Nightwing: Heartache

Part 46: Jason

January 17, 12:09pm
Gotham City

Willa knocked on Dick's apartment door. All morning she had tried to get ahold of him and the only message back was short and sweet: I'll meet you at my place?

So now she was here, and it didn't seem like Dick was home yet. She contemplated what to do. She still had the key he gave her years ago, he had never asked for it back and Willa forgot about it, but it was still on her keychain. She bit her lip. When he asked her to meet him here, did he mean for her to use the key? Did he know she still had it? Or did he just want her to wait outside the door? But how long would he be?

She didn't want to text him again, she knew he was busy; he had a lot going on at the moment. She didn't know what the superhero protocol is for when their secret identity is revealed to the world. Luckily, Dick settled the debate by texting her.

Running late. Do you still have your key?

So he did know she still had a key to his place. She texted him back then let herself in, her mind racing with the knowledge that he was still okay with her having a key. They had spent enough time together that he could have asked for it back, or changed the locks, but he never did. How did that make her feel?

If she was honest with herself, she knew how it made her feel.

She lightly ran her fingers over the kitchen counter, taking in the familiar space. He had a new dining table, but other than that, it was eerily similar. It was clean, tidy, and not a lot of belongings. She made her way to the bedroom. The bed was made, and it was the exact same as years before, except for a few more photos on his dresser.

She took a closer look. One with a young Dick, Artemis, Wally, Zatanna, M'gann, Connor, and Kaldur. One with younger Dick and Tim. One with Dick, Tim, and Alfred. One with Wally, and... one with her.

She knew that photograph. It was from her senior year of college, at a picnic with all her friends. She remembered Abby had taken the photo when Willa wasn't looking and sent it to her later. She was leaning against Dick, his arm lazily around her waist. The photo had caught the moment after Willa had made a joke, she couldn't remember what it was about now, but it must have been funny, because she was looking up, laughing, at Dick, who smiled down at her, their foreheads almost touching. Willa loved that photo.

She also knew why he had it. It had been a present from Willa, but the fact he still had it was touching. His jacket was strewn on his bed along with a pair of his escrima sticks. She ran her hand over the jacket, the one that had always been her favorite, the blue one, then grabbed one of his weapons. It was heavy.

She flipped it around a few times. She heard the door to the balcony slide open, and she hurried to greet Dick, to ask how he was, but most of all to apologize. She hoped he wouldn't mind that she snooped around while waiting for him.

But it wasn't Dick walking in the door.

She didn't know his name, and she didn't know if it was his eyes, widening in surprise to see her, or the way he walked, or a smell, or just a full revulsion of her body, but she knew him. In her gut she knew him. "You," she cried.

He furrowed his eyebrows, confused, before recognition dawned. He opened and closed his mouth, like a fish, but Willa surged forward, swinging the escrima stick with all her might, hitting him in the face.

He grunted, stumbling back, but when he turned to face her again, he didn't move to attack her, or hurt her. He made eye contact and dropped his hands, almost accepting the blow.

"You son of a bitch!" She watched him trip over a footstool, falling on his back. She raised the escrima stick to hit him again, but arms circled her waist, picking her up and pulling her away. She squirmed in the arms and swung, "get off of me!"