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.
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.
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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."
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"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.
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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.
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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
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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."
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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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