ersatzdivinity | It must have been the mistletoe

"Well sure," she answers. "What's Christmas decorations without mistletoe?" Her family had done a bit of both Hanukkah and Christmas, after all, trees and menorahs and Santa and everything all in one proper jumble. And Christmas, well, Christmas was everywhere. And really, this isn't a big deal. Just a tradition, and one she's always thought of as sweet and cute and absolutely nothing but a bit of fun.

So looking up at him, she grins cheerily and beckons with a crook of her finger for him to lean over, make it easier for her petite frame to reach. "Well, we can't just leave without a kiss. It's bad luck, you know."

Dutifully, he leans over as requested, a smile on his lips as he closes his eyes. Can't break tradition, now. It'll set a pall over the whole holiday. Holidays. And they can't have that.

He's got a nice smile, she thinks faintly, resting a hand on his shoulder as she moves closer, going up slightly onto her toes. It's just a little peck. No big deal. Hell, she's kissed strangers with less reason. And still, as her lips lightly brush his, there's still a strange little zip in her pulse, one she brushes away entirely as just being a completely normal thing that happens when you kiss anyone. That's all.

She's not the only one, and when he stands up straight, there's a certain... sort of daze to his eyes, as if he's focusing on something else. He shakes it off a moment later, pulls in a breath, and gestures to the take out.

"We should- before it gets too cold. Right?"

His eyes are nice, too, she thinks, vaguely aware for that first moment that her hand is still on his shoulder, slipping down onto his chest as he straightens. Nice eyes, nice smile. Nice muscles, and that's where she also shakes off whatever nonsense her brain is trying to pull and forces the cheer back into her voice as she steps back.

"Right! Right, we should eat. Don't want it to get too cold." Don't want to go ruining a good thing, she reminds herself. Clearly, it's been too long since she's gotten laid, if she's thinking...well, not that he's bad looking. It wasn't a bad kiss. It was a very nice--nope, not gonna do that to him. She knows he deserves better. And yet, despite that, as she turns towards the chair again, she can't quite help lifting a hand to her mouth and brushing fingers against her lips.

As a matter of course, he pulls out the chair for her, and he'll push it in too if she lets him. Otherwise he's coming around to his own seat to start digging in.

"My greatest regret is that I can't bring food with me when I travel my way. If I could, oh the takeout we would have. Supes and the Flashes are lucky sons of a gun, I'll tell you that."

It's a nice little gesture. Very Sandy, as she's coming to learn, which goes a long way towards restoring normalcy. Is this really normal these days? If it is, it's definitely a normal she could get used to as she grins up at him before filling her own plate. She isn't shy about eating. Why would she be?

"Thanks. You know, don't think I ever knew there was more than one'a them? I mean, we don't get many heroes in this town besides Bats and the family. He's got kind of a thing going in Gotham, I guess. Don't know how your side of things divvies up territory or what. I've only seen the big guy around here maybe once or twice." Which is probably for the best, considering. And anyway, she's out of that life, now.

"I've worked with Batman before. He's pretty professional." He scratches behind on ear. "Didn't have much problem with me. Wasn't too pleased with Geo-Force that time, but the guy's-"

He pauses in a distinct attempt to be polite.

"-difficult to work with and he certainly doesn't forget that he's royalty. All the same, it's really just a matter of specialty with Gotham, I think."

He eats a few bites before continuing.

"Like working on a patient with a lot of separate but intersecting diagnoses. You don't want someone unfamiliar with the chart taking a knife to them. Best for everyone."

"You think Batman's like--a doctor, for Gotham?" She gestures with a samosa. "I dunno. I always figured he was as much a symptom as the rest of us. The rest'a them." The correction is hasty and second nature at this point, though she's not offended or anything, just thoughtful. Popping the samosa in her mouth, she chews and swallows before continuing. "You know, if he ain't as much a patient himself. Don't get me wrong, guy didn't have to give me as many chances as he did, but you don't do what he does how he does it without needin' a little help. But I guess we all got our things, don't we?"

"You say that like doctors don't get sick. Or aren't just as much in danger of catching what their patient has as anyone else," he says as he works through some of his rice. "And he's definitely not the only one on this side of the line with mental illness to go around.

"Starman never really entirely recovered from being part of the team that made the atom bomb. Johnny Thunder went to his grave not entirely there in the head. Everyone knows about Hourman's issues, that whole mess with Sentinel's wife..."

He takes a sip of his drink.

"There's something a little crazy in anyone who does what we do. I guess in the long run, it doesn't seem so far off from the rest of us."

Another couple of bites before he speaks again.

She listens, and the little laugh that escapes is more than a little self-deprecating. "You're right. I mean, god, I'm walkin' proof'a that, ain't I?" No bitterness in it, not anymore. She knows what she is, what she did. Past tense. It isn't her life, anymore. Never mind that little adventure from a couple months back. "Guess we all gotta be a little bit crazy, to put on the capes and tights and go out there to do whatever we do." This time, she doesn't bother with the correction. Funnily enough, she doesn't feel like she has to. Not with him. She can just sit here, and eat, and know he isn't gonna expect her to just...lose it.

Sand, despite being a damned realist, always tries to treat people like the best version of themselves. Always expects the best out of people who he deals with on a personal level. It's gotten him burned more than once, but he doesn't know any other way to be.

"Pretty much. I mean, I chose this."

He takes another bite.

"I mean, I was 14 at the time, but I still looked at what Wes was doing and said 'that's the life for me'."

"Fourteen? That's so young." And yet, somehow she's not entirely surprised. "You don't see that many kids in this stuff. Robin, god, I remember the first time I saw him. Thought he was just a real short guy, until I heard him talk. I remember thinkin', 'god, what's this kid doing out here? He's gonna get himself killed, he can't know better.' But, y'know, fourteen, fifteen, I already had friends runnin' away from home, friends gettin' knocked up--kids know a lot more about the world than most people give 'em credit for. Says a lot about kids like you and Nightwing, you chose to do somethin' like this, I think." To help people. To do good things. Maybe they're all a little crazy, but a little crazy ain't necessarily a bad thing.

Finishing the last of her plate, she leans back, contemplating the containers. "You ever regret it?" It's a personal question, maybe, he can not answer it, but she can't help asking.

His eyes are on his plate as he considers the question.

"You know why there wasn't anybody before Robin?"

He slings a thumb at himself.

"After what happened to me, Sentinel mostly, but the others too, they put their foot down. Didn't want anyone that young involved in things again."

He shakes his head as he finishes the last couple of bites.

"I don't regret it. Even after everything that happened. It was the world's greatest internship with one of the best men to ever live. Wes was the father I never had.

"I can't regret that."

She nods at the words, silent for a moment as she watches him. There's sympathy on her face, in her voice; not the professional kind, but the personal. After all, they're friends, aren't they? They're friends, and she knows what grief sounds like when she hears it. After a moment, she lays her hand on the table between them, palm up.

"Hey. You know, you ever wanna talk about it--you know, just, whatever--I'm a pretty good listener. Not as a shrink, you know, just--a friend." She offers a smile with the words, something small but warm.

It's not often that he won't meet her eyes. Here, he's having trouble with it.

"Not much to talk about. Fifty years in the dark. Trapped in a body I couldn't move. I mean... it wasn't great. But it could have been worse."

He puts his fork down and looks over at her, finally.

"It's the past."

It's not hard to read between the words. Hell, there's stuff that she doesn't talk about. Won't, can't. Things that haunt her dreams, and not always in the way you might expect. But that just means she doesn't push. Instead, just looks at him for a moment, unblinking, then nods.

"You're right. And we're in the present. Future's gettin' closer every day." She won't think about how the idea of him being alone in the dark for fifty years makes her feel, makes her want to pull him in close and not let go. So instead: "So--what do you say? Some drinks, maybe a fire, listen to some carols? 'Tis the season, right?"

"After you teach me how the dreidel works," he says as he starts cleaning up their dishes.

"I know what the symbols on the sides mean, since I had to learn Hebrew a few years back, but I don't know what they mean in this context."

He takes care of the dishes, she cleans the trash from the table. It's the least she can do. "You're already one step ahead of me," she says, following him into the kitchen. "I knew a little--enough to get me through my bat mitzvah, but barely. I don't really got a knack for other languages. But I can teach you how to play the dreidel game, sure. We used to play with chocolate coins, when I was a kid. You can play with whatever. Pennies, pieces of paper--hell, there's drinking games for dreidel, too. I played my share in college."

He reaches up to a cabinet in the kitchen to pull out a little treasure chest. He walks over and presents it to her with a flourish and a grin.

"I didn't want to put it out until we'd had dinner, but-"

There's a 'treasure' of chocolate coins inside.

"Can't play without betting money."

She's curious as she looks first at him, then at the chest, before finally reaching out and opening it. Surprise morphs into sheer childlike joy with no restraint. Harley's never been one to hold back emotionally, and there's definitely no reason to start now. Beaming, she looks up at him again, and takes both his arm and the chest with a laugh.

"Well, look at you! Aren't you practically a boy scout here, all prepared. How long have you been planning this?"

"Since Thanksgiving," which they hadn't actually spent together. But he'd decided, as he carved the turkey over at the Brownstone, that he'd want to do something special for the rest of the winter holidays.

"And I wasn't about to give you a dreidel without some gelt. Even I know better than to do that."

"Huh. Well, aren't you full of surprises," she muses, looking up at him as she takes the chest in her arms, cradling it. "Like every time I turn around, there you are, doing something sweet again. God." A shake of her head.

"Alright, let's go get settled in. Hey, why'd you have to learn Hebrew in the first place? A work thing, or...?"

He pulls the the chair he usually sits in over towards her little alcove with a shrug before settling in to play with her. He shrugs again in answer to the question about Hebrew.

"I was under Wes at the time, and he always wanted to have a full understanding of a subject. And the only real texts were in Hebrew so... I learned.

"It's a little rusty but I remember a decent amount of it."

"Well, let's see what I remember," she says, sliding into her chair and drawing her legs up to fold them under her. It's one of the reasons she's partial to this chair. Why sit uncomfortably when you can curl up, or sit cross-legged, or drape your legs over an arm, or just hang upside down, honestly. Picking up the dreidel, she turns it in her fingers. "My mother wasn't real big on cultural heritage, as it were. Did the bat mitzvah mostly because Granny wanted it. I just never really kept up after."

Spinning the stem between her fingers, she shows him each of four sides in turn. "Nun, Gimel, He, Shin," she recites, the Brooklyn in her voice accenting the words more than ever. "Stands for "Nes Gadol Hayah Sham. A great miracle happened there." Her pronounciation isn't the best, the words a little stilted, but that's to be expected when she hasn't said them in at least a decade. "First things first. We each take coins. Can't play without something to bet, right?" Reaching into the chest, she starts divvying a pile for each of them.

"So, you do a lot of that? Research, learning other languages?"

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