Making Waves

Chapter 20

Dick peeled his eyelids back to face the morning light and for a few horrible seconds, an ache in his chest pushed him back into the mattress. Day six it seemed was worse than two through five. He turned his head to see the time on his alarm clock, but a flimsy scrap of paper taped to the snooze button caught his eye. Relief instantly flooded his bones.

A crumpled receipt from the late-night creamery. Two cones, three towering scoops each. Rocky road, cookie monster, and fudge brownie. Perseus had scribbled a barely recognizable fish at the bottom, near the total. Evidence, she had said with a lopsided smile, for the morning.

Dick could hardly remember stumbling in last night, drunk on relief and several days without sleep, and placing it in the first place he would look when he woke, but he was immensely grateful. Standing up to get ready for work, he felt lighter than he had in a long time.

On the walk to the precinct, the receipt in his pocket, though thin and no bigger than a dollar bill, grounded every step his feet took. Writing reports was as long and tedious as usual, but the receipt halfway under the keyboard renewed his attention whenever Dick got stuck on a sentence. When he drove the patrol car through his usual route, the receipt stayed gripped in one hand while the other directed the steering wheel.

By the end of his shift, it was only late afternoon, but Dick had already worn a hole through the crudely drawn fish, and then it was just another piece of paper with nothing to show that he hadn't just ordered two ice creams for himself and made the whole thing up. He would see her in another couple of hours, but Dick couldn't help the little seed of doubt that took root in his stomach, no matter how irrational his brain told him it was.

Walking back from work, Dick pulled out his communicator and told Perseus to meet him on a rooftop in half an hour so he could return her sword. If that was just an excuse to make sure she was still there, alive and real and in one piece, nobody could blame him for using it.

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"Haven't seen you in a while," Brenda raised her eyebrows, seeing Percy walk into her cafe, "You look...strange."

Percy felt strange. Physically, it was like her body had been hollowed out and a cool breeze had been trapped inside, blowing against her raw nerves. But then she would remember the long minutes spent in Nightwing's hug and the way they had bickered about matching ice cream flavors, and she would warm right back up.

"Not bad for a dead girl, right?"

Percy smirked, then tapped against the board for the day's special.

"You were dead?"

Brenda punched in the order as she asked, lips pulled back in an almost amused smile.

"Missing, presumed," Percy sighed.

The other woman barked out a sharp laugh as she took her card and slotted it into the machine.

"Again?"

Brenda hadn't even been around the demigod community for the worst of her stunts and yet the gossip train traveled far and fast, and everyone wanted to talk about Percy's adventures like the rest of the seven didn't also have as many reckless, near-death experiences.

Percy scowled at her, then turned on her heel to take her usual spot by the window. By the time Brenda finished making the coffee and came to set it down, she was already spacing out, staring out the glass pane at the passerby. The woman placed it in front of Percy, who mumbled out a thanks, and took the seat opposite her.

Last night had been an emotional rollercoaster, and Percy was still left somewhat reeling by so many things Nightwing had said. Namely, how easily he had brushed off her revealing the extent of her powers. He hadn't even seemed shocked. Surprised maybe, but that had faded quickly to make room for the instant concern for her wellbeing. Even now, just thinking about it made some of that hollowness fill up, and she dipped further into her chair, taking a sip of her coffee.