Chapter Text
They meet in a dream; at least, they think it's a dream.
It's vast, and all they can see is pure white. A plain realm that made both of them shiver.
For Clea, it reminded her of an untouched Canvas, with white in all directions and no clear sense of up or down.
If left unpainted or if the painter was inexperienced with no guide around, it could easily become one's prison.
Dick, on the other hand, was reminded of an internal abyss.
He's half tempted to begin running and see if he manages to walk up the walls or even down; how would it affect him? Would he get hurt? Was he trapped here?
Neither decides to risk it, instead taking a step back--they bump into something.
Clea doesn't squeal or scream; she's not pathetic enough to embarrass herself like that. She, however, does turn and jump back a step or two away from whoever she bumped into.
Dick, however, does let out a girlish scream, and with a skill that would have experienced acrobats jealous, flips and raises his fist, ready to defend himself.
They don't move; instead, they inspect the person before him.
She was quick to raise an unamused eyebrow as if saying, 'Really? That's how you scream?', all the while looking him up and down; he was an admittedly attractive male, she'd have to be blind not to acknowledge that, he was taller than her, tan skin tone, black hair, and blue eyes that gleamed down at her.
Clea noted that he seemed to be wearing...unusual attire. But she paid it no mind and instead got ready to defend herself.
She knew it was a good idea to get to self-defense classes.
Dick stands there, and only relaxes when his eyes run up and down; she wasn't dangerous, defensive, yes, but she obviously wasn't a threat.
The woman in front of him was just ready to defend herself.
He relaxed his body, raised his hand in mock-defense, before he slowly dropped his arms and let them fall to his side. And stood there, watching the woman and waiting for her to make her move.
If she attacked, then he would retaliate, but for now, he simply waited.
As he took her, he couldn't help but stare at her; she was beautiful, that much was clear, her eyes were an illuminating grey-blue that had him frozen on the spot. Long Auborn hair, a pinstripe shirt and suspenders that were as and a high-wasted maxi skirt.
He noted that she was barefoot and her clothes were stained in what seemed to be paint; she was an artist.
Clea stared at him, debating for a moment before she relaxed and stared back at him.
Neither said a word; they took each other in before Dick swallowed
"U-um"
Clea blinked at him
"You wouldn't know where we are, do you?" he asked
The woman didn't respond for some time before she hissed under her breath, "Mon Dieu, un Américain..."
"Oh! French!" He blinked. "Cool, I can work with this, I-"
Before he could continue, Clea cut him off, "I can speak English," she deadpanned at him. She was already tired of dealing with him, and they hadn't even started talking properly!
"Oh! Great," he smiled brightly at her, "You can call me Dick!" he extended his hand
...
"...Dick?" Clea blinked, her usual composure slipping out into a mixture of confusion and disgust, though still regaining that normal deadpan voice she was typically known for.
"Do you have an unusual fondness for male genitalia...or did your parents dislike you?"
He spluttered at that, and in a rare moment, actually let his usual confidence slip.
"N-no!" he waved his hands in the air, all the while Clea watched in critical yet silent amusement, face flushed red as he quickly explained
"My name’s Richard! Richard Grayson. Dick is just… It’s just a nickname.”
"How unfortunate," she hummed neatly, reveling in the way he seemed to grow redder.
The man, Richard, looked away, very clearly wishing he did not exist for the next five to ten minutes. Clea, at this point, decided to pity him and told him her name
"Bonjour, Richard," she extended her hand. "My name is Clea, Clea Dessendre."
Richard blinked before he fully relaxed and shook her hand.
She noted that his hand was firm and rough; he worked with hands that much was clear, but she could also see the small, barely visible scars on his fingers and palms
He smiled, "Nice to meet you."
Clea simply grunted back and dropped her hand once they were done introducing themselves.
"So...." he finally spoke after an awkward pause, "Do you know where we are?'
She frowned and gazed at him with a raised eyebrow. "I thought you would know."
"I don't!" he shook his head
"I just...fell asleep in my apartment and the next-" he gestured around them "-I'm here. I thought you would know."
"How am I supposed to know?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.
"You look like you know things!"
"Flattering," she deadpanned as she looked around. "I'd call you delusional, but I also woke up here after I went to sleep as well...I thought I had accidentally gone into a canvas."
Dick paused and stared at her
"...A what?"
"A Canvas," She explained before she stopped and looked at him with a glare, "Are you a writer?"
"What?" Dick blinked. "No?"
"A painter?"
"No!"
"Then?..." she trailed off.
She didn't particularly care about his life, but she knew the risks of trusting a stranger, especially if they were potentially a writer. She wouldn't risk her family like that.
Dick blinked. "Well...I've been a lot of things, A Cop, a gymnastics coach, a bartender, etc..." he smiled as he recalled those times. "But right now I'm a philanthropist!" he grinned
"Hm," she blinked
"And you?"
Clea stared at him. "You don't know who I am?"
The Dessendre name was well known; everyone from the richest to the common folk knew them; they were famous painters after all.
Dick tilted his head. "I'm not from France, and besides, I think I would remember seeing someone like you before," he winked at the end.
She huffed at him, "Fair argument." After a slight pause, she finally relented. "I'm a painter."
"Are you good?" he asked
Clea huffed, "Of course I am."
Dick smiled before it fell again. He unconsciously rubbed his arm and shivered, "This place makes me feel...weird."
She turned to him
"It's so empty and ongoing," he gulped, "I feel like if I walk I'll just get lost."
"Hm"
Clea could admit, she knew how he felt; more than once had she felt like she'd get lost. This was not a canvas, that much was clear, but it still felt like one.
Clea remembered when she was young and still learning, she had cried in her mother's skirt until she had been taught to control the canvas.
Until she was told tears would do nothing
Her hand extended instinctively, and willed chroma into existence.
It wasn't a canvas...but it functioned like one.
"Whoa-"
Dick watched in silent awe as the terrain changed; what was once a white void turned into a beautiful forest, dirt raised and turned into fluorescent green grass, trees appeared from the wind, and the sky formed in a 'boom'. Dick could only watch as this happened.
Clea lowered her hand and grunted, "A quick job but a good change of scenery." She placed a hand on her chin.
"This isn't a canvas...and yet I managed to change the very terrain. Hm...could it be something similar?"
"How did you do that?"
She turned and blinked
Dick was staring up, eyes shining and wide with awe as he took everything in. His hand rose and gently grasped a fallen leaf, fingers rubbing it as he gasped, "It feels so...real. And Alive and-" he turned to her and grinned "-Beautiful."
Clea stared at him, eyes slightly widening before they returned to their ordinary, tired expression they usually were.
She raised a hand and coughed into it. "Basic painting. A child could do a decent job if taught well enough."
"This is how you paint?" he walked forward, arms extended. "This isn't painting! It's magic!"
"It's not," she gave him a look, "It's just basic chroma manipulation-" she waved her hand around, "Magic is fiction, painting is not."
"But this isn't normal painting," he assured her, following her when she began to walk down the path she had constructed, "Where I'm from, painting can't do this."
She snorts, "America must not be as sophisticated as they proclaim themselves to be."
He winced at that. "Okay...ouch, I live there."
"A pity"
Dick's lips form into a light smile; it was like talking to Damian. A very calm, less obsessed with legacy, Damian.
"I've been pondering," she glanced at him, "But what exactly are you wearing?"
He blinked. "What? Wait, are you talking about my hoodie and sleep pants?"
'Hoodie' she mouths before frowning, "What an odd word...is that something you Americans invented?"
"No?" he blinked. "I'm pretty sure France sells them too."
"I assure you we don't."
"What? Are you from the 1900s?" he snorts
"Currently, it's 1904," she confirms
"...wait. Are you serious?"
She raised an eyebrow at him
Dick paled "Oh my gosh...I've time-traveled."
"I don't see why you're panicking."
"Because I'm from 2023!" he pointed at himself
Clea, at first, didn't respond; she stared and then, after a long pause of silence, hummed, "You aren't joking."
"I'm not."
"Hm. How odd," she tilted her head. "I might have to interrogate you to see how art has changed and improved."
"How are you not more shocked?!"
Before either of the two can comment, it all gets blurry, and everything shifts around them--they wake in their own beds.
Clea sits up, blinks, and hums, "What an odd dream." She goes about her day as normal
Dick jolts, eyes wide as he looks around his apartment, "...what the hell?!" he does not go about his day as he usually does.
Neither can forget the dream they just had.
They meet again; this time, Clea has to openly seek him out.
She doesn't particularly care if he gets hurt; they were in a realm made out of...dreams(?) that functioned more or less like a canvas; if she needed to intervene, then she would do so, but she knew there was nothing relatively dangerous that could hurt them.
But against everything...she finds herself curious; if he were telling the truth, and if he wasn't mad, then he was from the future. She could learn from him.
Clea finds him sitting by a river, hands leaning back as he tilted his head back.
She watches from the shadows. And soon enough finds herself staring.
The man in front of her was essentially a stranger; she knew nothing of him, but she immediately felt some sort of...kinship toward him.
Like he would understand where no one else would. She could see it in his eyes; the sorrow, the anger...the grief. He hid behind a smile, or rather, fought with a smile.
Deep down, though...she wondered if he was as broken as she was.
"I can feel you staring, you know?"
Clea doesn't jump, but she does blink and leaves the shadows. "I figured you might need space, considering how you reacted before."
She sits beside him, knees pulled to her chest as she stares at the running water
"That's fair," she can see him nod. "Sorry for freaking out before."
"It's a natural reaction."
He snorts, "Says the woman who is stone-cold."
She smirks, "It is what I'm known for."
They sit there, listening to the sound of rushing water. Dick let out a sigh, "Multiversal travel."
"Hm?"
"We're dream sharing right now," he explained better
"Magic?" she tilted her head
"Believe it or not, where I'm from, magic isn't that rare," he smiled at her, it looked pained
"Not a fan?"
"It's...wild," he winced, "And Difficult to know what's going to happen next."
"I understand that."
And she truly could; even the smaller variable could ruin a fine piece of art.
"So...the 1900s, huh?" He looked at her, "How's that going for you?"
She raised an eyebrow at him.
"Sorry!" He raised his hands. "I'm just not used to meeting someone like you."
"Isn't magic an ordinary occurrence in your...world?" She was still not used to that revelation, regardless of whether she was taking it well or not.
Dick shrugged, "Believe it or not, not everyone from other worlds is as peaceful as you." He heaved out a sigh
"I've gotten used to having to deal with multibersal threats".
"Is that so?"
"Mhm," he nods
Dick paused and turned to her, "What you did before...painting. Is that something everyone can do in your world?"
Clea hummed, "Not exactly. Only specific families have the talent to do that, and even when a rare commoner shows skill, they're brought to the council to be deemed a painter." She waved a hand. "A power like this...isn't exactly one to be given to reckless hands after all."
"I bet," he spoke breathlessly, "I was scared when you painted this forest to life!"
"This isn't my best work. Just a simple warm-up," Clea huffed
"A warm-up?!" Dick looked at her with wide eyes, "THIS?!"
Clea smirked at his shock and continued to speak, "As for you, you expressed a great skill in acrobatics. Is that what you taught children when you were a...gymnastic coach?"
Dick smiled. "Yeah," he nods, "I was in a circus when I was little. It's always been a part of my life."
"I can tell," she gestured at him up and down. "Quite the muscle you have."
He placed his hands on his cheeks and faked embarrassment. "My, madame Dessendre, flaterry will get you nowhere."
Despite herself, she actually snorts. It shocks her for a split moment; she hadn't so much as smiled for a long time now. Not since she was six.
Dick grinned at her, "Hey, since we're dream sharing, we might as well enjoy it, huh?"
"How?" she asked him
"Anything!" he stood up and spun. "We can do anything as long as you paint it into existence," he extended his arms, "Limitless experiences!"
"What a change in attitude," she muttered under her breath. "Aren't we a bit too old to be playing around?"
Dick grinned at her, "You're never too old to embrace the world with open arms! Just imagine: You can paint a sea and we can be pirates! Oh! Ooh! We can fly! So many possibilities! We have to try it all!"
For a split second, she's reminded of Verso.
Before all the expectations and his desire for music took over his life.
She gives a sigh
"Alright"
Clea's not one to give in to childish needs, but anything would be more interesting than simply sitting there and talking; she was too tired to deal with social interactions.
"What do you have in mind?" she raised her hand
Dick grinned at her.
Clea wakes up, a memory of fighting pirates on her own private ship still clear in her mind. She blinks and lets herself smile. It had been a long time since she had that much fun
Dick grinned as he remembered the adventure he had. It was fun to have someone fight alongside you.
Both of them wondered what adventures they would have the next time they dreamt.
"What's your family like?"
"Why the sudden curiosity?"
Clea is balancing by the edge of the mountains she had created, Dick, walking on the path beside her, his hand partially extended, ready to catch her just in case he needed to.
He shrugged, "We've been sharing dreams for a while now...I guess I just wanted to know more about my dream buddy."
"'Dream Buddy,'" she turned to look at her companion with a raised eyebrow
"You have a better name for it," he challenged her
"Hm."
Dick smiled at her, "Now, come on, tell me about your family."
"Impatient," she huffs at him, "I have two siblings." She eventually spoke up
"Younger or older?"
"Younger"
He winced, "Bet their beasts, huh?"
She chuffs, "When they were younger, yes. Now they're more subdued and bearable."
Dick snorts at that. "I know that feeling."
"Oh?"
"Hey, I'll tell my story later," he grinned at her. "What are they like?"
"Verso is close to my age," she began, "He's...optimistic, not too different from you. He's not a painter, not anymore; instead, he creates with his music."
"That's amazing," he smiled at her, "I have a sister...er sister-friend(?) who plays piano."
"Hm. How ironic. My brother plays piano, it's his main instrument." She smiled, "He's good, his music brings life to our manor. He's...my best friend."
Used to be.
"Then theirs my sister, Alicia, she's sixteen."
"Large age gap, huh?" he tilted his head
She hummed, "She's not a painter, wasn't 'skilled' enough in our mothers' eyes, she enjoys reading, and she's quite the troublemaker but turns as meek as a mouse on certain occasions."
"Seems she just needs to find her confidence."
"Try telling that to our mother," she huffed. "I'll admit Alicia wasn't the most skilled, but with time and patience, she would have found her own art, or maybe would be allowed to play music or anything else as our dear old brother does."
But she doubted that would ever happen.
To Aline, not much mattered besides their ability to paint.
They were Dessendres' after all, the only one who got a pass was Verso.
All because Aline coddles him.
"And you?" he tilted his head. "I know you're an artist, but don't you wish to do something else?"
Clea's lips twitched.
How naive...
"I love painting, I adore it," she admits, "It's my passion." She shrugs and continues, "And besides, I'm the eldest child of the Dessendre Family; it's my duty to carry its pride on my shoulders."
She glanced to the side. "Verso and Alicia are allowed to rest, I'm not."
How she envies them
"But, I suppose, if I ever allowed myself to try something else, I would...dance. I would sing and dance."
Dick smiled, "That sounds nice."
She thinks for a moment, memories of Francois and her dancing and singing rewound in her head, she lets herself smile (albeit a small one) and hums,
"Yes, it does sound nice."
"And you?" she asks him one night, the two of them sitting on a farm she has painted; he hangs from a branch while she sits under the shade. "You spoke as if you had siblings yourself."
He chuckled, "I do." he heaved out a loud sigh, "A lot of them."
"How I pity you," she deadpanned, "I can barely handle my two energetic siblings, I can't imagine having more than one."
Dick laughed, "At least I know you feel sorry for me."
He smiled, "I have five official siblings and one unofficial one."
"It sounds like your parents have intimacy issues," she shivered.
The thought of having more than two siblings sent a shiver down her spine. She already knew that if Aline and Renoir hadn't gotten so unlucky, they're would be more than three children in the manor; their declarations of love made that very clear.
"We're all adopted, and I only have a father," he answered, amused by her words
"Then he needs help. Immediately," she shoots back
She's tempted to ask what happened to his parents, but...Clea was heartless at times, but she wasn't cruel. She knew better than to cross certain boundaries.
He shook his head. "Anyway, in all, I have four brothers and two sisters. Jason, Tim, Damian, Cassandra, Stephanie, and Duke."
"Which one is the...' unofficial one?'" she asked
"Stephanie"
"I respect her decision."
He snorts, "A big family isn't that bad."
"Yes. But a family that dwells in fighting crime is a different type of chaos," she deadpanned at him.
Before this conversation, she knew the bare minimum of his life. One of them was the fact that he was a trained individual who protected his city alongside others. Others whom she had guessed were members of his family.
Clea could tell, just by his eyes, that her words had hit the mark; they turned tired, a version she was all too familiar with.
She knew it well, because that's how she felt every single day.
"Yeah, it is," he nodded solemnly, "But it's everything for me. I love them, and they love me. That's enough."
The answer is brief, and she doesn't bother to press for details, not even asking about their ages or what they do outside the mask. She sits beside him and says:
"Don't take this as me trying to offend you, but...if I were you? I would have killed all of them; they sound annoying."
"They aren't that bad!"
"Sure," Clea hummed, "Sure."
"I swear they aren't!"
The two sit there the rest of the night; they don't talk about family again; both know they aren't ready for that.
Dick sits up and breathes a sigh of relief; he feels guilty over the fact that he doesn't want to talk about his family. He feels his phone buzz and sighs...another call from Bruce. He doesn't want to answer it, but he does.
Clea doesn't get up immediately; she stares at the ceiling and grunts. Having to deal with more than two siblings? It sounds like a nightmare. Richard is far stronger than she gave him credit for
Neither is brave enough to admit that they may have just found a person who truly understands.
There is an argument, because of course, neither of them can have a good relationship for once in their lives.
Neither remembers who started it, and if they do? Then they just don't bother to blame it.
Dick is emotional, while Clea is the complete opposite. One of them is yelling, and the other is not. Complete opposites.
Maybe that's why this moment was inevitable.
"You just don't get it!"
"Am I supposed to understand?" she raised an eyebrow. "How would I even begin to understand if you jump to conclusions?"
"Jump to conclusions?!"
"You're being emotional." Clea's voice is cold. "Think rationally instead of with your far too gentle heart."
"God," he ran his hands through his hair, "Why did I think you would be different?"
"Maybe lower your expectations and start relying more on yourself rather than on others."
She huffed
"You'll only continue to get hurt."
"Hah," he huffed, "That's funny coming from you."
"And what do you know about me?"
Dick glared at her, "I know that you're just like your parents."
She tensed, "I am nothing like them," she growled
"You're exactly like them," he laughed, "I can't believe I didn't realize it before--you're exactly like him. So cold and emotionless, hard on others-"
"-You don't know anything about me."
"-You try to act so tough and above everyone else, just to prove a point. You don't care about anyone but yourself! No wonder you're so alone!"
Dicks heavy breathing is all that sounds in the empty field.
Clea doesn't respond, nor does she stare at him; she merely turns around and begins to walk away
It's at this point that Dick's eyes widened, "Wait-"
She disappears without a word to him
"...Please don't leave," he whispers.
But there's no one there to hear him.
He finds her sitting under the night sky, hand extended as a bird rested on her finger, chirping and unbothered by his presence.
Dick's training helps him stay hidden, but she still catches him off guard
"I hate them, more than anything in the world."
"... your parents?" he winced at the stupid questions.
Clea doesn't snort or mock him for the question like she usually does; instead, she hums
Dick sits beside her, crossed legs, and stares at the bird on her finger
"Do you know how young I was? When I learned that tears would do nothing?"
She doesn't wait for him to respond
"I was Six, Richard. Six." She huffed, "A Prodigy, they called me. Renoir was in Awe, happy. Aline was interested, controlling. They both made it my duty to carry the Dessendre Pride; they never asked what I wanted." She looked at the ground
"They got their prized Paintress...I had to give up my childhood."
"I-" he doesn't know what to say.
Because what is he supposed to say? Despite Bruce's future choices, he had been there after his parents' passing, had trained him, had protected him, and had loved him.
He had the chance to grow at his own pace...Clea never had that.
"Verso and Alicia got lucky," she continues,
"Verso can argue all he wants, but the 'arguments' he got with Aline were really just regular conversations compared to how she yelled at me; they're coddled. Both of them are. They don't know the monsters our parents can be."
"I'm sure they love you."
She snorts, an empty thing, "If that's what their love is? Then I'd rather not have it. Love isn't meant to hurt Richard-" he inhales "-It's meant to be warm and safe. Their love doesn't make me feel that way."
The bird finally flies off
"It frustrates me."
"What does?" he whispers
"How much freedom they have." Clea is staring at the sky, where the bird flies off.
"So much freedom and for what? For them to waste it in an attempt to get the validation and support they'll never truly receive?"
She scoffed. "If I were them...I would run, run as far as I could until Paris was nothing but a shadow behind me."
"You care about them," he stated the obvious
"I do," she lowered her head, "Mon dieu, I do. They were both too young to remember...But I was there, every step of the way. And then they grew up, and they pulled away. Or maybe I just let them go."
She shook her head, "I'm not sure."
Clea let out a chuff. "They think I enjoy being...this-" she gestured to herself. "They think I enjoy being rude and cold, but...that's not true. It's just how I've survived this long."
She draws her knees closer
"I became what Aline and Renoir wanted me to be...and I lost myself in the process. Or, maybe I just never became 'me'. I lose my temper and blow off steam at them because it's easy," She shook her head.
"What sister does that? I...I never enjoyed it. I really didn't."
Dick stared at her.
And for a split second, he can almost imagine Jason, but where Jason always, at times, uses his death and the pit as an excuse for his anger, Clea doesn't.
She states how she feels, and she means it.
Suddenly, he feels stupid for ever comparing Clea to everyone else in his life.
She's not perfect...and she doesn't pretend to be.
"I'm-" she shut her eyes "I don't mean to be a violent person....I don't know why I bite."
Dick doesn't say anything; he simply wraps his arm around her and brings her close.
Clea tenses, she doesn't cry but simply relaxes in his hold.
"I think you're pretty great. And besides...I don't really like tame people."
She snorts at that
"...I'm sorry."
"It's okay."
"How is it okay?" He finds himself asking
"Because you understand."
And, despite how much Dick hates himself for it; He does.
He's quiet before he lets out a shaky sigh
"I love my family, I really do."
"Hm"
"But sometimes I just get so...tired of how much they ask of me," Dick murmured
He looked at his hands. "Don't get me wrong, I know they love me just as much as I love them, but sometimes it just feels like it'll never be enough," he scoffs. "They don't even know the real me."
Clea hummed, "See things as they are...not how you want them to be."
Dick blinked, "Yeah...exactly like that." he tilted his head. "How'd you know?"
"My father likes to say that," she shrugs, "It fits more than I'm comfortable with."
"They just...assume I'm always the 'happy' one. Dick can't go through anything or can't take a break because he's the responsible one in the family, and god forbid he takes any breaks." he spread his arms out. "Everyone else is allowed to make mistakes, but the minute I make one?"
He scoffed, "It's like it's the end of the world." Dick shook his head. "And then they get angry at me for things I have no control over," he let out a breath. "It's like I'm meant to be perfect no matter what."
Clea stared at him and let out a sigh, "Like Atlas, holding the weight of the world on our shoulders."
Dick snorts, "We're horrible messes."
She tilted her head back and laughed softly; the two were just laughing like maniacs out in the open field.
And yet, neither would want anything else.
He wakes up lighter than he has in years
She wakes up realizing that, for once in her life, she has somebody to rely on
Both realize they may have just finally found the one thing they wanted all their lives: True companionship.
It's easier now, they both realize.
Both of them around the other, one talks while the other listens, one jokes while the other grumbles.
Day and Night
Sun and Moon.
So different...and yet it worked.
"Your father shouldn't have children."
"He's not that bad."
"Ah, yes, because beating two of his sons for not doing what they're told is a relatively normal response," she deadpanned. "But then again, my mother isn't any different; she wasn't physically abusive...emotionally, however? That's an entirely different story."
Dick chuffed, "I know how that feels."
"That's sad."
"You have no right to judge me!" he pointed at her, which only made her smirk
They walk alongside each other; they tend to do that, walking beside the other or at times he leads her, or she ushers him forward. Always together yet never truly bored.
"I'll never get tired of it."
"Hm?"
"Of your art, I know you said you enjoyed sculpting, but this is just...beautiful."
"You've already mentioned that. Multiple times," she sounded amused
"It doesn't make it any less true," he grinned at her
Clea shoved him with a small smile.
"...what would you do?" she asked him
"Huh?"
"I already told you what I would do if I stopped painting. But what about you?" she tilts her head. "What would you do if you weren't Nightwing?"
"I'd start a family."
"Really?"
He nods
"Yeah. I'd give them everything they'd ever want and make sure they were happy...I'd make sure they'd never suffer as I did." He smiled, "Two...maybe four kids to take care of. I don't know, I want to give some light to this world."
She smiled softly at him, "You'd be a wonderful father."
He grinned at her, "You think so?"
"I know so."
Her confidence in him makes him feel warm inside, but he knows better than to say that out loud.
The two end up dancing one night, Clea humming a song under her breath as Dick leads them.
He spun her softly, "You're a good dancer," he whispered
"I've always practiced on my own," she answered just as quietly. "I'm also decent with the harp."
"I'd love to hear you play."
"Maybe," she answered half-heartedly. She was too focused on the dance to properly respond to him.
"You're a good dancer," she spoke softly
He let out a chuff, "Yeah, going to Gala's and being forced to learn how to be 'sophisticated' does that to someone." he sighed, "I swear, I prefer acrobatics to that torture."
"I can relate to that."
"You can?"
"Do you really think my mother simply let me and my siblings run around in social gatherings?" she snorts. "We had to pass her tests before we even had the chance to go."
"And you wanted to go?!"
"We didn't exactly have a choice," she deadpanned to her dance partner.
Dick snickered at that and twirled her around. "Still, you had to have caused some trouble."
"She would have killed us if we did."
"Shame' Dick grinned, "That's how we got Bruce to stop taking us to Gala's."
"How lucky"
"...Hey, you think we might be counterparts of one another?"
"What gives you that idea?" she tilts her head
He shrugged, "I just think I've never met anyone who makes me feel so...light." he shook his head, "With everyone else I always have to wear a mask, but with you? I'm allowed to drop it, is that strange?"
"...No. It isn't."
They continued to dance in silence
Clea wasn't brave enough to say that she felt the same...she had a feeling that Dick knew anyway.
"This is stupid."
"You think every idea I have is stupid!"
"Am I wrong?"
"It's just tag!"
Clea huffed, "It's a children's game."
"Which I doubt you got the chance to play!"
She rolled her eyes
"Come on....you know you want to," he grinned at her
"I really don't," she frowned back at him
"You're no fun."
"That's not the first time I've heard that." Clea deadpanned at him
Dick then dramatically pointed a finger at her, "All I hear are a coward's words!"
"A coward," she huffed, "Says the one who squealed like a pig when we first met." She smirks as he turns pink
"I squealed like a man."
"Uh-Huh"
He pouted at her, "You're mean."
Clea gasped and placed a hand on top of her heart. "How rude. How will my feelings ever recover?"
Dick crossed his arms and looked away from her
"Are you really going to pout?" She raised an eyebrow at him
He huffed and turned his back to her
Clea felt her eye twitch at that
God, he was beginning to remind her of Verso. And that wasn't a good thing.
With one final roll of her eyes, she finally walked toward him and half-heartedly patted him on the back and let out a begrudging "Tag" before she began to run.
He heard him gasp and let out a laugh; her lips twitched upward.
She remembered when she was young, before all the responsibilities took over her entire life; Clea, Verso, and Alicia would always play together. Clea would grumble, but would always let her younger siblings have their fun. The Manor was huge, so of course, they had a large garden as well.
Oh, how they played and ran, how they laughed and smiled.
...where did those moments go?
As her bare feet touched and brushed against the fresh grass, she couldn't help but let out a laugh as she continued to run.
She can hear Dick jumping above her. She curses him for using his skills against her.
But, if there was something Clea knew to do: It was running.
"How are you so fast?!" he yells from above
"Practice!" is what she responds with
"What practice!?"
She grins at that.
Grins!
How long had it been since she had grinned out of pure joy?
Clea Yelps as he jumps down, jumping to the side just in time but tripping on a branch and falling on her back.
They stared at each other before bursting out laughing; Clea held her head and gasped for air while Dick held his stomach as he pointed at Clea as he laughed.
Once they stopped laughing, they continued to play tag the entire night.
Laughing and smiling like never before.
Clea wakes up with a wide smile on her face; she keeps smiling the rest of the day, ignoring the looks her family gives her. It was an amazing day.
Dick grinned as he got up, laughing and shaking his head. He had never had that much fun in hsi entire life
Both wanted to see each other as soon as possible
They go flying.
"You have a fear of heights?"
"I-it's complicated!"
"I'm not judging...but do you have to hold me so tightly?"
They talk about the silliest of things.
"My hair used to be longer"
"Really?"
"Yup! Had to cut it though...they weren't a fan of it"
"hm...you should grow it out"
"but they don't like it?"
"Who cares about what they think?"
"huh... you're right"
"*huff* as always"
Dick Grayson tells her stories of his life
"And that's how the Flying Graysons first took flight!"
"They sound amazing."
"...They were"
"I'm sure they're proud of you."
"...thanks, Clea"
Clea confides in him.
"I wish I could just...talk to them. To both Alicia and Verso"
"Use your words, idiot."
"*Huff* It's not like they'll see anything but the 'grumpy' version of myself."
"*Laugh* Then just start slow! It's not bad to not know what to d.o"
"...Small. Alright, I'll see what I can do."
Dick is open with her
"Sometimes I get so angry...it scares me."
"It's not a sin to be angry."
"It feels like it is."
"...For what it's worth. You're handling your anger better than I have."
"That...actually does make me feel a bit better."
They're so different, yet so alike.
It shouldn't work, but it does.
Both of them continue to meet, again and again.
They cry freely around the other.
They yell.
They smile.
They laugh.
Everything they feel they can't reveal to their families is freely given to the other.
"Clea?"
"Hm?"
"I hope we continue to meet."
"...So do I."
Neither knows if or when this will be over, but neither truly cares about that.
But one thing is for sure
They can't wait to dream again.