by Darklady
Disclaimer: I obviously don't own these characters, and I'm clearly not making any money.
Rated: Maybe PG - at most.
Archive: FanFiction.net . All others please ask first.
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I reach over to turn down the TV.
Its not like I'm really listening anyway. Not really. It's all repetitive now - stuff I've heard before, just with another voice finding some new way to say it. Not their fault. The police have the roads blocked, and even if a TV van could get through... ? It's not like this Firebug is going to stop and give interviews.
Four city blocks burning, and all the talking heads can do is speculate.
'Who is the Firebug.'
Stupid name. Stupid perp. Not even a meta, but just some twerp with a bad attitude, an Uzi, and a few pounds of gelatinate. A loser making his play for fame and ending up in Blackgate - if he's lucky. Not exactly a job for Superman.
Right. So they've got Gangbuster instead. He's not exactly an A-list hero, but Bludhaven isn't exactly an A-list city. The Haven has nada in terms of local costumes - at least officially. This Gangbuster is only here because he followed the pyrotechnical idiot down from Metropolis. Probably because the bigger names were busy. Like I said - not a job for Superman.
Unfortunately, it *is* a job for the BHPD. Corrupt though they may be, even Blockbuster disapproves of burning down his city. At last when it's not his idea. And a job for the BHPD is a job for Officer Richard Grayson.
The buildings involved are all low-income housing. Old buildings with crazy room plans and lousy fire safety, and a lot of people to old or weak or otherwise zoned to get away on their own. So the paramedics go in. The cops go in.
If he has a chance, Dick will go in.
I *should* turn off the tube and go to bed. I really should. I know it, but...
I can't. Four hours now of nothing - and nothing I want to hear - but I can't stop listening. Just because. Because...
Silly. I know. It's not like that tube could *tell* me anything. I had all the relevant information off the Oracle net three hours ago. The link is still open, set to cue me if any important name comes across. I know more then the silly talking heads could ever hope to, but I still can't turn away because... because...
I should clean up the kitchen. The steaks are still in the fridge. Stew tomorrow , I guess. Put the dishes in the dishwasher. I should start it, but then I couldn't hear the TV.
I crank it up. Vicki Vale is going on about uninsured damage to the Opera building. Like I give a crap about some building. I should. I know I should. I mean, Bruce gave me season tickets and...
I don't give a shit. I'd gladly listen to Nashville Hoedown if he was here. But he's not.
The coffee pot's still full. I think I started it just before... dinner. Before Dick was delayed by ... work.
I pour a cup of coffee. Stale. I dump the pot and start again. There should be fresh coffee when he gets here. That's not much to ask, is it?
What? A movement from the screen catches my eye. Fire trucks going up through the police lines. Might be a good sign. Better then the paramedics, at any rate.
Cat Danver is standing over by the black-and-whites. Poor kid. I think she's with Gangbuster again - and he's in there. Police chief is saying something to her and Jimmy Olson. She looks happy now, so it must be decent news.
Ambulance coming back. Flashing lights, so it's loaded. Four-cruiser escort, so it's the bad guy. A fallen cop gets either none or a lot more. Start breathing again.
No announcement about this Firebug. No word from Gangbuster. Bad sign. The costumes tend to like the press. And it likes them. Even in Bludhaven. If Gangbuster is yielding the floor to a creep like Redhorn, he's trashed. And if Gangbuster is trashed?
Check the porch light is on.
I still at the window when a cop car at the sidewalk. No lights. Good sign. Keep breathing. Amy Roehbach, and she's standing by the *front* car door. Better.
I would go downstairs, but Dick is waiving off help. Laughing with the Amy and two other cops. Big smile as he saunters up the sidewalk. Making slow look casual, which means he's on a macho kick again.
The 'show no weakness' bit. Hero's code. Bat code. Cop code too. Hell. I should understand that. I've done the same stupid shit myself.
He leans on the lobby door, waving until the back and white is around the corner. Probably leaning because he's too trashed to stand.
I should understand. I do. I'm still gonna chew his ass for it later. but that's... later.
I send down the elevator and open it for him.
He staggers inside and slumps against the wall. No need to push the buttons. We both know he's coming up here.
White uniform shirt looks gray, and I don't think it's by cameras. Hair is wet - and I don't think it from a shower. At least not the type that comes with soap. I can see the strap bands from the hard-hat where his hair has crushed flat to his scalp - and with Dick's gypsy curls that's not easy. He's favoring his left leg. Not much, but I'm observant.
I slide under his right shoulder the minute he steps out of the elevator door.
"Babs."
"Dick."
"I stink."
"You're right."
I take his belt and put it carefully on the hall table. Radio might break if he dropped it, and right now it's all he can do to hold on to consciousness.
"Bath?" I ask, pulling off his jacket and hanging it over the coathook.
"I'd fall asleep."
"You're asleep now." I lead him down the hall and seat him on the toilet. "But you shouldn't go to bed until I've at least sluiced you off."
"Please."
Fortunately Dick's managed to pull off his shirt, and I get back just in time to catch the kevlar. Police issue. Not as good as ours, but he doesn't want to raise questions. Some cops buy their own, but more just refuse to wear it at all.
In this case I'm glad he started wearing it. Big diffusion bruise across both shoulders - which means something got through, and the armor did it's job. Couple of small burns on his left arm. Not serious, just means he was blocking.
I ease down his pants. Big tear in the left leg. Too big to patch. I make a mental note to order him a new uniform in the morning. A few slices on his calf where whatever-it -was got through. Not quite bad enough for stitches - but I will butterfly bandage.
I'm not quite a paramedic, but I am becoming an expert in my own field - the care and repair of Richard Grayson.
Everything gets dumped in the hamper for morning - and my clothes on top.
Dick waves me off.
"I can stand."
"You can sit."
Fortunately my shower is already equipped with a seat. Tonight he needs it.
"I said I can..."
"Sit!" I push him back into the seat and start the water. "I am *not* going to call the paramedics and tell them that we were in she shower - together - and you slipped and broke something. Just *think* of how dirty their imagination would make it!"
He gives up the fight. "I'll keep that in mind."
I kneel behind him. His hair smells of smoke.
"Although." He gives me a wobbly grin. "It wouldn't be so bad if we were actually *doing* anything..."
"Maybe the morning." I grab the shampoo. "You want to talk about it?"
"Not.." He slumps back against me. "Maybe in the morning."
"Dinner?"
"Morning."
"Sleep?"
"Yes."
I pull him onto my lap. The hot water has taken out whatever muscle tone he still has, and if he tried to walk we would likely *both* fall over.
A quick toweling gets both of us dry. Dry enough. It's summer, and I keep the place warm anyway.
Five shoves gets us to the bedroom.
Dick rolls onto the bed - literally asleep before he settles on the pillow.
I pull up the blanket and turn off the light. I'll join him later. After I've locked up the house and turned things off. When he's more rested, the TV will bother him.
Turn off both radios.
Transfer the Oracle-Net up to Luna.
Dump the new coffee.
Lock the lobby door.
Turn off the elevator.
Brush my teeth and decide that my hair can wait until tomorrow.
Go back to Dick.
I tuck his other arm under the blankets. It's still summer, but the nights get cold. Then I take what's left of my half.
Drop a kiss on his shoulder before I claim my own pillow.
It's been a long day.
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FINIS
cKKR2001