Bruce knew this would happen. Perhaps not as quickly as it does, but all of the signs were there. He didn't doubt Tim might have felt things were left unresolved because Bruce left him to sleep off the rest of the gas in his safe house. It would fester because there could be no mistaking what they'd done. Not that Bruce would ever deny it. He couldn't. It's all he's thought about since.
He's in his office when his secretary tells him he has a guest. Bruce doesn't have to guess who it is. He doesn't check the security feeds, doesn't shuffle a single paper on his desk. He already knows exactly who's walking through the door.
So Bruce doesn't even bother to look up to greet him. He just says, calm as anything,
It's not often that Tim feels this angry. This hurt. This betrayed.
This---used.
Waking up in an empty safehouse after being ravaged by his former mentor wasn't in this year's bingo card. Or any year's bingo card since he'd been under the man's literal wing as a teenager. Then, it had been easy to romanticize what it could be, how close they could become, but now, Tim was older. Wiser, or so he'd thought.
In a tailored suit like he wears any time he shows up at Wayne Enterprises to lead meetings or attend specific demonstrations or be photographed at Bruce's side like the perfect poster child of a son, Tim walks in, offering the secretary a warm smile and a sincere thanks for her help. He watches her go, and the second the door closes, his picture perfect smile is gone, replaced by a hurt boy's expression as he turns to face Bruce.
When Bruce looks up at last, it's to take in the sight of Tim and how he looks in his perfectly tailored suit. Perfectly immaculate, like he's come to expect. But admiring Tim isn't the only reason he looks. He had to make sure there were no lingering effects of Ivy's toxin.
It gets him to stand up, silent as he closes the distance to examine him. No pupil dilation. Breathing steady. He'd check his heart rate if he didn't think Tim would swat his hand away.
So he keeps his hands to himself. For now.
"Then what brings you?"
A question he knew the answer to. But he wants to hear it from Tim's mouth.
"What brings me." Tim has just enough gas in the tank currently to be
upright, the toxin having bled out of him over the past twenty four hours
and his body left exhausted and sluggish and aching. Especially in his
lower back. In his hips.
Inside his body.
"What brings---" He has to take a breath in, to hold his ground as Bruce
looks at him like some prized bitch in the show ring. "You had the antidote
the entire time. That's why I'm here. You---" Another breath, so angry it's
difficult to speak as calmly as he usually does. "I need to know. If you
were infected with the toxin too when you got me."
It would be so easy to just say yes, wouldn't it? To lie and make Tim think maybe Bruce hadn't been entirely in control of himself. But it wasn't the truth and if Tim spent even a modicum of time thinking about it, he'd see it. Bruce could chance the lie, or stick with the truth and work the situation out to his advantage anyway. He only had a moment to choose an option and accept what came after.
"Why don't you come sit down and we can talk. You look tired."
Deflection. At least it would buy him a little bit of time.
"I look---Bruce." Tim can't hold back the annoyance. He knows
exactly what Bruce is trying to do. It's something he knows he learned from
him. Deflection is key when you don't want to give necessary information
out. It's useful against goons, even the police.
Or apparently former partners.
"You really---you fucked up. You know that don't you? And you're just going
to--what? Buy me lunch?"
He takes in Tim's annoyance and doesn't seem all that bothered to be caught trying to control the conversation. Of course Tim would figure it out. He'd worked with Bruce enough to see it and knew how to rebel against it.
Sometimes, Bruce liked it when Tim pushed back. Right then? It's just kind of irritating, grating like an incessant headache set up behind his eyes. Bruce slides his hands into his pockets.
"Or dinner, if that's what you prefer."
Flippancy wouldn't do him any favors and he knows that. So he softens, as much as a man like Bruce can. The edge in his voice dulls, replaced with something quieter. Almost tender. "Tim, you enjoyed it as much as I did."
Tim is quiet after that, his mouth working but nothing coming out, his face
blotching red because he can't deny it. Or at least Bruce will know it's a
lie, and that's almost worse. He wants to scream a little, or throw a
punch. Why can't he be like Jason and not give a shit?
"I was drugged out of my mind," he says, evenly. "You knew that. I told
you. I---" Don't get emotional. Be strong. Steady. Even now, he's thinking
he doesn't want to let Bruce down. "I need you at least to say you're
sorry." He swallowed, knowing just how pathetic he sounded. How
inexperienced. Young. Stupid.
There's some part of Bruce that wants to reach out and touch him. A hand on his shoulder, maybe. Grounding and reassuring. Or a gentle brush of his fingers over Tim's cheek to see if Bruce could smooth some of that anger away through his touch alone. Crowd him in so Tim couldn't see anything but Bruce, so he'd have no choice but to focus on him.
"You were given the antidote." Even if it had come too little too late. What happened in the safehouse had not been all of Ivy's toxin. They both knew that. But it's leverage. Maybe the only bit Bruce has in this conversation.
"Is that really what you want, Tim?" His voice stays low, steady and even. "For me to regret it? Pretend it meant nothing?"
"It would be nice to know you give a single shit about me outside of just
wanting to control me." The words slip out, and Tim wishes he could sink
into the floor with how hot it makes him. Embarrassed to be out of control
in Bruce's presence, even though it's Bruce's fault. He grits his teeth,
fists balled at his sides. Not so unlike Jason after all, maybe.
"I would not have come for you at all if I didn't care." He would have left Tim to face the consequences alone. And in reality, he should have. Tim had no business going into Ivy's territory. Not alone. Not without backup. Bruce should have let him learn this lesson the hard way. But he didn't, because he cared. "I'm not trying to control you. I am trying to keep you safe." Maybe to Tim it's a distinction without a difference. To Bruce, they were miles apart.
"If you cared, you would have given me the antidote without waiting for me
to bend over." Tim knows he's out of line, but at the same time, is he?
Bruce is good at twisting things, and Tim always wants to give him the
benefit of the doubt. "We were on the roof, Bruce. In public."
It's enough to push Bruce forward. To close up the space like he wants so he can reach for Tim, skate his fingers over his neck where he can feel his heartbeat. Then higher. To the back of his neck, so he can run his thumb over the swell of Tim's cheek. Over the sharp line of his jaw. He just wants to feel him before Tim pushes him away again.
Bruce's hand must feel so heavy there.
"I wanted to take care of you, Tim. That's all I ever wanted." He makes it sound so benign, the way he says it. Quiet, low and deep. Like the words are being pulled from a warm place. In some ways they are. "You've been pushing me away. I just wanted to be close to you.
The touch--- It isn't fair. It makes Tim second guess things. It wasn't
like he didn't know how Bruce felt before all this, and it wasn't like he'd
never had daydreams about it. Maybe this was just inevitable in some way.
But it's not. It wasn't. Bruce could have stopped things well before they
started. Could have cared for Tim in any number of more paternal ways.
And he was using Tim's own conflicted feelings against him right now. Using
his touch on Tim's starved skin to light him up, and it was---
They were on a collision course. Ever since that first furtive glance. After Bruce let that first dark thought linger. It was inevitable, unavoidable. Because for however long Bruce could keep it buried, only gave whatever this thing was between them time to fester. To grow into something dangerous and maybe a little out of control. Bruce could reign it in, but at this point? He didn't want to.
Tim doesn't push him away, so Bruce steps in closer, swallowing the rest of the space between them into nothing. He could kiss Tim if he wanted. "I just want you to let me in. Let me take care of you."
Tim hates this. Hates the tone of his voice, how pitched it is, how Bruce will know exactly what it means. Why his breath is stilted and his pulse is racing and there's heat pulsing through him. How Bruce will see right through him.
"I'm not--- I'm my own person now. You can't just show up and expect me to let you in, when we both know this is about control. You not liking when I step too far from your gaze."
Tim's heart races under Bruce's palm and there's a deep sense of triumph that doesn't reach the restrained, almost neutral lines of Bruce's expression. Tim's breath hitches too and he wants to lean in for that kiss. Wants to steal all of the air out of Tim's lungs.
Wants to make it so Tim couldn't breathe without him.
"You are, Tim. I never said you weren't. That you couldn't be. But you won't talk to me. So can you blame me for being concerned?" He says, voice deliberate with each word.
"When I see you going into Ivy's without back up? Or when you're drinking yourself sick in a night club." He shakes his head just once, barely.
"How should I react? Pretend like it didn't happen?"
"I can handle myself," he says, swallowing down the urge to lean into Bruce's knowing, familiar, protective touch. A physical swallow too, feeling Bruce's massive hand at his throat, only further reminding him of the last time that hand had been there. How big it had felt. Suffocating, but in a way that had him hard and hot for it. "That thing with Ivy-- that was an anomaly. You know how prepared I always am, you trained me, I don't go in without any thought. And I don't--"
A pause. Did Bruce know about him at the clubs? Or was he just testing him? Poking until he found something to pry into? Fuck. No. He knew, didn't he? Of course he did. Bruce knew everything.
"The more you stalk me, the less I want to be around you, you know. If you care about me, you'll let me stray further than your arm's reach."
Was it stalking? Bruce doesn't like the word. It's too predatory. Too personal. But if anyone else were to do what he'd been doing - watching Tim's place, noting the pattern of lights flicking on and off. Logging his comings and goings, like a puzzle he was trying to solve - Bruce might have called it just that.
He knew Tim's routine well enough that he could guess where he'd be at any given hour and typically be correct. Not always. But usually.
But Bruce wouldn't call it stalking. He did not sit in the cave and monitor all of the ways he had set up to track him. It's vigilance. A way to ensure Tim is safe without interfering. His hand tightens, enough to be noticeable.
"Then how do you know about me drinking myself stupid at the bars and
clubs, Bruce? Nobody knows about that. Not even my friends." Especially not
his friends. Kon probably knew, or would if he paid attention, but that was
only because he had super senses. Dick didn't know. Bernard didn't know.
Barbara didn't know. Nobody but Bruce.
He swallowed around the tightened hold, testing it, staying still and
practically daring Bruce to strangle him right there in the middle of his
office at lunchtime. God, after what Bruce did, that shouldn't be so hot.
"I know how you operate. I know you have a tracker on me. You know my
movements too, don't you? That's why you were so close to Ivy's." He sets
his jaw, tight and stern. "Maybe you let me go in there alone so she'd drug
me."
It feels like a slap in the face. All of that time and energy poured into keeping Tim safe from his own bad decisions thrown into his face. The ungratefulness stings. It makes Bruce angry. So does Tim's defiance and if Bruce were anyone else, maybe he would have strangled Tim in the middle of his office at lunchtime.
But Bruce isn't anyone else. He is restrained layers of self-control. He is brutal self-discipline. So he doesn't strangle him. Or raise his voice, even if yelling might have made him feel better. Just breathes in once, sharp and slow. Then exhales. Looks away for a moment as if he's trying to collect himself. Maybe shove that fury back down where it belongs.
"You don't have to like how I did it. But don't you dare accuse me of doing it to hurt you.
"Right. Because you'd never hurt me?" Tim remains still, another dare to
see if Bruce would break. And then, Tim's the one who does, swatting
Bruce's hand from him and looking down at his shoes. "I need some space. I
need you to keep your distance. Can you do that or not?"
Bruce could see it coming, Tim slapping his hand away. Could have countered it easily. Could have caught him by the wrist and held him until he gave in. But he simply let's it fall by his side, face grim, unreadable except for the thin thread of resignation in his eyes. "If that's what you want, Tim."
That did not mean Bruce would comply. Not when it wasn't what Tim needed. Bruce knows what Tim needs. He knows everything. Tim would think the worst of him anyway. Would take all of that care and concern and twist it into something ugly. If Tim needed his space, Bruce would let him think he had it. And be ready to take him back when Tim realizes there's no one out there who'd satisfy him. Not like Bruce can.
"So much for lunch," Tim grumbles, shoulders sinking and somehow coming
away from the whole altercation feeling like he was in the wrong.
That was the thing with Bruce though; he was an expert in many things, and
manipulation was key among them. If he wanted Tim feeling guilty, then
that's how Tim would feel. It's inevitable---and really annoying to boot.
Still, he hesitates, just a moment longer.
"While I'm here, can you just assure me you wiped all surveillance of that
night?" The last thing they needed was anyone getting a hold of CCTV
footage of Batman and his former Robin fucking on a rooftop.
Bruce stops mid-stride back to his desk then turns to look at Tim, his sagging shoulders. Part of him thinks it'd be best to just send Tim on his way. Let him think whatever he wants about any surveillance footage that may exist of them.
"If you're hungry, we can have lunch. I just thought you wanted space."
Emphasis on space, to remind Tim this is what he asked for. Distance from him and from all of the changes in their relationship.
"That's---not the point, Bruce." Tim's face flushes a little. The way Bruce
says it makes it sound like a home movie he's going to have on repeat in
private or something, hoarding the footage from the world. It's not exactly
making Tim feel any better about the whole thing, knowing there's any kind
of footage of that night. Of how desperate he looked. How he acted. "It
should be destroyed."
He says flatly, like he's stating a fact. Like he's commenting on the weather or asking for the score from the game last night. Impersonal. Like it's not rotting something vital inside of him.
"No one will see it, Tim. Because it doesn't exist."
"....Right." Tim doesn't trust him, not on this front, not when he's certainly seen Bruce hold onto worse things that he considered important to The Cause without considering its importance to the actual person it depicted. Usually, Tim could let it slide, since it had nothing to do with him, and it was always for the greater good, but this...
If Bruce had even a second of it... It was like keeping a piece of Tim hostage.
"I trust you, Bruce," he adds, quietly. "Thank you." And then he's leaving, because he does want space, doesn't he? He demanded it. So why does he feel so incredibly hollow without Bruce?
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theknightshift) wrote2025-07-10 09:31 pm
no subject
He's in his office when his secretary tells him he has a guest. Bruce doesn't have to guess who it is. He doesn't check the security feeds, doesn't shuffle a single paper on his desk. He already knows exactly who's walking through the door.
So Bruce doesn't even bother to look up to greet him. He just says, calm as anything,
โHello, Tim. Come to join me for lunch?โ
no subject
This---used.
Waking up in an empty safehouse after being ravaged by his former mentor wasn't in this year's bingo card. Or any year's bingo card since he'd been under the man's literal wing as a teenager. Then, it had been easy to romanticize what it could be, how close they could become, but now, Tim was older. Wiser, or so he'd thought.
In a tailored suit like he wears any time he shows up at Wayne Enterprises to lead meetings or attend specific demonstrations or be photographed at Bruce's side like the perfect poster child of a son, Tim walks in, offering the secretary a warm smile and a sincere thanks for her help. He watches her go, and the second the door closes, his picture perfect smile is gone, replaced by a hurt boy's expression as he turns to face Bruce.
"Lunch wasn't on my mind, no."
no subject
It gets him to stand up, silent as he closes the distance to examine him. No pupil dilation. Breathing steady. He'd check his heart rate if he didn't think Tim would swat his hand away.
So he keeps his hands to himself. For now.
"Then what brings you?"
A question he knew the answer to. But he wants to hear it from Tim's mouth.
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"What brings me." Tim has just enough gas in the tank currently to be upright, the toxin having bled out of him over the past twenty four hours and his body left exhausted and sluggish and aching. Especially in his lower back. In his hips.
Inside his body.
"What brings---" He has to take a breath in, to hold his ground as Bruce looks at him like some prized bitch in the show ring. "You had the antidote the entire time. That's why I'm here. You---" Another breath, so angry it's difficult to speak as calmly as he usually does. "I need to know. If you were infected with the toxin too when you got me."
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"Why don't you come sit down and we can talk. You look tired."
Deflection. At least it would buy him a little bit of time.
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"I look---Bruce." Tim can't hold back the annoyance. He knows exactly what Bruce is trying to do. It's something he knows he learned from him. Deflection is key when you don't want to give necessary information out. It's useful against goons, even the police.
Or apparently former partners.
"You really---you fucked up. You know that don't you? And you're just going to--what? Buy me lunch?"
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Sometimes, Bruce liked it when Tim pushed back. Right then? It's just kind of irritating, grating like an incessant headache set up behind his eyes. Bruce slides his hands into his pockets.
"Or dinner, if that's what you prefer."
Flippancy wouldn't do him any favors and he knows that. So he softens, as much as a man like Bruce can. The edge in his voice dulls, replaced with something quieter. Almost tender. "Tim, you enjoyed it as much as I did."
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Tim is quiet after that, his mouth working but nothing coming out, his face blotching red because he can't deny it. Or at least Bruce will know it's a lie, and that's almost worse. He wants to scream a little, or throw a punch. Why can't he be like Jason and not give a shit?
"I was drugged out of my mind," he says, evenly. "You knew that. I told you. I---" Don't get emotional. Be strong. Steady. Even now, he's thinking he doesn't want to let Bruce down. "I need you at least to say you're sorry." He swallowed, knowing just how pathetic he sounded. How inexperienced. Young. Stupid.
no subject
"You were given the antidote." Even if it had come too little too late. What happened in the safehouse had not been all of Ivy's toxin. They both knew that. But it's leverage. Maybe the only bit Bruce has in this conversation.
"Is that really what you want, Tim?" His voice stays low, steady and even. "For me to regret it? Pretend it meant nothing?"
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"It would be nice to know you give a single shit about me outside of just wanting to control me." The words slip out, and Tim wishes he could sink into the floor with how hot it makes him. Embarrassed to be out of control in Bruce's presence, even though it's Bruce's fault. He grits his teeth, fists balled at his sides. Not so unlike Jason after all, maybe.
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"If you cared, you would have given me the antidote without waiting for me to bend over." Tim knows he's out of line, but at the same time, is he? Bruce is good at twisting things, and Tim always wants to give him the benefit of the doubt. "We were on the roof, Bruce. In public."
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Bruce's hand must feel so heavy there.
"I wanted to take care of you, Tim. That's all I ever wanted." He makes it sound so benign, the way he says it. Quiet, low and deep. Like the words are being pulled from a warm place. In some ways they are. "You've been pushing me away. I just wanted to be close to you.
no subject
The touch--- It isn't fair. It makes Tim second guess things. It wasn't like he didn't know how Bruce felt before all this, and it wasn't like he'd never had daydreams about it. Maybe this was just inevitable in some way. But it's not. It wasn't. Bruce could have stopped things well before they started. Could have cared for Tim in any number of more paternal ways.
And he was using Tim's own conflicted feelings against him right now. Using his touch on Tim's starved skin to light him up, and it was---
So unfair.
Tim's heart flutters.
Unfair.
"Are you expecting me to thank you?"
I'm sorry Tim
Tim doesn't push him away, so Bruce steps in closer, swallowing the rest of the space between them into nothing. He could kiss Tim if he wanted. "I just want you to let me in. Let me take care of you."
Bruce is the worst and I love him
Tim hates this. Hates the tone of his voice, how pitched it is, how Bruce will know exactly what it means. Why his breath is stilted and his pulse is racing and there's heat pulsing through him. How Bruce will see right through him.
"I'm not--- I'm my own person now. You can't just show up and expect me to let you in, when we both know this is about control. You not liking when I step too far from your gaze."
Me too.
Wants to make it so Tim couldn't breathe without him.
"You are, Tim. I never said you weren't. That you couldn't be. But you won't talk to me. So can you blame me for being concerned?" He says, voice deliberate with each word.
"When I see you going into Ivy's without back up? Or when you're drinking yourself sick in a night club." He shakes his head just once, barely.
"How should I react? Pretend like it didn't happen?"
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A pause. Did Bruce know about him at the clubs? Or was he just testing him? Poking until he found something to pry into? Fuck. No. He knew, didn't he? Of course he did. Bruce knew everything.
"The more you stalk me, the less I want to be around you, you know. If you care about me, you'll let me stray further than your arm's reach."
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He knew Tim's routine well enough that he could guess where he'd be at any given hour and typically be correct. Not always. But usually.
But Bruce wouldn't call it stalking. He did not sit in the cave and monitor all of the ways he had set up to track him. It's vigilance. A way to ensure Tim is safe without interfering. His hand tightens, enough to be noticeable.
"I am not stalking you, Tim."
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"Then how do you know about me drinking myself stupid at the bars and clubs, Bruce? Nobody knows about that. Not even my friends." Especially not his friends. Kon probably knew, or would if he paid attention, but that was only because he had super senses. Dick didn't know. Bernard didn't know. Barbara didn't know. Nobody but Bruce.
He swallowed around the tightened hold, testing it, staying still and practically daring Bruce to strangle him right there in the middle of his office at lunchtime. God, after what Bruce did, that shouldn't be so hot.
"I know how you operate. I know you have a tracker on me. You know my movements too, don't you? That's why you were so close to Ivy's." He sets his jaw, tight and stern. "Maybe you let me go in there alone so she'd drug me."
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But Bruce isn't anyone else. He is restrained layers of self-control. He is brutal self-discipline. So he doesn't strangle him. Or raise his voice, even if yelling might have made him feel better. Just breathes in once, sharp and slow. Then exhales. Looks away for a moment as if he's trying to collect himself. Maybe shove that fury back down where it belongs.
"You don't have to like how I did it. But don't you dare accuse me of doing it to hurt you.
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"Right. Because you'd never hurt me?" Tim remains still, another dare to see if Bruce would break. And then, Tim's the one who does, swatting Bruce's hand from him and looking down at his shoes. "I need some space. I need you to keep your distance. Can you do that or not?"
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That did not mean Bruce would comply. Not when it wasn't what Tim needed. Bruce knows what Tim needs. He knows everything. Tim would think the worst of him anyway. Would take all of that care and concern and twist it into something ugly. If Tim needed his space, Bruce would let him think he had it. And be ready to take him back when Tim realizes there's no one out there who'd satisfy him. Not like Bruce can.
"You're free to go."
no subject
"So much for lunch," Tim grumbles, shoulders sinking and somehow coming away from the whole altercation feeling like he was in the wrong. That was the thing with Bruce though; he was an expert in many things, and manipulation was key among them. If he wanted Tim feeling guilty, then that's how Tim would feel. It's inevitable---and really annoying to boot.
Still, he hesitates, just a moment longer.
"While I'm here, can you just assure me you wiped all surveillance of that night?" The last thing they needed was anyone getting a hold of CCTV footage of Batman and his former Robin fucking on a rooftop.
no subject
"If you're hungry, we can have lunch. I just thought you wanted space."
Emphasis on space, to remind Tim this is what he asked for. Distance from him and from all of the changes in their relationship.
"Don't worry. No one will see it."
no subject
"That's---not the point, Bruce." Tim's face flushes a little. The way Bruce says it makes it sound like a home movie he's going to have on repeat in private or something, hoarding the footage from the world. It's not exactly making Tim feel any better about the whole thing, knowing there's any kind of footage of that night. Of how desperate he looked. How he acted. "It should be destroyed."
he's (probably) lying lmao
He says flatly, like he's stating a fact. Like he's commenting on the weather or asking for the score from the game last night. Impersonal. Like it's not rotting something vital inside of him.
"No one will see it, Tim. Because it doesn't exist."
you know he got that shit on his phone
If Bruce had even a second of it... It was like keeping a piece of Tim hostage.
"I trust you, Bruce," he adds, quietly. "Thank you." And then he's leaving, because he does want space, doesn't he? He demanded it. So why does he feel so incredibly hollow without Bruce?