Griff in a Bucket (smgriffin) wrote in no_true_pair, @ 2010-08-17 10:52:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | ! 2010 eight characters challenge, author: smgriffin, fandom: dc comics, pairing: connor/dinah |
Words to Live (DC Comics, Dinah Lance/Connor Hawke)
Title: Words to Live
Author:
Fandom: DC Comics
Pairing/characters: Dinah Lance/Connor Hawke
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Non-Hero AU, Language, Near Braining with Aerial Cellphone, Cheesy rendition of Savage Garden
Word count: ~6000
Prompt/challenge you're answering: Dinah Lance has tried a lot things in her life, but what Connor Hawke suggests still comes as something of a shock
Summary: Dinah Lance is about to release her new CD, but the news her fiancee has a love child sets her reeling. Can the words of a stranger she met in the men's bathroom help her find happiness?
-
The men's bathroom was thankfully quiet. Dinah couldn't take the nosy buzzards circling her phone in the powder room, so she crossed the hall before she shoved the cheap plastic devil device down some old biddy's gossipy throat. Anymore scandalized twittering or shocked 'Oh my!'s and someone was getting a solid right hook to the vagina.
She watched the door shut firmly and finally let herself rage without any cellphone happy witnesses, “Mother fucker!” She screamed, chucking her phone across the line of urinals, narrowly missing the bathroom's other occupant. Luckily, he seemed too stunned to do anything but zip his pants and stare. “Dickless asshole, lying shit-for-brains. Who the fuck does he think he is? Oh, Hollywood Royalty, fourth generation famous, well ya know what!” Dinah pointed at the man, “That doesn't mean shit if you can't keep your dick in your pants!”
“I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting a lady,” The young man apologized fervently, and Dinah blinked.
“What?” Oh. Men's bathroom. Poor guy was probably peeing. She waved him off, “Oh, not you. Sorry. You can continue, uh, ya know. I'll just be over here not looking. Screaming.”
“I, well. Alright. If you're sure?” He double checked.
Dinah nodded, bouncing on her heels, “Oh, I'm sure. I have lots and lots of screaming to do.”
“Thank you?” He added.
At the sound of a zipper, Dinah, true to her word unlike some lying bastards who sow their fucking wild oats in every field they fall into, turned away and growled. “Seriously, what is so hard about being monogamous? I get sometimes it's hard with the schedules, but we've both been in L.A. for the last three years. It's not like the first time where I was in Bermuda and he was filming in Taiwan and things were stress and we barely spoke on the phone, much less getting hanky-panky in the sheets. I could forgive that. I didn't cheat, I never had the urge to make out with the hot studly back-up dancer who got to grind against my ass every night, but hey, at least I could understand. How the fuck do you justify having a baby as an 'act of desperation'!”
“I'm afraid I'm confused,” The young man replied. “Your um, lover?”
“Fiancee,” Dinah spat, yanking off her ring and chucking it on the counter. “He proposed three weeks ago, the lying fucker.”
“Your lying fiancee, then. You seem rather adamant on that point,” He pointed out questioningly.
“I really, really am.”
Dinah watched him nod in the mirror while he continued, “Has been philandering outside of the relationship while you're preparing for a baby?”
“No, oh no, no, no, no.” Dinah corrected with a humorless laugh, “If I were knocked-up, I still might forgive him for it. No, he's been philandering outside the relationship and somebody else gave him a baby.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, oh.” Dinah scoffed, “And, did he have the nuts to tell me himself? Not a chance. I found out from the paparazzi when they shoved a microphone in my face and asked for a comment with my photo!”
“Paparazzi?”
“Publicity gutter rats that make their living suing people when they get run-over.”
“They sound rather unpleasant,” Mr. Stranger offered agreeably, washing his hands. Dinah spared him a glance and decided if he ever tried to make it in show business, he had the looks to pull it off. Blond hair and sharp cheekbones were winning enough, but damn if he didn't have the whole 'stunning ethnic' vibe, too. That skin wasn't beach bought and no spray-tan looked so warm. Apparently, when it hit her green eyed kink, Dinah totally dug caramel. Who knew? If he didn't seem so nice, Dinah would call him lickable. Probably offer to take him with her to New York and send scandalous photos to Ollie. Let him see what it felt like to be replaceable for once.
He was watching her carefully in the mirror, but Dinah could see a decent amount of actual concern underneath the confusion and honest bewilderment. Absolutely too nice to use for a revenge fuck, even if she could stand stooping that low for Oliver-fucking-Queen.
“Sorry,” Dinah offered bashfully, waving at the remnants of her phone. “I didn't mean to peg you in the face.”
Another flash of a smile and he shook his head, “You missed. You'll excuse me for saying, but you needed to destroy something. I appreciate it not being me.”
Dinah laughed and hung her head, leaning back against the counter. “What I'd like to do is dump my record contract, drive back to his ego-boost of a mansion and chuck every one of his sacred collectibles out the fourth story window, then steal his favorite car and hand it off to the first gear-stripping teenager I find.”
This guy was a walking poster boy for 'Goody-two-shoes' and he seemed utterly derailed by her declaration. His eyes were so wide, Dinah nearly poked them to see if they'd fall out.
“I won't,” She assured.
He relaxed minutely, “You won't?”
“I won't,” Dinah repeated and sighed, “But I really, really want to.”
As he headed out, Dinah caught his sleeve, “I, don't take this the wrong way, but... Please don't tell anyone about this?”
Something about him changed then. Dinah expected angry or embarrassed, maybe sincere and emphatic, but all of his bashfulness dissipated. She hadn't realized how boyish his unsurety made him seem until it was replaced with dedicated concern. He caught her gaze and asked, “Who would I tell?”
Dinah shrugged, “I don't know. The paparazzi. The tabloids. Your friends. It's big news to see Dinah Lance lose her shit.”
“Who?”
Dinah reconsidered everything she'd assumed from the first moment he'd flinched away from her phone. He wasn't starstruck or bogged down by her fame; his knowledge of her was as absent as hers of him. There was no recognition to her name and he hadn't asked for a signature when she stopped screaming. He honestly had no idea who she was. It was novel.
Sticking out her hand, Dinah introduced herself, “Dinah Lance.”
He accepted, returning, “Connor Hawke,” and didn't release her hand immediately. Instead, he frowned and stroked her palm soothingly. “Why would someone want to know about you...” He waved his hand helplessly.
“Losing my shit. Come on, you can say it,” she teased, charmed by his old-school manners. No one worried about insulting her sensibilities these days; not unless they were on her pay roll.
“Losing your shit,” Connor tried with an incredulous look.
Dinah had to laugh. He looked like a king pandering to the ways of the little people. For someone so sweet, he had a bit of a pretentious streak. Probably had a mean ego in there, somewhere.
“God, you're a riot,” She gushed, pulling her hand away. Dinah checked her watch and winced. The jet was already fueled and probably finished with the flight prep. She should go.
“You didn't answer,” Connor broke in when she straightened her purse.
Dinah stared blankly for a moment, “What?”
Frowning, he set his hands on her shoulders and asked, intently, “Dinah. Why would anyone want to use your pain against you?”
Damn, that wasn't the same question at all. It wasn't fair. She couldn't pretend it was all fun and games when he looked at her like that. Like she was some battered girlfriend lying about her abusive boyfriend.
Fuck him! Who did he think he was, assuming her life was so rough because she didn't want her love life talked about on every street corner? He was some nobody who wasn't smart enough to duck! What did she care? “It's!” She huffed, pushing his arms away, but damn it if he was always just one step in front of her. Where was the door! “Just, fuck off, ok! Tell anyone! I don't care, just let me go!”
“Why?” He asked, crossing his arms, “What's wrong? What did I say?”
“You just,” Dinah pushed him, just pushed, to get that big oppressive weight of judgment across the room. “Just, I don't know!”
“I'm just worried,” Connor pleaded, irritation lacing his words. He pursed his lips and jammed his hands in his pockets, shuffling. The pose didn't suit him.
Dinah slumped back against the counter and shook her head, “Why?” She asked, lost, “Why do you care?”
“Because you're hurting.”
So simple. Dinah was hurting, Connor wanted to make it better. Was this guy for real?
“Who does that?” She scoffed, “No one in this town.”
“Is that who you're afraid of,” Connor spoke hesitantly, “this town?”
Yes, she wanted to scream, God yes. Yes, yes, a thousand times. L.A. terrified her. Golden streets and plastic smiles and everything so perfect she couldn't stand it. The moment someone saw her break, the entire city would rush through her wounds with flashing lights and editorials. Dinah couldn't stand that, not again. She heard older celebrities shrug it off like modus operandi, but each time it happened to her it suffocated and hurt.
God damnit, she growled, wiping at her cheeks. She was crying in front of a complete stranger.
To her surprise, Connor pulled a paper towel off for her and fished in his back pocket while she dabbed at her tears. Habit kept her from smearing her make-up. He pulled out a book, a battered paperback of poetry. Flipping through the pages quickly, he settled on a page and began to read in a steady narrative.
“O, what is that whimpering there in the darkness?
'Let him lie in my arms. He is breathing, I know.
Look. I'll wrap all my hair round his neck' - 'The sea's rising,
The boat must be lightened. He's dead. He must go.'” Connor voice rose and fell with the different speakers and Dinah eyed him warily when he met her gaze with fervor.
“See - quick - by that flash, where the bitter foam tosses,
The cloud of white faces, in the black open boat,
And the wild pleading woman that clasps her dead lover
And wraps her loose hair round his breast and his throat.
“'Come, lady, he's dead.' - 'No, I feel his heart beating,
He's living, I know. But he's numbed with the cold.
See, I'm wrapping my hair all around him to warm him.' -
- 'No. We can't keep the dead, dear. Come, loosen your hold.”
Dinah didn't like the parallels he was suggesting about herself. She wasn't a weak woman and Dinah Lance never let anyone call her a fool.
“'Come. Loosen your fingers.' - ' O God, let me keep him!' -”
But, damn him, damn Ollie, damn the whole fucking thing if he didn't have a point. She wasn't saying he was right, but he had a point. A sharp, cutting one.
“O, hide it, black night! Let the winds have their way!
And there are no voices or ghosts from that darkness,
To fret the bare seas at the breaking of day.” Connor finished, closing the book.
Dinah raised an eyebrow angrily, “So, what? I'm clinging to a dead man? I need to kick his cheating ass to the curb and leave him behind?”
Connor sighed and bit his lip, looking at his hands. “I think,” he began hesitently, reading how little she wanted to head what he thought. But, he pressed on, quiet and firm, “I think you're the dead man. Your life here, with cheating fiancees and rats that sue, in a city where you're afraid of everyone you meet.” He shook his head and just looked at her, like he did. Dinah always had a weakness for green eyes. “It used to be everything that matter to you. Now that it's dead, you're so desperate to be happy, you can't see holding on will kill you.”
Dinah didn't have anything to say to that.
Connor tucked his paperback in her hand and gave it a tight squeeze. “Just, I don't want you to hurt,” he explained.
Dinah didn't watch him leave, just stared at the cover of 'Alfred Noyes: The Highwayman and Other Poems'. Flipping through the book slowly, she scanned the words until she found the familiar passage. “'The sea's rising,” Dinah read aloud, “The boat must be lightened.”
With a heavy swallow, she bit her cheek and finished, “He's dead. He must go.'”
She stared at the shattered pieces of her cell on the bathroom floor. Connor'd said she needed to destroy something and Dinah was inclined to agree. This wasn't Ollie's fault. He was a self-serving asshole with enough egotisical arrogance under his belt to serve as his own life raft in his storm of celebrity. Dinah was the one who kept clinging to him in the hopes he'd take her with him. She clung to him, and her agent, and her publicist, and all the people who smiled at her and never really cared.
She was done depending on everyone else.
Dinah turned the page and laughed, reading aloud the first verse of 'Art', “'Yes! Beauty still rebels!'” She smiled, “Well, if that's not a sign, I'll be humped.”
And it was good.
Her heart hurt and she was bruised all over, but for the first time since she found her face plastered across the internet, Dinah Lance wasn't afraid. She smirked at her broken cell and decided her agent could wait until she found a pay phone. It didn't take more than a dime to tell someone 'I quit'.
The bathroom door was a daunting threshold to cross. Her resolve was strong as stone in perfect isolation, but it might turn to sand as soon as she opened the door. Sure enough, with the noise rushed in all the questions she didn't answer. What about her contract? How would she support herself when the record company sued her for breaking it? What would she do with herself? Did she really want to give up singing? Could she really escape all the prying eyes by leaving?
Desperately, Dinah pushed through the crowd and pulled a three dollar water bottle out of the fridge and ignored the line of magazines lining the way to the registers. Then, in the bin of chintzy souvenirs, a cheap child's harmonica caught her eye. God, when was the last time she'd picked up a harmonica? Dinah remembered driving her mother insane at home humming her grandfather's battered red harmonica along to the radio Walter Jacob's style. She'd spend all day in the floral shop listening to blues and playing, no matter how often her mother asked her to stop. Dinah was always happy then.
She was all about the happy now. That was the lesson of the day, wasn't it?
Dinah grabbed a harmonica and set it on the counter with her water and smiled. “That's all.”
Dinah wasn't weak. She'd figure it all out.
-
Three Years, Six Months, and Twenty-Seven Days Later
-
The day Connor met Dinah Lance, he ruined his father's life.
Ollie didn't know that, of course.
At first, Connor didn't know what he'd done, and when he did it was too late to change anything. Besides, Oliver Queen was a handsome, successful, approachable man. How was Connor to know he'd turn into an insufferable mess of colloquialisms and badly parroted parenting books? After finding Ollie shorthand notes in the margins, Connor was aware his father assumed his cultural disassociation had more to do with an incriminating psychological disorder than an atypical childhood separate from TV's and glossy advertisements.
It was shocking how insulted Connor was about the whole thing.
Taping his pencil against an empty page, Connor ran his tongue over his teeth thoughtfully. Things weren't going well. Ollie didn't have time to obsess over Connor's awkwardness anymore. Mia was gallivanting across Europe with some dubious teen idol last photographed making out with Emma Watson at some night club – Or so Ollie raged, waving some rag about the kitchen. Roy was still unconscious, sitting in Providence Charity General Hospital with a respirator monitoring his lungs and wires dangling from his temples while the doctors debated whether he'd wake and what to do about his amputated arm. Lian spent her days sitting next to her father reading the stack of books Connor brought.
Journalist snuck onto the property at inopportune times. The last one was filing against Ollie for breaking his nose. Connor was disappointed in his father. The bastard clearly deserved a shattered occipital bone for sifting through Roy's medical records. Even a broken jaw would keep his mouth wired shut for a month.
Connor was in Marceline, Missouri, to reclaim some of his sanity. If Dinah Lance was the cure to Ollie's overbearing suffocation, Connor was willing to barter his soul to bring her back. As he remembered, she was a reasonable woman. A short explanation about young love in the summer of '85 should smooth over any broken hearts. At least, he hoped so, or else he might be destined to spend the rest of his life in Dante's fifth circle of hell. He was feeling wrathful all the time, now.
He rubbed his eyes and gave up thinking for the moment. It wasn't getting him anywhere. Connor turned back to the open phone book and underlined the address for The Sherwood Florist. He jotted it down and tucked his notebook in the waistband of his track pants. Debating a shirt, Connor decided not to tempt the 'No shirt, no shoes, no service' policy and pulled on a light white tee. His cellphone flashed six missed calls. He didn't want to answer it. There was too much bad news waiting on the other end.
Connor tucked it in his pocket. He leaned on the wall while he pulled on his shoes and tied them tight. He told himself he was running because he hated to drive, which was true, but an absolutely lie. If he drove, Connor might do something stupid. He didn't know what type of stupid, but there was stupid lurking in every corner of his head and the best way to avoid it was to do something all consuming. Roy always said running let him thinks. Connor ran because it meant he couldn't.
The heavy Missouri air was thick with storm clouds. Rain rushed across the smooth hills in a drenching sheet and ended just as swiftly, leaving the streets clean and black. His shoes slapped methodically on the wet sidewalks, keeping beat with the blood pounding in his head. He followed the street signs four blocks south of The Lamplighter Motel and turn right, slowing to read the storefronts. Everything was old-fashioned, even the bright new sign for The Sherwood Florist. It was a large wooden sign with old English letters stenciled in white. Connor spared a moment for the rows of roses blooming in the window.
The door had a bell that laughed when he entered and Dinah Lance looked nothing like the picture Ollie kept on his bedside table. She'd gained weight; nothing drastic, but her sharp shoulders were soft and smooth and her face was more suited to smiling than smoldering CD covers. She wasn't wearing the artfully applied make-up and her hair was a soft honey blond curls instead of the bright platinum ponytail. It was odd seeing her in jeans.
She looked good.
“Hi,” She beamed, “Can I help you?” Dinah cocked her head and squinted long and hard while he took a deep breath and waited, “Connor?”
He flashed a quiet smile. It was ridiculous to be so happy she remembered him. “Dinah.”
“Oh my God!” She exclaimed, hopping the counter with energetic grace. Dinah swept him into a hug, “I can't believe it! What on Earth are you doing in Marceline?” Dinah was utterly disarming and Connor couldn't set his feet under him before she pulled him along into the backroom, pushing a set of teenagers out and waving him into a seat. “Coffee?” She asked, filling two cups before he could object, “How have you been?”
“I,” He took a deep breath and smiled tiredly.
She laughed, “Gotcha.” Dinah held out a mug, “You need this, then. I promise.”
Carefully, Connor took a sip and shot his eyebrows into the air. It was terrible. It was obvious Dinah was waiting for his reaction because she was a pile of giggles before he begin considering words. “Bet your problems don't seem so grim now, do they?” She teased.
Connor relied on his awkward smile again and Dinah sobered considerably. Taking the seat across from him, she set down her mug and propped her head on her hand, “Hey,” She crooned, “What's up?”
There were so many things to talk about, all the little things he'd ignored and pushed aside in the name of familial obligations, the interviews, the cameras, and speculation, but the first thing out of his mouth was a well-rehearsed, “I made a mistake.”
Fantastic. Just like he practiced.
Connor hated himself.
Dinah nodded, “Ok. How so?”
Connor looked away and chose to stare at the brown water stain in the far corner while he spoke. If he didn't have to see her, it would go just like he imagined, because Dinah was nothing like he remembered and if he had to count on her to follow his Rockwellian fantasy, he'd never make it. “I shouldn't have told you to leave. I was wrong. Ollie's a mess without you and he didn't cheat. There was no love child.” He winced, “Well, there was, but not like everyone assumed.”
“You're seriously telling me to dump the last three years of my life, return to my cheating asshole of an ex, and spend my life utterly miserable in too many spandex dresses while my fans speculate whether my diet plan is supervised or good ol' bulmia?”
Of course she'd say that. He predicted she'd say that. Why was this so hard?
Connor ran and hand through his hair. “Yes,” he pressed, “He needs you and I made a mistake. I never should have interfered because it ruined everything and if you'd just consider it, I'm sure you'll see I was wrong.”
Dinah held up a hand and stuck her tongue between her teeth. “Connor. I love you dearly, particularly for a man I knew for less than five minutes, but unless you start at the beginning and explain things in anything resembling a sensible manner, I'm going to rip your balls off and mail you back to Ollie in a plastic bag.”
He swallowed hard.
“Now, Connor.”
The beginning was easy. It didn't make any sense, but if he was direct she'd understand. “When we met, I was flying in to meet my father for the first time. My mother was a young hippy who ran off to a commune as soon as she found out she was pregnant. She never told my father and it wasn't until I was twenty-one she decided I needed to understand the rest of the world.” Connor played with the handle of his mug, “Oliver Queen is my father. I didn't know who you were or how your were related to my father. I didn't know what anyone was saying about me. I didn't know my father was famous.”
Dinah nodded, “Yeah, I know.”
Connor stopped, “What?”
She crooked an eyebrow, “Call me a stalker ex-girlfriend, but I did keep up on the Ollie Gossip after I split. It was hilarious.”
“But,” Connor stuttered, trying to figure his way out of his confusion. “Why didn't you come back, then?” That was why she left! All he had to do was fix this and everything would be better!
“Because Ollie was only the head of the dead man,” She explained simply. “My whole life was killing me, Connor. I didn't want it back. I still don't.”
“No,” Connor broke, slumping into his hands. She'd said no. He couldn't believe it. Except he always knew she would. It was a childish solution to an array of personal problems that Connor couldn't control. How had he convinced himself something so senseless could patch up the holes Ollie was ripping in his life? It was all Ollie's fault!
Wasn't it?
His mind whispered about Roy and nothing could make that Ollie's fault. It was an accident, one of many, and Connor couldn't make it better.
“Ok,” Dinah stood, petting his hair soothingly while she spoke firmly, “Why don't you tell me why you're really here?”
“I don't know,” Connor pleaded and it was the first honest thing he'd said in a very long time. He hadn't realized he was lying until he wasn't and it felt so good to tell the truth he couldn't stop. “I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know who I am or what I should do. I don't know who's hand to shake or what questions to answer. I can't talk to anyone without Ollie making excuses for me and I don't understand why he needs to excuse me in the first place, except anyone can see he does.”
Connor slammed his hand on the table and pulled out all the anger sitting inside, “I can't be strange, I can't be quiet, I can't be myself because I need to be Oliver Queen's son, and it's what I want more than anything in the world and he wants it too, but I don't know how! I don't know how. I can't convince Mia to stop abandoning herself to dubious boys who leave with her heart. I can't be Lian's father because I don't know how to make noodle necklaces or play house. I never lived in a house! The commune was made of sod and hay insulation!
“I can't be who they need and everything is wrong because of me!”
“Bullshit.”
Connor started out of his misery, glaring at Dinah's shameless rebuttal.
“You are obviously Ollie's son,” Dinah snapped, snatching his mug off the table and pouring it down the drain. “No one else would be so big-headed he'd think everything wrong with the world had to do with him. Guess what!” She exclaimed, shrugging widely, “The rest of the world is allowed to fuck up without your permission!”
“That's not what I meant,” Connor tried to say, but Dinah steamrolled ahead.
“Yes, it is,” She assured him. “Something's happened and it's all to do with you. Except it isn't. Too bad, so sad, you're not the center of the world, Connor Hawke, and that means it's not your fault.”
“But,” Connor insisted, “I should have been able to stop it.”
Dinah softened and made him look at her, “What exactly? Stop Mia? I've never met her, but any young woman headstrong enough to live in a house with Mr. Ego himself is too much for you to handle. She'll make her own mistakes and all you can do is be there when she needs you. Roy's injury lays on the head of the D-clamp manufacturer who skipped product testing and let weak metal onto the production lines and Ollie's already suing the asses off their business for it. Or,” Dinah laughed, “did you think you could stop Ollie? I'm not sure what you'd what to keep him from doing, but I'm sure the list is long and varied.”
He shrugged, “I don't know.”
“Because none of it's yours to fix,” Dinah told him. “You like to fix things and you do it well. You helped me. Saving my life didn't ruin Oliver Queen's. His cock blocker is his inability to recover from rejection.”
It was a novel idea, he supposed, denying responsibility. Connor spent so much of his life compensating for his mother's flighty nature he clung to everything and made it matter.
“I feel like I should quote some world-shattering poetry for you,” Dinah admitted ruefully, “but I'm not much of a reader.” She walked over to a cheap CD player and pressed play, “But maybe this will help.”
A soothing guitar strummed the introduction for a quiet male tenor,
“When you feel all alone
And the world has turned its back on you
Give me a moment please to tame your wild wild heart,”
Dinah wrapped her arms around his shoulders and tucked her chin into the hollow of his throat. He closed his eyes and let the words rush through him. They were so simple, he couldn't confuse the caring.
“If you need to fall apart
I can mend a broken heart
If you need to crash then crash and burn
You're not alone,”
He wasn't alone. In the last three years, Connor lost sight of that. He found himself standing in sinking sand and would reach out for the people who would help. Ollie cared, over-bearing as he was, and Roy would always take time to listen, if Connor would just talk to them. It was hard to do that. Talking meant he didn't have control.
With an extra squeeze, Dinah started to sing along with the words and Connor let go of his anger and just listened,“When you feel all alone
And a loyal friend is hard to find
You're caught in a one way street
With the monsters in your head
When hopes and dreams are far away and
You feel like you can't face the day
“Let me be the one you call
If you jump I'll break your fall
Lift you up and fly away with you into the night
If you need to fall apart
I can mend a broken heart
If you need to crash then crash and burn
You're not alone
'”Cause there has always been heartache and pain
And when it's over you'll breathe again
You'll breath again,” She kissed his temple and whispered, “It gets better, I promise. Just give yourself a little time to be what you are. Perfect is over-rated.”
Nodding slowly, Connor let himself unwind with the song. When it ended, he cleared his throat and offered wrly, “Insightful. I don't think that's Noyes.”
“Nope,” Dinah smiled, “Savage Garden.” She stood and pulled the CD out of the player, fishing it's case from the bedlam of plastic piled next to it. Then, she slid it across the table into his hands. “Take it. Give yourself some time to think. You're in Marceline. Did you know Disney based Disney World's Main Street on our little town?”
He didn't know much about Disney at all, to be honest, so he just shook his head.
“Then you're missing out. Go, poke around. There's a great Mexican place a couple blocks over. It's not that hard to find.”
He nodded.
“And if you ever want to talk, I'm still here.”
Connor believed her.
-
Dinah wasn't sure what she expected Connor Hawke to do with her advice, but coming back two hours later in a pair of blue jeans and hopping her counter so he could kiss her silly wasn't it. Not that she was complaining, because hot damn he could kiss, but wow.
Surprise!
“I might need you to hold me tonight,” He sang softly, trailing his finger softly down her nose and Dinah didn't care he was out of tune, “I might need you to say it's alright.” She leaned in to meet him again as he dropped into a whisper and closed his eyes, “I might need you to make the first stand, because tonight I'm finding it hard to be your man.”
“That's alright,” She promised, wrapping her arms around his neck with a smile, “I can do that.”
He smiled, the first real smile she'd ever seen, and damn if he wasn't gorgeous.
Then the moment was spectacularly ruined when Natasha dropped a vase and screamed. Dinah jumped and Connor moved away sheepishly ducking his head as he seemed to realized he was macking on her in clear view of the street.
“Oh my god!” Her stock girl shrieked, pointing an accusing finger between them. “That's Connor Hawke.” She bounced up and down embarrassingly and Dinah was going to check hiring standards and see if she couldn't fire the girl for killing the mood. “You were totally making-out with Connor Hawke, Dinah!”
“Yes, I was,” She said sharply.
Luckily, Natasha, while silly, wasn't without a brain. She turned bright red and dropped her jaw for a fishy moment before squeaking, “I'll, um, just go get a broom.”
“You do that,” Dinah agreed, sighing.
Connor was bright red and if she didn't do something soon he was going to spontaneously combust due to sheer mortification.
“Connor -”
“I'm sorry!” He blurted, waving his hands apologetically, “I don't know what I was thinking and I shouldn't have put you in that position. I'll be leaving tomorrow anyway, so-”
“Oh shut up!” Dinah snapped, stomping him into the counter, “If you're going to come in here and give my employees an aneurism, the least you could do is be consistent about it!” She put her hands on her hips. “Well?” Dinah demanded hotly, “Are you going to kiss me again or not!”
“I,” He blinked. “Yes,” Connor decided quickly, “Yes, I am.”
“Good,” Dinah agreed, “Because I'd have to throw a vase at you otherwise and Vanessa already broke the best one.”
Instead of a reply, Connor rested his forehead against hers with a goofy grin. Then he pressed his lips beneath her eyes and moved slowly down.
Dinah wasn't a patient woman, but sometimes it was nice to wait for the good things to come.
But, not too long.
Connor grunted when she threw him into the break room, but he didn't complain and he was entirely willing to help with her shirt.
-
Fic inspired by Ferras' 'Hollywood's Not America'. The poem used is Alfred Noyes 'An Open Boat. The songs used are Savage Garden's 'Crash and Burn' and 'Hold Me'.