She watches him, silent, observant, appreciative as he goes through the motions of his routine. Certain tumbles or falls make her cringe – just as they've always done – while others awe and amaze her. Its like watching time move across the slide for her: she can remember the first time she ever saw him do a routine and how jealous she'd been of the young acrobatic phenom. He'd been – and still is – so much better than she; it hardly seemed fair at the time.
Chance had brought her to this world of heroes and secrets; luck brought her to a young boy in desperate need of a friend. She'd taught him, helped him through his troubles and fears when no one else would, seen him grow to the near-man she watches now. He is family and she loves him dearly – has since their first meeting. But now, for some reason, things seem different to her and that precarious balance between 'work' and 'play' begins to totter.
"You're staring again!" he calls from the third bar, muscles taught across his back and arms as he holds himself erect on the top most bar before 'falling' into a twirl that lands him on his feet just in front of the uneven bars in the cave.
"Because your feet weren't pointed all the way," she lies, hoping the shadows hide an unexplained embarrassment that knots her stomach. He's right: she'd been staring, practically drooling rather than watching critically as she should have been. It isn't right and bothers her a great deal.
"Pfft," he says, walking over to her. His hair is too long and his eyes too bright, too innocent still. She'd always been captivated by his eyes, and yet, today, there is mirth and mischief in their blue depths that hold her like a moth caught in the brilliance of the flame.
"You think you can do better, bookworm?"
She merely smirks and rolls her eyes to hide the stab of pain she feels at the once endearing nickname. She tries not to focus on it too much for she is afraid of what it might mean. It is a silly thing to be hurt by and, somewhere, in the recesses of her mind, she knows that.
"You're doing it again," he says, with that smirk that is ever present on his youthful face. God how she hates him for that; for making her legs feel like rubber with just that one little look; how she hates him for not even knowing he's doing it.
"You're imagining things, hot pants," she says, moving away from him on purpose as her mind and heart compete with each other for ultimate judgment. "Is it me or has it been dead quiet here lately?"
"It's been dead quiet," he answers, following behind her with a minor shrug. The computers are all on, the giant display a constant monitor to the city beyond. But the bells and whistles have all been silent of late, sedate and calm.
"Means something's going to go down soon," she comments looking at the screen to avoid his eyes. She could loose herself in those eyes, very easily.
"You know you're just as paranoid as he is," he chortles. "Even heroes get a vacation you know. Just because his idea of a vacation is chatting up the rich in Japan doesn't mean its not a vacation."
She chuckles at that. Bruce had been gone for the better part of two weeks on a 'business trip' that seemed like more of a free for all than actual business. It is slightly out of character for the brooding man behind the cowl and yet eerily right that he lie to have a relaxing time. Still, things would be all the easier to have their stoic leader with them rather than leave her floundering in wonder at the natural charm of a boy.
The gypsy in him stands out so starkly to her: charismatic, uncaring and passionate to a fault. He never gives less than 110 and even manages to squeeze out more from time to time. He's loyal, intuitive and playful yet just as stoic as the father figure that looms over him - a perfect irony in gorgeous flesh.
"Earth to Babs," he says, waving his hand in front of her face after trying to get her attention unsuccessfully. She blinks, refocusing on his beautiful eyes and feels the heat rising in her cheeks.
"Sorry, Dick... not getting enough sleep I guess," she answers, shaking herself from this euphoric stupor that keeps trying to edge in.
"You study too much," he smirks, grabbing a bottle of juice from the small mini fridge beside the computer console.
"Yeah, well, doctorates don't grow in a wishing patch," she answers, unable to tear her eyes from his.
"Wanna go out tonight?" he asks, knocking back more of his juice before continuing. "You know, little patrol, movie or something. Fallen Kingdom comes out today doesn't it?"
The suggestion seems to terrify her for some reason and she finds herself floundering, hesitating for the sake of hesitation without any outlet available to her. It's not the idea itself that bothers her, she realizes, but the notion of doing it with him. That alone seems absurd. They'd gone out countless times just for fun and a small sense of normalcy. There is no logical reason for her to suddenly be fighting the butterflies in her stomach at the mere thought of doing it again.
"Eh.. I dunno," she stalls instead. "I really have to get my thesis done."
"Yeah but you can do that tomorrow. It's Friday. I mean, come on - live a little."
"Mmmm... " she says, still hesitating – but why?
"It'll be fun - you can go buy us some booze afterwards," he says waggling his eyebrows.
"Richard!" she scolds then flushes when he starts laughing at her, his smile so bright and lively.
"Your face is classic! Hahaha - God that was so worth it. You're such a goodie goodie, Barb. We have booze here in the house if I really wanted it."
"That isn't any better, you know. You're not supposed to be drinking," she frowns, folding her arms in defiance against his teasing. He's too young she thinks to herself with an odd sense of loss lingering in her mind at that thought.
"Yeah cuz that's stopped me," he says flatly. "I'm sixteen, Babs, not a saint. I masturbate too, did you know that?"
"Ew," she says, now making a face at him. Oddly enough, the information – while a bit much – is grossly erotic and she has to fight down another surge of embarrassment.
"Heh - you like it. You know I make you all hot and bothered with my sexy self," he says striking a mock pose of sultry seduction. Its sad and pathetic really and yet endearing enough to make her smirk. This game, she realizes, is a dangerous one to play...
"Oooh, baby, don't you know it," she coos at him, leaning forward with a seductive look of her own so that their noses practically touch just to see his reaction. She has to know what this is, this fluttering in her stomach and why its happening and knows this is the best course. If she's right – like she hopes – he'll flush as bright as a beet and she will simply smile, giggle and move on with her life as it has always been.
Much to her great dismay however, he doesn't take the bait and turns the tables on her faster than she realizes. In fact, she's on her back - almost - and in his arms before she realizes, trapped by her own taunt.
"Oh yeah, you like it," he says, grinning like a Cheshire cat with a new mouse in its claws, holding her to him in a 'dip' that has her hovering above the floor, supported only by his strong arms.
"Ugh, let go child," she says in annoyance while her mind races and her stomach does a thousand somersaults. Her jest had backfired and now she has to deal with the repercussions without having them both arrested for the ideas that run through her mind.
"You started it," he retorts, with no intention of letting her go. She'd tried to win a useless battle by teasing him. Two years ago, the tease might have worked and he'd have blushed five shades of red. Now… hormones take the better of him.
"Excuse me who was doing the pathetic sexy pose?" she quirks back. He needs to let go, she needs to tell him so, to make him go away but she can't so she stays, throwing witty repartee in his direction instead.
"Pathetic? That's harsh, Babs," he says, finally letting her up and yet still holding on to her arms. "That hurts..."
"Yeah right - stick to video games, baby bird, sexy is for the big boys," she says, trying to be as dismissive as possible, terrified that she won't be able to walk away and bothered that he's still holding on to her. In fact, she makes a feeble attempt to pull back but fails miserably.
"Who says I'm not a big boy," he coos instead, holding tighter and even pulling her closer to his bare chest. Now the red rises in her cheeks and that makes his grin broaden. He got her. Words are not always necessary in a confession and he's just caught her red-handed.
"I.." she flounders, blubbering as her heart slams against her chest. She can't think, can't speak, can't even move. She's caught in his trap and knows it and hates herself for it. And yet, at the same time, she's so glad of it, relieved that the 'problem' has been solved regardless of how mortifying it is.
"You what?" he prods, bringing his face closer to hers, feeling her breath against his lips and loving every second of it. He doesn't care that she's older or that her father is a cop or that his is a ... Bruce. This is fun, this is how friends should be: daring, inquisitive and trusting of each other without fear of repercussion. He's loved her from day one, and has always known that and wouldn't do anything to change their friendship but this... well, this is just too good to pass up, even for him.
"Dick let go," she says now starting to show her fear. The game is fun but its dangerous. He's too young, far too young for this to be even a possibility in her wildest imaginations. "This isn't funny anymore."
He doesn't argue, doesn't protest and simply lets her go, his hands upraised in surrender. He's not a cad and he boasts more than he's actually done. He doesn't say anything either and that seems to make things worse in her mind, simply shrugs and walks up to the mansion, grabbing his juice on the way.
What the hell is wrong with you, Barbara? Just let him go. He's sixteen for Christ's sake, SIXTEEN.
The logic can't overpower the heart, however and she finds herself longing to be in his arms again. Her father would be outraged; Bruce would flay her skin from her flesh.
By the time she makes it up into the mausoleum he lives in, he's moved on, his attention diverted to the boyish things that make him a nuisance rather than an endearment. The giant plasma screen on the wall in the game room now boasts an arsenal of weaponry being fired at mach speeds towards the enemy, the speakers booming with every shot fired. He doesn't say anything to her as she walks in, barely even glances in her direction. She moves around behind the sofa he sits on and leans casually against its backing, watching the game instead of him.
Say something, girl. End it before it starts. Turn it into a joke she thinks to herself as she watches him play, watches the screen and tries to not glance down at him. But the words don't come to her lips so she remains a silent sentinel at his shoulder.
His eyes flicker up at her, briefly, while the universe is slaughtered one alien at a time. "Wanna play?" he asks, breaking the silence and uncomfortable tension that has suddenly sprouted between them. He doesn't like it. Tension usually signals a change he's not going to like and he knows for certain he can't loose Barbara. She is his rock in his world of lunacy.
"You missed one," she says, watching each ship or monster blow up on the screen, carefully analyzing what has happened before addressing it as any good detective should. He's nervous, she can tell by the way he's sitting. She's known him for so long that every nuance is noticed when its out of place.
"I know," he answers glad that she's conversing instead of just watching. "That's the hardest one and the others ag you if you're not careful. So we kill the little ones then get the big one."
"This one of Bruce's?" she asks. The man is a genius and, from what she's gathered, a big kid at heart even if he pretends not to be. Half the tech in Gotham is owed to Bruce and half the games in Dick's arsenal are his creations.
"Yeah. This is the beta testing tho. Roy's got the final one. I let him borrow it. This one's final battle goes on and on and on and on and on ... took me like three weeks to figure out why I couldn't beat it. Yelled at him for it to - told him he was a tease."
That makes her laugh, imagining the two arguing back and forth. They have a special bond, she's noticed, that goes far beyond father and son. It's more than that, a kinship and understanding that no one else has. It drives horrible rifts between them at times and then others brings them so closely in sync with each other that it's creepy.
"Well he is!" he complains. "Making a game with no end. 'Here test this for me, tell me what's wrong with it.' It don't end that's what's wrong with it!"
"That's why he makes you test it, silly," she chuckles, ruffling his hair affectionately. That's when he looks up at her, tilting his head back so he can really and truly look at her and her breath catches in her chest. He's so innocent and yet that look just then in his eyes holds a lifetime of horrors and experiences that strip him of that innocence that is so endearing to her. Its a look that only comes through when Bruce is mentioned, she's noticed, something about his guardian that sets a flame burning in the young man before her. But its one that makes her want to weep for him too because she knows he's not old enough to have reason to be so haunted.
"Hey," she says gently, now brushing her fingers through his too-long hair. "You know he'd be lost without you, right?"
He stops his game at that point and simply sighs. He knows it, he's heard it from others but never from Bruce directly. That's not the kind of man he is and its something that bugs but something he's also come to accept.
"Yeah I know," he says softly, tilting his head back to rest on the couch while her fingers work through his hair. It's soothing and appreciated - a small comfort in his ever changing and confounding world.
She watches him, staring again but this time with compassion rather than... something else. He shuts his eyes and relaxes from her touch, completely at peace even with the odd tension that sprang up between them in the cave. He trusts her completely and that is something she would always cherish. She stands there now, pondering and considering all that has happened, how when and why her feelings for him changed and the simple act of stroking his hair makes it come to her: He really is as innocent as she sees him, floundering in a world he doesn't entirely understand and she wants to be the one to help him understand it, the one to hold his heart and show him its cherished.
Once again she feels her stomach knotting, that giddy feeling returning as she stares down at him, his features serene and calm even as the bombs and blasts of the game continue to fire idly around them. She can't help it, can't stop those feelings or her movements as she leans down over him and kisses him softly, tenderly. She feels his lips against hers - warm, slightly chapped but supple and accepting of hers even in his shock. She catches that too, the slightest intake of breath, flutter of eyelashes against her cheeks when his eyes fly open, if briefly.
She doesn't let the kiss linger - she knows better - but its sweet and perfect, just as she'd imagined it to be. She knows all too well just how innocent he is and doesn't want to ruin that regardless of what he might boast. His lips feel good against hers, right almost and it's a chore to pull away but she does and simply looks down at him. Neither of them speak, staring at each other in wonder while that tension rebuilds.
He doesn't move, game controller still in his hand and neither does she, her fingers finding their way back to his long waves. He blinks in wonder at her and she at him and for the briefest moment, time seems to stop.
"Scoot over," she says finally, crawling over the back of the couch to sit beside him. "Does this thing have two-player?"
"Yeah," he says, staring at her as he speaks. He keeps staring for a moment then finally turns to grab the other controller, handing it to her. The game is reset and they start over, playing together even if she's horrible at it. It's something normal, something he can wrap his mind around still.
"This is harder than it looked," she complains, that tension starting to die down again.
"That's cuz you're a girl and girls suck at video games," he teases glad of the distraction.
"Oh you did -not- just tell me that, Richard Grayson."
"Everything well young master? Ah, Ms. Gordon, I hadn't realized you were here," Alfred says, peeking in to the game room after hearing the loud booms and bangs.
"Babs can't play for shit," Dick answers, grinning and flushing at the same time. Not five minutes sooner and they'd have been caught. He sees Barbara's face flush as well, and finds that he doesn't feel quite as bad knowing she'd had the same thought as he.
"Shut it, circus boy," she glowers, forcing the flush and flutters back down in favor of alien slaughter.
"She will probably defeat you in the end, young master," Alfred chuckles glad to see them enjoying some 'down time'. They work too hard for children - they all work too hard in his eyes. "I need to go pick up a few orders - either of you require anything while I'm out?"
"Pot stickers," Dick answers without looking away from the screen.
"And you Ms. Gordon?"
"Mmm.. hot and sour soup if you're hittin' the Chinese place. Please and thank you," she says also not looking away from the screen.
"So it shall be done. I'll return shortly - don't burn anything," the aging butler says, leaving the pair alone again.
"I love that man," Dick says. "His timing is perfect."
She can't help but giggle in agreement on that. But that brings things back into focus and her demeanor changes just a bit, concern overpowering the excitement of the day. The same tension rises once more and they fall silent again. This is her doing, not his and she needs to address it. What she wants can't be and yet she knows there's no turning back now.
"Dick," she starts pausing the game so he has to look at her instead of the plasma. Now his innocence shows; now when he looks at her with those pleading blue eyes to make it all better and the words that had been on her tongue fade into the ether.
He's too young. He's not ready for this, for the drama, for the secrets. She tries to tell herself that over and over, tries to say the words but he won't look away so the words all run and hide. But this time, it's his turn to surprise her.
"I love you, you know," he says suddenly and bluntly before grinning in his boyish way. She has no response to that and he's not expecting one. It's been said – whatever happens now is up to her.
She sits there beside him, gaping for a time before things finally click into place. She can't have what she really wants – not yet. But that doesn't stop her from taking his face in her hands so that he has to look at her again, this time blinking. She only needs to look in his eyes once before she's lost in their blue depths and brings her lips to his for a second time.
There is no shock this time, no hesitations, no tension. Just the slightest of changes, the most minor of shifts between them to something more, something that, for the brief time in which their lips meet, their sin is accepted.