-- She tucked it into her pocket as she turned back to me, an almost feral smile on her lips. “Nothing like photographic proof of the terror that is Australia to really spice up a report, eh?”
“I hate you both and hope that you are devoured by whatever nasty form of native wildlife is endemic to this area,” I said without rancor, taking another sip of my tea. --
Wren didn't initially look up at the sound of the bike - there were plenty of people who opted for them in the city, the ability to weave through traffic making them better than the traditional car for some people. When the bike continued to idle they glanced up in time to catch Dick flipping the visor up and give an apologetic nod.
They were in fact almost at the halfway mark in their book - but it was a novella, and they had started it before work, anyway.
"Dunno, at this point I kinda want to just finish it..." they said at first, like the text, letting the pause last just long enough before they couldn't hold back their own smile, slipping the bookmark into place and sliding the book back into their bag. "Get held up hassling a civilian?"
The quip earns Wren an amused smile, something warm and endeared pulling at the corners of his mouth, as if this were a joke they’d been sharing for a while.
“No, not this time,” he answered, a quiet chuckle coupled with a shake of his head. He turned toward the back of the bike to grab the spare helmet so Wren’s spot opened up.
“I actually had to help an old lady cross the street.” He shrugged a shoulder. “Then it turned out her cat was stuck in a tree too. Again, sorry I’m late.” There was no way he was going to actually tell Wren what he’d been held up with.
“Glad you had your book, though. Here.” He held out the helmet. “This one’s adjustable and should fit you fine.”
Wren took the helmet, rolling their eyes in an exaggerated manner as Dick said what held him up instead. They mostly managed to hold back their own laugh as they easily pulled the helmet on and adjusted it with the ease of someone who had done such a thing many times before.
"Gosh, good thing you didn't have a bus full of nuns that you had to help change a tire for. Maybe I shouldn't jinx it though, I'm pretty sure I heard someone from Saint Catherine's talking about the triple-A membership expiring."
Helmet on and secure, they double checked their bag was fully closed before shifting it to be more against their back so it wouldn't get in the way of holding on to Dick as they rode. Getting onto the bike was also something they clearly did often, not needing any help for it.
It was obvious just from the way Wren reached out for the helmet, right hand on the right side, the tip of a palm and curl of fingers, just how many times they have done this.
His smile widened and he nodded in agreement, slow and considering. His voice came from their helmet this time, the communication devices connecting with a quiet tone.
“Exactly what I’m thinking, too. We’re lucky I’m not more late. Ready or not. Stu’s gonna be livid if we’re even more late.”
Stu, who made the Robin suit he burned, who designed Nightwing for him, was first and foremost a tailor.
The bike revved beneath a twist of his wrist, the engine purring smooth and sultry like a big cat, but Dick didn’t actually take off until Wren said they were ready. Then, they were peeling down the little street in front of the library.
“See, it’s not a good idea to disobey traffic rules, but.” He turned a tight right. “Desperate times. You’re okay if we go a little fast, yeah?”
Stu, what a name for a tailor, and Wren wondered what kind of guy he'd be as they let Dick know they were ready. The comms reminded them of Jason's bike again - so much of this reminded them of riding with Jason, even if Dick's figure was significantly less broad as Wren leaned forward against it, holding close to shift their weight to match the minor adjustments he made as he drove.
"I won't snitch if that's what you're asking, but I will probably bring it up later," Wren admitted, amusement in their voice. "-- I'm also pretty sure you can't go too fast for me."
Oh, they were one of those, those you won’t hear the end of this types he was so fond of. Wren would feel the huff of laughter more than hear it, in the quake of air that tightens in his abdomen.
“I’m not falling for that one. I said a little fast. We’re not saving lives here, Wren,” he said, even as he picked up speed, unable to avoid the challenge as they skimmed the shoulder of the on-ramp to the freeway. Lanes of solid traffic raced by behind them.
“Hold on,” he mused, weaving between a tractor trailer and a sedan. “Are you confessing to me right now? Why are you so used to speeding?”
One of Wren's worse habits they were genuinely trying to stop doing, it was a bit of a relief that Dick seemed more amused by it than anything. Their hands grasped onto Dick a little tighter at the increase in speed, but their breathing and pulse remained calm and even - the slightest of uptick only coming from excitement rather than any fear. For all they chided Jason about speed limits sometimes, they had a taste for going fast as well.
Fond memories of being lookout while Tony stole a car for a joyride, just happy to be included, getting to come along if they promised to not tell either of their dads.
"I said going fast, not speeding," Wren pointed out, point for point Dick's own words. "But yeah actually, secretly I'm Justice, so, don't tell anyone."
It was a safe joke to make. Wren was 20, 5'7" and quite pale, and while they were muscled it was lithe and athletic.
Justice was basically twice Wren's age, almost 7 feet tall, black, and built like a tank. And could fly via his powers of electricity.
“Justice?” Another chuckle came through the comm. He was no stranger to the stronger personality types. The upside to it was that he never got bored. A phone call to any of his family and friends and he would have plenty to do.
Wren, for all the curiosity they pique in Dick, was quickly getting drafted for the list.
“Would’ve never guessed—wow. Your secret’s safe with me.”
It was shocking how easy it was to banter back and forth as they wove their way through traffic to an unassuming little storefront on a busy pedestrian street in a rougher (even by Gotham standards) part of town. Stu, an older gentleman, peered curiously at them through his circular specs when he greeted them at the door.
“Dick. Just on time!” The sarcasm dripped from his voice as he pulled Dick into a one-armed hug. He offered Wren his hand.
“It is nice to meet you. Dick told me about how he roped you in to going to the opening with him. It’s for a great cause.”
It was easy to fall into a banter with Dick. He was frustratingly difficult to dislike. A lot of the too-polished good at people types put Wren's teeth on edge, but Dick had the genuine natural charisma, annoyingly enough.
A lot like Jason. Like Tony, if you could get past his awkwardness.
The neighborhood they ended up in got a bit of a raised eyebrow from Wren under the helmet. Quite the location for a tailor. Wren forced their own suspicions down. If there was something else going on with the business, it was none of theirs, and aside from sometimes going out with Jason and Roy they were done with all that anyway.
Wren shook Stu's hand.
"What, keeping him from getting bored?" they said before they could stop themself, a brief small cringe as they remembered it wasn't just them and Dick anymore and to turn down the antagonistic banter. Right. Back to Model Student Who Is A Joy To Have In Class. "-- I work for the college library while I attend classes. My manager is going as well, we've all been looking forward to the good this will do for the community."
"Nice save." Dick grinned at the snark coming from Wren, as Stu raised a brow and gave Dick a look as he shook Wren's hand. Dick just shrugged and shook his head.
"Absolutely a valiant effort." Whether Stu was remarking after Wren's quip or what followed was difficult to say, but he whisked both of them away to the back of the store, where Dick settled himself into a comfortable armchair like he'd been there many times before. Wren was told to stand in front of a three-panelled mirror.
"You know, it doesn't have to be a suffocating thing every single time," Dick mused, almost to himself as he started typing on his phone. "I think they invite the wrong people, so I try to bring my own guests. Everyone should have a say. It should be an open community party thing, like if your friends felt like coming, Wren, they should be able to. Even if it's just for the food."
Wren shot Dick a look, and he should really be grateful at the self control of Wren NOT elbowing him as they went inside. Being called on first to stand in front of the mirrors was a bit intimidating, but they figured if Dick had been here before it was possible his were already on file. Fine. They'd agreed to this, they'd do it without complaint. Even if there was a tension in Wren's shoulders that they couldn't quite hide that came with an unfamiliar situation.
"You wouldn't say that if you saw how much they could eat. One already asked that I steal any canapés that look good to bring home for him."
Little did Wren know, Dick didn't have to be here at all. Stu had a very reliable, often updated 3D data point scan of Dick's whole body and knew all of his preferences, from the tightness of his collar, to the length of his pant when he was sitting with his knees bent.
However, was curious. What Wren had shared with him tugged on his heartstrings. An incarcerated dad... what was it like to go through something like that so young, yet still have a present father figure?
Dick laughed as he swiped through the files he'd been reviewing before he left the precinct. Stu smoothed a measuring tape across Wren's shoulders, patting them to get them to relax.
"Maybe Stu could sew in some Ziplock bags for the pant pockets. Then you can just drop them in there every time a server passes by." A sparkle of mirth lit up his eyes as he looked away from his phone and up at Wren. Stu was shaking his head. "Good spot to keep them warm, too. Your friends are gonna appreciate it."
Wren hadn't realized the tension had been there until the pat, and they belatedly forced them to relax, hoping the heat they felt on their neck wasn't so visible a sign of self-consciousness. It didn't help that Wren was still very much in the habit of dressing to maintain the mask. Tended towards layers, looser clothing, things that played down that they were quite fit and in shape - and yes, admittedly, gave the impression that they were smaller than they were. A contrast to their Shrike costume, which had additional padding to make them look bitter than they actually were. A mask for every occasion.
"I suppose I'll just say thanks for not assuming I would be perfectly able to swipe some without specialty clothing."
Dick tilted his head, a lift of a brow at that. He could tell Wren wasn’t comfortable with this, not many people were, he felt, hence his conversation as Stu worked away.
“Well… could you? Do you have some sort of magical food hiding skills that’s not eating it?”
"Most people would assume 'food theft' is second nature to someone who grew up in a trailer park," Wren pointed out. Because that was also safer to admit than any kind of slight of hand involving enhanced agility and reflexes. Though after saying so, they realized that the trailer park probably hadn't come up yet even if their dad being in prison had.
Regardless, talking was a welcome distraction from someone they didn't know moving about so close in their personal space and touching them.
Wren casually dropped that fact and both Dick’s brows slowly drew together.
“I…would never imply that.”
Talk about defensiveness.
“I didn’t even know that about you. I don’t think growing up in a trailer park makes anyone any better at actual stealing, though.”
He put his phone down, stood up to start flipping through the stack of fabrics on a nearby workbench.
“It’s practice. Like with any skill.” He picked up a couple of swatches, a dark green, dark grey, and a dark blue. He crossed back over to Wren and draped the fabric strips on Wren’s shoulder. Chocolate eyes traced over Wren’s form.
“No one’s born with the ability to steal. And no one ever actually wants to.”
Except for the times he and Barbara would challenge each other and pluck jewels out of museums but that was a different story.
There was a lot that Wren could say to that. Might have, if they were alone. As it was they were not quite able to stop noticing Stu doing his work, which they supposed they should be thankful for since it forced them to stop and think about their words, about how they could come across.
They watched Dick as he moved, eyes a little too sharp and observant for someone who just worked at a library, really.
"That doesn't sound like something a cop would say. Maybe I should check your badge, make sure it isn't plastic."
Dick evenly lifted his gaze, met Wren's inquisitive one and noticed for the first time how they weren't just looking, but really saw. A small, knowing smile tugged at his mouth.
There was more going on here. Dick's gaze took in the set of Wren's shoulders, the alignment of their spine, the square of their hips, the clean, trimmed nails, looking almost closer than Stu was, who was now taking Wren's inseam.
"Didn't you say you've read Pride and Prejudice?" Dick stepped close again, his smile shaper this time before he lifted up all the swatches except for the blue. "What do you think of this one?" He stepped aside so he could look in the full length mirror with Wren, the two of them standing side by side, the swatch of blue fabric on their shoulder.
Their back straightened all the more at that look, like a cat arching the spine - not fully puffed up, but prepared to should the need arise. It was a strange feeling, when a part of them was sure their danger sense should be going off and yet it remained quiet.
They looked at Dick's face first, at his own too-keen eyes in the mirror before their own went to the swatch of blue fabric. It was a lovely deep midnight color, and they'd always been fond of blue. Anything like the sky.
" 'I have faults enough, but they are not, I hope, of understanding. My temper I dare not vouch for,' " they quoted, reciting the passage from memory. "I like blue."
Dick's smile turned a little softer, something endeared by the passage recited from memory.
"I like blue, too." Stu's hands paused from where he had been marking out a notepad, before he straightened to pull the swatch off Wren's shoulder.
"Good choice. See you tomorrow." That was all Stu said before he turned and disappeared behind a set of double doors, further deeper into the back of the store. Dick watched Stu go before he turned around, facing Wren now instead of at the mirror.
"Then I think we'll understand each other just fine."
Oh. Something about that softening of expression made their heart lurch in a way that was very unfamiliar. Stu suddenly being done and walking away startled them from whatever path their mind had started off to, calling out a quick "-um, thank you?" to the closing double doors.
No idea what they would end up with. If it was awful, they weren't the one paying, though. Just had to keep telling themself that. To Dick they weren't sure what to say, caught up again in the deep brown eyes.
Saved by the buzz of their phone in their back pocket, pulled out quickly to check the text - Jason. They let out a little breathless laugh and shake of their head at that, shooting off a quick reply before putting it away again.
"- And that was my boyfriend telling me to have fun and asking who you were. Probably just worried you're on someone's payroll under the table."
Not the most delicate way to bring up either subject, but Dick had thrown them off and they were scrambling to find their mental footing again.
"Your..." He wasn't the only one feeling this, right? Did he read that whole thing wrong? The part where Wren was pretty much staring into his eyes as he smiled? Another few moments of that and Dick was going to suggest they go back to his place, or, if they were the type, he'd be down to buy dinner first.
It had been a while since he read the room so wrong. It made him huff a quiet breath of laughter, before shaking his head. He turned toward the work table again, breaking eye contact to pull open a drawer. He knew the place like it were his own. In it were rows and rows of fabrics, all the special stuff in a whole other part of the store.
"You weren't kidding when you said he's protective." Weren't they just a librarian? "Who'd you tell him I was? Does he think you're gonna get your organs stolen, or something?"
Now Wren feels bad about not explaining the whole thing from the get-go, but how were they supposed to know he was going to turn out to be the kind of charming that comes out of a romance novel? One of the particularly trashy ones, given his profession. A long, careful exhale. Breathe in, breathe out.
"I said you were from out of town so you were probably not secretly on someone's payroll. Can you blame him though? Cops, gotham. It's an honest worry," they said, defending Jason's paranoia right then even as they had often tried to help ease him out of it. No longer needing to play mannequin, they stepped out from in front of the mirrors - that was far too many reflections for their own comfort, expecting one of them to somehow look different - and carefully approaching the work table as well, hands in their pockets. Casual. "... it's a whole - poly thing. I'm dating him, he's dating me but also dating our other roommate and he's got a third - I'm not sure it's official but it's not yet it's just a matter of time."
They exhaled again, the explanation having come out in a rush.
"... People can be judgy about that kinda thing, you know? Dad being in prison, I've had eight years to toughen up to people being shitty about that, but this is still new to me."
It was uncomfortable for them to tell him any of this. That much, Dick can tell, not only from the words, but from that slow, steadying breath, even though he had his back turned and was very much pulling out squares of fabric.
He looked up when Wren sidled up beside him, looking every bit casual as they started to explain. Dicks brows raised, just a little, not from the content, but that Wren was here, sharing it with him in such a raw, unpracticed manner.
"Thanks. For telling me all that." They didn't have to tell him. All he really did was back off. He was probably getting to wrapped up in this, anyway, confusing his feelings of empathy for Wren and their story with something else. He did that sometimes. He was self-aware enough to know that.
He turned to look at Wren, a hand splaying on the surface of the table. "You didn't have to. It's alright. The gala thing, this whole thing," he gestured between them, to the store, "I didn't come into this thinking it'd be a date.
"And I don't judge people for their love. So long as you're safe and happy, I'm happy for you." But his smile didn't quite reach his eyes this time, and he was a shitty liar unless he was undercover. It could easily be chaulked up to jealousy, maybe, but it was the safe part that he had issues with. Though Wren's explanation was plausible, because it was Gotham, it was the specificity of the worry that tipped Dick off. Most people would have spoken about a general worry about the cops, or a general worry about meeting a stranger, but Wren's boyfriend's paranoia felt... familiar. In a bad way.
Was Wren sure that their boyfriend wasn't the one being paid under the table? He tipped his head, thinking it over as he pulled out a few swatches. Navies, blacks, a cobalt blue, a velvet. Did he even know much about Wren? He hadn't done a background check, hadn't pulled any records, hadn't questioned anything.
"How long have you known him for?" He asked it simply, casually.
"Obviously, of course not," if it had been a date he'd have said so, and it wasn't like Wren wanted it to be or thought it was. (So why was there that little bit of ache they had to force down and away?)
They leaned against the workbench, looking at the swatches of fabric instead of Dick's face. Instead of those damn pretty brown eyes. Until Dick's last question, which got an immediate "Don't you start."
Old familiar paranoia indeed, given how quickly Wren responded. It was the kind of question Jason would ask. They crossed their arms, briefly wondering before dismissing the possibility of any kind of 'night job'. In Wren's experience, the kind of people who became cops were getting whatever fix vigilantism would give them. Doing both was redundant. Not that there wasn't a certain amount of crossover of personality types there.
"A while. I trust him. He's a good guy. Don't know what he sees in me but I'm trying not to question the miracle."
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“I hate you both and hope that you are devoured by whatever nasty form of native wildlife is endemic to this area,” I said without rancor, taking another sip of my tea. --
Wren didn't initially look up at the sound of the bike - there were plenty of people who opted for them in the city, the ability to weave through traffic making them better than the traditional car for some people. When the bike continued to idle they glanced up in time to catch Dick flipping the visor up and give an apologetic nod.
They were in fact almost at the halfway mark in their book - but it was a novella, and they had started it before work, anyway.
"Dunno, at this point I kinda want to just finish it..." they said at first, like the text, letting the pause last just long enough before they couldn't hold back their own smile, slipping the bookmark into place and sliding the book back into their bag. "Get held up hassling a civilian?"
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“No, not this time,” he answered, a quiet chuckle coupled with a shake of his head. He turned toward the back of the bike to grab the spare helmet so Wren’s spot opened up.
“I actually had to help an old lady cross the street.” He shrugged a shoulder. “Then it turned out her cat was stuck in a tree too. Again, sorry I’m late.” There was no way he was going to actually tell Wren what he’d been held up with.
“Glad you had your book, though. Here.” He held out the helmet. “This one’s adjustable and should fit you fine.”
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"Gosh, good thing you didn't have a bus full of nuns that you had to help change a tire for. Maybe I shouldn't jinx it though, I'm pretty sure I heard someone from Saint Catherine's talking about the triple-A membership expiring."
Helmet on and secure, they double checked their bag was fully closed before shifting it to be more against their back so it wouldn't get in the way of holding on to Dick as they rode. Getting onto the bike was also something they clearly did often, not needing any help for it.
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His smile widened and he nodded in agreement, slow and considering. His voice came from their helmet this time, the communication devices connecting with a quiet tone.
“Exactly what I’m thinking, too. We’re lucky I’m not more late. Ready or not. Stu’s gonna be livid if we’re even more late.”
Stu, who made the Robin suit he burned, who designed Nightwing for him, was first and foremost a tailor.
The bike revved beneath a twist of his wrist, the engine purring smooth and sultry like a big cat, but Dick didn’t actually take off until Wren said they were ready. Then, they were peeling down the little street in front of the library.
“See, it’s not a good idea to disobey traffic rules, but.” He turned a tight right. “Desperate times. You’re okay if we go a little fast, yeah?”
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"I won't snitch if that's what you're asking, but I will probably bring it up later," Wren admitted, amusement in their voice. "-- I'm also pretty sure you can't go too fast for me."
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“I’m not falling for that one. I said a little fast. We’re not saving lives here, Wren,” he said, even as he picked up speed, unable to avoid the challenge as they skimmed the shoulder of the on-ramp to the freeway. Lanes of solid traffic raced by behind them.
“Hold on,” he mused, weaving between a tractor trailer and a sedan. “Are you confessing to me right now? Why are you so used to speeding?”
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Fond memories of being lookout while Tony stole a car for a joyride, just happy to be included, getting to come along if they promised to not tell either of their dads.
"I said going fast, not speeding," Wren pointed out, point for point Dick's own words. "But yeah actually, secretly I'm Justice, so, don't tell anyone."
It was a safe joke to make. Wren was 20, 5'7" and quite pale, and while they were muscled it was lithe and athletic.
Justice was basically twice Wren's age, almost 7 feet tall, black, and built like a tank. And could fly via his powers of electricity.
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Wren, for all the curiosity they pique in Dick, was quickly getting drafted for the list.
“Would’ve never guessed—wow. Your secret’s safe with me.”
It was shocking how easy it was to banter back and forth as they wove their way through traffic to an unassuming little storefront on a busy pedestrian street in a rougher (even by Gotham standards) part of town. Stu, an older gentleman, peered curiously at them through his circular specs when he greeted them at the door.
“Dick. Just on time!” The sarcasm dripped from his voice as he pulled Dick into a one-armed hug. He offered Wren his hand.
“It is nice to meet you. Dick told me about how he roped you in to going to the opening with him. It’s for a great cause.”
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A lot like Jason. Like Tony, if you could get past his awkwardness.
The neighborhood they ended up in got a bit of a raised eyebrow from Wren under the helmet. Quite the location for a tailor. Wren forced their own suspicions down. If there was something else going on with the business, it was none of theirs, and aside from sometimes going out with Jason and Roy they were done with all that anyway.
Wren shook Stu's hand.
"What, keeping him from getting bored?" they said before they could stop themself, a brief small cringe as they remembered it wasn't just them and Dick anymore and to turn down the antagonistic banter. Right. Back to Model Student Who Is A Joy To Have In Class. "-- I work for the college library while I attend classes. My manager is going as well, we've all been looking forward to the good this will do for the community."
There, better.
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"Absolutely a valiant effort." Whether Stu was remarking after Wren's quip or what followed was difficult to say, but he whisked both of them away to the back of the store, where Dick settled himself into a comfortable armchair like he'd been there many times before. Wren was told to stand in front of a three-panelled mirror.
"You know, it doesn't have to be a suffocating thing every single time," Dick mused, almost to himself as he started typing on his phone. "I think they invite the wrong people, so I try to bring my own guests. Everyone should have a say. It should be an open community party thing, like if your friends felt like coming, Wren, they should be able to. Even if it's just for the food."
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"You wouldn't say that if you saw how much they could eat. One already asked that I steal any canapés that look good to bring home for him."
They had of course agreed.
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However, was curious. What Wren had shared with him tugged on his heartstrings. An incarcerated dad... what was it like to go through something like that so young, yet still have a present father figure?
Dick laughed as he swiped through the files he'd been reviewing before he left the precinct. Stu smoothed a measuring tape across Wren's shoulders, patting them to get them to relax.
"Maybe Stu could sew in some Ziplock bags for the pant pockets. Then you can just drop them in there every time a server passes by." A sparkle of mirth lit up his eyes as he looked away from his phone and up at Wren. Stu was shaking his head. "Good spot to keep them warm, too. Your friends are gonna appreciate it."
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"I suppose I'll just say thanks for not assuming I would be perfectly able to swipe some without specialty clothing."
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“Well… could you? Do you have some sort of magical food hiding skills that’s not eating it?”
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Regardless, talking was a welcome distraction from someone they didn't know moving about so close in their personal space and touching them.
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“I…would never imply that.”
Talk about defensiveness.
“I didn’t even know that about you. I don’t think growing up in a trailer park makes anyone any better at actual stealing, though.”
He put his phone down, stood up to start flipping through the stack of fabrics on a nearby workbench.
“It’s practice. Like with any skill.” He picked up a couple of swatches, a dark green, dark grey, and a dark blue. He crossed back over to Wren and draped the fabric strips on Wren’s shoulder. Chocolate eyes traced over Wren’s form.
“No one’s born with the ability to steal. And no one ever actually wants to.”
Except for the times he and Barbara would challenge each other and pluck jewels out of museums but that was a different story.
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They watched Dick as he moved, eyes a little too sharp and observant for someone who just worked at a library, really.
"That doesn't sound like something a cop would say. Maybe I should check your badge, make sure it isn't plastic."
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There was more going on here. Dick's gaze took in the set of Wren's shoulders, the alignment of their spine, the square of their hips, the clean, trimmed nails, looking almost closer than Stu was, who was now taking Wren's inseam.
"Didn't you say you've read Pride and Prejudice?" Dick stepped close again, his smile shaper this time before he lifted up all the swatches except for the blue. "What do you think of this one?" He stepped aside so he could look in the full length mirror with Wren, the two of them standing side by side, the swatch of blue fabric on their shoulder.
"Brings out those pretty blues."
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They looked at Dick's face first, at his own too-keen eyes in the mirror before their own went to the swatch of blue fabric. It was a lovely deep midnight color, and they'd always been fond of blue. Anything like the sky.
" 'I have faults enough, but they are not, I hope, of understanding. My temper I dare not vouch for,' " they quoted, reciting the passage from memory. "I like blue."
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"I like blue, too." Stu's hands paused from where he had been marking out a notepad, before he straightened to pull the swatch off Wren's shoulder.
"Good choice. See you tomorrow." That was all Stu said before he turned and disappeared behind a set of double doors, further deeper into the back of the store. Dick watched Stu go before he turned around, facing Wren now instead of at the mirror.
"Then I think we'll understand each other just fine."
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No idea what they would end up with. If it was awful, they weren't the one paying, though. Just had to keep telling themself that. To Dick they weren't sure what to say, caught up again in the deep brown eyes.
Saved by the buzz of their phone in their back pocket, pulled out quickly to check the text - Jason. They let out a little breathless laugh and shake of their head at that, shooting off a quick reply before putting it away again.
"- And that was my boyfriend telling me to have fun and asking who you were. Probably just worried you're on someone's payroll under the table."
Not the most delicate way to bring up either subject, but Dick had thrown them off and they were scrambling to find their mental footing again.
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It had been a while since he read the room so wrong. It made him huff a quiet breath of laughter, before shaking his head. He turned toward the work table again, breaking eye contact to pull open a drawer. He knew the place like it were his own. In it were rows and rows of fabrics, all the special stuff in a whole other part of the store.
"You weren't kidding when you said he's protective." Weren't they just a librarian? "Who'd you tell him I was? Does he think you're gonna get your organs stolen, or something?"
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"I said you were from out of town so you were probably not secretly on someone's payroll. Can you blame him though? Cops, gotham. It's an honest worry," they said, defending Jason's paranoia right then even as they had often tried to help ease him out of it. No longer needing to play mannequin, they stepped out from in front of the mirrors - that was far too many reflections for their own comfort, expecting one of them to somehow look different - and carefully approaching the work table as well, hands in their pockets. Casual. "... it's a whole - poly thing. I'm dating him, he's dating me but also dating our other roommate and he's got a third - I'm not sure it's official but it's not yet it's just a matter of time."
They exhaled again, the explanation having come out in a rush.
"... People can be judgy about that kinda thing, you know? Dad being in prison, I've had eight years to toughen up to people being shitty about that, but this is still new to me."
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He looked up when Wren sidled up beside him, looking every bit casual as they started to explain. Dicks brows raised, just a little, not from the content, but that Wren was here, sharing it with him in such a raw, unpracticed manner.
"Thanks. For telling me all that." They didn't have to tell him. All he really did was back off. He was probably getting to wrapped up in this, anyway, confusing his feelings of empathy for Wren and their story with something else. He did that sometimes. He was self-aware enough to know that.
He turned to look at Wren, a hand splaying on the surface of the table. "You didn't have to. It's alright. The gala thing, this whole thing," he gestured between them, to the store, "I didn't come into this thinking it'd be a date.
"And I don't judge people for their love. So long as you're safe and happy, I'm happy for you." But his smile didn't quite reach his eyes this time, and he was a shitty liar unless he was undercover. It could easily be chaulked up to jealousy, maybe, but it was the safe part that he had issues with. Though Wren's explanation was plausible, because it was Gotham, it was the specificity of the worry that tipped Dick off. Most people would have spoken about a general worry about the cops, or a general worry about meeting a stranger, but Wren's boyfriend's paranoia felt... familiar. In a bad way.
Was Wren sure that their boyfriend wasn't the one being paid under the table? He tipped his head, thinking it over as he pulled out a few swatches. Navies, blacks, a cobalt blue, a velvet. Did he even know much about Wren? He hadn't done a background check, hadn't pulled any records, hadn't questioned anything.
"How long have you known him for?" He asked it simply, casually.
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They leaned against the workbench, looking at the swatches of fabric instead of Dick's face. Instead of those damn pretty brown eyes. Until Dick's last question, which got an immediate "Don't you start."
Old familiar paranoia indeed, given how quickly Wren responded. It was the kind of question Jason would ask. They crossed their arms, briefly wondering before dismissing the possibility of any kind of 'night job'. In Wren's experience, the kind of people who became cops were getting whatever fix vigilantism would give them. Doing both was redundant. Not that there wasn't a certain amount of crossover of personality types there.
"A while. I trust him. He's a good guy. Don't know what he sees in me but I'm trying not to question the miracle."
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