Chapter 5: Learning to Fly

(The music for this chapter begins with "Calme" and ends with "Ella and Kit.")

I spent most of the afternoon with Alfred making dinner. Apparently it was some French dish that I'd never heard of before, but it tasted delicious. What I liked most about our time together, though, was the conversation.

Apparently, this man had received his butler training in London, and he was also briefly a field medic in the Royal Army. He'd been working for Batman for a long time now (of course he wouldn't say exactly how long) and it seemed like they were very close.

Naturally, after hearing that, I had to bust out some of my own stories. I told him about how my grandfather from New Zealand had once gone on an expedition to Antarctica as the team's technician, and he had apparently done such a good job of it that they actually named a glacier after him. True story.

Then we got talking some about England and the royal family (because I do keep up to date with them, especially little Prince George, Princess Charlotte, and Prince Louis.)

It was nice talking with Alfred. He always seemed to have something interesting to say, and his general countenance… well… let's just say it's definitely not American, and… I didn't realise how much I'd missed that. The way he always preferred to do the chores and the cooking himself if it could be helped, leaving me to offer, but stay out of his way for the most part, and how quiet he could be at times, plus his sense of humour… it almost hurt to admit, but it was scarily familiar.

After dinner was done, I helped clean up, and then Alfred said he had some more chores to do, so I went about the sunset-lit manor again, alone.

This was starting to get tiresome. Go do something, go wander around the manor. Eat dinner, go wander around the manor. I was already sick of it, but of course, that was my life for the next three days.

I worked some more on that writing project, getting at least halfway done with it, and then I toyed with my new powers, thinking of all kinds of things to use them for (I still hadn't told anyone about them. I know, I know, looking back now it does seem really stupid, but… I don't know… at the time, it was beginning to feel kinda cool having a little secret like that.)

I met another vigilante. His name's "The Signal." Personally, being honest, it's not the strongest name in the bunch, but okay. He lives at the manor, and we ran into each other a few times, but we didn't really talk much. He seemed busy with missions and training.

Robin showed up a couple more times, too, which wasn't surprising since he also lives at the manor. He was… interesting. And apparently, Titus, the Great Dane, belongs to him, which makes perfect sense. Luckily, I didn't run into that beast again.

I ended up helping out Alfred a bit more. Mostly with meals, since I already have some experience in that arena. I cook a bunch for my family at home, ever since… well, ever since my mom died. And my step mom doesn't cook, so… yeah. But it's not like I'm the only one. My little sister cooks some nights, and my two brothers (the ones who are actual cooks) they help out occasionally, but they work long hours in the kitchen, and when they get home they aren't always that thrilled to have to keep cooking, so it's mostly just my sister and me.

I also offered to help with the household chores, but I think he prefers handling those ones himself.

There was a room I had discovered with a beautiful baby grand piano in it that I still hadn't mustered up the courage to play. It was just so clean and perfect, I hadn't dared to dirty it with my fingerprints. Perhaps some day soon.

Then there was the movie night Stephanie and I had planned, which turned into quite the little get-together. Red Robin was there, The Signal was there, Batman was there, Robin was there, even Dick was there. Not that I was overly excited about that.

I hadn't seen very much of him over the last few days, and even when I did, the most he ever said to me was a brief "hello." Kinda reaffirming everything I had already been thinking.

That night, as we all watched the Prisoner of Azkaban, and in-between Steph's and my ramblings about the books and the movies and the actors, I noticed how he rarely took his eyes off the screen. Rarer still did he ever smile. It was almost like… he didn't even want to be there.

Comparatively, Red Robin and Signal were chatting together about something (maybe it was cars? I dunno, guy stuff) and Batman did his best to stay engaged periodically, but Dick? Total silence. The whole film. (Robin was on his phone the whole time, but that didn't really surprise me.) I mean, all in all, it had turned out to be a great night. Me and Steph talked a bunch, there was popcorn and sodas, I finally got to use that enormous flat screen, but… yeah, I could never quite get passed the one little fly in the ointment.

I went to bed wondering where precisely I had gone wrong and if there was any hope of fixing things between us. I mean, if the problem was that I was annoying, then maybe just keeping quiet and working hard would fix it? I didn't know for sure.

It was raining the next day. I like the rain, especially summer rain. It has that certain smell that just radiates comfort. For that reason, I decided to take a walk through the garden, a black umbrella over my head, and I just listened to all the little sounds, like the frogs croaking in the streams and the "tink" of raindrops hitting metal.

I got to a particularly private area, surrounded by trees, and I had a thought. I'd never actually gotten around to trying out those wings of mine.

I made sure there was absolutely no one watching, and that the manor windows were not in view, before I slipped off my real coat and replaced it with a pure white one. Then I let the wings materialise. They almost seemed bigger than when they were in my room.

I gave a mighty flap… but I barely rose a few inches. I tried a few more times, but it just wasn't really working, and I was afraid someone might see me, so I decided to stop for now. It was fine. I was probably just too heavy to lift. You know, gravity and physics and things. I watched my wings as they disappeared, and wondered why the white patches hadn't moved more since the day I went shopping. It had moved a little, but not nearly as much as I thought it would. It was just as well. At least I could still wear sleeveless tops.

I watched as the dark grey clouds rolled low overhead and wondered if I'd see any lightning. Lightning storms were always the coolest. It didn't look like I'd be getting any today, though.

The air was warm and the rain was cool and as I closed my eyes, listening to the pitter patter of it fall, I wondered what it would be like to fly in it. With my wings, or otherwise. That would be amazing. I thought about how it might feel to glide through the air, being lighter than a feather… it felt like I really could fly. Like I was… weightless… hang on…

I opened my eyes and looked down at myself. I had stopped feeling the ground, and the wind for that matter, and somehow, some way, I was floating a few inches from the grass. I got nervous and suddenly landed back down, the feeling of the wind coming back, and I just stood there for a second. Was this another superpower? Could I fly?

I jumped into the air and—!

Nope. Couldn't fly. I just landed on the ground again with a muddy "splat!"

So then how had I been floating?

Hmm… floating…

I breathed in, then let it out slowly as I thought about being weightless. Of rising steadily up into the air with nothing holding me down.

As before, the sensation of the wind went away, and so did the feeling of solid ground. I was floating. Literally, floating, because I quickly discovered that I had no control over where I was going, and the wind was pushing me up into the tree branches. I yelped right before I hit them, thinking that there was no way I'd be able to react fast enough to avoid them, but then… nothing happened. I just kept rising. Up through the tree branches I went, passing right through them.

Oh… oh this was cool.

I couldn't help myself. As I emerged from the leaves, I unfurled my wings again, my chest throbbing with the excitement of fulfilling a childhood dream. I knew I risked being seen, but I just had to do it. And hey, maybe this would be how I would finally tell everyone about my powers? It certainly felt easier than going up to them and clumsily saying, "I'm turning white."

Regardless, when my wings took off for the very first time, and I started shooting upwards like I was swimming through the air, it felt like some sort of wonderful dream.

I got into the clouds as quickly as I could, and then, all of a sudden, there was just sunlight all around me. I had reached the other side, I realised, high above the ground now. Not that I could see it from here. The sky was a dazzling orange, lighting up the ocean of clouds with its ethereal glow.

"Hold your breath…" I said to myself, gazing into the blinding light. "Make a wish… count to three…"

I fell back, letting my wings take me swimming in the clouds, dancing on the sunbeams, shooting into the air, far, far away from the rain. This was… this was incredible. I was flying! I WAS FLYING! The sensation was nothing short of exhilarating! And the slightest bit nauseating, so I kept the barrel rolls to a minimum as I sang,

Come with me, and you'll be,

In a world of pure imagination,

Take a look, and you'll see,

Into your imagination,

We'll begin, with a spin,

Travelling in a world of my creation,

What you see will defy,

Explanation!

Oh, the way the clouds swirled around my wings, the way the sun warmed up everything! I wanted to fly higher!

If you want to view paradise,

Simply look around and view it!

Anything you want to, do it,

Want to change the world?

There's nothing to it,

There is no life I know,

To compare with pure imagination,

Living there, you'll be free,

If you truly wish to be…

If you want to view paradise,

Simply look around and view it!

Anything you want to, do it,

Want to change the world?

There's nothing to it,

There is no life I know,

To compare with pure imagination,

Living there, you'll be free,

If you truly wish to be…

I wanted to stay up there forever. But sadly, after only a few minutes, some breaks were starting to form in the cloud cover and I knew that it was time to get back down before anyone saw me.

After a quick survey, trying to find the manor again (I had drifted a decent bit) I had it located and was about to fly down to land, when I heard the engine revs.

I had gathered by now that the vigilantes traveled by Batmobile or motorcycle, and every so often, you could hear their engines as they came speeding back into the cave, the entrances being hidden in various locations around the property (none of which I had been able to locate.) But this time, the vehicle in question sounded like it was in an unusual hurry, and also this time, I was able to catch a glimpse of it from my vantage point in the clouds. They were going so fast that the door to the cave barely had time to open all the way.

I got worried.

I landed, snatched up my things, put my jacket back on, and ran to the manor, ditching my shoes by the door when I caught Alfred disappearing into the cave. I followed him, and the first thing I saw when I got down there was The Signal and Nightwing helping a limping Batman over to an operating table.

"He's lost a lot of blood," Dick was saying as Alfred rolled up his sleeves.

Wordlessly, the butler pulled out a bunch of medical equipment and started to work on the Bat. Wherever they had just been, whoever they had been fighting, it looked like they had just barely gotten out of there alive. Dick's uniform was all torn up and he had bruises and cuts all over his face. Signal didn't look much better, though it was harder to tell since his suit had a bit more armour than Dick's.

Speaking of, he was carrying himself over to a seat, clutching his shoulder. I didn't want to just keep standing there in the shadows doing nothing, so I swallowed and started walking.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" I asked, trying not to look at the exposed wound on Batman's chest.

"Could you hand me that box there on the shelf?" Signal asked, taking off his helmet and revealing a rather handsome young man with brown skin and buzzed hair. I quickly found the box he meant and handed it, and it's medical supplies, to him. Dick's eyes, however, were still firmly on Batman.

"What happened out there?" I asked, trying not to let the sight of blood make me feel queasy. I knew they fought a lot of crime, and I had heard about some of their villains—Joker, Bane, Riddler—but I only knew what I'd read in the papers and seen online. Which wasn't very much, come to think of it.

"Poison Ivy," said Signal, disinfecting an area on his arm that looked like the skin had torn. "Nearly had me swallowed by some giant Venus Fly Traps. The thorns were pretty bad too."

My gosh… it sounded like something out of a movie. But somehow, knowing that it was real made it worse.

I looked back at Dick and that's when I saw the cut through the tear in his sleeve.

"Dick, you're bleeding," I said, coming over. Complicated feelings be darned, I wasn't about to just stand there and watch him be in pain.

"It's fine," he said, reaching for the medical supplies.

I was already beside him, ripping the hole a little wider. I had to cover my mouth when I saw just how bad it was. But I wasn't going to let that stop me. This was no time to feel faint. This was go-time. This was "toughen up, buttercup" time.

I snatched the white cloth out of the box before he had a chance to so much as touch it, and then I was pushing it against the wound, stopping the bleeding as much as possible. Dick flinched and stifled a gasp of pain. I kept my hands firmly on his arm.

"Done this before, huh?" He asked, settling down.

"No… but I was taught some basics," I said, remembering the times when my brothers and I had gone on those intense wilderness camping trips. I kept pressure on the cut, not daring to look and see if it was getting any better, lest I disturb the clotting process.

I scowled at my hands. They were shaking slightly. I tried to force them to be still, to steady my breathing, but it didn't seem to be working very well. I don't know what I expected for the first time I'd ever had to put pressure on a major wound.

With nothing much else to distract myself, I followed Dick's gaze to the table where Alfred was patching up Batman. "Is he going to be okay?" I asked.

"Don't worry. He's seen worse," Dick replied. I couldn't—or rather, didn't want to—imagine. "Hey, you know, you don't have to—"

"It's fine. I've got you." I hadn't been thinking when I said that… and the words must have left us feeling some type of way, because he and I both went totally silent. "Not right now," I thought, trying to force myself not to blush. "I need to focus." But much like with my shaking hands, I wasn't exactly making a whole lot of headway.

It took a while before I felt confident enough to remove the cloth, now stained red, and then I grabbed some small towels and ran them under the little tap nearby. It seemed as though they had a whole medical station set up down here. Then I was walking back to Dick, and was not prepared to see him pulling off the top half of his suit. I don't think I've ever felt my face get warmer in my life. Or felt my knees start to buckle.

All those perfectly sculpted abs and…

I shook my head. "Focus!"

I nearly dropped the towel when I came over—my stupid shaking hands fumbling with it for some stupid reason—and then I swallowed again as I started to gently clean his cut. The whole time, he just stared ahead, deliberately not looking at me. I told myself to tune that out. I didn't need to think about it right now. He didn't need to thank me, I just needed to know that he was okay. That was all that mattered.

Next I disinfected, then I wrapped it all up with a neat strip of gauze and he was done. Alfred was still working on Batman, but at least he was awake and talking. It looked like he was going to be perfectly fine after all. And so was Dick.

"Thanks," he said, still not looking at me.

"You're welcome," I said, cleaning up the mess I had made. I hadn't even noticed… how pink his ears had become. I did, however, notice all the other cuts along his body. "Do you want any help with the other cuts?" I blurted. Like the one that was bleeding from underneath his mask. I already had a clean cloth in my hand and was reaching for his face when he stopped me.

"Wait," he said, gently holding my wrist. At first I was worried I'd gone too far, and that he just wanted me to go away, but then I saw his other hand reaching up to his face. His fingers delicately gripped his mask and pulled it away from his sweaty skin. For the very first time, he turned to me and I could see the colour of his eyes. They were bright blue, like the cool, morning sky, or the ocean on a sunny day.

I'd nearly forgotten about the scar just above his cheekbone and I practically had to physically pry myself away from looking at him as I went in to clean it up, sticking two small, white bandaids along the scar. And I was… touching his face an awful lot… his skin felt warm. Then… I made the critical mistake of looking back into those gorgeous eyes of his. I used to think that when people say they felt like their heart was melting, it was just a figure of speech.

But what was I doing? I didn't want to look like some creep, staring at him all the time. So I turned to Signal and asked, "Is there anything you need help with?"

"Nah, I'm good, you two can just go back to staring into each other's dewy eyes," he said with a wide smirk. I wanted to laugh—I very nearly did—but what I ended up doing was tugging at a lock of hair and smiling sheepishly.

"Everything good on your end?" Alfred asked us after a while.

"Yeah," said Dick, sticking a few more bandaids across his forearm.

I wanted to rush in again and help, but I got the feeling I had helped enough already. No need to overdo it. No matter how much I wanted to.

Instead, I thought I would bring water for the two boys, along with some super granola bars, or whatever they were, that they always kept stocked in the Batcave. I only wished I could do more.

Alfred had Batman upright within the hour, though he insisted that he take it easy for a day or two. I brought a glass of water for him.

"Here you go, Batman," I said quietly.

"Thank you," he replied, his voice a little hoarse. Then he sighed and looked around the room. "You know what?" He reached for his mask and pulled it back, revealing his head of dark hair, stringy and wet with sweat. "Call me Bruce."

"You don't mind?" I asked, honoured that he trusted me enough to finally use his real name.

"On the condition that you don't tell anyone," he said, eyeing me.

"My lips are sealed. Pinky promise," and I held up my pinky to him. After he had shaken it with his own pinky, I added, in something of a hopeless voice, "Besides, who am I gonna tell, right?"

He smiled sadly.

"Okay, well… Alfred? Is there anything else I can help with?" I asked.

"Not unless you know how to sew wounds," he said, stitching up Bruce's shoulder.

"Is it very different from regular sewing?" I was eyeing the tweezers in his hand, pinching the tiny needle he was using to stitch up one of Bruce's many cuts.

Alfred looked up at me, probably thinking that I was way in over my head. "You're welcome to try." I swallowed. How hard could it be? What Alfred was doing didn't seem all that complex—sure, he made it look easy, and probably had years worth of experience—but at the end of the day, it was still sewing. (I made sure to watch his example closely for a little while, though. Just in case.)

I grabbed a spare pair of gloves, a needle, and some tweezers and thread of my own, then after washing up thoroughly, I went looking for someone who needed help. Alfred had Bruce under control, and Signal was already patching up the tear on his arm, which just left… Dick. I thought I'd start with a wound he couldn't already reach, like the one on his back.

I cleaned the cut up, threaded the needle, then pinched it with the tweezers and started.

I had to tell myself to keep breathing as I worked. It was the first time I'd ever stitched flesh before, and the squeamish side of me kept trying to make me woozy, but I pushed through it, knowing that as bad as these cuts were, me fainting right then would have been even worse. It was just like fabric. Thick, warm, bleeding fabric.

Things seemed to be going well so far. It actually was a lot like normal sewing, really, just more cumbersome, what with the tweezers being the awkward middle man and all, but little by little, I was closing the skin. Dick's skin… I was touching his back now… oooh, maybe try not to think about it too much…

By the time I was done, the end knotted and cut, I didn't know if I had much left in me to keep going. I was thrilled to have made it that far, obviously, but my stomach was feeling a little weak, and so were my legs.

"All done. Sorry if it hurt," I said meekly.

"No, it's fine. I barely felt a thing," he replied, turning his head slightly, but not actually looking at me. Glad to know all of my cautious, gentle stitching had paid off. But I really did need to sit down for a bit.

"Are you okay?" He asked, and he had finally turned all the way around. I still wasn't entirely used to seeing his whole face like that. Or his bare chest. Somehow, his eyes seemed much bigger than I had imagined them.

"Fine," I breathed, trying to steady myself. "Just… not used to seeing…" I caught myself staring at him and pivoted, "…this much blood." Nice recovery. "But I'll be fine. Just need to take a quick breather, that's all. How are you feeling?"

"Better," he said, looking away again and nodding. "Much better."

That was good to hear.

"Miss Brielle," said Alfred, "Would you mind going upstairs and starting on dinner for me? I'll join you just as soon as I'm done with Master Bruce."

"Happy to help," I said, getting up and discarding my gloves.

"I'll help too," Dick suddenly offered, rising out of his chair.

Oh… him and me… alone in the kitchen… working together?

He was throwing on a white shirt just as I was heading up the stairs, trying to focus on what the dish was Alfred had said he was going to make tonight. Something to do with salmon. I'd cooked salmon before. No problem.

I could hear Dick's footsteps behind me. I hadn't been expecting him to offer to help like that… so suddenly.

I tried to keep my thoughts straight. The first thing to do was find the recipe. Alfred had a neat stack of them in a little tray by the stovetop when he was making standard go-to meals, and the salmon dish was out in the front.

"What's first?" Dick asked, standing beside me. Right beside me.

Had I been reading the instructions, or was I just staring off into space?

Focus! Come on!

"U-um… could you grab the salmon from the fridge?" While he did that, I went and grabbed the herbs and oil. I kept my eyes on the cutting board as I took out a knife and started carving the cold fish into portion-sized filets. Then I noticed that Dick was just standing around with nothing to do. "And… could you please get the vegetables for the salad?"

"Got it." He went over to the fridge, then paused when he opened the vegetable drawer. "Which ones?"

"The arugula, red onion, walnuts, and feta cheese."

"I didn't know feta was a vegetable," he quipped, though it didn't sound quite as lighthearted as maybe he'd meant it. He was rummaging through the fridge and it looked like he was having some trouble. "And the arugula would be…?"

I had just opened my mouth to answer when I felt a sharp pain in the side of my finger.

"Ah!" I gasped, suddenly remembering that I was holding a knife and using it to cut fish. Luckily, it was a clean cut (Alfred made sure to keep the knives well sharpened) and it only just now started to bleed.

"Are you okay?" Dick asked, tossing the onion on the counter and rushing over.

"It's fine," I lied, cradling my finger. "Just a small cut, it's nothing." I was already going through the drawers, looking for the kitchen first aid kit. "Where are the bandaids?"

"Here," he said, holding the box already. While he peeled off the little paper bits, I rinsed my finger under the tap and then stopped the cut from bleeding with a paper towel.

"You got it?" I asked him, nodding toward the large bandaid.

"I got it."

I removed the paper towel and he expertly wrapped up my finger. Not too tight, not too loose.

"Is that good?" He asked quietly, still holding my hand.

"It's good," I replied, liking the way his skin felt on mine way too much. I tried to smile. "Figures… the first time I cut myself… and none of my sibs are here to gloat about it."

"It's your first time cutting yourself?"

"On a kitchen knife," I clarified, pulling my hand away. "But I've cut myself on loads of other things. Like… grass."

"How do you cut yourself on grass?" He laughed.

"It was big grass," I said, somewhat defensively. "Like… I think it was scissor grass." We both snickered, but perhaps for different reasons.

"Mm, don't give Poison Ivy any ideas," he said rubbing his neck.

"Believe me, I won't."

When I looked up from my bandaged finger I suddenly found myself a breath away from Dick. Had he always been standing that close? And… when had he started smiling again? And looking me in the eye? And why was his face so red? And… oh his eyes… they really were like the ocean. I wanted so badly to get lost in that ocean.

"I see we're making excellent progress," said Alfred as he walked in.

"Sorry!" I blurted, ducking back to the salmon. "Had a little accident—it's fine." I finished slicing the salmon, my face turned down so no one could see all the colour in it, and then, feeling as though my usefulness had been spent, I turned things over to the head chef. It was a simple enough dish, he could handle it on his own, I didn't need to be there. That just left me to… look around the kitchen, searching for where Dick had gone.

"I believe he went that way," said Alfred, pointing toward the main entrance.

"Thank you," I said before jogging out of the room.

He was at the end of this long hallway, his back to me.

"Dick!" I said, catching up to him. But like a dog chasing a car, I didn't realise I had no idea what to do after I got his attention. "Wh-where're you going?"

"You're not gonna help with dinner?"

"Alfred's handling it, it's—it's fine." I stared at him. He stared back. I don't know what I was expecting to happen, but this wasn't anything like back in the kitchen. "The moment's gone, isn't it?" I asked in a hushed voice.

His smile was so tight that it physically hurt me to look at it.

"But," he said, brushing a hand through his dark, wavy hair. "Maybe… if you want… we could keep talking… for a little while."

"I'd like that," I said, and little did I realise it, but all of my fears about him being upset with me were slowly fading away.

He led us into a sitting room, on course for the couch.

"So do you cook a lot at home?" He asked.

"I do. Ever since I was fifteen. Someone needed to after my mom passed away. But it's never been my area of expertise."

He was smiling as we sat down next to each other on the edge of the cushions. The rain had picked up again outside and the fireplace was lit. "So what is?" He asked.

"Baking. I'm a big baker. Maybe a little too much, actually," I chuckled.

"Sounds like a good problem to have."

"Yeah, unless you're prone to stress eating," I sighed. "There was this one time," and I put my face in my hands as I recounted my little tale, "I couldn't sleep. Too depressed. And so, in the dead of night, I went downstairs and just made a whole tray of brownies and sat at the table eating them."

"They must be good brownies."

"…They are. My mom's recipe." There was this terrible stretch of silence as my thoughts wandered down that particular trail of memories. "After she passed… I kind of… picked up where she left off. None of my brothers or my dad really payed attention to all the little things she used to do. All the foods she used to make, the traditions she kept for the holidays… the things that made our house feel like home…" I was leaning on my knees, staring ahead. "But I did. So…"

His hand was suddenly on my back, rubbing it gently. When he stopped, he said, "I'd give anything to be able to remember some of my mom's recipes."

I couldn't help but turn and lay my head down on his shoulder. Not to put too fine a point on it, but… it was just so sad. I hated how sad it was.

"What are some of the things she used to make?" I asked.

"Well… it's hard to remember all of them now… but…" he smiled, "there was this one dish she would always make during the holidays. Some sort of corn based porridge with these, like, cabbage, pork rolls, and a very specific nut and raisin cake… I think her mom used to make it for her when she was a kid. And then, of course, she loved baking cookies. All kinds, but especially chocolate chip cookies. I think it was because it was such an 'American' thing to do. She liked that sort of stuff. Like celebrating the Fourth of July, and Thanksgiving."

"Hm. My mom loved how it snows during Christmas time here in the States. Back in New Zealand, it's reversed seasons, 'cause it's in the southern hemisphere. So she'd watch all the Christmas movies, see all the wintery decorations at the stores, but outside it was the middle of summer. So she liked how it felt more like Christmas time here."

"I wouldn't mind a summery Christmas."

"Yeah? How much snow do you guys usually get here in Gotham?"

"Enough that it becomes a pain to drive in."

"I bet it looks lovely, though. Back home, we typically only get one good snow each year, sometimes two if we're lucky. But it almost always melts the next day. Sometimes the same day."

"But I thought you said you were from California?"

"Northern California," I smiled. "It's not all the same biome. Plus there's the mountains and stuff."

"Ah. My mistake."

We were leaning back on the couch now, my head still resting on his shoulder, and his head leaning on mine. We watched the fire crackle as the rain pattered against the windows. It was quiet again. Quiet enough for me to start thinking about how on earth we had even gotten here in the first place.

"So… where exactly have you been the last few days?" I started carefully. "I've barely seen you around."

He shifted. "Work. Technically speaking, I have two jobs. Nightwing, and then my teaching position at the gymnasium in Blüdhaven."

"Blüdhaven?" I asked, raising an eyebrow at him. "That's not a real place."

"Yeah it is. I live there," he smiled as I started snickering.

"No."

"Yes."

"Who looks at a new town and thinks, 'Hm, yes, I know what to name this place! Blüdhaven! Has a nice homey ring to it, don't you think?'" After we had finished laughing, I added, "But so you work as a gymnastics teacher?"

"Yeah, with the kids mostly. I guess it's kinda therapeutic in a way."

I nodded understandingly.

"What do you do? When you're not halfway across the country stuck in a manor, that is," he asked.

"Oh, nothing exciting. I'm a digital artist and writer mostly, but I haven't been able to make a whole lot of headway."

"What kind of art style do you specialise in?"

"Cartoons, though I try to dabble in the realistic to keep my skills well rounded."

"Could you draw me?"

"Probably, but people seldom ever turn out the way I hope. More often than not I find that my portraits are all pretty lifeless and stiff." I think I only realised afterwards what he'd really been trying to ask, but it was too late to fix things now. "Is it scary being a vigilante?"

"…Sometimes. But there's not a lot that scares me."

"Really?" I asked, finding that hard to believe. Everybody's got a few fears. I mean, just look at me. I hadn't even left the manor and I'd already faced off against growling dogs and bleeding wounds, both of which nearly made me faint.

"Yup, I'm pretty fearless," he sniffed, clearly hamming it up a bit.

"Well, I guess you'd have to be, to do what you do," I said, thinking about it some more. "I could never. You've already seen—I can't even handle a few dogs."

"Lots of people are scared of big dogs, though. I think that's pretty normal."

"Yeah, well, what's not normal is jumping on the first person you see when you're scared," and I face-palmed as I tried not to relive it too vividly. If I'd been looking Dick's way, I might have been able to see him biting his lip. "I'm sorry about that, by the way."

"What for?"

I sighed. "You know, just… freaking out like that and…" I scrunched up my face as I cringed. "I don't want to be that girl who's always getting in the way… making a situation worse by not handling things well." I had both my hands in my lap and was twiddling my fingers embarrassedly when he laid his large hand over mine.

"You were fine," he said firmly, looking right at me. And gradually, his face began to grow red again, reaching his ears. "It actually… it… it was kind of… you know… cute."

"No," I chuckled. "No it wasn't."

"Yeah. A little bit."

"What was cute about it? The screaming? Me almost knocking you over? The… what?" He was watching me, just smiling.

"Nothing. You wouldn't get it."

"Wouldn't get what?"

"Nothing, nothing. Forget I even mentioned it."

"But now you've brought it up—you have to tell me," I pressed, unable to stop smiling.

"Do I?"

"Yes!"

"I dunno, I always thought you ladies liked a little mystery."

I made a series of miffed noises, as if to say, "Yeeeah, okay, maybe, but that's just me—whatever." What I did end up saying, however, (you know, with actual words) was this, "You, sir, are very cheeky."

"Cheeky? Me?" He grinned innocently. "I don't see it."

I laughed so hard I think I sent spit flying across the room. What was happening? How did I feel so… happy all of a sudden? Just a short while ago, I was shaking, trying to patch up bleeding wounds, and now… I was trembling for a whole new reason.

"How do you do that?" I asked.

"Do what?"

"Make me laugh so easily." I seldom ever talk about this, but… after… you know, everything… laughing never came easy like it did before. I was a very cheerful kid, and then… it was like every smile had to fight to exist. But right here, right now, it was getting the smiles to stop that was the problem. And… "You make me feel like a kid again."

"Funny… I was actually going to say the same thing about you."

I turned to look at him, those cerulean eyes looking back at me fondly. "No," I gently chuckled.

"Yes," he smiled back.

"No, because that… would mean…" …he liked me as much as I liked him. And that never happened. With big name vigilantes or anyone else.

"It would mean what?" He whispered, his nose so close to mine that they almost touched. And his hand was still holding mine. And our shoulders were touching. And the fire was blazing warmly. And we were all alone. And… and…

I pressed my lips together tightly and forced myself to look away. I had never felt something quite this powerful before… and it was almost frightening.

"What's wrong?" He asked, frowning.

"I think… we might be moving a little too fast," I answered, swallowing once or twice. No, I didn't think. I knew. I took in a deep, shaky breath, letting my good sense come back to me. That had been dangerously close.

"Too fast?" He repeated, looking a little disappointed.

I closed my eyes. "Call me old fashioned, but… I made a promise to myself that there would only be two men who I would ever kiss in my whole life. My dad, and… my husband. And until the day he comes into being…"

Dick made a small noise, as if to say, "Ah. I understand," and he pulled a little further away.

"Until that day…" I continued, watching his sad face from the corner of my eye. "…I guess I'll have to settle for this." And stealing my courage, (probably blushing madly), I closed my eyes, moved forward, and planted a little peck on his cheek. It wasn't the sort of kiss I promised I would withhold—a full on kiss o the lips that is—technically, it was just what I said. A peck. But it was still the very first "kiss" I had ever given to a boy in my whole twenty-one years of living on this planet. Instantly, his ears went pink again as he turned to look at me with an adorable expression. Then, he was suddenly at the side of my face, returning the "kiss." His soft lips pressed against my cheek—only for a second—but it felt like the longest, sweetest second of my whole life. And that was the first "kiss" I had ever received from a boy.

By now, I had completely forgotten about the discovery of my flying ability. Who needed wings to fly when you were with someone like Dick Grayson?