title: Pushing
fandom: DC Comics
characters/pairings: Dick/Bruce, Talia
rating: G
warnings: none
summary: Last page challenge fic.
notes: for dl's Last Page challenge; the last page of a Bruce/Dick fic. this comes in at 564 words, so it's within the rules, even tho in my Word, it came out at just 2 pages. but hey, if i changed the margins or the font... ^_^

than capable hands was no problem for Dick; after all, Alfred was more than experienced with dealing with an injured Bat.

It didn't take long to home in on the location. The bar was sleazy and cheap, but it made up for it in atmosphere. It was dark, painted black, with blue neon lights on the edges where the ceiling met the walls, and at the edges of the bar and the stage. Dark, smoky, and moody. Perfect.

He sat down next to the leggy knockout at the bar wearing a black vinyl suit which revealed more than a fair share of cleavage. He took no note of her. He merely ordered his martini appearing as if the blackened mirror behind the bar was the most interesting thing in the world.

She smiled, although he didn't see it. "He'd be mad at you if he knew you were with me." The slight touch of accent and low tone made the voice sultry, belying the coldness of the timber.

Dick still didn't look at her. "He's not in any condition to be mad right now."

She put her glass down heavily, as he picked his up, leaving money on the black bar.

"I needed to ask you."

"Oh?"

"Did you sleep with him?"

"Recently, you mean?" She was unnecessarily cruel, enjoying the bite of the words. "Why? Are you jealous, little bird?"

He set his jaw, taking a slow sip before assembling his response. "It doesn't make any difference. Yes or no, I'm not leaving him. I just... need to know."

He had taken the verve from her. She hated the helpless feeling of not being able to affect people. "Don't you trust him?"

"I don't want to ask him. If you won't answer me, then I'll have to live with not knowing."

"What makes you think I'll tell you the truth? Or do you think you could tell if I lied to you?" She was being snide, which made her feel petty.

He set his glass down, his shoulders falling a little. "It doesn't matter."

She traced the rim of the glass, contemplating. "We almost did. But he was under the influence of Father's gas. And he still resisted." The bitterness was unmistakable. "Then, that fool Ubu interrupted. Father was most displeased. He said that the Detective had been given one chance too many." She sounded desolate.

Dick measured each word carefully, before emptying the glass and standing.

She raised her visible eyebrow. "That's enough for you?"

He nearly smiled. "It will have to be, won't it?"

"You really do love him." She sounded disappointed, and bemused. "Take good care of him, Richard."

He paused. "Someone has to. Of course, that would be a lot easier if you and your father could stay out of his path."

She shrugged, turning back to the bar. "Of course, I cannot speak for my father, but I can assure you, Gotham has lost its charm for me on this trip."

Back at home, Dick piled pillows on the floor next to his side of the giant king-sized bed that the drugged Bruce was sprawled across. Smiling, he kissed Bruce's forehead before laying down on the edge, his hand resting within an inch of Bruce's. Whispering into the darkness, "It doesn't matter how hard you push me away, you know. I'll always be here in the morning anyway."








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