Summary: A short little oneshot on the budding relationship between the original Boy and Girl Wonders. Set in the YJ! Universe

Disclaimer: Don't own anything but the story._.

Warning: Possibly typos and grammatical errors! Awkward dialogue and weird sentence structures.

BETAED BY THE OH-SO-WONDERFUL protectorkorii! She really helped me with this one, gave me advice and edit it and stuff, so I'm super super thankful:D

Inspired by this picture (first panel, top left:D Credit to the artist/rightful owner): yssadalawa(dot)tumblr(dot)com/post/12775284417/why-do-just-one-couple-the-only-popular-couple

Read if you dare!

Dick/Barbara; Cold

The steps to the frigid, old building is surrounded by TV vans, and droves of chattering reporters. The red and blue lights of the squad cars swivel and shine on the shadowed granite walls, the only light in the chilly night. The officers are attempting to push back the crowd and clear a passage; the people strain against their outstretched arms with dogged determination. The twisted gothics font of 'Gotham Hospital' glints with camera flashes.

Suddenly, a smooth hum interrupts the mess of shouted questions from the reporters and the stern yells of the cops. All head snap towards to source of the noise.

Rubber squeaks against the asphalt as a new police car pulls up against the pavement, just by the rough passage created by the policemen. The crowd pauses, then surges towards the lone vehicle just as the door swings open. The shouts swell and burst, rushing up to the first person who steps out of the car: a tall, well-built man in a stylish black dinner suit, complete with a smart bowtie.

"Mr. Wayne! A word?"

"… A completely unprecedented attack on his young ward, kidnappers demanded no ransom, and took to attacking the boy—"

"Mr Bruce Wayne, what are your thoughts on this disastrous and unfortunate incident?"

"What is Mr Grayson's condition at the moment? Any details on the injuries?"

The man has a look of unmistakable anger and disdain on his face as he stretches himself up to full height and glowers at the probing paparazzi. Some quail, while others move forwards instead.

"Commissioner Gordon." Bruce Wayne says, turning slightly to face the white-haired man who has just stepped out of the car.

"Mr Wayne." Gordon replies gruffly. His ruffled-looking trench coat snaps in the chilly late evening wind and billows out behind him as he walks up to join Bruce.

"Shall we?" the younger cuts through the pressing noise before the commissioner can answer. His blue eyes glint severely in the police lights and camera flashes, hard and glazed with worry.

"Of course, after you, whoa—" a third figure darts out of the car and breaks through the two men in a blur of red, grey and white. The crowd startles slightly, then turns their attention to her as she darts ahead, taking the steps three at a time. Behind, her father is apologizing to Bruce, and he's saying something in return but she couldn't care less. She just needed to get inside.

The doors fly open and greets her with a faceful of cool, sanitized hospital air. Barbara pushes past the security, who yell at her that she can't go in, she's not authorized, all that bullshit. If she had the time, she would have turned and punched them where it hurt, but she didn't so she continued.

The nurse at the counter jumps comically when she slams into the curved desk, panting slightly.

"Grayson…" she manages, a little hoarse from running, "Dick— I mean— Richard John Grayson's room, please."

"I'm sorry, I can't tell you that, family only."

"But I need to see him, it's urgent—"

"I'm sorry, but unless you have someone to authorize you and accompany you—"

"Let her through." A low, deep bass booms in the reception area, cutting through the lady's explanation.

The young girl whips around; she hears the nurse give a small, excited cry. This makes her brows arch in annoyance.

The two men stop directly in front of the table and Bruce repeats his statement, expression stern, "Let her through. I'm Bruce Wayne, Richard Grayson's registered foster father and I authorize her to enter my son's room."

"Oh!" the poor woman startles and flounders pathetically. Barbara wrinkles her nose disapprovingly.

"Of course then, Mr—"

That's her cue. The teenager takes off and is midway into the lift when she remembers something. She mentally face-palms and turns back, holding the empty lift door and calling down the hallway, "Mr Wayne, what room is he in?"

The man almost smiles and bends lower as the simpering nurse croons into his ear. Then—

"Ward 37, Room 14, Miss Gordon." She raises her hand in thanks and lets the door shut on her.

The journey up is unbelievably long. Ward 37 was all the way up on the 7th floor and the lift stops at almost every other level to let orderlies, nurses, and doctors in.

'Ding!'

"Excuse me… 'Scuse me, that's my level, oops! Sorry! Sorry!" apologizing profusely, Barbara squeezes past the crowd in the lift and as soon as she's clear, she restarts her sprint down the corridor until she skids to a screeching halt in front of a door. Green eyes scan the small panel by the door:

Room 14 – Richard John Grayson

Barbara is barely sweating from her run up, only slightly out of breath but suddenly, her face starts to feel hot and her palms begin to grow wet. She's waited so long to see him, fidgeting as her father sorted out the reports, squirming impatiently as they followed the sluggish traffic down to town to pick up Mr Wayne. She practically bounced off her seat when they finally arrived, and now she's freaking out?

Maybe she's worrying too much, thinking too much. But Dick's her friend, what's wrong with wanting to make sure he's okay? Nothing. So why is she so nervous? What is she so afraid of? Rejection?

She laughs shakily to herself and wonders vaguely if she's going mad. Placing her hand on the door, she pushes it slightly.

"Dick?" she whispers. No response. Finally the door opens enough for her to stick her head in.

"Dick? Are you—" She can't speak. Her voice was stuck in her throat and she could feel the stickiness of the question she was about to ask.

The whir of the heater is the first thing that greets her. It keeps the cold Feburary air from penetrating through the glass and walls but somehow, the room still feels like it's lacking energy and warmth.

In the middle of the room, a small figure lies curled up on the stiff hospital mattress, body covered by a thick blue blanket that Alfred probably brought over from the Manor.

Looking left and right, she darts in quickly and presses her back against the door, closing it.

Her strides are slow and steady as she walks to his bed, hand automatically curling around the side rail as she takes a vacant seat on the left side of the bed. Dick's back is half-turned towards her; his eyes are shut and his face is peaceful in slumber.

She assesses his wounds with a trained eye; she's seen her share injuries before both through secretly reading her father's case files and attending and participating in gymnastic competitions, where sometimes, the competitors accidentally miss their footing on the balancing beam, slip in mid-flight from one parallel bar to another, and then-

But those were only photos. Video footages. And most of them happened to people she didn't know. But this was different. Seeing everything from an IV to bandages on her best friend seems weird. It's just not... normal.

Dick has a huge piece of blood-tinged gauze taped to the corner of his left eyebrow and another bandage along the right side of his jaw line. The loose hospital gown enables her to see the bandages around his upper torso and bruises from the beating. Those run all the way up from under the bandages to his collarbone, an irksome mix of sickly yellow, purple, black and blue. His right wrist and hand was all wrapped up too, and splinted.

As if he knows she's looking, he shifts a little and turns more towards his left, so that he is now fully facing her. Immediately, she freezes, turning into a stiff block of ice.

"…Of course, Master Bruce, I will ensure that— Oh my." She turns around just in time to see Alfred at the entrance, a phone pressed to his ear.

"Mister Alfred! Sorry, I—" She begins to explain.

Before she can continue, he collects himself and says promptly, a kindly smile on his face, "It is fine, my dear girl, no need to apologize. I was just about to meet Master Bruce down by the reception in a few moments—"

"Babs?" a hoarse, scratchy voice says from behind her.

Dick's awake. He inhales deeply and blinks a little sluggishly, scanning Barbara and Alfred with his hazy, sleep-dulled baby-blues.

"Dick! You're up!" She exclaims immediately, shifting closer to his side.

Then he wrinkles his nose in slight confusion and starts, "How'd I—"

"You were kidnapped, remember?" Barbara hurriedly follows up as she hears Alfred back off and close the door. Gratefulness wells up in her at his considerate gesture.

"I…" The kid pauses and tilts his head slightly, "Sort of. Everything's foggy... How long have I been out?"

She squirms a little in her chair. The heater gives a weak sputter and it's volume drops a notch.

"About 2 hours I think? Not that long."

"Oh. Um… wait a moment." He reaches to a side with his good hand and hits one of the buttons on the opposite side rail. The bed whirs loudly as it brings him to a sitting position.

"You seem very familiar with all this, don't you?" she teases as he stops the mechanism. The boy throws her a smirk. In that instant, he turns from a tired, semi-conscious kidnapping victim back into the Dick Grayson she's so familiar with, the one that plays chess with her, debates and argues with her over everything from the stock exchanges to Strawberry Shortcake's makeover, the snarky one who has a quirk for butchering up the English Language. The Dick Grayson she knows and loves.

"Yeah, you know me. This isn't exactly the first time… -tt-" he clicks his tongue irritably, shifting uncomfortably against the pillows.

"C'mon, let me help—"Dick leans forward stiffly as Barbara adjusts them for him, chattering to him about school the whole while; how Bette Kane accidentally bumped into one of the older boys and spilled orange juice over the both of them; how Derek, a sophomore, shot chewed gum into Mrs Wilder's hair and she didn't notice until someone told her, and how she met the new girl, Artemis, in one of the briefings for the scholarship pupils.

She notices him grimacing slightly through her animated narration of the day he missed at school.

"You okay?" she asks quietly as she sits down in the chair beside the bed, slipping her hand into his colder one. He smiles lopsidedly, in that gorgeous, absolutely breathtaking way of his, and she gets all warm again. To distract both him and herself, Barbara squeezes his soft skinny fingers, heart beating a mini tattoo into her ribcage.

"Mm, it's kinda cold in here... but its okay, because you're here." She gives a small laugh at his corny statement as he squeezes back playfully for emphasis. She ignores the shiver that travels up her arm at the casual gesture.

"Since when did you know how to use pick-up lines?" If it's possible, his smirk widens and he scoffs, expression turning into one of mock outrage.

"Since forever! That's not even a fully legit one! Hey, hey, listen to this one. Is your father a thief?"

"No, he's a police officer, why?"

"Babs," Dick sighs, exasperated, "You're not supposed to answer the question." He says this in such a solemn manner, with his big, ice-blue eyes staring straight at her that she very nearly bursts out into laughter again. He shuts his eyes as she prepares herself and puts on a poker face, only opening them when he was certain she was ready.

"Oh, " Barbara nods, trying to look serious too. "Okay. I'm ready now."

"Good. So, again, is your father a thief?" he pauses and looks at her out of the corner of his eyes.

"Um... " His smirk shrinks a little and he puts on a haughty expression, attempting to look like a magician who was about to pull a rabbit out of his hat. But she knows him well enough to spot the slight blush that has settled his cheeks.

"Because he stole the stars and put them in your eyes."

Silence.

Then Barbara bursts out into laughing, and Dick's cheeks turn a even deeper pink. He tries to look angry and hurt, but ends up laughing too.

"Hey –ow— hey, that's not supposed to be funny!" he winces as the laughter jar his wounds but the embarrassed grin on his face never falters.

Barbara pauses, trying to regain her composure but ends up failing and collapsing into giggles again, "God, you're such an idiot, Grayson!"

She fake punches him in his shoulder and he responds in kind, giving her a shove.

They quickly fall into comfortable conversation, talking about the idiotic kidnappers and annoying paparazzi, how they should go about seeking revenge, school, the amount of homework they're all swamped with, until there is a knock on the door.

Bruce's head appears at the door and he gives an easy smile when he spots Barbara. "Barbara, your father's looking for you. He said something catching up on your schoolwork…?"

"Oh! Oh," she turns back to look at Dick, heart plummeting all of a sudden. She doesn't want to leave.

"Well, I guess I need to go off then."

Dick tries to smile, but it doesn't reach his eyes. She couldn't bear to look at him so she stared at their intertwined hands instead. Her fingers have since curled naturally around his hand and are pink with the shared warmth.

Then the kid clears his throat and looks away slightly, sagging a little against the pillows, "Well, then, see you…"

"Call me? Or text me, whichever's more convenient." She says, tone edged with slight desperation. At this, Dick's face lights up a little and her own stomach does a little fluttering flip.

"Sure." Barbara stands, their hands still locked tightly together. She looks at him, and he looked back at her, both parties unwilling to let go.

His eyes look so blue, so forlorn, they tug painfully at her tender heartstrings.

"Well, then… I'll come by tomorrow. See you." The girl can feel Bruce's azure gaze on her back as she turns and walks slowly to the door, her face hidden by her curtain of red hair.

"Yeah..."He murmurs as she slips out of the room.

Barbara casts a single longing glance which Dick returns, but in a strangely resigned manner. He grins again and this time, his eyes sparkle like starlight, eager and hopeful.

"See you, Babs."

She nods, and sprints back down the hall, her head in a mess and her chest twisted into a million knots.

Down the elevator, past the main reception, bursting out from the heavy oak doors and back into the wintry night air.

Her face stings with the sudden cold and her insides turn into ice, but her hand, the one that she held Dick's with, is strangely tingly. The feeling travels up her arm, wriggles its way through her chest and finally reaches her cheeks.

Then she recognises the feeling. It's stronger than when she was outside Dick's room, worrying. It has been made more obvious by the cold winter air, and is more certain, more real.

Warmth.

Good? Bad? Was it an okay attempt or should I give up writing fluff/romance completely? Let me know:D

But until then, s'long, folks!

~Crash