Tell Me about Me...

[middle_amazon]

She'd think the request was ridiculous or egotistical if not for three things. The first was her powers - those which allowed her to sense the truth like her creator, Wonder Woman - could feel that he wasn't lying. The second reason was that she'd been there. She had been where Dick now sat at this very diner, wondering who she was and missing

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[a_flyinggrayson]

Dick exhaled, a counterpoint to Donna's inhale. Then he sat back against the booth and a small smile touched the corners of his mouth. "I'll pick door number three." Pictures, articles... they'd help, he had no doubt, but it was almost daunting thinking about all the things between those pages that he could have lost.

Being dead stunk.

He gave a quiet huff of near-laughter at the thought and pushed dark hair off his forehead. "I don't know what I'm missing. I'm worried that one day I'll need to know something and it won't be there. That it'll be the difference between winning and losing."

[middle_amazon]

Her nervousness doesn't leave her, but it softens. Her blue eyes dart around the table and back to him as she clears the table and moves the materials on the side.

"We've -" Black hair shakes into place and she fishes a ponytail holder out of her purse. "We've had this discussion before, if it helps." She puts her hair back. the style makes her look younger and, maybe even a bit more silly. Like some sit-com version of Wonder Woman. "I was sitting on your side of the booth." Her bangs still flop in her face. Now she looks like Wonder Woman as done for a sit-com by Dick's hairdresser or something. She moves a hand in and around his. "It's...It's not that it will be 'okay,' but you do get better. Things click after awhile."

[a_flyinggrayson]

"It doesn't help." It's not a rebuke, just a slight shake of Dick's head. He looks at their hands, her thinner fingers in his, before his eyes raise. "I wouldn't wish this on anyone. Especially not someone I care about."

He cares about her. He remembers that. Remembers her.

Mostly.

Dick takes his free hand and traces the back of her hand before giving it a squeeze and pulling both away. "After awhile. But in the meantime I feel like a liability. And swiss cheese."

[middle_amazon]

"No," she admits sadly. "I guess it doesn't." She notes the raised eyebrows, but she doesn't move the hand. She thinks about it but, people are afraid to touch you after these things. She remembers Dick's former look of hurt when she would respond...not "unthinkingly" but without that same trust. she hopes she's hiding her lat least as well as he used to.

Yes, the fingers stay, and she's relived when he traces her hand for a moment.

"But you're still you." That she can say with confidence, even if he doesn't feel it.

She rolls her shoulders back and withdraws her hand while she rolls her shoulders, but it's still on the table. "You are Richard John Grayson, and in our line of work, that counts as a good beginning, because not everyone thinks of themselves as - I guess you would say, 'a person' - anymore."