Chapter Twenty Two

It’d been a week since he’d almost died to his own negligence. Since he was rescued by a certain blonde. Since he had yelled at a brunette and a redhead he thought had loved him. Since he’d kissed Harley.

Dick hadn’t felt this good in years.

They hadn’t even slept together yet, but he actually felt alive for the first time in months. He woke up with energy, with something to look forward to. He’d started cleaning again, cooking again. He did laundry, and tidied. The flat had never looked so pristine, even with half-demolished walls. And obviously Harls had noticed it.

They’d been staying together most of the time during the days, when they weren’t sleeping for their night job. He’d love to say that they alternated which flat they hung out at, but when he’d proposed coming over to her’s the first time she had laughed and told him absolutely not. She insisted that his place was twenty times bigger and nicer than her shoebox, and she was taking advantage of it when he’d let her.

And… well, he had to admit she was right, having been to her place. She’d made it homey, filled it with things that felt like Harls, but that only went so far to hide the fact it was probably not even a legal sized one-bed. Plus, there was a part of him that loved her in his space, hence the obsessive cleaning.

He wasn’t going to mention it. That wasn’t how these things worked, you didn’t mention the changes to obvious mental health you saw. Except, she did. She’d told him she was proud of him for doing so well, but he didn’t need to do it for her. She wanted him to do it for himself, not to impress her.

That had really poleaxed him. When was the last time anyone was that clear and open with him? Anyone communicated so cleanly? It was fucking amazing, he decided. The place was still tidy, but he didn’t spend hours of his day to keep it again, only enough to feel comfortable.

He felt like he actually was alive for the first time since he came back from Spyral, where before he had been a ghost too **** to realise he was dead.

Then there was Harley. Harls. Harleen. All of her, it didn’t matter. They were acting like teenagers in their first relationship. Shy side-eyeing as they beat up crooks. Flirty banter as they washed dishes shoulder-to-shoulder, bumping hips. Secret smiles as they ran rooftops, so focused on one another they would have fallen if not for years of practice.

And the kisses! Never had he wanted to kiss someone so much. Everything she did felt like it was designed specifically to prompt the desire in him. The little bit of Brooklyn that crept into her voice when she got worked up. The way she popped her hip. The silent challenges she made when she tried to outdo him on some gymnastic move, and her eyes would sparkle and one eyebrow would bounce.

The worst culprit was the way she ran the tip of her tongue over her lips when she was thinking or focusing on something at home. That never failed to reel him in to press a speedster-quick kiss to her cheek, temple, hair, lips, anywhere he could get.

She seemed to think the same, though he didn’t have the foggiest what it was he did to set her off. But he got just as many fly-by kisses. Even Star hadn’t been so persistently affectionate with him, but then again, he’d never really been like this with her either. He’d been too focused on the mission, too worried about losing control.

All of which was to say, Dick was practically at golden retriever puppy levels of energy that day, with no real outlet on offer. Harls was sat reading one of his books, the ones he read and then kept for Jason to feel comfortable in his place, and he’d been watching something meaningless on TV again.

It wasn’t bad, per se, but… he wanted something more. Which frightened him, because he hadn’t truly wanted to do anything more than the basics in years now. He didn’t even think he knew how, truth be told. What did Dick Grayson enjoy as a hobby?

Once, he would have gone downstairs and jumped on the uneven bars in the cave for an hour or two. Or he would have gone out and found a coffee shop to people-watch, like he used to do with Cass. Or any of a half-dozen other things with his family, really. But, without that, what did he enjoy doing?

It was a worrying question. He knew about dependant relationships, how it was ruinous to place too much of your stability on your partner. He knew, and he was trying so hard not to pin his happiness on Harls. Which meant occupying himself when they weren’t actively doing something. He just didn’t know how to, exactly.

Paper rustled as Harley marked her page with a bookmark he’d made her and closed it with a light thump. The bookmark was just a little piece of card that he’d drawn the Nightwing symbol on in blue and filled with little black and red diamonds, but she seemed to like it and that was enough.

She raised an eyebrow at him, but apparently still couldn’t shake the little smile that Dick knew was also stuck on his face whenever he looked at her. Her lips opened to say something.

Dick’s phone rang on the coffee table.

They both looked at it with some surprise. It hadn’t made a peep in the last week. He didn’t exactly have a long list of people that gave a fuck about him anymore, after all. Donna and Kori had tried to get ahold of him after that night, but he’d set their calls to silent and kept his texts simple. He didn’t want to talk about it, like they kept asking for, and it was okay, they could stop feeling like they needed to worry about him.

For some reason, they kept trying though, and he started just ignoring it instead. He’d gotten one or two from Babs too, but she hadn’t tried to badger him when he didn’t offer any more detail. Besides, he knew that she’d gotten access to the cameras. He had it set to give him an encoded notification when the protocol was activated, so when he saw it later that day, he’d nuked the surveillance system. It would be a pain to set up another, but better that than risking Bruce or Babs spying on him and Harls.

The phone shouldn’t be ringing was the point. Anything hero-based would have come through his work phone in one of the kitchen cupboards, or his communicator, wherever that old thing was. The only people that his personal phone was set to allow to ring were-

Dick lunged at the phone, panic overtaking him when the call stopped before his fingers reached it. Not again. It couldn’t happen again. Oh god, please, not again-

“Dickie, hey, deep breaths, ‘kay?”

Harls had her hand on his, squeezing tight enough to centre him. A breath shuddered out of him, and he answered the unasked question, “Only people it rings for are emergencies or family. Last time I missed a call-”

Shattered bones. Bloody crowbar. Scorched and bloodstained yellow and green. Terrified eyes, resignation just sinking in as the red leds beeped-

“It was tha’ second Robin?”

He nodded, fingers flying to open the device and move to the call log.

The phone rang again before he could read it, and he answered without looking at the name. “Hey! Hi, sorry, I left my phone in the other room and missed the call and-”

“Take a chill pill, Richie. It’s just me, and I’m all good.”

Helena’s polished accent was calming, and Dick let out a sigh of relief, “Jesus, Hel, would it kill you to text first?”

“I did. Three times. An hour ago.” He could hear the slight reprimand, and the very large smirk, in her voice.

“Oh.”

“Oh indeed. What’s got you so distracted, hmm?”

She was teasing, and there was no way she could know the truth, but a fierce red blush broke on his face anyway. Harley raised an eyebrow, and that reminded him she was right there.

He rolled off the couch, waving for her to stay there, and wandered over to the kitchen as he replied, “Nothing much, just, uh… Don’t pay much attention to my phone these days, I guess.”

She hummed slightly, “Is that so… Dick, you know how I’d love to say this is a mere catch-up call, but-”

Dick went still, “Huntress or Matron?”

“Helena.” Her voice admonished kindly, and he blinked with confusion, “Listen, Dick… Barbara called me asking about Agent 37.”

This time, Dick didn’t just go still. Every muscle he had tensed and froze, his mind torn between fear of his secrets being unearthed and an almost incoherent rage. Helena was still speaking, though.

“From the sounds of it, I’d guess you thought you were in one of the tests again. Apparently you almost took down one of the Amazons?”

The rage managed to outweigh the fear, at least for the moment, “I don’t need checking on, and you can tell Babs that. Also, while you’re at it, tell her to kindly stop spying on me or-”

“I won’t be telling her anything, thank you very much.” Helena was curt, and sharp, in her interruption, but then her voice softened as it only seemed to do for a few people, “Dick, we’ve established that I’d cut Barbara’s brakes at the top of a hill and record it as she rolled into the lake at the bottom for fun. I’m not asking as her messenger, I’m asking because I care for your stupid ass and hearing this damn well worried me.”

…Dick sighed. “Yeah, yeah. I guess you wouldn’t help Babs, would you?” He wasn’t sure about how much she cared, and how much she just felt responsible, but…at least he knew both were there to some degree with Helena. He couldn’t say that for anyone else, really. He knew most of everyone else only cared if they felt responsible in some way.

He palmed his forehead, “I’m fine, Helena. No need for worry.”

“Really? Because it sounds like you’re falling the fuck apart. You promised me you’d call if it was bad, but I don’t seem to have any calls.”

His lips pulled up a little, “Hel, really. I actually mean it. I feel good. The best I have since we got back. I…”

He glanced over and caught Harley peeking at him over her book. Instead of pretending she wasn’t snooping, she lowered the book a bit more and grinned at him. He chuckled a little and met her eyes as he spoke, “I met someone, actually. Someone I never expected. She’s amazing, Hel.”

“...She sounds it, loverboy. I can practically hear you swooning. Anyone I might know?”

He knew he shouldn’t. She had been Batgirl for a while, after all. She’d fought Harley for sure, at some point. But the choice was honestly out of his hands the moment an honest-to-god giggle escaped him. He choked it off, but the damage was done.

He could feel the perfectly shaped eyebrow judgmentally lifting as he unconvincingly said, “Oh, uh, you could, ahem, you could say that.”

“Dick, what are you hiding…?”

“Sorry Hel! Gotta go, she’s looking at me funny.” Harley was, in fact, not doing that. At least, not until he said it, and then she was making cross-eyed faces with her tongue out, which made him want to laugh as much as they made him want to kiss her again.

“Richard John Grayson-”

“NICE TALKING TO YOU, TEXT YOU BACK, BYE!” He mashed the little red end-call button, then giggled again.

He speculatively looked at the blonde kneeling on the sofa to face him over the back of it. She was laughing at him, having abandoned her book, and she looked positively cozy. Casual clothes, but nothing she couldn’t go out on the streets wearing. The perfect outfit for another crazy risky idea that he desperately wanted to go through with.

Sure, he’d have to deal with Helena’s endless questions, but if there was any Bat who would hear about this and approve, it was probably her.

He thumbed a button on the side of his phone, and lifted it to face her at a perfect moment. Her smile stretched her cheeks with laughter, her blue eyes sparkled as they opened to look at him, her hair fell in golden waves around her shoulders before shifting into fading dyed colour, and best of all? She looked happy.

—

Helena’s phone pinged, and she narrowed her eyes when she saw a message notification from Dick. It didn’t have a preview because he’d sent an image.

She opened her message chain with him, then almost dropped her phone in shock.

Helena: Is that Harley Quinn?

Dick: Guess it is someone you know!

Helena: YOU MEANT HARLEY QUINN?!?

Dick: If I say yes, will you tattle?

Helena: Fuck no.
Helena: Wait. On one condition, actually.
Helena: Are you sure she feels right?

Dick: She makes me feel alive.

Helena: Good. I want her number though.

Dick: ??

Helena: How else am I meant to tell her the variety of **** I can do if she hurts you?

Dick: You can’t threaten my new girlfriend!

Helena: Watch me~