To Write Love on His Arms

There were certain things heroes didn't do. Tattoos were one of them.

The deep voice of Bruce Wayne fills Richard Grayson's mind. It's not removable, it gives identities away, its marring, its just not done.

Not done.

Like falling in love with a guy.

Or dating within the League.

No, Robin decides there are many things that are simply not done, but that he very much wishes to do. Things he wishes were done.

The tattoo is placed on the underside of his bicep.

He changes to his blue and black Nightwing uniform the next day.

Tattoos are supposed to be good for fifteen years.

For fifteen years, they're bright, beaming works of art that identify you, make you unique, special, someone.

Dick is stretching in the mirror, arms over his head pulling his bicep back, index and middle finger just on the edges of the first W. If only this feeling would disappear after fifteen years.

But Richard Grayson knows –he knew when he committed to those eleven letters of ink –that Wallace West could never disappear completely from his life.

The best he can hope for, is for the feeling to blur.

Robin likes Zatanna. She has high intellectual and emotional intelligence, enjoys magic and mystery, and doesn't eat like a pig.

She's essentially the opposite of Wally.

So he tries to date her.

Nightwing is still good friends with Zatanna. After all the awkward dates and now less than horrible snuggles, it would be hard not to be. But when her ponytail smashes against his chest, her head threatening to crush it after a particularly long patrol, there's a platonic feeling that was never there with Wally.

Zatanna is the first person he tells about the tattoo.

Bruce doesn't count because he found out on his own.

Zatanna is everything Dick can ask for from a friend, understanding, compassionate, a great listener. She doesn't emphasize how pathetic his problem is –because it's not. Dramatic and soap opera-esque, absolutely, but not pathetic. And she always has a stash of snacks that Wally hasn't gotten to quite yet.

She's also the spawn of the devil and the reason Wally is in Richard's room right now.

The Nightwing costume is half off, the upper half, and Dick thanks his younger self for having the insight to put the tattoo on the underside of his arm. He turns his back to the door and waits for a hurried apology before the speedster ducks out of the awkward situation.

Instead, there is only the click of the door as it falls into place.

Then footsteps. Approaching him.

Wally is right behind him, so close Dick can feel his breath and the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight in an attempt to be closer to his object of affection.

"Show me."

Dick wants to feign confusion, misunderstanding, innocence. But he knows –can only presume that Wally knows.

Wally's grip is firm, gentle but firm, as he spins the chiseled body towards him. His eyes don't leave Dick's right arm. Dick pulls both arms in a little closer, hugs himself a little tighter.

"Please."

Dick knows not to look at Wally right now, knows that if he sees in those eyes what he can hear with his ears, he won't be able to resist the request.

Still, his arms slip, and there's a sliver of ink, the curled tapered curve and tip of what could only be a W.

Wally could have kissed him –it was obvious he wanted to.

But that was normal, and Wally was not normal. There would be plenty of time for kissing Richard Grayson in the future. Or at least, that's what he was hoping for.

Instead, Wally pulls a marker from his jacket, and offers it to the partially dressed man before him.

For once, the detective's response is slow.

An awkward pause of no longer than a few seconds, but far too long for the impatient Wally West results in an exaggerated sigh as he yanks the marker back. Yanks his sleeves up. Yanks the cap off.

Richard Grayson. He writes, the dark ink heavily contrasting with the pale skin.

"It's just a substitute for now. I'll get one to match later."

Dick's eyes light up, the corners of his lips follow, and before he allows himself to completely celebrate the moment, he snatches the pen to add a neat "Property of" above Wally's scribbled penmanship. He snickers. Wally punches him.

"That's not going in the tattoo."

The Justice League of today is a strange thing.

It is a symbol of peace, of justice –hey it's in the name, but above else of hope. Hope for equality, for happiness, for stories that are fascinating and thrilling and beautiful.

Stories like that of the linked arms set above the entrance to the Hall of Justice, and the inscription below.

After all, much of what is done cannot be undone. But that which is not done, can always become done.

A/N: Please note, Robin's uniform has a slight gap of skin between the end of his shirt sleeve and the beginning of the glove. The tattoo is meant to be positioned near the top of this gap.