They stay like that for two seconds.
“Uncle,” says Roy quietly, “but only ‘cause Lian’s napping.”
Dinah lets him up and he turns around to hug her – which she lets him, despite the dampness of his shoulder and the sickly sweet smell of baby vomit. Roy has a two-bedroom in Star City, but he uses it like a studio, with his arsenal in one bedroom, the nursery in the other, and a sofa-bed (currently a bed) in the main area. When she comes out of the hug, Dinah steps over a baby playmat to get to the tiled corner that serves as a kitchen.
“You’re well?” Dinah asks.
“Not bad. Worked late last night, looking forward to a couple of days off. How’s the new Justice League?”
Dinah pulls a face, which Roy probably can’t see because she’s facing the fridge and the beer within.
“Ugh, don’t ask. Never thought I’d meet a Green Lantern more annoying than Hal. Blue Beetle’s fun but - excuse the expression – green as hell. And Batman’s letting everyone get under his skin. It’s beginning to feel like Superhero day care. At least I’ve got J’Onn.”
Now topless, having pulled off his dirty shirt, Roy comes up behind her, and reaches under her arm for a beer of his own without waiting for her to move out of the way. Dinah turns to face him – there’s fresh bruising on his shoulder, and a stiffness in his hip, but he looks well.
“You need a vacation.”
“I’d be scared of the mess I’d come back to, to be honest,” Dinah says. She presses two knuckles into his bruise, to watch the strength of his reaction. “Getting sloppy, Arsenal, letting someone tag you like that.”
“Yeah, yeah, change the subject.” Roy grins at her. “You don’t have to offer a training session to get me to visit.”
“But it works so well.”
He laughs, and throws an arm around her to steer her back towards the living room, leaving her behind after a few seconds so he can turn his sofa bed back into a sofa.
“So, not like I don’t love seeing you, but there a reason for this visit?”
“Actually, yeah.” Dinah watches him put the bed away without offering to help (she’s the guest) and drinking her beer. “Any chance you could set a girl up with a machine gun?”
Kashwing! The couch rattles as Roy pushes the seat into place a bit too heavily. He turns and stares at her.
“You. Want. A Machine gun. Is Guy Gardner that irritating?”
“Oh yes,” Dinah assures him. “It’s not that, though. See – I’ve got this friend, who’s currently spending most of his time in war-torn nineteen forties Europe. He wants to kill Nazis, and I may have offered to renovate an old motorbike for him, with a gun mount on the sidecar.”
Roy is staring at her, his eyes positively sparkling.
“I wanna play!”
She shakes her head sadly, “Sorry, Roy. The time bubble I met him in is strictly invite only. But I do need a supplier.”
She leaves two hours later, with a heavy box strapped to the back of her Thunderbird (“Didn’t Firefly wreck this?” “I replaced it. Long story.”) within which is not only the parts she needs, but a long list of books on motorcycles in the military and the history of sidecar mounted machine guns, tucked in amongst pages and pages of Roy’s notes and scribblings.
Such a shame he can’t play with this, really.