Closer Than Your Shadow

Receding Memories

December 10th 6:12 a.m.
Gotham
Dick's apartment

I pushed myself up from the white sheets. I realized I was alone and in Dick's spot. I must've rolled over, and I prayed it was after he already got up.

He was still here; pots and pans were banging around in the kitchen.

It smelt like something was burning, then Dick's voice came through the walls, "Shit!"

I rubbed my face and stomped through the hall. He was facing the stove, fumbling with a spatula.

"I'd hate to think that you're going to poison me after last night." He looked back and a small annoyed smile graced his lips.

"I figured no one can mess up eggs, but I was wrong," he mumbled. I glanced at the monstrosity he made. The edges of the scrambled eggs were black and flaking off. I didn't even know that was possible.

"Maybe it's because you have the heat up so high and your cooking with one hand," I reached over him and turned the knob to the lowest setting.

"I can make you another. Go sit down, I'll bring it to you."

I looked at the pan. No. No chance in hell I was letting this man cook anything for me.

"Let me help." I pulled my hair back and went to wash my hands. I looked around the apartment. Things were scattered but somehow it still looked clean. Two packs of camels sat next to the sink plus his phone, and a silver metal lighter. My lighter. He still had it.

I dried my hands and flipped it over to stare at the picture of the beach.

I looked over at him trying to salvage what he'd done.

I'd always had a crush on him. And when we kissed, it felt like I was finally giving into something beyond myself. I'd dreamt about him since 7th grade. But now that we were here, I wanted more than anything to erase it.

Because it was fake. It was with a fake version of the person I wanted. The Dick Grayson I knew at the jewelry store, was not the same person who kissed my face, jaw and bruised lips. He hurt my friends. He blackmailed me into whatever this was. He choked me out of blind rage.

He held two eggs up and I took them from him.

"Let me handle this stuff and you watch."

"Didn't you tell me once that everything you cook burns?" His eyes narrowed.

I was surprised he remembered that. I barely remembered that.

"I was joking. I literally just witnessed you ruin scrambled eggs. We're going to stick to the more promising option."

He didn't bother talking back. He leaned against the counter intently watching me crack the eggs.

"Do you usually do that?" I asked while I whisked.

"Do what?"

"Burn things."

"I'm injured."

I lifted a brow.

"When I was little, my parents and I usually ate whatever was on the road. I got to Bruce's and Alfred cooked everything for us. I never really cared to learn. It should be easy. I've done it before but I don't know, sometimes I just forget simple things," His gaze was unfocused like he was reliving what he was telling me. And by the way his jaw ticked, I knew they weren't pleasant memories.

"My dad always cooked for us. Every night he'd be in the kitchen for hours. He loved it."

He went to a cabinet next to the fridge and pulled out a single plate.