I'm confused half the time

the temptation to include early seasons gabriel agreste, he just wanted his family back... but he did NOT try hard enough to be a good dad, he gave up in that second half. Also barely a single father, Nathalie was doing everything for him.

Dick: I don’t have any plans. What’s up?

You: I was wondering if you’d want to help me with something later tonight. 

He’s a little disappointed that you weren’t asking him out on a date, but oh well. Still, sounds a bit frisky. 

Dick: I’d be happy to. But.. mind not being so vague?

You: Ummmm well… just trust. 

You didn’t elaborate after that. He continued on with his day, slept more, ate some tasty food, and when it was time, he headed over to your place. He made sure to ask for your address, not wanting you to know that he already knew it. His day had been going so nicely, so peacefully. He did not expect it to turn out this way. 

“Yeah… I don’t think he’s showing up tonight.”

You invited him to a stakeout to catch none other than Nightwing himself. How awkward that was for him. Hearing you, sitting beside him, talking about him under the mask was… something else. The stakeout was placed on the same fire escape that he had met you on that first night on his patrol— the platform surprisingly had enough room to fit both of you.

“But he always passes by here!” You say, throwing your hand out to the building across from you, the same building where you captured his photo. “It’s so predictable. Always the same place, the same time.”

“So predictable?” He frowns, “You know, maybe he just has a routine. He makes his rounds.”

You were clearly upset by this, but when weren’t you upset with Nightwing? 

“A vigilante’s routine should not be so easily caught by a civilian.” You explain, “How high and mighty does he think he is? He’s dressed like a blue glow stick. He is not all that.”

“Blue glowstick? What—“

“Don’t even get me started about Robin. The kid is dressed like a damn traffic light, and yet these criminals never saw him coming. I call BS.” You say. 

“Okay— first off,” Dick can’t help himself. He’s gotta take the defense here. “Robin’s colors are like that for a reason, and Nightwing’s colors are just fine! This city is pretty blue, don’t you think? And the black helps him blend in!”

“It’s pretty hard to blend it with a bright blue bird on your chest.” You counter. 

“Well, he manages, doesn’t he?” He tries, “It’s not all about stealth. Civilians see that emblem and should feel safe— protected. Criminals see the emblem and should, you know, stop.”

You pause, staring at him. “I think you like this guy more than you think I do.”

“Just playing devil's advocate—“ he holds his hands up in surrender, motioning out to the rooftops, “vigilantes do a lot for their cities. They do things people don’t even see. They help in and out of sight.”

You take in his words, you sit back against the wall, stretching your legs out in front of you. “I’m sorry I dragged you out here for this.” You mumble. 

“Oh— it’s fine. I wasn’t planning on doing anything tonight anyway. It's nice to get out of the house.” He reassures. 

You nod in response with a sigh, mumbling another awkward apology under your breath. “You can go if you want. You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.”

“I’d like to.” He says, and you turn your head to find him already looking at you. “You’re good company.” 

The corner of your lip twitches up a bit, and you look back out at the city. 

He grins, looking out at the skyline. “So, why are you so obsessed with catching this guy?” He asks, because he just hasto know why you’re so in love with his secret identity. 

You shrug, “I don’t know.”

“Oh come on,” his smile widens as he presses, “every artist has a reason for an inspiration.”

“I’m not good at putting it into words.” You chuckle, shaking your head. 

“Try.”

You sigh, tapping your fingers on your chin. “I think…” You trail off, tilting your head faintly, “I think it’d be cool.”

“That’s a really boring reason, no offense.” He chuckles, smile growing wider when you whip your head around and send him a look. 

“I can’t think!” You laugh. 

There’s that noise again. 

“That’s gotta be an underlying issue for something.” He jokes again, trying to pull more laughter out of you.

“Oh, shut up.”

“Just looking out for you,” he insists with a shrug, grinning.

“I have my reasons.” You say, picking up your camera from beside you, “and those reasons help me get good shots.”

“I think I’ll be the judge of that.” He says, scooting a but closer to see the camera screen.

“You’re a self-proclaimed art critic, remember.” You remind him, shaking your head fondly.

“Oh, I remember.”

You roll your eyes, “I got this one of him.” You say, angling the camera for both of you to see. You hold it between the two of you, and he leans in, tilting his head. 

This wasn’t one of his best moments. He vaguely remembers this night. It was slow, quiet, and he was hungry. He decided to grab a bite to eat. Pizza. You caught Nightwing, the city’s protector, enjoying his free time with pizza on a rooftop. 

“That’s.. that’s something.” He says, glancing over to you, only to find you holding back a laugh. 

“I think it’s funny.” You giggle, looking up to him. “He likes pizza. It’s so human.”

“All cool people like pizza.”

“I wouldn’t say he’s that cool…”

“Whatever. We can agree to disagree.” He says, not wanting to hear any more of your negative opinions on his alter ego. 

“I have another one.” You say, composing yourself. “This one’s better, I promise.”

“I'm trusting you.” He says, smiling faintly as he leans back over, gazing at the next photo you show. 

You pull the photo up on the screen, and he pauses. It was a photo of him in action, and he’s actually really impressed that you managed to take it during the moment. He was on top of a bus, escrima sticks crackling with electricity in his hands as he fought off whatever villain he was going against at the time. The shot was blurry, as he was upon a moving vehicle at the time, but it was clear enough to see what was going on. It looked pretty cinematic, if anything.

He looks back up, only to find himself face to face with you. Like, face-to-face. Close. 

You stare for a moment, and he stares back. Time felt like it was moving more slowly; it felt like he was staring, sitting that close for a while, but he wasn’t. His eyes flick over your face for a moment, lingering a split second too long on your lips. You lean back faintly, retracting the camera. 

“Those were good photos.” He says, clearing his throat. 

“Thank you.” You said, turning off the camera. 

He was a bit upset by the rejection, if you could call it that, but he wouldn’t make anything known. If you weren’t interested, you weren’t interested. That’s fine. But then—

“— Do you want dinner?”

He looks back, eyes widening a tad. “What?”

“I mean, like, as an apology. I dragged you all the way out here. It’s later, dark, cold…” You trail off, motioning back to your apartment. 

“Yes.” He doesn’t even think before he responds. “Yes, I’d like dinner.”

“Okay.” You smile slowly, nodding as you stand. “I can make something.”

“I can help if you want.” He offers, standing up with you. “Feels wrong to just sit around while you do all the work.”

“You can, if you want.” You say, smile growing. “We kind of have to get inside first, though.” You say, motioning to the window. 

It was half open. That’s as far as it would ever open. It was jammed at that point. You had to slide/crawl/shimmy to get through it. It definitely wasn’t up to fire code, but hey, if anything happens, you could sue!

“Right.” He nods, remembering how awkward it was to get out here. “You can— uh..” he motions for you to go first. 

“Thanks.” You say, gathering your things and setting them inside, then climbing in yourself. 

Out of sheer respect, because he was such a gentleman, he turns fully around, suddenly taking great interest in the architecture of the city. He didn’t want any misconceptions of him looking at your ass, so he looked in the opposite direction, hands perched on his hips. 

“You coming?” He hears you ask, your voice muffled from inside. 

“Oh yeah.” He says, whipping around and climbing through, shutting it behind him. 

If this wasn’t date material, he wasn’t sure what was. 

“Where are the plates?” He asks as you wash the used pots and pans, moving to the cabinet you motioned to.

Spaghetti. It was a simple meal, but any home-cooked meal was better than the instant ramen he sometimes had to make do with. The two of you had cooked it up together, and you had instructed him to follow a strict “clean up as you go” rule, hence why you were washing the dishes as he put dinner on the table. The atmosphere in here was nice. Your apartment was nicely lit, no blaring overhead lights or loud next-door neighbors, just the faint sound of the rain pattering against the window outside and the faint sound of your washing machine running. He was used to everyone knowing who he was. But here, with you, he was a stranger. It was nice. You didn’t know he was adopted by Bruce Wayne; you saw no relation between Richard Grayson and The Flying Graysons. It was nice being unknown for a bit. Not to mention, it was new to have someone not fangirl over Nightwing. 

“— So then I stepped in before they could do anything else, obviously,” he continues, explaining how he had taken in Haley (though he was changing the story a bit), “And I took her home. Well, I took her to the vet, checked if she had any previous owners, then took her home.”

“That was so sweet of you. I can’t believe people would do that to a puppy… it's horrible,” You say, your fork paused in the noodles, “I wonder where Nightwing was while that was happening.”

+1 for Dick, -1 for Nightwing, he supposes. But oh, he can’t explain to you that Nightwing was the one who saved Haley, though he wants to. He can’t tell if you hate Nightwing or if this is just a front you put up. It's so confusing. You go out of your way to photograph him under the mask, but you talk about him like he wronged you. Dick swears he’s never seen you before— he doesn’t remember crossing you before.

“I’m sure he was doing other important things,” Dick says, shoving a forkful of food into his mouth so he doesn’t say anything else.

“So she’s been with you this whole time since you moved here?” You ask, spinning the fork around on your plate.

“Well, no, I had already been here for a while before I found her, but it feels like life really started when I found her, you know?” He explains after he swallows his food, shrugging a bit.

Dinner was held on your kitchen island. You didn’t exactly have a dining table, and nobody expected you to in an apartment, so you were sitting on the barstools that you had thrifted for cheap and squeaked when rotated when you first moved in.

“I get that.” You nod, “she’s, like, your soulmate.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” he chuckles, “but yeah, maybe.”

“It's kind of sad that your soulmate is a dog.” You say, chewing through a mouthful of food.

“What?” He laughs, “You literally suggested it.”

“You didn’t exactly deny it.” You shrug.

“Actually, I did. I said I wouldn’t go that far.” He corrects.

“That’s not a full denial,” you start, holding up a finger, “and then you said, but maybe, yeah.”

“Is everything you say some kind of trick question?” He laughs, running a hand down his face.

You smile at him, and in that moment, he decides that he likes this. He wants more of it. He wants to hear more of your laughter, to see you smile at him more. He’s only known you for a few weeks— a month and a half tops, but this man is already whipped.

“So— I still don’t understand why you are so crazy about taking photos of Nightwing if you seem to hate the guy so much.” He says, setting his fork down.

You sigh, setting your fork down as well, turning to him. “You really want to know the story?”

“I do.”

“Okay— okay.” You clear your throat, getting situated. “I was out one night on the fire escape trying to take a photo, per usual. At the time, I just thought he was a cool vigilante, wanted to take a few pictures of him, yada-yada-yada.”

Dick nods, crossing his arms.

“So I'm out there, right, and then I see him. He’s on the same roof we were watching tonight, so I get my camera ready. Then he looks like he’s freaking out about something on his safe, and he takes his mask off. I instinctively take the photo, because who doesn’t want to know who’s under the mask, and he saw. This guy jumps all the way over to my fire escape, snags the camera from me, and you know what he has the audacity to do?”

He’s gotta play dumb. “What? Did he break the camera or something?”

“No.” You shake your head, “This asshole deletes the photo. I didn’t even have time to look at it.”

“Oh, wow.” He raises his eyebrows, feigning surprise. “What... what were you planning to do with the photo, if you were able to keep it?”

“I don’t know, probably keep it to myself. Like a trophy or something,” You say, “he just went on and on about how I was doing illegal things and that I was trying to dox him.”

“Sounds really annoying.” Dick mumbles. He’s glad that you didn’t say you were going to sell someone the picture and get it all over the news, but he also knows that people's minds and ideas can change.

“It was. He even told me that it was a good photo. Not that it mattered, I didn’t get to see it anyway.”

“At least he was nice enough to compliment your work?”

“Doesn’t matter. Anyways— moral of the story is that I thought he was a cool guy, but then when I actually talk to him, he’s really cocky.”

“Maybe you’re just holding onto the wrong parts of the past.”

You shrug, “You know, he walked me home once.”

“Sounds chivalrous.”

“Yeah, it would have been, if it hadn’t been so weird.”

“Weird? How was it weird??” How was Dick Grayson weird?

“He called me Camera-girl after I called him bird boy.” You say, “It was kind of cringy.”

“But… how?”

“I don’t know, it just is.”