He's still not ours, more's the pity. We're just having fun with him for a while.
-X- -X- -X- -X- -X-
Dick Grayson studied the glass vial in his hands. "The surface suggests hand made, by an ancient technique. I'd say Roman, but I'm betting older, right? The etched design is protogeometric, so maybe Greek. And it's not made with lead." He turned the object over, watched the liquid inside tilt slowly, effervescent bubbles rising as it moved inside the perfectly clear container. "Platinum glass?"
"Since when do you know ancient Greek design, not to mention glassworking?" Donna Troy asked around a mouthful of pizza.
"Since when do you talk with your mouth full?" He tried to focus on the vial, but kept noticing the fullness of her lips, the elegance of her fingers, her curves.
Strange how the nightmares had changed his perceptions. Before, any attraction he'd felt for her had been safely channeled in the best friends direction. Now, he couldn't quite see her that way. She'd changed from her Troia costume to a light cotton dress that clung a bit in the right places and he couldn't help remembering the dream where he knew what it would be like to take her clothes off slowly. Of course, in the nightmares everything she wore had been too tight and short with not enough buttons, and he really didn't like what that said about his brain. What he needed to remember was that this wasn't the Donna of his nightmare. This was the Donna he'd known almost half his life, his best friend.
"Good thing Bludhaven has all-night delivery. I was starving," she said, licking sauce from one long, slender finger, and Dick had to yank thoughts back. Donna didn't belong in the gutter with them.
He forced himself to see her as simply enjoying the pizza, her eyes half closed as she chewed. The Donna he'd grown up with enjoyed everything in life. He was glad to have her back. The nightmare Donna had seemed only tired and worn, and he should remember that too.
"You're right about the material," she said, nudging him back to the immediate problem. "But wrong about the dating. I think. I mean, who can know, when the gods are involved?"
There was another proof that his nightmares had no bearing on reality. The Donna from his dream had been a normal woman, as he'd been just a normal guy. The real Donna's life was tied up with the Olympians and the Titans and other beings of disturbingly vast power.
Dick refused to call them gods. He'd met the mythological Titans once, helping Donna learn her origins. He'd met them again when they'd brainwashed her into believing she herself was one of them. Just recently, he'd heard her sister, Diana, had become a goddess, and he supposed she might at least do a reasonable job. But to Dick the rest of them seemed petty and overly meddlesome. He demanded more nobility of a being before he was willing to assign it divine status.
He should hand her back the vial, tell her to solve her own puzzle, tell her that he was done with her gods and their petty bickering that always seemed to screw up people's lives. He had Bludhaven's problems to solve, and the nightmares were still messing with his head. Her presence was messing with him, too, because of those dreams. But this was Donna, his oldest, dearest friend. He couldn't refuse her.
He gave the vial a slight shake. "So, why'd they give you some fancy soda pop?"
"It's ambrosia."
The vial in his hand seemed suddenly tainted, radioactive. He wanted to throw it back at her. Instead he closed his fist around the glass, hiding it and protecting it in the same gesture. "Elixir of the gods? Source of their immortality and power?"
"And that was before some of them blessed it."
"Blessed it? Or cursed it? Your Greek deities aren't known for their loving compassion."
"Apparently that depends on my wisdom in bestowing the gift. That's the puzzle, Dick. I have to decide what man gets this vial. How do I choose who deserves immortality and the gifts of several gods?"
His stomach clenched. "Donna, tell me what's really going on with this thing."
"You know what happened with Dark Angel?" She looked up at him, and he nodded.
Wally had told him about it, and he'd had to believe Wally, even if the story didn't make much sense to him. "She forced you to lead a series of lives, each one worse than the last, in order to punish the Amazon queen."
"Thinking I was Diana, yes. Diana felt guilty that I'd suffered in her place. She believes the Amazons aren't enough for me." Donna's lips tightened. "Maybe she knows me too well. I don't fit there, and I hate to think of life without my friends in the mortal world."
"So -- what? She made this potion?"
"No, she asked for it. Zeus ordered several of the gods to bless it with gifts fitting my ideal partner."
"You mean like a husband?" The nightmare tickled his thoughts again. He'd been her husband, and a damned bad one. He pushed that aside to focus on the more immediate concern.
"I think that's what Diana meant." Donna stepped away from him. She looked like she wanted to pace, but instead took a seat on the couch. Tension stiffened every line of her body. "That's the puzzle part. Zeus told her that if I know the gods who blessed this well enough I'll give it to the right man. But, I don't know them. I don't know who to choose."
Dick now understood why she'd put the vial into his hands as soon as he'd finished changing into civvies. She didn't trust herself not to shatter the thing or throw it away. Not completely. Not yet. She was angry. She expected him to maintain a cooler head and realize that you didn't simply dispose of something created by ... yes, he'd have to admit it in this context ... gods.
But, she was asking for more than restraint from him. She needed a solution. She needed him to help her pick an eternal lover. Could his day get any worse?
She was looking at him, waiting. He had to say something. "Why do you have to give it to anyone?"
"Because it's a gift to me. I'll insult the gods who blessed the vial if I don't use it."
And divine or not, the Olympians took insult seriously. He had to help her, even if it tore him apart to do so. "Which gods are we talking about? And what gifts did they give?"
"We know of two gifts, for sure. When he brought her home, Hermes told Diana he'd offered the same powers he gave her -- speed and flight."
So the lucky guy got Donna and the ability to fly. Dick perched on the coffee table in front of her. With luck envy didn't show on his face. "And the other known gift?"
"Diana said that Aphrodite offered her gift, but Zeus said she'd already blessed him, so it wasn't needed for this potion."
"Well, that lets me out," Dick forced a grin and hoped it appeared genuine. "Love and I haven't been on the best of terms."
"I think with Aphrodite it's more desire and beauty."
"Please tell me you aren't thinking of Roy." He fought to keep his tone light, joking. He'd been married to Donna in the nightmare, yes, but that hadn't stopped her from having an affair with Roy Harper. The thought rankled, even though Donna and Roy had dated in real life. Now, the possibility of dealing with an eternally young Roy Harper while he was in his dotage made Dick glad he hadn't eaten in a while.
"Roy?" Donna stared at him as though he'd taken leave of his wits. "No, not at all. We worked it out. We're friends, but that's all."
Like us, Dick thought. The hard-won humor drained out of him. He pushed the drug-dreams far enough back he expected them to imprint on his skull, and forced himself to see the truth. He was going to help her solve the gods' riddle. She was going to chose a lover and make him immortal, stay with him forever. And Dick would smile when it happened and say he was happy for her, just as he had when she married Terry Long. Because he loved her.
"So, who are the other gods we're dealing with?" he made himself ask.
"Apollo, Hecate, Poseidon, and Hephaestus."
"Sun and moon, sea and smith. A strange mix."
"Hecate is also darkness, a goddess of the underworld. Poseidon is also lord of horses."
She took the vial from his hands and turned it over so the light refracted through the glass. Dick could see fear in her eyes. But, he also sensed that she wouldn't give in to that fear. "Apollo is light, and music, and healing. It's more complicated than it first seems."
Donna glanced away, and Dick realized what had motivated her sister to ask for this gift. He'd never seen before how lonely Donna was. He remembered her as he'd first seen her, full of energy and awe for the big world around her. Until this moment, he hadn't seen the desperation that drove her to Terry. She was strong, and hid things like that almost as well as he did.
"Bulls, too, for Poseidon, right?" he asked, standing to pace his small apartment. He always thought best while in motion, and right now he needed to do his best for her.
"Yes. And dozens of other lesser aspects for all of them. I'm at a loss."
A starburst of intuition flashed in Dick's mind. "No wonder you're overwhelmed. You're thinking about the gods."
She looked confused. "But, Dick -- they said the answer lies in knowing them well."
"That's their game." He climbed onto the coffee table again, shoving the pizza box aside and squatting on the balls of his feet right in front of her. "Donna, first rule of winning is you don't let your opponent set the rules. This gift is for your perfect partner. It's not about the gods. It's about you."
He liked the determination that lit her eyes as much as he liked the smile that graced her lips. "See, I knew I was right to come to you. You see things so clearly."
"But? There is a but, isn't there?"
The smile faded, to be replaced by a lost expression that tore at his heart. "But, I don't know who is perfect for me. I don't know if I believe such a person exists. And, I don't trust that the Olympians know for sure who I would be happy with."
Dick bit back an automatic agreement. He didn't want to feed her cynicism about love. Kory, Barbara, the few other relationships in his life had proven there was no one for him. But, that didn't mean Donna was so unlucky.
Donna set the vial on the coffee table. "If I look at what I want, all I can think is that I don't want this burden. I don't want to be forced into choosing one person to spend eternity with."
"Then don't choose. Not now, anyway. I doubt that ambrosia has a use-by date. Hide it somewhere until you're ready."
"Hide it where, Dick? I can't let something like this fall into the wrong hands. The only really secure choices are places like the Batcave or Superman's Fortress."
"Batman would hide it for you. I'm sure he would." Dick frowned as soon as he said it and honesty compelled him to add the rest. "But, there's no guarantee that he wouldn't see some world crisis as a reason to dispense it himself."
"I know he'd hide it, or Superman would, if I asked, but it's not their responsibility. It's mine. I tried hiding from my responsibilities when I tried to live as a normal woman with Terry, and that didn't work. No, this is my burden."
That was one of the things he loved about Donna. She never took the easy road. She was always on the front lines, taking her share. Still he wished he could share the weight of this, or take it from her. "Okay, no hiding it, and no destroying it. And I'm guessing it would be a huge insult to just give it back."
"Master of understatement, aren't you?"
"At least I don't make all those horrible puns anymore." He grinned when she laughed. Then he sat on the couch beside her. Some anger or fear knotted his chest, trying to strangle the offer he knew he had to make. He'd never, now, feel free to explore all the questions that rose from his Crane-induced nightmares. There was no hiding from, or giving back, this gift. It had to be faced and he wouldn't let her face it alone. "I'll help you figure out who your perfect man is. I promise."
"Oh, thank you, Dick. Thank you." She threw her arms around him, and he folded her into his arms as he had so many times before. It felt natural to close his own arms around her, to feel her heart beating against his chest.
"I promise," he repeated.
-X-
Barbara Gordon settled her wheelchair into position before the huge bank of screens in her control center. It was only two-forty-five in the morning, but pain had woken her again. Pain in a nightmare or in reality, she could never be sure. All she knew was that she would wake suddenly in a sweat, certain that her legs were cramping. Then, as awareness grew and dream receded, the sensation would slowly die, and with it the hope that against all odds she might feel the rest of her body again.
She'd never told anyone, and never would, just how much damage the Joker's bullet had done. Oh, the damage to her spine was obvious. She couldn't walk, much less sail above the streets. But, the real damage was deeper. It was as if that one gunshot cut the cords that connected her to the life she'd known.
Like a phoenix, she had risen, changed yet still whole, from the physical destruction. Her mind, however, was locked in the fall and the flame, in the dying part. It wasn't the bullet the Joker shot into her that destroyed her -- it was the fear of the next bullet.
In some ways, fear was an asset. It made her install redundant systems on top of redundant systems for both the computer and premises security. It made her think of a dozen ways someone could break in beyond the hundreds every expert considered. It made her avoid all the places other cyber-masters hung out and showed off because she knew those were the places where one was most vulnerable. Anonymity was only effective as armor if it were maintained. Fear reminded the mysterious Oracle to remain secretive. It made her, in fact, invincible.
Fear served Oracle well, but it was killing Barbara Gordon. The Oracle, source of information and cyber-assistance for the Batman, for Nightwing, for the Justice League and select others, might be rising from Barbara's dying, but the Oracle was more machine than woman. Barbara feared she was becoming that sexless image she displayed on everyone's monitor screens, her voice as lifeless as the distorted one that she piped through speakers and earpieces.
Even as she set a steaming cup of tea on a coaster, a little voice in her head told her not to turn on the link to Dick's apartment. To watch him night after night was an invasion of his privacy, even if he had consented to the camera. Granted, she never watched him live unless she was talking to him. She restricted herself to stored recordings viewed after he'd gone to bed. Still, some part of her knew he'd be upset if he knew she spied on him.
Sometimes she lied to herself, pretending to believe he left his camera on because he wanted her to watch his life. But, Dick would have never been that cruel. A part of him had to know that he had everything she wanted and would never have again -- that endless well of courage that came with agility and strength, that ability to see every danger as something to be fought rather than feared. Barbara understood the real reason she watched him. She coveted his effortless movement, coveted more his ability to confront the world.
Unfortunately, if Dick knew she watched him, he would put a different meaning on the action. He would think she wanted more than her old life back. He would think that she wanted him personally, physically.
Maybe once she could have truly wanted intimacy with him. When she could sail with him in the sky, when she knew she was sexy and beautiful and strong, maybe she could have loved him as he wanted her to. The door to that sort of desire was closed to her now. Barbara was still strong, but all the push ups on the parallel bars, all the wheelchair Tai Chi and weapons practice, would never bring back the sensations she'd lost. She could live a life -- even a full life, she told herself -- but never a life shared with him.
So, as she did most nights, Barbara lost the battle with her conscience and turned on the link to his camera without letting him know she watched. If it was wrong, she'd live with the guilt. She didn't want to encourage him to hope for things she'd never want again. And yet, she couldn't resist watching, and remembering who Barbara Gordon had once been. Not Oracle. Batgirl.
Dick had a visitor tonight. He had visitors less often since he'd moved to Bludhaven, so the presence of one was a surprise. The identity of his visitor was a bigger surprise. Donna Troy, Troia, Amazon Princess, Barbara's mind ticked through the facts she knew about the woman. A friend from his Titans days, she recalled and relaxed into her seat. Not a danger. Not a threat.
She left the sound off, not caring what they discussed. It was Dick she wanted to watch. He could relax in his life. He had no need to be paranoid. He was still strong and healthy and able to fly at night. The pair ate pizza and passed a small, decorative vial between them. It was a pretty thing, and Barbara would have dismissed it if their expressions hadn't suggested the bauble was something much more serious.
If there had been a problem, Dick would have called her for information. He would have included her if there was a case. He hadn't. So, Barbara allowed her mind to drift. She allowed herself to remember what it was like to eat pizza at midnight without worries that it would throw off a diet balanced carefully to maintain what remained of her physical condition. She could almost taste the sauce, almost feel the cheese burn her tongue. She remembered stolen kisses, sweet and naïve. The dark secret longings manifested in tensing thighs and a wetness that, if it still came, no longer registered in her damaged nerves.
She examined those reactions, perhaps wishing there were jealousy. If there were, wouldn't that mean Barbara wanted more life? But instead, she was oddly hopeful. If Dick could find someone to want, to love, instead of herself, then perhaps they could get back to the friendship they'd had for so long. Perhaps she could talk to him more openly about the changes in her life, her needs.
Perhaps…. But that was a hope for later. Now, she could simply watch, and remember. She imagined herself in that room, newly changed from her Batgirl costume perhaps. She was, for that moment, the old Barbara again. Woman, not machine.
A buzzing shattered the illusions. Oracle identified the flickering light on the console immediately. A few keystrokes and the box analyzing the nightly backup routine appeared in the corner of her screen. The progress bar flickered while loading. That was trouble.
She ran a high-level system check and swore aloud. Someone had hacked the feed as it was shuttling into encryption. She studied the security analysis. Okay, they hadn't gotten much, thanks to the speed of her system's backup routine. But something. They'd gotten something. Barbara turned on the sound and traced the hack. "Hecate is also darkness..." There was the beginning. And the encryption finally outran the hacker's download speed at, "…But, Dick -- they said the answer lies in knowing them well."
Barbara was tempted to run the whole conversation to see if the information was truly dangerous. But, she had no idea what was happening in Dick's apartment at this moment. She opened another window to watch the live feed instead. His living room was dark and empty. That could be good. Or, the paranoid, Oracle part of her mind suggested, it could be very, very bad.
Barbara punched in the number to his secure line. He didn't answer. The signal continued to ring. "Come on," she coaxed. "Pick up."
-X-
I want you. I want you. "I want you." Donna tingles as she speaks the words aloud. Every breath, every cell of her body, hums with awareness -- of cotton sheets beneath her, of the warmth of Dick's body beside her.
"You have me." Dick's words purr against her neck at the precise spot where the whisper of breath makes her pulse jump. And her mind struggles to remember what it's like to think instead of feel.
In her memory, female voices laugh and speculate about him. So many after-mission parties, so many times he's been the object of lust. She's never wanted to be associated with all that. They trivialize and insult him. Anger burns hotter than her passion for an instant. They've no right. He's not their fantasy. He's real. So very real. And he's mine.
As quickly as they surge, the memories and speculations recede. They are overwhelmed by sensation. His lean, muscular body stretches alongside hers. His hands heat her, rouse her, pull her close until her breasts rub against his chest. The chill of the day still lingers in his bed sheets. His skin is so very warm by contrast. She never thought to be here. Skin to skin. With him. "Dear gods."
"Donna." Another breath against her neck, this one followed by the barest flick of his tongue along that same pulse point at her throat, and she nearly screams with satisfaction though he hasn't touched her most intimate places. Yet. He is methodical, as he is in so much of his life, about sharing pleasure.
They lie on their sides, facing each other, her left arm pinned beneath him so her fingers can only reach his hair. She strokes the nape of his neck while he licks her throat. The day's stubble on his chin scratches just a little along her collarbone. The sensations gather -- the tingling, the heat, a thousand tiny quiverings, all trickle down her body beneath her skin.
In the quarter light of street lamps diffused through his bedroom window, his eyes sparkle, and his gaze on her burns like his touch. Her lips ache when his gaze falls on them and she tilts her mouth toward him, almost begging for his kiss. She sees his smile, and then his head dips closer, out of the light.
Want me.
She's too eager, her mouth too open. He chuckles deep in his chest and eases his mouth over hers. The tightness beneath her sternum begins to relax. His kiss unbinds her. She doesn't recognize the knots -- uncertainty, restraint -- until they loosen within her. She feels his body moving against hers. So hard, all of him is so hard. She loves the feel of him. His hand trails shivers down her side, cups around her thigh, and brings her leg up to rest atop his hip.
She drags the nails of her free hand up his arm to his shoulder, scratching patterns as abstract as her thoughts. Please, Dick, want me. Never leave me. And then he's there, pressing against her, coaxing her open for him. She moans against his mouth and squeezes him as he slides inside.
"Yes." This time his voice is a growl. Beneath her fingers, his muscles tighten. She hooks her heel around his leg and pulls him deeper, seeking. Seeking. Seeking. She needs something she can't identify. He's here, filling her mind as well as her body. All her moments with him, all the laughter and the danger, all the joys and the sorrows, condense into this now that she never expected to have. It's everything, and yet she needs…
"Want me. Please." She doesn't recognize her own voice, low and throaty and demanding.
"How can you doubt?" His murmur teases at her mouth. "I want you, Donna. I've wanted you since we were kids."
Had he? Satisfaction wells within her, and her hands tighten on him with a desire she suddenly can't contain. "Show me."
He presses deeper into her. He feels so good, but she wants more, needs more. She needs his weight on her, his body pressing her into the mattress. She rolls onto her back, tugging his arm as she moves, urging him on top.
He lands with an awkwardness she's not accustomed to from him, and his pleasured moan breaks off into a strangled sound. He withers inside her.
His body was shaking now, not trembling with pleasure. She could feel the sweat rising on his skin where their bodies touched. "Dick -- what?"
"Shoulder." It seemed to be an effort for him to get the word out, and it took more effort for her to focus not on the word, but what it meant, and then on the actual body part in question. Her eyes widened. The odd angle of his shoulder stood out, a darker silhouette in the shadows of tangled sheets.
"Oh gods, Dick!" What had she done? "I'm so sorry."
"Just dislocated." Even now, he tried to sound casual. "It's happened before."
"What do I do? How do I fix it?" She was surprised at the calmness that settled around her, but then realized she shouldn't be. How many times had she looked to him for direction and followed those directions without question because she knew they were the right ones? She'd lost count, and she wouldn't break the habit now, not when he needed help.
With his good arm, he leveraged himself to a seated position, and she used her flight power to bring herself to a seated position without jarring the bed.
"Rotate my arm. Out, then up and behind my head. Slowly," he added. His voice was tight with pain now, not passion. She did as he said. "Bend the elbow, push it gently, yes, like that."
She touched him carefully, clinically now that desire had fled in the face of mortification. A tremor rippled through his arm as she adjusted his injured arm and pushed it sideways -- gently, very gently. She didn't want to hurt him more. She heard the soft pop, but more importantly, she saw his body relax just a little. Gingerly, he lowered his arm. Then he grinned at her. "You get to be on top this time."
"Are you out of your mind?" If he was, so was she, because longing stirred deep inside her when she looked at him. The feeling horrified rather than enticed her. She'd meant to barely tug his arm, and had ripped the joint loose. What if she truly lost herself? What if she let her nails dig into his skin as she sometimes fantasized? What if she shredded him as she occasionally had her sheets?
"It's not that bad, Donna." He gave a half-chuckle. The laugh made his stomach muscles twitch, which reminded her again how exposed they both were. "If you want the truth, I take it as a compliment."
When he reached a hand toward her face she had to pull away. She couldn't trust herself to let him touch her. His smile slipped and crashed into a frown.
"I can't," she said, almost desperately.
"Yes, you can." Was the desperation she heard in his voice an echo of her own? "I trust you, Donna. I always have."
"I don't trust myself." She had to get off the bed. Thankfully, her dress lay on the floor near her feet. She grabbed it, pulled the fabric over her head. When she turned back, he was seated on the edge, facing away from her. She assumed he was dealing with the condom he'd worn. The moment, even hidden from her view, was too intimate, too private. She still wanted him. Wanting nearly overran her good sense.
She had to remind herself of the truth. "I can't do this. I can't ever do this."
Even with one arm mostly useless, he moved quickly and gracefully, vaulting over the bed to land beside her. "Yes, you can," he repeated more firmly. "You have before, and you can again. Donna -- Donna, look at me."
Despite her natural speed, she didn't manage to dodge his hand when he grasped her chin and tilted it up so she was looking into his eyes, eyes that blazed now with determination instead of desire. "It's okay."
That determination made superheroes follow him, made women fantasize about him, made everyone paint him larger than life. Larger even than super-powered life. She'd always believed she was different, that she was more partner than follower and understood the man behind the mask. Only she didn't understand him in this moment. She didn't understand what would drive him to risk his life for the chance to simply touch. "I could have killed you. It's not okay."
"You wouldn't have." How could he sound so certain when she herself wasn't? "Donna -- please." The hand holding her chin slipped around to cup her cheek.
"I want to -- gods, I want to -- but I can't. Don't you understand?" It was hard not to lean into the heat of his hand. But she knew the heat would go from spark to bonfire if she did. "I can't."
"Please, Donna," he repeated. She shook her head and finally pulled free of his touch. He swallowed, adding, "Okay. We don't have to go back to bed. But don't go."
She took a shaky breath. "I have to. It would be too easy to -- it would be easy, and I can't take that risk. Not now."
He opened his mouth, and she knew he'd offer a good reason for her to stay. He'd won arguments with people far more stubborn than she could be in this moment, so she cut him off before he could begin. "Don't ask me to, Dick. If you care at all, please let me go."
His mouth settled into an expressionless line. She turned toward the front room and the door, sensed his steps close behind her. "I'm not that fragile, Donna."
"But I'm that dangerous, it seems."
"You're n--" He began, but she turned and pressed her fingers against his mouth, forestalling his protest.
"Don't. Just don't. Why can't you accept the truth?"
She watched a flame go cold in his eyes, felt lips slip from her touch as he stepped backward into the room. She felt as if she'd lost more than physical contact. A wall she'd seen him throw up to others, but never her, suddenly loomed in front of her. She watched him retrieve his jeans and tug them on. Then he crossed to the window that overlooked the alley behind his building, stared out.
Donna wanted to call him back, undo whatever she'd just done. But she couldn't. She knew where closeness would lead, and for his sake more than hers, she couldn't allow that to happen. Not ever again.
"I'm sorry." She whispered the words, knowing he wouldn't appreciate them. She ran from the room, barely taking time to grab her shoulder bag before rushing out the door.
-X-
Dick stood by the window, not really seeing even the darkness behind the glass. He heard the front door of his apartment close. At least she hadn't slammed it. He'd take even miniscule victories where he could get them. There were damn few in sight at the moment.
Why had he let things go so far? He hadn't meant to. The kiss just happened. One moment he had an arm around her shoulders in comfort. The next she looked up at him from beneath half-closed eyes. He gave her the briefest kiss, a friend's kiss like they'd shared so often, but tonight it was different. Tonight she'd smiled in a way that said she felt the same jolt he did and, wordlessly, they'd linked hands and moved into his bedroom. Maybe they should have talked first. Maybe talking would've prevented whatever it was that had just happened.
That he didn't know what to call their final words -- confrontation, argument, just words -- said a lot. Friendship with Donna was solid ground. Sex with Donna felt like quicksand. He didn't know how to read the situation. He hadn't worked out the clues in his head. He couldn't pinpoint the "what" in what had happened. And worse, his only other reference was a nightmare intended to drive him insane.
"Maybe I do need a house to fall on me," he muttered, remembering those cursed nightmares again. Had Donna somehow looked into those drug-dreams to see his secrets? The idea was absurd, of course. She hadn't even been in Bludhaven when Crane was working his sick tricks. But, she might as well have been. Tonight had been a replay.
Her real words -- why can't you accept the truth? -- had been less cruel than those of her dream counterpart, but they cut all the same. The truth. Dick took a deep, steadying breath, but he still didn't want to look. He didn't want to know the truth she saw in him, perhaps because he already suspected. Crane's nightmares had showed him those failings, and his aching shoulder reinforced the point.
He wasn't good enough for the woman he really wanted.
He released the breath and started for the kitchen. It was nearly three in the morning, but there was no way he'd sleep now. He was going to worry at this unwanted truth. He was going to pick it apart until he understood both why he wasn't good enough and how he could change that fact.
That would be a lot of work. He might as well make some coffee. Or reheat the coffee from this morning. Either one would do.
He didn't bother turning on the lights as he traced the familiar path from the bedroom through the living room and toward the kitchen on bare, silent feet. A crystalline glint caught his eye, and he focused on the coffee table in front of the couch.
The vial. She'd left the goddamned vial. He snatched it up, half-tempted to throw it out the nearest window. Had she meant to taunt him by leaving it?
He killed the thought soon as it was born. Donna was never intentionally cruel. She didn't know he'd been tortured by Crane's drugs. She certainly didn't know the details of the resulting nightmares. She'd just been so upset she forgot the vial.
He turned the glass tube in his hand as he crossed the last few feet to the kitchen counter. Here was one answer to not good enough, and an easy one at that. He stared at the vial, almost hypnotized by the light refracted through the glass and the sparkling liquid inside. One swallow, and 'not as good as' would never be an issue ever again. He hated the little voice inside that whispered, "Drink it. Just to show her."
The voice was seductive, insidious. He knew its tone from long years as the Batman's partner. It usually muttered, 'not good enough' and 'failure.' It was, he knew, the author of those cursed nightmares as much as or more so than Crane. It was the voice that drove him to risk more, to strive more. Crane had discovered, to his surprise and regret, how Dick responded to that voice. "If I'm not good enough now, I will make myself better."
But, not this way. He wouldn't betray Donna's trust for the easy road to 'better'. He couldn't. All his years of experience had taught him something else about the voice that told him he was inadequate. They'd taught him how to defy it.
Resolutely, he put the vial on the counter next to the coffee machine, pulled the pot half full still with the morning's coffee from the plate and dumped it back into the hopper. He'd call Donna and tell her the vial was safe, as soon as he had coffee.
A flicker of light from the pile of pocket debris on the counter caught his attention, and with his good arm, he reached over to grab his cell phone. The display told him he'd missed a call from Barbara -- no, he reminded himself, that number meant the Oracle had tried to call him. He'd been otherwise occupied with Donna at the time.
He pressed the send button, and when she answered, he said, "You rang?"
"You have got to make time to get that encryption equipment installed." She sounded angry, and scared. "Someone grabbed tonight's feed as it was going from temporary storage to encrypted permanent."
"What feed?"
"From your apartment."
"They heard what Donna and I were talking about."
"Part of it, yes. I don't know who they are, though. I tried to backtrack the hack, but they're good. I got nothing."
Dick's gut knotted. He'd let Donna down, again. How could he have forgotten to turn off the damn camera -- Wait. His gaze snapped toward the darkened living room. "Barbara, what are you staring at when you watch the feed?"
"Your counter, part of the living room from the other angle, the couch."
"The coffee table?" He stared at the pizza box, reading "Gino's All Night Delivery" in grease-soiled red ink.
"Yes, why?"
Pizza delivery, Donna had said his name, the video showed the box -- those facts clicked in a chain to a conclusion. "They know where I am. Gotta go."
"But, Dick --"
He closed the phone, shoved it into his jeans pocket, and looked around for his shoes. He hoped Gino had had the good sense to give up any and all information on the guy named Dick who always ordered double pepperoni and tipped with a twenty. He'd hate to think the old man got hurt trying to protect him.
His shoes were at the end of the counter, and he slipped into them just as he heard the faint sound of the lock in his front door turning. Too late to run. If their boss had half a brain he'd have someone outside the window with a rifle. It would have to be a fight. Dick hoped his shoulder was up to the effort.
Then his gaze landed on Donna's vial lying on the counter. They could be after that. Where to hide it? He grabbed the vial as the door lock gave way.
The last of the coffee was hissing its way into the pot. Day-old reprocessed coffee was dark enough to hide anything, and now it was hot enough that nobody would stick their hand in it. He pulled the pot out just enough to drop the vial into the liquid. Then, they were through the door.
He grabbed a frying pan from the stovetop, gave silent thanks that Alfred insisted the only pans worth having were cast iron, and came around the wall that partitioned the kitchen from the raised entryway. That small landing would be the best place to stop them. The space would be too tight for them to use their guns effectively, but Dick could still spin and move as long as he kept to the railing.
The two thugs had just burst through the door. There was no other word for them. Both were muscle men in leather and tattoos. Dick silently dubbed them Big and Bad, and timed his movements so he would meet them at the stairs.
They reached for guns, but hadn't time to draw before Dick started his attack.
He came at Big with a low swing to the gut. Cast iron might be great for cooking, and made a pretty good emergency shield, but he could too easily kill these men if he wasn't careful. Even as foul as his mood was now, he wouldn't murder.
The skillet blow doubled Big over. Dick redirected his movement, bringing the pan up so it lent weight to his arm. Then he drove his elbow down onto the back of Big's neck. Big collapsed with barely a grunt to acknowledge anything had happened.
Bad had finished drawing his gun when Dick twisted to face him. He brought the pan down to shield position before the pistol's muzzle flashed. His hand shook with the impact of the bullet, and the ricochet echoed in the apartment.
Still Dick didn't stop moving. A stationary target was a dead target. He lunged forward, over Big's prone form on the stairs, and swept the pan across his body into Bad's gun hand. Bone crunched as cast iron met fingers. Bad yelped in surprise and dropped the gun.
Dick smiled at the opening, and kicked Bad squarely in the chest. Bad staggered and, a moment later, lay as unconscious as his partner.
Dick stared at the pile of thugs on his stairs. It hurt just thinking about dragging them out to the hallway. Even though he hadn't used it directly, his injured shoulder ached from the exertion of the fight. Downside of the muscular system; everything was attached. "Not that these guys offered much of a fight," he muttered as he traced his way back to the kitchen for zip ties. "Man, am I going to be in pain when I go against Blockbuster."
That the thugs belonged to Bludhaven's new crime lord Dick couldn't doubt. They had the right look -- street toughs given too much time and money for the gym and tattoo parlors while they awaited the new boss' orders. Besides, Minh's boys would have showed up with full auto. Blockbuster seemed to like old school. Nine millimeters, and 357s topped his preferences.
Dick had to kick Big in the skull once to keep him out, but he managed to pull both men out of his apartment, and secure them to the railing in the hall. Then he went back inside and tried to call Donna.
He didn't know whether he was relieved or not when Donna didn't answer. He hated that she was probably angry at him, hated that he was happy not to be discussing things with her while he still felt raw. Other problems absorbed his mind as he closed his cell phone. When these guys didn't report in, Blockbuster would send more and better. That was assuming Big and Bad weren't merely a first volley. More could be on their way right now. Dick had to get out of his apartment fast.
His gaze landed on the coffeemaker. He needed to retrieve the vial and go. The less time wasted, the better. He shut off the machine and pulled a pair of tongs from the canister beside the stove to retrieve the vial. As the glass tube surfaced on the dark liquid, he froze. The top was sealed with wax.
Had it leaked? What was he going to tell Donna if it had?