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.
Tim nods, and he's a good boy as ever, waiting for the go ahead. Despite
his actions to the contrary lately, he takes The Mission very, very
seriously. And because of that, he takes Bruce very, very seriously.
Jason would have cursed him and jumped into the fray wherever. Even Damian
would have likely shirked the order. But Tim dutifully switches to channel
two on his comms. It's a private channel, and that doesn't go unnoticed.
But that's normal for these kinds of things. Means the two of them can keep
in touch during the fight without getting in anyone else's ears.
That Bruce looks him over is neither here nor there and certainly doesn't
redden Tim's cheeks under his own cowl thinking about it. And he doesn't at
all wonder how he looks to his mentor. If he measures up. Or if Bruce can
smell all the men who've been on him these past few weeks.
When Bruce gives him the go ahead, Tim slips down through the shadows,
focusing on the plan of attack. It's easy enough to get the guys away from
the stairs. They're the biggest, bulkiest ones. Hardest to take down but
easiest to lure away.
"Hey!" the guy by the window yells. "Where you two think you're going?"
"Somethin' weird down there by the shipments," one of the guys said. "Me
and Dom'll check it out."
The guy by the window cocked his gun. "Shoot first, ask questions later,
Travis."
"Cool," Travis said, cocking his own gun, a thing too big for his meaty
hands. Which would make it easier for Tim to get it once the guys get close
enough. But now the steps are clear. Bruce could choose to sneak in or go
for window guy or exit guy.
Bruce shifts position, just enough to get eyes on the gunman by the window. He's holding his weapon too loosely. Bored. Distracted, the easy pick. He doesn't ask Tim if he's good to go. He doesn't need to. Tim wouldn't be here if he wasn't.
He breathes out slow and then - "Now."
It's a familiar rhythm and that makes it easy to fall into. But then Bruce and Tim had always been efficient. A machine. Even if the gears grind a little under the strain. No matter the silence. No matter the distance. The work never suffers. Tim slips inside and vanishes into the ink-black shadows. And Bruce watches him work, beautiful as ever as he moves. He hates himself a little for thinking it.
When Batman sees the opening, he doesn't hesitate. Even though the guy by the window is alert now, he never sees the Bat. Not until it's too late. Not until Bruce drops from above and disarms him, sets him gently on the ground to sleep off that precise blow to the head. Exit guy next. Bruce melts back into the darkness. A shadow moving through the shadows. Close enough now to watch and wait for an opportunity to strike and take this one down just as cleanly.
The goons seem to get bigger and bigger every year, but it's nothing that
Tim hasn't handled before. In fact, as Robin, he'd have distracted worse so
that Bruce had the opening he needed. Currently, when he hears Batman's
gravely voice in his ear, Tim is busy fighting off Travis, who is actually
a better fighter than he looks. The gun is disabled, long gone kicked under
some boxes so nobody can reach it, so it's just Red Robin versus the huge
bulk of this guy until Tim can get a good hook and jab in. Then it's easy
to get the opening he needs to get his arm around Travis's thick neck, to
choke him into he crumbles to the ground.
A little less finesse than Batman but Tim had taken the big guys, after
all.
"Two down. Meet you by the exit." Even though his side is throbbing. Travis
had managed one really good punch after all.
The sounds of a struggle are faint, barely a whisper through the warehouse. But it's enough.
The goon near the exit hesitates, calls out for Travis in a voice that doesn't sound too sure. It's half a second and it's all Bruce needs. He moves, a shadow unfolding from the darkness. The man doesn't even have time to cry out before Bruce has an arm around his neck, pulling him down fast and quiet.
He does not linger near the exit, opting instead to begin tagging the crates. He would hear Tim when he approaches.
"Get the weapons. I'll finish tagging the crates."
A beat of silence follows and then: "You were slow."
"They were big," Tim says, a little tersely, as he gathers the weapons.
Bruce is tagging them, so that takes care of that, but they'll need to
confiscate the more dangerous ones. Get them out. Not all of them but
enough to stop them from getting into the city streets and in the hands of
Sionis's men. Or worse. "It's fine, I got them both, they aren't getting
up, so you can stop nitpicking my style."
It's not Tim's style. But he's annoyed and a little embarrassed that Bruce
noticed. Of course he did.
Bruce is already coordinating with the Batwing to extract the most dangerous weapons here. They would be taken to the cave for cataloguing and dismantling. No one would ever get the chance to get their hands on them.
"You're not usually this sloppy." He stops for a moment, glances at Tim over his shoulder. Just for a second. Then he gets back to work, marking the crates. Some for GCPD and the ones for the Batwing. "Have you been training?"
"Just because I didn't get to it in five seconds doesn't make it sloppy."
But Tim's not exactly disagreeing. He's not in his best form. He's tired,
he's lonely, he feels absolutely eviscerated in front of Bruce whenever the
other man looks at him. "Of course I've been training." He stops then,
looks at Bruce, watches him work. The efficient way he catalogues and
gathers. God, he misses him. "You really haven't been following my
schedule?"
It sounds almost like an accusation. Delivered flat, but no less sharp. As if Tim's forgotten that this - the silence and distance - had been his idea. Exactly what he had asked for. Bruce isn't being entirely honest, of course. The watching never really stopped, even if it's not as often. He knows Tim's schedule probably better than he knows his own. He knows when Tim trains. How long. How hard. And where it fits into the punishing pace of a vigilante's life.
Doesn't mean he's satisfied with it.
"You should come by the manor and let the computer run a full analysis."
A pause. Like he's considering saying the rest at all.
"I did say that," Tim murmurs, finishing up his own gathering and preparing
it for pickup from the Batwing. He misses the tech too, he's not going to
lie. Having access to everything that Bruce has at his whims. Red Robin
doesn't exactly have a special Red Robin Wing. He figured Lucius could help
there, but Tim never wants to feel like he's owing anybody anything. It's
better to do things on his own. Simplify it.
As he considers Bruce's offer--because it is an offer, clear as day where
Bruce is concerned--Tim finds the track jacket guy and unzips his laptop
bag, crouching down at the man's unconscious side. He fingers out a tiny
screwdriver from one of the canisters on his bandolier, using it to make
quick work of getting the hard drive out. That goes into a pocket on his
back, secured in tight so it doesn't fall out. Then Tim's moving on to
zip-tying the guys' hands and feet for police pickup.
"I could swing by." He glances up between zipping Travis nice and tight.
"For a few."
If he's surprised that Tim agrees, it doesn't show. He finishes his work, tags the last crate then waits for the Batwing to swoop in for the pick up. He lets himself look at Tim again, watch him work out the hard drive from the pc with practiced precision. Their eyes meet when Tim glances up. Just for a moment. Bruce doesn't look away. Doesn't pretend he wasn't staring.
That's the kind of stare that will keep Tim up at night. It always did,
when he was younger. When they were undressing in the Cave together or when
he saw Bruce walking around half-costumed. It was, frankly, still fodder
for masturbation sessions when Tim needed it. And the guys he'd tried out
in their interim time apart had certainly not been anything near the man he
was looking at now.
Fuck.
Tim nods, finishes up his work as Bruce leaves, and lets out a breath he
wasn't aware he'd been holding. He tells himself he's going to finish his
own patrols, get into the hard drive, finish up his case, and call it a
night.
But by three in the morning, he's steering his bike into the Cave. Bruce is
probably still out. It would be better if he was. But there Tim is, excited
when he spies him at the Bat Computer. Tim pulls in and kicks the stand
out, turning the bike off and getting the helmet free as he steps off.
Hangs it over the seat. Pries his cowl down so it hangs off the back of his
neck, revealing a flushed, sweat-damp face that almost looked too young to
be in such a stern, tough guy costume night after night. "I'll be quick,"
he says by way of greeting, already moving to strip himself of his bracers
and gauntlets. The scan on the computer will go faster if he's out of
uniform. Or at least strips out of the thicker layers.
Bruce doesn't expect Tim to come tonight. That's what he tells himself. It's what he tells himself when he hops out of the car, the engine cooling behind him, and he strides over to the computer. He tells himself he's only here to catalogue the weapons he's confiscated, to move the pieces around on the board. To get a read on Sionis' next play. He tells himself he's working. And that he's not waiting for Tim at all.
Because Tim's not going to come tonight.
He spares a glance to the manor's security feed when it alerts him to a vehicle approaching. High rate of speed. Tim Drake, the automated voice announces and asks Bruce if he wants to grant him access. He doesn't have a chance to answer. Tim uses his codes to enter. And for a moment, Bruce smiles to himself.
Bruce doesn't say anything as Tim comes in and begins to strip down. He said he wouldn't bother him and he won't. But he suspects he doesn't have to. He suspects Tim will ask him to. And he's been patient enough. He could wait a little while longer.
Tim rolls his shoulders, cracks his neck, slides his bo staff out as he
approaches the pad to get scanned and begin the simulation. Bruce's were
always the worst, most grueling trainings, programmed to give even Batman a
run for his money. But Tim's here to prove he's not shirking his
responsibilities just because he's a little slow taking down two seven foot
goons.
Tim's never been about brute strength. That's never what Bruce would rely on him for when he had his own. Tim's tactical. A little more cerebral in his approach to a fight. He's like Bruce in that way; thinking several steps ahead to put himself at the advantage. Bruce would put that to work. With a few quick keystrokes he loads up the simulation and Tim is standing face to face with Killer Croc. As good a place to start than any.
The computer begins a countdown but Croc takes his first swing without waiting for it to finish. There's dozens of cameras recording the fight; Bruce doesn't have to watch if he doesn't want to. But he does. Because there's something different about watching Tim work in person and he wants to see it with his own eyes.
It's true that Tim isn't at his prime tonight. Maybe that's why he came
here after all. To be seen by Bruce, to be told off for it. Punished. The
thought occurs, unbidden, of Bruce throwing him over his lap to spank him
while Tim moans Daddy like a litany.
Still, he focuses on the attacks at hand. Just because it's only a program
doesn't mean it won't hurt when Croc swings. Luckily, even tired and worn
out and sluggish, Tim is faster than most and easily able to figure out the
moves coming at him. Croc's downside is he's sluggish due to his size, at
least compared to the other kinds of villains they face day to day.
Tim makes it look easy despite the things going on in his life. His body
moves fluidly, bends like Dick taught him, throws punches faster than
Jason, and uses his brains like Bruce. The bo staff is an extension of him
as he moves, eventually getting Killer Croc to his knees. Not after Croc
got a swipe in against his side, but that's par for the course... Right?
Bruce watches Tim work, the way his body slides into each move. So fluid he might as well be made of water. It's not a flawless display. But it's still impressive.
Tim's good. Bruce isn't surprised. The mistakes are easy to spot. His staff droops a little lower than it should. He doesn't pivot fast enough to avoid Croc's swipe. He's tired. Sluggish. Minor issues. Simple things to correct. But Bruce doesn't correct them. The analysis finishes compiling and he turns to glance at the results.
"You were about eight seconds faster in your last run." He says. And then he gets back to work.
Tim rolls his shoulders again as the program fizzles away and leaves behind
the cold reality of the Cave and Bruce's asked for neglect. Tim can't blame
anyone but himself for how chilling Bruce's tone feels, how distant. He
asked for this. He demanded it. So why is it Tim that's left feeling
guilty? Like he did something wrong.
He moves to the computer to look at the results and makes a sound with his
mouth not unlike Damian's little ttchs. Eight seconds slower means eight
seconds of improvement. It's not Tim's best work, and he knew it wouldn't
be, but what he expected was for Bruce to get up and put his hands on him,
show him where he was slow, maybe linger a second too long, maybe lean in
and kiss him, maybe just stroke down his spine, maybe coax him into the
bedroom. It's stupid to want the very things he was pissed off about a
month ago, but that had been under duress, and this was---well, because he
wanted it, right?
He'd always been desperate for Bruce's approval, whatever form that took.
"You have a Batman scenario in there yet?" he asks, lingering at Bruce's
side. "Gimme a real challenge."
Tim is close enough to touch, and Bruce has to stop himself from reaching across the space between them-his hand itching to trace the curve of his shoulder, the line of his spine. Any exposed skin would do. It's a struggle-more of one than he'd like to admit. But he does keep his hands to himself. Doesn't even chance a glance in Tim's direction. His eyes stay fixed on the evidence in front of him, organizing it with more care than necessary.
He finally stops when Tim asks for a Batman scenario. There is one, though it still needed testing. He could pit Tim against it. Watch the outcome and point out where Tim went wrong. But that's not what Tim is after. Not really. And Bruce knows it.
Besides, why bother with a simulation when the real Batman is standing just inches away?
"It isn't ready," he says, tone flat, still focused on the work. But he does stop eventually and tugs the cowl off so he could see Tim. And more importantly, so Tim could see him.
"If you want a Batman scenario, you'll have to settle for me."
It's probably the most obvious way Tim could have asked Bruce to spar with
him, to touch him in any way that doesn't break Tim's rule of 'staying
away', but at the moment, he doesn't care. Bruce is right there, and when
he pulls the cowl down, it gives Tim chills to see Bruce's handsome,
weathered face bared before him again. The man is absolutely perfect
physically, hard-earned and kept up meticulously, but it's not just his
body and his mind--it's his face. The jagged, raw edges of jaw. The slight
stubble that's trying to shatter the illusion of perfection.
"You're the one who said I was slow out there," Tim says, quietly,
stretching out his arms by pulling one in front of his chest, then the
other, as he walks backwards towards the training pit. This is probably a
really, really bad idea. But Tim already feels high as a damn kite having
Bruce just look at him after so long away. "Come prove it."
If Tim had ever tried to hide his attraction to Bruce, he'd never been very good at it. Even before things got complicated between them, there'd been signs that Bruce pretended not to notice. But of course he had. And now that things were different between them, it's all but broadcast now. Tim says wants space, but he craves Bruce's approval and he'd keep coming back for it. Bruce would just have to keep maneuvering this to his advantage.
He watches Tim back away toward the training mats and it only takes a moment to decide. Bruce unclips the cape and pulls off the cowl and follows Tim into the pit. This is probably a terrible idea. But then Bruce also dresses like a giant bat to terrorize Gotham's lowlifes. He's not exactly known for having great ideas. When they're face to face and Bruce slides into a stance, he smirks and beckons Tim to make the first strike.
Tim's done it before. He's managed to get a swat or kick in when he's
really firing on all cylinders, when his brain is precisely focused, when
he's at his prime. But tonight, he's certainly not. He's not only
distracted by Bruce but by the anticipation of being touched by him in any
way after starving himself from it for a month, but he's also tired, it's
past three in the morning, and Travis down by the docks did get a good
punch against his ribs on the right side.
Not to mention he did his best against the last program of Killer Croc.
Even so, Tim hopes he's doing something to make Bruce proud as he darts
forward and fakes out twice before going for Bruce's jaw.
Bruce shifts, defensive now that Tim is on the move. He lists slightly to the left, probably to avoid aggravating an injury on the right. Bruce counters easily, even with the fake outs. He catches Tim by the wrist, almost pulls him in close, but knocks it off course instead. They were sparring. He had to be patient. Shakes his head.
"You're hurt." There's a hint of concern in his delivery, but nothing beyond it. It explains why Tim's reaction time is slower than usual at least. Besides the exhaustion.
Tim huffs, annoyed by the ease with which Bruce stops him, redirects all
his momentum with barely a flick of his wrist. But also aroused if he's
truly honest about it. Bruce is never so beautiful as when he's in motion,
perfect in every diversion and dodge and shift, as if he isn't built like a
damn brick wall.
"That guy at the docks got a little hit in before I subdued him, that's
all." Tim tries again, this time swinging once with his elbow and then
ducking low to try for Bruce's knees. That's one of the only weak spots he
knows Bruce has, and it's barely even weak honestly. Just an easier target
than the rest of him.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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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."
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"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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Tim nods, and he's a good boy as ever, waiting for the go ahead. Despite his actions to the contrary lately, he takes The Mission very, very seriously. And because of that, he takes Bruce very, very seriously. Jason would have cursed him and jumped into the fray wherever. Even Damian would have likely shirked the order. But Tim dutifully switches to channel two on his comms. It's a private channel, and that doesn't go unnoticed. But that's normal for these kinds of things. Means the two of them can keep in touch during the fight without getting in anyone else's ears.
That Bruce looks him over is neither here nor there and certainly doesn't redden Tim's cheeks under his own cowl thinking about it. And he doesn't at all wonder how he looks to his mentor. If he measures up. Or if Bruce can smell all the men who've been on him these past few weeks.
When Bruce gives him the go ahead, Tim slips down through the shadows, focusing on the plan of attack. It's easy enough to get the guys away from the stairs. They're the biggest, bulkiest ones. Hardest to take down but easiest to lure away.
"Hey!" the guy by the window yells. "Where you two think you're going?"
"Somethin' weird down there by the shipments," one of the guys said. "Me and Dom'll check it out."
The guy by the window cocked his gun. "Shoot first, ask questions later, Travis."
"Cool," Travis said, cocking his own gun, a thing too big for his meaty hands. Which would make it easier for Tim to get it once the guys get close enough. But now the steps are clear. Bruce could choose to sneak in or go for window guy or exit guy.
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He breathes out slow and then - "Now."
It's a familiar rhythm and that makes it easy to fall into. But then Bruce and Tim had always been efficient. A machine. Even if the gears grind a little under the strain. No matter the silence. No matter the distance. The work never suffers. Tim slips inside and vanishes into the ink-black shadows. And Bruce watches him work, beautiful as ever as he moves. He hates himself a little for thinking it.
When Batman sees the opening, he doesn't hesitate. Even though the guy by the window is alert now, he never sees the Bat. Not until it's too late. Not until Bruce drops from above and disarms him, sets him gently on the ground to sleep off that precise blow to the head. Exit guy next. Bruce melts back into the darkness. A shadow moving through the shadows. Close enough now to watch and wait for an opportunity to strike and take this one down just as cleanly.
"Red Robin, status."
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The goons seem to get bigger and bigger every year, but it's nothing that Tim hasn't handled before. In fact, as Robin, he'd have distracted worse so that Bruce had the opening he needed. Currently, when he hears Batman's gravely voice in his ear, Tim is busy fighting off Travis, who is actually a better fighter than he looks. The gun is disabled, long gone kicked under some boxes so nobody can reach it, so it's just Red Robin versus the huge bulk of this guy until Tim can get a good hook and jab in. Then it's easy to get the opening he needs to get his arm around Travis's thick neck, to choke him into he crumbles to the ground.
A little less finesse than Batman but Tim had taken the big guys, after all.
"Two down. Meet you by the exit." Even though his side is throbbing. Travis had managed one really good punch after all.
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The goon near the exit hesitates, calls out for Travis in a voice that doesn't sound too sure. It's half a second and it's all Bruce needs. He moves, a shadow unfolding from the darkness. The man doesn't even have time to cry out before Bruce has an arm around his neck, pulling him down fast and quiet.
He does not linger near the exit, opting instead to begin tagging the crates. He would hear Tim when he approaches.
"Get the weapons. I'll finish tagging the crates."
A beat of silence follows and then: "You were slow."
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"They were big," Tim says, a little tersely, as he gathers the weapons. Bruce is tagging them, so that takes care of that, but they'll need to confiscate the more dangerous ones. Get them out. Not all of them but enough to stop them from getting into the city streets and in the hands of Sionis's men. Or worse. "It's fine, I got them both, they aren't getting up, so you can stop nitpicking my style."
It's not Tim's style. But he's annoyed and a little embarrassed that Bruce noticed. Of course he did.
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"You're not usually this sloppy." He stops for a moment, glances at Tim over his shoulder. Just for a second. Then he gets back to work, marking the crates. Some for GCPD and the ones for the Batwing. "Have you been training?"
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"Just because I didn't get to it in five seconds doesn't make it sloppy." But Tim's not exactly disagreeing. He's not in his best form. He's tired, he's lonely, he feels absolutely eviscerated in front of Bruce whenever the other man looks at him. "Of course I've been training." He stops then, looks at Bruce, watches him work. The efficient way he catalogues and gathers. God, he misses him. "You really haven't been following my schedule?"
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It sounds almost like an accusation. Delivered flat, but no less sharp. As if Tim's forgotten that this - the silence and distance - had been his idea. Exactly what he had asked for. Bruce isn't being entirely honest, of course. The watching never really stopped, even if it's not as often. He knows Tim's schedule probably better than he knows his own. He knows when Tim trains. How long. How hard. And where it fits into the punishing pace of a vigilante's life.
Doesn't mean he's satisfied with it.
"You should come by the manor and let the computer run a full analysis."
A pause. Like he's considering saying the rest at all.
"I won't bother you."
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"I did say that," Tim murmurs, finishing up his own gathering and preparing it for pickup from the Batwing. He misses the tech too, he's not going to lie. Having access to everything that Bruce has at his whims. Red Robin doesn't exactly have a special Red Robin Wing. He figured Lucius could help there, but Tim never wants to feel like he's owing anybody anything. It's better to do things on his own. Simplify it.
As he considers Bruce's offer--because it is an offer, clear as day where Bruce is concerned--Tim finds the track jacket guy and unzips his laptop bag, crouching down at the man's unconscious side. He fingers out a tiny screwdriver from one of the canisters on his bandolier, using it to make quick work of getting the hard drive out. That goes into a pocket on his back, secured in tight so it doesn't fall out. Then Tim's moving on to zip-tying the guys' hands and feet for police pickup.
"I could swing by." He glances up between zipping Travis nice and tight. "For a few."
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"Your access codes still work. Come by any time."
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That's the kind of stare that will keep Tim up at night. It always did, when he was younger. When they were undressing in the Cave together or when he saw Bruce walking around half-costumed. It was, frankly, still fodder for masturbation sessions when Tim needed it. And the guys he'd tried out in their interim time apart had certainly not been anything near the man he was looking at now.
Fuck.
Tim nods, finishes up his work as Bruce leaves, and lets out a breath he wasn't aware he'd been holding. He tells himself he's going to finish his own patrols, get into the hard drive, finish up his case, and call it a night.
But by three in the morning, he's steering his bike into the Cave. Bruce is probably still out. It would be better if he was. But there Tim is, excited when he spies him at the Bat Computer. Tim pulls in and kicks the stand out, turning the bike off and getting the helmet free as he steps off. Hangs it over the seat. Pries his cowl down so it hangs off the back of his neck, revealing a flushed, sweat-damp face that almost looked too young to be in such a stern, tough guy costume night after night. "I'll be quick," he says by way of greeting, already moving to strip himself of his bracers and gauntlets. The scan on the computer will go faster if he's out of uniform. Or at least strips out of the thicker layers.
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Because Tim's not going to come tonight.
He spares a glance to the manor's security feed when it alerts him to a vehicle approaching. High rate of speed. Tim Drake, the automated voice announces and asks Bruce if he wants to grant him access. He doesn't have a chance to answer. Tim uses his codes to enter. And for a moment, Bruce smiles to himself.
Bruce doesn't say anything as Tim comes in and begins to strip down. He said he wouldn't bother him and he won't. But he suspects he doesn't have to. He suspects Tim will ask him to. And he's been patient enough. He could wait a little while longer.
"Which simulation do you want?"
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Tim rolls his shoulders, cracks his neck, slides his bo staff out as he approaches the pad to get scanned and begin the simulation. Bruce's were always the worst, most grueling trainings, programmed to give even Batman a run for his money. But Tim's here to prove he's not shirking his responsibilities just because he's a little slow taking down two seven foot goons.
"Surprise me."
He aims to ace this. Even after a long patrol.
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The computer begins a countdown but Croc takes his first swing without waiting for it to finish. There's dozens of cameras recording the fight; Bruce doesn't have to watch if he doesn't want to. But he does. Because there's something different about watching Tim work in person and he wants to see it with his own eyes.
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It's true that Tim isn't at his prime tonight. Maybe that's why he came here after all. To be seen by Bruce, to be told off for it. Punished. The thought occurs, unbidden, of Bruce throwing him over his lap to spank him while Tim moans Daddy like a litany.
Still, he focuses on the attacks at hand. Just because it's only a program doesn't mean it won't hurt when Croc swings. Luckily, even tired and worn out and sluggish, Tim is faster than most and easily able to figure out the moves coming at him. Croc's downside is he's sluggish due to his size, at least compared to the other kinds of villains they face day to day.
Tim makes it look easy despite the things going on in his life. His body moves fluidly, bends like Dick taught him, throws punches faster than Jason, and uses his brains like Bruce. The bo staff is an extension of him as he moves, eventually getting Killer Croc to his knees. Not after Croc got a swipe in against his side, but that's par for the course... Right?
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Tim's good. Bruce isn't surprised. The mistakes are easy to spot. His staff droops a little lower than it should. He doesn't pivot fast enough to avoid Croc's swipe. He's tired. Sluggish. Minor issues. Simple things to correct. But Bruce doesn't correct them. The analysis finishes compiling and he turns to glance at the results.
"You were about eight seconds faster in your last run." He says. And then he gets back to work.
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Tim rolls his shoulders again as the program fizzles away and leaves behind the cold reality of the Cave and Bruce's asked for neglect. Tim can't blame anyone but himself for how chilling Bruce's tone feels, how distant. He asked for this. He demanded it. So why is it Tim that's left feeling guilty? Like he did something wrong.
He moves to the computer to look at the results and makes a sound with his mouth not unlike Damian's little ttchs. Eight seconds slower means eight seconds of improvement. It's not Tim's best work, and he knew it wouldn't be, but what he expected was for Bruce to get up and put his hands on him, show him where he was slow, maybe linger a second too long, maybe lean in and kiss him, maybe just stroke down his spine, maybe coax him into the bedroom. It's stupid to want the very things he was pissed off about a month ago, but that had been under duress, and this was---well, because he wanted it, right?
He'd always been desperate for Bruce's approval, whatever form that took.
"You have a Batman scenario in there yet?" he asks, lingering at Bruce's side. "Gimme a real challenge."
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He finally stops when Tim asks for a Batman scenario. There is one, though it still needed testing. He could pit Tim against it. Watch the outcome and point out where Tim went wrong. But that's not what Tim is after. Not really. And Bruce knows it.
Besides, why bother with a simulation when the real Batman is standing just inches away?
"It isn't ready," he says, tone flat, still focused on the work. But he does stop eventually and tugs the cowl off so he could see Tim. And more importantly, so Tim could see him.
"If you want a Batman scenario, you'll have to settle for me."
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It's probably the most obvious way Tim could have asked Bruce to spar with him, to touch him in any way that doesn't break Tim's rule of 'staying away', but at the moment, he doesn't care. Bruce is right there, and when he pulls the cowl down, it gives Tim chills to see Bruce's handsome, weathered face bared before him again. The man is absolutely perfect physically, hard-earned and kept up meticulously, but it's not just his body and his mind--it's his face. The jagged, raw edges of jaw. The slight stubble that's trying to shatter the illusion of perfection.
"You're the one who said I was slow out there," Tim says, quietly, stretching out his arms by pulling one in front of his chest, then the other, as he walks backwards towards the training pit. This is probably a really, really bad idea. But Tim already feels high as a damn kite having Bruce just look at him after so long away. "Come prove it."
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He watches Tim back away toward the training mats and it only takes a moment to decide. Bruce unclips the cape and pulls off the cowl and follows Tim into the pit. This is probably a terrible idea. But then Bruce also dresses like a giant bat to terrorize Gotham's lowlifes. He's not exactly known for having great ideas. When they're face to face and Bruce slides into a stance, he smirks and beckons Tim to make the first strike.
"Come on. Try to hit me."
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Tim's done it before. He's managed to get a swat or kick in when he's really firing on all cylinders, when his brain is precisely focused, when he's at his prime. But tonight, he's certainly not. He's not only distracted by Bruce but by the anticipation of being touched by him in any way after starving himself from it for a month, but he's also tired, it's past three in the morning, and Travis down by the docks did get a good punch against his ribs on the right side.
Not to mention he did his best against the last program of Killer Croc.
Even so, Tim hopes he's doing something to make Bruce proud as he darts forward and fakes out twice before going for Bruce's jaw.
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"You're hurt." There's a hint of concern in his delivery, but nothing beyond it. It explains why Tim's reaction time is slower than usual at least. Besides the exhaustion.
"Again. Come on."
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Tim huffs, annoyed by the ease with which Bruce stops him, redirects all his momentum with barely a flick of his wrist. But also aroused if he's truly honest about it. Bruce is never so beautiful as when he's in motion, perfect in every diversion and dodge and shift, as if he isn't built like a damn brick wall.
"That guy at the docks got a little hit in before I subdued him, that's all." Tim tries again, this time swinging once with his elbow and then ducking low to try for Bruce's knees. That's one of the only weak spots he knows Bruce has, and it's barely even weak honestly. Just an easier target than the rest of him.
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