Flashfic: Dinah
Fandom: Birds of Prey
Characters: Dinah Lance, Sin
Words: 709
Notes: SPOILERS for Birds of Prey #99. Some nebulous concept of this fic might have been floating in my head before I read BoP 99, but it was something I wasn't sure how I was going to write. I didn't set out to execute it like this and I'm not sure I'm happy with the effect. But... *sigh* oh, Dinah. (According to Nemi, this fic is "only like 1% angst." =D)
It was the little things.
Waking up without the excitement or anxiety of knowing that she would be putting her life on the line and saving the world and sometimes with a small body of warmth tucked close to her side.
Making breakfast in the morning and accumulating a slew of embarrassing firsts: scrambling eggs to salvage what was supposed to be sunny-side up, burning toast, misreading the measurements for pancake mix, letting Sin and the bottle of syrup out of her sight.
Taking Sin shopping for clothes and seeing her face light up with wonder at the sight of all the stores, her words excitedly tripping over each other as she asked about everything, learning their names, tasting and savoring them as she said them for the first time.
Watching television with a new consciousness, quickly flipping past channels with too much violence, her arm tightening almost imperceptibly around Sin when she felt the little girl lean slightly forward in her seat just before the image flickered and knowing that in that little body lurked all the explosive potential of a warrior.
The games that often seemed to skirt something like sparring, the chores that she tried to make games of, only to realize it was easier to present them as tasks, as challenges, and Sin always so quick to learn, so quick to please, picking up new talents and concepts with hardly more than one demonstration (and boy was Dinah glad when Sin took to folding clothes like it was an exercise in precision, neatly stacking shirts, pants, and fluffy towels).
Telling bedtime stories, reading aloud her childhood favorites as Sin peered anxiously at the words, touching the pages and the pictures, so often glancing up at Dinah’s face as she read as if unsure what they were doing, while Dinah remembered her own mother: loving, worried, gearing up for the night.
It was seeing the way Sin’s eyes lit up as she learned something new, the flash of teeth in her wide smile. It was hearing the brightness of Sin’s laughter or the silences of her confusion, the hesitation that Dinah felt compelled to soothe away. It was feeling the sincerity in Sin’s hugs and her small fingers in her hand, trusting and clinging.
It was the little things.
Not wearing her Oracle-issued earrings or microphone, on call at any moment, ready to drop everything at a moment’s notice and fly across the world to Rheelasia or Istanbul or Hong Kong.
Not going out late at night to dash across rooftops and race through the streets on her motorcycle (Sin liked the motorcycle, liked going fast, which Dinah knew she shouldn’t indulge, really, but it made Sin so happy…), accumulating bruises in all sorts of places and a nest of tangles in her hair.
Not perpetually ordering takeout before, between, and after missions, prepping or unwinding from a long day’s/night’s work and acquiring preferred customer status in half of Metropolis’ restaurants.
Not ignoring orders, exasperating Oracle, trying to seduce men, fighting giant apes, going back in time, making deals with assassins, or kicking ass with Huntress.
Not wearing fishnets. And feeling oddly a little strange without them.
It was going grocery shopping with Sin, waiting in the checkout line, trying to sternly deny Sin last-minute impulse buys (and she was not going to pick up a chocolate bar for herself, absolutely not, nope), and noticing, without really meaning to, the security camera in the corner. It was finding herself, strangely, hesitantly, lifting one hand in a wave towards the impassive lens and then feeling silly.
It was wondering if maybe Oracle was watching her, watching them, right then, keeping an eye on her. It was missing the sound of Barbara’s voice in her ear or the feel of her presence hovering over her shoulder, vigilant, protective.
It was her cell phone ringing suddenly, the name on the caller ID making her smile, Sin slipping her hand into hers as they neared the front of the line, the voice that said, “Hey there.”
And when she smiled, Dinah liked to think that a redhead in Dalten Tower could hear it just as well as see it.
The little things changed. It was the important things that remained.
Characters: Dinah Lance, Sin
Words: 709
Notes: SPOILERS for Birds of Prey #99. Some nebulous concept of this fic might have been floating in my head before I read BoP 99, but it was something I wasn't sure how I was going to write. I didn't set out to execute it like this and I'm not sure I'm happy with the effect. But... *sigh* oh, Dinah. (According to Nemi, this fic is "only like 1% angst." =D)
It was the little things.
Waking up without the excitement or anxiety of knowing that she would be putting her life on the line and saving the world and sometimes with a small body of warmth tucked close to her side.
Making breakfast in the morning and accumulating a slew of embarrassing firsts: scrambling eggs to salvage what was supposed to be sunny-side up, burning toast, misreading the measurements for pancake mix, letting Sin and the bottle of syrup out of her sight.
Taking Sin shopping for clothes and seeing her face light up with wonder at the sight of all the stores, her words excitedly tripping over each other as she asked about everything, learning their names, tasting and savoring them as she said them for the first time.
Watching television with a new consciousness, quickly flipping past channels with too much violence, her arm tightening almost imperceptibly around Sin when she felt the little girl lean slightly forward in her seat just before the image flickered and knowing that in that little body lurked all the explosive potential of a warrior.
The games that often seemed to skirt something like sparring, the chores that she tried to make games of, only to realize it was easier to present them as tasks, as challenges, and Sin always so quick to learn, so quick to please, picking up new talents and concepts with hardly more than one demonstration (and boy was Dinah glad when Sin took to folding clothes like it was an exercise in precision, neatly stacking shirts, pants, and fluffy towels).
Telling bedtime stories, reading aloud her childhood favorites as Sin peered anxiously at the words, touching the pages and the pictures, so often glancing up at Dinah’s face as she read as if unsure what they were doing, while Dinah remembered her own mother: loving, worried, gearing up for the night.
It was seeing the way Sin’s eyes lit up as she learned something new, the flash of teeth in her wide smile. It was hearing the brightness of Sin’s laughter or the silences of her confusion, the hesitation that Dinah felt compelled to soothe away. It was feeling the sincerity in Sin’s hugs and her small fingers in her hand, trusting and clinging.
It was the little things.
Not wearing her Oracle-issued earrings or microphone, on call at any moment, ready to drop everything at a moment’s notice and fly across the world to Rheelasia or Istanbul or Hong Kong.
Not going out late at night to dash across rooftops and race through the streets on her motorcycle (Sin liked the motorcycle, liked going fast, which Dinah knew she shouldn’t indulge, really, but it made Sin so happy…), accumulating bruises in all sorts of places and a nest of tangles in her hair.
Not perpetually ordering takeout before, between, and after missions, prepping or unwinding from a long day’s/night’s work and acquiring preferred customer status in half of Metropolis’ restaurants.
Not ignoring orders, exasperating Oracle, trying to seduce men, fighting giant apes, going back in time, making deals with assassins, or kicking ass with Huntress.
Not wearing fishnets. And feeling oddly a little strange without them.
It was going grocery shopping with Sin, waiting in the checkout line, trying to sternly deny Sin last-minute impulse buys (and she was not going to pick up a chocolate bar for herself, absolutely not, nope), and noticing, without really meaning to, the security camera in the corner. It was finding herself, strangely, hesitantly, lifting one hand in a wave towards the impassive lens and then feeling silly.
It was wondering if maybe Oracle was watching her, watching them, right then, keeping an eye on her. It was missing the sound of Barbara’s voice in her ear or the feel of her presence hovering over her shoulder, vigilant, protective.
It was her cell phone ringing suddenly, the name on the caller ID making her smile, Sin slipping her hand into hers as they neared the front of the line, the voice that said, “Hey there.”
And when she smiled, Dinah liked to think that a redhead in Dalten Tower could hear it just as well as see it.
The little things changed. It was the important things that remained.