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Dick's boots scraped against wet concrete as he turned onto their street. The rain had stopped an hour ago, but puddles still reflected the amber streetlights in broken fragments. His shoulder ached where he'd hit the fire escape wrong, and his knuckles stung from the fight with three muggers near the docks. All he wanted was a hot shower and whatever leftovers you'd saved him in the fridge.
The soft patter of claws on pavement made him glance down.
A puppy. Small, maybe twelve weeks old, with fur that might have been golden under all the mud. It matched his pace exactly, ears flopping with each step. No collar. The ribs showed through matted fur, but the tail moved in steady arcs behind it.
Dick stopped. The puppy stopped too, sitting immediately and tilting its head up at him. Dark eyes, too big for its face. Rain droplets clung to the whiskers around its muzzle.
"You following me?" Dick crouched, keeping his hands visible. The puppy's nose twitched as it processed his scent—probably catching traces of leather and whatever chemicals his suit had picked up tonight. Then it stood, took three careful steps forward, and pressed its wet nose against Dick's palm.
The contact was warm. Trusting. Dick had seen plenty of strays in Blüdhaven, most of them skittish and quick to bolt. This one leaned into his touch like it had been waiting for him specifically.
Dick looked up and down the empty street. No one calling for a lost pet. No posters on the light posts. Just him and this muddy scrap of fur that had apparently decided he was worth following.
"Alright." Dick scooped the puppy up, feeling how light it was against his chest. "But this is temporary, okay? Just until we figure out where you belong."
The puppy settled against his jacket without squirming. Dick could feel its heartbeat through the thin ribs, quick and steady.
He made it halfway up the front steps before he remembered the problem waiting inside.
You'd been clear about pets. Very clear. The conversation had come up three months ago when Mrs. Chen's cat had gotten into their fire escape again, and you'd found Dick trying to coax it inside with a can of tuna.
"We're not equipped for pets," you'd said, pulling the tuna away from him. "We barely keep ourselves fed on a regular schedule."
Dick had argued that cats were independent, that it would hardly change anything. You'd pointed out that he was gone four nights a week on patrol, that you worked double shifts at the hospital, that their apartment barely had room for two people let alone a litter box.
You'd been right, of course. You usually were about practical things. But the puppy in his arms didn't feel like a practical decision. It felt like something that had already happened, something that couldn't be undone.
Dick shifted the puppy to one arm and eased his key into the lock. The apartment was dark except for the blue glow from the kitchen—you'd left the coffee maker programmed for morning. You were probably already asleep. If he could just get to the bathroom, clean the puppy up, maybe set up something temporary in the closet...
The front door creaked.
Dick winced. He'd been meaning to oil those hinges for weeks. The puppy's ears perked up at the sound, and it let out a soft whine.
"Shh." Dick stepped inside, closing the door with deliberate care. The apartment smelled like the pasta you'd made for dinner and the vanilla candle you always lit when you were stressed about work. Normal. Safe. He just had to make it down the hall without—
"Dick?"
Your voice came from the bedroom doorway. Dick froze, one foot on the hardwood that always creaked near the kitchen. In his arms, the puppy shifted and made a small noise that was definitely not human.
Light flooded the hallway. You stood there in the old Gotham University t-shirt you slept in, hair messed from the pillow, squinting against the sudden brightness. Your eyes tracked from his face down to the bundle in his arms.
Dick watched you process what you were seeing. The muddy pawprints he'd tracked across the floor. The way he was holding something small and warm against his chest. The guilty expression he could feel spreading across his face.
"Dick." Your voice was flat now. "What is that?"
The puppy chose that moment to poke its head up, ears perked and tail starting that hopeful wag again. It looked at you with those same dark eyes that had undone Dick on the street.
Dick's mind scrambled for an explanation that might work. "It's... well, you see..."
"It's a puppy."
"Technically—"
"It's a puppy, Dick."
The puppy barked once, bright and cheerful, and immediately squirmed out of Dick's arms. It hit the floor running, skidding on the hardwood as it made a beeline straight for you. Muddy paws left prints on your bare legs as it tried to climb up your shins.
You looked down at it, then back at Dick. "Where did you get a puppy?"
"I didn't get it. It got me." Dick stepped closer, reading the set of your shoulders. You weren't yelling, which was good. But you weren't smiling either. "It was following me home. Look at it—it's half-starved. I couldn't just leave it out there."
You were quiet for a long moment, studying the puppy that was now chewing on the hem of your shirt. Dick had learned to read your silences over the past two years. This one was calculating, weighing options he couldn't see.
"We talked about this," you said finally.
"I know."
"We don't have space."
"We could make space."
"We don't have time."
"We'd figure it out."
You picked up the puppy, holding it at arm's length. It dangled there happily, tail still going. Dick caught the exact moment your expression shifted—not to anger, but to something more complicated. The same look you got when you had to discharge patients who couldn't afford their medications.
"It needs a bath," you said.
Dick blinked. "What?"
"It's covered in mud and probably fleas. If it's staying the night, it needs a bath." You tucked the puppy against your chest, and Dick saw its tail speed up. "The pet store on Fifth Street opens at eight. We'll need food, bowls, a collar. Toys, probably. And we're calling the animal shelter tomorrow to see if anyone reported it missing."
Dick stared at you. "So... we're keeping it?"
"We're keeping it overnight. Tomorrow we figure out what comes next." You were already walking toward the bathroom, the puppy contentedly licking your chin. "And Dick?"
"Yeah?"
"Next time you want to adopt a stray, maybe mention it before you track mud through our apartment."
Dick grinned, following you down the hall. Through the bathroom doorway, he could see you testing the water temperature while the puppy investigated the bathtub with intense curiosity.
"So what do we call it?" he asked.
You glanced back at him, and Dick caught the smile you were trying to hide. "Let's see if it survives the night first."
The puppy barked again, and Dick decided that sounded like a yes.