Disclaimers: Not even remotely mine.

Spoilers: IC, "War Games."

Milieu: Easy People series. Will not make sense
without the others.

Ratings Note/Warnings: Not quite entirely harmless.
Content some readers may find to be TIM/KON OMG.

Summary: Tim wants to talk.

Acknowledgments: To Mary and Betty for audiencing and
encouragement.

*

Kon's brain goes offline for a while when Tim walks into the
Kents' kitchen with a smile and an envelope -- which turns
out to contain a gift certificate for Aunt Martha for some
chic online *knitting* store of all things -- and doesn't quite
come back until after he's in the middle of saying grace for
dinner, which means that he stammers his way through the
rest of it while Uncle Jon pretends not to wince and Aunt
Martha continues to beam steadily at their guest, who
happens to be Tim, and -- yeah.

Right. These things happen.

Just because they don't -- *ever* -- is no reason not to go
with it, especially because there's food, and... yeah, food.

"So, what *does* bring you out here, son?" And Uncle Jon
takes a big swallow of milk. "I know Clark's gonna be sad
he couldn't make it -- he's been talking you up almost as
much as Conner."

And then Uncle Jon winks at him, and that's actually okay,
because it gives him something to focus on other than the
following facts:

One, he doesn't have any fucking clue why Tim is here
tonight, but it can't possibly be good.

Two, he knows exactly why *Clark* isn't here tonight, and
it has everything to do with the fact that Clark hadn't kept
himself to just liking Tim a lot.

And Tim hadn't --

"I don't have long, but... I thought it would be. I wanted to
visit," Tim says, managing to sound exactly right *and* like
that scary guy Kon had found in the townhouse which is
empty now, because...

Because of a lot of fucked up things.

Right.

He eats his seconds, because otherwise Aunt Martha will be
suspicious, and he does his best not to look... not to look
the way he *does*, and it doesn't matter that it doesn't
work.

Because Tim is Tim, and charms the hell out of the Kents
until it's been long enough that Kon can stand up from the
table without looking like an *asshole* who's suspicious,
and...

And it's Tim, so his arms are lifted just enough for Kon to
grab him before Kon's even fully out the door.

Kon grits his teeth and swallows a little, but he has to ask
before they get too high for sound to carry well. Tim isn't
even wearing a comm. He isn't *either*, but -- "Where are
we going?"

"Anywhere," Tim says, and does that thing where he shifts
in Kon's hands until Kon feels like he's just a B-52 or
something, and Tim's the nuclear bomb that's gonna take
out...

He doesn't know. "Uh... more specific."

"Anywhere we can talk?"

Kon nods, even though their positions mean he's just
nodding at himself --

It's way too fucking good a metaphor.

Still, it's an excuse to get the fuck out of Clarkland-I-mean-
Kansas, and probably there are a whole lot of places he
could've found for them to talk, but, in the end, he just
keeps flying west.

He doesn't know where he's going.

He --

He lands them on the roof of the mostly-darkened -- it's
freaking *Tuesday* -- Tower, placing his palm flat to the
access door long enough to send a print down into the
security systems, and Tim does the same, and, no, he knew
exactly where he was going.

He'd never fucking meant for this to be their *place*, but...
fuck. Maybe Tim did.

One day he's going to be able to catch things like that.

He probably won't.

And Tim's just standing there, staring at the roof and being
close enough to touch and --

I hate it when you smell like soap, because I always wonder
why you had to shower before coming to see me. He
doesn't say that out loud. "So, talking."

"I... I'm trying to figure out where to start."

The Tower isn't actually close enough to the Bay that if Kon
vomits over the side he won't make a mess. "Shit."

"Kon --"

"Look, if you're -- can we just skip the part where you break
up with me and *be* broken up?"

"I -- Kon, that isn't -- God, I just --"

The first thing he wants to do when Tim's hand lands on his
wrist is knock it off. The second thing he wants to do is fly.
The third thing he wants to do is just... "What *do* you
want to talk about then?"

"Did you. You really thought I wanted to end this?"

And when the lines on Tim's forehead get a little deeper,
Kon knows he's squeezing Tim's hand too hard. He can
*stop*, and he does, but... shit. "Having fucking *Clark* tell
me you love me is a little fucking *different* from --"

"I do. I love. I --"

And Tim bites his lip, and Kon doesn't have to push him
away, because Tim backs away himself, rolling his shoulders
forward a little in the way that makes the cape he's totally
not wearing right now hide everything higher than his
calves.

"I wish." Tim looks up, and his forearms are still in the tight
little 'x' over his front, and it's the freakiest thing in the
damned world to look at, and --

"What do you wish, man?"

"I wish I wasn't fucking with you."

Kon blinks.

"That's... that's pretty much the gist of everything I wanted
to say."

"Uh. You *are* fucking with me. I just, everything you're --
god fucking *dammit*, Tim --"

"I know. I know I am. And I hate it. And I'm sorry --"

Kon bites back the growl that wants to come out of his
throat, but, well, Tim could *see* it, and --

"And I know that isn't good enough. I just. I want to know
what I can do. To make it good enough."

The thing is, he's spent the past few weeks -- shit, coming
up on two *months* now -- dreaming Tim saying things
like this and *not* punching himself hard enough in the
head so he could stop doing it. It's just --

"I don't think." Tim looks at the roof again. "I don't think I
can quite manage making things just 'good.'"

"You don't make anything easier for me."

"No, I know. I. Kon, I'm --"

"No, I," Kon folds his arms over his chest and breathes. "I
just. That's what you said. Before. That you didn't make
anything easier for me, that you thought I was just... doing
you a favor and fucking myself *up* at the same time --"

"You were --"

And the thing about getting faster, stronger (more like
Clark) is that he's good enough to just slam Tim back
against the wall and hold onto him. Tim isn't armed with
anything but the wicked fucking knife he doesn't even take
off his back for *sex* and even if he were...

Even if he were, even if he *could*, he wouldn't do
anything. He'd just...

He'd just fucking take this.

"Tell me about your father."

"I wish I hated him more."

"*Fuck* --"

"I hate him quite a lot for dying. Did you know... I. Every
time I'm about to die, even now, the first thing I think is,
'I'm so sorry, Batman.' And then I apologize to my father.
But he's dead now. What else do you want to know?"

Kon squeezes his eyes shut. "Your... Spoiler. Robin. Your
*girlfriend* --"

"The last time we spoke she called me a pussy for letting
my father make me quit. And then she made herself Robin,
and then she. I didn't see her before she died. She was
dead, just like my father. And Batman was there. Just like.
And he didn't save her. Just like with. And she didn't save
herself. And she's still mad at me. And she's right. What
else?"

"God -- Jesus fucking *Christ*, Tim --"

"This is what you wanted to know. You. You want me to
*talk* to you, but Kon, I just. I think -- ow."

Kon eases up on Tim's shoulder with an effort, but he
can't -- he can't *fucking* -- "*This* is what you talk to
*Clark* about?"

"Yes. Sometimes, we also talk about my issues with Batman.
Did you want me to...? Maybe I can tell you about how I
hate myself for wishing he was my father. Or how it doesn't
have enough to do with the fact that then *he'd* be the
one dead now --"

"Stop --"

"-- and that I'm still, actually, sexually attracted --"

Tim doesn't make a sound when Kon bounces him off the
wall, and Kon's so freaked he almost *does* puke, but then
Tim opens his eyes.

"I'm sorry. I'm. I'm so sorry, Kon."

"Jesus, no, God, I'm --"

"Don't apologize. I deserved --"

"*Fuck* you, man! You deserved it for using it to fucking
*beat* me, not because it's true."

Tim closes his eyes again. "I don't want it to be true."

And that's... it's the least Tim thing ever and also maybe
the most, and either way...

Either way, Kon's laughing a little.

"Kon?"

"Yeah, well, *I* don't want it to be true, either, man,
that's --"

"I don't. I don't want you to know me."

And he can't. There's a code to Tim, and it's confusing and
awful and Kon can't fucking *breathe*, but it's also really
consistent: the harder it is to say, the more true it is. "Why.
Why don't --"

"Because it's better if. I want you to love me."

"Because --"

"I love. I love." And Tim shudders once, all over. "You
should let me go back to Bludhaven, Kon."

He should. He. "Yeah, um. Why does that sound like 'you
should dump me?'"

"Because I can't. I need you. I --"

It's enough. It's just... it's fucking *enough*, and he can't
quite bring himself to pull Tim away from the wall enough
to hug him, yet, so he just grabs Tim's other shoulder and
presses his forehead to Tim's own, and --

"Kon."

Yeah. And maybe he looks -- *and* feels -- like a complete
jackass when he's rubbing his head against Tim's like this,
but he doesn't really -- he can go with it. "It's enough,
man. It's good enough."

"No, it's -- I --"

It's not the best kiss. It's definitely not *their* best kiss,
because they're not naked and Tim isn't smiling into Kon's
mouth, but it's good, because for once he's the one shutting
Tim up.

And he's pretty sure Tim gets off on that the way Kon gets
off on... pretty much everything else.

And when Kon pulls back again, Tim just says, "Kon," again,
only it's different. It's.

It's the way he says Kon's name when he's not saying good
things, as opposed to not saying bad things, and -- Jesus.
"Jesus, man."

"Yeah?"

"I mean... how does that -- how the *hell* does that work
in talking to Clark?"

"Well. Usually I'm... usually, I phrase it in more amusing
ways."

"'Amusing?' How the fuck --"

Tim squeezes Kon's hip. "Am I allowed to say that you
probably don't want to know?"

No. Yes. *No* -- "I don't. I don't know. I'm not -- fuck, you
gave me your goddamned *stutter*."

The smile on Tim's face is the one he pretty much always
want to see:

It's subtle, and it's small, and it's close enough to kiss, and
Tim wants him to kiss it, and --

"I did mention something about being bad for you, Kon."

And Kon is a little cold, right now. Because Tim also tells...
he tells a lot of truth when he's smiling like that. "You're
*not*."

"Kon --"

"Just. Trust *me*, okay? I'm gonna go back to Smallville
and have nightmares about your fucking messed-up
*existence*, and then I'm gonna wake up and remember
that it's at least a little okay. Because you've got me."

"That's not -- you shouldn't --"

"You need me."

"That's not *enough* -- if me *loving* you isn't enough,
how --"

It's kind of hard to decide, actually, whether or not it's a
bad thing that he's starting to get a *kink* for shutting
Tim up, considering the fact that the last thing he wants to
do is train the asshole back into bad fucking *habits*,
but --

But Tim shoves him back just enough that Kon *can* get
his arms around him, and maybe fly them up a little
because he *can*, and... yeah.

"I know you're not like me. I know you can't be. That's --
that wasn't ever what I wanted. Or else *I'd* be the one
screwing Clark, you know?"

Tim winces. "Kon --"

"Heh. That's totally the first time I've ever disturbed *you*,
isn't it?"

And *this* smile isn't one of Kon's absolute favorites -- he's
seen Tim point it at too many people he was about to hit --
but, then again...

That probably makes *perfect* fucking sense to Tim.