[email log] June - the heart wants what it wants
Summary: After opposite plot, Dick and Vanessa get better acquainted, talking about their lives and loves. Warning: non-explicit implications of incest.
The opposite days had taken a toll on their family. Driven Cassie out, and taken Donna with her. Kon had become more and more scarce. Jill almost never came to the treehouse anymore. Dinah kept to herself. Monet and Karo had been sorting out their feelings with the arrival of Karo's teammates, and Monet's, and more and more, it was just him and Tim. They didn't really need to build a hut of their own, as empty as the treehouses were getting, but once they'd started talking about it, they hadn't stopped. It filled up hours, talking and laughing and planning the perfect home for two wayward vigilantes with nothing to do but each other.
This afternoon, they'd taken lunch together and were doing much the same. Sitting in the grass, with Tim resting his back against one of Dick's knees and the other one bent over Tim's outstretched legs. Much the same, but punctuated by lazy, sweet, drugging kisses that they didn't have time to pursue but could enjoy for their own sake. Eventually, Tim had to get back to work and Dick had projects as well. So they parted, Tim getting up, and Dick dragging him back down for one last kiss before spinning him off laughing with a private and intimate threat for later. He sat back, running a hand through his hair and smiling at the sun.
Nessa hadn't been staring, she wouldn't even admit she'd been glancing with some appreciation, before she actually passed them. Lytton would have died of jealousy, to see two such pretty young men so sweetly and shamelessly kissing on the green, dry grass. Nessa had merely smiled. It had been odd, even for her, to see this unabashed behaviour. She may have always been very open to and in relationships, she was still from a very different time.
They bore certain resemblances, but perhaps that was simply beauty making symmetry.
When she walked by, the boy had left, and Dick sat as he sat best; in a pose.
"It's definitely a perfect day for just that," Nessa said in greeting.
"For which, Vanessa?" Dick answered without opening his eyes. He'd seen her noticing them earlier, and would've recognized her voice besides. "The kissing or the sunbathing?"
His lips quirked and curved around a tone light as the breeze and as innocent. They'd been working on the museum project just long enough for him to know she wouldn't be scandalized by him having a male lover, which made it time to tease her a little for looking.
"Both, I'd say," Nessa admitted, with a wicked smile of her own. "Though if I were in your place I would have shed my clothing long ago. Also, for both."
"He's very handsome," she mused.
A bright laugh escaped him for that point, eyes opening and flashing merrily at her. "In my place, I would've too. But Tim's pretty shy. Kissing in public's kind of a stretch for him."
He gestured broadly to the space next to him. "Come sit with me. I'll even hold still long enough for you to sketch me, if you want," he suggests lightheartedly. "I can talk about Timmy long enough for you to finish something." He could talk about Tim forever and never run out of things to say.
Like a truly obdurate smoker continuously had a cigarette near, Nessa was seldom without a sketch-pad. She kept it in a bag, self-made from a colourful dress the clothes-box had provided some time ago and that she carried with her almost always.
She accepted the offer and sat down carefully, reclining on the tree. "There's no need to hold still, though you do seem to have a knack for posing," she smiled and took the pad and a pencil from the bag.
Young love; was there a prettier sight? "Is he very shy? I wouldn't have guessed." But she waved away her mistake lightly. "You look rather alike from a distance. But talk to me about him then, this shy boy of yours."
Eyebrow lifting, Dick shifted, flowed from one pose into another and another, like a bird settling on its roost. Or - Roy's voice chided - a peacock parading its plumage. He told his peanut gallery to hush, then settled on his side, arm propping up his head, and legs loosely arrayed but ending in a perfect point...flex...point...flex. Even when he sat still, something still moved, and in most cases it was his feet, constant motion, rhythmic not fidgety, in part to keep the tendons from stiffening but in part a habit of youth.
"I grew up in the circus," he answered, by way of explanation. "Adjusting myself to an audience is still instinctive. Unlike Tim." A flicker of a smile, since Robin played to a crowd well. It was just Tim who didn't. "My little brother - we're not related by blood," he clarified, since they do look similar enough that people had - by design - made that mistake. "Grew up very differently. His family valued a child that knew how to stay out of the way. My parents were murdered when I was twelve and I was taken in by a neighbor of Tim's family, and when his parents were murdered a few years ago, Bruce took him in too. So we're sort of family, but 'little brother' is more a term of endearment than an actual fact. Obviously."
"Little things in love are obvious," Nessa said, musingly, mostly to herself, because she couldn't not say it. His story had still shocked her. "I can't imagine what you must have gone through to lose them so young and so violently. That's awful."
Dick cocked his head, hearing something in her tone that interested him. "What do you mean, 'little things in love are obvious'?" Reluctant to move when it might disrupt her sketching, he blew his bangs out of his eyes rather than reaching up for them. They fell soft and scattered again, the gesture having been entirely unhelpful except to unstick his too long hair from his eyelashes. "My childhood was unusual, I'll give you that, but I had everything I needed to get past it." Except a surplus of affection, and that had come later. As his shrinks had pointed out, it was also the reason for his libido and his tendency toward promiscuity but he preferred to think of that as nature rather than lack of nurture.
"Oh, well, little things are," Nessa said, not certain what he wanted to hear. It sounded very clear to her. "Love takes us whichever way it does, and to whoever it wants. You can't truly help what you feel in any case, or for who you feel it."
The construction had thrown him, since the phrasing wasn't American, but now that she'd said it, he smiled. "Oh, you mean that it might not be obvious Tim and I aren't actually related because the heart wants what it wants." Considering how he felt about his 'father figure' he knew that was true. "It's true. I have a large extended family and they all tease me that I usually end up calling someone family right around the same time I either do sleep with them or want to. Tim's been family a lot longer than he's been a lover, though."
"I have had my loves and in a way were all family. All part of what we called the Bloomsbury Group," Nessa said with a melancholic, but pleased smile. She didn't live in the past, but sometimes she found she missed it. And now that he sister had died she wondered if it would ever be the same.
Dick leaned up a little more to meet her gaze and put sympathy in his. "You must miss them. Does it help to talk about them? I'd love to hear about the people you love, if you want to tell me."
Nessa was well-aware of her rueful smile, and since the boy had also shared with her, she spoke. "My sister, Virginia, died shortly before I got here. I had just received a call from her husband urging me to come by. She... I loved her dearly, but she had a troubled mind." A troubled mind that she sometimes saw reflected on Julian more than she would like to. "She was a writer, you really ought to read some of her books. A great talent."
"I'm sorry," he said kindly, knowing how it had been for Tim arriving just after his dad and Stephanie. "That must've made your arrival even more painful." Something clicked then, in reference to Virginia and great writers. "I think I may know some of your sister's writing. What's her full name?"
"Woolf. Virginia Woolf," she said and saw in Dick's face that he knew her name. "Oh, I am pleased to know that her name has travelled. She would never believe it, of course. Dearest sis."
"She's very famous, Vanessa," Dick answered, smiling softly with being able to give her that news. "In 2009, she's one of the most well-known and widely read authors of her generation. Now that you connect it for me, I remember reading about the Bloomsbury Group too."
Nessa nodded to his kind words. "Yes, I know, but it's quite unreal. 2009! Some might have thought that the end of the world in my time."
She paused for a second. "If only I could have told her that. Perhaps... perhaps that would have persuaded her. I miss her so very much. I truly loved her." Her words were wistful and her mention of love sounded perhaps more like that of a lost lover than of a sister.
“Then she was a very lucky woman.” Dick arched up, pulling his feet under him cross-legged, then drawing his knees up to wrap his arms around them. “What was she like?” Giving Vanessa a chance to remember her sister, and maybe more, to someone who would understand wasn't just nice; she was a living slice of history, and memory was an important part of building a community.
The opposite days had taken a toll on their family. Driven Cassie out, and taken Donna with her. Kon had become more and more scarce. Jill almost never came to the treehouse anymore. Dinah kept to herself. Monet and Karo had been sorting out their feelings with the arrival of Karo's teammates, and Monet's, and more and more, it was just him and Tim. They didn't really need to build a hut of their own, as empty as the treehouses were getting, but once they'd started talking about it, they hadn't stopped. It filled up hours, talking and laughing and planning the perfect home for two wayward vigilantes with nothing to do but each other.
This afternoon, they'd taken lunch together and were doing much the same. Sitting in the grass, with Tim resting his back against one of Dick's knees and the other one bent over Tim's outstretched legs. Much the same, but punctuated by lazy, sweet, drugging kisses that they didn't have time to pursue but could enjoy for their own sake. Eventually, Tim had to get back to work and Dick had projects as well. So they parted, Tim getting up, and Dick dragging him back down for one last kiss before spinning him off laughing with a private and intimate threat for later. He sat back, running a hand through his hair and smiling at the sun.
Nessa hadn't been staring, she wouldn't even admit she'd been glancing with some appreciation, before she actually passed them. Lytton would have died of jealousy, to see two such pretty young men so sweetly and shamelessly kissing on the green, dry grass. Nessa had merely smiled. It had been odd, even for her, to see this unabashed behaviour. She may have always been very open to and in relationships, she was still from a very different time.
They bore certain resemblances, but perhaps that was simply beauty making symmetry.
When she walked by, the boy had left, and Dick sat as he sat best; in a pose.
"It's definitely a perfect day for just that," Nessa said in greeting.
"For which, Vanessa?" Dick answered without opening his eyes. He'd seen her noticing them earlier, and would've recognized her voice besides. "The kissing or the sunbathing?"
His lips quirked and curved around a tone light as the breeze and as innocent. They'd been working on the museum project just long enough for him to know she wouldn't be scandalized by him having a male lover, which made it time to tease her a little for looking.
"Both, I'd say," Nessa admitted, with a wicked smile of her own. "Though if I were in your place I would have shed my clothing long ago. Also, for both."
"He's very handsome," she mused.
A bright laugh escaped him for that point, eyes opening and flashing merrily at her. "In my place, I would've too. But Tim's pretty shy. Kissing in public's kind of a stretch for him."
He gestured broadly to the space next to him. "Come sit with me. I'll even hold still long enough for you to sketch me, if you want," he suggests lightheartedly. "I can talk about Timmy long enough for you to finish something." He could talk about Tim forever and never run out of things to say.
Like a truly obdurate smoker continuously had a cigarette near, Nessa was seldom without a sketch-pad. She kept it in a bag, self-made from a colourful dress the clothes-box had provided some time ago and that she carried with her almost always.
She accepted the offer and sat down carefully, reclining on the tree. "There's no need to hold still, though you do seem to have a knack for posing," she smiled and took the pad and a pencil from the bag.
Young love; was there a prettier sight? "Is he very shy? I wouldn't have guessed." But she waved away her mistake lightly. "You look rather alike from a distance. But talk to me about him then, this shy boy of yours."
Eyebrow lifting, Dick shifted, flowed from one pose into another and another, like a bird settling on its roost. Or - Roy's voice chided - a peacock parading its plumage. He told his peanut gallery to hush, then settled on his side, arm propping up his head, and legs loosely arrayed but ending in a perfect point...flex...point...flex. Even when he sat still, something still moved, and in most cases it was his feet, constant motion, rhythmic not fidgety, in part to keep the tendons from stiffening but in part a habit of youth.
"I grew up in the circus," he answered, by way of explanation. "Adjusting myself to an audience is still instinctive. Unlike Tim." A flicker of a smile, since Robin played to a crowd well. It was just Tim who didn't. "My little brother - we're not related by blood," he clarified, since they do look similar enough that people had - by design - made that mistake. "Grew up very differently. His family valued a child that knew how to stay out of the way. My parents were murdered when I was twelve and I was taken in by a neighbor of Tim's family, and when his parents were murdered a few years ago, Bruce took him in too. So we're sort of family, but 'little brother' is more a term of endearment than an actual fact. Obviously."
"Little things in love are obvious," Nessa said, musingly, mostly to herself, because she couldn't not say it. His story had still shocked her. "I can't imagine what you must have gone through to lose them so young and so violently. That's awful."
Dick cocked his head, hearing something in her tone that interested him. "What do you mean, 'little things in love are obvious'?" Reluctant to move when it might disrupt her sketching, he blew his bangs out of his eyes rather than reaching up for them. They fell soft and scattered again, the gesture having been entirely unhelpful except to unstick his too long hair from his eyelashes. "My childhood was unusual, I'll give you that, but I had everything I needed to get past it." Except a surplus of affection, and that had come later. As his shrinks had pointed out, it was also the reason for his libido and his tendency toward promiscuity but he preferred to think of that as nature rather than lack of nurture.
"Oh, well, little things are," Nessa said, not certain what he wanted to hear. It sounded very clear to her. "Love takes us whichever way it does, and to whoever it wants. You can't truly help what you feel in any case, or for who you feel it."
The construction had thrown him, since the phrasing wasn't American, but now that she'd said it, he smiled. "Oh, you mean that it might not be obvious Tim and I aren't actually related because the heart wants what it wants." Considering how he felt about his 'father figure' he knew that was true. "It's true. I have a large extended family and they all tease me that I usually end up calling someone family right around the same time I either do sleep with them or want to. Tim's been family a lot longer than he's been a lover, though."
"I have had my loves and in a way were all family. All part of what we called the Bloomsbury Group," Nessa said with a melancholic, but pleased smile. She didn't live in the past, but sometimes she found she missed it. And now that he sister had died she wondered if it would ever be the same.
Dick leaned up a little more to meet her gaze and put sympathy in his. "You must miss them. Does it help to talk about them? I'd love to hear about the people you love, if you want to tell me."
Nessa was well-aware of her rueful smile, and since the boy had also shared with her, she spoke. "My sister, Virginia, died shortly before I got here. I had just received a call from her husband urging me to come by. She... I loved her dearly, but she had a troubled mind." A troubled mind that she sometimes saw reflected on Julian more than she would like to. "She was a writer, you really ought to read some of her books. A great talent."
"I'm sorry," he said kindly, knowing how it had been for Tim arriving just after his dad and Stephanie. "That must've made your arrival even more painful." Something clicked then, in reference to Virginia and great writers. "I think I may know some of your sister's writing. What's her full name?"
"Woolf. Virginia Woolf," she said and saw in Dick's face that he knew her name. "Oh, I am pleased to know that her name has travelled. She would never believe it, of course. Dearest sis."
"She's very famous, Vanessa," Dick answered, smiling softly with being able to give her that news. "In 2009, she's one of the most well-known and widely read authors of her generation. Now that you connect it for me, I remember reading about the Bloomsbury Group too."
Nessa nodded to his kind words. "Yes, I know, but it's quite unreal. 2009! Some might have thought that the end of the world in my time."
She paused for a second. "If only I could have told her that. Perhaps... perhaps that would have persuaded her. I miss her so very much. I truly loved her." Her words were wistful and her mention of love sounded perhaps more like that of a lost lover than of a sister.
“Then she was a very lucky woman.” Dick arched up, pulling his feet under him cross-legged, then drawing his knees up to wrap his arms around them. “What was she like?” Giving Vanessa a chance to remember her sister, and maybe more, to someone who would understand wasn't just nice; she was a living slice of history, and memory was an important part of building a community.