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Dick did not look away when the group stirred back into consciousness. Something in that blurring haze had caught his attention. He stared straight at it, doubting his own senses. Garfield's confused hum only made this belief grow. Could it actually be? No. . . She was dead. He had seen it. Played a part in the horrifying act. They were all probably confused. Yeah, that was a logical explanation.
But then, "Dick?"
It was her voice. Fuck, he had forgotten how she sounded. How could he have obliterated her sweet tone from his mind? Was he that terrible of a friend? He had let her die, after all. It was his fault that she missed the most stressful yet wonderful era of her life. All because he had followed Bruce. Played as his pet until the point he started to like it. Going out every night for the wrong sort of fun.
He swallowed. Hard. There was a knot that impeded him to respond to her sweet plea. He could only look. And even that was becoming difficult with the forming tears that burnt his eyes. Two more figures had appeared behind the resurrected girl. Rachel and Robin tried to catch up with Dianna, sharing a loving, one-sided hug.
"Richard?" She was shattered, probably her lower lip quivering in worry. Now, that he remembered. Every little expression her face was able to make. It all came back to him. He had forgotten he knew her this well. The last person he ever bothered to. "Would you please stop ignoring me?"
"I'm not," he croaked out. And with that, tears began falling down his cheeks. He did not care what the others thought. After years, he was able to have a conversation with her. A real conversation. Not an invention of his childish and broken mind. He began closing that large gap that separated them. "I'm here, Dianna."
Dick could not believe he was saying her name out loud to her. It had been so long, the action felt nearly foreign.
Excitement flowed through his veins, rushing his every step. By the looks of it, the same happened to Dianna. In surprising short seconds, they stood before each other. They were still, unsure of what to do. He studied her face, barely aged since the last time he saw her. Her youthfulness had been preserved. But him, he was older now. He could note the slight confusion on her face.
She was exactly as he remembered her. But the same did not happen with him. Over a decade had transpired. He had been stressed, beaten. And those signs marked his skin.
His breath clumped in his throat when her warm hand touched the faded stubble on his jaw, trailing her fingertips up his beaten face. The expression on her face was unreadable. Her brows were drawn together into a frown, but her eyes twinkled with something else. "You've gotten ugly―"
"Shut up," he interrupted, unable to bear the tension anymore. Following his harsh words came a hug so tight that Dianna groaned into it, hugging back nevertheless. He was afraid she would slip through his fingers, become a phantom once again. He could not live that a second time. Not after this reunion. If anything happened to her again. . . At the thought, he loosened his hold, worrying he would hurt her. "How?"
