Chapter 18: Macaroons
July 13th
Poseidonis
Sparrow
At some point during the early hours of the morning, Morgan fell asleep, leaning her head against Dick's shoulder. He was sitting against the rough cave-wall, and she had placed herself flush against his side, trying to siphon some warmth from him. He had readily accepted the closeness.
Several hours later, she blinked awake, feeling stiff but warm. For a moment, her brain muddled by sleep, she wanted to sink closer into his side like she had done so many times before, and enjoy the feeling of comfort she gained from it.
"Good, you're awake."
The sound of M'gann's voice made her jump a foot into the air, and she instinctively shoved Dick away from her as if they were two students caught making out behind the bleachers.
"Why are you shoving me? I'm just sitting here!" he exclaimed. The shove had caught him by surprise and he'd fallen onto his elbow.
Morgan sat, blinking dumbfounded at her two friends, who were both watching her weirdly.
"Uhm?" she pushed hair out of her face as her brain slowly started to catch up to her surroundings, and she remembered where she was.
When had she fallen asleep?
"How is Kaldur doing?" she asked, the first thing her mind jumped to. She looked around the cave. "And where is La'gaan?"
Dick shut down his computer and looked to M'gann.
"Kaldur's fine. His wound is already better, thanks to his accelerated healing," he said, rising off the floor.
Had she drooled on him? She eyed his shoulder, trying to spy any wetness. She'd die if she had.
"La'gaan is out looking for the rebreather. He left an hour ago," M'gann added. "Don't worry," she tapped her temple, "I'm in contact with him. He found it, and he's on his way back."
"He found it?" she almost gasped with relief and got up off the floor. Two great news at once – a rarity.
She stretched out her sore wings and back, hearing several loud pops as she did. God, she was starving. None of them had expected an overnight stay, and she knew they were all hungry and tired.
"What about the portal?"
"It's ready for us. My tracker went off a few hours ago. We were just waiting for La'gaan to return," Dick explained.
"And for you to wake up," M'gann said with a raised eyebrow and a small smirk on her face. "You looked so peaceful; we didn't want to disturb you."
Morgan blushed crimson. What was she supposed to say to that?
"Let her be," Dick laughed at M'gann as he passed by the martian, giving her shoulder a firm pat. He headed for Kaldur and crouched beside him, beginning to unwrap the bandages around his torso. Morgan assumed he was checking on Kaldur's progress.
We're gonna talk later, M'gann's amused voice came into her mind.
Morgan glared at her, aware that her cheeks were blazing hot.
There's nothing to talk about.
Sure.
The surface of the water behind them came to life, as La'gaan emerged. He held his hand aloft triumphantly, and in it was the rebreather.
"Oh my god, you're my hero!" Morgan exclaimed, accepting the offered device with reverence.
"Here you go." He sounded proud of his achievement and smiled teasingly. "Try not to lose it again, Minnow."
A pained groan drew their attention. Kaldur was waking up.
Everything was falling into place again.
Half an hour later, Aquaman was awake and alert enough to move around on his own, and their small team had gathered in the pool of water, preparing to dive once more.
Nightwing looked the rest of them over. His attention was once more entirely on the mission.
"We get to the portal as fast as possible. We activate it, we go through, we get home."
The others gave him serious, focused looks.
He smiled. "Ready?"
His question received several nods, and he put the rebreather in his mouth, signaling their departure.
Let's go, his voice encouraged in her mind, and Sparrow readied herself for their quick dash. She resisted the urge to bite hard into the rebreather, afraid of dropping it again.
After the last two days, one thing was for sure.
She was never volunteering for any underwater missions again.
July 13th
Gotham
Morgan
With a sigh, Morgan dragged herself through her front door. She debated crawling into bed, but the itchy feeling of dried saltwater on her face made her head for her bathroom instead.
It was barely late morning, and she'd just arrived home from the Watchtower, tired to the bone after their restless night on the bottom of the ocean. Kaldur was on the mend and had assured her he was good to go. M'gann and La'gaan had both gone home too, as soon as they'd arrived. Dick was the only one who had stayed behind – not a surprise. He had claimed he had work to do.
She took the quickest shower possible, essentially just hosing herself down to get rid of the lingering saltwater, and wrapped a towel around herself as she left the bathroom.
On the way to her bed, Morgan took a look at her phone, which she had left on the kitchen counter when she'd left the night before. She'd gotten a few messages – happy birthday wishes from her mom, grandma and aunt. One from Rachel too. She paused at that one and decided to read it before she went to bed.
Hey sis! Happy Birthday! You're finally old enough to legally drink, so I hope you'll enjoy a drink tonight on my behalf. Thinking about you and hoping to see you again soon!
She smiled at the message and slipped under her covers with her phone in hand, typing up a reply. Rachel and her family were still in South Africa, and Morgan suspected her expressed wish to see the other girl soon was more a politeness than an actual wish. She knew Fathiya would never return to America, not while the Light was still out there, causing trouble. She probably wouldn't allow any of her children to return either, something Rachel wouldn't disobey as things were right now. Maybe one day, when she got older.
Hey sis! Thank you – I've been out all night on business, so no birthday drinks for me yet. The day is still young tho! About to crash for a few hours and then I'll go get something to drink in your honor, pinky promise 3
She threw her phone onto her mattress and sank further into it, squirming in delight at how comfortable she felt. The drink was a running joke between the two of them, since they both knew Morgan hadn't shied away from enjoying a beverage when she felt like it, despite it not exactly being legal. Her mom had never stopped her, either. In fact, Abigail had often enjoyed sharing a glass of wine with her daughter on a Friday night.
Well, now she could drink legally whenever she wanted. The bar scene was open to her. Something she knew that M'gann and a bunch of the other girls were planning on celebrating with a night out, once they all managed to find a night where they were free.
With thoughts of bars on her mind, she got comfortable in her bed. Morgan's head had scarcely hit the pillow before she was slipping into a blank, dark slumber.
She lay for a while, her groggy mind refusing to fully release the sleep she'd been enjoying. Her thoughts were swimming, but gradually, distantly, she became aware of something pulling her from her slumber.
Slowly, unwillingly, her eyes fluttered open, and she looked around with confusion, trying to locate the tapping that had woken her up.
She wasn't quite awake, so it took her a moment to fully realize what she was seeing – there, standing on her fire escape, was Dick, knocking on her window.
Supported on her arm, she rose up further in bed, brows furrowed in confusion. But her eyes weren't deceiving her – he was, indeed, standing there, looking bold as brass. He knocked on her window again, a challenging smile on his stupid face.
Her comforter started to slip down her arm, and she remembered that she was, in fact, naked beneath her covers. She pulled it back up with lightning speed.
What should she do?
For a moment, she considered turning around in bed and ignoring him so she could go back to sleep. But something told her he'd just keep tapping - he was persistent like that. But there was no way she could get out of bed, put on clothes, and let him in, without him realizing she was naked.
She looked to the heavens but found only the strips of paint peeling off her ceiling.
Why her?
Clutching the comforter to her neck, she motioned for him to wait where he was.
"Close your eyes!" she called out, knowing from experience that her windows were thin enough for every sound to pass through.
He made a big show of covering his face with his hands, and she darted for her bathroom and slammed the door shut behind her.
Her mirror didn't reveal any good news to her. Choosing to just do a quick soak and nothing else had left her hair.. well, it looked like a goddamn travesty. Her eyes were bloodshot, with dark bags accentuating the red color. She really needed to get some sunlight on her. It was the height of summer and she still looked like a sheet of paper.
"Oh well," she sighed as she threw on underwear and then a pair of loose shorts and a navy-blue t-shirt. She pulled her hair into a tight bun at the crown of her head and splashed some water in her face. "This is as good as we're gonna get."
With a fortifying sigh, she reentered her living room and looked at the kitchen window, through which her idiot friend still waited for her.
He gave her a once-over and quirked an eyebrow, clearly teasing her for her compromising position and subsequent mad dash.
She marched over to the window with heat in her cheeks and threw it open.
"What the hell are you doing here, Grayson?"
He grabbed onto the top of the window and jumped through in one fluid motion. She had to leap out of the way to give him room, and she crossed her arms over her chest, giving him her best glare.
"Happy birthday!" he exclaimed, throwing out his arms with enthusiasm, and offering her a dazzling smile that almost made her forgive him for waking her up. She noticed a rucksack slung over his shoulder. The white t-shirt he wore fitted loosely around his torso, but it was tighter across his chest and arms, and she was forced to notice how much bigger he'd gotten this year. No longer a teenager, but well into becoming a man, his arms bulged with powerful muscles, and his broad shoulders drew her eyes towards his muscular chest.
"You said that already," she reminded him, but she dropped her arms to her sides and relaxed her stance. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she registered that she was flattered he'd shown up to celebrate her birthday, and her animosity was more for show than a genuine feeling.
"Well, this time we're not stuck in a nasty, underwater cave." He walked further into her apartment, acting like he owned the place. He shrugged the rucksack off, placing it on the small table in her kitchen. "And this time, I have this."
From the bag, he produced a small cardboard box. It was a plain white patisserie box, the plastic window on top of the lid allowing her curious eyes a peek inside. On the side was a logo and a name that sounded French.
He held the box out to her, but she eyed him with suspicion instead of accepting it.
"What's this?"
Dick rolled his eyes and placed the box on the kitchen table when she didn't grab it from him.
"It's your birthday present."
Her heart swelled, and she felt some of her shields drop. Had he really gotten her a birthday present? She was surprised he had even remembered her birthday or bothered to wish her a happy birthday. Never in a million years had she expected.. this.
Feeling bashful from the attention, she took a cautious step forward and eyed the box again.
"Just open it already!" he said with impatience.
"Fine, fine!" She snatched the box off the table and opened it, looking inside. Nestled in delicate, pink crepe paper were eight macaroons, perfectly round and smooth, all with different colors and fillings. She looked to him for an explanation.
"So, I remember you told me last year that you'd never tried macarons," he explained, pronouncing macaron very French-ly. "I figured your first should be the best. I googled where to get the best in the world, and it was apparently this little Parisian bakery."
"You did not travel to France just to get me a box of macaroons," she immediately protested, seconds away from closing the box and shoving it back at him. That was too much.
"Obviously, I didn't," he answered, giving her a teasing smile. "You have to preorder them like a week in advance, they're so popular. These are the best rated in the states."
He shrugged as if that was no less impressive to her, "I did what I could."
She was gaping at him, and a small laugh bubbled forth. Her stomach pooled with warmth, and she squirmed where she stood.
"I don't know what to say," she admitted, clutching the edges of the box so hard it was starting to collapse inward.
"Just say thank you and boil some water. I'm dying for a cup of coffee." He smiled triumphantly, like she had given him exactly the reaction he had wanted.
She set the box aside and threw her arms around his neck. He instantly caught her and held her close, and she buried her face in his shoulder, heaving a deep sigh.
"Ew, you still smell like seawater," she said as she let him go. The stiffness of his hair let her know he hadn't showered yet from their underwater trip.
"Taking a whiff, were you?" he teased, and she slapped his arm lightly.
"You can use my shower if you want," she offered, not sure if that was altogether smart. "I'll have coffee ready when you're done."
"Damn, make me an offer I can't refuse." He was still wearing that goofy smile, and she quickly pointed him in the direction of her towels.
"Be right back," he promised, and stepped into her bathroom.
A minute later, she could hear the water running. As she filled the kettle and set it to boil, it didn't escape her notice that he hadn't locked the door. Why hadn't he locked the door? Surely, when you were at someone else's apartment, and you were using their shower, naked, you locked the door, right? That was the normal thing to do – right?
She grabbed two mugs from her cupboard, trying to banish her thoughts about his nudity.
It was just a show of trust – after all, they were friends. If he'd been at Wally's apartment, he probably wouldn't have locked the door either. He was just comfortable.
"A little too comfortable," she mumbled to herself. How had he even known her new address? She supposed she shouldn't have been surprised – he was a Bat at heart. Surely, Batman had access to some database of the address of every person in Gotham. She just hadn't expected Dick to be so bold about it.
"What's that?" his voice broke her out of her musings, and she only just managed to keep her surprise at his reappearance under control.
Turning, she found him drying his hair off with a towel in the open bathroom door. He was barefoot but thankfully otherwise fully clothed.
Had she expected any different?
"I was just wondering how you know where I live."
"Uh, your mom told me," he admitted, "I stopped by there first. I had no idea you moved."
"Oh."
He raised an eyebrow at her. "Did you think I'd been sleuthing?"
"I wouldn't put it past you, Batman," she teased, pouring hot water into her french press. The coffee grounds whirled around and colored the water a dark brown. "Creamer?"
He was frowning at her when she looked back at him, and then he hung the towel over the back of one of her foldable chairs.
"I wouldn't do that. And yes please," he said, waving a hand at the creamer she was holding. Together, they put mugs, creamer, coffee, and macarons on the coffee table, before sinking into her couch.
He grabbed a mug and studied it before holding it up to show her. "Really?"
Morgan stuck her tongue out at him and the batman-logoed mug. "It was a gift from Rachel for my last birthday. She thinks she's funny."
"A true comedian," he set the mug down with distaste.
"Want me to go grab another?" she offered, but her face morphed into a cheeky smile. "Wouldn't want you to be confronted with all your baggage every time you take a sip."
"Har har, so funny." He scrunched his face at her. Then, he considered the mug for a moment longer. "But yes, I'd like another one. I'll get it."
He grabbed the mug and vaulted himself over the back of her couch, landing in the kitchen. One of her throw-pillows got caught in the crossfire of his long legs and was launched to the floor.
"Hey, respect the deco!" she protested. Dick ignored her. He was face deep in her cupboard, looking through her selection of colorful mugs.
Once he had picked a more suitable mug – a pink one with flowers pressed into the sides – he stepped over the back of the couch and landed with crossed legs. She knew scolding him would be pointless, so instead she leaned back against the pillows propped against the armrest and studied him.
"Fighting again?"
He grimaced and poured creamer into his cup before pointing at the French press, "This ready?"
She motioned for him to go ahead, and he pressed down on the lid before pouring them both a cup. Then, he added creamer to hers and handed it over. She took a slow sip but kept her eyes on his face. He looked to be going over some complicated thoughts, and she knew she'd guessed correctly. How often had she seen him arrive at his apartment, seething because of some argument he'd had with Bruce?
He took a sip of coffee and she decided to drop it, knowing he likely wouldn't tell her.
"He doesn't want Robin to join the Team yet because he thinks he's not ready to be a team player," Dick said, his countenance less cheery than it had been so far.
She sat up a little straighter, her interest piqued. This was a rarity. He had never really told her a lot of details about their spats, but she knew they weighed heavily on him when they happened. He'd get broodier for a while. Harder to reach.
"And what do you think?"
Dick shrugged, and she could see his face transformed. He let the cheery mask slip, revealing something darker beneath: His worries and his anger.
"I think Robin needs trust. He can't learn to be a team player as long as Batman's own distrust holds him back from joining the Team."
"Well," she took another long sip and he winced at the smarmy tone of her voice. "This sounds somewhat familiar."
"Arsenal was different," Dick retorted. "He couldn't see that he had a problem. Robin wants to do better; he wants to earn trust."
She shrugged. She could argue, but she didn't feel the need to. In the end, she knew Dick's call back then had been the correct one. Arsenal had been a loose cannon. Still was, to be honest, which was why he had never been allowed back on the Team.
"And you told him?"
"We argued about it," Dick said, clutching his mug with both hands. His brow was tense. "We haven't talked since. As usual."
She was unsure what to say, so Morgan chose to drink some more coffee instead.
"That sucks," she said, and he huffed out a small laugh at her lackluster response. "I mean, I'm sorry. I know a bit about having a contentious relationship with your father – or father figure. It sucks."
His expression relaxed a tad, and he motioned for the box of macaroons they hadn't touched.
"Doesn't matter. At some point, he'll call me to ask for help on some mission, and it'll be like it never happened. Now, try a macaron."
"That doesn't sound very healthy."
"Of course they're not healthy, it's cake-"
"Dick."
He sighed and leaned back in defeat, letting his head fall back against the couch.
"I know it's not healthy, but it's what works right now. Bruce's been having a.. rough year. Ever since Jason came back and then Damian showed up out of nowhere. I'm not trying to make things harder for him currently."
She considered it but found she couldn't dredge up much sympathy for Bruce. Not when he was making Dick's life so difficult. She wanted to tell him that it wasn't his burden to carry all of Bruce's emotional issues.
She also wanted to tell him about her meetings with Jason. But she held her tongue - he had not shown up to her apartment to have his mood ruined. That conversation was going to be hard, so they could save it for another day. She didn't want this moment - whatever it was - ruined.
"As long as you're fine, I guess," she settled for as her vague reply, giving him a chance to change the subject.
"Now, seriously, try one." He took the box and held it out to her, giving it a small shake.
Placing her mug back onto the table, she opened the box carefully and placed it on the table between the two of them.
"Which should I pick?"
"Which looks the best to you?"
She leaned forward and considered each little treat thoughtfully.
"I think the pink one."
"Raspberry. A classic." He urged her to pick it up and she halted with the little cake halfway to her mouth.
"Okay, you're being way too intense about these macaroons. Did you do something to them? Is this a prank?"
"Oouf," he slapped a hand against his chest and her eyes followed the movement as it made his pecs bounce. "I'm truly wounded. Here I am, trying to bring a nice gift-"
"Okay, fine, Jeez." She bit into the macaroon and chewed. As the crunchy shell gave way to a sweet, chewy center her eyes widened, and she let out a small moan before looking at him and nodding. "This is great, oh my god."
"Told you!"
"Here, try it!" she held out the other half of the macaroon and he held up his hands.
"No no, this was a gift for you-"
"A gift I wanna share!" she reached forward and demonstrably shoved the macaroon against his closed mouth.
He grabbed her wrist and pushed her hand away from his face. In retaliation, she grabbed his arm with her other hand and tried to push even harder.
"Taste it!"
"No, they're for you!" he said through peels of laughter as he grabbed her second arm with his. Morgan got onto her knees, looming over him as she tried to use her weight as aid in their impromptu, reverse tug-off-war. She was shaking with laughter which made her attempt harder, as he wasn't budging an inch. He had slowly sunk further down on the couch because of the slippery pillow he sat against, and Morgan tried using it to her advantage.
"God, you're strong," she grunted, leaning back and then charging forward once more.
"Thanks, I've been hitting the gym a lot," he said. A mischievous glint ignited in his eyes, and he suddenly lurched forward at lightning speed. He grabbed her hands before she had the wherewithal to react, and held them between them, her arms pressed into her chest. His legs were pressing down on hers, trapping her in place.
She froze. Morgan's eyes became unblinking as she lay beneath him, feeling the warmth and weight of his body on top of her. The mischievous glint in his eye melted away, replaced by something wholly serious, a fire blazing behind the clear blue.
Whelp, she needed to bring this back into safer territory.
Morgan did an exaggerated pout.
"I just wanted to share."
They looked at what was left of the macaroon in her hand, but at this point it was barely more than a crumbly mess held together by the filling in the middle.
"Oh, alright," he relented and reached forward. She sunk further into the pillow, for a second terrified that he was going to kiss her. Instead, he aimed for the macaroon and used his mouth to pluck it out of her grip. She felt his lips brush against her fingers and hoped he wouldn't notice the goosebumps rushing along her arms.
Dick released her and sat up. She lay for a moment longer, taking stock of her frazzled nerves.
What was going on with him today? Had their talk last night really liberated him that much? Had her assertion that they were friends been so encouraging to him?
He took a sip of his coffee, looking relaxed and at ease. He started studying her apartment, going through her things with lazy eyes.
Morgan's hair had escaped its bun during their tussle, and as she slowly sat up, it spilled about her shoulders and her red face. Her heart had barely stopped racing by the time he pointed at the large pile of shelves and pictures still leaning against her wall.
"Do you need help getting those up?"
She followed his pointed finger and shook her head.
"I'll get it done; I just need the right equipment."
"What are you missing?"
"A hammer and nails." She took another macaroon from the box, this one with pistachio-flavor. "Also, a screwdriver and screws to assemble the shelves, I guess." She bit into the macaroon and savored the sweet taste.
He leaned further back into the couch and propped one leg up. "So, basically everything."
"Hey, I've been a very busy bee." She held out the other half of the macaroon, giving him a pointed look. "No fuss this time, just take it like a big boy."
He laughed but plucked it out of her hand – with his fingers this time, thank God – and plopped it in his mouth.
"s'good."
"Very good," she agreed, giving him a smile. "Thanks."
"You're welcome." He was still looking at her unhanged paintings. "How about I go grab some screws and install those for you."
"You really don't need to, I can do it myself," she dismissed him. "I'm a big girl now. I can buy my own booze and all."
"Right. So why don't you go buy some, uh, booze or whatever, and I'll get some screws and hang up your stuff. Consider it a birthday gift."
She looked at him carefully.
"You said the macaroons were the birthday gift."
"Well, I'm changing my answer – hanging up your stuff is the real birthday gift, the macarons were just the birthday cake." This time, maybe because he'd demoted the macaroons from a gift to just cake, Dick reached forward and plucked one out of the box, biting it in half. Morgan got the other half, this one with chocolate flavor.
"I don't like being in anyone's debt," she admitted with a quiet voice. If she allowed him to hang up her pictures, she'd feel like she owed him something every time she looked at them.
He looked at her weirdly.
"Who said anything about debt? I'm just helping out a friend." She didn't budge, and he sighed and rolled his eyes. "You can make me lunch and we'll call it even. How's that."
She chewed on the inside of her cheek as she weighed his words. On the one hand, yes, she didn't like handouts. On the other hand.. lunch with Dick sounded.. nice. If she had to sacrifice a bit of her pride to keep him hanging around for a few more hours, then she gladly would.
"Okay.. but you have to tell me what you want to eat."
"Great!" he jumped off the couch and offered her a hand up. Putting on his socks and shoes, and slinging his rucksack over his shoulder, he was already out the door. "Let's go!"
She quickly shrugged on a pair of sneakers and grabbed her purse, chasing after him.
"You still haven't told me what you want to eat!" she called out as she jogged to catch up to his long strides.
"So, I was thinking; a three-course meal with at least one baked element and a homemade ice cream."
"Dii-iiick," she whined.
His laughter echoed up the staircase of her apartment building.
"I've been thinking about what you said last night."
Morgan stilled, her spatula hovering above the pan in which a pair of beef patties were sizzling.
Which part had he been thinking about, exactly? A lot of things had been said the previous night. Some she was more willing to talk about than others.
She looked at Dick, who stood with his back to her, as he was screwing screws into her wall for the shelf he'd just assembled.
"Oh?"
Her nose tingled with the smell of something burning, and she hurried to flip the patties.
"About how we fought constantly during the first six months of the mentorship."
She blew out a relieved breath. Out of all the things she thought he would have wanted to touch on, this was one of the least dangerous.
"We sure did," she agreed non-committedly, waiting for him to elaborate.
"I know I wasn't the most patient mentor," he admitted with a sigh. He finished screwing in the supports and clicked the shelf into place. Then, he stepped back and admired his work.
Turning towards her, he went on, "My ego was wounded because you expected me to earn your respect. I'd been known for so long in the hero business, I was used to people just going along with what I said on name and reputation alone."
She bit back a smirk and grabbed two tomatoes, washing them in the sink. "And then I came."
He barked out a quick laugh. "And then you came."
He motioned for the large landscape painting resting against the wall, the last thing he needed to put up. "Where do you want it?"
Morgan pointed at the head of her bed with the knife she was slicing tomatoes with.
"Center of the bed, please."
She pulled two buns out of the oven and left them to cool off on their plates as she finished cutting up lettuce. Then, she grabbed every condiment she had from her fridge and put them on the counter.
By the time she had assembled the two burgers, the large painting was hanging above her bed, and Dick was studying his handiwork. She had to admit, her apartment did look much more lived in and homely now that her walls weren't empty.
With a satisfied nod, he deemed the picture straight. He took one of the foldable chairs stacked against the corner by her window and seated himself at her table with a big, relaxed sigh.
She placed a plate in front of him and sat across from him with her own.
"Thanks for that."
"Of course. This place looks much better now." He took a big bite out of the burger and mmh'ed.
"I was pretty bratty too, you know," Morgan said, continuing their talk. "It wasn't just you who had an attitude problem."
"Oh, I know," he shrugged and took another bite. "I'm well aware that you had a massive chip on your shoulder. But I used to blame you entirely. Took me a while to realize I was just as bad."
"God, I was impossible to be around," she briefly hid her face in her hands. "I can't believe you never cracked and just slapped the shit out of me."
"I would never hit a woman."
"That's not true, I have bruises upon bruises from you. And you fight women-baddies all the time."
"That doesn't count, that was training. Speaking of, have you been keeping up?"
She quirked a little smile that might have been bitter. He was still keeping tabs on her, even now.
"Sorta. I jog and fly for stamina. I do yoga for flexibility. I lift weights for strength."
"Any fighting?"
"Not really – I practice the moves you taught me." She put down her burger and quickly pointed a silencing finger at him, "and don't offer to start teaching me again because I literally do not have the time and our fighting-styles are fundamentally incredibly different so I wouldn't use it anyway."
"Alright, alright." He held up his hands, looking the picture of innocence before taking another bite of his burger. Swallowing, he asked, "how can we have totally different styles when I was the one that taught you?"
"After I stopped getting trained by you-" she brushed past the obvious, 'after we broke up', though it hung in the air between them, "I started exploring my telekinesis a lot and I've been implementing it into my fighting. I never realized how underutilized it really was until I started getting to know it better."
He leaned forward, resting his chin on his knuckles. "How so?"
She chewed thoughtfully. Using her telekinesis was second nature at this point – sometimes she did it subconsciously, like when she'd hulk-smashed her alarm. But how to explain it to someone other than her?
"I've found I can tap into it semi-permanently when I want to. It's there like a baseline of power – it's almost like super strength when I punch. And you've obviously already seen me use it to manipulate other things."
He dragged a hand through his hair and hunched over the table, looking up at her with a dark, self-deprecating grin on his face.
"I guess I was unprepared for teaching someone with powers. All I know is fighting without them and winning against them." He sighed and deflated even further. "I think the lesson learned is that I'm not really fit to be anyone's mentor."
"I still use your training every day," she reminded him gently. It hadn't been her intention to make him feel like he'd been a wholly terrible mentor. "Not just the fighting, but all the other stuff too. You weren't unfit, we were just in.. weird circumstances. If you hadn't also been the leader of the team, and dealing with an alien invasion, I think things would've been different. But for what you had to work with," she shrugged, "you did great."
He perked up and gave her a smile so soft, she felt she might melt off her chair from it.
"Thank you." His voice came out barely louder than a breath, but in it she could hear some burden being unloaded. "And for what it's worth, you were a good student."
She grimaced. "Mostly. When I wasn't actively sneaking out against your orders,"
"Or cussing me out in danish-"
"Or arguing with you in front of the team-"
"Or distracting me during missions-"
Morgan stiffened and looked at him before quickly flickering her eyes away to a spot on the wall just behind him.
"Sorry, wrong thing to add." He looked sheepish and she instantly felt bad.
"No, it's fine. We should be able to talk about it." She leaned back in her seat, food long forgotten. Crossing her arms over her chest, she sat thoughtfully for a while, sorting through her thoughts. Dick was watching her like a hawk, his eyes lit up with interest.
"I guess it's easier for you – you're on good terms with all of your exes," at the word 'exes' she swore he winched almost imperceptibly, but she plowed on. "I've never had an ex before, so it's difficult for me to navigate."
"We agreed to be friends, right?" he asked, his demeanor relaxed, but his voice cautious.
"Yeah?"
"Then we're friends. And that means we can talk about whatever needs to be talked about."
"Right."
He gave her a knowing look. "But not today. Today's your birthday – a time for celebration, not dwelling on the past."
"You're right," she got up from the table and started gathering their things.
"Need help?"
"Nah, it's fine. Go relax on the couch."
She wrapped up the remaining half of her food and placed it in the fridge. Dick had thrown himself onto her couch, his long legs slung over the armrest, dangling in the air. After putting the dishes in the sink and the condiments into the fridge, she went to use the bathroom.
She came out only minutes later to Dick fast asleep.
How long had she taken to clean and then use the bathroom? He couldn't have waited for her for more than five minutes.
Morgan watched his chest rise and fall with deep, relaxed breaths. His lips were parted slightly, front teeth peeking through, and his brow was smooth, a single lock of hair falling across his eyes.
She realized, if he'd really spent his morning chasing down macaroons for her, then he hadn't gotten any sleep since they had come home from the mission. As far as she knew, he hadn't slept in the cave either. Upon that realization, waking him now felt like a crime. He must've been truly exhausted, to fall asleep that fast.
Her fingers itched to brush back the lock of hair sitting in his eyes, but she knew it would wake him up. Instead, she tiptoed over to her bed and slipped under the covers. Her computer was lying at the foot of the bed, with her headphones. Perhaps she'd watch a movie while she waited for him to wake up naturally.
She sat like that for a while, eyes constantly flickering towards his slumbering form. Afterwards, she probably couldn't have told anyone what movie she was supposed to have been watching.
July 13th
Gotham
Dick
His eyes flickered open slowly. He was aware that he wasn't entirely sure where he was, but he could easily pinpoint what had woken him up.
Someone was whimpering – crying out.
Looking at the red hues painting the ceiling, he registered that the sun was setting, but the thought barely touched his mind as he sat up and realized where he was.
Morgan was lying in her bed, tossing and turning. Her brow was furrowed and she was in clear distress. Another nightmare.
When had he fallen asleep? He couldn't remember. It hadn't been on purpose. He looked at his watch and realized he had been asleep for hours.
The girl on the bed let out a loud gasp of pain. He was unsure if he should wake her. The nightmares were a result of the magic. What happened if one was cut off before it ended?
Morgan's computer lay open on her bed beside her thrashing form, dangerously close to falling off. She twisted to the side and the pull on the covers made the computer slip. He leapt up and caught it before it hit the ground, closing it and placing it carefully beside the bed.
She was sweating and panting – his heart clenched.
"Magic be damned," he bit out through his teeth, and grasped her shoulder, carefully shaking her awake.
"Morgan, wake up," he called to her.
She shot up in bed, her eyes bright gold. They shone harshly, illuminating the entire room like it was midday. From her shot out a wave of telekinetic force. Dick was thrown back from the power of it, and hit her wall, where he stayed. All of the furniture began to float and move around. On her walls, the newly hung-up paintings rattled and fell off and the doorframes started creaking ominously, as if the very walls were shifting.
"Morgan, wake up!"
As one, all of the furniture came crashing back down. Glass shattered, books fell on top of each other into a large pile, her laptop clattered against the floor, as did her folding chairs. With a mighty boom, her sofa landed, and her table fell over. Dick was dropped from the wall and landed on his feet beside her bed.
She sat blinking and rubbing at her eyes, and when she reopened them, they were their usual, cool gray.
"What happened?" she asked, still looking barely awake.
"You were having a nightmare." He sat on the edge of her bed, regarding her as she looked at him and then her bed with confusion. He reached over and tugged a curl that had fallen in front of her eyes behind her ear.
"I was watching a movie.." she mumbled.
"You must've fallen asleep."
The last bleariness in her eyes melted away as she fully disentangled herself from sleep's embrace, and her face crumbled into a look of regret.
"I'm sorry," she groaned and pulled at her hair - a lot rougher than he would've liked, but he could tell she was frustrated with herself. "God, these stupid nightmares. Look at this mess."
He cast a glance over his shoulder at the carnage. Angry knocking from below her floor let them know her downstairs neighbor hadn't appreciated the noise.
Something else worried him far more than the mess and angry neighbor, however. He looked back at her with a serious face.
"You seem to be losing control of your powers."
"I'm not!" she instantly responded, "I know how to deal with this – I've just been neglecting my meditation. But you shouldn't have woken me, this has never happened before."
He frowned. "I was just trying to spare you from your nightmare."
"I can deal with the nightmares!" She seemed to realize it was a lie the moment the statement passed her lips, and she rectified it; "At least, I can deal with it far more than I can deal with my apartment becoming a pile of rubble because I accidentally level it in my sleep."
Her fingers clenched into her blankets.
"I'm sorry," he held up his hands in surrender. "I didn't want to make things any worse. I just.. I know you're suffering from these nightmares and I wanted to help. To.. fix it.."
"I know. I know." She looked conflicted, torn between anger at her ruined apartment, and appreciation for his attempt. She pulled her knees close to her chest and rested her chin on them. "I.. thank you, for trying. But I guess next time it's safer to just let me be."
"Next time?" he raised an eyebrow at her. Was she implying he'd been staying over some other time?
She raised an eyebrow back at him. "You know what I mean."
"Did you have any prophetic visions?"
She shook her head, her brow drawn in thought. "Just the usual death by fire."
"Do you want to talk about it?" his voice was soft and unassuming – he feared she'd clam up if he pressed her too much.
Morgan shrugged and got out of her blankets, sitting with crossed legs on top of her covers. "I'm not sure there's anything to talk about. The nightmare's very predictable.. The worst part is that I – I can't fall back asleep when it happens, so I just..."
"Don't sleep?"
She huffed out a breath that failed to sound like a laugh, one corner of her mouth quirking upwards.
"Yeah."
"You should try to sleep," he encouraged, grabbing her hand, and looking at her imploringly. "I see the bruises under your eyes. You look exhausted all the time."
The golden light outside had all but faded now, bathing them in the dark tones of dusk. The changed lighting made her skin look deathly pale, a gray pallor to her countenance. Usually, he thought she looked vibrant; a dusting of freckles on her nose and cheeks from the sun's kiss and her cheeks flushed with a bit of color that offset her sharp and cool eyes.
Morgan grimaced and turned her face downwards, as if to hide the bruises from him.
"Look, I know I'm not exactly winning any beauty awards right now –"
"That's not what I was saying," he instantly denied, because he still thought she was beautiful, eyebags and all.
She looked at him strangely, but kept going, "I would love more sleep, but I can't. I know it's childish, but I get so uneasy. I can't close my eyes because I'm convinced he's lurking. Every shadow looks like its him." She brought her knees close to her chest again, and tried to shake off the fear he saw on her face.
"Besides," she looked at him with humor and he knew exactly what this was – she'd admitted a weakness and now she was trying to cover the vulnerability with a joke. "I did just spend all of last night in a dank-ass cave on the ocean floor."
He clenched her hand tighter at the reminder, and he saw how her eyes flickered towards their intertwined fingers. He didn't care – she could withdraw her hand if she minded the touch, but he was done pretending he didn't crave her nearness. He wanted her to go back to sleep – he was sure a good night's rest would give her the energy she needed. But he also understood that she was afraid. He knew why - It wasn't about the nightmares so much as it was the constant reminder of where she was heading. It was the inability to tell herself that the nightmare wasn't real - because it was. And the longer they took to fix this, the closer she got to that reckoning.
"Sleep with me."
She looked at him with wide eyes and finally withdrew her hand.
"Bro, what?"
"No, wait, that's not what I meant – I," he let out a small groan at his blunder, feeling his ears redden. "I mean, try to sleep. I'll stay here so you feel safe."
Her sharp eyes roved over his face for a long time, the doubt on her face visible. He raised an eyebrow in challenge.
"I don't think that's.." she trailed off. The words came out like a whisper, sounding tantalizingly private and close. He felt the urge to inch closer, entranced by the way her mouth moved at her whispered words, and the way her lips stayed parted, as she looked up at him.
"Why not?" he asked, his voice low. "We're friends, right?"
He almost felt bad for speaking the words he knew would get her to agree – he was well aware of his own manipulation. But she was exhausted. He could see it seeping into her very bones. He would've said anything to get her to go back to sleep.
"I.. – Fine." she relented; fingers clenched into her blankets. How was it he knew how powerful she was, how ferocious she could be, and yet right now she looked tiny, igniting in him every urge to protect and shield her?
He lay down on top of her blankets as she busied herself with crawling back under them. Her movements were stiff and awkward, and he tried to look completely at ease to help her. Once she was back under her covers, she haltingly shuffled closer, nestling her face against his shoulder. He quickly moved his arm, allowing her to fall into the crook of it. Her hands and arms were pressed between them, preventing her body from laying flush against his, and he was unsure if it was a measure to keep him at bay, or to stop herself. He was glad that she lay on his right side with her head resting on his shoulder, because, surely, if she'd been on the left side, she would've heard how loudly his heart was beating. But maybe that wouldn't matter – from where she lay against him, he could feel that her pulse was just as fast.
Once she had settled, he breathed deeply, letting the air leave him in a deep sigh. This was nice. It was more than nice. Now, more than ever, he felt certain that whatever there was between them, it was far from over. He could feel her hesitance, could see the urge on her to withdraw every time he took a step closer. He knew she must've been aware of it too, the bond they shared, the love that was still there, otherwise she had no reason to keep him at an arm's length. He didn't understand what she was so afraid of, why she was so in denial about her own feelings.
He could only hazard guesses.. The ghost of her parent's failed marriage, her personal insecurities, the awkward way they'd initially stumbled into a relationship..
All things he was willing to move past, but which he suspected she was wielding like a list of excuses for her hesitance.
He resisted the urge to pull her closer, aware that she was still lying very stiffly. He kept breathing deeply, knowing it would relax her eventually.
His thoughts circled back to the talk they'd had in the cave. Her admittance that she'd felt like a burden to him - that she'd felt useless in the relationship, had shocked him deeply. He couldn't fathom how she'd reached that conclusion. After he'd re-shouldered the responsibility of being Team Leader, he'd been stretched thin. Then came his final semester with a lot of schoolwork. Most days he'd felt like he barely had the time to even breathe.
And then Jason came back.. and Bruce found out about Damian.
Dick's life had been a mess – he'd felt like everything around him was falling apart. Often, the only good thing during his day had been the few hours he'd spent with her at his apartment. Her presence had been like a balm. Something that, however briefly, drowned out the absolute chaos he was engulfed in.
But had he ever expressed that to her?
He felt regret pool into his stomach, and he swallowed thickly, the saliva feeling like acid going down his throat.
Dick peeked down at Morgan and realized she was already asleep. How long had he been lost in thought?
The sight of her face, finally peaceful and smoothed over by sleep, pressed close to his side, undid something in him. He wanted to stay like this forever. Once again, he wondered how she couldn't see?
He wasn't going to pressure her. She needed to come to terms with her feelings in her own time, even when they were so obvious to him. But he knew, if he told her about her feelings, she could stubbornly deny them, and then they'd be back to square one.
He'd let her work through it on her own - but he wasn't going to stay away, as long as she welcomed his presence.
He would be patient. He understood – they had a lot on their plate right now. She wasn't ready for the conversation he knew they were going to have. Perhaps when all this timeline stuff had been solved.
They had time.
Dick snuck out of Morgan's apartment in the early hours of the morning, after a few hours of restful sleep. She'd had no more nightmares, and he hoped this would encourage her to try going back to sleep in the future.
The streets of Gotham were never empty, the city was too populated for that. But right now, they were almost entirely clear – only a few other people had cause to be out at this hour.
Unable to help himself, he stuck his hands deeply into his pockets and leaned his head back, allowing a large smile. This day had been perfect. One of the best days he'd had in a year.
His phone beeped in his pocket and he pulled it out to answer.
"Hey Babs." He was close to the zeta tube, so he slowed his walk to buy more time for the conversation. "How did manning the helm go?"
"Hey Dick," her calm voice let him know she wasn't calling with an emergency. "It was good. No complications. Had to send out two squads for some minor things."
"Good." He halted in front of the old telephone booth behind which the zeta tube was hidden.
"Did you enjoy your day off?"
Unbidden, a smile erupted on his face again, and he was sure she could hear it in his voice.
"Very much. I enjoyed it very much."
I love getting to write these chapters where they just sorta hang out, and we get to dive a little more into their dynamic, when there's no missions or hero identities or friends etc to distract. Just the two of them connecting.
In the chapter before, Morgan expressed that during their relationship, he was too busy being the leader to really SEE her, and in this chapter we see Dick react to that almost instantly. He set aside a whole day just to celebrate her birthday. See Morgan, this is the kind of thing that can happen when you COMMUNICATE.
(Why am I shaming this character that I wrote to be like this lol)
We're not really done diving into the issues - We've seen Morgans side of things mostly, so far. But just because she perceived things to be one way, doesn't necessarily mean thats actually a fair assessment of what went on. But we'll get to that later, when Dick gets to say his piece. And trust me, he WILL get to say his piece.
The story has been very focused on missions for the past several chapters, but we're taking a bit of a break from that now and focusing on more interpersonal stuff. Don't worry, there'll still be action, but consider this sorta like when you're halfway through a season of an anime and the main plot is fully set up, so now there's a bunch of character-developing filler episodes where the mains go to the beach and stuff.
Basically, we've entered the part of the story I lovingly describe as "Dick is in his woo-ing era and Morgan is fully in denial-town about the whole thing."
It's a VERY fun dynamic to write, and I hope it'll be enjoyable to read as well!