AN: I don't know how we got here and I don't care.

EchokittyCat-Sid? Yeah, he knows. I'd feel worse, but, well...look at him.-Dove

Meli-Mel150-Take him. Keep him! I swear he's tripped me more than the actual penguins the boss lets run around sometimes.-Dove

"I feel like I should make a bird joke," Jim says, leaning against his car and digging his cigarettes out of his jacket. Robin sneezes and wedges himself a little further under Dove's wing-er. Arm.

"Fuck off, Jim," Dove tells him. "Kid takes a trip into the river and you're gonna make fun of him? Wow."

"Yeah, commish," Robin croaks. "I coulda drowned."

Jim fishes his cigarettes out of his coat and corrects, "I'm not making fun of Robin."

She gives him a flat look and says again, "Fuck off, Jim."

Though come to think of it, Robin does indeed resemble a baby bird that fell out of the nest. Not a bald one, but a scraggly, screeching one that can sort of glide from a tree stump to the ground. He's a wet, bedraggled mess and truth be told, he's damn lucky he didn't get dragged into the bay because of that stupid cape. Does it detach? It should. If it doesn't, Batman should fix that.

Robin cackles before convulsing in another sneeze and pulling the towel into a hood. Jim sighs, because what is he, fourteen? He shouldn't be out here. There's nothing he can do about it, but he's always been skittish about the idea of Robin.

"That wasn't smart, kid."

Robin flashes him a cocky grin from behind his Styrofoam cup.

"But I got 'im," he says, voice stiff in an effort to force it through chattering teeth. "Was th-the—"

"Less talking, more drinking," Dove says, and he takes a sip, pulls his knees up to his chest. "Thank you." She leans away and the noise the kid makes before he catches himself is absolute distress. Jim won't make a bird joke. But it's tempting. "Hold still, I'm gonna try and—"

The distressed noise returns when she gets her fingers pressed into the towel on his head and starts scrubbing. But he holds still-well, as still as he can, given the rough treatment-with one hand curled protectively over the cup lid.

"It's something," she says at last, and when she pulls her hands away Robin burrows miserably against her side again. "Drink."

The kid draws his cup under his chin and rasps, "I'm gonna die."

"Don't be a dumbass."

"I am. I think I swallowed something squishy."

Jim grimaces. Given the state of Gotham's waters, that's…that's not unlikely.

"You know what they say, kiddo," Dove tells him. "Couldn't swim, couldn't float…"

"I'm serious!"

"If it hasn't killed you by now, you'll be fine," she says smoothly, but she adjusts the shock blanket so it's a little snugger around his shoulders. "Finish that, it'll help dilute whatever you swallowed."

Or, at the very least, inspire him to puke it out. Jim's sympathetic. He's taken his share of impromptu swims, and even barring the recent concern of Croc, they're never pleasant.

Fifteen minutes later, Robin's asleep in what looks like the most uncomfortable position possible; he's pressed as close to Dove as he can get, but his shoulders are up around his ears and one hand's clasping the blanket closed at his neck.

"Well, now I'm really tempted to make that joke."

Dove looks like she's going to give him the finger, but refrains. And he thinks it's because she doesn't want to disturb Robin, until—

"Commissioner."

GODDAMMIT, BATMAN.

"You saw him," he accuses, and Dove grins at him, just a little too sharp, a little too close to Penguin for his liking.

"Mm-hm."

Humph.

"He's fine," he tells Batman. "Just worn out from his swim."

"Hn."

Ahh. So verbose, is Batman.

The man steps around him and then Robin is cradled in his arms. The movement wakes him, just enough to crack his eyes open and mumble, "T'anks for th' hot choc'l'te."

"Sure, hon. Go back to sleep."

"An' for th' warm."

"Sure, kid."

"Night, commish."

He has to. He's a father and he has to. Batman will appreciate this, he's sure.

"Dove."

"What."

"What do you give a sick bird?"

Robin sneezes. He's always been a helpful sort.

"Jim."

"Tweetment."

Batman doesn't really do anything, but Jim knows he's laughing on the inside. Robin laughs on the outside, for all of two seconds before he sneezes again and curls miserably into Batman's arms, pressing his forehead against the chest plating. Jim wonders how that's comfortable. Robins are weird. The first one used to do handstands...on Batman.

(That Batman didn't even seem to notice was nothing short of hysterical.)

Dove bites back a laugh and Jim should let it go, he knows he should let it go, but…

"There, see? Birds of a feather-"

"Fuck off, Jim."

THE END