Chapter 12: Maybe Good can be our Always

June 4th

Gotham

Morgan

Beep beep beep beep!

With a grunt, Morgan threw her hand out towards her alarm clock, intending to shut it off. Instead, it was sent flying across the room, smashing into a pile of useless, mechanical pieces. She jumped up onto her elbows, blinking in shock at what had once been her alarm.

That.. hadn't been on purpose.

She groaned and reburied her head in the pillow, her curls fluffing up around her.

Footsteps down the hall and a soft knock alerted her to her mom's presence and she grunted out a "come in!"

Abigail entered, looking first at the pile of electronics on her floor, then at the dent the collision had made in her wall, and finally at the girl who was busy disappearing deeper into her covers. From above, she looked like a bird trying to burrow under its wings.

She raised an unimpressed eyebrow at her daughter.

"I'll make coffee." She went back into the hallway, leaving the door open.

"Extra strong!" Morgan yelled after her, brushing curls out of her face and mouth. Why had she stayed out so late on a school night? Especially when she knew Mondays were her only early classes?

Eyes still swimming, Morgan willed herself to get up, and with stiff limbs she dressed in a pair of pale, wide-legged jeans and a faded, gray t-shirt. Her stomach gurgled, and the lovely smell of coffee and toasted bread, wafting in from the kitchen, bid her hurry so she could go get breakfast. Just this once, she decided to skip her meditation.

"Today's your day off?" Morgan asked her mom, who was placing scrambled eggs onto a plate. For her daughter, she handed a plate piled with toast and fruit, and a strong cup of coffee.

"Today and tomorrow, luckily. But then I have five night shifts in a row," Abigail sighed. Morgan pursed her lips and chewed thoughtfully on her toast. Her mom looked tired. She worked hard to keep their apartment, but she refused to move into a smaller or cheaper place. Safe neighborhoods were few and far in between in Gotham, and they were lucky to live somewhere with relative peace.

"Are you sure I shouldn't stop at the women's shelter and find an actual job instead?" Morgan offered, not for the first time. "You'd be able to work less if we had two incomes."

Her mom smiled fondly at Morgan and reached over to stroke her cheek lovingly.

"Your volunteer work is meaningful to you, and that's worth more to me, my sweet," Abigail said.

Morgan studied the dark bags under her mother's eyes critically but relented. For now. Besides, she only had a few semesters left before she finished college and she'd enter the workforce. Then, her mom could afford to work less. They were just lucky Morgan still had that full Wayne Foundation scholarship. She would be graduating from a prestigious university with fairly good grades, and no student debt.

She took a long sip from her coffee and made up her mind about her day.

"Let's do something fun today," she said. "You never have days off like this, so let's enjoy it!"

Abigail frowned at her. "Don't you have classes?"

Morgan shrugged. "I do, but it's not a subject I'm behind on," she lied, "C'mon mom, skipping class this once won't hurt." She pouted at her and made exaggerated puppy dog eyes. "I want ice cream."

Abigail pursed her lips and took a sip of her coffee, studying her over the rim of her cup. She set it back down and sighed with satisfaction from the warm beverage.

"Oh, alright."

Morgan jumped out of her chair, her wings knocking down a painting from the wall behind her.

"Yay!"

"Pick that up, you clutz!" her mom laughed, as she stood up and started clearing away their breakfast.

"Let's leave our phones behind – no distractions, just the two of us hanging out," Morgan suggested, darting to her room to grab her purse and a warm shirt.

Her mom chuckled as she calmly put on her shoes, not matching her daughter's abundant energy at all.

"If you say so."

June 4th

Gotham

Dick

It took him a few moments to notice that his eyes were swimming, but when he did, he blinked rapidly and shook himself awake, sitting up straighter in his chair in an attempt to stay alert.

"These are the numbers our survey estimated for our public approval rating at the start of the year, however, when we look at the actual numbers now halfway through the year, they tell a much different story-"

He chanced a look around at the other people present at the meeting, ranking how bored they looked on a scale from one to ten.

Dick looked at the notebook in front of him, wondering if he was supposed to be writing any of this down. It wasn't like it mattered – his boss wouldn't be looking at his notes anyway.

When he'd finished school, Bruce had been like a proud mother hen, and he'd instantly offered Dick a high-ranking position at Wayne Enterprises. Dick had told him to please not get nepotism-y about it, and so they'd reached a compromise: Dick would work as the assistant to the head of their public relations department. To Bruce, this was the perfect solution; Dick would still get to join all the meetings, and he'd see what the day-to-day work looked like for a department leader, so that he'd one day be ready to take on the responsibility for himself.

To Dick, it was a fate worse than fighting a hundred venomed goons at once. The work was tedious, and it felt pointless. He wasn't doing anything that mattered to anyone; least of all himself. He hadn't realized – although it should've been obvious from his other major activities – how important it actually was to him that his job was something that felt meaningful to him. That he felt like the work he was doing was something that had a positive effect in the world, that he was making a difference in other people's lives by what he was doing.

He certainly wasn't making much of a difference in anyone's life right now – well except for his boss, who no longer had to go get his own coffee. It wasn't an ego thing either – Dick didn't care that he had to bring the guy coffee. He could spend all day bringing people their coffees if it felt meaningful to him.

A subtle clearing of a throat across from the table broke Dick out of his thoughts and he looked at Bruce, who raised an eyebrow at him. Dick shrugged sheepishly at being caught nodding off, and picked up his pen, pretending to scribble down a few notes.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, not having looked at it yet today – he'd woken up late and had only just managed to arrive at work on time by eating breakfast on his commute. He'd arrived, hair windswept, tie undone, shirt wrinkled. Bruce had taken one look at him and had squashed down a small laugh before wordlessly fixing his tie for him.

Turning on his phone, he sat staring at the screen in shocked surprise for a good ten seconds.

There was a text from Morgan.

When had she sent it?

He put his phone in his lap so it wasn't clearly visible to anyone else in the room. He chanced a quick look at Bruce, who once again appeared to be giving the presentation his full attention. However, that didn't necessarily mean he wasn't still keeping an eye on Dick. To further his ruse, he picked up the pen once again and looked at the speaker while his other hand opened the message on his phone.

He glanced down.

Last night! She'd sent him a text well over eight hours ago and he hadn't answered her!

He quickly read the contents of the message. She was asking him about the mark – so she had one too? For some reason, he hadn't thought to ask her about –

– what did she mean by, 'hope you're doing well'? How was he meant to answer that?

The former sleepiness was completely gone as he sat for a few minutes trying to come up with the best way to answer her. He had to be casual, otherwise she wouldn't text back. Should he apologize for answering her so late? He knew it used to bother her when they were together, if he took half a day to get back to her - a fair thing when they both regularly got themselves into dangerous situations. But now that they were exes, surely that wasn't something she could complain about anymore, right?

He looked back up at the presentation happening before him, numbers he didn't care about flitting across the screen, as the speaker droned on. Across from him, Bruce sat as alert and serious as ever.

Dick loosened the watch on his wrist and placed it across his thigh before unbuttoning the cuff of his shirt. Pulling the sleeve up, dark lines snaking across his wrist were revealed. The mark of her hand, which Morgan had asked about.

He snapped a picture of the mark and sent it to her, placing his phone screen down on the table once he was sure the photo had been sent. Then he fixed his sleeve and his watch and turned his attention back onto the meeting.

He started taking notes once again, trying to stay concentrated. This was important – maybe not this specifically, but he knew learning how to engage with these meetings, learning what they were even about, was key if he wanted a place on the board one day.

..

….

The picture had been enough, right? He started to wonder if it was weird to just send a picture and not say anything at all. But she'd asked about the mark, and he'd given her a confirmation. But she'd also said that she hoped he was doing well, and if he didn't answer that, maybe she'd think he was mad at her. Or he'd come off as cold.

He turned his phone over ever so slightly to see if she'd answered. Nothing yet.

Pulling the phone off the table and into his lap, he sat for a moment and thought about how to answer.

'I discovered it when we got home.. you have one too?'

That was enough, he decided. Now, he'd addressed it, and asked about hers.

Satisfied, he put the phone back on the table.

Back to his notes. The speaker was finishing and pulled up a slide with a few points that highlighted his conclusion. Dick quickly scribbled it down, wondering why he hadn't just used this slide only – it explained more than enough. He was overcome with relief that the meeting was just about over.

"Thank you for your excellent rundown of our new strategy, Mister Schneider," Bruce said before turning his attention to a woman sitting two chairs down from Dick. "Miss Hart, you have the financial plan ready?"

The woman gave him a confident nod and rose from her chair. Dick almost groaned out loud when he saw how thick her stack of notes was. He had thought they were done, but he realized this was far from over.

Her voice was pleasant, and she spoke with authority, but the subject simply couldn't capture his interest. Almost on their own accord, his eyes left the slide Miss Hart was gesturing towards, and down onto his phone. He'd let it lie screen up now, so he could see if Morgan texted him back.

Still nothing.

Should he have answered her question of how he was doing? Or maybe asked how she was doing? Ask about her nightmares, or the golden eyes, or if the spell had developed other side-effects?

'I'm doing fine, except I'm about to fall asleep at this meeting I'm stuck in at work..'

He smiled a bit at his witty response, wondering if perhaps she was in school right now, and that's why she wasn't on her phone. By now, he'd sent the picture half an hour ago, and she hadn't even seen it yet.

Maybe she was getting back at him for taking all night and morning to respond to her?

He took a long drag of the glass of water placed in front of him, and the cool liquid seemed to clear his head.

Specifically, it made him wonder why he was spending this much time agonizing over a text from his ex, and how to respond to her.

Feeling annoyance flare up in him, he reached for his phone, intending to turn it off so he wouldn't know if she answered him or not.

His fingers hovered over the phone, but he halted and considered for a bit. After all, this was about League stuff. The mark was something they needed to discuss – it could be something important.

He decided to let the phone be as it was, for now.

Looking up, he was displeased to see Bruce studying him with a raised eyebrow and an unimpressed air about him. This was the second time he'd caught Dick clearly not paying attention.

Whoops.

He sighed in defeat and picked up his pen once more, this time determined to keep his focus.

Miss Hart was, mercifully, a lot quicker at giving her presentation than Mister Schneider had been. After another twenty minutes, she was finished with her part, and Bruce announced the meeting was adjourned.

Morgan still hadn't answered.

With a sigh, Bruce stood up and stretched his shoulders a few times. Dick was somewhat relieved to know he wasn't the only one that got a crick in the neck from sitting in the uncomfortable chairs at the Wayne Enterprise conference rooms.

He gathered his stuff quickly and got up, hoping to make a quick getaway before Bruce got ahold of him.

"Dick," Bruce called after him, his voice barely above normal volume, and yet it made Dick halt in his steps. Other people from the meeting stepped around him to leave the room, and he turned back around to face his adoptive father.

"Yes?"

Bruce studied him, not without a hint of humor, and walked towards the exit, motioning for him to follow as he passed by.

Dick trailed after Bruce. They went into an elevator, and Bruce pressed the button for the top floor. They soon arrived at his office. While Bruce went to sit behind his desk, Dick sneaked a peek at his phone.

Still no reply.

He stood in the middle of the room, facing Bruce's desk. The office was light, especially for a building in Gotham – a city that preferred a darker, more gothic style. The large windows allowed for a complete view of the city below. He knew Bruce often utilized the view to spot criminal activity if he was working late.

"You were very distracted at the meeting," Bruce said nonchalantly, leaning forward with clasped hands. Dick stood straight, at attention. He wondered if it was best if he denied it or brushed it off as just being tired, or if he should admit that he hated the job Bruce had given him.

"It's not on purpose," he began, weighing his words and deciding to just come clean. "But it's hard not to. It's incredibly boring – I know I should be grateful you got me a job here, but I just don't like what I'm doing. It doesn't feel.. meaningful."

He wished he knew what would feel meaningful. His work as Nightwing felt meaningful. Being the leader of the team felt meaningful.

How could a normal job compare?

Bruce was watching him with a shrewd look on his face.

"We could try something else. I get that public relations might not be for you – how about something a bit more challenging?" he leaned back in his seat casually, riffling through some papers as he thought. Dick knew he wasn't finished speaking, and so he kept quiet, waiting for Bruce to go on.

"The Head of It just had his assistant quit. You're good with computers. They could use you down there, and it would be more actual work than what you're doing now."

Dick felt a small, disappointed squeeze on his insides, but he wasn't sure what Bruce could've suggested that would've been better. If he himself had no idea what he wanted to do, how was Bruce supposed to know?

"I could try that," he accepted the offer, hoping this new job felt more right. He hated how unmotivated he was. Hated it because he knew he wasn't doing a very good job since he couldn't muster up the will to care. It made him feel ungrateful.

As he left Bruce's office, he was at least relieved that he'd seemed to understand his plight instead of telling him off for slacking.

If it had been League related, Dick knew Bruce wouldn't have been as lenient.

Still, he was grateful for small blessings as he went up on the roof and looked out across Gotham. The wind was cold and fierce, but he ignored it as he dug into his pocket and pulled out his phone.

Still no answer.

His eyes swept across the city until he pinpointed the tall, imposing building that was Gotham University. Was she in class? She must've been. He thought back to when they'd both been students – how they'd spent time at the library studying together, sitting wordlessly for hours with their noses in books and their hands intertwined. The nights they spent cramming up to their exams, often falling asleep together on his couch.

And now, here he was.

Putting his phone back into his pocket, Dick heaved a sigh and went back inside.

June 4th

Blüdhaven

Dick

In the end, it took Morgan so long to reply, Dick gave up on it. Maybe he had somehow texted something that offended her enough to ignore him?

As he sat eating dinner in front of the tv, his phone lay forgotten beside him, nestled between couch pillows.

A faint buzzing made him drop his chopsticks into the box of rice and curry, his eyes never leaving the tv as he dug around for his phone. He finished chewing and swallowed the bite as he finally found the phone, wondering who it could be.

With her previous texts briefly forgotten, seeing Morgan's name pop up on his screen made him jump.

'Lol. I hope you survived your meeting'

Dick reread his previous messages to remember what she was talking about. Right. She'd asked how he was doing, and he'd said he was bored at a meeting. Dick was embarrassed to admit that getting a text from her was exciting. Did he really miss talking to her that much? Shouldn't he have been over this by now?

He watched as a new message popped up, this one a picture of her. He swallowed dryly and put aside his long-forgotten food. She was wearing a tank top and the picture was zoomed in so only her arm, collarbone and shoulder were visible. On her upper arm, he could clearly see the outline of his own hand branded into her skin, like a big, dark tattoo. The mark was stark against her pale skin, and he couldn't help but look at the similar mark on his own wrist. He studied it as if seeing it for the first time again, remembering the shock he'd felt when he'd noticed it.

After he'd finally gotten home from their days-long trek, he'd exhaustedly peeled off his Nightwing-suit, climbing into his shower. The hot water had washed away the dirt, sweat, and the lingering smell of the sewer, and as he'd gone to grab his shampoo, he had almost dropped it when he saw the new mark on his skin. He'd studied it in shock for a while, the powerful jets of hot water bearing down on his back until his skin was bright red from it.

Now, he was slightly more used to the mark – although he hadn't told anyone about it yet.

Dick refocused on the picture on his phone, realizing he needed to answer her. If he was quick, she would still be by her phone and he could get an immediate answer.

'I survived the meeting. Barely.'

He settled more comfortably into his couch and thought about what their next step should be. He could only assume Morgan hadn't told anyone about the mark either. The obvious thing to do would be showing them to Zatanna.

'Should we talk to Z about the marks? Maybe they can help her clue into what spell we're dealing with.' Morgan quickly answered, which he was thankful for. It would've started to get annoying if they had to wait half a day between every text.

'Probably. Where should we meet?'

Dick looked around his apartment briefly, deciding it wasn't too messy for guests. Before he could suggest his place, however, Morgan had beat him to it.

'You guys could come here if you want.'

'Sure!', he replied, although he wasn't so sure he was sure. 'I'll call Zatanna.'

June 4th

Gotham

Dick

A warm summer breeze blew the smell of sewer in Dick's direction, and he wrinkled his nose. He was definitely back in Gotham. His feet had carried him on their own accord, while his thoughts ran off with him, and now he stopped in front of his destination.

Was Zatanna already here? He hoped so, as he stood looking at the front door of the old apartment building in front of him. His finger hovered for a moment, millimeters away from the doorbell to Morgan and Abigail's apartment.

He pressed it. There was silence, and then the rattling of someone on the other end of the intercom.

"Hello?" If anything, the sound of Abigail's voice made him feel more nervous. He hadn't seen her since he and Morgan had broken up, and he had no idea where the two of them stood. Did she hate him now?

"It's, uh, me," he said. "Dick."

The door buzzed and he quickly pushed it open, squashing down his trepidation. The walk up the stairwell towards their apartment always took him about thirty seconds, but this time it felt like he had climbed the stairs in the blink of an eye, and too soon, he stood in front of their front door.

He knocked. Someone must've waited for him by the door because it cracked open almost instantly. Morgan's curls entered his line of vision way before her face did, but when it finally peeked through, she offered him a small, impish smile.

"Glad you could make it," she said, before opening the door fully and allowing him entrance.

"Of course," he said. "League business is always a priority."

"You got that right," she mumbled, fidgeting by the door as she watched him take off his jacket.

Force of habit made him take a few steps down the hall before he stopped and let Morgan lead the way.

They went into the kitchen where Abigail was putting on a kettle. She turned towards the two of them. Morgan went further in and hopped up onto the dining table, swinging her legs back and forth. Dick stood rooted to his spot at the door, suddenly not daring to enter the kitchen.

Abigail looked tired, but she offered him a soft smile.

"Hi Dick," she came forward and gave him a tight hug, and despite his usually fast reflexes, he didn't get to return the hug before it was already over. Something was squeezing at his chest and it wasn't just her arms. "It's good to see you again."

"You too," he said, and he meant it. He allowed her to guide him into a chair at the table, shooing Morgan down from her perch. With a good-natured roll of her eyes, Morgan relented and jumped off the table, sitting in a chair across from Dick instead. Her wing batted his face on the way down and he swatted at it out of habit.

"Sorry," she smiled impishly. "I don't always remember how much space they take up."

"It's fine."

Abigail came and pressed a mug of tea into his hands.

"I made it just how I remember you like it," she assured him, before scuttling back to the counter to make a cup for her daughter too.

"Green or black?" she asked Morgan, holding up each option.

"Green, please." Morgan said. Abigail handed over the mug a moment later, and Morgan accepted it with thanks and a small sip.

Dick studied the two of them, feeling himself ease up somewhat at their relaxed demeanor. This was.. alright. Cozy, even. He'd feared that Abigail would hate him, but he detected no ill will from her at all.

"Zatanna texted me and said she's a little late." Morgan looked at him over the rim of her cup. She took another sip.

"Did she say when she'd be here?"

"She told me 'as soon as possible'. That's all I know," Morgan shrugged.

"Just enough time, hopefully, for us to catch up!" Abigail said enthusiastically, settling down at the end of the table with her own mug of tea. "I haven't seen you in so long! You must've finished school by now?"

She had elegantly jumped over the elephant in the room, and Dick gladly played along.

"Yeah, I finished a while ago. I work for Bruce now."

Morgan coughed into her hand, "Nepo baby!"

Dick gave her a small glare, but she smiled innocently and drank from her mug. She grabbed a clementine from a bowl at the table and started peeling it.

"Do you like it?" Abigail asked.

"Uh," he hesitated, and that seemed to tell them all they needed to know. "I'm still getting used to it."

"Fair," Morgan said, biting into a slice of clementine.

"Getting your first real job can take some getting used to," Abigail nodded thoughtfully.

"I've been thinking about quitting," he said, surprising himself. Maybe he was telling them because he felt defensive about Morgan's playful jab, or maybe because he wasn't sure who else to talk to about it. "I'm not sure this corporate stuff is for me."

Abigail listened attentively.

"Sometimes it takes a few tries before you find the right thing for you. I thought I was going to be a midwife for years before I realized it wasn't working out."

Dick nodded along. "I've been trying to figure out what I could do that would feel meaningful. I'm not quite there yet, but I'm sure I'll find out."

Something inside of Dick started to ache, but not necessarily in a bad way. For the past two years, Abigail had been the only thing in his life resembling a mother figure, and now as she sat before him, offering him a cup of tea, made 'just how she remembered he liked it', he truly felt that absence in his life.

Sitting at the table in their little kitchen with both women relaxed and chatting quietly, his presence not unwanted, made Dick feel just like old times. The days spent at their apartment were the closest thing to experiencing a normal life that he felt he'd ever gotten.

"That's good," Abigail shot a look towards her daughter at Dick's considerations. "At least you're trying to figure out what you want to work with, unlike some people."

Morgan flicked a slice of the clementine at the mom, who caught it with a show of impressive reflexes.

"I'm still studying, it's totally normal not knowing what I wanna do afterwards."

"You still haven't found anything?" Dick blurted out, remembering it had also been a source of frustration for her back when they were dating.

She shrugged casually, leaning back in her chair, and letting her wings flop over the backrest. "It's not like I'm running out of time."

Abigail looked like she was about to protest, but she was interrupted when a bright light flashed from their living room. The three of them looked at the door as they heard footsteps approaching, and Zatanna entered their view.

"Sorry I'm late," she said, smoothing down her frazzled-looking hair. "League business took longer than expected."

"It's fine, League business is always a priority," Morgan parroted Dick's words from earlier, downing the rest of her tea and standing up. "Thanks for the tea, mom. Shall we?"

Dick and Zatanna followed in step behind her, and the three of them went to her room.

His eyes swept across the place, finding it largely unchanged from when he was last there. Her bed, messy as usual. Her desk filled with schoolwork, books and papers piled high in a system he assumed only Morgan could navigate. On her bedside table was a stack of classical literature books, and her current knitting project. He could tell her closet was overflowing, but that she'd crammed it shut, a single shirtsleeve sticking out from under the door.

"Alright," Zatanna had an air of breeziness about her as she hopped onto Morgan's bed. "Let's have a looksee."

Dick perched himself against Morgan's desk and watched as she hiked up the sleeve of her t-shirt, revealing the mark. Zatanna took Morgan's hand in hers and lifted up her arm, studying the mark from all sides.

It was his first time seeing it in real life, and he craned his neck from his position to get a better look at it. As he already knew from her picture, it had the exact same characteristics as his own, only larger and across her entire bicep. Seeing her arm branded with his handprint evoke a strange emotion in him. He felt bad, even though he knew it wasn't his fault.

It also felt.. intimate. A visual manifestation of a touch they had shared. He wondered if she would think the same when she saw the handprint on his wrist.

"I noticed it the day we got home," Morgan explained as Zatanna traced part of the mark with her finger before pressing down on it with her thumb. Nothing happened.

"Dick, come here." she said, motioning for him with her free hand as she kept studying the mark.

Zatanna grabbed his hand once he'd joined the two girls by the bed and pressed his index finger onto the mark. Morgan instantly jolted back as if she'd been electrocuted.

"It's buzzing!" she gasped, holding her marked arm against her chest and covering it with her own hand, looking at him in surprise.

Dick wasn't necessarily sure if it was a smart decision, but he held his hand out in invitation. They needed to figure out what the marks were, and how they reacted upon contact. Their eyes met for a moment, and he read the same hesitation on her face that he also felt.

"Let's try," he encouraged.

Morgan relented and took a step closer, holding out her arm. He closed his hand around her bicep, making sure to place his fingers exactly along the marks they'd previously branded into her skin.

He could feel it too. Some power was exchanging between them, like electricity crackling along the palm of his hand and into her skin. The mark started glowing subtly, like golden dust shimmering beneath her skin. There was a low hum, quiet but distinctive to his ears. He wasn't sure if it was actually in the room, or it came from inside his own head.

"And you say you opened a portal when you touch like this? When you activate the spell?" Zatanna asked.

Dick wet his dry lips and tore his eyes away from the glowing mark, nodded at Zatanna.

"Uh, yeah. But only because we stood in the correct spot."

"So, what happens when you activate the spell and you're not in a spot with a portal?"

He exchanged a look with Morgan, the two of them understanding what she was asking them to do. He let her arm go and took off the hoodie he had on, revealing a white t-shirt underneath. Then, he unclasped the watch he'd started wearing to better mask the mark, throwing both onto her bed. Dick stretched out his arm, letting the two girls get a good look at the dark brand across his wrist.

"Okay, let's try it," Morgan sighed.

Dick held out his hand to her, letting Morgan initiate. Her smaller hand reached for him, hesitating for a split second before closing around his wrist. The glowing, the humming, the electricity – it all came rushing back. Dick did his utmost to stay focused on their task and not consider the proximity, not think of the contact as anything other than their investigation.

His heart rate sped up and he told himself it was nerves from purposefully activating the spell. Then he grabbed her arm.

The hum became deeper, and he felt slightly lightheaded, a tingling sensation erupting behind his eyes. The marks were no longer simply shimmering with a subtle glow but set alight.

It seemed as if all other light in the room dimmed, as the glow from their marks grew in intensity, bathing the girl before him in a golden hue that lit up her curls like a halo around her face. Dick studied her face, the slight, awed parting of her lips, the dusting of freckles across her nose and cheekbones.

From the glowing marks, long, wispy tendrils, like rays of sunlight, started erupting. They shimmered and shone as they grew longer and larger in numbers, soon encasing the two heroes in a gentle, lazy whirlwind of golden mist. They spread across the room, looking like golden ribbons floating in a pool of water. Dick felt a subtle pull upwards, like gravity was losing its hold on them. The hem of his shirt started floating and locks of hair were moving across his vision, behaving as if underwater.

He met Morgan's eyes and for a second it felt like they were the only two people in the world, hidden in this peaceful, golden cocoon. Her curls were floating around her face, the feathers on her wings rustling. He realized she was shaking.

Morgan gasped and he watched in trepidation as her eyes pooled with golden liquid, severing the eye contact they'd kept. Her head tilted back, and he could tell that her eyes were moving rapidly behind the golden film that covered them.

"I'm seeing.. things. Visions," she said, her voice sounding far off. The hum in his mind was getting stronger, but he didn't dare break the spell just yet.

"What are you seeing?" he asked, surprised to find his voice was barely above a breathless whisper. His thoughts were turning foggy, and his head was overcome with that tingling sensation. Somewhere in the back of his mind he understood that this loss of his awareness made him uncomfortable and on edge, that it wasn't right that he was so groggy and unfocused. It was dangerous when he let his guard down, when his senses dulled.

"Snow. And ice. In the middle of nowhere." Morgan sounded like she was groggy, her mind faraway too. "There's a large.. crystal structure in the middle of it all. It's.. on fire. Black smoke everywhere." Her hand tightened on his wrist and her voice held a tinge of fear. "Reach. It's crawling with Reach."

Her voice took on a note of tension and her brow furrowed. "I'm in a building. It's burning. There's fire everywhere." Her voice rose and she sounded agitated. Dick felt his own mind buzz with worry.

"There's something after me!" she gasped and the next words came as a chilling whisper. "Black Beetle.."

Quite abruptly, Dick was overcome with the need to sever contact, to stop the spell from whatever it was doing to them. He came to like his head had been dunked in a bucket of cold water. It seemed that Morgan was of much the same opinion because she let go of his wrist like it was burning her and took a stumbling step back. Dick dropped her arm immediately.

The hum in his ears subsided along with the tingling in his head and the fogginess over his mind.

Dick felt like he had woken up from a dreamlike state, his awareness snapping back into place. His eyes found Morgan and he saw she was breathing heavily like she'd just run a long distance. He realized he was doing the same. He rubbed at his temples, trying to get rid of the aftereffects of the buzz.

"Well!" A third voice cut across the room, and Morgan visibly jumped. Dick turned towards Zatanna, who was still sitting cross-legged on Morgan's bed.

He'd forgotten she was here.

How powerful was that spell?

"That was certainly something." Zatanna looked like she'd been handed some very interesting information.

"That was one of my dreams!" Morgan ran a hand through her hair and knotted her fingers into curls at the top of her head, squeezing with frustration. "We always come back to that damn dream, every single time!"

"But this time, you were awake," Zatanna said thoughtfully. "Here's my theory: The dreams are visions, but because some of the spell's juice was broken off and given to Dick, the visions aren't strong enough to break through to your mind when you're awake, so they spill into your dreams instead."

"Makes sense," Dick pulled up his computer and pressed a few buttons, recalling what Morgan had described in her vision. She slumped onto her bed rubbing a tired hand over her eyebrows.

"Was this the place you saw?" he asked, showing her the picture he'd found.

Morgan perked up. "Yes! That's exactly it!"

"That's the Fortress of Solitude."

"Superman's place?" she frowned. "I've never seen it before. That just proves these visions aren't nonsense. They have to mean something."

"You say it was burning?"

Morgan looked uncomfortable at trying to recall the details of the vision, but she nodded.

"It was being destroyed."

The three of them exchanged looks.

"We should probably talk to Superman," Zatanna said, looking to Dick for confirmation.

"He's not at the Tower today. We'll have to wait for tomorrow," Morgan sighed.

"How do you know that?"

Morgan sent him a look like she was surprised he didn't know.

"Superman always takes Mondays off to be with his family. Unless a big crisis happens, and he has to come."

"Okay," he said. "Tomorrow, at the Watchtower. I'll let you know when."

"I'll hit the books," Zatanna said. "Now that we know what else this spell can do, maybe I can figure out its source and hopefully how to get rid of it."

"Good," Dick pressed a button and the holo-screen disappeared.

Morgan looked between the two of them and shrugged. "I guess that's it for now?"

June 4th

Gotham

Morgan

"I'll see you tomorrow," Zatanna said, offering Morgan an encouraging smile, before she clapped her hands together, spoke an incantation, and disappeared into thin air.

Quite suddenly, Morgan found herself alone with Dick. In her bedroom.

"I'll, uh, see you out," she said, meeting his gaze fleetingly before ducking past him and into the hallway. Her mind was still reeling from the experience she'd just had, and her vision still shimmered with small specks of gold.

His mom poked her head through the door from living room.

"How did it go?"

Morgan halted very suddenly, and Dick, who had apparently been walking close to her, bumped into her from behind.

"It went well," she said, mortified by the way her voice came out like a squeak. "We discovered something useful."

"That's good!" her mom encouraged before sitting back down on the couch. "I hope to see you again soon, Dick!"

"Thank you, Abigail." His voice rumbled just behind Morgan, and she quickly moved to the front door. Had her mom simply decided to ignore that the two of them weren't a couple anymore? Although Morgan had to admit she'd enjoyed him being there, sharing a cup of tea with the two of them. Her mom had an ability to create a comfortable mood no matter who she was with. She'd diffused any tension that should've been there.

It made Morgan feel a bit more hopeful about what she felt she needed to talk to him about once they left the apartment. Her heart hammered in her chest as she watched him shrug on his jacket. Then, she opened their front door and led the way down the hall and the stairs, not looking behind her; she worried he would look at her weirdly for escorting him all the way down to the street, and it would make her chicken out.

The front door of the building opened with a snap, letting in a cool breeze. Morgan held the door open for him and Dick passed by her and onto the street, walking a few paces to allow her room. She wrapped her arms around herself, wishing she'd worn something thicker than a t-shirt.

Dick lingered at the curb with his hands stuffed deeply into his pockets – he seemed to know that she had something on her mind. The streetlight kept flickering above them, bathing him in sporadic shadows.

Their eyes met for a short moment, and she was sure she looked pained, as she struggled to figure out what words to get out. Looking at her feet, she shuffled around a bit and kicked a pebble onto the road, where it landed in a puddle.

A strong gust of wind blew her hair in front of her eyes, and she wrapped her wings tightly around herself, to shield and warm her rapidly cooling arms.

"How's your wing doing?" Dick asked. Hands still stuck in his pockets, he motioned with his elbow at the one he had treated. "I never got to ask after we came home."

"Oh!" she spread her wing for him to see. "It's good! No lasting damage. You did your work well."

He offered her a small, closemouthed smile. "Good. I'm glad."

"So, that spell-thing was really something," she blurted out, knowing she had to say something, otherwise he was just going to leave.

He looked at her strangely but indulged her. "It sure was."

God, she really needed to get to her point, didn't she?

"Dick, are we.." she bit into her bottom-lip, but willed herself to finish the sentence. "Are we good?"

His face was carefully blank, but he took a step towards her, like he was going to ask her to speak more clearly.

"Are we good?"

"Yeah, I mean," now that she'd said her opening, she found it much easier to keep going. "I know things haven't been easy, or peaceful. I think we can both agree we could've handled this break up with more dignity than we did."

Her stomach churned at her audibly mentioning their failed relationship to his face, and the way his whole body appeared to tense, his breath coming out in a startled little puff, let her know he wasn't unaffected either.

Still scrambling to figure out what she was really trying to say, she spoke; "I just.. This thing with the timelines, it's really serious. Like world-ending serious. And I've never.. I mean – " she kept stumbling over her words, and Dick took another step closer, looming over her as she wrung her hands with nerves.

She picked up her courage and tilted up her head to look him square in the face. Meeting his blue eyes, which sparkled even in the darkness, her thoughts streamlined, and she found the words.

"You've always been there. Every time I've been on a dangerous mission, had to save the world, had to put my life on the line, I've relied on you. And doing this – fixing the timelines and closing portals. I-I just can't imagine doing any of it if.. if we aren't ok. If we can't work together. If we can't be good."

His eyes were unfathomably deep, and she feared she might get lost in if she looked into them any longer, but she didn't dare look away.

Dick was still for a moment, but then he quirked a little smile and blew out a laughing breath, dipping his head down to look at their feet. He finally took his hands out of his pockets.

"Of course, we're good," he said, and the way he spoke made her stomach clench.

"Thank you," she breathed. She wondered for a short moment if she ought to tell him about the encounter she'd had with Jason yesterday. The peaceful look on his face made her decide against it – she could tell him, or one of the other Bats, about it at some other point. They had bigger fish to fry. Besides, she wasn't in any hurry to admit how she'd let him slip away.

She looked at Dick's wrist peeking out through his jacket-sleeve, the brand from her fingers visible. On an impulse, she reached a finger out and pressed it to the mark, watching the way it lit up and shimmered like gold dust.

The touch seemed to break whatever inhibition was holding Dick back, and he quite unexpectedly pulled her into a tight hug.

She melted into him, wrapped her arms as tightly around him, as he was squeezing her. It felt warm and safe, and oh so comforting and familiar. She could hear him sigh deeply, though the hammering of her heart almost drowned it out.

They stood like that for a while, neither willing to be the one to break the embrace.

…

Okay, the hug had officially lasted a bit longer than was proper. She knew they were toeing a line. But so long as she kept hugging him, she didn't have to think about that. Maybe that was why she hadn't let go yet – because awkwardness awaited her at the other side.

Eventually – it was inevitable, really – she loosened her grip, and he let her slide out of his arms.

"Have a safe trip home." She was sure her face was beet-red, but Dick simply smiled at her, and then turned on his heel, venturing down the street at a leisurely pace.

Morgan unlocked the front door and ran all the way back upstairs, into their apartment and to her room. She jumped into the bed and pulled the covers up to her nose, waiting for the fierce blush to calm down.

A moment later, her mom knocked on her door.

"Are you okay, sweetheart?" she asked, voice muffled from behind the closed door.

"I'm good!" she squeaked, struggling to keep the silly smile off her face. "I'm good."

My chapter names are getting progressively goofier but we're embracing it!

Also how fucking cute was that ending?

See in this story we've got space for all kinds of drama! World-ending, apocalyptic timeline-converging? Prophesies of death? We've got it!

Being bored at work? Sometimes, texting your ex is awkward yet exciting? Hell yeah, baby!

As I said, in this story we're getting a little silly and playing with some tropes, so have a "the mains have branded each other's lives in ways thats impossible to extricate themselves from and now physical proof of this has manifested as a brand on their skin" thing.

So this whole spell thing came about as I was working on the plot, and I had a few issues that needed to be resolved. Most importantly; why are is it that THESE TWO, with all their baggage HAVE to be the ones to work on this? We needed a Macguffin that forces them to stick around and work together when they realistically would want to avoid each other. Secondly, what is causing Morgan to have these nightmares? And third, how did they travel through the rift?

The solution was this spell, and it's honestly doing a lot of heavy lifting when it comes to plot conveniences (aka, the thing that forces them to work together and the thing that lets them active the rifts) and also the mystery of the story, which it is also a big part of lol. Also - but this is one of those things that'll only make sense at the end of the story - it serves a pretty big thematic purpose too! I can't wait for you to understand what that means :)

We'll see them explore it a little bit more in the next chapter when we're headed for the Fortress of Solitude!