Title: And I remain umoved, and yet (Reference) Series: Three red word Story #5 Fandom: DCU (AU from Nightwing #93 and mid-Robin: Unmasked, spoilers in an AU way for Identity Crisis and Under the Hood) Summary: Dick learned his resolve from Bruce. Pairing: Bruce/Dick Rating: Content some readers may find disturbing. Notes: Betty listened. Te poked me until I made it comprehensible. Flamebird and Jay are off beating the snot out of a smallish cartel, showing them why they're supposed to stay out of the 'haven. That leaves Nightwing the rest of the city, which is even less sweat than it would've been back when he was working night and day to cover this beat. It's an ordinary Thursday night. He's in an alley, trying to figure out which way to head next and keeping an eye on a Ferrari that has no right to be in this part of town, when the shadows behind him make an unmistakeable sound. He doesn't turn around. Saying hello would be redundant. The simplest thing he can do is ask, "So -- what are you going to do if I hit you?" "You can't." The voice from the shadows is exactly what he expected. Nobody's ever sounded exactly like that, though lots of people, Dick included, have had occasion to try. Bruce is one of the few people without superspeed who's still this confident around Nightwing. "Maybe not -- even after all that League training. But if I try?" "I would dodge. And retaliate." "Makes sense." He's not sure he wants to fill the silence -- he knows that interrogation technique, too -- but he does want to know the answer to the question, "And what if I kiss you?" It's as silent as if there's no one there. "Look, I know Jason's not me -- and Tim sure isn't -- and you didn't have sex with them because you missed me. They're my -- my team, now. I know their capabilities. And I know them." Dick sighs. "But I thought I knew you." More silence. It's possible that someone might have left, that the prospective carjackers are going to think Nightwing's losing his mind, but there are more questions to ask. "Why did you kiss Tim? What kind of --" "Affection." It sounds wrong in Batman voice, but also true. "Right." Dick rubs the back of his neck, not incidentally testing the integrity of various types of armor Tim installed there. "Same with Jason, except -- different -- different kinds of affection?" "They have few similarities." Dick laughs. "No shit." How long ago was it that he would never have said that to Bruce? Jason is wearing off on him. "So." There is a rustle in the silence. He waits. Eventually -- and it has taken so very long to be able to out-wait Bruce -- Batman says, "Was that all you wanted to know?" "You're in our city tonight," Dick says, and he turns around. Batman is eight feet away, exactly the distance he was expecting. Safe enough from the hand-to-hand techniques that everyone who knows Nightwing knows he favors. It may be time to look into augmenting them. "Why?" There is no answer for so long that he starts counting seconds to keep himself from asking again, and then minutes. "Testing the --" "No," Dick says, holding up a hand. He can feel himself smiling even though he's dizzy with irritation. "No, you're not testing our damn perimeter because you know we know when you're here. And you're not testing me right now because you would've thrown the first blow before I acknowledged you. Why?" He can hear Bruce take a breath. "You are still --" "And staying that way." Dick shrugs. "No news there. O could tell you, if you asked her. You don't have to be here to know. Are you looking for blood stains on my gloves, or what?" "You can still come home." It's easier to turn away from him than keep anything like a poker face, though it doesn't do any good to pretend that hides his feelings. "No. I can't. We can't. How many people do we have to kill to make you change your mind? There are a lot of candidates." It sounds dumb in his own head to think that he can feel Bruce close the distance between them more than hearing it, but he knows the difference. And the truth. And the way it feels when Batman's three inches away. "You won't," Bruce says in his ear, soft-edged and as gentle as he ever gets. "Don't make me prove you wrong." Dick clenches his hand into a fist but manages to keep himself still otherwise. "I'm not your partner anymore, and I'm not going to play by your damn rules." He turns, backs up a step so he's not looking up so much as over, and glares at Bruce. "None of us are." Bruce shakes his head slightly -- or maybe it's just a movement of his mouth that means the same thing. It's too easy to read him, like this, even in the dark and cowled-up. He's in pain. "It doesn't have to be this way." Bruce catches his shoulder -- too fast for Dick to dodge, even after all Jason's techniques and training, except that he knows part of himself is giving in to this. Giving in to being kissed. It's the most incredibly stupid thing Bruce could've done and -- if he'd cornered Tim or Jason -- the most predictable. They could have any of Ivy's poisons around the place, any hallucinogens, and apply the damn things as soon as he crossed the perimeter. But they don't, and Dick's not poisoning him or drugging him or anything that would be effective. He's deep into the most incredibly stupid and predictable thing he can do: hugging Bruce tightly, hating himself for it and hating Bruce for putting him in a place where he wants to. He can hear Jay in his head saying he's last-picked, and tells the voice to shut up. All kinds of half-suppressed thoughts and sublimated thoughts and wasn't that supposed to be suppressed thoughts are completely justified by the sheer heat of the kiss and how desperately he wants to give in to it. Of course this is how Bruce's mouth feels, of course this is how it feels to be held by him, pressed hard against unyielding armor. "Dammit," Dick says, trying like hell to stop clinging to Bruce and managing -- just -- to turn his head and break the kiss. "You -- we can't -- don't do this." Bruce's hand on his cheek is Batman's, gloved and precise. His voice is Bruce's, hoarse but not threatening. "Why?" Dick laughs, once. "Because we're not going to stop when you say stop." Another kiss, and his hands are clutching at Batman's cape before he realizes it. He loosens them through force of will. Bruce says, "It takes much longer to relearn a behavior than learn a new one." And that's enough to let Dick push him away and try for the Nightwing voice with everything he's got, ignoring how cold he feels and how much every nerve ending is pinging. "I don't salivate when I hear bells. I do what I think is right, and your ethics are -- are fucking flawed." "You have yet to contravene them completely." "Because nothing's come up that was so bad we had to." Dick spreads his hands. "Fortunately for us, the real lunatics go for Gotham, so we haven't had to take down the Joker." The thought is enough to make him smile. "Again. But we will, this time." "Don't." Dick hesitates for a second and is lost, embraced again and this kiss is harder, fiercer, hot enough to counteract the cold of the wall against his back. It would be so easy to apologize, put all of this aside -- hasn't he done the wrong thing before, worked with Shrike of all people, with incredibly unsavory and unethical bastards? Of course Bruce will forgive him, take him in, take him home, and they can work together and it will be just this perfect, every night. For a second he can feel the breeze on his thighs. But Stephanie is Robin, and even though his knees are getting weak, he learned his resolve from Bruce. "Let me go," he says, and this time it's Nightwing voice, as firm as it's ever been. He doesn't have to see Bruce's eyes to know how they look. It's there in his posture, forlorn, beaten. "I need you." Dick closes his eyes and knows that Bruce can see it, lenses or no lenses. Even with his eyes closed, he knows he's won. It's his turn to create silence and let Bruce fill it. "I -- I love you." There are any number of angles of attack Dick could exploit right now, but only one will land hard enough to defend him. The words are like blows, the only ranged weapons Nightwing's got apart from the modified batarangs. "You should have said that years ago. Maybe I wouldn't have learned to think for myself." Bruce takes a step back, his expression blank. It's all the clearance Dick needs to fire a grapple. "Stay out of our city, Batman." "Don't do this." Bruce catches the cable -- and those gloves are heavy enough that he won't get terminal rope burn, but it still won't be pretty. He looms over Dick again, leans in, but he's only a man. One who is sadly mistaken, at that. Someone else might take him to bed, gloss over every flaw and play out every damn fantasy, fall asleep in his arms aching and blissful and kick him out come morning. But there's no way Dick can do that; he's strong enough to back away while he knows what he could have, but giving in to temptation would be the end of that strength. "It's over, Batman." He doesn't expect the legsweep shifting into a kick to connect, and it doesn't, but Batman's dodge makes him let go of the cable. "Stay out of our city." The grapple gets him to the rooftop as fast as they ever go. In three seconds, if that, Bruce could follow. He doesn't. After waiting for three minutes, Dick goes seven blocks to one of their caches and wraps himself in a space blanket before he opens up his comm. "You out there?" "Yes, N?" It's Flamebird's voice, colder and crisper than Tim's. "What's B's 20?" It takes Flamebird half a second. "Heading for the city limits." Dick takes a deep breath. "Good." "You saw him." "It didn't work the first time," Dick says, as flatly as he can, mimicking Tim's tone. Jay laughs in both their ears. "Wondered if he'd get around to that." "I found that the best possible cure for that -- condition -- was finding a new team to work with," Flamebird says. Dick pulls the blanket's edges together and shivers. "Oh, you're firing me?" There's a note of concern in Flamebird's voice. "Not at all. We can be there in ten." "Seven, if we have to be," Jay adds. "I'm okay. Finish what you've got to. N out." He flicks the comm off and sits on the floor. The conversation with Bruce echoes in his ears, his own cold words and the promises he could've had, the hope he rejected. He feels like he's never actually been Nightwing before, not the way Tim would define it. His first official act as the new improved Nightwing is to take off his mask so he can wipe his eyes and try like hell not to cry any more than he already is. His second is to tell himself to stop being such a drama queen. He puts his mask back on, stows the blanket, and heads out to finish his patrol. Once he's airborne, waiting for the decel line to catch him off the first building, he feels like his father's son. And he laughs, and feels like himself.
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