Pairing: #4 - Dick/Barbara
Rating: T
Word Count: 900+
Prompt: spiked eggnog, and I used this picture (media. tumblr. moc/ tumblr_md20htqUK71qhxhiz. jpg) as additional inspiration - just switch "moc" to "com" and delete the spaces
For: Insomniatic95

... ...

Her head is pounding when she wakes up, though she honestly doesn't even remember falling asleep, let alone falling asleep in a bed with the blankets drawn over her, her heels kicked off and her hair out of the stupid bun Raquel put it in.

She groans a little and shifts, and then freezes when she realizes that the material against her skin doesn't feel like the same material of the dress she'd had on when they left for the party. God, they never should've gone in the first place. She doesn't know how they talked her into it, especially since she didn't even know the person who went to the college. She was a friend of Conner and Mal and Karen's from high school, apparently, but she highly doubts that made it okay for them to crash the Christmas party.

And honestly, the only thing that the party had relating to Christmas was the tacky twinkling lights haphazardly hung around the room and the eggnog they kept passing out to everyone. It was spiked, obviously, and the cliché handiwork of whatever upperclassmen were hosting.

How she still managed to get wasted off of it, she has no idea.

She pushes the covers aside, sitting upright with her legs dangling off the side of the bed, and she sort of has to just sit there for a second. She's wearing her old Gotham Academy shirt (she recognizes the paint stain on the hem) that they accidentally ordered two sizes too big and so she ended up using it as a night shirt for when she slept.

Wait. She's in her own shirt. She glances around the dark room and makes out an alarm clock on the nightstand. It's her alarm clock, to be exact. She's in her room.

She shakes her head, and then instantly regrets it. She's just really, really confused right now.

She slips her feet into her fuzzy slippers she always keeps on the floor next to her nightstand and pulls open the door, flinching against the bright light of the hallway. Except, the light's not even coming from the hallway but from downstairs instead. Her vision's a little hazy, but she can tell that it's coming from the living room.

She grips the railing as she heads down the steps, and then she stops walking altogether and puts her hand over her eyes because the light's making her headache worse right now.

"What're you doing up?"

She parts her fingers, trying to look through the gap. There's a blurry figure standing in front of her that won't come into focus. It couldn't be her mom or dad, could it? They're supposed to be out of town for the weekend.

"Barbie?" The voice sounds amused.

And there's only one person she knows that calls her that.

"Dick?" she asks groggily, removing her hand from her face and steadying it against his shoulder. "What are you doing in my house?"

"I brought you home. You were pretty wasted from the eggnog," he explains.

"How are you not drunk?" she whines. He sounds perfectly fine and it's not really fair since she feels like crap.

"I kind of am," he admits with a laugh. "I'm just not as wasted as you, and I was functional enough, so I promised everyone that I'd take you home. Sorry I kind of broke into your house and crashed on your couch," he adds, and she smiles because she knows he has to be at least a little drunk if he's apologizing for something like that.

"Did you change me into this?" she asks, and before he can answer, "Because I kind of love you for that. The dress kept falling and it was uncomfortable and my heels killed my feet and the bobby pins hurt my scalp."

He laughs faintly. "Glad I could be of service, then. Come on. Let's sit on the couch."

He reaches for her hand, gripping it firmly, and walks her down the last few steps. She looks to her left, and her eyes are adjusted enough to the light where she doesn't have to squint against it for right now. It's still kind of hazy, though, so the lights from her Christmas tree are kind of just blurred together.

"Do you want something to eat or drink?" he asks, gently pushing her down on her shoulder until she's sinking into the couch cushions. "Let me get—"

"No," she says, tightening her grip on his hand and tugging him down. He sort of just stands there for a second before moving over her legs (she's propped her feet up on the coffee table), sitting himself beside her. She shifts, kicking her slippers off and tucking her legs underneath her as she leans against his side. "Are you spending the night?" she asks.

"I will if you want me to," he tells her.

"Please?" She tilts her head to look up at him, and his smile is the first thing she's been able to see clearly since she woke up.

"Sure, Barbie," he tells her, leaning down to press a kiss to her temple. As he starts to pull away, she shifts a little, pushes her hands into his hair and slides her lips over his. His eyes lock with hers as he exhales a breath that warms her face, and she closes her eyes and kisses him again. "Hey, Barbie, if this is just some drunk kiss—"

"You could never be just that to me," she tells him, and he makes a noise from the back of his throat, sliding his hands over her hips and pulling her across his lap.

"Neither could you," he breathes, and she kisses him again, sliding her tongue against his lips.

They taste like eggnog.