Nightwing: Heartache

Part 41: Confession

December 28, 10:53pm
Los Angeles

He didn't break in this time. When he saw her walk into the living room, drying her hair with a towel, he gently rapped on her backdoor. She let him in, shivering slightly with the night breeze. "Hi."

"Hi," Dick answered. He looked tired.

When she moved so he could come in, he went to the living room, leaning on the back of it with his hands in his pockets. Willa stayed in the archway of her living room. "I'm sorry," she blurted out.

Dick smirked, "you already said that."

"Yeah..." she tossed the towel she had been using for her hair on the back of one of her dining room chairs. "And, um, thank you. For not letting me do anything stupid. Well, stupider, that night." She cringed at the thought of how drunk she was.

She glanced up at his silence, but he was just watching her, waiting.

"I wasn't thinking," she continued, on the verge of babbling. "I let my feelings get the best of me. Tequila has that effect."

Dick just rubbed the back of his neck.

Willa huffed a breath, "still nothing?"

Dick looked away, "I don't know what to say, Will."

"Whatever you want." She nervously picked at one of her nails.

"You said, the other night, that you wanted me to want to show up for you. What does that mean?"

She tucked some hair behind her ear. "It means...," she paused, turning the words over in her mind, "sometimes I think you do things for me because you feel guilty about what happened to me. Because you pity me."

He finally looked at her, his expression soft. "Willa..."

"I don't want you to live the rest of your life feeling collared to me because of something that happened years ago-" she cut herself off, taking a deep breath, "I don't want your pity."

"I spend most days in awe of you. Not pitying you." He stood up from the back of the couch. "I do feel guilty, you're right. I hate myself when I think about what happened to you, but I don't show up for you because of that."

'Is that what you want Willa?'

Dick took a small step forward then thought better of it, staying put. He looked out her front window instead of at her, studying the front lawn, the gate at her driveway. The moonlight reflect off the grass. "It can't ever be simple with us, can it?" She could hear the smile.

"If only it just came down to what we wanted," she smiled back.

He fixed his eyes on her, slightly cocking his head to the side, "and what is that you want?"

'Is that what you want Willa?'

Now she was the one that looked away. If only it were that simple, but she had spent years of her life recovering from him. No, that wasn't true. She had spent years recovering from trauma. It had never been Dick's fault, but could she ever separate the two out? "I want," she finally said, "to be okay." She met his eyes, "and I'm not sure if that means being with you or running away from you."

He furrowed his eyebrows.

"It hurts," she blurted out, "to be so close to you." She watched him duck his head in shame, and move farther away from her, edging to her door. "But it hurts more when you leave." He froze. She laughed, but there was no humor in it, and leaned against the archway. "I was fine, you know. I buried that pain and was living my life, and then you came back."