The little noise. That almost laugh. The one that's more breath than it is laugh. Just enough to be an agreement, but not enough to be a joke. Barbara wants to curl around it. Pull it into her chest, and refuse to let go of it. Even as it comes, and then is just as instantly gone. And she thinks, if he were telling the story to another her—and, god, she doesn't entirely love the idea of just setting that thought up—he'd have made it funny—the way Dick always could.
Nudge, nudge, wink, wink. Laugh at me, so you're laughing with me. Always so good at it. Producing that kind of light and laughter from anything.
(Always so good at making her laugh even when she didn't want to. Every time.)
"I believe you called it 'distinguished' every time Damian threatened to shave you in your sleep." That's light, but it wasn't his question either. It was her opinion on it, and she hadn't really. Oh, she had. But not really. "To me, it was just ... you. I've seen you in every manner of way since I was barely old enough to balance on a banister. Short shorts, and pixie boots, and tight curls. Wavy. The blue disco monstrosity." Light. Not insulting. Maybe because it's the four words before. "Bald."
Ric Grayson's choices weren't Dick's, but it'd still been his face, his head, his body.
Her brow knitted slightly. She didn't think there was a way he could show up not like that. Or did that make her hypocritical for all the right now seconds? For the confusion about a loss that wasn't "lost."
"We didn't do—" Babs doesn't quite know what to call it. "—'this.' I don't know if it was because we went to bed and woke up in the same place. Or that it felt like no time had been missing at all." Between them, at least not really. A month back home wasn't the same as a year. The hours of one night fast asleep in Etraya weren't the same as months. But that feels hypocritical. He'd still been ahead, and he hadn't...
Mybe it's just that he's that much better than her.
(He's always been better than her. Better than everyone around him.
Wait until the JLA says it, too.)
Was she trying to say that? Imply that? Now that she'd said it, she didn't know. Which somehow felt worse.
She curled up, just a little bit, frowning, head ducking a little more toward her own shoulder. For a second, it had made sense, but saying it lost it.
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Nudge, nudge, wink, wink. Laugh at me, so you're laughing with me.
Always so good at it. Producing that kind of light and laughter from anything.
(Always so good at making her laugh even when she didn't want to. Every time.)
"I believe you called it 'distinguished' every time Damian threatened to shave you in your sleep." That's light, but it wasn't his question either. It was her opinion on it, and she hadn't really. Oh, she had. But not really. "To me, it was just ... you. I've seen you in every manner of way since I was barely old enough to balance on a banister. Short shorts, and pixie boots, and tight curls. Wavy. The blue disco monstrosity." Light. Not insulting. Maybe because it's the four words before. "Bald."
Ric Grayson's choices weren't Dick's,
but it'd still been his face, his head, his body.
Her brow knitted slightly. She didn't think there was a way he could show up not like that.
Or did that make her hypocritical for all the right now seconds?
For the confusion about a loss that wasn't "lost."
"We didn't do—" Babs doesn't quite know what to call it. "—'this.' I don't know if it was because we went to bed and woke up in the same place. Or that it felt like no time had been missing at all." Between them, at least not really. A month back home wasn't the same as a year. The hours of one night fast asleep in Etraya weren't the same as months. But that feels hypocritical. He'd still been ahead, and he hadn't...
Mybe it's just that he's that much better than her.
(He's always been better than her.
Better than everyone around him.
Wait until the JLA says it, too.)
Was she trying to say that? Imply that?
Now that she'd said it, she didn't know.
Which somehow felt worse.
She curled up, just a little bit, frowning,
head ducking a little more toward her own shoulder.
For a second, it had made sense, but saying it lost it.