Interlude at Sparky's Cafe
Disclaimer: Not mine. Never will be. Money made from this: zero dollars.
Author's note: this is in the same universe as my other TAS fics but the continuity is loose. Ergo, you do not need to read the others to understand what the heck's going on in this.
They've come to love and depend on the coffee shop for the noise. There's anonymity to be found in overcrowded rooms where they can talk in low voices about things they never used to dare discuss in public. It's a little foolish and most likely Bruce would hate it if he knew, but neither one is interested in being the excessively dutiful child at this particular moment in their lives. She touches his hair and scratches her fingers through it.
"Why do you do this?"
He lets out an enormous, relaxed breath. Her massaging feels good. If it were physically possible for him to purr and not sound like an idiot, he'd be purring right then. "Do what?"
"Your hair. It's so...so...I don't know how to say this." She's trying to be sensitive and it's not such a big deal, really. "Dick, it's poufy."
"What's wrong with that? I've had it that way for years."
"I know," she says. "Believe me, I know." She adds this last part sotto voce and he scowls at her. Since he's still too relaxed to turn around, the expression is wasted because she doesn't see it.
"So?" he prompts.
"Well, I mean, look at Wally's hair." She smiles a little, just tucking the expression into one corner of her mouth. There's always been something quite astonishing about Wally's hair. Not unlike the man himself.
"Hey!" It is enough to get him to shove into the corner of the couch so he can mock-glare at her. "I didn't know it was 'Unofficial Wally West Lovefest Day'."
"Maybe it's 'Unofficial Pick on Dick Grayson Day'?" she suggests with a grin. Babs tucks her legs underneath her. She sips her chaipuccino and cocks an eyebrow at him. "It's not that at all. It's just that I like your hair...at night better. When it's all spiky."
"The truth comes out," he observes, deadpan. Reaching over, he grabs one of her feet from under her and gently tickles the arch. Her toes curl with pleasure. A little of her drink slops over the top of her mug. She places it carefully on the coffee table in front of them.
"At least you don't wear that awful sweater vest anymore," she says. The naked relief on her face is almost enough to make him bust out laughing.
He releases her foot and adopts his best prim and proper pose, which is more difficult than it should be since he's sinking further into the thrift store couch every second. "Are you in love with Robin, Ms. Gordon? Because, if you are, I'd think that the manful thing for me to do would be to step aside and let you two go at it. But I'm warning you: it'd be a shame to get that cape tangled in...places."
She rolls her eyes playfully and pokes him with her toe. "Don't turn this into some big, stupid Clark Kent thing."
"Who told you about that?" He's all business now.
"Kara. What? You think I broke into Bruce's computer?" She leans way over and rests her elbows on his thigh, cheeks on her palms. She peers up at him from under her lashes and his breath catches just the tiniest bit. "Is that what you think?"
"No. No, not really," he stammers. She is tracing slow circles on his kneecap now.
"It's not like you and Wally aren't as bad as two gossipy fishwives when you get together."
"Again with the Wally talk. If I weren't a manly man, secure in my manhood I'd start thinking there was something unhealthy about your fascination with Wally." He actually does feel a twinge of something. Proto-jealousy, but he knows she's only drawing a comparison. Really.
"Oh not like I didn't notice how fascinated you were the last time Roxy Rocket was in town."
"She's got nice hair!" Dick protests, realizing a split second after he's said it, how lame he sounds.
"Is that what the kids are calling it these days?" Babs muses.
"Slander!" he laughs. He steals one of her leftover animal crackers from the saucer under her chaipuccino, tosses it up in the air and catches it neatly in his mouth.
"You're evading the issue."
"No I'm not."
"Why can't you change your hair?"
"I have a secret identity to protect!" he protests louder than she'd like. Much louder. She lunges and claps her hands over his mouth.
"Shhhh!" He licks her palm and she makes a horrible face.
"Serves you right," he crows. She scrubs her wet hand on the couch.
"When my hand develops gangrene from this couch and has to be amputated, please know that my last pre-operative thoughts were of you. And how I'd like to horribly maim you."
He tweaks her nose. "Noted."
"So." Babs stretches back and then relaxes, wondering if the squishy couch might swallow her whole this time. "We going to the barber or what?"
He groans, but allows himself to be pulled to his feet when her small, warm hands tug at his.
end.