Dick's still in the shower after Tim's done changing the
sheets, and it's only four, so it seems like a good idea to
pick up the phone.

"Mmph. 'lo?"

"Morning, Steph."

"Nnn. Sweetie. It's -- isn't it Tuesday? Or... Monday night.
Something."

Tim stretches out and rests his back against the headboard.
"Yep."

"And you're calling instead of *showing*... does Or -- does
O have you running around somewhere out of Gotham?"

"I'm actually visiting N until tomorrow evening."

"Hmm," Steph says, and -- there. She's awake, and turning
over on her stomach. "And you're calling *me*. I like you."

Tim grins. "Good to know."

"What's up, though? Isn't it time for the post-patrol hanky
and/or panky?"

"Well... wait. What do you know about --"

Steph snickers. "Oh, so you *do* want me to tell you all
about Batgirl's sweaty --"

"Jesus -- uh. No. I."

The snickers get both higher and more muffled. She's
covering her mouth.

"Unless... did you... need to talk about... that?"

Steph makes a coughing, barking sound which is somewhat
reminiscent of the seals at the Gotham Zoo. "Really not,
Wuss Wonder. Seriously, though, why aren't you and N...
winding down?"

"Well, mostly because N's hair is thicker than mine, and
holds the smell of smoke... really well. Uh, we had to deal
with some of... think arsonists beginning with 'F.' Some of
*his* work tonight. It was... it was bad."

Steph hisses between her teeth. "But you're both good?"

"As... these things go. The target was personal. For -- for
both of us, really."

"Which means you can't really elaborate even if I *do* scour
the news websites for info and figure it out. I got it."

"Yeah, I... yeah. I just... am I allowed to use the 'wanted to
hear your voice' excuse again?"

"Hmm, lemme think -- yes, you jackass. Just... punch
yourself in the face for me, k?"

Tim smiles again. "And take away your fun? I wouldn't be a
very good personfriend if I did that."

"Personfriend. You did not just -- God, you're such a little
freak."

"I *am* nearly as tall as you now."

"Yeah. With your *boots* on." Steph snickers again. "So,
come on, be a little more awkward and secretive and yet
also share-y. You're good at that."

"Well, it's... we managed to get everyone out, but it's a
tough call as to whether..." Tim shakes his head. The
shower's still running. "We'll be checking the news reports,
too. And -- the attack was *too* personal, in a lot of
ways."

"Whoa. Like -- too personal like --"

"Too personal in the sense of no, there's no proof, and no
real reason to be *very* worried, yet, but... don't be
surprised if you trip over a few more surveillance devices
in the next few days."

"Well... shit, Tim."

Tim scrubs a hand back through his hair. "Yeah. It looks
like I'm going to be spending a bit more time in the 'haven
than I planned, at least for work." Especially since after
getting back, every electronic 'sniffer' Bruce had planted in
his suit had gone crazy and there was now a pile of
carefully reprogrammed -- and deactivated -- bombs in
Dick's little garage. He's not going to mention that.

"Damn. So... do you know who's gunning for... N?"

"Really yes. It's... it's going to be a bit sticky for a while, I
think."

"You're totally wigged."

"It was -- like I said, it was personal for both of us. More for
N, but... *differently* for me. I wish... it would be really,
really good if I could explain it."

"Oh, sweetie. You should pretend I'm squeezing your hand
and bumping your shoulder."

Tim smiles and closes his eyes. "Not the burned one, I
hope."

"Oh, ew, ew, I hate burns. How much does it suck?"

Tim shrugs -- mostly to test it. "It might not scar."

"Poor honey. At least I know N's gonna take care of you."

"Possibly until I feel a need to run screaming, yes. He's
almost certainly going to try to keep me out of this."

Steph snorts. "At which point you'll ignore his ass
completely..."

"Oh, I was just thinking that I'd point out he was acting like
*B*." In a bad way.

"Ooh, burn. Literally, even."

"Ouch. I think I have to punch you back for that one."

"Well, since you're *kind of* a girl now, I guess it's not
unchivalrous or anything. Damn. If you hurt me, though,
I'm siccing Cass on you."

"Noted." And the water's off. "I... I should let you sleep."

"Gonna nothing at me again first?"

Tim grins again. "Thoroughly."

"Mmm. I'm one seriously nothinged girl, all right."

"Night, Steph."

"Mm-hmm."

Tim reaches to hang up and isn't really surprised when Dick
reaches out of the gloom and hangs the phone up for him.

He's even less surprised when Dick fails to say anything.

Tim says, "come here. Please," and Dick does it.

In the thin, small puddle of light from the only lamp Tim has
on, Dick is raw-eyed and exhausted-looking. And...

If it were Bruce, Tim thinks, it would probably be a
not-terrible idea to say something about he thought, maybe,
he'd just go ahead and give up now on getting to see Dick
perform under a big-top, considering their track record.

He can actually almost *hear* the somewhat pained sound
of Bruce's laugh, but.

Dick really isn't Bruce.

It's better to just pull him in and hold on, as much as
possible.

After a few minutes, the limp hold Dick has on him tightens
almost painfully hard and stays that way.

Tim isn't sure if it's a signal or not, but... "We got everyone
out." Even if not everyone lives through the night.

"If you weren't there --"

"I was. And I will be."

"Tim --"

"I know you were listening to me and Steph. *You* know
you won't win." Dick... grinds his teeth. Only for a moment,
but still.

"Oh God, I just ground my teeth."

Tim bites the inside of his cheek. "Did you...?"

Dick pulls away and glares at him mildly. "I *heard* that
part of the conversation."

Tim does his best to make his expression blank.

"Are you *sure* you don't think -- that this isn't --"

"I have Batman. I don't need another."

Dick touches his cheek, briefly. "Then what do you need?"

"Well, I'm almost due for a shave."

"Oddly enough, I don't have any shaving cream scented
with Chanel no. 22. And -- didn't Bruce's *mother* used
to wear that?"

"I'm reasonably sure neither of us wants an answer to
that question, Dick."

"God, I... *God*."

*

After Dick is asleep, Tim goes to the roof, checks his
perimeter, and taps his throat.

"Robin to Oracle."

"Yes, little Bird?"

It's impressive how good a job Oracle always does at
making the capital letters entirely audible in a simulated
voice. 'Little *bird*,' after all, would be somewhat disturbing.
"How informed are you about the events in and around the
'haven?"

"Police reports and deductions. How much *does*
Blockbuster know?"

"N's home -- *home* -- was rigged to blow. And it's
reasonably clear that Barbara Gordon was the target --"

"Of that new Tarantula's attack. In other words, he knows
too much. Dare I ask why I'm not hearing this from N?"

"Call it an attack of Bat. Not yet acute."

"Hnn. I assume you're keeping an eye on it."

"And you're not?"

"Certain devices have been deactivated in recent months."

Tim frowns. Understandable, but... "Bring them back online."

"Done. And in about a minute and a half, you'll have
everything I do about Blockbuster and his organization."

"Good. I need... something else. I'm not sure what."

"The problem of identities. You know B can burn us all out
of existence with a handful of keystrokes."

"I'm hoping to avoid that, as you may have guessed."

"Hnn. And here I thought you found your relationship with
your parents problematic. What sort of teenager are you?"

Tim snorts, quietly. "Not -- quite -- that petulant."

"H will be disappointed. She's had the paddles all ready for
weeks."

'Quietly' is asking a little much for this snort. "H will rejoin
the Church -- and possibly a convent -- if you ever put that
image in her mind."

"Hnn. Remind me of that the next time she pisses me off.
But -- in terms of needs."

"Yes."

"It would probably be wrong to hope for some sort of tragic
brain injury..."

"I've always been told so."

"Hnn. Let me get back to you after I've hit a few League
sources."

Manhunter? "All right."

"In the meantime... you might consider raiding B for
detailed information on his dealings with Strange."

Tim blinks and considers. "Good idea. In the meantime, I
think it would be prudent to get another operative here,
stat."

"Not you...? Interesting."

"I plan on working out of here as much as I can, but..."

"Ah, yes. Those pesky parents. Perhaps we could consider
brainwiping them, as well."

"Oracle --"

"For the good of the Mission, of course."

"And here I was considering BG. Clearly, I just can't see the
big picture."

"You're young, yet. You'll learn."

*

He winds up sleeping for the better part of six hours, enough
to leave him both adequately rested and slightly confused.

Or possibly it's the fact that what wakes him up is the
sensation of being watched, and that when he opens his
eyes it's Batgirl. The bed is empty. The light under the
bathroom door suggest Dick is either hiding or... hiding.
The least he could've done is wake Tim up.

Then again, *he* possibly could've mentioned that Batgirl
already knew about them.

And... Batgirl.

"Why are you surprised?"

"Good morning," Tim says, and tries to remember where his
panties -- his gaffs -- does he have boxers here?

Batgirl frowns at him for a moment, then drops into a
crouch and tosses last night's gaff onto the bed. Which...

Well, at least he hadn't had time to get it especially dirty.

She turns her back while he pulls them on -- she's done
things like that since the beginning, when they were both
pretending it was a matter of identity rather than
moderately irrational terror. Other things.

And the second his genitals are covered, she looks back at
him over her shoulder.

Tim has the usual moment of realizing that she's in civvies --
it's never obvious, even when she's wandering around in
workout clothes -- the usual moment to readjust, and then
she says, again,

"Why are you surprised? Oracle says you asked for me."

"I was thinking you'd come tonight." When I was dressed,
or, better yet, gone.

She frowns again. "Nothing else to do."

It's a question. And... he really does owe her at least as
much as he owed Bart for dealing with Kon. "I was hoping
to spend more time alone with Nightwing," he says, and,
after a moment, adds, "I was also hoping to avoid you
entirely."

The frown is thoughtful now. "Steph?"

He could just say yes. "Steph and me. Our relationship.
Everything you know. Everything I don't."

"Everything you *won't*."

Tim nods.

"I should go?"

Tim snorts. "No. But you should give me and Dick a little
privacy. I have to be yelled at, now."

She nods and leaves. Leaves the *apartment* by the sound
of it, but Oracle had had her ears pierced long ago. She's
always wearing a comm.

And Dick does an impressive job of looking both sheepish
and pissed when he walks out of the bathroom, though it's
only to be expected.

"Before you start, Dick, you need backup."

"And whose call was that, exactly?"

"Mine. But it should've been yours."

"Tim --"

"Who are we, Dick? What do we know? What have we
*seen*?"

"I -- Jesus, can't you take a little *longer* to get to the
point where you're right?"

"Possibly I'd be less of an asshole about things if you hadn't
just told me, for all intents and purposes, that if I *hadn't*
been here, you would've done something *Bruce* hasn't
been stupid enough to do since Bane broke his *fucking*
spine."

Dick crosses his arms over his chest and stares at the floor.
"Haly's. And I couldn't -- *again* I couldn't do anything --"

"No, you couldn't do *enough*. There's a difference."

"God fucking *dammit*, Tim --"

"It's Haly's. *I* couldn't do enough, either. Together, we
failed. *Together*. And -- you already know I'm right, you
won't shake Batgirl unless you can beat her in a fight --
which you can't -- and... can we just drop this?"

Dick glares at him for another moment before taking a
breath. "You could've -- told me."

At least he didn't say 'asked.' "I was planning on it. I didn't
expect Batgirl to show up immediately."

Dick gives him a distinctively skeptical look.

"When I'm *actively* plotting against you, I won't be naked
in your bed." Certainly not when Batgirl's involved.

Dick snorts and scrubs a hand through his hair. "Good to
know."

"Also, for what it's worth, she knew about the two of us
whenever you saw her last."

"*Jesus*."

"In a way," Tim says, heading for the drawer where Dick
keeps extra clothes for him, "I'd think it would be better.
Whatever compromising position you were in when she
walked in --"

"I was making coffee. And I let her in."

Tim spreads his hands. "Either way. She already knew."

"I -- fine. How did *you* know she knew?"

"She told Steph... who told me."

"You -- Steph knows? Have you even -- Christ, I didn't even
ask when you broke up with her -- I. How is she? You were
talking to her just last night. I -- God."

Tim winces and replaces last night's gaff with a new one.
This one is robin's egg blue -- because Dick is Dick. "We
haven't."

"You -- are you telling me you're dating me, Bruce, *and*
Steph?"

"You... make it sound so sordid?"

"And I thought that you and Steph... I mean... I... does she
know about you and *Batman*?"

He doesn't have a *padded* bra which goes with this gaff,
but then, it's probably better to just be flat for the day.
"Not exactly. On the other hand, she figured it out about
'Bruce Wayne' the same way you did."

Dick doesn't say anything while he fastens the bra, while
he considers and rejects the gloriously tasteless short plaid
skirt Dick had purchased for him -- they really aren't going
to have time -- and while he puts on another pair of jeans,
instead.

And when Tim looks back over his shoulder, Dick is just sort
of... looking at him.

Though that doesn't quite express the full effect of Dick with
one hand pressed to his face peering out from between
splayed fingers. His mouth isn't *hanging* open, per se,
but...

Tim winces a little more. "I didn't... Steph is my best friend.
She was my best friend before she ever knew my *name*...
and I think you know how that works."

Dick nods slowly.

"I..."

Dick lets his hand slide off his face. "Tim... what are you
doing?"

"With?"

"*Yourself*. All of us. I don't -- God, I don't even know --"

"Me?"

Dick rears back -- and takes a step back. "That wasn't --
that wasn't what I was going to say."

"Was it what you were thinking?"

"*No*, Tim. Are you?"

That's... a good question.

"*Should* you be?"

Tim... Tim pulls on the first t-shirt which comes to hand. It's
actually one of Kon's black 'S' shirts, and he has no idea why
he has it, and less than no idea of why it's here. These
things happen, though, and it's not like Kon won't
appreciate --

"Tim..."

"Dick, I thought we agreed that I was... feeling my way."

"We *did*. And -- look -- just because I expected you to do
it in anything like the way I did... Jesus, Tim, I... can't I be
a *little* overwhelmed here?"

If it were Bruce, he'd mention something about how he
could be dating Clark or possibly Alfred, thus completing
the quasi-incestuous troika. However, Bruce wouldn't ever
ask, and... And Dick, at least, would point out that that
wasn't necessarily a good thing. He isn't the only one.

"Tim..."

He looks up, and Dick is actually pleading, even though Tim
isn't sure what he's pleading for. "You're right, Dick. It's...
it's fucked-up beyond human comprehension. It's just that
most of the time, it's kind of..."

"What you need?"

Tim shrugs, a little helplessly.

"Are you telling me that this -- I mean, I'm just going to
own the fact that Bruce knows everything, and Steph knows
as much as she possibly can. Am I seriously the only one
losing my shit a little about this?"

"It's... difficult to say."

The pleading look gets a little more intense for a moment,
but then Dick nods, and...

"I think... I need to talk to Bruce about Strange -- it could
come in handy."

"Tim, you don't... you really don't have to go right now."

Dick's a terrible liar. Tim smiles. "I'll head back if I can," he
says, and steps a little closer to Dick. "Borrow a bike?"

Dick's answering smile is a bad a lie as the other. "I *did*
just give one a red paintjob."

If it were... it's not.

Dick tosses him one of the sets of keys from the bowl on
his dresser.

And he lets Tim make it to the front door before catching
him.

"Dick --"

The kiss is soft, slow, and -- and not a lie. Or not one
Tim can read.

"A reminder?"

"Among other things," Dick says, and strokes his face.

*

Batgirl catches him on the sidewalk -- it's about half a mile
from Dick's apartment to his base -- and matches Tim's
stride. Which is...

A lot of things. "Go back to Dick."

"Not a dog."

His tone? That would probably be too easy. But... "A
guardian," Tim says, and keeps walking.

"Not an angel."

Tim stops, and doesn't ball his hands into fists. "What do
you want?"

Batgirl looks at him for a long moment, blank and calm
everywhere but her eyes.

Fine. "*Why* are you mad at me?"

"You'd stopped lying."

"I -- you *told* me to. With your *fists* --"

"You want to start lying again. You're *going* to."

It is, of course, tempting to argue that. And if it were
anyone *but* the human lie detector who could possibly
kill him even *faster* than Shiva could.

"Not -- I'm not that. Tim."

Dick needs -- no. "Sometimes lies *work* better. I
would think B would've taught you that already."

Her face crumples, but only for a moment. "Should hit you.
Won't."

He -- he knows what his body was saying.

And then she turns around and jogs back to Dick's
apartment building.

She's getting better by the day.

*

"Robin to Batman."

"Not quite, young sir. Master 'B' is currently that variety of
unavailable which, while assailable, does not involve his
actual presence."

Alfred tends to make his occasional audio 'appearances' over
the comm entirely memorable. "I need to... assail him.
Moderate urgency."

"Noted, Master 'R.' One moment."

Tim focuses on driving while he waits, which is anything but
a hardship. He knows this bike -- or several variations of it.
It's one of the first ones Dick had built, and it's the one
which has been *rebuilt* the most -- and for the least
reason.

As far as Tim knows, this bike hasn't ever been more than
shot at a bit -- certainly, it's been shot fewer times than he
has.

And the color...

He's known for months that this was the bike Dick had
planned to -- eventually -- give to him, and had actually
been somewhat surprised that it hadn't been one of the
gifts Dick had given him for his sixteenth birthday.

Then again, Dick is as much of a perfectionist as any of
them, and the 'R' stencil isn't going anywhere near it until
Dick himself is satisfied with it. According to Oracle, he'd
been working on a car for Bruce since sometime before
the business with Bane.

The fact that Dick had chosen this bike for Tim to take back
to Gotham now...

If he'd asked Dick about it, Dick would tell him there was
no reason for it. He'd almost certainly even believe it. The
question isn't whether or not he does -- he doesn't -- but
whether or not he actually wants to speculate on what
Dick's real reasons will actually turn out to be.

"'A' to 'R.'"

"You've got me."

"How fortuitous. Master 'B' informs me that he will meet
you in the 'C.'"

"Thank you, A. ETA fifteen."

"I will spend the next quarter hour in a state of great
anticipation, I assure you. 'A' out."

Bruce hasn't arrived yet when Tim does pull in, but Alfred
has left them both a light lunch, and...

And it's better to be here first for more than a few reasons.
He'd only had one uniform in Bludhaven, and that one was
half-melted and smelled a great deal like a fire at a circus.
Here, of course, there are a number of options.

Including the suits Bruce had made for the Girl Wonder,
which... it wouldn't take long to give himself the standard
Robin bangs. And, while styling the rest of his hair into the
Girl Wonder's short bob is a bit more challenging... It's
tempting, but not really part of the agenda.

Tim leaves them and goes for the other uniforms, instead.
He has another moment of pause -- he has plenty of
jockeys here, and the fact that he's more than accustomed
to working in a gaff doesn't mean he has to keep it.
However, he suspects he'll be grateful for all additional
discomfort soon enough.

The fact that he takes a sort of nebulously wordless
pleasure out of wearing an armored jock which both fits
perfectly and is entirely 'empty' can be... it can be
irrelevant for this. It can just exist, in the same way that
his appreciation for the 'R' shuriken on his chest simply
exists, despite its relative impracticality.

These are things, perhaps, which can belong only to Robin.

Tim pulls the cape on last --

Which is when Bruce announces his presence by adjusting
the position of the gorget and fastening the cape's collar
himself. And...

Even if he couldn't feel the warmth and faint scratchiness
of Bruce's calluses on his throat and chin, he'd be able to
smell the not entirely traditionally masculine sweetness of
'Bruce Wayne's' cologne.

By the time Tim turns around, he's well-adjusted within his
own mind to the sight of Bruce in the frivolously *light*
uniform of 'Bruce Wayne.' Batman --

"To what do I owe the pleasure, Robin?"

-- would be a bit too much to ask for right this second,
though. "Business."

The hesitation before Bruce shifts and becomes something
entirely more useful for the moment is almost brief enough
for Tim to have -- plausibly, at least -- not noticed it.

Certainly, it's brief enough for both of them to put it aside.
"Has Oracle updated you on the Bludhaven situation?"

"Yes. Catwoman has agreed to cover much of Batgirl's
territory while Batgirl works with Nightwing."

"And mine, while I am?"

Batman nods, then turns and moves for the console.
"Confirmation on Nightwing leaving the force?"

Tim pauses before following. "No."

"Get it."

And that... is dangerously close to requiring interaction
other than Batman's and Robin's, considering the fact that
Bruce and *Dick* have already butted heads on the issue.
Though it's not... entirely impossible. "Suggestions on how
to implement that particular detail?"

Batman rests his hand on the back of the chair. Bruce
squeezes it -- once. "It's gone beyond a question of
*lifestyle*. Nightwing is now actively endangering his
colleagues. We know Blockbuster has no compunction
about murdering police officers."

"Dirty ones."

Batman -- once more-- looks back over his shoulder. "That
was 'business.' Have you become aware of anything in the
last hour which would suggest his vendetta against *Dick
Grayson* isn't personal?"

Thin, thin ice. And Bruce knows it as well as he does, and...
he's not wrong. However...

"Yes?"

"On a purely tactical level, I have my doubts about
Nightwing's emotional readiness to leave the force -- or
to take the suggestion of it from... either of us."

Bruce tightens his hand on the back of the chair again.

There is... a frighteningly high number of things to question
in his last statement -- to *challenge* -- but all of them are
personal.

"Do you believe you won't be able to get the job done?"

"In this respect, Robin is compromised."

Without the gauntlet the paleness of Bruce's knuckles is
quite obvious. But Batman... "You *don't* lack for
options."

Bruce, however, does. The fact that those limitations are
only *partly* due to Bruce's involvement with Tim... doesn't
actually help all that much.

Tim considers it. Batman still isn't wrong. An open appeal
from Tim Drake, Dick Grayson's lover, for even more
sacrifice -- with, of course, the point made that 'in the line
of duty' neither does nor should involve the question of
vigilante entanglements. They both know it would work,
and *why* it would.

It's even possible that he wouldn't have to play the Oracle --
*Barbara* -- card.

The price that would have to be paid for that level of
manipulation... is an entirely emotional one. It wouldn't
even be a lie by anyone's standards but Batgirl's. And all he
would have to do to make it palatable to himself...

Is more of this.

More of this *particular* lie.

"Tim, you have to know *this*, at least, isn't personal --"

"Don't --"

"I've asked. *Barbara* has asked -- and I know what you
want from me, right now, but --"

"*Don't*," he says. "Just. Oracle... Oracle has reason to
believe Captain Rohrbach has her own suspicions about
Officer Grayson's extracurricular activities."

"Did you have reason to believe an end-run would be
more efficient?"

"Ultimately... yes."

Batman -- Bruce raises an eyebrow. "The removal of choice
for all concerned. Interesting."

This is where Tim would like, very much, to say something
about what they both know about his sexual kinks. There
are a lot of things he'd like, and a lot of things he's been
able to *have*. It's just that he'd neglected to consider
what the prices for any of it would be.

Steph almost certainly wasn't the issue with Dick. She
couldn't be, because of who she is to Tim and because Dick
is *Dick*. She -- she *couldn't* be. It would be like
resurrecting Troia and then insisting Dick never so much as
speak to her. And --

And Bruce is closing the distance between them, and all
Tim has to say is 'Hugo Strange' in order to get them back
on *track*, but --

"Hugo Strange," he blurts, awkward and in a voice entirely
unrelated to Robin's, in the last second before Bruce's palm
would've wound up pressed to his cheek. He can't *have*
this.

Not if he wants Dick. Not --

He focuses. Elaborates. "Strange has known your identity
for years and, by extension, the rest of ours. Your tactics
for dealing with this --"

"Are specific to Strange, and Strange's specific psychiatric
problems." And, for a moment, Bruce looks almost confused
by his lack of cape. And then he frowns at his own hand
for a moment and lets it drop to his side. "The question of
what Blockbuster knows." He raises an eyebrow.

"If he hasn't used Dick's identity to figure out who the rest
of us are, he's just been too busy working out ways to
destroy Dick's life. It's only a matter of time, Br -- Batman."

"I find myself tempted to quote Yeats," Bruce says, and
crosses his arms over his chest.

"The center will hold so long as we do."

"And what, precisely, are we holding, Tim?"

We? "Control," Tim says, and gives himself the freedom not
to look Bruce in the eye. "Specifically, for the moment,
damage control."

"Hypnosis, programming -- the ethics involved in this sort
of thing have never been especially comfortable."

Bruce's voice, Bruce's... constant sense of *invitation*. Tim
tightens the cross of his arms beneath his cape. "I've read
all of the files on your dealings with Strange I've had
access to --"

"You've had access to all of them."

The slightest hint of stress on 'you've?' Just enough to make
him question, doubt -- no. The floor is enough to look at.
"In that case, there has definitely been something of a
sense of ends justifying the means."

"Never --"

"You've broken him. You'll do it again. The fact that you
just exploited fault lines which were already there... *how*
many times have you defeated Ivy by threatening assorted
plant-life?"

The hand on his face is -- only to be expected.

"I'm here for you to *tell* me what else we can do, Bruce.
I'm not -- if I just wanted to harangue you about your
methods, beliefs, and issues --"

"We'd be on a date?"

Tim bites his cheek to hold back the laugh, even though he
knows Bruce knows exactly what he's doing. Sometimes,
the thought counts in several different painful ways.

And Bruce takes his hand away again. "I've spent several
years trying to come up with a better way of dealing with
Strange than simply making his problems worse than they
already were. I've failed at that," he says, and turns away.

"I'm sanctioned?"

"Yes."

"Good." And that's... it's everything he needed to know.
It's... he can go now. "I'm going to check in with Oracle."

Bruce nods. With his back turned... it's still a nod.

He should... it's *day*. He should be changing back into
civvies. He...

He really needs to deal with the fact that the only reason
he's wearing the Robin suit now is because he'd wanted...

"I... I need to change first."

"Yes. I imagine so."

He's wearing... is it a lie if it's a decision? Is it a decision if
it's -- "There are -- there are things I haven't said."

"Not in words, no."

"How --" Tim bites his cheek again. There's no reason
whatsoever for him to ask *Bruce* how he'd ever reached
a point where he could hear -- *feel* -- Bruce's smiles
even with the man's back turned.

"What is it, Tim?"

Look at me. Tell me...

Bruce -- it's not a sigh. It's not... it's not anything but
watching Bruce tilt his head back to look at the ceiling, or
perhaps just make it more satisfying to close his eyes --
"Did you think I wouldn't understand?"

"I --"

"Did you truly think I had any... expectations?"

("You want to start lying again. You're *going* to.")

"Did you..." This time, it is a sigh. "You've... expressed
everything which needs to be expressed."

"Bruce --"

"Robin? Hmm. Robin. Change -- quickly."

He does.

*

One of the perquisites of being a Bird is the opportunity --
unofficial and unspoken, of course -- to show up at the
Clocktower, raid Oracle's fridge and cabinets, and generally
look precisely as pathetic as one feels until Oracle rolls her
eyes and starts sparring with you.

Tim hasn't sparred with Dick in months -- and working
against someone with escrima sticks is a particular
challenge. Oracle can -- and does -- deflect every throwing
weapon with ease, and his staff has limited use against
someone both significantly shorter and with a great deal
of upper body strength.

Not to mention the fact that Oracle has no compunction
whatsoever about using the chair to crush his toes.

"That's going to make sandals problematic," Tim says, once
he gets free and can dance out of the way of the sticks.

"Consider it -- nn -- incentive to learn how to wear
closed-toe shoes."

"They pinch," and the leap over the back of Oracle's chair
would've been infinitely more effective if he'd been quick
enough to avoid having Oracle use the sticks to box his
ears. "Also ouch."

"Wuss," Oracle says, spinning and going for his knees.

He dances back and strikes, catching the knuckles of her
right hand with the staff, but the stick might as well be
glued to her palm. The back-swing which should've caught
her head is blocked -- but she'd used her left, and he
catches her forearm. Weakness? "I'm just a kid," he says,
moving to his left in order to focus on her right.

Oracle snorts and uses one of the sticks to jab for his
kidneys.

She misses, but only because Tim *moves*. "Really. Also
I'm somewhat girly," he says and jabs for Oracle's abdomen
with the staff --

-- and nearly loses it when she uses both sticks to catch it.

"Impressive," he says, yanking hard enough to pull free and
swinging --

Blocked. "Just be glad I'm not using the notched ones, Sally
Wonder."

"'Sally?' Is that even an accepted insult?"

"My tower," she says, beckoning with the stick in her right
hand, "my rules."

He fakes for her left shoulder, goes for her left cheek, gets
blocked, and *kicks* for her head, forcing Oracle to
dodge -- and getting jabbed in the calf.

The blow is numbingly hard, but he still manages to drive
back down toward her right shoulder --

And get his staff knocked away. "Okay, so you *weren't*
weakened on the right."

Oracle grins and pulls towels for both of them from the
pocket on the back of the chair. "You should've kept going
for the left. My forearm's going to hate you in an hour. My
knuckles..."

"Are used to the punishment. Noted," Tim says. "Two
things."

"Two things *before* we get to the next installment of your
ever so fascinating love life?"

Tim scrubs at his face and lets himself drop to the floor at
her feet. "One, were you able to get anything out of the
League on dealing with supervillains who know too much?"

"Mm. Yes and no. No, I didn't get anything immediately
useful for the Blockbuster situation. Yes, I found myself
intrigued by the sheer number of files which, for some
reason, I didn't have access to."

Tim rests the towel on his lap. "The operative word --
however unspoken -- being 'yet?'"

"Was there ever any doubt? Thing two."

"Thing two... Rohrbach."

Oracle rests her elbows on her thighs and steeples her
fingers. "Who also knows too much for comfort. I suppose
we can hope she doesn't decide to take up a life of crime."

"Hope springs eternal in the Robin's breast -- or so I've
been told. Why *hasn't* she fired Dick?"

Oracle's frown is more of a twist than an expression. "I had
a few theories, but they fell apart upon the realization that
her marriage was a happy one."

Tim chokes, a little.

"Not that Officer Nightwing is in any way seductive and
charming, of course."

"Of course."

"In all seriousness, however, all signs currently point to the
fact that the Captain is invested in not being surrounded
by corrupt cops." The frown gets a little deeper, though
not by much. "Sometimes I think my father would've
accepted *Bruce* on his force, back in the bad old days."

"Bruce is... understandably invested in shifting this particular
status quo."

Oracle growls and shoves her sticks back up her sleeves.
"Dick should've quit *months* ago. He was -- *is* --
leading a *triple* life, and not doing very well at it at all. I --
it should've been enough to point out that he was well
along the road of getting himself killed, but it isn't. The
fact that he went in for his shift *today*..."

Tim raises an eyebrow.

"You asked me to re-open surveillance. I did." Oracle shrugs
and rolls herself toward her console. "Batgirl has been
hovering around as best she can. So far, so good, but we
*can't* count on that lasting. Especially since *my* records
show several accounts in Roland Desmond's name which
are too legitimate for me to raid."

"He -- has the money to hire muscle."

Oracle nods. "And we already know he's been using it. I
wonder just how much it took to convince Tarantula that
Officer Nightwing wasn't *really* all that seductively
charming, after all."

"We're... moving toward the next episode of drama."

"I thought we might be." Oracle doesn't turn around.

"I don't -- I don't want to do this to Dick."

"And by 'this' you mean dropping a dime on Captain
Rohrbach?"

Tim catches himself tying small, terry-intensive knots in the
towel. "He loves the job."

"And you don't want to hurt him any more than you already
have. I can't say I can't sympathize --"

"I -- I think I just broke up with Bruce."

Oracle pauses in the middle of redoing her ponytail.
"Seriously? I mean..." She looks back over her shoulder.
"*Seriously*?"

Tim frowns -- at the towel. "Look, you were the one who
pointed out that I was being -- really unfair to Dick."

After a moment, he has the opportunity to frown at the left
wheel of Oracle's chair, instead.

He takes it.

"What I pointed *out*, if you'll recall, is that it's not entirely
Dick's fault that relationships for him within the family were
kind of doomed. Which is still true. Tim..."

"I'm listening."

"I'm going to run you over again if you don't look at me."

Tim considers it, but he doesn't have any tanglers handy.
Without them, Oracle could destroy him before he could
disable *this* chair. He looks up. "Are you -- you're not
telling me I made the wrong choice, are you?"

"How sure are you that you *did* make a choice?"

"Oracle, I -- it's *hurting* Dick --"

"That his 'little brother' is so gone for Bruce that he'll drop
everything -- including *patrol* -- to dress up like a woman
and climb into bed with him?"

"That doesn't -- Oracle, I knew I was being stupid --"

"And you're so *very* bad about stopping yourself from
doing stupid things just because you want to. Certainly,
it's a personality trait all of us are used to seeing."

"Jesus, I -- look, I'm not an idiot. I know what I've been
doing with Bruce has been --"

"Epically fucked-up, with shadings of 'goodness, they need
even more therapy than I thought?' Yeah, kid, it *has*.
*That's* why I called you on it, because we *all* know
that you've been acting like a particularly damaged
adolescent with Bruce --"

"That's my *point* --"

"And we all know *why*."

"I -- I think it's time for me to go talk to Captain Rohrbach."

"No, it isn't. Because *Robin* needs to do that, if only to
encourage the woman to stop thinking about Dick Grayson --
and anyone else he might have in his life."

She's right. She also has an escrima stick pointed at his
windpipe. "Fine. Then we can just change the subject --"

"Oh, I don't *think* so. This has been all fun and games --
and believe me when I say your exploits have been
extremely entertaining -- but I am *not* going to let you
fuck this up any more than you already have --"

It isn't satisfying enough just to knock the stick away and
stand. It's -- "How much of this is just because I *am*
fucking Dick, Barbara? You threw him away. Are you
reconsidering?"

"Ooh. Good one. Or it would be... if I actually had any
doubts about the decision *I* made."

"With me out of the way --"

"I can watch Dick spend the next year -- or possibly
more -- beating himself up over not having been 'good
enough' for either of us. Which will still be a lot less
horrifying than watching *you* mess with his head because
you've convinced yourself that what he really needs is
someone who'll lie to him every day about how *thrilled*
he is to be with him -- as opposed to with the man who
makes him do all sorts of fascinatingly *stupid* things."

"Oracle --"

"Oh, I'm Oracle again?"

"Oh, *fuck* you --"

"Like I said, no thanks. I know where you've --"

He doesn't know what he actually plans to do with Oracle's
other escrima stick, but -- it's some variety of enough to
have been *able* to yank it out of her hand.

She narrows her eyes at him. "So you've disarmed me.
What now?"

"I... I was considering hunting for the Clocktower's
self-destruct button."

"Here's a hint -- it's neither shiny, red, nor obvious."

"Bitch."

Oracle plants her left elbow on the left wheel and leans on
her own fist. "And...?"

"And -- nothing," he says, and tosses the stick back to
Oracle. "Do you really think you're looking out for Dick
with this... *this*?"

"Well," she says, tucking it away and rolling to retrieve the
other.

"Well?"

"It's much too late to think about looking out for *you*."

"Comforting."

"And if 'comforting' had any use whatsoever with you... I
might have had different advice."

*

He finds Batgirl on Dick's roof -- specifically, on top of the
water tower, from which she has an excellent line of sight
for all of the building's exits. Still, she's somewhat backlit.

"He's been trying to shake you?"

She waves a hand. "Twice. Not bad."

Just bad enough. Tim nods and folds his hands under his
cape. And waits.

"You -- not here to take over."

He isn't.

"Then why?"

Because he's been an asshole. Because Batgirl is right, even
though she shouldn't be. Because --

"Sorry. No -- apologies."

Interesting. "Did O teach you that word?"

She smiles, and she's lit enough that Tim can see much
of it through the cowl. "Steph."

Tim snorts. "I should've known."

"Yes," she says, and jumps down lightly. "Why are you sad?"

"Because I've been less intelligent than I like to be. Less...
cautious."

She nods at that.

It's not surprising that she understands. After all --

"All have."

Tim snorts again. Right. "I need to go fuck up N's life a little
more now. I'll be back in forty or so."

Batgirl's hand on his shoulder manages to be both light and
implacable. If he brushes her off, she'll kick the crap out of
him until he has to stand still. It will take approximately ten
seconds.

He *has* the time to spare, but somehow the idea is less
than tempting. "What is it?"

"You -- you're good at lying. But not good enough."

"To fool you? No. We've established that."

"To fool *you*," she says, and squeezes his shoulder. "I --
can't see. You want to be... better at it?"

Tim raises an eyebrow. "Why? Can you teach me?"

She shakes her head. "Shiva. She fixed me when I couldn't
see. I think... it's almost the same?"

When Batgirl is older -- assuming she lives that long -- she's
going to have any number of mobility problems from all of
the bones Shiva had broken and all of the joints Shiva had
damaged. There is no doubt in his mind that Batgirl
considered the price of Shiva's lessons to be entirely
reasonable. He can't say he doesn't understand.

She tilts her head at him. "You're not sure."

"No. I'm not. And... it's probably a good sign that I have my
doubts."

Batgirl shrugs and lets go. "Okay."

"I... thank you. For the suggestion."

"You're welcome," she says, smiling. And then climbs back
on top of the water tower.

*

He watches Rohrbach in her office for the standard ten
minutes, making sure as best he can that all is as it appears.
The secretary appears content to relay all necessary
information via the intercom -- though that may be because
it's late enough in the day that she's tired.

Chances are, her shift ended when Dick's had.

When Rohrbach's had... but Rohrbach's the captain, and,
apparently, a good one. Her desk is impressively neat, save
for whatever file currently has her attention. The rest of
the office is a somewhat fragile-looking serious of
file-mountains, which suggests that if a supervillain *were*
to ever break into the precinct, the paperwork problems
would be tragic.

He doesn't even really want to tap on the window very
hard --

He doesn't want to tap on the window, period.

He does, anyway, at ten-oh-one exactly.

Rohrbach does an impressive job of hiding the sudden
tension of her shoulders, and if Tim were in a slightly
different position, he wouldn't be able to see the way her
feet jitter slightly.

And when she turns, and stands, she's steady enough. Until
she notices who he -- isn't. Even then, her eyes are only
wide for a moment, and she does a good job of masking
that by bending -- somewhat unnecessarily -- to open the
window.

"Robin, right?"

"Yes. I need to talk to you about... one of your officers."

"I think this is where I assume no one has yet mentioned
the illegal nature of vigilantism in your hearing, kid."

"Captain --"

"How old *are* you? Jesus, you looked taller on television."

"Everyone does. Listen, Captain, this is --"

"And why aren't I talking to your 'big brother,' anyway?"

Tim doesn't grit his teeth. "If we could avoid irrelevancies
for just a few *seconds* --"

"Irrelevancies?"

And... she doesn't actually reach for her sidearm. That's...
something. Tim winces. "I'm not trying to antagonize you.
All of us can do a lot more good when the cops and the
terribly illegal -- yes, I was aware -- vigilantes can avoid
pissing each other off. It's just that I *need* to talk to you
about... Officer Grayson."

"Nightwing."

There isn't a hint of question in her tone or her body
language. That's... all he needed to know. He nods.

"Fine. Tell me why I'm not firing his ass."

Tim blinks behind his mask. "Actually... I'm here to suggest
you do. As to why you already haven't... my assumption
was that you enjoyed having an officer who was both
noticeably committed and not at all corrupt."

She crosses her arms. "I do. But if he expects to last, he's
going to have to remember which side of the law cops
belong on."

"You've... already discussed the matter with him?"

She's steady for long enough that Tim feels a little sick --
what the hell had Dick *said*? -- but... she drops her
gaze. And shifts.

Tim breathes. "You haven't. You -- you should. We've
already tried --"

"Wait. Just -- are you seriously showing up at my
goddamned office to try to get me to do your *dirty* work
for you?"

Only to a certain extent.

"I'm supposed to cut one of the best cops this city ever had
loose because his spandex pals miss him?"

"I could mention something, at this point, about how
you're breaking the law you claim to respect enough to
question *me* --"

"Kid, you want to *watch* yourself --"

"No. I want to watch *you*, because I, personally, see
nothing wrong with Dick continuing on just as he is. It
would probably even be *some* variety of good for him to
take up life as a police officer full time. However, it's not
an option anymore, because Blockbuster knows just as
much about him as you do."

"I -- Jesus."

Tim waits.

"He's been targeted. But --" Rohrbach shakes her head and
snorts, quietly. "We know he can take care of himself."

"There's some question as to whether he can take care of
himself *and* everyone else in his life. Several of his...
friends and acquaintances have *also* been targeted."

"You?"

"Not yet. Blockbuster seems to be going for the... civilians
first. Dick's ex-girlfriend. The residents of his apartment
building -- an attempted bombing. The people Dick grew up
with -- arson. When he's done with that, I expect he'll aim
for people like you, and Dick's current partner -- or your
husband, and Gannon's..."

Amy raises an eyebrow. "He prefers the term partner for
that, as well."

Tim nods. "You see my point."

"You want me to fuck with my force to save it. And you're
telling me that Dick can't see... what you do."

"And you."

"Don't tell me what I think, kid. I'm not --"

"I wouldn't dream of it, Captain. I'm just saying that there
are number of... things in Dick's life which are making it
difficult for him to see certain realities. One of those things
is just how much he loves being a police officer -- how
proud he is of having been some help to you as you built
all of this from the ground up. Perhaps you might consider
offering him an extended leave of absence...?" She frowns
at him for a long moment, but...

"An offer of time to consider just what sort of career
choices he'd like to make."

She's just as intelligent as all of Dick's reports have
suggested. Tim nods.

"You don't think he'll take my offer, do you?"

"I..."

Rohrbach snorts again. "Just say it."

"A lot of things can change in a few months, Captain. I'm
honestly not sure how he'll jump -- beyond hating me, at
least a little, for having had this conversation with you."

She raises her own eyebrow. "Drew the short straw, did
you?"

"Earned it," Tim says, and pulls his grapple. "Good night,
Captain."

"Good night."

*

He only has to wait two minutes after pinging Dick's comm
to get him 'on-grid,' which is what he'd expected -- if he
hadn't been suiting up for the night, he'd been about to.

"N here."

"It's R --"

"Where are you?"

"Close. I was thinking we might spend some time running
Tarantula to ground." And also I need to talk to you.

"You *do* have interesting ideas. What about BG? And
when *are* you going home?"

"BG is going to join us. 'D' is taking me to school
tomorrow."

Dick laughs in his ear -- and from approximately ten feet
behind and below him.

Tim smiles and toggles the comm to receive-only. "You've
found my clever hiding spot on your neighbor's roof.
Curses."

Batgirl vaults up first, takes one look at him... and jumps
back down off the roof.

"What -- where is she --"

"She knows I wanted some privacy with you before we
did anything."

"Robin?"

Tim closes his eyes behind the mask for a moment and
then closes the distance between them. Close enough
to whisper, at least. "Dick."

"Tim. What... what is it?"

"You know it isn't just Blockbuster who knows your
secret."

"'Just.' Christ. I -- wait. You're talking about *Amy*?"

"I spoke to her tonight."

"You -- what did you do?"

"Dick --"

"Jesus. What -- what did you *do*?

"She's about to offer you a leave of absence."

"What -- what gave you the *right* to --"

"Dick, she was considering firing you. She -- she's breaking
the *law* --"

"Little brother, I love you, but if you're about to stand here
and tell me you give a shit about how Amy fucking
Rohrbach interprets the Bludhaven penal code --"

"What I care about is you, Dick. And how you'll feel when
Blockbuster goes after her husband. Her children. Your
*partner* --"

The shove doesn't knock him off his feet -- quite. But by
the time he has his balance again, Dick's using the cape
to yank him close again.

He can't be choked this way -- the gorget in the cape's
collar can be crushed, but not quite pulled out of true like
this -- but he can be hung, a bit, which is what Dick's
currently doing.

"I know --"

"You don't know *anything*, Tim. You -- that job --"

"I know you love the job. And I wasn't going to do
anything. But --"

"Batman told you to?"

"Batman asked. And Oracle felt he had a point. And --
Dick, Jesus, it's a leave of *absence*."

"It's my *life*. You --" Dick lets go, steadying Tim
reflexively when he lands. "I thought you understood," he
says, and... takes his hand away.

"I never. I didn't want this."

Dick's laugh isn't really a laugh at all. "But you did it."

"Yes. I did. Because --"

"Because *I* didn't. And never mind why I didn't do it,
because it was just a bit pointlessly emotional, right?"

"What do you want me to say, Dick? That I feel like dirt? I
do. That I was wrong? I *wasn't*."

"And you always do the right thing, don't you?" Another
laugh. "Except when you're going with 'what feels okay,'
right?"

"Maybe... maybe I should be working out of Gotham
tonight."

"Oh -- fuck. Tim, I didn't --"

"You did. You probably didn't want to say it quite like that,
but you meant it. And that's... I deserve it."

"Christ -- let's not -- we don't have to drag us into this, little
brother, I swear we don't."

And he can't really imagine a world -- a *life* -- where he
doesn't just let Dick touch him whenever he wants to, no
matter what it feels like. Right now, it feels like... hands on
his shoulders. Between Dick's gauntlets and the armor of
his tunic, there's no real sense of warmth. Just pressure
and... and a lot of memory.

"Tim, look at me?"

He does.

"I know -- I know I'm going to know you're right about this
in a hour or so, and right now that's just pissing me off
more, and apparently I need to be gagged for my own
fucking good, but --"

"You meant it. You hate the way... you hate what I'm doing.
It doesn't make sense to you --"

"It doesn't make sense to *you* --"

"That's... not as true as it could be, Dick."

There's something about Dick's frown that's... a little worse,
somehow, than being hung up by the cape. "What... what
do you mean?"

"I've been telling myself I'm just... playing around with
Bruce, but I'm not."

Dick squeezes his shoulders. "And... you are with me?"

"No. But that's not good enough, is it?"

"Tim -- how can you say --"

"It's not good enough for you, Dick, and we both know it
isn't, and..." Tim doesn't think his own laugh is any better.
"That really sucks, actually, but it's true, and I think it
would be a really bad idea to --"

"Love me?"

Tim -- he doesn't close his eyes again. Dick would know it,
and -- and he doesn't. He steps back, instead, and pushes
Dick's hands off his shoulders.

Dick doesn't fight.

"It would be a bad idea to pretend I don't love... anyone
else."

"You're breaking up with me."

"I don't. I don't want to."

Dick shakes his head. "You -- you're doing the right thing
again, little brother?"

Tim crosses his arms under the cape. "Here's a scenario: I
stay with you for a few days. We watch movies, we patrol,
we sleep together. I go back to Gotham. I patrol. I go back
to the Cave --"

"Don't. Just --"

"So... yeah."

"How -- how does that -- it's easier to give me up than it is
to give up Bruce?"

"Dick --"

"Tell me. Please."

It would be... he wishes, really a lot, that Dick was yelling
at him again. But he isn't. "It's not like that. It's -- I don't
know why I'm like this, Dick. I just. I know what actually
feels right, at the moment. I know what I need. And I don't
have any right to want you to just -- *accept* this. And I
won't ask."

"You... you want both of us? On -- on a long term..."

"Dick, just --"

The laugh is shockingly real, even though it's also a little
awful. "God, why aren't you dating *Kory*?"

He's reasonably sure that was a rhetorical question.

"You -- I never would've thought you would be --"

"It's something of a surprise for me, too, Dick." Except for
how it isn't. "Look, just -- I understand it doesn't work for
you, and I understand that, ultimately, it doesn't have a
thing to do with *who* the other person --"

"Other *people*. You -- I kept trying to tell myself that you
thought of Steph as a sister, but you *don't*, do you?"

It wouldn't, really, be like denying Dick access to some
resurrected Troia at all. If Dick loved her that way... "No.
I've been... I've been in love with her for a long time. I
don't... I can't imagine not being in love with her."

"Not even for -- someone else's sake?"

"Christ, Dick, could *you*? Just -- *tell* me how to make
that work, and I will. I'll -- God, I'll do it now. I don't -- I
never wanted this."

"I..." Dick crosses his arms over his chest. He's not quite
hunching in on himself, but --

"Dick?"

"I want to explain to you how it's all -- how it all works.
How it's supposed to. The words are right -- there. 'You fall
in love with someone, and even though it hurts and it's
terrible, it means that you're not in love with anyone else.
Not really. Even if you try to be. Even if you tell yourself...'"
Dick laughs, again. "The words don't work, of course. I
don't. I don't understand this, Tim. I never -- I never did."

"I know."

Dick takes a brief, shuddering breath. "Okay."

"I... I'll see you --"

'Around,' he was going to say, but it's kind of infinitely less
pathetic to yelp into Dick's mouth, which says...

Which doesn't say anything about him that he didn't already
know. He was in love with Dick before he even met Steph.
Or Bruce, for that matter.

He always will be.

The kiss goes on until he has to start breathing through
his nose -- almost gasping -- and Dick's hands are painful
in his hair and he can't --

He can't not hold on, even though it's just going to be
harder to stop. Harder to --

The kiss doesn't really stop as much as slow down, and
become a lot of smaller kisses, and Tim's hands are
shaking -- "Dick."

"Yeah," he says, and bites Tim's lip gently. "You'll see me."

He watches Dick go over the side. He doesn't watch him fly.

*

He notifies Oracle when he's back in Gotham. Oracle
promises to get back to him when she has a few
non-Tarantula targets for him to hunt, but both Huntress
and Canary are already on the one major Birds assignment
she has up.

Part of this... he's not sure why it already feels real to be a
Bird instead of half of Batman-and-Robin, but it does.

It probably has something to do with the fact that people
rarely ask where Batman *is* when he's patrolling his own
stretch of Gotham, like tonight. The criminals don't even
taunt very much.

It's possible that it's time to shift their areas of patrol, just
to keep things from getting too predictable.

Oracle is... Oracle is there, in ways Bruce hasn't been since
Tim's first days on the street. There are a lot of reasons for
that -- viscerally, the fact that the new gold stud had
stopped being sore days ago is meaningless against the
fact that it's there -- but...

He doesn't think it *will* feel all that different once he
starts working with Canary and Huntress.

Which is...

It's not that he'd really had doubts about his decision to
become a Bird. It's just that he'd expected to need more
time to adjust, more time to be someone's Robin other
than...

Well, at this point, to adjust to being *someone's* Robin
period, really.

And Oracle --

"The lark is calling."

"I'm almost sure it's too early for anything other than
nightingales," he says, and leaps down into what will
probably be the night's last drug-deal -- for him.

"Hnn, Certainly, it's getting to be too late for Robins."

The thing is, he'd actually been quite accustomed to judging
things like that for himself. And while Oracle isn't actually
sending him to bed early... it is a little strange.

He focuses on causing several minor injuries, and then on
running down -- and flying down, this one is fast -- the
designated runner. And he considers.

And considers more, while zip-stripping and confiscating the
money and the stash. At least it's in a trash bag this time --
he hates leaving the rather extremely obvious duffel bags
around to wait for police pick-ups.

And when he's done --

"Tick-tock, Robin."

"Do you monitor the sleep-patterns of all your operatives?"

"Is there anything I don't monitor?"

"Point," he says, and heads for his bike. And pauses.
"You've already called these in, haven't you?"

"There's something of a macro for it. This is just the first
time you've given me the opportunity to use it."

"Hmm. You're going to spoil me," Tim says, and continues
on to his bike.

"Stalking, spoiling... I like to think of it as family."

"Mothering, Oracle?"

"Hnn. Perhaps I should have told you before -- there's a
small electric charge in the earring. And the necklace."

He'd found the one in the necklace. He doesn't -- quite --
reach for his ear. "Really."

"I haven't had an opportunity to test it, little Bird, but the
specs suggest that it would only seem like a minor stroke."

Tim snorts and drives. "Will you set it off if I don't just head
home?"

"Tch. Bad Drama Wonder. Your parents aren't expecting
you until *after* school tomorrow, remember?"

Tim blinks, and doesn't swerve. "I'd --"

"Gotten just a *little* caught up in the rhythms of Gotham
life? Hnn. You *could* just crash here -- most of BG's
civvies are workably ambiguous enough for a public high
school."

"I -- let me get back to you. On that."

"Hnn. Oracle out."

*

Steph's mother is asleep in her bedroom. Steph is in the
kitchen heating up milk in the microwave and eyeing three
different canisters of cocoa in a decision-making process
which Tim knows, from experience, will last for at least
five minutes.

It's closer to ten before he hears Steph on the stairs, and
by then he's had three minutes to lie on her bed and smell
her.

Her shampoo, her body-wash -- she's using the lemon-
lavender he'd given her again -- and a hint of her sweat.
Her.

He coughs, deliberately, once he can smell the cocoa, and
listens to her pause in the hallway.

If he waits any longer, there will soon be scalding cocoa
flying toward his eyes. He raps out T-I-M in Morse on her
headboard, instead.

Steph snorts and pushes in -- with her hip. She's holding a
bag of chocolate-chip cookies in the hand that doesn't have
the cocoa. "You jerk. If you'd knocked on the window, I
could've made cocoa for you, too."

Tim grins at her. "I'll settle for a cookie."

Steph hmphs, a little. "Only if you're not getting vigilante
grime all over my sheets."

"I had a clean-ish night, I promise," he says, and shifts over
so she can join him. "I make no promises about vigilante
cooties, though."

Steph shoves a cookie in his mouth and puts her cocoa
down on the night-table, then curls up against him while
he chews.

"Did you... you should drink your cocoa before it gets cold."

"I think you'll find that I should be getting thoroughly
cuddled, right now."

Tim laughs against the back of her neck and watches --
there. She always shivers a little when he does that, and
when he puts his arm over her waist, she always stops.
"Can I..."

"Mm?"

"Would you mind if I kissed the back of your neck?"

Steph snorts and elbows him -- kind of hard, but then he
*is* wearing the armor. "You snuck into my bedroom in
the middle of the night. If I don't get kissed --"

He kisses her, and the skin is soft and fuzzy with the
so-blonde-they're-almost-colorless hairs. Dry and warm.
He breathes in deep, and kisses her again, and squeezes
her when she hums.

"I love you."

"I love you," he says, close enough to the back of her neck
to make her hum again.

They stay that way -- spooning -- for long enough that
Tim considers closing his eyes. Long enough for him to
do it, too, and she's... she's been all but completely out of
the business for several weeks, now. Longer than she's
been since the pregnancy.

She feels a little softer around the edges, actually, and he
isn't sure whether he's allowed to appreciate that or not.

Before he can decide, she sighs and sits up -- and knocks
back the cocoa in three quick swallows.

And then looks at him, curious and a little searching. She
has a chocolate milk mustache. Tim licks his lips, and
raises an eyebrow.

The kiss is -- he isn't sure why, but 'quiet' feels like the best
word for it. Maybe it's the way her hair falls around their
faces.

Tim pushes his hands into it and changes the angle of the
kiss enough to *actually* lick away some of the cocoa, and
to lick Steph's tongue a little, too.

He's missed this. It feels like it's been months, and --

And when she stiffens, and pulls back, he lets her.

"Tell me what's wrong, Tim."

"I -- I broke up with Nightwing."

She manages to look shocked and rueful at once, and Tim
feels like an asshole.

"That's not -- that isn't why I'm here."

"No...?" She strokes Tim's lips with her thumb, wiping away
the last of the chocolate before licking her thumb clean.

When she's done, Tim catches her hand and squeezes it. "I
needed you."

Her smile is a little crooked but not, entirely, private. "I
used to fantasize -- for, God, freaking *hours* -- about
ways to make you figure that out."

Tim frowns. "Are you sorry that I did?"

Steph twists her hand free for long enough to punch his
shoulder, and then gives it back to him. "No, you asshole.
I'm just... I think I knew even back then, you know? That
you'd never want me the way I wanted you."

Tim nods.

"And yeah, *you* knew I knew..." Steph laughs and lies
back down, squeezing him through the armor and resting
her head on the un-punched shoulder. "Did you ever
wonder why I didn't bail on you?"

"Mostly, I was grateful. But... do you want to tell me?"

"'Grateful.' I... God, well *part* of it was the way you kept
saying things like *that*."

Tim smiles and strokes the arm over his chest. "I've been
told I'm a silver-tongued devil."

"By *who*?"

"The voices in my head can be *very* convincing."

"God, you -- see, it's that. It's *this*. I don't know
Nightwing, and I don't know how it is -- or was -- between
the two of you, but..."

"It could be like this. Sometimes. Almost."

Steph snorts. "Well, there goes my theory."

Tim smiles ruefully. "He didn't... it didn't really work for him
that I was in love with you, too." Or Batman. But if he says
that, Steph *would* put one and one together and come up
with Bruce Wayne. He frowns a little, behind his face.

"Even *after* you mentioned the whole 'nope, never
making it to second base' thing?"

"Even then. It's... it doesn't work that way, for him."

"Yeah, I guess I get it. I used to wonder what I'd feel like
when you finally *did* dump me for someone more penis-
enhanced."

"What... what stopped you? From wondering?"

Steph doesn't say anything for a while. Instead, she twists
the arm Tim's been stroking until she can stroke his.

"Oh. Did you... stop?"

"You remember when you got back from No Man's Land?
That first night, with the idiots trying to bust up a
convenience store?"

Before -- *just* before -- Brentwood. "I remember."

"I hadn't seen you for *months*. And the last time I did, I
was all sweaty and fucked-up in the head and trying not to
cry because I'd given up my *baby* -- which you were
there for --"

"I had to be."

"Just -- wait a second, okay?"

"All right."

"See, I knew where you were, and I knew you couldn't
contact me or anything, but I missed you so much, and I
just... there you were, working day and night trying to
*fix* things and help people, and I just knew... I knew
even if you *didn't* get any out of huddling for warmth
with all the hot half-starved guys, you were still...

"You were still off having this *life* that I wasn't a part of,
that I couldn't really *be* a part of, because I'd been
stupid enough to get pregnant, and you weren't... you
were you."

"Steph --"

"Shut up. So I show up, and I'm all ready for you to brush
me off -- I figured you'd say something about how it was
really hard to get used to being back, and that you needed
some time, needed some space. Maybe you'd throw in
something about how I needed to stop being Spoiler, too.

"But you didn't. You just... you acted like it had never even
*occurred* to you to ditch your dumb ho of a girlfriend for
a better -- or at least a *cooler* model. You acted... it was
like you'd never been gone at all. Like *I'd* never been
gone, for you."

"You never were. You -- couldn't be."

Steph sits up, bracing herself on her elbow, and grins down
at him. "Yeah, so... I kind of relaxed."

"I'm glad."

She kisses him again, quick and soft and light, and curls up
against him again, too. "How long can I keep you?"

He doesn't really want to go back to the Cave until he
knows Bruce is there, because it would be too tempting to
grab a few things and run to the Clocktower, instead of...
not-lying. And it's about two hours until dawn, so... "An
hour, I think."

"Mmm. Gentlepersonfriends, start your cuddling."

Tim strokes her hair. "Steph... would you tell me what it's
like with you and Batgirl?"

"Seriously?" Steph laughs and squeezes his hand. "Like this,
only with more orgasms and less talking."

*

Bruce isn't back yet by the time Tim gets to the Cave, so he
just dumps his uniform in the hamper and hits the showers.
He'll grab a robe and head upstairs to get some clothes, and
then he'll come back down and wait for --

"Why."

Or possibly he won't. God. He'd forgotten about the little
trick of acoustics which makes it hard to *hear* the cars
when the water is actually running. Tim rinses his hair and
turns around. "I needed to talk to you."

"Everything was said," Bruce says, and... he's suited up
entirely, and he's standing in the doorway to the showers,
rigid straight and --

It's a message, of course. This is going to be exactly as
difficult as it should be, assuming it happens at all. "I told
lies. And I'd like to rectify that."

"Why."

Which is... a good question. With too many answers. None
of them are entirely true, or true enough. "There's
something of a list."

"I'm waiting."

"Because I'm sick of lying to people I care about. Because
the lies keep getting bigger and more... emotionally
problematic. Because I want you. Because I want Bruce.
Because it was wrong to pretend I didn't." Tim reaches
behind himself and shuts the water off, cold then hot.
"Those are the most relevant ones."

"Why did you lie?"

Tim crosses -- most -- of the space between them. Enough
that he has to look up to meet the blanked-out eyes of the
cowl.

Perhaps Bruce was waiting for him to be just *this* naked.
He still has a free question of his own.

Perhaps later. "Dick expressed a large measure of
discomfort with the way I had been negotiating my romantic
and sexual relationships. I hadn't considered, before, how
very... non-standard it all was. I was trying to be someone
better-suited to him."

"Why... have you stopped?"

A hesitation -- and, unless he doesn't know Bruce at all, two
entirely different questions. Point to the wet, naked
biologically male teenager. Tim smiles with his eyes.
"Various people seem to think Dick makes for a very good
relationship choice. He does. But not for me."

"And I do?"

"I don't know, *Bruce*. I'd like to have more data before I
formulate any conclusions."

Bruce cocks his head. Slightly. "And if I don't care to
provide it?"

"You already are."

Bruce tenses. Slightly.

Tim smiles with his mouth, as well. "With every passing
moment."

The move is a little too fast for Tim to see coming, but it
only ends with two gauntleted fingers in the hollow of his
throat. The pressure is too light to be... anything.

It's all a question of how long the touch will last.

"What can I give you for your honesty?"

Tim blinks. "More than you've already received...?"

"All of it," Bruce says, and increases the pressure on his
throat -- but not for long.

The first thing which comes to his mind is the rather
stupid thought that there can't possibly be any harder
questions than the ones Bruce has already asked. Tim
isn't especially superstitious, but there *are* such
things as tempting fate which don't involve seducing
members of the JSA.

The second thought is, of course, wordless horror.

The third... Tim swallows, only somewhat deliberately.
"Permission."

"For?"

"I never would've told Steph... anything. You changed the
rules, for your own reasons."

"And you'd like to change them even more."

"Yes."

"You... were with her tonight."

"Yes."

"Tim..."

His name. Another point. "Yes?"

"She isn't -- qualified for this life. I have my doubts that
she ever could be."

"And I have my doubts that you could ever bring yourself
to actually give her anything remotely resembling the
training you gave to me, or Dick, or... Jason."

Bruce's mouth tightens. It's not the sort of point he wants
to score, but... it does make this a bit more like a date,
now that he considers it.

"But that's neither here nor there. She's out of the life --"
For now. "-- and it suits her well enough to be so. But
she'll never be out of *my* life."

Bruce nods. "And what, precisely, did you want to tell her?"

"This... assuming there's any of it to speak of."

"Because having it without the telling -- the *sharing* --
feels wrong to you."

"It is wrong, Bruce. Even though I know she'd understand
why I haven't. And why I failed to elaborate when she
figured it out about 'Janet' and Bruce Wayne."

Another slight increase in pressure.

Another point -- for Steph.

"And would you have... this, even without my permission
to share with your other lover?"

Tim closes his eyes for a moment. ("... all sorts of
fascinatingly *stupid* things.") "Yes."

The breath Bruce takes is audible.

Tim isn't sure if that's another point or not.

"Tim..."

"Yes."

"It would. It would damage this. *Dampen* this. It would...
you'd be less -- it would be *less* for you."

"Yes, Bruce."

"Hmm. And you would, eventually, find someone far more
inclined to your way of thinking. Again."

Tim stares directly into the lenses of the cowl. "Anything is
possible. Or so I've always been informed. There's no
guarantee that I won't leave you for some other reason,
after all."

"There are no guarantees."

"No."

And Bruce pushes the cowl back. His hair is mussed with
sweat, and his eyes are Bruce's eyes, which means that a
part of Tim is once again convinced that he only blinks so
as to appear more human to the rest of them.

And once again convinced that he'd only thought he was
naked a moment ago. That he had, perhaps, lost several
important layers of skin in the intervening seconds.

Bruce never has to actually touch him to make him feel raw.
He's been accustomed to the feeling -- in one way or
another -- since he was thirteen years old.

"Bruce."

"You have my permission."

"Then you have... my honesty."

"Yes. I do." "

"May I ask a question?"

The smile spills down from his eyes to his mouth like --
something improbably tangible and liquid. "You did have
one left."

Of course he'd remember as well as he does. And... there's
a certain serendipity to it. "Is this -- are we -- a game, for
you?"

"We don't have very many opportunities to play," Bruce
says, and drags his fingers down to Tim's sternum -- and
then up, and over to his right nipple. "Is that a sufficient
answer?"

"It wasn't... a yes, no, or even a 'in a way,' so I'd have to
say... no."

"Then 'in a way,'" and the thumb of the gauntlet is too
smooth, too *cool*, without being interestingly cold. "Was
that sufficient?"

A tease, of course. "No," he says, honestly.

"Would you care to bargain for more?"

When his nipple hardens, the gauntlet becomes more
satisfying. Especially when considered with the rhythmic
flick of Bruce's thumb. "I'm not sure what I could offer
you... that I already haven't."

"Anything. Everything."

"Bruce -- *God* --" It isn't even a very hard pinch. But it's
enough, for the moment.

"You could offer a promise to not try to be silent, unless it's
necessary."

"Were you -- were you planning to interrupt a patrol?"

"Hmm," Bruce says, and pulls the gauntlet off his free hand
with his teeth. "You could offer to spend a day in the Manor,
wearing nothing but lingerie of my choosing," he says, and
presses a sweat-damp finger to the space beneath Tim's
lower lip.

"I... I suppose I could."

"You could offer," Bruce says, and pinches his nipple again,
harder --

"*Bruce* --"

"You could offer to sit with your back braced against...
hmm, my headboard -- not yours -- and stroke yourself to
orgasm while I watched, from the foot of the bed."

Of course this would be different from the time when Bruce
had asked him to touch his clitoris until he came. After all,
Bruce had been watching his *face*. The laugh comes out
overly loud, and becomes a muffled moan when Bruce slips
two fingers inside Tim's mouth.

"You enjoyed this. You still do."

Tim nods, somewhat awkwardly, and sucks -- And if he'd
bitten hard enough, Bruce wouldn't have been able to pull
out again.

"You could... there are many things you could offer me," he
says, and circles Tim's other nipple with spit-slick fingers.

"Yes. I -- I'm offering --"

"Tim. Which?"

"God -- I -- all. All --"

"Hmm. Three questions, then. For now."

"Bruce, please --"

"What do you want?"

They're still in the doorway to the *shower*. They... "The
mats. Let's -- I want the mats."

"Hmm. You could offer to let me carry you."

"Oh -- fuck, Bruce, yes --"

And it's possible that it would've been a good idea to specify,
to Bruce, just what sort of carrying would be acceptable,
but, in the end, when Bruce kisses him Tim decides he can
deal with being cradled like the stereotype of a bride.

And he's earned another question, so... "Elaborate on...
how much this is a game for you."

Bruce lays him down on the mats, nudges a knee between
Tim's thighs -- and pins Tim's wrists above his head.

"I would also ask how I smell to you right now, but it seems
like it would be something of a waste."

And he was *expecting* Bruce's smile, but not -- not the
intensity of it. Of course this was a deliberate choice of
positioning, and of course Tim would *recognize* that, but
somehow...

Somehow , right now, it's reading as something more than
that, something deeper.

And Tim can't quite hold back a shiver.

And another, when Bruce pushes his thumbs into the palms
of Tim's half-curled hands. "God, that's..."

"What?" Bruce presses with his thumbs.

"Hot. Something -- something about the slide. The
positioning. I'm not sure. Elaborate?"

"Mmm," Bruce says, and nudges Tim's jaw up, and licks his
throat. "At first I believed you would only accept this level
of... intimacy with me if it came with challenges.
Boundaries. Which I enjoyed, of course. However..."

"Y-yes?"

"However, the realization that this was something you
enjoyed as well -- as opposed to merely finding it more
comfortable than the alternative... hmm." The suck is a
light one, and won't leave a mark.

Nor will the next, or the next. "I -- oh --" He doesn't bite
his lip. "*Oh*."

"Perhaps you can understand how I've come to feel both
more and less inclined to frivolity, in terms of how we
relate to each other."

There is -- more than a little sense in that. A version of
rooftop tag *they* could play without being entirely
ridiculous, or perhaps just another way to make a round of
teasing between friends into another version of a kiss --

Or another bite. And another. And then Bruce is biting his
lip. Briefly. "My turn."

"Yes."

"Do you truly miss being a woman, or do you simply enjoy
playing with the traditional trappings of gender?"

Tim laughs. "And if I do miss it, you have a sorcerer friend
who's just dying to apologize for setting me on fire...?"

Bruce drags his short, even thumbnails down the centers of
Tim's palms. "I have many allies."

He isn't -- quite -- hard enough to just say 'anything, just
don't stop.' He's not sure he's capable of being that hard --
not for this -- which is... which is probably a good thing.

It's just that it's the sort of good thing which doesn't,
actually, lead to an answer.

Tim closes his fingers around Bruce's thumbs for a moment
and then twists in a manner rather more pointed than what
he'd used the last time they were in this -- particular --
position.

Bruce lets go -- and kneels up. It's definitely impressive that
Bruce can straddle one of Tim's thighs in a way which
manages to be entirely non-sexual. It's just also entirely
*other* than what Tim actually wanted.

"I'm considering my answer," Tim says, sitting up and
placing one palm flat to the armor over Bruce's left pectoral.
He uses the other to trace the entirely hallucinatory --
now -- curve of his breasts. He cups... air.

"I could offer... aids to consideration."

It's tempting. Even if there wasn't still a dresser full of
lingerie designed for his female body upstairs, this is the
Cave, which means there's an entire supply of things
designed to conceal and disguise male bodies -- including,
specifically, his own. But. "I'm forced to say I'm still not
sure, Bruce. I am enjoying just... playing with all of this,
but I wouldn't be enjoying it quite so much, I don't think,
if there wasn't something deeper in play. Shapes, options,
sensation..." Tim shakes his head, then flattens his
hand to his chest and uses the other to stroke his way to
the -- slightly -- thinner armor over Bruce's oblique.

"Yes?"

"Would you like me to... change, right now?"

"Yes," Bruce says, and removes the cape and begins
releasing the catches on his chest armor.

Tim moves to stand -- but Bruce catches him by the hair.

"However," he says, pulling Tim in, "I find I lack the
patience for that right now."

"Interesting," Tim says, or tries to. It comes out somewhat
muffled by Bruce's tongue. It's one of their more awkward
kisses, since the hold Bruce has on his hair won't let him get
any closer.

It's just also a kiss which is somewhat enhanced by the
knowledge that Bruce is stripping right there. The *sounds*
of it, and -- he can't make himself open his eyes, because
it's much too hard to manage that sort of focus when he's
trying to get just the right sort of suction on Bruce's
tongue --

Bruce grunts into his mouth, and, somewhere both
pointlessly distant from where Tim is, right now, and close
enough to make him flush, is the sound of Bruce's upper
body armor hitting the floor. And then --

And then he's being yanked, bodily, into and over Bruce's
lap -- it takes only a moment to settle his thighs over
Bruce's, but several more to stop moaning solely because
of the feel. The --

He's never needed to shave his inner thighs to leave them
smooth and sensitive, and the material of Bruce's tights is
only smooth to the touch of *callused* skin. Like this, for
his inner thighs, it's neither smooth enough nor rough
enough. It's a tease, like the way Bruce is humming into his
mouth, and like the way Bruce isn't -- quite -- pulling on his
hair.

It's -- another game.

A better one when Bruce's hand spasms -- once -- when
Tim yanks himself out of the kiss, even though the
necessary (by some definitions) suddenness of the move
leaves Tim panting.

Perhaps especially because it does. Another game, and he
just has to figure out the rules.

Or make them up.

Tim rests his hands on Bruce's shoulders, meaning to give
himself a moment to both indulge and *think*, but Bruce's
skin is blood-warm and sweaty. Uneven with scars, of
course, and --

And Tim offers a momentary surrender to himself and
presses as close as he can. And -- "I do miss my breasts,
sometimes."

Bruce is offering that maddeningly unblinking stare which
he uses in the place of 'gaze into your eyes,' and, after a
moment, his hands are on Tim's back.

Tim is both still damp from the shower and starting to
sweat. He feels -- uncomfortable. Slick. Obvious in any
number of ways.

Moreso -- and in a better way -- when he rocks a bit, sliding
his chest up and down against Bruce's own.

"For example," he says, marveling a *little* at the
breathlessness of his own voice, "this -- this would be more
effective for me if I had the sensitivity --"

Bruce -- the only word for it is 'crushes.' The pressure of
the hold doesn't quite push all of the air out of Tim's lungs,
however.

"Bruce," he says, more to Bruce's collarbone than to
anything else.

"Did you... did you have any other questions?"

"I *do* have two left."

"Perhaps you'll give me the opportunity," Bruce says, and
slides one hand to cup -- *squeeze* -- his ass, "to allow
you to earn more."

"I..." It comes out in a whisper. He is, in fact, out of air.
Tim licks the small patch of skin -- and scar -- he can
reach.

And does it again when Bruce squeezes harder. "Or
perhaps..." Bruce's exhale gets caught on an interestingly
jagged sort of moan.

There are no verbal prompts Tim can offer at the moment.
He settles for dragging his teeth --

The shove isn't especially hard -- only hard enough to knock
him back to the mats, as opposed to hard enough to make
him *bounce* -- but it's surprising enough that Tim forgets
to breathe before Bruce is on him again, pressing down --
his jock is digging into Tim's thigh and all the scarred
muscle is making his own chest feel small (and, perhaps,
somewhat incomplete), and he's been oxygen-deprived for
long enough that not even breathing through his nose is
quite enough to compensate for the kiss.

He's sweating harder now, and soon he's going to start
struggling in involuntary reflex -- Bruce's own fault for
training him so *thoroughly* against giving in to hypoxia --
and Tim shoves his fingers into Bruce's hair and tries to
rock *up* with his hips.

He fails.

He tries again --

Again --

Again, and he can't quite feel his fingers --

His arms are starting to shake --

And he manages -- barely -- to stop himself from following
when Bruce pulls away again, but it still takes a moment to
remind himself to gasp.

Once he does, of course, he has no choice but to keep
doing it, and Bruce's eyes --

Bruce's eyes are Bruce's eyes, focused and only slightly
too wide, too *dark* for plausible deniability, even now.

"I want to give you an orgasm... no more than three
minutes from now."

"Take off -- I want. I want you naked, Bruce."

Bruce's eyes widen a little more -- and then narrow. And
then he's moving, standing, and the positioning would, Tim
thinks, make his own graceless sprawl feel at least
somewhat embarrassing if he wasn't too hard to do
anything but want with idiot intensity.

He digs his nails into the mats --

"Are you trying to avoid touching yourself?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I'd rather have you do it for me --"

The sound is almost too brief to be a growl, and there's
something simultaneously obscene and gratifying -- for this
one, particular moment with Bruce -- about the rude,
needy twitch of his own dick.

Tim takes another breath -- while he can, Bruce's boots are
off, now. "And because this *isn't* your bed."

Bruce -- it isn't a smile. It's just a flash of teeth. God.

God -- "And in the interests -- of full disclosure..."

"Yes, Tim?"

The armored shorts. The tights, skinned down those long,
powerful legs -- *with* the armored jock -- Tim licks his
upper lip only somewhat deliberately. "I've come to
appreciate -- some -- of your more animalistic tendencies."

"I'll keep that in mind," Bruce says, dropping to his knees
and cupping Tim's hips with his hands.

Two questions. "Do you miss the... padding on my hips,
Bruce?"

"I miss," he says, stroking the hollows with his thumbs, "the
way your expression would change when I touched them.
As though you'd convinced yourself you had nothing of the
kind until I cupped them, and you could see the curve of
my fingers, and know that it was only an echo of your
own curves."

"I... fuck."

"What do you want?"

"Touch me --"

"With my mouth?"

"You don't... you don't have to."

"You bargained with your honesty --"

"In the *interests* of full disclosure, Bruce, I'm close
enough to come if you just keep fucking -- talking --"

"Hmm." And --

Nothing. Of course nothing. Just silence -- no. *Watchful*
silence. Considering, and --

"Do you want me to use my mouth on you?"

And the memory -- no longer available to his senses --
Bruce's lips and Bruce's tongue. And a very, very specific
brand of playfulness. Addictiveness. He can't bite his lip,
but there's nothing to stop him from closing his eyes.

"Tim."

The scent of him, when they were being very *assiduous*
about being Janet Haywood and Bruce Wayne, and the
lingering scent of himself -- herself -- under cologne and
maleness, because Bruce wouldn't -- *couldn't* -- stop --

"Please --"

"*Yes* --"

And it's worse that the touch -- the *lick* -- is immediate,
or possibly just that he knew it *would* be. All he's ever
had to do is ask, all --

It's terrifyingly easy to imagine rewriting, *reliving* that
last night in the manor, with his robe puddled around his
ankles and the stark nothing in Bruce's eyes. And what it
might have --

What it might have become --

The sound he makes is wordless, but that's all that can be
said about it. There were excuses for everything else,
comparisons and --

There were *excuses* for wanting everything else, and
any number of ways to convince himself it wasn't solely
for his own --

"I -- I need -- oh God --"

And Bruce is *sucking* him, and he's not allowed to shove
his fist in his mouth, or bite his lip, he's not allowed to try,
and he doesn't *want* to, and he can't --

And Bruce's hair is sweaty, smooth and *remembered* on
his fingers and Bruce --

Bruce has, at least, done the reading. His teeth are covered,
his tongue mobile and sweet, too sweet, too perfect --

"I *need* -- Bruce, please --"

Too *perfect* when Bruce just sucks harder, and it has to
mean something that he can hear himself sobbing now,
gasping out --

Bruce had wanted this from him, Bruce had wanted just
this --

And Tim had agreed to give it. It's always -- it's always a
game, especially when it isn't, and his hips already know
Bruce won't hold them back, his *dick* already knows the
feel of a tongue, a fist wrapped around the base --

He knows --

"Dick, please -- *fuck* --"

The squeeze is painfully hard. The loss of Bruce's mouth is
harder --

"Please -- I'm sorry, please, I --"

"Brace yourself on your elbows. And open your eyes."

He does. And Bruce --

"I prefer you in silk to lace."

Tim blinks.

"I prefer, when punching, to use my left fist over my right."

"Bruce...?"

"I'd rather have you in my bed than on the mats."

"I -- I don't --"

"And I preferred using my tongue on your clitoris than on
your penis."

"I -- oh." There doesn't seem to be any... he's not
really sure *how* else to respond to that. It's a bit --

"Say it."

Much. Except. "Bruce."

"Say what you *want*."

"I -- please --"

"*Say* it."

"Suck me, Bruce. Make me -- make me come -- oh
*fuck* --"

Bruce's tongue in the slit, Bruce's fist around the base, and
the fingers of Bruce's other hand --

Tim spreads and *arches*, and Bruce takes the head in his
mouth and hums, and *sucks* --

Sucking --

And he manages to get one hand back in Bruce's hair, just
to feel, just to -- just to *push*, and he wants to moan for
this, for *Bruce*, but he can't get enough air, and --

He has even less when Bruce pushes *in* with one finger,
teasing -- no, testing -- he's --

He's sore, but not sore enough to keep from shoving
*back*, trying for more, and Bruce grunts and Tim's hips
*jerk* and Bruce --

His eyes. His --

"Bruce --"

Growling moan around him, and Bruce is watching, Bruce
is -- Bruce knows and Bruce *knew* and Tim can't do
anything but work his hips and try to scream.

Try --

He comes gasping, eyes squeezed shut, and the hand in
Bruce's hair is shaking too much for Tim to either push
*or* pull, and he doesn't know whether it's a relief or not
when Bruce twists away after the first pulse, jerking him
fast and hard and --

And he's curling in on himself even more, and he can't --

He hits the floor -- he feels himself hitting the floor --

And he feels Bruce's stubbled -- *slick* -- cheek sliding
across his abdomen.

And he feels Bruce's tongue.

*

"You might have mentioned," Tim says, settling himself
back against Bruce's headboard, "that it was a question of...
relativity."

"You might have asked," Bruce says, and pulls a Louis XIV
chair over to the foot of the bed.

"Noted."

Bruce sits down, crosses his legs, and raises an eyebrow.

Tim spreads his legs and begins.

*

There's probably something... questionable about the fact
that there've been any number of occasions when Tim has
been *less* ready for school than he was -- is -- today, and
that none of them involved sex.

In the end, however, it's better to be awake enough in
English class that he can mouth the words 'sore back' at
Ives when he gives Tim a questioning look about the way
he's been shifting... especially since he'd already been
drifting enough *to* shift.

He hasn't yet figured out how to broach the topic of any
of this to Ives, even though he's reasonably sure Ives has
been waiting for something *like* it for a while.

At the very least, he'll never have to ask Bruce for
permission to share any of the secrets, being as how he
can't imagine ever feeling any great need to have a
conversation along the lines of, 'I've been having gay
sex with someone you're absolutely positive doesn't exist.
Well, to be fair, a *couple* of someones.'

It's comforting, on a number of levels, to have secrets both
harmless and... pointless *enough*.

*

Of course, home has other concerns.

"I was hoping Dick would stop over for breakfast before
running you to school this morning," Dana says, and the
lightness in her tone does nothing to mask the honest
regret.

On any other day -- or perhaps in any other *life* -- he
could say something vague about Dick having work, but...

"Tim? Are you okay?"

Tim smiles. "Just a little tired."

Dana snorts, and ruffles his hair. It's something she tends
to do *most* reliably whenever Dick has become a topic
of conversation. "You didn't make him drive you around on
that bike of his for all hours, did you?"

Tim lets his smile turn rueful. "Dick... Dick sends his
apologies, Dana. He had a lot of errands to run."

"Tch. None of which he got done while his 'little brother'
was visiting, of course."

He's never going to be able to bring Bruce home. Not in any
way. The idea of it is... He's had practice, at least, at
keeping a smile, and keeping a smile correct.

"Well, when you talk to him again, tell him to let us know
when he *can* come over again. I'll fix something special."

"Okay, Dana. I -- I will."

"And *you* need to get your homework done early tonight,
Mister. Catch up on some of that lost sleep, hunh?"

*

"Whoa."

As reactions go, 'whoa' is better than... pretty much any of
the others he'd imagined.

"Just..." Steph shakes her head. "This changes everything."

"In a way --"

"No, not 'in a *way*,' it changes *everything*. God. My
mom thinks Bruce Wayne is *cute*."

"Well... she has better taste than she knows?"

Steph punches his shoulder, snorts, pauses, and then
punches his shoulder again. And snorts again. "Just... holy
crispy crap, Tim."

Tim nods, and thinks about burying his face in Steph's hair.
Her mother won't be home for at least another hour.

"So... Batman. Batman lets you *out* him? Because you
*asked*?"

"Yes," he says, and shifts closer on the bed.

"You're *that* good in the sack? Seriously?"

"I -- I'm reasonably sure that wasn't the entirety of --"

"Oh, Jesus, I was *kidding*."

"Er."

Steph stares at him.

It's easier when she starts laughing, especially since her
eventual lack of oxygen will undoubtedly make her more
suggestible in terms of at least a slight subject change.

*

"Some little Bird is suited up and ready to fly," Oracle says --
within seconds of Tim fastening his cape.

Tim waves at the water tower -- and the very powerful
camera -- on the building opposite his own.

"Hello to you, too. Now tell me how much you love me."

"Truly, madly, deeply, and with a healthy degree of
trepidation, Oracle."

"Hnn. That'll do. The coordinates I've just sent to your
palm-drive are several of the known locations of a couple
of jumped-up -- and jumped *off*, in terms of the grid --
hackers who prefer to be known as 'Mouse' and 'Giz.' You're
my hunting Bird tonight."

"And what crimes will I be punishing them for?"

"These particular hackers have a bit more mechanical
engineering experience under their belts than many. Not
to mention... demolitions."

Dick's apartment building. Tim pauses with a hand on his
grapple. "Am I allowed an 'ooh?'"

"Just the one, which you've had. Find them. Damage
them. Interrogate them --"

"Noted."

"-- or consider pointing a certain big brother in their
direction, instead. He may very well appreciate the...
catharsis."

Which is... an even better idea. Especially if someone
else can do the eventual pointing. "Also noted."

"Happy hunting."

"Robin out."

end.