It didn't take long for a daily routine to develop over the next couple of weeks. He would get woken up at nine with a knock on his door and a nurse coming in to tell him in a disappointed voice that he'd missed breakfast again, and to go get his morning meds before the meds window closed. He'd get up, trying to choke back the panicked tears from the nightmare he'd inevitably just been woken up from enough to go get his stupid fucking meds. 

He'd pull on a sweatshirt and pull up the hood to hide his teary face, and then walk briskly down the hall, head down, to the window beside the nurse's station, let them scan his hospital bracelet, and take the meds they gave him with shaky hands in front of the nurse there, opening his mouth after to show that it was empty, before going back to his room and getting in the shower, letting himself finally cry it out.

Jason would usually show up right around when he finished showering, and he'd stay until around lunchtime, then after lunch usually someone or other would call Dick on one of the phones, then Dick would go to the afternoon group session. Talking to his doctor changed times every day, and could be any time from when he'd just been woken up through the end of afternoon group — a nurse just came and told him Dr. Reed was ready to talk to him, and he just had to leave whatever he was doing. 

After group, Bruce and sometimes one or two of the others would come see him and stay until dinner, then after dinner was wrap-up group, and then usually a couple more people would call him, and finally he would call Jason right before lights out.

Thankfully lights out only meant the dimming of the lights in the halls, and that the TVs — one in the day room and one at one end of the L-shaped hall — were turned off and the phones taken off the hooks. They were allowed to have their lights on in their rooms if they wished, so for the rest of the night, Dick would read and do whatever small workouts in his room he could get away with, and usually fall asleep for a few hours around dawn.

Dick was tired of this place in general, but he was finding his talks with his doctor particularly exhausting. Not because talking through his trauma and dark thoughts took a lot out of him — although it did — but because of Dr. Reed. 

He had hoped maybe it would get better with time, but it had been weeks and the doctor was still clinical and removed to the extreme. Dick knew of course mental health professionals couldn't become personally invested past a certain point, but he thought they were supposed to care at least a little bit. Dr. Reed didn't even pretend to care.

The doctor wasn't rude or anything, it was just that most of the things he said sounded like he was replying to just another faceless, indistinct patient, like they weren't direct replies to what Dick was saying, just stock responses in the general vicinity. It didn't help either that Dr. Reed repeatedly asked him the same questions — not ones he was supposed to repeat like checking in on Dick's symptoms for the day, but things Dick had already explained in exhaustive detail multiple times over.

Basically, what it came down to was that it just felt like the doctor wasn't actually listening to anything he said. 

He had tried to bring it up with Dr. Reed, to explain that it felt really frustrating and like he wasn't being listened to when he kept having to repeat the same things, but the doctor had merely said he was sorry to hear that, and then proceeded to change absolutely nothing.

After that, Dick had enquired with the nurses about possibly switching to one of the other doctors — of which there were two — but had been told that it was not allowed. And so he had resigned himself with having to deal.

He also was starting to really hate the group sessions, because most of them were complete repeats every few days and it was incredibly boring to hear the same lecture and fill out the same worksheet every time. But he had to keep showing up if he wanted to get out of the hospital anytime soon. He had to behave. It was really fucking boring most of the time though.

At least talking to his doctor and group were only half an hour and an hour of his day, respectively, and he could spend most of the rest of that time with Jason or Bruce or whoever else showed up. Often they didn't talk about much — Bruce tended to do work on his tablet and the others would play on their phones while Dick read or sometimes just stared at the wall, thinking. Jason, predictably, brought books, and Dick nearly always ended up falling asleep since he still wasn't wired to sleep nights and rarely got more than two or three hours of sleep. 

Dick preferred everybody doing their own thing, honestly. It was nice to have company without the expectations that came with talking. All there really was to talk about was his therapy or things he was missing out on in the outside world, and Dick hated how serious and depressing those conversations got. It was just another way he felt like he was dragging all of them down.

Speaking of Bruce and everybody else, though, Dick was noticing more than ever how much easier it was to be tactile with them compared to Jason. He often held Jason's hand, and occasionally sat close enough to feel his body heat without touching, but with Bruce and the others, he had no problem with long hugs and cuddles on the couch. It wasn't really a conscious thing, he did want to be near Jason, it was just that a big part of him still often cringed away from bodily contact with him. It made him feel kind of guilty sometimes, but even with Bruce and the others there were still days where he couldn't stand to be touched, so it wasn't all Jason.

Right now, Dick was having a rough day. Not enough that he wasn't curled up against Bruce, but enough that he couldn't keep his dark thoughts from spilling out.

"What am I even doing here?" Dick mumbled into Bruce's side, running his fingers over the inside of his arm, counting the bumps over and over and over. 

Bruce squeezed the arm he had around Dick's shoulders and looked up from his tablet. "What do you mean?"

"I just…" Dick didn't look up at him, staring down at his arm as his fingers moved over it. "This is all so stupid. It feels stupid. Why am I even this fucked up over what happened? It was basically nothing; he literally was just rubbing up against me. Why is it such a big deal? Why do I care so fucking much? It's not like he actually r—" he choked on the word. "Did that," he said instead.

His hand sped faster over his arm, betraying his anxiety.

"Dick, look at me." 

Dick hesitantly looked up and met Bruce's somber, serious eyes. 

"What happened was horrible. Horrible. It didn't need to be worse for you to be messed up over it. Just because it could have been worse doesn't mean it wasn't already bad enough — everything could always be worse. It wasn't nothing, and it's not stupid to be upset over. I promise you, going through what you had to would mess anyone up."

"But—" Dick started, but Bruce held up a hand.

"Trauma isn't measured by what exactly happened anyway, it's measured by the effect whatever happened has on a person. One thing could traumatise one person and the same exact thing could not do so to someone else, and it would not take away the fact that it was traumatising to the first person. You have every right to be as messed up over this as you are, and anybody who tells you otherwise is wrong. Including yourself."

"I...thanks," Dick said weakly.

"You don't believe me."

"No. What you're saying...I mean, logically it makes sense, but…" Dick trailed off, and ducked his back down against Bruce's side. "But it doesn't make it feel true," he finally said.

"Well then you need to repeat it to yourself until it does. I'll repeat it as many times as you need."

"Thanks Bruce," he said quietly.

"Of course."

Bruce pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

"You know," Bruce said quietly, and took a deep breath. "You know…"

Dick could tell that he was physically stopping himself from performing any nervous tics, and that in itself was a dead giveaway of how apprehensive he was.

"I don't really talk about it, but the way Damian was conceived was not...of my own volition," Bruce finally got out. "And I understand feeling like it wouldn't have happened if you were just on alert the way you should have been, or if you'd just been better, or...any number of things. And it's hard to feel like I have a right to be upset, because I'm...me, I shouldn't be able to be duped by having something slipped into my drink." Bruce's words turned slightly bitter, before he continued. 

"But there is nothing good down that road. Thinking of 'what if's, and 'maybe it was my fault's, and 'was it really even that bad's — that doesn't get you anywhere but feeling even more like crap. You can't buy into those thoughts, you just have to believe that you did the best you could, and that any way you feel about it is valid."

Dick threw his arm across Bruce's chest and over his shoulder, loosely hugging him with one arm. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "And thank you. For telling me."

Bruce patted his shoulder. "Anything for you, chum. Anything." 

He picked his tablet back up and turned his attention back to his email.

◇◇◇

Several days later, Dick found himself curled up in a chair at the end of the hall that had the TV in it, arms wrapped around his legs, staring blankly at the wall adjacent rather than at the screen.

"Hi Richard, you doing okay?" one of the nurses asked, after checking off Dick's name on his clipboard.

Dick wasn't doing very okay. They'd just had a group session (finally a new one that he hadn't sat through before) all about support networks, and it had Dick brooding.

It wasn't a topic Dick had expected to be difficult or sensitive, but then the discussion leader had started talking about communication and trust and what makes for good interpersonal relationships. 

That was when Dick realized.

If someone had asked him a few months ago, before everything in his life went to shit, he wouldn't have even had to think about it. He and Jason were completely open and honest with each other, and they trusted each other with their lives — that was a big part of what made their relationship work so well. Love on its own couldn't keep a relationship going, they both knew that. 

So he had been unpleasantly surprised, when he set about filling out the stupid worksheet on the strengths of his various relationships, to realize that he and Jason no longer had what had once made their relationship so unshakeable.

And it was his fault.

He knew it was on him for pushing Jason away and refusing to let him in, and for lying to him about being ready and hurting him. He knew that. But the fact still stood that there was no winning with attempting to open up to him, so he was still stuck in the same conundrum as before.

Was there no way to fix their relationship? Did giving up on Jason understanding mean giving up on Jason entirely? He didn't want to do that — he really didn't want to do that — Jason was his rock and he was not at a place where he could handle being unmoored right now. 

That was a selfish thought, though. What about what was good for Jason? Maybe he shouldn't have to be tied to a sinking ship. Was it even fair to keep Jason trapped in this relationship? And did Dick really even have a choice about it?

Dick looked up at the nurse and saw that it was Nick. He seemed nice enough, although Dick hadn't really spoken to him much before.

"Can I talk to you about something?" he finally asked.

"Sure, of course!" Nick said. "Can you just give me two minutes so I can finish checking in on everybody?"

Right, he was doing fifteen minute checks.

Dick nodded.

"I'll be right back."

True to his word, it didn't take long for him to come back and settle himself on the chair next to Dick's.

"So, what did you want to talk to me about?"

"Just...group got me thinking about some stuff," Dick mumbled.

"The group was on relationships, right?"

Dick nodded. "It...made me realize that...I don't think my relationships are the same as I thought they were. Stuff has changed over the last few months, and I don't think I really realized what that meant until now."

"Okay. What do you mean by that? Could you give me an example? It can be hypothetical if you want, it doesn't have to be real."

And that was all it took for Dick to start spilling his guts about the whole Jason situation. He knew he was rambling and probably not making much sense, but he wasn't able to stop until he'd spilled out every last dark thought about it.

"Maybe you're getting ahead of yourself," Nick finally said. "You're leading yourself down this path and talking yourself into thinking you need to break up with him as if it's all only up to you. Don't you think maybe he deserves to be able to make that decision for himself? Of whether he wants to try and understand, and whether he wants to stay with you? Is it really fair for you to make the decision for both of you without letting him have any say?"

"I...maybe not," Dick allowed. "But...he's Jason, he isn't great at not putting his everything into something that only hurts him until something gives. He gravitates toward being self destructive."

"And you don't think maybe you're being a little self destructive? Trying to sabotage your relationship?"

Dick's lips thinned. That wasn't what he wanted to hear, but Nick...maybe had a point.

"And why is it you're so certain he doesn't already understand?" Nick continued.

Dick paused, thrown. "What?"

"Well you've said you're afraid of him trying and being unable to understand, and that you're also afraid of making him understand, but both of those assume he hasn't already tried to understand on his own. Maybe he's picked up on more than you think. Are you entirely certain he doesn't have some points of reference with things he's gone through himself? Nobody is completely without struggles, and maybe he can relate more than you think."

Dick was quiet for a minute. 

"Shit," he finally said. "He...I don't know why I didn't think of that. There are...a few things that might be similar in some ways."

Jason had experienced betrayal — his own mother had sold him out to be murdered, and he'd thought Bruce hadn't cared when he died and that he'd been replaced with Tim.

He'd been brutally murdered by the Joker, and if that wasn't complete powerlessness and victimhood, then Dick didn't know what was.

He'd been used by Talia in her mind games and petty vendetta against Bruce.

He'd had his self control and emotions hijacked by the Lazarus Pit.

Maybe...maybe Jason did already understand. Maybe Dick had been looking at everything all wrong.

Maybe it wouldn't hurt to let Jason in.

It would be a lot harder than just giving up. And it was a scary prospect, after having closed him out so entirely for so long, and it meant having to explain to Jason why he'd shut him out and having to talk about it. But it was something he had to do if he wanted to rebuild trust and communication in their relationship, and it was on him to do that. Jason had tried, still continued to try, and Dick had been the one to shut him out. 

Perhaps it was time to meet him halfway.

◇◇◇

"You know I love you, right?" Dick asked the next day. It was the first thing he said to Jason after quizzing him on his identity.

Jason quirked an eyebrow. "I know. I love you too, sweetie pie," he said, waiting for an explanation for Dick's desperate-sounding outburst.

"I know it hasn't seemed like it lately, but you have to know I'd do almost anything for you."

"What is this about?" Jason asked slowly. "You don't have to do anything, okay? Especially not anything that's gonna make you uncomfortable. I know you love me sweetheart, you don't have anything to prove."

"That's not true. I know I've been hurting you, and I was talking with one of the nurses yesterday... I know it's way past time, but I'm ready to talk."

"You want to talk?" Jason looked cautiously hopeful. "Okay, let's talk, what do you want to talk about?"

"I...should probably start with explaining why I was pushing you away. It was unintentional at first, but then it kind of...spiralled."

Dick did his best to explain his reasoning, trying not to look at Jason's kicked-puppy expression as he talked.

"Oh sweetheart," Jason said softly, once he finished explaining, "you're not a burden. I could never be better off without you — how could you think I'd ever feel trapped by you? I choose to be with you every day we're together, and I will continue to happily choose you over and over again every single day for the rest of our lives. I love you way too much to just walk away."

Dick blinked rapidly and swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. He'd known Jason loved him, but that wasn't just love, that was… He didn't have a word for what that was. Unconditional love to the highest degree he knew of, perhaps. It was utter devotion, commitment, forever.

"I love you," he got out. "I don't even know how to tell you how much, but I do."

Jason smiled, eyes unbearably soft. "I know sweetheart. I know you do."

"And I get it now, I get that you already understand. I wasn't thinking of everything you've been through, but once I did, I realized you can relate. Probably better than most people. After everything with your birth mother and the Joker, and then Talia, and the Pit...how could you not?"

"Of course I understand. As well as anybody who hasn't been in the exact same situation can, anyway."

Dick took a deep breath and ran his hand over his forearm. This was always the hardest part. "And. And I'm sorry. Sorry for not trusting you to make your own decisions, and for hurting you. I shouldn't have shut you out, and I definitely shouldn't have lied to you."

"I forgive you." He reached toward Dick's hand. "This okay?" Dick nodded and let his hand fall from his arm as Jason took the other hand, intertwining their fingers and pressing a kiss to the back of Dick's hand. "I'll always forgive you. And you're talking to me right now, that's a big step in the right direction."

Dick didn't know what he'd done in life to deserve Jason, but he was so, so thankful for whatever it was.

Jason stretched, seemingly oblivious to his thoughts, and settled back into the couch with a yawn and a squeeze of Dick's hand. Dick blinked and shook his head when he thought he caught sight of— no, that couldn't be right. Surely? 

"Are you...wearing fishnets under your jeans?"

"What? Oh yeah…" Jason looked around and lowered his voice. "I was undercover in a drag club last night. Well, this morning, more like. Didn't have time to do more than slap on some jeans and wash off the makeup before I came here."

Well goddamn. Why did Dick have to be in the stupid fucking hospital and miss out on these things?

"Oh I would've killed to see that, please tell me you took pictures?"

Jason grinned. "What kind of a cruel bastard do you think I am? Of course I took pictures. I looked hot as hell if I do say so myself," he said, pulling out his phone. "Also, I needed to immortalize that fucking smoky eye, because it took me like an hour to do — makeup shit is hard."

He turned his phone screen toward Dick, and Dick's breath caught. 

"Oh Jay," he breathed. "Holy shit."

"You like it?" 

Dick stared at the picture, at Jason in deep burgundy lipstick, blowing a kiss into the full length mirror in their bedroom. He had on the same combat boots and tight black t-shirt that he was wearing right now — a shirt that showed off his chest and biceps beautifully — and he of course had the fishnets on and the aforementioned smoky eye. But then there was the thing that really made the look: a tight black miniskirt that drew Dick's eyes straight to his muscular thighs.

Aʀᴛ ʙʏ ᴍᴇ
(Pʟᴇᴀsᴇ ᴄʜᴇᴄᴋ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴏsᴛ ᴏɴ ᴍʏ Tᴜᴍʙʟʀ, JᴀʏsᴇHᴀsNᴏGʀᴀᴄᴇ, ғᴏʀ ʙᴀᴄᴋɢʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴅᴇᴛᴀɪʟs ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘɪᴇᴄᴇ!)

Dick thought he may be having heart palpitations. Christ his boyfriend was hot.

"If you had a day job, I'd say quit it and become a full time performer," he finally said, wrenching his eyes away from the photo and back to Jason's face.

Jason flushed slightly. "Really?"

"Oh fuck yeah, god you look amazing. Where did you find all that?"

"Already had the shirt and boots, stole the fishnets and skirt from B's disguise locker — was surprised there were any that fit, he must've gotten them for himself, but they're mine now. Picked up some cheap makeup at the corner store and that was that. Getting on the makeup was the only hard part with it all; thank the universe for YouTube tutorials."

"I want a coming home present when I get out of here, and I want it to be that. I need to see that in person."

Jason gave a slow grin and squeezed his hand again. "Oh don't you worry honey, like I said, I'm keepin' 'em; you'll get to see me all prettied up for you."

Dick leaned back against the sofa, closing his eyes. "You're the best boyfriend ever, you know that?"

"I try, sweetheart."

This. This was what Dick had been missing: their easy rapport, the way their relationship used to just flow before the distance grew between them. God, it was so good to have it back again.

◇◇◇

"I had the strangest interaction with Black Mask last night," Jason said one morning, once he'd settled onto the couch and looked around to make sure nobody was nearby.

"Oh yeah?" Dick asked, curling up in his corner of the couch and laying his head against the sofa back. He held out his hand and Jason linked their fingers together.

"Yeah, odd as it seems for someone who threatens to have you tortured so often, he sounded...worried about you? I mean, he was trying not to, but he was a little..." He imitated Black Mask's voice, "'Not that I care, of course, but your little blue boy hasn't been spotted out in quite some time…?'"

"Huh," Dick said, looking bemused.

"I guess your charm truly knows no bounds."

"You sure he's not like...planning something in Blüdhaven?"

Jason shrugged. "Didn't seem like it, but I'll be on the lookout."

"...Huh," Dick repeated. "What'd you tell him?"

"I just said you were doing fine and not to worry about it, and he felt the need to impress upon me that he was very much not worried."

Dick let out an incredulous laugh. "Who knew, Black Mask possibly has a heart after all."

They fell to silence, and eventually Dick's eyes started to fall shut. He really needed a nap with the paltry three hours of sleep he was running on.

"I think I might go to therapy," Jason said suddenly, just before Dick drifted off.

Dick picked his head up and looked at him.

"Tim won't stop checking up on me and it's fucking annoying," Jason continued, looking down and picking at a thread on his jeans. "But also he keeps trying to get me to go talk to Dinah about everything, keeps begging me to just give it a chance. And...I dunno, maybe he has a point?"

"I think that's a great idea," Dick said quietly, squeezing his hand. "It would be good to have someone to talk to who's not involved in all of this."

"Yeah," Jason looked over at him. "Yeah. I don't mean this in a bad way, but this has all been really fucking hard. And I know it's probably a million times worse for you, but I can feel myself starting to crack and I don't know what else to do about it." He squeezed Dick's hand back. "I had hoped that since we finally fixed our communication issues that that would help, and it's certainly been a huge relief — I can't even tell you how much — but it didn't take off the pressure the way I thought it would."

"I'm sorry. It's not a competition, though; you've got plenty of reasons to be stressed and upset right now. These past few weeks — hell, these past couple months — have been a lot for you as well, and it's easy for me to forget that because I get bogged down in my own shit, but you've been hurting a lot too."

"Thanks Dickie."

Dick brought their hands up to press a kiss to the back of Jason's. "Of course. I know a lot of it's my fault and I wish I could fix it."

"You weren't trying to hurt me, it's not really on you."

Dick grimaced. "Still."

"The best thing you can do for me is work on yourself and get feeling better," Jason said, his eyes wide and earnest.

"I'm working on it. You taking care of yourself?"

Jason stroked his thumb over the side of Dick's hand, and paused before answering.

"I'm...doing alright. Damian is over a lot — he's really missing you, and to be honest I think that's what's making me keep it together as much as I am. Gotta cook and stay in routine for him, can't just spiral and neglect my health and nighttime activities stressing about you — and before you apologize, that's not your fault, so don't. I just. Stress a lot."

Dick swallowed back the impulse to apologize anyway, and studied his face. "You sleeping?" He leaned forward and ran the thumb of his free hand over the dark circle under Jason's right eye. "You're looking dead on your feet. Maybe you should skip coming here tomorrow and get some extra sleep."

"No, no, I still wanna come — it won't make a difference if I stay in anyway, I'm just sleeping super shittily without you." He laid his free hand over Dick's hand on his cheek. "I miss you so bad sweetheart, and it's hard to sleep in an empty bed knowing you're so far away. Even if I couldn't touch you, just knowing you were right there was such a relief, even if I didn't realize until it was gone."

"Yeah, I get that, you already know I've been sleeping like shit too. Part of why I keep falling asleep on you is 'cause I know you're right here and watching over me and I can finally relax."

Jason turned his head and pressed a kiss to Dick's palm.

"Glad to help, sweetie pie. Speaking of, you should get some sleep.

"Yeah." Dick reluctantly dropped his hand from Jason's face. "Just...don't forget about yourself, okay? I'm gonna be fine, I've got a billion people in here watching out for me, and stressing isn't gonna do anything but make you feel worse anyway."

"Okay, sweetheart," Jason said softly, squeezing their linked hands.

Dick settled back into the corner of the sofa and laid his cheek on the back of it, closing his eyes.

"Sleep tight," he heard as he drifted off.

◇◇◇

Jason sat down uncomfortably on the couch in the small room a few days later. Dick's psychiatrist had asked to speak to him almost as soon as he'd arrived. There were three other people in the room, who the doctor introduced as two med students and Dick's social worker.

"So what did you want to talk to me about?" he asked, running his hands over his knees nervously. This felt a whole lot like getting called to the principal's office and he didn't know why — it wasn't even about him. Or, at least, he thought not.

"We just wanted to touch base, and talk with you about Richard's touch aversion. You're his partner, right?"

"Yeah. What about it?"

"It's just that we've noticed he's still having a lot of trouble with touch, especially with you, as compared to his other visitors."

Jason shrugged. "I know."

This was apparently not the answer the doctor wanted, and he looked frustrated. "His touch aversion, particularly in a romantic context is still very strong, and he has to work on getting past that. He may need you to give him a push to start to get over it."

Jason's voice turned dangerous, and he leaned forward on the couch. "He doesn't have to do anything. If he decides he wants to try and get over his touch aversion, I'll work with him, but you can get fucked if you think I'm gonna 'give him a push'," he held up air quotes. "Or that I'm gonna stand by and let anyone else do that either. It's his choice, and his choice alone, and if he decides he doesn't want so much as a goddamned high five from anyone ever again, then you better believe that's the way it's gonna be."

"I understand your concern Mr. Peters, but we have to think of it in terms of what kind of quality of life our patients are going to have if we don't push them out of their comfort zones sometimes," the doctor said patiently. "He—"

"Is an adult who's perfectly capable of weighing that for himself," Jason cut him off. "He may not be in a great place right now, but he ain't stupid, and it's completely reasonable for him to be having this issue with everything he's been through. If he don't wanna let go of whatever feeling of security he can get, I ain't making him."

"I'm not saying it isn't reasonable — it's very common in situations like this — it's still something he needs to work to overcome, though."

Jason clenched his jaw. It was like the guy was barely listening to him. He wanted to yell so badly, but he really didn't want to be kicked out and not allowed to see Dick. It wouldn't be fair to him — he had to keep reminding himself that and not do anything rash.

There was just no reason that Dick had to 'get over' this if he didn't want to, and the doctor seemed to just be ignoring that part of the conversation, treating it like a given.

"You already know what I think," he finally grated out. "Is that all you wanted to talk about?"

The doctor sighed. "Yes, that's all."

"Great," he stood and let himself out of the room, not bothering to look back as he strode down the hall toward the couches where he'd left Dick.

"You'd forgive me if I got banned for fighting a doctor, right?" he muttered, as he flopped down next to Dick.

Dick's mouth quirked up at the corner. "Didn't go great, huh?"

Jason sighed and crossed his arms. "It went fine, they're just on some bullshit. I don't like that fucking doctor either, it's like talking to an overly placid brick wall."

"You're telling me," Dick said. "I told you he's not a great listener. He technically hears what you're saying but he doesn't really listen, and he doesn't bother to remember things for shit. Or, you know, look at his notes."

"And they won't let you switch doctors?"

"Nope," Dick popped the p in the word. "That would be too easy."

"Ugh." Jason dropped his head back to the back of the couch. "You want me to sneak a knife in tomorrow? Give him a nice little threat?"

Dick snorted, and caught Jason's hand, intertwining their fingers. "No, I'm pretty sure you'd get banned and I'd miss you." He kissed the back of Jason's hand and then curled up against his side.

Jason went very still, like one might with a skittish cat that's suddenly decided to settle down on one's lap.

"I'm not gonna implode if you move, you know."

"I know," Jason said, although he wasn't entirely sure he did know.

He attempted to relax his body, and Dick gave a big yawn.

"My shitty, empty bed still isn't doing me any favors — you don't mind if I sleep on you?"

Jason didn't know why he still bothered to ask. "Go ahead, sunshine." He kissed the top of his head, and picked his battered copy of Wuthering Heights back up from where he'd left it on the couch.

"This good?" he murmured, leaning his cheek against the top of Dick's head.

"Mhm." He already sounded half asleep.

Jason happily settled in for a couple hours of mostly uninterrupted reading. Sometimes someone having a conversation on the phone nearby got a bit loud, but mainly there wasn't much to complain about.

After about two hours, he felt Dick shift and there was a small, hiccupping sob. Dick had slid down while he was asleep until he was curled up tightly with his head pillowed on Jason's thigh.

Jason wished he could be more surprised by the tears, but he was well used to Dick waking up crying, even from naps.

"You okay, sweetheart?" Jason asked quietly, and Dick nodded.

He turned his face further into his leg, and Jason could feel the tears starting to leak through his jeans.

"I'm fine, I'm fine, really," Dick mumbled, muffled by Jason's thigh. His hand was clutching Jason's in a death grip.

Jason put his book down. "'S it okay if I touch your hair?"

Dick nodded again. "Please."

He ran his fingers through Dick's hair until his breathing slowed and the crying stopped.

"'M so fucking sick of crying," Dick mumbled, before finally turning his head and wiping his face with his free hand.

"I know, sweetheart," Jason said, giving his hand a squeeze.

"I've got a fucking headache now. Did I miss lunch?"

"No, you were only out about two hours."

"Okay good. They keep getting on me for missing meals."

"Not your fault they have breakfast at the fucking asscrack of dawn." Jason absently twirled one of Dick's curls around his finger.

Dick huffed out a laugh. "Exactly."

He groaned and pushed himself up to sitting, wiping at his face again. "God, I feel like shit."

"What?" Jason sounded mock-scandalised. "You're telling me you got a whole two hours of sleep and you're not ready and raring to go?"

Dick laughed, harder than the joke really deserved, but it made Jason smile.

"I love you," Dick sighed.

"I love you too." Jason dropped another kiss on his head and squeezed his hand.

Dick looked over to him. "Would it be a really horrible idea to try to kiss you right now?"

Jason inhaled sharply. "Well I guess that depends on why you want to, sweetie pie." The conversation with the doctor flashed in his mind. "If it's because your doctors are pushing you to be more tactile, I don't think that's a good idea."

"It's not," Dick said, leaning forward with wide, earnest eyes. "I miss kissing you, I really do, and I think maybe I'm at a place where I won't freak out or shut down if I do."

"Maybe?" Jason questioned.

"Yes. Maybe. I don't really know until I do it, do I?"

Jason paused for a few moments. "Okay," he said finally. "Okay. If you're sure."

"Okay I can kiss you?"

Jason nodded. "Yeah."

He held still, and let Dick come to him. Dick kissed him once chastely and pulled back for a moment, "Wait, it's really you, right?"

"Yeah honey," he reassured. "I did a book report for Tim on Macbeth once just for the fun of it. Didn't even make him pay me back or anything. Plus I felt bad for him because he never fucking sleeps and has a full time job and college and nighttime activities, and that just can't be good for a person."

Dick's stomach dropped at the mention of Shakespeare.

Methinks the lady doth protest too much…

He shook his head slightly to clear it, and his nails bit into his palm as he clenched his fist. It wasn't happening right now. This was the real Jason, the actual Shakespeare nerd. Dick had looked it up later, and the line was misquoted anyway — the real Jason would never have done that. Wouldn't have weaponized Shakespeare like that in the first place. Wouldn't have cornered Dick like that.

Dick forced on a grin. "Aww. Yeah, and you like to pretend you're not stupidly nice." He pecked him on the lips again, ignoring the churning in his stomach, and breathed deeply. Gun oil and leather. Familiar. Safe. Jay. "Fucking nerd," he said fondly. "Who does Shakespeare for fun?"

"Me," Jason said indignantly.

Exactly. The real Jason.

Dick grinned wider and leaned back in, grabbing his chin and kissing him until Jason kissed him back.

"You okay?" Jason asked, as soon as he pulled back.

"...Yeah," Dick said. His breath was coming slightly too fast. "Yeah I'm okay. Freaking out a little, but okay, I think."

Jason frowned, making a sympathetic noise.

"Really, it's fine." Dick took a slow, deep breath, both to steady himself and to breathe in Jason's comforting scent again. "It's...not great, but it's manageable."

"Okay," Jason said, and squeezed his hand again.

Dick smiled at him. It was a step. Progress was progress.

◇◇◇

The next day, Dick was more standoffish than usual, not even holding Jason's hand. Normally, Jason would just assume it was a bad day, but he couldn't help but wonder if this time it had something to do with them having kissed the day before.

Before he could ask, though, Dick answered for him.

"Sorry, bad day today. It's not because we kissed yesterday, I don't think. I just…had a particularly awful nightmare this morning, and my skin's been crawling ever since."

"Ah," Jason said. "Anything I can do?"

Dick shrugged. "Not really. Just distraction. I'm not gonna nap today — afraid it'll get worse."

"Alright. You wanna hear about one of the cold case shows I saw on tv last night? I have a suspicion about it, but I'm sure it could use a real detective."

Dick's eyes gleamed. "Yes. Tell me the facts."

◇◇◇

"I wanna try kissing you again," Dick said, not long after Jason had showed up the next day.

Jason looked over at him in surprise. "You sure?" He'd already spent several minutes quizzing Jason on his identity, but Jason had just assumed he was feeling paranoid today.

Dick rolled his eyes. "Yes, that's why I said it."

"Okay…"

"Come here," Dick cut him off from whatever else he was about to say, pulling him forward with a hand on the back of his head.

Dick's stomach dropped like he was on a roller coaster, but he did his best to ignore it. The feeling would pass.

"I missed this," he sighed, between slow, careful kisses. "Missed you." He traced a hand over Jason's rough, stubbly cheek.

Jason ran a hand through his hair and kissed back carefully.

"Still good, angel?"

"Mhm." Dick sat back — he still felt a bit nauseous and dizzy, but it was manageable.

This was fine, he could do this. He could do this.

He leaned back in to give Jason another quick peck, and looked around for a second as an idea occurred to him. Who was going to stop him? Nobody. He stood for a moment, and curled up in Jason's lap, sitting sideways with his knees up and his feet on the couch beside Jason's thigh. Jason's arms automatically came up to hold him around his waist and over his shins, and Dick counted it as a major victory when that didn't seem to worsen his queasiness.

He circled his arms loosely around the back of Jason's neck and rested his head on his shoulder, shutting his eyes and breathing him in. 

"You going to sleep?" Jason asked.

"Yeah." He brushed a featherlight kiss against the side of Jason's neck and settled in to sleep. Breathe deep. The nausea will pass.

Jason leaned over to fish out his book with minimal jostling — and fuck anybody who shit-talked cargo pants, they were just jealous they couldn't carry their books with them.

He was shocked when, about forty five minutes later, he felt a kiss on his neck again.

"G'morning," Dick mumbled against his skin — no tears anywhere in sight.

"Good morning, sweet pea." Jason really didn't want to jinx it by pointing it out, but, as far as he knew, this was the first time since That Night that Dick had woken up without crying.

Dick smiled sleepily at him. "I love your reading face," he said, bringing a hand up to smooth his thumb over the crease between Jason's eyebrows.

Jason laughed. "Yeah? What's my reading face?"

Dick imitated it, scrunching his eyebrows together and putting on a slight frown. "Like that, concentrating real hard."

"I see."

Dick opened his mouth, and then paused as something flickered behind his eyes. "Can you...tell me something? Something only you know?" he said, in an almost-whisper.

"Of course," Jason said, voice low enough that nobody else who might wander over would be able to overhear. "You're the only person who hasn't ever been weird about my autopsy scars. I told you that on our third date, and you got super defensive for me, saying my standards were too low if that — the bare minimum, as you called it — was being held up as the ideal trait in a partner."

"And I'm still right," Dick said, catching him by surprise with another kiss on the lips. "Your scars are a part of you, and you're fucking breathtaking."

Easier all the time — the kiss barely made his stomach flip.

Jason kissed him back, slow and lingering, a small smile playing around his mouth. "Thanks, angel."

"Yeah, the faggots are being gross."

Both of them looked over at the man sitting at the phone a couple meters away, who was staring right at them.

"You wanna say that a little louder?" Jason snapped, spoiling for a fight. Dick was finally, finally comfortable kissing him again, and this was what they got for it? Nevermind what a difficult and monumental thing this was for him — no, he just got called gross and a faggot.

"Yeah. You faggots are being gross," the man said challengingly, as if Jason couldn't snap him like a fucking twig.

"Jay...don't." Dick lowered his voice to speak in his ear. "I don't know what the rules are, but if you threaten a patient they might kick you out permanently, and I really, really don't want that."

"Don't what? What is that fucking pansy gonna do to me?" the man asked, clearly spoiling for a fight as much as Jason was. Although, there was no way he seriously thought he could win that — no, his aim was probably to get Jason banned from the hospital.

Jason closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. "So goddamn lucky I love my boyfriend and don't want to get kicked out of this stupid fucking place," he muttered under his breath.

"What was that?" the man asked. "You got something to say?"

Jason opened his eyes and shot him a tight, passive-aggressive smile. "Nothing, sir," he said, heavy with sarcasm.

"Pussy," the man goaded. "Nothing to say to my face?"

"Yes," Jason said. "Exactly. Not a thing."

He didn't seem to know how to react to that, and backed down — although he did keep saying unsubtle rude things loudly into the phone.

"Look at you, Mr. Self Control," Dick said, as Jason continued to ignore him.

Jason rolled his eyes. "Okay, I'm not three, you don't have to be patronizing."

Dick shrugged. "Jason of five years ago probably would have dismembered him with his bare hands. I can be a little proud you've contained yourself to passive aggression."

"I've mellowed in my old age," Jason said drily. 

"You have," Dick insisted.

"Maybe it's the magic of love," he retorted sarcastically. "But no, seriously, Jason of five years ago was still addled by the Pit. And anyway, he wouldn't have dismembered him with his bare hands, he would have already snuck in a gun and ended the conversation before it began."

"That means you thought about it, and I'm gonna continue to be thrilled you've kept it to being passive aggressive."

Jason gave a sharp grin. "You know me, sugar. Five years ago or today, I've always got other plans brewing in my mind. Just in case."

Dick laughed.

"But," he added, "Jason of five years ago wouldn't be sitting here kissing you, so I think I prefer keeping it to a minimum if that's the tradeoff."

"I prefer it too." Dick side-eyed the asshole at the phone, and leaned in to kiss him again.