Wake-up Call

[-nightwing-.livejournal.com]

It's just after 8:30am. Blüdhaven's morning light fights its perennial battle with the drapes in the Graysons' bedroom, fingers snaking past their borders to slant across the bed. For all intents and purposes, a normal enough morning after a particularly tough night, which didn't see Dick arrive home until after six. The bruises are still fresh, the scrapes still raw under their dressings. Dodging bullets takes its toll: he's out to the world and intending to sleep until noon.

Until, that is, a small hand pats his face. Then again. Once that doesn't get his immediate attention, the pat turns into a pinch of his cheek.

He rolls over, absently brushing an arm over his face to combat the unwanted attention. Physical prodding proving to be unsuccessful, it's now accompanied by a familiar voice.

It's hard for a parent to ignore, even as exhausted as he is. He turns back over, eyes barely opening to behold what stands at the bedside.

....

His vision's blurred, and he narrows his eyes, then blinks again, sleep crusting the lids. What the...

...

Dick leans over the bed, peering closely at the toddler, who responds with a radiant smile. Daddy's awake!

Then, hoarsely, he calls out:

"....Babs? Why is our daughter white?"