The campsite was simple yet serene, nestled beside a slow-moving river. The sound of water lapping against the bank and the occasional chirping of birds created an atmosphere of peace—something that had been rare in Richard's life lately.
He set down the camping supplies and pulled out his fishing gear, sighing heavily as he cast his line into the water. His spirit felt drained, not from physical exhaustion but from the mental toll of fighting a war that never seemed to end.
Being a hero wasn't about fame or recognition. It wasn't about being celebrated or admired. It was about saving lives, about protecting those who couldn't protect themselves. And yet, the system they fought under seemed designed to break them.
Villains ran rampant, their crimes growing bolder. The government, instead of eliminating the threat, played politics, manipulating public perception to shift the blame onto heroes. If they failed to stop a villain, the public demanded to know why. If they succeeded but the villain lived, they were accused of not doing enough. But if they killed a villain? They became criminals themselves.
It was a never-ending cycle of hypocrisy. And Richard hated it.
He ran a hand through his short black hair, frustration boiling beneath the surface. If only we could do what was necessary… But they couldn't. The moment they crossed that line, they would become what they fought against.
Beside him, Barbara sat down with a soft grunt, adjusting the ponytail that swung behind her. She was sharp, quick-witted, and unafraid to speak her mind. The daughter of a police commissioner, she had seen the flaws of the system up close her entire life.
"I suppose that's a rhetorical question," she mused in response to his groan. "But the answer you're looking for is corruption, fear, and selfishness. If the government actually did its job and took care of criminals instead of trying to use them, we wouldn't have to carry this burden."
Richard chuckled, though there was no humor in it. "That's an ideal world. A world where we'd work together instead of fighting a battle on two fronts." He shook his head. "But let's not talk about it. My mood will just get worse."
Barbara nodded, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "Fair enough."
The truth was, both of them understood how deep the rot went. The government didn't want the heroes running unchecked. They feared them—feared their power, their influence. But instead of supporting them, they sought control. The police were underfunded, ill-equipped to handle the evolving threats of their world. Meta-humans, aliens, and supernatural beings were a reality, yet the authorities still treated them like an anomaly.
The so-called 'solutions' were just power plays. Suicide Squad, Justice League of America, Team 7—groups built not for justice but for control. A safety net, just in case the real heroes stepped out of line.
Barbara let out a sigh of her own, stretching her arms before turning to Richard with a mischievous glint in her eye. "So," she said, leaning toward him slightly. "How's your relationship going after you rejected my confession?"
Richard nearly dropped his fishing rod. His eyes darted to her, meeting her teasing gaze.
"Really? You just had to bring that up?" he muttered, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
Barbara smirked. "Of course. I have a right to know if my heartbreak was worth it."
Richard sighed. This wasn't a conversation he had planned to have today. But then again, with Barbara, things never really went as planned.
Richard exhaled sharply, staring at the rippling water before him. The weight in his chest that he had buried long ago pressed down once more. He hadn't come out here to talk about this, but Barbara had a way of breaking down his defenses, whether he liked it or not.
"It's not going," he finally admitted, voice low.
Barbara raised an eyebrow. "Not going? Meaning you're still not over her?"
Richard let out a bitter chuckle. "How do you just 'get over' something like that?" His fingers tightened around the fishing rod, but he wasn't really focused on it anymore. "I thought I meant something to her. I thought I was enough. But apparently, I was the one with the problem."
Barbara's teasing expression faded. She turned slightly to face him, listening intently.
"She told me she loved me," Richard continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "Said I was important to her. But in her culture, love wasn't tied to exclusivity. She didn't think it was a betrayal." He shook his head, a hollow laugh escaping his lips. "She actually expected me to be okay with it. That was the worst part. She didn't cheat, because in her mind, she never did anything wrong."
Barbara's jaw clenched. She had never been the biggest fan of Starfire, but she had never imagined something like this.
"I tried to understand," Richard admitted. "I tried to tell myself that it wasn't the same for her. That maybe I was just being selfish, or insecure. But I couldn't do it. I couldn't accept it. The thought of her with someone else—just giving herself to others while telling me she loved me—it broke me, Babs." His voice was strained now, raw with emotion. "And the worst part? She wanted me to change. She wanted me to be okay with it. She wanted me to just—" He stopped, exhaling heavily.
Barbara remained silent, watching him as his grip on the fishing rod turned white-knuckled.
"I walked away," he finally muttered. "I had to." He looked up at the sky, as if searching for an answer. "But even now, I can't stop thinking about her. I know I made the right choice, but it doesn't make it hurt any less."
Barbara swallowed, feeling a mix of emotions she wasn't sure how to process. She had known Richard for years. She had seen him at his highest and lowest, but this? This was a pain she couldn't fix with a joke or a sarcastic remark.
"You did the right thing," she said softly.
Richard scoffed. "Then why does it still feel like I lost?"
"Because you did," she admitted. "You lost someone you loved. And no matter how justified it was, losing someone like that hurts."
They sat in silence for a long moment, the sound of water filling the space between them. Barbara, without thinking, reached over and placed a hand over his.
"You're not broken, Richard," she said. "You just got burned by someone who couldn't love you the way you needed. And that's not your fault."
Richard turned his hand over slightly, just enough so that their fingers brushed. He looked at her, really looked at her, for the first time in a long time.
"Thanks, Babs," he murmured.
Barbara gave him a small smile, squeezing his hand lightly before pulling away. "Anytime, Boy Wonder."
For the first time that night, Richard felt like maybe—just maybe—he could breathe again.
The silence stretched between them, comfortable yet heavy with unspoken thoughts. The fire crackled softly beside them, casting a warm glow against the darkening sky. The rhythmic lapping of the river was oddly soothing, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Richard didn't feel like he was suffocating under the weight of his thoughts.
Barbara, ever observant, could see the turmoil still lingering in his eyes. She had seen him at his best—confident, determined, unshakable. But she had also seen him at his worst, when the world had knocked him down one too many times. And right now, he was just Richard, a man trying to find his way through the wreckage of his own heart.
"So," she started, shifting slightly to face him, "are you ever going to consider dating again, or are you planning to become a brooding bachelor for the rest of your life?"
Richard let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. "I don't know, Babs. It's not that simple. I can't just… flip a switch and move on."
"I know," she said gently, resting her chin on her knee as she watched him. "But that doesn't mean you have to stay stuck either."
Richard sighed, rubbing his temples. "It's just… I don't think I can go through that again. Loving someone, trusting them, only to realize we see the world completely differently. What if I'm just not cut out for relationships?"
Barbara gave him a look. "Oh, please. That's the most dramatic thing I've ever heard you say."
He huffed, shaking his head. "I'm serious, Babs."
"So am I." She sat up straighter, her expression softening. "Richard, you're not incapable of love. You just got hurt. And yeah, it was bad, but that doesn't mean there isn't something—or someone—better out there for you."
She hesitated for a moment before finally saying what had been lingering in her mind for years.
"What if that someone has been right beside you this whole time?"
Richard blinked, turning to look at her fully. "Babs…"
Barbara shrugged, playing it off like it was nothing, though there was a nervous edge to her voice. "Look, I'm not saying you have to make a decision right now. I'm just saying… maybe you've been looking so hard for something big and life-changing that you never noticed what was already here."
Richard opened his mouth, then closed it.
Barbara had always been there. Always. She had been his best friend, his confidant, the person who called him out on his bullshit but also had his back when no one else did. She had never pressured him, never made him feel like he had to be someone else. With her, he could just be.
And for the first time, he really looked at her.
Her long red hair framed her face in the firelight, her emerald eyes filled with warmth and something else—something he had never allowed himself to acknowledge before. She was beautiful, but more than that, she was Barbara. Strong, smart, fierce, and someone who had always understood him.
The realization hit him like a punch to the gut.
He was attracted to her. He always had been.
He had just been too caught up in everything else to see it.
His heart pounded as he searched her face, looking for any sign that this was some kind of joke. But there was nothing but sincerity in her eyes.
"You… you really mean that?" he asked, his voice quieter now.
Barbara smiled, a little nervous but unwavering. "Yeah, I do."
Richard exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. This wasn't something he had expected, but now that it was out there, he couldn't ignore it. He did feel something. He always had.
And maybe… just maybe… it was worth exploring.
He gave her a small, almost shy smile. "You know, Babs… I think I might have been blind this whole time."
She smirked. "You definitely have been. But I forgive you."
Richard chuckled, feeling lighter than he had in months.
For the first time in a long time, he wasn't just looking at the past.
He was looking at her.
And suddenly, the future didn't seem so lonely after all.