping up from behind. 

Conner whirls. “We should both—”

“I already heard what the call is about. They’ll need you and Cassie more than me. Go on, CK, otherwise they’ll leave you behind.” 

Conner lets out a sound of frustration. His eyes flicker between Dick and the stairs. “I’m sorry, Dick,” he says in the end, and then he runs towards and down the stairs, calling Krypto’s name as he goes. 

Conner disappears into the building. Both Dick and Tim wait in silence,  both of them listening to the same sounds: sirens blaring, engines turning on, screams and calls of the fire personnel, even the sound of Krypto’s barks floating up to the rooftop. 

It doesn’t take long for the sounds to dwindle and fade away. Once the firehouse is quiet as it had been less than three minutes ago, Dick turns to Tim and rubs the back of his neck with his hand. 

“So I guess I’m not leaving yet,” he says. 

Tim smiles. It’s a playful yet lethal smile. “‘Fraid not, Dick,” he says, and sounds everything except regretful. “Why don’t we go downstairs and sit down? I think you and I can keep ourselves busy until everyone comes back.”

Chapter Text

Tim tells him to warm up his food before they settle down at the dining table. Some firefighters have stayed behind again. Four other people mill around the kitchen, then a couple head downstairs and the other two head back up to the roof. 

Dick waits next to the microwave while his plate whirls inside. Tim is already sitting down at the dining table, and he’s pouring each of them a tall glass of orange soda. 

“I heard you and Conner are double-certified,” Dick says. It’s an attempt to stall the conversation he is sure Tim wants to have.

“We are,” Tim replies with a proud smile. “I’m sure you’ve been able to tell I’m more suited for the medical side, though.” 

“I don’t know about that. You wouldn’t be here if you couldn’t carry people out of burning buildings like the rest of them, would you?”

“Can I do it? Yes. Is it the best idea to have me do that? Maybe not.” Tim shakes his head. “Somehow I always make it through the annual fitness exam and I manage to keep the double certification, but I’m happy to leave the action-packed stuff to the big and strong people.”

“Is Bart going to be one of those big, strong people?” 

“Once he’s been in the job long enough, you bet he will.” Here, Tim pauses. He grabs his glass of soda, takes a sip, and looks at Dick over the edge. “I doubt he’ll be as big as CK, though.”

The microwave stops and beeps. Dick pulls his food out. Images of Conner in his shorts and tank top flash vividly behind his eyes as he walks towards and joins Tim at the table. “He is a big guy, all right,” he agrees. 

“Easier to see when he’s out of uniform, isn’t it?” Tim asks, and the question is way, way, way too casual. 

“I feel like that is a trick question,” Dick says. “And that’s the second one tonight. Are you trying to get me to confess to something in particular, Firefighter Drake?”

“I mean, if there is something to confess…” Tim trails off. He shrugs and gives Dick another look that is way too casual to be genuine. 

Dick hums. “Is it just my imagination or do you seem weirdly invested in whatever Conner and I have going on?” 

He half-expects Tim to deny the claim or ignore it altogether. He’s surprised when, instead, Tim shrugs again.

“It’s not your imagination. I am weirdly invested, and so is Cassie,” he admits. “CK always gets a front-row seat to whatever shenanigans she and I end up in, but he never has anything interesting going on in his personal life. Now that you’re in the picture, though…” he trails off again. He leans his forearms on the table and inclines his body forward. “What, exactly, do you two have going on?”

It’s such an earnest question -filled with genuine curiosity and the clear objective to use whatever Dick says to scheme further or tease Conner- that Dick ends up laughing. He can easily picture himself and Wally having this exact conversation. 

“Maybe you’re asking the wrong person. Shouldn’t you be asking your friend what’s going on?” Dick asks, because he’s not going to give in so easily. 

Tim makes a face. “Do you think I haven’t tried? I wouldn’t ambush you  if CK would share anything interesting about you with me, but he doesn’t, and he’s a stubborn idiot, so here I am, because so am I.”

Dick chuckles. “Have you thought that maybe there’s nothing interesting to tell? Maybe that’s why he’s not saying anything to you.”

“Ha!” Tim retorts. He shakes his head. “Oh no, no, Grayson. No, sweet and pretty Grayson. You have no idea, no idea at all. Look,if there were nothing to tell, you wouldn’t be here with me right now. If there were nothing to tell he wouldn’t have asked you to come here in the first place. In fact, if there were nothing to tell he wouldn’t have even—” Tim cuts himself off, and blinks at him. “Wait. Did he tell you why he made ratatouille for everyone at the firehouse tonight?” 

“I did ask, but he said not to ask him that question because he didn’t want to answer it.” 

“Motherfucker,” Tim mutters, slamming his first against the table. “Don’t let him off so easily. Ask him when he comes back. Ask him until he tells you.”

“Is it that important?”

“Yes. Well, sort of. I mean… now that I think about it… shit. It depends, Dick.”

“On what?”

“On you, duh.” 

“Why me?” 

Tim flattens his palm on the table. “Try the ratatouille first. We can talk some more after you’ve had a few bites.”

Dick doesn’t argue. Now that he’s warmed it up, the scent wafting off from his plate is as good as before. Now that he has a chance to focus on the food Conner made instead of Conner himself, his stomach growls, and he digs into his food with zero reservations. He knows the food is going to be delicious. 

As expected, he’s not wrong. 

He’s never tried ratatouille before. It doesn’t matter, though, because just like the chili, he knows it’s one of the best things he’s ever had after the first bite. 

He tastes the tanginess of the tomatoes, but he also tastes the sweetness in both the tomatoes and the bell peppers. The zucchini is tender, the eggplant soft, even a bit creamy. Dick is sure there are several spices in the dish that give it its fragrance and depth, even if he doesn’t know which ones they are. 

Conner had put a chicken thigh on his plate. It’s crispy, golden, slightly charred. The meat almost falls apart the moment Dick starts separating it with his fork. Once he pops a piece into his mouth, he confirms it is as soft as it had looked. It’s smoky, zesty and rich, and Dick has to get a couple more bites in before he can speak. 

“He’s so damn good. How is he so damn good?” Dick complains. Much like the chili, the food is fresh, hearty and very comforting. It’s so evidently homemade, and more important than that, Dick can almost taste the dedication that Conner put into the meal. 

“I’d say it’s all thanks to his mom, but that wouldn’t be fair to him. He’s spent many hours in the kitchen learning to make anything you can think of.” Tim comments.

“I can almost feel the… love he puts into the things he cooks,” Dick says, and even though the word ‘love’ sounds cheesy, it also feels appropriate. 

“Oh, you can bet there is a lot of love in this meal and every other one he makes,” Tim agrees. “There’s… a lot of himself in everything he does, you know what I mean? Cooking, working, caring for his dog… I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but he’s not very good at… half-assing stuff.” 

Dick laughs, short and unexpected. “I have noticed, yeah. I mean, when I arrived I got dizzy for a moment and getting him to not take my blood pressure was… a struggle. He said he couldn’t possibly turn off his inner paramedic, especially because he was on shift.”  

“Yes, he can be a lot sometimes.” Tim taps his fingers against the table. He goes silent for a moment, and seems to be calculating what he wants to say next. Dick still has food on his plate, so he eats and waits in patient silence. This isn’t a conversation he is very happy to have, so the more he stalls, the better. 

“What do you want, Dick?” Tim asks after a while. 

Dick glances up from his food, and Tim’s gaze meets his. His mouth is curved down in worry, and he’s sitting up straight like he just asked Dick the most serious question of his life. 

“I’m starting to wonder why you care so much, honestly,” Dick says, because he has no idea how to reply to the actual question. He knows what Conner has said about Tim and can guess that Conner doesn’t feel anything for Tim other than friendship, but at this point he’s… kind of starting to wonder if maybe Tim feels something for him. 

It’s stupid, and illogical, but the idea is starting to form in his head, and now… well, now he needs to know. 

Tim purses his lips. “Don’t turn this into something it’s not, Dick.” 

“I’m not turning it into anything, Tim. I just think it’s a bit odd that you—”

“See, you are turning this into something it isn’t. Listen. I can look you in the eye and swear on my father’s life that I’m not asking you these questions or having this conversation with you for the reasons you think.” Tim says, and holds his gaze as he says it.

“Conner is my best friend, okay? He’s picked up my drunk ass from bars after I’ve had my heart broken more times than I’d like to admit. When Tinder dates have gone bad, he’s always called after receiving the emergency signal. It’s good that no one hears his end of the call because he can’t act to save his life, but he always calls me. When I need to run away from a one-night stand that has gone wrong, I know I can always crash on his couch. Whenever and every time I fuck my personal life up, I know he’s there to kick my ass and pat me on the back and tell me to move on. Do you know what I have done for him in the decade and so years that we’ve known each other?” 

Dick doesn’t reply, because this also feels like a trick question, and he gets the feeling the reply could go either way. 

“Almost nothing,” Tim huffs, and Dick’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “And you know why? He’s had one serious girlfriend whom he didn’t even like by the time they finally put themselves out of their misery and ended their relationship. After that, there’s pretty much nothing to mention. He doesn’t date very often, and he wouldn’t know what casual was even if it punched him straight in the face and broke his nose in the process. Do you see what I’m saying here?” 

Dick tilts his head to one. “I… I think I might know where you’re going. Maybe. Probably.” 

Tim groans. He taps his fingers against the table again and scrubs his face with his other hand. Dick, half amused and half confused, continues eating and gives him time. 

“Okay, let me take a page out of Conner’s book for a second here,” Tim mutters after a we seconds. “All right, look, let’s put it this way.  If you’re looking for casual sex, you’re very much barking up the wrong tree and you’ll probably get a severe case of blue balls before Conner even thinks about having sex with you. If you’re looking for more than casual sex, then you’re also fucked and not in the fun way, because casual isn’t the only thing that could hit him in the face and he wouldn’t notice.” 

Tim lets the words hang there for a moment, giving Dick a chance to absorb them before he clears his throat and goes on. “Of course, even if you’re not looking for casualness this might also not be good for you.”

At that, Dick stiffens. “And why would that be?” he asks, and he doesn’t think about the fact that he has just brushed over the mention of casual sex with Conner like that doesn’t matter, but something other than casual does. 

Tim stares at him. “So you’re admitting you’re not looking just for friendship? Or just for casual sex?”

Well, fuck. 

Dick crosses his arms. He looks away, uncomfortable, confused, unsure. He has no idea what to reply. Those are very good questions that he hasn’t even allowed himself to ask. He has no answers to give, not to his inner turmoil, and certainly not to Tim. 

“I don’t owe you an answer to those questions, and I really don’t see how any of this is your business,” Dick says, and he starts thinking it might be time he leaves. 

Tim groans in frustration. “No, you’re right. It’s none of my business, and I know I’m not saying any of this right but… but do you get what I’m saying? Or why am I saying any of it in the first place?”

“No.” Dick’s reply is curt, because even though he thinks he does, he doesn’t feel like giving Tim the satisfaction anymore. 

Tim buries his face in his hands and lets out a string of curses that Dick can’t and won’t follow. When a few minutes pass and Tim doesn’t raise his head or say anything else, Dick pushes his chair back. 

“Thank you for having me. Please tell Conner I’ll text him,” Dick says. 

“He’s a lot, okay?” Tim groans, raising his head before Dick can get to his feet. “He’s a lot, Dick. With everything he does, he gives it pretty much his all and it can be too much for some people. He gets intense and people can’t handle it. I just wanted you to know that because if you later end up hurting him because you didn’t realize you couldn’t handle it…”

“You’ll make me regret it?” Dick finishes. 

“Yes,” Tim admits. 

Dick stays where he is for several seconds. He thinks about clinging on to his feelings of offense and storming out… because what the hell was this last conversation about? He doesn’t owe Tim anything, and Tim has no right to say anything of what he just said, but at the same time… 

He does get where Tim is coming from, and if Tim could make a big fool of himself while trying to give a relative stranger a very bad and fucked up talk… 

“You could have saved us both this whole debacle and said ‘I will kill you if you hurt my friend’. It wasn’t that hard, was it?” Dick questions. He sits back down and crosses his arms. 

Tim looks up at him, surprised. He opens his mouth, then closes it, looking somewhat ashamed. 

“It sounds a little pathetic when you put it like that. He’s a grown ass man that can take care of himself and of us most of the time,” Tim mutters. 

“And yet you still wanted to give me this shitty talk, or warning, or whatever you want to call it.”

Tim pouts. “I guess so.”

“It is a little pathetic, and a lesser man might have run for the hills after whatever the hell this was.” Dick clears his throat. “I do like to think of myself as not a lesser man, though.” 

“And also because you’re not here just for friendship,” Tim says, echoing what he had said earlier. 

Dick thinks about what to answer. Why is he there? Can he answer that question, even to himself? Is there even an answer to give, or is it too soon to know what he wants? 

Nol, that’s kind of dumb. He wants Conner, that’s for sure. He wants Conner badly, going by the damn itch to just… know him, and listen to him, and touch him, and see him, and have him… 

But have him… how?

“I’m not here because I want to only be his friend,” Dick says, and he can’t look at Tim as he says it. 

He waits for a few seconds before he speaks again. “I’m not sure what I’m here for, though. I can’t tell you if I’m here for all the right or wrong reasons… but I can tell you that I will take a step back if I realize something is going wrong. I wouldn’t want to hurt him, I just want…” What? What does he want?

“I want him,” Dick admits, and it comes out somewhat defeated.

Tim snorts. “Pretty sure everyone except him knows or at least has a hint, Dick, no offense to you.”

“And that’s another thing, isn't it?” Dick points out. “Does it really matter what I want if he only wants me to be his friend?”

“He doesn’t just want— wait, no, no, I shouldn’t say that. I can’t say that… not with him, ugh.” Tim lets out an exasperated sound. “Ask him about the ratatouille and take him out on a date or something, Dick. Otherwise nobody will get any kind of answers, and if I wanted drawn-out tension I would watch those eternal broadcast shows that still run on cable.”

“Oh, my, the horror. I wouldn’t want to put you through such a hellish situation.” 

“Yes, laugh all you want, but don’t say I didn’t warn you, or that I didn’t give you chances to shoot your shot and see where it lands.” 

Dick raises an eyebrow. However, before he can ask what the hell Tim means by that, he hears the sounds of engines approaching. Their eyes meet again, but they both stay seated and quiet as the sounds get louder and closer to the station. 

“Well, that went quicker than expected,” Tim says when the engines sound like they’re about to come through the station’s open doors. He gets to his feet and beckons Dick to follow him. “Come on, I think you’ll want to see this,” 

Dick rises as well. He grabs his plate and glass and manages to leave it on an already overflowing sink before Tim tells him to hurry up. 

“Coming,” Dick mutters, and follows Tim down the stairs so he doesn’t miss whatever Tim thinks he wants to see. 

They arrive downstairs in time to see whoever is driving the fire engine pull into the designated parking spot and turn the vehicle off. The doors open and firefighters in full gear start spilling from the front and back. It’s hard to see at first, but eventually Cassie and Bart descend and start making their way towards him and Tim. Once they’re closer, Dick can see that their pants, jackets and faces are tainted with soot. Krypto breezes by, now sporting some black spots too, and quickly runs up the stairs. 

“Oh hello again!” Bart exclaims when he sees Dick. He waves his whole arm with unabashed excitement. “You’re still here!”

“He’s still here,” Cassie echoes when she sees Dick. “Could you be waiting for someone, perhaps?” she adds with a wink.

“I sort of didn’t give him the chance to leave, actually,” Tim says before Dick can reply, and then his expression turns serious. “How are you guys doing? Is everything okay?”

Bart puffs out his chest. “We are always okay,” he declares. 

“It was a house fire,” Cassie adds, rolling her eyes. 

“Any injured?” Tim asks, his tone already anxious.

Both Cassie and Bart turn serious. She shakes her head. “The kitchen roof caved in and that is going to be a really expensive thing to fix, but thankfully there wasn’t anyone in the house when the fire started. The family called us when they got home and found everything on fire.” 

“The kids were having fun cuddling Krypto and looking at us carrying the hoses and everything,” Bart says. “The husband and wife were really going through it, though. It was a really, really, really expensive kitchen and one of them forgot to turn off the stove when they left.”

“The loss of the cherry wood cabinets and dual-stacked burners will be felt by that poor couple,” Cassie adds, her face somber.  

When Tim winces in sympathy, Dick has to say something. 

“Is it just me or do you guys seem especially remorseful for these lost kitchen appliances?” he asks, and when three pairs of eyes turn to him in sync and with an almost identical expression of shock, he almost wishes he hadn’t said anything. 

“Well, this is spooky,” he says, and feels a shiver down his spine when they keep on looking at him like three frozen and appalled robots. “No, but really. Why do you look so grief-stricken? Were the appliances  that expensive? Or that good?”

Bart clutches his chest and feigns passing out. Cassie shakes her head and says, “Oh, you’ll know the price of kitchen appliances and why good ones are so important soon enough. If you stick around, that is. Won’t he, Tim?” 

Tim brings his hands together in front of his chest like he’s about to pray. “If all goes well, I think so.”

“Do you need me to give either of them a push? Because trust me, I am more than happy to give CK or this pretty nurse here a good push,” Cassie says. Her eyes sparkle, and she flexes her arm for emphasis. 

“That is a very impressive arm,” Dick concedes, and she grins and flexes her other arm.. 

“She is very good at pushing,” Tim agrees, “But here’s hoping there is no need for many more pushes because Lord knows I’m running out of ideas and patience.”

“You can’t be blaming this on me,” Dick says, like he hasn’t been denying himself until now free mental rein when it comes to Conner and what he wants with the infuriatingly attractive paramedic… firefighter. 

Tim gives him a disbelieving glance. However, before he can say anything else, they hear another vehicle approaching, and then they see the back of the ambulance pulling into the station. 

“Oh, come on over here,” Bart says, and herds Dick and the rest of them back enough for Conner to park the ambulance in a perfectly straight line.

Dick hears the door open, and it takes a few seconds, but then Conner comes around the front of the ambulance, medical bag hanging from one shoulder. He’s covered in more soot than either Cassie or Bart. 

“All good?” Tim asks. 

Conner flashes a thumbs-up. He seems ready to walk past his group of friends without further word, but then he sees Dick and comes to a very abrupt stop. 

“You’re still here,” he says, surprised. 

“You didn’t want me to be?” Dick asks, raising an eyebrow. 

Conner blinks. “What? No, no, I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant.”

“I would hope so. I mean, I still had to try the food you made, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to leave without giving you my review.”

Conner goes very still at that, except for his fingers, which play with the strap of his medical bag. “So you did eat it.”

“There was no way I wouldn’t.”

“... And what did you think?”

Thinking of what Tim had said, Dick shakes his head. “I have a better question, though. Why did you make it?”

Conner’s face falls straight away. 

“I need a shower,” he says, and beelines for the gear racks as fast as he can. 

“Well, that isn’t suspicious at all,” Cassie says. 

“It’s not a secret either. He told us why he wanted to make it today. He said it was because—” Bart starts, but then Cassie is slinging an arm around his shoulders and Tim is slapping his palm over the redhead’s mouth. 

“We’ll be off in a little while if another call doesn’t come in soon,” Tim says, and he and Cassie start herding Bart away. “I guess you’ll stick around until then?”

“If I can, sure.” Dick frowns. “What did you want me to see down here? Conner’s fine reverse parking skills?” He glances around the station as he says so, trying to find something of particular interest, but there is very little that catches his attention from the other firefighters milling around the station. People are talking and slipping out of their gear, some cleaning it straight away while others are simply finding towels somewhere. His attention then falls on the gear racks, and once his eyes zero in on Conner stripping off his jacket and pants to show the tank top and shorts underneath…

“Oh,” he says. He also beelines for the gear racks as Tim laughs and calls, “I figured!”

Conner is slipping his tank top over his head by the time Dick ambles closer. While his hand, neck and face are covered in soot, his chest is not, and Dick knows this, because as soon as the tank top is gone, his eyes are glued to every inch of skin now on display. 

Dick has known Conner is a thick and strong man. He’s known it since he’s met him and he’s gotten a visual taste since stepping into the station earlier, but he’d be lying if he doesn’t enjoy this a lot more. Conner’s shoulders and arms are even more impressive than Cassie’s as he tank top finally comes off. His chest is big, his waist narrow, and while there aren’t washboard abs underneath the clothes , the muscles on his abdomen are very solid and there are enough crevices for Dick to dip his tongue into all of them, follow the happy trail and— 

“Oh,” Conner says, jumping slightly when he realizes Dick is right there. He stays with his arms tangled in the tank top’s flimsy material and frozen above his head, and Dick drinks in his stretched out form, because how can he not? 

“Hi,” he manages to say, his brain focused on everything except the words. 

“Hello?” Conner replies, as if expecting Dick to state the exact reason why he’s now standing by the coat racks and almost invading his personal space. He lowers his arms, untangles himself from the tank top and gives Dick a curious glance as he starts wiping his neck with it. 

“Did you… want to tell me something?” Conner guesses. The tank top is thin and it doesn’t do much besides smear the soot, but he keeps wiping his neck, then his arms, then folds it and cleans his face with it. 

The muscles on his chest bulge with every little thing he does, and Dick watches him do it. He is enthralled, and fighting the very strong urge to reach out and take the cloth from Conner’s hands. Then again, with the crappy job the damn thing is doing Dick’s own hands might do a better job of collecting soot from Conner’s skin to help him clean up. 

Yes, in fact. That does sound like a wonderful idea. Since he’s there, Dick should make himself useful. He should come closer, reach both hands out and— 

“Dick?” Conner prompts. 

Dick blinks, but then he doesn’t want to do it again, because he might miss a second of this very sudden and impromptu show and there’s no way he’s going to allow that. “Mmm?” he manages to utter, and chews on his bottom lip because that didn’t exactly sound unaffected. 

Conner lets the tank top fall onto a puddle at his feet. Dick’s eyes follow its path, and then they make their way back up Conner’s thick legs and the shorts that are still hugging his big thighs and hips. At this point, they seem kind of silly. If they were in a less public setting Dick might also feel tempted to reach out to grab those and— 

“Dick,” Conner says again, louder and harsher this time. 

Dick lets out a low and guttural groan. He shuts his eyes and raises his face skyward. “Yeah, that’s me. I’m here. Hello.”

“Open your eyes and look at me.” It’s very much not a request but a command. Conner’s voice is laced with that no-nonsense tone he has when he’s in full paramedic mode, talking business and expecting his directions to be followed. 

Dick shivers. He suppresses another groan, lowers his head… and then there are fingers holding his chin. 

His eyes snap open, and Conner is right there, brow furrowed in concern. 

  “Are you okay? Your face is concerningly red,” he says, and tilts his head to one side. “Your pupils are dilated. Are you feeling dizzy again? Should we get you seated down?”

He’s close, so close, and it would be so easy for Dick to grab Conner’s forearm, pull him closer and kiss him, though Dick doubts he’d want to kiss only his lips. Sure, it’s not the best moment because Conner isn’t exactly squeaky clean right now, and the smell of sweat is in the air, but he’s right there, right fucking there and Dick really wants to— 

“I think I need to sit down,” Dick admits, and shuts his eyes again. 

“Here,” Conner murmurs. He lets go of Dick’s face but grabs his elbow and places his other hand on the small of Dick’s back. He maneuvers Dick onto what feels like a stool or bench of some kind. He lets go slowly, and as soon as he can, Dick squeezes his legs tight, props his elbows on his knees and buries his face in his hands. 

“Dick,” Conner says a third time, and this time there are hints of alarm. 

“Shower,” Dick manages to get out. It’s the worst thing he could have said because as soon as the word comes out, it’s very easy for him to imagine those stupid shorts coming off,  unspecified hands washing away all the soot and sweat and whatever else to leave Conner beautifully nude under the stream of water. 

“Fuck. Me,” Dick grits out, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. 

There’s a moment of silence, and then, “I will go get—”

“Don’t get anything, Conner. Just go and take your shower. I’ll be fine when you come out. I promise I’m not sick. I’m just being stupid.” 

“Dick—”

“Go,” Dick repeats, and he raises his eyes, knowing he will come across as very desperate and pitiful, but some things need to be done for the greater good. 

Conner’s half-extended hand twitches, and he drops it to his side, eyes widening. Whatever he sees in Dick’s face makes him flounder for a moment before he sets his face in his usual harsh lines. 

“If you’re not up and running like a healthy person when I get back, I will look you over, and if I can’t figure out what’s wrong with you, I will take you to the hospital. I will throw you over my shoulder and carry you there if I have to,” he says. It’s probably meant to sound like a serious threat. Dick’s mind doesn’t take it that way. 

“Yes, sir,” he breathes, and Conner glares at him for a few seconds before he clicks his tongue and stalks off to wherever the showers are in the station. 

Dick’s breath comes shuddering out once Conner vanishes from sight. He lowers his face onto his hands again and tries to breathe and think of anything but Conner getting naked in the shower. 

“Fuck. Me,” Dick repeats with feeling. He tries to conjure up memories about his internship at the obstetric ward back when he had first decided what type of nurse he wanted to be. Nursing school had been nothing compared to his first year in Gotham General as he learned the ropes and the actual reality of working his floor in the hospital. 

Seeing a woman give birth for the first time had left a mark on him. His senior nurse had told him that after seeing that his whole worldview would change, and she hadn’t been wrong. A lot of fluids had been involved, the pushing had made the wrong things spill out from all the wrong places, and seeing the baby’s head actually come out of the woman’s vagina had been… well, the whole thing had been a life-changing event, that was for sure.

It had gotten easier with the years, but it never ceased to amaze Dick what the female body could do. In that moment, thinking of things like those is what manages to calm him down enough for him to take a deep breath and raise his face from his hands. 

“Jesus,” he mutters. He slaps his own cheeks and looks around to ground himself. The gear racks are empty, but firefighters mill around every part of the station: cleaning their gear, their vehicles. There’s a lot of noise coming from above, so he guesses many people have gone back to enjoying the food. 

Dick hears a whine. He turns around to find Krypto trotting his way and wagging his tail. The soot on his fur has been cleaned, and he’s back to being snowy white and pale beige. 

“Hey, buddy,” Dick says. He holds out a hand, and Krypto lets out a happy sound before he dashes forward to lick Dick’s hand. After a couple of good licks, he settles himself under Dick’s arm and looks at him expectantly, ready to receive a lot of loving cuddles, Dikc guesses. 

“You look all nice and clean now. Did someone dust you down? Someone other than your dad must have cleaned you up because he’s in the shower, isn’t he?” Dick glances around the station again. “Then again, I get the feeling you've got of caretakers here. People probably line up with towels and brushes to make you look all pretty again, hmm?”

Krypto noses Dick’s leg and says nothing. Dick smiles down at him and rubs Krypto’s fur over and over again. 

“Your dad is going to kill me, you know?” Dick muses, and brings Krypto in for a hug. The dog welcomes it, and continues wagging his tail as Dick squeezes him and buries his face in the fur of his neck. 

“You might think I’m kidding, but I’m not. He is a complete and absolute menace, and he doesn’t realize it, and that makes it so much worse. You know he’s a menace though, right? You have to know. You live with him. I bet you know all his dirty little secrets too. Can you share some of those with me?”

Krypto lets out a soft and half-hearted growl. Dick takes it as a ‘hell no’. 

“Fair enough,” Dick concedes. “I think I have to know all the bad stuff before I marry him, though. He said the other day that I only want to marry him because of you, which isn’t a lie per se. It’s not like I’m actually interested in marrying him, but if I were, would you be on my side? Would you help me win him over? Or are you like those twins in that old movie that don’t want a stepmom?” 

When Krypto only lets out a questioning bark, Dick sighs and squeezes him again. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m getting ahead of myself. I’ll slow down, promise..” 

He’s still clinging to Krypto by the time Conner comes back from his shower and approaches the two of them with slow and careful steps. 

“How are you feeling?” he asks. He’s wearing a black Opal FD t-shirt and black sweatpants this time. His wet hair hangs over his forehead, and he’s got a towel around his neck. He also has a glass of water in one hand. 

“Much better, like I told you I would be,” Dick says, and to prove his point, he straightens up in his seat, being brave enough to even let go of Krypto. 

Conner’s disgruntled expression indicates he is very much not convinced. “Here,” he says, and holds out the glass. Once Dick grabs it, Conner squats down in front of him and lays a hand on Krypto’s head. 

“Give me some room, bud,” he says. Krypto steps back, and before Dick can drink the water, Conner’s fingers are on his chin again. 

“You just couldn’t let it go, could you?” Dick muses as Conner tilts his face one way, then the other. He pulls out a tiny flashlight and checks Dick’s eyes with it. 

“Just doing my job, Dickie,” Conner replies, and the nickname sends a giddy jolt down his spine. 

“I like it when you say my name like that,” he says. 

“Good. I figured it would make you react better while I did this,” Conner says. He pockets his flashlight, feels Dick’s forehead with the back of his hand, then slides that hand down to his neck. He cups Dick’s nape while he brings up his other hand to feel the pulse on the other side of his neck. 

Dick’s pulse spikes, he can’t help it. Conner’s hand feels so nice against his skin. They’re rough, but they’re warm, and there’s a strength there that lets Dick know that he could let his head loll without a care because Conner has a solid enough grip to keep him upright, steady, stable. 

“Your pulse is racing,” Conner points out with a frown, and Dick doesn’t know if he should thank the world or try to burn it down for making Conner so damn oblivious.

“Your hands feel nice,” he says. 

Conner does pause at that. His eyes flick up to Dick’s for a split second, then down. He frowns but doesn’t take his hands away. 

“I suppose I don’t need to take you to the hospital, then,” he says. 

“Don’t sound so disappointed. It’s not like you don’t go to the hospital often enough.” 

Conner sighs. “I… suppose you’re also right. Our shift will be over soon, so if you’re willing to wait a little bit longer I’d really prefer it if you let me take you ho—” 

The sirens go off. The sound of footsteps is instantaneous. Even Krypto runs off without a second thought. 

“Damn it,” Conner hisses. He meets Dick eyes again, his own filled with frustration and regret. “I’m sorry, Dick.”

“No need for apologies, big guy. You’re at work. I crashed your family dinner. It’s about time I leave.” Dick smiles. “The ratatouille was delicious, by the way. The chicken too. I really loved it. Thank you for inviting me over.” 

Conner purses his lips. He nods. “I’m… I’m glad you liked it.”

“Are you going to tell me now why you practiced making it? Why didn't you wait until you came over to make it again?”

“I told you not to ask me that question. I don’t want to answer it.” 

“You could just lie about the reason, you know.”

“No, I don’t want to lie to you about it, I just don’t want to tell you.”

“Why?”

“It’s…” Conner lets out a huff. “It’s a bit embarrassing, that’s all.” 

Dick blinks. “You, being embarrassed? What could possibly embarrass you?”

“I—” 

“CK!” Cassie hollers. “MOVE IT!”

Conner gets to his feet. “Drink the water and get home safe, Dick.” 

Selfishly, stupidly, Dick reaches out to grab Conner’s arm. “Wait. Tell me before you leave. Why did you want to practice your ratatouille?”

“CK!” It’s Tim’s voice this time. 

Conner lets out a frustrated sound. He glances down at Dick, and there’s a moment of hesitation, a moment of embarrassment, and then… 

“It had been a while since I last cooked it. I wanted… I wanted to work out any kinks if the taste was off or weird, I guess.  I really wanted you to enjoy it, so I had to make sure it was perfect before I made it for you,” he mutters, and then he’s gone. 

He goes back to the gear racks for new, clean gear, and then he’s going back to the ambulance and to his job. 

It doesn’t take even a full minute for everyone to be ready and aboard their corresponding vehicles. Tires screech and sirens blare as the firetrucks and ambulance speed out of the station. 

Dick’s heart is still beating fast and hard by the time silence falls over the station again. With Conner’s words ringing in his head, he gets to his feet. 

I really wanted you to enjoy it.  

I had to make sure it was perfect before I made it for you.

Jesus Christ. Dick might have to stop by the hospital on his way home after all.

Chapter Text

“You are so fucked,” is the one single conclusion Wally comes to when Dick finishes telling him about how one day he ran into Jason and the next day he had a very special and enlightening afternoon at the fire station. 

“Fuck you,” Dick replies. 

“No, fuck you, dude.” Wally hums. “You are fucked, Grayson, but you’re not getting fucked the way you want to, so maybe that wasn’t the best choice of words. My apologies.” 

“Fuck you,” Dick repeats. 

Wally salutes him with his hospital cup of crappy jell-o. “Hey, don't take it out on me. It’s not my fault you haven’t managed to jump the paramedic’s bones or sweep him off his feet. Last I knew, he was only coming over for a friendly dinner because you wanted to be his friend and nothing else.” 

Dick takes a sip from his thermos. “It was a really great night, okay? And the day at the station was also great.”

“But you haven’t fucked.”

Dick takes another sip of his coffee. “That is none of your business.”

“No, it’s not, but I’m asking anyway because what is up with you and this guy? If you only wanted to get laid, you of all people would have already gotten what you wanted. You haven’t, and you’re telling me about nice conversations you’ve had and how good of a cook he is and how concerned he was for you and you were just feeling horny. Not to mention you ran smack dab into your hot and tragic ex and you made it out pretty much unscathed? What the hell, Dick? How serious is this thing with the paramedic?”

“It’s not serious, because nothing is going on,” Dick snaps. 

Wally’s eyebrows go up. “Everything you just told me would say otherwise, smartass.”

“No, I’ve been telling you what’s been happening and going through my head, but I have no idea if he feels anything of what I feel. As far as I’m concerned, he still thinks I’m only trying to be his friend.” 

“He practiced a dish specifically for you because he wanted it to be perfect when he cooked it at your place the next time he came over… because he wanted you to enjoy his food as much as possible. Would you do that for someone who’s only a friend, with no ulterior motives or suspicious undertones?”

No, Dick wouldn’t, and Wally probably wouldn’t either. If the roles had been reversed, Dick inviting Conner over to his home would have meant something else. The whole nude situation at the station would have gone down a very different and dangerous path too. 

Then again, if the roles had been reversed or if Conner were more like people Dick had dated or slept with before, he wouldn’t have eaten as much chili as he had. He wouldn’t have allowed Conner to leave his home without getting a good fuck in either, but that is… somewhat besides the point. 

“I know I wouldn’t, but Conner is…” Dick searches his brain for the best way to put it. ‘Special’ doesn’t sound right, and ‘weird’ is out of the question, even though Conner has described himself with that word. And it’s not like Conner is a freak of nature or anything crazy or stupid. He’s just… different. He’s different from what Dick is used to, and as he thinks about his long talk with Tim, it occurs to him that Tim had already phrased it in the best way. 

“Conner isn’t very good with casual,” he ends up telling Wally, who looks at him like he spoke in tongues. 

“And what does that mean?” the redhead asks. 

Dick scrambles his brain for the best way to explain what he has experienced with Conner, and the additional perspective Tim has added. 

Conner takes himself and what he does or says seriously, too seriously, some might say, He doesn’t seem like he’s a big fan of throwing the pieces and seeing where they fall, or going with the flow and seeing where it takes him. He asked Dick point-blank if he wanted to be his friend when they first started talking, probably because he needed to know what the hell was going on and what their conversations were supposed to mean. He won’t marry Dick not because he doesn’t like men, but because he won’t marry someone he’s not dating, and they’re not dating, and wanting to share custody of a dog isn’t a good enough reason to sustain a marriage.

Looking back, Conner’s way of thinking makes sense. Of course, Dick hadn’t thought about any of it until he had pointed it out. Not to mention that the day at the station Conner had brought out the pen flashlight. He’d also been ready to get the blood pressure monitor and had taken Dick’s pulse because it didn’t occur to him that Dick could be aroused or flustered instead of sick. 

The signs had been there. Dick would have seen himself for the kind of love-struck horndog he’d been that afternoon. Conner hadn’t noticed anything, because he still thought Dick only wanted to be his friend, and why would he look for signs of attraction on a friend? Intentions were stated, lines were drawn, and Conner had no reason to look beyond them. 

“Conner doesn’t seem to be the type of person who does well with grey areas. I said I wanted to be his friend, so he’s treating me as such, and nothing else,” Dick says.

“Dick, I’ve seen you around him a minimal amount of times, and I know you’re lying.” 

“Maybe, but that doesn’t matter. I haven’t said anything. I think… I think it doesn’t matter what I insinuate or imply. Nothing will change if I don’t say it loud and clear.”

Wally frowns. “Well, that sounds kind of intense,” he mutters. 

“He is intense,” Dick agrees. 

“And you’re… okay with that? Is that something you like about him?”

Dick looks down at the table. He taps his fingers against his thermos a few times and thinks his answer through. “I… I think so, yeah.”

“And what do you want to do about this whole thing?”

Dick has been asking himself that question for the past few days. Conner has been checking in on him via text, still concerned about Dick’s attitude the day at the station. They’ve talked about other stuff too, mostly how their respective days have gone, how their patients have been. Dick has also gotten many new pictures of dishes Conner has made and of Krypto being his wonderful, adorable self. He’s been enjoying their communication very much. If he’s honest with himself, he’s been itching to see him again, to listen to his voice, to touch him if he can, or to make up any excuse to make it happen.

While his mind has had some fun at night with the memories of Conner’s half-naked body and imagining fun scenarios with a fully nude Conner… there is so much more going on inside his head 

Nothing is going on, that’s true, but Dick is itching with the need to discover if maybe something - anything - can happen if he mans up and draws a new line in the sand. 

“I want him,” is what Dick ends up saying. It’s an exact echo of what he’d told Tim, but then he adds, “If he wants me, that is.”

Wally lets out an exasperated sigh. “Richard John Grayson, he freaking cooked—” 

“That doesn’t mean anything solid, Wally.”

“Well, then you need to find out if he feels the same way you do!” 

Dick crosses his arms. “It’s not so easy.”

“The hell it isn’t. Ask him out on a date, have him come over to your house again, give him those smoldering eyes of yours, kiss him and see what happens.” 

Wally makes it sound so easy, and it would be so easy, if the butterflies in Dick’s stomach weren’t fluttering so hard. 

“I’ll get to it,” Dick says. 

“What, when you finish paying for your house?” Wally retorts, and shakes his head. “No, I won't let you. You're going to figure this out soon, and I…” Wally pauses, then snaps his fingers. “Wait I think I have the perfect opportunity to help you out and make something happen!!”

Wally’s sudden excitement is suspicious. Dick narrows his eyes, takes another sip of his coffee and looks at him over the edge of his thermos. “You do?”

“Yes!” And then, much to Dick’s surprise and puzzlement, Wally’s cheeks turn pink. He lowers his eyes to the table looking… Coy, almost. 

“Jesus, what's with that look?” Dick asks, because he and Wally might be a whole lot of things, but coy sure isn't one of them. 

“West?” Dick asks again when his friend takes too long to reply. 

Wally clears his throat and rubs the back of his neck. “Well, I was going to bring it up anyway and you sort of gave me the perfect opening just now, so…”

“Bring what up? You’re scaring me. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah! I’m totally fine,” Wally assures him, and waves his other hand back and forth, trying to soothe Dick. “It’s just… uh. Well…” 

“Yes?” Dick prompts, expectantly. 

Wally clears his throat again. “No big deal, it’s just that last week I met this girl at the deli—”

“Good for you!”

“Yes, yes, thank you. Yay me. Anyway, she seems great. I mean, our first conversation was more of an argument about the dressing on our chicken sandwiches and that didn’t exactly end on the best… terms?”

“What?”

“But then again I don’t know if it ended badly because I did get her full name and she did give me her number, so I’ve been thinking maybe I can call her up or send her a text and maybe we can revisit that conversation and—” 

Dick gasps. “You carrot bastard. You’re here giving me grief about Conner and you’ve had this girl’s number for a week and you haven’t even texted her? What is wrong with you?”

Wally glares at him. “It is so not the same situation!” 

“How is it not?”

“You and the paramedic have had something going on for a while now, Dick! I met this girl literally a week ago and we had one conversation! One!”

“And you got her number! What are you waiting for?”

Wally raises his hands up in surrender. His nostrils flare, and he shakes his head. “Well, like I said, now that you brought it up I’d like to propose… an alliance. A partnership, if you will… of sorts.”

Dick leans back on his seat and narrows his eyes. “You’re kidding me. There’s no way you’re saying what I think you’re saying.” 

“And why not? I feel like it’s the perfect moment to bring it up. Think about it, it might work out for us both.”

“Wallace West, when have you ever been scared to ask someone out on a first date?”

“Oh, talk about the pot and the kettle, Dick! Look at you with the paramedic!” 

“That is different.”

“Maybe, but then I look at the big picture and you want to know what I see?”

“Do tell.”

“I see two cowards, one worse than the other.”

“Hey!”

Wally ignores him. “But I also see an opportunity for them to unite in their cowardice and have, in my case, a fun night and a chance to see if every conversation will end in an argument. In your case I see the perfect chance to get an answer to the questions clearly plaguing you. And you know what’s the best part?”

Dick is almost too afraid to ask. “Do tell,” he repeats. 

Wally spreads his hands wide. “If we both fuck up and both our asses get kicked to the curb, then we still have each other, and we can go and drown our sorrows to the first shitty bar we come across.” 

Dick bursts out laughing. He loves how out of pocket and smart Wally can be sometimes, and while he finds this whole debacle already hilarious… he supposes his friend has indeed come up with an interesting proposal. 

“So, you want us to set up a double date?” Dick verifies. Wally nods, face set in determined lines. “Okay, let’s entertain the idea. What are our options?” Dick tries to answer his own question, and two things come to mind pretty quickly. 

“Conner doesn’t drink,” he offers. 

Wally stares. “He doesn’t drink beer?”

“Not any alcohol, from what he said.”

“Well, shit.” Wally frowns. “I don’t know if Artemis drinks, so let’s keep it more… family-friendly, I guess. Uh… wine-tasting is out of the question too, I guess.”

“Oh, that could have been a nice idea, though. A nice and slow afternoon, a dark wine cellar and expensive hors d'oeuvres.”

“It does sound nice… okay, how about you and I do that if our double-date plan goes down the toilet?”

“Deal.” 

The two of them continue discussing possible date ideas during the little time they have left in their lunch breaks. Clubbing goes out the window pretty quickly because Wally doesn’t want to be that bold, but also because Dick snorts when he tries to imagine Conner in one. Formal dinner at a fancy restaurant is also chucked out the window because that seems way too formal for Wally and his possible lady, and because Dick doesn’t want to be that bold either.

Two cowards united, indeed.  

Just as Wally gets paged, they finally agree to watch a movie and take it from there. 

“Assuming your lady and Conner agree to go out with us,” Dick points out as Wally gets to his feet and throws his trash into the closest bin. 

“Assuming that, yes,” Wally says, pointing at him. “I wish you luck, Grayson! Wish me luck too!”

“Good luck, buddy,” Dick calls. 

As soon as he’s alone, Dick pulls out his phone. He pulls up his conversation with Conner and stares at the blinking cursor for what feels like a really long time. However, his pager goes off before he manages to type a single letter, and he… well, he considers this extra time a small blessing and a curse at the same time. 

Dick is finishing his rounds the next day (and still hasn’t texted Conner anything about the maybe, possible date) when one of his co-workers approaches him and tells him there’s someone asking for him at the nurses’ station. 

“Who?” Dick asks, bewildered. Other than Bruce and Jason, no one has asked for him at the station, and if it’s either of them who have come looking for him, no matter the reason, Dick would prefer to find the closest open window and— 

“It’s a firefighter,” his fellow nurse says, and that’s all it takes for the tension to melt away from his body as he thanks his colleague and does his best not to run to the nurses’ station. 

His heart does a stupid little something when he arrives at the station and sees Conner standing there awkwardly. He’s wearing his black and neon pants, the suspenders hugging his Opal FD shirt. He’s got his jacket slung over one arm, and there’s what looks like a blue Tupperware on top of the counter. 

Dick can’t stop himself from greeting Conner with a breathless, “Well, you’re a sight for sore eyes.”

Conner jumps ever so slightly, then whirls around to face him. “Oh, good evening, Dick.” He gives Dick one of those skittish once overs. “You look… uh…”

“Shitty?” Dick suggests, voice airy and light. 

Conner frowns. “What? No.”

“I’m almost at the end of my shift, Conner. My head and feet hurt and I haven’t slept in a while. You can say I look shitty.” 

“You don’t look shitty,” Conner insists, but he seems to struggle on how to back up his polite reply. “But you do look… uhm… tired, and… and the bags under your eyes are kind of—” 

“Would have been easier to say I look like shit,” Dick interrupts him with a laugh, and walks up to stand right in front of Conner, smiling from ear to ear. 

“Hi,” he says again.

“Hello,” Conner replies, dropping his gaze to the ground. He starts taking a step back, then seems to catch himself and instead takes a step forward, leaving even less distance between them. “I… uh, how busy are you? Am I interrupting something?”

“I’m just finishing my rounds, but I can spare a few minutes.” Dick props up his elbow on the counter. “How much time do you have? To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

Conner shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “I don't have a lot of time. Mr. Bolton called us again and I… Well, Tim stayed with him until the ER discharged him and I couldn't come up before because I couldn't leave the ambulance alone… And I… I did try texting you before my shift started to see what your schedule was today. You didn't reply, so I figured you were… you know, since you can’t have your phone while you work I thought… uhm…” Conner shuts his eyes in frustration. He shakes his head a couple of times, then opens his eyes and motions to the blue Tupperware. 

“I brought you something,” he finishes, voice flat. 

Dick reaches for the container and opens it straight away to find…

Noodles. Broth. Vegetable. A mouth-watering and very comforting smell. 

 “Chicken noodle soup?” he verifies. It’s still warm. 

Conner nods. “You’ve told me you’ve been feeling fine but I made a big pot at the station and chicken noodle soup never hurts, right? So I thought… I mean, I knew I was going to come to the hospital today anyway because that’s how the job is… and I figured… if you were working maybe I could… if you wanted to have it, of course. You don’t have to take it if you don’t—” he reaches for the container as he trails off, but Dick dashes forward and snatches it up first. 

“Don’t you freaking dare, Conner,” he says, and glares at him as he hugs the container to his body. Warmth starts spreading throughout his chest, and he’s sure it’s not only because of the physical temperature of the container. “It’s mine now. Back off.” 

Conner actually takes a step back this time. “All right, all right. I guess you’ll keep it, then.” 

What other choice could there possibly be? It’s not like anyone has ever brought him food at work, and homemade food at that. Not to mention, he already knows it’s going to taste like heaven, maybe even like the warm hug Conner had given him the other night. 

Dick glares at him again. “You bet I’m keeping it, and I will warm it up as soon as I get home, and I will enjoy every single spoonful, do you hear me? Every. Single. One.” 

Evidently confused at Dick’s inappropriate threats, Conner nods again. “Uh, okay. Please do. I hope it’s good.” 

“Like there’s any question about how good it will taste!” Dick hugs the container tighter to his chest. “Thank you for bringing me this. Thank you for coming up to see me,” he says, and means every word. 

Conner looks away again. “Yes, well,” he mutters. “That’s what friends are for.”

As quickly as Dick had felt his pulse speed up, his heart stops. It’s a simple sentence, a simple phrase really, but it’s the physical, audible manifestation of something he really, really, really didn’t want to hear. 

“Yes,” he agrees, and deflates like a balloon. “Yes, this is exactly what friends are for.” 

He thinks about leaving it at that, about taking Conner’s words like an answer to the question he’s been asking himself for what already feels like an eternity. He thinks about taking this as a final and definitive answer and the drawing of another line which he might have gotten blurred enough already.

He thinks about it, he really, really does … 

But in the end, he decides he doesn’t want to give up so easily. 

“Right,” Conner says, still looking away. He draws himself to his full height and nods at him. “It’s really good to see you, Dick. I guess I’ll… see you around later?” 

“Yes, for sure,” Dick replies. Conner nods again, then turns around, and Dick’s brain yells at him to say something before it’s too late. 

“Speaking of friends… I want to ask you something before you leave,” he begins, and Conner freezes, then faces him again. 

“What do you want to know this time?” Conner asks, and today there is nothing but mild amusement in his tone and expression as he asks. 

Dick smiles. He really likes seeing more of Conner’s lighter side. “It’s kind of a long story.” 

The paramedic actually glances down at his watch. “I think I still have a few minutes.”

Dick hums. He drums his fingers against the chicken soup container and tries to think of the best way to throw the question out there. He could be direct and honest if he felt braver, but especially after what Conner has said, going the subtle, cautious road might be better for now. 

Asking Wally for forgiveness for what he’s about to do, Dick clears his throat. “Like I said, speaking of friends… you know Wally, right?” When Conner gives him a blank look he adds, “My friend? The redhead who was with me when we were trying to get rid of the Christmas tree?”

“Oh… Ah, yes, the guy that brought the chicken sandwiches with you?”

“Yes, him. Anyway, he sort of asked this girl out to the movies but we aren’t exactly sure if she will show up, so I offered to go with him as moral support in case she doesn’t.” In his head, Dick also apologizes to the woman that Wally will ask out. 

Conner frowns. “It wouldn’t be nice of her not to show up if she already agreed to go out with your friend,” he points out. 

Dick sends out another silent apology. “No, it wouldn’t, and that’s why I said I’d go with him if she bails on him,” he explains, and clears his throat again. “But you know, if all goes well and she does show up then I’ll be left hanging around by myself like a very awkward third-wheel, and I would like to avoid that if I could.”

“There are a couple of options. If she does show up then you’re free to go home, or you can go somewhere else by yourself,” Conner says, and the way he brightens at the prospect is a clear indicator that is exactly what he would do if he were in Dick’s hypothetical place. 

It’s almost as endearing as it is frustrating. 

“Yes, all right, well,” Dick blunders. “Those are actually pretty good choices but I was thinking… you know, instead of going home when Wally's lucky lady shows up, maybe if someone else comes with me, then… I have someone else to hang out with if everything goes well for my friend. And I wanted to ask… if… if you’d like to be that someone.” 

It takes Conner a moment to understand what Dick is asking; Dick can see the gears turning in his head.  Once the words and the gears click, Dick sees him go from confusion to surprise, then… caution. 

“You’d like me to come with you?” Conner verifies, making a face. 

Dick isn’t sure what the face means. “If you want to, I’d really like it to be you, yes.” 

Conner’s expression sours even more. “When?” he asks. 

Dick fights the urge to reach out and pet his head. “I’m not too sure. I have to check in with Wally about schedules and such. Not today or tomorrow, that much I can tell you.” 

At the prospect of having more than twenty-four hours to prepare, Conner’s whole demeanor changes. 

“Oh, all right,” he says, and his shoulders loosen.  “Okay, sure. I’m happy to go with you if you want me there.” 

“I very much do,” Dick states.

“Then you will have me,” Conner assures him, and even bows his head. Dick tries not to overthink the very simple reassurance. “You mentioned something about a movie, right?”

Dick nods, and Conner does the same, then glances at his watch again. 

“I have to go now, Dick. Let me know the day and the time when you have it, and if you want me to pick you up or if you want to meet somewhere,” he says, and slides his jacket back on. 

“I will,” Dick promises, watching the muscles in his arms work. 

Conner nods a third time. “See you soon, then. Pass out as soon as you can, too. Paramedic’s orders.”

“You just love handing those out, don’t you?” Dick rolls his eyes. “But yes, sir, will do. Thank you, again.” 

“It’s part of my job, that’s all,” Conner defends himself, and he gives Dick an awkward salute before he leaves. 

Dick watches him go. Once Conner disappears, he stares into the hall and clings to the Tupperware for another moment. After deciding enough is enough, he stores the food container under the desk and goes back to his rounds, thinking all the time about what he’s going to tell Wally, because of course, Wally will ask how he managed to get Conner to say yes. 

He feels a little apprehensive about how the conversation will go, but more than that, he’s just happy Conner said yes. 

They’re going on a date, even if Conner hasn’t quite caught on that little detail yet.

Chapter Text

As Dick splashes his face with cold water, he can’t help but wonder how he managed to end up with the shortest end of the stick for a date night that hasn’t begun yet. 

As luck would have it, the closest day that worked for Conner, Wally and his date was a day when he had a shift, and the time that worked for the other three gave him a window of less than an hour to wrap up everything at work and get his ass to the movie theater. 

He had found this a little disappointing. If he’d had it his way, he would have asked Conner to pick him up at home. He would have loved getting another chance to wrap his arms around him as Conner drove them to the theater. Dick finds himself at a point in which wants to take any opportunity to be as physically close to Conner as he can, and it’s sad he couldn’t start this night in the back of Conner’s bike. 

To be fair, though, Conner had offered to pick Dick up at the hospital so they could arrive together. If Dick had a more stable job with a fixed exit hour he would have agreed, but knowing it could take him any time from ten to forty minutes to make it out of the hospital, he had assured Conner he’d meet him there. 

It had been the rational thing to do, but it doesn’t mean he had to like it, and he still doesn’t like it one bit as he finishes drying his face and goes back to the locker room to change out of his scrubs. 

He pulls out his pressed tan pants and baby blue, short-sleeved button-up. He changes as fast as he can, slips into the black and white sneakers that don’t particularly go with the rest of the outfit. He sprays himself with just enough cologne to not be annoying, then he finds the closest reflective surface to pull and push at his hair. 

“Goddamn it,” he whispers, deciding there’s not much he can do because he had forgotten the tiny jar of hair gel he had purchased with the sole idea to use it today. He smooths down his shirt, gives himself a good glare, then grabs his backpack and heads for the door. 

If he’d had more time and if he’d been less worried about showing up sweaty and breathless, Dick would have taken the bus to the theater. As it is, there’s no way he’s going to greet Conner with a shiny ass forehead and possible stains under his armpits. His shirt would give those away too quickly, and he must look and act his best tonight.  

His Uber driver makes small talk as they go. Dick follows along, keeping most of his attention out the window and appreciating the warm tones that tinge the sky. He realizes he didn’t notice when it happened, but spring is here, and maybe has been for a while. The nights are shorter, the days longer. The sky is red and yellow and orange when he gets to or leaves work. There are buds of green blooming everywhere, and thankfully, the damn days aren’t as cold anymore as they used to be the last time Dick paid the weather too much attention. 

Dick ends up getting to the theater earlier than what he had expected. He fires a text to Wally as he thanks and tips his driver, then one message to Conner asking where he is. A part of him is hoping that by some miraculous reason neither Wally nor his date are here yet. He also hopes Conner is at the movie theater already, and maybe they have a couple of minutes to themselves before— 

“What happened to your hair? Where is the hair gel? Weren’t you supposed to have it all combed and pretty today?” Wally asks from behind him. 

Dick whirls, one eye already twitching. He opens his mouth to tell his friend some not nice things, but then he sees Wally in his emerald green shirt, black jeans and nicely combed and gelled hair… and he lets out a low whistle. 

“Well, well, well, look at you,” he says. Wally’s green eyes, pale skin and carrot-colored hair go very well with the ensemble. 

Wally tugs at the collar of his shirt. “Is it too much?” he asks, and it’s weird to see him being shy for once.

Dick is not a fashion expert by any means, but… “I think the jeans save you from looking like you’re trying too hard, and you look amazing, you really do.”

Wally tugs at the collar again. “Thank you. You don’t look too bad yourself. Where’s the hair gel?”

“I left it at home,” Dick replies with an apologetic shrug. 

“Hmm. I don’t think it matters much, though. If your paramedic agreed to the date with you then I’d say you’re starting the evening better than I am.” 

Dick pauses. The day he’d sort of asked Conner out, he had texted Wally the good news as soon as he had been able to. Wally had texted him back a few hours later telling him Artemis had also agreed to the date. They had started figuring out open slots in schedules and the logistics after that. Wally hadn’t asked much details about what happened, and Dick hadn’t either. 

He thinks about not telling his friends about the half-truths he told so Conner would agree to meet him tonight. He thinks if it all goes well, then no one has to know what happened… but then he decides that if things do go south, it’s better if his friend knows the whole and unedited story. 

“About that…” he begins, and tells Wally how the actual conversation with Conner had gone at the nurses’ station last week. 

Wally is surprisingly quiet as Dick recounts their conversation. When he’s done talking, Wally looks up at the darkening sky and rubs the back of his neck. 

“You know, this is the moment where I should give you hell for pulling that stunt with your guy instead of being honest,” he mutters. Dick waits for him to start giving him said hell, but after a few seconds go by and Wally doesn’t say anything else, Dick raises an eyebrow. 

“But you’re not going to,” he says, and it’s more a statement than a question. 

Wally shakes his head. 

“Oh, this is going to be good. Why not, Wally? Spill.” 

Wally bites his lip. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his nice jeans and kicks at one of the cracks in the pavement. “I.. sort of used the same excuse when I asked Artemis if she wanted to come tonight,” he admits, and his face gets almost as red as his hair in a matter of seconds. 

Dick blinks at him. “You didn’t.”

“You can’t judge me. You weren’t brave enough to ask your paramedic out straight and simple either!” 

“Oh, you are so very wrong, West. Weren’t you the one talking all high and mighty before? Weren’t you the one that had this wonderful idea in the first place?”

“I was trying to help you!”

“Uh-huh, and this was only and purely for my own benefit? You didn’t—” Dick’s phone goes off before he finishes his sentence and gets too riled up. When he pulls it out of his pocket and sees Conner’s name flashing across the screen, he holds up a hand to shush whatever was going to be Wally’s rebuttal and brings the phone up to his ear. 

“Hey, handsome,” he greets, and ignores Wally as he clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes at the sudden interruption. 

There’s a pause on the other side. “Do you always answer the phone like that?” Conner asks, sounding far from impressed. 

“No, only when I think the person on the other side deserves it.”

Another pause, then Conner clears his throat. Wally pretends to gag next to him. “Uhm. I saw your text and I did reply. I waited before I called, but then I thought maybe we might miss each other so I… I decided to…”

“Hey, I’m not complaining. I like hearing your voice.” Wally groans again. Dick keeps on ignoring him. “Are you here already?”

“Yes.”

“Where are you?”

“Not far from the theater. I found a little store and—oh, there you are.”

Dick turns, phone still in his hand. He glances around the street, trying to find Conner. The movie theater they chose for the night is on the nicer side of the city. There is a small but fancy-looking restaurant next to the theater, and across the street he sees a couple of empty lots with new and shiny window panes. There’s a small and posh boutique, a salon, and next to that, there’s a Nordstrom store… which Conner is walking out of right now. 

“Oh,” Dick says into the phone. 

“I’ll be right there.” Dick hears him in his ear, and then he sees him hang up. 

Dick watches Conner glance around both sides of the street before he crosses and makes his way to where he and Wally are standing. He’s dressed very casually in black jeans and a black t-shirt with an olive green jean jacket. He’s holding a tiny white gift bag in one hand. Compared to the grey outfit from the night Conner had come over to his house -and the basket of flowers and wine he’d brought- this is… well, Dick can admit this is a little underwhelming. 

Not like Conner looks any less handsome than usual, and his speeding heartbeat can attest to that. 

“Hello, Dick. You look very nice tonight,” Conner says once he’s close enough. The words are matter-of-fact, like it’s a statement more than a compliment.  He looks Dick up and down, spares Wally a quick glance, then stares down at himself. He grabs one of the lapels of his green jacket. 

“I’m underdressed,” he informs, with the same seriousness he’d told Dick he looked nice. 

Dick chuckles. He looks him up and down, eyes lingering on the black shirt pulled… tight enough across his chest. “Maybe,” he admits. “But I think you look great anyway.”

“Then you’re just being nice and polite,” Conner chastises. “Can I get a text for what the dress code will be next time? Please?”

“Assuming there is a next time,” Wally pipes up, and grins. “Then again, I think if it’s up to Dick a single ‘next time’ isn’t going to be enough.”

Taken aback by the fact that Wally is now speaking to him, Conner blinks. It takes a second, but then Dick can see him visibly gather himself, stand up straighter, and smooth his face into blank, amicable lines. 

“I… guess I will get lots of texts about dress codes, then,” Conner says. He hesitates, then holds out a hand. “Hello.”

Wally shakes the offered hand with lots of vigor and enthusiasm. Conner doesn’t even sway. “Greetings, fellow health care worker. I am Wally. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance at long last. Wonders have been sung in your name.” 

Dick knows Wally wants to yank both their chains, and even though he is very close to getting a rise out of him, he says nothing, because he knows Conner will end up being the one getting one out of Wally in the end. 

Delighted and strangely calm, Dick focuses on Conner, on the utter confusion on his face at the weird wording and Wally’s blinding, teasing grin. He frowns at Wally, and when a few seconds go by and Wally doesn’t say anything else, he sighs. 

“Okay,” Conner says, already over whatever Wally is trying to do. He pulls his hand back and shoves it into one of the pockets of his jacket.  “My name is Conner. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance too, I guess. Officially, anyway.” 

Wally’s smile freezes, and he shoots Dick a quick and confused glance. When Dick only gives him a smug smile back, he wags one of his fingers in front of both their faces. 

“You two,” he begins, and wags his finger again. “You two are no fun. No fun at all.” 

“I know. I get that a lot,” Conner agrees, nodding his head and making Dick laugh. 

Wally opens his mouth, then closes it. Dick can almost hear him thinking and asking himself if Conner is joking or not. 

“Dick is very fun, though,” Conner offers as a reassurance, and Wally looks even more befuddled.  

Dick beams, for more than one reason. “Why, thank you,” he says. “I think you’re very fun too.”

“And now you’re just being nice and polite again,” Conner sighs, but he almost smiles. He stops himself in time, then shakes his head and turns his attention to Wally again. 

“I hope your date shows up. It would be very rude of her not to come if she agreed to meet you here in the first place,” he says, and while his face remains serious and stoic, the sheer disapproval in his tone speaks volumes about what he thinks of the imaginary predicament. 

There’s a heavy, uncomfortable pause. When Wally gives him a dirty look, Dick thanks the heavens he came clean with him before this happened. 

“I would hope so too,” Wally mutters. He shoots Dick another quick glare, then nods at the tiny bag Conner has in one hand.  “You got some expensive taste, don’t you, big guy?” And just like that, Wally has steered the conversation away before any of them can dig themselves into a deeper hole. 

Conner glances down at the gift bag like he’d forgotten it was there. “Oh. Uhm. No, not at all. This isn’t for me. This is for you,” he says, aiming the last part at Dick and holding out the bag. 

Time comes to a standstill, and Dick feels like his heart skips more than one beat again. “For… me?” he verifies.

“Yes.”

“You got me a… gift?”

“From… Nordstrom?” Wally verifies.

Conner frowns. “I suppose it could be called a gift. I mean, I got here earlier and I saw it on the window and… I thought… that maybe you would… since you… I— oh, never mind. Here,” he finishes, and wiggles the bag. 

Dick takes it. He holds it gingerly between both hands. Wally sidles up next to him right away, and he waits as Dick’s fingers make slow work of untying the string of the white cloth bag and then pulling it outward to see what’s inside. 

Once they both see what’s inside the bag, Dick feels just a tiny bit dizzy. Wally, on the other hand, frowns in confusion. 

“Nail polish?” he asks no one in particular. 

Conner doesn’t say anything, and neither does Dick as he pulls out the small glass bottle. It’s square and smooth, with a black cap. The polish inside the bottle is dark blue; navy or midnight, Dick would say. 

“Nail polish,” Dick echoes, gripping the bottle in one hand and raising his eyes. Conner meets his gaze for a split second, and then he looks away. He shoves his other hand into the other pocket of his jacket, embarrassed.

“The… the other day you said—” Conner begins, and Dick already knows where this is going. 

“Your eyes,” he finishes. 

Conner looks even more embarrassed. “Uh. Yes.  I saw that one on the window and… it reminded me… it reminded me of yours so I… I don’t know if you wear nail polish often but I thought… if you want it, of course.”

Dick thinks about the chicken soup, and the ratatouille, and he promises to find whoever rejected Conner’s thoughtful gifts and actions so he can make them step on a whole row of legos. The number of times Conner has given or offered him something but also offered a copout is a little bit concerning. 

“You can’t take a gift back, Conner. No returns are allowed either. That’s why it’s a gift,” he says, throwing the bottle into the air and catching it with one hand. He squeezes it between his palms and smiles at him. The smile might be too big and maybe a bit dopey. “Thank you,” he says, and takes a moment to adjust to the sudden tightening in his chest.  “I’ll try it on the first chance I get.”

Conner nods in silence, and keeps his gaze turned away. Dick wants him to turn his head, to meet his eyes, to see whatever is going through them. Then again -and to be fair- he also wants to wrap his arms around this man and hold him tight and kiss—

“Who was supposed to be the third wheel tonight, again?” Wally stage-whispers, and Dick’s bubble bursts. 

He opens his backpack and deposits the little gift bag inside with all the care he can muster, then to Wally he says, “And you’re saying we’re not fun?”

Wally opens his mouth to protest, but before he gets a word out, someone calls his name. 

The three of them turn at the same time and find a tall woman walking towards them. The heels of her black knee-high boots click against the pavement, and all it takes is one glance for Dick to think she looks stunning in her black turtleneck and blonde hair pulled back in a high and tight ponytail. 

“Artemis,” Wally breathes, and he walks towards her like he’s being pulled by a string. 

Dick watches him go with a small smile on his face. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches Conner ambling closer until he’s standing half behind him and half beside him, his elbow brushing Dick’s back. 

“Good. She did show up,” Conner murmurs, leaning in so he speaks the words very close to Dick’s ear. 

Dick suppresses a shiver. He turns his head, finds Conner even closer than he had expected. He’s close enough that Dick can feel the warmth of his breath, close enough for him to smell the laundry detergent on his clothes and nothing else. 

“You don’t wear a lot of cologne, do you?” Dick blurts out. 

Conner doesn’t move an inch. He pulls a hand out of his pocket and pulls at one of the lapels of his jacket again. 

“No. I don’t like how most of them smell,” is his simple explanation. He leans in even closer and takes a deep and even breath, then lets out a soft hum. 

“You are wearing cologne,” he says. 

Dick nods, one single and jerky movement. “Do you like it?” he asks. He’s breathless, has no reason to be, and can’t bring himself to breathe again as Conner inhales and thinks about it.  

“I do.” he says, surprised, and takes another whiff. “You smell very nice. You smell like… like…” Conner purses his lips. He thinks about it for another moment, and Dick gets the privilege of seeing his gorgeous blue eyes light up as he finally seems to find the words he’d been looking for. 

"You smell like a sunset… at the beach… after you’ve had a wonderful day in the water and the breeze is cool, but not yet cold,” Conner says, and it’s such a specific and detailed thing to say, and it lights up his face in the most genuine and unexpected way that Dick feels a thousand butterflies fluttering in his stomach all of a sudden..

“You say the sweetest things,” Dick says, and he’s not being the least bit playful this time. He balls his hands into fists to keep himself from reaching out to touch Conner’s face, to cup his cheek, to cradle the back of his head and—

“Guys, this is Artemis,” Wally says excitedly, and once again, and against his will, Dick’s little bubble bursts. 

He blinks once, chasing away images of golden sand and red skies, then turns his attention to the woman in front of him. He offers her his most dazzling smile and hopes she doesn’t notice the wobbly edges. 

“Such a perfect name, befitting of a goddess, indeed,” he says with a flourish.  “It’s very nice to meet you. I’m Dick Grayson.”

“Of course you’re a smooth talker, all the pretty boys are,” she replies, smiling back… and soon the smile turns into a wince. “I wish I could say the same about you, though. I mean… Dick?” 

“You can call him Rick,” Wally says. 

“Like hell she can, Wallace Rudolph West.” 

“Hey.” 

Artemis snorts. “Rick and Wallace Rudolph it is then.” She turns to Conner, as he’s the only one who hasn’t spoken at all, and social cues would indicate it’s his turn to introduce himself or make a comment on the situation…

“Good evening,” is all Conner says, and nods at her once. 

Artemis raises an eyebrow. “Hi. And you are?”

“Conner Kent. People call me CK.” After a moment of hesitation, Conner digs a hand out of his pocket again and holds it out. “Nice to meet you.” 

Artemis shakes his hand, and Conner withdraws it as soon as he can. He nods at her one more time and doesn’t say anything else, opting instead to stay right behind Dick, his hands in his pockets again. 

Dick looks at him over his shoulder. “As talkative as always,” he says, amused. 

Conner's eyes dart between him and the other two people in their little group. “Should I say something else?”

“If you want to.”

“I… really don't, no.” 

Dick laughs. This time, he is the one who hesitates for a moment before he wraps his fingers around Conner’s elbow and gives a gentle squeeze. 

“Thankfully there won’t be much talking going on once we’re inside, but you leave that to me if the need arises,” he says, and smiles. “Deal?”

“Deal,” Conner agrees right away and without a second thought. 

“I’m very glad I’m here. When you said third-wheeling I didn’t think it would be this bad, but if it’s already like this…” Dick hears Artemis say to Wally.  

“Artemis,” Wally interrupts, and there’s already an edge of panic in his voice. 

“No, but seriously. Was there any real doubt that the firefighter would show up? I mean, look at—” 

Oh, shit. 

Dick knows better at this point than to hope for benevolence. As expected, Conner catches the last bit and he frowns, because of course he does. 

“Me? What do I have to—” Conner starts, and Dick knows he needs to act now. 

“Well, we’re all here now, aren't we? I guess it’s time to head in and pick the movie,” he suggests with an unnatural level of enthusiasm. 

“Amazing idea,” Wally agrees straight away, and he steers Artemis towards the theater’s main doors. 

“Shall we?” Dick asks, still holding on to Conner’s elbow. 

Disgruntled, Conner nods, and they trail behind Wally and Artemis into the theater. 

There are plenty of people milling around the lobby when they step inside. Wally and Artemis gravitate towards the movie posters straight away while the two of them hang back. Conner probably because he doesn’t want to start a conversation, Dick because being next to Conner is all he needs and wants for tonight. 

“You look like you could use some extra sleep instead of a night out,” Conner mumbles. 

Dick hums, and because words have power, he yawns. “You’re not wrong,” he agrees, and grips one of the straps of his backpack with his free hand. “It was a long day at work.” He has another shift tomorrow morning, and he hadn’t gotten as much sleep as he wanted the night before. 

“You and I don’t really get any short or easy days, Dick. Would you like to go home?” 

Dick stops walking, and Conner stops next to him. 

Dick stares. “What?” he asks, because there’s no way he heard correctly. 

“Would you like to go home?” Conner repeats without missing a beat. 

It’s a very unexpected offer. It’s also something Dick hasn’t considered for one second because… “I can’t go home,” he says. 

“Why not? Your friend’s date showed up, so even if you go home, he’ll have company, and you’re free to go home and catch up on your sleep. I can take you home, if you want.”

Dick frowns. “Do… Do you want to go home?” he asks. 

“Not as much as I thought I would,” Conner admits, and he lets out a surprised chuckle. The little sound draws a chuckle out of Dick himself. 

“I think I will take that as a compliment,” Dick says. 

Conner rolls his eyes. “I told you, Dick. You’re the type of fun I can get behind, but I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to go home now that you know your friend hasn't been stood up.” 

“Would you go home if you were in my position?”

“If I had come alone, I would have bolted for my apartment the moment my friend’s date showed up. But if the roles had been reversed and you had come with me…” He thinks through the hypothetical scenario for a bit longer than necessary, then shakes his head. “I guess not. I… I like spending time with you. I… I really do.”

Dick’s chest tightens. He will take that as a compliment as well. “Well, there you have it. I also like spending time with you, so I’m not going home. I’ll sleep when I’m dead, or later tonight, rather.” Dick nods towards the posters. “What do you want to watch?” 

“Does either of us really have a choice in the movie we will see tonight?” 

Dick spares Wally and Artemis a glance. They’re already having a passionate discussion while pointing at two different movie posters. 

“Let’s pretend we do,” Dick amends. 

Conner glances at the posters. “What would you like to see tonight?”

“Hey, I asked first.” 

“Yeah, but I googled what movies are showing in theaters nowadays and found myself reading reviews and summaries, so my opinion is very biased already.” 

Dick’s mouth drops open. “Why would you do such a thing?” 

Conner scratches the side of his nose with one hand. “I didn’t want to be clueless or have a meltdown if someone asked for my opinion tonight.” 

“About movies?”

“...Yes.”

Dick bursts out laughing. 

Conner lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Yes, yes, ha ha,” he says, and lets Dick laugh it out until he runs out of air and there are tears pooling in his eyes. 

“I-I’m sorry,” Dick manages between chuckles. “That’s just… I mean, you’re so…”

“Weird?” Conner suggests.

And just like that, Dick stops being amused. “No!” he cries. When Conner raises a skeptical eyebrow, Dick shakes his head

“Kent, if you call yourself weird again I will punch you in the face, do you hear me?” Dick threatens, and he’s only half-kidding. “And I’d really hate to do that because you have a very handsome face. Weird? Weird… Weird ! What a stupid word. I think you’re wonderful, and yes, even adorable, and if you have a problem with that I will also punch you. Are we clear?”

Conner seems startled by his outburst, but then he glances down, and Dick follows suit. He’s met with the sight of his own arm now linked with Conner’s. 

“Oh,” he says. When had he done that?

“Yes. I suppose we’re clear, if you feel so passionately about the subject,” Conner says, clearly puzzled by why Dick would. 

“I do,” Dick says anyway. 

“Then we are crystal clear,” Conner says, still confused, but still gentle. “You can let go of my arm now.”

“Shit. Sorry.” Knowing his face will probably be red in a few seconds, Dick lets go. He half expects Conner to flee to the other side of the theater after what just happened, but instead Conner merely adjusts his sleeve and stays right next to him. 

“So, what do you want to see?” Conner asks again, like nothing has happened. Dick supposes nothing has. 

He turns to the posters again and pretends to examine them. He doesn’t really care what they watch. He reads the titles and studies the images on display to get a general feeling about the stories they tell. Several of them are too bland to indicate much, and the titles don’t help much either. 

“Anything that keeps me awake after another long and busy day, I guess,” he says with a shrug. 

Conner scans the posters as well. “In that case maybe we can—”

“Ha!” Artemis cries out. She holds up her arm, curled into a fist. Wally, on the other hand, lowers his hand, index and middle fingers still holding the shape of a scissor. 

“I win,” Artemis announces with a very dangerous and beautiful smile. 

“Best of five,” Wally says. 

“Hell no, we already did best of three! Come on, West, go get the tickets!”

Wally, looking like he doesn’t know whether he wants to glower or smile, lets his shoulders sag. 

“Fine,” he huffs, and heads for the booth.

“Wait, what are we watching?” Dick calls out, and Artemis turns to him. 

“The Catalyst,” she replies. 

“Right.” Dick raises an eyebrow at Conner, and he doesn’t even have to ask anything out loud. 

“A very accurate portrayal of an event that changed the course of history forever. Very raw and powerful. It’s been praised by the critics, and people on the internet seem to love it for the most part,” Conner says, wrinkling his nose and sounding like he’s reading from a textbook. He's probably half-reciting one of the summaries he had read last night. “Not what I would have chosen to keep you awake, though. It’s not exactly jam-packed with action or humor.”

Great. 

“Guess you’ll have to keep me awake with engaging conversation then,” Dick says. 

Conner scoffs. “Oh yeah, my specialty,” he replies, tone dry.

“It’s worked pretty well so far.”

Conner rolls his eyes again. He pats his jeans, and when he pulls out his wallet, Dick gasps. 

“Absolutely not. You stay right there. Everything is on me tonight,” he says, stepping even closer to him and holding Conner’s hand with the wallet between both of his own.

 “Dick—”

“Nope. I’m not listening to any of it. You haven’t let me host, not even once, not in the slightest thing. Tonight you’re my guest, and I’m not taking no for an answer.”

Conner frowns and tries to free his hand. When Dick only tightens his grip and frowns right back at him. Conner sighs.

“Next time we do this, it’s my treat,” he says. 

Next time. 

The words send a happy shiver down Dick’s spine. 

“Deal,” he says, and dashes for the booth before Conner changes his mind.

Chapter Text

Dick is feeling drowsy half an hour into the movie. It’s not that the movie is bad or boring, and he knows a lot of movies pick up in the second half. He knows a lot of them are an ‘it gets better, I promise!’ kind of deal, but he’s not the biggest history buff, and the dialogue feels very slow.  The protagonists are lovely to look at and their performances are good but…well… he’s getting bored. 

Suppressing a yawn, Dick glances a few seats down to where Artemis and Wally are sitting. They’re sharing a huge box of popcorn that Wally has in his lap, and they both have their eyes glued to the screen. Apparently, it’s not an ‘it gets better’ situation for them. 

Next, Dick glances around the theater. It’s quite empty, with fewer than ten other people sitting on the other side of the aisles. They seem as captivated by the movie as his friend and his date. 

Lastly, Dick turns to Conner, who’s sitting beside him on the first row on the back. Dick chosen his and Conner’s seats after Wally had chosen his and Artemis’, and the redhead had given him a knowing look. Dick had shaken his head. Maybe with someone else a nearly empty movie theater and a couple of good seats in the back were a convenient thing… but none of those things matter when it comes to Conner. 

“Is it good?” Dick asks, reaching for some of the popcorn in the box Conner has in his lap. Dick had gotten them the biggest one, much to Conner’s dismay, and Conner had looked even more preoccupied when Dick told him it was his responsibility to guard them throughout the night. 

“It is,” Conner says. 

“Care to tell me what’s happening?”

“... Aren’t you watching?” 

“Sort of, but you weren’t wrong. This thing isn’t doing much for my energy levels.” 

Conner takes his eyes away from the screen and turns them to Dick, who is slumped in his seat. 

“Why don’t you take a sip of this?” he asks, reaching for his untouched Diet Pepsi and holding it out. 

Dick eyes it. “That is yours,” he points out. 

“Caffeine will help you stay awake,” Conner tells him, and keeps on holding it out. 

“I know that. I got myself a Coke, remember?”

“A small one that you have already finished. Besides, this one works better, trust me. Many of us at the station prefer Diet Pepsi to help with the graveyard hours of our shift.”

Dick narrows his eyes. “Do you like it?”

“Not particularly, but it gets the job done. Why don’t you have some? I haven’t used the straw.”

Dick knows this, because while Conner has taken handfuls of popcorn and the box is already halfway empty, he has gone nowhere near the soda. Now that Dick thinks about it, Conner had looked at the drink selection for a very long time before placing his order. Dick had guessed he would get an iced tea, so the choice of soda had surprised him. He thought that maybe Conner simply wanted to have something different tonight, but now… 

“Did you order it for me?” Dick asks, surprised. He straightens in his seat and takes the offered cup. 

Conner goes in for more popcorn straight away. “Not quite. I just thought that it might be useful to have a backup in case your small Coke wasn’t enough to tide you over, and also so we wouldn’t have to rely on my lackluster conversation skills. Pretty sure those would work like a very efficient lullaby.” 

Dick starts laughing, but he manages to cover his mouth before anyone hushes him. 

Conner lets out another one of those long-suffering sighs and shakes his head. “I am starting to believe you are making fun of me, Dick.”

Dick gasps, and also covers that sound with his mouth. “Never,” he whispers with vehemence, and when Conner doesn’t look convinced, he takes a long sip of the damned Diet Pepsi. 

“You’re very sweet, Conner, that’s all. You’re sweet, and underhandedly thoughtful, and I’m not used to it, that’s all,” he explains. “You could have just gotten another drink, though. For yourself, I mean. An iced tea, maybe?”

“I figured if you didn’t take the Pepsi then I would drink it, and if you did, I could always go out and get myself something else.”

“I told you, it’s all on me tonight.”

“I wouldn’t have told you, of course. I would have excused myself to the bathroom and then gone to the concession stand.” 

Dick covers his mouth and laughs again. “But now you’ve revealed your evil master plan, haven’t you?” 

“Well, I find subterfuge tiring, so now that you know about my evil master plan, I will go and get myself an iced tea,” Conner announces. He gets to his feet and tries to slide past Dick’s seat as if he doesn’t expect any pushback. 

“Like hell you are,” Dick mutters. Securing the Pepsi in one hand and his backpack in the other, he gets to his feet and follows Conner out of the aisle and up the stairs. 

When Conner gives him a disapproving glance over his shoulder, Dick shrugs. “A little trip can only help me stay awake, no?”

“You’re very stubborn, Dick.” 

“Oh, baby, have you ever looked into a mirror?” he mutters. He chuckles to himself, because Conner of all people talking about stubbornness is…

Conner stumbles. He doesn’t stumble because of the stairs or over his own feet, but he stumbles so suddenly that he almost goes down. One knee buckles, but he manages to catch himself with one arm before he hits the floor.

“Whoa, you okay?” Dick asks. He reaches out to help, but Conner picks himself back up in a hot second. He looks at Dick over his shoulder in shocked silence, and it takes Dick a moment to understand why. 

“Oh,” he says, and wants to die a little bit. Shit. 

“I didn’t mean—” he starts, but that’s as far as he gets before Conner exits the room like a man on a mission. 

By the time Dick catches up with him, Conner already has his iced tea in hand and is handing cash to the man on the other side of the counter. 

Dick stops walking close to the movie posters and one of the benches underneath them. He crosses his arms and waits for Conner to amble back to him. To his credit, at least he looks somewhat ashamed. 

“You are a very, very hard man to spoil,” Dick admonishes. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Are you?”

That gets a small and crooked smile out of Conner, and Dick tries not to get distracted by it. “Maybe not. I think I just like giving and doing things more than I like receiving them.”

Dick fights the urge to say ‘ that’s what he said ’. Right now, he agrees wholeheartedly with what Cassie said. Sometimes Conner hands those jokes on a silver platter. 

“And why do you like being the giver more than the receiver?” Dick asks. 

Conner shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess I like showing people they matter more than I like telling them. Words are… very hard sometimes. Saying the right thing, I mean…so I think it’s easier if I just… show them. That I… that I care, that is,” he finishes, wrinkling his nose. 

Dick thinks about the nail polish bottle in his backpack. He thinks about how this is an admission that Conner cares about him. A gentle warmth starts spreading across his chest.

“Doesn’t that mean that your philosophy can apply the other way around?” he asks. 

“What do you mean?” 

Doing his best to look nonchalant, Dick steps closer to the bench near them. He plops himself down, then pats the space next to him. 

Conner sits next to him without a single second of hesitation. Once he’s sitting down, however, he turns his body to face Dick, curiosity written all over his face. “What do you mean?” he asks again 

Dick shrugs. “Well, if you like giving people gifts and doing things for them to show that you care for them, don’t you think people want to give you things and do things for you because they care about you too?”

Conner opens his mouth, surely to say something like, ‘No, it doesn’t work that way’, but then he seems to consider Dick’s words, and he leans back on the bench and frowns. 

Dick can almost see the wheels turning inside Conner’s head as he glares at a particular spot on the floor. A few seconds go by, then a half minute, and then a whole minute passes. 

Dick doesn’t push. He takes a sip from his Pepsi and waits, because it’s not like he’s itching to go back into the screening room and yawn every few seconds. 

He likes being on that bench, with a thoughtful Conner next to him. He likes watching other people, so that’s what he does. 

A lot of them stop by the concession stand. A few of them approach the movie posters that aren’t close to the bench where he and Conner are sitting. 

A family of six comes in. The mother gets snacks while the dad agrees with their four children in front of a neon-colored cartoon sign. 

Lord, give them strength , he thinks. 

A couple comes in. They get the tiniest popcorn and soda combo. Dick sees the girl pull a bag of gummies from her purse. The guy shows her the bag of chips he has hidden in his jacket. 

Please don’t let them get caught, Dick thinks before they disappear down the hall, laughing at their mischief.

A group of teenage girls enters.. Two of them stop at the concession stand while three others ooh and aah at the movies on display. Another one comes rushing in with the tickets in hand, and there’s a collective squeal before they simper off to find their screening room. 

Ah, youth , Dick muses, and for some reason, he thinks of Bart and his boundless energy. 

A man comes in with two little boys who are already excited for the movie they will see. However, before Dick can conjure any fun conclusion about his situation, Conner shifts next to him and lets out a soft, “Huh.” 

Dick glances at him out of the corner of his eye and takes a sip from his Pepsi. “You hadn’t thought of that?” he asks, a lilt of surprise in his voice. 

“I… I suppose not,” Conner admits. 

“... Really?” Dick thinks it’s a matter of common sense, which Conner has in spades. 

“I… no, I don’t think… I don’t think I have.” Conner stretches out his legs. “Which is pretty stupid of me, now that I do think about it.”

“I don’t think it’s stupid.”

“Okay, fine, wrong choice of words. How about: that was very narrow-minded of me?”

“Hmm. Perhaps, but you are a laser-focus kind of guy, so that makes sense.”

Conner shakes his head. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I can't be the only one who enjoys giving more than receiving.” 

 “You’re not,” Dick agrees. “So next time you will let me buy you an iced tea and dinner and whatever else I may well damn please, agreed?”

“Will that make you happy?” Conner asks. While the question could have come across as annoyed or condescending, Conner’s open and honest expression makes it clear Dick’s answer will be taken seriously. 

Dick’s heart skips a beat. “It will.”

“Then you will give me whatever you may well damn please, Dickie,” Conner says. He shakes his head. At the same time, a small chuckle escapes him. 

Dick’s poor heart almost stops again.  “I really do like that, you know,” he says, voice soft. 

“Dickie?”

Everything, really. He likes how honest and transparent Conner is. He likes how sweet he is. He likes how peaceful he feels around  Conner. He likes how easy it is to talk and be around him, despite what Conner may say. Above all, he likes the fact that Conner offers him comfort and warmth without even trying, or realizing it. 

“Yes. Dickie sounds nice when you say it,” is all he says out loud. 

Conner shakes his head again and takes a sip from his tea. Dick takes a sip from his Pepsi. 

They sit in silence for another moment. Dick is about to start people-watching again when Conner speaks. 

“So are you more of a giver than a receiver, too?”

Dick’s snort is almost automatic. “Me? Nope. I very much like to be on the receiving end.” When Conner merely stares at him blankly, he clears his throat. 

“I mean…” Dick thinks about it. He doesn’t think he leans towards either side in particular. He loves receiving stuff, and he likes to be doted on from time to time. He also likes doing things for people he cares about. He likes telling them as well. He doesn’t have a particular preference or inclination.

“I guess it depends,” he says, making vague gestures with the hand holding the soda. 

“On what?” Conner is quick to ask. 

“On… a lot of things.”

“Like what?” 

“You’re asking me really tough questions, big guy. I’m not sure I can answer them,” Dick says, and this time he’s the one who shakes his head. “I can tell you that sometimes I’ve given much more than I’ve received, though. I can also tell you those situations haven’t ended very well for me, but I guess I haven’t learned my lesson.”

Conner nods. He takes another sip from his tea, swirls the liquid inside the bottle a couple of times. He seems to be gathering courage, although Dick doesn’t know for what. 

“You mean like what happened with your ex?” he manages to ask. 

Dick raises an eyebrow. “Which one? The one that didn’t want to be with me or… or the other one that didn’t want to be with me either?” It’s not until he says it out loud that Dick realizes just how similarly things ended with Bruce and with Jason. Circumstances were different, and what led to their endings were very much not the same things, but at the end of the day, the outcome is too similar for comfort.

“I only know some of the details about one of your exes,” Conner points out.

“Yeah well, we should keep it that way. No need to know any more details about how badly I screw things up with people who end up involved with me. Some of us are not marriage-worthy prospects, or even date-worthy… unlike you.” Dick tries and fails to keep the bitterness out of his words. 

He doesn’t want to dive deep into why or how his previous relationships failed. He doesn’t want to discuss this with Conner of all people, and especially not today. Today is supposed to be about having a fun evening with Conner, spending time with him and gathering enough courage to ask him out on a proper date. Today is a day to take risks and find out if Conner feels anything similar to what Dick feels. 

Instead, in just a few minutes, Dick has managed to point out the fact that there are at least two people that haven’t wanted to have a real relationship with him, and he’s therefore pointed out that he’s, in fact, not someone Conner would want to get involved with, not the way Dick wants, anyway. 

“What if I want to know the rest of the details?” Conner asks.

“You don’t,” Dick replies. Conner doesn’t want to know. He doesn’t need to know, and Dick sure as hell doesn’t want to think too long about his mistakes, about how he hadn’t been able to manage his emotions like an adult and see what was right in front of him the whole time, especially when it came to Bruce.

It’s… easier thinking about Jason now, even after seeing him and talking to him. The regret on Jason’s face still upsets him, and as bitter as he was about the whole thing, Conner had been right in what he’d told him. He hadn’t been able to control his feelings, and the world hadn't ended, even though it felt like his inner one had. On the bright side, at least it hadn’t taken him years to realize he was somewhere he wasn’t wanted, with someone who couldn’t give him what he wanted, and someone who hadn’t made the tiniest effort to show or say otherwise until it was too late. 

“I do,” Conner says, and Dick’s bubble of self-pity bursts thanks to Conner’s gentle insistence. “I want to know the rest of the details, I mean.” 

Dick feels a spark of annoyance. He lets out a noncommittal hum. 

“I think I really do,” Conner insists. 

And with those innocent words, the spark grows. “You really don’t,” Dick says through gritted teeth. He hopes  Conner takes the hint and drops it. 

He doesn’t, of course. “Why wouldn’t I?” he asks instead. 

“Well, why would you want to know? Why would you care about any of that?” Dick snaps. 

It’s an outburst, a childish and unprompted one, but this… Dick doesn’t want to show him this. This he doesn’t want to share. It means he has to show Conner his ugly side, share ugly things with him, and he’s done enough of that already. 

Ashamed, Dick looks down. He realizes he’s squeezing the Pepsi tightly in his hands, the paper cup already wrinkled and crumpled. He loosens his grip one finger at a time, until he’s cradling instead of strangling the damn thing. 

At his side, Conner shifts again. He stretches his legs out in front of him, then draws them back. Dick hears him take another couple of sips from his tea. 

“I don’t understand where you get this notion that I’m a marriage-worthy prospect,” Conner says. 

Dick still doesn’t look up. “Now you’re just being modest.”

“You may think so, but I really don’t understand how you drew that conclusion, or why you called me a heartbreaker the other day. Do you know how many partners I’ve had in my entire life?” There’s a moment of silence. “Wait, no. Wrong choice of words. Again. Do you know how many romantic relationships I’ve had in my entire life?” 

“Is that a rhetorical question?” 

“No. Give me a number. Eyeball it.” 

Dick sighs. “I don’t know… uh… a bunch? 

Conner scoffs. “That is not a number. And the answer is two, and one of them doesn’t really count anyway.”

The record player screeches to a halt in Dick’s head. “... Wait, what?” he asks, confused. Despite what Tim had already told him about Conner not doing casual… anything , two still seems a very low number for a very mature, responsible, thoughtful, dog-loving, handsome man over thirty who can cook and has a stable job that keeps him in really good shape. 

“Way less than you thought, no?” Conner muses. 

“Yeah.” Dick shakes his head, but he doesn’t look up. “What do you mean one of them barely counts?”

“Cass and I dated for… several months. It was fun and we had quite a few things in common, but we realized that even though we were officially a couple, we didn’t really behave like one, so it didn’t make any sense for us to use the label.”

At that, Dick lifts his head. He turns to face Conner again, eyes wide. “You and Cassie? Your friend Cassie?” he verifies. 

Conner looks lost for a second, and then his face dawns with understanding. “Oh. Oh, no, no. Not Cassie . Cass. Cass Cain. She was… I mean, we met back in Central City… she wasn’t a firefighter. She was… still in university, I think, back then. We met through Tim and we…” Conner frowns, then shakes his head. “Yeah, like I said. We dated, but not really, so we stopped telling people we were together and remained friends. Cassie and I never dated.” 

There’s a long and pensive silence, and then Conner clears his throat. “Cassie and I did, ah ‘hook up’” -and here he even does quotation marks with his fingers- “a few times, though. Back when she first joined our station back in Central.” 

The world comes to a standstill. Dick feels his brain short-circuit, and he wonders if this is all a fever dream or his ears have suddenly stopped working. 

Did Conner just say—? 

There’s no way he just said—

But he did just say— 

“You did what?” Dick squawks. Of all the possible turns that this conversation could have taken… 

“It was only two or three times,” Conner says. He shrugs one shoulder, scratches one of his cheeks. “Cassie said it was to get me out of her system. It was… fun, although I think ‘enlightening’ might describe the experience better, at least for me.” 

… Enlightening? 

Dick had lost his virginity to his good friend Barbara back when they’d been fifteen. They’d both been in the cheerleading team. It had been awkward, messy, and memorable not exactly for the right reasons. They’d gotten better in the next year and some months they were still together. In his final year of high school he’d met the Amazon of a girl who was Kory, a transfer student who quickly became captain of the school’s volleyball team. They’d gone to prom together and had a lovely summer fling until Kory left for a sports scholarship in Metropolis while Dick had enrolled in Gotham’s best nursing program. 

University had been… eye-opening, and very fun. He’d joined the cheerleading team there too, and he had stayed on board until he had begun his clinical rotations. Being in the cheerleading team had gotten him plenty of attention from women… and surprisingly, also from men. 

By the time his first semester was over, Dick had realized he enjoyed a man’s attention more than a woman’s, and boy , did he get chances to figure out exactly what he liked to do with them, or for them to do with him. Much like his first time with a girl, his first time with a guy hadn’t been exactly a dream. He’d had the, ah, ‘pleasure’ of trying several different things with many different partners after that, and he’d enjoyed himself immensely for a couple of years before Bruce had come into his life.

Bruce had been the first man Dick had a somewhat steady relationship with. Bruce was older and much more experienced. Despite his clear preference for women, Dick had to admit Bruce had given him some of the best sex of his life, which is one of the reasons Dick had gotten involved with him when they’d met again in Opal. 

Dick had only started seeing other men once Bruce moved away from Gotham. He’d gotten his needs met, then there had been Wally when he first moved to Opal, then Bruce again. His utterly blissful and passionate affair with Jason followed in the next months, and damn, the man had rocked his world so badly…

And despite all that, Dick would never -not once, and not in almost fifteen years- think to use the word ‘enlightening’ to talk about any part or moment of his sex life. 

“What do you mean ‘enlightening’?” Dick asks, dazed and trying to make sense of the damn word. “Enlightening as in… as in, the sex was so good you saw lights? Stars? Fireworks? You got your world turned upside down?” 

Conner looks at him like he’s lost his mind. “No, I’m not talking about orgasms.”

“Then what are you talking about?” What are they talking about? How did they end up talking about… whatever this is? And should they really be having this conversation while sitting on the damn bench in the damn movie theater? 

“I’m talking about the… experience itself, or overall,” Conner elaborates. “I mean,I learned a lot. I’d always wondered why Tim seemed to enjoy his one-night stands and casual partners so much. I’ve never felt the need to engage in any of that, but Cassie was a good opportunity to see if I was missing out on anything.”

“... And were you?”

“I didn’t think so then and I don't think so now, but like I said, I learned a lot. It was nice to get additional perspective after Cass, and especially after Megan.” 

Dick feels like they’re talking about very different things. He also feels like he should be writing some of this down. 

“Who’s Megan?” he asks, because he’s invested now, and there is no way Conner is not going to tell him. He can’t not tell him. 

“My first girlfriend,” Conner replies matter-of-factly. “My first kiss. She was… a lot of my firsts, really. We were almost engaged at one point.” 

Dick’s eyes go wide. Oh, he really needs to write some of this down. 

And almost engaged? Tim had mentioned something about a long-time girlfriend but nothing as serious as an almost-fianceé. 

“So you are marriage material. Someone else already tried to marry you,” he declares, almost smugly. 

“‘Almost’ is the key word, Dick. A lot of things went wrong between Megan and me, and by the time we cut things off for good, we didn’t want to marry each other anymore… though I’m pretty sure that if…a lot of things hadn’t happened she and I still wouldn’t have worked out either.”

“How do you know that?” Dick asks, turning to face him, finally, and he needs a damn good answer because none of this makes sense to him. 

Conner tilts his head back to look up at the ceiling and lets out a thoughtful hum. Dick stares at his profile, fighting the urge to reach out to touch his face, to trace his nose and lips with his fingers, and fighting the urge to shake him to get a goddamn answer. 

“I think it’s the same reason as to why Cassie said she just needed me out of her system, and why the ‘couple’ label never stuck with Cass and me,” Conner begins. “You haven’t told me why you think people don’t want to be with you… but I think I do know why my relationships haven’t worked out.”

 Conner lowers his head and angles his body to face Dick again. His jaw is set, the lines around his eyes tight. He looks… frustrated, defeated, and seeing him in such a state, Dick feels his own chest tighten.  

“There are some things that are inherently… different about me,” he tells Dick. “There are some things that I haven’t been able to give, not the way they want it, not the way it is… expected of me. Tim asked me at one point if maybe I’ve liked men all along and that’s the reason why my relationships have ended, but the issue isn’t who I like.” 

He shakes his head. “You’ve asked me a similar question when it comes to marriage. It’s not about women or men or anything in between. It’s not something about other people, it’s about me and what I can feel and what I can offer…” Conner pauses and looks up at the ceiling again. He swallows hard once, then twice, then shakes his head again. 

Dick scoots closer on the bench. He leaves the Pepsi on the other side, hesitates for only a split second before he reaches out and places his palm on Conner’s knee. 

Conner jumps slightly. He gives Dick’s hand a quick and surprised glance. However, he doesn’t move away. Instead, he simply looks at him, and they hold each other’s gaze in silence for what feels like an eternity. 

After a glorious moment that feels eternal, Conner clears his throat. 

“Maybe you’ve asked too much of your partners, the ones who have mattered to you,” he goes on, and Dick tries not to flinch. “But when it comes to me… maybe I haven’t given enough.” 

A chorus of screams and giggles reaches their ears. Dick turns towards the noise in time to see the group of teenage girls from before rushing back to the concession stand. They talk excitedly amongst themselves, purchase lots of popcorn boxes and sodas and chocolate bars. A theater employee approaches them, probably tells them to calm down, and the newfound silence lasts for all of ten seconds before they have their order complete and they hurry down the hallway again, squealing the whole trip down the hall. 

“Are you saying… that we’re both wrong?” Dick asks, once they’re alone again except for the employee at the concession stand and the other one milling around the halls. 

“I’m saying neither of us is wrong,” Conner corrects, and he places his palm on top of Dick’s hand. His skin is rough, his hand big and warm, and Dick aches to flip his own around to hold it. 

“You’re not wrong for asking for more than casual sex from someone you care about, and I’m not wrong for not being able to… want it or crave it as much as other people,” Conner says. It’s an assurance, something meant to soothe and comfort. “There’s nothing wrong with what we want or what we don’t want, for that matter, Dick. Sometimes it just doesn’t work because what the other person wants is too different from what we want, and they’re not wrong for that either.” 

Those words make Dick think about Jason, because it’s exactly what he’s thought about them. Jason isn’t wrong for cutting Dick off. He’s not wrong for staying away from someone who had caught unwarranted feelings. He’s not wrong for sticking to his guns and his plan… 

But if that’s the case, what the hell had the regret on his face been about? 

And in Bruce’s case, what the hell had the love confession been about? 

“Some people tell you they want one thing, but their actions or lack thereof tell a completely different story,” Dick murmurs. 

“Oh, very few people know what they want. Most don’t know how to say it,  and fewer people can show you what they want, or what they mean,” Conner snorts. “Trust me, I hate those dichotomies more than you do.” 

Dick chuckles. He absolutely believes Conner dislikes those contradictions more than he and a lot of other people do, probably because Conner himself doesn’t present as many of them as other  do. 

He’s painfully honest, painfully serious, and just now, he’s been so painfully vulnerable and trusting with him, that Dick… wants to do the same. 

“I hooked up with one of my professors my second year of university,” he says, voice soft and muted. “At that time I had recently discovered how much I enjoyed myself with other men, and from the moment I saw him, I knew what I wanted. I applied for the TA position and didn’t end up getting it, but I found other ways to get closer to him. He was older and at the time seemed so sure of himself and what he wanted in life, and I liked all that. I came to like him very much, very quickly.” 

It had been all about sex at first, until he’d caught feelings and it wasn’t only about sex anymore. At one point, and for several years, Dick had looked forward to spending time with Bruce outside the bedroom. He liked talking about Bruce’s job at the hospital or at the university. He liked to share with Bruce how his degree and later his career were coming along. At one point, Dick had loved and cherished every single one of his moments with Bruce, no matter how scarce they were, given they broke things off on a semi regular basis and Bruce went back to dating women like Selina Kyle. 

Bruce leaving Gotham had devastated him. There had been no proper goodbye, no communication after he’d left. Even to the current day, Bruce hadn’t even apologized for what had happened. Dick had picked up the pieces of his heart and put it back together. The wound had scabbed over and everything underneath had died. Bruce never gave him any indication of reciprocating his feelings, which is why it had pissed him off so much to hear him say it only weeks ago.

“He told me he loved me,” Dick says, deciding to stop the story there.  “The day we had the nasty talk, I mean.”

Conner blinks, and he goes from looking as calm as he always does to very evident disdain in a matter of seconds. “Excuse me?”

Dick smiles, small and bitter. “You heard me.”

His silence speaks volumes, as does his face. 

“Exactly my thoughts, too,” Dick agrees. 

“Was that… was that something you still wanted to hear?” Conner asks. 

Dick scoffs. “Hell no. Not anymore. Not from him, but it still made me angry. You’re right saying that he’s not wrong for not feeling the same way I did, but to show up now and claim things have always been different than what I believed and what I experienced? That’s just not fair, and I don’t buy it.” 

“No reason you should,” Conner agrees with a nod. There’s an awkward pause after that, and as more people come into the movie theater, the two of them watch them in silence. Conner doesn’t move his hand, and neither does Dick, although the itch to turn his hand around and grab Conner’s grows with every second. 

“For what it’s worth…” Conner says suddenly, and Dick hums, anchoring himself to the moment once again 

“Yeah?” Dick mumbles, still somewhat distracted, trying to stop himself from grabbing Conner’s hand and holding it. 

“It’s their loss, Dick.” 

Dick shifts on his seat to look at Conner again, finds him already looking back at him, his face set in gentle lines. 

“Is it?” he asks. 

Conner nods. “There’s a lid for every pot, right? You just have to find your lid… or your pot, whichever part you prefer. And you are… a beautiful pot… or, uhm, lid… and you will find someone, if you’re looking. You’ve got a lot to give, and I’m sure you’ll find the right person who will appreciate every part of the loving pot… or lid… that you are.”

Dick laughs, low and delighted at the ways Conner pauses, amused by his choice of words and so very endeared by his efforts to make him feel better. While the words were clumsy and filled with hesitation, Dick believes down to his bones everything Conner said was sincere. 

“Thank you, Kent. You do say the nicest things sometimes,” he says. When a subtle blush appears across Conner’s cheeks, Dick can’t help himself anymore. 

Not bothering to stop and think about the consequences, he reaches out,  presses his palm to Conner’s cheek. He laughs when the other man jumps, eyes flying wide.

Dick allows himself a brief moment to enjoy what he’s doing. Conner’s skin feels warm and smooth against his palm as he cups his cheek. He traces Conner’s cheekbone with his thumb, then drags it lower, pressing it to the corner of Conner’s lips. 

“I think you’re right. I think I will find a lid for my pot,” Dick murmurs. “Or maybe I already have. I’d certainly like to find out.”

Conner looks at him, curious… and then Dick sees the lightbulb go off above his head. 

Conner’s eyes widen even more, his lips part, and the blush goes from a soft pink to an intense red that goes all the way up to his ears. 

“Oh,” Conner mutters, and the well-articulated, grounded and mature man from minutes earlier is gone. “Oh… you… I… you…? … Me? Wh— how—” his voice trails off and he looks at Dick, speechless.

Dick wants to kiss him. Dick needs to kiss him. And damn it, by God and whoever else is up there watching, he will be brave and throw caution out the window tonight. He’s bared himself to Conner much more than planned already. This is his chance. This is the moment he has been waiting for. 

“Yes, you,” he says simply, and as his pulse speeds up and a thousand butterflies are suddenly unleashed inside his stomach, Dick leans forward, eyes closing, because if he’s doing this he wants to savor this moment to the absolute max—

And then Conner is pulling his hand away from Dick’s and grabbing him by the shoulders, effectively holding him back.. 

His eyes snap open. Conner stares back at him, just as shocked by what he just did as Dick feels. 

Dick glances down at the hands on his shoulders, then at Conner’s face. When he sees the sudden expression of panic, the butterflies in his stomach turn to stone. 

“Dick, I don't —” Conner says, and his voice trembles in a way his hands don’t. His eyes are too wide, his breaths too shallow, and Dick’s stomach starts to sink. 

“I don’t— I didn’t— I’m sorry, I don’t—” Conner repeats, but he can’t seem to finish a single sentence, a single thought. His breath quickens even more, and when his hands start to shake…

Dick jerks back, shivering. It feels like someone just dumped a whole truckload of ice down his back. 

They stare at each other in tense silence, Conner’s breathing the loudest sound for what feels like an eternity, and when the panic on Conner’s face gives room to something else -pity, Dick is pretty sure- Dick feels like the world has collapsed on top of him all over again.  

“Dick, I’m sorry… I hadn’t— I didn’t know—,” Conner sputters, and doesn’t seem to know what to say or do after that.  

Stupid , Dick’s brain screams, his blood turning to ice. Stupid, stupid, stupid, so fucking stupid. 

What has he done? Sure, he felt like they had been having a really nice moment, a really nice evening overall, and sure, Conner had said yet again he didn’t only like women, and he’d told Dick nice things, let him hold his hand, touch his face…

But so what? So fucking what? None of it meant that Conner would want to kiss him. None of it meant that Conner felt anything of what Dick felt. The whole purpose of this stupid evening had been to answer that question, and Dick had just gotten his answer. 

He thought he had prepared himself mentally if the answer was a negative, but if that’s the case, why is it getting harder to breathe? Why is it getting harder to ignore his pounding heart and the sheer terror that is starting to overtake him?

Because he’s done it again, hasn’t he? Three fucking strikes and he’s out, except this time it’s worse than Bruce and Jason because he hasn’t slept with Conner. He hasn’t kissed this man, he’s barely gotten a hug, and yet he’d been ready to risk it all, to believe in… 

In what? What had he believed in, until a minute ago?

And does it even matter? Hadn’t they just talked about this? It’s not the end of the world, is it? Sure, Dick clearly can’t pick a man to save his goddamn life, and it’s not the end of the world if he wanted something that Conner didn’t. He’s not wrong for getting ahead of himself yet again and Conner isn’t wrong for rejecting someone he doesn’t want. 

But what is Dick supposed to do now? Hasn’t he ruined whatever situation they had going on? Won’t this make things awkward? Won’t this make any future interaction weird? Won’t there be a fucking pink elephant in the room if they talk again? 

Will they talk again? Will Dick be brave enough to apologize? Will Conner want to talk to him about what he just did? 

Jesus fucking Christ.  

What has he done?  

Out. Out. He needs an out now. He needs to be gone. Now. He needs to leave and maybe never come close to this man again.

Yes, that’s what he must do. 

Having made his decision, Dick reaches for his backpack. 

“I have to go,” Dick hears himself say. He slings his backpack over his shoulder and springs to his feet. He’s starting to sweat, his chest feels like he’s caving in.

“W-What?” Conner asks, and he rises from the bench too. “Dick—”

“I’m very sorry, Conner. I… I thought you… and I—” Does it matter what he thought? Does anything other than escaping matter right now?

“Can we… Can we pretend this didn’t happen? Probably not, right? It did happen… Oh boy.” Dick laughs, and the sound is very much forced and hollow. 

“I’m so sorry, Conner. I… uh… you probably don’t want to talk to me right now. I mean, I wouldn’t want to talk to myself so… I’ll just… uh, see myself out and uh… in fact, you don’t have to see me again after tonight if you don’t want to. Totally understandable if you don’t. You came here tonight because you’re a good friend and maybe to have a good time with a friend… and now I’ve made this awkward and I should… I should just… go,” Dick babbles, taking a couple of hurried steps with every word that comes out of his mouth. He refuses to look anywhere except at the ground. 

“Dick, no. I didn’t mean— that’s not what I— Dick, wait,” Conner says, his steps echoing behind him. 

Dick doesn’t stop. Grabbing on to the straps of his backpack for dear life, he makes it past the concession stand, past the box office and out into the street. It’s dark outside, and Dick starts walking in the same direction he had arrived. 

“ Dick ,” Conner bites out. His footsteps get faster, closer, and Dick steps to one side out of pure reflex. 

Conner’s hand meets empty air where Dick had been a second ago, but he lets out a sound of frustration and reaches out again. 

Dick doesn’t manage to avoid him this time.  Conner manages to grab his arm and uses it to spin him around and hold him in place. 

“I have to go, Conner,” Dick says, and starts wiggling his arm free. 

“Don't go, Dick.”

“Why not?”

“Shouldn’t we talk about this?” 

No, no, no, absolutely not. Dick doesn’t want to talk about what he did. He doesn’t want to talk about what he has ruined. What he wants is to get the fuck away as soon as he can so he can try and erase this from his mind and figure out how he’s going to salvage the situation. 

“I really don’t see what we could talk about. I clearly misunderstood the situation and misread the signs. I’m very sorry about all of this. I hope I didn’t make you too uncomfortable,” Dick says, hoping diplomacy gets him out of there faster. 

Conner deflates at his answer, disappointment written all over his face. His grip loosens slightly, and Dick takes the opportunity to tug his arm free. 

“Dick, that’s not—”

“I’ll see you around, okay?” Dick interrupts. “If you want to talk to me after this, I mean. I would understand if I totally made this awkward and irreversible now, though. Totally fair. Like I said, I quite misread the situation and I should… I should… you know what, I will just… go.”

Conner lets out another sound of frustration. “Dick, you didn’t make anything— if you’d just stop running for five seconds we can—”

“I’m not running. I’m… walking away, which is the sensible thing to do.”

“And how is that going to solve anything?” Conner grits out. 

Dick tries to smile. He ends up grimacing instead. “Well, it’s going to give us both time to cool off and for you to think if you still want to be my friend after this and—” 

“Dick, will you please stop assuming things for two seconds and actually talk to me?”

No, no. He won’t. He can’t. Everything inside him is yelling that he needs to leave. Much like it had happened with Jason at the Harper home, much like it had happened at Bruce’s apartment before New Year’s Eve, he cannot stay. 

The rational part of his brain knows he’s fucking everything up and knows running away hasn’t solved any of his issues before. However, the rational part of his brain isn’t winning right now. All he can think about is to flee and get himself to safety, no matter how superficial and temporary it may be.

“I’m so sorry, Conner. I have to go,” he repeats. When Conner reaches out to grab his arm again, Dick takes two steps back. 

“I’m sorry,” he says again, then spins on his heel and walks away as fast as he can. 

“Dick,” Conner calls. “Dick. Dick!” 

Dick doesn’t stop. He doesn’t look back. He walks away and does his very best to drone out Conner’s voice. 

He has to get away. He has to figure out what to do next. He has to figure out what will happen after this. 

Those two things will have to wait until tomorrow, though. Right now he just needs to get home, scream into a pillow and pick up the pieces of himself that fell all over the place tonight.

Chapter Text

Hey! This is Dick. I can’t come to the phone right now but you know what to do! 

Dick’s cheery message comes to an end. A beep sounds. Conner hangs up before the machine can record his tired, frustrated sigh. 

He frowns down at his phone. He contemplates Dick’s number on the screen for so long that his vision goes blurry. He will try calling again in the afternoon. He also plans on sending a couple of texts throughout the day, but he’s not sure if any of that will help. He’s been trying to get in contact with Dick for the past week, and not a single one of his calls or texts have been answered. Conner would blame it on Dick’s exhausting and long work hours, some erratic shifts and Conner not knowing Dick’s schedule… but he likes to think he’s smarter than that. 

Dick had been… quite terrified the last time Conner had seen him. The memory is crystal clear in his mind: Dick leaning in, him realizing a second too late -always too late-, and then him pushing Dick back. He can still see Dick panicking, standing and moving away. He can still hear the forced, desperate ramblings  of a man who’d clearly been going through a crisis. Conner knows his perception of other people’s emotions isn’t always right, but there had been no mistaking Dick’s fear and the automatic, instinctual need to flee. 

Judging by the lack of communication, it’s safe to deduce Dick is still not feeling better.

 “Still nothing?” Tim asks. He finishes checking some vials in the IV bag, nods to himself and zips it closed. 

Sighing a second time, Conner pockets his phone. “No,” he mutters. He turns his attention to his own list. He finishes checking the OB bag, then puts it back in its corresponding shelf inside the ambulance. 

“Do you think he’s okay?” Tim goes on. 

“I don’t know.” Conner grabs their trauma bag and throws it open on top of the gurney. His hands make quick work of all the contents inside. Stethoscope, tourniquets, oximeter, oxygen mask… 

The mask slips through his fingers. He manages to catch it before it hits the ground. He grits his teeth as he puts it back in its place. 

“All good on my side,” he announces. He zips up the bag again and turns to Tim, finds his friend frowning. 

“Are we missing anything on your side?” he asks. When Tim shakes his head, Conner nods once. “Good.” 

He glances around one last time, then turns around and hops down from the ambulance. He pulls out his phone and leans back against the vehicle as he pulls up his texts. 

I hope you are doing okay.

Maybe that’s a dumb thing to say, I’m sorry. 

I would very much like to talk to you.

I hope you have a good night, Dick. 

Conner stares at the messages he’d sent last night, then at the messages above. There are several different timestamps, all from his own side. He’s tried messaging Dick like nothing had happened. He’s also tried texting Dick and touching only on what happened at the movie theater. He’s offered to meet in a neutral place or to come over to his house. He sent random pictures of Krypto as peace offerings. Nothing has worked. 

“Not a single answer to anything, huh?” Tim mutters, kneeling behind him in the ambulance. He peeks at Conner’s phone over his shoulder.

“No,” Conner replies, and can’t keep the bitterness out of his voice. He scrolls up to see even older messages. He wonders if he can mix and combine a few when he tries texting again today. He wonders if that will make him seem even creepier, or if Dick already blocked him. Given the concerning amount of  messages he’s already sent and how many calls he’s made, Conner wouldn’t really blame him. He knows he’s being stubborn, probably irritating too, and he half-wishes he could take Dick’s silence as a clear sign to drop it and move on… but he can’t. He’s never been very good or quick at letting stuff go, not without a good explanation or justification, and not until it makes sense why he should let go. 

Tim stays quiet for a few seconds, then lays an elbow on Conner’s shoulder. “And how are you doing, CK?” 

Conner lets out a sigh. He scrolls through a few more of his messages, but the growing weight in his stomach only gets worse as he’s reminded yet again that Dick hasn’t bothered to answer a single one of them. 

How is he doing? Tim had asked. 

That is… well… he could say it is a very difficult and layered question to answer, but the truth is, he does know how he’s doing. He knows what he’s feeling, because it’s the same thing he’s felt since last seeing Dick seven days ago. 

The truthful and simple answer is: Conner is pissed . 

And the thing is, he is no stranger to anger. Anger had been his favorite and almost lone companion for so many years, after all. Back in Smallville, when he’d been an odd kid and then an odd teenager in a town that was as lovely as it was traditional and mainstream, anger had been the tool he’d used to cope with all the things he didn’t understand. 

His brother had been one of those things, as a matter of fact.  Everyone in Smallville had known Clark since he was a child, and everyone remembered him fondly, which is why it had been harder for Conner to grow up there without being compared to the perfect child Clark had been.  

Why hadn’t Conner been as outgoing and cheerful as Clark? Why hadn’t he been as charming? Why did Conner have so much trouble hanging out with the kids from school outside of classes, or clubs? Clark had been beloved by everyone in town long before Conner had existed and he’d been raised by the same parents… So why had Conner been so different? They had learned the same things, were taught the  same manners… So how come Conner could be so mean sometimes? Why hadn’t he smiled much? Why hadn’t he laughed at all the good jokes people shared with him? Why did he have to ask unnecessary questions in funny and simple situations? 

Conner himself hadn’t known why, but he’d known he was different. The fact that people had wanted him to be like Clark: a shining beacon of friendliness and humor, had been… infuriating, especially because -hand to God- Conner had tried . 

He’d had the chance to learn from the best. Most people who knew the family had told him exactly why people liked Clark so much. He had always been friendly, cheerful and upbeat. He could always hold conversations with people about the weather, and about a family member's stomach bug and what Ma did at home to help them. He’d always been willing to lend a hand if anyone needed help carrying their groceries or mowing their lawns. He always laughed at all the good jokes the townspeople told and, in the words of several neighbors, “he was always a delight”. 

Conner had paid so much attention to Clark whenever he visited. He listened to what people said about his brother, observed Clark’s reactions and even memorized common things his brother said during his conversations. He had thought that would make him fit in better in Smallville… but as hard as he tried, he could never really pull it off. He didn’t have the natural charisma Clark always had. He certainly didn’t have the patience, and he wasn’t good enough at hiding it. 

It used to drive Conner mad. Why did he have to be like his brother? No matter what everyone thought and said, they were completely different people. Then again, back then he also used to ask himself, why couldn’t he be like Clark? Why was it so hard for him to live in the place he loved without worrying about how people saw him and how they scored his attitude on a daily basis? Why was home the only place where he didn’t feel judged when he acted like himself? And why were the kids so damn mean sometimes? Why did they have to call him weird, or a freak, or retarded? 

His father had taken him to a soccer club in the hopes he could make friends, which never really worked. Joining the wrestling team had been… somewhat cathartic. He used to yell at kids in the hallways. He used to punch them when his words failed him and he wanted them to be silent and leave him alone.  It had been a nice and healthier outlet for the frustration he felt bubbling up inside. The wrestling team had been a good experience and it had been a chance for him and his Pa to spend more time together, but it wasn’t like many kids wanted to hang with him outside of training. Conner had been fine with that. If they were just going to make snide comments about him and make him upset, Conner preferred it that way. 

At one point during his junior year of high school he’d spent every moment outside of school in the kitchen with their family dog, who he’d creatively named Wolf because he looked like one. His Ma had tried to get him to go outside and hang out with other kids several times, but why would he? He didn’t have the patience or interest to talk shit about other weird kids, and he didn’t have a particular interest in talking about which girl had looked hot in a certain pair of jeans either. Besides, Wolf was always the better companion, 

No, he much preferred the quietness of the kitchen inside his home, the most familiar and comforting place in the entire town. He liked how it was only him and Wolf there, with Ma being the only other human who would join him. He liked how it was a place where he could leave the radio on with low volume and let all his anger wash away when he washed rice or vegetables. He liked how he could turn his brain off for a moment while he followed recipes that never changed but always gave him the same delicious outcome. He liked handing Wolf bits and pieces of food and asking how the dog liked it, always getting a happy bark in reply. He liked how grounded and calm he felt when he was in the kitchen, and how it was one thing he was good at, one of the few that came to him effortlessly. 

Wolf had died his senior year of high school, only weeks after his parents had told him he needed to apply for university. Conner, having lost his closest friend, had felt like he was being kicked out, and he had been heartbroken. Why would they do that to him? Despite how some people behaved towards him and how they treated him, he had no reason or desire to leave Smallville. Why would he want to leave his wonderfully loving and supporting parents, who always accepted him as he was and never compared him to his brother? Why would he want to leave the town where his best friend had died? 

He didn’t want to leave the place he knew like the back of his hand, with people he knew and who were already used to him, even if they didn’t always like him. Why was there a need for him to leave? He could make a life in Smallville like his parents had. He could get a job and work to support himself and a new dog and  help his parents out. He could move out if his parents didn’t want him in the house anymore, but why did he have to leave ? 

He’s pretty sure seeing him like that had been harder on his parents than on himself, but they had powered through and insisted it was the best option for him. He’d been numb for months, but eventually, he had graduated high school and moved out of Smallville only months later. 

Conner had shed a lot of bitter and angry tears after his dad and brother had dropped him off in Central City for his first semester. He’d been livid, but he’d also been terrified. Here he was, in a city he didn’t know, in a university he didn’t know, with people he didn’t know… not to mention he was now expected to go out there, meet people and enjoy his time in the goddamn institution? A couple of pillows passed on to better life before Conner could get his feelings back under control. 

A few months into university, Tim had inserted himself in his life and informed he wasn’t leaving any time soon. Tim had been smart, snarky and confident when Conner first met him, and not much changed over the years. For some reason, he’d taken a liking to Conner’s surly face and dry humor, and he’d stuck around. Although he’d never outright said it, Conner had been glad, too, because life became easier after meeting Tim.  Despite everyone around them speaking the same language, sometimes it felt like Tim could translate and explain to him what was going on around them, why people behaved certain ways, or why Conner had to do or say certain things. Tim had been a big help in discovering the world beyond his small village, and how in the end, the outside world wasn’t as terrifying as he had first thought. 

Conner prides himself in how far he’s come since he left home. He has learned to navigate a world he doesn’t fully understand, filled with people who don’t even bother trying to know him. He has accepted that some things about him are different, and odd, and that he doesn’t have to pretend to be someone else all the time. He learned not to hold and use anger as a shield all the time either. He’s old enough that people’s opinions of him don’t matter as much as they once did. He’s learned to let his anger go… at least for the most part. 

Sure, a lot of small things annoy him nowadays, and he still gets frustrated with people and their actions, but he’s not terrified of the world and its unspoken rules anymore. That being said, he hasn’t felt this damn furious in years, probably not since Megan logged into his email and withdrew his application from the fire academy. 

Back when that happened, he’d been speechless with anger. He’d been so furious he’d been numb, but he’d been angry at her . 

This time, though, he’s mostly mad at himself. He’s mad because he screwed up yet again . He’s supposed to know better. He’s supposed to be better. He’s supposed to be more aware of other people’s feelings. He thought he’d learned to read the room, and he is so disappointed in himself  that it’s not the case. 

And while most of his anger is for his own stupidity, he’s also mad at Dick, fiercely and unabashedly so. He’s so angry at how things happened, at how both of them reacted, but he’s mostly mad because Dick hadn’t stopped to listen to him. Dick hadn’t given him a chance to explain, or apologize, and every time he even thinks that the situation could have gone differently if he had realized, or if Dick had listened—

“I’m hitting the gym,” he mutters, and pushes away from the ambulance. 

“Whoa— hey, give me a little warning next time!” Tim cries. Conner keeps walking to the locker room while Tim flails and curses him under his breath. 

Their shift is just starting. Things have been calm since he stepped foot into the station, but Conner knows better than to linger on their good luck for more than one second. 

Krypto is curled up in his dog bed in the locker room when Conner walks in. He gives Conner an acknowledging bark before he snuggles down to continue his nap. Conner gives his other best friend a nod before changing into his workout clothes and grabbing a towel. 

He’s already in the gym and standing in front of a punching bag  when Tim enters the room. 

“You still haven’t answered my question,” Tim points out, crossing his arms. 

“Which question?” he replies as he finishes wrapping up his hands. He flexes his fingers, rolls his neck from side to side and rolls his shoulders a few times. 

Tim gives him a disgusted look. “Don’t play dumb, Kent. You know which question I mean.”

Conner grunts. He does know what question Tim wants answered, and he even knows the answer to the question, but he also knows he doesn’t want to answer said question. Instead of trying to put it into words, he’d much prefer to sweat it out. . 

“I don’t want to answer that,” he says. He starts bouncing on the balls of his feet, then starts punching the air in a quick, familiar sequence. 

Tim sighs. He waits in impatient silence for Conner to warm up, maybe hoping he will change his mind and talk to him in the middle of it. However, once Conner is done punching the air and rears his arm back to hit the punching bag, Tim says, “Okay, fine.  Talk to me when you’re feeling like a grown up again.”

Conner lands the first punch harder than necessary. He glares at his friend, but Tim is already walking away and waving a dismissive hand in the air. 

“I am feeling like a grownup,” he calls, and when Tim yells, “Ha!, Conner presses his lips together and throws a second punch. 

He is feeling like a grownup, an angry one, but a grownup nonetheless. 

He’s so mad, and so disappointed, because how did this happen? How did he let this happen? How had he missed the cues? How had he not noticed the signs until it was too late? How had he been so blind and clueless? How had he been deaf to what Tim and Cassie had been telling him for so many weeks now? Why hadn’t he listened? Why hadn’t he stopped for one moment to think about the subtext? 

No, he couldn’t play dumb. He knew why he’d missed the cues. He knew why he’d been blind and deaf to what Dick had been doing, to what Dick had been implying and to what his friends had been telling him. 

No matter how much he’d like to blame it all on his lack of social awareness and his perpetual frustration with the world, the truth is…

Well, why on Earth would Dick like him that way? 

It doesn’t make sense , Conner thinks as his body gets warmer and he channels all his anger into his fists and starts hitting the bag quicker, harder. 

What about him could have possibly made Dick think of him as something more than a friend? After their conversation at the movie theater before it had all gone sideways… Why had Dick not realized that Conner was just wrong ? 

And especially for Dick… who was so… so… 

… So free . 

Conner is aware that sometimes he complicates his own life and makes things harder than they need to be. He also knows he has a pretty good life. He has a job he likes, he has managed to make and keep more than one friend for more than a few months. He has a nice apartment, a good relationship with his family  and he also has the best dog in the world. He can count his many blessings on both hands. He works hard to keep them all so he has a comfortable life… 

But despite all that, Conner doesn’t think he has lived his life with as much love as Dick has. 

From the first moment Conner met him, when he found Dick freezing on a bench and looking like his heart had been torn from his chest, to the way he had seemed so happy to join Conner for an impromptu picnic under a frozen tree, to him looking so hurt and ashamed when telling Conner about his previous relationships, to the utter elation on his face when Conner had dropped by the hospital with some lame chicken soup, to the way Dick had looked at him before he kissed him… 

Conner has seen him love and cringe and enjoy and hate all sorts of things since they’ve met. Dick doesn’t seem to hold anything about himself back. He seems to immerse himself in every moment, all the way. Both the good and the bad things mean so much to Dick, and he doesn’t seem to care if or how they end. Unlike him, Dick lives. He loves when he can. He suffers when he must. He doesn’t worry about why things are or why they happen. He accepts them. 

And that… 

That is fascinating, because Dick is fascinating, and he’s amazing, and despite clearly being so different from one another…

Dick is gentle with him. 

So gentle. So sweet. 

Dick does his best to understand him, and even though he probably doesn’t always get Conner, he tries . Conner feels… comfortable around him, and that’s something he doesn’t feel very often, not after years or knowing someone, much less months. Even though Conner rarely bothers pretending these days, from the first time he met Dick, Dick has been… so kind. He’s made Conner feel accepted, and he’s been amused at Conner’s antics instead of freaking out or pushing him away… and… 

And… 

Dick deserves someone who’s just as wonderful as him, doesn’t he? Dick deserves someone who can meet him both in the highs and the lows. Dick should have someone who can match his pace and keep up. Dick should have a safe space with someone who can make his already spontaneous and fun life even better and more enjoyable. 

And the thing is, Conner is very much not that person. He is a headache Dick does not deserve, rather. There are invisible weights holding him down. They’ve always been there, and Dick needs someone who can push him further, higher, instead of someone who drags him down. 

Which is exactly what he would do, Conner thinks, and hits the punching bag so hard he ends up stumbling back. 

“Jesus,” he mutters. He rears his arm back to throw another punch, and as he swings his arm down, another thought hits him like lightning.  

Should he even be thinking this much about a kiss that didn’t happen?

Dick had wanted a kiss and nothing else, hadn’t he? A kiss didn’t have to mean much, did it? A kiss could just be a kiss, to find out if he liked kissing Conner, if Conner was a good kisser, if there was chemistry between the two of them, if there was potential for a second kiss or anything else between them… 

But the thing is, if Dick is looking for something wild and casual to do while naked… Conner isn’t the right person for that either. Dick could ask Cassie. Hell, Conner could dig up Megan’s number and let Dick talk to her.  

He’s tried, he’s really tried to do what Tim and Cassie and so many people do. He’s tried to find the appeal in ‘getting his jollies’ with people he knows and people he doesn’t know. He’s tried to look at sex from the same perspective Tim and Cassie do. It’s not a matter of women, men, or anyone in between. He’s looked at so many people over the years and tried his best to get his primal desires going, to ‘feel his loins go ablaze’ or to feel his loins stirring at the very least… but he hasn’t had much luck with that. 

He likes sex fine enough, when it comes down to it. His sex life had begun with Megan, and their time together had taught Conner… a lot. Like Tim, she’d been an unexpected but welcomed teacher at first, albeit in different ways. Conner had learned how awkward sex could be, and how important experience and practice was. He had learned to pay attention to what she liked the most, what she found most pleasurable, and he had also learned to listen to his own body and find out what it seemed to enjoy. He had learned about positions and toys and techniques, but he had never craved it or missed it, not like so many people seemed to do. 

So if Dick wants something quick and sexual with him… can he… try? Is he willing to try? Does he like Dick enough to try something that has failed before? Or anything at all?

He’s always had a hard time with those questions. As far back as elementary school, his parents and brother would ask him every now and then if there was someone special at school. His brother in particular -maybe due to the biological and physical distance between them- would try to bond with him over any and every subject he could think of, girls included. Was there anyone at school that caught his eye? Was there anyone he liked? Was there anyone he would like to introduce him or his parents to?

Around his sophomore year of high school, Clark had changed the phrasing of the question. He had stopped asking Conner if there were any girls he liked and instead asked if there was anyone he liked. Clark might have thought that would make him comfortable enough to say ‘ well, actually I don’t like girls ’ but the truth was, Conner’s answers hadn’t changed in his late teens, nor his late twenties.  

All the girls were pretty, or cute. All the guys were… all right. Some were handsome, others were just okay. He heard a lot about people feeling butterflies in their stomach, about people falling in love at first sight. He heard of people tripping over their feet because someone was so beautiful, so bewitching that they gave away their hearts without even thinking. People say they fall in love all the time, for any number of reasons, but for Conner, it had only happened once, and realizing it hadn’t been easy either. 

Megan Morse hadn’t turned his world upside down when they first met during their sophomore year in university. He had been sitting at his favorite table inside his favorite coffee shop, highlighting sections in his textbook. It had been a busy day, and she had approached him with the biggest smile, an extra muffin and an extra hot chocolate on her tray, asking if she could share the table with him as all the others were already full.

The smile had stayed in place even after Conner had glared at her, hoping she would avoid him like many people still did. When she didn’t budge and he couldn’t come up with a good excuse as to why she couldn’t sit with him, he had given in. He’d received the muffin and hot chocolate as thanks. He’d finished it all, even though he’d never had much of a sweet tooth. 

Much like Tim, Megan decided almost immediately that Conner needed her in his life, and she became a permanent fixture in it from that point forward. 

Conner had been okay with that. Megan had been so lively, so bubbly, such a sweet and bright person, and Conner had loved her very, very dearly in a way he hadn’t loved anyone before, or since. 

He couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment when Megan stopped being just a friend and became something else. They hung out for a year before Conner realized that his feelings for her were different than what he felt for everyone else. Another couple of months passed until they went out on their first official date and decided to start a relationship. It was somewhere in all that time that Conner became… enamored with her dazzling smile and her warm brown eyes. He cherished her lovely laugh, her soft and small hands. He loved her outgoing and positive personality. He thought her beautiful for her empathy and desire to help and nurture the people she cared for, but she was also beautiful with her long red hair and freckled nose. She was gorgeous, with dreams of a career in psychology, of having a family and a big house near the ocean. She had been the most beautiful person he had ever met…

But there hasn’t been anyone since Megan, and even his love for her had fallen apart after years of mutual disappointment and her utter reluctance to end an already dying relationship.   

Megan has been out of his life for almost a decade, and he hasn’t felt anything similar for anyone since. People have gone back to being pretty, or handsome, or nice, but nothing beyond that. Romance or a relationship aren’t things Conner has ever actively chased or wanted, and though sometimes he does miss having a close partner, if he takes a step back and looks at the whole picture with the objectiveness he prides himself on, and he thinks about Dick…

Dick is… 

Dick is…

Different. Special. 

Beautiful. 

Dick is beautiful, with his golden skin and his dazzling, blinding, flirtatious smile. He’s gorgeous, with those dark blue eyes that shine with so many emotions and so much life . Dick is beautiful, with his free spirit and his gentle nature and his willingness to accept Conner as he is. 

He’s beautiful with the vulnerability he doesn’t want anyone to see but spills over despite his best efforts. He’s beautiful, with his genuine joy and pain, and he’s… he’s important enough that Conner is asking himself if he likes him in a special way..

And the answer to that is, much to his own amazement:

Yes.  

Conner freezes for a split second with his hand midair. He sees the bag swinging back towards him, and he reaches out to grab it out of reflex. Once he’s holding the leather bag tight between his hands, he can’t do anything but stare at it in shock. 

He does like Dick.

He likes Dick , not in the way he likes Tim or Bart. He likes Dick, not in the way he likes Cassie, or the way he liked Cass. 

No. He might actually… he thinks… he might like Dick the same way he liked Megan . 

He releases the bag, stares at it in astonishment for a second longer, and lets out a heartfelt, “Damn it.” 

He grits his teeth, then starts throwing punches again. 

He likes Dick, yes. But how much does he like him? 

He likes Dick enough to try and have casual sex, doesn’t he? He’s willing to try, but he’s never dated a man. He’s never had sex with a guy. There’s probably a lot he doesn’t know and there’s a lot he has to learn. He’s received oral sex. He’s had anal sex. He’s had fingers up his ass, he’s been pegged too… that should all count for something, shouldn’t it? 

But if Conner tries, and if he fails to deliver and meet his partner’s needs  (like he’s failed before)... will he and Dick be able to remain friends? And what if Dick wants casual and Conner gets ahead of himself the same way Dick seems to have with one of his exes? 

How is any of that going to turn out?

And most importantly, how on Earth is he supposed to know what Dick wanted from that kiss if Dick ran away that night and won’t talk to him at all? 

Letting out a growl, Conner takes a step back before he lunges forward to pound the bag again with all his might. 

And this is what pisses him off the most right now. Dick won’t talk to him, and… why won’t Dick talk to him ? Why won’t he return his calls, or return his messages? How is either of them supposed to fully process, deal with the situation and move on accordingly if Dick won’t talk to him? 

Conner hates radio silence. He has always hated it, no matter who it comes from. How is any problem supposed to be solved if it isn’t talked about? Ignoring the elephant in the room and praying it goes away has never, ever worked. Sure, talking about what happened at the movie theater is going to be unpleasant and uncomfortable and nasty, but if he doesn’t get a hold of Dick to say…

Damn it.. What is he going to say?

He’s not sure yet. He knows he needs to apologize for pushing Dick away and scaring him off, but other than that he can only think of one thing to say: 

What the hell was that? 

It had been something. Otherwise it wouldn’t have almost happened. What had it been? What did it mean? How can he decide how to act from now one if he doesn’t have an answer from the one other person who knows what happened, and the one person who has the answer he seeks. 

So why. Won’t. Dick. Talk. To. Him.

He’s gritting his teeth by the time he’s finished accentuating each word with a punch. He gives the bag one last good and hard punch before he lets out a grunt that might actually be a growl.

Chest heaving, Conner steps back and lets the world come back into focus. Slowly, he becomes more aware of the pounding of his heart and his loud gasps for air. His body feels hot, his shoulders tense, his fingers numb. There’s sweat running down his face and chest, the tape around his hands is damp, but he feels… he feels better than he had when he’d come into the station, though no less angry. 

After giving himself a few more seconds to catch his breath, he walks back to the locker room. He finds his water bottle and downs a good chunk of it before he finds a towel and starts patting himself dry. 

He’s barely finished doing that and is wondering if he’ll be lucky enough to have time for a shower when the radios crackle to life and the siren goes off. 

Conner downs the rest of his water bottle and heads outside without thinking about it. It is about time; it had taken a while for the first call of the day to come in as it is. 

Tim is zipping up his jacket when Conner gets to the gear racks. Cassie and Bart aren’t anywhere in sight. 

“It’s a medical one,” Tim says when he catches him looking around. He balls up Conner’s pants as much as he can and chucks them in his direction. 

Conner catches them with ease. He slides into them, then slides his jacket on and grabs his radio. “Mr. Bolton?” he asks.

“Nope. High school PE classes gone wrong. Someone swung a bat too hard and caught the poor catcher in the head.”

His eyebrows go up, though not because of the scenario itself. Back in Central they attended a couple of similar situations, except it involved college kids, ashamed girlfriends and concussed boyfriends, but because the first thing that comes to mind is:

 “Wasn’t the catcher wearing a helmet?”

“They’re kids. What do you think?” Tim says, and without further word the two of them head to the ambulance. 

It’s not until Conner is speeding down the highways with the lights on and their radios silent that Tim decides it’s time to talk about the proverbial elephant again. 

“You feeling better?” he asks. 

Conner keeps his eyes very much on the road. “You mean like a grownup?” 

“Sorry, I guess that was uncalled for. You just piss me off so much sometimes, you know?”

He snorts. “Likewise.” 

Tim stays silent for a few seconds. Then, of course, he pushes the issue again. “So? You feeling better? Less pissed? More pissed? Anything at all?” 

Conner sighs. “Do we really have to talk about this right now?”

“It’s been a week. I’ve been patient enough with you as it is.”

Conner locks his jaw, checks his mirrors, turns on his blinker and speeds past a couple of cars ahead of them. He takes a few extra seconds to try and put every thought he had during his unruly boxing session into words. 

After several seconds of inner debate, the only thing he can say is, “I think I like Dick.” 

He doesn’t know what he expected once the words left his head and reached someone else’s ears. Maybe because the realization had hit him so very hard he expected Tim to react in a similar manner… but much to his annoyance, Tim only nods, unfazed, and says, “Right.”

Given how shocked he’d been less than an hour earlier, Conner  finds Tim’s reaction lackluster and somewhat offensive. “You don’t seem surprised,” he points out. 

Tim raises one eyebrow. “Should I be?”

“I was.”

“Well, that’s because you’re kind of clueless sometimes, CK, especially when it comes to yourself. In case you haven’t noticed, Cassie and I have been suspecting something has been brewing for a while.” Tim lets out a thoughtful hum. “I didn’t quite want to assume anything, not when it came to you, at least.”

Conner thinks the phrasing of that is somewhat odd. “Did you assume things about Dick?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Conner watches Tim shrug. “Dick seems to be as…what’s the word you’ve used before, for people like him and me? Uh… fluid? Was it fluid?”

“Normal,” Conner corrects, because while he does consider Tim, Dick’s and so many others’ outlook on relationships fluid and therefore daunting, he’s always known he’s more of an outlier in these scenarios. 

“Normal,” Tim mutters. “Sure, whatever. Anyways, Dick seems to be more like me than you. I know myself quite well, so from the moment he showed up at the station to return your jacket and scarf it was pretty obvious that he was feeling something -or everything, rather-  for you.” 

That early? Huh. 

‘Everything’ instead of ‘something’? Double huh. 

“And what is it?” Conner asks. “What Dick feels, I mean.” He knows it’s a dumb question to ask his friend, because it’s not like anyone but Dick will be able to answer it.  

“I can’t tell you what he feels or doesn’t feel.” Tim tsks, and rolls his eyes. “You can tell me what you feel, though. I’m way too invested in this soap opera now.” 

“This isn’t—”

“Yes, yes it is, you just don’t know it because you’re living it.” Tim pauses for dramatic effect, then says, “I’m glad you’ve realized it, you know. That you like Dick, I mean.” 

Again, the phrasing seems odd. “Why would you be glad I’ve caught special feelings for someone you don’t know?”

“Because you’re my friend, and I know you’re happy and fine, because you’re always fine , but…” Tim’s voice trails off, and he looks out the window for a few seconds, seconds in which Conner doesn’t push and instead just keeps on speeding down the highway. 

“Megan made you happy,” Tim finally says once the school they’re heading to comes into view.

“She did,” Conner agrees as they follow the road to the parking lot. She had made him happy. He’d been so happy with her. At least for a while. 

“I just think it’s nice if you’ve found someone else who can make you happy in that way again, you know?” Tim goes on as Conner finds them an available spot and pulls the ambulance into it. “I mean, I’m pretty sure the ‘no strings attached’ thing isn’t on the table anymore so—”

“‘No strings attached’?” Conner interrupts. He shuts the ambulance off.  “What do you mean by ‘no strings attached’?” And then it dawns on him. “Is that what you and Dick talked about the other day he was at the station? Do you think he just wants to hook up with me?” It’s a possibility he has already considered, but he’s not sure how it makes him feel yet. 

Tim snaps his mouth closed. “Shit. Sorry. No, that’s not… Nothing. Nothing at all. You need to talk to Dick and figure this out on your own.”

“What do you think I’ve been trying to do?” Conner huffs. “The only reason I didn’t go to the hospital yesterday was because you said—” 

“I know what I said!” Tim interrupts. “And yesterday it would have still been too soon. But now we’re on the seven day mark so it’s less socially awkward to go and look for him. You have my blessing, especially because you are now an enlightened man.”

Conner huffs. “What difference does one day make?” he mutters, but he reaches for his helmet and their trauma bag. Tim reaches for his own helmet and his own bag, and once they throw the ambulance doors open, then it’s time to forget about his personal life and focus on keeping people alive and out of the hospital. 

There’s a kid with a big bump on the head sitting at the principal’s office when the two of them finally make their way there. There’s a man in a suit and a woman in a tracksuit. 

“Opal FD,” Tim calls cheerfully as they go through the door. “What do we have here?”

The principal and the coach start talking at the same time. Tim keeps a smile in place as he starts nodding and ahhing along. Conner, for his part, kneels down in front of the kid. “Hey, buddy. I’m Conner.”

“Hi,” the kid says, voice glum. 

“What’s your name?”

“Billy.”

“You’ve had a rough day, Billy?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” the kid replies, and he pouts. 

Conner understands the sentiment very well. “All right, you’re conscious and talking, and you remember your name, so those are already good signs. I’m going to check you out and see how hurt you are, okay?”

Billy tries to nod, but the movement seems to hurt because he stops mid-nod and instead mutters a whiny, “Okay.” 

Conner bites back an endeared smile. He swings his bag around, snaps his gloves on and gets to work. 

While Tim continues to deal with the two fussy adults and whatever they’re screaming about, Conner checks the kid’s airways. He then checks pulse and blood pressure, and after prodding the already visible bump on Billy’s head and making sure he isn’t bleeding from anywhere, he pulls out his flashlight and holds up a finger. 

Billy’s pupils react normally. He follows Conner’s finger without issue. Conner asks him routine questions, like what day it is, where he is. He also asks what happened, and even though it makes BIlly blush from embarrassment, he gets the whole story on how the girl who’d been batting was someone he liked, and how he’d leaned in closer than he should have, and she wasn’t the best hitter, and next thing he knew, his head was aching. 

“This is embarrassing,” Billy mutters when Conner is almost done assessing him. 

“You would think that, but I’ve actually seen this happen with college kids, a metal bat, and much worse excuses,” Conner offers as he pulls out an ice pack and presses it to the bump on the kid’s head.

Billy’s eyes go wide. “You’re kidding.”

“I wish.” And he proceeds to tell Billy the story of the time he and Tim took a call at their old university. A group of friends had been messing around, and one of them had brought his girlfriend to impress her. He’d tried to teach her how to swing the same way he’d taught her how to play pool. He’d thought it would be romantic to stand behind her her and hold her arms and guide her through the swing. 

“Wasn’t too romantic when we had to drag him into the ER with a concussion,” he concludes. 

Billy’s eyes have widened even more. “Do I have a concussion? Will you have to take me to the ER?”

“That’s a wonderful question, Billy,” Tim’s voice cuts in. Conner looks up at his friend and finds the blank smile still in place, the two other adults fuming but silent at his side. 

“CK? What’s the verdict?” Tim asks. 

Conner pockets his flashlight and starts stuffing his supplies back into his bag. “Billy, do you think you can stand up?”

“Yes,” Billy says. 

“All right. Here, I’ll help you up.” Conner gets to his feet and grabs Billy’s arm. He helps the kid stand up, watches him very carefully for any signs of imbalance or dizziness. 

“Can you walk in a straight line?” he asks, and Billy marches forward, not wobbling a single step. 

“Well, I think we’re letting Billy off with a warning this time,” Conner tells Tim, who nods and turns back to the principal and the coach. The conversation resumes, and Conner manages to hear that the parents are already on the way. He also hears Tim saying they should keep a close eye on Billy for the next twenty four hours. 

“If at any point in the next day you start feeling the tiniest bit dizzy or nauseous or the pain is too intense, you tell your family to take you to the ER, or to call us again, okay?” Conner says. 

“Yes,” Billy says, and even gives a salute. 

“Great. And trust me, I’m no expert, but maybe try flowers next time?” 

Billy blushes bright red. Conner swallows a tiny smile before accommodating his bag and waiting for Tim to finish with the others.

“So what are you going to say when you see him?” Tim asks when they’re backing out of their parking spot. 

Conner sighs and keeps his attention on the mirrors. “I’m going to ask what the whole situation was about, and what he wants from me.” 

Tim hums. “Okay, and what else?”

“What else should I say?”

“Maybe open up with an apology? Because you kind of screwed up and scared him away?”

Conner breathes out through his nose. Tim makes a very good point. “Yes, you’re right. If he doesn’t get back to me before our shift ends I will go to the hospital and talk to him.”

“And you’ll open up with an apology.”

“I will open with—” 

Their radios crackle to life. The dispatcher calls out their unit’s name and the address, and then “Pediatric patient, foreign object, nasal obstruction. Older sister on scene. Patient is stable."

The two of them exchange a glance.

“Five bucks say it’s a lego,” Tim says, and turns the flashing lights on. 

“It’s always a lego,” Conner mutters, and pushes down on the accelerator. 

Whatever calm they’d had at the beginning of the shift is gone after that, and for a good part of the day they rush from one end of the city to another responding to several different calls.

Engine 13. Reported smoke alarm activation. Caller reports alarm sounding, no visible flames, possible burnt food. 

Rescue 13, respond to the Walmart parking lot for a two-vehicle collision. Caller reports no injuries, minor vehicle damage. Both parties on scene, requesting medical evaluation. 

Rescue 13, respond to medical call. Diabetic alert, patient conscious and breathing, family requesting evaluation.

Rescue 13 for a medical. Adult patient, persistent nosebleed, bleeding controlled at this time. Caller requesting medical assessment.

Engine 13, respond to cat stuck in a tree, owner on scene requesting assistance. No medical emergency.

Conner is watching Bart go up the ladder to retrieve a very terrified kitten from a tree -while Tim takes the vitals of its elderly owner to make sure she’s not having a heart attack- when a small chuckle escapes him. 

Cassie, who’s standing next to him and watching the whole thing in amusement, mumbles a distracted, “What?”

“Nothing,” he replies. He brings his  forearm to cover his mouth and muffle any further sounds, but a second chuckle escapes him, and all of a sudden, he’s shaking with silent laughter. 

Fascinated by this unusual scenario, Cassie turns her whole attention to him. “What? What?” she prods again, and she does it quite literally by poking him on the sides until he bats her hands away, still laughing. 

“Whaaaaat?” she insists yet again, drawing out the word as much as she can. “Come on, CK! Don’t keep the joke to yourself! Come on, tell me!” 

“It’s—it’s not—it’s not a joke,” he manages to say, hoping that will make her back off, but he should know better by now. 

“Uh-huh. Well, it’s got you laughing, so it must be something pretty funny,” she shoots back. She crosses her arms and gives him her best mock glare. “Come on, Kent, don't make me tickle the answer out of you.”

“I’m not ticklish—” he begins, but when she wiggles her fingers and seems ready to pounce, he gives in. 

“Okay, fine,” he concedes, and holds up a hand. 

Cassie waits, eyes shining, and he sighs and thinks of the best way to word what made him laugh. 

“It’s not a joke,” he repeats. “And it’s not a funny situation per se. I’m just… I’m just thinking about something Dick… uh, something he  said… the other day, I mean. Yeah. That.” 

Her eyes go wide at the admission, and her face brightens. “Oh, listen to you! That’s cute !”

“It’s… it’s not.” Not knowing what compels him to say it, he finds himself telling Cassie the whole thing. “The day he came to the station he… he asked me how I could be both a firefighter and a paramedic, and after I told him he set this example of… a cat getting stuck on a tree, and this elderly lady thinking she was having a heart attack and…” He motions to Bart up  in the metallic basket calling out for the cat, at the old lady fussing at whatever Tim is doing… and another small laugh escapes him. 

Cassie laughs too. “Oh my God, that is so cute! You’re being so cute right now! Come on, snap a couple of pictures to show to your pretty nurse!” 

Conner hasn’t talked much to Cassie about the whole Dick situation, but he’s talked to Tim, so by extension, he knows Cassie and Bart are caught up on everything.

Which is why he says, “He’s uh… he’s not speaking to me right now. Or acknowledging my existence. At all. Or he’s pretending he doesn’t exist, I’m not sure what he’s trying to do.” 

Cassie goes quiet, and Conner looks away, trying to keep his expression under control. This is not the moment for anger or hurt to come to the surface, or to make Cassie worry about him. 

“So?” she asks after a few seconds. He brings his attention back to her, finds her raising an eyebrow in a way that tells him he’s being very dumb right now. The women in his life all seem to share this same look, and it always makes him feel the very same way. 

“So… I can’t show him any pictures of this any time soon,” he says. 

“No, but you’ve been messaging him, so you can send him fun pictures that he’ll see even if he doesn’t reply. And besides—” she pats his arm. “You’re going to work out everything that happened between you two, won’t you?”

“I… hope to, yes.”

Cassie stops patting his arm and starts rubbing her hand up and down instead. “Tim says you came to this big and shocking realization today.” 

“You’re caught up on today’s conversations already?”

“Did you expect any less?”

… Fair enough. 

“I don’t know if it’ll work out even after I talk to Dick, or get him to talk to me,” he admits, and drops his gaze to the ground. “He was… very scared the last time I saw him, and he doesn’t seem to want to talk to me, and even if he does…” Well, Cassie knows how wrong Conner is. She knows that there are some things he can’t understand the same way she or Tim does. 

“You’re looking all sad and depressed all of a sudden,” she says, and keeps rubbing his arm. “You know I love you to bits, right?” 

“I love you too, Cassie.” And he does. He loves her so much, sometimes a bit more than he loves Bart or Tim.  

“And you know I had a good time with you, right?” 

Conner raises his eyes, meets hers for a few seconds, then looks away again. “I have always hoped that was the case, yes.”

“I did,” she insists. “And you enjoyed yourself just fine, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” Having sex with Cassie had been… fine, and fun, and pleasurable. It has always been fine and fun and pleasurable most of the time, it’s just not something he has ever felt the need to write poems about. 

“Well, then you talk to your pretty nurse and take it from there, CK. There’s nothing wrong with you, so you give it a try, and if it doesn’t work out, it doesn’t work out. And if it ends in heartbreak or unpleasantness…” She grins. “Well, it’s about time Tim and I give back a little to the community, no? Besides, you’re the one who’s always telling us it’s fine for people to want different things, to need different things, and that doesn’t make anyone shitty. Listen to yourself for once, why don’t you?” she finishes with a huff. She stops rubbing his arm and slaps it instead. 

“Thank you,” is all Conner says before Reyes calls out Cassie’s name and she bolts towards him.

Conner, for his part, leans against the ambulance and pulls out his phone. He snaps a couple of pictures of Bart reaching for the cat and of Tim looking somewhat exasperated as the old lady grabs his arm. He’ll send them to Dick once they’re back at the station. 

They manage to rescue the cat without another call coming in, and as they drive back to the station, Tim says, “I’m starving. What do you have inside the station’s fridge, again?”

Suddenly embarrassed, Conner clears his throat. “Uh. There’s still… uh, leftover white lasagna, some grilled salmon… uh, there were some stuffed peppers left as well, and uh… pretty sure there’s enough supplies to assemble some more sliders for today.” He’s not exactly proud of the amount of cooking he has done in the past days to cope with the Dick situation, but it was that or hit the punching bag until he broke his hand, so he thinks cooking is… a nice compromise, and the lesser of two evils, in a way.

Tim snorts. “No need for takeout, then.” 

They pull into the station behind the rig, and Krypto comes barreling down the stairs as soon as the ambulance is turned off.. 

“Hey, boy,” Conner says as he and Tim get out of the ambulance. He kneels down and has his arms open and ready when Krypto crashes into him, licking at his face and whatever other skin he can reach. 

“I know. I know. You’ve been cooped up here today for most of the calls, haven’t you?” he murmurs, patting the dog’s head and rubbing his ears. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise. We’ll go on a really, really long walk tomorrow if you don't get to go out much today.”

 Krypto seems satisfied with this, as he gives Conner’s face one last lick and a resounding bark before he wiggles away and runs towards Bart when the redhead calls his name. 

“What do you want to eat?” Tim asks, taking his jacket off. 

“I’m not very hungry,” Conner replies. Despite the calm morning, they've been rushing from one call to the other in the past few hours. It’s the first time in the day that they’ve managed to get back to the station for two minutes before the sirens go off, and if this is the only chance he will get to be there during his shift, he’d rather do something other than eat. 

“I’ll try to get a shower in before we get another call,” he says, and Tim gives him a sympathetic nod before they head in their respective directions. 

Conner takes his gear off and slows down enough to hang it up properly before he bolts for the shower room. He turns the water on full force and takes one of the fastest showers of his life, which is saying something. 

Relieved he managed the whole shower without another call coming in, he’s quick to dry himself off and slip into his uniform. When he exits back into the main part of the station, he catches whiffs of Alfredo sauce and salmon, which means Tim and probably many others are enjoying the leftovers of the past few days. 

Since he’s still not feeling very hungry, Conner heads for the gear racks and sits down with a brush. 

Cleaning gear isn’t very fun, but it will give him something to do for now. He’s still not very hungry, and he doesn’t have enough energy to join in on the camaraderie upstairs. He’d really like to step out for a bit right now and go to the hospital, maybe talk to Dick before his shift ends, but he knows that would be very irresponsible of him. Since he’s antsy and angry but not dumb, he will stay busy and do his job until his shift ends. 

Decision made, Conner starts wiping down his pants. If he has time, he’ll do his boots afterward.  It’s not like they’ve been out on any particularly nasty calls today, but it’s always good to—

The sirens go off. His radio crackles to life. 

“Rescue 13, respond to parking lot of Walmart store between 7th and 9th. Report of a male subject, possibly unconscious or unresponsive. Caller says he was acting erratically and aggressively prior to collapsing. Law enforcement en route. Use caution.”

Conner pauses for a second. Law enforcement en route? That’s something that doesn’t happen often. The police had arrived when they were almost done at the small fender bender earlier in the day, but only because they’d been dispatched after a second call for the same place. Medical calls get wacky sometimes, but if Conner got a coin for every time their ambulance got dispatched after the police… he still wouldn’t have enough to buy Krypto a tennis ball. 

Tim comes crashing into the gear racks, and they exchange a quick glance before they slip into their pants and jackets. 

“At least you managed to shower,” Tim offers as they bolt for the ambulance. 

Conner nods. “Did you finish eating?” 

Tim nods, smiles. “I even had time for dessert,” he boasts. His smile vanishes, and silence falls between them as Conner pulls the ambulance out of the station and Tim hits the lights and the siren. 

It’s only when they arrive at the Walmart parking lot and see the police cruiser that Tim speaks again. “We’re getting as much information as possible before we even dare take a step towards the patient, are we clear? No martyr or superhero speed runs, CK.” 

Conner, who’d been prepared to sprint towards the patient the moment he opened the door, clears his throat. “Oh. Of course not. No.” 

Tim frowns, and Conner pretends he doesn’t see him as the ambulance comes to a stop. 

Tim gets out first, trauma bag slung over one shoulder. Conner parks the ambulance, reaches for a second bag. He grabs the gurney from the back and catches up to Tim just as a police officer starts leading them towards the collapsed patient. 

“—already here when the caller parked,” the officer says. “Caller said he was walking around in circles and acting odd, but he wasn’t bothering anyone.”

“And something changed when the caller came out of the store?” Tim guesses, slapping his gloves on. 

The officer nods. “Not sure what, but when our caller came out, the guy was waving around the broken handle of a cart and screaming at anyone who looked at him a second too long.” 

Tim hums. Conner slips his own gloves on. 

“Did he hurt anyone before he collapsed? Do we know what happened?” Tim asks. 

The officer shakes his head. “All the bystanders kept their distance, and our caller actually approached the guy when he first collapsed because she thought he was having a heart attack. We checked his breathing and pulse when we got here. He’s unresponsive, but pulse seems good.” The officer motions to the unconscious man lying only a couple of feet away from him. “Then again, I’m not the expert here so…”

“We’re on it,” Tim says, and Conner takes this as the ‘go-ahead’ sign. 

He gets to the patient first. The man is for sure over six feet tall. He’s burly, with hands that are as big as baseball mitts. No wonder the bystanders had kept their distance. 

He assesses the patient's airways while Tim hangs back and asks the officer, “Do we have a name? ID? Anything?”

“We already searched. Nothing on him apart from the broken cart handle we kicked away.” 

Tim grunts and kneels next to Conner. Together, they check the man’s ABCs in nimble, practiced synchronicity.

“Heart rate is elevated, blood pressure is low,” Tim mutters. 

“Pupils are blown, and he’s not completely unresponsive,” Conner adds. 

Tim hums. He grabs one of the patient’s arms and turns it one way, then the other. “I’ve got track marks on this arm.”

Conner checks the arm on his side. He finds bruises and track marks on the bend of that arm too. 

He raises his eyes, and Tim does the same. Pupils and a lack of blue lips would argue against it, but the word ‘ overdose’ still hangs unspoken between them. 

“Let’s load him up,” Tim says. 

Conner gets to his feet and grabs the gurney. 

“We’ll follow you to the hospital and talk to him when he’s awake,” the police officer says while they load up the patient. He follows them as they wheel him to the ambulance. As Conner climbs in first and settles inside with the patient, the officer asks, “Where are you taking him?”

There’s a quick moment of hesitation. He and Tim exchange another look, and then Conner shrugs, because it’s not like he can let his personal life take priority over a patient’s well-being. 

“I will go there sooner or later anyway,” he says. 

Tim snorts, and turns to the officer.  “You can follow us to OMC.” He shoots Conner a quick glance.  “CK, you okay riding back here?” 

“Yes,” he replies, even though he usually drives. He hooks up the patient to the monitors inside. He places the oxygen mask on top of the patient’s half-open mouth, then gives Tim and his questioning eyebrows a small smile. “Only one of us knows how to wrestle big guys if I give him something and he wakes up screaming.” 

Tim narrows his eyes. “I can wrestle big guys just fine .”

“In a different setting, and with less clothes on, I have no doubt.”

“Oh, fuck you, Kent,” Tim says, but he laughs and shuts the doors. He opens the driver’s door only seconds later. The ambulance rumbles to life, and when Tim brings it around with a dangerously tight turn, Conner is reminded of why Tim should mostly ride in the passenger side. 

In the front, Tim’s radio crackles and beeps as he communicates with dispatch and tells them the ambulance is heading to Opal Medical Center. In the back, Conner hooks the patient up to the heart and oxygen monitors and starts a line of saline. He monitors everything for a minute, including his pupils. He decides that even if it isn’t an overdose and even if the track marks aren’t from any opioids…

“Giving him Narcan now,” he calls. He reaches for the nasal spray, lowers the oxygen mask, administers the dose and pulls back the sleeve of his jacket to check his watch. 

“I will make fun of you if he does wake up screaming and you can’t wrestle his ass back into the gurney,” Tim yells back. “And I will make sure everyone at the station is aware of this whole thing!”

Conner scoffs but doesn’t reply. He keeps a close eye on the longest hand on his watch. He keeps monitoring the patient’s vitals, and when the three-minute mark hits and the man on the gurney still doesn’t react…

“Giving him the second Narcan dose now,” Conner says, and repeats the process. He checks the vitals and brings his attention back to his watch. This time, only half a minute passes before the patient twitches. A few seconds later the patient lets out a loud, ragged gasp. 

“He’s waking up,” Conner calls, and he moves into position next to the gurney so the man can see him as he continues to regain consciousness. 

The heart monitor suddenly spikes, and Conner braces himself for what’s about to happen. Tim is better at being superficially angelic and genuinely comforting when patients wake up inside the ambulance, but Conner is better at dealing with the patients that wake up and decide violence is the best way to go. 

The heart monitor starts beeping even faster. A gasp comes. The man’s eyes fly open. 

“Hey, buddy. You’re okay. You’re safe,” Conner starts. “You’re inside an ambulance. My name is—” 

And that’s as far as he gets before the man lets out a blood-curdling scream and sits up on the gurney, one arm already swinging towards Conner, his hand curled into a fist. 

Conner jerks back, and gets ready to move out of the way again, but the man isn’t worried about landing a punch on Conner. Instead, the man is busy ripping the oxygen mask away from his mouth and pulling the IVs out of his arms. 

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay, you’re okay,” Conner says. He moves forward again and tries reaching out to the man, but the latter is quick to whirl and face him, and all it takes is a quick look into his wide and crazed eyes to know…

Well, there’s nobody home he can talk to. 

“Great,” Conner mutters, and dives out of the way when another first comes swinging for him.

Chapter Text

The patient’s arm sails uselessly through the spot Conner had been in a second ago, and as Conner finds his balance and does his best to stay in a defensive position, the man screams and throws the oxygen mask his way. 

“Hey, hey, it’s all—” Conner tries again, and then has to catch the bags of saline the man reaches for and flings his way. 

“CK!” Tim screams. “CK! You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Conner replies, and he’s not lying. 

His heartbeat might have sped up in the past two seconds, and he’s not liking the way the man is getting to his knees on the gurney and reaching for more things to throw, but this is not his first rodeo. 

“Get us to the hospital!” he calls, and he has to bring his arm up again when the man screeches and throws several clipboards at his head. 

“CK—” he hears Tim say, but that’s when the man hesitates for a split second, probably unsure what to hurl at him next, and Conner takes a deep breath in preparation for what he’s about to do. 

“I’m fine, just get us to the ER!” he yells, and lunges forward with a grunt. 

He slams into the man’s shoulder, driving them both forward onto the gurney, the patient’s head almost hitting where the feet should go. 

“Get off me!” the man screeches, already thrashing and squirming like a caged animal. He twists and turns, arms flying wildly, feet pushing and sliding on the gurney as he tries to get Conner off him. 

“Calm down, sir. Please calm down. It’s okay. You’re okay,” Conner tries to reassure him, pushing the man down with his own legs and trying to pin his wrists. “You’re—”

“No!” the man cries. His wrists slip through Conner’s fingers. He braces his hands on the gurney and lifts himself up with surprising strength, strong enough that Conner falls back, tumbling out of the gurney and onto the floor of the ambulance. 

Conner catches himself with one hand, and pain shoots up his arm as the weight of his whole body falls onto it. 

“CK!” Tim yells again. 

“I’m fine!” Conner insists and pushes himself up. He’s in time to see the patient getting on all fours on top of the gurney and crawling towards the doors.

“Oh no, no, no,” Conner mutters, and reaches out to wrap his arms around the man’s waist. 

“No! Get the fuck off me! Get off! Fuck off!” the man screams. He starts kicking and thrashing against Conner’s grip, but Conner holds in his breath and pulls as hard as he can once, then twice, trying to get the man settled back.  

“Let go of me! Let me go! Fucking asshole!” the guy cries as he’s dragged back, nails digging into the gurney and squirming. Conner jerks him back a third time, fighting to keep a grip. 

“Sir,” Conner grits out. He pulls with all his strength, and when the patient slides back and turns around, Conner immediately tries to get on top of him to restrain his wrists. 

And this is when, sadly, the man gets a better idea.  

“Let go!” the man yells. He tucks his legs close to his body, then kicks out with everything he’s got. 

The kick hits Conner in the stomach, making him grunt in pain. It’s bearable, and he’s had worse, so all Conner does is take a deep breath and focus on anything but the pain. 

A second kick comes. It hits him in the same place, and he refuses to move even an inch back. He manages to stay on top of the man, who tucks his legs in against his body again as Conner’s fingers finally manage to wrap around his wrists. 

“I said—” the man screeches, “Let! Go!” 

The man thrusts his legs out again. He kicks Conner two more times, harder, angrier and more desperate each time. 

Conner’s body bucks with each kick. Pain shoots all throughout his chest, but he keeps his grip on the man’s wrists. He can take this. He knows these kicks won’t kill him, and he knows all he needs is a moment of weakness, hesitance, maybe even tiredness, and then he’ll have a window to move away or knee the man on the—

The man gets ready to kick again. He shifts his angle slightly. He meets Conner’s eyes, nothing but violence in them…

And in a split second of clarity, Conner tries to shift his body, to turn away, but it’s too late, and even though he knows it’s coming, he also knows he can’t stop it. 

The kick lands higher this time, right in the middle of his chest…

And the effect is immediate. 

A sharp, ragged, broken gasp spills from his lips. His eyes fly wide, and his grip on the man loosens because…

  Oh God, oh God . 

He can’t breathe … he can’t breathe.

His chest. 

His chest is burning. It feels like it’s caving in. It feels like there’s a very heavy weight on his—

The solar plexus, Conner realizes. His eyes well up. He feels a surge of panic when he sees the man is about to kick him for the umpteenth time. 

He sees this kick coming slower than the others, but he can’t breathe, and he knows he has to move, he knows he has to push forward or jerk back, he knows he has to do something , but his body isn’t listening, his arms aren’t moving, his legs aren’t budging, and all he needs is to take one single bre—

The kick comes. It hits his lower stomach again, but it doesn’t matter, because it sends him tumbling back, off the gurney and onto the floor of the ambulance again. 

“Conner!” Tim calls, and there’s the same tinge of panic in his voice. 

Conner doesn’t reply. He can’t reply. He tries to get his body to react, especially because he sees the man getting on all fours again. There is only one place where he’d want to go… and Conner cannot let him reach those doors. 

Somehow, after what feels like an eternity, Conner gets his knees settled on the floor. His chest is tight, everything inside is burning, and as soon as he moves the world starts swimming, but he cannot let the man—

The man must not—

He cannot allow —

He tries sucking in some air, and this time, his body cooperates. He manages to inhale once, and it’s shallow, but the air hitting his throat and lungs is so unexpected, and cold, and so sharp that it sends a line of pain up his nose and to his head—

The door, the door, the door. 

Fighting the urge to close his eyes, he sucks in another mouthful of air. It hurts as bad as the first. 

His vision blurs for a moment, but he forces his eyes to stay open and lunges forward instead. 

“No!” the man cries as Conner wraps his arms around his waist again. He tucks his body close to avoid another kick. His grip isn’t very good, and his arms aren’t feeling very strong, which is why when the man starts thrashing, Conner loses him again. 

“For fuck’s sake!” the man says, giving himself one last push. He manages to get away and stumbles out of the gurney. 

Conner scrambles forward, and when the man reaches out a hand towards the door, the world slows down. 

Conner’s breath catches in his throat. It sends another wave of pain down his chest and up his nose. The man wraps one hand around one handle, then the other hand, and in a macabre repetition, Conner wraps his arms around the man’s waist and pulls. 

“Aargh!” the man cries, fingers slipping away from the handle. Conner pulls again, the man slides back, manages to turn around and looks around with wild, crazy eyes. 

“Leave me the fuck alone!” comes another scream. The man reaches in a different direction. Conner hears something. It’s heavy, and metallic. He realizes what it is, but by the time he lifts his head, the oxygen tank is already way too close. 

The tank hits him straight in the cheek, and his world erupts in a web of sharp and sudden pain. 

Vaguely, Conner hears the metal fall to the floor of the ambulance as he rocks back and tries to grab onto something, anything. He blinks several times, but everything around him remains fuzzy. He tries to breathe in, but his chest is tight, almost as tight as it was before, and he can’t manage to get enough oxygen in. 

There’s a sound that catches his attention, and it feels like it takes him an eternity to turn his head in the right direction. He sees the patient he’d been trying to subdue, and then it’s like he’s seeing two patients. He sees not two but four hands reaching for the handles on the doors, and then the doors are open. A light comes from outside, and it’s so bright it sends another sharp jab of pain through his head when it hits his eyes. 

And then the two patients are stumbling out of the ambulance, and he can’t have that. His job is to keep the man (men?) safe, and to get him (them?) to the hospital, and they’re clearly not at the hospital because…

Wait, where are they? Is the ambulance moving? Did it stop moving? When did it stop moving? 

He should follow the patient. Patient s ? 

Was it one? Were there two?

Where did they go?

Where is the floor? Where are the walls? 

Blindly, Conner reaches out with both hands, trying to find something to hold on to. Eventually, his fingers find a surface. It could be the floor, but it could also be the gurney. He’s not very sure. He pulls himself forward… or is backward? Is it sideways? Where is he going? Towards the light? Is that outside? Where does the outside lead?

After another eternity, Conner reaches the edge of the ambulance. The light is stronger, and his head is throbbing, but he has made it. He makes it to the edge, and now he’s almost outside, and oh, the ambulance is high, and the ramp isn’t set, and yes, the ambulance stopped moving and—

Oh, there’s Tim. He doesn’t look good. He looks pale. And scared. 

“CK,” Tim says, and that’s the last thing Conner sees before he loses his footing and falls out of the ambulance. The world turns black before his body hits the pavement. 

The pain comes back in pieces. 

One moment: there’s nothing. He doesn’t know where his arms or legs are, where his head is, where is up and where is down, and he doesn’t even know if he’s lying down or not. One moment, there’s blissful emptiness. 

The next one, there’s an explosion of pain so intense that he figures out where his head is right away, because almost all of the pain is coming from there.

His head throbs and pounds. It feels like something big is pressing against his skull and trying to push out of his forehead.

Behind that, there’s a different type of pain. This one is a lot sharper, more piercing, pungent, and not on his head but on… on his face? Is it his face? Is it the whole face? 

No, it’s more on one side… on one half…

And it’s bright. Why is it so bright? He doesn’t even have his eyes open, does he? Should he open his eyes? He doesn’t want to, but he probably should. 

His brain is foggy, numb, slow. His eyelids feel like they weigh a ton each. It’s hard to even think about opening his eyes, but he wills himself to act, and with a herculean effort, he does. 

He’s hit by a burning and blinding white light that makes his head hurt even more, and he has to shut his eyes again. His head pounds. His eyelids feel even heavier than before. Still, he draws in a long and painful breath, and he decides to try again. 

His eyes burn and water when they’re faced with the blinding whiteness a second time. He closes his eyes only to blink a few times, and it’s only after the fourth blink that he manages to keep his eyes open long enough to see past the blinding light and see…

Lights, more lights, just as white but not blinding anymore. 

A roof? A metal roof? A small metal roof. 

He tries turning his head, but it becomes obvious very quickly that he can’t do it. He can’t move his head, and when he tries to move his arms or chest, he finds the movements equally restricted. 

Very vaguely, Conner realizes his ears are ringing… and when he focuses on that, the world starts coming back to him in pieces, like someone is slowly and continuously turning up the volume dial. 

It takes a few seconds for him to realize that his ears aren’t ringing, but something is. More than ringing, something is beeping. He also hears metal shifting, clothes rustling, and his own breathing. He can now hear himself breathe, and beyond that, he hears something he should have noticed first: sirens. Right above him, or next to him, or around him. 

And that means only one thing: he’s inside the ambulance. 

Conner tries to find his voice, but his throat feels dry, the words alien. 

“H—How b—bad…” he rasps out, and that's as far as he gets before a wave of stinging pain rolls down his face and he doesn’t have it in him to utter another single word. 

The brightness seems to dim. He squints up at the metallic roof to see if it's just his imagination, but it doesn't seem to be. The lights are less bright, but that's because there are some round shapes in his field of vision now. 

“He’s awake!!” a voice says. The voice is male and very familiar. 

“Oh thank God,” a female voice says, and this one is also familiar. 

“You're awake!” a third voice echoes. 

Conner squints again. He does his best to take a proper look at whoever is talking to him. He stares, and maybe it takes him too long, but eventually the three faces of the people hovering over him come into focus. He makes out black, blonde and red hair, very concerned expressions, and after staring for another couple of seconds… 

“Cassie… Bart… am-ambulance… why?” he asks Tim, his words slow and tight as he tries to ignore the pain.  

“You recognize us!” Bart exclaims, and slings his arms over Cassie. “He recognizes us! That's a good sign!”

“It is,” Cassie agrees, hugging Bart back. “It's a good sign, Tim!”

“It is,” Tim echoes. He moves, and his face is now closer to Conner’s. 

“Do you know who you are?” Tim asks him. 

Conner manages a groan. “Don't… don't… do this, T-Tim.”

“Standard protocol, big guy. You know how it goes.” 

“I-I know… who I am.”  At least, he’s pretty sure he does. 

“Do you?” Tim questions, and his face sobers. “Humor three concerned friends. Do you know who you are?”

Conner groans again. He glances past the heads of his three friends, and prays that the words don't come out broken, and that the pain lets him form coherent enough answers.

“My name is… Conner…Conner K-Kent. CK.”

“How old are you?”

“Thirty… Two.” Already knowing the follow-up question, he adds, “I'm from… from Kansas. Ma… Martha… Pa… Jonathan… C-Clark. Brother.”

“Good boy,” Cassie mutters, and she and Bart cling to each other harder. 

Tim merely nods, face still serious. “Do you know where you are, CK?”

Conner swallows hard. He tries to move his head again, but pain courses through him, making him moan. He fights past the pain and tries to move again, but he can't manage it because there is something around his neck. He tries to move his arms and finds out he can only manage to flex his fingers and feel the material underneath, the one he's lying on top of, in part because he’s already hooked up to who knows how many IVs. 

“Ambulance… gurney,” he says, and then, with a tinge of annoyance he adds, “Neck… neck brace. S-Straps.” 

“Do you know why?”

“Tim….”

“We need to know how bad it is, you know that. Just answer the questions, you idiot, and we’ll be done with this routine checking faster.”

Well, he supposes that is… a very valid reason to ask him stupid routine questions that he can totally answer, because what happened probably isn't as bad as what his friends are thinking. 

“I… think… concussion,” he says. 

Tim looks at him with what Conner thinks might be disdain. Before he can say ‘no shit, Sherlock’, Bart pipes up with an airy, “Oh, it’s not just that!” and Cassie is quick to elbow him and hiss, “Bartholomew!”

But the thing is, Bart isn’t wrong. If Conner focuses on the sharp, constant pain that had woken him up, it’s obvious it never left. 

His head pounds. His chest is sore, but most of the pain comes from his face. Before waking up it felt like only one side of his face hurt, but now all of it throbs. It aches, but it also stings, and he can’t move his jaw much. He can’t talk without wanting to knock himself out again, either. 

He tries to think about why that is. Judging by how it feels, he must have gotten hit in the face. And it must have been hard, because damn , it hurts really bad… 

But when did that happen? 

Conner frowns. He tries to remember where he’d been before the pain had woken him up. He scrounges his memories for what feels like an eternity. After several confusing mental images, the pieces start coming back. 

A call. A Walmart parking lot. They’d made it there. There had been police officers, and an unconscious patient. 

He recalls suspicions of an overdose. 

He remembers getting in the back of the ambulance. He remembers… Narcan, not one but two doses. 

He remembers the patient waking up inside. There was a struggle. He remembers not being able to breathe… but after that…

“What… happened to… my face?” Conner asks. He hears his own voice, small and confused. He also hears the heart monitor speed up. 

“Where’s… the patient?” he continues. “Tim… the patient? What— where— I don’t—”

Cassie and Bart’s faces fall. Tim’s mouth flattens into a thin, displeased line. 

“What… happened?” Conner insists. 

Tim shakes his head and glances towards the front of the ambulance. “That’s what we’re going to find out, CK.”

“We’re here,” Bart offers, his voice uncharacteristically soft. 

“Where?” Conner asks. 

“Opal Medical Center,” Cassie says. 

“Oh.” Conner blinks up at the ceiling of the ambulance. A memory tugs at the corner of his mind. Something about Opal Medical Center. Someone at Opal Medical Center. The memories are vague, but they’re there. 

And then, clarity strikes. 

“Good,” he says, and his three friends turn their attention to him, worry written all over their faces. 

“Good,” Conner repeats. Hoping to soothe them he adds, “I think… there’s… someone… I need to see here.” 

Tim and Cassie hover from the moment the ambulance doors open until the ER doctor comes to see him. They hover and stick close to him like bodyguards while Bart flits around them like a circling shark. 

It’s only after very little talking and a whole lot of glaring that Conner gets Bart to drag them away. They have to go back to work, and they will get kicked out any moment anyway, so what’s the point in taking them away from people who actually need them? 

“We’ll be back as soon as our shift is over, you know that, right?” Tim warns him. 

“They’re going to be just as bad as they were now,” Bart reminds him cheerfully. 

“Worse!” Cassie vows, but she and Tim let Bart usher them out of Conner’s little curtained cubicle. 

“I know,” Conner calls grimly. He has already accepted his fate… at least in some ways. 

As soon as he’s alone, he tries to prove to the hospital staff that he is not in much of a haze. He tries to show he doesn’t need to be attended to like he’s brain-dead or senile. He knows it’s kind of a useless battle because it’s not like he would listen or trust a patient’s words if they had similar injuries to his… but he has to try. Being carried from the ambulance to the ER while lying down and wearing a neck brace had been humiliating enough. 

When he’s informed he needs to get a CT scan, Conner insists more than ever that he sure as hell doesn’t need to be wheeled on a hospital bed to get his head scanned… but as expected, his protests fall on deaf ears. He bears the humiliation of it all in exasperated, painful silence again while his nurse whistles the whole way to the scan room. 

Conner has shut down by the time the CT scan is over. He’s feeling helpless, angry, in pain, and the stupid hospital gown doesn’t help even the tiniest bit. 

He stares at the ceiling and at nothing in particular, ignoring the noise around him while his nurse wheels him back to the ER bay. His face hurts. His head hurts. His pride is more bruised than his chest, and he’s frustrated -very much so- for another reason altogether. 

He’s at the hospital. Finally. After one week of behaving himself and trying to give Dick space, he’s there. He had planned on being there anyway, but not like this. He doesn’t even know if Dick is on shift, and it’s not like it matters because he can’t even get his phone back to try and call him again. He’s not allowed to even go into the bathroom by himself yet, so it’s not like the ER staff would let him—

“You know, if it’s any consolation, you’re taking this way better than most first responders I’ve treated in the past five years,” his nurse offers once he’s back in the hospital bed. He’s getting Conner hooked back up to a line and a million monitors. Once the monitors are beeping, the nurse holds out an ice pack. 

Conner takes the ice pack and presses it against his cheek. It sends another wave of pain up his cheek and face, and he shuts his eyes for a moment. 

“Does it hurt that bad or are you about to pass out on me?” his nurse asks. 

Conner opens his eyes again and tries not to glare at his face. Instead, because he has to frown at something, he glares at the nametag. Roy H.  

“I’m in pain, but it’s bearable,” he says. He’s glad he’s not lying… too much. He knows they won’t give him a lot of painkillers even if he were in agony, anyway. He’s got a concussion. They probably won’t let him sleep and won’t give him anything other than maybe Tylenol until the scan results come back. 

Roy hums. “Most people would have just said they were fine.” 

“I tried that approach. It didn’t work,” Conner says sourly. He doesn’t have the patience for this right now. “And I’m not fine. I’m not going to be fine until the scan comes back and you and the doctor can see for yourselves that it’s not as bad as everyone seems to think.”

Roy lets out another hum. “And how do you know it’s not that bad? Have the memories of the event come back to you yet?”

Conner tries to grit his teeth. He ends up giving himself a sharp jab of pain for trying. 

“No,” he mutters. As much as he would like to say otherwise, there is a very big and blank space in his mind. He remembers getting kicked in the chest, and he remembers struggling with the patient, but one moment he was in the ambulance trying to get the patient down on the gurney… and the next, he had woken up in the ambulance with his three friends hovering over him. 

Tim had told him about an oxygen tank and a worrisome crack. He had also told Conner he’d fallen out of the ambulance. He’d apologized for not having caught Conner when falling out as he’d been busy trying not to get hit by the violent asshole. Apparently, the officers from the scene had shown up seconds later and had taken care of restraining the man. 

Which is… fine. 

No, it’s not fine, and it’s not that he’s scared because he doesn’t remember what happened. He knows he has a concussion. He knows something is wrong with his face and he knows he’s going to be suspended from work for… a short time, if his captain is merciful. He knows all this. 

He’s aware he will most likely never recover the memories of why he ended up in the hospital with a swollen face and in a lot of pain. Nothing he does or says will help bring those memories back and make the concussion or possible fracture go away. He’s not trying to heal himself with divine powers, and he’s not expecting to be healed in a matter of seconds either. He doesn’t want those things because he knows they’re not possible. 

Other things are possible right now, though, except no one is cooperating with him. 

He wants everyone to calm the fuck down. He needs everyone to give him some space and leave him alone for a few minutes. He doesn’t want to think about what he’s missing. He doesn’t want to panic because of what happened. He doesn’t want to fret and worry until his results come back and he’s told things he already knows. Whatever happened, happened. A patient knocked him out and he ended up getting hurt. It’s over. It’s done. He will deal with the fallout and consequences of the humiliating situation once he’s out of the hospital.

But for now, he wants some peace, and honestly, he would also very much like some independence to go and talk to a certain maternity nurse. It’s not like he has anything better to do anyway. 

“I would like my phone back,” Conner says, keeping his tone polite. He does his best to appear calm and nonchalant.

Nurse Roy gives him a look, and Conner almost grinds his teeth again. 

“Please,” he adds, and feels like he’s ten years old all over again. 

Not like it matters much, though. It’s already been one of the most humiliating days of his entire life. What’s a little begging when he was carried into the ER with a damn neck brace on?

Nurse Roy chuckles. He reaches for the pile of Conner’s personal items, sitting just out of reach because life sucks like that sometimes.. 

“Are you going to call your family?” he asks, holding it out. 

Conner’s stomach drops. “No,” he replies. After thinking about it for a couple of seconds, his blood turns to ice, and the ice pack falls into his lap.  

 “My friends probably did that already,” he says, and lights up his phone. 

As expected, there are already a dozen calls from the Kent farmhouse’s landline, then several from Clark and from Ma’s cell number. Not to mention the text messages, dear God. What had his friends told his parents and his brother? They’d probably embellished the story. His family probably thinks he’s dying. 

Clicking his tongue, he decides he might as well do some damage control. He opens the messages from Clark and Ma in quick succession, scans them and sends simple replies. He tells them he has a concussion and will call as soon as he can. He gets worried walls of text straight away from both of them, and once again Conner sends short and simple messages that he hopes are calming and reassuring. 

Once he’s done placating his family for the time being, he goes back to check his conversation with Dick. Still no reply to any message. And there’s no missed call from Dick’s number either. 

“Oh, come on,” he says. He locks his phone, puts it down and grabs the ice pack instead. He glances up at Nurse Roy, who looks back at him, expectant. 

“All good?” he asks. 

“No,” Conner says. “Nothing is good, and it’s not getting better.” Catching himself before he tries to grind his teeth a third time, Conner readjusts the ice pack against his cheek instead. He glares down at his lap, hating absolutely everything in that moment. 

He hates the stupid hospital gown. He hates the stupid ice pack. He hates the hospital bed and the ER. He hates the pain on his face, the waiting, feeling like he’s being trapped, and above all, he truly, honestly hates the fact that he can’t end whatever is happening with Dick right then and there. 

He’s in the hospital. Dick could be floors above the ER, but he could also be at home. There’s no way of knowing if they won’t even let him get out of bed. There’s no way of knowing because Dick won’t answer his messages or calls. There’s no way of knowing because Conner isn’t a freaking mind reader. He doesn’t have X-ray vision. He isn’t an omnipotent being. He doesn’t even have connections in this hospital that could help—

A small gasp escapes him. He raises his head too fast, and the world swims in streams of colors. 

He shuts his eyes and leans his head against the raised upper half of the bed. His head throbs. He lets out a groan. 

“Conner,” Nurse Roy says, tone alert. 

“My bad. I moved too fast.” Conner keeps his eyes closed and counts to five, ignoring the soreness in his chest as he takes a few labored breaths. 

When he opens his eyes again, Nurse Roy is standing a bit too close, a frown on his face. 

“All better,” he says. Nurse Roy opens his mouth to say something -probably chastise- him, but he quickly asks, “Do you know anyone named Dick Grayson?”

Nurse Roy closes his mouth. He gives Conner another look. “Come again?”

“Dick Grayson. Maternity nurse. He works here.” Conner readjusts the ice pack again and tries his best not to look away. It costs him dearly. “I… I realize it’s a stupid and mean-spirited question. I don’t mean to imply that just because you’re both nurses and both men working in the same hospital I expect you to be friends. I just… I…” Conner swallows hard. “I… I would really like  to talk to him… if-if you know him, of course.”

Nurse Roy keeps staring at him for several seconds. 

Unnerved, Conner has to look away first. 

“... That depends,” he hears Nurse Roy say, and Conner turns to him again. 

“On what?” he asks, annoyed. He’d asked a very simple yes or no question. 

Nurse Roy shrugs. “On why you’re asking, of course.”

Oh, for heaven’s sake. 

Conner really doesn’t have enough patience left in him today. 

“I really, really, really would like to talk to him. I’ve been trying to reach him for the past week but he won’t return any of my calls or messages, and I’ve sent tons of them,” he says. When Nurse Roy’s eyes widen, he realizes that without context, those words may sound kind of…crazy. 

“We… We went to watch a movie together last week. Dick and me, I mean. Dick’s friend Wally and his date were there, too,” he elaborates. 

Nurse Roy doesn’t look any less suspicious. “Is that so?”

Conner groans. “Look, I’m not asking you to get him down here with some excuse so I can see him. I’m not asking you to call him on your phone and let me talk to him.”

“But you are asking something… if I happen to know him,” Nurse Roy says. 

Conner nods, movements slow and careful. He decides he will play along even though it’s pretty evident that the nurse knows Dick. At this point, he just wants the situation to progress however it can. “Yes.”

“And what are you asking for?” 

Conner shifts the ice pack again. He glances down at his lap and takes a deep breath. 

“If you can get him a message…” he begins, and all of a sudden, Conner feels exhausted. He doesn’t know if it’s shock wearing off, if it’s relief finally catching up to him… or just sheer and utter tiredness, thanks to both the thing with Dick and his current, shitty situation at the hospital. 

Either way, his shoulders sag, and it takes all of his strength to finish his sentence. 

“Just tell him to say something,” he finishes, and hates how defeated his voice sounds. He lowers the ice pack, leans his head against the bed and closes his eyes. 

Tired. He’s so tired. Why can’t this day just end? Or rather, why can’t it start over? He would do anything to start this day over. 

Nurse Roy stays quiet for a moment, and Conner is more than okay with the silence. Silence is good; it gives him a chance to sleep. 

He wants to sleep. He should be allowed at least a nap before the CT results are back. He will most likely be woken up every fifteen minutes, but it’s fine. He’ll take any opportunity available to be unaware and numb until he’s discharged. 

“Nodding off?” is the next thing Nurse Roy says. 

Conner keeps his eyes closed. “How often will you wake me up?”

“Well, you seem pretty darn sharp and aware so…” Nurse Roy hums. “I’ll be merciful. I’ll come and wake you every twenty minutes.” 

“Thank you,” Conner replies, and he means it. Almost as an afterthought he says, “And I’m sorry. I know I’m being an absolute pain in the butt. Thank you for your patience, Nurse Roy.”

Nurse Roy chuckles. “It’s you, isn’t it? The firefighter Dick was so excited to ambush on the way back to the ambulance.”

Conner frowns, eyes still closed. “He’s done that a couple of times already. You need to be more specific.”

Another chuckle. “Assuming I know him, of course.”

Conner is so done with this day already.  

“Assuming that, yes,” he mutters, and lets himself doze off before the irritation gets the better of him again. 

Nurse Roy wakes him up after the first twenty minutes. It takes him a couple of seconds to pull himself back from what had actually been a very good nap, but he answers the routine questions with ease. He still remembers his name, where he is and why he’s there. He also admits he still doesn’t recall the event apart from what Tim told him happened. 

He gets his pupils and his blood pressure checked. Nurse Roy tests if he can move all of his limbs. When he moves his arms and legs on command and comments that his face hurts a lot, Nurse Roy nods and lets him go back to sleep. 

The next time he’s woken up, Nurse Roy is not the one who rouses him, and it’s not his face the one Conner sees when he manages to open his eyes. 

Nurse Joy P. is just as nice and patient as Nurse Roy had been. She checks his vital signs and asks the same routine questions. She brings him another ice pack and holds it to his face for a few minutes while she makes conversation. Conner doesn’t know if it’s another test to check on his health or if she’s just that extroverted and spontaneous. Either way, she eventually takes the ice pack away and asks him to hang in there a little bit more. The CT scans will be in soon and he’ll be able to get some painkillers to help with what happened to his face. 

Conner mumbles his thanks and closes his eyes. As he drifts off, he thinks it’s a shame he didn’t get to say thanks to Nurse Roy before the nurses’ shift change. 

The next time someone shakes him awake, it feels like only ten instead of twenty minutes have passed. 

“You’re not wrong,” Nurse Joy chirps. She has his medical chart in her hands. 

Conner lifts a hand to rub at the eye on the good side of his face. The other half hurts, and it throbs and it stings and it’s such a vivid reminder of what a shit day this has been for so many—

“You can’t just barge in there, not in your current state,” a voice says from the other side of the curtains surrounding Conner’s bed.

“He’s stable. He’s in good hands,” a second voice says. It sounds like Nurse Roy.

“I am not going away until I know he’s okay,” a third voice says, and…

Oh. Is that…?

“We understand your concern,” Nurse Roy says.

“But you aren’t exactly calm, and you can’t be down here for much longer,” the unfamiliar voice insists. 

“Jesus. I’m not going to camp out under his bed until he gets discharged, I just want to see him.”

“He’s stable,” Nurse Roy repeats. “I promise you he’s stable. I promise you he’s in the best hands.”

“I don’t care, Roy. I believe what you’re saying and I would trust you with my life, but I don’t care . Let me see him.”

“Bluebird, you can’t—”

“ Jason ,” Dick says, and the single name sounds more like a plea. “Jason, please . I have someone covering for me. It won’t take long.”

“Dick—”

“Jay , please .”

Silence. It’s heavy, tense, thunderous, and all of it at the same time.

Nurse Joy loses her smile. Both she and Conner seem to be waiting for someone on the other side of the curtain to speak again. 

However, no one says anything, and the silence stretches out for a few more seconds, until eventually, the curtains are shoved aside and—

Oh. 

There he is: in his pink scrubs, with his messy hair falling over his lovely blue eyes. He’s looking too pale for Conner’s liking, and with his lovely features set into determined lines…

There he is. 

Dick comes to a stop as soon as he’s taken a step inside the little cubicle. Conner sees him visibly halt in place, his entire body jerking forward from the momentum. Nurse Roy and another man in blue scrubs and a short white coat spill in behind him. 

Conner glances at Nurse Roy and the other man in quick succession. The man is big, with black hair with a particular white lock at the front. He’s very much not the doctor who saw him earlier, but if Nurse Joy is here, then probably the doctors’ shift change already happened as well. 

But if that is the case, why is Nurse Roy hanging around? 

Conner’s head starts pounding as too many thoughts and questions swirl around in his mind. He shifts on the bed, tries to turn his neck and feels another jab of pain from his chin all the way up to his hairline. 

Frustrated, he closes his eyes and lets out a soft moan. 

There’s silence again, and Conner is grateful for it. He keeps his eyes closed and tries to breathe past the pain. 

No one says anything. No one tells him to open his eyes. No one asks if he’s all right. It feels like everyone is holding their breath, waiting for something to happen… except no one knows what it is. 

He lets out another pained sound. There’s shuffling, rubber shoes against the floor. The light behind his eyelids dims, and he opens his eyes. 

“Hey, handsome,” Dick says, leaning over him and blocking the light above. He’s smiling, but it doesn’t seem to be a happy smile, not at all. 

Conner blinks up at him, slow and tired as more thoughts whirl around in his brain. 

I’m sorry, Dick. I’m sorry I pushed you away. I’m sorry I didn’t notice. I’m sorry I didn’t know. 

Why did you run away like that? Why didn’t you stay? Why are you ignoring me? Why don’t you want to talk to me? Why won’t you give me a chance to explain? Why don’t you want to talk about this? 

“I got hit in the face,” is what he ends up saying. “With an oxygen tank.” 

Dick’s mouth twists in what might be a smile, but could also be a grimace. “I… I heard.”

“I don’t remember it, but Tim says it happened,” he continues, like these are the most important things to say right now. “Apparently I fell off the ambulance too.”

Dick’s half-nervous smile vanishes, and Conner tries to shake his head before remembering it might not be a good idea. 

Instead, he lifts the hand that has the IV stuck to it and waves it back and forth a couple of times. “What I’m saying is…” he begins, and this time he motions to his face. “I must look very ugly right now. That’s all.” 

Nurse Joy, Nurse Roy and the other man behind Dick, look very confused by those words. He sees the nurses exchange glances, and the man in the doctor’s coat frowns. 

Dick lets out a soft, breathless chuckle. “Like those minor details make you any less handsome,” he says, words muted but gentle.

Conner motions at his face again and frowns. “You can’t possibly think—” and that’s as far as he gets before Dick moves forward and hugs him, quick but careful, staying away from the bruised side of his face. 

“Oh,” Conner says, surprised. He freezes, blinking at the other three people in the room over Dick’s back. He sees the way they appear as bewildered as he feels. 

Eventually, Nurse Joy smiles, while Nurse Roy only gives the doctor a quick look. 

“I think you look as handsome as ever, just a little bit beat up,” Dick whispers against his ear. His arms tighten around Conner’s shoulders.

Conner flexes his fingers. He should hug Dick back, shouldn’t he? But does he want to? 

He’s still mad at Dick. He’s mad at Dick for running away and ignoring him and for trying to pretend nothing happened. However, he’s still mad at himself too, and now not only because of the almost-kiss. 

He’s mad because he’s in pain. He’s mad because it’s been a thousand humiliating moments already and they still haven’t given him an official diagnosis. He’s mad because he wants to go home and move on with his life and forget this ever happened. 

But Dick is holding on tight, the same way his Ma and Pa used to hug him when he fell and scraped his knees and he didn’t cry. Dick hugs him the same way Clark would hug him every time he came home to visit. It’s the same way Tim and Cassie hug him after he comes out of a particularly dangerous building that had been about to collapse, the same way Megan would hold him every time he came back from a training day at the academy…

And it’s nice. It feels nice. It feels strong, and real. It feels like Dick cares. 

He wraps one arm around Dick’s shoulders as best as he can. He raises his other hand to cup the back of Dick’s head, allowing himself to sink his fingers into the glossy black strands. “I’m okay, Dick,” he says, smoothing down his hair.

Dick’s seems to melt under the simple touch, holding on to Conner tighter, harder. He lets more of his weight fall against Conner and drops his head against Conner’s shoulder again. “Are you?” he mumbles. 

Conner glances at the other three people in the little space. Only Nurse Joy meets his eyes and smiles. She still has his medical chart still in her hands. 

“No, but it’s probably not as bad as everyone seems to think,” he amends. 

Dick laughs, a light and throaty sound. He hesitates and holds on to Conner for a few more seconds, pulls away not because he wants to, but because an invisible hand is tugging him back. 

Conner stares up at him. He takes in Dick’s dark blue eyes, the stray hairs framing his face. He takes in his pursed lips and furrowed brow. 

“I’ll be okay,” he offers instead, and raises the hand not attached to the monitors to rub at the space between Dick’s eyebrows with his thumb. It’s an automatic, easy thing to do. 

Dick softens at the touch, as does his whole expression when Conner draws his hand back. “I’m glad to see you.” 

“I’m glad to see you, too,” he says, and looks at Nurse Roy again. “So you did know him, after all.”

Nurse Roy exchanges a look with the man in the doctor’s coat this time. The man coughs into his palm. 

“I’ll… be going now. His doctor should be here soon,” the man says. He pulls the curtain back. 

“Thank you, Jay,” Dick says. 

The man smiles at him over his shoulder. “Like anything would have stopped you from barging in,” he points out. He laughs, then shakes his head. “See you around, Grayson.” 

“Yes, I’l… I’ll see you around,” Dick replies, and turns his attention to the medical chart. “Are the scan results in? Can I see?”

“Whoa,” Nurse Roy says, holding up both hands. He walks closer to Nurse Joy and takes the chart when she holds it out. “Ease down, pretty boy. This isn't your unit. He’s not your patient.”

“But I can—” 

“If Dick is allowed to look at the medical chart then I would like to look at it as well,” Conner says. 

Nurse Roy looks at them the way Conner typically looks at Cassie and Bart. “Nobody’s saying Dickie here is allowed to look at the chart.” 

Conner holds the nurse’s gaze. “All right. May I look?”

“Hey,” Dick protests. 

“No. Neither of you is allowed—” Nurse Roy starts, but Nurse Joy bursts out laughing. 

 “Oh come on, Roy. They’re both medical professionals. A quick look will only calm everyone down, you know that right?” she says. She pats his arm as she says the last, and gives Conner a blinding smile. 

“My job here is done. I better not see you in here again anytime soon,” she says. 

“I will do my best,” Conner replies. He will for sure take more precautions the next time he’s dealing with a violent patient inside the ambulance. 

She aims the smile Dick’s way. “All right. You take good care of your handsome fellow, okay?” she calls, and she waltzes through the curtains, unaware of the chaos she has left behind. 

Which isn’t… much, exactly, at least not on his part. 

Conner understands what’s being implied, he understands what Nurse Joy is hinting at, but he’s too tired and in too much pain to be bothered by it. 

It’s not even an accurate statement. He’s not Dick’s… anything at this point, because Dick has been avoiding him and avoiding any conversation that could clear up what Dick wants him to be. 

Annoyed, Conner lets out a small huff. He turns to Dick, and isn’t very surprised when he finds him speechless and flushed a deep shade of red.

Deciding he will take everything one step at a time, he turns to Nurse Roy and frowns at the smile on his face. “May I look at the medical chart?” he asks, because what else is he supposed to comment on?

Nurse Roy loses his smile and frowns back. “You may, but only because I would hate to disappoint Joy.”  With a look of resignation, he walks closer to the bed and hands over the medical chart. 

“Thank you,” Conner says, and means it. He glances at Dick, still finds him all red-faced, and frowns at him this time. “Aren’t you coming to look as well?”

Dick startles, and somehow manages to turn even redder. “Yes, sir,” he says, and leans down so he can look at the chart as well. 

Conner reads through everything, slow and steady and ignoring the fact that his pounding headache has come back. 

“Oh, thank God,” Dick says when he finishes first. He sounds relieved. He doesn’t say anything else, only gives Conner enough time to finish reading. 

Once he’s done and his half-scrambled brain has made sense of what the chart says, Conner can’t help but sigh. 

“Great,” he mutters. 

He has a mild to moderate concussion. The result of his fall from the ambulance, he guesses. 

He has a hairline fracture on his cheekbone. That has to be the result of getting hit in the face with a freaking oxygen tank. 

His chest is badly bruised, the result of the stupid kicks to the chest. He does remember that, and it sucks that the only things he remembers are the ones that did the least damage. 

It doesn’t matter what caused the most or the least damage, though. At a simple glance and after one long thought, it’s easy to come to one conclusion: he is not going back to work in the next few days. Depending on what the doctor’s final prescription says and how much his friends exaggerate the situation to Captain Smith, Conner guesses he’ll be benched for the next four to five weeks. 

Bummed out even more than before, Conner holds out the chart. Dick takes it from him and scans it on his own again before he hands it to an impatient Nurse Roy. 

“Happy?” he asks them both. 

“No,” Conner replies. “No, not happy at all. No reason at all to be happy.” He pauses, then looks at Dick. “I’m very glad to see you, and I’m thankful you came to see me, but I’m mad at you. You know that, right?” 

Dick’s shoulders droop. He grimaces. “I… I figured, yes,” he admits, and those dark blue eyes bear into his: big and wide and… vulnerable. Dick is so vulnerable, even if he tries really hard not to show it. 

Conner swallows hard. A part of him wants to reach out and hug him. Another part wants to pass out until tomorrow. A third part of him knows he can’t do either, not quite yet. 

“Why is it that it takes something as lame as me being in the hospital for you to talk to me again, Dick?” Conner says, and even though his chest tightens, a tirade of words ends up spilling out. 

“I’m sorry I pushed you away… I’m sorry I didn’t notice… I didn’t mean to scare you… I didn’t want you to leave…” he mumbles, unable to finish a single sentence or train of thought, because he’s not sure where he must start. 

“I’m sorry, Dick,” he repeats because he’d told Tim he would start with an apology and he will keep his word if it’s the last thing he does. “Dick, I’m… I’m very sorry—”

The curtains part. The doctor who had first seen Conner in the ER walks in with that empty and cheerful smile that so many medical professionals have and Conner has never quite managed to emulate. 

“Ah, good to see you awake and talking,” the doctor says. He turns to Nurse Roy. “Are the results in?”

“Yes,” Nurse Roy says, and nods at Dick. “Dick, it’s time. Please step out.” 

Dick blinks a few times, as if trying to pay attention to what Roy is saying. “I—”

“You’re on shift,” Conner interrupts softly, and when Dick looks at him, he adds, “Aren’t you?”

“Yes, but—”

“Go do your job, Dickie. I get the feeling I won’t be going anywhere anytime soon.” He hesitates, thinking about what he’s going to say next. A part of him dreads asking, while the other part fears the answer he will get. Dick is right here, right now, but it’s not the time. It’s not the moment to talk about them, about what happened or will happen. There are other things they both have to deal with, at least for now. 

He takes a deep breath and meets Dick’s eyes again. “Will you… come back?” he asks. He ignores how the heart monitor starts beeping faster, and ignores Roy and the doctor’s reactions to it. So his heartbeat is picking up. That’s gotta be the least humiliating thing that has happened to him today. 

“Will you?” he insists, when Dick takes too long to answer.

Dick takes a step back, almost as if Conner had punched him. For one moment he looks so pained and torn… but then Conner sees him stand up straighter, features hardening. 

“I… I will,” Dick says, and nods. “I… I will, Conner. I’m not going anywhere… I’ll be back as soon as I can.” 

His body sags with relief. “Thank you.  We need to talk,” he says, knowing he’s stating the obvious. 

Dick keeps nodding. “Yes, yes, we do.” There’s a pause, a moment of hesitance, and then Dick’s arms are around him again, and he’s squeezing Conner even harder than the first time. 

“I’m so sorry, Conner,” Dick whispers. “I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you. I’m sorry I didn’t reply… I didn’t think you wanted to… I thought you would hate me… and if I just ignored it you’d just… let it go, and…” 

With slow and calculated movements, Conner moves his arms and hugs Dick back, stiffening when Dick half-melts and ends up leaning more on his weight against him again. 

“I’m not very good at letting stuff go,” he says, running his fingers through Dick’s hair, because he had seemed to like that. 

 “You’d think I’d know that by now, huh?”

“Do you want me to let it go?” is all Conner replies. He hopes he gets a negative reply.

Dick’s breath catches in his throat. His arms tighten around Conner even more. 

“No,” he says. 

“Good. I don’t want to let it go either.” Conner tugs on Dick’s hair very gently. “Go back before they suspend you.”

Dick lets out a quick laugh. “Is that an order, as a working paramedic?”

“Technically, my shift hasn’t ended, so yes, it is.” 

“Can’t really disobey you, then,” Dick muses. He pulls back, lifts a hand to cup the side of his face that isn’t bruised. 

“See you soon, Conner,” he says, and leans in closer to kiss his cheek. 

It’s a sweet and innocent gesture. It’s also unexpectedly gentle and intimate. Dick shoots him one of those big and beautiful and confident smiles as he walks through the curtains, and Conner— 

“Look who’s all red now,” Nurse Roy says with too much enthusiasm once Dick is gone. 

With the stupid monitor exposing him loudly and clearly, Conner doesn’t have it in him to argue. 

“I apologize,” he says, motioning to the monitors and himself. “For everything,” he adds.

Nurse Roy laughs. The doctor doesn’t look anywhere as amused. 

“Right. Anyway, your results are in,” the doctor begins, and Conner sighs and settles against the bed. He gets ready to hear both things he already knows and things he’s going to hate. 

Chapter Text

Dick is still thinking about Conner’s latest messages twelve hours after they were sent. 

He changes his shoes and stuffs his clothes in the locker, but he doesn’t close it yet. Instead, he grabs his phone and pulls up his messages, because no matter how many lies he tells himself, he hasn’t stopped reading them since they first started coming in. 

I hope you are doing okay.

Maybe that’s a dumb thing to say, I’m sorry. 

I would very much like to talk to you.

 Please get back to me when you can. 

I hope you have a good day, Dick. 

And even though it’s still early in the morning and he hasn’t even started his shift yet, Dick lets out all the air in his lungs and flops down onto the bench, exhausted. 

He stares at the screen, runs his hand through his hair, and stares at the messages again. He taps the screen so the cursor starts blinking. He closes the app and locks his phone without typing a single letter. Frustrated, he shoves it into the locker before slamming it shut. 

“You know you’re going about this the wrong way, right?” Wally says, dragging his feet into the locker room and rubbing his face with his hands. 

Dick’s heartbeat leaps to his throat, but he manages not to jump too high. “Jesus. Where did you come from?” he asks, trying not to sound startled. 

“From another gruelling shift in what is a very gruelling existence,” Wally replies. He shakes his head. “Don’t change the subject, Grayson. Or better yet, stop avoiding it altogether.”

“I’m not—” 

Wally groans and shakes his head. “No, stop. You have to stop, Dick.  You… you gotta stop, man.” 

Dick holds his breath. Movie night had gone wonderfully for Wally. He and Artemis had stuck around until the end of the movie, and they’d gone for drinks after. Wally had texted him the next morning from Artemis’s apartment. He had hoped Dick and Conner had snuck out earlier for equally wonderful reasons. Dick had texted back a simple ‘ not exactly ’ and left it at that… until Wally cornered him later the same day and demanded to know what had happened. 

Wally had been ready to kill Conner (not that Wally would win that fight) when Dick had first told him what had happened. Dick had appreciated the unwavering support because it’d been years since he’d had such a close and good friend.

However, by day four, Wally’s annoyance had shifted to Dick. 

“I don’t understand,” Wally said. It was after their shifts were over. They were sitting in the locker room, both half-dressed, with Wally scrolling through the messages Conner had sent the night before and earlier that morning. 

Hello again, Dick. 

Krypto got stung by a bee today on our evening walk. 

It’s all right. He’s not allergic, and his airways aren’t blocked. 

[picture attached]

I thought you would like to see how round he got. People on the street kept worrying and saying he looked cute. 

Have a good night. Krypto and I hope you have nice dreams. 

—

Good morning, Dick. 

Krypto is still a little bit round today. 

[picture attached]

I hope you have a peaceful shift, or a fun day if you’re off.

Can we please talk? 

“I don’t understand,” Wally repeated. “Is he being passive aggressive? Is he somehow threatening you? Is he… I don’t know, stalking you?” When Dick shook his head, Wally sighed. “Okay, he’s texting a lot, I get that might be bothersome or even suffocating. Is that it? Are his goofy and awkward little texts bothering you? The texts telling you what he’s been up to during his day? The ones about the dog you say you love, or the ones about the yummy food he made? Is that what’s got you all wound up?”

“No,” Dick said. 

Wally gave him an exasperated look. “Then why the hell aren’t you putting the guy out of his misery? He screwed up, and he’s trying to talk to you about it. Why are you being such a jerk?”

Dick crossed his arms. “I’m not—”

“Aren’t you?” Wally scrolls up some more. “There are so many apologies from the first few days that I would think he killed your puppy in the most gruesome, violent way. Correct me if I’m wrong but he hasn’t demanded -not once- to see you. He’s asking, Dick. He wants to talk to you. Why don’t you want to talk to him?” 

Dick looked away. “It’s not… it’s not so simple.”

“No, you’re not making it simple,” Wally retorted, and shook his head in disapproval. 

It’s day seven now, and Wally is still very much annoyed at the way Dick is handling the situation. He’s made sure Dick is aware of his opinions, he’s been saying them loud and clear, but this sudden angry reaction to whatever Wally just saw seems… a bit much. 

“You… okay?” Dick ventures. 

Wally groans. He scrubs his face with his hands one more time. “I’m—” he begins, and seems to think better about it. 

“No,” he finishes. “I’m not okay. It was a shit day and a shit shift and… Shit.” All the strength seems to leave him, and he barely manages to drag himself to the bench before he collapses onto it. 

Dick contemplates his defeated figure for a couple of seconds, then sits down next to him and scoots close. 

Wally collapses against his side. Dick wraps his arms around his shoulders and pulls him in tight. 

Neither one says anything for a while. The only sounds Dick can hear are his and Wally’s breathing and the hands of a big round clock moving. He lets the constant ticking lull him into a peaceful silence, and he rubs a hand up and down Wally’s arm while staring at the lockers in front until his vision blurs.

After what feels like an hour, Wally takes a deep breath and settles against Dick’s shoulder again. 

“Why are you doing this to yourself?” he asks. 

Dick blinks until the lockers come back into focus. “Don’t you want to… talk about… work?”

Wally shudders. “We almost lost a three-year-old boy, Dick. He’s been coming in and out since he was barely two.”

Dick can’t help but wince. “Jesus. I’m… I’m so sorry to hear that, Wally.”

“Thanks, Grayson, but please drop it. I want to talk about anything but work.” 

There’s not much he can argue there, but… “And talking about my screwed up love life will make you feel better?”

“Of course it will. I get to be pissed at you because you’re being an idiot and we both know you’re wrong. What better way to cheer me up?”

Dick sighs. “What if I don't want to talk about it?”

“Then it sucks to be you. You’ve been avoiding this long enough as it is, and for the life of me I can’t figure out why.”

Dick thinks about arguing with Wally about it, but is it worth doing it? Should he even attempt it, when he knows full well that he is, in fact, avoiding the subject, or rather, avoiding Conner in every way he possibly can? 

No, it’s not worth denying it, but it’s not like he can tell Wally why he’s doing it either. It’s too embarrassing to admit. He’s been embarrassed since he figured it out a couple of days earlier, and that’s why he hasn’t wanted to bring up the subject with anyone, not even himself. 

“You’re going to laugh at me,” Dick says, and keeps rubbing Wally’s arm. “It’s kind of stupid.”

“I don’t feel like laughing much right now, and if we’re going to talk about stupid… what you’re doing right now? This dodgy, evasive shit? This is stupid, Dick. Not why you’re doing it, but the fact that you’re doing it in the first place.” 

The words are harsh, the tone brash, and hearing Wally say it stings, but again, it’s not like Dick can argue with him. He knows what he’s doing (or not doing) isn’t good. He knows he’s still being a coward. He knows his actions the past week have only made him feel guilty and pathetic and sad, and he knows his lack of communication is probably driving Conner a little bit mad. 

And yet, he can’t bring himself to pick up any of Conner’s calls or answer a single message because he… 

Well… he’s… 

He’s very… 

“I’m scared,” he whispers, because he can’t say it any louder.

Wally goes still at his side. Dick’s own body stiffens, already expecting an explosive reply from his friend. Wally, however, only pulls away from him enough so they can look at each other from inches away. 

“Scared… of what?” Wally asks, and all traces of annoyance are gone. 

Dick swallows hard. 

‘Everything’ would be the simplest answer he could give, but it wouldn’t explain much, and it wouldn’t be true. Dick has had enough days to figure out what’s got him so terrified and acting like such a jerk, and it all boils down to one simple thing. 

“What if it doesn’t work out?” he asks, and it’s both a question for Wally and for himself. It’s the same question he’s been asking himself since Conner’s first few messages the night after Dick had fled the movie theater. 

Dick, I’m very sorry. 

I didn’t mean to scare you off like that. 

Please call me. 

Can we please talk about this?

I’m sorry. 

Call me, please.

Conner has called. Conner has messaged. He has been insisting and repeating himself almost non-stop, but Wally is right. Not once has a message come in with a demand. Dick hasn’t picked up a single call, but he doubts Conner wants to yell at him on the phone. He doubts Conner wants to set him up, say he wants to talk and then lash out at him. It’s stupid to think that Conner wants to do anything other than talk… because if that were the case, Dick is pretty sure Conner would have said so. 

And yet, Dick is so scared of what Conner will say if they do talk. 

“What if… what doesn’t work out?” Wally asks, and he remains calm and understanding. “Dick, I think it’s pretty clear he wants to—”

“No, Wally, it’s not clear. He pushed me away and I don’t know what he wants to talk about. I don’t know what he wants to say. Maybe he wants us to remain friends. Maybe he does want to be with me. But what if he doesn’t want any of that?” Dick swallows hard, feels his stomach sinking. 

“What if he wants to let me down easy and never see me again?” he says, and that is the one thing that terrifies him the most, because he doesn’t think he can do it. 

He doesn’t think he can get all his hopes up, only for Conner to tell him that he doesn’t feel the same, that he doesn’t want Dick the same way he wants him, and to please delete his number and pretend they don’t know each other. 

It’s irrational. It’s stupid - so fucking stupid - but Dick doesn’t think he can agree to that. Even though in his panicked state he’d offered to leave Conner alone and never talk to him again, he doesn’t think he can actually do it. He can’t pretend the last few months never happened. He can’t pretend he doesn’t feel… something, something that has no business being this… deep, meaningful, and… important. 

It doesn’t make sense. It shouldn’t make sense. When it came to Bruce and Jason, at least Dick had some sort of excuse on why he’d ended up too attached to them. He’d never really gone out on dates with either Bruce or Jason; Bruce because Dick had always been someone to keep hidden and on the side, Jason because he didn’t have the time nor was he interested in dates. Still, Dick had kissed and been kissed. He’d embraced and been embraced.  He’d been fucked to his heart’s content. All those things had happened before he’d gotten the chance to know more about either man, before they’d spent time doing things other than each other. He’d had reasons aplenty to want and crave more, or so he’d thought.

And despite all that…

Here he is, already attached and gone a bit too far for a man whom he’s barely touched, a man whose hand he’s never really held, a man he’s never even kissed, and somehow, a man that Dick can’t let go. Despite telling himself that he would accept the outcome of him taking that first step forward, even though he’d told himself it didn’t matter if Conner rejected him or said he only wanted to be his friend. He’d told himself a lot of things, and he’d been sure he could handle the situation no matter which way it went. 

Except it went the wrong way, and Dick realized how badly he’d lied to himself.

He can’t get over it. Not this time. Not again.

He can’t. 

“Dick,” Wally says, and all his thoughts come to a very sudden halt. 

Haunted, he meets his friend’s eyes, shakes his head. 

“I can’t do this again,” he says. He loathes how weak and small he sounds.

“Do what, Dickie?” Wally questions, concerned. 

“Let go,” he says, and it’s like the floodgates open, and the rest of the words come spilling out. “Get over it. Pretend nothing ever happened. Pretend I don’t know him. Pretend he doesn’t exist. Move on… I can’t, Wally. If he asks me to do that…I don’t think I can do it.” 

Not again. Not for a third time. 

The only reasons he’d survived Bruce were time and learning to respect himself. Bruce’s coldness had helped, as had the distance. 

He couldn’t say he survived Jason. Not really, not exactly. When he met Conner months had already passed since he’d even seen Jason, and he’d still been hurting terribly. Even the other day when he’d spoken to him at the Harper home, he’d wanted to crawl out of his skin and launch himself off a roof. 

And when it comes to Conner… the idea of pushing down feelings he didn’t even know he had, of making them disappear, of mourning something that never happened and going forward with his life like nothing had happened…

“I can’t do it,” he repeats. 

Wally stares at him in pensive, worried silence. Dick doesn’t blame him. He sounds borderline crazy, dramatic, like he’d been taken out of an eighteenth-century corny romance novel…

“You do know it could work out, right?” Wally’s expression grows even more worried. “Dick… yes, it could all go to shit in the worst way possible, but it could also… turn out okay. You know that, right?”

No, Dick doesn’t know. He can hope for it, but he doesn’t know. 

“As bad as this could go, it could also go the other way around,” Wally goes on. He grips Dick by the shoulders and gives him a shake. “Dick. Listen to me. Yes, he could tell you to fuck off and to pretend he doesn’t exist, but he could also sweep you off your feet and kiss you the next time you see him. It could go either way. You know that, right?” When Dick doesn’t reply right away, Wally gives him another shake. “You must know that, Dick. It’s not like you’re the worst person someone could end up with.”

Dick thinks about Bruce. He thinks about Jason. 

“I have plenty of evidence that would indicate otherwise,” he says. 

Wally looks pained. “Dick—” 

Dick’s pager goes off, and the two of them jump half a mile into the air. 

Wally’s grip loosens, and Dick scrambles to grab his pager. When he sees the number on the tiny screen, and then sees the time, his stomach drops. 

“Shit, I’m late,” he hisses, and those are words he hasn’t uttered since his final year of university. 

He forces himself to his feet, but Wally grabs his wrist before he can bolt. 

“Dick,” he says, and Dick has to stop and look down at him. 

“It could be one of the worst things of your life,” Wally says. “But maybe it also ends up being one of the best ones. Just think about it, okay?”

“I will,” Dick replies straight away, and not only because he had to start his shift ten minutes ago, but because thinking about it is everything he’s been doing in his spare time. 

Wally doesn’t look convinced, but he releases his wrist. Dick tries and fails to give him a reassuring smile before he dashes out of the locker room and walks towards his floor as fast as he can without actually running. 

Nurse Clara gives him a flat look when he arrives at the nurses’ station. 

“I’m so sorry,” he huffs. He takes the charts before she even holds them out and starts skimming the first. 

“I was starting to get worried,” she says. 

“I know. I’m so sorry.” 

“You’ve never been late, Dick. Not once in all the time I’ve been working with you.”

His eyes flicker up to her face for a second, then he flips the page and continues reading the chart. “Thank you… It won’t happen again. I’m sorry.” 

“No, Dick, that’s not what I meant.” He looks up at her again, and this time, her face is full of motherly concern. “Is everything alright with you? You’ve been… kind of subdued the last couple of days.” 

Dick’s hand freezes, and a shiver runs down his spine. 

‘Subdued’? What a nice way of saying it. He supposes he has been quieter than usual. He hasn’t chatted with his colleagues as much as he did last week. He hasn’t hung around the nurses’ station during quiet moments as much as he usually would. He knows he hasn’t been as cheerful as he tends to be with his coworkers and that it’s been hard to keep up the facade with his patients. 

He knows all this, but the way he plasters a smile onto his face and gives Nurse Clara a chuckle is almost automatic. 

“Thanks for checking, but I’m perfectly fine,” he lies, and hopes that she, like Artemis that other night, doesn’t notice the wobbliness in his smile. 

Nurse Clara regards him for a few more seconds, then lets out a disappointed sigh. She doesn’t push the issue any further, and Dick manages to keep the phony smile on his face as she informs him he’ll start his shift in labor and delivery today. 

Sooner after, Dick is on his way to start his day. 

He stops right outside his first patient’s room. A scheduled C-section, waiting to be called on surgery any time now. Clara had said the soon-to-be-mother had been getting restless and anxious the last time she’d seen her. Her husband had been trying to calm her down and reassure her, but he’d been even more nervous than her. 

He has a patient next door already in active labor, so he has to be as quick and swift as possible with this first patient. 

He has to focus. He has to do his job. He has to take care of these women and he can’t do that if he’s feeling sorry for himself or thinking about something other than their lives and those of the babies that will soon come into the world. 

He’ll have plenty of time to mope and panic later today. Right now, and until his shift is over…

Dick takes a deep breath. He squares his shoulders and plasters another smile onto his face. He knocks on the door, and throws it open before anyone can reply, calling out his usual and jolly “Good morning!” as he does. 

His second patient goes into full labor when Dick is halfway done prepping the room, and from then on, there is no time to do anything but move and act and make sure neither the patient nor her husband hyperventilates and passes out. 

The husband loses the battle before the OB-GYN even arrives, and Dick finds himself smirking as he checks him over, then settles his unconscious body in a chair. 

His patient, sweat trickling down her face and hair stuck to her forehead, looks up at him, betrayal written across her face. 

“It happens a lot more often than you think,” Dick says, and can’t hold back another chuckle. 

She grits her teeth. “He promised—” 

“They all do,” he reassures her, just as the OB-GYN steps through the door. 

Dick finishes prepping everything in the room. He checks all the monitors one last time while the OB-GYN finishes gearing up and tells her it’s time to start pushing. 

The patient’s breathing quickens even more. She looks at him again, this time looking scared, and Dick comes to stand by her bedside.  He smiles at her, calm and confident, and holds out his gloved hand. “Come on, hold on as tight as you want.”

“I—” 

“I’m not your husband. I won’t get a chance to hold it against you.  I held a professional wrestler’s hands once too, while she delivered. You’ve got carte blanche, I promise.” 

Her face contorts with pain, and Dick waggles his fingers. She sucks in a deep breath, then holds on to his hand, and he manages to get some air in as well before he has to focus on her breathing and getting her to push, and also on ignoring the crushing pain he feels in the next couple of seconds. 

The baby arrives with loud and powerful wails, ones that wake up the husband and have him jumping up from his chair and looking like a lost puppy. The patient shoots him a withering, exhausted look, and Dick gives her hand a soft and gentle squeeze before congratulating her and excusing himself. 

He shakes his hand a couple of times, and then it’s time to dry and check the baby’s vitals. He charts everything, places the ID bands on both parents and the newborns and helps the patient breastfeed for the first time. 

He focuses on the mother once her baby is full and resting against her chest. He makes small talk with the husband and assures him he doesn’t have to feel bad for passing out while checking she’s not bleeding out and that the uterus is how it should be. 

He offers both of them snacks. After a few bites, the mom drifts off. He continues to chat with the husband while he takes the newborn from her mother’s arms to check on her vitals again, and that’s how the next two hours slip by. 

Dick steps out only a moment to inform his fellow nurses the trio is ready to be moved to postpartum care.

 As her new nurse starts wheeling her away, the patient holds on to Dick’s hand. 

“Thank you,” she whispers. 

Dick squeezes her hand again. “Me? You’re the one who did all the heavy lifting. Thank you , Momma.” He winks. “I get the feeling I will see you guys later today anyway, so no goodbyes yet, okay?”

Dick watches her confused expression as he waves the new family goodbye. He returns to the station and writes and types up everything he can before another nurse comes and tells him his C-section patient is about to go into pre-op.  

“Coming,” he says, closing his folders and preparing himself for a second round. 

Almost three hours later, Dick hands a drowsy new mother and a pair of healthy fraternal twins off to the postpartum nurses.

“Thank you,” her wife says, tears in her eyes as she keeps a hand on the hospital bed and walks beside them.

“Just doing my job,” Dick replies with a smile. He’s spent the entire immediate recovery period teaching her how to care for the newborns and how best to support her wife once they’re discharged. He’s also learned that they’d love to have more children, but since only one of them has a functioning uterus, they have a lot of thinking and discussing to do for their future.

“Is there any chance you…?” the woman begins, eyes flicking between Dick and the current postpartum nurses. The rest of the sentence goes unsaid, but he understands nonetheless. 

“I can’t guarantee it, but I might join you again shortly,” he says. “I’ll bring a doll and we can practice elite swaddling techniques if I get a chance to stop by. How’s that sound?”

She nods, and her shoulders loosen. “Good. It sounds good.” 

“I will do my very best,” he says, and offers a playful salute as the postpartum nurses take over and wheel the bed away. 

Once they’re out of sight, Dick takes a moment to gather himself before he heads back to the nurses’ station. 

Charge Nurse Lisa looks up from her own charts when Dick gets to the station. 

“Lunch time?” she asks. 

“Can I?” he replies, raising an eyebrow. 

She grins up at him and comes around the table. She offers the chair she’s just vacated. “Take fifteen when you’re done with your reports, and then you’re off to postpartum. Tammy will hand over her patients.”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Dick sinks into the chair when she’s gone. He stretches his arms above his head, groans as he cracks his neck, then shakes the tiredness away and grabs his charts. 

Fifteen minutes once he finishes his reports. If he keeps a quick and steady pace, he can earn himself two or three extra minutes to debate what to get out of the vending machine. He hasn’t been very hungry lately, which is why he hasn’t given lunch or any other meal much thought. His stomach has been heavy with fear, making him lose his appetite. Still, he knows he has to eat something if he doesn’t want to collapse before his shift ends. 

Dick thinks about the blue Tupperware and the warm chicken soup. He thinks about the cinnamon rolls. When the memories of the ratatouille pop into his head, he grits his teeth and hits the keyboard harder than necessary as he continues filling a report. 

He types away. He’s halfway done with his last report and reaches blindly for his favorite pen, about to make some additional notes to the chart, when his fingers end up bumping the pen instead and pushing it just out of reach. 

He turns his head, lips pursed in annoyance. He leans to one side, arm still stretched out, but he freezes when he sees where the pen ended up. 

There are a bunch of little trinkets at the station’s desk. Most of his fellow nurses have framed pictures of their families spread across the smooth wooden surface. Others have handmade cards or small toys propped up against the frames. There are some labeled lipsticks too, two dried sunflowers, and then, next to his pen,  is the only thing Dick has brought and kept on the desk: the small and square bottle of blue nail polish Conner had given him.

Dick grabs his pen. After a moment of hesitation, he grabs the nail polish too. He brings it up to the light, although he doesn’t know what he expects to see. It’s a regular bottle of dark blue nail polish. According to Google, it’s a somewhat expensive brand, but other than that, it’s regular polish. It shouldn’t mean much because he doesn’t love nail polish. He’s not a collector, it’s not one of his hobbies. He isn’t even a person who wears nail polish on a semi-regular basis… 

And yet he’s kept the small bottle here on the desk, along with pictures and personal mementos, because it had been a thoughtful, wonderful and sweet gift from Conner, and it means more than anyone will ever know. 

It means Conner noticed. It means Conner listened and paid attention. It means Conner thought of him when he wasn’t there. It shows Conner cared about him enough to get him a tiny little gift for no other reason than it reminded him of Dick’s eyes. 

It’s stupid, as stupid as everything he’s been feeling the past week. 

Yes, Wally makes a good point. Maybe Conner wants to work things out, sweep him off his feet and kiss him because maybe -just maybe- Conner does want him, and that… that would…

That would make him happy. 

It would make him so damn happy. It would fill him with relief. It would make him feel safe, like he’s finally made the right choice, like he’s finally found the right person. It would make him believe he has found an actual partner instead of a fling, or a one-sided love, which are all he’s had since he started university. 

It could happen… but it also couldn’t, and that possibility overpowers all of his hopes by a landslide. 

“Dick, fifteen minutes,” Lisa calls, walking past the station and tapping her knuckles against the surface. 

Dick jumps. He almost drops the bottle of nail polish, but he manages to set it back onto the desk. 

“Sorry,” he calls, and finishes typing his report. 

He ends up with ten minutes free before he has to move to postpartum. 

He rushes to the vending machine, forces a bag of mixed nuts and a protein bar down, and manages to sneak away to fill his thermos with coffee. 

He’s downed most of his thermos by the time Tammy finishes handing over her patients. 

“You’re quite popular today,” Tammy informs him with a roll of her eyes. “More popular than usual, that is.”

“Am I?” he asks, trying to sound humble. Her snort indicates he failed. 

“I have three mothers and one father asking when the nice male nurse will come check in on them,” she informs. 

“Ah, well, I promised snacks and elite swaddling techniques. That must be it.”

Tammy looks him up and down. “Yeah, right. I swear, Grayson, if it weren’t because these new mothers and spouses are here crying of joy for their newborns, I’d think—”

“Swaddling techniques, my ass. He flashes them that smile and bats his unfairly long eyelashes and everyone just swoons and folds,” Lisa says, joining them at the station and clearly having heard a good part of the conversation already. She shakes her head and turns to Tammy. 

“And that’s when he’s in his scrubs and halfway through his shift. Can you imagine him dressed to the nines and actually trying to be charming? Or worse, flirting?” she asks. The two women turn to him at the same time, and for a moment, Dick feels like a fish in a bowl. 

Before he can say anything, the women turn to face each other again. 

“This guy is too much of a menace,” Tammy declares. “Doesn’t matter if it’s guys or girls or anything in between, boss. Every shift someone asks if the pretty nurse will come and see them again, and every time it’s him.”

“I should feel jealous,” Lisa says, “But I also get it, you know?”

“Sadly, I do, too.” 

“Hey! I’m right here, in case you guys forgot. ” Dick pipes up. “Also, aren’t you both happily married?”

“Like that has stopped any happy couple of new parents from asking about you,” Tammy says. “Some of them don’t even like guys!”

“And it’s not like Dick is too much into ladies, anyway,” Lisa says with a dramatic sigh. She grins at him. “Are you, pretty boy?”

Dick shrugs. He’s never openly talked to anyone at work about who he likes or doesn’t like. While he’s happy to join in on the ogling and chat about the attractive men and women they see around their ward, and while he quite enjoyed his relationships with women in the past, he can admit he’s had a preference for men for a while now. 

“I think everyone is fair game,” is all he says. He smiles, confident yet reserved. “Men just happen to be the fairer game lately.” 

Lisa hums, and Dick fears for his life when she opens her mouth and says, “You have good taste, Dick. I’ll admit to that too.”

“Oh yes, a very good point,” Tammy agrees, nodding her head. “You sure know how to pick ‘em.”

Dick’s smile slips a notch. He glances at the two women and fights the urge to take a step back. Something tells him he’s about to hear things he would rather not have anyone mention, especially because they couldn’t be more wrong. If he’s learned something since moving to Opal is that he -most definitely- does not know how to pick ‘em at all. 

Except for the man he’s currently ignoring, that is. 

“I don’t know what you—” he begins, but Lisa interrupts with an amused, “Oh, pretty sure you do. I mean, Dr. Wayne? Talk about refined tastes.” 

Dick wonders how or why she even brings Bruce up, but then he remembers the Metropolis gala. Bruce had talked to his chief nurse, and as a frequent charge nurse of course Lisa knew at some point that Dick had been absent for a few days. She’d also known about where he’d been, and with who. 

“Oh, what about the cute redhead from Pediatrics?” Tammy puts in, and her eyes brighten. “Or the smooth-talking dreamboat that comes to pick up coffee from Ana from time to time?” 

Lisa snaps her fingers. “Oh yes, you’re right! He was so charming, and such a looker! I mean, those eyes…”

“And the firefighter,” Tammy says in a conspiratorial whisper. “He had really pretty eyes too, and—” she gasps, claps her hands together and turns to Lisa again. “The food! Wasn’t he the one who brought Dick food?”

Lisa gasps as well, and she snaps her fingers a second time. “He was! The soup smelled so good and Dick didn’t want to share it with anyone because he waited until he could go to the cafeteria to eat it.” 

Dick, who’s been feeling like he wants to throw himself off a window for the past minute, grabs onto the last bit like a lifeline. He does not want to dwell on anyone, especially not Conner. With more effort than he’d like to admit, he lets out a strangled, “How do you— why do you— know that? Either of you?” He forces himself to laugh, weak and nervous. “I… I didn’t think my life was interesting enough to be your soap opera.”

The two women give him a look that reminds Dick that they’re several years older than him, and also that he’s being a bit dumb right now. 

“Richard Grayson,” Lisa says, and Dick straightens out of habit. “You’re the only guy in this ward. You’re hot, young and charming, with a very good eye for equally attractive men, as per your past records. What else could we possibly talk about in this place?”

Dick doesn’t think she makes a good point, but he’s not going to touch any of that, not even with a ten-foot pole. 

Instead, he will listen to his body and brain… and take this moment and opportunity to escape as fast as he can, as far away as he can. 

Not that running away has done him any good so far, but still. 

“Well,” Dick says, picking up his charts and flashing them a smile that is too bright. “Now that you’ve finished having fun at my expense—”

“Not enough by far!” Tammy exclaims, just as Lisa says, “Oh, I could do this all shift, Dick.”

Dick’s ignores them. “Ahem. As I was saying, now that you’ve finished having fun, I will go and keep doing my job. I suggest you do the same.” 

Lisa scoffs and waves him away. Tammy laughs and calls out a cheeky, “Anything for you, sweetheart!” before she grabs her own charts and heads the opposite way. 

Dick heads towards his new set of rooms without looking back. He has to turn around and come back the same way two minutes later; he’d forgotten the doll and the extra snacks. 

Lisa doesn’t make a single comment about it, and Dick thanks her for her silence by dropping an extra protein bar on top of the chart she’s filling up. 

Two hours, an impromptu swaddling class and a husband’s panic attack later, Dick’s side of the ward has finally calmed down enough. Significant others have left the hospital to return to their normal lives for a little while. Mothers and newborns have decided they’ve had enough of the day, so when Dick steps into the rooms to check on them, most of them are fast asleep or too drowsy to hold him up too long. 

A baby boy starts fussing when Dick finishes checking his temperature. He hums to the baby as he checks his heart rate, then rubs his belly to try and soothe him. When that doesn’t work, he checks if the baby needs a diaper change. When he checks and that isn’t the issue either, Dick bundles the baby up, brings him close to his chest and starts rocking him back and forth. 

“It’s okay, buddy. You’re okay,” he murmurs, swaying from side to side and making soft, shushing noises. 

The baby frowns up at him, tiny fists flailing. He sniffles once, then twice. Dick shifts the baby onto one arm, brings up his free hand and rubs at his belly again, still doing the same shushing sounds that have helped with many newborns over the years. 

Eventually, and after walking around the room two times, the baby settles down. The mother hasn’t so much as twitched. Dick considers this his biggest win of the day. 

He continues rocking the baby for another minute. Once he’s sure he won’t wake up, Dick places him back in his bassinet. He’s placing an extra blanket on top of the sleeping child when he hears the door to the room open. 

“Dick?” It’s Lisa’s voice. 

He straightens up and turns around, finds his charge nurse holding the door open, a frown on her face. 

“Yes?” he whispers. 

She motions him outside. 

After one last look at the sleeping woman and baby, he follows her and closes the door behind him. 

“Yes?” he asks again. 

Lisa looks up at him, a question in her eyes “There’s someone here looking for you,” she says. 

It’s a simple sentence, a simple statement, just her passing on some factual information… yet Dick feels like she’s just dropped a nuclear bomb on him. 

He shivers, and his palms begin to sweat. His heart is suddenly at the back of his throat. “Is it—?” he begins, but no other words come out. The amount of people who could have come up to find him while he’s on shift is… very limited. Lisa and Tammy had listed out all the possibilities only a couple of hours earlier, and apart from Wally, they all make Dick want to run for the hills. 

There is no reason for Bruce or Jason to come looking for him. He has nothing to say to either of them, and he doesn’t want to hear anything Bruce has to say. He can’t think of anything Jason would like to talk to him about, either, and it kind of scares him if he does. Any encounter with either man doesn’t sound like something he would enjoy, but if it’s not them, it must be Conner, and… 

That would be a hundred times worse.

He can’t do this. Not yet. Not any of it. He’s not ready. He’s not ready for anything involving Bruce or Jason, but especially not Conner. 

Dick lets out all the air in his lungs. He looks at the floor, realizes his hands are shaking. He balls them into fists, and without raising his head, he starts, “Can you please tell them I’m very, very busy right—”

“It’s not one of your conquests,” Lisa interrupts, and he looks back up so fast he gets dizzy for only a second. 

“What?” he asks, pressing his palm against his forehead and looking at her. To her credit, she does look a little bit ashamed right now. 

“It’s not,” she insists, and tugs at her ID badge. “Pretty sure I’ve seen them all by now, and he’s not on your very interesting list. I do know him, though. He’s a nurse. Works in the ER downstairs. Bright red hair?”

Dick’s eyes go wide. His stomach gets heavy for a whole different reason. “Where is he?” 

“Waiting for you at the station.”

He takes off without further word, once again wishing he could run in the hospital halls. 

Roy is still standing by the nurses’ station when Dick gets there. He’s in his scrubs, and he looks… not as worried as Dick had expected him to. 

“Hey,” Dick says by greeting, and then he’s standing in front of Roy, crowding up his personal space. “Are you okay?” is the next thing he asks. 

Roy blinks at him, eyes wide, and holds up both hands. “Whoa, whoa. Are you breathing, Dick? Breathe, you need to breathe.” 

Dick ignores him and steps even closer. “Are you okay?” he repeats, and then he gasps. “Is Donna okay? Is Lian ?”

“Lian? No, no she’s fine. Donna too. Come on, Dick, breathe.”

“IWhy are you here? Something must be wrong.” Another ugly thought hits him, and he feels his stomach drop. “Jason? Is it Jason? Is he… is he okay?” A part of him doesn’t want to know the answer. 

“Ja— oh my God, stop!” Roy says, and grabs him by the shoulders. He gives him a good shake. “Calm down, Dickie!”

“Jay is okay. We’re all okay. Everyone is… okay.” The redhead pauses, longer this time, and Dick fears the worst. 

“But?” he prompts, because the Harpers and Jason might be okay, but he’s pretty sure someone isn’t. 

Roy scrunches up his nose. He looks at Lisa, standing a few steps behind Dick, then sighs. 

“There’s…  someone in the ER asking to talk to you,” he says. 

Dick’s whirling thoughts screech to a halt. Instead, a million questions float into his head. “Me? Why would someone in the ER want to talk to me?” he asks, and can’t keep the disbelief out of his voice.

“Is someone coming into the ER to sue Dick or the hospital?” Lisa asks, and she’s probably only half-joking. 

Roy shakes his head. “No, nothing like that.” He turns to Dick, unsure. “I’m not sure what happened or what is happening. If you tell me he’s a creep I will believe you a hundred percent and pretend none of this happened, but if this is just some misunderstanding or something very, very personal…”

“You’re starting to freak me out,” Dick says. Even more, he doesn’t add. 

Roy sighs, and then his expression goes blank, a blankness Dick is very familiar with. “Conner Kent is in the ER,” he says, tone serious. “He asked me to give you a message… but I thought… if he’s not a creep you’re running from, maybe you want to go and see him instead. He was brought in an ambulance. He’s got a concussion, probably a facial fracture, too.”

“Who?” Lisa asks, but her voice sounds very far away, because the room started spinning the moment Dick heard Conner’s name. 

Dick’s blood turns to ice. His pulse roars in his ears, and his legs go weak. He manages to catch himself on the taller side of the station’s desk. He tries to inhale, to say something, anything, and finds his chest tight and too small for his lungs, his heart and everything else. 

“You’ve gone deathly pale,” Roy says. This time, he’s the one who steps in closer, eyes full of concern. He grips Dick’s shoulder again. “Dick? Dick, talk to me. Is he dangerous? Did you ghost him because he creeped you out?” Roy’s eyes go wide. “Did he do something to you? Because if he did, I will make sure he doesn’t leave this hospital until—”

Conner? Conner doing something to him? Jesus. 

As if. 

If only. 

Shaking his head, Dick knows he has to speak before Roy goes into full protective brother/father mode. 

“Conner didn’t do anything to me,” he manages to say, and just saying Conner’s name fills him with fear. He’s not sure if he’s afraid because of how he acted last week, or simply because Conner is in the ER. With a concussion. And probably a broken bone somewhere in his face. 

Fuck. 

Conner is in the ER with a concussion and a broken bone. 

Fuck.  

Dick swallows hard. He pushes away from the desk and spins on his heel, finding Lisa still standing behind him. She looks as concerned as Roy. 

“Boss, I have to see him,” he says, and takes a moment to compose himself, because he doesn’t want his voice to break, or for her to hear how desperate he’s feeling.

Lisa crosses her arms. “Who is it?” she asks. 

“The firefighter,” he replies, voice hollow. 

She keeps looking at him. “The firefighter… You sure you don’t want to call him anything else? Anything more… proper?” 

Dick’s heart does a little somersault. He bites his tongue, because he would love to reply ‘yes’… but he can’t. He doesn’t have the time to explain why either. 

“He’s… important,” is what he settles on. 

Lisa hums. She scrutinizes him in silence, probably judges him a little bit too. After a few seconds, she nods towards the rooms where they’d come from. 

“Anything in particular I should keep an eye on?” she asks. 

Dick almost sags with relief. “No… No. Just finished checking in. Everyone is stable and healthy. Nothing to do until the next round.”

“Okay. I’ll cover for you. Go make sure your important person is doing well.”

“Thank you,” he says, and turns to Roy, who frowns. 

“If I take you downstairs, you have to promise you will behave and do as I say,” he says. 

“I promise,” Dick says without thinking. Dick hopes Roy knows he doesn’t mean it. 

Resigned, Roy nods, and the two of them head towards the elevator. 

The ride takes forever, or it feels like it does. When the doors finally open into the ER, Dick bolts… only to crash against a very solid and warm wall. 

“Sorry,” Dick says by reflex, stumbling back. A hand lands on his arm, steadying him. When he looks up to see who he crashed into, he half wishes he had kept his eyes down. 

“Whoa. What’s the rush?” Jason asks, and then realizes who he’s talking to. “Oh. Bluebird? What are you doing down here?” 

The nickname stings, the evident concern hurts, yet Dick doesn’t have time to linger on any of it. 

“Sorry,” he repeats, and tugs his arm free. “Sorry. I have to go. I need to go.”

Jason pulls his hand back. He balls it into a fist. “Go where? You okay?” 

“He’s here to see… a friend,” Roy chimes in, coming to stand next to them. 

Jason ignores the awkward pause. He smiles: confident, cocky and completely lethal to anyone in his vicinity. “Well, Dick, as happy as I am to see you…”

Dick grits his teeth, knowing Jason is only trying to keep the mood light and fun. It’s not like he would care too much if Dick came down to see him, and it’s not like Dick has time to waste on witty, delightful banter with him. 

“I’m looking for someone else,” he says, and the smile disappears as Jason looks at Roy. 

“The paramedic Jamison ordered the CT for,” Roy says, answering the unasked question. “Facial fracture guy.”

Jason raises his eyebrows at Dick. “You know him?”

“Yes,” Dick replies, wondering why they’re still standing there. 

“Friend of yours, huh?”

“No,” he says. Jason’s eyebrows climb even higher. “Shit. I mean, yes, but… he… he’s…” Dick looks away, jaw clenched. 

“He’s important,” he ends up repeating.  “Conner. He’s… he’s important to me. I… came to see him. Where is he, Roy?”

There’s a pregnant silence. Dick steels himself before he looks back at Jason, and in his face Dick finds… 

He finds… 

He doesn’t know how to describe it, but it reminds him of the way Jason had looked back at the Harper home the other day. There’s some pain there, but Dick would rather not name anything else. 

“I see,” Jason says, his voice is soft. He clears his throat. “Uh, Roy…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Roy intervenes, “All right, Dick. Ground rules. You—”

“No,” Dick says, and then he’s off, walking towards the many curtains and ready to pull back every single one of them if necessary. 

“Dick,” Roy and Jason say at the same time, and he can’t blame the sudden alarm in their voices. A man in pink scrubs roaming around stands out, even in the ER, and if Roy came to tell Dick without telling his charge nurse or anyone else… 

Dick appreciates the risk Roy took. He is also willing to face Roy’s consequences for him if he can see Conner in the next five seconds. 

“What happened to him? How did he hit his head?” Dick asks. He’s about to pull back the first curtain, but Jason catches up to him and grabs his wrist before he can. 

Dick goes still, tense. His knee-jerk reaction is to try and tug free, but he manages to control himself in time. Instead, he glares at Jason. 

“Hold on,” Jason says, unflinching. “Roy, can you give Dick some additional info before he goes and scares already stressed patients and fellow medical staff?”

Roy steps into view, already looking like he regrets telling Dick anything. “He came in a couple hours ago. The guy that filled out the paperwork said they were on shift. It seems they attended a possible OD patient. The guy woke up in the ambulance and got violent. I already checked with Kent himself and he doesn’t remember the events, but his friend told us the patient got him good in the face with the big oxygen tank.” 

Dick’s mind races. Concussion. Facial fracture. Getting hit in the face with around twenty pounds of metal sounds like it would hurt like hell and break something, especially if the possible OD patient was having a breakdown, but still…

“Did that cause the concussion?” Jason asks, saving Dick from having to ask the same thing. 

Roy shakes his head. “Apparently the patient opened the ambulance doors and got out. Kent followed, passed out mid-step and then hit the ground.” Roy hesitates before adding, “He was, uh, unconscious before he fell out of the ambulance so… yeah, that didn’t help at all.”

Jason whistles, low and short. Dick winces, well aware that dead weight and falling make a terrible combination.

“You said he doesn’t remember what happened,” Dick says. 

Roy shakes his head. “He’s been pretty damn alert and clear-headed, but he doesn’t remember how he got hurt. His face is a mess, though. Chances are he will have to stay the night, maybe longer depending on how the concussion progresses.” 

That’s not good. It’s not the worst thing Dick has ever heard -not by far- but it’s not good either. It’s not good at all. 

“You’re shaking,” Jason murmurs, and Dick looks down at the wrist Jason is still holding. His hand is indeed trembling. 

“I…” he begins, and takes a moment to gather his composure, hoping his mind will stop reeling. His reaction to Conner’s current situation doesn’t make sense. Nothing he feels or has felt for Conner has made sense in the slightest. At this point, however, Dick is starting to think it might be a good idea to let go of his apprehension.

It doesn’t matter if it makes sense. It doesn’t matter if nothing does. He feels something for Conner. Or rather, he feels a lot of things; too many for his own comfort, maybe too many for his own good. 

But hadn’t Conner told him that he was allowed to feel whatever he wanted? Hadn’t Conner told him all these stupid feelings were something he had to deal with, because he was human and that meant he had to feel things, no matter how much he didn’t want to? 

God help him. He can’t help it. He doesn’t even want to help it. He wants to feel everything and anything for Conner… even if wrecks him in the end.  

“His family,” Dick hears his own voice say, and uses the words to bring himself back to the present. “His family. His… his mom. His older brother. They adore him as much as they fret over him. Do they know?” 

Jason lets go of his wrist, unprompted. Dick stumbles, surprised by the sudden release. He looks at Jason, manages to catch the surprise on his face before it gives way to a forced and cheerful blankness. 

Not knowing why what he had just said would affect him, Dick turns to Roy, who shrugs. “I asked him if he was going to tell them. He said not yet. It looked like he had something more important to do, or someone else to tell… something tells me that someone might have been you.” 

For a split second, Dick considers rushing to the locker room and getting his phone out. Thankfully, common sense wins out that argument, at least to some degree. 

“Where is he?” he asks, and starts walking again, faster than before. His hands are still shaking, but not as much as his stomach is churning. 

“Dick, he’ll be okay,” Roy says. 

Dick knows that’s not the issue. He’s not here because he’s worried Conner won’t make it. He’s here because he’s simply worried for Conner, and God , he wants to see him. 

“That’s not what matters to me right now,” he says. “Where is he?”

Roy sighs. He points to a particular curtain. Dick is about to make a run for it when Jason grabs him again, this time by the arm. 

Dick groans. “What?” he snaps. He half-expects Jason to look pained again. He’s oddly relieved when all he sees is cold, rational professionalism. 

“You can’t just barge in there, not in your current state,” he says. His tone is firm, matter-of-fact. He’s not telling Dick this because he doesn’t want him to go in there. He’s telling Dick this because he’s an ER resident and Dick is a distressed nurse with personal involvement who left his ward to check in on an ER patient. 

Dick presses his lips into a thin line. He glares at Jason. 

“He’s stable. He’s in good hands,” Roy reassures him, clearly not understanding that…

“I’m not going away until I know he’s okay,” Dick insists. 

Jason remains firm, his grip solid. 

Roy rubs at his forehead. “We understand your concern,” he says, and he does it in that infuriating tone Dick uses with difficult patients. 

Before Dick can call him out on it, Jason intervenes by saying, “But you aren’t exactly calm, and you can’t be down here for much longer.” 

Dick narrows his eyes, fighting the urge to jerk free and punch them for treating him like an unruly patient. 

“Jesus, I’m not going to camp under his bed until he gets discharged. I just want to see him.”

Jason frowns. Roy sighs. “He’s stable,” his fellow nurse replies, and raises his hands, almost as if to placate Dick. “I promise you he’s stable. I promise you he’s in the best hands.”

Dick shakes his head. None of it matters. Nothing matters until Dick sees Conner with his own eyes.  “I don’t care, Roy. I believe what you’re saying and I would trust you with my life, but I don’t care . Let me see him.” The last sentence is a demand and nothing else. 

Roy sighs again. Jason tightens his grip, but when he speaks, his words are soft and pliant, yet genuine. “Bluebird, you can’t—”

No, no, no. He can and he will. He must.

“Jason,” he says, and that… that isn’t a demand. Jason’s name isn’t a request. It’s not a question. With how weak and broken it comes out… as much as he hates it, Jason’s name is a plea. 

“Jason, please,” he says, or rather… he begs. “Someone is covering for me. It won’t take long.” 

“Dick—”

“Jay, please,” he says, and that… 

Jason falters. It’s only for a brief moment, one single hairline crack in his handsome demeanor, but it happens. His lips curve down, his eyes flinch, and then he releases Dick’s arm and steps off to one side. 

Dick sags with relief… for all of one breath, because on the next he’s marching forward, pushing the curtain to one side, stepping into the cubicle and when he spots the hospital bed and Conner lying on top of it…

All the air leaves his body. His body stops listening to his brain. He ends up there, in the middle of the little cubicle, rooted to the ground. He barely registers there’s another nurse in the room,  most of his attention focused on the man he so desperately wanted to see. 

One side of Conner’s face looks pissed, but also exhausted. Given everything that’s transpired in the past few hours, Dick doesn’t blame him. 

Dick stares at the red and angry mess that is the other side of Conner’s face. His cheek is very swollen, his eye half-shut, half-hiding the dark bag under said eye. It looks painful as hell, clearly the result of being hit by a blunt object at full force… and judging by how Conner is squinting at him and at Roy and Jason when they spill in behind him, it’s easy for Dick to tell the light is bothering him, but not as much as the pain is.

Conner shifts on the bed. He tries to move, but it must hurt him even more, given he closes his eyes and moans. 

Everyone in the room holds their breath, or it might be just him, he’s not sure. 

There’s a moment where nothing happens, but when Conner moans in pain again, Dick’s body seems to remember how to function. He steps closer to the bed, trying to shield Conner from the overhead lights as best as he can. He hesitates, suddenly unsure of what to say or do. However, before he can, Conner opens his eyes. 

Once Dick meets that gorgeous, honest sky-blue gaze, there’s only one thing he can say. 

“Hey, handsome,” he mumbles, leaning forward and smiling nervously. 

Conner blinks, not fully aware. Dick watches the gear turn in his head. He doesn’t know if Conner is trying to figure out what’s happening, who he is, or something else, but after a while, he says. “I got hit in the face.” There’s a pause. “With an oxygen tank,” he adds, like the detail is important. 

Dick doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. With how frustrated Conner seems, with how much pain he’s clearly in, with how vulnerable and soft he is, Dick would love to simply wrap his arms around him and kiss the pain away. 

He knows he can’t, though, not only because it’s so not the right moment, but because he’s pretty sure Conner is trying to tell him something. 

“I… I heard,” he offers, hoping that sounds encouraging enough. 

“I don’t remember it, but Tim says it happened… Apparently I fell off the ambulance, too.”

Dick feels his attempt of a smile drip away. He searches Conner's face for anything he can say to help. 

He watches Conner raise a hand and wave it in the direction of his face. “What I’m saying is,” Conner goes on. “I must look very ugly right now. That’s all.”

There’s another collective intake of breath behind him. Dick doesn’t need to see anyone else in the room to know Conner’s words have just created either confusion or annoyance. He gets it. Coming from someone else, or if he didn’t know him, Dick might roll his eyes and think the guy has a big ego…

But it’s Conner. Conner, who’s always so logical, and blunt, and doesn’t like adorning what he says or does. 

It’s Conner, clearly having a shitty day, but still being himself. 

Dick’s chest loosens. A short laugh escapes him, breathless, but oh, so very genuine. 

“So?” he challenges. “Like those minor details make you any less handsome.” And he means every single word he’s saying. 

Conner’s following exasperation amuses Dick, as does his familiar frown. It’s Conner being Conner. Conner, right there in front of him, talking to him like nothing had happened, like Dick hadn’t screwed everything up a week earlier. 

Conner, looking like he needs a hug and… 

Oh, fuck it. 

“You can’t possibly think—” Conner begins, but Dick is already moving, leaning forward, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and…

Holding on. 

Dick holds on, as tight as he can, as tight as he wants

Conner lets out a sound of surprise. He freezes, but he doesn’t push Dick away, and he can live with that. 

He closes his eyes, burying his face against Conner’s shoulder. He’s not wearing his clothes, and since Conner doesn’t like colognes, he doesn’t even get to smell Conner’s already familiar laundry detergent. It doesn’t matter too much, though. What matters is Conner, so solid, so real, so warm, in his arms. 

Dick raises his head a little bit. He can’t bring himself to move any further. 

“I think you look as handsome as ever, just a little beat up,” he mumbles, and embraces him with renewed vigor. 

Conner shifts. He hesitates. 

A  soft and low cough comes from somewhere in the room, reminding Dick they’re not alone. The thought makes him feel embarrassed, but the feeling doesn’t last long. What does last is the giddiness and relief he feels as he continues to hold on to Conner. Maybe it was sudden, and maybe Conner doesn’t want this right now, but—

 There’s another light hesitance, but then Dick feels an arm around his shoulders, and then— then Dick’s heart does a little something when he feels Conner’s hand on his head, his fingers digging into his hair, pulling it and smoothing it away in what is an awkward yet wonderfully tender gesture. 

“I’m okay,” Conner says. 

Dick almost collapses. 

He digs his own fingers into Conner’s back, grabbing fistfuls of cheap hospital gown. He drops his head against Conner’s shoulder and tries to catch his breath, tries not to get lost in the sudden and utter feeling of comfort. 

“Are you?” he asks, trying to keep himself upright. 

Conner shifts again. His fingers keep playing with Dick’s hair. 

“No, but it’s probably not as bad as everyone seems to think,” he says, and the fact that Conner won’t lie to him even with little things like this… 

He laughs. 

Conner startles at the sound, but he can’t help it. He feels like a huge weight has been lifted off his shoulders as he laughs. He holds on to Conner for a few seconds longer, then, with much difficulty and against all his will, he forces himself to pull back. 

He finds Conner looking at him. He seems to be lost in thought, at least until he raises a hand. Dick watches his fingers approach almost in slow motion, but he doesn’t know what’s going to happen until Conner presses his thumb against his forehead, as if trying to smooth away wrinkles, or worry lines. 

“I’ll be okay,” he says, and the gentle touch, the soft reassurance… 

Dick’s insides turn gooey. He smiles down at Conner, balls his hands into fists to stop them from cupping Conner’s cheek. 

“I’m glad to see you,” he says, and boy, does he mean that. 

I’m sorry, he adds in his mind, but he’s not ready to say it out loud. 

Conner contemplates him in silence, serious but by no means hostile. He seems to weigh his words before he says, “I’m glad to see you too.” 

Dick’s smile widens. He knows it to be true. Otherwise, Conner wouldn’t have said it. 

“So you did know him,” Conner continues, looking over his shoulder. 

Dick turns around. He sees the other nurse for the first time: Nurse Joy, and then he sees that Roy and Jason are still very much there, exchanging an uncomfortable glance that makes Dick feel a little bit guilty. 

Roy stays silent, but he seems apologetic. Jason takes a deep breath and shakes his head towards his friend. 

“I’ll… be going now. His doctor should be here soon,” he says. He pulls back the curtain, gives them his back and takes the first step. 

Dick knows he should say something. He doesn’t owe Jason anything, not an apology, not an explanation, not a justification. He knows this, but not saying anything seems… wrong. 

“Thank you, Jay,” he calls. 

There’s the slightest pause, another almost invisible crack. Then, Jason looks over his shoulder and smiles. It’s almost the same gorgeous and killer smile from earlier. Dick expects some sort of reaction from his own body, but there isn’t one aside from a distant ache. 

“Like anything would have stopped you from barging in.” Jason laughs, incredulous, and shakes his head. Dick doesn’t think he does it because he’s amused, but he wouldn’t dare think of anything else.  “See you around, Grayson.”

Grayson. 

There’s no warmth or intimacy as Jason says his name. It’s not empty either. It’s neutral, cordial, but Dick is aware of the sudden and newfound distance. 

He waits for it to sting. 

Instead, it lifts another weight off his shoulders. 

“Yes. I’ll…” He what? What can he possibly say and mean? 

“I’ll see you around,” he echoes, and he turns back to Conner just as Jason steps out and the curtain swings back. 

“Are the scan results in?” he asks, and hopes for an affirmative. Now that he’s made sure Conner is right there, he can breathe easier, and focus on other things. “Can I see?” he continues, before anyone can reply. 

Roy is quick to intervene after that. Acting very much like the father he is, he takes the medical chart and admonishes Dick for trying to take over his patient. 

Conner chimes in saying that he must look at the medical chart too if Dick is allowed to, and Roy appears as exasperated as if he were dealing with children until Joy interferes, telling Roy to go easy on them. 

“My job here is done,” she announces and points a finger at the man on the bed. “I better not see you in here again anytime soon,” she says, and it does sound like a threat. 

“I will do my best,” he vows, because Dick knows he means it. 

Joy grins at Dick. “All right. You take good care of your handsome fellow, okay?” she tells him with a wink, and Dick might burst into flames from how fast and hard that fun little comment has set his body ablaze. 

Speechless, he watches Joy leave their little cubicle. His palms are sweating. His face is burning, and when he catches Roy smirking, Dick thinks spontaneous combustion might be a good idea. 

Thankfully, Conner’s even and annoyed voice asks, “May I look at the medical chart?” and that gives Dick the out he needs. 

At least, until Conner frowns at him and says, “Aren’t you coming to look as well?” It’s not really a question. 

Dick almost fans himself with his hand. Deciding he doesn’t want to look too pathetic, he replies, “Yes, sir,” and leans down so he can read the chart. 

His brain makes quick sense of what’s written down. 

“Oh, thank God,” he says. He presses a hand to his chest and lets Conner finish reading. 

It takes him a while, and it’s a reminder that he’s very much not okay at the moment. 

“Great,” Conner finally says, sounding like a sulky teenager. He holds out the chart, and Dick takes it, giving it another read. 

Conner’s got a mild concussion, thank God. For that alone he’ll need to stay overnight. He does seem quite alert and aware, just in a lot of pain. It’s mean to think it, but him being so aware of his pain and missing memories is a good sign. If his condition doesn’t worsen, he’ll probably get discharged tomorrow. 

The facial fracture Dick has heard so much about ends up being a hairline fracture on the cheekbone. Thankfully, it’s not displaced, which means he won’t need surgery. Dick guesses he will have to stick to a very soft diet the next couple of days depending on how bad the pain gets, but it’s a million times better than having to go through surgery and needing to be fed through a tube. 

It seems his chest is bruised. He hasn’t heard anything about how or why that happened, but if the patient whacked him  in the face with the oxygen tank, maybe he got Conner in the chest too and he simply doesn’t remember. Either way, nothing is broken, so all in all…

Dick is very glad the situation isn’t worse. 

Dick is about to say as much, but when he sees the utter disappointed and frustrated state Conner is in, he decides it’s better to stay quiet and instead hands Roy the chart back.

“Happy?” Roy asks. 

Dick gives a small shake of his head as Conner mutters, “No.” 

Roy opens his mouth, but Conner goes to say,  “No, not happy at all. No reason at all to be happy.” Conner looks at him, or rather glares, and Dick knows he wouldn’t be able to move even if he wanted to. 

“I’m very glad to see you,” Conner says. “And I’m thankful you came to see me, but I’m mad at you. You know that, right?”

And there it is. The umpteenth bomb of his day, being dropped without any preamble or pretense. Conner stating what his current situation is and picking up on what Dick had been avoiding. It’s blunt, and it hurts, but… well, he knew it was coming, didn’t he? 

His shoulders sag. He tries not to let his irrational fear take over again. It’s not like he can flee the room like he’d fled the movie theater. He’d brought himself back into Conner’s orbit. He’d forced his way into his vicinity. The impact is coming, and he’s had a week to brace for it. 

“I… I figured, yes,” he whispers. He fights not to take a step back. He fights not to  look away. He wills his body and mind to stay firm, if not strong. 

Conner stares at him in silence. It’s hard to tell what’s going through his mind when one half of his face is not functioning like it should. Despite all that, Dick manages to notice the gears turning, ideas forming, and the effort it takes to put them into words. 

“Why is it that it takes something as lame as me being in the hospital for you to talk to me again, Dick?” Conner asks, and the hopelessness in his tone makes the metaphorical kick to the stomach hurt even more. 

Dick flinches. Conner asks a very good and valid question, and he doesn’t have a good and valid reply. He doesn’t even think he has an acceptable reply, but before he can get a word out, Conner speaks like something inside him is unraveling. 

“I’m sorry I pushed you away,” he says, eyes burning with sincerity and confusion. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice… I didn’t mean to scare you… I didn’t want you to leave…” his voice trails off, a struggle in his face, and Dick… 

He can’t move. He can’t breathe. He can’t look away. Why is Conner apologizing to him? It should be the other way around. 

“I’m sorry,” Conner repeats, and he sits up straighter on the bed. “Dick, I’m… I’m very sorry—”

The curtain slides open, and in saunters in a man in a long white coat. 

“Ah, good to see you awake and talking,” he says, and that’s all it takes for the moment to crack in a dozen different directions. 

“Yes,” Roy says. The cracks spread. 

“Dick, it’s time. Please step out,” he continues, and that’s when the moment finally shatters into a million pieces. 

Dick tries to focus. He tries to think about anything other than Conner and what has just happened. He thinks about where he is and where he should be. He focuses on the fact that he’s managed to check on Conner and also the fact that the worst has probably already happened.

“I—” he starts, not knowing what he’s going to say,

“You’re on shift,” Conner murmurs, and the world narrows down to the man on the bed again. 

Dick blinks down at him. 

“Aren’t you?” Conner prompts. 

Dick feels a tinge of annoyance. “Yes, but—”

“Go do your job, Dickie.” The nickname sends a shiver down his spine. “I get the feeling I won’t be going anywhere anytime soon.” He looks like he wants to say something else, and because Dick needs time to recover, he stays quiet, waiting, asking for mercy for both of them. 

Conner inhales. He squares his shoulders and looks him dead in the eye one more time. Dick almost wants to salute. 

“Will you?” Conner asks. 

Will I what? Dick thinks, and then Conner adds a very soft and unsure, “...Come back?”, and Dick feels like it’s another blow to the chest, especially when his brain registers the increasing speed of Conner’s heartbeat, loud and clear for everyone in the room to hear. 

Holy shit. Holy shit. Is Conner nervous for his answer? Has he made Conner nervous? 

“Will you?” Conner asks again, harsher this time. 

Dick takes a step back, unable to stand the third hit those words bring. His chest twists and hurts with too many emotions to name… but this is not the moment to back down. Conner is waiting for a reply, and Dick has made him wait enough already. 

“I… I will,” he says. He nods, knowing that no matter what happens in the next few hours, he has to come back to this little cubicle, or whichever room they transfer Conner to. He has to come back. It’s too late to run away again, and he’s tired of doing it. 

“I… I will, Conner. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he vows. 

Conner visibly relaxes, leaning more of his weight against the bed and the pillows. 

“Thank you,” he says, relieved. “We need to talk.”

Dick keeps nodding. “Yes, yes we do.” 

Conner relaxes even more. Dick knows he should walk out now. He knows Lisa will have his head if he takes much longer, but he can’t leave, not without—

Well, he’s crossed that boundary and there’s no turning back now. Not for him. He’s done being scared, and he’s done wanting. He will allow himself to have this, at least for now. 

He dives in and wraps his arms around Conner, hugging him as tight as before. 

The words spill out before he can think them through. “I’m so sorry, Conner. I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you. I’m sorry I didn’t reply… I didn’t think you wanted to… I thought you would hate me… and if I just ignored it you’d just… let it go, and…” nothing he says makes much sense. He’s not being completely honest either. He’s babbling, rambling, and maybe he should pull back now. Maybe it’s time he—

Conner returns the hug, slow and somewhat awkward. As soon as Dick feels the warmth of his arms enveloping him, he wants to cry. 

“I’m not very good at letting stuff go,” Conner reminds him, fingers kneading through his hair in a soothing, tender gesture. 

“You’d think I’d know that by now, huh?” He tries to joke. As expected, it doesn’t land. 

“Do you want me to let it go?” Conner asks. 

If Dick were the one hooked up to the heart monitor, the damn thing would be going crazy right now. The mere thought scares him, and he stops breathing for a moment, clinging to Conner even more. 

“No,” he whispers. 

“Good,” Conner says, more in approval than relief. “I don’t want to let it go either.” Dick feels him tug on his hair, a clear indication that Dick should get a move on. “Go back before they suspend you.”

Dick laughs, settles back into an atmosphere that already feels familiar. Conner’s answer has made the air lighter, a lot easier to breathe.  “Is that an order, as a working paramedic?” 

“Technically, my shift hasn’t ended, so yes, it is,” Conner says, like it’s one of the world’s absolute truths. 

“Can’t really disobey you then,” Dick says, amused. He drops his arms and pulls back, only to dive in a second later and do another of the things he wanted to do since seeing Conner. 

He cups Conner’s unbruised cheek in his palm. 

“See you soon, Conner,” he mumbles, and kisses his cheek, quick and chaste and—

The heart monitor goes nuts. Conner flushes a deep dark red from the top of his head down to his neck. 

Dick can’t help but grin, and he saves this moment into his permanent memories before he stands up a bit straighter and walks out without saying anything else. 

He manages to make it to the elevator in one piece. Once he’s inside, he finally lets his body collapse against the wall. 

Breathing hard, Dick clutches his chest with both hands. 

He stares at his reflection in the elevator doors: he’s pink all over, not just his clothes. He looks sweaty, wide-eyed, somewhat shocked… 

But it’s all right. He will be all right. He has a shift to finish, a man to see, and a very difficult conversation to have. 

He can do it. 

Scratch that. He will do it. No matter how pretty or ugly it gets, Dick will see this through. 

He now has the feeling that Wally was right, and this might end up being one of the best things that’s ever happened to him. 

Chapter Text

Dick bolts for the elevator the moment he’s done with the handover.

“Hey!” Lisa calls from behind the desk, and Dick comes to a very sudden halt in front of the station. “Here,” she says. She tosses him the bottle of nail polish, and he manages to catch it with ease. 

“You can stop staring at the darn thing all sad and depressed now,” she says. “And I want full details tomorrow, by the way.” 

He squeezes the bottle, hard. He wouldn’t say he’d stared at the nail polish too much, too sad or too depressed, and right now, it makes him feel everything but. He’s still nervous, he’s still a little bit afraid, but in the hours he’s had since coming back to his floor, Dick can admit he’s let himself hope.

He’s also let himself want… and for the first time in years, wanting feels good. 

“Yes, boss,” he replies right before the doors close. 

He hits the button to go straight to the ER. He will change clothes and grab his things after he checks in on Conner. Besides, the chances of getting kicked out of the ER are less in pink scrubs than in civilian clothing. 

Charming Conner’s room number out of the ER nurse at the station is easy enough. All it takes is a minute of small talk, a couple of big smiles and a wink before he’s on his way to the inpatient rooms. He’s also learned that if everything goes well, Conner will be released tomorrow in the early afternoon. 

His chest floods with relief, yet with every step he takes, it feels like his chest is tightening again. He’s happy to be there. He’s excited to see Conner. He’s determined to be a grown-up and have the difficult conversations he knows Conner wants to have. He’s also aware that it’s going to be easy. It doesn’t mean the outcome of the conversation will make his fantasies come to life either, but he’s done running, both from everything he fears and everything he wants. 

When he rounds the last corner to Conner’s door, he’s not really surprised to find three guard dogs coming out of the room. Funny enough, none of them are Krypto. 

Bart jumps when he sees him and comes to a halt. Cassie’s eyes go wide, and she stumbles into Bart. 

“Oh, hey, look. It’s the pretty nurse!” Bart whisper-screams. He grins, races up to stand in front of him, and waves. “Hi, Dick!”

It’s… not what he was expecting from any of Conner’s friends, but the redhead’s energy is contagious even after only two seconds. 

“Hey, Bart,” Dick replies with a smile of his own. 

“CK’s been trying to talk to you for the past week. I heard you two were going through a rough patch.” He tries his best to look sympathetic as he pats Dick’s shoulder a couple of times. 

“There, there. You two will work it out,” he says, still smiling. Looking into his young face, Dick wants to agree more than he wants to know how much Bart or the others know. 

“Thank you, Bart,” he says, because he doesn’t think he can interrogate him. 

Bart grins again, clearly happy with himself, before he slides past Dick and heads down the hall. 

“You might think we’re a bunch of gossips,” Cassie whispers, standing in front of him.  

“Oh, I wouldn’t—”

“We absolutely are, I’m not going to deny it! We just care a lot, and CK doesn’t tell us as much as you might think, so sometimes we imagine more drama than there actually was.” She pats him on the shoulder as well. “I know you’ll work it out, whatever it is. You’re here, and that’s already a good sign, I’d say. Come by the station again soon, will you? And good luck, Dick!” She waves, offers an encouraging smile, then catches up to Bart. 

Dick watches them go, endeared by their very unexpected friendliness. Then, he remembers there is another person who hasn’t said anything yet. 

He turns around. It’s really no surprise to find Tim leaning against the closed door with his arms crossed, clearly blocking the way. 

“Yay me,” Dick breathes. He knows that Tim -much like Wally, if the roles were reversed- isn’t going to be very happy to have him there.  

Tim lifts his head, and Dick wonders if he heard him. He expects Tim to glower at him straight away, or to stomp forward and tell him he has no business coming to see Conner… but to his big surprise, Tim only drops his arms to his sides and nods at him. 

Dick approaches him, slow and cautious. He looks for any sign that Tim is furious or ready to throw a punch, but all he finds is subdued protectiveness. 

“He was going to come to the hospital today anyway,” Tim says. “Did he tell you that?”

Dick comes to a stop, caught off-guard by the odd conversation starter. “No,” he says. 

“Well, he was. He wanted to come yesterday, actually. Then again, left to his own devices he would have ambushed you on your way out of the hospital like five days ago, thrown you over his shoulder and not gone away until you talked to him.”

Still not sure where this is going, Dick says the only thing that comes to mind. “I’m sorry, Tim.” 

Tim nods again, and Dick  thinks about what Tim has said. He can easily picture all of that happening, and he can’t deny it could have been an effective solution. “I wouldn’t have blamed him if he had. I’ve been acting—”

“Like an asshole,” Tim supplies. 

Since he can’t deny it, Dick limits himself to nodding. 

Tim glances back at the room. After a few seconds, he snorts and drops his arms.  “Yeah, you have been acting like an asshole. I haven’t seen him so pissed in years, Grayson. Years. And I was there when he found out his ex-girlfriend withdrew his application from the fire academy and told him he didn’t make the cut.”

Dick’s mouth drops open. He waits for Tim to laugh or tell him he’s giving him a rough time for making Conner upset, but he doesn’t do either of those things. In fact, it seems he looks more disgusted every second he keeps thinking about it. 

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Dick says, when the silence stretches out too long. 

Tim shakes his head. “I wish. The only reason he didn’t blow a gasket or have a full on meltdown was because he already suspected she’d done it.”

Dick covers his mouth with his hand. He doesn’t know if it’s better or worse that Conner had seen that coming. “Jesus Christ.”

“I know.” 

 “How long did that set him back?”

“Only six months, thankfully. It would have been a year but when his application came through a second time, our captain stepped in. CK scored higher in the CPAT than half the other applicants both times. He also worked standby at several concerts and festivals during that half year. Our captain saw the name, saw the improved application, and since he was also a drill instructor in the academy…” Tim shrugs. “He hand-picked CK for our station the moment he got pinned.” 

“Jesus,” Dick echoes. He’s glad Tim’s story has a happy ending, but the fact that the story happened in the first place makes him feel quite horrified. 

“Was that Megan?” he ventures to ask. 

Tim freezes for a moment, and then he narrows his eyes. “He told you about Megan?” 

Dick tilts his head to one side. He thinks of answering ‘what if he did?’ in the hopes Tim gives him more information on what he gathers is Conner’s most important romantic relationship. Tim doesn’t seem to be in the mood, though, and Dick wants to get inside the room more than he wants to mess with Conner’s best friend. 

“A little bit,” he admits. “He did mention they were almost engaged at one point, and that a lot of things had gone wrong between them, but that’s about it.” 

Tim lets out a huff.

Dick can’t help but point out. “You never mentioned anything about an almost-fianceé.”

“No reason I should have. It’s not my story to tell, and the less I’m reminded of Megan’s existence, the better.” Tim frowns at him. “I’d rather not think about the jackasses who put my friend through tough times, you see.”

Ah, there it is. 

“Well, this is an improvement. Telling me not to hurt your friend without having to bore me with weird and awkward preambles like the other day,” Dick says. He smiles, half-amused and half-challenging. He’s not going to try and excuse his shitty behavior. He’s not going to blame Tim for holding a grudge against someone who doesn’t sound like a very nice and supporting girlfriend, or for thinking Dick might do the same. He will, however, stand his ground and begin proving that he is not leaving the hospital until he sees Conner, and without making clear he’ll be back again tomorrow… unless Conner himself tells him to go away. 

He really hopes that doesn’t happen. 

Tim slouches against the wall. He smiles back with the same half-hearted friendliness. “Well, I was trying to be nice about it. You seemed like a nice guy back then, Dick.”

Dick hums. “And not anymore?”

“I think a lot of people do very, very idiotic things out of fear. I think that is what got you two in this mess in the first place. I also believe it will get you out of it. I will make your life miserable if something like this happens again, but until then…” Tim looks at the closed door. After a couple of seconds, he visibly relaxes and lets out a sigh. “He was quite happy and relieved to tell me you’d come down to see him, and that’s what matters the most.” 

Dick takes it as the sign of approval that it is. He doesn’t need it, but clearly it’s better to have Tim on his side and not against him. 

“I’d like to go in and see him again,” he says. 

“They gave him some good painkillers a little while ago. Knocked him straight out. Nurse said it was to help him sleep throughout the night.” Tim nods. “You can go in if you want. Cassie, Bart and I have to go back to the station anyway.”

“You’re still on shift?”

“Yeah, we don’t get off until tomorrow morning.” Tim crosses his arms again. “Are you working tomorrow?”

“Morning shift again, yeah.” 

“If we get held back… or have to stay longer than planned… can you… maybe you can… we’d all really appreciate it if… uh…” Tim bites the inside of his cheek. He frowns, makes a vague motion with his hand. 

“I’ll get in very early and check in on him before my shift. I’ll stay as long as I’m able to,” Dick promises. “I don’t think he’d let me stay a minute longer after my shift starts, anyway.”

That gets a short laugh out of Tim. “No, pretty sure he wouldn’t.” Relieved at not having to ask for anything out loud, Tim pulls out his phone. “Hey, how about I give you my number? Maybe that way we can keep each other updated.”

“My phone is with all my clothes in the locker, but I’m happy to give you mine.”

Tim gives him a once-over, noticing maybe for the first time that Dick is still in his messy scrubs and looking not very fresh. 

“Right,” he says. 

Seconds later, Tim pockets his phone after saving Dick’s contact info. He regards Dick for a very long minute. 

“See you tomorrow, Dick,” he says, and steps away from the door. 

“Yes,” Dick replies, but he’s already reaching for the doorknob and pushing the door open. 

Conner is fast asleep on the hospital bed inside the room. The monitors he’s hooked to beep constantly, his chest rises slow and even. He’s lying on one side, avoiding putting any kind of pressure on the other side of his face even while unconscious. 

He looks young, younger even than the first time Dick saw him laugh. All harsh and confused lines are gone. Once again, Dick puts him closer to Bart’s age than his own. There’s something quite youthful about him, even demure, and Dick doesn’t think he’s ever used that word for anyone in his life. It’s a fascinating contrast to the man who has given Dick very thoughtful and liberating advice, and to the man who seems so utterly done with a world he has accepted but doesn’t seem to particularly like. 

Dick’s hand tingles with the need to reach out and brush stray hairs away from his face. It itches with the need to touch his face, and he has to fight his entire body not to lean down and kiss his cheek again, or maybe kiss another part of his face. He can’t do that, not before they hash everything out, and especially not with Conner in a very mild drug-induced sleep. 

Pursing his lips, Dick gets closer to the monitors. He checks the numbers out of habit. Pulse is steady. Oxygen levels are great. Blood pressure is normal. 

Conner is stable, that’s what all the numbers and the soft and occasional beeping sounds tell him. 

Dick picks up and checks the medical chart at the foot of the bed. He does it to give himself something to do other than touch Conner, and to give his brain even more reassurance. 

Not much has changed since he last saw it. The only thing that catches his eye is that they won’t be waking him much throughout the night, and that if the morning assessment goes well, he’ll be able to go home. 

Letting out a sigh of relief, Dick puts the chart down. He eyes one of the two chairs in the room and thinks about sitting down. He thinks about staying and watching over Conner until the nurse arrives for his next check-up in what will be a couple of hours. He also pictures himself falling asleep on the chair and spending the night if no one kicks him out. He could even ser an alarm, wake up around two hours before his shift, which would give him enough time to go home, take a quick shower and then be back for his shift. He could even time it to the minute in order to— 

No. No. He can’t do that. He’s not Conner’s husband. He’s not Conner’s boyfriend. He’s also not sure if Conner would appreciate Dick hovering so much, or if he’d see it as overstepping. Maybe if things weren’t so… uncertain and unfinished, he’d risk it, but as it stands…

Well, maybe he should go home. He should get some proper rest, maybe make Conner some soup and come an hour earlier than he’d already planned for tomorrow. Conner should be awake then, and even if he isn’t, Dick will appear less creepy in fresh clothes and with clean hair than if he spends the night. 

Saddened but resigned, Dick sighs. He gazes at Conner’s peaceful face for a minute, then another, and another. The occasional beeping and Conner’s slow breathing are all the sounds heard in the room. 

Dick tries to fight it. He really does. He keeps on fighting the urge… until he remembers that he’s done fighting, at least this type of fight. 

He may not be able to kiss Conner today or not anytime soon, but he won’t leave without touching him. 

He approaches the bed again. He contemplates Conner’s face, and after taking a deep breath, he reaches out with one hand. 

He pushes stray hairs away from Conner’s sleeping face. He inhales a second time and allows his fingertips to brush Conner’s forehead, his nose. He hovers, and when Conner twitches, he pulls his hand back. 

“Sleep well, Conner,” he murmurs. He balls his hand into a fist, gathers all his strength, and walks out. 

He takes it slow once he gets to the locker room. He changes his clothes, splashes water on his face, and then takes his phone out. 

He sits down on a bench and pulls up his texts with Conner. He scrolls through the dozens and dozens of messages he had been ignoring. Trying to answer any of them right now is pointless, but there is still something he’d like to say. 

i came down to see u after my shift but u were asleep 

Get some rest gorgeous. Ill see u before my shift super early tmrw.

If ur awake, that is!

Dick gets to the hospital half an hour later than planned. He has no soup with him, but there are two breakfast sandwiches in his backpack, as well as his thermos full of warm ginger tea. 

He’s disappointed and kind of upset with himself. He tried to make a simple chicken soup twice earlier in the morning, and neither pot tasted good enough. He’d looked up recipes the night before. He’d watched a couple of videos. He’d actually gone back out to get the (many) ingredients he’d been missing. He’d even called and woken up Wally to ask about chicken, and had ended up on the phone for over an hour telling him everything that had happened and getting yelled at for being a negative Nelly the day before. 

And despite all his preparations, his best intentions, and Wally’s annoyed forced advice in between yells,  he hadn’t managed to make a decent soup. 

Well, scratch that. The soups hadn’t tasted bad , and he saved the second batch to eat another day. Compared to Conner’s cooking, though, both soups seemed lackluster.  After seeing how much time he’d lost already, he’d decided to do something he was more familiar and confident with. 

Dick rushes to the locker room. He changes into his scrubs, slips his ID badge over his neck and puts everything away except for the food and the thermos. This way, he can go straight to his floor after seeing Conner, and it’ll be easier to be let into the inpatient rooms before official visiting hours. It’s still very, very early, but Conner had messaged him back before he’d left the house. 

Hi, Dickie.

I was very glad to see your messages this morning. 

I’m sorry I missed you. I didn’t intend to pass out like that. 

I’m already awake and won’t be going back to sleep any time soon.

I hope we can talk before your shift, but I understand if there isn’t enough time. 

I look forward to seeing you soon. 

Dick glances at the messages one last time before he puts his phone away. The messages had made him giddy, and he holds on to that feeling as he makes his way to Conner’s floor with the food and thermos in hand.

The floor nurse gives him a weird look when he gets there. 

He gives her his best smile and holds up his badge after giving her Conner’s name. “I’m just checking in on a friend before my shift. It’ll be like I’m not here at all.”

“Ah, yes,” the floor nurse says. “The paramedic. He told me someone would be stopping by very early today. He also asked if that was allowed.”

Dick keeps on smiling. “I’m aware it’s not.”

“But you’re going in anyway, aren’t you?”

“Look at it this way: if there is an emergency or he needs any assistance at all, there’s already a nurse in there, and the hospital wouldn’t even have to pay for the extra staff.” 

Her lips twitch. “Crappy excuse, but I heard a maternity nurse was hanging around yesterday too. Behave yourself and we should be fine, Nurse…” she squints at his badge, and her lips curve down in disappointment. “... Dick?”

“Rough childhood, but I turned out okay. Thank you so much!” he says, and he’s already walking past the station as he says the last bit. 

Once he’s outside Conner’s room, he takes a moment to breathe and prepare for whatever is going to happen. He’s not sure what that is, and he has no idea how he’s going to take any of it, but he’s showing up to do the work, and that’s what should matter the most. 

Nodding to himself, Dick knocks on the door. He waits for what feels like an eternity but can’t be more than two seconds… and then Conner says, “Come in.”

Dick opens the door. 

Conner is sitting up in bed, covers thrown over his legs, with his phone in one hand. The injured side of his face looks worse than yesterday. His cheek is puffier, and while yesterday it looked red, today it’s starting to look red and blue and purple all at the same time. It still looks like he has a black eye as well. The other side of his face is less tired than yesterday, but he’s still too pale for Dick’s liking. 

Neither of them speaks. Dick continues evaluating Conner’s injury and trying not to rush across the room to touch him. Conner stares back at him, calm and composed. He wonders what Conner thinks when he looks at him. He also wonders if he should just ask. 

“Conner?” an unknown female voice says. 

Conner blinks. He looks down at the phone. “Sorry,” he says. “Can I call you back later?” 

“Is the doctor there to see you?”

“No, but this is important. I’ll call you back as soon as I know if they’ll let me go today or tomorrow.”

“Okay, all right, all right. And you better call me, young man. I’ll be expecting that call.”

“I know.” 

“I love you,” the woman says, and one of Dick’s eyebrows goes up. Then again, after hearing the ‘young man’, he’d bet both sandwiches he knows who he’s talking to. 

“I love you too,” Conner replies. He smiles, and his features soften. The warmth in those words is almost palpable. “Tell Pa to be careful next time, too.”

Ma Kent lets out a loud “Ha!”, and Dick hears another voice in the background before Conner ends the call and looks up at him again. The smile dims, but doesn’t disappear, and Dick gets a little bit lost in it. 

“Hello,” Conner says. 

“... Hi.”

“When does your shift start?”

“Oh. Not for a while, don’t worry.” 

“I asked a nurse earlier if I could have an early visitor. She said I wasn’t allowed.” Conner looks at him curiously. “But you are here.”

“Yeah. It wasn’t that hard to convince her.” 

Conner looks away. The hand not holding the phone fidgets with the bedsheets.  “No, not for you, I suppose. You do have a way with people, which I find fascinating,” he says, and he makes a visible effort to meet Dick’s eyes again. 

“That is… not… the only thing I find… fascinating… about you,” he mumbles, voice so soft Dick almost misses it. 

Almost being the key word. Because he doesn’t miss it. He hears the words. They go into his head, and it takes a few seconds for his brain to process them. Of all the things he had expected Conner to say…

“Me?” Dick wonders. His pulse speeds up. ‘Fascinating’ is not a word he would use to describe himself, especially in the last few days. 

“Yes, fascinating,” Conner confirms with a slow nod. The unbruised side of his face is turning pink. 

“I—” Dick begins, and then stops. Should he ask Conner if he’s still feeling confused, or even delirious? Should he page another nurse and ask them to come and check in on him? Should he assess Conner himself? Or should he just take the damn compliment and move on with the conversation? 

No, he can’t do that. He can’t say something witty like, ‘I am, aren’t I?’ Not when…

“If running away and hiding like a coward is fascinating to you, then I think we need to reevaluate how bad your concussion is,” he says, trying to make light of it. 

Conner’s face shuts down, and he looks down at his lap. Whatever wind he had in his sails, it’s been taken out by an unwarranted joke that Dick hadn’t really wanted to make. 

“Shit,” Dick says. He wishes he could take the words back.  He drops the food and thermos onto the closest chair and leans against the wall instead of banging his head against it. “Conner, I’m—”

“I’m sorry, Dick,” Conner interrupts, and the light blush is gone. He looks back up at Dick with fierce determination in those bright, piercing eyes of his. “I don’t quite remember every little detail about yesterday… I was in a lot of pain and feeling a lot of things, but I meant everything I said. I’m sorry for how I reacted. I’m sorry for misreading the situation. I’m very sorry I scared you, and I’m even more sorry that you felt you had to run away and hide like you did. I’m sorry I hurt you like that, especially because you had just shared with me that people had hurt you just as badly before.” 

Conner falters. He balls his hands into fists, one around his phone, the other wrinkling the bedsheets. He swallows hard, and because he doesn't look away, Dick can’t either. 

“It didn’t… displease me, the fact that you tried to kiss me” Conner says, after a couple of false starts. His struggle to find the right words is raw, and very visible. “It didn’t. Nothing about what happened at the movie theater bothered me, or disgusted me, or anything like that. I liked spending time with you. I enjoyed our talk. I appreciate that you trusted me enough to share something about you that still hurts you. I am… honored that you wanted to kiss me, that liked me enough to do it. I pushed you away not because I don’t like you, but because I didn’t… I don’t…”

Conner lets out a low, guttural sound of frustration. He releases the blanket and brings that hand up to rub at the uninjured side of his face over and over. 

“I am sorry,” he says again. “I am sorry, Dick, because even though you tried to show me, and even though Tim and Cassie tried to tell me, I didn’t realize how you felt or what it meant. I’m sorry I ignored all of it, only because I didn’t think… well, I didn’t see why someone like you would be interested in someone like me.” 

Conner stops there, and lets his words hang in the air. His struggle continues to be visible, almost as if he’s wondering if he should keep talking or let Dick get a word in. 

Dick would say something, but it feels like there’s no air in his lungs. He feels dizzy, confused and even offended.

 ‘Someone like him’? What could Conner mean by that? Why would he say it like it’s a dirty word?  The exact and simple reason as to why Dick likes him, maybe too much, and maybe too quickly, is because Conner is so very… Conner. 

He should say that out loud. He should tell Conner this. He should speak up because Conner has been vulnerable and open. It’s his turn, or it should be, but…

His chest is tight. His legs are heavy. His pulse is roaring in his ears. The room feels hot, small, cramped. He wants to turn tail and run, but he can’t move any more than he can speak. He’s frozen in place, in shock, by Conner’s unbridled apologies, by his explanations and willingness to be the bigger person and take accountability for a situation that Dick made worse, not him.

Like a deer caught in the headlights, Dick presses his back against the wall. He doesn’t breathe. He doesn’t twitch. He has no idea how to react, or what to say. He feels exposed, naked , even though Conner is the only one who has spoken. 

Conner is patient, at least at first. He gives Dick another moment, another chance to say or do something. When he doesn’t, Conner gives another slow nod and takes a deep breath. 

“This is what I would have told you the other night,” Conner goes on, and motions between them with his hand. “I’m probably butchering it up as it is, and I would have struggled a lot more because I was very surprised. I was caught off-guard due to my own ignorance, but if you had given me the chance, this is exactly what I would have said.”  

Conner drops his hand. He slumps against the headrest. 

“But you didn’t give me the chance. You didn’t give me any chance, Dick, and that made me angry, because it hurt.” 

Dick stiffens. The words feel not only like a slap to the face but like his whole body has been pierced through with a knife. The words hurt, and they cut deep, not because they’re cruel, but simply because Conner is being his usual blunt self. Dick hurt him too, and it made him angry, and he’s not pretending otherwise. 

“I’ve been so angry,” Conner admits, and he ducks his head, slightly ashamed. “I’ve been so angry with you, but also with me. I’ve been going through this whole situation over and over, realizing the cues I missed, upset with myself for not knowing any better after all these years. I’ve been angry with you, because you didn’t want to talk to me. You tried to kiss me, and then you tried to pretend it didn’t happen, and then you disappeared without saying anything. Something happened between us, and I felt like you didn’t give me or us a chance to figure out what it was, or what could happen after. I still don’t know what it meant, Dick but I can’t figure it out with your help. I can’t know what you’re thinking or what you want, not if you don’t talk to me.” 

Conner looks at him, a plea in his eyes. “Talk to me, Dick. Talk with me.” 

He’s not asking Dick to apologize. He’s not demanding Dick explains himself to him. He’s not spewing hate and making Dick feel guilty for what he did or didn’t do. He’s being open, honest and vulnerable. He’s meeting Dick more than halfway, initiating the hard conversation, putting himself in the line of fire first. It’s almost like he’s reassuring Dick that he’s not alone getting lost and overwhelmed by his complicated feelings. He’s holding out a hand, an olive branch, and Dick is… 

Dick is floored. 

He’s shocked, he’s awed, and he’s also a little intimidated. He’s not used to this level of transparency and honesty. He never really talked or cared much about his one-night stands or his casual fuck-buddies whose names he never bothered remembering. The women he dated when he was a teenager were his friends, and there wasn’t much to hide away or think about back then. As an adult he hasn’t had anyone in his life that would talk to him about anything as serious as this. 

He’d been fine with casualness most of the time because he hadn’t wanted to get involved in anything serious either.  Except at one point he had wanted something more, but not even then a conversation like this had been offered. 

He doesn’t quite know what to make of it. He’s scared, almost as scared he’d been the night at the movie theater. He’s scared by the firm yet gentle force of nature that Conner is. He’s scared by the relentless pursuit of truth, by a man who is as willing to push him as much as he’s willing to push himself. 

He’s scared, maybe even a little terrified, but he’s also… deeply comforted, and reassured by everything he has heard. 

Conner doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t push any further, and the way he’s sitting, the way he looks at Dick, makes him feel like it’s okay. It’s okay for him to take a minute to think. It’s okay for him to take another minute and feel. It’s okay for him to take a third minute and maybe -hopefully- let go. 

“Conner—” Dick murmurs, and that’s as far as he gets before everything inside him collapses. 

His knees go weak, and he slides down the wall an inch at a time until he’s sitting on the floor, legs tucked against his chest. His heartbeat roars in his ears, and he struggles to breathe almost as much as he struggles to find words to express something, anything , similar to what Conner has said. 

Conner sits up straighter on the bed, forehead creasing in worry. When Dick can’t find enough strength to stand back up and only presses one hand to the floor to steady his body, Conner throws the covers back and swings his legs over to one side. 

“Conner—” Dick tries again, but it’s too late. Conner is already hopping down from the bed and padding across to him on bare feet and wearing nothing but the hospital gown. 

Bewildered, Dick watches Conner cross the small distance in the room. He comes to stand in front of Dick, seems to fight some dizziness off, and then he’s crouching down in front of him, almost like he’d done at the station. 

“Should I page a nurse?” Conner asks, worried. He doesn’t seem bothered by the cold floor, or by the breeze that is surely slipping through the open back of the gown. 

Dick stares, incredulous. 

“I am a nurse,” he manages to grit out. 

Conner wrinkles his nose. “You know what I mean. Should I—?”

Dick grabs him by the front of the gown and lets everything that has been said and done hang between them. Then, with all the courage he can muster and all his desires brimming underneath the surface, he leans in to press his lips against Conner’s. 

Conner’s breath catches in his throat. He sways, startles, but this time he doesn’t pull back. He doesn’t push Dick back either, only tilts his head slightly, reminding Dick of the bruised side of his face. 

“Sorry,” Dick breathes less than an inch away, and he doesn’t stop. He kisses Conner, not as hard and deep as he wants to, but he kisses him. 

Finally.  

Their lips brush together in gentle, careful movements. It’s soft, experimental. Although it only serves to ignite the fire inside him, Dick doesn’t push for more. Conner is injured, and Dick still has to say his piece, but right now, he needs this kiss. He needs this man as close as he can have him, physically and emotionally, because… 

Conner. The only thought going through his head and the only one that matters.

Conner.  

Dick pulls back, enough to catch his breath, and they share a startled and brief look before Dick kisses him again, longer, though just as softly. 

They’re both breathing like they ran a marathon when the second kiss comes to an end. When they both pull back, Dick leans all of his weight against the wall. Conner, for his part, sways forward, and he braces himself against the wall with both hands, effectively caging Dick in. 

“Sorry,” this time, Conner is the one who says it, hanging his head. “Sorry. Give me a second. I just—”

Dick tightens his grip on Conner’s gown, pressing his fist against Conner’s chest to steady him. He cups Conner’s chin and cheek on the healthy side and uses that to tilt his head up. He searches Conner’s face for signs of dizziness, maybe nausea, or any indication that this has affected him but not in a good way. It helps him distract from the stirring in his belly and his agitated heartbeat. 

“Should I page the nurse?” Dick asks, amazed at how steady his own voice sounds. 

Conner gives him a dry look, and Dick can’t help it. He brushes his lips against Conner’s a third time and makes sure to keep it short. 

“Dick,” Conner murmurs, and that gives Dick the last push he needs. 

“I like you,” Dick whispers. “I like you, Conner. Almost from the moment I met you, I liked you more than I expected, and more than I should have. I was… in a place where everything hurt, and everything was so cold, no matter how hard I tried to ignore it, or get over it. I wanted to shut everything out.  I wasn’t looking for anything casual, or serious. I wasn’t looking for anything at all, and I didn’t think I’d find myself drawn to another person so quickly… but with my shitty track record, I really should have known better.” 

Dick taps his finger against Conner’s cheek, and Conner regards him so intensely that he feels a shiver down his spine. 

“Why?” Conner asks, and there’s so much confusion in that single word. “Dick, why would you— I’m not— you know there’s something wrong with me. I know you don’t like the word, but I’m weird. My own track record shows I’m not a very good choice, especially for someone who is so… so…” Conner stops. He searches Dick’s face with his eyes, then pushes away from the wall. 

He sways back and regains his balance. He places his hand on top of the one Dick has resting on his cheek. His warm fingers envelop the back of Dick’s hand and pull it down. He doesn’t drop it, though. Instead, Conner holds on to that hand as he gets back on his feet. 

Dick pushes his back against the wall and lets Conner pull him up. Once they’re both standing, Conner takes a deep breath, and squares his shoulders. 

 “Dick, you’re so good ,” he says, and the last word carries as much admiration as it does bewilderment. “You are so good at living your life the way you want to, doing what you please however you desire. You’re not afraid of trying new things, of meeting new people. You aren’t scared of not knowing what to do or what to say. You’re not afraid of enjoying the little things in your life, and you’re not afraid of suffering through the bad patches either. Even with what’s happened to you, you’re not—”

“I was afraid,” Dick interrupts, because he can’t let that slide. What Conner is saying is not true. He has been afraid this whole time. From the moment he stopped wanting to be just Conner’s friend, he’d been afraid to think beyond a friendship. He’d been afraid to ask Conner out on a proper date. He’d been afraid of screwing up their budding relationship, and that fear had gotten them here in the first place. 

“I wasn’t just afraid, Conner. I was kind of terrified.” He lets go of the hospital gown, only to flatten his hand against Conner’s chest. He thinks about how this is the first time he’s felt this type of fear. It’s true that he hadn’t really hesitated before, not with his casual partners or the more serious ones. He’d never stopped to think about what could go wrong and how it would hurt him. He hadn’t thought that far ahead. He hadn’t cared about protecting himself to such a degree with anyone except Conner. 

“I was so scared that you wouldn’t feel the same. I didn’t think I could deal with another rejection, not from you.” Dick shakes his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I think you’re the good one. You make everything feel more stable and grounded. You don’t pretend to be someone you’re not. You’re so real, and sweet, and you make me feel…” Dick swallows hard, apprehensive about admitting that Conner gives him something he’s never really had. 

“You make me feel safe,” he whispers. He’s too scared to say it any louder, to give those words and this man more power than they already have over him. Even now, even after kissing him, even after they’ve begun baring their souls to each other, he’s still afraid.  

Conner draws in a shuddering breath. He drops Dick’s hand, only to press both of his to the one Dick still has against his chest. 

“Do I?” Conner asks. He sounds tired. “Do I, Dick? Because if I did… Why didn’t you stay? Why didn’t you give me a chance to say anything? Why did you assume the worst? If you say I make you feel safe, why were you so scared of me?”

Dick grits his teeth. Conner’s words make him feel again like a cornered animal. There’s no escape. There’s no going back. Every second right now is as important as it is unpleasant. He’s not used to facing his own emotions head-on. He’s not used to this type of deep soul-searching. Conner won’t leave any stone unturned, and it makes Dick feel naked, more naked than when he’s been—

“I do like you, Dick,” Conner says, interrupting his train of thought. “Dick, I think you’re wonderful, and I like spending time with you. I like the way you see the world and that you make jokes that I don’t get until too late. I like the way your smile brightens up your face. I like how you can talk to everyone and make them comfortable around you. I like talking to you. I like listening to you, because you make me feel safe, too. It doesn’t make sense why someone as spirited as you would be interested in me, but if you are, I need to know. I need you to say it.”

Conner tightens his grip, and Dick can feel his quickened heartbeat under his palm. 

“Please, Dick. Forget your fears, just for a moment. Don’t assume. Don’t think. Trust me, and tell me,” he says. His eyes are burning. “What do you want from me?”

It’s one question. Six words. It’s the hardest question of his life, but it shouldn’t be. If he meant what he said, if Conner is a safe space, if he makes Dick feel comfortable, and good, then it shouldn’t be hard to say…

“I want to be more than your friend,” Dick says, and the rest of the words spill out. “I want to know every little thing about you. I want to spend more time with you. I want to take you out on dates. I want to kiss you, and I want you to hold me, and I want.. I want…” He stumbles, embarrassed to say something more explicit. Instead, he settles for, “I want everything you can give me.” 

The words echo across the room when Dick finishes speaking. As silence falls, Conner relaxes. When he does, the pressure lifts, and relief seems to flood them both in a cool, soothing and powerful wave. 

Conner drops his hands, and Dick’s own falls. Before he can worry about what this means, Conner wraps his arms around him and brings him in for what he can only describe as a bear hug. 

“Thank you,” he says, holding Dick tight against his body. 

Dick catches his breath. He shivers, pleased by this new development, and lets himself enjoy the hug. He presses his cheek to Conner’s shoulder, wraps his arms around his waist and lets out a contented sigh. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. 

“Me too,” Conner says. 

“No, you’ve apologized plenty, but I haven’t. I’m sorry, Conner. I’m sorry for running away, and for not answering your texts or calls. I should have listened to you. I should have let you talk. I’m sorry for assuming the worst about you, and for not trusting you.” Dick thinks about it. “Or myself. But I do trust you… and I will work on trusting myself more.”

He lifts his head and pulls back slightly to look at Conner, their arms still wrapped around each other. 

“I’m sorry for cutting you off like that, and for thinking it would all go away if I ignored it long enough. I’m sorry I behaved like an asshole,” he says. 

Conner’s good cheek lifts in a gentle smile. “Thank you, Dickie,” he says. He leans forward, and Dick goes up in metaphorical flames when Conner is the one who kisses him this time.

The kiss is a little awkward, a little hesitant. It’s also lighter than the ones Dick had given him.

Dick, endeared, lets out a breathless laugh. “You can kiss me as hard as you want,” he offers. “The only reason I didn’t is because I was being careful not to cause you any extra stress or pain.”

Conner pauses. “Oh. It’s just… I haven’t kissed another man before, and I wasn’t sure if— or how—”

“I’ve kissed a few women and plenty of men, hot stuff. A kiss is a kiss. Give me your best shot, but only as long as you prioritize those injuries.”

Conner grimaces in clear displeasure. He seems to have some words on the tip of his tongue. 

“What?” Dick asks. 

“I look worse than I did yesterday, and I’m wearing this stupid paper gown. I really don’t see how you could think I’m—”

“Oh my God,” Dick cuts him off. “Tell me if I’m hurting you, okay?” And then he dives in for a good, proper kiss. 

Conner reminding him of his approaching shift is the only reason why Dick gets his hands and lips off of him an unspecified amount of time later. 

“Right,” Dick says. His hands hadn’t wandered anywhere except Conner’s face, hair and shoulders. Conner hadn’t done anything but hold him  -gingerly at first, tightly after a while -and kiss him back until he’d tasted the minty freshness of toothpaste. Still, Dick can admit he’s lightheaded as he stumbles to the chair where he’d dropped the sandwiches and thermos he’d already forgotten. 

“I tried making soup, but it didn’t taste anything like yours, so I changed tactics,” he says, turning around with the items in his hands. 

Conner is sitting back on the hospital bed, legs hanging off to one side. The gown is pulled tight across his thighs. The stupid thing is the only reason Dick hadn’t pushed Conner into the chair in the room and then sat himself on his lap. He’d been more worried about the thing ripping and Conner feeling cold than about someone else coming into the room and finding them in a compromising position. 

… Which has happened to Dick on more than one occasion, two times when he was doing his clinical rounds and once after he’d joined Gotham General’s maternity ward. 

“You brought me food?” Conner asks, surprised. 

“Well, hospital food sucks, and you have elite taste buds, so you and bland, boiled vegetables and crappy jello didn’t sound like a good idea. Especially if you haven’t eaten since yesterday.” Dick eyes him. “Have you?”

Conner shakes his head. “I don’t think so. I had breakfast yesterday, didn’t eat lunch, and then I ended up here. I wasn’t hungry last night so…” He shrugs. 

“See, that’s the perk of getting an illegal early visitor. You get something nice and warm to help with the stomach and what I hope are decent breakfast sandwiches,” Dick says. He hands over the sandwiches, and Conner puts them on the bed before he reaches for the thermos.

“Did you bring coffee?” he asks without opening it. 

Dick raises an eyebrow. “Do you like coffee?”

“It’s good for the graveyard hours, but no, not really.”

“Good, because that’s tea.”

Conner sighs in relief. He opens the thermos, takes a whiff, and then takes several sips. 

“Thank you,” he says. He closes his eyes, takes a few more sips, and sighs again. This time, it’s a happy sound. 

Dick would like to bend down and kiss him again, but he’s pretty sure he’s not going to stop at one, or before it’s too late for him to begin his shift. 

“I would like to do things right and take you out on a date,” Conner says. 

Dick’s reverie comes to a sudden stop. “Huh?” he asks, feeling dumb. 

Conner takes another sip of the tea. He looks at Dick with eyes that remind him of the sea on a sunny day: calm, bright, and so vast he might drown if he stares too long. 

“I would like to take you out on a date, an actual date,” Conner goes on. “If the movie theater was a date—- which it was, right?”

The movie theater was a fuck-up more than anything, but, “Yes, a failed and unofficial one, I suppose,” he admits. 

Conner gives a couple of slow nods. “In that case, would you like to go out on a date with me?” 

Dick blinks. He wonders how all of the earlier kissing fits into this possible date. “Yes, I’ll take any excuse to spend time with you, but you don’t have to do that. I mean…” He motions between them, as if to say, ‘duh’ . 

“I know,” Conner assures him. “But dates are part of having a romantic relationship with someone, and I’d like to have that with you, not just the physical aspect of it but everything you said. I want to spend more time with you too. I want to learn more about you. I want…” 

Conner looks down at his lap. “I want everything you can give me, too.” 

Dick’s heart stutters, and he closes the distance between them, leans down to kiss him, because… well, how can he not?

“Is that a yes?” Conner asks. He lifts a hand and holds Dick’s chin between his fingers before he can pull away. 

“I’d like that very much, yes,” Dick confirms. 

“Good.” Conner pecks his lips “I’ll see you soon, then. Tell me if there’s anything in particular you’d like to do.” 

“What if I want you to surprise me?”

Conner grimaces and drops his hand. “It’s been years since I’ve gone on a date. I wouldn’t take that chance if I were you.”

Dick laughs. He straightens back up, smoothes down his scrubs, and thinks about it. If he had it his way, he’d very much like to climb into Conner’s lap the next chance he gets and make out until they’re exhausted. If he allows his thoughts to drift further, he would hope all their clothes come off long before they’re too tired to do anything else. 

However, if he has to think of more realistic ideas…

“I want you to cook for me again,” Dick says. “But not something you can’t eat due to the facial fracture.”

 “Would that really count as a date?”

“It would for me.” 

Conner frowns. This time, he’s the one that needs to think. After a few seconds, he nods. “In that case, would you like to come over to my apartment to have dinner? I can keep the menu as a surprise, if you prefer it that way.” 

Dick’s body sings at the invitation. “I’d love that. When?” 

“Whenever you can. I don’t have an official suspension yet, but I won’t be going back to work for the next couple of weeks. I’ll have time.”

“Well, you already know my schedule, don’t you? You can pick the date.” 

Conner coughs. “I don’t— I mean, I took some educated guesses, but it’s not like—”

Dick has to leave right now. He’s one second away from risking a fellow nurse stepping into the room and finding an embarrassing scene. 

“Then you keep making educated guesses and give me a date and time, and I’ll be there,” Dick says. “I have to go now, Conner, for my own good.” At Conner’s confused expression, Dick smiles. 

“I’ll see you soon, handsome,” he says. 

Conner frowns but doesn’t argue that point this time. 

“I’ll let you know if I can go home,” he says, and then adds, “And when you can come over. Krypto will be very happy to see you.”

Dick feels a thrill up his spine. “Yes, sir,” he says. 

The door opens. A perky nurse comes in. He flees the room before her smile vanishes and she can ask them why a nurse in pink scrubs is visiting a male adult patient in what is clearly not the maternity ward. 

It’s a long story to tell, but Dick wants to keep it to himself, at least for now. 

Chapter Text

Wally’s got the biggest shit-eating grin on his dumb face- Dick doesn’t know if it is because he just came from Artemis’ apartment, or because Dick is trying to find a decent shirt after telling him everything that had happened almost a week ago. 

They’ve been messaging a lot since Conner left the hospital. They’ve talked on the phone a few times, but Dick hasn’t seen him in person since the morning before Conner had been discharged. 

Dick thinks it’s for the better. He’s had to cover for a fellow nurse on top of his usual extra shift. Not to mention, according to Conner (and a few texts from Tim), it’s not like he’s done anything but sleep, eat bland foods and go stir-crazy from not being able to go out, not even on short walks. 

I’m not the best company right now , Conner had texted two days after being discharged from the hospital. Dick hadn’t pushed, even though he’d really wanted to skip work for at least a day to become Conner’s personal nurse… preferably until he made a full recovery. A concussion was a concussion no matter how mild, and he’d forced himself to give Conner the time and space he needed, because… well, it was the least he could do, after the rift he’d caused before Conner had ended up with a concussion. 

It seems Conner is recovering well, though, given that he’d called Dick a day earlier and asked him if he’d like to come over for dinner. Since Dick had been clinging to his sanity every day to not show up at Conner’s apartment unannounced, he’d blurted out an enthusiastic “Yes!” before Conner had even finished asking. 

“Your face will freeze like that,” Dick says, abandoning his train of thought. He squashes down the giddy feeling he’s had since Conner called and throws another shirt into the discarded pile that’s already on the bed. 

Wally, lying down next to the shirts and with his arms behind his head, grins up at him. “Pot, meet kettle. You’ve been smiling like an idiot since I walked through the door.” 

Dick frowns, or he tries to, anyway. He doesn’t quite manage, and Wally laughs, propping himself up onto his elbows. 

“Is this where I say, ‘I told you so’? Because I can, and you bet your perky little ass that I will.” Wally pauses for dramatic effect, and then -more dramatic than necessary- he says, “I fucking told you so, Richard.”

Dick doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t argue with his friend either. Wally did tell him so, and Wally had been right about pretty much everything. Dick knows this, but he also knows Wally is smug enough as it is. He doesn’t need Dick to admit defeat to keep gloating. 

“What about this one?” Dick asks instead. He holds up a long-sleeved button-down. 

Wally raises an eyebrow in disbelief. “Didn’t you agree on casual for tonight?”

“We did.” During their call, Conner had also asked him if it was okay if they kept a casual dress code for their date. Dick had almost let it slip that as long as he got to see Conner, nothing else mattered. He’d bitten his tongue in time and had simply blurted out another enthusiastic “Yes!”

 “Then maybe a shirt with peacocks on it isn’t the most casual option, Dickie,” Wally points out.

Dick turns the shirt from one side to the other. “These aren’t peacocks. It’s a peacock feather print.” 

“Dude.”

Dick puts the shirt down. “All right, maybe it’s too much, but you have to admit it goes nicely with this.” He holds up his hands as he finishes speaking, showing off his shiny dark blue nails. 

Wally evaluates them. “They would go well, actually. You did them yourself?”

“Almost.” He’d asked Donna for the name of the shiny stuff, and he’d videocalled her and gotten step-by-step assistance from Lian earlier in the day. He thinks he did a decent job. “So? You still think the peacock shirt isn’t a good idea?”

Wally hums. He looks Dick over and doesn’t bother being subtle about it. 

Dick ends up looking down at himself too. He’s wearing tight black jeans, chelsea boots and still no shirt. He could go with blue to match the nails and also because he knows he looks great in blue, but he could also go with a tight white shirt and layer the peacock shirt on top. 

“How about—” he begins, and then a shirt hits him in the face. 

“No,” Wally says. “Casual, keep it casual, Dick. And I refuse to think white even ran through your mind. This is a cooking date. You’d be setting yourself up for failure with a white shirt.” 

Knowing Wally makes a really good point, Dick sighs and holds up the shirt Wally threw at him. It’s a simple black t-shirt with a scoop neck. He hasn’t worn it in a while. It hugs his chest and waist nicely, but he hasn’t been anywhere he could show it off in… far too long. 

“Nice choice,” he ends up saying and slips it over his head. 

“It was at the bottom of the pile,” Wally says, tone dry. 

Dick hums and walks into his bathroom to do something with his hair and put on some of the cologne Conner had complimented at the movie theater. He comes back out a few minutes later and does a little spin. “How do I look?” 

Wally sits up on the bed. He gives Dick the critical eye again, and after a few seconds, he nods in approval. 

“You look ready to get fucked to your heart’s content,” he announces. 

Dick shrugs. He very much doubts they’ll do anything but eat and talk tonight, but he’s okay with that. If things change and evolve throughout the night and he ends up spending the night, great. He’ll happily go with the flow if that’s the case, but a part of him knows the chances are slim.

“Great, then I better get going,” is all he says to Wally. He grabs Conner’s jacket -the one he never returned- and exits his room, heading to the living room. Once there, he grabs his wallet, keys and a pack of beef treats that he’d gotten for Krypto. 

“I’m leaving now,” he calls, tucking everything under one arm and walking towards the front door. 

Wally is at his side in a flash. He eyes the treats but doesn’t comment on them.  “Aren’t you leaving kind of early?” he asks instead. “Doesn’t your new beau live like a ten-minute walk from here?”

“He does, and yes, but maybe I want to be there kind of early. Maybe I also have to stop by a bakery and pick up some bread I ordered. Ever thought about that?” 

Wally rolls his eyes. “I feel like we’re back in high school, and I didn’t even know you back then.” 

“You know, that might have been interesting. I wasn’t into guys in my teens, but I did have a thing for redheads for a while. If we’d gone to high school together we’d have probably had really shitty dates and even shittier sex a couple of times.” 

Wally bursts out laughing. “Jesus. Too much information, Dickie. You’re probably right, though.”

“Were you into guys back then?”

“Half the time I wanted to convince myself I only liked girls. The other half I was convinced I would tap anything and anyone that moved. Then college happened and I realized: yep, anyone who moved was the way to go.” 

Dick laughs as well. “Guess our big revelations came from the same place, huh, Walls?” 

“Guess so,” Wally agrees, amused. He grabs the doorknob, holds the door open and says, “Mr. Grayson?”

“How nice of you,” Dick says dryly, and walks outside. Wally closes the door. Dick locks it, and they walk down the driveway together. 

Dick points right. “I’m heading that way. Talk to you soon?”

“Not too soon, I hope. I mean, I’ll expect all sorts of details later, but, like…” Wally grins at him, and there’s as much encouragement in it as there is mischief. “Enjoy your date, Dick. Get your world rocked. Be happy tonight. Let yourself be happy, you idiot.”

Dick’s chest tightens, but he smiles back. “I will,” he says, and with God as his witness, he will enjoy every last moment of today’s date, even if it’s the last thing he does. 

Conner’s building is one of those nice and modern places that has plants sprouting from every window. It looks relaxed, clean, well-kept, and nothing like any apartment building Dick ever saw in Gotham. 

Dick takes a left once inside the shiny, airy lobby. Just like Conner had described in an earlier message, he comes face-to-face with the elevator and the stairs. The only other apartment building he’d seen with an elevator had been Bruce’s, and that one had led straight to the doctor’s penthouse. 

As soon as the unpleasant thought hits him, Dick heads for the stairs and doesn’t look back. 

He’s whistling a nameless tune by the time he gets to the fourth floor. Once he gets there, he walks down the hall until he gets to the glossy door with 9D on top. 

He stares at the door for a minute. At some point coming up the stairs, a swarm of butterflies had decided to take up residence inside him, and he could almost feel a thousand pairs of tiny wings fluttering nervously against his stomach. 

Then again, the nerves are probably all his and not theirs. 

With slow and careful movements, he folds Conner’s jacket over one arm and accommodates the fresh focaccia and treats under the same one. He takes a deep breath, decides to ignore the invisible butterflies, and raises his other hand. 

He knocks on the door, three quick taps of his knuckles against the shiny wood. He counts the seconds: one, two, three, four—

Krypto barks. 

“Coming,” Conner calls from inside, and the invisible butterflies decide to disappear as quickly as they had appeared. 

Five more seconds, and the door swings open. 

“Hello,” Conner greets. 

Dick’s breath catches in his throat. 

Conner is wearing a long-sleeved black and red flannel. The sleeves are rolled back to his elbows, the top buttons undone with a sliver of collarbone and white bandages peeking through. He’s wearing dark blue jeans that hug his thighs and boots that look as worn-in as they look clean. 

His hair is damp, combed back and away from his face, making the bruise on his face even more noticeable. 

One side of Conner’s face still looks like he got hit with a metal tank. The swelling has gone down considerably, and it's nowhere near as red as it had been. At this point, it’s more brown and purple than red and yellow. The underside of his eye still looks either like someone got a good punch in or like he needs two full days of sleep. 

The other side of his face is a stark and handsome contrast with his strong jaw, high cheekbones, his straight nose, and those eyes… bright and beautiful as the ocean on a calm day, left untouched by the facial fracture. 

“Dick?” Conner asks when the silence stretches out too long. He frowns, confused, and leans his upper body forward, like he’s going to look out into the hall. “Is everything—”

Dick moves before he thinks. Thankful to his past self for being smart, he wraps his free arm around Conner’s neck and pulls him close. Conner lets out a soft sound of surprise, and Dick tilts his head back slightly, giving both of them a second to breathe before he presses their lips together. 

Conner stiffens, his hands twitching as he clearly has no idea what to do or where to put them. He doesn’t pull or push him away, and Dick takes that as a sign to press in even closer. 

There’s another moment of hesitation -of shyness, Dick would say- and then Conner places one hand on his waist, the other on the small of his back. Conner kisses him back like he’d done at the hospital: experimental, careful, but just as willing, and just as curious. 

Their lips part. Their breaths mingle. Dick shivers, and Conner’s hands tighten, offering support even if he doesn’t need it. 

Dick breaks the kiss, pulling back enough to get some air into his lungs. His hand settles on the back of Conner’s neck, and he takes a moment to notice the flush on Conner’s face before he leans in for a second k—

“Wait,” Conner says. 

The hand on his waist tightens even more, and he uses that hand to effectively stop Dick in his tracks. There’s so much strength in the action and gesture alone that Dick feels another shiver down his spine. 

“Yeah?” Dick manages to whisper. 

Conner rubs the small of his back in small, gentle circles. He looks up at the roof, then at Dick, and finally tilts his head towards the inside of the apartment. 

“We have company,” he says, looking and sounding sheepish. 

Dick’s mind immediately goes to Krypto. He blinks, then smiles. He gets ready to comment on how cute Conner is for worrying about the fact that Krypto saw them kissing…

But then he catches movement out of the corner of his eye. When he glances inside, he catches three pairs of eyes staring at them from Conner’s living room. 

“Oh,” Dick says, and when his brain finishes processing the scene, he follows it up with a heartfelt, “ Shit. ”

Bart bursts out laughing. Cassie tries and fails to hide her own laughter, and even Tim lets out an embarrassing amount of half-snorts while Krypto jumps off the couch and trots to where Conner is. 

Dick opens his mouth to make a smart comment to make the moment less embarrassing. When nothing comes to mind, all he can manage to get out is a hoarse, “...Hi.” 

“I’m very sorry,” Conner says at his side, and he does sound terribly apologetic. He drops his hand from the small of Dick’s back, but uses the one on his waist to pull him into the foyer and close the door. “I’ve been trying to kick them out for the past half an hour, but they wouldn’t budge.”

“There was no way we were going to miss that!” Cassie exclaims, motioning between them. She elbows Bart with her other arm. “Right? Right?”

“No way,” Bart says, shaking his head and still laughing. 

Dick doesn’t know if he should join in on the laughter or if he’d rather get swallowed by the ground. “Can we start over? How about I go back out, throw myself off a window and come back in a million years?” he asks. He thinks it’s a wonderful idea. 

“Absolutely not,” Conner mutters at his side, just as Tim yells,  “Oh, no, don’t you dare!” 

Tim springs to his feet from a very soft-looking beanbag and smiles. It’s a very big and dangerous smile.  “You can’t leave, Dick. CK already got the nice beef and the nice—”

“Tim,” Conner interrupts. 

“—Russet potatoes. He also cut some thyme and oregano from the balcony—”

“ Tim .” 

“—garden, and he even got some wine—”

“Oh yes, I saw the wine!” Bart cuts in cheerfully. He smiles at Dick. “CK said he asked—”

“That’s it. Out. All of you. Now,” Conner says, and stalks towards the living room like he’s going to kill all of them. 

Cassie squeals in delight as she and Bart get up from the big sofa. They join Tim, who’s now standing behind a small coffee table. The three of them are soon joined by Krypto, and they all turn to Conner with varying degrees of amusement and defiance on their faces. Even Krypto joins in on the rebellion with a couple of excited barks. 

Conner comes to a halt when he’s standing in front of the coffee table, the piece of furniture the only thing between him and his friends. He stares at them in disbelief, seems ready to charge forward… but in the end, he pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“What will it take for you three to walk out the door, voluntarily , and in the next thirty seconds?” he asks. 

Cassie, Bart and Tim exchange glances. After a silent and maybe telepathic meeting, Tim crosses his arms. 

“What are you willing to offer?” he asks. 

“Can it be food?” Bart pipes up. 

“How about station chores?” Cassie says. 

Conner lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Let’s keep it simple. Food. One dish each, if you guys want to be difficult.” 

“Oh, we’re always difficult,” Tim says. 

“Indeed,” Conner agrees, like he already regrets what he said. He sighs again. “Do we have a deal? One dish each and you leave? Immediately.” The last part isn’t a question. 

The three of them exchange glances again. They end up huddling in a circle and whispering to each other for a few seconds. Then, Bart nods and faces Conner again. 

“Will this include side dishes?” he asks. 

Conner breathes in through his nose. “No, but I’ll buy all the ingredients for whatever you each decide you want to eat.”

“Deal!” the three of them yell at the same time, and walk towards the door like the well-behaved adults they hadn’t been until a second ago. 

Amused, endeared and somewhat intimidated, Dick clings to the bread and treats he brought as they join him by the foyer. 

“It was good to see you!” Bart says. He even reaches out to grab Dick’s free hand and shakes it as he goes by. “I hope you like dinner tonight. Can you let me know if you do? It sounds so yummy, so if you liked it, maybe I can ask CK to make it again as the dish I—” 

“Or you can ask for something else, because tonight’s menu is for Dick only,” Cassie says, wrapping an arm around Bart’s neck and pulling him towards the door. She waves at Dick over Bart’s head. “Good to see you again, Dick. Have fun tonight! And you look freaking amazing, by the way!” 

That does get a laugh out of him. “Thank you,” he says, and then, “I’ll let you know, Bart.”

“Thank you !” Bart cries, opening the door and letting Cassie drag him outside. 

Tim hangs back, as Dick had expected. He looks at Conner one last time, gives him a smile that is way too angelic… and then he aims the smile at Dick. 

“I guess we’ll be seeing you around a lot more, huh?” he asks. 

Dick looks at Conner out of the corner of his eye. He nods. “That’s my plan, yes.”

The smile dims, and Tim regards him in contemplative silence for a moment. Then, he sighs, almost as if he’s relieved. 

“Good,” he says. He pats Dick on the shoulder, and the angelic smile returns. “I meant it about the herbs from the garden. He’s got this little—”

“Out!” Conner grumbles. He takes one step forward, and Tim bolts for the door, laughing like a maniac as he goes. 

“Jesus,” Conner mutters. He walks past Dick, closes the door. He turns to face him, an apology written all over his face. “I’m sorry you had to see that, Dick.” 

Dick chuckles. “Don’t be. That was fun. They’re very fun.” 

“Too fun, sometimes,” Conner says, but it’s clear he doesn’t mean it. He scratches the back of his head, unsure of what to do or say next. 

Dick, for his part, does know what he wants to do. He places the bread and everything else on the closest surface he can find: a little cabinet right there in the foyer. Krypto wanders close to sniff and nose at the items. Dick promises he’ll give him a proper greeting as soon as he can, but right now…

“Can I kiss you again?” he asks. 

Conner looks up in surprise. “If you— I mean—” he starts, and closes his eyes. He swallows hard, opens his eyes, and tries again. 

“If you want to,” he says. 

Dick laughs. He steps closer to him, wraps both arms around Conner’s neck this time… and he waits. 

“I’ve wanted to kiss you for a while, and I want to do so much more than kissing,” he admits, but still doesn’t lean in, because there’s something important he needs to know first. 

“Do you want to kiss me?” he asks. 

The question seems to catch Conner quite off guard. He stiffens. He frowns. He opens his mouth to reply right away, but then, because it’s Conner, he takes a moment to think about the question to give a real and honest answer. 

Dick waits, torn between hope and a tinge of fear. It would break his heart and a part of his sanity if Conner’s answer ended up being ‘no’. It wouldn’t make sense given everything that has happened, but a part of him also needs to hear the answer, no matter what it is.

“Yes,” Conner says, almost as if he’d read Dick’s mind. There’s that split second of hesitance  -of shyness- on Conner’s part, as he lifts his hands. 

“You can touch me,” Dick says. “However you want to. However it feels right to you. I want you to do it. I want you to kiss me, and I want you to touch me.”

He meets Conner’s eyes, plays with the short dark hairs at the back of his neck. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask before. I want to do this, Conner. I really, really want to do this, but I also want you to tell me if anything doesn’t feel right, or if I go too far.” He puts a little extra emphasis on the last bit, because that is also an important point. He doesn’t think he can go cold turkey again, but if Conner is uncomfortable with the liberties he’s taking, or if he finds him stifling, Dick will try to cut back. He will try to—

“I am fine. This is fine, Dick,” Conner murmurs. He wraps his own arms around Dick’s waist. He flexes his fingers in another show of hesitance, then slowly but surely pulls Dick towards him. 

“I’m sorry,” Conner goes on. He kisses Dick, not his lips but his cheek. It’s light, it’s innocent, and Dick shivers anyway. 

“Sorry about what?” Dick asks, trying very hard to focus. 

“I’m sorry for being wei—”

“Careful, Kent.”

 “What word can I use?”

“Not that one, that’s for sure.” 

Conner lets out a short, soft laugh. “Difficult, then,” he says, and kisses Dick’s other cheek. “I’m sorry for being difficult, Dick. I’m not… used to this anymore. It all feels very new, again, and… it might take me a little while to become accustomed to having someone I can be so… free with. But it doesn’t bother me. You don’t bother me.” Conner kisses his lips this time. “I like you. I… I like doing this… with you,” he murmurs.

Dick lets out a soft groan. “I’m so glad to hear that, because now I really want to kiss you again,” he says, and does just that. 

That kiss only comes to an end when Krypto lets out a whine and nuzzles at their legs. 

Dick looks down, the scent of Conner’s clean clothes and a faint whiff of his aftershave still tingling his nose. He comes face-to-face with Krypto’s big and sad eyes. 

“Oh no, I don’t like that look,” he says, which prompts Conner to look down at him too. 

Once Krypto realizes he has both of their attention, he whines again and paws at Conner’s leg like he’s swatting off a bug. 

Conner hums. “What up, bud?” 

Krypto paws at his leg again, then turns to the items Dick had placed on top of the little cabinet. He nuzzles the pile and looks up at them again. 

“Do you have some meat in there?” Conner asks. 

“Oh. Yeah. I got some bread for us and some lamb treats for him.”

“Ah, well, that explains it. Now that he’s smelled them, he’s not going to move until you give him a couple.”

“How many can he have right now?” 

“He already ate, but I’m sure he’ll gobble up three or even four, depending on how pampered he’s feeling.” 

Dick chuckles. “I guess we’ll find out soon enough.” He drops his arms from around Conner’s neck and turns. Conner lets him do it, arms still around him. Once Dick is facing away from him, he slides his hands to Dick’s hips,  grips them, and just like that, holds him in place a second time.

Conner brings Dick against his chest. There’s still a trace of hesitance, but when Dick feels Conner’s wide, solid and warm chest pressed against his back, his face -and every part of his body, really- goes up in flames. 

“Is this okay?” Conner murmurs in his ear. His breath tickles Dick’s neck. His fingers knead his waist in slow, gentle movements. 

Dick doesn’t answer right away. His heart is suddenly in the back of his throat. His body tingles, burns, aches … and he needs a minute to catch his breath and remember where his mouth is. 

“Y-Yeah,” he manages, and can’t hide the tremble in his voice. It’s more than okay. It’s exactly what he wants, maybe even what he needs. 

“Okay.” Conner inhales, then lets out a hum that reverberates inside his chest, and Dick feels it down to his soul. 

“You do look amazing, by the way,” Conner says. His voice is soft, gentle, and oh so genuine. “You look gorgeous, and you smell so good, too.” He nuzzles Dick’s neck, only for a couple of seconds. It’s nowhere near enough, and then his warmth disappears. Dick is left frozen in place as Conner walks further into the apartment. 

“Would you like me to pour you some wine?” Conner asks. He glances over his shoulder, and somehow, he doesn’t look nearly as flustered as Dick feels. 

“Wine?” Dick echoes. It’s both a question for Conner and something he says to ground himself. 

“Yes.” 

“But you don’t drink.” He knows he’s stating the obvious, and he knows both Tim and Bart mentioned something about wine, but his brain is still focusing on not combusting. 

Conner ducks his head. “Well, no, but you had some wine when I came to your house, and technically this dinner goes better with wine than soda or… you know, iced tea, so it made sense to get some for you.” He holds up a hand and waves it from one side to the other. “I’m not saying you have to drink it, of course. If you’d rather have something else, I have—”

“No, no,” Dick interrupts. Conner had gotten him some wine; of course he’s going to drink it. “I’d love a glass. Thank you.” 

Conner nods, and Dick decides to turn his attention to Krypto before he gets any more riled up and smoke ends up coming out of his ears. 

“Are you mad at me?” he asks Krypto. He falls to his knees next to the dog, who lets out a very happy sound and walks into his arms the moment he opens them. 

“I guess not, but I’m sorry I ignored you. I think you could tell I’ve been distracted,” he explains, hugging Krypto against his chest. The dog wags his tails and lets Dick hold him. Once Krypto thinks Dick has had his fill, he wiggles away, growls at the treats, and gives him a very pointed look. 

“Oh, my goodness. Yes, of course. Do excuse my tardiness, sir,” Dick laughs, and reaches for the bag. He opens it and pulls out one of the dark brown sticks. 

“Who’s a good boy?” Dick coos. He feeds Krypto the treat without waiting for any sort of answer because Krypto is clearly the bestest boy he’s ever met, with his dad being a close second. 

Krypto takes a second stick, then a third. However, when Dick holds out a fourth one, Krypto gives a soft growl before he turns around and wanders away, tail wagging from side to side. 

Happy to have been of service, Dick gets to his feet and takes his first proper look at Conner’s home. 

The apartment is long and quite narrow. The kitchen is right next to the entrance, with the big appliances like the stove and fridge on one side. A kitchen island sits in the middle -Dick guesses it also doubles as a breakfast bar- with more appliances lining the opposite wall.

It’s all one big and open space, so Dick sees the living room past the kitchen, right by a pair of white balcony doors. There’s one big couch where Cassie and Bart were sitting, the coffee table, a TV set on top of some low shelves. There’s a doggy bed right by the doors, Tim’s bean bag, a small workspace next to the TV and not much else. 

Dick walks further inside, stepping right into the kitchen. Conner is pulling a glass out of a cupboard, a chilled bottle of wine already sitting on top of the kitchen island. 

Dick takes another minute to see the rest of the space. There’s a small room right behind the foyer and before the kitchen. With the door half-open, Dick catches a glimpse of a washing machine. Between the kitchen and the living room, there’s a pair of low, arched doors made of frosted glass thick enough to blur everything behind them. 

The place is done in beige, brown and muted greens. It’s small, especially since Dick is now used to having a whole-ass house to himself. Still, the place feels cozy, comfy, peaceful and warm… just like Conner himself. 

Pulled by an invisible force, Dick starts making his way through the apartment. 

He sees an electric kettle, several jars filled with tea leaves, a blender, and other kitchen tools neatly arranged on open shelves. There are several books on the shelves above the workspace, and Dick is about to stop and pull down some of the titles, but then he sees the picture frames under the TV, and he orbits towards them, still being pulled by the invisible hand.

He kneels in front of the TV set to get a better look. Krypto trots up to him. At first, Dick thinks it’s because he’s now close to the doggy bed. However, he soon sees the many chew toys on the shelf underneath the pictures, and it all makes sense. 

“I won’t touch anything,” he promises. 

Krypto ignores him, pulls out a monkey plush and drops it at Dick’s feet. 

“Oh.” Dick laughs. “This is a very pretty toy, Krypto. It looks quite chewy.” 

Krypto barks in agreement, pulls out a tug rope and drops it on top of the monkey. 

“Ah, this one looks even better for chewing,” Dick says, and Krypto pulls out two more toys before he gets bored, grips the monkey between his teeth, and wanders over to his bed with it. 

Endeared, Dick puts the toys back in their place before he takes a proper look at the pictures. 

Family , is the word that comes to mind as Dick picks up one after the other, taking several seconds to appreciate each frame. 

There are a few of his parents: one when they were younger, while they both have grey and white hair in another. There is one of his parents with a boy who looks way too cheerful to be Conner, so it must be his brother. 

Next, Dick sees his parents, a teenage Clark who still looks even more cheerful than before. Clark is holding a toddler Conner, who’s frowning at the camera. 

There are more pictures of the two brothers. With the more recent ones, Dick can’t help but notice that Conner and his brother are so similar they could be mistaken for twins at a first glance. The similarities are all physical though, as Clark is always beaming and looking like he’s having the time of his life, while Conner looks like he’s ready to bolt the moment as soon as the picture is taken. 

He sees an image of Clark and a woman with black hair and stunning violet eyes. There’s also a picture of the two of them and a baby boy, and a few others of the couple as the kid grows older. The boy has the same bright smile as Clark, and Dick makes a mental note to ask Conner later what the name of his nephew is. 

Dick sees a picture of Tim and Krypto when he was a puppy. He sees Cassie with a buzzcut, grinning and hugging an even younger Bart. There’s a frame of Tim and Conner at their pinning ceremony and one of Conner in uniform with his family. He also sees plenty of pictures of Krypto by himself at several stages of life, as well as of another huge and white dog that looks more like a creature of the wild than a pet. 

“That’s Wolf,” Conner’s voice comes. 

Dick looks up, still holding one of the pictures of the big dog. Conner is standing close to the couch with Dick’s glass of wine in his hand. He’s put on a simple black apron.

“Wolf?” Dick asks, putting the picture down and getting to his feet. 

“I have never been very creative,” Conner says with a shrug. “I found him in the fields when he was already like two years old. Never knew where he came from or how he ended up there. My parents were worried he was an actual wolf when I first brought him home, but turns out he just had good genes.” 

“I don’t blame them. He looks kind of scary, and really big.”

“He was, at least when you first met him. It took him a while to warm up to people, but after he got to know you, he was just a big and fluffy pup,” Conner says, holding out the glass of wine.

Dick smiles and takes it. “Sounds like someone I know.” 

Conner frowns at him, but it’s a soft, half-hearted gesture. He heads back to the kitchen, and Dick follows, taking a first sip. It’s white wine today: fresh, fruity, with a very faint hint of citrus. 

“This tastes nice,” he says, and takes a few more sips. 

“I know red goes better with steak, but you said you preferred white the other day,” Conner says, most of his attention on what’s now on top of the kitchen island. In the time Dick had been staring at the pictures, Conner had spread out vegetables, bowls, knives and cutting boards onto the smooth and shiny surface. 

Dick perches himself onto the closest chair and takes another sip of wine as Conner rolls his sleeves up even more and reaches for a knife. 

“I did say that, didn’t I?” Dick muses. He remembers he had made the comment as a joke when Conner had come over to his house. 

“You did.” 

Dick hums. His gaze lingers on Conner’s hands as they peel, slice and dice vegetables with easy and practiced movements. 

“You have a lovely home,” he mumbles. 

“Thank you.”

“Everything is all tidied up and in order, and it’s so clean. Almost too clean, I’d say.” 

Conner gives a faint smile. “Well, that’d be because I made sure to clean up properly before you arrived today, and before the Three Musketeers invaded my living room.” 

Dick perks up in his chair. “Properly, you say? Even when you probably shouldn’t be doing any type of strenuous cleaning? Or any strenuous stuff at all?”

“I stayed away from the vacuum cleaner, and I took plenty of breaks in between, if you must know.”

Dick brushes imaginary hair out of his face. He can’t pass up this opportunity. “And yet this place looks spotless. You care that much about making a good impression?” 

Conner doesn’t laugh, but he doesn’t get flustered either. Instead, his smile widens, and he meets his eyes. 

“On you? I very much do, Dickie,” is all he says, and Dick loses his ability to speak for the next few seconds. 

Even more amused by that reaction, Conner chuckles. 

It’s a short, deep sound that tightens something low in Dick’s stomach. His fingers mirror the feeling by tightening around his glass of wine. After a false start, he says, “You… you are unreal.” 

Because he is.  A breath of fresh air. A gentle hug. An open book, not because he’s easy to read, but because he makes sure there’s very little to guess or assume. Conner is all of that, and Dick wants him so bad . 

Conner raises an eyebrow, most of his attention still on the ingredients. “Should I be flattered or offended?”

“Flattered.”

“In that case, thank you.” Conner turns around to check the oven’s temperature and grab a pan. 

“It was nice to have things to do and to look forward to today,” he says, placing the pan next to a cutting board. He goes back to cutting potatoes in perfectly even and thin slices. “I’ve been feeling very useless and bored the last few days. I haven’t even been able to go with Krypto on walks, so like I said, I’m glad I’m getting to do more today.”

The words bring Dick down from the high he’s been in. They’re a stronger reminder of what happened to Conner not even two weeks ago. Conner had gotten hurt. He’d been in the hospital. No matter how much Dick is loving the evening already or making light of the situation, this wouldn’t be happening if Conner hadn’t ended up with a broken cheekbone and a concussion. 

Dick’s shoulders sag. Now that he thinks about it for more than a second, the bruise on Conner’s face and the white bandages under the shirt stand out more. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, stomach sinking. 

Conner keeps slicing. “What about?”

“I came here and pounced on you the moment I saw you without asking anything about how you’re doing, or what’s happening with your job, or how long they’re going to bench you, or, you know, without asking any important questions at all.”

“I’d say we both got a little distracted when you arrived, and it’s not like dinner will be ready in the next five minutes, so…” Conner pauses his movements again and looks up. “Do you want to know?”

“ Yes ,” Dick says, voice vehement. “Yes. Of course I want to know. I’ve been so worried and… and I’m sorry that I haven’t asked already.” He stands up. “As a matter of fact, I want to help, too.”

Conner raises both eyebrows in surprise this time. “You do?”

“Well, you’re a convalescent man. I’m not going to sit there the whole night and sip wine and ogle you while you cook. ” 

“I… think you looked very pretty doing just that, actually.”

If he’d been walking, Dick would have stumbled. As it is, he grips the edge of the island with one hand and grits his teeth to stop himself from sitting back down. “That is so not fair, Conner Kent. That was a very low blow.” 

Conner opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again. “I’m sorry, but I do mean it.”

“I know you do, you big menace, that’s the problem.” Dick lets go of the kitchen island and joins him on the other side. 

“Let me help, and let me play twenty-questions,” he says. He wraps a finger around the neck strap of Conner’s apron and gives a gentle tug. That earns him an immediate blush from Conner, and Dick makes a mental note. Conner might knock him out with words, but maybe Dick can get him back with little touches like these. 

“I’ll answer any and every question you have,” Conner meets Dick’s eyes again. “And I’ll let you help, but only if you promise to do everything as I tell you to, when I tell you to.”

“Your kitchen, your rules?”

“Yes.”

Dick gets the feeling that not a lot of people are allowed in Conner’s kitchen, and it’s probably the same reason why Dick hadn’t interfered much when Conner had cooked the chili at his house. 

“Aye, chef,” Dick agrees, and steals one last kiss before he pulls back and salutes his new head chef. 

Conner is suspended from work for at least another full week. His captain had even come to visit him the day he got discharged to deliver the news in person. Rest had been completely mandatory and he hadn’t even been allowed to wander his own apartment at first. However, now that the second week is starting to roll around, Conner thinks he’ll at least be able to leave the apartment and take short walks, preferably at night, and only if the Three Musketeers don’t bar his door from the outside. 

“I haven’t been able to leave my apartment at all,” Conner complains. His friends had brought his bike home from the station. They’ve tried cooking a few meals for him and ordered takeout so he wouldn’t go into the kitchen. They’ve taken away his boxing tape and won’t give it back anytime soon. Both Tim and the doctor have said that when he starts exercising again, it’s not like boxing will be a viable first option anyway. 

“I don't blame them for mothering you,” Dick says. Chances are he would have acted the same and done the same things if he’d been Conner’s personal, self-assigned and unofficial nurse. “You really weren’t supposed to do anything but exist and not feel worse these past few days, or in the next couple of weeks.”

“A part of me understands that,” Conner says, slicing the last potatoes. He looks as dejected as Dick has ever seen him, which considering their talks at the hospital, really says something. 

“A part of me does,” Conner continues. “But it’s so annoying being stuck here, and knowing that even when I go back to the station they’ll put me on light duty. It’ll probably be a month and a half before I’m allowed to get back in the ambulance. It’ll be even longer until Tim decides to stop fussing.” 

The words are full of sadness and disappointment. They’re a touch bitter too, and Dick has to dig his heels in to stop himself from ambling closer and reassuring Conner with a hug, or a kiss, or both. 

He thinks about offering his sympathies or reassuring Conner that everything will be all right. He thinks about saying something full of wishful hope and good intentions. In the end, he decides Conner might appreciate a different approach altogether. 

“That does suck quite a lot,” he says instead, and Conner looks up, eyes wide.

“I’m sorry that this all happened when you were just trying to do your job,” Dick begins. “I’m sorry that you ended up with a crazy patient and that you got hurt. I’m sorry you won’t be able to go back to your life in the next couple of weeks. Just thinking about it sucks, so I can’t imagine how much more it sucks having to live with reality. It sucks, Conner, and I… I hope it gets easier to deal with as the days go by.” 

Conner stares at him in silence for so long that Dick shifts his weight from one foot to the other. 

“Uhm,” he mumbles. As he’s starting to wonder if maybe he should say the usual comforting and empty words people tend to give most of the time…

“Thank you,” Conner says, and he means it, because he smiles so big that his eyes crinkle. It’s one of the most beautiful smiles Dick has ever seen… until Conner winces and reaches up to touch his face, almost by reflex. 

“Oh no.” Dick takes one step towards him, but Conner shakes his head, drops his hand. 

“No, that was my bad. I’m fine,” he says, and he smiles at Dick again, smaller this time, though no less grateful. “Thank you for saying it. It does suck. Nothing will change what has happened. Thank you for understanding that.” 

Dick’s heart does a little something inside his chest, most of his attention still on the big, almost boyish smile. “I’ve got you, handsome,” he says, voice light and airy. When nothing else comes to mind, he clears his throat.  “So what exactly do you want me to do?”

“Potatoes go in the oven now. Can you get me the thyme and oregano?”

“Yes, chef.” 

Tomatoes are next, and as Conner starts working on them, Dick asks about the guy who’d started the mess in the first place. 

“A construction worker,” Conner informs him, voice grim. 

And of all the things Dick had expected… a construction worker isn’t very low on the list. 

“So what happened?” Dick asks, because apart from the information Roy and Conner had shared at the hospital, he doesn’t know much else. 

 “It’s… somewhat of a long story. A bit embarrassing, too. For me, not for the construction worker. From what I heard, he was… not in a good place, and hadn’t been for a while.” Conner purses his lips. “Can you please pass me the orange knife?”

Dick raises both eyebrows and hands over the knife. “I’ve got time,” he says, and then shrugs. “I had a meltdown last week over a guy I liked, I don’t know if you heard… but I’m pretty sure what happened to you is nowhere near as embarrassing as that, if at all.”

Conner lets out a sound between a huff and a snort. 

“Ha, ha,” he mutters, but he tells Dick about the guy, and about what had happened in the ambulance. 

The man’s name was Waylon. He was divorced, in his mid-forties and a construction worker since his early twenties. He’d had an accident almost eight years earlier: he’d fallen off the third-floor scaffolding of a building and had been in the hospital for almost a full year. He’d had broken ribs, broken limbs and spinal fractures that had left him with chronic pain that never went away. At one point, the doctors stopped prescribing him meds for it. 

A fellow coworker, also recovering from a serious injury, had introduced him to “street vendors”, and it had all gone downhill from there. He started purchasing opioids every week, then almost day. He hadn’t gone back to construction after the accident, and couldn’t find a similar job either. He lost his wife, got cut off from his children, and ended up working as a bouncer in several clubs to earn money for more pills. 

He’d beaten his wife before the divorce when she’d tried to stop him. He had tried to attack his eldest son, too. He’d become very unstable and volatile, and had been fired from two clubs already by the time Conner and Tim had the misfortune of meeting him. 

Blood tests had revealed that Waylon had, in fact, overdosed the day of the incident. The club where he worked had been close to the Walmart, and he’d been getting high with a couple of bartenders after closing time. He’d wandered into the store’s parking lot muttering something about needing another dose before he had to work the next night, but the bystanders had put him on edge. He panicked, reacted, and then he passed out. 

Waking up in the ambulance hadn’t helped. Given that he already had two arrest warrants for domestic abuse and for purchasing illegal substances, the only thing Waylon had been worried about had been… not getting another one. He’d managed to get out of the ambulance, but since a police car had been following Tim and Conner in the first place, he didn’t get very far. 

“Cassie says that he got charged with disorderly conduct, resisting arrest, assaulting emergency personnel and a bunch of other things. Bart says he’s not avoiding jail this time.” Conner says. He checks the tomatoes on the stove, then grabs a bowl already full of grilled corn. “Can you please get the avocados and peppers from the fridge? Two and one, please.” 

“Yes, chef,” Dick says, and opens the fridge. He takes out the requested items. “I’m glad to hear that, though. I’m sorry for what happened to him and it’s a sad ending to a sad story, but I don’t blame you for pressing charges.”

“I didn’t press charges,” Conner says, checking on the tomatoes again and sneaking a glance at the potatoes. 

Dick pauses with the fridge door open. “What?”

“There was no need. He was getting charged whether I filed anything or not, and I didn’t have the energy to go down to the station and do it anyway. Besides…” Conner sighs, frustrated. “I still don’t remember what happened after he kicked me in the chest, and I know I never will. I remember the struggle. I remember he panicked. I know I didn’t want to hurt him because… well, hurting people is not my job, and it should never be.  I know I hoped I could subdue him without hurting him, but that’s as far as my memories get.” 

Conner shakes his head.  “He gave a statement. He did hit me with the oxygen tank, I followed him out of the ambulance, but I was still conscious.” He meets Dick’s gaze again, jaw set. “He didn’t give me a concussion. I gave it to myself when I fell out of the damn thing. Tim saw me. I passed out before I fell and that’s how I hit my head… You have to admit that it is at least a little embarrassing.” 

Dick refuses to hold back any longer. 

He sets the avocados and pepper on top of the kitchen island. He turns towards Conner, who seems to know what he’s about to do because he puts down the corn and the corn cutter he had in his hands. 

“I will honestly tell you nothing is embarrassing about that, because you did what you had to do, and not what you could have done,” Dick says, placing his hands on Conner’s chest. He shivers when Conner’s hands move to his waist like they belong there, and he kisses him once, twice, thrice… and struggles to leave it at that. 

“Maybe you’re being too nice to me,” Conner points out. 

“Oh, you ain’t seen nothing yet, baby,” Dick replies, and this time, the endearment rolls off his tongue easily and earns him a small chuckle in return. 

“You fascinate me,” Conner says, and pecks his lips before pulling away to check on the food again, giving Dick time and space to recover from that simple but killing compliment. 

Conner finishes filling a bowl with kernels of corn and makes quick work of the other ingredients, then declares the tomatoes are done. Dick is tasked with cutting and adding the avocado and seasoning the corn salad while Conner checks on the potatoes again. 

“We’re pretty much done,” Conner tells him, because now he only has to grill the steak, and that will only take a few minutes. 

“I’ll set the table,” Dick offers, squeezing the last bit of lime into the salad. 

“Don’t worry about it. We’ll eat on the balcony. It’s prettier out there,” Conner replies, throwing the first piece of meat onto a sizzling pan. 

“I’ll… bring out the drinks, then?”

“Yes, please. Get comfortable out there. How do you eat your steak?”

“Uh. I like mine done medium.”

“Great. I’ll bring the food out once everything is ready.”

Dick sighs. “You will ruin me, chef,” he says. He tops his half-full glass with wine and grabs Conner an iced tea from the fridge before he heads towards the balcony. 

Krypto gets up once Dick wanders close to his doggy bed. He starts wagging his tail and is the first one through the sliding door when Dick opens it. Once outside, Krypto gives a couple of excited barks, almost like he’s showing Dick what’s there.

Once Dick sees the outside, he remembers Tim’s unfinished comment about the balcony. 

“Of course he has a garden,” Dick murmurs, taking in the space. 

Like the rest of the apartment, the balcony is narrower than expected, but it’s as organized and cozy as the inside. 

One wall is covered in tiny bushes and hanging plants. Conner seems to have put in black iron shelves, and all of them are filled with brown pots. Some of the plants are already vibrant shades of green with lots of leaves. Others are small and seem to be starting to bloom. There are another couple of longer, shorter pots aligned against the balcony’s railing, some with a lot of leaves, others emptier than the pots on the shelves. There are no pretty or colorful flowers, only greenery for plants that Dick guesses are edible. Tim had said something about Conner cutting herbs from the garden, after all. 

Dick looks to the other side. There’s a small L-shaped sofa with a wooden base and thick cushions, an even smaller coffee table and another doggy bed for Krypto. At first, Dick thinks the balcony space seems to go beyond the sofa, but when he walks closer to it, he sees there’s more railing dividing it from a second balcony space. It’s too close to belong to another apartment. He wonders if, instea,d that space can only be accessed from the room behind the frosted glass doors inside. 

“It’s not very noisy, is it?” Conner asks, stepping onto the balcony with two plates of food. 

Dick glances around. Conner’s apartment is certainly not very high up, and there are plenty of other buildings and houses surrounding them, but the sounds of traffic and people in general aren’t very loud. If anything, it’s a buzzing murmur easy to ignore and doesn’t take away from how peaceful their current space is. 

“It’s perfect,” Dick says, and he isn’t talking only about the balcony. 

“It’s Krypto’s favorite spot,” Conner muses, putting the plates of food on the table. Krypto has already curled into his doggy bed, looking very content and relaxed. 

“I don’t blame him, this is already becoming my favorite spot, too,” Dick says, just as Conner ducks back into the apartment with a very non-committal hum. Then again, it’s pretty obvious that Conner’s favorite part of his apartment is not the balcony. 

Dick sits down on one side of the small sofa, sinking right in when the cushions prove to be softer and thicker than they looked. 

“Oof,” he mutters, scrambling to sit up straight. He gets one hand on the table and pulls himself upright, which ends with him having a perfect close-up of the food Conner had prepared today. 

Dick realizes he had never asked what they were eating today, and Conner had never told him. Maybe he was supposed to figure out while they cooked and he knew which components were involved, but he hadn’t really paid attention… until now. 

Conner has arranged colorful and hearty plates. Small portions and bland meals are probably not an option for him, which just goes to show: you can take a man out of the Midwest but you can’t take the Midwest out of the man. 

Dick sees a couple of rows of golden and crunchy potatoes on one side, a row of grilled tomatoes and corn salad in the middle, and then another couple of rows of sliced beef. The meat has drizzles of a green sauce on top, and to top it all off, everything on the plate is garnished with chopped parsley. 

The presentation is beautiful. It smells delicious. The fact that Conner made this for him… it tightens his chest even more than any other meal Dick has received. This one is different. Just as good, without a doubt, but… meaningful, in a way the others hadn’t been. 

Mouth watering, Dick pulls out his phone and snaps a picture of the untouched plates. He pockets his phone just as Conner steps back outside with a plate of toasted and buttered bread. 

Dick’s chest tightens. “You don’t miss anything, do you?”

“I try not to,” Conner replies with a shrug. It’s not a cheeky or flirty gesture, just him trying his best. 

Dick pats the space next to him. Conner leaves the plate of bread on the little table before he sits on the offered space, wrinkling his nose when he also sinks in further than planned.

Dick waits until Conner has gotten himself into a decent sitting position before he says, “Didn’t take you for the marshmallow cushions kind of guy.”

“I’m not. My brother sent it as a housewarming gift when I moved to Opal. He got the measurements from my friends.” Conner nods to Krypto’s bed and grabs his plate. “That bed was also a gift from my family. The kettle in the kitchen, too. My old one broke when I moved here.”

As an only child who grew up with an old, not very nice grandfather, Dick finds this mystifying. 

“It must be nice,” he murmurs, taking a sip of his wine. He’s barely touched it, not because he dislikes it, more so because he’s been drunk on other things tonight. 

“The new kettle?” Conner asks, confused. 

“No.” Dick grabs his own plate, appreciates the food for a couple more seconds, then pauses. He knows Conner won't be satisfied with that simple answer, but he also knows that if he gives a full and honest reply, more questions will follow. They're going to be tough questions, and his answers are not going to be very pretty. Dick doesn't talk much about his family, mostly because there's never really been one to speak of. He used to have close friends who became family at one point, like Barbara.  Now he has Wally, and the Harpers, but people like the Kents or the ‘Three Musketeers’... their concept is very unfamiliar to him. It's ironic, given how many people he hung out with during university and in Gotham, but—

“Then what?” Conner asks, sounding no less confused. 

Dick takes a deep breath. As a rule, he wouldn't choose to speak about this, and he’d do or say almost anything to change the subject. He started this, though, and tonight, he feels comfortable enough to finish it.  

It’s Conner he’s talking to, after all. 

“Having people who care… it must be nice,” he says. He digs into his food right away and lets the words hang in the air like the admission they are. 

Conner goes still at his side, and he drops his fork. He doesn't say anything right away. Dick figured it would happen, so he stays busy by trying a couple of different bites of everything on his plate. 

The food is delightful, and yet the word falls short. Dick thinks maybe he should get used to the fact that anything Conner makes is delicious. It's the cooking itself, of course; everything is well seasoned, the potatoes are crunchy enough, the salad fresh, the meat juicy and perfectly done…but it's so much more than that. 

It’s the food itself, and the time and care that went into it. A meal that was prepared at a simple request, yet made willingly. It’s something Conner cooked to make Dick happy, to keep him full, something that turned into an experience that feels as warm as Conner’s embraces have been. 

If he’d had more time to wallow in those thoughts, Dick might have shed a tear or two. Much to his relief, Conner clears his throat and speaks before Dick can get too sentimental. 

“So… your parents…?” he begins, and doesn’t seem to know what to say next. 

Dick doesn’t blame him. He’d mentioned during their impromptu picnic that he didn’t remember much about his parents, and he’d left it at that. It’s not like he wants to turn their evening into a pity party, and it’s not like he wants to offer up every detail, but tonight he can share some more. 

“I don’t remember much about them,” Dick says with a shrug. “They died when I was four, so not much to go on. I'm pretty sure they were very nice and good to me, because whenever I think about them… I only feel sad because I didn’t get to see them again, but…” He shakes his head. “I really can’t recall much beyond that.” 

“How did they— I mean—” Conner clears his throat. “What happened to them?”

It’s a good question, which has a very frustrating and confusing answer. His grandfather hadn’t known much about his estranged son other than the fact he’d married a Roma woman who worked with a traveling circus. They’d fallen in love or whatever, had a kid, and the three of them traveled with the circus for several years. His mother had been a trapeze artist. His father had become a hired hand for the circus, but his mom had gotten him in the air a couple of times.

“I used to have pictures of my mom and me. She got me on the static trapeze when I was a little over two years old, or that’s what I was told,” Dick says. “My dad wasn’t in the pictures as much, maybe because he was the one taking them.” 

The owner of the circus had the misfortune of meeting Tony Zucco when the circus was in Gotham. Zucco had tried to get Jack Haly to pay him a daily fee for being in his city. Haly had refused, and Zucco had sworn consequences. 

Why he chose to cut the ropes the first day John Grayson was finally brave enough to try catching his wife is… anyone’s guess, much to his chagrin. It might have also been a coincidence, and Dick doesn’t know if that makes it better or worse. 

“I do remember when Haly came to our trailer,” Dick murmurs, and takes a sip of wine. Conner hasn’t touched his food since he started talking. He’d done the same thing at his house, and a part of Dick appreciates the consideration. 

“The man was pale. He looked scared, and that made me scared,” he goes on, and even this story feels distant at this point. It’s been over twenty years, and the memories had been fuzzy to begin with. “He picked me up and took me away from the circus. I think I was in the police station for a while, and then I was taken to my grandfather’s shitty apartment. That’s where I stayed until he died when I was eighteen.” In a way, Dick had been lucky the old man Cobb died months after he’d officially become an adult. It meant Dick didn’t have to go into the system or be relocated anywhere else.

“And he wasn’t… kind?” 

“Meh. We were strangers who never bothered to know much about each other.  I guess you could say we tolerated each other. He paid for school and food and showed up to meetings when he had to. He wasn’t mean to me, he was just… there , I guess, and it was better than not having anyone at all.” 

The old man Cobb had left money behind when he died. It hadn’t been left for him, but since neither of them had anyone else, Dick had been the obvious and only choice. He’d put the money to good use. He’d finished school. He’d gotten a job. He’d even managed to get a whole fucking house, and even though he knows those payments will be a thorn on his side for most of his life… he’s proud of himself for making it this far.

Conner’s quiet horror at Dick’s matter-of-fact tone is somewhat evident, and it’s easy to understand why. Conner has a solid and strong connection with his family even to the present day. The idea of never having had one must be unthinkable, and outrageous. 

“That is…” Conner begins, and then he closes his mouth. He can’t quite shake the dismay off his face, but he tries, and he also tries a second time to speak… but no word comes out. 

“It’s a terrible and sad story, which led to me having an even more terrible and even sadder childhood,” Dick supplies helpfully. He’s heard it all before. People have pitied him. People have tried to coddle him. Many have told him how sorry they are for his loss. A few have even told him that he’s lucky he at least had his grandfather, and that he should be thankful the old man Cobb gave him a roof over his head and an education. 

At this point, Dick doesn’t care much for his past. He doesn’t care about what people think about it either. He doesn’t like the reactions he gets when he shares these types of details about his life, which is why he tries to avoid talking about this subject as much as he can.

It’s a little late to be thinking about that now, though. Once again he’s spilled all of his emotional guts in front of a guy he really, really likes… and for once he doesn’t think he fucked everything up by sharing things that aren’t pretty, or nice, or perfect. 

Dick sips his wine. He takes a few bites of his food, then looks over at Conner. 

“You can tell me if I overshared. I might have,” he offers. While it doesn’t feel like the world is ending because he said too much, he understands that might have been a lot to take in. Above all, he trusts Conner to tell him if it was too much, and tonight, he trusts himself not to spiral too hard if that’s the case.

“Overshared?” Conner finally echoes. “No. You didn’t— I think you’re— that’s not—” Conner places his plate on the table with a clatter that is sharper than it needs to be. He turns towards Dick, takes the glass of wine out of his hand and envelops it with his own instead.

Dick’s pulse speeds up. Conner’s grip is as strong as it is warm, but when Conner gives him a small smile, all he can think of is: ‘Oh no. I broke you’ . 

The words are on the tip of his tongue just as Conner says, “I’m very glad to meet you, Dick.” 

Dick chokes on his own saliva. He jerks back by reflex, but Conner doesn’t let go. 

“What do you mean?” he squeaks. 

Conner winces. “Sorry. Maybe that wasn't the right way to… no, it is what I meant to say, but not… not like that.”

“Then how?”

Conner shuts his eyes. “No, I’m sorry. That came out wrong.” He squeezes Dick’s hand and opens his eyes. “What I’m trying to say is… you ask me so many things. You want to know so much about me, but you seem to think I don’t want to know just as much about you.”

Dick sighs. “Well, there’s not a lot of fun or pretty things to share, Conner.”

“So?” Conner raises an eyebrow. “You’re not made of sunshine and rainbows, and neither am I.”

“That’s debatable,” Dick retorts right away. 

“Dick.”

“... Sorry.” 

Conner shakes his head. “Dick, nothing and no one is sunshine and rainbows all the time. It can’t be, and that’s okay. I’m not… scared, if that’s what you think. Neither of us is perfect. You know I’m anything but, and I’m glad… I’m glad that you’re letting me see that you’re not either.” Conner releases his hand and offers another smile. This one is smaller, a bit watery, even. “Wouldn’t it be tiring to pretend all the time, anyway?”

Dick flexes his fingers. He looks at Conner’s handsome face, at the brave smile, at the glimmer of hesitation in his eyes. It’s a gentle reminder that he’s probably not the only one out of his comfort zone, nor the only one who doesn’t know how all of this will or should work. 

“It’d be exhausting,” he admits, and smiles back.

They smile at each other like idiots for too long, yet not enough time. A particularly loud and long amount of honking sounds is what ends up breaking the moment. They break eye contact, and they both reach for their food without another word. The silence stretches on as they continue eating, but it’s a comfortable, calm silence, and Dick enjoys it as much as he enjoys every bite of food. 

Once their plates are clear, Dick stacks everything neatly on the small table before he draws his legs to his chest. He debates whether he should give in to a new intrusive thought, and decides… why not?

“Now that I think about it, I haven’t been on a proper date in a really long time either,” he says, and leans his head against Conner’s shoulder. 

“You haven’t?” Conner asks, surprised. He lifts his arm so Dick can huddle against his side more comfortably. It’s an unconscious, almost automatic gesture. 

“Nope.” Dick is careful not to let all his weight fall on Conner, because the last thing the bruises on his chest need is more pressure on top of them. “I’ve… hung out with people, but a date-date? It’s been a while.”

“Huh.”

“What’s that ‘huh’ for?”

“Nothing much, but if that’s the case… I hope tonight has been as nice a re-introduction into this dating thing for you as it has been for me.” Conner clears his throat. “Not that I think this is over already, but… uh, you know what I mean.”

Dick places a hand on Conner’s thigh and squeezes.  “I started having a wonderful evening the moment I kissed you in front of your friends, and come on. Delicious homemade food that you made for little ole me? Chilled wine? Krypto’s show-and-tell? Your beautiful garden and these nice views? It’s only gotten better from there.”

“Oh… well, that is good to hear,” Conner muses, and grabs Dick’s hand again. He rubs Dick’s fingers with his thumb, and then there’s a pause as he finally notices the small and special detail. 

“Your nails,” he says. 

Dick wiggles his fingers. “How do you like them? Someone gave me this beautiful color as a gift. I figured today was the perfect day to put it on and flaunt it.”

Conner snorts, soft and half-hearted. “It suits you.” 

“Thank you.”

“Do you like any color in particular? Or do you have any preferred brand?”

As someone who hadn’t considered wearing it out of his own free will until Conner had gotten him the gift bottle…

“Blues look better on me, but it might be nice to try some reds,” he says. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Conner promises. 

Dick thinks the conversation will die there and they’ll be enveloped by another blanket of comfortable and easy silence. Conner, however, clears his throat again. “What do you like to do for fun?” 

The question is so unexpected that it gets a laugh out of him. “Ice-breakers, big guy?”

Conner shifts. “No. I think it’s a bit too late for those. I’m curious, that’s all.”

“Curious, huh?”

“Yes. Maybe we can do one of those things for our next date.” 

“What if I want to do this very same thing next week?”

Conner huffs. “Well, then we can do this next week, too.” 

Dick pulls away to look at Conner, one eyebrow raised. “Just like that.” 

“Well, why not?”

“And I want to give the movie theater another try? And you let me buy you whatever I want, like we discussed?”

“Then we can make better memories at the movie theater, and we can choose a movie you’d actually enjoy this time.”

“And if I said I wanted to grab a drink with you and then go dancing? Like, club dancing and the whole early-twenties shebang?”

Conner looks pained by the very suggestion, but he doesn’t back down. Instead, he shrugs.  “Most places have non-alcoholic drinks now, or sodas. You’d probably have to teach me how to dance, though, and I’d only ask that you please don’t leave me to wander a club on my own. Tim made me try that a couple of times. It sucked.” 

Dick places his elbow on Conner’s shoulder and leans in. “So you’re worried about me leaving you alone in a club, but not about the fact that I’d want to take you to a club so soon after you got a concussion?” he verifies, lifting his other hand to fiddle with the top button of Conner’s flannel. 

Conner looks down at what Dick is doing, then he looks up and shrugs one shoulder this time. “There’s that too, I suppose. But if you want to do that, I’m happy to join you once we’re sure my brain won’t bleed from being in a place with flashing lights and really loud music.” 

Dick laughs. He leans in for a light kiss, fingers still tugging at the button. “Are you sure it’s a good idea to spoil me this much from the first date? I might get a complex.”

“I’m not spoiling you. I want to know what makes you happy, and I’d like to do those things with you, even if it’s not what I’d choose to do on my own,” Conner replies. “That’s an important part of having a relationship with someone, isn’t it?”

Dick pulls him in by the shirt and brushes their noses together. 

“Did I already tell you that you’ll ruin me?” he murmurs against Conner’s lips. 

Conner sighs. “That’s very much what I’d like to avoid doing, Dick.”

Too late , Dick thinks, and closes the distance to get a much wanted and needed kiss. 

Dick decides it’s time to go home when Conner goes quieter than usual and starts rubbing his forehead with the heel of his hand every other minute. 

“I’m all right,” Conner assures him. When Dick gives him a flat look, he gives a sheepish smile and amends, “My head hurts, and the lights out here aren’t helping.” 

Considering that it’s considerably darker out on the balcony than inside the apartment… “Then you’ve reached your limits, Conner. You need to go and lie down.”

Conner grimaces. “I think that’s a good idea, but I don’t want you to leave just because of this.”

“Who says I’m leaving right away, though?” 

Dick gets to his feet. Conner squints up at him, a question written across his face. 

“You go and get some rest. I’ll clean up and see myself out,” he says. 

Conner’s expression sours. “What? No.”

“Oh, yes.”

“Dick—”

“You can yell instructions at me from your room, if you want, but I don’t think that’ll make your head hurt any less.”

“But—” 

“Come on, hot stuff. You didn’t let it go at my place the other time. Do you really think I will?”

Conner’s shoulders droop. He doesn’t bother with a reply, only gets to his feet. He shuts his eyes before he takes a single step. 

“Your room is behind the frosted glass doors, right?” Dick asks. He slides open the balcony door. 

Krypto’s ears perk up at the sound. He gets up from where he’s been napping most of the evening and comes to sniff at Conner’s legs. When Conner doesn’t pet or even acknowledge him, he growls. 

“I’m sorry, buddy,” Conner mutters. He still doesn’t move. His eyes are still closed. 

“Let’s get your dad to his room,” Dick tells Krypto. He reaches out, grabs Conner by the hand and starts leading them back into the living room, Krypto right behind them. Once inside, the dog trots over to the frosted glass doors and gives another low growl. 

“You are a doll,” Dick tells Krypto, and looks at Conner over his shoulder. “Are you okay with me coming into your bedroom?” 

“Of course, but you don’t need to do that. Take me there, I mean.”

“Nurse mode has been activated, and you know how hard it is to turn such things off.” 

Conner grunts in defeat. “I keep a flashlight by the bed, if you need additional light,” he offers. 

“Understood, Mr. Kent,” Dick says, and pulls the frosted glass doors open. 

It’s hard to make out much of Conner’s bedroom in the dark. The lights from the rest of the apartment give Dick enough visibility to make out the floor to ceiling closets on the opposite side of the doors. The room is as narrow and long as the rest of the apartment. There are more frosted glass doors to the left, which probably lead to the bathroom. To the right he sees a short and elongated nightstand, then Conner’s bed, and after that, there is another sliding door, half-drawn floor-to-ceiling curtains that lead to…

“So you have a whole other balcony right outside your room?” he asks in a whisper. 

“They’re the second best thing about this apartment, after the kitchen,” Conner replies, and the tiredness seeps into every word. 

Dick hums his agreement. He doesn’t let go of Conner’s hand until he’s sitting on the bed. 

“I won’t sleep yet,” Conner says. He rubs his palms across the good side of his face “I want to walk you out.”

“You don’t have to,” Dick says, walking to the other end of the room so he can pull the curtain closed. 

“I want to,” Conner insists. “I’ll take something for the pain, but I’ll stay awake.”

“If you insist,” Dick concedes. He squeezes Conner’s shoulder as he walks past the bed and towards the door. 

“I’ll be quick,” he calls, and finds Krypto waiting for him right outside the bedroom. 

“Do you want to be the sous chef this time?” he asks, rubbing the dog’s ears. After getting a friendly growl in reply, Dick smiles. “All right, bud, let’s do this quick and quiet. Your dad needs silence right now.” 

Krypto does a little jump. Dick faces the kitchen, does a quick scan of the area, then gets to work. 

He turns the water on low at the sink and washes all the dishes, including the ones they’d left on the balcony. He finds the cleaning supplies under the sink, sprays every surface with an odorless blue liquid, and wipes everything down. 

He goes out to the balcony, makes sure everything there is wiped down as well, and comes back to the kitchen to dry the dishes and put them away. 

Krypto stays with him the whole time, offering big doggy smiles and moral support. What else could Dick ask for? 

“I still want to adopt you, just so you know,” Dick says. He feeds Krypto an extra treat, then calls, “Conner?” 

Conner walks out of his room after a minute. He’s barefoot, his hair is sticking out in every single direction, and he’s unbuttoned his shirt the rest of the way down, leaving his chest and stomach in full glorious display. 

Dick’s mouth goes dry. He stares (ogles, more like it) at Conner’s chest; he can’t help it. He’d gotten an eyeful at the station, but it’s not like that sufficed. It’s not like this suffices either, because even with the bandages, the more Dick looks at Conner’s pecs the more he wants to march over there and bury his face between—

Conner speaks. Dick knows because he sees his mouth moving, but he doesn’t hear the words. He can’t react either, not even when Conner opens his mouth for a second time and the words still don't reach Dick’s ears. 

Conner frowns. Dick notices that too, but he’s fighting off the urge to drag Conner back into the room and push him down onto the bed. 

Which he shouldn’t. He mustn’t. No matter how much he wants to, the bruises on Conner’s face and chest tell him it’s anything but the right time. Conner’s face, pinched in pain as it is, is another strong reminder that Dick is on his way out because Conner is recovering from a concussion after an already taxing evening. 

Besides, he gets the feeling sex with Conner isn’t going to be as uncomplicated and easy as he’s used to… but he’ll cross that bridge once he gets to it. 

Krypto bumps his head against Dick’s leg, making him jump but also pulling him out of his own head. 

“Dick?” Conner asks. It’s not the first time he says it, Dick is sure of it. 

“Sorry… sorry,” Dick says. He smiles, embarrassed above everything else. “I get… easily distracted sometimes, that’s all.” 

“Your face is all red.” Conner squints at him, which probably makes Dick turn even redder. Something seems to occur to him, and he looks down at himself. “Oh.” 

Dick laughs, high and nervous. “If you were anyone else, I’d accuse you of teasing me on purpose.” 

The comment makes Conner flush, and he starts buttoning up his shirt with quick, clumsy movements, which makes Dick laugh even harder. 

“Don’t mind me, I’m quite enjoying the view.” He pauses. “I honestly wouldn’t mind another show like the one I got to the station, but maybe another day when you’re feeling better.”

Conner’s hands twitch. He stops fighting with the buttons,  looks at him in confusion… and then his eyes widen, and his mouth drops open. 

“Oh,” he says again, this time with incredulity. “So that’s what was bothering you that day?”

“It wasn’t a ‘what’, it was a ‘who’, and you weren’t bothering me at all,” Dick retorts. “And you can’t blame me. You have no business looking this good.” 

“I look like a beat-up cow.” 

“Oh my God, you did not just say—” Dick begins, but Conner steps forward. He brings Dick into his arms and shuts him up with a kiss that takes his breath away. 

“Well, that wasn’t fair,” Dick protests when the kiss comes to an end. He’s gripping Conner’s upper arm with one hand, well aware that his knees have gone weak. 

“Thank you for tonight. You are the only good thing that’s happened to me this past week,” is Conner’s gentle reply. 

Dick grips his arm harder. “Still not playing fair, Kent.” 

“I’m too tired to care much about fairness right now, Dickie.”

Fuck. 

The words go straight not only to his soul but to other places. He really should leave now. 

“I had a wonderful time tonight, too,” Dick says instead. He manages to keep his voice steady. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t last longer tonight. I usually don’t get tired so fast.”

Jesus. Christ. 

“Well, you’ll just have to make it up to me another day, won’t you?” Dick says. He’s trying very hard not to hyperventilate. 

“I will.” Conner vows, and kisses him again. “Good night, gorgeous.” 

Dick is left rooted in place and trying not to combust after that. Frozen, he watches Conner and Krypto head for the door. Conner picks up the jacket Dick had brought with him, the one he’d never returned. Without hesitation, Conner unfolds it and holds it out to him. 

Dick’s not sure how his legs manage to get him to the front door. Somehow he makes it there, though, and somehow he lets Conner slide the jacket over his shoulders, and somehow he slides his own arms through the sleeves. 

“I’ll bring it back,” he hears himself say. 

“I know.”

There’s one more kiss, the last one for tonight, and then the end finally comes. 

“Good night, Conner,” he says. “Good night, Krypto.”

“Sleep well, Dickie.”

Dick holds his breath. He doesn’t let it out until he’s walking down the first flight of stairs. He gets back to the lobby, walks out of the building. 

Once outside, he looks up at the night sky. 

He’s fucked. Ten times over and under. He’s so screwed. But it’s not like this is a new discovery, is it? He is fucked… and for once, that might actually be a good thing.

Chapter Text

Dick has dinner over at Conner’s apartment several times as spring bursts into its full and glorious bloom and Conner recuperates from his injuries.

He doesn’t plan on it, and he doesn’t think Conner plans it either. It just happens once, and it keeps happening, and neither of them says much about it. 

The first time it’s an accident. It’s a couple of days after their dinner date. Conner mentions in his morning texts that he really needs to go out to get eggs and pancake mix, and beef bones for Krypto’s special treat, so Dick does what any sensible person would do. 

“Your place is kind of on my way home, anyway,” he says when he shows up at Conner’s apartment after his shift. He’s got two bags of groceries in his arms. 

Conner -face still swollen, but chest bandages gone- looks dismayed. “You didn’t have to bring me any of this.”

“I know, but I wanted to.” 

“Dick, you’re very sweet. How much was it? I’ll reimburse you.”

“No.”

“But—”

“Oh my God!” Cassie calls from the inside. She comes to stand next to Conner and glares up at him. “Why are you still standing here? Why is he still standing out there? Invite him in!” She turns to Dick, this time with the brightest and kindest smile on her pretty face. “Hi, Dick! Please come in!” 

Conner hangs his head. “I was getting to that,” he tells her through gritted teeth. 

“Dinner is almost ready, if you want to stay,” Cassie goes on as if he hadn't spoken. 

Conner rubs his forehead with his hand. “Cassie—” he begins, but she only lets out a laugh and wanders back inside before he can say anything else. 

Dick’s lips twitch. “I can go, if you want. Or if you’ve already got a crowd in there.”

Conner frowns. “No, no. Sorry. I’m just a bit slow… well, slower than usual, today. I’m glad to see you, and thank you for bringing me all this. I’d love it if you stayed for dinner.” His frown deepens. “If you can, of course. I don’t want to keep you here if you have other things to do or other places to be. You can also make something up. Cassie will chat your ear off if you stay.” 

Dick laughs. “Worried she might tell me some of your embarrassing childhood stories?”

“Uh, not really. I didn’t meet Cassie until I was twenty t—oh, never mind. Here, let me help with those.” Conner reaches out to grab the bag of groceries, and Dick is quick to hand him the smaller, lighter one. 

When Conner purses his lips in disapproval, Dick steps in closer and gives him a light kiss. 

“Nice try, handsome,” he says. 

Conner blinks. He looks down at the grocery bag he’s holding, then at Dick. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, settles the bag onto one of his arms. After a second of hesitation, he cups Dick’s cheek with his free hand and gives him an equally quick kiss. 

“Come on in,” he mumbles when he pulls away.

Dick is happy to follow, a smile on his face. 

Krypto welcomes him right away. There are several excited barks and even more excited licks. Dick manages to get two full hugs before Krypto decides he’s been generous enough. The dog trots off to join Cassie, who's sitting in front of the TV doing… 

“Is that a puzzle?” Dick asks, setting the bag of groceries on top of the kitchen island. 

“Yes. Two thousand pieces,” Conner replies. He goes back to the kitchen to attend to whatever he has sizzling on the stove. 

“We started it the day after CK came home,” Cassie says. She pats Krypto on the head, though most of her attention is on the pieces in front of her.

“They work on it while they take turns babysitting me,” Conner informs, tone dry. 

“Well, it’s not like you offer much conversation to keep us entertained while we are here being the bestest of friends.”

“We work together, Cassie. We hear each other more than enough already.” 

Cassie grabs a pillow from the sofa and throws it at him with all her might. It lands uselessly between the kitchen and the living room. 

“I heard that,” Conner says without turning around. 

Cassie huffs. She beckons Dick over. “Come, Dick. You can help me here while CK finishes cooking.” 

“Thanks, Cassie, but if Conner needs any help here I’m happy to—”

“He doesn’t like having people in his kitchen space,” Cassie cuts him off. She throws another pillow. “Right, CK?”

This time, Conner does look at her over his shoulder. He narrows his eyes, then turns to Dick and holds out a hand. 

“I could use your help,” he says. 

Cassie gasps, loud and dramatic. She stares at them with wide eyes, and when Dick takes the offered hand and lets Conner pull him to his side by the stove, she dives for something on the sofa. 

“You are unbelievable!” she yells, raising her phone. She might or might not snap a picture of the two of them to send to a group chat. She might also use it to complain about the preferential treatment and unfairness of life, but at that moment, Dick can’t be sure. 

(Days later, Dick finds out that’s exactly what she did.) 

The second time he shows up, it’s because it’s Bart’s turn to ‘babysit’ Conner and he asked if Dick was coming over to eat with them. 

“He asked for me?” Dick asks into the phone. He’s storing his shoes inside his locker after finishing his shift. 

“Yes. He said Cassie and Tim have spent more time with you than he has, and he doesn’t think that’s fair at all.” Conner clears his throat. “He said other things I’d rather not repeat, too.”

“About me?”

“About us.”

“Ah, well, now I’m curious.”

“Nothing bad, I promise. He’s just… excited.”

Dick closes his locker and picks up his backpack. “About what?”

Conner sighs. There’s silence on the other end of the line. And then, with as much willingness as a child getting their teeth pulled, Conner speaks again. “I’ve never… had a boyfriend, and he wasn’t around to meet the… special women in my life. I mean, he knows Cassie, but that doesn’t… it doesn’t count. At all . I think he’s just… uh… happy for me. I guess.” 

Under normal circumstances, Dick would take that opportunity to say something like, ‘I am deeply honored,' ‘Be still my heart’,  or even something as cocky as,‘I promise to be gentle with you.  His mind, however, is stuck on one thing only. 

“Boyfriend, huh?” he says.

Conner clears his throat a second time. “I… am well aware it sounds kind of like a silly label.”

“Does it, now?” Dick is grinning; he can’t help it. 

More silence. Some rustling. Is Conner panicking? It would be kind of adorable if he were. 

“Is it too soon?” Conner ends up asking, and this time, there’s plenty of worry in his voice. “Sorry. I clearly don't know— or have a lot of— maybe it’s better if I say—”

Dick’s smile vanishes. He slings his bag over his shoulder and heads for the exit. “I need to stop you right there, Kent.”

Conner doesn’t listen. “Then again, we’ve only been on one date, so I understand if you—”

“Hold that thought. I’ll be there in fifteen,” he says. He hangs up and pulls up the Uber app, because taking the bus will take too long. Dick knows the beginnings of an emotional spiral when he hears one, and he’s not going to let Conner go through something he has plenty of terrible experiences with himself.  

He’s knocking on Conner’s front door sixteen minutes after he said he would. 

The door swings open. Krypto barks in the background. Conner is now standing under the doorway, brow furrowed in concern. 

“Dick—” he says, and that’s as far as he gets before Dick throws his arms around his neck and kisses the rest of the words away. 

“I proposed to you the first time I met you,” Dick tells him from only a couple of inches away. “Do you remember that?”

Conner blinks at him. He settles his hand on Dick’s waist. “Well, yes, because you said you wanted shared custody of Krypto.” 

“Which I still do, but that’s not the point.” Dick kisses him again. “The point is, I proposed marriage the first time I spoke to you. Do you really think the word ‘boyfriend’ is going to scare me off?” Dick kisses him a third time. “Let me tell you: it won’t. I’m happy to be your boyfriend. And just so you know… I don’t think I’ve ever quite had one either.” 

Conner’s eyebrows climb up into his hairline. He doesn’t say anything, but the surprise is almost palpable as he starts rubbing one hand up and down Dick’s side. 

“Penny for your thoughts,” Dick says. 

Conner shrugs. “I guess I’m surprised. You called me a heartbreaker, but if I had expected anyone to be one, I’d put my money on you.”

“Do I look like one?”

“I feel like that’s a trick question.” 

Dick laughs. “I’ve… gone out with plenty of people,” he admits, weighing his words. “I’ve hung out with a lot of people, but you’re kind of my first boyfriend too, and I was eighteen the last time I had a girlfriend.”

Conner considers this. “So we’re both kind of starting out from the same place?”