There are a million things in this earthly world that Richard Grayson is exceptional at. He can perform flips and other unnecessarily dramatic acrobatic maneuvers throughout the city like nobody else can. On most good days, he can make a grilled cheese better than Alfred on Alfred's best days. Once in a while, Dick can hit the highest note in Whitney Houston's version of "I Will Always Love You" and people won't even rush out of the room with their ears blocked.
He really, honest-to-God, is a very talented person, it's in his nature. He's just not good at everything.
For instance, sometimes his hair is a little out of whack when he wakes up ten minutes before he's supposed to be somewhere important. Occasionally (it's a habit he's trying to break, really), he lets his refrigerator get a bit too empty for a week or two before Bruce has to send him food just to make sure he's alive in the morning. And at his worst, when his lifeline snaps on the job, he won't admit he needs saving until a man dressed as a bat swoops in to save the day.
So, not everything.
And Dick tries so ridiculously hard, practicing in his spare time. His concentration level is through the roof and his eyebrows furrow until sweat is dripping from his forehead. Barbara can honestly say that she's never seen anyone put in that much effort to accomplish anything. And that's pretty rare when you hang around with some of the most dedicated, obsessed, and buff vigilantes in the known world.
But, unfortunately for Dick, no matter how hard he tries, he is utterly incapable of tying a cherry stem into a knot with his tongue.
"Again, Richard, really?" Barbara asks as she walks into the living room of his barren apartment. There are a couple of chairs, a small television, and a Star Wars poster covering the wall. In the middle of the room is her irrational boyfriend with a bowl of cherries in his lap. By the look on his face, he's in the middle of a pretty intense round of cherry stem knot tying.
"Agh!" he spits the stem out and throws his hands into the air, frustrated. "I've been at this for an hour today and I can't… freaking… do… it!" With every word, he plucks a cherry from the bowl and throws it against the wall.
"Well, if you just let it go-"
"I can't let it go, Barbara! Bruce can do this. Bruce!" Dick holds his head in his hands and his whole demeanor reeks of exasperation. "The guy's practically a million."
"Well, to be fair, Bruce had plenty of practice at being a playboy billionaire before you came around." Barbara plopped down on the ground next to him and popped a cherry into her mouth. Even when there was practically nothing in the kitchen, she could count on Dick having a full stock of cherries most of the time.
"Hands off, Babs, I need these for practice." Dick narrowed his eyes at the stem in her hand. "Let's see you do it."
She shook her head from side to side and let out a sigh. "Grayson, you are relentless." But she popped the stem in her mouth anyway.
Three seconds later, she held a tied stem between her teeth and all hell broke loose. Dick, once more, threw his arms up into the air (that's another thing he was pretty good at). Pacing back and forth around the room, he muttered under his breath angrily. "Bruce can do it, Babs can do it. Hell, I bet even Alfred can do it!"
"If it makes you feel better, Alfred probably wouldn't tie a cherry stem even if he could."
"How is that supposed to make me feel better?"
As he ranted and raved all over his small apartment, Barbara approached him with a careful hand on his forearm. He stopped and let out a deep breath, feeling his stress almost melt away. For a second, just a second, he almost realized how childish he was being. Almost.
"Why don't you sit down and practice while I order a pizza or something, seeing as there's nothing but cherries for food in this house." Barbara suggested, bringing her lips close to his ear and whispering a soothing hum.
He nodded and went back to sitting on the floor with his bowl of cherries. Barbara took the phone and dialed the numbers to their favorite pizza place, and though she would never admit it, she knew the numbers by heart. They really needed to go grocery shopping more often.
"Hi, can I order a large peppero-" Barbara cut off as she heard a triumphant shout coming from the other room, followed by the distinct sound of Dick doing the running man and other assorted dance moves he had acquired over the years.
"Finally! True justice!" Dick screeched at the top if his lungs, holding the stem out for Barbara to see.
Sure enough, the stem was tied in a perfect knot. Dick looked down at her with a goofy grin of victory plastered over his face. "Congratulations, weirdo. Hope those hours you put in were worth it."
Dick nodded and smirked at her, smug and cocky like he usually was when he won something. "It means I'm a better kisser than I thought."
"That's what this was about? Seriously?"
"Uh huh."
It all made sense now. Trying to outdo the billionaire playboy at being a billionaire playboy. Idiot. Lovable idiot, Barbara thought to herself.
"Well, this is only just the beginning. I certainly need more practice." Dick winked at her and trailed off as he leaned in for a quick little kiss on her cheek.
After all these years, Barbara still blushed when he did that. She got this cherry-stem-tying, singing-Whitney-Houston, flipping-and-other-shit-doing dork. That's practically what it came down to nowadays. They knew each other so well.
"Hope you're fine with cherries for dinner then. If you wanna practice, you're gonna work for it." Barbara winked, picked up the bowl of cherries, and threw a couple at him.
"Let's turn this into a competition if you're so confident!"
"You're on, Wingding."