Arranged Marriage - Distance (A Nightwing/Dick Grayson Fanfiction)

Forty Two: You Love It Though

Humming? I glare at him suspiciously. Is he trying to be funny?

"You've been doing it all day," he says incredulously. His eyes light up, "You didn't notice? That's so cute!"

Embarrassment blooms in my chest. I swallow hard, annoyed, hoping any possible blush just blends in with the exertion of swimming and is warded off by my glare.

"Shut up."

"So what is it?" He moves on, before he hums a butchered version of the familiar song back to me. I recognise it immediately and can guess why it was on my mind.

I sigh, "It's a lullaby."

His eyes light up when he smiles. I glare at him.

"Don't say it."

"Cute!"

"You wanna go in the pool?" I threaten.

He chuckles as he easily picks up a piece of pork in his chopsticks. I lamely stab something on my own plate with a fork. I can shoot a grain of sand from miles away but I can't pick up food with two sticks.

"Sing it to me."

I look at him dully, "Am I written as the type of girl who sings lullabies?"

Other than the alphabet, I occasionally sung the lullaby for comfort while I was on mission. Though I much preferred humming it, because it was easier to pretend it was my mother singing rather than me.

But...Jack used to say I'd do it when I was happy. 

And I'm happy.

"My mom used to sing it to me. She sung it to all of us. I think she still sings it to Logan," I explain, staring down at my plate.

"Sing it to me," he repeats enthusiastically.

"Absolutely not."

I glance elsewhere when I know he's pouting. That face is sadly irresistible. Learnt that lesson a long time ago.

"Before my parents had...anything, really, they were still living in Paris. My mom was home on her own a lot because my dad was working his ass off to get the business going. They lived in a run down apartment while she was pregnant with me. My mom's family had money, but they disapproved of my dad, so they weren't really much help. Dad insisted he could take care of her anyway. She used to tell me that all they really had was love, but it was also all they needed. They didn't start making money until I was about two. So the lullaby..."

He is watching me with fascination, then hopefulness, obviously thinking I'm going to sing the lullaby. I roll my eyes and recite it instead.

"Where the cliff is shady
The seabird builds a home
Petit á petit
L'oiseau fait son nid

His lady is expecting
A child born in the dawn
Petit a petit
L'oiseau fait son nid

A raging storm around him
So he works all the more
Petit a petit
L'oiseau fait son nid

Father, mother, child
Nestled to the ground
The seabird built a worthy home
Now his family's safe and sound."

Just saying it doesn't do it justice, but I refuse to sing it. Still, Dick smiles.

"'Petit á petit, l'oiseau fait son nid' means 'Little by little, the bird makes it's nest," I ramble, "She sung that every night. I think she changed it to make it less literal and more poetic when Fantasia was born, but that's the original."

"It's pretty," he says, holding my gaze and refusing to let go as he adds, "I wish you'd speak French more often. It's...sexy."

"Perv."