FIC--Thank You
1. No title (but feel free to suggest one!)
2. Also, criticism is very much appreciated--yes I really do mean it. I'm unsure about a lot of the things I did in this fic and not at all attatched to it, so if you see something you don't like, feel free to rant. I'm not going to be hurt, and you'd probably be helping me out as well.
*
Dick came to slumped in the shower on his knees, water pouring over him. Over the humidity, he could smell the scent of her perfume. She always wore it, even when she went out as Tarantula, even when she--
He jerked to his feet, and shoved past the shower curtain. Stumbling out of the bathroom, he didn't even stop to grab a towel, just walked naked and shivering across the room to his bag. Distantly, he could hear someone talking to him, but all that made it through the blur of his mind was the cold drops sliding down the back of his neck and the clinking of the belt buckle.
Sharp-nailed fingers clenched on his bicep. His arm shot out automatically; he heard a snap and a sharp cry, but it was too far away. Shoving his bare wet feet into worn sneakers, he walked out the door.
*
When his mind woke, the first thing he noticed was the dampness in his clothing. The band of his underwear and the back of his shirt were completely soaked. The fine tremors running just under his skin could be put down entirely to that, he thought.
The second thing was the wary look from the woman opposite him who clutched her purse tightly to her chest as he met her eyes. Dick blinked at her, then looked to his right out the grimy window.
He had no idea where he was. Countryside, still too cold for the grass to sprout so it was that yellow-dead color (yellow roses, funeral roses, but not so pretty). Big oak tree there, with an ancient, tumbling-down rock wall near it. Probably still New England, then.
Fucking Robert Frost.
He slumped against the window, and closed his eyes.
*
Dick jolted awake at the blast of a car horn. The woman was gone (off your game Nightwing, what if there was an attack, villian/hostage/needtoknow--SHUT UP BRUCE), but the seat wasn't empty. A teenage girl with pink dreadlocks smiled hopefully at him, showing off lime braces. By the time Dick remembered that smiling back would be appropriate, and how to coax the necessary muscles to do so, she had looked away, flushing and biting her lip.
He looked back out the window. The chaos that met his eyes organized itself after a few moments into what Dick recognized as the streets of New York. Dick watched, forgetting what he saw the instant his eyes moved on, for several more stops.
Man in black coat yelling at woman in parka / two teen boys in navy school uniforms crossing the street / three men and a woman in dark business dress chatting on the corner all holding coffee / scruffy grey mutt sniffing the trash next to the opening of an alley / man in blue baseball cap pulling it off to show bright red hair--
Roy.
Dick jerked upright, then stood and made his way to the front of the swaying bus, weaving through the other passengers. He was the first off at the near stop. He could see from a block away the man walking in his direction.
Too pale, and not quite big enough, not Roy.
Dick walked past him without even noticing.
He'd go find Roy.
*
It took till he was actually standing inside with a gun two inches from his forehead that he realized he was supposed to knock.
"Shit, Wingster! Are you trying to get yourself shot?" Roy flipped the safety on and shoved the gun back into the locking cabnit, then strode out of the living room. Dick followed. "So, aside from trying for suicide-by-fellow-hero, why you here?" Roy's voice carried out from his bedroom, muffled slightly by the t-shirt he was pulling on over his boxers. "Yo, shortpants! You awake?" Then quieter, once Roy had turned to him, looked at him.
"... Dick?"
Dick stared blankly at the small pink scar along Roy's collarbone. Just a nick, really. "Where'd you get this?" he asked, reaching out to brush a finger along the scar. It was slick, and oddly cool compared to the warmth of the more textured skin around it.
"Star City, from Conner, actually. We were trying to take down this drug op, why the hell they keep running these things in Ollie's city I've got no clue," he muttered, "and I got sprayed in the face with some drug. Doped me up pretty good--I spent the rest of the night tripping over my own feet and giggling like a thirteen-year-old girl at a slumber party. Anyway, some idiot grabbed me as a hostage, and when Conner shot to take him down, he knicked me. It was actually pretty funny. The kid spent weeks apologizing, he was so frickin' embarrassed." Roy continued to speak in the same quiet voice, all the while his eyes studying Dick's face.
Dick absently noticed that he was still rubbing the scar, and pulled his hand back. He suddenly felt all the cold he'd managed to ignore.
"Dick? You wanna tell me what's going on?" Roy asked moving closer. It was a good thing he had, Dick absently noticed as his knees buckled and he slumped to the floor. Roy caught his shoulders and saved him from a pretty painful crack against the wood flooring. "Dick! Dick, look at me. Look at me, dammit!"
Dick momentarily surfaced in the maelstrom of his own thoughts to find Roy kneeling across from him, gripping his shoulders and looking extremely worried. "Are. You. Hurt? Injured--anywhere?" Roy asked slowly.
"No," he could hear the rasp in his own voice.
"Are you sick? Drugged?"
He shook his head slowly.
"Okay. Okay, good." Roy's grip relaxed marginally, and Dick sat back. "Talk to me, man. Tell me what's wrong."
Dick suddenly shuddered convulsively. He slumped against the wall and pulled his legs up against his chest. "I killed Blockbuster."
Roy's fingers tightened to iron. "... what?"
"Tarantula. She shot him. I watched. I didn't stop her. I killed him." Dick slowly raised his head to look Roy in the eyes. "I'm not sorry. I'm a murderer--and all I'm sorry for is how much I've let everyone--everyone---down." He dropped his head back down onto his knees, unable to look at Roy for a moment longer, and started to shake. "I'm a murderer."
Roy's grip tightened painfully, and then he abruptly let go. Dick heard him stand, and stalk out of the room.
The dread that had been twisting throughout his stomach at the thought of Bruce, Babs, Tim, Clark all finding out, exploded. Not Roy. Not--he wouldn't. He never had. I've fucked up before and he's never walked away. But the same insidious voice that had been chanting "murderer" from the moment the bullet pierced Blockbuster's skin said, You've never killed anyone before. You deserve it, deserve to be alone, hated.
Dick felt bile rising in his throat. The cold was spreading throughout his limbs. I deserve it.
*
He was so surprised by the creak of the door reopening he looked up immediately. He had heard Roy pacing sharply throughout the apartment, and talking low-voiced on the phone. He was expecting the JLA, the Outsiders, or even the police... but not this soon.
Lian stood there, sleep-mussed hair and dressed in a giant orange shirt with 'DEAD FROG' in searing lime lettering across the front. "Uncle Nightwing?"
"Lian," Dick croaked, "I'm not sure your dad would want you in here," with me he finished silently.
She rubbed her eyes with a fist and stumbled over to him. "Daddy told me to come in here. Said you needed a hug." She pressed on his knees until he unfolded his legs and she could climb into his lap. "Said he was goin' out for a while and he trusted you t' take care of me," she mumbled into his throat, curling up against him.
*
"Where's Lian?" Donna asked, looking up as Roy entered the room alone.
"She's with the nanny I hired, Anthony."
Donna raised an eyebrow. "Not with Ollie?"
Roy laughed. "Nah, he had a fight with Dinah last night; he'll be distracted and moping all evening."
"You're kidding," Argent exclaimed. "He got out of babysitting duty because with that lame excuse?"
"I didn't tell him--just said Tony volunteered." Seeing her motion to continue, he shrugged, and explained, "I love Ollie, but he's not real responsible at the best of times, and there is no way in hell I'm leaving my baby with anyone I don't trust to watch her every second."
Argent rolled her eyes. "The man's been in this business for decades, he's saved the world more times than I can count, and you don't trust him to watch a toddler for a few hours?"
"No," Roy and Garth said together. Embarrassed at the sudden attention directed his way, Garth continued, "It's just different when you're a parent, Argent. Trusting someone to save the world is nothing, not for us, but trusting someone to take care of the most precious thing in the world to you is--well, it's something else entirely. You'll see when you have kids yourself."
"Yeah, in ten or twenty years, maybe. If ever." She turned to Roy. "Sure you want Tony, then? I've heard Mother Theresa has been moving into the childcare business."
"Nuns, never trust 'em. I mean, who gives up sex for church?"
*
"Uncle Ni'wing, you're squishin' me," Lian complained sleepily.
Dick loosened his hold. "Sorry, sweetie." He reached up with a hand that shook to gently stroke her hair until she quieted. Exhaling, he rested his head against the smaller one propped on his chest and closed his eyes.
... thank you ... thank you.