Ultimately, Bruce keeps his word. The night does turn out to be a long one after a drug bust leads him into a deeper conspiracy, but it's something that would need more time and research and investigation. Something he isn't going to get done in one night, despite his best efforts. So for once, just this once, he'll set it aside for now.
It's early morning by the time he makes it back to Tim's apartment, slipping in the same way he had the first time. He's exhausted and isn't entirely careful about shedding the suit. It ends up in a heap on the floor by his bedroom door. The bed dips under his weight and whether Tim is there or not, Bruce is asleep the second his head hits the pillow.
Tim is certainly there, passed out on his stomach, still completely nude but at least showered and cleaned out and covered by fine sheets and a massive comforter. He's in deep enough REM that he doesn't even register Bruce coming in, sleeping beside him. So when he wakes and finds the bed full of Bruce around eight in the morning--a late sleep in for both of them--he's shocked. Spends a few minutes in dumb shock just watching Bruce sleep.
Because really--when was the last time he'd seen Bruce actually sleep and not just rest his eyes or take a power nap at the console in the cave? Tim couldn't legitimately remember if he'd ever seen it. As a young teen, he'd half assumed Bruce was lying about not having super powers, figuring his meta ability was just not needing sleep.
Bruce looks soft like this. Hair over his face, his mouth gently agape. Tim bites back a smile. Stays cuddled in a bit longer, because if this is happening then he'll watch Bruce a little while longer. Maybe get up, make them some breakfast. Maybe help Bruce with his case. Like old times. So easy to fall into.
Itโs been three nights since Bruce has had any sleep longer than a few fifteen minute naps. And falling into bed with Tim had been something easy to do. Comfortable. At least enough that going to sleep until 8 am did not feel like a mistake. He doesnโt know at what point during the night that he reaches for the warmth of the body curled up next to him, but he does, that massive arm draping over his hips.
Part of him could stay like this forever. That quiet part that he keeps buried under a relentless need for the Mission. Itโs a part of his humanity that he denies himself. At least until heโs caught up in a quiet moment like this one. He doesnโt wake when Tim does. Once Bruce does the illusion is shattered and itโs back to reality. He just wants this for a few more minutes.
Tim stays put for a few more moments, just watching, and then his antsy
brain starts up and gets in the way. He reaches over Bruce for his tablet,
balancing precariously but quieter than a mouse as he slips it off the
nightstand and then settles back to login to his systems. To check for
updates he missed on his evening off. It had been necessary, but now he'll
pay the price by the feeds flying up over his screen.
He checks Bruce's as well, easily still able to see where Bruce left off in
certain cases, and fills in some gaps that he can from his own Intel. He
tells himself he'd have done that no matter if Bruce was there beside him
or not.
Eventually, he gets up, throws on a pair of pajama pants and starts up some
coffee and eggs. Protein and caffeine. The necessities.
Bruce isn't slow to wake. He doesn't need a lot of time to yawn and stretch and will consciousness back into his bones. Typically, he just opens his eyes and he's ready to tackle the day. He's never decided if that makes him a morning person or not. Most of his sleep came in brief, stolen minutes well after dawn. But it does make adapting to new surroundings easier. He's never been thrown off waking up in new, unfamiliar places.
Tim's bed though...
That's something else entirely. He's okay with waking up alone. He can smell breakfast and that's enough to push himself upright and to pad silently through the apartment like he's done it hundreds of times before. Tim's there, of course, working with quiet efficiency. Bruce breezes by him, like he's always belonged in this space and searches out a couple of mugs for the coffee. Hopes Tim doesn't notice he doesn't need to ask. The second time he passes him, he drops a kiss on Tim's bare shoulder.
"Good morning." While he waits for the coffee to finish.
Tim glances up as he hears Bruce's soft footfalls, and watches him seek out
the mugs like he's done it a hundred times, and no, it doesn't go unnoticed
that Bruce doesn't have to look. But Tim's too caught off guard by the kiss
to his bare shoulder, the way Bruce's body lingers in close behind his,
distracted by the rough murmur of Bruce's low voice against his skin.
Is this--Bruce isn't just leaving. Was taking his time. At least long
enough for coffee and eggs. Which is more than he gives anyone, let alone
Tim.
"You came back," Tim says, and then flushes, plating the eggs. "I hope you
don't mind, but I tidied up your notes on that trafficking case. I was in
the Bowery and talked to a club owner and promoter who knows that guy
Charlie you mentioned you were looking for." Talking about cases is much
easier.
Because coffee and eggs were easy. Safe. Something he didn't have to tread carefully around. No buried emotions or lingering tensions. Just muscle memory and routine. When the coffee is done brewing, Bruce fills their mugs and leaves Tim's near him so he could flavor it however he liked. He could have left. Probably should have if he's honest. But he didn't want to deal with the fallout of it later. Better to stay now than deal face it when he came back.
He snipes a plate of eggs and sits down at the table, the same seat he occupied just the night before and takes a few leisurely bites of egg. He grunts at Tim's admission. He'd never mind the extra set of hands when it came to intel gathering. It saves him time and he could get back to tracking and closing down this most recent operation.
"Sionis has been moving a lot of people and weapons between here and Bludhaven. Charlie's been a point of contact." And Bruce means to wring every bit of information out of the man he could manage. He flicks his gaze to Tim, chews his eggs thoughtfully. Swallows and then says, "Come with me tonight."
There's a really, really big part of Tim that wants to. Of course he does.
They had once upon a time made the perfect team, partners who could read
one another and finish each other's sentences without second thought. But
things had changed with Damian. And Tim had his own life now, away from
Bruce. Away from most of them, if he was honest, only reaching out when it
was absolutely necessary.
These days, he'd much rather work with the Teen Titans. Kon was easiest to
understand, Cassie made fast work of getting the answers they needed, Bart
was growing on him. It was a much better situation mentally.
He sat across from Bruce at the table after dragging his black coffee with
him and shook his head. "It sounds like you've got it under control without
me."
He didn't need the help. He never really had. The others made being Batman easier, even lighter sometimes. But the truth is he'd been doing this alone long before any them had shown up. And when they left? He just picked up where he left off, almost like they had never been there. Damian would have worked out just fine on this case. But Bruce hadn't wanted his company. Not particularly.
Not like he wanted Tim's.
"It is. But there's some overlap with one of your cases." He eats without looking up. Without meeting Tim's gaze. Had he been in Tim's files? Possibly. He did have a hard time with boundaries.
"Bruce." Tim has to stop mid bite, annoyed as ever when Bruce goes pawing
through his stuff. He's a little hungover now that he's facing the light of
day properly, or maybe it's a tension headache coming on from Bruce always
stepping on his toes. "How did you---" No, that's the wrong question. Tim
focuses, tries again. Because asking how Bruce got into his grandma
encrypted files is like asking how Bruce got into his apartment the
previous evening. How Bruce knew the clubs he was at. "Look, I-- don't
think it's a good idea. Us working together like that again."
Bruce looks at Tim for what might feel like a moment too long then takes a sip of his coffee. He wouldn't push. It's easier on him when he doesn't make demands. When they think coming back is something they want. When they think it's their choice and not something Bruce has decided for them. If Tim didn't want to come along, Bruce would just have to accept that, wouldn't he?
"What are your plans for the day?" He'll drop it for now.
Tim gives Bruce a look. "You've already hacked into my stuff. That means
you've seen my schedule, too. I know you wouldn't have just skipped over
that temptation."
Which means Tim needs to keep a paper schedule instead. At least for a bit.
To keep to himself and away from Bruce.
"So you know my schedule. Wayne Enterprises business with Lucius until
midday. Then I'm head down in my own cases, big patrol on the East end
tonight."
Bruce eats the last of his eggs, unfazed by the look in Tim's eye. He had been through Tim's schedule. Of course he had. If Tim was going to make it so easy to access why shouldn't he take a look? At least he'd been polite enough to ask about it.
"Then I should let you get ready for it," he says when his cup is empty. He gets up without another word and sets the dishes in the sink. Briefly, he considers washing them and putting them on the rack to dry. But decides that's too domestic.
He takes that walk back to Tim's bedroom in a few short strides of his long legs and gathers up the suit so he could place a call to Alfred for a pick up.
Tim hesitates. He's pushing Bruce away, and that's the right decision. It
is, it has to be. If he lets Bruce stay or worse goes back to being some
shadow version of his partner while Damian is still there being the real
thing, it'll end in the same pain and heartache. It's this or it's--hurt.
Those are the only options.
So Tim stays to clean up and pour a big thermos of coffee to take with him
once he leaves.
"Bruce?" he asks, leaning into the bedroom to look at his mentor gathering
his things. "I---need to ask you again. To give me space. Last night can't
happen again." Much as Tim would have loved it to happen every night.
The call to Alfred is made and when it's done he looks at Tim, expression neutral. "Okay, Tim. You'll have your space."
Maybe it should have given Bruce pause, to hear Tim ask again for space. Maybe it should have told him that something had gone desperately, perhaps irreparably wrong in their relationship. That this isn't working and he needed to do something differently, if he ever wanted back into Tim's life, without forcing his way back in.
But it doesn't. It only makes him think of the eyes he has on Tim's place now and how many more he might need later. It isn't the same as being here, close enough to see Tim with his own two eyes. Close enough to reach out and touch. Or hold down and fuck. But so long as Tim was going to be like this, he'd have to make do.
"I mean it," Tim says, forcing himself to sound as serious as he needed to
for Bruce to get it. "No watching. No swinging by because you're in the
neighborhood. No knowing my schedule and reaching out if I don't adhere to
it. Okay? Please."
It's the right call. It's the right move. It's exactly what he asked for,
what he wants. So why does the look on Bruce's face absolutely destroy Tim?
It leaves a thick lump in the back of Tim's throat, a knot in his stomach.
But it's--better this way. Tim needs to be away from Bruce. He can't just
fall back into place by his side when Bruce came here last night just to
check up on him, just to ensure he was still under his thumb. Right? He
stayed the night but so what? That was the trouble with Bruce: it was hard
to tell what was real and what was just part of some unseen plan.
"Thank you." Tim moves around Bruce to gather his things, to get changed
into his suit for Wayne Enterprises.
Did a little time jump. Just let me know if you need anything changed.
When Alfred arrives to pick him up, Bruce leaves without a word. There are public appearances to make. Cameras to face and Bruce puts on his best playboy smile. He grins for every photo. Brilliant teeth and firm handshakes. The picture of charm and composure. From the outside you'd be forgiven for believing there's never been anything wrong in Bruce Wayne's world.
But it's part of the ruse and deep down? There's a storm brewing.
He keeps his word this time. Actually, keeps his distance like Tim asks. No contact, no unannounced visits. When they're at Wayne Enterprises together, Bruce hardly acknowledges him. Sometimes before patrol, he checks his footage, but he doesn't sit and watch the feeds, even if he's tempted to. Tim could do whatever he wanted, sleep with whomever he wanted (Bruce did keep track of who), and Bruce never said a word.
At least nothing direct. Limiting Tim's access to the Batcomputer's files had said enough.
Days pass. Then weeks. Tonight, he's followed a lead to the docks, where a stash of weapons is waiting to be distributed. Another branch of Sionis' operation. Tonight, Bruce plans to snap it from the tree. Tonight, he suspects he isn't alone and glances over his shoulder to see who might have joined him.
It's been---well. It's a mixed bag. The loneliness is bone deep, to the point that Tim has been going to the bars more often, hooking up more often. He even found himself looking for the biggest guys, usually the ones who aren't his type but who currently remind him most of Bruce. The ones that grab him a little too roughly, hold him down or make him blow them until he chokes. He's addicted to it, a little, burning the candle at both ends, and nothing seems to help. It's never enough.
But. Bruce kept his word. That's something. Tim isn't going to go back on this. He needs his freedom. Right...?
And getting locked out of parts of the Batcomputer that he had access to before is fine. It's fine. He can get by without knowing every single thing. After all, space goes both ways. And he's not even a little angry about it...
"Last I checked, the docks of Gotham don't belong to just Batman." It's not cold, exactly, just letting Bruce know Gotham is protected by more than just one hero. "That guy-" Tim gestures, "--the one in the track jacket. I need a list he has on that hard drive in his computer."
And Bruce has seen them all. Every single one who's grabbed Tim hard enough to bruise. Every single one who's put Tim on his knees. He's seen him frequent the bars and leave it with someone new night after night. It makes Bruce's blood boil.
It makes his blood boil now. But he's not here for that. For once he's not tracking Tim's movements. He's zeroed in on his goal. For once, it feels like Tim's the one following him.
There's movement below them and Bruce circles around to follow it and keep his eye on his target. He doesn't look up at Tim. If he does, he might get angry.
This, Tim tells himself, is much better. For both of them. To help one
another without actually being glued to each other. It should be good for
them, to work as partners in a single mission. To have each other's backs.
But Tim can't help but feel lonely being in Bruce's presence again after
how close they were the last time.
"Where's Robin?" he asks, before he can help himself. It's normal to ask.
Right? Damian is Bruce's partner, after all.
"Busy." Bruce had been running this investigation solo for weeks now, refusing Damian's help and barely tolerating anyone else's. Alfred had given him the floor plans for this warehouse, and has been silent in his ear otherwise. He didn't need anyone else. Not for this.
This is pretty normal for Bruce and the way he speaks to people, but it
feels off. It feels short. And directed at Tim.
"Yeah, we're all busy." Tim's a little short too, and he hates that
this is what it's come to, but it's necessary. Right? He takes a deep
breath. Work comes first. They can snark at each other after. "I'll go down
first. Draw them in. Give you an opening."
He doesn't expect courtesy from Tim when he hadn't been returning the favor. If he's truly honest, he'd started it and he couldn't entirely blame it on the job.
"There are two gunmen on the stairs. Another by the window and another near the far exit."
When he finally does look up at Tim, it's to assess him. Give him a once over to make sure he's ready. That's what he tells himself.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
theknightshift) wrote2024-11-12 08:56 pm
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It's early morning by the time he makes it back to Tim's apartment, slipping in the same way he had the first time. He's exhausted and isn't entirely careful about shedding the suit. It ends up in a heap on the floor by his bedroom door. The bed dips under his weight and whether Tim is there or not, Bruce is asleep the second his head hits the pillow.
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Because really--when was the last time he'd seen Bruce actually sleep and not just rest his eyes or take a power nap at the console in the cave? Tim couldn't legitimately remember if he'd ever seen it. As a young teen, he'd half assumed Bruce was lying about not having super powers, figuring his meta ability was just not needing sleep.
Bruce looks soft like this. Hair over his face, his mouth gently agape. Tim bites back a smile. Stays cuddled in a bit longer, because if this is happening then he'll watch Bruce a little while longer. Maybe get up, make them some breakfast. Maybe help Bruce with his case. Like old times. So easy to fall into.
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Part of him could stay like this forever. That quiet part that he keeps buried under a relentless need for the Mission. Itโs a part of his humanity that he denies himself. At least until heโs caught up in a quiet moment like this one. He doesnโt wake when Tim does. Once Bruce does the illusion is shattered and itโs back to reality. He just wants this for a few more minutes.
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Tim stays put for a few more moments, just watching, and then his antsy brain starts up and gets in the way. He reaches over Bruce for his tablet, balancing precariously but quieter than a mouse as he slips it off the nightstand and then settles back to login to his systems. To check for updates he missed on his evening off. It had been necessary, but now he'll pay the price by the feeds flying up over his screen.
He checks Bruce's as well, easily still able to see where Bruce left off in certain cases, and fills in some gaps that he can from his own Intel. He tells himself he'd have done that no matter if Bruce was there beside him or not.
Eventually, he gets up, throws on a pair of pajama pants and starts up some coffee and eggs. Protein and caffeine. The necessities.
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Tim's bed though...
That's something else entirely. He's okay with waking up alone. He can smell breakfast and that's enough to push himself upright and to pad silently through the apartment like he's done it hundreds of times before. Tim's there, of course, working with quiet efficiency. Bruce breezes by him, like he's always belonged in this space and searches out a couple of mugs for the coffee. Hopes Tim doesn't notice he doesn't need to ask. The second time he passes him, he drops a kiss on Tim's bare shoulder.
"Good morning." While he waits for the coffee to finish.
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Tim glances up as he hears Bruce's soft footfalls, and watches him seek out the mugs like he's done it a hundred times, and no, it doesn't go unnoticed that Bruce doesn't have to look. But Tim's too caught off guard by the kiss to his bare shoulder, the way Bruce's body lingers in close behind his, distracted by the rough murmur of Bruce's low voice against his skin.
Is this--Bruce isn't just leaving. Was taking his time. At least long enough for coffee and eggs. Which is more than he gives anyone, let alone Tim.
"You came back," Tim says, and then flushes, plating the eggs. "I hope you don't mind, but I tidied up your notes on that trafficking case. I was in the Bowery and talked to a club owner and promoter who knows that guy Charlie you mentioned you were looking for." Talking about cases is much easier.
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He snipes a plate of eggs and sits down at the table, the same seat he occupied just the night before and takes a few leisurely bites of egg. He grunts at Tim's admission. He'd never mind the extra set of hands when it came to intel gathering. It saves him time and he could get back to tracking and closing down this most recent operation.
"Sionis has been moving a lot of people and weapons between here and Bludhaven. Charlie's been a point of contact." And Bruce means to wring every bit of information out of the man he could manage. He flicks his gaze to Tim, chews his eggs thoughtfully. Swallows and then says, "Come with me tonight."
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There's a really, really big part of Tim that wants to. Of course he does. They had once upon a time made the perfect team, partners who could read one another and finish each other's sentences without second thought. But things had changed with Damian. And Tim had his own life now, away from Bruce. Away from most of them, if he was honest, only reaching out when it was absolutely necessary.
These days, he'd much rather work with the Teen Titans. Kon was easiest to understand, Cassie made fast work of getting the answers they needed, Bart was growing on him. It was a much better situation mentally.
He sat across from Bruce at the table after dragging his black coffee with him and shook his head. "It sounds like you've got it under control without me."
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Not like he wanted Tim's.
"It is. But there's some overlap with one of your cases." He eats without looking up. Without meeting Tim's gaze. Had he been in Tim's files? Possibly. He did have a hard time with boundaries.
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"Bruce." Tim has to stop mid bite, annoyed as ever when Bruce goes pawing through his stuff. He's a little hungover now that he's facing the light of day properly, or maybe it's a tension headache coming on from Bruce always stepping on his toes. "How did you---" No, that's the wrong question. Tim focuses, tries again. Because asking how Bruce got into his grandma encrypted files is like asking how Bruce got into his apartment the previous evening. How Bruce knew the clubs he was at. "Look, I-- don't think it's a good idea. Us working together like that again."
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"What are your plans for the day?" He'll drop it for now.
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Tim gives Bruce a look. "You've already hacked into my stuff. That means you've seen my schedule, too. I know you wouldn't have just skipped over that temptation."
Which means Tim needs to keep a paper schedule instead. At least for a bit. To keep to himself and away from Bruce.
"So you know my schedule. Wayne Enterprises business with Lucius until midday. Then I'm head down in my own cases, big patrol on the East end tonight."
no subject
"Then I should let you get ready for it," he says when his cup is empty. He gets up without another word and sets the dishes in the sink. Briefly, he considers washing them and putting them on the rack to dry. But decides that's too domestic.
He takes that walk back to Tim's bedroom in a few short strides of his long legs and gathers up the suit so he could place a call to Alfred for a pick up.
no subject
Tim hesitates. He's pushing Bruce away, and that's the right decision. It is, it has to be. If he lets Bruce stay or worse goes back to being some shadow version of his partner while Damian is still there being the real thing, it'll end in the same pain and heartache. It's this or it's--hurt.
Those are the only options.
So Tim stays to clean up and pour a big thermos of coffee to take with him once he leaves.
"Bruce?" he asks, leaning into the bedroom to look at his mentor gathering his things. "I---need to ask you again. To give me space. Last night can't happen again." Much as Tim would have loved it to happen every night.
no subject
Maybe it should have given Bruce pause, to hear Tim ask again for space. Maybe it should have told him that something had gone desperately, perhaps irreparably wrong in their relationship. That this isn't working and he needed to do something differently, if he ever wanted back into Tim's life, without forcing his way back in.
But it doesn't. It only makes him think of the eyes he has on Tim's place now and how many more he might need later. It isn't the same as being here, close enough to see Tim with his own two eyes. Close enough to reach out and touch. Or hold down and fuck. But so long as Tim was going to be like this, he'd have to make do.
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"I mean it," Tim says, forcing himself to sound as serious as he needed to for Bruce to get it. "No watching. No swinging by because you're in the neighborhood. No knowing my schedule and reaching out if I don't adhere to it. Okay? Please."
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"I'll leave you alone, Tim."
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It's the right call. It's the right move. It's exactly what he asked for, what he wants. So why does the look on Bruce's face absolutely destroy Tim? It leaves a thick lump in the back of Tim's throat, a knot in his stomach.
But it's--better this way. Tim needs to be away from Bruce. He can't just fall back into place by his side when Bruce came here last night just to check up on him, just to ensure he was still under his thumb. Right? He stayed the night but so what? That was the trouble with Bruce: it was hard to tell what was real and what was just part of some unseen plan.
"Thank you." Tim moves around Bruce to gather his things, to get changed into his suit for Wayne Enterprises.
Did a little time jump. Just let me know if you need anything changed.
But it's part of the ruse and deep down? There's a storm brewing.
He keeps his word this time. Actually, keeps his distance like Tim asks. No contact, no unannounced visits. When they're at Wayne Enterprises together, Bruce hardly acknowledges him. Sometimes before patrol, he checks his footage, but he doesn't sit and watch the feeds, even if he's tempted to. Tim could do whatever he wanted, sleep with whomever he wanted (Bruce did keep track of who), and Bruce never said a word.
At least nothing direct. Limiting Tim's access to the Batcomputer's files had said enough.
Days pass. Then weeks. Tonight, he's followed a lead to the docks, where a stash of weapons is waiting to be distributed. Another branch of Sionis' operation. Tonight, Bruce plans to snap it from the tree. Tonight, he suspects he isn't alone and glances over his shoulder to see who might have joined him.
"What are you doing here?"
Perfect!
But. Bruce kept his word. That's something. Tim isn't going to go back on this. He needs his freedom. Right...?
And getting locked out of parts of the Batcomputer that he had access to before is fine. It's fine. He can get by without knowing every single thing. After all, space goes both ways. And he's not even a little angry about it...
"Last I checked, the docks of Gotham don't belong to just Batman." It's not cold, exactly, just letting Bruce know Gotham is protected by more than just one hero. "That guy-" Tim gestures, "--the one in the track jacket. I need a list he has on that hard drive in his computer."
It's a coincidence, he tells himself
no subject
It makes his blood boil now. But he's not here for that. For once he's not tracking Tim's movements. He's zeroed in on his goal. For once, it feels like Tim's the one following him.
There's movement below them and Bruce circles around to follow it and keep his eye on his target. He doesn't look up at Tim. If he does, he might get angry.
"Then I'll make sure you get it. Anything else?"
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This, Tim tells himself, is much better. For both of them. To help one another without actually being glued to each other. It should be good for them, to work as partners in a single mission. To have each other's backs. But Tim can't help but feel lonely being in Bruce's presence again after how close they were the last time.
"Where's Robin?" he asks, before he can help himself. It's normal to ask. Right? Damian is Bruce's partner, after all.
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"If that's all you needed, I have work to do."
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This is pretty normal for Bruce and the way he speaks to people, but it feels off. It feels short. And directed at Tim.
"Yeah, we're all busy." Tim's a little short too, and he hates that this is what it's come to, but it's necessary. Right? He takes a deep breath. Work comes first. They can snark at each other after. "I'll go down first. Draw them in. Give you an opening."
no subject
"There are two gunmen on the stairs. Another by the window and another near the far exit."
When he finally does look up at Tim, it's to assess him. Give him a once over to make sure he's ready. That's what he tells himself.
"Switch to channel two. On my mark."
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