Suki Blue Fiction
Dick opened his mouth and hesitated. He
wasn’t entirely sure what he wanted to say and therefore it would probably be
prudent to take a second or two to properly consider his options. “For me?” he
said eventually.
Judging by the slight raise in the height of Bruce’s eyebrows and the familiar
twitch at the corner of his mouth, Dick had calculated the wrong response.
Dick backtracked. “Of course it’s for me; you just said that. But…it isn’t my
birthday. I mean, I know I’ve been working hard lately, but I’m pretty sure I
didn’t miss it. I’m pretty sure you didn’t either. Now Roy, there’s a
different story, but he completely made up for that with that trip to that strip
club…wait…”
“Dick,” Bruce interrupted. Somewhere between the very slight facial expressions
and Dick letting the strip joint out of the bag, Bruce had fitted his cowl and
sat over by one of the Batcave terminals, his back as defensive and impervious
as a watchtower. “It’s just a book.”
Dick tried to swallow quietly, but the noise sounded thunderous against the
peaceful quiet of fingers skimming over buttons and keys, and the distant flap
and screech of the resident bats. “But, how did you-?”
There was something familiar about this situation, something that felt deeply
warm and comforting despite the awkwardness, cold air and stark surroundings.
The Batcave had always given Dick a sense of home which had never faded. Maybe
Nightwing was cautious of living life in the shadow of the Bat, but Richard
Grayson was happy for his heart to be under Bruce Wayne’s wing. It was where it
belonged, whether Bruce knew that or not. It was the only certainty Dick had.
“You said you wanted to read it,” Bruce said. He clicked a button and a view of
Fifth Street changed to a view of Main and a bright yellow man with a red boa.
“Last week.”
Dick frowned and reluctantly pushed away a memory of being just a boy, of being
immensely happy, of giggling and being picked up and held by a smiling Bruce.
“Last week? The stakeout? You were actually listening to me?”
“I always listen.” Bruce stood, but it took him several seconds to turn around.
Dick clutched the book tighter in one hand and gently peeled off his mask with
the other. Bruce rarely showed his affection and sometimes you really had to be
the world’s greatest detective to see it, which was ironic when you thought
about it.
“It’s just a book,” Bruce continued. “It’s nothing. I just happened to see it.”
Dick remembered that first time Bruce had picked him up. He’d called Dick down
to the Cave and presented him with a child-sized motorbike, all shiny, red and
yellow with a whole bunch of gadgets and coloured lights that blinked and beeped
and made the bike distinctly Dick’s. Dick had gazed up at his guardian with wide
blue eyes and long lashes, his mouth hanging open, slack with amazement. “Wow.”
Bruce had reached down and slowly ruffled his hair and that was the first time
Dick really realised that he was more than just a side-kick-in-training, more
than just a boy who had suffered like Bruce had suffered. Dick had smiled then,
so much and so wide that he still felt the ache in his cheekbones an hour later.
But it had been worth it because Bruce had picked him up and Dick had hugged
him, clutching tightly in case Bruce got any ideas about putting him down again
too soon.
Back to the present and Dick realised he was smiling like that again. He wasn’t
expecting to be picked up, because that would have been way weird, but he was
unsurprised when Bruce’s hand rested on his bicep and squeezed.
“Do you need to get back right away?” Bruce asked.
Dick shook his head. “I could spare a few. What did you have in mind?”
“A cross dressing crackpot?”
“Ah, sounds just like old times.”
The End.