Shuffle

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Maybe- Secondhand Serenade

Dick had secret talents. He always had, and probably always would find ways to surprise her. But never would she have been prepared for the sound of his voice. Okay, so it was a little off-key, but combined with the sound of the guitar that droned from the radio he held high above his head, it kind of worked, despite what her rather critical mind told her. She leaned further out the windowsill and smiled down at him.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Just wasting time," he returned the grin. His smile widened across his face, touching his eyes, and more than anything she wanted to match it, wanted to feel her lips against his.

Secret- Maroon Five

She kept things from him, and she knew he knew it. She kept them hidden in a little box beneath her bed at home, far away from where he could reach them. They were little slips of paper, small notes, calling cards, little things like that. Things that helped her. That made her understand. There were newspaper clippings as well, ones about him, ones about the things he did, with and without the aid of Batman. Sometimes she pulled them out, sometimes she laughed at his costume. The old one. The Robin one.

One day she'd tell him she had shoes like that. One day, when he knew who she was, and what she knew about him. One day, when he understood.

Words Meet Heartbeats- Parachute

She took his hand and she pulled hard. He snorted, because she really wasn't that strong, he told her so. Still she didn't stop. She pulled this way and that, weaving him here and there. She'd stop short, and begin again, and Dick felt his hands itch to remove the bandana she'd tied around his eyes. Twice he'd tried, only to have her slap his hands and scold him like some dog.

"Not yet," she'd whine, "Almost. We're almost there."

"Babs, I have to patrol soon."

She tugs him again, harder, more urgent.

"I know, but we're so close."

But close becomes a half an hour, than a full hour, and Dick's hands find their way to the bandana again, and he's pulling it off. And he sees there's nothing; he sees they're lost.

Make it Mine- Jason Mraz

He takes her to a club. Or at least he's going to. He tells her to put on something tight, something shiny, and Babs' can't help wondering who the hell this is, because this surely isn't the usual Dick. But when he shows up in a long black suit (a little too long, the sleeves drip past his wrists and she supposes it must be Bruce's), with a stemmed rose in hand, she wonders if maybe the black mermaid wasn't the smartest idea and if she should've gone for something shorter, like a cocktail.

He still tells her she's beautiful though.

Howl- Florence and the Machine

She holds the rose close to her heart. She refuses to let it go. To let it drop. She won't. She won't place it. But she does at the urge of the other birds. She feels three pairs of hands on her back, slowly guiding her forward. She reaches down, as far as her arm reaches, and throws. It's as if they're on screen, and someone's hit pause, or maybe it's slow motion; she can't even tell if it's moving anymore.

Not until it hits the coffin with a hollow thump.

I Constantly Thank God for Esteban- Panic! At the Disco

"Come on, you can move faster than that!"

He moves like a machine, his steps never faltering, his throat never closing with coughs and spit. And yet, here she is, holding her sides trying to not fall over if she can. He's so much farther ahead. She sees him 'round a corner without a thought, turning as if on a dime. She has an urge to hit him, if only she could reach him. Why is everything so easy for Dick Grayson? Her breath comes fast, interrupted with side-wrecking coughs as if she's a cat hacking up a furball.

God, she hates running. No wonder she got such a bad grade back in middle school.

She Will Be Loved-Maroon Five

Rain pours in steady droplets against the windowsill. She leans her head against it, trying hard not to cry. Her eyes feel puffy and dry. They sting with the day, with the trouble she's gone through. She hates it here. Hates Gotham. She wants to travel, wants to move. She wants to be something so much more than this. She's tired of being seen as the Commissioner's daughter, as nothing but a little accessory to some big project.

But there are no knights in Gotham (save a rather dark one who rides a tripped out vehicle than a stead, but she doesn't want him anyway). There's no one to take her away from here. She stands, tries to move. Her head is so foggy, so full of thought; she doesn't hear the knock on her window.

Time to Dance- Panic! At the Disco

The club moves with noise. His head pounds, his eyes blur with the number of colored lights. Bodies against bodies, grinding against one another. A bunch of people moving together as one. Dick doesn't know where his drink went; it was in his hand, now it's not. The floor around him is sticky and wet, so perhaps he dropped it? But then there's a woman beside him drinking from a similar bottle. But does it really matter? It doesn't. He just wants to move. Wants to feel. He likes to way everyone's moving against one another, and the sound of the music and the rhythm beating loud in his ears. Lights flash before his eyes, pictures? He doesn't know, and again doesn't care. He's not Robin now, not Nightwing. He's Dick Grayson; he has no responsibilities, except to dance and to move.

Paradise-Vanessa Cartlon

She's never been to such a manor. Above her hangs a chandelier. It's long and frightening, glittering in the light of the candles. She has a mask across her face, hiding her features, and her dress is so long, he can't see her legs. She moves like a picture, slowly, one step at a time. He doesn't know it from his spot at the piano, but she's wobbling. She's never worn such heels before. She sways back in forth to cover her stumbling, but also because she loves the music he plays. It's slow and daunting. She makes her way to him. He too, wears a mask, but his isn't serious like hers or the others at the party. His is white with a long nose that makes her want to laugh, but she stifles it. From the look on his face (or the visible lips), it seems that was the point.

"Hello," he says with his piano and moves to the edge of the stool, inviting her to sit.

You Belong With Me-Taylor Swift

Jason Todd doesn't like it when people are on the phone. Especially when he needs to be on the phone. Still, he doesn't like the look Dick's face. It's tired and worn; his eyes have purple beneath them, much like Bruce's after a long night of patrolling.

"Look Babs, I…"
But he's cut off, and Jason watches him close his mouth with a sigh. He spies Jason from around the corner and winks, as if the two now share a secret (about what Jason still doesn't know, maybe what a little bitch Batgirl can be? But Jason already knew that anyway, and he wasn't too shy about sharing his opinion). Something inside him melts, maybe it was his pride. But he's feeling a little strange, a little warm, not a very common feeling in Wayne Manor.

And oh God, he wants it to happen again.

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No I didn't sneak my OTP in there. :l Why do you ask?